The World Set Free by H. G. Wells (best romance ebooks .txt) 📕

and so forth in the way of peace? That little Frenchman is right. You know he is right as well as I do. Those things are over. We⁠—we kings and rulers and representatives have been at the very heart of the mischief. Of course we imply separation, and of course separation means the threat of war, and of course the threat of war means the accumulation of more and more atomic bombs. The old game’s up. But, I say, we mustn’t stand here, you know. The world waits. Don’t you think the old game’s up, Firmin?”

Firmin adjusted a strap, passed a hand over his wet forehead, and followed earnestly. “I admit, sir,” he said to a receding back, “that there has to be some sort of hegemony, some sort of Amphictyonic council⁠—”

“There’s got to be one simple government for all the world,” said the king over his shoulder.

“But as for a reckless, unqualified abandonment, sir⁠—”

“Bang!” cried the king.

Firmin made no answer to this interruption. But a faint shadow of annoyance passed across his heated features.

“Yesterday,” said the king, by way of explanation, “the Japanese very nearly got San Francisco.”

“I hadn’t heard, sir.”

“The Americans ran the Japanese aeroplane down into the sea and there the bomb got busted.”

“Under the sea, sir?”

“Yes. Submarine volcano. The steam is in sight of the Californian coast. It was as near as that. And with things like this happening, you want me to go up this hill and haggle. Consider the effect of that upon my imperial cousin⁠—and all the others!”

“He will haggle, sir.”

“Not a bit of it,” said the king.

“But, sir.”

“Leblanc won’t let him.”

Firmin halted abruptly and gave a vicious pull at the offending strap. “Sir, he will listen to his advisers,” he said, in a tone that in some subtle way seemed to implicate his master with the trouble of the knapsack.

The king considered him.

“We will go just a little higher,” he said. “I want to find this unoccupied village they spoke of, and then we will drink that beer. It can’t be far. We will drink the beer and throw away the bottles. And then, Firmin, I shall ask you to look at things in a more generous light.⁠ ⁠… Because, you know, you must.⁠ ⁠…”

He turned about and for some time the only sound they made was the noise of their boots upon the loose stones of the way and the irregular breathing of Firmin.

At length, as it seemed to Firmin, or quite soon, as it seemed to the king, the gradient of the path diminished, the way widened out, and they found themselves in a very beautiful place indeed. It was one of those upland clusters of sheds and houses that are still to be found in the mountains of North Italy, that were used only in the high summer, and which it was the custom to leave locked up and deserted through all the winter and spring, and up to the middle of June. The buildings were of a soft-toned gray stone, buried in rich green grass, shadowed by chestnut trees and lit by an extraordinary blaze of yellow broom. Never had the king seen broom so glorious; he shouted at the light of it, for it seemed to give out more sunlight even than it received; he sat down impulsively on a lichenous stone, tugged out his bread and cheese, and bade Firmin thrust the beer into the shaded weeds to cool.

“The things people miss, Firmin,” he said, “who go up into the air in ships!”

Firmin looked around him with an ungenial eye. “You see it at its best, sir,” he said, “before the peasants come here again and make it filthy.”

“It would be beautiful anyhow,” said the king.

“Superficially, sir,” said Firmin. “But it stands for a social order that is fast vanishing away. Indeed, judging by the grass between the stones and in the huts, I am inclined to doubt if it is in use even now.”

“I suppose,” said the king, “they would come up immediately the hay on this flower meadow is cut. It would be those slow, creamy-coloured beasts, I expect, one sees on the roads below, and swarthy girls with red handkerchiefs over their black hair.⁠ ⁠… It is wonderful to think how long that beautiful old life lasted. In the Roman times and long ages before ever the rumour of the Romans had come into these parts, men drove their cattle up into these places as the summer came on.⁠ ⁠… How haunted is this place! There have been quarrels here, hopes, children have played here and lived to be old crones and old gaffers and died, and so it has gone on for thousands of lives. Lovers, innumerable lovers, have caressed amidst this golden broom.⁠ ⁠…”

He meditated over a busy mouthful of bread and cheese.

“We ought to have brought a tankard for that beer,” he said.

Firmin produced a folding aluminium cup, and the king was pleased to drink.

“I wish, sir,” said Firmin suddenly, “I could induce you at least to delay your decision.”

“It’s no good talking, Firmin,” said the king. “My mind’s as clear as daylight.”

“Sire,” protested Firmin, with his voice full of bread and cheese and genuine emotion, “have you no respect for your kingship?”

The king paused before he answered with unwonted gravity. “It’s just because I have, Firmin, that I won’t be a puppet in this game of international politics.” He regarded his companion for a moment and then remarked: “Kingship!⁠—what do you know of kingship, Firmin?

“Yes,” cried the king to his astonished counsellor. “For the first time in my life I am going to be a king. I am going to lead, and lead by my own authority. For a dozen generations my family has been a set of dummies in the hands of their advisers. Now I am going to be a real king⁠—and I am going to⁠—to abolish, dispose of, finish, the crown to which I have been a slave. But what a world of paralysing shams this roaring stuff has ended! The