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

by Marie Corelli

  “But that which she calls nothing” — said Gaspard as he watched her go— “is everything!”

  CHAPTER XX

  For some days after her adventurous voyage to the Great Desert and back Morgana chose to remain in absolute seclusion. Save for Lady Kingswood and her own household staff, she saw no one, and was not accessible even to Don Aloysius, who called several times, moved not only by interest, but genuine curiosity, to enquire how she fared. Many of the residents in the vicinity of the Palazzo d’Oro had gleaned scraps of information here and there concerning the wonderful air-ship which they had seen careering over their heads during its testing trials, and as a matter of course they had heard more than scraps in regard to its wealthy owner. But nowadays keen desire to know and to investigate has given place to a sort of civil apathy which passes for good form — that absolute indifferentism which is too much bored to care about other people’s affairs, and which would not disturb itself if it heard of a neighbour deciding to cross the Atlantic in a washtub. “Nothing matters,” is the general verdict on all events and circumstances. Nevertheless, the size, the swiftness and soundlessness of the “White Eagle” and the secrecy observed in its making, had somewhat moved the heavy lump of human dough called “society,” and the whispered novelty of Morgana’s invention had reached Rome and Paris, nay, almost London, without her consent or knowledge. So that she was more or less deluged with letters; and noted scientists, both in France and Italy, though all incredulous as to her attainment, made it a point of “business” to learn all they could about her, which was not much more than can be usually learned about any wealthy woman or man with a few whims to gratify. A murderer gains access to the whole press, — his look, his manner, his remarks, are all carefully noted and commented upon, — but a scientist, an explorer, a man or woman whose work is that of beneficence and use to humanity, is barely mentioned except in the way of a sneer. So it often chances that the public know nothing of its greatest till they have passed beyond the reach of worldly honour.

  Morgana, however, had no desire that her knowledge or attainment should be admitted or praised. She was entirely destitute of ambition. She had read too much and studied too deeply to care for so-called “fame,” which, as she knew, is the mere noise of one moment, to be lost in silence the next. She was self-centered and yet not selfish. She felt that to understand her own entity, its mental and physical composition, and the possibilities of its future development, was sufficient to fill her life — that life which she quite instinctively recognised as bearing within itself the seed of immortality. Her strange interview with the “Voice” from the City in the Desert, and the glimpse she had been permitted to see of the owner of that voice, had not so much surprised her as convinced her of a theory she had long held, — namely that there were other types of the human race existing, unknown to the generality of ordinary men and women — types that were higher in their organisation and mental capacity, — types which by reason of their very advancement kept themselves hidden and aloof from modern civilisation. And she forthwith plunged anew into the ocean of scientific problems, where she floated like a strong swimmer at ease with her mind upturned to the stars.

  Yet she did not neglect the graceful comforts and elegancies of the Palazzo d’Oro, and life went on in that charming abode peacefully. Morgana always being the kindest of patrons to Lady Kingswood, and discoursing feminine commonplaces with her as though there were no other subjects of conversation in the world than embroidery and specific cures for rheumatism. She said little — indeed almost nothing, — of her aerial voyage to the East, except that she had enjoyed it, and that the Pyramids and the Sphinx were dwarfed into mere insignificant dots on the land as seen from the air, — she had apparently nothing more to describe, and Lady Kingswood was not sufficiently interested in air-travel to press enquiry. One bright sunny morning, after a week of her self-imposed seclusion, she announced her intention of calling at the monastery to see Don Aloysius.

  “I have been rather rude” — she said— “Of course he has wanted to know how my flight to the East went off! — and I have given no sign and sent no message.”

  “He has called several times” — replied Lady Kingswood— “and I think he has been very much disappointed not to be received.”

  “Poor reverend Father!” and Morgana smiled— “He should not bother his mind about a woman! Well! I’m going to see him now.”

  Lady Kingswood looked at her critically. She was gowned in a simple white morning frock with touches of blue, — and she wore a broad-brimmed Tuscan straw hat with a fold of blue carelessly twined about it. She made a pretty picture — one of extraordinary youthfulness for any woman out of her ‘teens — so much so that Lady Kingswood wondered if voyages in the air would be found to have a rejuvenating effect.

  “They do not admit women into the actual monastery” — she went on— “Feminine frivolities are forbidden! But the ruined cloister is open to visitors and I shall ask to see Don Aloysius there.”

  She lightly waved adieu and went, leaving her amiable and contented chaperone to the soothing companionship of a strip of embroidery at which she worked with the leisurely tranquillity which such an occupation engenders.

  The ruined cloister looked very beautiful that morning, with its crumbling arches crowned and festooned with roses climbing every way at their own sweet will, and Morgana’s light figure gave just the touch of human interest to the solemn peacefulness of the scene. She waited but two or three minutes before Don Aloysius appeared — he had seen her arrive from the window of his own private library. He approached her slowly — there was a gravity in the expression of his face that almost amounted to coldness, and no smile lightened it as she met his keen, fixed glance.

  “So you have come to me at last!” he said— “I have not merited your confidence till now! Why?”

  His rich voice had a ring of deep reproach in its tone — and she was for a moment taken aback. Then her native self-possession and perfect assurance returned.

  “Dear Father Aloysius, you do not want my confidence! You know all I can tell you!” she said — and drawing close to him she laid her hand on his arm— “Am I not right?”

  A tremor shook him — gently he put her hand aside.

  “You think I know!” he replied— “You imagine—”

  “Oh, no, I imagine nothing!” and she smiled— “I am sure — yes, SURE! — that you have the secret of things that seem fabulous and yet are true! It was you who first told me of the Brazen City in the Great Desert, — you said it was a mere tradition — but you filled my mind with a desire to find it—”

  “And you found it?” he interrupted, quickly— “You found it?”

  “You know I did!” she replied— “Why ask the question? Messages on a Sound-Ray can reach YOU, as well as me!”

  He moved to the stone bench which occupied a corner of the cloister and sat down. He was very pale and his eyes were feverishly bright. Presently he seemed to recover himself, and spoke more in his usual manner.

  “Rivardi has been here every day” — he said— “He has talked of nothing but you. He told me that he and Gaspard fell suddenly asleep — for which they were grievously ashamed of themselves — and that you took control of the air-ship and turned it homeward before you had given them any chance to explore the desert—”

  “Quite true!” she answered, tranquilly— “And — YOU knew all that before he told you! You knew that I was compelled to turn the ship homeward because it was not allowed to proceed! Dear Father Aloysius, you cannot hide yourself from me! You are one of the few who have studied the secrets of the approaching future, — the ‘change’ which is imminent — the ‘world to come’ which is coming! Yes! — and you are brave to live as you do in the fetters of a conventional faith when you have such a far wider outlook—”

  He stopped her by a gesture, rising from where he sat and extending a hand of warning and authority.

  “Child, beware what you say!” and
his voice had a ring of sternness in its mellow tone— “If I know what you think I know, on what ground do you suppose I have built my knowledge? Only on that faith which you call ‘conventional’ — that faith which has never been understood by the world’s majority! That faith which teaches of the God-in-Man, done to death by the Man WITHOUT God in him! — and who, nevertheless, by the spiritual strength of a resurrection from the grave, proves that there is no death but only continuous renewal of life! This is no mere ‘convention’ of faith, — no imaginary or traditional tale — it is pure scientific fact. The virginal conception of divinity in woman, and the transfiguration of manhood, these things are true — and the advance of scientific discovery will prove them so beyond all denial. We have held the faith, AS IT SHOULD BE HELD, for centuries, — and it has led us, and continues to lead us, to all we know.”

  “We?” queried Morgana, softly— “WE — of the Church? — or of the Brazen City?”

  He looked at her for some moments without speaking. His tall fine figure seemed more than ever stately and imposing — and his features expressed a calm assurance and dignity of thought which gave them additional charm.

  “Your question is bold!” he said— “Your enterprising spirit stops at nothing! You have learned much — you are resolved to learn more! Well, — I cannot prevent you, — nor do I see any reason why I should try! You are a resolved student, — you are also a woman: — a woman different to ordinary women and set apart from ordinary womanhood. So I say to you ‘We of the Brazen City’ — if you will! For more than three thousand years ‘we’ have existed— ‘we’ have studied, ‘we’ have discovered— ‘we’ have known. ‘We,’ the selected offspring of all the race that ever were born,— ‘we,’ the pure blood of the earth,— ‘we,’ the progenitors of the world TO BE,— ‘we’ have lived, watching temporary civilisations rise and fall, — seeing generations born and die, because, like weeds, they have grown without any root of purpose save to smother their neighbours and destroy. ‘We’ remain as commanded, waiting for the full declaration and culmination of those forces which are already advancing to the end, — when the ‘Kingdom’ comes!”

  Morgana moved close to him, and looked up at his grave, dark face beseechingly.

  “Then why are you here?” she asked— “If you know, — if you were ever in the ‘Brazen City’ how did it happen that you left it? How could it happen?”

  He smiled down into the jewel-blue of her clear eyes.

  “Little child!” he said— “Brilliant soul, that rejoiced in the perception that gave you what you called ‘the inside of a sun-ray,’ — you, for whom the things which interest men and women of the moment are mere toys of poor invention — you, of all others, ought to know that when the laws of the universe are understood and followed, there can be no fetters on the true liberty of the subject? IF I were ever in the ‘Brazen City’ — mind! I say ‘if’ — there could be nothing to prevent my leaving it if I chose—”

  She interrupted him by the uplifting of a hand.

  “I was told” — she said slowly— “by a Voice that spoke to me — that if I went there I should have to stay there!”

  “No doubt!” he answered— “For love would keep you!”

  “Love!” she echoed.

  “Even so! Such love as you have never dreamed of, dear soul weighted with millions of gold! Love! — the only force that pulls heaven to earth and binds them together!”

  “But YOU — you — if you were in the Brazen City—”

  “If!” he repeated, emphatically.

  “If — yes! if” — she said— “If you were there, love did not hold YOU?”

  “No!”

  There was a silence. The sunshine burned down on the ancient grey flagstones of the cloister, and two gorgeous butterflies danced over the climbing roses that hung from the arches in festal wreaths of pink and white. A luminance deeper than that of the sun seemed to encircle the figures standing together — the one so elfin, light and delicate, — the other invested with a kind of inward royalty expressing itself outwardly in stateliness of look and bearing. Something mysteriously suggestive of super-humanity environed them; a spirit and personality higher than mortal. After some minutes Aloysius spoke again —

  “The city is not a ‘Brazen’ City” — he said— “It has been called so by travellers who have seen its golden towers glistening afar off in a sudden refraction of light lasting but a few seconds. Gold often looks like brass and brass like gold, in human entities as in architectural results.” He paused — then went on slowly and impressively— “Surely you remember,-you MUST remember, that it is written ‘The city lieth four-square, and the length is as large as the breadth. The wall thereof is according to the measure of a man — that is, of the Angel. And the city is of pure gold.’ Does that give you no hint of the measure of a man, that is, of the Angel? — of the ‘new heavens and the new earth,’ the old things being passed away? Dear child, you have studied deeply — you have adventured far and greatly! — continue your quest, but do not forget to take your guiding Light, the Faith which half the world and more ignores!”

  She sprang to him impulsively and caught his hands.

  “Oh, you must help me!” she cried— “You must teach me — I want to know what YOU know!—”

  He held her gently and with reverent tenderness.

  “I know no more than you,” — he answered— “you work by Science — I, by Faith, the bed-rock from Which all science proceeds — and we arrive at the same discoveries by different methods. I am a poor priest in the temple of the Divine, serving my turn — but I am not alone in service, for in every corner of the habitable globe there is one member of our ‘City’ who communicates with the rest. One! — but enough! To-day’s commercial world uses old systems of wireless telegraphy and telephony which were known and done with thousands of years ago — but ‘we’ have the sound-ray — the light which carries music on its wings and creates form as it goes.”

  Here he released her hands.

  “Knowing what you do know you have no need of my help” — he continued— “You have not found happiness yet, because that only comes through one source — Love. But I doubt not that God will give you that in His own good time.” He paused — then went on— “As you go out, enter the chapel for a moment and send a prayer on the Sound-Ray to the Centre of all Knowledge, — the source of all discovery — have no fear but that it will arrive! The rest is for you to decide.”

  She hesitated.

  “And — the Brazen City?” she queried.

  “The Golden City!” he answered— “Well, you have had your experience! Your name is known there — and no doubt you can hear from it when you will.”

  “Do YOU hear from it?” she asked, pointedly.

  He smiled gravely.

  “I may not speak of what I hear” — he answered. “Nor may you!”

  She was silent for a space — then looked up at him appealingly.

  “The world is changed for me” — she said— “It will never be the same again! I do not seem to belong to it — other influences surround me, — how I live in it? — how shall I work — what shall I do?”

  “You will do as you have always done — go your own way” — he replied— “The way which has led you to so much discovery and attainment. You must surely know in your own soul that you have been guided in that way — and your success is the result of allowing yourself to BE guided. In all things you will be guided now — have no fear for yourself! All will be well for you!”

  “And for you?” she asked impulsively.

  He smiled.

  “Why think of me?” he said, gently— “I am nothing in your life—”

  “You are!” she replied— “You are more than you imagine. I begin to realise—”

  He held up his hand with a warning gesture.

  “Hush!” he said— “There are things of which we must not speak!”

  At that moment the monastery bell tolled the midd
ay “Angelus.” Don Aloysius bent his head — Morgana instinctively did the same. Within the building the deep voices of the brethren sounded, chanting, —

  “Angelus Domini nuntiavit Maria Et concepit de Spiritu sancto.”

  As the salutation to heaven finished, the mellow music of the organ in the chapel sent a wave of solemn and prayerful tenderness on the air, and, moved by the emotion of the hour, Morgana’s heart beat more quickly and tears filled her eyes.

  “There must be beautiful music in the Golden City!” she said.

  Don Aloysius smiled.

  “There is! And when the other things of life give you pause to listen, you will often hear it!”

  She smiled happily in response, and then, with a silent gesture of farewell, left the cloister and made her way to the chapel, part of which was kept open for public worship. It was empty, but the hidden organist was still playing. She went towards the High Altar and knelt in front of it. She was not of the Catholic faith, — she was truly of no faith at all save that which is taught by Science, which like a door opened in heaven shows all the wonders within, — but her keen sense of the beautiful was stirred by the solemn peace of the shut Tabernacle with the Cross above it, and the great lilies bending under their own weight of loveliness and fragrance on either side.

  “It is the Symbol of a great Truth which is true for all time” — she thought, as she clasped her hands in an attitude of prayer— “And how sad and strange it is to feel that there are thousands among its best-intentioned worshippers and priests who have not discovered its mystic meaning. The God in Man, born of purity in woman! Is it only in the Golden City that they know?”

  She raised her eyes in half unconscious appeal — and, as she did so, a brilliant Ray of light flashed downward from the summit of the Cross which surmounted the Altar, and remained extended slantwise towards her. She saw it, — and waited expectantly. Close to her ears a Voice spoke with extreme softness, yet very distinctly.

  “Can you hear me?”