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Title: The Coming Queen
Date of first publication: 1922
Author: Elizabeth Louisa Moresby (1862-1931)
Date first posted: Jan. 2, 2022
Date last updated: Jan. 2, 2022
Faded Page eBook #20220103

This eBook was produced by: Al Haines




[Source: Atlantic Monthly, January 1922]




THE COMING QUEEN

A DIALOGUE AND A STORY


BY L. MORESBY



I

'I believe you take as long to dress as I do,' she said pettishly; 'I
call it neither more nor less than poaching when a man looks so well
turned out.  And a Poet, too!  Well--you can sit down; I have twenty
minutes free.'

She was dressed for a bridge party.  Dressed--oh, the tilt of the hat
over her delicate little nose; the shadow it cast over the liquid
eyes, ambushing them, as it were, for the flash and spring upon the
victim!  But I was no victim--not I!  I knew my young friend too
well.  She endured me more or less gladly.  I sat at her feet and
learned the ways of the sex, and turned them into verse, or didn't,
according to the mood of the minute.  I had versified her more than
once.  She was a rondeau, a triolet, a trill--nothing more.

'Why mayn't a poet look respectable as well as another?' I asked,
dropping into a chair.

'Because it isn't in the picture.  You were much more effective, you
folks, when you went about with long hair, and scowled, with a finger
on your brows.  But never mind--you've given us up and we've given
you up, so it doesn't matter what women think of you any more.'

'You never said a truer word!' I replied, lighting my cigarette at
hers.  'The connection between women and poetry is clean-cut for the
time.  As for the future--God knows!  You're not poetic any more.
And it's deuced hard, for we made you.'

'Nonsense.  God made us, they say--or Adam--I never quite made out
which.'

'It's a divided responsibility, anyhow.  For the Serpent dressed you.
He knew his business there--he knew that beauty unadorned may do well
enough in a walled garden and with only one to see and no one else to
look at.  But in the great world, and with competition--no!  And
you--you little fools, you're undoing all his charitable work and
undressing yourselves again.  When I was at the Moresbys' the other
night I just thirsted for the Serpent to take the floor and hiss you
a lecture on your stupidities.'

She pouted: 'Stupidities?  I'm sure the frocks were perfectly lovely.'

'As far as they went, but they didn't go nearly far enough for the
Serpent.  And believe me, he knows all the tricks of the trade.  He
wants mystery--he wants the tremble in the lips when a man feels--"I
can't see--I can only guess, and I guess the Immaculate, the
Exquisite--the silent silver lights and darks undreamed of."  And
you--you go and strip your backs to the waist and your legs to the
knees.  No, believe me, the Dark Continent isn't large enough; and
when there is nothing left to explore, naturally the explorer ceases
to exist.'

'I think you're very impertinent.  Look at Mrs. Peterson.  Wasn't she
perfectly lovely?  Why, even all the women were crazy about her
shoulders.  She can wear less than any of us, and wear it well.'

'I couldn't keep my eyes off her, if you mean that.  But not along
the Serpent line of thought.  It was mathematical.  I was calculating
the chances for and against, all the time--whether that indiscreet
rose-leaf in front would hold on.  Whether the leaf at the back would
give.  At last I got to counting.  She's laughing--will it last till
I get to five-and-twenty? thirty?  And I held on to the switches to
switch off the light if it gave.  The suspense was terrific.  Did she
hold together after midnight?  I left then.'

'I won't tell you.  You don't deserve to hear,' she said with dignity.

A brief silence.

'What do you mean by saying you poets made us?' she began again,
pushing the ash-tray toward me.

'Well, you know, as a matter of fact people long ago didn't believe
you had any souls.'

'Rot!'

'I shouldn't think of contradicting you, my dear Joan, but it's a
fact.'

'Oh, the Turks, and heathen like that.'

'Well, no--the Church.  The Fathers of the Church, met in solemn
council, remarked you had no souls.  It was a long time ago, however.'

'They didn't!'

'They did.  They treated you as pretty dangerous little animals, with
snake's blood in you.  Listen to this: "Chrysostom"--a very
distinguished saint--"only interpreted the general sentiment of the
Fathers when he pronounced woman to be a necessary evil, a natural
temptation, a desirable calamity, a domestic peril, a deadly
fascination, a painted ill."  You see you had found the way to the
rouge-box even then.'

'I shouldn't wonder if they were right,' she said, incredibly.  'I've
often doubted whether I've a soul myself.  And I'm sure Myra Peterson
hasn't.'

I shrugged my shoulders.

'At all events, the poets thought you were not as pretty without one.
We disagreed with the Church.  We always have.  So we took you in
hand.  Your soul was born, my dear Joan, in Provence, about the year
1100.'

She began to be a little interested, but looked at her tiny
watch--gray platinum with a frosty twinkle of diamonds.

'Go on.  I've ten minutes more.'

'Well--we were sorry for you.  We were the Troubadours of Provence,
and we found you kicked into the mud by the Church, flung out into
the world to earn your bread in various disreputable ways--by
marriage, and otherwise.  You simply didn't exist.  We found your
beautiful dead body in the snow and mud.  And we picked you up and
warmed you and set you on a throne all gold and jewels.  Virtually,
you never breathed until we wrote poems about you.'

'Jewels!  We have always liked jewels,' she sighed.

'We gave you a wonderful crown first, all white and shining.  We made
you Queen of Heaven, and then even the Church had to eat humble pie
and worship you, for you were Mary.  We did that--we only.  But that
wasn't enough.  You opened your eyes, and grew proud and spoiled, and
heaven was by no means enough.  You wanted more.  You would be Queen
of Earth, too.  And we did it!  We gave you a crown of red
jewels,--red like heart's blood,--and we put a sceptre in your hand,
and we fell down and worshiped you.  And you were Venus.  And you
have been Queen of Europe and the New World ever since.'

'Of Europe only?  Not of Asia?  Why not?'

'Oh, they are much too old and wise in Asia.  They are much wiser
than we.  Wiser than the Church.  Wiser than the poets--than any of
us.'

'What do they say?'

'Well--let's think.  That you have your uses--_uses_.  That you are
valuable in so far as you bear children and are obedient to your
husbands.  That, outside that, your beauty has its uses also within
limits that are rather strictly marked.  That in many rebirths you
may possibly win a soul one day and be immortal; if you behave, that
is!  If not--then you will be scrapped.  But you have your chance all
the time.  With them you are neither goddess nor fiend.  You are just
women.  Not even Woman.'

'What ghastly materialism!'

'No, no!  The happy mean.  The perfect wisdom.  Meanwhile, you
yourselves are all hunting after the ideals of the market-place, the
platform, the pulpit.  I wonder how many extra rebirths it will cost
you!  Never mind.  Time is long.  The gods are never in a hurry, and
you will arrive even if you only catch the last train.'

'But this is all fault-finding, and unfair at that.  Will you have
the goodness to advise?  If we stick on our pedestals, you all run
off to the frivolers.  If we frivol, you weep for the pedestal.  What
is it you really want?  If we knew, we'd try to deliver the goods,
I'm sure.'

'I'm not!' I said, and reflected.  Then, gathering resolution, 'Have
you the patience to listen to a story?'

'If it's a good one.  How long will it take?'

'Ten minutes.  The author is the Serpent.'

'Then I'll certainly put off Myra Peterson for fifteen minutes.
Who's it about?'--running to the telephone.

'Eve, Lilith, Adam.'

'Who was Lilith?'

'Adam's first love.'

She sat down, her eyes dancing, her lips demure; the prettiest
combination!

'I didn't know he had one.  But I might have guessed.  They always
have.  Go on!'

I went on, and this is the story.



II

'You were speaking of the pedestal.  That, of course, was invented in
Eden; for Adam early recognized the convenience of knowing where to
leave your women and be certain of finding them on your return.  So
he made the pedestal, decorated it, burned incense before it, and
went away upon his own occasions; and when Eve had finished her
housekeeping (you may remember, Milton tells us what good little
dinners she provided for Adam), she would look bored, climb upon the
pedestal obediently, and stand there all day, yawning and wondering
what kept him away so long.

'Now, on a memorable day, the Serpent came by, and he stopped and
looked up at the Lady of the Garden,--who naturally assumed a
statuesque pose,--and there was joy in his bright little eye.  But
all he said was, "May I ask if you find this amusing?"

'And Eve replied, "No, not at all.  But it is the proper place for a
lady."

'And the Serpent rejoined: "Why?"

'And Eve reflected and answered: "Because Adam says so."

'So the Serpent drew near and whispered in his soft sibilant voice:
"Have you ever heard of Lilith?  _She_ does not stand on a pedestal.
She gardens with Adam.  To be frank, she is a cousin of my own."

'And this made Eve extremely angry, and she replied sharply: "I don't
know what you mean.  He and I are alone in Eden.  There's no such
person as Lilith.  You are only a serpent when all's said and done.
What can you know?"

'And the Serpent replied very gently,--and his voice was as soothing
as the murmur of a distant hive of bees,--"I am only a Serpent, true!
But I have had unusual opportunities of observation.  Come and eat of
the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.  Long ages ago I tasted
the Fruit.  The savor of my teeth is sweet on it still."

'Eve hesitated, and she who hesitates is lost.

'"I own I should like to know about this Lilith," she said.  "But we
were told that fruit is unripe, and I don't like bitter things.  Is
it bitter?"

'And the Serpent narrowed his eyes until they shone like slits of
emerald.

'"Sweet!" he said; "come."

'So she descended from the pedestal, and, guided by the Serpent,
stood before that wondrous Tree where every apple shines like a star
among its cloudy leaves.  And she plucked one, and, tasting it, flung
the rest angrily at the Serpent, because it was still a little
unripe; and having tasted the Fruit Forbidden, she returned to the
pedestal, pondering, with the strangest new thoughts quickening in
her brain.

'If Adam noticed anything when he came back that evening, it was only
that Eve was a little more silent than usual, and forgot to ask if
the thornless roses were striking root.  She was thinking deeply, but
there were serious gaps in her knowledge.

'The first result of her partial enlightenment was that, though she
now only used the pedestal as a clothes-peg and spent all her spare
time in stalking Adam and Lilith, she always scrambled up in hot
haste when he returned.  He could be certain of finding her there
when he expected to, and he made a point of that because, as he
said,--

'"No truly nice woman would ever want to leave it and go wandering
about the Garden.  It does not do for a respectable woman to be seen
speaking even to an Archangel nowadays, so often does the Devil
assume the form of an Angel of Light.  You never can tell.  And
besides, there is always the Serpent, who, in my opinion, should
never have been admitted."

'Eve said nothing, which was becoming a habit.  She only folded her
little hands meekly and accepted the homage paid to the pedestal with
perfect gravity and decorum.  He never suspected until much later
that she knew what a comparatively interesting time Lilith was
having, and had indeed called on that lady at the other end of the
Garden, with friendly results.  She was well aware that Lilith's
footing on the garden paths was much more slippery and unsafe than
her own on the pedestal.  Still, there were particulars which she
felt would be useful.

'When Adam realized the facts, he realized also that he was face to
face with a political crisis of the first magnitude.  If they
fraternized, those two, of such different characters and antecedents,
there was nothing they could not know--nothing they might not do!
The pedestal was rocking to its very foundation.  The gardening with
Lilith must end.  She would demand recognition; Eve would demand
freedom.  It might mean a conspiracy--a boycott.  What was there it
might not mean?  He scarcely dared to think.  Eden was crumbling
about him.

'It was a desperate emergency, and as he sat with a racking head,
wishing them both in--Paradise, the Serpent happened along.

'"Surely you look a little harassed," he said, stopping.

'Adam groaned.

'"Is it as bad as all that?" the Serpent asked, sympathetically.

'"Worse."

'"What have they been at?" asked the Serpent.

'"They each know too much, and they will soon know more," he rejoined
gloomily.  "Knowledge is as infectious as potato blight."

'The Serpent replied with alacrity: "In this dreadful situation you
must know most.  It is the only remedy.  Come and eat at once of the
Fruit of the Tree.  I have never understood why you did not do that
the moment the Rib took shape."

'And Adam, like Eve, asked: "Is it sweet?"

'So the Serpent narrowed his eyes till they shone like slits of ruby,
and said, "Bitter, but appetizing.  Come."

'And Adam replied: "I like bitters before dinner."

'We all know what happened then; with the one exception that, as a
matter of fact, he found the apple a little over-ripe, too sweet,
even cloying; and not even swallowing what he had tasted, he threw
the rest away.

'It is just as well to have this version, for it must have been
always perfectly clear that Eve, having tasted the apple and thus
acquired a certain amount of wisdom, could never have desired to
share it with Adam.  ['I have thought that myself,' murmured Joan.]
No, it was the Serpent's doing in both cases; though naturally Adam
blamed Eve when the question was raised, for she had begun it.

'But what was the result?  Well, there were several.  It has, of
course, been a trial of wits between Adam, Eve, and Lilith ever
since.  But, in tasting, he had learned one maxim which the Romans
thought they invented thousands of years later.  It flashed into his
mind one day, when he saw the two gathering roses together and found
his dinner was half an hour late in consequence.  It was simply this:
Divide and Rule.  Combined, he could never manage them; the sceptre
was daily slipping from his hand.  Divided, he could.  So he put the
maxim in practice and sowed division and distrust between Eve and
Lilith.  They ceased to visit each other, and were cuts when they
met.  And, naturally, after the Eviction the meetings ceased entirely.

'You will have understood before this, my dear Joan, that Adam was
the first mortal to realize the value of competition.  He now became
the object of spirited competition between the two.  Each in her own
way outbid the other to secure his regard.  Eve's domestic virtues
grew oppressive; Lilith's recklessness alarming.  And it will readily
be seen why women have pursued men, rather than the other way over,
as we see it in the lower walks of creation.'

'Don't prose,' said Joan.  'What happened?'

'Well, in the last few years, the Serpent, who is always upsetting
things, happened along again, and found Eve balancing in extreme
discomfort on the pedestal, and Lilith resting, exhausted, after a
particularly hard day's pursuit of Adam.  And between them was a wall
of icy silence.

'He paused and said, with his usual courtesy, "Ladies, you both seem
fatigued.  Is it permitted to ask the reason?"  And his voice had all
the murmuring of all the doves of Arcady.

'And Lilith replied angrily: "I'm sick of hunting Adam.  I always
catch him and always know I shall.  And he wants to be caught, and
yet insists on being hunted before he gives me the rewards.  Who can
keep up any interest in a game like that?  If it were not for Eve,
who would take up the running if I dropped it, he might go to Gehenna
for me!"'

'Oh, how true!  I like Lilith best!' whispered Joan.  She was not
smoking now.

'"Strong, but pardonable," said the Serpent.  "And you, dear Lady?"

'And Eve, casting a jealous scowl at Lilith, replied: "I'm weary of
this abominable pedestal.  If you had stood on it off and on for five
thousand years, you would realize the cramp it means in the knees.
But I daren't get off, for Adam says no truly nice woman ever would
leave it, and it pleases him.  If it were not for Lilith, who would
be upon it in two seconds, I should be off it in less.  And then
where should I be?  She _will_ go on hunting him, and of course he
must have quiet at home."

'"And you _will_ go on standing on your imbecile pedestal, and of
course such boredom makes him restless abroad," retorted the other.

'In the momentary silence that ensued, the Serpent looked up at
Lilith and narrowed his eyes till they shone like slits of amethyst.

'"My cousin," he said, "our family was old when Adam was created.  He
is poor game."

'"Nobody knows that better than I," said Lilith tartly.  "What do you
suppose I hunt him for?"

'"What, indeed!" said the Serpent, hissing softly.

'"Because of Eve--that only!" she flashed at him.  "She never shall
triumph over me.  And what there is to give, he has."

'He turned to Eve, narrowing his eyes till they shone like slits of
fire.

'"And you stand cramped on this pedestal, beloved Lady?"

'"Because of Lilith--that only!  She, at all events, shall not have
him.  And think of his morals!"'

'Aha!' said Joan, with intense conviction.

'The Serpent mused and curved his shining head toward Eve.

'"If you will allow me to say so, I have always regretted that you
never finished that apple, and that my cousin Lilith has never tasted
it at all," he murmured.  "A little knowledge is a dangerous thing,
as certain also of your own poets have said."

'"I have sometimes thought so, too," Eve replied mournfully; "and
there is a word that now and then flashes across my brain like an
echo from the past, but I can never quite recall it.  It might
explain matters.  Still, it is no use talking.  That apple rotted
long ago, and if the Tree is still growing, which I doubt, there is
always a guard of flying infantry at the Gate.  It is easier to get
out than in where Eden is concerned."

'The Serpent smiled blandly.

'"You have evidently forgotten that, by arrangement with the
Governing Body, I have always free ingress and egress.  Look here!"

'He unfolded his iridescent coils, and there lay within
them--shining, mystic, wonderful, against his velvet bloom--two
Apples.

'There was no hesitation, for each was equally weary of Adam's
requirements; and, snatching each an Apple, they ate.

'But the Fruit has grown bitter since the days of the Garden.  There
is nothing so bitter as knowledge.  Their lips were wried, and the
tears came, and still they ate until not an atom remained.  The
Serpent watched.  For a moment each stared upon the other, trembling
like a snared bird, wild thoughts coming and going in the eyes of the
Barren Woman and the Mother of all Living.  Then Eve stretched out
her arms, and Lilith flung herself into them, and they clung
together, weeping.

'And the Serpent opened his eyes until they shone like sun, moon, and
stars all melted into one; and he said, "Ladies, the word you are
seeking is, I think, _Combination_."  And smiling subtly, he went his
way.

'So Eve descended from her pedestal and trampled it; and Lilith broke
the rod of her evil enchantments; and they walked hand in hand,
blessing the world.

'Adam meanwhile was shooting,--big game, little game,--and, amid the
pressure of such important matters, never paid any attention to this
trifle.  But this was the beginning of what will be the biggest
trade-union the world will ever see.  All the women who matter will
be within it, and the black-legs outside will be the women who don't
count.  So now you see why men will not much longer have a run
(literally) for their money.  Adam may have to put up with it, for he
never ate the Apple as Eve and Lilith have done, and therefore does
not know so much about the things of real importance.  Unless indeed
the Serpent--But we won't think of that until it happens.

'Now, my dear Joan, whether all this is a good or a bad thing, who
can tell?  The Serpent undoubtedly shuffled the cards; and who the
Serpent is and what are his intentions, are certainly open questions.
Some believe him to be the Devil, but the minority think his true
name is Wisdom.  All one really can say is that the future lies on
the knees of the gods, and that among all men the Snake is the symbol
of Knowledge, and is therefore surrounded with fear and hatred.

'Now that's the story, and don't you think there's a kind of a moral?'


I waited for a comment.  Joan was in deep meditation.

'Do you know,' she said slowly, 'it's the truest thing I ever heard.
It's as true as taxes.  But where do you come in?'

'I wasn't thinking of us,' I said hurriedly.  'I merely meant--if you
wished to be more attractive--'

'Attractive!'--with her little nose in the air.  'I guess it's you
that will have to worry about your attractions, if that comes along.
I won't waste any more time on you to-day.  I've got to think this
out, and talk it out, too, with Myra and Janet.'

She rose and began to pull on her gloves, but absently.

I felt exactly like a man who has set a time-fuse in a powder
magazine.  The Serpent himself must have possessed me when I
introduced his wisdom to a head cram-full of it already.

'It's the merest nonsense, Joan.  It isn't in the Talmud.  The
Serpent never thought of it.  I made it all up.'

'You couldn't.  It isn't in you.  Or, if you did, it was an
inspiration from on high.'

'From below,' I said weakly.

She smiled to herself--a dangerous smile.

'I must go.  And you really were a little less dull than usual.  Come
again on Tuesday.  The moral of it all is, so far, that the poets are
really worth cultivating.  I will begin with you!'

She flashed away like a humming bird, and I retired, to read my
Schopenhauer.  But the serious question is--shall I go on Tuesday?


[The end of _The Coming Queen_ by Elizabeth Louisa Moresby]