THE KING’S CROWN
A DREAM OF THE PRESENT AND THE FUTURE
The late rays of the sinking sun shot rosy lines of light through the high, painted glass casement of a quaint oriel-chamber, where, on a cushion of crimson velvet, shone the Crown of a great King and Emperor. It was set there in readiness for the morrow,—when, at a stately pageant of national rejoicing, all the people would see it raised high above them as a symbol of the Throne and the glory of the land. Deft jewellers had been at work for days, burnishing its golden setting and polishing its priceless jewels,—and now,—their work completed,—they had brought it here for the night, and, to ensure perfect safety, had left it in this special place because it was more difficult of access than any other corner of the Royal palace. It was a small recess apart;—and the only door leading to it was through the “strong room,” where all the gold and silver plate was kept, and where two armed men paced up and down both day and night, keeping close watch and guard. Flashing sparkles of light twinkled every now and again from the precious stones in the Crown, as the sunset hues caught their finely-cut points and touched them into flame; and an atmosphere of silent majesty surrounded the historical emblem of earth’s proudest empire,—lifeless in itself, yet having the strange power of outlasting the life of all its kings! The sun sank; its rays grew paler and dimmer, till by-and-by they faded altogether. Long shadows came, then the twilight, then the dark, and deep silence. Now and again a trumpet-call from the soldiers’ quarters hard by, a bell slowly chiming the hour, or the clash of muskets outside on the courtyard, betokening a change of sentry, broke the solemn hush of night, but beyond this no human sound disturbed the solitude and obscurity of the secret nook which enshrined the Imperial Crown of a still more splendid and imperial Realm.
All suddenly, about an hour before the moon rose, a thick, almost palpable Darkness, darker than the night itself, gathered in the room and began to circle like a threatening storm around the Crown. Gradually this blackness took upon itself shape and stature, and, rising full height, displayed the gigantic form of an Angel with sable wings, and a countenance distorted with cruelty and avarice.
“Mine is the Crown!” he said. “Mine are the People! Mine is the Land, and mine is the King!”
And as he spoke he stretched forth a hand to snatch the Royal diadem, when, like a flame breaking through the walls and floor of the oriel-chamber, a great light shone on every side, and another Angel, stately and majestic, whose snowy wings were like the early rays of the morning sun shining through white and azure, confronted that fierce Spirit of the Darkness.
“Not so!” said a voice clear as a silver clarion. “Mine is the Crown! Mine are the People! Mine is the Kingdom, and mine is the King!”
For one second of time they stood thus opposed one to the other—the country’s Crown between them. Then came the flashing of a great Sword, and the Angel of darkness struck with it fiercely at his god-like rival.
“War!” he cried. “Eternal war! For all the evils of the land there shall be vengeance!”
And like a shaft of lightning through a cloud another fiery Sword parried the savage blow.
“Peace!” said the silver-sounding voice of the Angel of Light. “Glory and peace! For all the evils of the land there shall be justice!”
Then they closed and fought—those mighty, supernatural Warriors,—and in their fearful contest the air around them both grew dense and lurid, and the Crown, glittering with great gems on its crimson velvet cushion, appeared to float in a pool of blood. Closer and more terrible grew the fight,—and the evil angel, with such ferocity as only hate and cruelty can give, twice thrust his dazzling foe to the ground;—twice smote the heavenly-fair head with the great Sword that bore the words “everlasting death” upon its blade. And while they yet battled on, the moon rose, round and full, peering in upon them like a wondering white face of sad and wistful inquiry. For a moment they paused in their conflict,—and the jewels in the Crown suddenly ceased to sparkle. Five aerial forms of exquisite beauty arose from its golden circlet, lifting themselves above it like drifting wreaths of sea-mist in the radiance of the moonlight, and their voices, small and soft, yet clear as the notes of a sweet song, made music in the silence.
“I am the Spirit of the Pearl!” said one. “Through centuries of history I have seen ‘Right’ forever conquer ‘Might,’ and so shall it be again!”
“I am the Spirit of the Ruby!” said another. “I mark both War and Victory! From the bitter agony and labour of strong battle I have seen the birth of Love and Peace! All things, whether gentle or fierce, kind or cruel, have worked together for the good and the glory of the land;—so has it ever been, and so shall it be again!”
“I am the Spirit of the Sapphire!” said the third; “I know the movements of justice—I watch the performing of God’s Will. Through light, through darkness, through gladness and sorrow, God holds His perfect way with kings and kingdoms. Strife is sharp and strong, but Truth is stronger;—so it has ever been, and so it shall be again!”
“I am the Spirit of the Emerald!” said a fourth. “Through all the history of the realm I have counted the tears of the poor, the sufferings of the weak, the griefs of the lonely, and when I set my light on the great king’s brow I move him to deeds of pity and loving-kindness! I watch the world progressing in good,—I know that there is more tenderness than wrath in humanity,—more love than hate! The Empire’s glory is in deeds of mercy! So it has been before—so it shall be again!”
“I am the Spirit of the Diamond!” said the fifth,—“And wherever I shine, there, too, shines the Star of Freedom! No slave can breathe when my light sparkles in the air! Progress and Love and Wisdom spring up at my command, and naught can lessen the Crown’s glory while I remain its central gem! Liberty and honour! These are the watchwords of our mighty Empire! So they have been for ages; so shall they ever be!”
Their voices ceased, and joining their delicate hands they melted into a shining circle about the Crown,—a circle of pure and penetrating light like the early sunbeams of a clear spring morning.
But the Angel of Darkness, resting on his sword, heard them and smiled—a smile darker and more implacable than any frown.
“Oh, foolish, evanescent Shapes! Oh, vain gods of perishable gems!” he cried; “How shall ye combat Me, who hold the mystic Opal!—the stone of sorrow and of death? What is your strength against mine? Less than the strength of reeds in a swift tide,—for I am the Spirit of Mammon, and Time’s great pendulum swings the hour to me! Lo, here shines the Crown’s mischief!—sparkling with a thousand fires of world’s wealth, world’s lust, world’s treachery, world’s vanity!—hues of the rainbow, as fleeting as they are fair! Emblem of ruin and disaster, take Thou thy place in the Crown, and shed My light upon the great King’s brow! Indestructible and terrible!—Jewel of devils and cursing, I set thee there to work My will!”
He raised on high the Opal, glittering like a foam-bell on a treacherous sea,—and then, bending his dark form above the Crown, strove to set it within that golden band. But the magic circle of fire around it grew brighter, and deeper, and wider, till it was like a flame of glory,—springing higher and ever higher, it surrounded the Angel of Light with countless arrowy beams.
“Fight on, God’s Angel of the Kingdom!” said a distant Voice that echoed like thunder far away. “Fight on! Unto thee shall be given the victory!”
Then the Angel raised his sword of Light and struck the Opal from his enemy’s hand. It fell to the ground, shattered to atoms, and a rushing sound as of many waters filled the air.
“New and Old are as one!” said the Voice; “Past and Future are as Present! Fight on, God’s Angel of the Kingdom,—for Now is the acceptable time!”
And once again those mighty Spirits fought,—and, as they crossed their mystic Swords, there came a wailing noise as of the weeping of a great multitude. Cries of passionate grief echoed up from some dismal unseen abyss of suffering, and the anguish of a great People was borne on the double rhythmic beat of a Funeral march and a Battle song. Strange gleaming visions came and went in the darkness:—women’s pale faces worn with toil and sorrow;—dead soldiers slain in their youth, and lying unburied;—grim countenances of foul and lustful men, who occupied their time in digging gold out of newly-made graves, wherein the bodies had scarcely rested long enough to crumble into dust;—bold eyes of false women shining wickedly through skulls that were crowned with gems;—wide seas on which the great ships tossed, bearing the seeds of new nations;—flashing networks of light, on which the quick news travelled in dancing letters of flame! And over all—a Cloud,—and under all—the Crown! The night hours wore away, and still the combat raged,—and still the Angel of the Darkness fought fiercely with the Angel of the Light. And the visions came and went like shadows in a magic mirror—some beautiful, some terrible,—some that were like great storms raging over the land,—some floating by in the halcyon fairness of long summer days. Now and again while that mystic flashing of Swords made luminance in the air, there came a sound of young voices singing in the distance, and the words that broke through the music were like these—
“Sheathed be the sword for ever!—let the drum
Be school-boys’ pastime,—let your battles cease;—
And be the cannon’s voice for ever dumb
Except to celebrate the joys of peace!
Are ye not brothers? God, whom we revere,
Is He not the Father of all climes and lands?
Form an alliance, holy and sincere,
And join, join hands!”
The song died away in a tremulous wave of melody, and a pearly light began to suffuse the atmosphere like the first suggestion of the opening morn. Weary and pale, but still dauntless and unconquered, the Angel of the Light dealt stroke for stroke, blow for blow against his Enemy, when all at once, with a sudden and savage onslaught, the Angel of the Darkness caught his opponent by the arm which held the sword, and almost wrenched the dazzling weapon from his hand. And then the Angel of the Light gave a great cry of supplication.
“O God of Justice and of Love!” petitioned the silver-sounding voice; “Suffer not Thy Christian kingdom to be torn from Thy gracious protection! Clear Thou this Cloud of evil days, and take away the heavy weight of fear and of sorrow from the hearts of Thy stricken and suffering people, who do not forget Thy mercies in the past! Give Me the Crown, O God of Empires!—Give Me the King!”
And as the prayer was spoken, the Angel of the Darkness fell back, weakened and dismayed, for the heavenly Warrior, grasping his sword with redoubled force and purpose, dealt with it one mighty stroke which brought his foe to the ground.
“Yield thou, mine Enemy!” cried the triumphant Angel; “Claim no more that which was never thine! Seek no more that which shall never belong to thee! Mine is the Crown!—mine is the Kingdom!—and mine, by the grace of God, is the King!”
The widening dawn lightened the painted windows with a silver mist, flecked through with palest rose, and the darkness, gathering together, rolled itself up like a curtain and fled away. All shapes of evil and visions of terror vanished;—and as the morning broke, the Angel of the Light, alone and victorious, with snowy wings widespread, and fair face bright with God’s own eternal splendour, lifted the King’s Crown in both radiant hands towards Heaven, to meet the rays of the rising sun and the full golden glory of the Day!
