Chapter XIX
When the deputation had seen enough of us, and refreshed themselves mightily, they went away much pleased with the result of their visit. I am sure that some of them would remember all their lives that they had spoken to their King and Queen; it would give them something to talk about in their old age, as well as a feeling of importance amongst their less fortunate fellows.
It is a wonderful thing that rarity should add so much to the value of anything.
When we were alone again, Irma and I began to re-examine the two gifts, but, strangely enough, both of us were silent as though in thought. It may have been the art shown in the work, or it may have been something which I can never hope to explain, at any rate from that silent scrutiny sprang an idea, which in its maturity was a source of many emotions. From a little thing, like the visit of that day, a great thing sprang forth, and incidentally my life was expanded.
I had a nebulous scheme, a thought hardly formed, somewhere in my brain, as I stood and looked at the brooch and box; and it required the feminine quickness to supply the concrete expression of it. My wife said:
“The art of Rudarlia, what might it become?”
“You had better tell me what you are thinking,” I said.
“I am thinking that Rudarlia may be famous for its art life, if you care to make it so.”
“But I know so little of art. The only knowledge I have of the subject is entirely superficial; I’ve never had time to study it as it should be studied.”
“Grey-haired Monarch.”
“Is my wisdom so great?”
“No, oh King! that was not my thought.”
“But do you think that I shall ever have time to study the question? You must remember that here in Rudarlia we have none of the great collections that other countries have. One small gallery is all that Karena boasts of.”
“Can you give me a reason why she should not have more?”
“Not if you say that she is to have.”
“Oh, Victor, let us spend this evening planning out what we might do, or rather what we can.”
So that evening we sat on the terrace as usual, and instead of wasting the time—if it can be so harshly described—we tried to work out some way of encouraging art in Rudarlia. It was a most puzzling question, for there was always the danger of overdoing the assistance we could give to artists, as well as the chance of offending their susceptibilities by what they might look upon as charity; they are so very difficult to tackle, these people with artistic temperaments.
It was, however, a most interesting conversation, during which I discovered that my wife had much more knowledge of the subject under discussion than I had; and later I found that she herself was very fond of dabbling in various mediums, with a considerable amount of success.
We practically decided that night to found a colony devoted to the arts in Karena, and I knew just whereabouts that colony would have its quarters.
There was considerable risk, to my mind, in this idea of ours. Art to a nation is, I suppose, almost a necessity in some shape or other, but it must be controlled, either by the artists themselves or by the force of public opinion. Now in Karena, which we proposed to make the heart of our art world, public opinion was practically non est. The reasons for this being the want of wealth, and the want of artists. I should have felt much more secure with regard to our scheme, if I had been certain that the people really needed the fine arts to assist them in living.
I was quite well aware that the growth of proper appreciation must be very gradual, and it seemed to us that the chief point was how to lay the foundations well. It was no good thinking of taking the few Rudarlians who called themselves artists, and giving them unlimited paint, or clay, or pianos, to work their own sweet will upon, for that must lead to either rank imitation, or work of the crudest kind. We should thus be obtaining no benefit, for there were many worthless daubs to be seen, although not all by Rudarlians.
Our honeymoon drew to a close, two weeks of the most perfect joy that I have ever known; it was so, because I had nothing to do except devote myself to Irma, afterwards it was never quite the same, as I had other things to attend to.
For a little time after our return nothing was done about our scheme, that is, nothing definite, but all the while we were both working out, to the best of our ability, the details.
I had known just whereabouts I wished the art settlement to be, but it was only owing to the death of the man who owned the place that I was able to buy it.
The property I speak of was at the back of the Palace, and consisted of the most ancient houses in the city. These houses were practically cut off from the rest of Karena; on one side by the Palace walls, or rather those of the grounds, on another by an extraordinary outcropping of rock, while on the third—for the whole was in the form of a triangle—ran a small canal.
The only way of getting to this place was by means of a bridge over the canal, unless one climbed the walls of my gardens, or was lowered from the top of the rock. This place therefore was a perfect nest, and really ideal for our settlement.
How it had remained so, untouched by the spirit of modernity, was always a puzzle to me. The moment the bridge over the canal was crossed, I felt as though I had stepped from the twentieth into the fifteenth century. I do not believe there was a single modern building in the place; everywhere one looked, it was mediæval.
I remember the first time that we went there after having purchased it, just Irma, my mother, Mr. Neville, and myself, and we enjoyed it thoroughly. There had been few people living in the houses, which had not been cared for, and these few were only too pleased to turn out of their quarters for a consideration.
We therefore found the place absolutely deserted, save for a few pigeons, and cats who would not desert their old haunts.
The doors of most of the houses had been left unlocked, so we went round the narrow cobbled streets, entering those buildings which seemed most desirable; some were really fine houses, with large rooms containing great carved beams, leaded lights, and other delightful things. Naturally, the outsides were in keeping, and no matter where we looked we could see old door-ways, queer gargoyles, and little courtyards, the walls of which would in all probability be covered with lichen. In some parts, we seemed to be walking in a tunnel, so close were the houses to one another, and occasionally, at the end of these streets, we caught sight of the sunlit canal. I was very, very pleased with my purchase.
As we walked and examined, we explained to my mother and Mr. Neville what we proposed doing.
I think that at first she, or rather they, thought that marriage had made me a little mad; but as my explanation grew, both in length and conciseness, they began to think that after all something might be said for our idea. I told them that the houses should remain as they were, but with modern improvements, and that when the necessary alterations had been effected I proposed inviting artists of all kinds to come and live there: painters, sculptors, composers, engravers, writers, and metal workers. I then went on to draw most alluring visions of what I hoped would be the result. I pictured all these various artists living here much as they did in towns in the middle ages, working with the certainty that any really meritorious piece of art would be more thought of than a dozen inferior works, and that appreciation, consideration, and understanding would go hand in hand with profit.
Then I went on to tell them how I proposed having a gatehouse erected at the canal bridge, and instal some old pensioner and family in it.
“And how about feeding your colony?” asked Mr. Neville.
“I intend having just a few shops, and shall have one inn; that old place with the big hall, I think it will do as the dining-hall for unmarried artists.”
“Where do you propose obtaining the artists you speak of?”
“I don’t know yet, but I do not think there will be much difficulty in getting them to come here. I shall try the great art centres first, and then the smaller ones; I shall invite the famous men to stay for as long as they wish, and execute some splendid piece of work for Rudarlia.”
“Yes, Victor is going to have his portrait painted in the uniform of each of his regiments; all the paintings will be collected in one building, which will be called The Hall of the King, and I shall be expected to spend so many hours a day there as a dutiful wife.” A remark strangely flippant for a newly-married Queen to make.
My mother laughed, which was wrong of her, and said quietly:
“From what I know of the portraits of Royalty, all the works would be so much unlike each other that they would have to bear an identification tablet.”
“How nice! I can imagine that I have ever so many different husbands, and so need not get tired of one.”
“I can see that this will lead to a family quarrel, so will turn the subject,” said Mr. Neville.
“You need not trouble,” laughed my fond parent. “Victor will do that himself, by letting loose a herd of wild artists in this peaceful community.”
“Another thing that I shall do,” I said, “is this: no Royal person shall be allowed to come here without a special permit.”
“He would keep us out of Eden,” murmured Irma.
“Zeula with a brush full of paint shall keep the entrance.”
That was from Mr. Neville, so as I had them all against me I surrendered.
Now that we had possession of this place, it was not many weeks before the workmen were in, for we did not want to lose time, being both young enough to feel excited about our plans. I think it must be one of the most terrible things in life, to lose the power of feeling excited. My respect for architects grew enormously during the next few weeks, they knew so much that I did not; for instance, it seemed to me the simplest thing in the world to put pipes and things into a house to conduct water from the main, but it appeared to be more difficult than I imagined, and much discussion was necessary. I could not understand why, when there was a blank wall, I could not have a window knocked through it, and I finally came to the conclusion that a statesman of one of the great powers—the Foreign Minister of England, for example—does not have to be more careful than an architect knocking a window in a blank wall, so as not to disturb the balance of power.
Unless we had seen it ourselves we should never have believed that there was so much to be done in the place. It was almost staggering, and yet all the repairs and alterations were absolutely necessary; there were rooms to be converted into studios, and workshops and a hundred smaller alterations. It was a most wonderful hobby for both of us, not to speak of many others who were interested in a lesser degree. I think Zeula was almost as keen as we were, he spent hours in the vicinity; he had liked the idea the moment he had heard of it, and had immediately offered his services in any way we could use them. Another person who spent much of his spare time there was Bauen, he could generally be found keeping a watchful eye upon the workmen, and no doubt yarning with them, and telling those who wished, wonderful tales of their King.
I had had a gate made in the wall of the Palace gardens, and Irma and I used to go down when the workmen had finished for the day, to see what progress had been made, and what new arrangements we could suggest. Then the day came when there was enough done to allow us to begin filling our nest with birds.
This we did slowly, with much deliberation, and with the assistance of some of the great artists of the world, who most kindly offered to help us. From reports which I received indirectly from the large centres, I caused a list to be made of those artists to whom should be sent an invitation to come to Karena. They were not all famous—in fact, there were only a few to whom that term might be applied—but they were all of an artistic calibre which made it possible for them to become so.
From Rudarlia I had a goodly few, who were eager to profit by the wonderful chance which this scheme of ours offered them, and the great men were ever ready to take them into their studios, to instruct and assist them. I had never realised how much goodness there was among artists until then, I had always looked upon them as essentially selfish people; but then I had known very few, and those, perhaps, bad examples. It was a lesson to me not to misjudge a class by a few specimens. I fear one is rather given to so doing.
It was wonderful to watch the beginning of a settlement, the incoming, the furnishing, and the gradual fall in the excitement; each new-comer took his own time to get used to the place, and artists might be seen all about Karena, gazing and exploring, but soon the first batch had settled down, and work was commenced.
From that time my education advanced along artistic lines, and I began to understand something of the innermost strivings of those men who were adding to the beauty of the world.
Most days, I managed to visit the place for half an hour or so, and when possible Irma accompanied me. Without any fuss or preparation we went to this studio, or that workshop, and were greeted everywhere with smiles, for these good people learnt to look upon us as friends, and were always pleased to show us anything which they thought might interest us; occasionally we made some little purchase, occasionally we gave some bigger commission.
There was one building reserved for exhibitions of paintings and drawings, another for the crafts, while a large hall was generally full of sculpture. These formed a permanent exhibition, although the work exhibited was not always the same, as each month the artists had the right to change their works there for others, and replace any that had been sold.
This exhibition was a source of great interest to Karenians, and others; indeed, most visitors who came to the city were anxious to see the work accomplished by my artists, as both Irma and myself called them, and many of these visitors went away with purchases and few of them apparently regretted the money spent.
We set the fashion of giving works of art as presents, and I am glad to be able to state that the fashion remains in full favour.
The other artistic professions were not neglected, there being studios set aside for musicians of all kinds, but I found it more difficult to arrange a plan whereby the pecuniary side of their work might benefit. I therefore arranged that each week a concert should be given, and also that there should be a certain season when any of the masters might give grand opera, the players, of course, being the students. Karena boasted of an opera house; and, although I do not pose as an authority, I believe the musical side of the Rudarlian life was rather highly developed before this settlement came into being.
Some six months after the place was in full working order, one of the famous European artists, who happened to be staying as my guest, and who was full of enthusiasm for the scheme, suggested that the lack of old masters in Karena was a serious handicap for the students. I questioned him closely on the subject, heard all he had to say, and then interrogated others; the greater number agreed that a collection of the works of the famous masters would be of incalculable value to the artists generally.
This was a new idea, and I must confess that it appealed to me; I think that I wanted Karena to be able to boast also of a National Gallery, but there were many things to be thought of before this could be undertaken. The greatest difficulty was procuring the works themselves, how was that possible even though I should desire it; many pictures are sold as old masters, but there must be many fakes among them. Another thing was the expense; I had no wish to invest a large sum of money in pictures, for in a newly developing country like mine there were countless other ways of spending money, with infinitely more advantage to the nation. What I finally did was this: I let it be known all over Rudarlia that I would provide a gallery, if the Rudarlians themselves would provide the pictures, either as gifts to the nation or as loans.
The result surprised me, I had had no idea that the artistic scheme which Irma and I had originated had so taken the public fancy; but it appeared that it had, and almost immediately I received notification that there were a large number of nobles and others who would consider it an honour to have their old pictures hung in the National Gallery in Karena. It must have astonished many people to know that Rudarlia had many authentic works of the great masters, men like Rubens, Rembrandt, and Titian, stowed away in various old castles and châteaux. These were offered generously by their owners, some as gifts, others as loans, so I perforce had to keep to my promise and provide a suitable building for the housing. This expense I looked upon as a most legitimate one, for it gave work to a number of men, thus circulating money among the working class, added to the beauty of Karena, and incidentally added to the value of the city as an art centre.
In building this gallery, I was determined to employ only Rudarlian brains, labour, and materials, and so the first thing I did was to open a competition among Rudarlian architects, all over the country, for the best design for the proposed gallery.
I did not judge these myself, but left the decision to a famous French architect who was staying in Karena. I found that his choice was much the same as Irma’s and mine, so that design was decided upon, and the architect who had submitted it was awarded the prize. Strange to say, he was an absolutely unknown man from a small town in Garace. The next thing, was to decide upon the builder, but this I left to others to think about.
We had chosen a site in an excellent position, near the Palace, and therefore close to the settlement; and it was with a feeling almost akin to awe that Irma laid the foundation stone. She told me of this feeling and asked me to explain it, which was more than I could do, but I did suggest that she was fearful of the effect the gallery might have on the Rudarlians.
At last the building was completed. What a day that was, it is simply burnt upon my memory with ineffaceable delight, not because we were going to open a National Gallery of Art, not because we had accomplished something for Rudarlia, but because upon that day Irma told me something; told me shyly, yet with a deep, wonderful pride, that I was to be a father.
We had then been married for three years, and I think that all the nation worried that no child had been born to us. In my heart, I, too, had been rather despondent, for so much hung upon our having a family, and more powerful still was my desire to hold my own child in my arms.
I believe that all those who came in contact with me that day thought that I was a little too exhilarated at thoughts of opening a gallery; they put it down to that, poor dears, not knowing what the real reason was. In all probability, a thousand husbands feel just the same every time such news is broken to them, but then I would not have allowed that; I was bursting with pride, and an insane desire to take every one into my confidence.
What an absurd thing young human nature is, that is, when it is natural and nice—and I was both.
I remember nothing of the opening ceremony, except that various speeches were made and a great number of people cheered themselves hoarse when Irma and I appeared. Irma told me afterwards, so did Mr. Neville, so did Zeula, so did my mother, that my speech convulsed every one who heard it; that I had appeared in a new rôle: that of a wit. I should never have believed them, had they not made me read the report of what I had said, which appeared in the newspaper. It certainly was humorous, but I have never attempted to repeat it, rather luckily, too, in my opinion.
It was in connection with this gallery, that I instituted a new Order in Rudarlia: the Order of Merit.
Ever since my accession, I had been thinking in a half-hearted fashion of doing so, but now I made up my mind that such an Order would be most useful to reward those Rudarlians who served the state in either a direct or indirect manner. I wished if possible to widen the area of such a distinction, not only to confine it to the professions. Any man who by his labour served Rudarlia might be entitled to receive the Order, but the different labours must be kept apart from one another; I mean, by that, that a soldier wearing the Order must be distinguishable from the great lawyer, and so on. This I did by using different coloured ribbons. All men with the right to wear the distinction were to be known as Chevalier. They and their wives had also the right to appear at Court.
For this I received some abuse, no doubt, but I shall always maintain that class distinction, based on birth alone, is a mistake, and calculated to work a tremendous amount of mischief. That a man who employs thousands of other men to make articles, or raise food, for the nation, should be looked down upon by those whose ancestors fought for their country and were ennobled is wrong.
So many people do not realise that national service is not necessarily performed only by fighting. And those same people do not realise that times have changed; they do not wish to advance with the civilisation of their country, never thinking that the rich man of to-day may be the founder of a noble family which shall do much for the honour and advancement of their land. I do not deny, however, that the said noble family may, in a hundred years or so, look down and sneer at their less highly placed neighbours; but then human nature is very funny if you think about it, and extremely illogical.
There must be expansion in everything, and in such a country as Rudarlia, where classes exist, I hold that the noble class is all the stronger and better for the introduction into its ranks of all types of brains, that is, of course, the finer types; I do not suggest criminal types, or fools, or even sentimentalists, for as a rule such types are not unknown among the denizens of the aristocracy in all countries. It was my wish, therefore, to obtain this fresh blood in the titled families by choosing recruits from the ranks of those who had achieved.
For the first few months that followed the opening of the gallery, I do not believe there ever was a happier monarch than myself. It became almost a disease, and, strange to say, nearly all those who surrounded me caught the complaint. My mother at thought of possessing a grandchild was almost delirious with joy. Zeula was worse; he began to talk to me upon every occasion when we were alone about my heir, and to wonder about his education, his names, every conceivable thing which could be imagined. And I liked it, and encouraged him. At first we were both prone to talk as though the sex of the child were known; we always spoke of it as masculine, until Mr. Neville put us right by suggesting mildly that it might happen to be a girl, he had heard of such cases, he said. I will own that at his remark both Zeula and myself were rather taken aback, but after the first few minutes we went on quite calmly making our plans for a girl. Oh, the castles in the air we all built, and what a fascinating pastime it was.
About this time I had a letter from Carruthers. I have it still, occasionally I read it as an antidote, for it brings back something which I might with reason wish to forget. I used to take—and do still, for that matter—great pride in being beloved by my people, and I used to flatter myself that there was no one who could come and say to me, with truth, “Look at my misery, the result of this or that action of yours.” Once before, on the day of my marriage, I had experienced a severe shock to this pride of mine, but now I was as bad as ever. The second shock, however, opened my eyes to the fact that a king can always find some one who believes that the monarch has used him ill. So it was in my case.
Carruthers’ letter ran:
“MY DEAR OLD SPLOSH,
“A very curious thing has happened, which has caused me a lot of worry.
“Last week I received a letter from a woman whose name is unknown to me, asking for an interview. She informed me that what she wanted to tell me was serious, and might affect you. I saw her. The interview was interesting; as she appears to look upon you as some one divine, I did not disabuse her mind. She told me that you had assisted her to return home to England after Ivan’s death, and other things, one of which was, that having heard my name used in connection with yours, she imagined that I could tell you her tale more easily than she could herself. It was this: A man had been to her farm for work, and had in the course of his stay uttered many threats against you as the cause of his downfall. From what he said the woman seemed to think that he was an illegitimate son of the late Ivan, and who had been left destitute on his father’s death. She described him as being a very powerful man, dark, with a fierce wild expression. The details are meagre enough, but look out for such a man, see if your Ministers know of him. Don’t take risks by ignoring this, for I am convinced that the woman was absolutely genuine. I’ve a jolly good mind to chuck the army, and come and look after you myself.”
I did not ignore this warning, I spoke to Zeula, Woolgast, and the head of the police about it, but I fettered them by binding them to secrecy, as I did not wish the slightest rumour to reach Irma’s ears. Having spoken to these men, I must confess that the warning faded from my memory; luckily, the others did not forget so easily. They, it seemed, had an anxious time. Zeula told me that before Ivan had usurped the throne he had had a son by a peasant woman, but this child had disappeared.