The Max Brand Megapack. Max Brand
Other women marry for what they may term love. It is your privilege to marry for the State. That is the nobler thing.”
He smiled and nodded, repeating for his own ear: “The nobler thing! What is greater than such service—what is more glorious than to forget self and marry for the good of the thousands?”
“I have an obligation to myself.”
“Who has filled you with so many childish ideas?”
“They have grown of themselves, sire.”
The pacing up and down the room recommenced. “Child, have you no desire to serve me? I mean, your country?”
She answered slowly, as if feeling for her words: “It is impossible that I should be able to serve you through my dishonor. If I should marry the crown prince, my life would be one long sleep, sire. I would not dare awaken to the reality.”
His head tilted and he laughed noiselessly. A weakness of the throat prevented him from raising his voice even in times of the greatest excitement.
“A soul that sleeps, eh? The kiss of love will awaken it?”
He surveyed her with brief disdain.
“My dear, you scorn titles, and yet as an untitled woman you are not a match for the first red-faced tradesman’s daughter. Stand up!”
She rose and he led her in front of a pier glass. Solemnly he studied her pale image.
“A sleeping soul!” he repeated.
She covered her face.
“Will that bait catch the errant lover, Bertha?”
“God will make up the difference.”
He cursed softly. She had not known he could be so moved.
“Poor child, let me talk with you.”
He led her back to a chair almost with kindness and sat somewhat behind her so that he need not meet her eyes.
“This love you wait for—it is not a full-grown god, dear girl, but a blind child. Given a man and a woman and a certain propinquity, and nature does the rest. We put a mask on nature and call it love, we name an abstraction and call it God. Love! Love! Love! It is a pretty disguise—no more. Do you understand?”
“I will not.”
She listened to his quick breathing.
“Bertha, if I were to chain you with a ten-foot chain to the first man off the streets and leave you alone with him for three days, what would happen?”
Her hand closed on the arm of the chair. He rose and paced the room as his idea grew.
“Your eyes would criticize him and your shame would fight in behalf of your—soul? And the sight of your shame would keep the man in check. But suppose the room were dark—suppose you could not see his face and merely knew that a man was there—suppose he could not see and merely knew that a woman was there? What would happen? Would it be love? Pah! Love is no more deified than hunger. If it is satisfied, it goes to sleep; if it is satiated, it turns to loathing. Aye, at the end of the three days you would be glad enough to have the ten-foot chain cut. But first what would happen?”
The vague terror grew coldly in her, for she could see the idea taking hold of him like a hand.
“If I were to do this, the world might term it a shameful thing, but I act for Pornia—not for myself. I consider only the good of the State. By this experiment I prove to you that love is not God, but blind nature. Yes, and if you knew it as it is, would you oppose me longer? The thought grows upon me! Speak!”
Her smile made her almost beautiful.
“Sire, in all the world there is only one man for every woman.”
“Book talk.”
He set his teeth because he could not meet her eyes.
“And who will bring you this one man?”
“God.”
Once more the soundless laugh.
“Then I shall play the part of God. Bertha, you must now make your decision: a marriage for the good of the State, or the ten-foot chain, the dark room—and love!”
“Even you will not dare this, sire.”
“Bertha, there is nothing I do not dare. What would be known? I give orders that this room be utterly darkened; I send secret police to seize a man from the city at random and fetter him to a chain in that room; then I bring you to the room and fasten you to the other end of the chain, and for three days I have food introduced into the room. Results? For the man, death; for you, a knowledge first of yourself and, secondly, of love. The State will benefit.”
“It is bestial—incredible.”
“Bestial? Tut! I play the part of God and even surpass Him. I put you face to face with a temptation through which you shall come to know yourself. You lose a dream; you gain a fact. It is well. Shame will guard the secret in your heart—and the State will benefit. Still you see that I am paternal—merciful. I do not punish you for your past obstinacy. I still give you a choice. Bertha, will you marry as I wish, or will you force me to play the part of God?”
“I shall not marry.”
“Ah, you will wait for God to make up the difference. It is well—very well; le Dieu c’est moi. Ha! That is greater than the phrase of Louis XIV. You shall have still more time, but the moment the sun goes down, if I do not hear from you, I shall ring a bell that will send my secret police out to seize a man indiscriminately from the masses of the city. I shall not even stipulate that he be young. My trust in nature is—absolute. Adieu!”
She made up her mind the moment he left the room. She drew on her cloak. Before the pier glass she paused.
“Aye,” she murmured, “I could not match the first farmer’s daughter. But still there must be one man in the world—and God will make up the difference!”
She threw open the door which gave on a passage leading to a side entrance. A grenadier of the palace guard jumped to attention and presented arms.
“Pardon,” he said.
He completely blocked the hall; the prince had left nothing to chance. She started to turn back and then hesitated and regarded the man carefully.
“Fritz!” she said at last, for she recognized the peasant who had been a stable-boy on her father’s estate before he took service in the grenadiers. “You are Fritz Barr!”
He flushed with pleasure.
“Madame remembers me?”
“And my little black pony you used to take care of?”
“Yes, yes!”
He grinned and nodded; and then she noted a revolver in the holster at his side.
“What are your orders, Fritz?”
“To let no one pass down this hall. I am sorry, madame.”
“But if I were to ask you for your revolver?”
He stirred uneasily and she took money from her purse and gave it to him.
“With this you could procure another weapon?”
He drew a long breath; the temptation was great.
“I could, madame.”
“Then do so. It will never be known from whom I received the gun—and my need is desperate—desperate!”
He unbuckled the weapon without a word, and with it in her hand she returned to the room.
There was a tall western window, and before this she drew up a chair to watch the setting of the sun.
“Will he ring the bell when the edge of the sun touches the hills