In Brief Authority, F. Anstey [latest novels to read .txt] 📗

To which the Count did not vouchsafe any reply.

"I've been most interested, I'm sure, my dear Count," said the Queen, after he had chained it up again. "And it's quite a thing to have seen—once. But we really can't allow you to go on keeping such a creature as that—can we, Sidney?"

"Certainly not, my love," said the King. "It's against the law, you know, Count, against the law."

"Is it, your Majesty?" said the Count. "I—I had no idea of that—no one ever told me so!"

"Well, it is, you know. You must put an end to it—have it destroyed. Painlessly, if you like, but—well, you've got to get rid of it somehow."

"In your own interest, Count," urged the Queen. "Just think how unpopular you would be with your neighbours if it broke loose!"

"I should not like to be unpopular," he said. "And if your Majesties insist on slaying the only living creature that loves me——!"

"What?" put in Clarence unfeelingly, "don't the hearse—I mean the carriage-horses love you?"

But again the Count took no notice of the question.

"It's too bad of you, Father!" cried Edna indignantly; "yes, and you too, Mother! To come here at Count Ruprecht's invitation, to see his dragon and then tell him to destroy it! I think it perfectly disgraceful of you, and you will get a very bad name in the country when people hear of it. When you happen to be Sovereigns you might at least behave as such!"

"Well, well, my dear," said her Mother, who had not considered the question from this side before, "we merely threw it out as a suggestion—nothing more. And if the Count will undertake to keep his dragon under proper control, that is all we shall require of him."

The Count willingly gave this undertaking, and the visit ended without any loss of cordiality on either side.

"We've seen the dragon, Miss Heritage!" Ruby announced with sparkling eyes on her return. "And he is such a darling! Do you know, I don't think the Count can be quite so horrid after all, or Tützi wouldn't be fond of him. Only fancy, Mums and Daddy wanted the Count to have him killed! But Edna made them say he needn't. Aren't you glad?... Oh, I forgot—you never really loved my newts. But you would Tützi—he's quite dry, you know—not the least bit clammy.... Do you think there's time before dinner for me to run down and play with the Gnomes?"

"My dearest!" cried Daphne, "surely your Mother doesn't approve of your doing that?"

"She wouldn't mind if she knew. They're yellow—but quite nice. Much better fun than those fat little muffs of pages, who are too afraid of spoiling their clothes to play at anything rough. You don't mind my having a game of 'I spy' with the Gnomes—just till it's time to dress for dinner—do you, Miss Heritage?"

"Well, darling," said Daphne, "I'm not allowed any authority over you now, you know. But I'm quite sure that if her Majesty ever hears of your running about with Yellow Gnomes, she will blame me for it, and probably send me away."

"Oh, then I won't any more. Only it will be rather dull without them. I almost wish sometimes I had lessons to do. But there's nothing for me to learn. I can understand everything everybody says, and they understand me. And there aren't any pianos, and History and Geography are no earthly good here, and I know more Arithmetic as it is than I shall ever want now I'm a Princess. Princess Flachspinnenlos promised to show me how to work a spinning-wheel some day, but she's not very good at it herself, and anyhow, I'm sure it will be frightfully boring. Still, I'd rather give up the Gnomes than lose you, Miss Heritage, dearest!"

She spoke with feeling, for it meant abandoning a cherished scheme of hers for inciting them to steal up during dinner and pinch the pages' legs.

Daphne was sorry for the poor little tomboy Princess, of whom she had grown to be really fond. There was little she could do for her, however, beyond being with her as often as she could; and the Queen had shown a tendency of late to discourage even this.

Edna looked forward with interest to the Count's next visit; his performances with the dragon had impressed her greatly in his favour, and she had begun to think that he might have the makings of a Superman in him after all. It might be time to begin his education, and she prepared herself for the task by running through her lecture notes on Nietzsche once more.

When he called he was shown by her command to the chamber which served as her boudoir, where, rather to the scandal of some of the Court ladies, she received him in private.

He looked taller than ever as he sat doubled up on a low seat. "I came to thank you, Princess," he began, "for persuading your exalted parents to spare my poor dear Tützi. Of course I don't want to break the law, but he is chained up, and besides, he is such a good dragon that I'm sure nobody could object to my keeping him."

"Why are you so anxious not to break the law?"

"Because it's wrong to break laws."

"And do you never do anything wrong?"

"Never. My tutors taught me that people who do wrong are always punished for it. I shouldn't like to be punished at all."

"Still, you must have wanted to do bad things now and then."

"Now and then I have," he confessed. "Especially lately. But I never do them. You see, bad people are never really liked."

"Do you know, Count, what the great German philosopher Nietzsche would call such goodness as yours? He would say it was 'slave-morality.' You only do what other people tell you is right because you're afraid of what they would think of you if you didn't. You have courage enough to master Tützi, but you daren't defy what Nietzsche so finely terms 'the Great Dragon of the Law,' which says: 'Thou shalt'—'Thou shalt not.'"

"What?" he said in surprise. "Is there another dragon besides Tützi? And one that can talk, too! I never heard of him!"

"Nietzsche was speaking metaphorically, of course," said Edna impatiently. "He meant the human laws and customs and prejudices which a true Superman should soar above. I think you ought to be more of a Superman."

"Ought I?" he said, open-mouthed. "What sort of things does a—one of those gentlemen—do?"

"Well," said Edna, after refreshing her memory by her notes, "you should begin by 'hating and despising the ideals of the average man'! You should create your own Truth—your own Morality. Obey only your primordial instincts—the Will to Power."

"I wonder if I could do all that."

"Of course you can, if you are strong enough—and I believe you are."

"And what else ought I to do, Princess?"

"Well, let me see—oh, yes, you should 'act towards slave or stranger exactly as you think fit.' You should be 'an intrepid experimentalist, ceaselessly looking for new forms of existence.' You must 'be able to bear the sight of others' pain, remembering that you cannot attain the height of greatness——'"

"I've grown taller lately," he interjected, "a great deal taller; haven't you noticed it?"

"'Attain the height of greatness,'" resumed Edna severely, "if you do not feel within yourself both the will and the power to inflict great suffering! And 'through it all you must exhibit the joyous innocence of a child that is amusing itself.' Do you understand?"

"I think I do. It means I must do whatever I feel inclined, without minding what people say. Shall you be pleased with me, Princess, if I do that?"

"I shall at least respect you more than I can do while you form your conduct entirely on Sunday School standards."

"Then I'll try," he said. "Yes, I will certainly try. Do you know, I think I shall rather like being what your great teacher with a name like a sneeze calls a Superman."

"Then make yourself one," she said, "for I am quite sure that you have the power."

Probably she did not know herself exactly what she wanted him to be; it did not mean much more than the admiration for the prehistoric male brute to which the more advanced type of young woman seems peculiarly prone. But when he left she felt that she had made a most promising convert, and had every reason to be satisfied with the success of her afternoon.

As much could not be said with regard to her Mother, who remonstrated with her after the Count's departure as strongly as she dared.

"I shouldn't see him alone like that, again, my love," she said anxiously. "It might put ideas into people's heads. Indeed I'm not sure that, as it is, some of the Court don't think there must be something between you."

"It's perfectly indifferent to me what they think, Mother," was the lofty reply. "As a matter of fact, there is nothing whatever between us. I am merely doing what I can to make him a little more civilised."

"There would be no objection to that, my dear. Only it does look so very like encouraging him, you know. And it's so necessary to be careful just now. I'm afraid the People think we are making far too much of that young man. I noticed they looked very black that day we drove over to Drachenstolz. I really think it would be better if the next time he calls you would be 'not at home' to him."

"My dear Mother," returned Edna, "I am old enough to have the right to choose my own friends, and I shall certainly decline to drop them just because the Court chooses to make my friendships a subject for foolish gossip."

Queen Selina did not venture to pursue the conversation any farther, but she was more relieved than she would once have thought possible when she heard that the Court Godmother had returned from Clairdelune. According to strict etiquette, it was for the Fairy to attend her Mistress and report herself, but the Queen waived all ceremony by paying the first visit. She went at once, and unattended, to the apartments in one of the towers that had been assigned to the Court Godmother, who, without seeming at all overwhelmed by such condescension, received her with more benignity than usual. "Thank you, my dear," she said, in answer to the Queen's inquiries, "I am tolerably well, and feel no ill effects from my journey. And I think," she added complacently, "you will agree that I have spent my time at Clairdelune not altogether unprofitably. But you shall hear all about it presently. Tell me how things have been going on here while I have been away. As satisfactorily, I trust, as possible?"

"Oh, quite—quite—that is, I've been just a little worried lately about that young Count Rubenfresser. He has taken to coming here oftener than I think quite desirable."

"Coming here?" repeated the Fairy, with surprise. "Why, I thought he was never allowed outside his Castle!"

"Not till lately. My poor dear Grandfather seems to have been very severe both on him and his parents. But the Marshal spoke so highly of the poor young man, and recommended so strongly that he should be given his freedom, that his Majesty and I decided to do it."

"Oh," said the Fairy. "Well, of course, if the Marshal thinks it safe!" She suspected the ex-Regent of cherishing some resentment against her still for the part she had taken in bringing back the Sovereigns to supersede him, and she had no wish to run counter to him again. So, whatever she might think of the wisdom of his advice, she was far too prudent an old person to express her doubts. "But I gather," she went on, "that you don't approve of the young Count yourself, my dear?"

"Oh, he seems gentlemanly enough—though rather taller than the average. The only reason that I disapprove of him is that I'm afraid he comes here so often on Edna's account."

"You don't mean," said the Court Godmother, in some alarm, "that she shows any——?"

"Oh, dear me, no! Not the slightest! She thinks he requires civilising, and is trying to do it for him, that's all. But I can't get her to see that the notice she takes of him is liable to be misunderstood. Not only by him—but by everybody, you know."

"Oh well, my dear, if it's no worse than that, you needn't trouble yourself about it. And now for my news. You've heard me speak of Prince Mirliflor of Clairdelune, King Tournesol's only son?"

Queen Selina had heard her speak of him so often that she instinctively prepared herself for half an hour of ennui.

"A charming young man. I don't say he hasn't his faults, but I shall make it my business to cure him of them all in time.