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

by Marie Corelli

  “Go, all of you, scum of Paris!” he cried in his clear treble tones— “you who know neither God nor devil! You will have your money — more than your share — what else seek you? You have served one of the noblest of men; and because he is so great and wise and true, you judge him a fiend! Oh, so like the people of Paris — they who pervert all things till they think good evil and evil good! Look you! you have worked for your wages; but I have worked for HIM — I would starve with him, I would die for him! For to me he is not fiend, but Angel!”

  Overcome by his own feelings the boy again kissed his master’s hand, and Heliobas gently bade him be silent. He himself looked round on the still motionless group of servants with an air of calm surprise.

  “What are you waiting for?” he asked. “Consider yourselves dismissed, and at liberty to go where you please. Any one of you that chooses to apply to me for a character shall not lack the suitable recommendation. There is no more to say.”

  A lively-looking woman with quick restless black eyes stepped forward.

  “I am sure,” she said, with a mincing curtsey, “that we are very sorry if we have unintentionally wronged monsieur; but monsieur, who is aware of so many things, must know that many reports are circulated about monsieur that make one to shudder; that madame his sister’s death so lamentable has given to all, what one would say, the horrors; and monsieur must consider that poor servants of virtuous reputation—”

  “So, Jeanne Claudet!” interrupted Heliobas, in a thrilling low tone. “And what of the child — the little waxen-faced helpless babe left to die on the banks of the Loire? But it did not die, Jeanne — it was rescued; and it shall yet live to loathe its mother!”

  The woman uttered a shriek, and fainted.

  In the feminine confusion and fuss that ensued, Heliobas, accompanied by his little page and the dog Leo, left the hall and entered his own private room, where for some time I left him undisturbed.

  In the early part of the afternoon a note was brought to me. It was from Colonel Everard, entreating me to come as soon as possible to his wife, who was very ill.

  “Since she heard of the death of that beautiful young lady, a death so fearfully sudden and unexpected,” wrote the Colonel, “she has been quite unlike herself — nervous, hysterical, and thoroughly unstrung. It will be a real kindness to her if you will come as soon as you can — she has such, a strong desire for your company.”

  I showed this note at once to Heliobas. He read it, and said:

  “Of course you must go. Wait till our simple funeral ceremony is over, and then — we part. Not for ever; I shall see you often again. For now I have lost Zara, you are my only female disciple, and I shall not willingly lose sight of you. You will correspond with me?”

  “Gladly and gratefully,” I replied.

  “You shall not lose by it. I can initiate you into many secrets that will be useful to you in your career. As for your friend Mrs. Everard, you will find that your presence will cure her. You have progressed greatly in electric force: the mere touch of your hand will soothe her, as you will find. But never be tempted to try any of the fluids of which you have the recipes on her, or on anybody but yourself, unless you write to me first about it, as Cellini did when he tried an experiment on you. As for your own bodily and spiritual health, you know thoroughly what to do — KEEP THE SECRET; and make a step in advance every day. By-and-by you will have double work.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  “In Zara’s case, her soul became dominated by a Spirit whose destiny was fulfilled and perfect, and who never could descend to imprisonment in earthly clay. Now, you will not be dominated — you will be simply EQUALIZED; that is, you will find the exact counterpart of your own soul dwelling also in human form, and you will have to impart your own force to that other soul, which will, in its turn, impart to yours a corresponding electric impetus. There is no union so lovely as such an one — no harmony so exquisite; it is like a perfect chord, complete and indissoluble. There are sevenths and ninths in music, beautiful and effective in their degrees; but perhaps none of them are so absolutely satisfying to the ear as the perfect chord. And this is your lot in life and in love, my child — be grateful for it night and morning on your bended knees before the Giver of all good. And walk warily — your own soul with that other shall need much thought and humble prayer. Aim onward and upward — you know the road — you also know, and you have partly seen, what awaits you at the end.”

  After this conversation we spoke no more in private together. The rest of the afternoon was entirely occupied with the final preparations for Zara’s funeral, which was to take place at Pere-la-Chaise early the next morning. A large and beautiful wreath of white roses, lilies, and maiden-hair arrived from Prince Ivan; and, remembering my promise to him, I went myself to lay it in a conspicuous place on Zara’s corpse. That fair body was now laid in its coffin of polished oak, and a delicate veil of filmy lace draped it from head to foot. The placid expression of the features remained unchanged, save for a little extra rigidity of the flesh; the hands, folded over the crucifix, were stiff, and looked as though they were moulded in wax. I placed the wreath in position and paused, looking wistfully at that still and solemn figure. Father Paul, slowly entering from a side-door, came and stood beside me.

  “She is happy!” he said; and a cheerful expression irradiated his venerable features.

  “Did you also know she would die that night?” I asked softly.

  “Her brother sent for me, and told me of her expected dissolution. She herself told me, and made her last confession and communion. Therefore I was prepared.”

  “But did you not doubt — were you not inclined to think they might be wrong?” I inquired, with some astonishment.

  “I knew Heliobas as a child,” the priest returned. “I knew his father and mother before him; and I have been always perfectly aware of the immense extent of his knowledge, and the value of his discoveries. If I were inclined to be sceptical on spiritual matters, I should not be of the race I am; for I am also a Chaldean.”

  I said no more, and Father Paul trimmed the tapers burning round the coffin in devout silence. Again I looked at the fair dead form before me; but somehow I could not feel sad again. All my impulses bade me rejoice. Why should I be unhappy on Zara’s account? — more especially when the glories of the Central Sphere were yet fresh in my memory, and when I knew as a positive fact that her happiness was now perfect. I left the chapel with a light step and lighter heart, and went to my own room to pack up my things that all might be in readiness for my departure on the morrow. On my table I found a volume whose quaint binding I at once recognised— “The Letters of a Dead Musician.” A card lay beside it, on which was written in pencil:

  “Knowing of your wish to possess this book, I herewith offer it for your acceptance. It teaches you a cheerful devotion to Art, and an indifference to the world’s opinions — both of which are necessary to you in your career. — HELIOBAS.”

  Delighted with this gift, I opened the book, and found my name written on the fly-leaf, with the date of the month and year, and the words:

  “La musica e il lamento dell’ amore o la preghiera a gli Dei.” (Music is the lament of love, or a prayer to the Gods.)

  I placed this treasure carefully in a corner of my portmanteau, together with the parchment scrolls containing “The Electric Principle of Christianity,” and the valuables recipes of Heliobas; and as I did so, I caught sight of myself in the long mirror that directly faced me. I was fascinated, not by my own reflection, but by the glitter of the electric gem I wore. It flashed and glowed like a star, and was really lovely — far more brilliant than the most brilliant cluster of fine diamonds. I may here remark that I have been asked many questions concerning this curious ornament whenever I have worn it in public, and the general impression has been that it is some new arrangement of ornamental electricity. It is, however, nothing of the kind; it is simply a clear pebble, common enough on the shores of tropical c
ountries, which has the property of absorbing a small portion of the electricity in a human body, sufficient to make it shine with prismatic and powerful lustre — a property which has only as yet been discovered by Heliobas, who asserts that the same capability exists in many other apparently lustreless stones which have been untried, and are therefore unknown. The “healing stones,” or amulets, still in use in the East, and also in the remote parts of the Highlands (see notes to Archibald Clerk’s translation of ‘Ossian’), are also electric, but in a different way — they have the property of absorbing DISEASE and destroying it in certain cases; and these, after being worn a suitable length of time, naturally exhaust what virtue they originally possessed, and are no longer of any use. Stone amulets are considered nowadays as a mere superstition of the vulgar and uneducated; but it must be remembered that superstition itself has always had for it a foundation some grain, however small and remote, of fact. I could give a very curious explanation of the formation of ORCHIDS, those strange plants called sometimes “Freaks of Nature,” as if Nature ever indulged in a “freak” of any kind! But I have neither time nor space to enter upon the subject now; indeed, if I were once to begin to describe the wonderful, amazing and beautiful vistas of knowledge that the wise Chaldean, who is still my friend and guide, has opened up and continues to extend before my admiring vision, a work of twenty volumes would scarce contain all I should have to say. But I have written this book merely to tell those who peruse it, about Heliobas, and what I myself experienced in his house; beyond this I may not go. For, as, I observed in my introduction, I am perfectly aware that few, if any, of my readers will accept my narrative as more than a mere visionary romance — or that they will admit the mysteries of life, death, eternity, and all the wonders of the Universe to be simply the NATURAL AND SCIENTIFIC OUTCOME OF A RING OF EVERLASTING ELECTRIC HEAT AND LIGHT; but whether they agree to it or no, I can say with Galileo, “E pur si muove!”

  CHAPTER XVII.

  CONCLUSION.

  It was a very simple and quiet procession that moved next day from the Hotel Mars to Pere-la-Chaise. Zara’s coffin was carried in an open hearse, and was covered with a pall of rich white velvet, on which lay a royal profusion of flowers — Ivan’s wreath, and a magnificent cross of lilies sent by tender-hearted Mrs. Challoner, being most conspicuous among them. The only thing a little unusual about it was that the funeral car was drawn by two stately WHITE horses; and Heliobas told me this had been ordered at Zara’s special request, as she thought the solemn pacing through the streets of dismal black steeds had a depressing effect on the passers-by.

  “And why,” she had said, “should anybody be sad, when I in reality am so thoroughly happy?”

  Prince Ivan Petroffsky had left Paris, but his carriage, drawn by two prancing Russian steeds, followed the hearse at a respectful distance, as also the carriage of Dr. Morini, and some other private persons known to Heliobas. A few people attended it on foot, and these were chiefly from among the very poor, some of whom had benefited by Zara’s charity or her brother’s medical skill, and had heard of the calamity through rumour, or through the columns of the Figaro, where it was reported with graphic brevity. The weather was still misty, and the fiery sun seemed to shine through tears as Father Paul, with his assistants, read in solemn yet cheerful tones the service for the dead according to the Catholic ritual. One of the chief mourners at the grave was the faithful Leo; who, without obtruding himself in anyone’s way, sat at a little distance, and seemed, by the confiding look with which he turned his eyes upon his master, to thoroughly understand that he must henceforth devote his life entirely to him alone. The coffin was lowered, the “Requiem aeternam” spoken — all was over. Those assembled shook hands quietly with Heliobas, saluted each other, and gradually dispersed. I entered a carriage and drove back to the Hotel Mars, leaving Heliobas in the cemetery to give his final instructions for the ornamentation and decoration of his sister’s grave.

  The little page served me with some luncheon in my own apartment, and by the time all was ready for my departure, Heliobas returned. I went down to him in his study, and found him sitting pensively in his arm-chair, absorbed in thought. He looked sad and solitary, and my whole heart went out to him in gratitude and sympathy. I knelt beside him as a daughter might have done, and softly kissed his hand.

  He started as though awakened suddenly from sleep, and seeing me, his eyes softened, and he smiled gravely.

  “Are you come to say ‘Good-bye,’ my child?” he asked, in a kind tone. “Well, your mission here is ended!”

  “Had I any mission at all,” I replied, with a grateful look, “save the very selfish one which was comprised in the natural desire to be restored to health?”

  Heliobas surveyed me for a few moments in silence.

  “Were I to tell you,” he said at last, “by what mystical authority and influence you were compelled to come here, by what a marvellously linked chain of circumstances you became known to me long before I saw you; how I was made aware that you were the only woman living to whose companionship I could trust my sister at a time when the society of one of her own sex became absolutely necessary to her; how you were marked out to me as a small point of light by which possibly I might steer my course clear of the darkness which threatened me — I say, were I to tell you all this, you would no longer doubt the urgent need of your presence here. It is, however, enough to tell you that you have fulfilled all that was expected of you, even beyond my best hopes; and in return for your services, the worth of which you cannot realize, whatever guidance I can give you in the future for your physical and spiritual life, is yours. I have done something for you, but not much — I will do more. Only, in communicating with me, I ask you to honour me with your full confidence in all matters pertaining to yourself and your surroundings — then I shall not be liable to errors of judgment in the opinions I form or the advice I give.”

  “I promise most readily,” I replied gladly, for it seemed to me that I was rich in possessing as a friend and counsellor such a man as this student of the loftiest sciences.

  “And now one thing more,” he resumed, opening a drawer in the table near which he sat. “Here is a pencil for you to write your letters to me with. It will last about ten years, and at the expiration of that time you can have another. Write with it on any paper, and the marks will be like those of an ordinary drawing-pencil; but as fast as they are written they disappear. Trouble not about this circumstance — write all you have to say, and when you have finished your letter your closely covered pages shall seem blank. Therefore, were the eye of a stranger to look at them, nothing could be learned therefrom. But when they reach me, I can make the writing appear and stand out on these apparently unsullied pages as distinctly as though your words had been printed. My letters to you will also, when you receive them, appear blank; but you will only have to press them for about ten minutes in this” — and he handed me what looked like an ordinary blotting-book— “and they will be perfectly legible. Cellini has these little writing implements; he uses them whenever the distances are too great for us to amuse ourselves with the sagacity of Leo — in fact the journeys of that faithful animal have principally been to keep him in training.”

  “But,” I said, as I took the pencil and book from his hand, “why do you not make these convenient writing materials public property? They would be so useful.”

  “Why should I build up a fortune for some needy stationer?” he asked, with a half-smile. “Besides, they are not new things. They were known to the ancients, and many secret letters, laws, histories, and poems were written with instruments such as these. In an old library, destroyed more than two centuries ago, there was a goodly pile of apparently blank parchment. Had I lived then and known what I know now, I could have made the white pages declare their mystery.”

  “Has this also to do with electricity?” I asked.

  “Certainly — with what is called vegetable electricity. There is not a plant or herb in existen
ce, but has almost a miracle hidden away in its tiny cup or spreading leaves — do you doubt it?”

  “Not I!” I answered quickly. “I doubt nothing!”

  Heliobas smiled gravely.

  “You are right!” he said. “Doubt is the destroyer of beauty — the poison in the sweet cup of existence — the curse which mankind have brought on themselves. Avoid it as you would the plague. Believe in anything or everything miraculous and glorious — the utmost reach of your faith can with difficulty grasp the majestic reality and perfection of everything you can see, desire, or imagine. Mistrust that volatile thing called Human Reason, which is merely a name for whatever opinion we happen to adopt for the time — it is a thing which totters on its throne in a fit of rage or despair — there is nothing infinite about it. Guide yourself by the delicate Spiritual Instinct within you, which tells you that with God all things are possible, save that He cannot destroy Himself or lessen by one spark the fiery brilliancy of his ever-widening circle of productive Intelligence. But make no attempt to convert the world to your way of thinking — it would be mere waste of time.”

  “May I never try to instruct anyone in these things?” I asked.

  “You can try, if you choose; but you will find most human beings like the herd of swine in the Gospel, possessed by devils that drive them headlong into the sea. You know, for instance, that angels and aerial spirits actually exist; but were you to assert your belief in them, philosophers (so-called) would scout your theories as absurd, — though their idea of a LONELY God, who yet is Love, is the very acme of absurdity. For Love MUST have somewhat to love, and MUST create the beauty and happiness round itself and the things beloved. But why point out these simple things to those who have no desire to see? Be content, child, that YOU have been deemed worthy of instruction — it is a higher fate for you than if you had been made a Queen.”