PRINCESS VICTORIA &THE 3 SUITORS II

PRINCESS VICTORIA AND THE THREE SUITORS II


CHAPTER 6

Next day sees Dugald strutting to see his invitee. A black brief case in hand and a golden posh wrist watch on wrist, he is in a plummy black suit that strikingly matches his stature and carriage. On his eyes hang a pair of relatively diminutive golden-framed plain glasses showcasing his analytic, keen-looking eyes, and on his face, there is an adornment of neatly-trimmed, tar-black beard complementing thick curly moustache. These facial attachments make his looks suggestive not only of the great erudition and professionalism of an egghead, but also of the peremptoriness of an aggressive authority.

With an air of consummate self-assurance, he draws nearer and nearer to the palace, though his thoughts oscillate now and then between self-doubt and overweening self-confidence, as the customary let-downs which great and low-born admirers have experienced in that gruesome palace he now tends to, does not leave his memory. His intellect sizes and re-sizes him in comparison with the predecessors of his knowledge, evaluating the acceptability of his physical and social stature, the respectability of his deportment, the possible dash, punch, and novelty of his introductory letter, the finesse of his rhetorical artistry, etc .In time, he arrives at the palace- he is immediately flanked by expectant guards, one of whom unburdens him of his brief case in reverence, another quixotically showing him into the forehall with obliging servility, all cordially bidding him welcome with effusive adoration. This maiden gesture, satisfactory and congenital to him, swells his pride, boosts his hopes for success, and lessens his occasionally niggling self-doubt. At the princess’ behest, he is later shown into a room, one other than that in which the last intercourse held, and invited to sit himself in either of the impressive blue armchairs at a white four-feet square table. The size of this table momentarily shocks but does not unsettle him; it nerves him up to greater discretion and to a more desirable self-presentation of his personal estimation. A calm piece of classical music imparts fresh serenity to the room, the grandness and brilliance of this room’s modest adornments impressing him very unprecedentedly.

A few seconds later, his host enters. The music is stopped. Dugald rises with punctilious, practised self-possession; his voice is markedly sonorous, commanding, enunciating his speech.

-Good dusk, Ms.Victoria Wethen! [Stretching out his hand to her for a firm handshake]
-[Shy cordiality, guarded smile] Good dusk, Professor/ Doctor Infinite.

They sit, almost concurrently. Victoria gazes at the table in characteristic unobtrusive expectation. He begins at once:

-To start with, permit me to state that I am absolutely obliged to you for this rare grace and honour. It is a prestige I had least expected, a gesture beyond my wildest dreams! A trillion thanks! [Chuckles]
-[In an undertone,a gentle smile illuminating her face, gaze still in place] You are welcome.
-Thanks immensely, Princess Victoria Wethen! I am convinced, Princess Victoria, that within your glorious fibre, dwells the very quintessence of the loftiest spiritual yearnings! Mine inclusive, I know. And no better testimony is there than this seven-year adamance of your dazzling high-mindedness. As I have stated in my letter, I have for so many years hankered after an oasis conducive to the development of a world of purity, of super-earthly morality, and above all, of a self-abnegating love relationship-no, not love relationship- relationship of love. I mean a self-abnegating relationship of love. Before me sits the very embodiment of this transcendental oasis; for within you Ms. Victoria Wethen, believe or not, resides that super-earthly ambrosia, that magnificent stronghold, the very aromatic captivity that issues from the heavenly.
-[Gently, with a questioning look] Aromatic captivity?
-Yes, aromatic captivity. With that, I am alluding to an analogy, in fact, to two analogies. The first analogy has to do with the human body. Consider the definite paralysis to which the myriads of the human body cells are subjected by the strongest drug. Not one of these cells, no matter its kind or function, dare resist this paralysing power, and every accurate laboratory dissection and analysis must reveal that the influence of the drug absolutely governs the vibrations of the billions of atoms that comprise the cells in question. Each and all are subjected and so vibrate wily-nilly to the irresistible potency, until the all-mighty drug says: “It’s all over”. Now, for the second analogy, consider a crankshaft, or a valve-no, take the phenomenon of the verb “destruct”- not “destroy”, which suggests an inferior momentum. “Destruct”. The impact of perfectly-directed missile on a rocket destructs the rocket. A fact which the shooter of the missile, the missile, and the rocket can do absolutely nothing about. Nor can prayer, human will, or the force of gravity. To the missile-shooter, the shattering destructiveness is welcome, but can be welcome, too, to the “destructed” rocket, if its soul harbours a sincere death wish. Then, the captivity, that is, the subjecting of the rocket to the shooter’s wish, becomes an unspeakably aromatic captivity. Now, princess Victoria, YOU are the strongest drug of love-paralyses: I, the human body, with my myriads of strengths and weaknesses, cells, all powerless, I mean powerless against the force of this all-mighty Victorial love-dazzle! YOU are the missile-shooter: I, the death-wishing rocket-my resistance, you have destructed absolutely, with your perfectly-targeted missile of aromatic captivity! Neither you, princess, nor I can do something about this, because the destructing impact of your emanations are irrevocable, and… [In an undertone] could you now refuse to take the consequences? Absolutely no, princess! Nor can I unshatter my self! Because already, I am dying the death of the omnipotent missile! I am utterly shattered to romantic smithereens, Princess Victoria Wethen!

Silence follows. This, Dugald allows to endure for some moments as if to give time to Victoria to digest his analogy. As he is about to speak, the princess raises her head, but is met by the beam of admiration oozing from Dugald, evidently contemplating her face; now he looks directly into her eyes, then calmly eyes up the features of her spotless fair face-Victoria sharply slants her head towards the table with a blush.

-I beg your pardon, Princess Victoria, pardon me, princess … but if I may venture my mind, I would proudly confess I am one with an instamatic sense of beauty! Naturally, I am simply incapable of withholding my impression of a vision or a beauty. [undertone ] They find immediate visible expression-quite reflexively, uncontrollably, whether or no I so desire. I, however, crave your pardon for my gushing glances [His eyes roving about her head with keen desire]… Princess Victoria [undertone] If only you would appreciate… just in the manner as you deported yourself when you entered-angelically favoured with modesty and resplendent beauty… in the manner as you welcomed me and shook my hands-endearing, compelling, smiting (I must confess!)… in the very manner as you speak and commune-piercing right into my heart with absolute exhilarating and enchanting despatch, exactly does beauty herself ding and dance and dazzle men under her power to blindfolding tenderness! Believe me, princess Victoria Wethen! I do not fawn upon you! I dead detest it! [With an air of earnestness] It simply is not in my character! As a cold helpless, utterly dazed admirer, I can but invoke your acceptance of my unworthy self into your loving heart, by no means a permanent acceptance, but if it be an admission on test and trial, I should absolutely come over-lyrical, my head in the airs! My soul in transports! Out doting on the inestimable favour!
-[Calmly glimpses at the uppermost button of his suit] Thank you, Professor/Doctor Infinite. Could you excuse me for a moment?
-Oh! Absolutely, Princess Victoria.


Briskly, she rises and moves to her inner-boudoir. Overflowing with confident optimism, his eyes glued to the her, David gawkingly drinks in the moving figure, looking her over from her hair-tar-black, cascading gracefully in gentle wave to her collarbone-down her flowing snow-white gown to her feet-looking her over as a rightful prospective owner of an invaluable scarce asset he has just paid for would regard it.

Few minutes later, a servant emerges and hands him the reply envelope. Smilingly, with joyful anticipation, Dugald receives it…but its weight drives him trembling! - Opens the envelope-his picture returned! Then, the blue card of reply! It is bordered with a loud red design, which Dugald understands, from precedents, to be symptomatic of the princess’ ire and repulsion. With cold tremors of astounded bewilderment, he rises and forcefully plumps the card down on the table… right into his eyes stares this card, as if with a sadistic glare. In bold imprint the reply reads: “Prof/Dr. Dugald Infinite, I am sorry: I dare not grant your request.”



Dugald breaks out in a dead cold sweat! A reality beyond the wildest of his dreams! Glued to the spot, he is perspiring with visible chagrin, out of himself as if entranced. A moment later, a servant enters to inform him of the arrival of a guest for whom the room is to be prepared. Then managing to incline himself to the environmental reality, he drags himself away, trumping out of the palace with a subtly tremulous totter, forgetting to pick up his brief case, half-wondering where had gone the magic of his long-cherished silver tongue. An alien voice within him mocks, jeers and sneers at him


CHAPTER 7

Wanting to divert her thoughts from the unpleasant aftertaste of the interview, Victoria picks up the white envelope she believed contained a note of compliments. She opens it. But what! The photograph she encounters suggests it is part of another introduction! Another introduction? NO!…But see: the figure presenting itself!… she momentarily forgets her desire for no new introductions. A tall, finely-groomed, well-favoured gentleman in his masculine, clean-limbed frame. He strikes a meditative attitude suggesting naturalness and reality rather than affectation or pose for snapshot. And his penetrating eyes seem to appreciate-in fact she did feel them appreciating-her lofty philosophies of love in the empathetic radiance of their farsightedness.

“A transparent reflection of his heart and soul!” she whispers to herself. Her reflective eyes mirror the depth of a convinced realisation. In the figure, she reads a mature sense of pragmatism and an unsentimental decisiveness, promising the resolution of the self-assured and the firmness of the unwavering; a gentlemanly cordiality, without the usual tinsel of affected joviality, in which she has always sensed either the ephemerality of infatuation or the inexorable self-seeking of a confirmed hedonist.

All these stare the damsel in the face. She floats into a quiet, trembling rhapsody, predisposed to deep tenderness for the sender. She immediately unfolds the one-page letter and, with enthralled absorption, delves into its contents.


**************************



1Breeze Lane
Gemini D.L.5

Princess Victoria Wethen
The King’s Palace

Dear Princess Victoria,

AFFINITY!

The words of your dream for a partner drive me to deep tenderness!

Very distinctly, their aura embodies a serious-mindedness very rare in virtue and really unique in firmness. They evoke the very picture of a soul cut out and destined for greatness!

Unspeakably inspired am I with this unique nobility!

For once I am revealing that for decades of my life, I have in vain peered about in our world in quest for a woman whose ultimate thought strives for feminine modesty; in my thirst for an involvement in her, peering about! That my inner desire for goodness may find a challenge and an inspiration!

By feminine modesty, I mean a sensitivity of conscience that loathes all form of guile and all expediency, withdraws from them, its insistence always on such transcendental principles as conduce towards an inner goodwill of pure insight, and a consequent outer decency and artlessness in all speech and action.

(I call this modesty feminine because for thoughts and actions of conscience, the woman is the only creature! [The womanly woman]-and I have repudiated no degree of conducibility in a woman towards this goodwill. - -)

The spirit of your dreams craves this modesty! Their soul, a drive towards the glorious virtue!…

I am filled with a deep admiration for you!

While I cannot pass myself as a personification of the qualities of your longing… I would but say: the proof of the pudding lies in the tasting. In the tasting, I want to believe.


Consequently, if I should deserve the grace of your intimacy, then I must profess: should I in any respect fail in fact to satisfy the very spirit of your longing, then in the interest of the sanctity of your goal, you must forthright split with me…no hard feelings nor any sense of loss or sentimentality! Only a new testimony to your sincerity!

My joys shall know no bounds if I could be granted the grace of this trial.

………………………………………………………..

I am Derrick Leo, six feet two inches tall, thirty years of age; an upper second-class degree holder in English and French Literature, and a fully employed individual.

Thanks for your attentive kindliness!

Yours sincerely,
Derrick Leo



Reading this letter the once without thinking it over would be worthier to her than reading it times with a sophisticated scholarship. The purport of the words sinks at once. Testifyingly calling to her mind the impression she got from Derrick’s picture-a reflection indeed of mind in looks! “I know these words speak his soul!” So incisively does the letter strike her that she without consideration despatches his note of invitation; and so refreshingly that she would have him appear before her immediately-summoned him at once for the communion! From now on, this pleasant impression haunts her, looming in heart continuously, pressing for an empirical concretisation! Waiting anxiously and impatiently, she henceforth kills time, whiling away these eternal two waiting days!


CHAPTER 8

At last comes the end of this eternity. Two days have elapsed, and a jaunty young man is on his way to the palace.

He is clad in a well-fitting white suit that lends trimness to his physique. Strongly hoping for the best, he approaches the palace, a black brief case in hand, and a pair of fashionable trim, black shoes on feet. Neither nervous nor jittery, he seems to forelive the worst possible with phlegmatic stoicalness. He soon reaches his destination. Servants emerge and inundate him with reverential assiduities, unburdening him of his brief case, offering to provide for a refreshing shower bath, for food and drink, etc-some on the order of the princess, others of their own joyful accord. After politely and very thankfully declining all, he is immediately shown into the room in which David’s interview held, and invited to seat on either of the attractively upholstered sky-blue armchairs, starring at a twin across a three-feet long, white square table. Arms resting lightly on the arms of the chair, he sits in an upright posture, prepossesedly appreciating the beauty of the flowers and the lofty adornments which have imparted so much radiance and peace to the room: “Tributes to her discriminating sense of fashion!” he thinks under the sobering influence of the tuneful piece of classical music suffusing the room.

Shortly Victoria enters. Derrick immediately rises in relaxed, reverential repose to reciprocate with his, the penetratingly hearty smile calmly greeting him from the belle’s open mien, gentle beam subtly giving away her exceedingly exhilarated mind, at last slaking its thirst to behold the Derrick of her impatient longing.

-[Bobs his head gallantly] Good morning, princess Victoria!
-[Reciprocating with corresponding feminity] Good morning, Mr. Leo! Please [calmly
gesturing to him to seat back]

She ensures he sits before she does. Seated now, she regards him briefly with a gentle radiant smile of welcome, before she directs her gaze towards the table, as usual. After a brief hesitation as if to make a guarded speech, he speaks:

-Princess Victoria, I am most grateful for this invitation! It is much more of an honour than a favour!
-[Glimpses at his eyes and reads his words in them, then returns gaze to the table] You are welcome.
-[Hesitates momentarily] Princess Victoria, I deeply appreciate the nobility of your principle for a relationship of love. Its sincerity is so transparent, it compels my awe and my affection. It compels my awe because the words and then the action of this principle, your inflexible insistence for all of seven years, introduces my gaze to a practical kind of modesty .Of this virtue, I had neither dreamt nor conceived! As I pondered over the expressions of the posted handout, I indeed felt my gaze raised. Such is the challenge I had always craved-to be introduced to practical, attainable greatness in a sincerely desiring one! And you did compel my affection, because as though searching for some green leaf in broad summer daylight, I had sought in vain for a female whose ultimate wish transcended the crude instincts of earthly power, worldly fulfilment and…intellectual sensuality-I mean, pleasures that arise from and die with the flesh, arise from and die with the rational appreciation of physical values; from and with the brief span of this earthlife. I have longed to join with such a womanly virtue in work and in support…I cannot speak for myself. But it will indeed compel my veneration once again, if seeing that my company does not amount to a relationship in support of your desires, work towards the goal of your established philosophy, you forthright check the affair…. Then you will indeed have shown me the unconscious and hidden insincerity of my craving, though as I speak to you Princes Victoria, I feel it vibrate through my entire being. I feel so, but I know nothing of its vitality or its staying power. Do check the affair; in these matters, I remain ever amenable to chastening!

Victoria is absolutely absorbed in these professions, tears welling up in her eyes. She lifts up her face and gives Derrick a transparent gentle look whose meaning he reads infallibly. For a few moments, there is solemn silence, which both willingly allow to endure, as though it were a mutually understood essential part of the communion-as though they communed significantly with its momentous gravity, their gazes fixed on the immaculately white separation between them. Then, she speaks,a look of triumph filling her gaze upon David with vital tenderness:

- I am grateful beyond words, Mr. Derrick...
-You are absolutely welcome, princess!
- Could you please allow me a few moments to
send you a word?
-I will wait for eternity, Princess Victoria.
-A thousand thanks, Mr. Derrick

She rises and glides to her room, with calm and grace. As usual, at her disappearance, the absorbing music resumes, resuming Derrick’s reflective captivity. Soon several servants enter, bob their heads at him almost simultaneously, and then, distributing themselves around him, stand to attention. Derrick’s mind boggles. Almost immediately, a maidservant emerges from Victoria’s inner-boudoir and, curtsying, hands him the enveloped reply blue-card. On her mistress’s order, she offers to have him refreshed with such regal hospitality as magnified the offer he received on his arrival. He thankfully declined. Then, he opens the envelope: “Dear Mr. Derrick Leo, I am thankful beyond words for your appreciation, your approach, and your aspiration! Your request is so emblazoned in my spirit that I must take time to digest it in the context of my circumstances. The inscription on my spirit already slakes my thirst! I promise to reach you within the day!”

Derrick’s soul brims with exuberance; an ecstatic illumination fills his countenance, and, as a plague, spreads to the servants apparently attending on him. Unintoxicated, however, he does not see in this reply the amorous consent of the princess. But satisfactory enough is this palpable prospect of an enduring intimacy with the woman of his longing. He rises and one of the servants immediately unburdens of his brief case. The group escort him beyond the palace, joyfully on, to the very doorstep of his dwelling.


CHAPTER 8


Refreshing waves of invigoration permeate Victoria’s soul! Exultation at last over imputations that have over the years dubbed her “Unfathomable hallucinating.”-An inscrutable fantasiser in the insatiety of her airy-fairy longings.

She retires to the Garden of Ecstacy. A customised garden of the most exotic species of flowers in Gustos, ever blooming, ever radiant, ever tended by the delicate hands of well-trained maids and maidservants. For decades this garden has been Victoria’s oasis of rapture where in moments of unspeakable ecstasy, she retires to celebrate her joy in the most pleasant contemplation of the radiant sights. Only in photographs, rather than in reality, does she ordinarily inspect and criticise the work done on this garden.

Hours of dreamy contemplation pass, introspective reflections that match up her contemplation of the sights-the exquisite flowers, the voluptuous meadows, the babbling brooks, and the tunefully chanting birds, in the brilliance of the temperately sunny early morning. Sauntering to a pergola, she brings out a blue pen and a white sheet of paper. And gently seating herself she writes:

My heart swells in unspeakable joy!
For Gustos has redeemed herself!
No longer shall nobility be shadows!
And be the butt of the headless masses!
Nor shall greatness be mocked
Above and below
Shall it now find reality!
Aloof, aloof- ever aloof from
The crippled masses
Stand two souls human and able-bodied:
Derrick knows my soul
As his, I see all clearly!
He strives for the heights
I have craved without cease:
For all eternity shall he my friend!
The very friend of my spirit and my soul!
David, my heart he knows well.
For the plane of my greatest aspiration
He thirsts and hungers,
His entreaty never can I reject
For his soul weeps for my hand
And my hand surely shall he have
And he shall my be “beloved”
Lest to death untimely he soul should starve!

She saiunters gracefully to the garden of roses within this Garden of Ecstasy. There she searches for the most adorable blooms of red and yellow roses. With religious delicacy, she cuts stems of both species in generous amounts, and arranges them, to the best of her finesse. The red, she sets in a plain white flower-vase. The yellow, however, she places in another white flower-vase on which are imprinted designs of very rich blooms of red roses. Then, she orders the two most scrupulous keepers of the Garden, to take them to David and to Derrick, each maid accompanied by five of the ten stoutest and most valiant guards of the palace. To David go the red roses along with a note of gratification, and to Derrick, the yellow, with a note of invitation from her for a meeting with her the same or next day, according to his convenience. This she would prefer to hold in her inner-boudoir.

Then, to both go invitations for the most sumptuous banquet in Gustos, in honour of King Wet-hen I and her Queen, and in celebration of their princess’ victory.

Clear and loud, the flower symbols will speak to their recipients. To every adult in Gustos, they are the symbols of the most venerated culture.