The Floating Island (31 page)

That the King and Queen of
Malecarlie were not rich was true enough, compared with the majority of the
Milliardites, and relatively to the wants of life in Milliard City. What could
you do with two hundred thousand francs of income, when the rent of a small
house was fifty thousand? The ex-sovereigns were not wealthy compared with the
emperors and Kings of Europe, who do not make much of a figure compared with
the Goulds, Vanderbilts, Rothschilds, Astors, Mackays, and other deities of
finance. Although they indulged in no luxuries, confining themselves only to
necessaries, they were not easy in their circumstances. But the Queen’s health
was so well suited by this residence in the island, that the King had no
thought of leaving it. Thus he wished to increase his income by his work, and a
situation becoming vacant at the observatory
—
a
situation of which the salary was very high
—
he
had applied for it to the Governor. Cyrus Bickerstaff, after consulting the
general administration at Madeleine Bay, had granted the appointment to the
sovereign, and that is why the newspapers had announced that the King of
Malecarlie had been appointed astronomer of Floating Island.

What a subject for conversation
in other countries! There they talked about it for a couple of days and thought
no more of it. It appeared quite natural that a King should seek in work the
possibility of continuing this tranquil existence at Milliard City. He was a
scientific man; they would profit by his science. There was nothing in that but
what was honourable. If he discovered some new star, planet, or comet, they
would give it his name, which would figure with honour among the mythological
names with which the official annuals swarm.

As they were walking in the park,
Sebastien Zorn, Pinchinat, Yvernès, and Frascolin were talking about this
event. In the morning they had seen the King going to his office, and they were
not yet sufficiently Americanized to accept the situation as an every-day
occurrence. Then they chatted about this matter, and Frascolin observed:

“It seems that if his Majesty had
not been capable of doing the work of an astronomer, he would have had to give
lessons like a professor of music.”

“A King going out teaching!”
exclaimed Pinchinat. “Certainly, and at the price his rich pupils would pay him
for his lessons
—
”

“They say he is a very good
musician,” observed Yvernès.

“I am not surprised at his being
enthusiastic over music,” added Sebastien Zorn; “for we have seen him at the
door of the casino, during our concerts, owing to his not being able to afford
a stall for the Queen and himself.”

“Well, fiddlers, I have an idea!”
said Pinchinat.

“An idea of his Highness’s,”
replied the violoncellist, “is sure to be a queer one.”

“Queer or not, old Sebastien,”
said Pinchinat, “I am sure you will approve of it.”

“Let us hear this idea,” said
Frascolin.

“To give a concert at their
Majesties’, to them alone in their drawing-room, and to play the best pieces in
our repertory.”

“Well,” said Sebastien Zorn, “your
idea is not a bad one.

“Confound it, I have many like
that in my head, and when I shake it
—
”

“It sounds like a rattle!” said Yvernès.

“My dear Pinchinat,” said
Frascolin, “let us be content to-day with your proposal. I am certain it would
be a great pleasure to this good King and this good Queen.”

“To-morrow, we will write and ask
for an audience,” said Sebastien Zorn.

“Better than that!” said
Pinchinat. “This very evening let us call at the royal habitation with our
instruments, like a band of musicians come to give them a morning greeting
—
”

“You mean a serenade,” said Yvernès,
“for it will be at night.”

“Be it so, first violin, severe
but just! Do not let us juggle with words! Is it agreed?”

“Agreed.”

It was really an excellent idea.
The King would no doubt appreciate this delicate attention, and be happy to
hear the French artistes.

When the day closed in, the
Quartette Party, laden with their violin cases and the violoncello box, left
the casino in the direction of Thirty-ninth Avenue, situated at the extremity
of the Starboard Section.

It was a very quiet house, having
a small court in front with a verdant lawn. On one side were the domestic
offices, on the other the stables, which were not used. The house consisted of
a ground floor entered from a flight of steps, and a story surmounted by a
mezzanine window and a mansard roof. On the right and left two magnificent
nettle trees shaded the double footpath which led to the garden. Beneath the
trees in the garden, which did not measure two hundred superficial metres,
extended a lawn. There was no comparison between this cottage and the mansions
of the Coverleys, Tankerdons, and other notables of Milliard City. It was the
retreat of a sage who lived in retirement, of a learned man, a philosopher.
Abdolonymus would have been satisfied with it when he left the throne of the
Kings of Sidon.

The King of Malecarlie had for
his only chamberlain a valet, and the Queen for a maid of honour had but her
lady’s maid. Add to this an American cook, and you have all the household of
the deposed sovereigns, who once on a time were brother to brother with the
emperors of the old continent.

Frascolin touched an electric
bell. The valet opened the gate.

Frascolin expressed the wish of
himself and comrades to present their respects to his Majesty, and begged the
favour of being admitted.

The servant asked them to enter,
and they stopped before the flight of steps.

Almost immediately the valet
returned to inform them that the King would receive them with pleasure. They
were introduced into the vestibule, where they put down their instruments, then
into the drawing-room, where their Majesties entered at the same instant. That
was all the ceremonial of this reception.

The artistes bowed respectfully
before the King and Queen. The Queen, very simply dressed in dark coloured
stuff, wore no headdress, but her abundant hair whose grey locks gave a charm
to her rather pale face and somewhat weary look. She sat in an arm-chair near
the window which opened on to the garden, beyond which were the trees of the
park.

The King, standing, replied to the
greeting of the visitors, and asked them to say what motive had brought them to
this house, which was away on the outskirts of Milliard City.

The quartette felt somewhat
affected as they looked at this sovereign whose appearance was one of
inexpressible dignity. His look was keen under his almost black eyebrows
—
the profound look
of a scientific man. His white beard fell large and silky on his chest. His
face, of which a charming smile tempered the rather serious expression, could
but arouse the sympathy of those who approached him.

Frascolin acted as spokesman, his
voice trembling slightly.

“We thank your Majesty,” said he,
“for having deigned to welcome artistes who desire to offer you their
respectful homage.”

“The Queen and I thank you,
gentlemen, and we are sensible of your compliment. To this island, where we
hope to end so troubled an existence, it seems as though you had brought a
little of the fine air of your France. Gentlemen, you are not unknown to a man
who, though busy with science, is passionately fond of music, that art in which
you have acquired such good reputation in the artistic world. We know the
successes you have obtained in Europe, in America. In the applause which
welcomed the Quartette Party to Floating Island we have taken part
—
at a distance, it
is true. And we have had one regret, that at not having yet heard you as you
deserve to be heard.”

The King gave a sign for his
guests to sit down, while he stood before the mantelpiece, the marble of which
supported a magnificent bust of the Queen, when young, by Franquetti.

To come to business, Frascolin
had only to reply to the last sentence uttered by the King.

“Your Majesty is right,” said he,
“and the regret expressed is fully justified as concerning that branch of music
of which we are the interpreters. Chamber music demands more privacy than is
obtainable with a numerous audience. It requires a little of the meditation of
the sanctuary.”

“Yes, gentlemen,” said the Queen,
“this music should be heard as one would hear a strain of celestial harmony,
and it is really in a sanctuary that it should
—
”

“Will, then, your Majesties,”
said Yvernès, “allow us to transform this room into a sanctuary for an hour,
and be heard by your Majesties alone
—
”

Yvernès had not finished these
words when the faces of the two sovereigns brightened.

“Gentlemen,” said the King, “you
wish
—
you had
thought of this?”

“That is the object of our visit.”

“Ah!” said the King, extending
his hand to them. “I therein recognize French musicians in whom the heart
equals the talent. I thank you in the name of the Queen and myself! Nothing
—
no! nothing could
give us greater pleasure.”

And while the valet received
orders to bring in the instruments and arrange the room for the improvised concert,
the King and Queen invited their guests to follow them into the garden. There
they talked of music as artistes might in the completest intimacy.

The King abandoned himself to his
enthusiasm for this art, like a man who felt all its charm, and understood all
its beauties. He showed, to the astonishment of his auditors, how well he knew
the masters he was to listen to in a few minutes. He talked of the ingenuous
and ingenious genius of Haydn. He recalled what a critic had said of
Mendelssohn, that unequalled composer of chamber music, who expressed his ideas
in the language of Beethoven. Weber, what exquisite sensibility, what a
chivalrous spirit, which made him a master different from all the others!
Beethoven, that prince of instrumental music.... His soul was revealed in his
symphonies. The works of his genius yielded neither in grandeur nor in value to
the masterpieces of poetry, painting, sculpture, or architecture
—
that sublime star
which finally set in the choir symphony in which the voices of the instruments
mingle so closely with human voices.

“And yet he was never able to
dance in time.”

As may be imagined, it was from
Pinchinat that this most inopportune remark emanated.

“Yes,” replied the King, smiling,
“that shows that the ear is not necessarily an indispensable organ to the
musician. It is with the heart, and that alone, that he hears. And has not
Beethoven proved that in the incomparable symphony I mentioned, composed when
his deafness did not allow him to hear a sound?”

After Haydn, Weber, Mendelssohn,
Beethoven, it was of Mozart that his Majesty spoke with enthusiastic eloquence.

“Ah, gentlemen,” he said, “let me
give vent to my raptures. It is such a time since I have had an opportunity of
saying what I think! Were you not the first artistes I have been able to
understand since my arrival at Floating Island? Mozart! Mozart! One of your
dramatic composers, the greatest, in my opinion, of the end of the nineteenth
century, has devoted some admirable pages to him! I have read them, and nothing
will ever efface them from my memory! He tells us with what facility Mozart
gave to each word its special emphasis and intonation without affecting the
rhythm and character of the musical phrase. He says that to pathetic
truthfulness he added the perfection of physical beauty. Was not Mozart the
only one who divined with certainty as unfailing, as complete, the musical form
of all the sentiments of all the shades of passion and character; that is all
that forms the human drama? Mozart was not a King
—
what is a King nowadays?” added his
Majesty, shaking his head; “I say he was a god, if they will still permit the
existence of a god. He was the God of Music!”

We cannot describe, for it was
indescribable, the ardour with which his Majesty manifested his admiration; and
when he and the Queen had entered the room, the artistes following him, he took
up a pamphlet that lay on the table. This pamphlet, which seemed to have been
read and re-read, bore the title, “Mozart’s Don Juan.” Then he opened it and
read these few lines from the pen of the master who most understood and best
loved Mozart, the illustrious Gounod: “O Mozart! Divine Mozart! It is little
you require to be understood to be adored. Thine is constant truthfulness!
Thine is perfect beauty! Thine is inexhaustible charm! Thou art always profound
and always clear! Thine are complete humanity and the simplicity of the child!
Thou hast felt everything and expressed everything in musical phrase, which has
never been surpassed, and never will be surpassed!”

Then Sebastien Zorn and his
comrades took their instruments, and in the light of the electric lamp, which
shed a gentle radiance through the room, they played the first of the pieces
they had chosen for this concert.

It was the second quartette in A
minor, op. 13 of Mendelssohn, in which the royal audience took infinite
pleasure.

To this quartette succeeded the
third in C major, op. 75 of Haydn, that is to say, the Austrian Hymn, executed
with incomparable mastery. Never had executants been nearer perfection than in
the intimacy of this sanctuary where our artistes had no one to hear them but
two deposed sovereigns.

And when they had finished the
hymn enriched by the genius of the composer, they played the sixth quartette in
B flat op. 18 of Beethoven, the
Malinconia
, of character so sad, and
power so penetrating, that the eyes of their Majesties were wet with tears.