Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli

by Marie Corelli

  “You are very bitter,” said Kremlin wonderingly— “Of course no ‘ordinary’ woman could impress you, — but there are remarkable women, — women of power and genius and lofty ambition.”

  “Les femmes incomprises — oh yes, I know!” laughed El-Râmi— “Troublesome creatures all, both to themselves and others. Why do you talk on these subjects, my dear Kremlin? — Is it the effect of your rejuvenated condition? I am sure there are many more interesting matters worthy of discussion. I shall never love — not in this planet; in some other state of existence I may experience the ‘divine’ emotion. But the meannesses, vanities, contemptible jealousies, and low spites of women such as inhabit this earth fill me with disgust and repulsion, — besides, women are treacherous, — and I loathe treachery.”

  At that moment Karl appeared at the dining-room window as a sign that breakfast was served, and they turned to go indoors.

  “All the same, El-Râmi—” persisted Kremlin, laying one hand on his friend’s arm— “Do not count on being able to escape the fate to which all humanity must succumb—”

  “Death?” interposed El-Râmi lightly— “I have almost conquered that!”

  “Aye, but you cannot conquer Love!” said Kremlin impressively— “Love is stronger than Death.”

  El-Râmi made no answer, — and they went in to breakfast. They did full justice to the meal, much to Karl’s satisfaction, though he could not help stealing covert glances at his master’s changed countenance, which had become so much fresher and younger since the previous day. How such a change had been effected he could not imagine, but on the whole he was disposed to be content with the evident improvement.

  “Even if he is the devil himself—” he considered, his thoughts reverting to El-Râmi— “I am bound to say that the devil is a kind-hearted fellow. There’s no doubt about that. I suppose I am an abandoned sinner only fit for the burning — but if God insists on making us old and sick and miserable, and the devil is able to make us young and strong and jolly, why let us be friends with the devil, say I! Oh my poor mother!”

  With such curious emotions as these in his mind, it was rather difficult to maintain a composed face, and wait upon the two gentlemen with that grave deportment which it is the duty of every well-trained attendant to assume, — however, he managed fairly well, and got accustomed at last to hand his master a cup of coffee without staring at him till his eyes almost projected out of his head.

  El-Râmi took his departure soon after breakfast, with a few recommendations to his friend not to work too hard on the problems suggested by the Disc.

  “Ah, but I have now found a new clue;” said Kremlin triumphantly— “I found it in sleep. I shall work it out in the course of a few weeks, I dare say — and I will let you know if the result is successful. You see, thanks to you, my friend, I have time now, — there is no need to toil with feverish haste and anxiety — death that seemed so near, is thrust back in the distance—”

  “Even so!” said El-Râmi with a strange smile— “In the far, far distance, — baffled and kept at bay. Oddly enough, there are some who say there is no death—”

  “But there is — there must be!—” exclaimed Kremlin quickly.

  El-Râmi raised his hand with a slight commanding gesture.

  “It is not a certainty—” he said— “inasmuch as there is NO certainty. And there is no ‘Must-Be,’ — there is only the Soul’s ‘Shall-Be’!”

  And with these somewhat enigmatical words, he bade his friend farewell, and went his way.

  CHAPTER XII.

  IT was yet early in the afternoon when he arrived back in London. He went straight home to his own house, letting himself in as usual with his latch-key. In the hall he paused, listening. He half expected to hear Féraz playing one of his delicious dreamy improvisations, — but there was not a sound anywhere, and the deep silence touched him with an odd sense of disappointment and vague foreboding. His study door stood slightly ajar, — he pushed it wider open very noiselessly and looked in. His young brother was there, seated in a chair near the window, reading. El-Râmi gazed at him dubiously, with a slowly dawning sense that there was some alteration in his appearance which he could not all at once comprehend. Presently he realized that Féraz had evidently yielded to some overwhelming suggestion of personal vanity, which had induced him to put on more brilliant attire. He had changed his plain white linen garb for one of richer material, composed in the same Eastern fashion, — he wore a finely-chased gold belt, from which a gold-sheathed dagger depended, — and a few gold ornaments gleamed here and there among the drawn silken folds of his upper vest. He looked handsome enough for a new Agathon as he sat there apparently absorbed in study, — the big volume he perused resting partly on his knee, — but El-Râmi’s brow contracted with sudden anger as he observed him from the half-open doorway where he stood, himself unseen, — and his dark face grew very pale. He threw the door back on its hinges with a clattering sound and entered the room.

  “Féraz!”

  Féraz looked up, lifting his eyelids indifferently and smiling coldly.

  “What, El-Râmi! Back so early? I did not expect you till nightfall.”

  “Did you not?” said his brother, advancing slowly— “Pray how was that? You know I generally return after a night’s absence early in the next day. Where is your usual word of welcome? What ails you? You seem in a very odd humour!”

  “Do I?” — and Féraz stretched himself a little, — rose, yawning, and laid down the volume he held on the table— “I am not aware of it myself, I assure you. How did you find your old madman? And did you tell him you were nearly as mad as he?”

  El-Râmi’s eyes flashed indignant amazement and wrath.

  “Féraz! — What do you mean?”

  With a fierce impulsive movement Féraz turned and fully faced him, — all his forced and feigned calmness gone to the winds, — a glowing picture of youth and beauty and rage commingled.

  “What do I mean?” he cried— “I mean this! That I am tired of being your slave-your ‘subject’ for conjurer’s tricks of mesmerism, — that from henceforth I resist your power, — that I will not serve you — will not obey you — will not yield — no! — not an inch of my liberty — to your influence, — that I am a free man, as you are, and that I will have the full rights of both my freedom and manhood. You shall play no more with me; I refuse to be your dupe as I have been. This is what I mean! — and as I will have no deception or subterfuge between us, — for I scorn a lie, — hear the truth from me at once; — I know your secret — I have seen Her!”

  El-Râmi stood erect, — immovable; — he was very pale; his breath came and went quickly — once his hand clenched, but he said nothing.

  “I have seen Her!” cried Féraz again, flinging up his arms with an ecstatic wild gesture— “A creature fairer than any vision! — and you — you have the heart to bind her fast in darkness and in nothingness, — you it is who have shut her sight to the world, — you have made for her, through your horrible skill, a living death in which she knows nothing, feels nothing, sees nothing, loves nothing! I tell you it is a cursed deed you are doing, — a deed worse than murder — I would not have believed it of you! I thought your experiments were all for good, — I never would have deemed you capable of cruelty to a helpless woman! But I will release her from your spells, — she is too beautiful to be made her own living monument, — Zaroba is right — she needs life — joy — love! — she shall have them all; — through me!”

  He paused, out of breath with the heat and violence of his own emotions; — El-Râmi stood, still immovably regarding him.

  “You may be as angered as you please” — went on Féraz with sullen passion— “I care nothing now. It was Zaroba who bade me go up yonder and see her where she slept;...it was Zaroba—”

  “‘The woman tempted me and I did eat—’” quoted El-Râmi coldly,— “Of course it was Zaroba. No other than a woman could thus break a sworn word. Naturally it was
Zaroba, — the paid and kept slave of my service, who owes to me her very existence, — who persuaded my brother to dishonour.”

  “Dishonour!” and Féraz laid his hand with a quick, almost savage gesture on the hilt of the dagger at his belt. El-Râmi’s dark eyes blazed upon him scornfully.

  “So soon a braggart of the knife?” he said. “What theatrical show is this? You — you — the poet, the dreamer, the musician — the gentle lad whose life was one of peaceful and innocent reverie — are you so soon changed to the mere swaggering puppy of manhood who pranks himself out in gaudy clothing, and thinks by vulgar threatening to overawe his betters? If so, ’tis a pity — but I shall not waste time in deploring it. Hear me, Féraz — I said ‘dishonour,’ — swallow the word as best you may, it is the only one that fits the act of prying into secrets not your own. But I am not angered, — the mischief wrought is not beyond remedy, and if it were there would be still less use in bewailing it. What is done cannot be undone. Now tell me, — you say you have seen Her. Whom have you seen?”

  Féraz regarded him amazedly.

  “Whom have I seen?” he echoed— “Whom should I see, if not the girl you keep locked in those upper rooms, — a beautiful maiden, sleeping her life away, in cruel darkness and ignorance of all things true and fair!”

  “An enchanted princess, to your fancy—” said El-Râmi derisively. “Well, if you thought so, and if you believed yourself to be a new sort of Prince Charming, why, if she were only sleeping, did you not wake her?”

  “Wake her?” exclaimed Féraz excitedly,— “Oh, I would have given my life to see those fringed lids uplift and show the wonders of the eyes beneath! I called her by every endearing name — I took her hands and warmed them in my own — I would have kissed her lips—”

  “You dared not!” cried El-Râmi, fired beyond his own control, and making a fierce bound towards him— “You dared not pollute her by your touch!”

  Féraz recoiled, — a sudden chill ran through his blood. His brother was transformed with the passion that surged through him, — his eyes flashed — his lips quivered — his very form seemed to tower up and tremble and dilate with rage.

  “El-Râmi!” he stammered nervously, feeling all his newly-born defiance and bravado oozing away under the terrible magnetism of this man, whose fury was nearly as electric as that of a sudden thunderstorm,— “El-Râmi, I did no harm, — Zaroba was there beside me—”

  “Zaroba!” echoed El-Râmi furiously— “Zaroba would stand by and see an angel violated, and think it the greatest happiness that could befall her sanctity! To be of common clay, with household joys and kitchen griefs, is Zaroba’s idea of noble living. Oh rash unhappy Féraz! you say you know my secret — you do not know it — you cannot guess it! Foolish, ignorant boy! — did you think yourself a new Christ with power to raise the Dead?”

  “The dead?” muttered Féraz, with white lips— “The dead? She — the girl I saw — lives and breathes...”

  “By my will alone!” said El-Râmi— “By my force — by my knowledge — by my constant watchful care, — by my control over the subtle threads that connect Spirit with Matter. Otherwise, according to all the laws of ordinary nature, that girl is dead — she died in the Syrian desert six years ago!”

  CHAPTER XIII.

  AT these words, pronounced slowly and with emphatic distinctness, Féraz staggered back dizzily and sank into a chair, — drops of perspiration bedewed his forehead, and a sick faint feeling overcame him. He said nothing, — he could find no words in which to express his mingled horror and amazement. El-Râmi watched him keenly, — and presently Féraz, looking up, caught the calm, full and fiery regard of his brother’s eyes. With a smothered cry, he raised his hands as though to shield himself from a blow.

  “I will not have it;” — he muttered faintly— “You shall not force my thoughts, — I will believe nothing against my own will. You shall no longer delude my eyes and ears — I have read — I know, — I know how such trickery is done!”

  El-Râmi uttered an impatient exclamation, and paced once or twice up and down the room.

  “See here, Féraz;” — he said, suddenly stopping before the chair in which his brother sat,-”I swear to you that I am not exercising one iota of my influence upon you. When I do, I will tell you, that you may be prepared to resist me if you choose. I am using no power of any kind upon you — be satisfied of that. But, as you have forced your way into the difficult labyrinth of my life’s work, it is as well that you should have an explanation of what seems to you full of mysterious evil and black magic. You accuse me of wickedness, — you tell me I am guilty of a deed worse than murder. Now this is mere rant and nonsense, — you speak in such utter ignorance of the facts, that I forgive you, as one is bound to forgive all faults committed through sheer want of instruction. I do not think I am a wicked man” — he paused, with an earnest, almost pathetic expression on his face— “at least I strive not to be. I am ambitious and sceptical — and I am not altogether convinced of there being any real intention of ultimate good in the arrangements of this world as they at present exist, — but I work without any malicious intention; and without undue boasting I believe I am as honest and conscientious as the best of my kind. But that is neither here nor there, — as I said before, you have broken into a secret not intended for your knowledge — and that you may not misunderstand me yet more thoroughly than you seem to do, I will tell you what I never wished to bother your brains with. For you have been very happy till now, Féraz — happy in the beautiful simplicity of the life you led — the life of a poet and dreamer, — the happiest life in the world!”

  He broke off, with a short sigh of mingled vexation and regret — then he seated himself immediately opposite his brother and went on —

  “You were too young to understand the loss it was to us both when our parents died, — or to know the immense reputation our father Nadir Zarânos had won throughout the East for his marvellous skill in natural science and medicine. He died in the prime of his life, — our mother followed him within a month, — and you were left to my charge, — you a child then, and I almost a man. Our father’s small but rare library came into my possession, together with his own manuscripts treating of the scientific and spiritual organization of Nature in all its branches, — and these opened such extraordinary vistas of possibility to me as to what might be done if such and such theories could be practically carried out and acted upon, that I became fired with the ardour of discovery. The more I studied, the more convinced and eager I became in the pursuit of such knowledge as is generally deemed supernatural, and beyond the reach of all human inquiry. One or two delicate experiments in chemistry of a rare and subtle nature were entirely successful, — and by-and-bye I began to look about for a subject on whom I could practise the power I had attained. There was no one whom I could personally watch and surround with my hourly influence except yourself, — therefore I made my first great trial upon you.”

  Féraz moved uneasily in his chair, — his face wore a doubtful, half-sullen expression, but he listened to El-Râmi’s every word with vivid and almost painful interest.

  “At that time you were a mere boy—” pursued El-Râmi— “but strong and vigorous, and full of the mischievous pranks and sports customary to healthy boyhood. I began by slow degrees to educate you — not with the aid of schools or tutors — but simply by my Will. You had a singularly unretentive brain, — you were never fond of music — you would never read, — you had no taste for study. Your delight was to ride — to swim like a fish, — to handle a gun — to race, to leap, — to play practical jokes on other boys of your own age and fight them if they resented it; — all very amusing performances no doubt, but totally devoid of intelligence. Judging you dispassionately, I found that you were a very charming gamesome animal, — physically perfect — with a Mind somewhere if one could only discover it, and a Soul or Spirit behind the Mind — if one could only discover that also. I set myself the task of finding
out both these hidden portions of your composition — and of not only finding them, but moulding and influencing them according to my desire and plan.”

  A faint tremor shook the younger man’s frame — but he said nothing.

  “You are attending to me closely, I hope?” said El-Râmi pointedly— “because you must distinctly understand that this conversation is the first and last we shall have on the matter. After to-day, the subject must drop between us forever, and I shall refuse to answer any more questions. You hear?”

  Féraz bent his head.

  “I hear—” he answered with an effort— “And what I hear seems strange and terrible!”

  “Strange and terrible?” echoed El-Râmi. “How so? What is there strange or terrible in the pursuit of Wisdom? Yet — perhaps you are right, and the blank ignorance of a young child is best, — for there is something appalling in the infinitude of knowledge — an infinitude which must remain infinite, if it be true that there is a God who is forever thinking, and whose thoughts become realities.”

  He paused, with a rapt look, — then resumed in the same even tone, —

  “When I had made up my mind to experimentalize upon you, I lost no time in commencing my work. One of my chief desires was to avoid the least risk of endangering your health — your physical condition was admirable, and I resolved to keep it so. In this I succeeded. I made life a joy to you — the mere act of breathing a pleasure — you grew up before my eyes like the vigorous sapling of an oak that rejoices in the mere expansion of its leaves to the fresh air. The other and more subtle task was harder, — it needed all my patience — all my skill,-but I was at last rewarded. Through my concentrated influence, which surrounded you as with an atmosphere in which you moved, and slept, and woke again, and which forced every fibre of your brain to respond to mine, the animal faculties which were strongest in you, became subdued and tamed, — and the mental slowly asserted themselves. I resolved you should be a poet and musician — you became both; — you developed an ardent love of study, and every few months that passed gave richer promise of your ripening intelligence. Moreover, you were happy, — happy in everything — happiest perhaps in your music, which became your leading passion. Having thus, unconsciously to yourself, fostered your mind by the silent workings of my own, and trained it to grow up like a flower to the light, I thought I might make my next attempt, which was to probe for that subtle essence we call the Soul — the large wings that are hidden in the moth’s chrysalis; — and influence that too; — but there — there by some inexplicable opposition of forces, I was baffled.”