The Jewel Of The Order Of The King's Own

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Title:     The Jewel Of The Order Of The King's Own
Author: Elizabeth Rundle Charles [More Titles by Charles]

Once, on the sea-shore, in a land a long way off, I met an old man dressed as a galley-slave, and toiling at convicts' work, with a heavy chain around one of his arms; but his face and bearing were stamped with the truest nobility. I felt sure he must be a victim of some political cabal, and not a criminal; for not a trace of crime or remorse debased that calm brow, and those clear, honest eyes. This might not have struck me as remarkable, since such unmerited sufferings were but too common in that country. What arrested my attention was the expression of unfeigned and lofty joy which irradiated his aged countenance.

In the interval of noonday rest allowed him, as well as the other convicts, I sat down beside him and entered into conversation with him. I found he was an old soldier; and at length I was encouraged by his frankness to inquire the cause of the strange contrast between his expression and his circumstances.

The veteran lifted his cap, and said mysteriously, "The King shall enjoy His own again. The spring will come, and with it the violets."

The thought struck me that some harmless and happy insanity had risen, like a soft mist, to veil from him his miserable lot; and following his train of thought, I said, "You wait for a king, and hope cheers you. Yet you must have waited long; and hope deferred maketh the heart sick."

"The uncertainty of hope," he replied, "often makes the heart sick with fear of disappointment; but my hope is sure, and every day of delay certainly brings me nearer to it. Every night, as I look out from my convict's cell over the sea, before I lie down to sleep, I think that before to-morrow the white sails of His fleet may stud the blue waters--for He will not return alone; and when morning dawns gray across the bare horizon, I am not cast down, because I know the morning we wait for will surely come at last."

"But," I said reverently, and half hesitating to disturb his happy dream, "when that morning dawns will you still be here?"

"Here or there," he answered solemnly. "Either with the few who look for Him here, or with the countless multitudes who will accompany Him thence."

Knowing how such legends of the return of exiled princes linger in the hearts of a nation, and wondering whether the old man spoke from the delusion of his own peculiar madness or of a tradition current among his people, I said, "Your words are strange to me. Tell me the history."

"After the great battle," the old soldier replied, a smile bright as a child's, yet tender as tears, lighting up his whole countenance,--"after the last great battle the King, the true King, our own King, has never been seen publicly in our country. They wounded Him, and left Him for dead on the field--they had wounded His heart to the core. Traitors were amongst them; it was not only an open enemy that did Him this dishonour. But they were mistaken; He is not dead. We who loved Him know. We bore Him secretly from the field. He lingered a few days amongst us after His wounds had healed, in disguise; but although His royal state was hidden for a time, we who knew His voice could tell Him blindfold from a million; and since He left us, His faithful adherents, who before His departure could be counted by tens, have increased to thousands."

"An unusual fortune," I remarked, "for a cause whose last effort seems generally to have been considered a defeat, and whose leader has apparently abandoned it."

"There are many reasons," said the old man, "why it should be so; and among the chief of these is this one. When our Prince left us, He gave to each of His adherents a precious gift as a token of His love, and a sign by which we may know each other."

As he spoke he drew aside his poor garment, and on his breast there sparkled a gem more brilliant than any star or decoration I had ever seen!

"This is the star of the King's Own Order," he said; and as I looked at it a wonderful transformation seemed to have taken place in the old man's dress. His poor convict's garb seemed metamorphosed into the richest robes, such as princes wore in that southern land, of the costliest materials, and all of a glistening white, at once royal and bridal, whilst his chain glittered like a jewelled bracelet. The veteran smiled at my surprise, and unclasping his jewel, bound it on his brow. Instantly the same magical change passed over his face. Noble as it was before, his countenance now shone as if it had been the face of an angel. Every trace of care and age was effaced; the eyes shone under the calm, unfurrowed brow with the sparkle of early youth, and nothing was left to indicate age but a depth in the glance and a history in the expression, which youth cannot have.

"But," I said, "surely your enemies must seek to rob you of such a treasure?"

"Try," he replied, "if you can take it from me."

I endeavoured gently to detach the jewel from his brow, but my fingers had scarcely touched it when it sprang up like glittering drops from a fountain, and was gone, yet leaving the glory on the old man's face.

He smiled, and observed quietly, "Our jewel no man taketh from us."

Then again unclasping the fillet which had bound it round his brow, the magic gem reappeared in his hand.

It was mid-day, and the usual fare of the convicts was brought to him--scanty and coarse fare, with bad water. He humbly and thankfully partook of the poor food, but poured out the contents of the cup on the ground.

"The water of this land is bad," he said. "The people render it palatable by mixing it with a fiery stimulant, which, alas! only increases their thirst, so that they ever thirst again. But we do not need this."

Then gently laying his finger on the gem, it expanded, like a lily-bell in the sun, into a crystal vase, and in it bubbled up a miniature fountain of pure, sparkling water.

"In us a well of water springing up," he murmured, as if to himself, as he drank and was refreshed; and touching the vase again, it folded up, like a convolvulus going to sleep when the sun sets.

I wondered he had not had the courtesy to offer me a draught. He read my thoughts, and said, "This water is untransferable. Each of us must have his own jewel."

"Then," I replied, "if your Prince left those jewels to you at His departure, and has not returned since, how can His followers have increased, if this token is essential to them, and, indeed, as you intimated, an inducement to many to enlist under His banner?"

"It is free to all, and yet a secret," he replied. "Whenever any one desires to enlist in our Prince's service, he must repair alone, before daybreak, to a lonely beach on our shores, and wait there for what the King will send. There, when the sun rises--not always the first morning, or the second, or the third, but always at last--his first rays gleam on a new jewel, exactly like the others, sparkling among the shells and pebbles. The young soldier takes it up, presses it to his lips, murmurs the name written on it, binds it on his heart, and it is his own, and he is the King's for ever. None ever saw it come, though some fancy they have seen a streak of light on the sea when it first appears, as of the track of an illumination out on the waters."

"What name is engraved on it?" I asked.

"The King's name," he replied, bowing his head reverently.

"May I see it?" I said.

"You could not," he replied gravely. "None of us can read that name, except on our own jewels."

I was silent for a moment. He continued,--

"But I have a greater wonder yet to tell you of our jewel--the greatest wonder of all; and this you must take at my word. The light and glory of this gem is entirely reflected from a jewel of the same kind, but infinitely more glorious, which sparkles on the King's own heart. When I raise this gem to my eyes, and look through it," he added, in a tone which thrilled with the deepest emotion, raising it at the same time like a telescope to his eyes, "this country vanishes from me altogether, and I see wonders."

"What do you see?" I asked, half trembling.

"I see the King in His beauty," he replied. "I see the land which is very far off. I see a city which has no need of the sun. I see a palace where His servants serve Him. I see a throne which is as jasper, and, above it, a rainbow like an emerald; and, above all I see, I see Him, with the jewel on His heart: but His jewel is no mere gem, no reflection--it is a star, it is light itself; and in its glory the city, the palace, and the throne, and the happy faces of His servants round Him, glow and shine."

And as he spoke, I looked at the old man's jewel, and his countenance itself grew so glorious, that I could not gaze any longer, but cast down my dazzled eyes, and was silent. At length, after a pause of some moments, my eagerness to hear more constrained me to resume the conversation; and when I looked up, the jewel was again hidden in the old man's breast, his appearance had taken its soberer beauty, and the presence of that marvellous treasure was only betrayed by the strange calm and peace which had first attracted me in the veteran's face.

"But," I asked, "if such a possession indeed is yours, the wonder now seems to me to be, how the King's enemies can have a follower left. Have your opponents any similar guerdon to offer?"

"Similar things," he replied, "they at one time often tried to make, but the same they could never have; and even to imitate the outside beauty of it they found so difficult, that the soberest men of the party have, for the most part, given it up in despair, and say it is all a cheat."

"But why, at least, does not each one try for himself," I asked, "and see if it is true or not?"

"There are many reasons," he replied sorrowfully, "which keep the land from returning nationally to its allegiance. The usurper is still in power, and gives away the offices of state as he pleases; bonds and imprisonment often await us, as you see is the case with me; and many prefer the possession of lands and houses, or even less, to the reversion of a city, and the service of a Prince they have never seen."

"I understand," I replied.

"Besides," he added, "there are strict rules binding our order. The people of the usurper do each what is right in his own eyes; but we are subject to our Prince's laws, which, though most blessed to those who keep them, seem to those who are outside, and live lawlessly, severe and strict. We are subject to our Prince, and to one another for His sake; and only those who have proved the joy of that subjection and service know how much happier it is than the tyranny of their lawlessness and self-will."

"What are those counterfeit jewels you alluded to?" I asked.

"They are of various construction," he replied. "Some try to imitate one quality of our jewel, and some another. Some of the court jewellers of the usurper make a paste or tinsel jewel, which, when the sun shines, has a lustre a little like that of ours. The young courtiers often wear this; but when the sun is clouded or sets, it ceases to shine: so that even its outward resemblance is very imperfect, and it does not even pretend to imitate the secret of the fountain or the magic glass. And, moreover, it can be stolen or broken. Often, even in the courtly revels, it is broken--often it is stolen or dropped; and even if it is retained, in a few years the lustre fades away, and can never be restored. Then," he continued, "some make a bold effort to imitate our jewel in its form of the crystal vase, but the crystal itself is dim; and for the living fountain they have never been able to substitute anything but a fiery liquid, needing constantly to be replenished, and, in reality, only increasing the thirst it professes to still, until it becomes a burning, consuming inward fever. But as they have never tasted of our water, the wretched deluded ones persist in saying theirs is the true."

"And the telescope?" I inquired--"the magic glass?"

"The telescope," he replied, with a smile, which had no mockery, but much sadness in it--"the magic-glass they have never even attempted to imitate; and, therefore, as none can ever look through it but its possessor, they say it is a lie and a cheat; and our persisting in declaring what it really is, is the source of many of our sufferings. For this we are thrown into madhouses and prisons, and led to the scaffold and the stake."

After a brief pause, he resumed--

"The wise men and statesmen of the usurper's party now, however, for the most part, take an entirely different method. They discourage all these counterfeits, which they say are paying a most undeserved compliment to us. They say our jewels are mere sham and tinsel; that the light they shed exists only in the fancy of the spectators; that the living water is nothing but a mirage; and that the visions we see through the telescope are simply a lie. They affect to despise us too much to punish us; and if they persecute us at all, it is simply by contemptuously shutting us up in asylums as enthusiasts--harmless, unless we mislead others. It is only a few of the most inveterate, such as myself, who may succeed in bringing over too many to the side of our King, that they occasionally make examples of to sober the rest. But it is all entirely useless," he added, very joyfully; "the King's followers increase, His cause is gaining ground, and," he added, with a subdued voice, "the King Himself is coming."

"Is it really true," I asked, after a time, "that nothing, or no man, can rob you of this treasure?"

"Our treasure no man taketh from us," he replied. "This He gave us, this He left with us: not as the world giveth, gave He unto us."

"But can nothing you yourselves do, or omit to do, spoil or dim your jewel?" I resumed.

His brow saddened.

"Alas! there and there only have our enemies any real strength against us," he replied. "Sorrows only add to its lustre; in the loss of everything else it only shines the brighter; hunger and thirst but prove the unfailing nature of the fountain in the crystal vase; destitution and darkness, dungeons and tortures, only make the bright visions of our telescope more glorious: but we, we ourselves may indeed dim its lustre, or, if we will, yield it up altogether."

"All this is natural and comprehensible," I said. "The dungeon must make the jewel brighter; the drought, the unfailing spring more precious; the narrowing of all prospects here, enhance the visions of that magic glass; the cruelties of the usurper, endear the sight of the Prince you serve."

"This the wisest of our enemies have found out," the old man replied. "They find that nothing they can do harms us, but only what they can make us do ourselves; and to this they direct their efforts."

"In what way?" I inquired.

"In many ways," he answered sadly. "The jewel, which nothing external can dim, is sensitive to the least change in us. Any infringement of our King's laws, or, especially, any unfaithfulness to our King, dims its lustre at once; any drinking of those forbidden cups of intoxication dries up the crystal fountain; any yielding to the usurper's service blots out from our magic glass its glorious visions, and the sight of our King in His beauty."

"Are there any other dangers?" I inquired.

"Countless dangers," he replied. "Especially three devices have been found too successful against us. Our jewel only keeps bright with use, and in three ways our enemies endeavour to deter us from using it. The timid they threaten, and induce to hide it from fear: and the cowardly concealing of our treasure inflicts on us two evils; it prevents our winning by it fresh followers to our Prince; and in concealment the jewel itself invariably grows dim. The young and careless they engage in the ambitious pursuits or the gay amusements of the court, until they forget to use the precious gem; and in ceasing to use it they necessarily cease to shine with its light, and grow like any of the usurper's train. And again, there are some poor, and distrusting, and fearful ones, whom our enemies persuade that it is a daring presumption for such as they to pretend they have had especial communication with the King, and even at times torment them into thinking the King's own jewel tinsel; so that, in looking and looking to see if it is a true jewel, they forget to clasp it on their hearts, or drink the living water, or look through the magic glass."

"That is a strange delusion," I remarked.

"Yes," he said; "but it is easily cured, if once we can persuade them to look through the jewel instead of looking at it; for then they see the King with the jewel on His breast, and the smile in His eyes, and their doubts melt away in floods of happy tears. This I know," he added, "for I was once one of these. I had neglected to use my jewel; and then an enemy, in the guise of a friend, persuaded me to question its genuineness; but I ventured to look through it once again, and since then I do not look at my jewel, but gaze through it to the King's heart; and from that day my jewel has not grown dim."

"But you spoke of some who lost it altogether," I said.

"They are those," he said, solemnly, "who have deliberately yielded it up to enter the service of the usurper; or those who, in base timidity, have cast it away in denying our King."

"And for such can it ever be recovered?" I said.

"For one such, as disloyal as any, it was," he answered. "He went out and wept bitterly; the King forgave him, and in time the treasure was restored to him, and he became one of our most glorious veterans."

"How is the jewel to be recovered if lost?" I asked.

"By going to the place where first it was found," he replied. "There, on the lonely beach, before daybreak, it must be sought, morning after morning, until the sun's first rays reveal it once more glittering among the shingle as at first. But the waiting is often longer than it was at first."

"Will you wear your jewel," I asked, "when the King comes, or when you go to join Him beyond the sea?"

"There," he replied, with an expression of rapturous joy, "we shall see the jewel on the King's heart. There we shall have no need of the hidden fountain, for the river of living waters flows there, bright as crystal; and no need of the magic glass, for the King is near; but the jewel will shine in that happy place on brow and breast for ever and ever."

And as I left the sea-shore and the old man, these words floated through my heart, as if they were echoes of his history, or his story an echo of them:--

"Be not ye, as the hypocrites, of a sad countenance.

"Peace I leave with you, My peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you."

"Rejoice in the Lord alway: and again I say, Rejoice."

"Your joy no man taketh from you."

[The end]
Elizabeth Rundle Charles's short story: Jewel Of The Order Of The King's Own

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