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matters termed parliamentary. The jussu regis and the signature Jefferies were authenticated. For those who have studied pathologically the cases of caprice called “our good will and pleasure,” this jussu regis is quite simple. Why should James II., whose credit required the concealment of such acts, have allowed that to be written which endangered their success? The answer is, cynicism-haughty indifference. Ah! do you believe that effrontery is confined to abandoned women ? State reasons are equally abandoned. Et se cupit ante videri,
Queen Anne, in one particular unfeminine, seeing that she could keep a secret, demanded in this grave affair a confidential report from the Lord Chancellor of the kind specified as “report for the royal ear.” Reports of this kind have been common in all monarchies. At Vienna there was a counsellor of the ear"-an aulic dignitary. It was an ancient Carlovingian office-the auricularius of the old palatine deeds. He who whispers to the emperor.
William, Baron Cowper, Chancellor of England, whom the Queen believed in because he was short-sighted like herself—even more so—had committed to writing a memorandum commencing thus:“Two birds were subject to Solomon, a lapwing, the Hudbud, who could speak all languages, and an eagle, the Simourganka, who covered with the shadow of his wings a troop of twenty thousand men. Thus, under another form, Providence,” &c. The Lord Chancellor proved the fact that the heir to a peerage had been carried off, mutilated, and then restored. He did not blame James II., who was, after all, the Queen's father. He went so far as to justify. First, there are ancient monarchical maxims. E senioratu eripimus in roturagio cadat. Secondly, the royal right of mutilation exists. Chamberlayne writes-Corpora et bona nostrorum subjectorum nostra sunta—as said James I., of glorious and learned memory. The eyes of dukes of the blood royal have been plucked out for the good of the kingdom. Certain princes, too near to the throne, have been conveniently stifled between two mattresses, the verdict found being apoplexy. Now, to stifle is more than to mutilate. The King of Tunis tore out the eyes of his father, Muley Assem, and his ambassadors have not been less favourably received by the Emperor.
Hence the king may order the suppression of a limb like the suppression of state, &c. It is legal. But one law does not destroy another. If a drowned man is cast up by the water, and is not
The life and the limbs of subjects depend on the king. Chamberlayne, Part 2, chap. iv., p. 76.
dead, it is God's act readjusting that of the king. If the heir be found, let the coronet be given back to him.
Thus was it done for Lord Alla, King of Northumberland, who jas also a mountebank. Thus should be done to Gwynplaine, who is also a king, seeing that he is a peer.
The lowness of the occupation which he has been obliged to follow, under constraint of superior power, tarnishes not the blazon ; witness Abdolmumen, who was a king, and had been a gardener; witness Joseph, who was a saint, and had been a carpenter; witness Apollo, who was both a god and a shepherd.
In short, the learned chancellor concluded by advising the reinstatement to all his estates and dignities, of Fermain Lord Clancharlie, miscalled Gwynplaine, on the one condition that he should be confronted with the criminal Hardquanonne, and identified by the same. And on this point the chancellor, constitutional keeper of the royal conscience, based the royal decision. The Lord Chancellor added in a postscript that if Hardquanonne refused to answer, he should be subjected to the peine forte et dure, to wait for the period called the frodmortell, according to the statute of King Athelstane; which orders the confrontation to take place on the fourth day, which is a little inconvenient, for if the prisoner dies the second or the third day, the confrontation becomes difficult; still the law must be executed. The inconvenience of the law makes part and parcel of it. In the mind of the Lord Chancellor, the recognition of Gwynplaine by Hardquanonne was decisive.
Anne, well aware of the deformity of Gwynplaine, and not wishing to wrong her sister, on whom had been bestowed the estates of Clancharlie, graciously decided that the Duchess Josiana should be espoused by the new lord, -that is to say, by Gwynplaine.
The reinstatement of Lord Fermain Clancharlie was, moreover, a very simple affair, the heir being legitimate, and in the direct line.
Barkilphedro managed all.
The affair, thanks to him, was kept so close, the secret was so hermetically sealed, that neither Josiana nor Lord David caught scent of the fearful abyss which yawned under them. It was easy to deceive Josiana, entrenched as she was behind a rampart of pride. She was self-isolated. As to Lord David, they sent him to sea on the coast of Flanders. He was going to lose his peerage, and had not a suspicion of it. One circumstance is noteworthy.
It happened that at six leagues from the anchorage of the naval station commanded by Lord David, a captain called Halyburton broke through the French fleet. The Earl Pembroke, President of
the Council, proposed that this Captain Halyburton should be made vice-admiral. Anne struck out Halyburton's name, and put Lord David Dirry-Moir in his place, that he might, when no longer a peer, have the satisfaction of being a vice-admiral.
Anne was well pleased.
A hideous husband for her sister, and a fine promotion for Lord David. Malice and kindness.
Her majesty was going to enjoy a comedy. Besides, she said to herself that she was repairing an abuse of power committed by her august father.
She was reinstating a member of the peerage. She was acting like a great queen ; she was protecting innocence according to the wil of God, that Providence in its holy and impenetrable ways, &c., &c. It is very sweet to do a just action which is disagreeable to those we do not like.
To know that the future husband of her sister was deformed sufficed the queen. In what manner Gwynplaine was deformed, and by what kind of ugliness, Barkilphedro had not communicated to the queen, and Anne had not deigned to inquire. She was superbly and royally disdainful. Besides, what could it matter? The House of Lords could not but be grateful. The Lord Chancellor, its oracle, had approved. To restore a peer, is to restore the peerage. Royalty on this occasion had shown itself a good and scrupulous guardian of the privileges of the peerage. Whatever might be the face of the new lord, a face cannot be urged in objection to a right. Anne said all this, or something like it, and went straight to her object, an object at once grand, womanlike, and regal ; namely, to please herself.
Barkilphedro was for a moment ready to renounce, not his desire to do evil to Josiana, but his hope of doing it; not the rage, but the effort. But what a degradation to be thus baffled! To keep hate henceforth in a case, like a dagger in a museum. What a bitter humiliation !
Whatever appearance of indifference Barkilphedro wished to present to the world, his stupefaction had equalled his joy. Everything he could desire was there to his hand. All seemed as if ready prepared. The fragments of the event which was to gratify his hate were spread beforehand within his reach. He had nothing to do but to pick them up and fit them together—a repair which was an amusement to execute. He was the artificer.
Gwynplaine! He recognised the name. Masca ridens. Like every one else, he had been to see the laughing man. He had read the written sign nailed up against the Tadcaster Inn, as one reads a
play-bill that attracts a crowd. He had noted it.
He remembered it directly in its most minute details; and, in any case, it was easy to compare them with the original. This notice, in the electrical summons which arose in his memory, appeared before the depths of his vision, and placed itself side by side with the parchment of the shipwrecked crew, as an answer at the side of a question, like the key-word by the side of an enigma; and these lines“Here is to be seen Gwynplaine deserted, at the age of ten years, on the 29th of January, 1690, on the sea-shore at Portland"suddenly took in his eyes the splendour of an apocalypse. He had the vision of the light of Mene, Tekel, Upharsin, outside a booth. This was the destruction of the edifice which made the existence of Josiana. A sudden earthquake. The lost child had been recovered. There was a Lord Clancharlie. David Dirry-Moir was nobody. Peerage, riches, power, rank-all these left Lord David and entered into Gwynplaine. All the castles, parks, forests, town houses, palaces, domains, Josiana included, belonged to Gwynplaine. And what a climax for Josiana! What was now before her? She, illustrious and haughty : he, a player ; she, beautiful and precious : he, a monster. Could any one have hoped for this? The truth was, that the joy of Barkilphedro had become enthusiastic. The most hateful combinations can be surpassed by the infernal munificence of the unforeseen. When reality likes, it works masterpieces.
Barkilphedro found all his dreams nonsense ; facts were finer.
The change he was about to work would not have seemed less desirable had it been detrimental to him. Insects exist so savagely disinterested that they sting, knowing that to sting is to die. Barkilphedro was like these vermin.
But this time he had not the merit of being disinterested. Lord. David Dirry-Moir owed him nothing, and Lord Fermain Clancharlie was about to owe him everything. From being a protégé, Barkilphedro was about to become a protector. Protector of whom? Of a peer of England. He would have a lord of his own, and a lord who would be his creature. Barkilphedro counted on giving him the first impetus. This peer would be the morganatic brother-in-law of the queen. Being so ugly, he would please the queen, in proportion as. he displeased Josiana. Advanced by such favour, and assuming grave and modest airs, Barkilphedro might become a somebody. He had always been destined for the church. He had a vague longing to bea bishop.
Meanwhile, he was happy.
Oh, what a great success! and what a quantity of useful work had chance accomplished for him !
His vengeance—for he called it his vengeance—had been softly brought to him by the waves. He had not waited in ambush in vain.
He was the rock, the waif was Josiana. Josiana was about to be dashed against Barkilphedro ! to the intense ecstasy of the villain.
The Duchess Josiana quitted London at the same moment that the wapentake presented himself at the Tadcaster Inn to carry away Gwynplaine, and to take him to the penal dungeon at Southwark.
When she arrived at Windsor, the Usher of the Black Rod, who keeps the door of the presence chamber, informed her that her majesty was shut up with the Lord Chancellor, and could not receive her till the next day; that, consequently, she was to remain at Corleone Lodge, at the orders of her majesty ; and that she would receive the queen's commands direct when her majesty awoke next morning
Josiana entered her house feeling very spiteful, supped in a bad humour, had the spleen, dismissed everyone, her page excepted, then dismissed him, and went to bed whilst it was yet daylight.
On arriving she had learnt that to-morrow, Lord David Dirry-Moir was expected at Windsor, having, whilst at sea, received notice to come immediately and receive her majesty's commands.
“No man could pass suddenly from Siberia into Senegal without losing consciousness.”—Humboldt.
THE swoon of a man, even of one the most firm and energetic, under the sudden shock of an unexpected stroke of good fortune, is nothing wonderful. A man is knocked down by the unforeseen blow, like an ox by the poleaxe. François Albescola, he who tore from the Turkish ports their iron chains, remained, when they made him pope, a whole day without consciousness. Now the stride from a cardinal to a pope is less than from a mountebank to a peer of England.
No shock is so violent as a subversion of equilibrium.
When Gwynplaine came to himself and opened his eyes it was night. He was in an arm-chair, in the midst of a large chamber lined entirely with purple velvet, walls, ceiling, and floor. The carpet was velvet. Near to him, standing upright, with uncovered head, was the corpulent man, in his travelling cloak, who had emerged from behind a pillar in the cell at Southwark. Gwynplaine was alone in