Temporal Power

Marie Corelli

Description

In many ways, British author Marie Corelli was a progressive thinker, particularly in her views of Christianity. However, when it came to the subject of royalty, Corelli was a traditionalist, as affirmed by the thought-provoking novel Temporal Power. A revolutionary plot gains traction in an imaginary country ruled by a less-than-popular monarch, but a surprising figure is ultimately revealed to be the force behind the movement.

Sujets

• Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 décembre 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781776594993
• Langue: English

Extrait

TEMPORAL POWER
A STUDY IN SUPREMACY
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MARIE CORELLI
 
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Temporal Power A Study in Supremacy First published in 1902 Epub ISBN 978-1-77659-499-3 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77659-500-6 © 2014 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Chapter I - The King's Pleasaunce Chapter II - Majesty Considers and Resolves Chapter III - A Nation or a Church? Chapter IV - Sealed Orders Chapter V - "If I Loved You!" Chapter VI - Sergius Thord Chapter VII - The Idealists Chapter VIII - The King's Double Chapter IX - The Premier's Signet Chapter X - The Islands Chapter XI - "Gloria—In Excelsis!" Chapter XII - A Sea Princess Chapter XIII - Secret Service Chapter XIV - The King's Veto Chapter XV - "Morganatic" Or—? Chapter XVI - The Professor Advises Chapter XVII - An "Honourable" Statesman Chapter XVIII - Royal Lovers Chapter XIX - Of the Corruption of the State Chapter XX - The Scorn of Kings Chapter XXI - An Invitation to Court Chapter XXII - A Fair Débutante Chapter XXIII - The King's Defender Chapter XXIV - A Woman's Reason Chapter XXV - "I Say—'Rome'!" Chapter XXVI - "One Way,—One Woman!" Chapter XXVII - The Song of Freedom Chapter XXVIII - "Fate Gives—The King!" Chapter XXIX - The Comrade of His Foes Chapter XXX - King and Socialist Chapter XXXI - A Vote for Love Chapter XXXII - Between Two Passions Chapter XXXIII - Sailing to the Infinite Chapter XXXIV - Abdication Endnotes
Chapter I - The King's Pleasaunce
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"In the beginning," so we are told, "God made the heavens and theearth."
The statement is simple and terse; it is evidently intended to be whollycomprehensive. Its decisive, almost abrupt tone would seem to forbideither question or argument. The old-world narrator of the sublime eventthus briefly chronicled was a poet of no mean quality, though moved bythe natural conceit of man to give undue importance to the earth as hisown particular habitation. The perfect confidence with which he explains'God' as making 'two great lights, the greater light to rule the day,the lesser light to rule the night,' is touching to the verge of pathos;and the additional remark which he throws in, as it were casually,—'Hemade the stars also,' cannot but move us to admiration. How childlikethe simplicity of the soul which could so venture to deal with theinexplicable and tremendous problem of the Universe! How self-centredand sure the faith which could so arrange the work of Infinite andEternal forces to suit its own limited intelligence! It is easy andnatural to believe that 'God,' or an everlasting Power of Goodness andBeauty called by that name, 'created the heavens and the earth,' but oneis often tempted to think that an altogether different and rival elementmust have been concerned in the making of Man. For the heavens and theearth are harmonious; man is a discord. And not only is he a discord inhimself, but he takes pleasure in producing and multiplying discords.Often, with the least possible amount of education, and on the slightestprovocation, he mentally sets Himself, and his trivial personal opinionon religion, morals, and government, in direct opposition to theimmutable laws of the Universe, and the attitude he assumes towards themysterious Cause and Original Source of Life is nearly always one ofthree things; contradiction, negation, or defiance. From the first tothe last he torments himself with inventions to outwit or subdue Nature,and in the end dies, utterly defeated. His civilizations, his dynasties,his laws, his manners, his customs, are all doomed to destruction andoblivion as completely as an ant-hill which exists one night and istrodden down the next. Forever and forever he works and plans in vain;forever and forever Nature, the visible and active Spirit of God, risesup and crushes her puny rebel.
There must be good reason for this ceaseless waste of human life,—thisconstant and steady obliteration of man's attempts, since there can beno Effect without Cause. It is, as if like children at a school, we wereset a certain sum to do, and because we blunder foolishly over itand add it up to a wrong total, it is again and again wiped offthe blackboard, and again and again rewritten for our more carefulconsideration. Possibly the secret of our failure to conquer Nature liesin ourselves, and our own obstinate tendency to work in only one grooveof what we term 'advancement,'—namely our material self-interest.Possibly we might be victors if we would, even to the very vanquishmentof Death!
So many of us think,—and so thought one man of sovereign influencein this world's affairs as, seated on the terrace of a Royal palacefronting seaward, he pondered his own life's problem for perhaps thethousandth time.
"What is the use of thinking?" asked a wit at the court of LouisXVI. "It only intensifies the bad opinion you have of others,—or ofyourself!"
He found this saying true. Thinking is a pernicious habit in which verygreat personages are not supposed to indulge; and in his younger days hehad avoided it. He had allowed the time to take him as it found him, andhad gone with it unresistingly wherever it had led. It was the best way;the wisest way; the way Solomon found most congenial, despite its endin 'vanity and vexation of spirit.' But with the passing of the years aveil had been dropped over that path of roses, hiding it altogether fromhis sight; and another veil rose inch by inch before him, disclosinga new and less joyous prospect on which he was not too-well-pleased tolook.
The sea, stretching out in a broad shining expanse opposite to him,sparkled dancingly in the warm sunshine, and the snowy sails of manyyachts and pleasure-boats dipped now and again into the glittering waveslike white birds skimming over the tiny flashing foam-crests. Dazzlingand well-nigh blinding to his eyes were the burning glow and exquisiteradiance of colour which seemed melted like gold and sapphire intothat bright half-circle of water and sky,—beautiful, and full of adream-like evanescent quality, such as marks all the loveliest scenesand impressions of our life on earth. There was a subtle scent ofviolets in the air,—and a gardener, cutting sheafs of narcissi from theedges of the velvety green banks which rolled away in smooth undulationsupward from the terrace to the wider extent of the palace pleasauncebeyond, scattered such perfume with his snipping shears as might havelured another Proserpine from Hell. Cluster after cluster of whiteblooms, carefully selected for the adornment of the Royal apartments,he laid beside him on the grass, not presuming to look in the directionwhere that other Workman in the ways of life sat silent and absorbed inthought. That other, in his own long-practised manner, feigned not tobe aware of his dependant's proximity,—and in this fashion theytwain—human beings made of the same clay and relegated, to the samedust—gave sport to the Fates by playing at Sham with Heaven andthemselves. Custom, law, and all the paraphernalia of civilization, hadset the division and marked the boundary between them,—had forbiddenthe lesser in world's rank to speak to the greater, unless the greaterbegan conversation,—had equally forbidden the greater to speak to thelesser lest such condescension should inflate the lesser's vanity somuch as to make him obnoxious to his fellows. Thus,—of two men, who,if left to nature would have been merely—men, and sincere enough atthat,—man himself had made two pretenders,—the one as gardener, theother as—King! The white narcissi lying on the grass, and preparing todie sweetly, like sacrificed maiden-victims of the flower-world,could turn true faces to the God who made them,—but the men atthat particular moment of time had no real features ready for God'sinspection,—only masks.
"C'est mon metier d'être Roi!" So said one of the many dead and gonemartyrs on the rack of sovereignty. Alas, poor soul, thou would'sthave been happier in any other 'métier' I warrant! For kingship is aprofession which cannot be abandoned for a change of humour, or castaside in light indifference and independence because a man is bored byit and would have something new. It is a routine and drudgery to whichsome few are born, for which they are prepared, to which they mustdevote their span of life, and in which they must die. "How shall wepass the day?" asked a weary Roman emperor, "I am even tired of killingmy enemies!"
'Even' that! And the strangest part of it is, that there are people whowould give all their freedom and peace of mind to occupy for a fewyears an uneasy throne, and who actually live under the delusion that amonarch is happy!
The gardener soon finished his task of cutting the narcissi, and thoughhe might not, without audacity, look at his Sovereign-master, hisSovereign-master looked at him, furtively, from under half-closedeyelids, watching him as he bound the blossoms together carefully, withthe view of giving as little trouble as possible to those whose dutyit would be to arrange them for the Royal pleasure. His work done, hewalked quickly, yet with a certain humble stealthiness,—thus admittinghis consciousness of that greater presence than his own,—down a broadgarden 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 wasnever alone. An equerry, a page-in-waiting,—or what was still morecommonplace as well as ominous, a detective,—lurked about