Part 22 (1/2)
The old man smiled bitterly.
”Sir, I have never owned wife or child! For aught I know Gloria may have been born like the G.o.ddess Aphrodite, of the sunlight and the sea! No other parents have ever claimed her.”
He checked himself, and appeared disposed to change the subject. The King looked at him encouragingly.
”May I not hear more of her?” he asked.
Ronsard hesitated--then with a certain abruptness replied--
”Nay--I am sorry I spoke of her! There is nothing to tell. I have said she is beautiful--and beauty is always stimulating--even to Kings! But your Majesty will have no chance of seeing her, as she is absent from home to-day.”
The King smiled;--had the rumours of his many gallantries reached The Islands then?--and was this 'life-philosopher' afraid that 'Gloria '--whoever she was--might succ.u.mb to his royal fascinations? The thought was subtly flattering, but he disguised the touch of amus.e.m.e.nt he felt, and spoke his next words with a kindly and indulgent air.
”Then, as I shall not see her, you may surely tell me of her? I am no betrayer of confidence!”
A pale red tinged Ronsard's worn features--anon he said:--
”It is no question of confidence, Sir,--and there is no secret or mystery a.s.sociated with the matter. Gloria was, like myself, cast up from the sea. I found her half-drowned, a helpless infant tied to a floating spar. It was on the other side of these Islands--among the rocks where there is no landing-place. There is a little church on the heights up there, and every evening the men and boys practise their sacred singing. It was sunset, and I was wandering by myself upon the sh.o.r.e, and in the church above me I heard them chant 'Gloria! Gloria!
Gloria in excelsis Deo!' And while they were yet practising this line I came upon the child,--lying like a strange lily, in a salt pool,--between two shafts of rock like fangs on either side of her, bound fast with rope to a bit of s.h.i.+p's timber. I untied her little limbs, and restored her to life; and all the time I was busy bringing her back to breath and motion, the singing in the church above me was 'Gloria!' and ever again 'Gloria!' So I gave her that name. That was nineteen years ago. She is married now.”
”Married!” exclaimed the King, with a curious sense of mingled relief and disappointment. ”Then she has left you?”
”Oh, no, she has not left me!” replied Ronsard; ”She stays with me till her husband is ready to give her a home. He is very poor, and lives in hope of better days. Meanwhile poverty so far smiles upon them that they are happy;--and happiness, youth and beauty rarely go together. For once they have all met in the joyous life of my Gloria!”
”I should like to see her!” said the King, musingly; ”You have interested me greatly in her history!”
The old man did not reply, but quickening his pace, moved on a little in advance of the King and his suite, to open a gate in front of them, which guarded the approach to a long low house with carved gables and lattice windows, over which a wealth of roses and jasmine clambered in long tresses of pink and white bloom. Smooth gra.s.s surrounded the place, and tall pine trees towered in the background; and round the pillars of the broad verandah, which extended to the full length of the house front, clematis and honeysuckle twined in thick cl.u.s.ters, filling the air with delicate perfume. The Royal party murmured their admiration of this picturesque abode, while Ronsard, with a nimbleness remarkable for a man of his age, set chairs on the verandah and lawn for his distinguished guests. Sir Walter Langton and the Marquis Montala strolled about the garden with some of the ladies, commenting on the simple yet exquisite taste displayed in its planting and arrangement; while the King and Queen listened with considerable interest to the conversation of their venerable host. He was a man of evident culture, and his description of the coral-fis.h.i.+ng community, their habits and traditions, was both graphic and picturesque.
”Are they all away to-day?” asked the King.
”All the men on this side of The Islands--yes, Sir,” replied Ronsard; ”And the women have enough to do inside their houses till their husbands return. With the evening and the moonlight, they will all be out in their fields and gardens, making merry with innocent dance and song, for they are very happy folk--much happier than their neighbours on the mainland.”
”Are you acquainted with the people of the mainland, then?” enquired the King.
”Sufficiently to know that they are dissatisfied;” returned Ronsard quietly,--”And that, deep down among the tangled gra.s.s and flowers of that brilliant pleasure-ground called Society, there is a fierce and starving lion called the People, waiting for prey!”
His voice sank to a low and impressive tone, and for a moment his hearers looked astonished and disconcerted. He went on as though he had not seen the expression of their faces.
”Here in The Islands there was the same discontent when I first came.
Every man was in heart a Socialist,--every young boy was a budding Anarchist. Wild ideas fired their brains. They sought Equality. No man should be richer than another, they said. Equal lots,--equal lives. They had their own secret Society, connected with another similar one across the sea yonder. They were brave, clever and desperate,--moved by a burning sense of wrong,--wrong which they had not the skill to explain, but which they felt. It was difficult to persuade or soothe such men, for they were men of Nature,--not of Shams. But fierce and obstinate as they were, they were good to me when I was cast up for dead on their seash.o.r.e. And I, in turn, have tried to be good to them. That is, I have tried to make them happy. For happiness is what we all work for and seek for,--from the beginning to the end of life. We go far afield for it, when it oftener lies at our very doors. Well!--they are a peaceful community now, and have no evil intentions towards anyone. They grudge no one his wealth--I think if the truth were known, they rather pity the rich man than envy him. So, at any rate, I have taught them to do. But, formerly, they were, to say the least of it, dangerous!”
The King heard in silence, although the slightest quizzical lifting of his eyebrows appeared to imply that 'dangerous' was perhaps too strong a term by which to designate a handful of Socialistic coral-fishers.
”It is curious,” went on Ronsard slowly, ”how soon the sense of wrong and injustice infects a whole community. One malcontent makes a host of malcontents. This is a fact which many governments lose sight of. If I were the ruler of a country--”
Here he suddenly paused--then added with a touch of brusqueness--
”Pardon me, Sir; I have never known the formalities which apply to conversation with a king, and I am too old to learn now. No doubt I speak too boldly! To me you are no more than man; you should be more by etiquette--but by simple humanity you are not!”
The King smiled, well pleased. This independent commoner, with his rough garb and rougher simplicity of speech, was a refres.h.i.+ng contrast to the obsequious personages by whom he was generally surrounded; and he felt an irresistible desire to know more of the life and surroundings of one who had gained a position of evident authority among the people of his own cla.s.s.