Temporal Power | Page 3

years an uneasy throne, and who actually live under the delusion that a
monarch is happy!
The gardener soon finished his task of cutting the narcissi, and though
he might not, without audacity, look at his Sovereign-master, his
Sovereign-master looked at him, furtively, from under half-closed
eyelids, watching him as he bound the blossoms together carefully,
with the view of giving as little trouble as possible to those whose duty
it would be to arrange them for the Royal pleasure. His work done, he
walked quickly, yet with a certain humble stealthiness,--thus admitting
his consciousness of that greater presence than his own,-- down a broad
garden walk beyond the terrace towards a private entrance to the palace,
and there disappeared.
The King was left alone,--or apparently so, for to speak truly, he was
never alone. An equerry, a page-in-waiting,--or what was still more
commonplace as well as ominous, a detective,--lurked about him, ever
near, ever ready to spring on any unknown intruder, or to answer his
slightest call.

But to the limited extent of the solitude allowed to kings, this man was
alone,--alone for a brief space to consider, as he had informed his
secretary, certain documents awaiting his particular and private perusal.
The marble pavilion in which he sat had been built by his father, the
late King, for his own pleasure, when pleasure was more possible than
it is now. Its slender Ionic columns, its sculptured friezes, its painted
ceilings, all expressed a gaiety, grace and beauty gone from the world,
perchance for ever. Open on three sides to the living picture of the
ocean, crimson and white roses clambered about it, and tall plume-like
mimosa shook fragrance from its golden blossoms down every breath
of wind. The costly table on which this particular Majesty of a nation
occasionally wrote his letters, would, if sold, have kept a little town in
food for a year,--the rich furs at his feet would have bought bread for
hundreds of starving families,--and every delicious rose that nodded its
dainty head towards him with the breeze would have given an hour's
joy to a sick child. Socialists say this kind of thing with wildly eloquent
fervour, and blame all kings in passionate rhodomontade for the tables,
the furs and the roses,--but they forget-- it is not the sad and weary
kings who care for these or any luxuries,-- they would be far happier
without them. It is the People who insist on having kings that should be
blamed,--not the monarchs themselves. A king is merely the people's
Prisoner of State,--they chain him to a throne,--they make him clothe
himself in sundry fantastic forms of attire and exhibit his person thus
decked out, for their pleasure,-- they calculate, often with greed and
grudging, how much it will cost to feed him and keep him in proper
state on the national premises, that they may use him at their will,--but
they seldom or never seem to remember the fact that there is a Man
behind the King!
It is not easy to govern nowadays, since there is no real autocracy, and
no strong soul likely to create one. But the original idea of sovereignty
was grand and wise;--the strongest man and bravest, raised aloft on
shields and bucklers with warrior cries of approval from the people
who voluntarily chose him as their leader in battle,--their utmost Head
of affairs. Progress has demolished this ideal, with many others equally
fine and inspiring; and now all kings are so, by right of descent merely.

Whether they be infirm or palsied, weak or wise, sane or crazed, still
are they as of old elected; only no more as the Strongest, but simply as
the Sign-posts of a traditional bygone authority. This King however,
here written of, was not deficient in either mental or physical attributes.
His outward look and bearing betokened him as far more fit to be lifted
in triumph on the shoulders of his battle-heroes, a real and visible Man,
than to play a more or less cautiously inactive part in the modern
dumb-show of Royalty. Well- built and muscular, with a compact head
regally poised on broad shoulders, and finely formed features which
indicated in their firm modelling strong characteristics of pride,
indomitable resolution and courage, he had an air of rare and reposeful
dignity which made him much more impressive as a personality than
many of his fellow- sovereigns. His expression was neither foolish nor
sensual,--his clear dark grey eyes were sane and steady in their regard
and had no tricks of shiftiness. As an ordinary man of the people his
appearance would have been distinctive,--as a King, it was remarkable.
He had of course been called handsome in his childhood,--what heir to
a Throne ever lived that was not beautiful, to his nurse at