“Why in the world do you go to sleep with the window wide open?” asked El-Râmi— “Here I find you, literally bathed in the moonlight — and moonlight drives men mad they say, — so fast too in the land of Nod that I could hardly waken you. Shut the window, my dear boy, if you must sleep.”
Féraz sprang up quickly, — his eyes felt dazzled still with the remembrance of that “glory of the angels in the South.”
“I was not asleep,” — he said— “But certainly I was not here.”
“Ah! — In your Star again of course!” murmured El-Râmi with the faintest trace of mockery in his tone. But Féraz took no offence — his one anxiety was to prevent the name of “Lilith” springing to his lips in spite of himself.
“Yes — I was there” — he answered slowly, “And do you know all the people in the land are gathering together by thousands to see an Angel pass heavenward? And there is a glory of her sister-angels, away in the Southern horizon like the splendid circle described by Dante in his ‘Paradiso.’ Thus—”
“There is a light in heaven whose goodly shine
Makes the Creator visible to all
Created, that in seeing Him alone
Have peace. And in a circle spreads so far
That the circumference were too loose a zone
To girdle in the sun!”
He quoted the lines with strange eagerness and fervour, — and El-Râmi looked at him curiously.
“What odd dreams you have!” he said, not unkindly— “Always fantastic and impossible, but beautiful in their way. You should set them down in black and white, and see how earth’s critics will bespatter your heaven with the ink of their office pens! Poor boy! — how limply you would fall from ‘Paradise’! — with what damp dejected wings!”
Féraz smiled.
“I do not agree with you” — he said— “If you speak of imagination, — only in this case I am not imagining, — no one can shut out that Paradise from me at any time — neither pope nor king, nor critic. Thought is free, thank God!”
“Yes — perhaps it is the only thing we have to be really thankful for,” — returned El-Râmi— “Well — I will leave you to resume your ‘dreams’ — only don’t sleep with the windows open. Summer evenings are treacherous, — I should advise you to get to bed.”
“And you?” asked Féraz, moved by a sudden anxiety which he could not explain.
“I shall not sleep to-night,” — said his brother moodily— “Something has occurred to me — a suggestion — an idea, which I am impatient to work out without loss of time. And, Féraz, — if I succeed in it — you shall know the result to-morrow.”
This promise, which implied such a new departure from El-Râmi’s customary reticence concerning his work, really alarmed Féraz more than gratified him.
“For Heaven’s sake be careful!” he exclaimed— “You attempt so much, — you want so much, — perhaps more than can in law and justice be given. El-Râmi, my brother, leave something to God — you cannot, you dare not take all!”
“My dear visionary,” replied El-Râmi gently— “You alarm yourself needlessly, I assure you. I do not want to take anything except what is my own, — and as for leaving something to God, why He is welcome to what He makes of me in the end — a pinch of dust!”
“There is more than dust in your composition—” cried Féraz impetuously— “There is divinity! And the divinity belongs to God, and to God you must render it up, pure and perfect. He claims it from you, and you are bound to give it.”
A tremor passed through El-Râmi’s frame, and he grew paler.
“If that be true, Féraz,” he said slowly and with emphasis— “if it indeed be true that there is Divinity in me, — which I doubt! — why then let God claim and take His own particle of fire when He will, and as He will! Good-night!”
Féraz caught his hands and pressed them tenderly in his own.
“Good-night!” he murmured— “God does all things well, and to His care I commend you, my dearest brother.”
And as El-Râmi turned away and left the room, he gazed after him with a chill sense of fear and desolation, — almost as if he were doomed never to see him again. He could not reason his alarm away, and yet he knew not why he should feel any alarm, — but truth to tell, his interior sense of vision seemed still to smart and ache with the radiance of the light he had seen in his “star” and that roseate sunset-flush of “glory in the south” created by the clustering angels who were “the friends of Lilith.” Why were they there? — what did they wait for? — how should Lilith know them or have any intention of joining them, when she was here, — here on the earth, as he, Féraz, knew, — here under the supreme dominance of his own brother? He dared not speculate too far; and, trying to dismiss all thought from his mind, he was proceeding towards his own room there to retire for the night, when he met Zaroba coming down the stairs. Her dark withered face had a serene and almost happy expression upon it, — she smiled as she saw him.
“It is a night for dreams—” she said, sinking her harsh voice to a soft aImost musical cadence— “And as the multitude of the stars in heaven, so are the countless heart-throbs that pulsate in the world at this hour to the silver sway of the moon. All over the world! — all over the world!—” and she swung her arms to and fro with a slow rhythmical movement, so that the silver bangles on them clashed softly like the subdued tinkling of bells; — then, fixing her black eyes upon Féraz with a mournful yet kindly gaze she added— “Not for you — not for you, gentlest of dreamers! not for you! It is destined that you should dream, — and for you, dreaming is best, — but for me — I would rather live one hour than dream for a century!”
Her words were vague and wild as usual, — yet somehow Féraz chafed under the hidden sense of them, and he gave a slight petulant gesture of irritation. Zaroba, seeing it, broke into a low laugh.
“As God liveth,—” she muttered— “The poor lad fights bravely! He hates the world without ever having known it, — and recoils from love without ever having tasted it! He chooses a thought, a rhyme, a song, an art, rather than a passion! Poor lad — poor lad! Dream on, child! — but pray that you may never wake. For to dream of love may be sweet, but to wake without it is bitter!”
Like a gliding wraith she passed him and disappeared. Féraz had a mind to follow her downstairs to the basement where she had the sort of rough sleeping accommodation her half-savage nature preferred, whenever she slept at all out of Lilith’s room, which was but seldom, — yet on second thoughts he decided he would let her alone.
“She only worries me—” he said to himself half vexedly as he went to his own little apartment— “It was she who first disobeyed El-Râmi, and made me disobey him also, and though she did take me to see the wonderful Lilith, what was the use of it? Her matchless beauty compelled my adoration, my enthusiasm, my reverence, almost my love — but who could dare to love such a removed angelic creature? Not even El-Râmi himself, — for he must know, even as I feel, that she is beyond all love, save the Love Divine.”
He cast off his loose Eastern dress, and prepared to lie down, when he was startled by a faint far sound of singing. He listened attentively; — it seemed to come from outside, and he quickly flung open his window, which only opened upon a little narrow backyard such as is common to London houses. But the moonlight transfigured its ugliness, making it look like a square white court set in walls of silver. The soft rays fell caressingly too on the bare bronze-tinted shoulders of Féraz, as half undressed, he leaned out, his eyes upturned to the halcyon heavens. Surely, surely there was singing somewhere, — why, he could distinguish words amid the sounds!
Away, away!
Where the glittering planets whirl and swim
And the glory of the sun grows dim
Away, away!
To the regions of light and fire and air
Where the spirits of life are everywhere
Come, oh come away!
Trembling in every limb, Fér
az caught the song distinctly, and held his breath in fear and wonder.
Away, away!
Come, oh come! we have waited long
And we sing thee now a summoning-song
Away, away!
Thou art freed from the world of the dreaming dead.
And the splendours of Heaven are round thee spread —
Come away! — away!
The chorus grew fainter and fainter — yet still sounded like a distant musical hum on the air.
“It is my fancy” — murmured Féraz at last, as he drew in his head and noiselessly shut the window— “It is the work of my own imagination, or what is perhaps more probable, the work of El-Râmi’s will. I have heard such music before, — at his bidding — no, not such music, but something very like it.”
He waited a few minutes, then quietly knelt down to pray, — but no words suggested themselves, save the phrase that once before had risen to his lips that day,— “God defend Lilith!”
He uttered it aloud, — then sprang up confused and half afraid, for the name had rung out so clearly that it seemed like a call or a command.
“Well!” he said, trying to steady his nerves— “What if I did say it? There is no harm in the words ‘God defend her.’ If she is dead, as El-Râmi says, she needs no defence, for her soul belongs to God already.”
He paused again, — the silence everywhere was now absolutely unbroken and intense, and repelling the vague presentiments that threatened to oppress his mind, he threw himself on his bed and was soon sound asleep.
CHAPTER IV.
AND what of the “sign” promised by Lilith? Had it been given? No, — but El-Râmi’s impatience would brook no longer delay, and he had determined to put an end to his perplexities by violent means if necessary, and take the risk of whatever consequences might ensue. He had been passing through the strangest phases of thought and self-analysis during these latter weeks, — trying, reluctantly enough, to bend his haughty spirit down to an attitude of humility and patience which ill suited him. He was essentially masculine in his complete belief in himself, — and more than all things he resented any interference with his projects, whether such interference were human or Divine. When therefore the tranced Lilith had bidden him “wait, watch and pray,” she had laid upon him the very injunctions he found most difficult to follow. He could wait and watch if he were certain of results, — but where there was the slightest glimmer of un certainty, he grew very soon tired of both waiting and watching. As for “praying” — he told himself arrogantly that to ask for what he could surely obtain by the exerted strength of his own will was not only superfluous, but implied great weakness of character. It was then, in the full-armed spirit of pride and assertive dominance that he went up that night to Lilith’s chamber, and dismissing Zaroba with more than usual gentleness of demeanour towards her, sat down beside the couch on which his lovely and mysterious “subject” lay, to all appearances inanimate save for her quiet breathing. His eyes were sombre, yet glittered with a somewhat dangerous lustre under their drooping lids; — he was to be duped no longer, he said to himself, — he had kept faithful vigil night after night, hoping against hope, believing against belief, and not the smallest movement or hint that could be construed into the promised “sign” had been vouchsafed to him. And all his old doubts returned to chafe and fret his brain, — doubts as to whether he had not been deceiving himself all this while in spite of his boasted scepticism, — and whether Lilith, when she spoke, was not merely repeating like a mechanical automaton, the stray thoughts of his own mind reflected upon hers? He had “proved” the possibility of that kind of thing occurring between human beings who were scarcely connected with each other even by a tie of ordinary friendship — how much more likely then that it should happen in such a case as that of Lilith, — Lilith who had been under the sole dominance of his will for six years! Yet while he thus teased himself with misgivings, he knew it was impossible to account for the mystic tendency of her language, or the strange and super-sensual character of the information she gave or feigned to give. It was not from himself or his own information that he had obtained a description of the landscapes in Mars, — its wondrous red fields, — its rosy foliage and flowers, — its great jagged rocks ablaze with amethystine spar, — its huge conical shells, tall and light, that rose up like fairy towers, fringed with flags and garlands of marine blossom, out of oceans the colour of jasper and pearl. Certainly too, it was not from the testimony of his inner consciousness that he had evoked the faith that seemed so natural to her; her belief in a Divine Personality, and his utter rejection of any such idea, were two things wider asunder than the poles, and had no possible sort of connection. Nevertheless what he could not account for, wearied him out and irritated him by its elusiveness and unprovable character, — and finally, his long, frequent, and profitless reflections on the matter had brought him this night up to a point of determination which but a few months back would have seemed to him impossible. He had resolved to waken Lilith. What sort of a being she would seem when once awakened, he could not quite imagine. He knew she had died in his arms as a child, — and that her seeming life now, and her growth into the loveliness of womanhood was the result of artificial means evolved from the wonders of chemistry, — but he persuaded himself that though her existence was the work of science and not nature, it was better than natural, and would last as long. He determined he would break that mysterious trance of body in which the departing Intelligence had been, by his skill, detained and held in connection with its earthly habitation, — he would transform the sleeping visionary into a living woman, for — he loved her. He could no longer disguise from himself that her fair face with its heavenly smile, framed in the golden hair that circled it like a halo, haunted him in every minute of time, — he could not and would not deny that his whole being ached to clasp with a lover’s embrace that exquisite beauty which had so long been passively surrendered to his experimentings, — and with the daring of a proud and unrestrained nature, he frankly avowed his feeling to himself and made no pretence of hiding it any longer. But it was a far deeper mystery than his “search for the Soul of Lilith,” to find out when and how this passion had first arisen in him. He could not analyse himself so thoroughly as to discover its vague beginnings. Perhaps it was germinated by Zaroba’s wild promptings, — perhaps by the fact that a certain unreasonable jealousy had chafed his spirit when he knew that his brother Féraz had won a smile of attention and response from the tranced girl, — perhaps it was owing to the irritation he had felt at the idea that his visitor, the monk from Cyprus, seemed to know more of her than he himself did, — at any rate, whatever the cause, he who had been sternly impassive once to the subtle attraction of Lilith’s outward beauty, madly adored that outward beauty now. And as is usual with very self-reliant and proud dispositions, he almost began to glory in a sentiment which but a short time ago he would have repelled and scorned. What was for himself and of himself was good in his sight — his knowledge, his “proved” things, his tested discoveries, all these were excellent in his opinion, and the “Ego” of his own ability was the pivot on which all his actions turned. He had laid his plans carefully for the awakening of Lilith, — but in one little trifle they had been put out by the absence from town of Madame Irene Vassilius. She, of all women he had ever met, was the one he would have trusted with his secret, because he knew that her life, though lived in the world, was as stainless as though it were lived in heaven. He had meant to place Lilith in her care, — in order that with her fine perceptions, lofty ideals, and delicate sense of all things beautiful and artistic, she might accustom the girl to look upon the fairest and noblest side of life, so that she might not regret the “visions” — yes, he would call them “visions” — she had lost. But Irene was among the mountains of the Austrian Tyrol, enjoying a holiday in the intimate society of the fairest Queen in the world, Margherita of Italy, one of the few living Sovereigns who really strive to bestow on intellectual wor
th its true appreciation and reward. And her house in London was shut up, and under the sole charge of the happy Karl, former servant to Dr. Kremlin, who had now found with the fair and famous authoress a situation that suited him exactly. “Wild horses would not tear him from his lady’s service” he was wont to say, and he guarded her household interests jealously, and said “Not at home” to undesired visitors like Roy Ainsworth for example, with a gruffness that would have done credit to a Russian bear. To Irene Vassilius, therefore, El-Râmi could not turn for the help he had meant to ask; and he was sorry and disappointed, for he had particularly wished to remove his “sleeper awakened” out of the companionship of both Zaroba and Féraz, — and there was no other woman like Irene, — at once so pure and proud, so brilliantly gifted, and so far removed from the touch and taint of modern social vulgarity. However, her aid was now unattainable, and he had to make up his mind to do without it. And so he resolutely put away the thought of the after-results of Lilith’s awakening, — he, who was generally so careful to calculate consequences, instinct — ively avoided the consideration of them in the present instance.
The little silver timepiece ticked with an aggressive loudness as he sat now at his usual post, his black eyes fixed half-tenderly, half-fiercely on Lilith’s white beauty, — beauty which was, as he told himself, all his own. Her arms were folded across her breast, — her features were pallid as marble, and her breathing was very light and low. The golden lamp burned dimly as it swung from the purple-pavilioned ceiling — the scent of the roses that were always set fresh in their vase every day, filled the room, and though the windows were closed against the night, a dainty moonbeam strayed in through a chink where the draperies were not quite drawn, and mingled its emerald glitter with the yellow lustre shed by the lamp on the darkly-carpeted floor.
“I will risk it,” — said El-Râmi in a whisper, — a whisper that sounded loud in the deep stillness— “I will risk it — why not? I have proved myself capable of arresting life, or the soul — for life is the soul — in its flight from hence into the Nowhere, — I must needs also have the power to keep it indefinitely here for myself in whatever form I please. These are the rewards of science, — rewards which I am free to claim, — and what I have done, that I have a right to do again. Now let me ask myself the question plainly; — Do I believe in the supernatural?”
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli Page 276
