Tales of two people

“In a day’s time, outside the ramparts.”

“Outside the ramparts?”

“Yes.” He knelt before her and kissed her hand. “The citadel of the city is the heart of its mistress,” he said.

She rose suddenly to her feet and would have spoken, but he raised his hand to impose silence on her. With one long look he turned away and left her alone, standing under the emblazoned window, through which one ray of moonlight caught her fair hair and illumined it.

She stood with clasped hands, her eyes still set on the door by which he had gone out.

“My heart knows its lord,” she whispered. “I have been speaking with my King.”

V

ON the morrow, in the afternoon, King Stanislas, being returned from a journey on which affairs of State had called him, and having assumed again the command of his army, led it forth in battle array, and took up his position in the plain before the southern gate, not far from the ramparts of the city.

“We are going to assault the ramparts again,” said an old soldier to Friar Nicholas, who was there to see what passed and to exercise his sacred functions in case need arose.

“Nay, I think the King is going to carry the citadel,” answered the Friar, with a laugh. And all of them laughed, thinking that he jested at the King’s expense.

As the clock struck four the King rode forth, magnificently appointed, and bestriding a black war-horse of great strength and spirit. When he was two hundred yards from the walls, he halted all his army and rode forward alone, save for the herald by his side. Coming close under the ramparts, which were thronged with Countess Runa’s knights and men-at-arms, to say nothing of those who were ready to pour down stones and molten pitch and heavy bars of iron on the assaulters, he bade the herald cry that King Stanislas would speak with her Highness the Countess Runa.

Much stir arose on the ramparts at this message, but the King sat calm and motionless on his great black horse. So passed half-an-hour or so. Then the city gate rolled open, and Runa rode forth, in a robe of scarlet, seated on a white palfrey, and with all her knights and ladies round about her.

“This is no assault on the ramparts,” said the old soldier to Friar Nicholas, grumbling because there was danger that he should be balked of a fight.

“I think you will soon pass them, though,” said Nicholas.

When the King saw Countess Runa he touched his horse with the spur and rode up to her where she awaited his coming. When she saw him, her eyes brightened to a new brilliance. Yet she showed no wonder.

“My heart knew,” she said, when her ladies and her knights marvelled.

King Stanislas saluted her.

“Whither, my King?” she asked.

He leant down, put his arm about her waist, and lifted her from her palfrey. A great shout went up from the army in the plain and from the defenders on the walls. The King set her in front of him on his great horse.

“I carry the citadel,” he said. “And now I will pass the ramparts”; and they two rode together into the city amidst mighty rejoicings.

VI

TO which story there are a number of morals quite out of proportion to its size.

This for Kings and Rulers: That they should state their objects openly – provided that they wish to have them known.

This for Children: That what their fathers did for fifty years, it may be wise for them to cease from doing immediately – especially if they wish to make good marriages.

This for Men: That though it be impossible that a woman should mean what she says, yet she means something by what she says – at any rate, if she says it three times.

This for Women: That though the ramparts protect the citadel, the citadel may often betray the ramparts.

And this for Everybody: That he who devotes a good intelligence to enlightening others is like unto a man who cooks his neighbour’s dinner without being invited to table. For when once the citadel was carried, the ramparts passed, and the lovers happy, neither King nor Countess nor anybody else gave another thought to poor Friar Nicholas!

THE LADY AND THE FLAGON

THE DUKE OF BELLEVILLE – which name, by the way, you must pronounce by no means according to its spelling, if you would be in the fashion; for as Belvoir is Beevor, and Beauchamp is Beecham, even so on polite lips Belleville is Bevvle – the Duke of Belleville shut the hall door behind him, and put his latchkey into the pocket of his trousers. It was but ten in the evening, yet the house was as still as though it had been two in the morning. All was dark, save for a dim jet of gas in the little sitting-room; the blinds were all down; from without the villa seemed uninhabited, and the rare passer-by – for rare was he in the quiet lane adjoining but not facing Hampstead Heath – set it down as being to let. It was a whim of the Duke’s to keep it empty; when the world bored him, he fled there for solitude; not even the presence of a servant was allowed, lest his meditations should be disturbed. It was long since he had come; but to-night weariness had afflicted him, and, by a sudden change of plan, he had made for his hiding-place in lieu of attending a Public Meeting, at which he had been advertised to take the chair. The desertion sat lightly on his conscience, and he heaved a sigh of relief, as, having turned up the gas, he flung himself into an arm-chair and lit a cigar. The Duke of Belleville was thirty years of age; he was unmarried; he had held the title since he was fifteen; he seemed to himself rather old. He was at this moment yawning. Now when a man yawns at ten o’clock in the evening something is wrong with his digestion or his spirits. The Duke had a perfect digestion.

“I should define wealth,” murmured the Duke, between his yawns, “as an unlimited command of the sources of ennui, rank as a satirical emphasising of human equality, culture as a curtailment of pleasures, knowledge as the death of interest.” Yawning again, he rose, drew up the blind, and flung open the window. The summer night was fine and warm. Although there were a couple of dozen other houses scattered here and there about the lane, not a soul was to be seen. The Duke stood for a long while looking out. His cigar burnt low and he flung it away. Presently he heard a church clock strike eleven. At the same moment he perceived a tall and burly figure approaching from the end of the lane. Its approach was slow and interrupted, for it paused at every house. A moment’s further inspection revealed in it a policeman on his beat.

“He’s trying the windows and doors,” remarked the Duke to himself. Then his eyes brightened. “There are possibilities in a door always,” he murmured, and his thoughts flew off to the great doors of history and fiction – the doors that were locked when by all laws human and divine they should have been open, and the even more interesting doors that proved to be open and yielded to pressure when any man would have staked his life on their being bolted, barred, and impregnable. “A door has the interest of death,” said he. “For how can you know what is on the other side till you have passed through it? Now suppose that fellow found a door open, and passed through it, and, turning the rays of his lantern on the darkness within, saw revealed to him – Heavens!” cried the Duke, interrupting himself in great excitement, “is all this to be wasted on a policeman?” And without a moment’s hesitation, he leant out of the window and shouted, “Constable, constable!” – which is, as all the world knows, the politest mode of addressing a policeman.

The policeman, perceiving the Duke and the urgency of the Duke’s summons, left his examination of the doors in the lane and ran hastily up to the window of the villa.

“Did you call, sir?” he asked.

“Don’t you know me?” inquired the Duke, turning a little, so that the light within the room should fall on his features.

“I beg your Grace’s pardon,” cried the policeman. “Your Grace gave me a sovereign last Christmas. The Duke of Belle-ville, isn’t it, your Grace?”

“You will know,” said the Duke patiently, “how to pronounce my name when I tell you that it rhymes with ‘Devil.’ Thus: ‘Devvle, Bevvle.’ ”

“Yes, your Grace. You called me?”

“I did. Do you often find doors open when they ought to be shut?”

“Almost every night, your Grace.”

“What do you do?”

“Knock, your Grace.”

“Good heavens,” murmured the Duke, “how this man throws away his opportunities!” Then he leant forward, and laying his hand on the policeman’s shoulder drew him nearer, and began to speak to him in a low tone.

“I couldn’t, your Grace,” urged the policeman. “If I was found out I should get the sack.”

“You should come to no harm by that.”

“And if your Grace was found out – ”

“You can leave that to me,” interrupted the Duke.

Presently the policeman, acting on the Duke’s invitation, climbed into the window of the villa, and the conversation was continued across the table. The Duke urged, produced money, gave his word to be responsible for the policeman’s future; the policeman’s resistance grew less strong.

“I am about your height and build,” said the Duke. “It is but for a few hours, and you can spend them very comfortably in the kitchen. Before six o’clock I will be back.”

“If the Inspector comes round, your Grace?”

“You must take a little risk for twenty pounds,” the Duke reminded him.