i 2.<< : ■) J ,)/ Lv *' V * " 'tr'' *?^ 1' t'i •'^' /" )' ) mMtm •t .^»>*v> If * |##^#^ / .< ) „> / LI E) RAI^Y OF THE UNIVERSITY or ILLINOIS 82.3 V. I CENTRAL CIRCULATION BOOKSTACKS The person charging this matenal is re- sponsible for its return to the hbrary from which it was borrowed on or before the Latest Date stamped below. Theft, mutllatloiv and onderllning of books oro rwsons for disciplinary action and moy rosult in dlsmlMol from tlie University. TO RENEW CALL TELEPHONE CENTER, 333-8400 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN MAY 3 1993 When renewing by phone, write new due date bdow previous due date. l-loi (A. L- j^u/L-h, . THE REBEL QUEEN VOL. I. NOVELS BY WALTER BESANT. Crown 8vo. cloth extra, 2^- 6<^- each ; post 8vo. iUustrated boards, 2S. each ; cloth limp, 2S. td. each. ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. With Illustrations by Frku. Barnard. IHE CAPTAINS' ROOM &c. With Frontispiece by E. J. Wheeler. ALL IN A GARDEN FAIR. With 6 Illustrations by Harry Furniss. DOROTHY FORSTER. With Frontispiece by Charles Green. UNCLE JACK, and other Stories. CHILDREN OF GIBEON. THE WORLD WENT VERY WELL THEN. With 12 Illustrations by A. FOKESTIER. FOR FAITH AND FREEDOM. With Illustrations by A. Forestier and F. Waddy. TO CALL HER MINE &c. With 9 lUustrations by A. Forestier. THE BELL OF ST. PAUL'S. THE HOLY ROSE &c. With Frontispiece by Fred. Barnard. ARMOREL OF LYONESSE : a Romance of To-day. With 12 Illus- trations by Fred. Barnard. ST. KATHERINE'S BY THE TOWER. With 12 page Illustrations by C. Green. VERBENA CAMELLIA STEPHANOTIS &c. With Frontispiece by Gordon Browne. Crown 8vo. cloth extra, 3^. td. THE IVORY GATE : a Novel. Three vols, crown Bvo. NOVELS BY WALTER BESANT AND JAMES RICE. Crown Svo. cloth extra, 3^. 6d. each ; post Bvo. illustrated boards, 2^. each ; cloth limp, Q.s. 6d. each. READY-MONEY MORTIBOY. MY LITTLE GIRL. WITH HARP AND CROWN. THIS SON OF VULCAN. THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. THE MONKS OF THELEMA. BY CELIA'S ARBOUR. THE CHAPLAIN OF THE FLEET. THE SEAMY SIDE. THE CASE OF MR. LUCRAFT &c. 'TWAS IN TRAFALGAR'S BAY &c. THE TEN YEARS' TENANT &c. %* Aho a Library Edition 0/ the above Twelve Volumes, hand- so'i'cly set ht nezv t)pe, on a la7ge croivti Svo. page, afid bound in Cloth extra, 6s. each. London : CHATTO & WINDUS, 214 Piccadilly, W. THE REBEL QUEEN BY WALTER BESANT AUTHOR OF 'aRMOKEL of LYONES5E' ' THE IVORY GATE ' ' LONDON ' ETC. ' The sun shines fair on Carlisle wa', And Love was aye the Lord o' a ' ' The woman shall not wear that which pertaineth unto a man Deut. x.xii. 5 IX THREE VOLUMES - VOL. L bonbon CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY 1893 PRINTED I5V Sl'OTTISWOODK AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE LONDON V. ( PREFACE TO THOMAS CHAPLIN, M.D. FORMERLY OF JERUSALEM My dear Chaplin, Since this book was suggested by you, and since many of its pages were inspired by your teaching, I /Yi beg in all gratitude to inscribe to vou the volume, such as it is — a poor outcome of much listening — and to own that if there is any good thing in it, that good thingr must be acknowledged as due to vou. There is no one who knows better than vou. not onlv the actual daily life of the People, the laws, and the manners, and the views, and the prejudices — the greatness and the littleness — of Sephardim and Askenazim — but also the possibilities, the aspirations, and the hopes of this ancient race. Above all, the intense humanity which ^ abides in all their hearts. i vi THE REBEL QUEEN I have endeavoured in the following pages to show something of these possibilities, of these aspirations, and of tliis humanity. The recent advance of the Jews in Western Europe, the way in which they are stepping to the front in every branch that can occupy the human intellect, must before long force upon the world a new consideration of the Law which they have so faithfully followed. It may be that some of our present difficul- ties will find a solution in these Ordinances, which many of those wdio receive and study the Bible as wholly inspired, continue to treat at the same time with contempt and neglect. I remain, dear Chaplin, Yours very sincerely, WALTER BESANT. Frognal End : August 1893. CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME PKOTX)QlJB PAGB I. The Slate or Max 1 II. Under the Lamplight, Seventeen Years Later CHAPTER I. The Grand Refusal II. After the Plat .... III. An Expectant Loyer . IV. A Thing Impossible .... V. Mr. Aldebert Angelo . VT. They come like Shadows, so depart YII. The Arm of Coincidence VIII. In the Laboratory .... IX. The Cousins 3() 61 94 114 128 160 180 197 230 262 THE REBEL QUEEN PROLOGUE THE SLAVE OF MA]^ ' I EXPECTED YOU, Emanuel.' The girl — she was little more — who was seated at the window turned her head quietly, and spoke with the appearance of calm, but her cheek flushed crimson and her hands trembled. The clock was striking ten when her visitor opened the door of the drawing-room and stood in the doorway unannounced. He was quite a young man — not more than twenty-five — but he seemed older, by reason of his grave and thoughtful expression and his deep-set eyes. Looking at his dress, one ^ VOL. I. B 2 THE REBEL QUEEN niiglit have set him clown as a young working man; he wore a loose square jacket — the kind of jacket that is sometimes affected by young clergymen as well as working men ; he had no gloves, and his boots were service- able rather than neat. Yet one does not see in many young working men features so fine, eyes so steady, or a face so strong. More- over, the ordinary working man very seldom shows a beard so long and silky as that which adorned this young man. He was an extremely handsome man, tall and well-pro- portioned, with the beauty of an Arab rather than that of an Anglo-Saxon. Such a type would be impossible in a young man of English descent. When in your walks abroad you pass such a young man you marvel, even considering the Unexpectedness of the streets : then if you are a person of travel and in- formation, you begin to think of a street in a Spanish city — narrow, with lofty houses, win- dows with balconies, women leaning over the balconies, bits of bright colour in the hangings, old coats-of-arms carved on the fronts, and THE SLAVE OF MAN 3 people down below showing just sucli faces. Then the word Sephardim comes back to your memory. This face, you say, belongs to the Children of the Dispersion: they were in Spain long before the legions of Titus completed the National Scattering: they are of the ancient people, whose lineage is so long that, com- pared with them, the Bourbons are mush- rooms, and the Hapsburgs are of yesterday. In this face was something of the eagle, the nose w^as narrow and shghtly aquiline, the nostrils were finely cut and delicate, the eyes keen and clear, deep-set, under straight and well-marked eyebrows, and in colour blue as the finest steel of Damascus ; the lips were firm, the mouth finely curved ; there was a rich deep colouring of the cheek ; the fore- head was broad and white, the clustering hair was chestnut ; the sun had touched that face with a glow which lingered on it. Surely, the Eabbi Akiba, or Gamaliel, or even Onkelos himself, must have had such a face. Surely this was the face which belonged to the illus- trious Maccab^an house. Surely this was the B 2 4 THE REBEL QUE EN face at sight of which Joshua's enemies turned and fled. Such a face is best seen with a turban and a long flowing robe of silk, be- neath which hangs by a crimson sash the scimitar : then such a face might serve for a portrait of Mohammed. Or, if you give it a kufeeyeh, and clothe the figure in a sheep- skin, tied round the waist with a leather belt, it may serve for the Prophet Ehsha when he was still young and had just received the cloak of his Master and Forerunner. Such a face, with such an expression, and accompanied or set off' by a modern English dress, not of very grand appearance, seems incongruous, yet it is always striking and always handsome. The girl — to repeat, she was little more — half rose from her chair ; she was sitting at the other end of the long room at an open window looking out upon a West-End square ; it was June, and the fragrance of lime-blossoms filled the room. She half rose and sank back, her colour changing to white ; she gasped ; she caught her breath. The man still stood in the doorway, silent. THE SLA VE OF MAN 5 His colour did not cliange ; his eyes showed no other emotion than that of steady purpose, a self-governed look Avhich was always in them. Tlien the girl mastered herself. 'I expected you,' she repeated. 'You said that you would come back after a year ; that you would give me a year to consider.' 'You have had a year, and I have re- turned ; it is a year this evening since we parted, and a year and a month since we were married.' * I am ready to talk with you, Emanuel.' She rose, swept back the long train of her evening dress with a practised hand, like a princess on the stage, and advanced to meet him. He closed the door, and walked into the room. About the middle of the floor both stopped, as if they were two sovereigns meeting on opposite sides of the frontier. There was no greeting, there was no kiss of man and wife, there was no hand-grasp. They were man and wife parted, as yet unreconciled. They stood face to face with three feet of carpet between them : they stood 6 THE REBEL QUEEN in silence for a space. The man's eyes were steady, commanding ; the woman beneath his gaze quailed for a moment. But she re- covered immediately, and returned his look — defiant, rebellious. The attitude of the pair, the eyes of the man and of the woman, revealed the situation without a word. There was the man who would be Master, there was the woman who refused to obey. That was all. Yet it was a situation which demanded many words. She was quite young, not more than two- and-twenty ; she was dressed for the evening as few women of her age dare to dress. It was, to begin with, the dress of a grande dame ; now it is only a grande dame de par le monde^ so accepted by the world, who can venture, at twenty-two, to Avear a dress which asserts position, claims authority, and com- mands respect. The ordinary girl of that age, even though she is a princess or a Parisian, is generally content to look lovely ; she does not care about anything else. Eank and authority belong to the forties, the fifties. THE SLAVE OF MAN 7 the sixties. At twenty-two, even when one is married, and, therefore, presumably, no longer desires admiration, to be beautiful is enough. Apparently it was not enough for this girl. Perhaps she had a reason for magnificence on this night ; she was dressed suitably. It was a great occasion — it was a turning point. In such a crimson velvet, with such lace, with such rubies and pearls, with such gold chains, a Queen might be dressed — say, perhaps, the Queen of a half- civilised state, the Queen of Armenia, the Queen of Roumania, the Queen of Servia, the Queen of Abyssinia, the Queen of Candia, Cyprus, or Rhodes. This woman, by no means a Queen, chose to dress in this manner — first, because she liked mao^nificence of all kinds, in dress, in furniture, in art, in carriages, in horses ; next, because she was born to great wealth, and it was natural to her to w^ear things rich and splendid ; and lastly, because she hoped to bring her husband to submission by the beauty which he loved adorned — all men love beauty best adorned — as becomes great beauty. 8 THE REBEL QUEEN She was dressed like a Queen, she looked like a Queen ; but it was a Queen defiant, re- bellious — a Queen going forth to war. Her face was, like her husband's, of the Oriental type, with which of late years we have become somewhat familiar. Formerly it was rarely seen, except occasionally at the theatre. Now we see it everywhere — in the stalls, at private views, on the stage, in studios, at concerts, at public functions. There are as many Oriental as Occidental types. This girl was not possessed of the almond eyes, black, long, soft, and languish- ing, which poets used to associate with the East : she could not be painted as Leila, or the Favourite of the Harem, or anything of that kind ; nor was her complexion olive ; nor had she a mass of black hair. On the contrary, her eyes were brown, clear and cold and keen ; to-night there was no lan- guishing in them and no tenderness ; her features were finely, clearly cut, the curve of her lips well defined, her mouth full, firm — even hard — her nose somewhat aquiline, her THE SLAVE OF MAN 9 forehead more square than seems to some consistent with perfect beauty; her hair, brown, abundant, was rolled up and round her head, confined by a gay ribbon or band in which gleamed small gold coins ; her face was pale, but not anemic ; it had not that morbid pallor which belongs to low vitahty, and causes healthy men to shudder and turn aside. It was pale as certain artful hues of satin are pale, with a faint touch of colour to lend it warmth. Moreover, this evening there lay on either cheek a red and flaming spot. ' You are my husband,' she said. ' I am, I suppose, Madame, or Mistress, or the Senora Elveda. I must wear my husband's name. I am the wife of Emanuel Elveda, scholar, chemist, philosopher, man of many ideas.' ' I am your husband, Isabel.' ' Emanuel Elveda,' she went on, ' is a man of ancient lineage, as well as a man of intellect. His ancestry is far more ancient than that of any Christian family, even the Bourbons, can boast. In Spain his people pretended for 10 THE REBEL QUEEN generations to conform to tlie modern faith ; tliey were ennobled. He is tlie Conde Elveda if he chooses to bear the title ; but when I met my husband he was plain Emanuel Elveda. His family had lost their lands and their wealth ; they had abandoned their rank ; they had returned openly to their old faith. He was poor and proud.' ' I am still vour husband, Isabel/ he re- peated. ' I have said this, Emanuel, to show that I recognise your great qualities. This makes my rebellion the more daring, does it not ? You remind me that you are still my husband. Does that mean still that you demand my submission ? ' ' It does.' ^ Then— if I still refuse ? ' ' A wife is not a servant or a slave.' ' If you make her a slave, what matter for a name ? ' ' If you are my wife, obey your husband.' ' I have reflected, as you wished me to do. I hoped that you would also reflect and come THE SLAVE OF MAN " ii back open to reason. My position is exactly the same as it was last year : my opinions are the same : my resolution is unaltered.' ' And mine.' ' Will you give me a bill of divorce ? ' ' I will not.' ' You have right by the law of our People, if not by the law of the land. When did the law of the land override the law of our Peo- ple ? You may divorce your wife, because you are a man and she is a woman, for any cause that you please or for no cause ; a notary will draw up the bill of divorce, the Eabbis will witness it. There is good and sufficient cause. Let me go.' ' I will not let you sfo.' ' Emanuel ! ' — she joined her hands and spoke earnestly — ' if you ever loved me, or thought you loved me, by the memory of that time let me go. I will never, never, never again be your wife or any man's wife. Hence- forth I will be free. Give me — that is give yourself — freedom ; say to me in the language of the People and in the words of the Law : 12 THE REBEL QUEEN '' I put thee away, I dismiss and divorce thee ; from this time thou art in thine own power ; thou mayest be married to any other man whom thou pleasest ; let no man hinder thee in any name from this day forward and for ever, and Lo ! thou art free to any man." ' ' No — I will not seek a bill of divorce.' ' I am grieved on your account, Emanuel. All your life you will be bound to a woman who will refuse to live with you and to take care of you. Yet you want a wife more than most men, because you are helpless in many things. Take pity on yourself and release yourself.' ' No, you are my wife ; I am your husband. I will not surrender mv wife, even thou":h she repudiate her husband all her life. I will not cast upon her name the shadow and odium of a divorce.' The wife sighed. ' I have done my best, Emanuel. It is for your sake that I ask it. For my own, as I go my own way henceforth, I am indifferent.' ' Is there more to say ? ' * No — and yet — we are going to part again. THE SLAVE OF MAN t^ Perhaps we shall never meet again. You will hear of me, probably, as doing things you do not approve. There are certain things that I would say before you go — things that — that — well, I would that you should think of me as kindly as you can. Believe me, Emanuel, if there was any man whom I could own as lord and master it is you. Beheve me, no other man will win love from me ' * I believe it. You are Isabel.' She sat down, taking a chair beside her near the frontier. He took another. There was still the space of three feet between them : the chairs faced opposite ways, and they sat one looking east and the other west. The wife turned her head and rested it upon her hand ; but the husband sat without lookino- round. Perhaps, in spite of his fixed purpose he feared to look too long upon her face. ' Woman, in your eyes,' she began, ' is an inferior creature.' ' She fills her place in the Divine Order ; she can fill no other place ; if she tries there follow discords, rebellions, evils of all kinds/ 14 THE REBEL QUEEN ' Oh ! Divine Order — Divine Order ! ' she repeated impatiently. ' But what else could I expect? It is the old, old jargon — the jargon of the Eabbis. When shall we have done with it P When will you step outside of it, Emanuel — you — a wise man — you — a scholar — you — a genius — you — when will you step out of the darkness ? ' He shook his head. ' The light,' he said, ' lies along the path following the Divine Order.' ' My former friend — my pretended Master — it is nothing to me what the men of old said. I own nothing but the present ; I see nothing but what is around me ; I follow nothing but the way pointed out by living men. Go back to your dead past, if you will. Leave me to the actual present.' Again he shook his head. ' It is the way of blindness,' he said. * When we parted last,' she went on, ' we had little time for explanation. You insisted ; I refused. You still insisted ; I refused with rage and with bitter words. I have repented THE SLAVE OF MAN 15 of tliose words, Emanuel, but not of the refusal which you call discord and rebellion. That was too sacred a thing to be profaned by any hard words. But I was a rebel, and rebels are too often intemperate in speech and action. Besides, you angered me with your calm, cold words. " Obey your husband," you said. " Obey your husband," you repeated. I would not obey my husband, but to tell you of my resolution — my rebellion — was harder than you would think possible. Forgive those words, Emanuel.* 'Does the sky ask to be forgiven for its sudden storms .^ There needs no forgiveness.' ' Because, I suppose, a woman's words are worth so little,' she replied with a laugh. ' A wise man, a learned man, like you, why should you regard any quick words of mine ? Nevertheless, the refusal, I say, cost me more than you would think, if a woman's emotions are worth thinking about.' ' A woman's emotions ? All the world hangs daily upon a woman's emotions. Frankly, Isabel, your words are long since 1 6 THE RiEBEL QUEEN forgiven. Truly, I understood that before you — you — of your great and noble heart — could say such things you must have been very deeply moved. That is gone and for- gotten. Let us go on. You have more to say before we part again.' 'I should like you to understand, if you can. The weak point in such men as you is that you wrap yourself up in your cloak of tradition — of superstition — of so-called cer- tainty- — and refuse to listen. You are like the Catholic priest who says. *' We have the Truth Absolute," and so refuses so much as to reason on things. In fact, beyond certainty one cannot go.' ' That is so. Some things are certain— for instance, the relations of the Woman to the Man.' * You make it still harder for me to confess—or to explain— my position. How- ever, you know how a girl of our People is brought up. When she is born there are no rejoicings. No one hopes or expects an}^- thing of her. She steals into the world in THE SLAVE OF MAN ij silence. When her brother is born there are great rejoicings even in the poorest house. When the boy arrives at thirteen years and a half he is called a Son of the Commandment, and is required to observe the six hundred and thirteen precepts which form the Law. What has the girl to learn ? ' * She learns to bless the Sabbath bread ; she lights the candles on the eve of the Sabbath, and repeats the prayer. These are all her duties.' ' This is the Divine Order, in short — that the men shall learn everything, do everything, and be responsible. For the woman ' ' There is obedience. This is the whole of the Law for Woman.' 'So I was brought up — I, with my intel- lect, my gifts — the heiress of this great fortune. I saw, being a girl of perception, that everything desirable goes to Man — the wealth, the honours, the position, the autho- rity, the learning. At first I acquiesced. My women told me that it was so, and could not be otherwise. If things cannot be other- VOL. I. c 1 8 THE REBEL QUEEN wise, it is foolisli to repine. I saw from my infancy all the women submissive and un- questioning — all meek and obedient servants to the men. It could not be otherwise, of course. To be the slaves of such men as one sees — oh ! — horrible ! So, I say, I made no inquiry into the matter at all. Among our people religion orders this submission. Pre- sently, I went into the outer world, where the]'e was a freer air. I heard things said which made me think. There were girls who proposed independence as their right ; there were some who had gained their independence. There were whispers, murmurs ; at last voices with clear utterances. And I found that there had been women — were still women — who could do all that men could do — ay ! as well. I myself have done as well as any man of my own age, and better — far better — than most. What is this new thing in the world ? Nothing short of the great discovery that, given the j)i<^k of women, they can meet on equal terms the pick of men : yes, in any science, in scholarship, in anything not re- THE SLAVE OF MAN 19 quiring your strength of muscle, the woman is as good as the man. I claim no superiority, as others do — equahty alone satisfies me.' ' Yet it is not so.' ' Why ? ' ' First of all, because the Divine Order — say, if you please, Nature — has ruled it otherwise/ ' Again '—with a gesture of impatience — ' the Divine Order ! Now, listen. I looked about me, I considered, and I discovered that women are everywhere able to do work equal to that of the man and even better. They make anything they try to make ; they write novels, poems, books ; the magazines are filled with essays and papers written by women ; the shops are kept by women : look at the administration of business houses by French- women ! There are women artists ' ' All this,' said her husband, ' is quite true.' 'Actresses, musicians — in a word, this very generation efTectually gives the lie, once for all, to the inferiority of women.' c 2 20 THE REBEL QUEEN ' You think so ? ' ' I think so. What Nature disproves when the experiment is once made can no longer be maintained as a theory.' ' That is true. Has Nature disproved what tlie experience of the ages proves ? One or two girls have passed examinations as well as the boys. They have even shown promise. Where is the performance ? Where is the reversal of Nature's laws ? Where is still the leading ? ' ^I say no more about it. You wrap yourself in your cloak of the Truth Absolute. Let me go on. It was more difficult for me than for other women to clear my mind of superstition. We are always Orientals. It is almost an instinct with us to believe that woman is not only lower than man, but that she ought to be married — it is a shame for her not to be married. Unfortunately, while I had emancipated myself from the doctrine of inferiority, I had not thrown off the sup- posed necessity for marriage. I therefore looked about for a husband, a fit mate for THE SLAVE OF MAN 21 myself. I would have no money-maker : my own fortune was enoucfli for a dozen families : I would not liave an artist, because the artis- tic temperament is capricious. I wanted for my husband a scholar, a man of broad views, a man of generous instincts. I was still more limited in my clioice because I would not marry outside the People. I found you.' ' Yes,' said her husband, ' you found me.' * That you were poor ; that you woidd never make any money ; that you were a man of books ; that you would never go into society ; that you would have none of the ordinary ambitions mattered nothing. I thought that you would go your way and that I should go mine. Perhaps our ways would lie together, side by side. Perhaps they would lie apart. I thought that a man of your powers would at once accept the position and concede equality.' 'You should have put it forward as a condition of marriage before, not after.' 'I oucrht to have done so. I was wrong.' 'You would have found many men, I 22 THE REBEL QUEEN dare say, ignoble enougli to take your hand on that or any other condition.' ' I trusted too much to my reasoning powers— too mucli to your hberal mind.' ' Examinations cannot change the laws of nature. Man is Master.' ' Let us talk no more, tlien.' She rose — they botli rose ; they faced each other again. The man's face w^as hard and fixed ; the woman's, softer now, her eyes suffused with tears. ' Emanuel, one word more, and then, if you choose, then — you can leave me.' 'Say that word.' ' I think that we may still be happy. Let there be no question as to mastery or of submission between us at all. The house will be managed Avithout your advice : you can pursue your own studies in your own way. Leave me to my own way. Let me stand beside you unquestioned. Let me follow my own path, whether I climb beside you or above you, or whether I sink below you. Leave me free to act, free to speak, free to come and go as I please, as my reason and THE SLAVE OF MAN 23 the purpose of my life may lead me. Hush I Don't speak yet — one moment ! You know that I shall do nothing to bring any shade of dishonour upon your name, which will be an lionoured name. Oh ! There is no other man in the world to whom I would humble myself so far as this. But for you — Emanuel ! Look round you. This great house is yours ; these servants are yours ; the library is yours — everything is yours. I am your— your — - equal. You shall sit in peace to work and meditate, with no care for your daily bread. We will walk together side by side. We will take counsel together. To be able to carry out your work, does not that tempt you ? Only leave me — leave me free ! ' ' No,' he said, ' that is no marriage where the wife is suffered to go free. It is dis- honour for the husband — it is disgraceful for the wife.' She sio'hed aorain. The man was in- flexible. Had he but turned his head, had lie but lifted his eyes, had he made the slightest gesture, she might have yielded to 24 THE REBEL QUEEN him. For in her heart she owned him for her Master ; he was her Master in will, her Master in intellect, her Master in strength and purpose ; in nobility and in generosity she had proved him her own Master. In one thing only she was his equal — in her pride. He waited. Had she anything more to say? 'You must go, then, Emanuel,' she said sadly. * You will go out to your own life. I cannot bear to think that you may possibly be in want while I am so rich — so rich.' ' I shall not starve.' ' I know that you would die rather than take money from me ; but, Emanuel, if you should be sick and suffering ' ' There are hospitals, and there are our own People.' ' Not mine any longer. I give them up with my husband ; I renounce the People, I belong to them no longer. Your old tra- ditions, your jumble and jargon of ceremonies and superstitions, I will follow no longer. I THE SLAVE OF MAN 2$ throw them off! ' With a fine gesture she renounced her People and her rehgion. He shook his head. "You cannot re- nounce your People. Any other man or woman may renounce his race and enter another nation : you cannot. None of us may renounce our People : on our faces there is a mark set — the seal of the Lord — by which we know each other and are known by the world. Your People — you can no more change them than you can shake off that seal and sign.' 'You cannot, I suppose, make me obey the law ? ' ' No, I cannot. Farewell, Isabel — still my wife. Live out your life in your own way. I shall not interfere. You will make many acquaintances but no friends. The only friends of life are those of childhood. As we are born so we live. You will lead a life of intellectual luxury, a life without love or children ' — she smiled but he did not observe it — ' a joyless, loveless, childless, friendless 26 THE REBEL QUEEN life. When you are tired of it send for me and I will return to you.' He turned, and slowly walked out of the room. When the door closed, his wife threw out her arms ; it might have been a gesture of appeal, or of weakness, or of wrath, or of impatience, or of all four. In spite of her boasted equality she was beaten : the man would concede nothing to her, not even her own freedom : he would make no compromise, he was going back to the world of poverty, he would work with his own hands : she knew his pride and his firmness ; he would be Master or nothing. She, for her part, would live in splendour and great wealth : while he But she would be his equal or she would not be his wife. She went out of tlie drav/ing-room and looked over the stairs into the hall below. Her husband walked slowly down tlie stairs and across the hall, turning his head neither to the right nor to the left. He THE SLA VE OF MAN 27 opened the street door and -went out, shutting it behind him. The wife siiihed ao^ain. When she turned she found a httle old woman — not really very old, but she looked very old — with brown skin and wrinkled face, beside her. ' Melkah,' she said, ' I am beautiful, am I not ? ' 'There is no woman in the Avorld so beautiful.' ' And I am dressed as a beautiful woman should ? ' ' The Queen of Sheba could not be better dressed.' ' He is made of stone, Melkah. I put on my best to welcome and to move him. If ever I was attractive in the eyes of man it was to-night. I looked in the glass and saw tliat I was very beautiful. I thought that his stubborn will would give way at sight of this my beauty. Oh ! I am ashamed, because I hoped to conquer — not through my reason or for the justice of my case, but through his weakness. But he has no weakness. He 28 THE REBEL QUEEN loved me once ; he is a man made for love. If I had been the king's favourite decking myself out by order of the king I could not have looked more beautiful. But he is made of stone. His eyes never softened, his cheek never flushed ; yet I know him, I know him. Oh ! at a word, if I had but spoken that word — if I had but yielded — there would have been softening enough. It is not that he now scorns what once he loved. Oh ! no — no — no — I am not jealous of Emanuel. No other woman could ever be to him what I have been. No — no — I am not jealous.' ' Yet man is man/ said the old woman. * And he is your husband.' ' If not even my beauty could move him — oh! I know — wealth, ease, luxury have no charms for him. You cannot tempt him with the common things. And I humiliated my- self in trying the only thing — the weapon of every woman — my own beauty. I paraded myself before his eyes. I am ashamed, Melkah.' *If a woman cannot persuade by sweet THE SLAVE OF MAN 29 looks and sweet voice, how shall she prevail ? And he is yonr husband.' ' No, Melkah, he is my husband no more. He would be Master — that or nothincr. Master ! — my Master — mine ! ' She laughed bitterly. * I am to obey him in all things ; to ask his will ; to beg his permission. He would be Master or nothing. Then let him be nothing. Let him return to the poverty where I found him. My Master? — mine? No, Melkah, no ! ' ' Yet he is a man. And it is the nature of a man to be Master.' ' It is best that we should part. There shall be no question who is Master of myself.' ' Nay,' said the old woman, ' a wife is best with her husband. He is the Master : woman must obey. It is so written. We are so made. It is the Lord's own doing.' There fell upon their ears the sound of an infant's cry — it is a feeble cry, but it can be heard over the whole of a great house. 'The child, Melkah, the child! Oh! I did not tell him — I took care not to tell him. 30 THE REBEL QUEEN He does not know that he has a child, a child of the submissive sex, the obedient sex. He never shall know. A loveless, childless, joy- less life he said I should lead. Shall I ? He does not know ; he never shall know. Let lis run to the child, Melkah. I come, my sweet ! ' She cried aloud, as if the infant of three months could understand, but mothers are so. ' I come, my darling ! Mother comes ! ' II UNDER THE LAMPLIGHT SEVENTEEN YEARS LATER At the open window of a room on the en- tresol of the Grand Hotel, Charing Cross, sat a girl. Over her head she had thrown a wrap of some warm, soft, white stuff, and she leaned her head out of the window, look- ing down upon the street, and upon the people in the street. The time was eleven in the evening, when the many theatres of the Strand turn out their congregations UNDER THE LAMPLIGHT 31 and the stream of life is at its fullest. It was, moreover, a niglit in June, in the height of the season. London was full ; the crowds of the streets were made up of Londoners proper, EngUsli visitors from the country, Americans by the thousand, Gauls, Teutons, Muscovites, Cappadocians, Greeks, and Meso- potamians — yea, from the Isles and from far Cathay, from China and Malay and Melanesia ; for all mankind in June rejoices to acknow- ledge that London is Queen of the cities of the world. The people streamed along the pavement below the cjirl at the window : omnibuses drove up at the corner ; the people fought for places ; the incense of their cigarettes and cigars and pipes ascended to the entresol — yea, even as high as the first floor : the girl watched and listened as they passed her. In the broad road beyond the pavement the hansom cabs flashed meteoric lights as they drove rapidly along. ' Mother,' said the girl — she spoke English perfectly, but with a shghtly foreign accent — 32 THE REBEL QUEEN ' this is wonderful. We have never seen any- thing hke this in all our travels. Oh, this is London ! Oh, it is London ! It is my own birthplace ! Oh, what crowds ! Oh, what a wealth of life ! This is better than the parks that we saw this afternoon ; better than the broad, silent squares ; better even than the streets, with the lovely shops.' The elder lady — she was not much more than forty — put down the book she was read- ing, rose and stood beside her daughter. To- gether they looked down upon this full and flowing stream. ' Yes,' said the mother, * it is a wonderful crowd. There is nothing so wonderful as London in all the world ; nothing so pleasant, if it were not for the detestable climate. We have kept the best to the last, dear. Shall you be pleased to settle down after all our wandering ? ' ' I don't know. I remember nothing but wandering. I think I like changing the towns. Of course, hotels are alike every- where, but the language outside is different.' UNDER THE LAMPLIGHT 33 'We will give up the hotels and settle down in a house of our own.' ' Hadn't w^e better stay in a hotel, mother ? You see, we know our way about in a hotel, and everything is done for us. In a house w^e should have to tliink of things for ourselves. Suppose the waiting went Avrong ? ' ' We will have a housekeeper, my dear. She will provide for us. Don't be afraid of the waiting. Yes, it is a truly wonderful crowd ; I tliink it is growing thicker. That is, I suppose, because the theatres are empty- ing.' ' I should like to stay here and to look at the crowd every night. Oh, what a crowd it is ! The people cannot move ; they are all jammed up together. See, they are quite good-humoured — they laugh and sing ! Now the pressure is relieved ; they go on again. I wonder who they are — all of them, so many thousands — every one of them the centre of the whole world, just as important to himself as I am. Isn't that wonderful to think of .^ VOL. 1. D 34 THE REBEL QUEEN As many girls in the world, so many Francescas.' ' With a difference, my child. With a difference.' * I wonder who they are,' she repeated, ' Every one with his life behind and his life before ! Look at the gleaming lights in the road : look at the rows of lamps ! And, oli ! look again at the crowd — the endless crowd ! Who are they ? What do they think about ? ' 'The mystery of the crowd lies only in your own brain, Francesca. These people are mostly quite common folk— prosaic, unin- teresting.' ' Oh ! But here and there a poet, mother — there must be here and there a young poet, his mind hred with the crowd — or a young musician, or a young painter.' ' Perhaps. Mostly clerks, shop-girls, shopmen, students, going home after the theatre. Some of them are visitors like our- selves, people who are staying at hotels. Most of them are people who live in London UNDER THE LAMPLIGHT 35 and have to work for their daily bread. In the evening they are free : in the daj'-time they are bondsmen. They must work or they would starve.' ' Strange ! To work or starve ! It seems so terrible ! ' 'It is not terrible, because it is the common lot. What all alike endure is never intolerable. Besides, they say that the com- mon lot is growing slowly better. We who are w^ealthv and need not work share the common lot in other ways. For instance, the common lot is to endure pain and to die before our time, because of ignorance. Yet ■yve do not feel it intolerable. As for these people, they are always removed from starva- tion by a certain number of days — months — years — for which provision has been made by saving. You need not pity the crowds Francesca. Eemember, the many must work for the few. It is the social law : it cannot be evaded. The many ' — this lady had large possessions, and was, therefore, perfectly clear ir2 36 THE REBEL QUEEN on this point — 'the many,' she repeated, ' must work for the few. There is no help for them. They must ! — they must ! ' ' Do any of the people down below work for us, I wonder ? ' ' Very likely — in some indirect way. We have money, for instance, invested in Govern- ment securities. The dividends paid on these have to be raised by taxes. Sometimes it is a direct tax, more often an indirect tax. People have got to work in order to pay these taxes first, before they get anything at all for themselves. So that, you see, all these people down below are working for us.' ' Don't you feel rather ashamed, mother, sometimes, to think that people are working for you ? ' 'No. I remember that it is the natural law. One man is so clever and so industrious that he not only pays his share of the taxes and gets enough of everything to make himself comfortable, but he also puts money by and invests it in those stocks, and so begins to make people work for him. Money would be UNDER THE LAMPLIGHT 37 of no use if people were not made to work for those who have it. Never be ashamed of your wealth, Francesca. Eatlier rejoice that your forefatliers were prudent and wise.' The young lady made no answer to this brief lesson in political economy. ' We shall never — never — never,' the matron continued, ' abolish the advantage of being strong. We can protect the weak by laws and police, but the strong will always trample on them in the long run. Originally, when all had to go hunting for the daily food, the strong man let the weak man catch the deer and then killed him for it. In course of time this method was found to be a waste of material. So the strono^ man left off killinor the weak man, and made a slave of him instead. Then the slave hunted for liis master every day. The same thing continues to the present day, and always will continue. Now and then the strong become weak, and are in their turn enslaved. Most of the people you see down below are the weak ; consequently, they have to spend their lives 38 THE REBEL QUEEN making money for their masters. They stand at counters and sell things for their masters ; they do all sorts of things for the money which finds them food and shelter ; they must do all sorts of things ; they have no choice but to work or starve ; therefore they are slaves. In this country they are very cleverly allowed to call themselves free ; they even boast of their freedom and congratulate themselves upon the great cleverness they have shown in winning their freedom ; yet all those who work at another man's bidding are slaves. Freedom — real freedom — only exists with those who have acquired wealth. Servitude can never be abolished.' ' But you are always trying to abolish slavery for women, mother.' ' I want equal rights for women and for men. The strong woman must have as much freedom as the strong man : as much right to exercise her strength, which is strength of mind, not of body. For the weak woman I ask no more than is accorded to the weak man. She shall have whatever rights he has.' UNDER THE LAMPLIGHT 39 ' Yes. It must be dreadful, all the same, to be weak. There are a great many women in the street. Are they working women ? ' ' Whatever they are, my dear, they are what the men have made them, for they are still the slaves of men. What we would give them by the aid of the stronger woman is some kind of independence. At present they are, as you say, down below.' She returned to her chair. The girl relapsed into silence, watching, watching. Presently she began again, compelled to speak of the crowd. ' Mother, there is no end to the people. Where do they come from? Where are they going to ? It is like the march- past of a great army. There were crowds in Paris, but nothing like this. Suppose it was the resur- rection of all the dead men and dead w^omen that ever were — marching, marching, march- ing past, under the moon and in the lamp^ light. Their faces would be white like the faces of these people, going on to meet the new life, whatever it may be. I . see the 40 THE REBEL QUEEN expectancy iii their eyes. Some of them are afraid. All are anxious.' ' Francesca, you are dreaming.' 'They might be dead, these people ; their faces show so white, they langli no longer, they are quite grave. They talk because, you see, when people have been dead ' ' Francesca ! No more dreams.' But she rose again and looked out of the window her- self. ' Their faces are white partly because the light that falls upon them makes them look pale, partly because London people are mostly pale, from working too hard. The English people differ from all other people in the world, for they not only work because they must, but they work because they like it. We are not in Naples, my daughter, where no one will work if he can help it ; nor in Paris, where most men hate work — but in London, where it is the nature of man to work. He loves it ; he works with zeal ; he works himself to death. He is the best worker in the world — that is what makes him look so pale.' UNDER THE LAMPLIGHT 41 The orirl was silent af]^ain for a wliile. Presently she looked up and said — ' Mother, I have made it out, the tune to which they tramp along. It is a fine marcli- int by death. We parted by mutual CGikx^: ' Why , mother ? ' 6 You are so like tim sott'^^":^'' "^^ t dear that I tremble onfy : You haTe his eyes exactly. Your v-:^: :-e is ?e !i*:r his that I seem to hear him sr y -r, Franeesca, le^JT! t!i?J^ there ^.^ Ji^ve: :_ _r whole world r man, a more t.TL tt loTer, a nobler laaD. or a deTerer m^jn, Zd seemed to know everythii^— ' _ _ > r^ure, science — everything He had a way ■ — a magnetic way — of com tI i i: you ; while be talked yon w^ . r : ;_ _ . - . : .. : of yourself; 48 THE REBEL QUEEN he made your mind follow his whithersoever he pleased ; he held you rapt as long as he chose. Why, I remember, even at the mo- ment when I was sending him away, feeling that if he only chose, if only he willed, I should tremble and sink at his feet and give up everything. He knew that he could compel me, but he gave me — he actually gave me out of his goodness — the very free- dom that he refused in words. He might have compelled obedience by a look, and he knew it. There was never a more wonderful man. Sometimes, when he spoke of great things, lofty things, I seemed to listen to a prophet. Never have I met any man so great as Emanuel ' — her voice dropped — ' Emanuel Elveda.' ' But why, mother, why ? ' ' I was always, free from the beginning. My father never exacted obedience. I read all the books about the rights of women. I thought, when I married, that my husband, a man of science, would readilv fall in with my opinions. I foolishly thought that reason UNDER THE LAMPLIGHT 49 Was stronger than religion. He was an Oriental in many ways, and when the occa- sion arose he demanded submission. It was a month after our marriage. I refused. We parted for a year by consent. He returned more obstinate than ever. To all my argu- ments he had but one reply. " It is the law of the Lord," he said ; " the woman is sub- ject to the man." ' * What did he mean by the law of the Lord .P ' ' In the sacred book it is so written. My dear, the Orientals — Moslem, Jew, or Buddh ist — all believe that woman must obey man, by the law of the Lord. The Christian holds the same belief, but he does not proclaim it quite so clearly. He will not, however, suffer women to preach in the churches, or to be- come priestesses of his mysteries, or to be- come lawyers, or to sit in Parliament, or to hold office. Some of them, like the Jews, put the women in a separate part of their churches, as if they were not worthy to sit with the men ; and some of them will not VOL. I. E 50 THE REBEL QUEEN suffer them so much as to sing in the choir. When rehgion seems to teach a thing, custom grows up round it and makes it ahnost im- pregnable. In your case, my dear, you have been left free to find for yourself the religion that satisfies your soul.' ' And so you parted.' ' So we parted. My dear, it drove me nearly mad to remember afterwards what I had lost. Yet I was right — a hundred times right. To break through the wall of custom was worth any loss. We j)arted so. He left me, proud and unyielding. I have never seen him since. He is dead. Of that I am certain, or I should long since have heard of him. He would have made some great dis- covery. He must be dead.' ' Poor mother ! ' Francesca had thrown herself upon a footstool, and was holding her mother's hands. ' When I parted from him I parted from all my people — from all his people — from all my friends. I went out alone into the world with you, child, and with Melkah. I found UNDER THE LAMPLIGHT --51 peace in wandering, and in observing, and in working. The world knows now how well I have worked.' ' I am glad j^ou have told me, mother. It explains so much that I never understood. It bring^s me closer to the world.' When Madame Elveda sent her husband away she carried into effect her resolution to separate from her own people and her own relio^ion — one of the relisions whicli make of woman the inferior of man. This was not difficult. She transferred tlie manas^ement of her great fortune — it consisted chiefly in re- ceivincT dividends — from Jewish to Christian hands ; her cousins and friends, who were Parisians, and of her own people, allowed her to leave them unnoticed ; she had 2^one out of the people ; she took her maid Melkc\h, the Syrian Jewess, and her baby, and she went awa5^ She gave up friends and cousins and everything, and went away. For a long time nobody heard anything about her. Now, if a cousin goes away, and stays away, and E 2 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY 52 THE REBEL QUEEN makes no sign, one ceases to tliink about him or to talk about him. In Madame Elveda's case her great fortune kept her from being altogether forgotten ; moreover, rumours reached Paris, where she was remembered. She was seen at Florence, she was seen at Venice, she passed a winter at Malaga. They knew that she was living, and that she had a child. As for her husband, no one knew what had become of him — he was gone. The people in Paris learned further, from time to time, that their cousin had become a very dignified and stately person, most diffi- cult of access, even impossible of access, to any of her own People. She had left the religion. Pity — a thousand pities — that so much money should go away from the People and the family I Then the cousins in Paris were startled rather than pleased by the appearance of a work. It appeared simultaneously in English, French, German, Italian, and Eussian ; it was pubhshed at the same time in London, New York, Paris, Berlin, St. Petersburg, and Eome UNDER THE LAMPLIGHT 53 — a bulky volume crammed with facts and statistics, stories and illustrations. This work was called ' Woman in Western Europe,' and it was written by Isabel Elveda. The book, although so big and bulky, was published at an absurdly low price, so that everybody could get it. Unfortunately, it was too complex : it proved an encyclop£edia of information on the subject, but was almost as difficult to read as a blue book. However, the reputation of the author was made for life. She had written the book on this great subject. The position of woman in Europe from the fourth century to the present time was fully and powerfully treated — what she suffered, how she endured ; what she suffers now as wife, as mother, as worker in field and factory, shop and workroom. It was a terrible book to those who had time to read it through ; nearly every paper in the world had articles upon it, and then — people remembered the author and forgot the book. This is the way of things. You move the world easily by a faithful presentation of the truth : the world likes to 54 THE REBEL QUEEN be moved. Then the world goes on to be moved by something else. The only thmg is to keep on hammering. Now, in the great question of woman, her work and her pay, her hours and lier treatment, what we fondly call ' interests ' are concerned. Many a noble income w^ould become slender if Madame Elvedci's doctrines prevailed. Where incomes must be considered, abstract rights must be neglected. I do not think that Madame Elveda's book has advanced the cause of woman's freedom by one single step. The ' interests,' you see, are colossal and wide- spread : they range from the great and powerful manufacturer to the husband of the laundress. It was very shortly after the appearance of this book that Madame Elveda returned to England. Her daughter was now seventeen — more Continental in her ways of thinking than Englisli. The mother wished to complete her child's education in the country where she was born. She proposed, by tlie help of her book, of tlie cause for which she wrote, and UNDER THE LAMPLIGHT 55 her great wealth, to take some kind of position in society — and that still apart from her own people. She no longer called herself a Jewess. She told Francesca — what was doubtless half true — that they were Spanish Moors. Some of the anciently settled Jews of Spain did go over with the Moors. They were Spanish Moors. ' Good nio'ht, child,' said the mother. You have seen enough to-day, and you have heard enougli. Your eyes are too bright. Good night ! and sleep long and well.' When she was left alone, slie drew out a letter, which she opened and read. ' For twenty years ' — the letter was from her agent — ' the money settled upon your husband on your marriage has been paid to the London bank. I have recently learned that not a single cheque has ever been presented. Is he alive ? If not, why do you have this money continued ? Of course, fifty thousand francs a year is nothing to you ; but why pay the money needlessly.^ And why not cause in- quiries to be made ? If he is dead, why not ascertain the fact ? ' 56 THE REBEL QUEEN ' He is dead,' she murmured. ' He must be dead long since. Else he would have done some great thing : his name would long since be noised abroad over the whole world. Yet the money must be paid until we know.' In her own room, Francesca obediently went to bed. But her brain was excited : she could not sleep. The revelation of her mother's history, the great crowd of people, excited her and drove sleep away. She rolled her head upon the pillow ; she opened her eyes in the dark room to chase away the thoughts that were like spectres. At last she sprang out of bed and pulled back the curtains to let in the light from the lamps below. Then she put a wrapper over her head and shoulders, and opened the window softly and looked out again. It was past one o'clock. The crowd had all gone. Now and then a man walked quickly along, now and then a policeman with heavy footfall passed under the windows ; there were no more hansoms, no more omnibuses. The air was cool and fresh — Francesca shivered UNDER THE LAMPLIGHT 57 and clrevv her wrapper closer. Two w^onien passed along under her window ; they were talking, tliey stopped below the lamplight. Francesca leaned out, listening. One of them seemed to be comforting the other. Why did they not go home like all the rest ? Then one broke the sobs. She wept aloud — she threw up her arms. She cried — ' Oh, my GOD ! I am so miserable ! ' Francesca put out her head further. ' Why are you miserable? ' she cried. The two below clutched each other by the hand. It was like a voice from the skies. ' Why are we miserable ? ' they echoed. ' Are you unjustly treated ? Come to- morrow and see my mother. Shall I give you some money ? ' The two girls below looked up. ' It's — it's — a young lady,' one cried. ' She is look- ing out of window.' Then they ran away as fast as they could. Francesca did not, there- fore, learn why they were so miserable. Now no one was left in the street at all. Why was this woman crying in her misery ? 58 THE REBEL QUEEN The girl lay down again, left the window open, and returned to her bed, where she lay till the sky was red with the morning — thinking, thinking. All the things that her mother had told her, all that were wnitten in her mother's book, crowded tumultuously into her head. When at length she went to sleep a long procession drifted before her eyes — a proces- sion of women. When she awoke in the morning, that weeping woman nnder the lamplight came back to her. She was the woman of all women — the woman of Paris, the woman of Eome, the woman of Naples, the woman of Berlin, the woman of Vienna — she stood for all. She threw up her arms in the name of all the women ; she cried aloud, ' Oh, my GOD ! I am so miserable ! ' At breakfast she appeared with pale cheeks and eyes red with watching. ' Mother,' she said, ' let us go back to v/hat we said last night. If I wished, you said, I might do something. Well — if I wished — if I wished — you wished and you UNDER THE LAMPLIGHT 59 made a great sacrifice. But I don't know if I could do that — but — if I wished — what could I do ? ' She was nervous and shaken. She hardly understood what she said. Her mother kissed her and answered lightly. To answer seriously would have done no good. Enough that the girl was moved. ' What can you do, my dear ? You can first take a cup of tea. We talked too much last night. You were excited with everything. As for what you can do, if you wish — well — 3'ou are as yet too young to do anything. Y^ou are a young lady, not yet come out of the hands of your tutors and teachers.' So Francesca sat down and took some tea, and brake bread, and was comforted. Her mother went on talkino- of thinofs indifferent. ' You must be " finished," as they say. Y^ou know that a modern girl is a very fine work of art. ISTo Greek statue can compare with a modern girl. Think of what she knows ! Two or three languages, music, painting, good or bad. She can write verses, perhaps — novels, perhaps ; she has manners ; 6o THE REBEL QUEEN she can dress, which is in itself a fine art ; she is able to talk about most things intelli- gently ; nowadays she has a little science. The elementary woman — body and brain — is the lay figure on which all this superstructure is built ; it is completely hidden away and forgotten : no human being was ever so far from primitive man as the modern girl. The original girl is lost — forgotten. When I think of the thincf, I am amazed that we can so transform a woman. Well, my dear, you are getting on : when you are turned out, finished, you will then wish, choose, act, think, and work as you please. You will have for nothing, my dear, all the freedom for which I have paid so much.' 6i CHAPTEE I THE GRAND REFUSAL Madame Elveda's drawing-room — one of the very largest drawing-rooms in one of the very largest houses in Cromwell Eoad — lent itself admirably to that amusement which is always delightful to the performers, and occasionally to the spectators — the amateur drama. It consisted of one big room and one not so big. The latter made an admir- able stage ; the former an excellent audi- torium. This evening there was a performance, but the big room was empty save for Madame Elveda, who sat alone and looked on. She w^as herself at once audience, stage manager, and critic. The play was written by her daugliter. 62 THE REBEL QUEEN who also played the principal part. It was called ' The Eebel Queen,' and was a play in three short acts. At this house a play very often filled up part of the evening, but never the whole of it — a practice which greatly increased the popularity of the house. The reason is obvious. In society everybody — especially every girl — would like to play the principal part all the evening through, and when one has to sit and look on at other girls playing, one might just as well be in the stalls at once. But this was only a full-dress rehearsal. The curtain drawn aside showed an in- terior — a room— one end of a large room. Along the sides were pillars of marble ; between the pillars were curtains or hangings of white, green, and blue silk, fastened with purple cords ; the pavement was of marble, white, blue, red, and black in patterns ; the back of the room was partly open to what seemed an extensive garden (Madame Elveda's conservatory), and partly hung with the silk curtains. These gently waved and THE GRAND REFUSAL 6 J swayed, as if moved by the evening breeze, and there was wafted into the auditorium (the large drawing-room) a heavy, languid joerfume, breathing rest and happy dreams and thouQ-hts of love. <_ ' A room in the Harem ! Yashti's own room in the Palace of Shushan — Yashti, the Queen and favourite of Ahasuerus, wdio reigns from India even to -<:Ethiopia. Very good,' said the audience, reading from a type-written copy of the play. ' Push back the pillars a little — so. Get all the effect you can of breadth and length — that is much better. The Palace of Shushan gave the Queen large and airy rooms. The fragrance was a very happy thought, Francesca. What is it ? ' ' Jessamine and orange-blossom,' Fran- cesca made reply from the couch on which slie was lying ; ' I will add some stephanotis for the evening. It must be a heavy fra- grance — languid — intoxicating.' This couch, which lay across the room at the end, was the onl}^ piece of furniture. It was of white marble, but it was piled with 64 THE REBEL QUEEN cushions or pillows of silk. A lion's skin lay over the lower part, the head and fore-legs hanging down. There was lion's skin on the floor, and there were other silken cushions lying about. A guitar or mandoline stood in a corner. The time was evening, and the moonlight lay upon the palms and orange- trees outside. A hanging lamp threw a soft coloured light over the room ; there was not light enough to read by, nor was there light enough to work by ; but in the Queen's room at evening no one wanted either to read or to work. There was light enough to see the Queen's beauty : light enough for talking — singing — dancing. What more light can one want ? ' The shade over the lamp is too modern,' said the audience. 'You must have a lamp- yet ... I wonder what they used to do in Assyria for lamp- shades .^ ' ' We will have coloured glass,' Francesca replied. ' No one knows how ancient glass is.' ' Very well — and no one will inquire, I dare say. Stand up, girls. Let me see your THE GkAND REFUSAL 65 dresses. Yes, very good indeed ; you look really as if you had stepped straight out of the British Museum. Capital! Now go back to your positions. Y — yes. Could not the grouping — remember, you are the Queen's handmaidens — be improved a little ? Do not turn your heads in this direction at all — you must have eyes for nothing but the Queen. While Melkah continues her story you must convey the impression that you are watching the Queen as well as listening to the story. Clara, my dear, you are going to sing. Take the lute and touch it gently from time to time : that shows you are thinking of your own duties ; and, besides, a note of music now and then sets off the voices. Shall you have the dance to-night ? ' ' Everything,' said Francesca. * This is our last chance of improving the thing.' ' Very well, dear. Now we will go on, if you please.' On the couch piled with cushions lay a girl — Francesca Elveda herself — not sleeping, but dreamily, with eyes half-opened. She VOL. I. F 66 THE REBEL QUEEN lay upon her side, hei^ head upon her arm. She was young — one could see so much in the soft light — perhaps twenty. A hght silk robe covered her from head to foot ; her figure, outlined beneath it, was partly shown by the moonlight which fell upon the lower part of the couch. Her eyes, which were soft, glowed and gleamed in the warm red lamplight. This was Queen Yashti, in whose beauty the King delighted. At her head stood a girl with a large feather fan. Half a dozen girls — they were the Queen's hand- maidens — lav or sat about the room in various attitudes — the hardness of the pavement being mitigated by the cushions. One leaned against the pillar, another sat in Oriental fashion, a third lay prone, a fourth pillowed her head in the lap of the first, one took the mandoline, and, as the audience had sug- gested, touched the strings from time to time. And a little old woman, wrinkled multitu- dinously, sat in the midst and told a story, while all listened. But, either because they were bad actors, or because they were anxi- THE GRAND REFUSAL 67 Oils not to lose the least movement of their mistress, or because they were supposed to know the story already, they listened care- lessly. The last theory best explains their indifference, because the Oriental storyteller's repertoire, though extensive, is well known to Oriental listeners. No new story is ever invented. All the stories turned upon love ; upon terrible Jinns, who frightened nobody, and upon the wonderful good fortune that transformed a simple girl in the seraglio into the favourite of the King. However, the old woman went on, chant- ing in a shrill monotone, just as the modern Arab reads his Koran. ' So,' she said, ' when the Jinn found that he was caught, and could in no way escape unless he promised to obey the two girls who had trapped him, he consented. '' Tell me," he said, " what you would have." Then the first girl replied, " I would have love — the love of the greatest king that lives — I would be Queen of the Harem ; I would have slaves and chamberlains, and a crown of gold, F 2 6S "THE REBEL QUE EM and silk robes, and bangles and chains, and " "Enough," said the Jinn ; "all this I can get for both of yon." But the other shook her head. " I desire," she said, " to be the slave of no man. Let me, alone among women, be free." " That also can be done," said the Jinn. So he sware by the Holy Name, and they let him out. And he was a righteous Jinn, who feared the Holy Name, and, therefore, he kept his promise, and it happened unto these two maidens as he promised, so that they obtained what they desired. To one came love. She was desired by a king as great as King Ahasuerus, whose empire is from India even unto Ethiopia. And the King delighted in her beauty, and gave her slaves to wait upon her, and cham- berlains to guard' her, and handmaidens to v/atch over her beauty, and robes broidered wdth gold and pearls, and gleaming with diamonds— she became just such a Queen as Vashti herself.' Here Vashti shook her head impatiently. ' And the days passed by, and, while other women grew old and lost their THE GRAND REFUSAL ^ beauty, this Queen remained young, and grew always day by day more beautiful. So faithful was that Jinn. 'But the other mrl — she who desired free- dom, which is a madness in woman — also obtained her desire. When the Jinn left her she returned home. And lo ! her beauty departed from her ; therefore she was not given in marriage, and she was scorned by the women, and despised by the men. So she lived apart and alone, and became a wise woman. All diseases she could cause or cure ; they sought her from every harem ; men feared her ; she could compel rain for the thirsty land, or could keep it off; the serpents obeyed her, and the lion lay down before her. But she was alone, and no man ever loved her.' ' But she was free,' said Yashti. ' She was free. Which was happier, the slave of love or the free woman ? ' ' Nay,' the old woman replied ; ' the free woman was like the first wife of the first man, of whom the Jews relate that she would 70 THE REBEL QUEEN not obey her husband, wherefore she was driven forth, and is now a she-devil, and the companion of Jinns, and rages against the children of the woman who took her place, because they should have been her children had she been submissive.' The girls sat up and stretched themselves. The history moved them not. They knew it all beforehand, yet, like children, they wanted to hear it over and over again. As for them- selves, they had no adventures ; nothing ever happened to the maidens of the harem ; they had no choice and no chance ; the King would not delight in them ; they languished in the soft airs of the house set in the midst of gardens ; they were loveless and childless, they were slaves who waited on the Queen. Perhaps they still' hoped, long after the thing was hopeless, to find favour in the King's sight. Vashti raised her head again. ' The woman who was free,' she said, dreamily ; ' the woman who was free. Strange ! To be free ! Melkali, the Syrian, have you no more stories to tell me of the woman who was THE GRAND REFUSAL 71 free ? I am sick of the woman who submits and is a shive. We are all slaves. Yes — yes — I know ; it is our lot — and yet ' ' I have none such, Queen ! Except this story of the woman who was a witch, and the story of the First Wife, who dis- obeyed the King, and is now an evil spirit, there are no stories of women who are free. Women cannot be free ; they obey those who fioflit for them. He who fiirhts is Lord. So have the gods ordained ; so is it best for us.' ' Sing to me,' said Yashti, lying back again, and closing her eyes, Then the maiden whom Madame Elveda had called Clara stood up, holding the man- doline, and sang to it, playing a soft and gentle air, a song of the seraglio in praise of the King's favourite : — Lo ! sbe cometli, bright as "break of day ; Fair as crescent moon, slie cometli forth : Queen of him whom all the lands obey — Yea, from East to West and South to North. In a garden walled and fenced roimd, Lo ! the fountain sealed, the liviDg well. Where the spices linger is she found, There she lietb, where the roses dwell. 72 THE REBEL QUEEN Trees of frankincense and spices sweet, Palm and calamus and trellised vine, Play their shifting shadows round her feet, Make for her a fair and fitting shrine. Lilies lift for her their petals red, Grapes in purple clusters wait for her ; Where she steps her maidens strew and spread Fragrance of the myrtle and the myrrh. '' O thou fairest ! ' boughs and leaves and trees— * thou fairest ! ' fruit and flowers sing ; '■ thou fairest ! ' sighs the lovesick breeze In the fenced garden of the King. In the last verse all the girls took up the words, ' thou fairest ! ' in a kind of chorus to the single voice singing ' Boughs and leaves and trees,' and in the last line they all sang together : — In the fenced garden of the King. ' A garden — a garden enclosed — is the King's Favourite,' said Melkah, the storyteller. ' A spring shut up, a fountain sealed ; she is a fountain of gardens, a well of living waters and streams from Lebanon. Thus sayeth the wise King, the great King, he who wrote the Song of Songs. He loved much, but this song he wrote for the woman he loved the most.' THE GRAND REFUSAL 7.3 The Queen paid no heed to the song or to the singer, or to the flatteries of the old woman. She lay, head on hand, gazing straight before her, her eyes like two stars gleaming in the lamplight. The singer laid down the mandoline, and waited for a word of approval. None came. She sat down again, and all were silent, watching their mistress. Then the Queen caught her breath quickly, and lifted her head — ' Sing to me : dance to me. Drive my thoughts away from me ! ' she cried. Two of the maidens sprang to their feet, and, taking hands, began to dance. It was a dance of posture and attitude — slow, graceful, quiet : the girl who played the mandoline touched it gently, as if the dance were a song and as if she were playing an accom- paniment. The Queen looked on, but carelessly. The dance had no power to distract her thoughts. When they had danced for five minutes she waved her hand and the dancers ceased. 74 THE REBEL QUEEN Vasliti threw off the silken coverlet, and sprang impatiently to her feet. She was taller than the average, much taller : a mass of brown hair was coiled about her head, but her eyes were blue, a dark, deep blue : her complexion was white, with a touch of colour in the cheek — not the English ruddy touch, but the glow under the skin of the South ; she was dressed in some silken stuff that sparkled in the lamplight with gold thread and precious stones, her bare arms were laden with gold bracelets, round her ankles lay bangles and rings of gold, her fingers Vere covered with rings, round her neck lay more gold chains, gold thread gleamed in her hair. She was all gold. She threw up her arms with an impatient gesture, and stepped down tte stage. Her maidens rose and stood waitinof. ' Oh ! ' she cried. ' All day — every day — flowers and fruit, love-songs, stories of Jinns, dancing, and obedience — nothing else. I am weary — I ' Said Melkah, the old woman : ' Does the THE GRAND REFUSAL 75 Queen call jewels and gold and embroidery nothing ? She who is the King's Favourite has the whole world. Is that nothino-?' 'That free woman, Melkah, she whom no man desired, she who lived alone and was wise, and could command the rain — what is my empire compared wdth hers? Flowers and fruit, love-songs, stories of Jinns, dancing, fine robes, that is all — there is nothing more.' Melkah laughed. ' What more does the world contain ? Let the Queen have pa- tience. She has all there is to have. When youth and beauty vanish, these vanish too. Let the Queen rejoice in her youth and beauty.' Outside there arose a mighty shouting with the blare of trumpets. ' It is the King who feasts,' said Melkah. ' All the Princes of the Empire are with him. This is the seventli nii^ht of the great feast. The King's heart is glad within him. The Princes drink the King's wine in vessels of gold. May the King live for ever ! Life and youth and strength, fruit and wine, and the 76 THE REBEL QUEEN flesh of lamb and antelope, and the singing girls and the dancing girls, and the love of his Favourite. What is there to ask for more ? Is the King weary of the things for which all men pray and none but kings can enjoy in full ? Be contented, Queen, with what contents the King.' The shouting continued. Never before had the King's revelries been so loud. But it was the last night, and on the morrow the Princes would depart each to his own country. The Queen listened. ' They are hot with wine,' she said. 'They will drink more. Then they will not know what they do or say. Yet, they command, and the world must obey.' Then there were voices heard outside and steps, and the curtain was drawn aside and a burly fat negro appeared. He bowed down to the ground before the Queen. ' Speak, Harbona,' said Vashti. ' The King hath spoken. He hath said, " Call my Chamberlains, those who serve in my Palace, bid them summon Yashti the THE GRAND REFUSAL l^j Queen. Place the crown of gold upon lier head, and bring her forth so that the Prmces, my friends, and the people — yea, all the people — may behold her beauty, and learn "what manner of woman is she in whom the Kincr delio^hteth." Thus saith the Kino-/ Yashti flushed suddenly, and her cheek as suddenly changed to white. ' Say those words again,' she ordered. 'It maybe that I have not heard aright.' The slave repeated them, concluding again with the words, ' Thus saith the King.' ' Is the Kins: drunk? Is the Kinoj foolish with w^ine that he should order this thinor ? ' asked Yashti, stamping her foot on the floor. ' Have I angered the King that he should put me to this shame ? Am I a woman of the people — one who is not ashamed to lift her veil to every stranger ? Am I a woman of the Bazaar ? Am I lower than the lowest of my own handmaidens ? ' Eeplied the slave, * Thus and thus saith the King.' * Go ! ' cried Vashti. * Tell the King that 78 THE REBEL QUEEN I will not do this thing ! I will not obey him to my shame ! ' 'Nay,' replied the slave. ' But thus saith the King. On my head be it.' ' Thy head, slave? What care I for thy head ? ' ' It may be,' said Melkah — all the girls were now grouped frightened round the Queen — ' it may be that the King jests. Go back, Harbona — say that Vashti the Queen asks if this is in very truth the King's pleasure, or if the King jests. Go ! ' ' Go ! ' said Vashti, her eyes flashing. ' Go ! Ask not if the King jests — a sorry jest it were — but say that Yashti the Queen will not obey him in this thing. Go ! ' The slay,e turned and departed. All of them listened. There was no shouting — the revellers were strangely silent. 'They are waiting,' said the old woman, ' for the Queen. They are hungry for the beauty of the Queen.' Everything remained silent. Then Vashti began to take off her THE GRAND REFUSAL 79 braveries. She untwisted the gold thread which kept np her hair, so that it fell all around her like a garment ; she took off her necklaces, bracelets, bangles, and rings ; she took off the splendid robe, and stood before them in a garb simple as that of her own handmaidens. ' Sisters,' she said, ' I am no longer Yashti the Queen, I am Vasliti the handmaid ; Vashti the servant ; Yashti disgraced and despised. But I have not shown my face — oh ! the shame of it — at the King's feast before the eyes of all those men.' The girls said nothing : they were too frightened for speech. ' Melkah,' said Yashti, ' that woman who was free. Tell me more of the woman who was free.' The curtains closed. The first act was finished. Then the actresses pushed through the curtains and came running into the larger room. 'Well, mother?' asked Francesca, push- 8o THE REBEL QUEEN ing back her long liair. ' How does it go so far?' ' Very well. Don't rush it. Your dance should have been prolonged, and in the song I would use that trick of all the voices together for the first verse as well as the last. "Lo ! she Cometh," first and third line. Your dresses are very pretty, my children, and the dialogue is not too long. I congratulate you, Francesca, on the first act of your first play. Now let us have up the curtain for the second act.' Francesca and the other girl went behind the curtain. The rest all sat in front and increased the audience. When the curtain was drawn aside the second time it showed a small room with a divan running along one side of it and little other furniture except a shelf on which stood a row of phials. An earthen pitcher of water was in a corner : the divan was covered with cushions ; it was lighted by a window, over which hung a rough canvas, which kept out the light as well as the sun ; an open THE GRAND REFUSAL 8i doorway, also partly hung with canvas, opened upon a low verandali of thatch resthig on two poles. Beyond the verandah was the crowded Bazaar ; one heard, or seemed to hear, the confused murmur of bar- gains — the low voices of those who offered and the shrill tones of those who refused. This was the house of Melkah, the w^ise woman of Syria, who told stories and sold charms, and cured sick people, and had many secrets, and was in great demand in harems. Within the room Melkah herself lay huddled up in a corner of the divan — and leaning against the door-post was the tall figure of a younger woman, veiled, though there were no men present and it was a woman's room. ' It is ^^^ years,' said this figure, and the audience started, because it was the unmis- takable voice of Yashti — clear — musical — distinct — ' five years, Melkali, since I fled from the Palace and sought refuge here. Better death — if I am taken — death in its worst form — than to be the servant of my VOL. I. . G 82 THE REBEL QUEEN successor. I found shelter with thee — in this cottage near the desert, where our only danger is from the lions and the serpents.' ' Yes ; it is five years. Does Vashti remember, and lament the past ? ' ' Not so. Thou hast taught me all thy secrets ; they have forgotten me in the Palace ; the King's Chamberlains go up and down the city, but they lift not a woman's veil. No one, I think, even in the Palace, would know me now. I am quite safe. And I am free — free — free. Why hast thou sent for me, Melkah ? ' ' Yestreen I was in the Harem and I saw her — your successor, Yashti — Esther the Queen.' 'You saw her? You saw Esther the Queen, in whom the King delighteth?' said Vashti, slowly. ' She sent for me. She would speak with me secretly. She knew me for a wise woman, one who could keep secrets as well as sell charms. '' Give me," she said, " the secret of love ; I would fix the heart of the King." THE GRAND REFUSAL Z-i^ Lo, I would not understand, and presently she confessed that the Kmg is wearymg of her, and she fears her beauty is waning, and her power daily declines. So I said to her that I was a wise woman truly, but not so wise as another whom I knew ; that this was a great matter, and beyond me, but if she would come to this poor house, alone, she should see the other wise woman.' ' She will come here — to see me — Esther the Queen — to see me ! ' ' Vasliti, now is the hour of revenge. Give her that which will dry up her beauty suddenly — in a single day — so that she shall become old and withered even as I myself, Melkah the Syrian, who once was young and fair. This is thine hour, Yashti ! ' ' Nay. But revenge — why should I take revenge upon this woman ? She is a slave : I am free. She would be still a slave : I would still be free. Let her come.' Even as she spoke, a company of half-a- dozen Nubian slaves, o'uardmg; two or three women closely veiled, stopped at the house, G 2 84 THE REBEL QUEEN and, leaving her attendants under the veran- dah, one woman raised the curtain and entered the dingy room, Vashti dropped the canvas quite across the door. Then the three women were alone. Vashti lifted her own veil. Her face was thinner than when she was the King's Favourite. She had stained it a light brown, so that she looked like a Hindoo woman, but she was taller than the women of that country. There were no gold ornaments on her neck or on her arms, which were also stained like the face. The newcomer looked about her timidly. In the dim light she made out Melkah, but \^ho was the other ? ' Is this your wise woman, Melkah ? ' she asked. ' I am the wise woman,' Vashti replied in a voice of authority. 'You are young. I thought all wise women were old. When one is old ' She shuddered. ' It may be that I am older than I look. THE GRAND REFUSAL 85 It may be that the bones of my husband he buried with those of your o'reat-oTandfather, Queen.' 'You know me, then? But Melkah has tokl you. Yes. I am that — that woman whom all the world calls happy. I am Esther the Queen. Alas ! and my lord the King wearies of my beauty.' ' Your beauty fades, the King grows weary of your charms, your power is de- parting. What do you look for ? She who reigns only by virtue of her beauty is thrust from the throne when that departs. You are the Queen of a year or two. Then you must fain come down. You thought you would reign for ever, then — you — why ? ' ' No, no. Yet a little longer — a year or two longer — only a year or two longer. It is not much to ask. After that, let me sink back into a corner of the Palace, and live neglected and die forgotten.' ' You are of the Jewish race ; thev love power more than other people. It is dear to you that you can persuade the King to any- S6 THE REBEL QUEEN thing. They come to you with petitions, and you say, " Wait, wait. What the King's Favourite can do I can do." Then they praise your goodness. Oh ! I know. Let me see this face that has gained favour with the King above all other women of his Em- pire, such favour that it can overthrow great lords and save the lives of doomed people. Lift thy veil, Esther the Queen.' Esther — who was the girl called Clara — obeyed. It was as if bright sunshine sud- denly fell upon that dark room and lit up every corner of it. And at the sight of that face Vashti turned pale and trembled. For she saw and acknowledged her beauty. As for herself, she was now cold, imjoerious, and proud. This woman was fair and gentle, soft and tender smiles played about her lips and lay in her soft and tender eyes. Her cheek was touched with a rosy red, a maiden blush —a childish blush. Her fair hair was rolled up on her lovely head. ' Can you help me ? ' asked Esther. 'Wait. Let me look at you. Let me THE GRAND REFUSAL 87 tliink. There were other fair women in the Palace. Yashti — ^she who was Queen, she who refused to be shown to the Princes, she who disappeared — was slain, one thinks — she was said to be beautiful. Men change — their fancy changes from dark to fair. Why do you complain ? It is the common lot.' 'I do not complain. But I have been so happy — for five short years — and I love the King. To me he is always kind. Let him love me a little longer.' ' Fool ! It is not 3^ou that he loves — not Esther. It is your soft face and your soft eyes. Of Esther he knows nothing. He has never conversed with you. Well, one cannot keep your face from decay. Melkah will sell you cosmetics and things to smooth your skin and brighten your eyes.' ' If it is only my face that the King loves, make him love that face a little longer.' ' It is a fair face,' she said, with the cold- ness of a woman who recognises and acknow- ledges the beauty of another woman. She sees it — the thing moves her not ; but she 88 THE REBEL QUEEN acknowledges it. ' I liave seen no fairer face even among the handmaidens of the Harem. It is a fair face ; but it begins to fade. There are hnes under the eyes : the cheeks grow thin : youth flies. A few more years, and you will become like Melkah here.' The Queen's eyes filled with tears, but she said nothing. ' Take this bottle,' said Yashti, giving her a small flask from the shelf. ' Drink a few drops of this. It fires the blood, and warms the heart, and fills out the cheek. Drink of this, and for a few hours you shall seem young again. Take your year or two more. Then all will vanish — youth and beauty, charm and love. Then the corner of the Harem and oblivion. Better let night and oblivion come at once — what matters an hour more of splendour ? ' 'No — no — no — let me reign still, if only for an hour longer. Let me be strong through love a little longer.' ' Take it, then. Go, Queen of another hour ! ' THE GRAND REFUSAL 89 Tlie visitor departed. ' See, Melkali,' said Yashti, ' the woman would still be loved. She thinks herself stroiiof because she can coax and wheedle and persuade. Wh}^ so is the worm strong that works its way through the earth ; so is the child strong who persuades his motlier. Strong through love ? Nay, but women are strong through cunning and craft. They turn the love of their lords to compass their own ends. She strong through love ? She is but a slave who has a hearing. Only those women are strong who are free. I am strong. She who belongs to a man loses all her strength, if ever she had any. I would be a queen and ruler — not a queen and favourite. I would sit upon a throne, and send this man here and that man there. I would lead armies. I would raise men to great dignity and depose princes. All I have admired I would do. Since I cannot, I sit here in this cottage, and I am a wise woman. That is something. Thanks to thy instructions, Mel- kah, I am a witch. Ah ! Hadst thou told go THE REBEL QUEEN me at the Harem all tliat I know now, I would have made the King my slave and been a Queen indeed. He should have crept after me like a dog — like the dog that he is. Well, but I am a witch. I can tell the future. I can read the past. I can tell what people think and what they design. Thou hast made me a witch, good Melkah ; they are famous witches, those of thy country. Oh ! that is nothing. I am the first woman in the world who has dared to disobey her lord. I shall never be forgotten. In the days to come, when the multitude of men shall swarm round every coast and over all the isles, the name of Vashti shall be remem- bered and held in honour. Yasliti, the first to rebel ; Vashti, who refused to be the slave of man.' ' Yet it is best for a woman to be a wife and a mother,' said Melkah, still sticking to principle, though so wise a woman. ' Not for all women, good Melkah. There are some who are born to be free. They will not suffer us yet to do aught but what they THE GRAND REFUSAL 91 call woman's work — that is, the meanest and the hardest work — the spinning and tlie sew- ino' and the cleanino-. So am I fain to leave the magic arts — the wisdom of the woman — and to become a witch. There shall come a time when the free woman shall essay the wisdom and the handiwork of man. But I am satisfied — I am free — I am no longer the slave of man. The feasts and fruits and flowers, the love-songs, the gold bracelets, the dances of the Harem — what are all these, Melkah, to the free air which sweeps across the desert into my cottage beyond the city ? What are the feasts of the Palace to the herbs of my garden and my simple food ? What is the happiness of the King's Favourite, his favourite for an hour, compared with the happiness of my freedom ? I am free. First of womankind, I have gained my freedom ! I am free ! First of womankind, I am free ! ' Vashti threw out her arms ; her veil, which had been thrown back like a liood, fell down to her feet ; her hair fell with it. Her rich brown tresses fell like a long cloak 92 ., THE REBEL QUEEN around her ; slie pushed back some of them with her left hand. A ray of white sumight gleamed suddenly through the coarse canvas of the window and touched her cheek with colour, and made her eyes flash like stars. Then Melkah and the cottage disappeared suddenly ; in fact, the scenery with the old woman was suddenly pulled away, and Vashti stood in the centre of the stage. But not alone. Behind her stood, row behind row, as if they were countless in numbers — there were really five or six — figures of veiled women. You can produce this effect by two sheets of mirror glass set at an angle. On their arms were chains, some of gold and some of iron ; but all carried chains. They stood with bowed heads in silence. Then they drew nearer and surrounded her and fell upon their knees, still in silence, still with bowed heads. ' Ye are women,' said Vashti, ' therefore ye are in chains. Ye are slaves who are never set free. All other slaves shall be emancipated : the prisoners of war, the negro THE GRAND REFUSAL 93 slaves, the slaves of the soil, the slaves of the city ; the last emancipation of all shall be the emancipation of woman from man. Mothers and foremothers of slaves ! Have patience : the time of freedom shall surely some day come.' Then they tossed their arms so that the chains made music to their voices as they cried : ' Yashti the Queen ! Yashti the Eebel ! Teach us to be free ! ' And with these words the curtain fell. The play was ended. 94 THE REBEL QUEEN CHAPTER II AFTER THE PLAY The audience clapped her hands gently. The curtain was pulled up again, and the ex-Queen stepped forward. The mothers of all the slaves to come had disappeared — chains and all. 'Well, mother, how did it go? Pretty well ? ' Madame Elveda looked up smiling. ' The actress wants her praise ? The author wants ]ier applause ? My dear, I am not an im- partial critic. Yet I really think it went very well. The last tableau is a little risky, but if you have carried your audience with you in the first act, that, too, will go. Of course, I do not believe that a dull audience would be moved by the piece at all.' ' There must be some stupid persons pre- AFTER THE PLAY 95 sent, I suppose. Yet we do our best to keep the Stupids out.' ' Let us distinguish, Francesca. There is such a thing as an audience too clever or too critical. Jealousy is said to be not unknown even among poets. And there is a stupidity which admires without understanding. They weep, being uinnoved ; they laugh, not being compelled to laugh, but because others do. But they admire what they are told to admire. Always, my dear, try to have a good leaven of the commonplace. Let there be a few Stupids.' The next night was that of the perform- ance. The audience proved appreciative. The Stupids admired and applauded without being- told when the applause should come in. The others were not poets or dramatists, and tlierefore were not made jealous by the suc- cess of the piece ; nor were they, for the most part, over-critical. And the piece appealed strongly to the professions, prejudices, faiths, convictions, and doctrines of the people pre- sent, for they were all disciples of Emancipa- 96 THE REBEL QUEEN tion, in whatever form this agreeable doctrine might be presented. We are familiar with many forms in which the Cause is submitted to the world. It has its political, its educa- tional, its social, its religious side, each with many branches. I think they were all repre- sented in this drawing-room. And there were present many young persons belonging to that large class which is possessed by a youth- ful admiration of new things (which are generally the old things already tried and con- demned), and a desire for change. This dis- position is partly due to the restlessness and impatience of youth, partly to generosity and a sense of justice. Sometimes it is due to self-seeking, which perceives opportunities in change. The players surpassed themselves. Before the crowded house they acted far better than before the audience of one. They played — which is the great thing — as if they really be- lieved in their parts ; they hovered about the Favourite as if they loved her ; they wept when she went into disgrace ; the song and AFTER THE PLAY gy the dance were encored. Then all the maidens together — the black " Chamberlain " was the only man — made up a group of very remark- able beauty. Among the young men standing at the back might have been heard words — frivolous words — such as ' Houri,' 'Odalisque/ 'Eoyal Mash,' 'Pearl of the Harem,' and so forth. Such a piece naturally calls forth from the frivolous many pretty, witty, audacious things that must not be said aloud. But they were all intended to be complimentary to the attractions of the company. Lastly, the piece was mounted with great care and without any regard to the cost of things. The dresses were lovely ; the scenery well painted ; the properties very good — and the stage management was professional. They called for the Queen. The curtain rose and showed the Queen with her maidens. They called for the author. But she did not appear. Madame Elveda rose from her chair. ' The play is over,' she said. ' The girls have gone to change. We are back again in the Crom- VOL. I, H 98 THE REBEL QUEEN well Eoad. I liope it has been a pleasing play.' She put up her pince-nez and looked around the room. Yes ; it had been a pleasing play. Everybody's face showed in- terest ; it is impossible to assume the appear- ance of interest ; polite people at private theatricals always try, but seldom succeed ; the difference between assumed interest and the interest commanded by the play itself is too great to escape the attention of the most careless. Everybody's face showed surprise and a little excitement. They had all been disappointed ; they came expecting something feebly fatuous — an amateur play — and they had found something strong. The play over, the curtain down, they turned and began to murmur detached words to each other, the words which come first to the uncritical mind before it has been taught what to say by the Criticaster, who for our happiness is never absent on any occasion. Madame Elveda was satisfied : nobody was yawning, nobody sighed with the relief of the AFTER THE PLAY 99 finish. She dropped her glasses and prepared to talk about it. ' It was wonderful ' — a well-known drama- tic critic led off the congratulations — ' per- fectly wonderful. It was a sermon — such as one might expect in the house of such a Leader as yourself, Madame Elveda. No other house in London could have presented such a play. And your daughter — wonderful ! Her gestures — her voice — all trained.' ' Girls are all wonderful,' replied the mother, ' so long as they continue to be amateurs. When they go on the stage pro- fessionally we begin to find out the faults. My daughter was taught to act, however. She has played a good deal. I have always held that acting should be taught, like music or painting or languages, to aU girls who have any natural aptitude.' 'At all events, her masters cannot com- plain of their pupil.' Madame Elveda smiled. She was now a stately matron, handsome still in spite of forty summers : of ampler dimensions than when lOo THE REBEL QUEEN she made that little arrangement with her husband : a woman with a dignified manner, which could be cold and could be gracious. She was dressed much as she was on that occasion when her husband left her, in a noble crimson velvet, and she wore a good deal of gold. Was she not an Oriental ? Are not Moors and Arabs, Syrians, Egyptians, Alge- rines, Levantines, Turks, all fond of gold ornaments ? ' But the atmosphere,' continued the critic : ' how was that contrived ? Across the foot- lights came the very fragrance — the breath of the walled and fenced garden of the King, the perfumes of the Harem.' ' It was partly in the room before the play began,' said another man. ' From this room to the fenced garden of the King is but a step — we were prepared for the palace of Shush an : we were already in the city of Morocco.' The room, indeed, looked as Oriental in its fittings as one can expect in a London house. A broad divan ran round two sides : at the AFTER THE PLAY loi end was a small latticed gallery, reminding one of Cairo : coloured lamps hung from the ceiling, glass vessels of strange hue and shape stood about, cushions were strewn over the divans, there were little tables for coffee, rugs of curious colours were stretched upon the polished floor, guitars and mandolines were lying about, tapestry instead of pictures hung upon the wall, with weapons — swords and scimitars and daggers ; there was not even a pianoforte in the room. It was a room full of colour — a room of the Alhambra. ' Yes,' said Madame Elveda. ' It pleases us to remember that we are Orientals. What is the good of Eastern blood unless one can feel oneself sometimes a Moorish woman ? Francesca made a good Vashti, because she is herself of the Mughrebbin — the western Arabs — a descendant of Ishmael.' 'Or of his half-brother,' murmured that sympathetic noun of multitude, More-than- One. But we are a polite people. More- than-One did not give loud utterance to this epigram. 102 THE REBEL QUEEN And then they all began to talk together. The dramatic critic had struck the note: it was one of rapturous admiration. The ad- vanced ladies present showed their approval of the sentiments of the play by using few words, but those were words of streno-th. The Truth, they said, cannot possibly be presented in ways too varied. By their own essays, articles, pamphlets, lectures, appeals, histories, researches, expositions, revelations, inquiries, dissections, and teachings, the slavery of woman had been set forth abundantly, clearly and strikingly, with force and originality. Let it now be presented, for those who do not read the Higher Literature, in dramatic shape. The world — which is well known to listen with eager ears whenever these ladies speak — was to be congratulated on the appear- ance of a woman dramatist. Who said that woman never could write a play? This play, perhaps the best that the century had produced, was actually too good for the London stage ; one could not conceive of a company fit to play it, or an audience fit to AFTER THE PLAY 10.3 "witness it. Very strong language, indeed. The comments of the men were perhaps less hearty ; for, while they spoke very warmly of the ^performance, they seemed to receive the teaching of the piece without enthusiasm. They praised the dresses and the actresses. As to the doctrine, they said nothing. Yet the Subjection of the Sex is no new matter of discussion. In a few minutes the actresses appeared, their eyes bright, their cheeks flushed with the reception of the play. No success in the world is more delightful, one is assured, than success on the stage. Francesca had changed the robes of the Queen for a white dress, but with touches of colour. Her rich brown hair was done up again as it had been arranged for the Queen, rolled up high and kept in place by bands of very small gold coins. Like all her sisters of the present day, she was tall of stature ; but she was not slender ; rather she possessed a full and well-formed figure. Her forehead was low, the hair falling down almost to her eyebrows ; she looked more I04 THE REBEL QUEEN beautiful off the stage than on, her blue eyes full of light, full of imagination ; features sharp, clear-cut, and delicate belonged to an ample cheek and a large head ; a short upper lip with firm mouth, and a full and rounded chin, indicated her courage and resolution. She wore her dress high ; like her mother, she proclaimed her Oriental origin by the gold which adorned her — gold earrings set with diamonds, a gold necklace with a jewelled cameo, gold bracelets round her arms above her elbows, a belt of dead gold confined her waist. * She looks a Queen still,' murmured an elderly man to his neighbour, ' more than ever a Queen — an Eastern Queen. Her name is not Vashti the Assyrian, but Dido the Phoenician. I never understood the face of Dido until now. As now, so then she looked ; so animated, with eyes so sparkling, while ^neas told his tale.' Everybody pressed forward with congra- tulations and praises. Francesca received them graciously, smiling with that lingering queenliness in her manner — one cannot assume AFTER THE PLAY 105 and shake off the Queen in a moment — which was not nnbecomingf even in this modern o-uise. Among those who crowded round her was a young man, who differed chiefly from other young men of the period — they are terribly like each other — in a brighter look and a more animated manner. He laughed pleasantly as he spoke — pleasantly and naturally and genially, and his voice was pleasant. ' May my humble voice swell the general chorus ? ' he asked. ' It is a chorus of grati- tude and surprise.' ' I prefer the latter,' said Francesca. ' Gratitude is too soon over, and then con- science whispers to us that it ought to linger. Now surprise does sometimes linger as a memory.' ' The lingering memory of Yashti the Queen means gratitude. We shall all be grateful for the rest of our natural life. I never saw a harem before, not even in Con- stantinople. Most interesting it was. But perhaps I hardly quite caught the spirit of the thing, if one may criticise ' io6 THE REBEL QUEEN 'Pray criticise,' Francesca replied, some of the coldness of the author suddenly appear- ing. 'Say it was dreadful — crude — every- thing that is horrid.' 'Indeed, I shall say nothing of the kind. Why, Francesca, as if you could write any- thing horrid ! As if I could say that any- thing you wrote was crude ! ' ' Do not flatter, Harold.' ' ; ' I would only remark that in my poor opinion Yashti would have done well to await further developments. In the record you have followed she does not run away.' 'She is not mentioned again: she va-' nislies. Perhaps she lived on in a corner of the harem, disgraced and forgotten ; perhaps she was murdered, perhaps she ran away. I chose to make her run away.' ' Dramatically, you were right. Seriously, Francesca, you have never shown your power so strongly ; there are few other girls, indeed, who could write such a piece, and still fewer who could also play the principal part in it. I congratulate you.' AFTER THE PLAY 107 ' I was ill earnest ; that was tlie reason.' 'Yes, yes.' He smiled. 'I perceived certain influences between the hnes. Yet you can keep your independence, if you please, Francesca.' He lowered his voice. ' And you can have in addition ' ' What, Harold .^ ' She lifted her eyes sharply and meaningly. ' If you please to take it,' he whispered, ' the thino' for which other ^irls will sometimes surrender even their independence in ex- change.' She turned away abruptly and joined another group. ' This little play is really clever, don't you think, for a girl of twenty ^ ' The question was asked by an elderly gentleman — one of the Stupids whom Francesca would have kept out. ' There were a few touches in it that struck me as perhaps original, though rather bold.' This kind of criticism always stamps the Stupid. ' At first sight,' replied the person ad- dressed, a lady no longer young and well io8 THE REBEL QUEEN known in the world for her efforts in the cause of Female Suffrage, ' it may have the appear- ance of originality. But when we consider the mother — and wlien we think how the girl has been brought up — one understands that she has put into the play nothing more than the ideas she has learned.' ' Shakespeare could do no more,' said the Stupid, who had heard this said more than once. ' I believe,' the lady replied, sarcastically, * that there is a difference between Shake- speare and Francesca Elveda. What does she tell us? What she has learned every day from her mother. The social system in every age is framed for the submission of woman : literature is full of it, poetry is full of it, his- tory is full of it. No other importance is given to woman than that attached to her beauty. In no church or creed is slie allowed to be priest or preacher : where they rail off a place and call it holy she must not enter ; she must not even sing in the choir ; the higher education has been hitherto refused AFTER THE PLAY 109 her ; personal freedom is refused her ; she is kept under watch and ward — all these points are household words to Francesca. It is very easy for her to put such things in a play. Besides, we do not know what help she got from her mother, or from that Mr. Harold Alleyne, wliom they encourage to hang about. I don't call it fair to any young man. He may get a peerage, you see — and that's the reason. Mother and daughter are very hkely agreed that a coronet would be very be- commg- ' Humph ! I hear they call themselves Moors. But surely ' ' They come from the Lord knows wliere, and the Papa Elveda was the Lord knows who. They are Jews — look at the mother — as plain as can be written on any face. Hush ! ' She looked up as her hostess approached. ' Dear Madame Elveda, this has been a great sur- prise and a great treat. You are indeed to be congratulated. Francesca played the part as if she meant it.' ' She did mean it. Mv child, Ladv Eisinoe, no THE REBEL QUEEN has been devoted, trained to the cause from infancy. I might myself have done something for the equahty of woman had it not been for the responsibihty of her training. Francesca will, I trust, supplement my work.' ' She can never do more than you have done. Your great work ' ' My book speaks only to those who read it. Francesca, I hope, will speak in a more attractive way — I speak to hundreds — she must speak to thousands. The printed book plays its part, but there comes a time when the Voice must be heard. Francesca will be, I trust, the High Priestess of the Cause.' She passed on. ' High Priestess ! ' echoed the lady. ' That slip of a girl ! ' ' Well,' said the Stupid, ' the play was clever, and it was original. Perhaps, here and there, rather bold — rather bold.' ' Oh ! But the girl has had it all drummed into her.' ' What does that matter ? She does make it seem hard on the women, doesn't AFTER THE PLAY iii she ? Eather bold, thougli — rather bold. But Vashti was a Queen. She could hire nurses. Ordinary women must look after the babies.' 'Babies, indeed ! ' which ended that little talk. All the people in the room, some by twos and threes, some in little groups, took up the theme. Slavery in love ? The younger men, callow yet (we may hope), and inexperienced in woman's heart and woman's ways, tossed little hallons cVessai in the air, where they mostly disappeared unnoticed. The girls who were advanced spoke in general terms, and laid down abstract propositions, and were very courageous indeed ; the time was come for perfect equality in love as in intellect : more than equality for woman they did not at pre- sent claim. The girls who were not advanced listened pensively, and either whispered and murmured to each other or looked things at each other — whispers and looks alike meant the same thing : ' Oh ! dear — no. In actual life this won't work.' The elder married ladies could not for a moment admit that love 112 THE REBEL QUEEN was slavery. On the contrary, they main- tained — even to the face of Mr. Henpecked and Mr. Henpecker — who were both in the room — that marriage consisted in perfect equality. The elder men, for the most part, stood in the outer circle or in the doorways. They had gone beyond the stage of pure speculation ; they should have stood up for the actualities. They laughed, however. ' It pleases the girls,' they said, and laughed again. They began sentences with, ' Once I knew a girl,' or ' There was a woman once,' or ' I remember when 1 was at Malta.' The rest was confided to the ear of the listener. The philosopher, after listening to all, and over- hearing the whispers, would have summed up with the remark that young men expect too much of love ; that girls fear too much of love ; and that the elder sort are for the most part disappointed with love, which is as it should be in all things human. For there is no favouritism with the gifts of the gods, but all alike smack of vanity. ' Harold ' — the people were all going AFTER THE PLAY 113 away, and Francesca found an opportunity — ' I want to talk seriously.' ' When you please, Francesca. The more serious the better.' ' It concerns nothing less than our future relations.' * So I understand.' ' It will depend upon you whether we are to continue on the old footing. Friends are not to be made every day, Harold ; we have been friends so loner ' ' If it only depends upon me- ' ' Then will you come — say to-morrow morning ? We can talk seriously. We shall be quite alone.' She spoke as if to be quite alone with her would be a coldly intellectual treat. ' I will come. We will talk. Good night, Eebel Queen ! ' VOL. I. 114 THE REBEL QUEEN CHAPTER III AN EXPECTANT LOVER Two young men — one of them tlie young man called Harold AUeyne — were sitting late in the club smoking-room. ' Yes,' said one. ' I don't often go to that kind of thins, but I confess that I was inte- rested. The performance was very far above the average of amateur business, and the play was fresh, and it seemed to suit the place. Everything looked Oriental, both on and off the stage, except the chairs. It was like a seraglio without the Sultan. I was afraid he would find out that we were in his harem. I looked about for the black man witli the bowstring. Moorish people, I think you said ? Very odd ! I never heard of any Moors in society before. One might as well expect to meet a dervish. Madame is a very stately AN EXPECTANT LOVER 115 person, standing on a dignity Mauresque- Jewish, I should have thought, from a cer- tain kind of a sort of a something hovering about her mouth. But one may be mistaken. Elveda — is it a Moorish name or a Spanish name ? ' ' The Moors have a Jewish look, I sup- pose,' said Harold. ' These people have been Spaniards for generations, but they claim Moorish descent. As we haven't time to in- vestigate their genealogy, we may as well accept their own statement. Why not Moors ? If not Moors, what matter ? ' ' Why not, indeed ? Have you known them long ? ' ' Yes ; seven or eight years. I met them first in the Pyrenees. Madame Elveda found me lying in a fever at a wretched little Fonda. I suppose I might have died if she had not chanced upon me and nursed me with the greatest kindness. When I got better we went to Biarritz, where we stayed at the same hotel and made excursions. She is the best of women, if you don't mind a certain kind of I 3 116 THE REBEL QUEEN crankiness. After that I continued to corre- spond with them. They remained abroad till three years ago, when they came here, and Francesca went to Newnham. As for the crankiness, of course you know Madame Elveda's position in the Women's Eights busi- ness. She is a leader, and she has a mission. She proclaims the equality of women, and she belongs to every one of the associations for changing women into men.' ' Yet they remain women.' ' And yet again they have done a great deal. Why shouldn't women be educated, if they like, as well as men ? However, it is too late to talk of women's wrongs. Francesca has now returned home. I believe she has a latch- key : her mother is not to inquire into her occupations or her companions : she is quite free. And she is going to make her mother's house a place of great liveliness. She told me so. She likes liveliness. She likes dancing and singing and feasting and laughing. She is fair and she is frank and she is free.' AN EXPECTANT LOVER 117 ' I suppose she is passing rich. If I were not engaged, I would myself — perhaps ' ' I don't know how much they've got — or how they got it — or whether it is land or shares — whether it was trade or inheritance.' ' Diamonds, perhaps. They've kept some of the remainder stock.' ' Perhaps. They live as if there was no limit to the income.' ' Is it not rather absurd for such a girl — so lovely, so clever, so rich-^to be talking about the slavery of love? We shall hear, some day, that she is going to marry an earl. She will be a countess. Why not yourself, Harold ? Go in and win. You are more than halfway to an earldom as it is. Even suppos- ing that your uncle should turn up, you can easily get another title when you are married to such a rich girl. You can become Earl of Moorland, say, or Lord Old Jewry.' Harold shook his head. ' When I knew her first she was a gawky girl of twelve or so, all elbows, Nothing good about lier but n8 THE REBEL QUEEN lier eyes and her hair. But she was masterful even then, and resolute, and free, always questioning, never submissive to authority in any shape ; even then contemptuous to the submissiveness of other women — never toler- ant of pretence.' 'Well, you need not pretend, if you come to that.' ' As she was then, so she is now, only more so. And a jolly girl, too, easily amnsed, very fond of everything good — I believe she knows claret — I am certain that she knows cham- pagne. But you must treat her as an equal. And if you try love-making — if you even begin to turn the talk into a personal or sen- timental channel — she freezes. Worse than that, slie scents the approach of Love while he is yet invisible and afar off ; she catches a glance of admiration ; she feels the hunger of a longing eye ; she reads the hesitating thought ; she begins to freeze before you have made up your mind how it might best be put, Avhether in words or in sighs or in handclasps. That girl lives upon an iceberg ; AN EXPECTANT LOVER 119 she wears a belt stuck full of icicles as if they were naked dao-orers.' ' What was the paternal Moor ? A Patriarch numbering his cattle by the thou- sand ? Did he live in a tent upon the Atlas Mountains ? ' 'I have told you that I don't know. You can't ask a girl what her father was. Fran- cesca has his portrait : once she showed it to me. She only shows it to her friends, and then as a favour. I was allowed to look upon it for a moment only. It was shortly after she had signally defeated me in a certain argument. The sense of superiority made her gracious.' ' You are ami de famille : you come and go as you please in the house. What more can you want ? You've got all the chances there are.' ' We are excellent friends, but, as yet, nothing more. Of course she knows, she must know ' ' What can she ask for better than your- self, especially if the earldom comes off? Why, you are young and of good family and I20 THE REBEL QUEEN of good temper, and you are scientific and a Fellow of your college and everything. If we talk of money, you are not a penniless ad- venturer, and, if the title falls in, there are big estates. Harold, you might marry any- body.' ' If she could conceive for a man an over- weening respect for his abilities and charac- ter, she might — perhaps .... She wants character in a man — always character.' ' Send her to me. I will oive you a character.' ' I mean force — personal force. I may be pretty good in a laboratory, but outside it I am a quiet kind of creature. Besides, she knows me too well ; we have talked to each other too long ; we are dangerously fraternal in our communications ; I am not a mystery to her. If I were introduced to her to-morrow for the first time, I should have a better chance.' ' I don't know. I was introduced to her two hours ago, and I feel that I should not have the least chance. She only looked at me once. No character about me, I suppose. AN EXPECTANT LOVER 121 Don't you give in, man. Sit down quiet and watch.' Harold nodded, left the club, and drove home. The appointment for to-morrow made him thoughtful. For he guessed very well what would be the purport of the communica- tion that Francesca was about to make to him. He had not spoken one single direct word of love to her, but he had spoken to her mother ; so much was due to the position ; and whether her mother had spoken to her or not, the girl understood what was in his mind. Maidens not nearly so clever as Francesca are able to read a man's thoughts — when they go off in this direction — with surprising swiftness and accuracy. And certainly a girl does not ask a man to meet her in order to say, ' You have not made love to me ; but I am going to say that I shall have great pleasure in offering to you this six-and-a-quarter hand.' Not so. But such a girl as Francesca may very well ask a man to meet her in order to say, ' I understand that you are in love with me. Pray get out of love as soon as you can.' 122 THE REBEL QUEEN And that, lie knew very well, was what Francesca was going to say to him on the morrow. Before going to bed he opened a drawer and took out a bundle of letters. Some of them were as much as nine years old. They were tied up in order, and evidently kept with care. They all began ' Dear Harold,' and all ended with ' Your affectionate Fran- cesca.' The girl who wrote those letters had begun them when she was twelve, and she still continued them. She was always his affectionate Francesca, and he was always her dear Harold. She still wrote to him in this endearing style, and yet she was going to say to him, ' The next step, the obvious step — the step you are now contemplating — must never be taken.' He knew it : he was quite sure of it. He turned over the letters, opening one here and another there, reading bits. ' I remember getting this letter,' said Harold, ' six years ago. Poor child ! It was a strange education — ' " I had not even schoolfellows : my mother AN EXPECTANT LOVER 123 tauo'ht me till I was fourteen, and then I had masters and governesses. My old nurse, Melkah, was the only person who treated me like a child. She told me stories of her own people, her Syrian people — all kinds of stories. Otherwise I should have become a mere walk- ing encyclopaedia of science and art. Melkah is a wonderfid woman." ' She was a gfrave oirl, then,' Harold reflected, ' grave and questioning. I shall never forget her face when I made the first joke, I believe, that she ever heard. Her mother could never make a joke, or laugh at one. No woman of dignity makes jokes. I taufjht her to lauo-h — that is somethins^, even if I could not teach her to love. Laus^hter and love ought to be cousins : they are both young and both happy.' And here was another letter : ' It seems to me ' — she was then sixteen — ' that the only real change I get is when I sit down to write to you. I see Harold then — my one friend — sitting in his rooms at Cambridge all among the books and bottles.' (Harold was a chemist, 124 THE REBEL QUEEN r and therefore a many-bottle man.) ' I see him take up my letter and say, "My little friend ; I will read it quietly this evening, after dinner." Then, when I have refreshed my eyes with looking at you across the thou- sand miles between us, I look at your photo- graph, and I am inspired — yes, inspired — to begin. All the rest of the day I am in the hands of governesses and masters. If we go out for a walk, or for a ride, it is in the way of education. I go from one lesson to another; and from one master to another. I mix up accomplishments, art, science, and learning. It is all the same to me whether I am learn- ing mathematics or dancing, rhetoric or music. I suppose I shall some day be a finished young lady. And then ? What then ? Oli, Harold ! what has fate in store for me before I die ? I want to see and to know and to enjoy every- thing.' He took up another letter. ' I have been to see tlie Old Jewish Quarter,' she wrote from Venice. ' There are gtill some Jews living tlierc. I do not like AN EXPECTANT LOVER 125 modern Jews ; they are my cousins, but I am ashamed of them, they grub so much for money, and their women are kept in such dreadful subjection. My mother often talks about the Jewish women ; she has known many. Since I have grown to years of dis- cretion she has talked to me a great deal about the condition of women. She takes me about to factories and places where they work. She makes me mark their oppression everywhere : she is always speaking and thinking about it.' Then slie wrote from Damascus — * We have paid a visit to the Pasha's Harem. The ladies are beautifully dressed ; they offered us sweets and coffee, and asked us a great many questions. But oh ! the dreary, dismal prison life that it is ! The futile, idle, purposeless life that it is ! What a degradation of life it is ! To be locked up in a cage and forbidden to work at anything, and to be beautifully dressed ! ' Then she wrote from the Desert — ' We are ten days south of Damascus,' she 126 THE REBEL QUEEN said, ' we are right in the middle of the Syrian Desert. My mother, Melkah, and I are in the hands of a tribe. We have bought the Sheikh. He has had so much money down, and is to have so much more when he brinfjs us back in safety. In return we are to have three months of the Desert. It is lovely. We live in tents. It is exactly like the life my forefathers led. I remember that I am the daughter of Ishmael, the grand warrior of the Desert. He was a silent man, I am sure, who inherited the wisdom of his father, and medi- tated in the night under the grand stars in the clearest sky you can imagine. If we stay here long enough I shall become an astrologer like my other cousins the Chaldeans. Every- thing is exactly the same now as then, except that the spear has been replaced by the gun. And they now have coffee. Their women are slaves always — everywhere the same story. Man is the master, woman is the slave. Man must command ; woman must obey.' ' M'yes,' said Harold, 'I, too, have sojourned in the Desert.' AN EXPECTANT LOVER 127 Harold folded up the letters. 'It has been a delightful study,' he said, ' of a most interesting feminine soul. I know her through and through, because I have watched her grow. But it will prove a pleasure dearly- bought if familiarity excludes love.' He put the letters back into the drawer, and sought forgetfulness in the usual way. 128 THE REBEL QUEEN CHAPTER IV A THING IMPOSSIBLE Madame Elveda's study, a large and lofty room — every room in this house was large and lofty — -on the ground-floor, was furnished with a splendid severity. There were the essentials of a study and little more : books — solid-looking books — on shelves nearly up to the ceiling ; a ladder-stair on wheels ; a dozen electric lights hanging from the ceiling so as to form a geometrical pattern — the arrange- ment of the electric light is at present ele- mentary; yet a few years and we shall see marvels of beauty and effect produced by the little yellow arc ; a bust or two above the shelves ; an engraving over a strictly severe mantel ; one or two vases, with a piece of Venetian glass on a bracket, between the windows ; light and feathery curtains ; a soft A THING IMPOSSIBLE 129 carpet ; a large writing-table ; two or three small tables with books of reference and at- lases ; a revolving stand of books — occasional books, books of the day, magazines of the more ' thoughtful ' kind ; two or three easy chairs for the fireside. All these things were duly established in Madame Elveda's study. There was nothing; ' feminine : ' no ' work ' lying about. And the writing-table was of the very largest kind that is made — I think twelve feet long, the chairs were solid, the books were all big and well-bound, the very paper-knives, inkstands, paper-cases and blotting-pads were large and solid. In this room were conducted the councils of the Inner Eing or Circle. .Do not believe that the Fenians alone have an Inner Eing ; every cause, every ' movement,' has its Inner Eing. This was the place where the Female Inner Eings met — consisting of the ladies who wanted to sit on County Councils, those who wanted to storm the School Boards, those who wanted the suffrage, those who wanted to pro- mote the Equality of the Sex ; they all came VOL. I. K 130 THE REBEL QUEEN here ; the Cause wants rich people : here was a rich woman ready to give them money and a central place. Natural^, this lady carried on an extensive correspondence : she had two shorthand and typewriting clerks — girls, of course, and lucky girls, because they got the pay of men. These young ladies attended every morning and wrote her letters. In the afternoon the Inner Circles met. Madame Elveda did not speak in public, nor did she often address the public by means of a magazine. Her position as a leader was assured by her great book on the ' Present Condition of Women,' already spoken of. It was felt in some quarters that the derisive criticism which is so plentifully heaped upon some ladies who speak spared this lady, who, to say the truth, never made herself ridiculous at all, but contented herself with being re- puted an encyclopedia on the condition of women in all countries, the working of labour and other acts, and all questions of employ- ment, pay, hours, and treatment. A THING IMPOSSIBLE 131 In this room this lady also carried on the management, without anybody's help, of affairs which even an American millionaire would think of some importance. That is to say, she was supposed to carry on those affairs. Eeally, nobody knew anything about her in- come at all. She lived in a house for which she paid eight hundred a year rent ; she had servants, carriages, horses, all the appearance of wealth ; she certainly belonged to that small class whose income is reckoned by tens of thousands, not by the modest unit which bounds the hopes of so many. One may add, to show that this lady was a recognised leader, that most of the thought- ful women who wished to write a thoughtful paper in a thoughtful magazine found it desir- able to write to Madame Elveda for advice. She never failed to provide them with the crib necessary for thoughtful ladies. This once in hand, the paper became as thoughtful as anything. Outside the study, on the lowest step of the broad stairs, sat the old serving- woman, K 2 132 THE REBEL QUEEN Melkah, the Syrian. She was wrapped from head to foot m a mantle of some kind which covered her head. She had also thrown it, in some mysterious way, across the lower half of her face, so that nothing was visible of her except her two dark and cavernous eyes, which gleamed like lights far off. She sat crouched and huddled up, waiting. The people in the household were accustomed to find her in unexpected places. Melkah could do as she pleased. If an assistant housemaid or a scullery-maid should presume to go and sit for hours on the principal stairs — why, everybody knew what would happen. At the first stroke of eleven by the hall clock there was a knock at the door. It was Harold Alleyne come to keep his appoint- ment. Melkah, at sight of him, rose up and walked feebly across the hall to meet him. ' You have come to see the child, Harold ? ' The woman of Damascus spoke in a pretty foreign accent. In this house it was as if every- thing was grafted English on a foreign stock. A THING IMPOSSIBLE 133 ' Francesca waits for you. She is grown now : she should have a lover. Eh ? I knew what you would say. Eh ! Eh ! Eh ! ' partly she laughed and partly she coughed. ' Now listen ! She will first say No — Eh ? — No — no — no ! She will shake her head. She will have no husband — no lover. No — no — no ! The lovers may go to the devil — all but you ! And you she loves. Eh ? I know. The old woman knows : she watches : she sees what is invisible, and she hears what is not spoken. Eh ? The child will say no, because her mother has told her things — they are foolish things. You wait, I say. She loves you, but she does not know it. Some day she will say Yes — yes — yes. You wait. When she says No, you may laugh. But take care. Do not say thino's that will ano-er her. Do not fall into anger yourself A girl is a fool who says no to her lover. Yet you must not be angry. This child will never love any but one man. I know her kind. She could never love any but one man. That is you — you yourself Do not anger her, therefore ; make it easy for 134 THE REBEL QUEEN her to change her mind. He who wants the dog says to hmi, " Good morning, my uncle ! " Say to yourself, " This foolishness is her mother's doing." Then leave her with a laugh. Let not the eye discover what pains the heart. Laugh, and come away ! Do you listen ? ' ' I listen, Melkah, and I will obey.' ' Go, then, with the blessing of the Lord ! Stay ! I had forgotten. Madame wants to see you first. She is in her study — she wants to see you. When she has done I will call the child.' Melkah led the way, which Harold knew perfectly well, and threw open the door for him. The lady was at her table, dictating a letter to her typewriter. She was never one of those ladies who permit themselves to be seen in any costume, at any time of the day, but that which is stately. She was always the great lady. In her morning dress of flowered foulard — grey, I think, with black flowers — she looked quite as dignified as in her crimson velvet of the evening. The table A THING IMPOSSIBLE 135 before her was covered with papers and bundles. ' Francesca told me you were commg,' she said, giving him her hand. ' I am always glad to see you, as you know, my dear Harold. Eachel ' — she nodded to her typewriter — ' you need not stay any longer this morning. Now we are alone. Some people talk in the pre- sence of their typewriters. It is a mistake : they have tongues as well as ears : we must remember that. Service is always curious. They are not deaf and dumb machines. Now, Harold, we are alone ; sit down and let us talk.' Harold observed an unusual hesitation in the speaker, who was, as a rule, so perfectly assured in her manner. She spoke nervously, and played with a penholder. But what she said was to the point and unmistakable. 'Francesca will see you immediately. I fear that you may be hurt at what she has to say. For your sake, I am sorry. For her, even, I am sorry, because if she were to marry anybody there is no one to whom I 136 THE REBEL QUEEN would give lier with greater confidence. But you cannot have known her and me so long without knowing that I nourish great am- bitions for her. No ; let me speak first. They are more than ambitions. She is con- secrated from infancy to the advocacy of a great Cause. I expect her to give everything to that Cause — life, love, wealth, thought. Marriage is impossible for such a girl. Mar- riage is absorbing and selfish. Even in my own case — a widow for twenty years — what am I? Francesca's mother — nothing more.' ' Could you be anything better ? ' Madame laughed pleasantly. ' There spoke the lover. Well, I do not complain. Perhaps I think so well of Francesca that I am content to have lived for her.' ' Then there has been your book — your great book.' 'The book represents the time that my husband would have claimed for himself had he remained with me. It means the society, the friends, the home, that I lost when I A THING IMPOSSIBLE 137 separated from him. Well, Harold, you are a lover ' ' If I may be allowed that title of honour ? ' ' You love my daughter— Francesca knows this. She will tell you presently what she thinks. It is for her to decide. Understand that she is perfectly free. If she asks my advice I will offer it. otherwise not. She is perfectly free in this as in any other matter.' ' I can ask for nothing more.' ' As for me, I have asked you to see me first because I want you to understand that, whatever be Francesca's answer, we — both of us — value your friendship above that of anyone else in the whole world.' She had now recovered from her temporary embar- rassment, and spoke in her usual queenly manner as if she understood the value of her words. * So far as I can judge, from kindnesses heaped up and overflowing ' Harold began. ' My dear Harold, that is nonsense. Kind- ness ? What can we do for you ? Can we 138 THE REBEL QUEEN give you Society? We do not belong to Society : we are foreigners. Can we give you Position ? We have none, and you have your own. Advancement ? You are making it for yourself. There is nothing that we can give you except our affection ; tliat you have already. If I wished for a son-in-law — which, frankly, I do not — you are the son-in-law whom I should desire.' Harold murmured something to the effect that he was touched. He was indeed — any young man would be touched by such a speech even from an old friend — the older the friend the more readily is one touched. 'You are a very handsome young man, Harold,' the lady continued, seriously ; ' I wonder why women do not write verses about the beauty of young men ; they would if they would give up imitating men, and write out of their own liearts. Some people say that girls don't care about beauty in a man. Eubbish ! They can love a man who is not beautiful — at least some of them do — I don't think I could. My own husband was a very A THING IMPOSSIBLE 139 handsome man — in my style, not yours. They all like a man to be handsome. You are much more handsome now, Harold, than you were at eio^hteen, when we had the a'ood fortune to meet you at the little Fonda in the Pyrenees.' 'When you found me in a fever and nursed me through delirium for three weeks — you yourself — not your servants for you.' 'It was our great good fortune. Well, Francesca knows you so well that, perhaps, she never thinks of your face and figure. Perhaps, however, she does. I acknowledge that you have every advantage. You are well-born, good-looking and young ; you are the probable heir to a peerage ; you have an income of your own ; you are a man of honour, character, and loyalty; I really do not think tliat any woman could desire a better husband.' 'As for my peerage, that is just as far off as ever.' 'It is possible, however. And then you are clever. You have already made your I40 THE REBEL QUEEN mark in science. Considering all these things, and how they would weigh with some girls, I can still confidently leave the decision in Francesca's hands.' ' One moment,' said Harold. ' You spoke of dedicating her to your Cause. Of course, I have known all along what your ambitions are. But — forgive me — I may be wrong — I have not yet perceived any sign of these ambitions in Francesca. Dreamy, thoughtful, artistic — are these the qualities required for an orator and a leader ? ' 'I look for a time when Francesca will understand the full meaning of her education. Then she will leap into her place like one inspired. My friend, you know exactly what I think and what I hope. Do not make the girl's task too difficult for her ! ' With these encouraging words, she touched his fingers and left him. Then Francesca herself appeared, dressed simply in a light pink cotton frock with lace round the neck and lace ruffles at the wrist and a lace front. She looked dainty and A THING IMPOSSIBLE 141 ethereal. Some girls have the art of seeming to be whatever the dress suggests in the direction of daintiness and airiness and iin- earthliness. Her cheeks, usually pale, were touched with a glow of colour called forth by the delicacy of the situation ; the kind of glow it was which in such a complexion seems to lie deep beneath the surface. She was Oriental always ; in whatever dress she appeared one instinctively expected gold chains, rings, and bangles. Yet she wore none of these decorations, only her plain cotton frock, which a milkmaid might have worn, save for the lace. She was no longrer Yashti, the Eebel Queen. A simple maiden of Paradise, perhaps — Paradise, we know, was an Oriental garden. She stood for a moment at the door collecting herself. 'I thank you, Harold, for coming,' she began stiffly. 'You ordered me to come. Is not that enough ? ' ' No compliments, please, Harold.' 'You have to tell me something — some- 143 THE REBEL QUEEN thing SO important as to prevent the calamity of a break between us. What can that be ? Such a calamity, Francesca, must be averted at any cost.' ' I will tell you directl}^ It is difficult ; give me a moment. I want to say something clearly and once for all, and — very clearly — and — kindly, Harold, because we have been '- — and, I hope, are always to be — such true friends.' ' You cannot be otherwise than kind.' ' It is about myself.' 'You cannot possibly tell me too much about yourself.' ' You have always taken such a kindly interest in me ever since I have known you, and you are my oldest friend. I have known you so much longer than those girls.' 'Do not hurry, Francesca. Tell me at your own convenience. Write it if you prefer.' ' No ; I could not write such a thing.' She took her mother's chair. Harold re- sumed the low chair. They sat in silence for a while. Then he began upon something A THING IMPOSSIBLE 143 else. 'That play of yours,' lie said — 'that play of Yashti the Queen — I liked it hugely. As for you, it was Yashti herself that one saw. No finished actress could play the part better — or look it better.' ' I teas Yashti,' she said simply. ' You were,' he replied quietly. ' I under- stood so much. For the moment, you were Yashti.' Then there was silence again. Twice she made as if she were going to speak, and broke oiF. At last she did begin — very much as her mother had begun. 'Harold,' she said abruptly, 'we have been friends for nine years, I think — nearly half my life — ever since we came upon you lying ill in that wretched Spanish inn. I was twelve and you were eighteen. Now I am twenty- one, and you are twenty-seven. We have been Harold and Francesca ever since — always friends, are we not ? ' 'Always friends, Francesca — friends and comrades; companions, brothers in arms if you like ; only, Francesca, if you please, not 144 "THE REBEL QUEEN brother and sister. Let us not introduce that conventional nonsense.' 'Not brother and sister,' she repeated gravely. ' I know that very well.' ' If we begin with reminiscences, let me remind you what you were at twelve : so full of your work, so inquiring, so curious of the world ; so soft and dexterous with everything you took up ; so busy all day long ; so thirsty for knowledge— til at you carried me away captive. I was your servant from this very beginning, Francesca — as I am now. That has been a great happiness to me.' ' You were the first English gentleman to whom I had ever spoken. French gentlemen, Italian gentlemen, American gentlemen, I had known. My mother knew many of them, but never an English gentleman. Many of them stayed at our hotel now and then. They wore tweed things and knickerbockers ; their manners were not nearly so fine as those of the French or the Americans ; they were coarse and loud, and talked of fox-hunting and shooting. If I had been asked in those A THING IMPOSSIBLE 145 days to define an English gentleman, I should have said that he is the man who hunts. And then when you got well from your fever you came to us — a bright and clever young man, so sympathetic, so kind to a silly little schoolgirl. I was looking at my diary the other day. It is full of you : Harold went with us here — what Harold said. Harold went with us there — what Harold said. Harold went riding with me — what Harold said during the ride, and so on. It has, indeed, been a great happiness to me, this friendship with you.' She paused and considered. ' It is because I want to continue in this happiness,' she said, ' that I have said all this. It is to remind you of what you know very well already.' Again a pause. ' When you went away it was horribly dull. The talk of the fox-hunters was more stupid than ever. I wished that I knew no English. But a letter came from you — the first letter that I ever received. I have the VOL. I. L 146 THE REBEL QUEEN letter still, with every one that you have written to nie since ; I would not part with one, because you are my friend — my first friend. There is all your life, your scientific work, your University distinctions, your am- bitions — everything.' ' I keep all your letters, too, Francesca,' the young i^an replied, jealously. ' Then, Harold, since we truly regard one another with so much trust and affection, tell me this : If I were to perceive that you were setting your heart upon something impossible, wishing for what cannot ever happen, setting up an image of clay and calling it pure gold, don't you think it would be my simple duty, for dear friendship's sake, to tell you that such a thing is impossible ? ' She faced him frankly and directly. Her words and her manner were clear and cold and unmistakable. He watched her curiously, thinking more of what Melkah had said than of what Francesca was saying. ' You wait, I say. She loves you. Some day she will say Yes — yes — yes. When she says No, you may A THING IMPOSSIBLE 147 laugh. But take care. Do not say things that will anger her.' Then he slowly made reply. 'I have heard something of this kind already, from your mother. If such a thing is, as you think, clearly impossible, it might certainly be wisest — yes, certainly — to be told in time.' 'Then, Harold, plainly — it is quite im- possible.' ' May I ask — if it is not a question involv- ing purely personal considerations — the fitness of the individual, for instance — why should it be impossible ? ' 'There are two reasons. The first is' — she joined her hands and looked up bravely — 'that I must follow the example of my mother, and refuse the obedience you would demand. I should not ' He interrupted her unexpectedly, so that the most beautiful sentence in the world was quite spoiled. ' Stop, please ! How do you know that I should ask that obedience ? ' How did she know? A moment before L 2 148 THE REBEL QUEEN she knew nothing. How did she know? Because, in an instant, as by a flash of light in the darkness of her heart, she understood what might happen. She saw herself in will- ing submission to this man. It was as if from the outside she was looking at another Francesca, yet the same. This other Fran- cesca, witli soft and humid eyes, held out both her hands and resigned her heart, her will, her mastery to her lover. I declare that she saw quite clearly this other Francesca, and she understood for the first time in her life what love might mean. For the first "time. Thus doth love awaken love. She hesitated. How did she know? She dropped her eyes. How did she know ? 'How do you know, Francesca,' Harold repeated, ' that I should claim this obe- dience ? ' ' I do not know,' she stammered ; ' but all men expect obedience. Whatever they say or profess, they expect obedience. Oh, I know ! And if, on the contrary, they have to obey, they think their manhood is de- % A THING IMPOSSIBLE 149 stroyed. The husband who obeys the wife is scorned.' ' If it is a law of nature ' ' But it is not.' She recovered a Httle, and remembered her mother's teachinf]r. « It is only a social convention, though by long sufferance grown almost as strong as a Law of Nature. And the Laws of Nature are not so cruel. Oh, Harold ! I have all my life heard and read about the subjection of women. There are only two reasons why they should be subject — their poverty and their love. I will never be subject — first because I am not poor, and next because I will never listen to love.' ' "What if I offered you equal friendship — on your own terms ? ' She shook her head. ' I could not trust you. Oh ! You would loyally try to keep your promise. But you hardly understand what such a friendship would mean. You have never thought of a household where the wife was really the equal of the husband. Such a thing does not exist. It cannot as 150 THE REBEL QUEEN yet exist. We must educate the world in order to make it possible. We should have to create such a household, and it would be against all your prejudices : you would not like it. I confess, Harold, that a perfectly equal friendship cannot under present social conditions exist with love and marriage. And I prefer the friend to the lover.' 'I offer you as close an equality as you can contrive for a workino^ arran element.' It was not a very ardent way of expressing a lover's vows, but Harold knew what he was about. This was not a girl to be approached in the manner customary with a wooer. ' Thank you, Harold. But it is impossible. Let me keep the friend and send away the lover. Then we shall go on as happily as ever.' ' H a thing is impossible, Francesca, it is foolish to ask for it. This thing is impossible, you say, because marriage and equality cannot exist together. I would only point out that if this is a law of universal application, your Cause is doomed from the outset. However, A THING IMPOSSIBLE 151 you said, I think, that there are other points which make the thing impossible.' 'The second point is that you want an okl-fashioned marriage with an okl-fashioned wife — a professional wife ; a woman who makes Jier married life her profession — her vocation — and thinks of nothing but her house, her husband, and her family.' 'I recocrnise the echo of certain vaofue ideas — perhaps, the recent influence of the recently arrived Norwegian Sage.' ' Surely you should sympathise with me here, Harold. How could I do justice to myself if I were always thinking about others — about you, for instance ? ' He nodded gravely. The question was frank. 'I have tried to look at the thinc^ from the outside. I can quite understand that I might be tempted to be false to myself out of devotion to love. I do not feel any devotion, it is true, as yet. But one does not know what might happen. And oh ! the duty of making the most of this short life ! ' 152 THE REBEL QUEEN 'I understand. These ideas are in the air. Girls catch them as they catch the bacillus of some new disease. Well — ^I am not going to try to persuade you, Francesca. I had hopes — I have hopes still — that your kindly friendship might develop into love. I see that it has not yet done so. Very good. We will wait. But about this development. I think you are already fully developed. Whatever you do, nothing can make you more lovely or more lovable or more possibly useful to your generation.' ' No compliments, Harold.' 'These are not compliments. You say, however, that you want to develop still further. That means, I take it, that you want to learn quantities of things out of books.' ' Perhaps.' ' Men learn things out of books mostly with the object of following a profession. Con- sider their development. In a thousand — or two — or three thousand — of those who adopt a liberal and a learned profession you will find A THING IMPOSSIBLE 153 • one, perhaps, who advances his subject. One — no more. The rest are contented to live as pleasantly as they can by their profession. Do you understand ? The solicitor learns no more law when he has passed, the school- master learns no more Greek, the drawing- master does not try any longer to be a great artist. Would it help you to be like the two thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine ? ' ' No. I should make myself the one.' ' You would fail, Francesca. I know you through and through. You are receptive ; you are quick to understand ; you would never — never — never advance any subject whatever. You would only learn what others have discovered. Is it development to stuff your brain with facts and more facts, and still more facts ? ' ' You are frank, Harold.' 'It is a time for frankness. Let us be quite frank for once. Leave the developing process, I say, to other girls — inferior girls — girls that we don't care much about. Leave them to become tenth-rate scholars, artists, 154 THE REBEL QUEEN anything. If their brains are wasted and their gifts dissipated, it does not matter much, perhaps, compared with the waste of a noble creature like yourself.' ' But it is the waste, noble or not, that I want to prevent.' 'Their labours end in nothing. They imitate and follow. They advance nothing. Their end is oblivion.' ' Oblivion awaits us all in the long run. Yet it is something only to work. Everyone who works advances science somehow. But, Harold, my friend, if you have given up wishing the impossible, shall we finish the talk for the present ? ' ' In one moment. Let me say my say. There is another side to the question — my side. Your virtues, your great gifts, to speak in the old-fashioned way, are not given you to be thrown away. You have inherited them — they are like an estate entailed ; your duty is to pass them on if you can. You are a part of a great chain ; the past generations have made you what you are — the flower of A THING IMPOSSIBLE 155 maidens. Francesca,' lie said, gravely, ' from great mothers are born great sons. Will you be the last link in your chain ? Will you have a black line drawn under your name ? Will you throw away, for ever — yourself? Should the possible mother of a noble line deliberately refuse that gift for the service of the world ? ' ' This kind of argument does not touch me in the least,' she replied, coldly and un- moved. ' At Newnham something of the same sort used to be said. Duty to posterity, and so forth. That may appeal to some, but it does not move me. I will be free, therefore I must not enter into the bonds of love. We say " bonds " — why, the word means slavery. That is all. I must live out my life in freedom.' ' My poor Francesca, you do not know what 3'OU mean. Freedom ? Your freedom would end in an abject slavery to self! And as for love, you know not what it means.' ' Perhaps. The last word is— I must be free.' ' Very well ; I say no more. In fact, I have said all that I have to say. My idea of love 156 THE REBEL QUEEN is quite the reverse of yours. I see in it only man's subjection. I can conceive of no greater happiness than to make you happy. I should like to work for you if you were not so horribly rich. It is the curse of riches that a man cannot work for a rich wife. Well, don't think that I have given you up, Francesca. A time may come when the impossibilities will become shadows — ghosts of shadows — spectres of the twilight — flying before the rising sun. I will wait. You will tell me — then — won't you ? Promise, Francesca. You will tell me of your own accord, for fear that I, who am so stupid, may not perceive the change — you will tell me — even if it means some other man ? ' 'Harold,' she interrupted eagerly. 'As if there could be another man ! What you dream is impossible, but I promise.' He laughed. Cheerfulness is not always the outward and visible note of a rejected lover. But Harold laughed. There had not been the least sign in the girl's manner or words that she as yet understood the first A THING IMPOSSIBLE 157 elements of the universal passion. This was why her lover laughed. ' Meantime,' he said, * companion, comrade, sister-in-arms — which isn't brother and sister : I haven't the least fraternal-sororal feeling towards you, Fran- cesca — we will go on with each other just as we always have gone on, shall we .^ Quite as we always have done — no holding back, no reserves, no fear of being misunderstood. It is for you to tell me when the obstacles are removed. Is that agreed ? ' He held out his hand. She met him, with frank eyes, without the least hesitation. She gave him her own hand. ' We will continue quite in the old style,' she said. ' Oh ! I am so glad that you are reasonable.' ' Then, Francesca' — he still held her hand — ' my dear old friend, there is nothing more to be said. I wait. You are still in the serao^lio. When you come out ' he pressed her hand gently and left her. Of course, he regretted, the moment that he was in the street, that he had not kissed her hand. 1 58 THE REBEL QUEEN Francesca stood looking after him. She had explained herself; he had acquiesced ; he was perfectly reasonable. Yet she felt dis- appointed. Why? And again she saw that other Francesca, who held out her hands, and again she felt that strange yearning to give up everything, all she valued most — her freedom, her will — to this man, to be his. She went back to her own room thoughtful and sorrow- ful. On the way she passed Melkah, still sitting huddled on the stairs. ' Child,' asked the old woman, eagerly, ' what have you told the young man ? ' ' I have sent him away, Melkah.' ' You have sent him away ? ' she echoed, angrily. ' It is not well to send away such a young man. You are a foolish child and an ignorant child. My dear, you are born to be loved ; you cannot fight against the law. Beat the water, and it remains water still. A woman without a husband is a helpless creature. What is the saying of my people ? " She who hath her husband A THING IMPOSSIBLE 159 with her can turn the moon with her finger." ' ' I have sent him away, Melkah,' Francesca repeated, and mounted the stairs, and sought her own room, where she pondered doubt- fully over this miraculous appearance of the other Francesca. i6o THE REBEL QUEEN CHAPTEE V MR. ALDEBERT ANGELO ' Sit down, Clara,' said her father. ' Sit down, and talk to me about these grand friends of yours.' The place was the dining-room of a house in the Cromwell Eoad, not far from Madame Elveda's, but not so grand and fine as hers. The room was solidly furnished. Pictures — which the few who understand pictures would recognise as originals of great value — hung round the walls ; there were ' things ' on the overmantel which the few who understand ' things ' would recognise as really good : the ' things ' were of glass, china, and ivory. People who came often to the house might have remarked that the pictures and ' things ' scattered lavishly about the rooms were sub- ject to change more frequently than belongs MR. ALDEBERT ANGELO i6i to the common sublunary lot. With most of us our pictures, like our books and our (lining-table, remain unchanged until the arrival of the Day of Dispersion. And that day we do never, it is to be hoped, behold. The explanation in this case — a thing perfectly well understood by everybody who did come to the house — was that the pictures and the ' thincrs ' were all brouc^htfrom a certain little place of business not far from Eegent Street, where Mr. Angelo conducted a museum or treasure-house of Art, containing pictures, carved work, ancient glass, pottery, weapons, china, and bric-a-brac of every description. Anybody might go in and inspect the contents of this wonderfid museum. Admission was invited, but visitors were understood to be collectors themselves and anxious to add to their collections. In plain words, Mr. Aldebert Angelo was a dealer in Art and bric-a-brac. That he had a house in Cromwell Eoad shows that he was a successful dealer. It was evening. Mr. Angelo had been sitting since dinner reading the paper. Xow VOL. I. M 1 62 THE REBEL QUEEJ^ lie laid this aside, took a cigar — a corpulent cigar, full-flavoiired — -and began leisurely to prepare for a luxurious hour. Not a person, from his outward appearance, of the highest refinement. Like tlie house, the man suggested business, and that successful ; this you would guess at first sight and without knowing any- thing of the little ' place.' His daughter took a low chair on the opposite side of the empty fireplace, and pre- pared to obey. 'Well, father,' she said, 'it is not often that you are interested in friends of mine.' The girl who had played two parts in the play — that of the singing girl and that of Esther — was very far from the Oriental beauty whom one pictures as the Eoyal Favourite. Orientals are believed to be lansfuid. Clara was a maiden full of life and animation ; she was intended by nature to be petite^ but the exigences of fashion caused her to go on growing until she became almost tall ; her hair was fair and her eyes were blue, not the deep blue of Francesca's eyes, but a lighter MR. ALDEBERT ANGELO 163 and less distiDguished kind ; her face — only she did not herself know this, nor did her father — showed the administrative capacity. When we know that a girl possesses this in- valuable gift we recognise the outward signs, and we say that her face shows it. The out- ward signs in her case were a straight nose, making rather a smaller angle with tlie fore- head than is common — in other words an advanced nose — delicate nostrils, a mouth turned exactly to the right curve, correspond- ing with its length, and a firm round chin. A dimple in her cheek and a smile always resident in her face also served to set off the more solid qualities of her appear- ance. ' What am I to tell you ? ' she repeated. ' Anything you like, my dear. It pleases me just to sit and hear you talk about these Elveda people now. Perhaps it is because they are so rich and fine that I like to think of my daughter being there ; perhaps I 've known something of the Elvedas in the course of my business. There are Elvedas M 2 1 64 THE REBEL QUEEN in Paris : maybe they are relations. Besides, tliey are your friends. You 're a woman now, Clara, and you are making friends for your- self — a good deal better friends than I could make for you. Here's a beautiful house — I've made that for you, but you must make the friends to fill it. As for furniture, yours can't be beat anywhere — it can't. As if I didn't know furniture when I see it. But our last attempt, Clara, eh ? — to get our friends around us ? ' Here Clara shuddered and laughed. ' They were not quite up to the furniture, were they? I acknowledge it. Now, my dear, fire away. You 'vehad a play — you 've told me that, and a most pernicious play it was, which the Lord Chamberlain would not have licensed on any consideration — teaching that a woman is not to obey her husband. I wonder the men didn't all get up and leave the room. They would, too, in society not half as good.' 'I played the obedient wife, you know.' ' You did, else I wouldn't have allowed it, MR. ALDEBERT ANGELO 165 even to please these friends of yours. Well ; the play is over.' He spread himself in his chair, put up his feet on a stool, and nodded his head. ' Go on,' he said lazily. ' It makes a man feel that he is really getting on when he can not only live in a fine house like this and have his carriage and his man-servant, but can have his daughter going into such truly beautiful society. Countesses were there, I think you said. Go on, my dear. Before long you shall have these rooms, too, filled with your friends — Countesses and all. See if you don't. You're rich enough. You've only got to begin.' ' I don't quite expect that ; there are still prejudices, whatever we may say. Some people turn up their noses at trade, and some people don't like Us.' She used the word with a capital. ' Not many of the Newnham girls have asked me to their houses, have they ? ' ' Never you mind, Clara. You are as clever as any of them, and as beautiful and well-mannered. And your father could buy up all the lump. Patience, my dear. They 1 66 THE REBEL QUEEN may try to keep up the old prejudices, but they can't last. Why ? Because we are now in the front of everything. They are afraid of Us because we are cutting them out in every line, big and little. They can't afford to hate us any longer. You are an artist, too. Art, they say, breaks down all the barriers. What? Your father is in trade. And a good thing for him and for you. But you are an artist. Therefore, you are as good as any artist fellow whose father is an Earl. Only, I must say — I do wish your drawing was firmer, Clara.' ' I cannot become a Titian, father — or a Vandyke — or even a Greuze. I shall never be anything but a tenth-rate painter.' 'Well, my dear, something approaching an Angelica Kauffmann would satisfy me. But go on. You can paint a bit — you have got an eye for colour — you can talk the language, and you can pretend to belong to the Craft, though I shall never sell any of your pictures. Go on now about your friend, Miss Francesca Elveda. Francesca Elveda — MR. ALDEBERT ANGELO 167 Spanish Moor, you say? — Spanish Moor — Spanish Moor, I think you said ? ' ' She has a Jewish look — not so pronounced as lier mother, but still unmistakabl}' Jewish. But I have seen Arabs in Algeria with some- thing the same look. She is a Semite, how- ever, like ourselves. What am I to tell you about her ? If I begin to talk about Fraucesca I shall run on for ever.' ' Everything. She interests me. So does her mother. So does everybody about her. Strange, isn't it.^ Perhaps it is the pleasure of hearing you talk, Clara. After the day's business I hke you to talk to me. It's like soft music. When you marry I shall buy a musical box instead. Now, then, let us begin all over again. The mother — what is she like ? ' ' She is like a Duchess. You would say she was a Castilian Grandee, she is so stately and so proud.' So stately and so proud. Ha ! Stately and proud,' he repeated. ' She would be now, perhaps, forty or fifty ? About my own age ? ' 1 68 THE REBEL QUEEN ' Nearer forty than fifty, I should say. She dresses like a Queen. You know she is a kind of Queen in her own way. All the advocates of Women's Enfranchisement look up to her as a leader. She has written a big book on the Condition of Women in all times and over the whole world.' ' She is a clever woman and a proud woman. Good and rich — of course she must be verv rich. Her rent is over seven hundred, as I know. How was her money made ? Because, you see, my dear, money has got to be made — it don't come of its own accord. It's got to be made somehow. Mostly, it's got to be fought for.' 'I don't know. Most of Us make our money in trade. I do not know how Madame Elveda's money was made. I have always had a kind of idea that it grew specially in a garden for her.' ' She wouldn't have anything to do with money made in trade, would she? Queens and stately Duchesses don't condescend to pick up money made in trade. Not anything MR. ALDEBERT ANCELO 169 SO low as that. Else she could not be so stately and so proud. Does she talk to you much ? ' ' Not much. She is gracious, you know, to all her visitors. But I am one of Frances- ca's friends, not hers. Her friends all belong to the Emancipation set.' ' One of the daughter's friends. Now tell me about the daughter. You like her ? ' ' I like her,' Clara replied with real en- thusiasm, ' more than any girl I ever knew. There is no one in the world like her : no one so free and so frank, and so true and so loyal.' ' Good,' said her father. ' Friends should be pals. Young people should begin by trusting each other. A few dealings together, later on, and what becomes of your trust ? ' ' She is a singularly reserved girl to all but her intimate friends. With them she has no reserve and no concealment. I think, you know, that she likes to feel a little superiority. Perhaps she only allowed herself to like me after she found out that she was intellectually above me.' I70 THE REBEL QUEEN Her father nodded his head over his cigar. ' The girl is as proud as her mother. Good. Is she proud of her money .^ ' ' Oh ! no. Not that. She is most modest about her money. But she is proud by nature. She would be just as proud if she hadn't a penny.' ' No — no,' said the man of business. 'Without money there is no pride. Don't talk nonsense, Clara.' 'It would be nonsense concerninsf other girls. Francesca is just proud of herself, apart from her beauty and her wealth, and her cleverness. She was talking to me once about a girl wlio let a man kiss her — but you would not understand.' 'No, my dear; I don't think I should. Don't she like being kissed ? ' 'Like? I should be sorry for the man who should attempt such an outrage. Why, Francesca will not even hear of love, because it turns a free woman into a servant.' 'This house is nothine^ but a hotbed of foolishness,' Mr. Angelo interposed roughly. MR. ALDEBERT ANGELO 171 ' Let the silly girl never marry, then ; let her die childless : serve her right for such folly. What? Who is she that she should kick against the Law ? But go on, Clara ; go on talking.' 'Eemember, father, that she is totally ignorant of any Law. She has been brought up without rehgion. She is neither Christian, Mohammedan, nor Jew.' ' A Spanish Moor — eh ? A Spanish Moor. What religion has a Spanish Moor ? ' ' She is proud of her descent. It pleases her to say that Ishmael was her Ancestor, and therefore Abraham — who is our Ancestor. They were Moors, you know, who openly conformed to the Catholic Faith, and yet for centuries remained Moslems in secret — just like certain Jews of Spain and Portugal.' ' A few Jewish families, I believe, so con- formed but remained Jews. We did not : we were expelled. I know nothing about the Moors.' ' Oh ! it is a most wonderful story. The Spaniards, you know, conquered the country ^ 172 THE REBEL QUEEN four hundred years ago, wlien they took Granada and drove out King Boabdil the Unhicky. They killed all the Elveda family except one boy, who was spared — there was also an old woman. They made the boy a Catholic, but the old woman made him a Moslem, and so they have remained Moslems in faith ever since.' 'And the girl — is she a Moslem, then? Does she go to Mosque on Friday ? ' ' We seldom talk about religion. Best not to talk about such subjects even with your best friends. I have never discovered, how- ever, that she has got any religion, unless it is the worship of things beautifid.' ' Stick to your own religion, my girl, and let other people stick to theirs. Well, as you say, a wonderful story. Quite justifies any amount of family pride, doesn't it ? Well, we are getting on. Is the girl clever? Is she going to write books like her mother ? ' ' Clever ! Oh ! of course Francesca is clever. But it isn't that kind of cleverness. She did not go in for honours, you know. She MR. ALDEBERT ANGELO 173 can write verses, and make plays and stories. And she had a way of asking innocent ques- tions which used to make people hot all over, especially the young Dons when they tried on their airs of superiority. She was pretty, too, and prettiness always helps, doesn't it ? Some- how, one never thought that Francesca ought to take up any line : a leader ought not to specialise : she was born to be a leader — we all thought so : she thought so herself, I believe. But clever — oh ! yes. She was certainly clever. Sometimes she could say sharp things, especially to the men who thought they would try to marry her. They seldom got very far.' ' A girl who snubs her lovers — does that make her popular in Society ? ' 'Well, in a way. The girls admire her independence, and the men admire her pride. Every young man, I suppose, . thinks that his own must be the intellect to which she inust bow down. On the other hand, she never defers to the men, and perliaps they don't like that.' 174 THE REBEL QUEEN ' Go on. I like this kind of talk. There's nothing real about it — only the talk of young people who haven't got their money to make. Go on, my dear.' ' Well, Francesca was not exactly popular, because she was reserved, and made few intimate friends ; but her friends loved her. There is something mysterious about her — something Oriental — something concealed — something to be discovered. It is as if she had worn a veil. Always she seems to be reveal- ing something new. She corresponds with a young man who is her friend, on equal terms, but she will not marry him. She furnishes her room with rugs and hangings and divans, and puts carved cabinets about, till one really feels as if it was a room in a Harem. She has travelled everv where ; she knows half-a-dozen languages ; she can sing queer songs to strange instruments, and she used to dress up in different costumes — she would be an Albanian, a Montenegrin, a Syrian, an Armenian ' ' And a Jewess ? ' ' No. Somehow, she does not like Us. That MR. ALDEBERT ANGELO i75 is, she likes the individual — Me — not Us. We have had many talks about her unfortunate 23rejudice.' Mr. Angelo snorted. ' Unfortunate — yes. It is rather unfortunate, considering.' ' Her mother, you know, wants her to be- come a leader in her own line. Perhaps she will. Perhaps not. The only ambition that she confesses is to have a salon of her own — a salon for Hterature and art. There are no more salons in London — I suppose because we are so big and so cut up in cliques and sets. But Francesca will make an attempt.' ' Go, on, Clara ; I like it. When your money 's made for you, what does it matter how you enjoy it — so long as you do enjoy it ? ' 'And then' — Clara was one of the numerous tribe who love nothing so much as to talk about their friends — ' there is one curious thing about Francesca. She, who has travelled so much and seen so much, is sometimes as ignorant of the world as if she had been in a nunnery. Why people do things — what they want — you would think that she had never 176 THE REBEL QUEEN talked to anybody, nor ever wanted anything. It is quite curious suddenly to discover how ignorant she is.' ' Well ' — her father sat up in his chair and threw away the stump of his cigar — ' you've entertained me very pleasantly, my dear. I like to hear this kind of talk. Now, then, look here, Clara. There's a reason — don't ask me what — why you should cultivate this girl. Make as great a friend of her as you can.' Clara looked astonished. Then she turned very red. What did her father mean ? ' I want no encouragement for that, pro- vided ' She stopped short. One hardly likes to tell a father — particularly a father who is a stickler for the Law and expects blind obedience from his offspring — that you hope no business tricks are in contemplation. ' Provided,' her father repeated, ' that you don't get led astray by any nonsense about women and their equality. But you're too sensible, my dear, and you have been too religiously brought up — you know a woman's duties too well — to be led astray. One might MR, ALDEBERT ANGELO 177 as well be afraid that they'd convert you. Go there as much as you can, and talk to me about them as much as you please. Unless I am mistaken, things are going to happen before long in that house. Make the girl fond of you, Clara — mind that — make her lean upon you and turn to you for advice.' ' Am I to make myself a spy in the house .^ ' his daucrhter asked, her cheek flushings;. ' Not a spy ; I know all I want to about their actions. I want this girl to lean up- on you, and to take your advice. I have good reasons for desiring that. And look here, Clara, I'm a man of my word, which is one reason why I have got on. The chief reason why our people always do get on is because we are men of our word. Now, here is my word. I am bound, for certain reasons, to deal kindly towards Madame Elveda. Are you satisfied ? Very well, then. As for me, I shall very likely make the acquaintance of Madame before long. You smile, Clara .^ ' he asked good-humouredly. ' You think your father is not quite up to that lady's form ? VOL. L N 178 THE REBEL QUEEN We shall see — we shall see. By the way, her husband — Emanuel Elveda was his name — what became of Inm ? ' ' You knew him ? ' ' No, I did not. He was a man of great scientific promise, I have heard . What became of him ? Do you know ? ' ' He went abroad — to Morocco, I believe — on some scientific expedition, and died there.' ' Oh ! Killed by his brethren the Moors, I suppose. Ishmaelites were always lawless from the time of their father.' He was silent again for a space. Then he went off in a ramble of speech disconnected, following his thoughts — ' Children never quite understand what it means when they hear that their fathers have had to make their own way. If you knew, Clara, the kind of society that I used to enjoy when I was your age ; if you only knew — but there ! you know Middlesex Street : you can guess — ^what the beginnings were, you would understand the happiness it is for me to see MR. ALDEBERT ANGELO I79 you received and holding your own, at your ease, in this other kind of society. Money and success, money and success ! I always knew that — money and success throw open all the doors — all the doors — even the doors,' he laughed softly, ' of Spanish Moors — of Spanish Moors — of Spanish Moors.' He kept on re- peating the words as though they amused him. ' Of Spanish Moors. They open the doors of Spanish Moors.' y 2 iSo THE REBEL (lUEEN CHAPTEE YI THEY COME LIKE SHADOWS, SO DEPAET ' The meeting downstairs must be nearly over,' said Francesca. 'I wish I liked meetings. They bore me to death. I wish I could speak at the meetings. I wdsh, in fact, that I was otherwise.' It was about three weeks since the acting of the play and the declaration of the Thing Impossible. Francesca was sitting in her own room — that room in a Harem of which Clara had spoken — with Clara herself. Every Queen, Leader, Priestess of the present or the future, must have her confidante. It needed no encouragement, however, for Clara Angelo to cultivate this confidence. At home, you have seen, she breathed the atmosphere of moneys getting ; here she breathed the purer air of THEY COME LIKE SHADOWS, SO DEPART i8i those loftier levels on which the children stand when the money has been made, the independence achieved, and all the ladders kicked away. It is the Paradise of the money- maker's children, to whom it reveals the next generation. From the drawing-room below, from the liall, from the stairs, there came the sound of many voices and many feet, with the rustling of many dresses, with the occasional shrill notes of a single voice speaking witli fire and energy. It was the sound of a meet- ing, one of many meetings held every season in Madame Elveda's drawing-room in promo- tion of some branch of the great Cause. ' Clara, my dear,' Francesca replied, ' how shall I become otherwise ? ' The two girls sat in this nest of a room, all silk and velvet and embroideries, by them- selves. They had taken a pleasant afternoon tea. with cake and strawberries — an aBsthetic, artistic, highly cultivated afternoon tea. ' Nobody in the world wishes you other- wise, Francesca.' ' Alas ! my dear, there is my motlier. For 1 82 THE REBEL QUEEN she waits ; she waits and hopes, and I draw no nearer to her hopes.' ' Yet only tlie other day you wrote and acted your play of " The Eebel Queen " ? ' ' Yes,' Francesca replied slowly, ' I did, and I put into it the things that please my mother. And while I acted the part it seemed all right. I was Vashti, the Eebel Queen ; and ever since I have had an uneasy feeling that Esther had the best of it — the modern Esther particularly, because she is not dis- missed after a year or two.' ' This is sheer heresy, Francesca.' ' I suppose it is. Writing a play with my mother's sentiments in it, and refusing to marry a man in order to carry out my mother's views, ought to make it easier for me to begin that active part which she ex- pects. Somehow it doesn't. She holds her meetings ; she calls her committees ; she reads her papers ; she joins her Societies ; she fills the house with eager women, all wanting— want- ing — oh ! what is it they all want so much ? ' 'Shadows, Francesca.' Clara pretended THE V COME LIKE SHADO IVS, SO DEPART 183 to look around for listeners and whispered low, ' Shadows.' ' Shadows ? If I was sure that they were shadows I would join in the pursuit. They tell me that the things are real ; that is what makes me afraid of them. I am used to shadows. I have had very little else all my life.' ' Now you are going off into your fancies.' Francesca threw herself back in her low easy chair, and rested her head upon her hands. For a pretty girl it is a pretty attitude. And she began to talk, almost to whisper, in a stream of low and murmurous words. ' Everything is a show and a shadow : the world is only a play of phantoms. Why should we vex our souls about fleeting shadows and airy spectres ? Let the Show pass. Every one of us stands all by herself in the centre of infinity. It would be blackness inconceivable — solitude maddening — except for the Show which goes on all the time. When the Show ceases the soul will be left alone in the dark. That is death. I suppose the soul goes quite i84 THE REBEL QUEEN mad then, and for ever and ever knows nothing and feels nothing, being mercifully mad. But perhaps another Show begins — with light and music. Perhaps there is an endless procession of Shows, just to distract the poor lonely soul.' ' Fancies — fancies ! ' ' When fancies fill your mind they are as real as if they were not fancies. When you have no connection at all with the Passinfj Show, can it be anything but a Show of Shadows? What connection have I with the Passing Show ? We stand together — my mother and I — apart from the world — and watch it. She gets angry about it, and would alter things in it. She tries to make me angry — I used to get angry — ^just a little, you know, not much — out of sympathy with her. I get angry no longer — I look on, and I am sometimes interested. But to get angry be- cause one shadow weeps and another rages .^ To try to alter anything ? No.' ' What connection with the world would you have ? ' THE V COME LIKE SHADQ WS, SO DEPART 185 ' Why, what you have. Every other girl in the world has a country — a language — cousins — brothers — sisters. Every other girl has a part to play, her part with other girls and with men, in the Passing Show. She is a part of it : she plays, as actress, to herself as audience. She plays her part with her brothers, sisters, cousins. She falls in love, and plays a part with her lover. When she is not playing, she sits out and talks with others, and watches the playing of her friends-; she feels no loneliness ; it is only when the Show ceases for her that the loneliness beo"ins. You, for instance, have everything : all the machinery of relationship that joins people too^ether.' ' Oh ! yes. I have everything — cousins and all, I suppose.' ' Some of them, perhaps, not quite rich? ' ' Some of my cousins are quite poor.' ' Oh ! how delightful ! So that you are even able to understand what people mean by talking about poverty. Now, if I try to understand poverty, the thing evades me. I 1 86 THE REBEL QUEEN cannot understand liow people can consent to live at all unless they have enough of every- thing. Then, you had playfellows. I had none. I have always been quite alone. I never went to school ; I sat alone in a private room of a hotel, and masters came to teach me. We belonged to no country ; we had no language. I used to think in French, Italian, Spanish, wherever we happened to be. And I had no relations, not even cousins — nobody but my mother. Out of liotel windows and carriage windows I saw the Show of the world pass by. It was always a Show to me when I was a child — it is a Show still.' ' You are dreaming, Francesca.' ' Formerly, I used to guess at the stories — the Show is full of stories. Now, I don't care for the stories : I neither laugh nor weep over them, I only see what excellent materials the Show affords for Art of all kinds. You can make pictures, plays, poems, stories out of it — wonderful things in Art — out of this Show. But it isnt real any the more for the pictures. A rainbow is an artistic thin^', but THE V COME LIKE SHADO IVS, SO DEPART \ 87 it isn't real. So a starving group of needle- women may make an excellent picture or a most moving poem : I could try to paint the picture, but the misery of the thing would not be real to me.' ' Would 3^ou give them money ? ' 'I don't know. Perhaps. If they asked. Why not ? I should not feel the loss. You see, Clara, we have always been so rich. We have had nothing to do with making the money ; there are no responsibilities ; no estates, lands, or tenants. To be rich as we are is exactly like a story in the "Arabian Nights," where the Jinn gives the man a charm. Aladdin had his lamp ; he rubbed the lamp when he wanted anything. I have a magical possession j ust as good as Aladdin's lamp. My Jinn gave me a Magic Knob ; I touch it, and everything that I want comes up. It is pure magic. Where does it come from ? I don't know. I have never asked. There is nothing in the world that I cannot get by pressing the Magic Knob. How much reality do you think was left to Aladdin after 1 88 THE REBEL QUEEN he had practised with his lamp for twenty- years ? Why, when I w^as a child I used to think it was ridiculous of anybody to want anything when he only had to touch the bell. So foolish not to know so simple a thing ! Even now, when I press the Knob I have the same feeling that Aladdin had with his lamp.' ' But you do know very well that things are real.' ' No, I do not know very well. I only suppose. I am told that things are real, but I do not feel their reality or understand it. Therefore they are not real to me. Things, as you call them, produce on me only the effect of a Passing Show. I look out upon a Panorama, a Drama that never ends — an interesting Drama, the meaning and plot and proposed ending of which I do not under- stand.' ' What is real, then .^ Nothing ? ' ' I myself — I — I — I. And persons and things, so far only as they touch me — you and my mother and my pictures and my music and my books ; but the only thing quite real is THEY COME LIKE SHADOWS, SO DEPART 189 myself — I — myself — not the bag of bones and skin with a head and feet, but myself, with all my clothing — such as it is — poor rags and duds — of knowledoe and of Art. It matters nothing to me that another person feels her own reality. She isn't real to me. She isn't a part of myself.' ' But there are so many people part of oneself.' ' To you — yes — a great many. To me — none.' ' Your mother.' ' She is always watching over me, direct- ing, superintending. But I don't really know her. She is a kind of Providence for me.' ' Well, then, you must consent to marry ; you must find some one who will connect you at once and for ever w^ith the world.' ' Not that way, Clara ; I would rather be lonely than become a slave.' ' Well — but how can you be the only real thing when without the existence of this world of work your collection of acquire- ments — you yourself— would vanish .^ ' 190 THE REBEL QUEEN ' I don't know. The world of work is the machmery of the workl. It is the Service. It answers the bell, my dear, and brings up the things. We do not ask how the hotel is managed. That is the Service. Down below they are confecting a dinner for us — scouring pots, I dare say — peeling potatoes — making salad. Is that part of myself? ' ' Everything is, I suppose, a part of oneself. We are all human.' Francesca shook her head doubtfully. ' Nothing that is human should be outside us. So they say. Clara, let me confess all my hard-heartedness. I am never moved with reading of human miseries at all. They are only part of the Passing Show. You know the beggars who sit about the steps of the Italian churches — the picturesque, dirty, ragged, lazy creatures : the more dirty and ragged the more picturesque they are. To me they are there to make a picture. If they are poor and miserable it is their fault, I sup- pose. The tale of the greatest injustice does not make me angry. It is a matter for police THEY COME LIKE SHADOWS, SO DEPART J91 and magistrates ; it shows defective machinery; part of the Service is gone wrong. I should like to rinCT the bell and call the attention of the Manager to it. That is all.' ' Those two girls you told me of under the lamplight three years ago, Francesca ? ' ' There was some defect in the manage- ment, my dear. I ought to have rung the bell' ' Well, but — Francesca — with these fancies how are you going to carry on your mother's work ? ' ' That is the question I am always asking, Clara. How am I going to do anything of the kind ? She has set forth the condition of women. She demands their equality.' 'Man is master and will remain master,' said Clara, the Jewess. 'It is the Divine Law.' ' Then their equality by human law. That accomplished, all the rest is to follow. Well, I can feel strongly enough in my own case — I would never — never — never submit to a master — but — sometimes — when one thinks 192 • THE REBEL QUEEN of tlie Passing Show, and how the women play their parts with contentment, and the continuance of custom, and the strength of prejudice, and the impudence of one woman standing up for all the millions of women, the thing becomes impossible — I feel that I cannot even attempt it. At other times, when the fancy of the Passing Show vanishes, I can see the splendid audacity of an attempt to move the whole world. I become in imagination a greater than Yashti, who only rebelled against her Lord the King, and I feel myself the greatest of all women that ever lived, because I rebel for all.' * You midit be the bravest of all women, but you w^ould be the most unsuccessful. However, it seems to me a far, far greater dream — -that of the Leader even in a Cause doomed to fail — than to sit alone, by yourself, alone in the world, hardly amused by the Passing Show.' ' Do you think so, Clara ? Do you always think so? Sometimes I think so too. Just at this moment my own world — all my own. THE Y COME LIKE SHADO WS, SO DEPART 193 my very little world of what I love — seems to me far better than the real world. It is be- cause I am in doubt. Is it worth while to trouble about the real world ? Eeal ? What nonsense we talk about the real world ! There are a thousand real worlds. Let us make one for ourselves and live in it, as in a tabernacle — you and I, Clara, and two or three more. We can make it a world of Culture and Art. If we want food, we will press the Knob, and they will bring up on the hft a tray of peaches and grapes and Still Moselle. We will w^ork at Art, which is much finer than Humanity ; Art is the only Goddess who has nothing to do with age ; her followers have no past and no future — they live in present achievement.' ' Oh ! Francesca ! What is the good of dreaming an idle dream? Who can escape from the world ? It is always with us.' ' It need not be.' ' But your world of cuhure would be soon disturbed by certain unexpected realities. You cannot, for example, escape sickness and death.' Vol. I. 194 THE REBEL QUEEN * Sickness is only an incident. You get a toothache and it is disagreeable. It goes and it is forgotten. Bereavement ? Yes ; but then everybody hopes to escape it. Death ? It is the end. It comes, and we either feel no more for ever, or we wake to some new exist- ence elsewhere.' ' Oh ! you are truly an Oriental through and through, Francesca. You would live in a Harem secluded and guarded.' ' A Harem if you like — but without the King.' 'You would soon grow tired of your Harem and your seclusion and your Art.' ' Never — never — if you and two or three more will keep me company.' * Oh ! ' — Clara got up laughing — ' and a very pretty thing you would make of Art in vour cloister ! I think I see the conventional ligures. My dear, if you want to practise Art, you must not sit here and paint. You must go outside and watch — and study and imitate — the men.' ' Clara ! In this house ! ' Francesca sat THEY COME LIKE SHADO IVS, SO DEPART 195 up and laughed merrily. ' The roof will fall. The bell will not ring if you talk like that ! The Magic Knob will cease to act. The Ser- vice will run away — I don't know what will happen if you repeat such things.' ' You must do as the men do, my dear. You must go to the Life School. You must study anatomy, and draw from the living figure as it is. You must come out of your Harem, or your Art will be contemptible stuff indeed.' ' The child ' said Melkah. ' Have you watched the child of late ? ' ' I watch her every day,' Madame Elveda replied. ' What do you mean, Melkah ? ' ' She is troubled — she does not sincf. I do not hear her laugh — she sits in silence.' ' Well, she is thinking. She is a woman now, Melkah. She is thinking about the great future before her, and how to begin it.' • She is full of fancies. She is sick with fancies. Give her a lover to change her '2 196 THE REBEL QUEEN thoughts. Marry her — marry her. Let her have a husband to obey.' ' Melkah,' said the mistress, ' you should be back again in Damascus. My daughter shall own obedience to no man.' 197 CHAPTER VII THE ARM OF COINCIDENCE Mr. Angelo's little place in Mortimer Street is certainly more like a private liouse than a shop. The windows are those of a private house ; there is no name over the door, only a small brass plate with the name ' Angelo ' in the middle of the side-post. But all the world knows Angelo's. The door stands open, the visitor enters, turns the handle of an inner door, and finds himself on the ground floor, the back room opening out of the front. These rooms are furnished, rather too much furnished, with a curious assortment of chairs, tables, and cabinets. The waUs are covered with pictures, except where a bracket sup- ports a clock or a statuette or an ancient mug. The cabinets are filled with all man- ner of odds and ends, coins of every age and 198 THE REBEL QUEEN every land, watches of every maker, rings in trays, precious stones in trays, scarab^i and mummy figures and hieroglyphic inscriptions from Egypt, tablets covered with cuneiform characters from Assyrian mounds, statuettes in silver and bronze, ancient lamps, Eoman pottery and tiles, mediaeval glass, cameos — I know not what. The whole house is a museum : on the stairs are sarcophagi and things carved in wood, in the rooms above are china and porcelain, things precious and costly, ivory caskets, wooden chests, idols, arms and imple- ments from every country under the sun, dresses and fabrics of every kind ; there is nothing which may not be seen, examined, and bought here : there is nothing which Mr. Aldebert Angelo, proprietor of this won- derful collection, does not keep and does not know. He is not a picture-dealer, he will tell you ; yet here is a picture, a genuine Van- dyke. How does he know that it is genuine ? He laughs gently. Everybody knows, he says, such a simple thing as that. Here is a piece of Sevres. How does he know that it is THE ARM OF COIACIDENCE 199 genuine ? He laughs. Everybody, he says, can see at a glance that it is genuine. Here is a coin, a silver shekel, with the Maccab^an stamp. How does he know that it is genuine ? Well, he says, a forgery proclaims itself, whether it be paste pretending to be a dia- mond or gilt pretending to be gold, or a copy pretending to be an original. How do people get this eye for the genuine and the forged ? No one knows. It is born with a man, per- haps : inherited : specially it is a gift of the People to whom Mr. Aldebert Angelo belongs. A clerk sits on this ground-floor ; he is in- visible when you go in ; he remains invisible while you walk about and look at the things. When he perceives by a certain green hue that falls upon every visitor's face after a time that he is seized with a sickness of yearning, a longing for something, he suddenly appears, and proceeds to give, in a soft and confidential murmur, a little history of that thing. He is quite young, but he knows about as much as his employer, and he never — never — never suffers anybody to depart without leaving 2CO THE REBEL QUEEN behind him a substantial portion of his worldly wealth in return for a bibelot, a bit of bric-a- bracary, a coin, a pot, a picture, a statuette. This mornino' two men were conversing: in one of the front windows of this museum. They were both men of about fifty. One of the two you have already seen. He was standing, one foot on a carved stool, his left hand jingling keys in his pocket, a man some- what shorter than the average, and certainly of more soHd build. He was dressed in the style of the substantial British merchant : there are a good many like him, I believe, in the City, and we recognise the figure, and we know what it is meant for when it is drawn or when it is met. Broadcloth covers that figure — a good, substantial broadcloth. The company of which he is chairman may be shoddy and sham ; but his exterior is good broadcloth. This figure wore a faultless hat, had a solid gold chain across his waistcoat, a large signet-ring on his finger, and gold pince- nez with a thin gold chain upon his nose. His THE ARM OF COINCIDENCE 201 hair had gone off the temples and crown ; what was left of it was blaek ; he had thick black eyebrows ; his eyes were keen and bright ; his face, though the features were somewhat marred with too generous living, sliowed the greatest ability — such a man might have been Chancellor of the Exchequer, or he might have organised a revolution, yet he was only a dealer in bric-a-brac ; he might have led the House of Commons, but he was only Mr. Aldebert Angelo, of Mortimer Street, dealer in curios. He was standing. The other man was seated on a carved oaken chest. This man, about the same age, was of very different ap- pearance. Generous living had not puffed his cheeks or swelled his neck ; he was slight and thin ; he clearly belonged to a lower social level ; he wore a pot-hat, and was dressed in a grey suit which fitted more tightly than is the fashion with most men. His sharp face, the carriage of his small, well- set head and body, his keen eyes, showed a curious alertness as of one always on the 202 THE REBEL QUEEN watch — the face of the hunter and the hunted. The name of this person to the general pubhc was Sydney Bernard. To those who know the Turf and have heard of bookmakers — one need say no more. And though no two men could be more unlike each other, and though the two men bore different names, this man was the brother of Mr. Aldebert Angelo. ' The name attracted me first,' Mr. Angelo was saying. His voice was soft, musical, and low — say persuasive — say rich if you like — but there is a less pleasing adjective sometimes used in connection with such a voice, that you must not use. ' The name, Elveda. Every- body knows the name. Why, it belongs to history — our history — as much as the name of Albu — who ever heard of an Elveda out- side ourselves ? My Clara first told me about these people. She made the acquaintance of the girl — Francesca Elveda — at Newnham, where she was at college, you know — Clara thinks everything about her. Never was a girl so clever ; never was a girl so beautiful ; never was a girl so rich ; calls herself a THE ARM OF COINCIDENCE 203 Spanish Moor. That set me thinking. Why should a Jewess call herself a Spanish Moor ? How came she to be so rich ? You never heard of an Elveda with money, brother? ' ' Never.' ' They were Spanish Counts once, and pretended to be Catholics, but they had no money. There have been scholars among them and men of science and study, but never any rich men. Where did the money come from, then ? And why Spanish Moors? Our people can call themselves what they like, brother, but ' The brother nodded. ' What they like,' he repeated. ' All the same ' ' I understand you, brother ; that is so, fortunately for ourselves. It is by Special Providence, and for our ultimate glorification. I haven't seen the girl, but I understand, from Clara that a Spanish Moor is not to be dis- tinguished from a Spanish Jew. Well, Clara is a friend of the girl and goes to the house. They live in Cromwell Eoad, not far from my house. They've got the biggest house in the 204 THE REBEL QUEEN Eoad ; they've got horses and carriages ; the place is always full of people ; they give dinners and dances and private theatricals and concerts. Madame Elveda has meetings about women's rights and such stuff. I am told that the house is well furnished, and that it contains — as you'd expect from a house furnished by women — everything that it shouldn't — bad copies for pictures, antiques made yesterday, old armour hammered last week, and china most clumsily forged ; you know the stuff that goes into a house where there are only women. Why, my Clara her- self, with all her advantages, has never been quite able to tell a copy from an original. So long as they believe that it's all right they are happy. Wait till it comes to selling off.' ' What are you coming to ? ' asked the other. ' Wait a bit. I said I was going to sur- prise you — and I am. Everything in this world is accidental. When I was in Paris the other day, I saw in the shop of one of my cor- respondents a very curious little collection of THE ARM OF COINCIDENCE 205 books. Quite by accident — for I don't as a rule buy books — I asked what they were and where they came from. They were once the proper t}', he told me, of a certain Charles Albu ' ' Charles Albu ! ' Mr. Bernard, who had been showing signs of boredom, became sud- denly attentive. ' Charles Albu ! What re- lation was he to us ? ' 'Charles Albu!' Mr. Angelo repeated. ' You have heard of the great contractor in the Peninsular War, Simeon Albu ? You know that he was a cousin of ours ? ' ' I have heard that there was such a cousin. As for any use he was to us ' ' None — none ! Our father was too proud to ask his help — foolishly proud, I call it — when a few hundreds would have lifted him once for all out of the Whitechapel hole where he has always been mouldering. But he wouldn't. Well, this Charles Albu was the only child of that great contractor.' ' He must have been rich, then.' ' He was rich. As my Frencli corre- 2o6 THE REBEL QUEEN spondent told me, he was riGlie a millions — richissime. He was almost as rich as any man need wish to be. I made it my business to find out all I could about him, because in such a case nobody knows what may happen. When a great fortune is in a family, it is like a title or a landed estate. All the cousins must keep up their connection with the family. Nobody knows how an estate may drop in. To look after such a fortune, brother, should be a duty which we owe to ourselves and to our children.' The other, who was a man of few words, nodded his head. 'Well, then. Now listen. This Charles Albu lived in Paris all his life ; he never entered into any speculations, nor did he gamble, nor did he sport, nor did he trade; he enjoyed his income. He spent money in collecting books ; two or three booksellers weep stiJl to think of him, but he never spent all his income, and he never tried to increase it in any way. A dull life, brother — dull, dull, and unprofitable.' THE ARM OF COINCIDENCE 207 The other man shook his head. 'Dull,' he repeated. ' A waste of life, neither to make more nor to lose.' ' He just lived as a wealthy man among the pleasures of Paris.' ' Pleasures ? ' the man of the Turf repeated. 'Pleasures ? — without speculation — or sport — or gambhng — they are all the same ' he looked to his brother to finish the sentence. ' Life has few other pleasures indeed. This man, our cousin, thought difierently, I sup pose. He lived retired ; he took such pleasure as he wanted, and he died young.' * No wonder ! ' 'Well, now I am going to give you my surprise. He had only one daughter ; she is said to have been very beautiful — also a cousin of ours, mind. This girl was twenty when her father died ; at twenty-one she in- herited the whole of the great fortune. She was then about the biggest heiress in France, and she married. She might have married anybody she pleased, with all her money ; she might have married a great English lord — 2o8 THE REBEL QUEEN French lords are not of much account. But she did not ; she just married one of her own people. He was a young man who had made already some discoveries or other in science — what they call a promising young man — it is just as well that some of our ability should show itself in other than business lines. The name of this young man was Emanuel Elveda.' ' Oh ! ' The other man looked up sharply. ' Then these rich people are our cousins ! ' ' I thought I should surprise you, brother. Yes, this millionaire and her daughter are our cousins. We had the same great-grandfather, and he lived in the Ghetto of some Italian town. But there's more to tell. They had not been married very long — a year, per- haps — when they quarrelled and parted, no one knows why. As for the husband, he went away, and nobody knows what became of him. He is dead, probably. The wife, who had a baby, remained abroad until three or four years ago. But she is separated from her own People — goes no more to synagogue — THE AkM OF COINCIDENCE 209 and declares herself to be a Spanish Moor, which her daughter is said to believe. A Spanish Moor ! So, you see, our cousin is not likely to own us.' ' Where is the money ? ' * I do not know. My inquiries have brought me little further than the separation. When that happened, Isabel Elveda took the management of her fortune out of the hands of the former manager, who was one of Us, and placed them in Christian hands in order to mark her departure.' ' Is she a Christian, then ? ' Mr. Bernard asked quickly. 'Not that I know of. The inheritance was invested when the daughter succeeded, in French Eentes of various kinds and in English Consols — safely r.nd prudently invested. That I know, because I have conversed with the former manager — an old man now. Where it is now I cannot tell.' ' This great fortune, brother ' He stopped and waited. He had a way of lettino- his brother finish the sentence. VOL. I. p 210 THE REBEL QUEEN ' I know what you are going to say — it belongs to the family. It is true that this woman has left her own People, but she would not, surely, give away such an immense fortune out of the family. She could not. And it is our duty to reflect that the manage- ment of this fortune is in the hands of a woman ; and that she may be tempted to play with it — fancy an ignorant woman playing with such a property ! Think of the sharks and the robbers who would gather round her as soon as she began to play ! Think of the rotten things she would be made to bolster up for their benefit. Why, it is terrible to think of what might happen.' Mr. Bernard nodded thoughtfully. ' Do you know how much it is .^ Forty millions of francs when this woman suc- ceeded — more than a million and a half of English money. Sixty thousand pounds a year ! Sixty thousand pounds a year ! More than a hundred and fifty pounds a day ! Six pounds an hour ! There's a for- tune for you ! Good Heavens ! And all in THE ARM OF COINCIDENCE 211 the hands of one woman who has but one child — a girl. The girl may never marry — she seems to be a fool, for she says she shall never marry — or she may have no children y or she may die — then, brother, what be- comes of all this money? Besides, I have heard from Paris. Her agent, a Frenchman and a Christian — it is whispered among Us — speculates — and has been losing.' ' What can we do ? ' ' She has left her People. She should be dead to us. But then it isn't as if she were a man ; and it isn't as if she had turned Chris- tian, for she hasn't. She is only to be regarded as a Jewess who neglects her religion ; and she is always, remember, our cousin. Per- haps she does not know that she has any cousins : certainly her father kept up no ac- quaintance with our side of the family. In that case, we ought, perhaps, to inform her that she has a large family of cousins. Perhaps she is not desirous of cultivating her rela- tions — that is her look-out. We shall certainly not force ourselves upon her — not that she p 2 212 THE REBEL QUEEN has any call to be ashamed. What ? A man may strip himself of everything — religion and race and friends and money — but he can't strip himself of his family, that remains. You belong to your family, you are tied to your family, you can't get away from it — any way. The brothers and the cousins remain.' ' They do.' ' And they have the right to offer assist- ance and counsel. It may not be taken, but they can offer it.' ' Then we might ' ' What you are going to say, brother, is exactly my opinion. We might call upon her. Let us think it over. I learn from Clara that Madame Elveda, our cousin, Isabel Albu that was, is a proud and very dignified woman. We must be very careful. It will not do to fling in her face publicly the fact that she pre- tends to be what she is not, and that she is what she pretends not to be. We must be very careful.' ' Does Clara know ? ' Mr. Angelo laughed softly. 'Would a THE ARM OF COINCIDENCE 213 wise man entrust a secret to the keeping of a woman ? No — no. Clara will be useful. Clara makes herself necessary to the girl ; but Clara does not know why.' Just then the door was pushed open, and a man walked in looking about him. He was a man of middle age — say of forty-five. He had the healthy brown skin — with stains of weather upon it — which belongs to men who have travelled or voyaged much, yet nothing of the sailor in his aspect. You could guess from the first glance at his face that he was a traveller. He was not dressed quite in the fashion of Piccadilly : you could not, from his appearance, assign him his position in the w^orld. Now, most men can be set down as this, that, or the other merely from their outward appearance. For instance, looking round in an omnibus one discovers that this man has a shop, or a ' place of business ; ' and that the oth^r man is in the City, and has an office ; and that the third man is evidently a solicitor ; and the fourth man is a profes- sional in one of the fancy kinds, such as music ; 214 THE REBEL QUEEN and the fifth man is connected with the Turf; and the sixth is an actor ; and the seventh is a rustic ; and the eighth is a clergyman — and so on. It was, however, more difficult to guess from his appearance the condition or calling of this man. He was dressed in a loose jacket of brown cloth, and had a soft felt hat : so far, he might have been an artist of some kind. But there was nothing of the artist on his face. His other garments showed signs of long wear : his boots were made for tough work. He might have been returning from a long journey : he was travel- stained : his hands were, and always had been, glove- less : they were browned by exposure, and the fingers were horny, as if they worked. These outward signs, taken together, do not belong to any of the known professions. Yet if the spectator or the speculator should by accident chance upon a recollection of the word 'Pilgrim,' that would at once suggest a solution of the difficulty. The man might be a pilgrim ; the felt hat, in imagination, en- larged its borders and became ornamented THE ARM OF COINCIDENCE 215 with scallop-shells ; his grey jacket became a long grey gabardine with a belt, from which hung a shell and scrip ; and his walking-stick became a pilgrim's staff. Pilgrim, no doubt. Pilgrim to many a holy shrine. A pilgrim, truly. This man had wandered alone for twenty years, all the time on pilgrim- age. He was, as you shall learn in good time, the greatest pilgrim living — the most exten- sive pilgrim of past or present. This man was no other than Emanuel Elveda, the very man of whom the brothers had just before been talking. The arm of coincidence brought him to this place at this moment. When last you saw him he refused, in his wife's drawing-room, the wages of com- promise. He was young then. Twenty years make a great difference in every man's face ; the change is not capricious but by law — see my great work of the future on the subject of Development, Chapter XLIY., 'On the Face and its Expression ; ' title of sub-section, ' In- fluence of Occupation.' It is a very interesting chapter, and full of learning. Here you will 2i6 THE REBEL QUEEN see set forth — but compare Chapter XCII. on ' Daily Habit '-—not only the general laws, but also the law of influence. Show me a faith- ful portrait of a man at twenty-five, and another of the same man at fifty, and I will read the history of his habitual thoughts, and tell you the kind of work he has been doing. Such knowledge should prove especially use- ful at a general election, the choice of a pre- sident, or the recognition of a leader. This man's life had been that of a philo- sopher ; therefore, his face had softened — all the lines in it had softened. When last we saw that face there was the look of a warrior — a captain ; now it was the face of a ruler — a sheikh. The man had ruled nobody except himself: that is enough, however, when the self is great. There had been the keen eye of a hawk on the face : now the eyes — the deep blue eyes — were softened. Full of light were they still, but it was the evening, not the morning light. Often in twenty years the beauty and the strength of a face vanish : look round among the men of fifty, and restore, if THE ARM OF COINCIDENCE 217 you can, the face of one-and- twenty. Where is it — that face so bright and brave, so pure and loft}" ? Gone — gone ! The smudges of thirty years have changed and spoiled it ; it is spoiled by the allurements of life ; it is stained with wine, puffed with feasting, dragged down by the tangles of Neasra's hair: the strong face has become weak; tlie face framed for wisdom has become foolish. But this man's face was still strong ; it was stronger than of old, yet no longer com- bative; his brown beard was flecked with grey ; liis hair, longer than most men wear it, was thin on the temples and also flecked with grey ; crows' feet lay round his eyes, which were serious eyes ; a deep line had been drawn across his forehead ; his mouth, so far as could be seen behind his beard, was grave and set ; there was little lauirhter on those lips. And he wore glasses — glasses with good stronc^ blue rims. He removed his hat as he entered, and stood looking about him. The clerk of the ground-floor seeing; that 2i8 THE REBEL QUEEN' this was no purchaser but, perhaps, a vendor, became instantly visible, stepped down the shop, and asked him gently how he could serve this stranger. ' I have a letter,' he said, ' for Mr. Alde- bert Anejelo.' His English was very good, but it had a foreign accent. You know how a French- man, a German, and a Russian respectively speak English — this man spoke as a Russian does, quite clearly and distinctly, and with all the aspirates right, yet with a foreign accent. Mr. Angelo turned round. ' A letter for me? I am Mr. Aldebert Angelo. Hand it over, my friend.' The visitor produced a letter from a large leather pocket-book, shiny and black from long use. 'It is,' he said, ' from your Ham- burg correspondent, Solomon Rosenberg.' Mr. Angelo looked at him curiously and opened the letter. ' Oh, Lord ! ' he cried. Now, nobody had ever before witnessed such a phenomenon in Mr. Aldebert Angelo. He was accustomed to THE ARM OF COINCIDENCE 219 receive everything — changes of price, depre- ciation of value, or the opposite — with the cahn of a philosopher. At this moment he gazed upon his visitor with every mark of uncontrolled amazement. His face seemed to become thin as well as pale — but this was a spectral illusion — he opened his mouth, he gasped. * What is it ? ' asked his brother. For reply, the astonished man handed over the letter, murmuring, 'Eead it and see ! ' Mr. Bernard read the letter. His pro- fession — if any can — teaches one to guard against sudden emotions. The most surprising things do not disturb the Turf man outwardly. He did not change colour ; he only lifted his eyes and glanced at the man who had brought the letter, and then gave it back to his brother, and waited for him to speak. ' You are Emanuel Elveda ? ' Mr. Angelo asked, recovering a little. ' You are actually Emanuel Elveda .^ ' ' I am Emanuel Elveda,' the man replied 220 THE REBEL QUEEN gently. He appeared quite unconscious of any cause for curiosity, and stood before them without the least embarrassment. ' Pray — my correspondent does not tell me this, there may be more than one person of your name — are you the Emanuel Elveda who married, about twenty years ago, in Paris, one Isabel, daughter of the late Charles Albu, in the Synagogue, Eue Notre-Dame-de- Nazareth ? ' ' I am that Emanuel Elveda.' ' Oh ! and I believe that you were separated from your wife about a year afterwards?' ' That is so.' ' And you have never been heard of since ? ' ' There is no reason whv I should be heard of My wife had left me. I liad neither wife nor cliild to ask after me. If the world — which has long forgotten me — should re- member me again, and should clioose to think me dead, what does that matter? ' ' Neither wife nor child ? Why, your wife is still living here in London.' ^ My wife has left me. That is enough,' THE ARM OF COINCIDENCE 221 ' Why have you written no letters ? ' Mr. Angelo put this question, gazing upon him curiousl3^ ' I have, besides, neither brother nor sister. And I have no money. Therefore I am a person of no interest to the world. Why should I write letters? To whom should I write letters ? ' 'How do we know that you are Emanuel Elveda ? ' ' What does it matter ? I am Isaac Cohen, if you like, or Solomon Lowe. What does it matter ? If you do not believe that I am Emanuel Elveda, believe that I am somebody else.' ' Well, I suppose you are the man. The reason why I started when I read your letter was that we were actually talking about you at that very moment. A co- incidence ! ' ^ 'Yes, a coincidence,' Emanuel answered carelessly. Why should, or why should not, these people talk about him ? He did not ask why they were talking about him or what 222 THE REBEL QUEEN they were saying. He was indifferent. The thing did not concern him.' 'In all these years — twenty years, is it not.^ — of your absence, what, if we may ask, have you been doing ? ' ' I have been wandering? — travelling — no — - wandering about the world.' 'And now you propose, I dare say, to return to your wife .^ ' ' No ; she may return to me, if she pleases. I shall not return to her. Pray, if you are a friend of my wife's ' ' I have never seen her.' ' Then we need not speak of her. We will speak of the reason of this visit. Your friend, Solomon Eosenberg, of Hamburg, told me that perhaps you could assist me in what I want.' . : ' What is your business ? Is it money ? ' . 'There is no money in any business of mine.' ' I remember to have heard that you were a man of science. I suppose there is no money in science?' THE ARM OF COINCIDENCE 223 ' I do not live by science but by the work of my hands. I am a carver in wood.' ' A carver in wood ! You are a man of science, and you hve by the work of your hands ! And your wife is a milHonaire — the richest woman of all our People — living in a Palace ! And you live by carving wood ! This is truly wonderful ! ' ' What is it to me whether my late wife is rich or poor ? Will you do for me what I want ? If so, I will work for you ; if not, I will go.' ' What do you ask me to do for you ? ' ' Find me a market for my carving. Herr Eosenberg says you buy such things. I work at it only enough to pay my way, and I ask but little for my work.' ' If you really can carve. Plenty of men pretend to this, that, and the other, but a real carver of wood is as difficult to find as a good painter of pictures. It is an age of bad art, my friend, bad work, bad everything, bad workmen multiplied by the thousand. If you can really carve, look at this chest now.' He 224 THE REnEL QUEEN pointed to the small oak chest on which Mr. Sydney Bernard had been sitting : it was covered with wood-carving ; there were pilasters on the sides and front ; there were vines with leaves and clustering grapes — a very beautiful piece of old carving to all appearance. ' Look at that now. What do you think of this piece of work — a noble, noble piece of last- century work ? Can you equal that ? ' The man stooped and examined it care fully. ' This,' he said, ' is not last-century work at all. It was executed yesterday. Nor is it noble work ; it is common work. You called it last-century work in order to try me. He who sells this chest for good work or for old work commits a fraud.' Mr. Angelo laughed. ' He who buys it for good work or for old work, my friend, commits a folly. That is the better way to put it. Come, now, Mr. Elveda, can you do such work as that .^ ' ' Mine is very much finer work. This is coarse in execution and common in design,' THE ARM OF COINCIDENCE 525 * Humph ! I thouglit you were a scientific man. Well, if you really can do what you say — come, Mr. Elveda, bring me a sample of your work. If it is only as fine as this wliich you call coarse and connnon I '11 take all you can do. And the more the better. And for terms — but you shall see.' ' Thank you. I will begin at once.' ' What is your address ? Where are you lod^incf ? ' * I do not know. I must find one some- where. Do you know of any place where I could live .^ It must not be quite in the middle of the houses. They choke me.' Mr. Angelo stroked his chin thoughtfully. Then he looked at his brother and nodded his head, with the least little emphasis as of private meaning and intelligence. 'Perhaps I can. You want to work at home and to have meals at home, I suppose. Yes. Yours is clean work. I suppose you don't carry on scientific work — which means stinks and bottles in your room — only the carving. Yes. You don't want, naturally, VOL. I. (i 226 THE REBEL QUEEN to be very near your wife — you are not anxious to meet her — you are not anxious for her to meet you — of course not. Well, now, my friend here — Mr. Bernard is his name — happens to have a room in his house which would just suit you.' Mr. Bernard started slightly, but made no other sign. ' You can have it for five shillings a week, and you can make some arrangement about meals. His daughter teaches music, which won't interfere with your work. Make it lively, like a barrel- organ all day in the street. The place is at the other end of the town — a cheer- ful, airy locality, looking out over a — kind of garden. And you can get about by the Underground Eailway — Portland Eoad Station.' ' Thank you. I shall be very glad to accept the offer if this gentleman ' ' Oh yes ! ' said Mr. Bernard. ' I suppose you can have the room. Shall you want it for long ? ' ' Not for long ; I have some business to get through — the business that brought me THE ARM OF COINCIDENCE 227 here. Perhaps two or three months — then I shall go away agam.' 'There's another thing,' Mr. Angelo con- tinued. 'If you don't want to be known, you had better take another name. Many of our people do, you know. My name is not Angelo. If you don't want people to go about saying that Emanuel Elveda, who was thought to be dead, has come back to life, you had better call yourself something else. Just as you like, you know, but if you don't want to be talked about you had better work under another name. Emanuel Ellis, say — eh ? Why not Ellis ? ' ' As you please. Let it be Ellis — or any- thing else — as you please.' ' Where are your things ? ' ' I have a bai? with a chano-e of clothes and my tools.' ' Very good ! Then here is the address.' Mr. Angelo wrote it down on a card. 'Mr. Bernard is now going home, and will see that things are ready for you. Good morning, my friend. Good morning, Mr. EUis.' q2 228 THE REBEL QUEEN Emanuel Elveda took the card, read the address, inchned his head gravely, and went away. ' Brother,' said Mr. Angelo, when the door closed, ' I promised you a surprise ; but hang me if I was prepared for such a surprise as this ! Well, now ! That is Emanuel Elveda — our cousin by marriage. We may as well keep the little secret to ourselves, and keep the man under our own eyes — eh? Your lodger. No need for the world to know that Emanuel Elveda, thought to be dead, has come to life again — eh ? His wife don't want him back. Nobody wants him back. But where there is money it's well to be care- ful.' 'Quite as well,' his brother repeated. * As to the man, now ' ' I know what you are going to say. The man is clearly one of those unfortunates who never could make money with all the chances in the world. He married a millionaire, and he left her — think of that ! He keeps him- self with wood-carving — actually with wood- THE ARM OF COINCIDENCE 229 carving ! He's a chemist, and I don't know what. He ought to be discovering things, taking out patents — rolhng in riches. Wood- carving ! And his wife a milHonaire ! He won't give you any trouble, brother, and it really is just as well to know what he is doing. We may be instrumental in bringing all that money back through this very man. Wood- carving ! Well, I shall get him cheap, I dare say. Tliat will be something — if he can really carve. And I shall be useful to him. There's no gratitude in trade ; but in science, who knows ? And the Elvedas were always fools about money.' 230 THE REBEL QUEEN CHAPTER VIII IN THE LABORATORY There is no place in the world more full of mystery, which is one form of delight, than a well-ordered laboratory. A woman's heart is full of mystery ; but even when one has it ■ — surrendered at discretion and given up — in one's own custody, it is so very, very hard to read. A cuneiform, a Hittite inscription, is as legible. A factory Avitli its steam-engine and complicated wheels and whirr is full of mystery, but of a kind which makes the beholders wonder and utter vague common- places about the ingenuity of man. A studio with pictures in various stages of advance- ment, from the portrait which is as yet a mere ghost in chalk to the finished figure ; with bits of tapestry ; with a gallery of IN THE LABORATORY 231 carved wood; with armour, spear -heads, swords, mirrors, costumes, and properties of all kinds, is full of mystery. But a chemical laboratory, with its bottles, retorts, crucibles, scales under glass, blow-pipes, glass rods, glass cylinders, jars, pestle and mortar, and its strange smells, is the most mysterious thing in the whole world. We are so well educated now that we no longer expect the bottles to go pop of their own accord. Time was when a lecture on chemistry was given once a year at the AthenaBum or Mechanics' Institute, and it was bound to end with a pop. But the Laboratory recalls necro- mancers, poisoners, alchemists, searchers after the divine Elixir — some day they will find it, I dare say — magicians, physicians, con- jurers, and all those who formerly worked with a crucible and a furnace : they all belong to the Laboratory. And from the Laboratory will come, in the future, the secrets that are going to do such wonderful things for the human race. The mysteries of the future, as well as those of the past, are in 232 THE REBEL QUEEN the Laboratory. As for tlie mysteries of the present, they belong to the chemist himself. Harold Alley ne was the cliemist of the present. He belonged by birth to a family wliich had not for many generations been called upon to earn their daily bread. It was, in fact, afflicted with a peerage. Now, a peerage of long standing is apt to develop, in those members of the family who stand near to the title, a certain indolence of brain which only wants encouragement to spring up in every human creature. Our brains would be overrun with this weed were it not for the necessity of work. Nobody except Eabelais has ever thoroughly comprehended the true beneficence of that necessity. Most of us would like nothing better than to stroll and talk between meals, or to sit in drowsy content. Black Jack or Brown George at our elbows, and tobacco within reach, either beneath the shade of the trees or beside the fire, nodding at intervals, and from time to time taking another pull. Such a heavenly life had been led by Harold's people for cer- LV THE LABORATORY 233 tainly two hundred years — in fact, ever since they fought in the Civil War. They feasted and drank and took their tobacco and slept all through the last century, and, indeed, until the fourth quarter of this, which is now coming to an end. They grew fat of body and sluggish in mind as they continued in their Castle of Indolence. No family ever produced history so blameless, so absolutely barren of incident, so completel}^ devoid of distinction as this noble family, whose head was the Earl of Hay ling. This late nine- teenth century, however, is pestilently break- ing up all the good old traditions. Among other things, it has produced a most remark- able spirit of activity or restlessness, which is driving the younger sons and the grandsons into the learned professions, and into trade and into pursuits which are neither trade nor profession. Formerly they went into the Army or they did nothing. They are now found at the Bar and in the hospitals ; they are found on the Stock Exchange and in merchants' offices ; they are found on cattle 234 THE REBEL QUEEN ranches ; they are even, I am informed, found on the beach among the isles of the Pacific. This restlessness seized upon the young Earl of Hayling — it was in the sixties — -it was an early case of the disorder : it was then ac- counted wonderful : it so possessed that young nobleman that he laid down his title and his estates and everything that he had : he did this deliberately and in cold blood : he exe- cuted a legal instrument by which a certain brother was to receive and to use for himself all his rents until his return : he would have given him the title as well, but he could not. He did, however, assure his brother that he should never return. When this was done he put on common clothes, he sought the Port of London, and he shipped as a sailor before the mast. For ten years nobody heard anything more of him : then his soli- citor met him by accident, down Limehouse way, still dressed as a sailor — hale, hearty, and cheerful. The sailor Earl inquired kindly after the welfare of his people, and sent a reassuring message to his brother that IN THE LABORATORY 235 he did not mean to return, and then dis- appeared again. Therefore Harold, whose father, this brother above named, was now dead, knew not whether he was a Peer or not. His uncle might be alive — very likely he was alive : he might have married — most men are married by the time they are fifty : there might be heirs — most men, married men, at fifty do have heirs — male heirs — sons. Meantime, when his father died the right to draw the rents was lost, and all tlie money was accumulating for the next Earl, whoever he might be. The intellectual restlessness which caused his uncle to run away at the age of five-and- twenty passed over Harold's father, who lived in the country, and dozed between meals, and presently passed away peacefully in an after- luncheon nap, at the early age of forty or so. It descended, however, to Harold himself, and made him a man of science, not a dabbler in science — a man of science. At Cambridge he took a first-class in science ; he became a Fellow and Lecturer of his college ; he worked 236 THE REBEL QUEEN at science as resolutely as if lie had his bread as well as his name to make. The former was already provided for. His father, who had enjoyed the family estates for fifteen years, left him an income of fifteen hundred a year, which is a good start in hfe. A man with fifteen liundred a year can do anything in reason. The things that are unreasonable can always be bought, but they are costly. Harold lived in Chelsea. He inhabited a house built for a studio — a tadpole kind of house, all studio and staircase, with two or three little rooms added for feeding and sleep- ing : the house was, in fact, a studio, and nothing else. He turned the studio into a laboratory. Thus transformed, it was a large room on the first floor. It had a broad north window and a piece of skylight ; it was pro- vided with a furnace, a sink, and a tap, for when the chemist is not experimenting he is w^ashing up. There were tables with jets of gas, blowpipes, and contrivances for holding things in position while they were tortured by the flame into yielding up their secrets ; there IN THE LABORATORY 337 were shelves of books in French, German, and Itahan, as well as English ; there was a writing- table of proportions almost equal to that of Madame Elveda's. It was an honest work- shop, as complete as a small laboratory can be. One thing it possessed w^hich does not usually belong to a laboratory — the portrait of a girl, a cabinet photograph, clear, bold of outline, true and natural, taken in Italy, where the lens is clearer and the sun stronger than in this country. It stood in a frame on the table, so that the worker could refresh his soul from time to time by the contemplation of it and the consideration of its owner's virtues. This morning Harold was at work alone in his laboratory. As it was not many days after his dismissal by the young lady whose portrait stood on his table, he should have presented certain outward and visible marks of discomfiture, rage, disappointment, and despair. I have never with these eyes of mine beheld a rejected lover except once, when the creature actually laughed and 238 THE REBEL QUEEN jumped over the table for joy, for he had been afraid that he should be accepted. This young man certainly did not jump for joy ; nor did he clench his fist and knit his brows ; nor did he sit in the corner and sigh — nothing of the kind. As Charlotte — Werther's Char- lotte — went on cutting bread and butter, so this young man went on with his Eesearch. He was always conducting a Eesearch : it had been interrupted by a young lady who told him to think of her no longer except as a friend ; he had now resumed his labours until a more favourable opportunity. His face wore the grave and steady look of one who works and watches, and thinks and seeks for facts, always new facts. It is the look which ennobles ; there is no expression brought to the face by any other work which so much ennobles the face ; let our sons take up no lesser and lower work than this. On the table — but he was not sitting at the table — beside the portrait lay a letter from Francesca ; he had opened it and read it. Not a word was there about the few words of explanation IN THE LABORATORY 239 and the Thing Impossible ; it was free and frank like all her letters, friendly, confidential ; she meant to carry out lier promise ; she would write to him just as if there had been no such episode. Very well ; love-making set aside for the present, work could be resumed : meantime one could wait : the future might bring much. Francesca was a girl of many fancies : Melkah, the wise woman, had de- livered an Oracle of Comfort and of Hope. He worked from ten o'clock till noon : what he worked upon you may find in the ' Transactions of the Chemical Society ' of last year. While he was still engaged, the door of his laboratory was opened, and a man appeared without being announced. Harold heard nothing. The man waited for a moment. He looked about the room and nodded. He looked at the owner of the place and he smiled. Then he stepped softly across the room, and laid his upon Harold's shoulder. Harold started, dropped his blowpipe, and sprang to his feet. ' You ! ' he cried ; ' you ! — Ema- nuel ! — my dear friend, where have you been ? 240 THE REBEL QUEEN What have you been doing ? Why have you never written to me ? ' He seized both hands, and began again : ' Where have you been ? What have you been doing ? Sit down — sit down. Take this chair, so. Now let us talk. Where have you been ? ' 'I have been, as usual, wandering over the face of the earth.' He spoke gently and softly, with a foreign accent. 'Your name is not Emanuel but Carta- philus, or Isaac Laquedem. You are nothing less than the Wandering Jew.' 'I am a wandering Jew, that is quite certain. Yet not Cartaphilus or Isaac La- quedem.' ' When I made your acquaintance you had been wandering for sixteen years — and that is four years ago ' 'Yes, I am still a wanderer. I wander about the world and look on. It is very in- teresting.' ' You ought to write down what you know.' ' I will, perhaps, some day, but one gets IN THE LABORATORY 241 out of the habit of writing. The ancients meditated ; the moderns write. I prefer the ancient practice.' ' They died, and their meditations were lost.' 'They returned to the earth. On that very day, you think, their thoughts perished. Perhaps, my friend — perhaps ; if anything ever perishes. Yes, I have been wandering for more than twenty years. I began my travels first in order to get rid of a certain trouble. It was a grievous trouble, and I had to get as far away from it as possible. It was a trouble, too, that could not be shaken off — like a humpback. But, by the help of distance, it might sometimes be forgotten. So I wan- dered about the world, and succeeded in sometimes forgetting the trouble.' ' Why did you not write to me ? ' ' I lost your address. When I got back to London I looked for it in the Directory and found it, and here I am.' ' What about your scientific ideas ? You were as full of science as of philosophy and prophecy.' VOL. I. R 242 THE REBEL QUEEN 'I will tell you presently. Is this your laboratory ? — your own ? ' ' My own. Your own, if you like. Oh ! not in Spanish parlance. It is your own to use whenever you please — all day long — every day.' 'Thanks. I will use it, perhaps, if only as a proof that you have not forgotten me.' ' Forgotten you, Emanuel ! How could I forget you ? ' Again he held out both hands. 'How could I ever forget the manner of meeting you? It was in the Desert east of Petra. There I found the man of science — the Philosopher — witli a tribe of Bedouins, wandering with them, living with them, dressed in their dress, only with spectacles. Never shall I forget my astonishment when one of those sons of the Desert, but with spectacles, addressed me in German, French, and English.' 'It was a happy meeting. As for me, wherever I go, I always dress like the people and talk their language.' IN THE LABORATORY 243 ' Hang it ! one must first learn their Ian o'u acre.' ' That is easy ; mostly they are only dialects.' 'Easy to you, perhaps. Then that jour- ney across the desert to the Euphrates, passed on from tribe to tribe, with you to talk for me and with me — I suppose you think it easy for me to forget that? And the journey up the Yalley of the Euphrates, among the mounds and the ruins and the lions. Easy to forget that, of course ? ' ' I remember that journey also — well.' ' We were together six months, and now it seems so short a time and yet so long. I learned more from you in that short half- year than I learned in all my life before from all the books. Forget you, Emanuel I Why, you poured ideas into my brain : you preached to me ; you prophesied. Forget you ! Wh}', when you talked you carried my spirit away. I forgot everything ; I heard nothing, I saw nothing, except what you wished me to see and to hear and to think. li 2 244 THE REBEL QUEEN Is there another man in the world who has this power, I wonder ? You are the last of the prophets. I understand now what those felt who listened to the Great Prophets of old. You shall talk to me again, if you will. I wonder whether in this crowded town you will have the same power as you possessed in the wild free air of the desert.' ' It is the thing that is said — the mind that receives — not the place where the thing is said. My friend, it is because you are what you are — able to receive and understand — that you were carried away. One might say the same thing to a thousand men, and they would not be moved in the least — not in the least. But it is pleasant — oh ! it is very pleasant ' — Emanuel spoke gently with his musical voice — ' to hear such words. Let us agree never to forget that journey. We saw many men ; we pleased ourselves with re- storing the old civilisation where it was born ; we learned a good deal. As for what I said, I had many things to say, I remember. When one wanders about, many ideas come IN THE LABORATORY 245 to one. But friendship exaggerates : you speak too well of my poor thouglits. Yet to receive another man's thoughts demands, at least, an equal — sometimes a higher — nature. Perhaps the air of the desert helped.' ' It is the finest air in all the world. It lifts the soul, Emanuel. I am taller and bigger since I drank that air.' ' As for me, it is my native air. The Jew comes from the desert : he wandered for forty years in that great Syrian desert, till two men only were left of all those who came out of Egypt. All those were dead — they and their slavish minds. When these were dead, and the freedom of the desert was strong in the souls of their children, Joshua led them on to conquest. We are the children of tlie desert.' ' Yes, you were at home there. The place inspired you. Here was a man of science without a laboratory ; of learning, without books ; a philosopher without paper and pen ; a teacher with but one disciple ; a traveller without money ; a man of ideas, careless 246 THE REBEL QUEEN whether they could be given to the world or not ; a man without ambitions, without desires, content with the lowest. The last of the Prophets was also the la§t of the Pilgrims.' ' Since you say so, Harold.' ' When last we parted it was at Sidon. I was going on to Beyrout, you were going to make your way to Damascus. Heavens ! how dull and flat it was without you ! But you are home, and now we will talk again.' ' I went on to Damascus. In the Lebanon some robbers stripped me of all my clothes — I had nothing else— and they left me my note-book. So I was once more in the condi- tion in which you found me. But I got to the city, where I found many of our people, and I stayed there a long time.' ' There is no laboratory at Damascus, I suppose? ' ' No. I thought about a good many things, and I worked at my trade to pay my way. I discovered, as I always do, a man IN THE LABORATORY 247 who would buy, in order to sell for more money, as much as I would do for him. No man will ever starve who can by working put money into another man's hands. I looked about for books — the old Arabic books — in Damascus, but I found no profit in them. Books are chiefly for the ignorant, and they deceive as much as they lead. There was a physician in Damascus who boasted himself to be a chemist — he was one of our People. He wanted me to make things for him — things to make a woman's eyes bright and her skin soft, things to make an old man young again — so that he might sell them and grow rich, I refused. He became importunate. So I left the place. Why should I make men rich? Besides, I was restless.' ' Wherefore ? ' ' I was restless because I was by this time wholly possessed with a thought. It was such a thought as threatened never to take shape, but always to possess me to the end. Men whom such a thought possesses go mad. I believed that I was going mad unless I could 248 THE REBEL QUEEN get rid of that thought. So I arose and took my staff and set out again/ ' Which way this time ? ' 'I was so filled with my thought that I took little note of where I went or what I saw. First I went over the mountains to Hamath and Aleppo, where I struck the valley of the Euphrates, and so up into Armenia. It was a long walk — six hundred miles, I believe. It was lonely. There were dangers from wild beasts as well as from robbers. But I feared no dangers ; I never fell into any worse trouble than being robbed of my clothes. I was always thinking as I went along about this great idea of mine. Presently — -I do not remember the way — I got to Trebizond. Here I found some of my People, and I stayed there for a while. But this thought of mine, which would not leave me day or night, made me restless again, and I went away from Trebi- zond and travelled eastwards, and presently found myself at Tiflis — among the Eussians — and at Astrakan — and so into European Kussia, and then — then — ah ! — then ' IN THE LABORATORY 249 ' You have done more than thmk of some- thmg, Emanuel ; you have discovered some- thing/ ' Yes,' he replied simply, ' I have ; and I have come to England in order to tell vou, and you alone.' ' I see it in your eyes. Why, I was always sure you would. A man with your wealth of ideas is bound to discover things. Some men poke about purblind. You have got eyes that see through a stone wall.' Emanuel pulled out of his pocket a little packet of papers tied up with string. It was significant that the paper was of the com- monest and the string of the poorest. ' There is my secret,' he said. ' It is there for you to read, with the history of how I came upon it. I give it to you ; do what you will with it. Only do not open the packet yet — lock it up somewhere. Open it and read it after I have told you what it is.' There was a small safe standing in one corner of the laboratory ; Harold opened it and placed the packet within. ' There ! ' he 250 THE REBEL QUEEN said, locking the door again. ' So much is easy. You will tell me more, my friend, when you please — I shall not ask.' He spoke carelessly. A chemical discovery may be from a scientific point of view most im- portant, yet not a thing calculated to fire the imagination — a combination of gas ; a new metal ; how to work an old metal ; a new salt with properties previously unsuspected. It would wait. 'Is the safe fireproof?' asked Emanuel, anxiously. * It is said to be — I hope it will not be tested. In such a simple thing.it is always best to accept the assurance of the maker. But, indeed, I think it is. Do not be anxious about it.' Emanuel heaved — or breathed — or fetched — I think he fetched — a deep, deep sigh. ' It is out of my hands at last. To-night I shall sleep in peace. The house may catch fire and I shall not mind ; I may be run over in the street and killed, and it will not matter at all. It will make no IN THE LABORATORY 251 difference to the world, since the thing is in your hands.' ' Butj Emanuel, is it so very great a secret, then ? ' ' It is great enough — you will not believe this until you learn what it is — great enough, I say, to change the whole future of the world.' Harold opened his eyes and his mouth. The latter gesture is unworthy a philosopher, but it is traditional — and it is conventional. It means astonishment, combined, in some cases, with incredulity. ' Chano'e the future of the world?' he echoed. ' As only a chemical discovery can. Gun- powder, steam, electricity, anaesthetics — we get them all through chemistry. This is another victory over the forces of Nature.' ' When will you tell me, Emanuel ? ' ' Presently. Meantime ' — lie laughed gently — ' find me the largest adjective in your lan- guage : " stupendous " — " amazing " — " epoch- making " — what you will, and keep it ready 233 THE REBEL QUEEN for use. Oh ! I did well to be restless, since I was possessed with such a discovery.' ' But Good Heavens ! ' ' Yes. I want to tell it after my own fashion. You remember how we used to talk, after nightfall, outside the tents, in the cool dry air which stimulates the brain better than champagne — well, I want to talk to you again like that and so tell you thus. Patience, my friend, for a little. Now think ! I had that secret in my mind, fully grown, proved, and ready to be put into practice — not written, not communicated to anybody, but lying in my mind — and I was only one of a company — a herd — of starving wretches driven across Eussia, penniless and in rags, with this great Thing newly born and living in my head. Oh! The words, the formula, the letters burned themselves in my brain. All day long I saw them written in the sky ; all night long a voice shouted them in my ears. I had no means of writing anything — there was neither paper nor pencil. Then I thought, what if I were to die .^ Some of our IN THE LABORATORY 253 company did die. Fatigue, exposure, anguish, bad food killed many of them. What if the same causes killed me ? Men die suddenly at any time. The heart stops ; there is an end. Something falls upon them and kills them ; they are murdered ; they fall sick and die ; then all their knowledge dies with them. To the next world we carry neither our wisdom nor our foolishness, neither our wealth nor our poverty. The terror of it alone was near to killing me. But I did not die. When we arrived at a place with some civilisation I hastened to write it down. Yes, even before washing and eating, I wrote it down and addressed it with your name — Harold Alleyne, London. Even then I had no rest, because it might be stolen and might fall into the hands of some one who well, it is safe at last. I have come across Europe with the packet in my hands. I have not lost it, I have not been robbed, the train was not destroyed by a col- lision, nor was the steamer wrecked. The packet is safe at last and in your hands.' ' To say ' — Harold tried to repress his own 254 THE REBEL QUEEN excitement — * to say that you have made me curious is to say a thing ridiculous. I am burning to know ; but you shall tell me at your own time. I have your secret locked up safely.' 'You shall use it as you like. I give it to you.' ' Nonsense ! How can I make use of your discovery ? By selling it ? You would scarcely approve of that. If you honour me with your confidence, that is everything to me. It is your discovery. You shall have the honour and the fame of it.' Emanuel shook his head. ' I want neither honour nor fame,' he said. ' I want to do something — if possible, some- thing great — before I go hence and am no more seen. I am a lonely man, with neither wife nor child. What can it matter when I am dead if my name is spoken of all over the world ? That is a great thing, but the in- ventor — the man to whom the discovery was granted — is such a man that he does quite as well to keep unknown. Let him who has IN THE LABORATORY 255 children make himself known ; it is for their advantage ; honour to him may mean con- sideration to them. I have no children to remember me.' ' You are not old — you may still marry and have children.' 'Impossible. If for no other reason, because I am poor. The woman whom I could perhaps marry would not marry me.' ' Some chemists turn their discoveries into gold.' ' Yes. I have known many such ' — he laughed a little. ' I told you of the Physician of Damascus. There was also another, a chemist in Munich — one of the People. I found something by which he could make money — a new dye, a new kind of soap, some- thing foolish. He proposed to make me a partner if I would keep on inventing things out of which he could make money. Oh, I was to become so rich, so rich ! But I left him and came away. I had my carving tools, and I left him to his money — to his more money. And they say there is no more idola- 2S6 THE REBEL QUEEN try ! Now, behold a thing which you have not considered, because you think it does not concern you. Nay, you have never been taught it. All the curses and troubles, the consequences and results of wickedness and ignorance, which afflict humanity, fall with twofold force upon the Chosen People. What- ever we do, whatever we suffer, it is of a kind more intense than falls upon others. See how miserably poor are our poor ; not commonly poor, like your people, but miserably, cruelly poor ; see how those of us who pursue money work for it with an ardour unknown to your people. In all things we are in extreme. Well, let there be one man, at least, in the world — Jew or Christian — who does not want money. And let me be that man.' ' Soit. You shall be that man. You shall give your discovery to the world. Yet you may retain for yourself — and laudably — the honour and the glory of it. You would not refuse such honour as one man of science gives to another for a great achievement.' * We will speak of that hereafter. I have IN THE LABORATORY 257 told you, partly, why I came here, Now, for the present, I must go.' He rose, but lingered a while. ' It is very good to see your face again, my friend — the only friend I have in this country. Other friends I have found since I began to go up and down upon the face of the earth ; but you are the best. For you are of those who can draw out of a man what- ever the Lord — or the Devil — has put into him, his best or his worst. You know not your own power. Every man has his own — what is it ? — call it his own magnetic power. Some make men reveal themselves — you are one ; a woman who loved you would reveal all her soul to you. Some make men listen, follow, fight, die — all with tliis unknown magnetic power. Chemistry cannot control it or discover it. Well, we talked in the Desert ; in this crowded city it is difficult to talk. But my own place is a little more open. Will you come to see me in my lodging ? ' ' Where are you staying ? ' ' It is a long way from here, but you can reach it by train. Here is my address.' He VOL. I. s 258 THE REBEL QUEEN wrote it on a slip of paper. ' I lodge in the house of one Bernard, to whom I was recom- mended by one of our People. I believe lie lives by betting on horses. His daughter appears to be respectable. She teaches music — chiefly, I believe, an instrument called the banjo. When one begins to think, its tinkhng is not perceived.' ' Shall I come to-morrow ? ' ' No, Harold. Nor the next day. I have something else to say. Let me think. There is no hurry, and now that you have the packet in your possession I can rest and think. I will write to you or call upon you.' ' But it must be soon, Emanuel. What ? You have made a discovery which will change the future of the world ? You have made a discovery which you call stupendous, and you keep the world waiting ? ' ' All in good time, my friend. Eemember, I have come straight from Eussia with this secret in my brain. I want to rest a little and to think. There are other things to say. Let me rest and think awhile.' IN THE LABORATORY 259 ' You shall rest and think so long as you please, Emanuel. You shall tell me when you please and how you please, and I w^ill not be impatient. You are the master of you own secret. But — to change the future of the world ? What have you found that can change the future of the world ? There — there — I will wait. In your own good time.' ' I have taken — I do not know why — cer- tain persons advised it — an English name : many of my people do that for their own purposes. I believe that I am one Ellis for the time.' ' Emanuel Elhs. Good. To me you are always plain Emanuel.' ' I will be anything you please, so that you do not forget me. I was wondering as I came along whether you would remember me or not. Four years is a long time for a young man to remember. In youth one should live a fuU rich life, always making new friends, learning new things, having new experiences. One has still so much to learn. Yet you have s 2 2^0 THE REBEL QUEEN not forgotten your friend of four years since. It is very good.' His eyes fell upon the photograph on the table. He started, looked at it again, caught it up eagerly. Then he put it down with a sigh. ' Ah ! ' he cried, ' I thought I remem- bered the face. It is like a woman I knew twenty years ago. But she must now be old. This girl is something like her. Curious ! Your friend is a Jewess.' ' No ; she is a Moor — a Spanish Moor.' ' There are no Spanish Moors. There are Spaniards of Moorish descent, but they are long since mixed and lost in the general po- pulation. This girl is of the Spanish Jews, like me.' He took up the photograph again. ' Strange ! there certainly is in her face the resemblance that I fancied. Now I have lost it — now it comes again. How can a picture change its expression ? Nay, it is a trick of memory. Well, my friend ' — he replaced the photograph — ' it is the face of a Spanish Jewess. There are many women like her in Spain.' IN THE LABORATORY 261 * No, Emanuel. There is none like this woman in all the world.' ' Is that so, my friend ? Is that so ? Then,' he said solemnly, ' the Lord grant you your heart's desire and never to tire of it — never to wonder why you desired it — never to wish it changed.' 262 THE REBEL QUEEN CHAPTER IX THE COUSINS ' Mr. Sydney Beenard, Mr. Aldebert Angelo.' Madame Elveda took the cards from the salver, read them aloud, and looked up. ' Who are these gentlemen ? ' ' They ask to see you, Madame.' ' What is their business ? What do they want ? Are they gentlemen ? ' ' They are dressed like gentlemen, Madame,' replied the servant, cautiously. ' They want to see you on business of importance, they say.' Madame Elveda hesitated a moment. ' In that case,' she said, ' show them in.' She was sitting in her own room alone ; it was about four in the afternoon. When her two visitors appeared she changed colour slightly, for they belonged to THE COUSINS 263 the People whom she had disowned and to the rehgion she had deserted for twenty years. She rose : ' You wish to see me, gentlemen ? ' ' If you please, Madame,' one of them re- plied, bowing. ' Will you kindly proceed straight to the business which has brought you here ? If it is likely to be a long business, you had better take chairs.' One of the two was apparently a prosper- ous man of business — well-dressed, smooth, and pohte — the one who bowed. The other, lean and sharp-eyed, looked round the room curiously, and gazed unabashed upon the lady without bowing at all. He was dressed in sporting guise. You have seen both these gentlemen already. They took chairs and sat down side by side before the table. Madame Elveda looked at their cards again and lifted her pince-nez. The manner of her doing this conveyed a reproach — a suggestion — of intrusion. How- ever, she sat down again and took up a paper- knife, with which she tapped the table. 264 THE REBEL QUEEN * Now, gentlemen, if you please. You represent some Cause — you want a subscrip- tion.' 'ISTo,' said the man of the Turf, sharply, ' we want no subscription and we represent no Cause.' ' Not at all,' added the merchant, but softly ; ' we neither invite nor give subscrip- tions to any Cause. We are quite satisfied with the law of the land for the protection of order and the relief of the unfortunate. So long as the law of the land allows us to carry on our own business for ourselves we are perfectly satisfied with the law of the land.' ' Well, gentlemen, in your own way and at your own time. I suppose that your own time is valuable.' * I will introduce our business,' the man of commerce went on, ' by introducing ourselves — my brother and myself. My name is, in business, Aldebert Angelo. My private resi- dence is in this road, not many doors from you, Madame Elveda. You will, therefore. THE COUSIXS 265 perceive, to begin with, that I am a substantial man/ * He is a substantial man,' echoed the other. ' I have a httle place in Mortimer Street, of which vou mav have heard. Pictures I see jou have ' — he looked round the room — ' and a httle bric-a-brac. That vase between the windows looks a pretty thing. At my place there are always pictures and bric-a- brac and valuable things to be seen. All the collectors know me.' ' Thev all know him well,' echoed the other man. ' I have at the same time other httle thincrs going.' ' Little things ? ' echoed his brother. ' He runs a theatre, and he 's got a financial paper and shares in a sportmg paper — little things, he calls them.' ' Mv brother here,' continued the Merchant Adventurer, ' is a man verv well known in certain circles. Perhaps you are not famiHar with the Turf ? My brother is a racing man, 266 THE REBEL QUEEN a betting man, a bookmaker. As such he is well known and deeply respected as a man of his word, and a substantial man ' ' Except ' his brother interrupted. ' Of course, except on the occasion of continued bad luck. There are vicissitudes, as we may say, ups and downs in every line of life. I myself could speak of losses which would amaze you — enough to make most men's hair turn grey. But, my brother, under the name of Sydney Bernard — or Syd, as he is familiarly called by his friends — carries on large transactions with enormous risks.' ' Enormous ! ' echoed the sportsman. ' But these risks eat into business. Still, I am doing pretty well — not like my brother here, but pretty well.' ' Indeed ! ' Madame Elveda received these communications with profound coldness, look- ing the two men straight in the face. To see them the more plainly and the better to mark her sense of cold astonishment, she again put up her eye-glasses. ' I do not at all understand why I am told these interesting facts.' THE COUSINS 267 ' You soon will,' said Mr. Bernard. ' Excuse me, brother,' witli softness. ' We will explain to Madame Elveda immediately. Eemember, we are strangers to lier, and intruders. Patience I Madame, we have informed you of these particulars in order that you may not begin by suspecting that we have come to borrow or to ask anything of you. We have no designs upon your fortune, believe me. Now, we carry on our trade, as is often the custom of our People, under assumed names. I am Aldebert Angelo in business ; among ourselves I am Solomon Albu.' Madame Elveda's face flushed. ' Solomon Albu. My brother, who is Sydney Bernard in business, among his own friends is Isaac Albu — and — Madame Elveda — we are your cousins.' ' My cousins ? ' She turned from crimson to pallor, like a schoolgirl. ' My cousins ? I was not aware that I had any.' ' Your cousins. Your second cousins,' said the merchant. 'We have the same great- grandfather. Our grandfathers were brothers.' 268 THE REBEL QUEEN 'Your second cousins,' repeated Mr. Bernard. ' Suppose that to be the case, I neither deny nor accept the fact. I say that I neither refuse nor recos^nise the cousinship. I am still unable to understand why you have called upon me or what you want with me.' She spoke with apparent unconcern, but her hand trembled. The unexpected appearance of a forgotten cousin may at any time be more than embarrassino^. The last thino^ that Madame Elveda looked for was the appear- ance of cousins in London. Then the man of the Turf took up the parable, speaking roughly. His manner was quick : he wanted the softness of his brother : no doubt his profession explained the differ- ence. 'You will do just as you please,' he said, ' about acknowledging the cousinship. It is there, you know, whether you acknow- ledge it or not. You can't choose your rela- tions, however proud you may get. As for us, however, we 've got nothing to gain from you and nothing to ask of you. You may THE COVSIXS 269 disown 113 if you like ; if you do, we are not going out of our way to claim cousinsbip. Very likelv vou may want to disown all your family. Do so if you like — nobody care- : " ► » ' but you belong to them all the same. Ee- member that. You are not too pohte to us, and, this yisit oyer, I don't think we shall want to trouble you acfain.' ' If I only understood the reason of this yisit,' said Madame Elyeda a little more politely ; • if you would only be so good as to tell me why you came at all. Can you not •> * a, perceiye that when one has liyed forty years and more witliout knowing that one has cousins, the question is yery natural — can we not yery comfortably continue apart for the rest of our liyes ? ' ' Presently — presently,' I\Ir. Aldebert Angelo answered softly. * We'll come to that presently. ]\Iy brother is hasty — on the Turf one has to be prompt. In business we learn to make allowance. Well. Madame Elyeda. you are naturally a little surprised at so un- expected a yisit, and one can understand you 270 THE REBEL QUEEN are not anxious to find out a lot of cousins who may want assistance from you. Poor relations are a nuisance always, even to the richest. But then, you see, we've all got poor relations, especially we of the People, because we keep our genealogies. Now let me explain to you more clearly who we are. It is going back a hundred years and more. Your grandfather and our grandfather were brothers ; they were born about the year 1785 in the Ghetto of Venice ; they were by descent Spanish — Sephardim. Their ancestors were settled in Spain from time immemorial : they went to Spain before the time of the Maccabees even. You remember that ? ' Madame shook her head — a gesture which might mean anything. * It is true all the same,' said Mr. Sydney Bernard, snorting, ' whether you remember it or not. What ! Not remember your own grandfather ? ' 'Peace, brother. Let me go on. They were very poor boys, but the Eevolution came, and after the Eevolution the Wars. THE COUSINS 271 Then they got their chance. That was a splendid time for poor boys. Never before had our People found such a chance. My grandfather attached himself, when he was quite a lad, to the French armies, as a sutler, you know. Your grandfather joined the other side. My grandfather wasn't lucky. Either he couldn't get the contracts he wanted, or else he couldn't get paid, or the French armies went without contracts at all — the men foraged and looted for their support — I don't know. He followed the French armies, any- how. Perhaps it was only with a cask of brandy in a cart ; perhaps it was with a sing- ing show : he went where they went, and he had his ups and downs. The Moscow busi- ness completely broke him up : after that he brought whatever money he had saved of the wreck — it wasn't much — over here, and settled in Whitechapel in a humble way. That is his history, and we are his grandsons : there is another of us, brother Ezekiel, who hasn't got on so well as we two — you may find him any day in his shop not far from Wentworth 272 THE REBEL QUEEN Street. Yet Ezekiel, he does pretty well — pretty well — in his small way. We have a sister, too, but she is in the Argentine Eepublic with her husband. Also in quite a small way.' Madame Elveda inclined her head, recover- ing her dignity. ' It is many years,' she said, ' since I was reminded of the family history — my grandfather's brother was a being whose existence was never revealed to me, I assure you. That part of it is quite new, and I had no reason to suspect the existence of this branch of the family. Pray, believe so much ; and, again, one naturally puts the question, If for forty years we have lived apart, ignorant of each other, why not continue ? You say that you want nothing of me. Certainly I want nothing of you.' ' One moment. We will come to that immediately. Let us return to the family history. Your grandfather, on the other hand, was a favourite of fortune. Every- thing, from the very beginning, prospered with him. Ah ! ' — the speaker sighed and rubbed his hands — * it is a beautiful history ! THE COUSINS 273 It makes one happy only to think of such chances offered and such chances seized. He was always on the other side — against the French. His side sometimes lost their battles, but they always paid their contractors. He worked his way up, beginning, hke his brother, with a cask of brandy and a cart, as a sutler and a camp-follower. One can see him working his way upwards, taking small sub- contracts, and so getting on. His biggest job was with the British army in Spain. The French sacked and pillaged, and paid nobody. The British troops took nothing, but paid for everything ; and they paid the contractor. Albu supplied them. You will find it written in the books that one Albu found them bacon, beef, pork, and bread ; but it is not in the books what Albu made out of it for himself.' He laughed softly. ' Nobody knows that except you, cousin. Yet everybody knew that he left a very large fortune. He had only one son — your father. Unlike most of us, your father was content with what he had — to be sure it was a good heap — and he left it all to you, VOL. I. T 274 THE REBEL QUEEN his only daughter. You were born about the year 1849 in Paris, which your father pre- ferred to any other place on account of its pleasures. Your father enjoyed life, as a rich man should. He had every right to all the pleasures that money can command. He died in 1869, the year before the War ; you see, I know your history pretty well. You came of age in 1870, and you married, being then in Paris, one Emanuel Elveda, also, like yourself, of the Sephardim. You were married in the Synagogue, Eue Notre-Dame-de-Nazareth. He was a young man of great scientific attain- ments, but he had no money. You thought to rule the house because you had the money ; but you were wrong. And as you would not obey him, your husband left you. He went abroad, and is, I suppose, dead. There, cousin, is the whole of your family history — and ours.' ' Well, these details are in the main true ; at all events, I shall not dispute them. Again, seeing that I have long since cut myself off from any connection with my own People — THE COUSINS 275 whom I have left entirely — and seeing you have no personal interests to advance, I am still at a loss to understand why you came.' ' We knew beforehand that we should be coldly received. You have separated from us : you have a daughter who has been taught to hate her own People, and you pretend to be of Moorish descent.' ' My daughter shall never, if I can help it, belong to a people which keeps its women in subjection.' Mr. Angelo bowed. ' Pardon me,' he said softly, but with dignity ; ' but she does belong- to that People. You may desert your own folk, but you cannot cast them off. The ties of family cannot be cut asunder. In times of trouble, which never fail to arrive, there will be no one to help you — no one to whom you can turn — but your own People. You can never make friends, real friends, outside your kith and kin. A Frenchman may become the friend of an Englishman, but true friend- ship between Jew and Christian is impossible.' ' Is this what you came to say ? ' T 2 2/6 THE REBEL QUEEN * It is. You thought that you would have no relations at all ; you wished to be quite alone in the world rather than belong to the People ; you slipped out of the Synagogue ; you thought, because you no longer openly belonged to us, that you had become quite free of us. Well, now you know that you have whole families of cousins. Do not be afraid of them. They will not annoy you in any way, they will not cross your path or place themselves in your way, or ask any- thing of you. But when you are in doubt or trouble you can remember that you have cousins, and you can come to us. You are a woman and alone, and you have a child. When you fall into trouble you can come to us. You are rich: where there is money there are sharks. When they try to rob you, re- member that you can come to us. In any case of difficulty or doubt, always remember that we are ready to advise and to protect you.' ' There ! ' said Mr. Sydney Bernard. 'That's the meaning of the whole business. THE COUSINS tyy My brother oifers to advise you as to your investments. It is a most dreadful thing to think of all this money being wasted and lost through its being in the hands of a woman who knows nothing. Take my brother's offer. He won't charge you anything, he won't put your money in any of his own ventures, and he'll double it for you if it was millions. And mind ! Not a cent for himself. This is a bona-fide offer, all out of his good heart — because you are his cousin. My brother here has got the best heart in the world, and if you have any doubt about his position, go and look at his house, as big as this, and crammed with pictures and china and things. Or you should look into his place in Mortimer Street, where you would be astonished. The sight alone would make you feel confidence in him.' *I am much obliged to you both, gentle- men,' said Madame, ' but really, so far, I have done very well for myself; I want no advice or assistance of any kind. As for placing my affairs in the hands of either of you, may I 278 THE REBEL QUEEN remind you that you are perfect strangers to me ? ' ' What he feels,' Mr. Bernard continued, ' even more than I, is the danger that all this money of yours may be lost. What ? You are out of the Synagogue just nov/, but you'll come back some day, and so will your daughter. Better have your money looked after while you can.' ' Hard to make ; hard to keep ; easy to lose,' said the Merchant. ' Not that I am prepared to take over or to propose the ma- nagement of your great estates. I only offer my best advice, if you will allow me to advise. Money has wings.' ' Kobody knows this better than ourselves,' the man of the Turf continued. ' All Jews are gamblers ; we can't sit down ; we are never contented . We must be speculating, sporting, gambhng — it is our life. Here's my brother — well, not content with his big busi- ness, he must needs have his theatre and his paper. There's more sport to be got out of a theatre than out of a dozen racecourses. This THE COUSINS 279 ought not to make you trust him less, but more. You dabble yourself, no doubt in something.' Madame inclined her head again, and once more tapped the table with her paper-knife. 'We first heard of you,' the Merchant continued, ' through my daughter, who was at Newnham with yours ; Clara Angelo her name is. She played Esther in the play you had the other night. Oh ! I heard all about it. When she talked about Francesca Elveda, of course I knew she must be one of our People. Then I made inquiry, and learned that Isabel Albu had married one Emanuel Elveda. So we pieced it all together.' ' Clara Angelo ? ' Madame looked as- tonished. ' Is she your daughter ? Why, I thought ' ' Clara does look like a Christian some- times. Fair hair and blue eyes — yet there's always a something, come to look a little closer. She knows nothing about the cousin* ship, though — we've told nobody, and we're not going to tell anybody. Clara knows what 280 THE REBEL QUEEN people she belongs to — why not? But she knows nothing about the Elvedas, and I don't think she knows about the sutler. Yes, Clara is your daughter's friend, and they don't know that they are cousins. Nice girl, my Clara, isn't she ? Accomplished girl, well-educated girl, fit for the highest society — even your own, cousin.' Madame bowed again gravely. Then she rose. The two men rose too. ' I ought to thank you both,' she said. ' I feel I ought to take this visit as an act of kindness ' ' We are cousins,' said Mr. Angelo ; ' that means everything.' ' You evidently regard me as still a woman of your religion, under the tutelage of men, therefore in need of protection and guidance. I assure you that I need no protection ; I am perfectly well able to protect myself As for my fortune, it is placed in what I consider safety ; it has not been disturbed for a great many years, and I do not want to disturb it. I discovered long ago that if I could rescue THE COUSINS 281 my cliild from the disgraceful subjection of women I must leave the People ; with this view I have tried to keep from her the origin of our family ; she believes herself Moorish, as you know — that is the sole reason of vfhat might appear to you a deception otherwise foolish. When I parted with my husband I parted with the People. I resolved then that I would never acknowledo^e them a^zain nor would I have any friendship with them. If I could not continue with the man who possessed everything that is noblest in the race, I would no lono^er continue with the rest. I belonc^ to you no longer. Write me as one dead. I have left your religion.' ' Are you, then, a Christian ? ' The man of the Turf turned upon her fiercely. She hesitated. ' No,' she said, ' I am not, though I have sometimes been tempted ; but I have brought up my daughter in freedom of the law. She knows nothing about it.' ' Is she a Christian ? ' ' I have never asked her. It is for her to choose any form of faith that best satisfies her 282 THE REBEL QUEEN soul. I have brouglit her up, I say, in absolute freedom. She knows no law except the law of brotherly love.' ' That is our law as well, cousin,' said the Merchant gently. ' You have taught her to despise her own People,' said the other, roughly. ' What she may have learned from books and papers and the common talk, I know not. I have not talked with her about the People at all. If the People are despised by the world, perhaps she despises them — I do not know and I do not care. I have left her to form her own conclusions — her own prejudices, if you please — in this as in everything else. But, indeed, I know not why I should be defending my own conduct, or explaining it, or allow- ing you to discuss it. Let this conversation cease.' ' One moment ! ' — the man of the Turf pushed aside his softer brother — * I must and will speak ! We are of the same family — the girl belongs to us. I will speak, brother ! I say, cousin ' — he turned upon Madame with THE COUSINS 283 alarming fierceness — ' that you have done badly : you have done foolishly. You cannot separate yourself from your own People.' Her husband had uttered the same warning twenty years before. ' You cannot, you may try, but it is impossible. We are stamped with the seal of the race, so that everybody as we pass along the street may cry out if he likes, " Jew I Jew ! Jew ! " ' The whole fierceness of his race, which has never died out in the Spanish Jew, blazed up in this man. Madame Elveda listened, constrained to listen by his passion. Could one have believed that this quiet-look- ing, middle-aged person could, become suddenly so vehement ? ' " Jew ! Jew ! " ' he cried, ' they did yell after us in the old days when your grandfather lived in the Venetian Ghetto ; but they don't any longer. No, no — tables are turned. They whisper softly after us : " There goes the Jew, the rich Jew, the clever Jew, the great Jew, the powerful Jew ! " ' ' Eich and powerful,' murmured the Merchant. ' Why, we are marching to the front in 284 THE REBEL QUEEN everything. Who gets rich in business ? The Jew. Everywhere the Jew beats the dull- witted Christian. Who controls the financial world ? The Jew.' ' The financial world,' said the Merchant, * is the whole world.' 'Who are the best at everything? The Jews. Your People — the People you despise — you ! Before long the whole world will be ours. Until this century we have never had our chance. Now it has come. And such a time, when the last great triumph of the People is beginning, you choose for teaching your daughter — you — to despise her own — the conquering race ! ' Mr. Aldebert Angelo held up his hand and shook his head. Madame Elveda made no reply at all. The man frightened her with his vehemence. She wanted him to go ; she wanted to sit down and think about it. The speaker snorted and went on — ' Call yourself a Moor ! Gar-r-r ! All the world knows and laughs. Why ' — he took up a hand-glass that lay upon the table, and THE COUSINS 285 held it before her face brutally — ' what does that tell you ? What does it cry aloud ? Moor ? No ; but Jew ! Jew ! Jew ! Jewess ! Jewess ! Jewess ! You to be ashamed of your race ? You to hide the truth of her birth from j^our own daughter ? You to make the girl ashamed of her father ? ' 'Enough said,' his brother interposed. ' Our cousin will follow her own course. Meantime, cousin, think over what I have said. My brother is hasty, but he means well, and he is quite right. Xow just think a bit ; we've called in friendliness. And listen ! ' He held up a forefinger of admonition. ' Overhaul your investments, cousin. If you find any doubtful things, sell out — sell out — sell out. Inquire into your foreign shares — there is danger — there is danger everywhere. Oh ! no one knows how riches take winsfs and fly — all of a sudden — the savings of a century — of generations — the industry of a lifetime — gone — gone — gone ! Cousin, take care. Mind — I know — I have heard things — I give you warning. Mind, I say ; I have 286 THE REBEL QUEEN heard things ; I speak not hghtly when money is in question.' Madame Elveda bowed coldly. She could not find a word of friendliness for her cousins, who wanted nothing of her but came to warn and help her because they were cousins. Her unwelcome visitors turned and walked out of the room, the man of the Turf first. At the door the Merchant stopped and returned. ' Cousin,' he said solemnly, ' heed my warning. I say that I have heard things from Paris, where you have cousins on your husband's side, and I have correspondents and business friends. Look into your affairs, I entreat you, without delay. What I have heard is but rumour. Only, look into your affairs. Appoint some one to go over and look into things. Good Heavens ! Such a noble — such a princely fortune ! Cousin, blood is thicker than water. Let us save your fortune — for yourself.' ' My affairs — thank you — have been THE COUSINS 287 settled for twenty years. My agent has nothing to do but to receive the dividends.' He bowed, spread his hands, shook his head, and walked away. When the door closed, Madame Elveda took up the hand-glass and looked at her own face in it. ' Yes,' she murmured, ' the man was right. Jewess ! — Jewess ! — JcAvess ! All the world can see. No discfuise can chan^^e the face. Always the same face ! — the same face through all the ages ! It is on Egyptian monuments four thousand years old — always the same face — the same stamp upon it. Must Francesca know? Albu, the contractor — the man who supplied bacon — the Jew who sold bacon — to the British army — Albu, the Jew ! I have given her a better ancestor, Elveda — El Conde Elveda — the statesman — the pretended Catholic. And yet ' Again she looked at the glass. ' Yet all the world — whatever I have pretended — must know — must know' — she hurled the glass into the fireplace, where it broke into a thousand 288 THE REBEL QUEEN fragments. ' Oh ! we cannot escape — we cannot escape ! All the world can cry out if they like, " Jewess ! Jewess ! Jewess ! " ' She threw herself into her chair and sat there thinking. The edifice she had been building for twenty years threatened to fall to pieces at a breath. For twenty years she had forgotten that all the world, looking at her face, would recognise her race : she had been shamming. She had forgotten that Fran- cesca, beautiful as she was, had the same seal upon her brow. There is a typical face for every nation : the typical Frenchman, Ger- man, Spaniard, Scot, Irishman ; but there are French men who might be Germans, and Scots who might be Spaniards. Of all white races, the Jew is the only one who can never be mistaken for anything else. Of Moorish descent — it was a fine pretence — it did very well for the girl ; it touched her romantic side, but one had only to look at her, and the world could cry out, ' Jewess ! Jewess ! Jewess I ' What did her cousin mean by his talk THE COUSINS 289 about the People going to rule everything — the conquering race ? When a woman shuts herself out of the world, making no intimate friends, wanderinsf about in foreisrn countries for twenty years alone with her child, not fjoincr into society and not conversing with men except as mere acquaintances, she is in danger of intensifying her prejudices. Madame Elveda started on her freedom with the most violent hatred of the People to whom she belonged and whom she had deserted. They were the oppressors of women, according to her new lif]^hts. She was a renesfade, therefore she hated her former cause. Naturally, this prejudice grew by being encouraged in her brain until it became morbid. It was now a disease. People, again, by covering up a thing, hiding it away and never thinking about it, actually learn to forget it, in time — and this, though they must know that the whole world is perfectly aware of it, and talks freely about it. We forget all kinds of little personal humilia- tions, disappointments, and failures ; we for- get, if we can, all the unpleasant things, VOL. I. u 290 THE REBEL QUEEN which is the reason why many men are so forgiving in disposition. This lady, by long practice, had clean forgotten and put out of her mind the history of her family, including the origin of her fortune — the Ghetto of Venice, the sutler and camp-follower, the con- tracts for bacon and beef, and the connection with the Ancient People. Now she was rudely reminded of it. The cousins said that they were not going to talk — they said so. Who was to prevent their talking ? What confidence could be placed in the word of a betting man and a bric-^-brac seller ? Of course they would talk ; some rumour or bruit of it would reach Francesca — Francesca ! Her mother flamed in the cheek like a school-girl only to think that Francesca should find out the deception — her own mother's deception. It will be seen that the poor lady had a good deal to think of. On one point, how- ever, she did not think. Her cousin had warned her solemnly about her investments. ' Danger was in the air,' he said. Alas I her 772^^' COUSINS 29 f mind was too full of other clangers to think of this. At five o'clock the old woman, once the nurse, now the faithful retainer, entered the room bearing a tray with tea. Madame often took her afternoon tea in this solitary fashion. Melkah put the tray on the table, and looked at her mistress. ' You are in trouble ? ' she asked. She sat down on the hearthrug in Oriental fashion, and, throwing her shawl over her head, she waited. ' Melkah,' said her mistress, ' you remem- ber the old time, before I was married ? ' ' Surely I remember.' ' I wanted, above all things, freedom. In the old religion, with their six liundred laws and their subjection of women, I choked. Then I married, hoping to get freedom that way. But the married state is worse than the single. So my husband and I parted, and I had Francesca.' The old woman nodded. ' We had Fran- cesca,' she said — ' we had the girl.' 292 THE REBEL QUEEN ' Tell me, Melkali — you know what she ]ias been told — does she suspect the truth ? ' 'No.' ' Does she despise — her own People ? ' ' She does.' ' Would it make her unhappy to learn the truth ? ' ' It would.' We must always keep the truth from her. We must, Melkah, oli ! we must.' Melkah laughed. ' The truth is written on your face,' she said, speaking like the two cousins, ' and on her own. She has only to look in the glass. She calls herself a Moor. Some day she must find out.' Her mistress sat silent. ' It was not well done,' Melkah went on, with the familiarity of an old servant. ' She should have been told the truth from the beginning. Why should she be ashamed ? She is the child of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. She should be proud. We are all taught to be proud of our race from childhood. I was. THE COUSINS 293 You were. Yet you have made her despise her People.' Again hke the cousins. ' Why do you not marry her ? She is twenty-one. In Syria she would now be the mother of three or four lovely children, if the Lord were fj^racious. It is never well that a girl should remain unmarried. They get fancies in their heads. Demons whisper things and drive them mad. Already the girl tells me she will not marry because she will be free. It is foolishness for a woman to sav she will remain free.' ' She must please herself.' ' There is that young Englishman. He loves her. Why not let him marry her ? ' ' Francesca must please herself. Melkah, is all my life foolishness ? Did I send away my husband in foolishness ? ' 'It is foolishness,' Melkah repeated, 'for a woman to say, " I will be the master," because she is a woman, and therefore the servant of her husband. This is the Law. We cannot escape the Law.' 294 THE REBEL QUEEN ' Oh I the Law — the Law ! I thought I had heard enough of the Law.' She sat in silence again for a while. ' If Francesca marries,' she went on, ' should I have to declare her parentage? If I make settlements upon her, must I declare the truth ? If she takes upon her, as she thinks of doing, the public life, and advocates emancipation in public, must the truth be known ? Suppose she were successful ? Sup- pose the papers got hold of the Moorish story ? Then we should have a contradiction from somebody who remembers Emanuel and knows the circumstances of his marriage. It will be stated in what synagogue we were married. Oh ! it would be maddening ! ' ' Why,' said Melkah, ' you are not alone in the world. You have cousins— you must have cousins. Every Jew has cousins, and they all know. Emanuel Elveda had cousins, I suppose, and they all know : and the more you are talked about with your riches and your beautiful daughter, the more will they talk, and we cannot cut off our relations. THE COUSINS 295 They are born with us and remain with us all our days.' 'What shall I do, Melkah ? (3h ! what shall I do ? ' ' Tell her the truth ; go back to the People ; take the foolishness out of her head, and marry her quickly.' ' I cannot do any of these things.' ' You must. Tell her the truth, or there will be mischief. Let her go back to the People, or there will be mischief. Marry her quickly, or there will be more mischief.' END or THE FIRST VOLUME rniVTKD BY srorriBWoonE and co., nkw-stiiekt sqcaub LON DOX r If V ■fl 'f^iast??.^ *i2k jF-'»?tl: UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 3 0112 041403483 Wm^ i iVrf 73/» •'fir .^■%w».«,j; AT -'jJ^^i ,/vJrJirar "amh tmmm fe- ir N^ 4m mm m| mm':)!? H