Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22)

by Marie Corelli

  The dawn began to peer faintly through the chapel windows — the dawn of a misty, chilly morning. The storm of the past night had left a sting in the air, and the rain still fell, though gently. The wind had almost entirely sunk into silence. I re-arranged the flowers that were strewn on Zara’s corpse, taking away all those that had slightly faded. The orange-blossom was almost dead, but I left that where it was — where the living Zara had herself placed it. As I performed this slight service, I thought, half mournfully, half gladly —

  “Yes, Heaven is thine, but this

  Is a world of sweets and sours —

  Our flowers are merely FLOWERS;

  And the shadow of thy perfect bliss

  Is the sunshine of ours.”

  Prince Ivan at last roused himself as from a deep and melancholy reverie, and, addressing himself to Heliobas, said softly:

  “I will intrude no longer on your privacy, Casimir. Farewell! I shall leave Paris to-night.”

  For all answer Heliobas beckoned him and me also out of the chapel. As soon as its doors closed behind us, and we stood in the centre hall, he spoke with affectionate and grave earnestness:

  “Ivan, something tells me that you and I shall not meet again for many years, if ever. Therefore, when you say ‘farewell,’ the word falls upon my ears with double meaning. We are friends — our friendship is sanctified by the dead presence of one whom we both loved, in different ways; therefore you will take in good part what I now say to you. You know, you cannot disguise from yourself that the science I study is fraught with terrible truth and marvellous discoveries; the theories I deduce from it you disbelieve, because you are nearly a materialist. I say NEARLY — not quite. That ‘not quite’ makes me love you, Ivan: I would save the small bright spark that flickers within you from both escape and extinction. But I cannot — at least, not as yet. Still, in order that you may know that there is a power in me higher than ordinary human reason, before you go from me to-night hear my prophecy of your career. The world waits for you, Ivan — the world, all agape and glittering with a thousand sparkling toys; it waits greedy for your presence, ready to fawn upon you for a smile, willing to cringe to you for a nod of approval. And why? Because wealth is yours — vast, illimitable wealth. Aye — you need not start or look incredulous — you will find it as I say. You, whose fortune up to now has barely reached a poor four thousand per annum — you are at this moment the possessor of millions. Only last night a relative of yours, whose name you scarcely know, expired, leaving all his hoarded treasures to you. Before the close of this present day, on whose threshold we now stand, you will have the news. When you receive it remember me, and acknowledge that at least for once I knew and spoke the truth. Follow the broad road, Ivan, laid out before you — a road wide enough not only for you to walk in, but for the crowd of toadies and flatterers also, who will push on swiftly after you and jostle you on all sides; be strong of heart and merry of countenance! Gather the roses; press the luscious grapes into warm, red wine that, as you quaff it, shall make your blood dance a mad waltz in your veins, and fair women’s faces shall seem fairer to you than ever, their embraces more tender, their kisses more tempting! Spin the ball of Society like a toy in the palm of your hand! I see your life stretching before me like a brilliant, thread-like ephemeral ray of light! But in the far distance across it looms a shadow — a shadow that your power alone can never lift. Mark me, Ivan! When the first dread chill of that shadow makes itself felt, come to me — I shall yet be living. Come; for then no wealth can aid you — at that dark hour no boon companions can comfort. Come; and by our friendship so lately sworn — by Zara’s pure soul — by God’s existence, I will not die till I have changed that darkness over you into light eternal! — Fare you well!”

  He caught the Prince’s hand, and wrung it hard; then, without further word, look, or gesture, turned and disappeared again within the chapel.

  His words had evidently made a deep impression on the young nobleman, who gazed after his retreating figure with a certain awe not unmingled with fear.

  I held out my hand in silent farewell. Ivan took it gently, and kissed it with graceful courtesy.

  “Casimir told me that your intercession saved my life, mademoiselle,” he said. “Accept my poor thanks. If his present prophet-like utterances be true—”

  “Why should you doubt him?” I asked, with some impatience. “Can you believe in NOTHING?”

  The Prince, still holding my hand, looked at me in a sort of grave perplexity.

  “I think you have hit it,” he observed quietly. “I doubt everything except the fact of my own existence, and there are times when I am not even sure of that. But if, as I said before, the prophecy of my Chaldean friend, whom I cannot help admiring with all my heart, turns out to be correct, then my life is more valuable to me than ever with such wealth to balance it, and I thank you doubly for having saved it by a word in time.”

  I withdrew my hand gently from his.

  “You think the worth of your life increased by wealth?” Tasked.

  “Naturally! Money is power.”

  “And what of the shadow also foretold as inseparable from your fate?”

  A faint smile crossed his features.

  “Ah, pardon me! That is the only portion of Casimir’s fortune-telling that I am inclined to disbelieve thoroughly.”

  “But,” I said, “if you are willing to accept the pleasant part of his prophecy, why not admit the possibility of the unpleasant occurring also?”

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  “In these enlightened times, mademoiselle, we only believe what is agreeable to us, and what suits our own wishes, tastes, and opinions. Ca va sans dire. We cannot be forced to accept a Deity against our reason. That is a grand result of modern education.”

  “Is it?” and I looked at him with pity. “Poor human reason! It will reel into madness sometimes for a mere trifle — an overdose of alcohol will sometimes upset it altogether — what a noble omnipotent thing is human reason! But let me not detain you. Good-bye, and — as the greeting of olden times used to run — God save you!”

  He bent his head with a light reverence.

  “I believe you to be a good, sweet woman,” he said, “therefore I am grateful for your blessing. My mother,” and here his eyes grew dreamy and wistful— “poor soul! she died long ago — my mother would never let me retire to rest without signing the cross on my brow. Ah well, that is past! I should like, mademoiselle,” and his voice sank very low, “to send some flowers for — her — you understand?”

  I did understand, and readily promised to lay whatever blossoms he selected tenderly above the sacred remains of that earthly beauty he had loved, as he himself said, “more than most men love most women.”

  He thanked me earnestly, and seemed relieved and satisfied. Casting a look of farewell around the familiar hall, he wafted a parting kiss towards the chapel — an action which, though light, was full of tenderness and regret. Then, with a low salute, he left me. The street-door opened and closed after him in its usual noiseless manner. He was gone.

  The morning had now fairly dawned, and within the Hotel Mars the work of the great mansion went on in its usual routine; but a sombre melancholy was in the atmosphere — a melancholy that not all my best efforts could dissipate. The domestics looked sullen and heavy-eyed; the only ones in their number who preserved their usual equanimity were the Armenian men-servants and the little Greek page. Preparations for Zara’s funeral went on apace; they were exceedingly simple, and the ceremony was to be quite private in character. Heliobas issued his orders, and saw to the carrying out of his most minute instructions in his usual calm manner; but his eyes looked heavy, and his fine countenance was rendered even more majestic by the sacred, resigned sorrow that lay upon it like a deep shadow. His page served him with breakfast in his private room: but he left the light meal untasted. One of the women brought me coffee; but the very thought of eating and drinking seemed repulsive, and I could no
t touch anything. My mind was busy with the consideration of the duty I had to perform — namely, to see the destruction of Zara’s colossal statue, as she had requested. After thinking about it for some time, I went to Heliobas and told him what I had it in charge to do. He listened attentively.

  “Do it at once,” he said decisively. “Take my Armenians; they are discreet, obedient, and they ask no questions — with strong hammers they will soon crush the clay. Stay! I will come with you.” Then looking at me scrutinizingly, he added kindly: “You have eaten nothing, my child? You cannot? But your strength will give way — here, take this.” And lie held out a small glass of a fluid whose revivifying properties I well knew to be greater than any sustenance provided by an ordinary meal. I swallowed it obediently, and as I returned the empty glass to him he said: “I also have a commission in charge from Zara. You know, I suppose, that she was prepared for her death?”

  “I did not know; but I think she must have been,” I answered.

  “She was. We both were. We remained together in the chapel all day, saying what parting words we had to say to one another. We knew her death, or rather her release, was to occur at some hour that night; but in what way the end was destined to come, we knew not. Till I heard the first peals of thunder, I was in suspense; but after that I was no longer uncertain. You were a witness of the whole ensuing scene. No death could have been more painless than hers. But let me not forget the message she gave me for you.” Here he took from a secret drawer the electric stone Zara had always worn. “This jewel is yours,” he said. “You need not fear to accept it — it contains no harm! it will bring you no ill-fortune. You see how all the sparkling brilliancy has gone out of it? Wear it, and within a few minutes it will be as lustrous as ever. The life throbbing in your veins warms the electricity contained in it; and with the flowing of your blood, its hues change and glow. It has no power to attract; it can simply absorb and shine. Take it as a remembrance of her who loved you and who loves you still.”

  I was still in my evening dress, and my neck was bare. I slipped the chain, on which hung the stone, round my throat, and watched the strange gem with some curiosity. In a few seconds a pale streak of fiery topaz flashed through it, which deepened and glowed into a warm crimson, like the heart of a red rose; and by the time it had become thoroughly warmed against my flesh, it glittered as brilliantly as ever.

  “I will always wear it,” I said earnestly. “I believe it will bring me good fortune.”

  “I believe it will,” returned Heliobas simply. “And now let us fulfil Zara’s other commands.”

  On our way across the hall we were stopped by the page, who brought us a message of inquiry after Zara’s health from Colonel Everard and his wife, and also from the Challoners. Heliobas hastily wrote a few brief words in pencil, explaining the fatal result of the accident, and returned it to the messenger, giving orders at the same time that all the blinds should be pulled down at the windows of the house, that visitors might understand there was no admittance. We then proceeded to the studio, accompanied by the Armenians carrying heavy hammers. Reverently, and with my mind full of recollections of Zara’s living presence, I opened the familiar door. The first thing that greeted us was a most exquisitely wrought statue in white marble of Zara herself, full length, and arrayed in her customary graceful Eastern costume. The head was slightly raised: a look of gladness lighted up the beautiful features; and within the loosely clasped hands was a cluster of roses. Bound the pedestal were carved the words, “Omnia vincit Amor,” with Zara’s name and the dates of her birth and death. A little slip of paper lay at the foot of the statue, which Heliobas perceived, and taking it he read and passed it to me. The lines were in Zara’s handwriting, and ran as follows:

  “To my beloved Casimir — my brother, my friend, my guide and teacher, to whom I owe the supreme happiness of my life in this world and the next — let this poor figure of his grateful Zara be a memento of happy days that are gone, only to be renewed with redoubled happiness hereafter.”

  I handed back the paper silently, with tears in my eyes, and we turned our attention to the colossal figure we had come to destroy. It stood at the extreme end of the studio, and was entirely hidden by white linen drapery. Heliobas advanced, and by a sudden dexterous movement succeeded in drawing off the coverings with a single effort, and then we both fell back and gazed at the clay form disclosed in amazement. What did it represent? A man? a god? an angel? or all three united in one vast figure?

  It was an unfinished work. The features of the face were undeclared, save the brow and eyes; and these were large, grand, and full of absolute wisdom and tranquil consciousness of power. I could have gazed on this wonderful piece of Zara’s handiwork for hours, but Heliobas called to the Armenian servants, who stood near the door awaiting orders, and commanded them to break it down. For once these well-trained domestics showed signs of surprise, and hesitated. Their master frowned. Snatching a hammer from one of them, he himself attacked the great statue as if it were a personal foe. The Armenians, seeing he was in earnest, returned to their usual habits of passive obedience, and aided him in his labour. Within a few minutes the great and beautiful figure lay in fragments on the floor, and these fragments were soon crushed into indistinguishable atoms. I had promised to witness this work of destruction, and witness it I did, but it was with pain and regret. When all was finished, Heliobas commanded his men to carry the statue of Zara’s self down to his own private room, and then to summon all the domestics of the household in a body to the great hall, as he wished to address them. I heard him give this order with some surprise, and he saw it. As the Armenians slowly disappeared, carrying with great care the marble figure of their late mistress, he turned to me, as he locked up the door of the studio, and said quietly:

  “These ignorant folk, who serve me for money and food — money that they have eagerly taken, and food that they have greedily devoured — they think that I am the devil or one of the devil’s agents, and I am going to prove their theories entirely to their satisfaction. Come and see!”

  I followed him, somewhat mystified. On the way downstairs he said:

  “Do you know why Zara wished that statue destroyed?”

  “No,” I said frankly; “unless for the reason that it was incomplete.”

  “It always would have been incomplete,” returned Heliobas; “even had she lived to work at it for years. It was a daring attempt, and a fruitless one. She was trying to make a clay figure of one who never wore earthly form — the Being who is her Twin-Soul, who dominates her entirely, and who is with her now. As well might she have tried to represent in white marble the prismatic hues of the rainbow!”

  We had now reached the hall, and the servants were assembling by twos and threes. They glanced at their master with looks of awe, as he took up a commanding position near the fountain, and faced them with a glance of calm scrutiny and attention. I drew a chair behind one of the marble columns and seated myself, watching everything with interest. Leo appeared from some corner or other, and laid his rough body down close at his master’s feet.

  In a few minutes all the domestics, some twenty in number, were present, and Heliobas, raising his voice, spoke with a clear deliberate enunciation:

  “I have sent for you all this morning, because I am perfectly aware that you have all determined to give me notice.”

  A stir of astonishment and dismay ensued on the part of the small audience, and I heard one voice near me whisper:

  “He IS the devil, or how could he have known it?”

  The lips of Heliobas curled in a fine sarcastic smile. He went on:

  “I spare you this trouble. Knowing your intentions, I take upon myself to dismiss you at once. Naturally, you cannot risk your characters by remaining in the service of the devil. For my own part, I wonder the devil’s money has not burnt your hands, or his food turned to poison in your mouths. My sister, your kind and ever-indulgent mistress, is dead. You know this, and it is your opinion that
I summoned up the thunderstorm which caused her death. Be it so. Report it so, if you will, through Paris; your words do not affect me. You have been excellent machines, and for your services many thanks! As soon as my sister’s funeral is over, your wages, with an additional present, will be sent to you. You can then leave my house when you please; and, contrary to the usual custom of accepted devils, I am able to say, without perishing in the effort — God speed you all!”

  The faces of those he addressed exhibited various emotions while he spoke — fear contending with a good deal of shame. The little Greek page stepped forward timidly.

  “The master knows that I will never leave him,” he murmured, and his large eyes were moist with tears.

  Heliobas laid a gentle hand on the boy’s dark curls, but said nothing. One of the four Armenians advanced, and with a graceful rapid gesture of his right hand, touched his head and breast.

  “My lord will not surely dismiss US who desire to devote ourselves to his service? We are willing to follow my lord to the death if need be, for the sake of the love and honour we bear him.”

  Heliobas looked at him very kindly.

  “I am richer in friends than I thought myself to be,” he said quietly. “Stay then, by all means, Afra, you and your companions, since you have desired it. And you, my boy,” he went on, addressing the tearful page, “think you that I would turn adrift an orphan, whom a dying mother trusted to my care? Nay, child, I am as much your servant as you are mine, so long as your love turns towards me.”

  For all answer the page kissed his hand in a sort of rapture, and flinging back his clustering hair from his classic brows, surveyed the domestics, who had taken their dismissal in silent acquiescence, with a pretty scorn.