For one moment he drew himself up, and pride more strong than I had ever seen before passed o’er his features. Then suddenly he unbent again and answered,—
“There is a word, a little word—a long one—with a meaning human dictionary never yet explained to fulness, and it is ‘ingratitude.’ And yet,” he continued, “they are happy enough under my rule. I am an indulgent monarch, even merciful; I rarely punish, and I feed them well, and I allow them individual work. Through the countless ages that the ball has rolled they have worked well. They carry out my directions to the utmost letter, so that I rarely need to work on earth myself, since they swamp it in vulgarity and mediocrity; things generated from themselves as slaves, having no part in me. They carry out temptation far better than ever I could do, because they understand the pigmy minds they govern, and work themselves all round them, whereas I might pass with a contemptuous smile, heeding and caring not.”
“Yet,” I rejoined, “you paid great attention in this church.”
“’Twas a full-dress rehearsal,” he said. “Now they will go to earth, and whisper in the minds of church-goers. I came unexpectedly to see if all was right, and, as you see, it was so.”
As he spoke the red light which until now had spread all about vanished, and in its place a blue one rose and the scene changed to a public hall having a crowded audience and orators.
“This is a socialistic meeting,” Plucritus said softly. “A kind of tribune such as they had in the French Revolution. They believe in Equality, Fraternity and Liberty. A rotten trinity, as you see, steeped in truth.”
He laughed.
“Look at that gentleman in the middle,” he continued. “They are trying to teach him that he is no better than themselves, and because he is a dull pupil they have got worked up to proving him lower than themselves, which sends the see-saw up the other way, and again destroys the theory. For my part, I always find the French Revolution and movements like it exceedingly amusing. It is pitting devils’ pride against the pride of gods. But that is very badly expressed, and things badly put are stupid lies. I must begin again. It is like—let me see—it is like dark scum rising against fair scum. Both are bad, both rotten, but the see-saw is uneven. The devils, who really favour both sides equally, have a funny trick of scampering from side to side occasionally, but for the most part they sit on the dark area and let the fair one rise—it makes more envies and dissimulation. Listen to that man speaking. It is the old cry ‘A bas!’ Down with everything—except himself and those like him. If you let him he will cry ‘Down! down!’ till only he is up. Then the chorus starts against him, and the devils sing the Marseillaise as they escort his soul to hell. He it is who strikes at royalty from the back, or side, or front, and makes martyrs and heroes of whom he sought to kill. His reasoning is at fault; he sends the see-saw higher up once more, and only lands himself in hell. His is a bad policy, a very poor, shriveled kind of thing, but it suits him. Let every man have perfect liberty, even to kill. Let every man satisfy his inclinations to the top of his bent. Let every man worship himself and know none other, and our slaves will fatten on that they let walk over them whilst it lived.”
I was so intent on hearing him that I paid little heed to the scene below, and in a little while it changed.
Before us was a magnificent throne-room, draped in gold, and purple, and scarlet, and everything was ready as for a grand reception.