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BY
ence!" "There is no Creator!" exclaims another. "The Universe is simply a rushing together of atoms." "There can be no Immortality," asserts a third. "We are but dust, and to dust we shall return." "What is called by idealists the SOUL," argues another, "is simply the vital principle composed of heat and air, which escapes from the body at death, and mingles again with its native element. A candle when lit emits flame; blow out the light, the flame vanishes--where? Would it not be madness to assert the flame immortal? Yet the soul, or, vital principle of human existence, is no more than the flame of a candle."
If you propound to these theorists the eternal question WHY?--why
is the
world in existence?--why is there a universe? why do we live? why do
we
think and plan? why do we perish at the last?--their grandiose reply
is,
"Because of the Law of Universal Necessity." They
cannot explain this mysterious Law to themselves, nor can they probe deep enough to find the answer to a still more tremendous WHY--namely, Why is there a Law of Universal Necessity?--but they are satisfied with the result of their reasonings, if not wholly, yet in part, and seldom try to search beyond that great vague vast Necessity, lest their finite brains should reel into madness worse than death. Recognising, therefore, that in this cultivated age a wall of scepticism and cynicism is gradually being built up by intellectual thinkers of every nation against all that treats of the Supernatural and Unseen, I am aware that my narration of the events I have recently experienced will be read with incredulity. At a time when the great empire of the Christian Religion is being assailed or politely ignored by governments and public speakers and teachers, I realize to the fullest extent how daring is any attempt
to prove, even by a plain history of strange occurrences happening to one's self, the actual existence of the Supernatural around us; and the absolute certainty of a future state of being, after the passage through that brief soul-torpor in which the body perishes, known to us as Death.
In the present narration, which I have purposely called a
"romance," I do not expect to be believed, as I can only relate
what I myself have experienced. I know that men and women of to-day must
have proofs, or what they are willing to accept as proofs, before they will
credit anything that purports to be of a spiritual
tendency;--something
startling--some miracle of a stupendous nature, such as according to
prophecy they are all unfit to receive. Few will admit the subtle influence
and incontestible, though mysterious, authority exercised upon their lives
by higher intelligences than their own--intelligences unseen, unknown,
but
felt.
Yes! felt by the most careless, the most cynical; in the uncomfortable prescience of danger, the inner foreboding of guilt--the moral and mental torture endured by those who fight a protracted battle to gain the hardly won victory in themselves of right over wrong--in the thousand and one sudden appeals made without warning to that compass of a man's life, Conscience--and in those brilliant and startling impulses of generosity, bravery, and self-sacrifice which carry us on, heedless of consequences, to the performance of great and noble deeds, whose fame makes the whole world one resounding echo of glory--deeds that we wonder at ourselves even in the performance of them--acts of heroism in which mere life goes for nothing, and the Soul for a brief space is pre-eminent, obeying blindly the guiding influence of a something akin to itself, yet higher in the realms of Thought. There are no proofs as to why such things should
be; but that they are, is indubitable. The miracles of to-day are silent ones, and are worked in the heart and mind of man alone. Unbelief is nearly supreme in the world to-day. Were an angel to descend from heaven in the middle of Trafalgar Square, the crowd would think he had got himself up on pulleys and wires, and would try to discover his apparatus. Were he, in wrath, to cast destruction upon them, and with fire blazing from his wings, slay a thousand of them with the mere shaking of a pinion, those who were left alive would either say that a tremendous dynamite explosion had occurred, or that Trafalgar Square was built on an extinct volcano which had suddenly broken out into frightful activity. Anything rather than believe in angels--the nineteenth century protests against the possibility of their existence. It sees no miracles--it pooh-poohs the very enthusiasm that might work them.
"Give a positive sign," it says; "prove clearly that
what you say is true, and I, in spite of my Progress and Atom Theory, will
believe." The answer to such a request was spoken eighteen hundred
years and more ago. "A faithless and perverse generation asketh for a
sign, and no sign shall be given unto them."
Were I now to assert that a sign had been given to
me--to
me, as one out of the thousands who demand it--such daring assurance
on my
part would meet with the most strenuous opposition from all who peruse the
following pages; each person who reads having his own ideas on all
subjects, and naturally considering them to be the best if not the
only ideas worth anything. Therefore I wish it to be plainly
understood that in this book I personally advocate no theory of either
religion or philosophy; nor do I hold myself answerable for the opinions
expressed by any of my characters. My
aim throughout is to let facts speak for themselves. If they seem strange, unreal, even impossible, I can only say that it is open to others to follow, if so inclined, the same course which I pursued, and which obtained for me the remarkable experience I am about to relate.
Work was impossible; music, my one passion, intolerable; books became wearisome to my sight; and even a short walk in the open air brought with it such lassitude and exhaustion, that I soon grew to dislike the very thought of moving out of doors. In such a condition of health, medical aid became necessary; and a skilful and amiable physician, Dr. R--, of great repute in nervous ailments, attended me for many weeks, with but slight success. He was not to blame, poor man, for his failure to effect a cure. He had only one way of treatment, and he applied it to all his patients with more or less happy results. Some died, some recovered; it was a lottery on which my medical friend staked his reputation, and won. The patients who died were never heard of more--those who recovered sang the praises of their physician everywhere, and sent him gifts of silver plate and hampers of wine, to testify their gratitude.
His popularity was very great; his skill considered marvelous; and his inability to do me any good arose, I must perforce imagine, out of some defect or hidden obstinacy in my constitution, which was to him a new experience, and for which he was unprepared. Poor Dr. R--! How many bottles of your tastily prepared and expensive medicines have I not swallowed, in blind confidence and blinder ignorance of the offences I thus committed against all the principles of that Nature within me, which if left to itself, always heroically struggles to recover its own proper balance and effect its own cure; but which, if subjected to the experimental tests of various poisons or drugs, often loses strength in the unnatural contest and sinks exhausted, perhaps never to rise with actual vigour again. Baffled in his attempts to remedy my ailments, Dr. R-- at last resorted to the usual plan adopted by all physicians when their
medicines have no power. He recommended change of air and scene, and urged my leaving London, then dark with the fogs of a dreary winter, for the gaiety and sunshine and roses of the Riviera. The idea was not unpleasant to me, and I determined to take the advice proffered. Hearing of my intention, some American friends of mine, Colonel Everard and his charming young wife, decided to accompany me, sharing with me the expenses of the journey and hotel accommodation. We left London all together on a damp foggy evening, when the cold was so intense that it seemed to bite the flesh like the sharp teeth of an animal, and after two days' rapid journey, during which I felt my spirits gradually rising, and my gloomy forebodings vanishing slowly one by one, we arrived at Cannes, and put up at the Hôtel de L--. It was a lovely place, and most beautifully situated; the garden was a perfect wilderness of roses in full
bloom, and an avenue of orange-trees beginning to flower cast a delicate fragrance on the warm delicious air. Mrs. Everard was delighted.
"If you do not recover your health here," she said half
laughingly to me on the second morning, after our arrival, "I am
afraid your case is hopeless. What sunshine! What a balmy wind! It is
enough to make a cripple cast away his crutches and forget he was ever
lame. Don't you think so?"
I smiled in answer, but inwardly I sighed. Beautiful as the scenery, the
air, and the general surroundings were, I could not disguise from myself
that the temporary exhilaration of my feelings, caused by the novelty and
excitement of my journey to Cannes, was slowly but surely passing away. The
terrible apathy, against which I had fought for so many months, was again
creeping over me with its cruel and resistless force. I did my best to
struggle
against it; I walked, I rode, I laughed and chatted with Mrs. Everard and her husband, and forced myself into sociability with some of the visitors at the hotel, who were disposed to show us friendly attention. I summoned all my stock of will-power to beat back the insidious physical and mental misery that threatened to sap the very spring of my life; and in some of these efforts I partially succeeded. But it was at night that the terrors of my condition manifested themselves. Then sleep forsook my eyes; a dull throbbing weight of pain encircled my head like a crown of thorns; nervous terrors shook me from head to foot; fragments of my own musical compositions hummed in my ears with wearying persistence--fragments that always left me in a state of distressed conjecture; for I never could remember how they ended, and I puzzled myself vainly over crotchets and quavers that never would consent to arrange themselves in
any sort of finale. So the days went on; for Colonel Everard and his wife, those days were full of merriment, sight-seeing, and enjoyment. For me, though outwardly I appeared to share in the universal gaiety, they were laden with increasing despair and wretchedness; for I began to lose hope of ever recovering my once buoyant health and strength--and, what was even worse, I seemed to have utterly parted with all working ability. I was young, and up to within a few months, life had stretched brightly before me, with the prospect of a brilliant career. And now what was I? A wretched invalid--a burden to myself and to others--a broken spar flung with other fragments of shipwrecked lives on the great ocean of Time, there to be whirled away and forgotten. But a rescue was approaching; a rescue sudden and marvellous, of which, in my wildest fancies, I had never dreamed.
Staying in the same hotel with us was
a young Italian artist, Raffaello Cellini by name. His pictures were beginning to attract a great deal of notice, both in Paris and Rome: not only for their faultless drawing, but for their wonderfully exquisite colouring. So deep and warm and rich were the hues he transferred to his canvases, that others of his art, less fortunate in the management of the palette, declared he must have invented some foreign compound whereby he was enabled to deepen and brighten his colours for the time being; but that the effect was only temporary, and that his pictures, exposed to the air for some eight or ten years, would fade away rapidly, leaving only the traces of an indistinct blur. Others, more generous, congratulated him on having discovered the secrets of the old masters. In short, he was admired, condemned, envied, and flattered, all in a breath; while he himself, being of a singularly serene and unruffled disposition, worked away
incessantly, caring little or nothing for the world's praise or blame.
Cellini had a pretty suite of rooms in the Hôtel de L--, and
my
friends Colonel and Mrs. Everard fraternized with him very warmly. He was
by no means slow to respond to their overtures of friendship, and so it
happened that his studio became a sort of lounge for us, where we would
meet to have tea, to chat, to look at the pictures, or to discuss our plans
for future enjoyment. These visits to Cellini's studio, strange to
say, had
a remarkably soothing and calming effect upon my suffering nerves. The
lofty and elegant room, furnished with that "admired disorder"
and mixed luxuriousness peculiar to artists, with its heavily drooping
curtains, its glimpses of white marble busts and broken columns, its flash
and fragrance of flowers that bloomed in a tiny conservatory opening out
from the studio and leading to the garden, where a fountain bubbled
melodi-
ously--all this pleased me and gave me a curious, yet most welcome, sense of absolute rest. Cellini himself had a fascination for me, for exactly the same reason. As an example of this, I remember escaping from Mrs. Everard on one occasion, and hurrying to the most secluded part of the garden, in order to walk up and down alone in an endeavour to calm an attack of nervous agitation which had suddenly seized me. While thus pacing about in feverish restlessness, I saw Cellini approaching, his head bent as if in thought, and his hands clasped behind his back. As he drew near me, he raised his eyes--they were clear and darkly brilliant--he regarded me steadfastly with a kindly smile. Then lifting his hat with the graceful reverence peculiar to an Italian, he passed on, saying no word. But the effect of his momentary presence upon me was remarkable--it was electric. I was no longer agitated. Calmed, soothed, and almost
happy, I returned to Mrs. Everard, and entered into her plans for the day with so much alacrity that she was surprised and delighted.
"If you go on like this," she said, "you will be
perfectly well in a month."
I was utterly unable to account for the remedial influence Raffaello
Cellini's presence had upon me; but such as it was I could not but be
grateful for the respite it gave me from nervous suffering, and my now
daily visits to the artist's studio were a pleasure and a privilege
not to
be foregone. Moreover, I was never tired of looking at his pictures. His
subjects were all original, and some of them were very weird and fantastic.
One large picture particularly attracted me. It was entitled "Lords
of our Life and Death." Surrounded by rolling masses of clouds, some
silver-crested, some shot through with red flame, was depicted the World,
as a globe half in light, half in shade. Poised above
it was a great Angel, upon whose calm and noble face rested a mingled expression of deep sorrow, yearning pity, and infinite regret. Tears seemed to glitter on the drooping lashes of this sweet yet stern Spirit; and in his strong right hand he held a drawn sword--the sword of destruction--pointed for ever downward--to the fated globe at his feet. Beneath this Angel and the world he dominated was utter darkness--utter illimitable darkness. But above him the clouds were torn asunder, and through a transparent veil of light golden mist, a face of surpassing beauty was seen--a face on which youth, health, hope, love, and ecstatic joy all shone with ineffable radiance. It was the personification of Life--not Life as we know it, brief and full of care--but Life Immortal and Love Triumphant. Often and often I found myself standing before this masterpiece of Cellini's genius, gazing at it, not only with admiration, but with a
sense of actual comfort. One afternoon, while resting in my favourite low chair opposite the picture, I roused myself from a reverie, and turning to the artist, who was showing some water-colour sketches to Mrs. Everard, I said abruptly:
"Did you imagine that face of the Angel of Life, Signor Cellini,
or had you a model to copy from?"
He looked at me and smiled.
"It is a moderately good portrait of an existing original,"
he said.
"A woman's face then, I suppose? How very beautiful she must
be!"
"Actual Beauty is sexless," he replied, and was silent. The
expression of his face had become abstracted and dreamy, and he turned over
the sketches for Mrs. Everard with an air which showed his thoughts to be
far away from his occupation.
"And the Death Angel?" I went on. "Had you a model for
that also?"
This time a look of relief, almost of gladness, passed over his
features.
"No, indeed," he answered with ready frankness; "that
is entirely my own creation."
I was about to compliment him on the grandeur and force of his poetical
fancy, when he stopped me by a slight gesture of his hand.
"If you really admire the picture," he said, "pray do
not say so. If it is in truth a work of art, let it speak to you as art
only, and spare the poor workman who has called it into existence the shame
of having to confess that it is not above human praise. The only true
criticism of high art is silence--silence as grand as heaven
itself."
He spoke with energy, and his dark eyes flashed. Amy (Mrs. Everard)
looked at him curiously.
"Say now!" she exclaimed, with a ringing laugh.
"Aren't you a little bit eccentric, signor? You talk like a
long-
haired prophet! I never met an artist before who couldn't stand praise; it is generally a matter of wonder to me to notice how much of that intoxicating sweet they can swallow without reeling. But you're an exception, I must admit. I congratulate you!"
Cellini bowed gaily in response to the half-friendly, half-mocking
curtsey she gave him, and, turning to me again, said:
"I have a favour to ask of you, mademoiselle. Will you sit to me
for your portrait?"
"I!" I exclaimed, with astonishment. "Signor Cellini,
I cannot imagine why you should wish so to waste your valuable time. There
is nothing in my poor physiognomy worthy of your briefest
attention."
"You must pardon me, mademoiselle," he replied gravely,
"if I presume to differ from you. I am exceedingly anxious to
transfer your features to my canvas. I
am aware that you are not in strong health, and that your face has not that roundness and colour formerly habitual to it. But I am not an admirer of the milk-maid type of beauty. Everywhere I seek for intelligence, for thought, for inward refinement--in short, mademoiselle, you have the face of one whom the inner soul consumes, and, as such, may I plead again with you to give me a little of your spare time? You will not regret it, I assure you."
These last words were uttered in a lower tone and with singular
impressiveness. I rose from my seat and looked at him steadily; he returned
me glance for glance. A strange thrill ran through me, followed by that
inexplicable sensation of absolute calm that I had before experienced. I
smiled--I could not help smiling.
"I will come to-morrow," I said.
"A thousand thanks, mademoiselle! Can you be here at
noon?"
I looked inquiringly at Amy, who clapped her hands with delighted
enthusiasm.
"Of course! Any time you like, signor. We will arrange our
excursions so that they shall not interfere with the sittings. It will be
most interesting to watch the picture growing day by day. What will you
call it, signor? By some fancy title?"
"It will depend on its appearance when completed," he
replied, as he threw open the doors of the studio and bowed us out with his
usual ceremonious politeness.
"Au revoir, madame! À demain, mademoiselle!" and the
violet-velvet curtains of the potière
fell softly behind us as we made our exit.
"Is there not something strange about that young man?" said
Mrs. Everard, as we walked through the long gallery of the Hôtel de
L-- back to our own rooms. "Something fiendish or angelic, or a
little of both qualities mixed up?"
"I think he is what people term peculiar, when they
fail to understand the poetical vagaries of genius," I replied.
"He is certainly very uncommon."
"Well!" continued my friend meditatively, as she
contemplated her pretty mignonne face and graceful figure in a long mirror
placed attractively in a corner of the hall through which we were passing;
"all I can say is that I wouldn't let him paint my
portrait if he were to ask ever so! I should be scared to death. I wonder
you. being so nervous, were not afraid of him."
"I thought you liked him," I said.
"So I do. So does my husband. He's awfully handsome and
clever,
and all that--but his conversation! There now, my dear, you
must own he is sightly queer. Why, who but a
lunatic would say that the only criticism of art is silence? Isn't
that
utter rubbish?"
"The only true criticism," I corrected her
gently.
"Well, it's all the same. How can there be any criticism at
all in
silence? According to his idea, when we admire anything very much we ought
to go round with long faces and gags on our mouths. Oscar Wilde himself was
never so ridiculous! And what was that dreadful thing he said to
you?"
"I don't quite understand you," I answered; "I
cannot
remember his saying anything dreadful."
"Oh, I have it now," continued Amy with rapidity; "it
was awful! He said you had the face of one whom the soul
consumes. You know that was most horribly mystical. And when he said
it be looked--ghastly! What did he mean by it, I wonder?"
I made no answer; but I thought I knew. I changed the conversation as
soon as possible, and my volatile American friend was soon absorbed in a
discussion
on dress and jewellery. That night was a blessed one for me; I was free from all suffering, and slept as calmly as a child, while in my dreams the face of Cellini's "Angel of Life" smiled at me, and seemed to suggest peace.
he ever walked on the earth. Under his protection the loveliest and loneliest woman that ever lived would have been perfectly safe--as safe as though she were shut up, like the princes in the fairy-tale, in a brazen tower, of which only an undiscoverable serpent possessed the key. When I arrived, the rooms were deserted save for the presence of a magnificent Newfoundland dog, who, as I entered, rose, and shaking his shaggy body, sat down before me and offered me his huge paw, wagging his tail in the most friendly manner all the while. I at once responded to his cordial greeting, and as I stroked his noble head, I wondered where the animal had come from; for though we had visited Signor Cellini's studio every day, there had been no sign or mention of this stately, brown-eyed, four-footed companion. I seated myself, and the dog immediately lay down at my feet, every now and then looking up at me with an
affectionate glance and a renewed wagging of his tail. Glancing around the well-known room, I noticed that the picture I admired so much was veiled by a curtain of Oriental stuff, in which were embroidered threads of gold mingled with silks of various brilliant hues. On the working easel was a large square canvas, already prepared, as I supposed, for my features to be traced thereon. It was an exceedingly warm morning, and though the windows as well as the glass doors of the conservatory were wide open, I found the air of the studio very oppressive. I perceived on the table a finely wrought decanter of Venetian glass, in which clear water sparkled temptingly. Rising from my chair, I took an antique silver goblet from the mantlepiece, filled it with cool fluid, and was about to drink, when the cup was suddenly snatched from my hand, and the voice of Cellini, changed from its usual softness to a tone both imperious and commanding, startled me.
"Do not drink that," he said; "you must not! You dare
not! I forbid you!"
I looked up at him in mute astonishment. His face was very pale, and his
large, dark eyes shone with suppressed excitement. Slowly my
self-possession returned to me, and I said calmly:
"You forbid me, signor? Surely you forget yourself.
What harm have I done in helping myself to a simple glass of water in your
studio? You are not usually so inhospitable."
While I spoke his manner changed, the colour returned to his face, and
his eyes softened--he smiled.
"Forgive me, mademoiselle, for my
brusquerie. It is true I forgot myself for a
moment, But you were in danger, and--"
"In danger!" I exclaimed incredulously.
"Yes, mademoiselle. This," and he held up the Venetian
decanter to the light,
"is not water simply. If you will observe it now with the sunshine beating full against it, I think you will perceive peculiarities in it that will assure you of my veracity."
I looked as he bade me, and saw, to my surprise, that the fluid was
never actually still for a second. A sort of internal bubbling seemed to
work in its centre, and curious specks and lines of crimson and gold
flashed through it from time to time.
"What is it?" 1 asked; adding with a half-smile, "are
you the possessor of a specimen of the far-famed
Aqua Tofana?"
Cellini placed the decanter carefully on a shelf, and I noticed that he
chose a particular spot for it, where the rays of the sun could fall
perpendicularly upon the vessel containing it. Then turning to me, he
replied:
"Aqua Tofana, mademoiselle, is a
deadly poison, known to the ancients
and also many learned chemists of our day. It is a clear and colourless liquid, but it is absolutely still--as still as a stagnant pool. What I have just shown you is not poison, but quite the reverse. I will prove this to you at once." And taking a tiny liqueur glass from a side-table, he filled it with the strange fluid and drank it off, carefully replacing the stopper in the decanter.
"But, Signor Cellini," I urged, "if it is so harmless,
why did you forbid my tasting it? Why did you say there was danger for me
when I was about to drink it?"
"Because, mademoiselle, for you it would be
dangerous. Your health is weak, your nerves unstrung. That elixir is a
powerful vivifying tonic, acting with great rapidity on the entire system,
and rushing through the veins with the swiftness of
electricity. I am accustomed to it; it is my daily medicine.
But I was brought to it by slow and almost
imper-
ceptible degrees. A single teaspoonful of that fluid, mademoiselle, administered to anyone not prepared to receive it, would be instant death, though its actual use is to vivify and strengthen human life. You understand now why I said you were in danger?"
"I understand," I replied, though in sober truth I was
mystified and puzzled.
"And you forgive my seeming rudeness?"
"Oh, certainly! But you have aroused my curiosity. I should like
to know more about this strange medicine of yours."
"You shall know more if you wish," said Cellini, his usual
equable humor and good spirits now quite restored. "You shall know
everything; but not to-day. We have too little time. I have not yet
commenced your picture. And I forgot--you were thirsty, and I was, as
you
said, inhospitable. You must permit me to repair my fault."
And with a courteous salute he left the room, to return almost
immediately with a tumbler full of some fragrant, golden-coloured liquid,
in which lumps of ice glittered refreshingly. A few loose rose-leaves were
scattered on the top of this dainty-looking beverage.
"You may enjoy this without fear," said he, smiling;
"it will do you good. It is an Eastern wine, unknown to trade, and
therefore untampered with. I see you are looking at the rose-leaves on the
surface. That is a Persian custom, and I think a pretty one. They float
away from your lips in the action of drinking, and therefore they are no
obstacle."
I tasted the wine and found it delicious, soft and mellow as summer
moonlight. While I sipped it, the big Newfoundland, who had stretched
himself in a couchant posture on the
hearth-rug ever since Cellini had first entered the room, rose and walked
majestically to my side and
rubbed his head caressingly against the folds of my dress.
"Leo has made friends with you, I see," said Cellini.
"You should take that as a great compliment, for he is most
particular in his choice of acquaintance, and most steadfast when he has
once made up his mind. He has more decision of character than many a
statesman."
"How is it we have never seen him before?" I inquired.
"You never told us you had such a splendid companion.
"I am not his master," replied the artist. "He only
favours me with a visit occasionally. He arrived from Paris last night, and
came straight here, sure of his welcome. He does not confide his plans to
me, but I suppose he will return to his home when he thinks it advisable.
He knows his own business best!"
I laughed.
"What a clever dog! Does he journey on foot, or does he take the
train?"
"I believe he generally patronizes the railway. All the officials
know him, and he gets into the guard's van as a matter of course.
Sometimes
he will alight at a station en route, and
walk the rest of the way, But if he is lazily inclined, he does not stir
till the train reaches its destination. At the end of every six months or
so, the railway authorities send the bill of Leo's journeyings in to
his
master, when it is always settled without difficulty."
"And who is his master?" I ventured to ask.
Cellini's face grew serious and absorbed, and his eyes were full of
a
grave contemplation as he answered:
"His master, mademoiselle, is my
master--one who among men, is supremely intelligent; among teachers,
absolutely unselfish; among thinkers, purely impersonal; among friends,
inflexibly faithful. To him I owe everything--even life itself. For
him no
sacrifice, no extreme devotion,
would be too great, could I hope thereby to show my gratitude. But he is as far above human thanks or human rewards as the sun is above the sea. Not here, not now, dare I say to him, My friend, behold how much I love thee! such language would be all too poor and unmeaning; but hereafter--who knows?--" and he broke off abruptly with a half-sigh. Then, as if forcing himself to change the tenor of his thoughts, he continued in a kind tone: "But, mademoiselle, I am wasting your time, and am taking no advantage of the favour you have shown me by your presence to-day. Will you seat yourself here?" and he placed an elaborately carved oaken settee in one corner of the studio, opposite his own easel. "I should be sorry to fatigue you at all," he went on; "do you care for reading?"
I answered eagerly in the affirmative, and he handed me a volume bound
in curiously embossed leather, and
orna-
mented with silver clasps. It was entitled "Letters of a Dead Musician."
"You will find clear gems of thought, passion, and feeling in this
book," said Cellini; "and being a musician yourself, you will
know how to appreciate them. The writer was one of those geniuses whose
work the world repays with ridicule and contempt. There is no fate more
enviable!"
I looked at the artist with some surprise as I took the volume he
recommended, and seated myself in the position he indicated; and while he
busied himself in arranging the velvet curtains behind me as a background,
I said:
"Do you really consider it enviable, Signor Cellini, to receive
the world's ridicule and contempt?"
"I do indeed," he replied, "since it is a certain
proof that the world does not understand you. To achieve something that is
above human comprehension, that
is greatness. To have the serene sublimity of the God-man Christ, and consent to be crucified by a gibing world that was fated to be afterwards civilized and dominated by His teachings, what can be more glorious? To have the magnificent versatility of a Shakespeare, who was scarcely recognised in his own day, but whose gifts were so vast and various that the silly multitudes wrangle over his very identity and the authenticity of his plays to this hour--what can be more triumphant? To know that one's own soul can, if strengthened and encouraged by the force of will, rise to a supreme altitude of power--is not that sufficient to compensate for the little whining cries of the common herd of men and women who have forgotten whether they ever had a spiritual spark in them, and who, straining up to see the light of genius that burns too fiercely for their earth-dimmed eyes, exclaim: 'We see nothing, therefore there
can be nothing.' Ah, mademoiselle, the knowledge of one's own inner Self-Existence is a knowledge surpassing all the marvels of art and science!"
Cellini spoke with enthusiasm, and his countenance seemed illumined by
the eloquence that warmed his speech. I listened with a sort of dreamy
satisfaction; the usual sensation of utter rest that I always experienced
in this man's presence was upon me, and I watched him with interest as
he
drew with quick and facile touch the outline of my features on his
canvas.
Gradually he became more and more absorbed in his work; he glanced at me
from time to time, but did not speak, and his pencil worked rapidly. I
turned over the "Letters of a Dead Musician" with some
curiosity. Several passages struck me as being remarkable for their
originality and depth of thought; but what particularly impressed me as I
read on, was the tone of absolute joy and
content-
ment that seemed to light up every page. There were no wailings over disappointed ambition, no regrets for the past, no complaints, no criticism, no word for or against the brothers of his art; everything was treated from a lofty standpoint of splendid equality, save when the writer spoke of himself, and then he became the humblest of the humble, yet never abject, and always happy.
"O Music!" he wrote, "Music, thou Sweetest Spirit of
all that serve God, what have I done that thou shouldst so often visit me?
It is not well, O thou Lofty and Divine one, that thou shouldst stoop so
low as to console him who is the unworthiest of all thy servants. For I am
too feeble to tell the world how soft is the sound of thy rustling pinions,
how tender is the sighing breath of thy lips, how beyond all things
glorious is the vibration of thy lightest whisper! Remain aloft, thou
Choicest Essence of the Creator's
Voice, remain in that pure and cloudless ether, where alone thou art fitted to dwell. My touch must desecrate thee, my voice affright thee. Suffice it to thy servant, O Belovëd, to dream of thee and die!"
Meeting Cellini's glance as I finished reading these lines, I
asked:
"Did you know the author of this book, signor?"
"I knew him well," he replied; "he was one of the
gentlest souls that ever dwelt in human clay. As ethereal in his music as
John Keats in his poetry, he was one of those creatures born of dreams and
rapture that rarely visit this planet. Happy fellow! What a death was
his!"
"How did he die?" I inquired.
Coeli
"He was playing the organ in one of the great churches of Rome on
the day of the Feast of the Virgin. A choir of finely trained voices sang
to his accompaniment, his own glorious setting of the Regina
Page 45
I speculated vaguely on the meaning of these last words, but I felt
disinclined to ask any more questions, and Cellini,
probably seeing this, worked on at his sketch without further converse. My eyes were growing heavy, and the printed words in the Dead Musician's Letters danced before my sight like active little black demons with thin waving arms and legs. A curious yet not unpleasant drowsiness stole over me, in which I heard the humming of the bees at the open window, the singing of the birds, and the voices of people in the hotel gardens, all united in one continuous murmur that seemed a long way off. I saw the sunshine and the shadow--I saw the majestic Leo stretched full length near the easel, and the slight supple form of Raffaello Cellini standing out in bold outline against the light; yet all seemed shifting and mingling strangely into a sort of wide radiance in which there was nothing but varying tints of colour. And could it have been my fancy, or did I actually see the curtain fall gradually away from my
favourite picture, just enough for the face of the "Angel of Life" to be seen smiling down upon me? I rubbed my eyes violently, and started to my feet at the sound of the artist's voice.
"I have tried your patience enough for to-day," he said, and
his words sounded muffled, as though they were being spoken through a thick
wall. "You can leave me now if you like."
I stood before him mechanically, still holding the book he had lent me
clasped in my hand. Irresolutely I raised my eyes towards the "Lords
of our Life and Death." It was closely veiled. I had then experienced
an optical illusion. I forced myself to speak--to smile--to put
back the
novel sensations that were overwhelming me.
"I think," I said, and I heard myself speak as though I were
somebody else at a great distance off--"I think, Signor Cellini,
your
Eastern wine has been too
potent for me. My head is quite heavy, and I feel dazed."
"It is mere fatigue and the heat of the day," he replied,
quietly. "I am sure you are not too dazed, as you call
it, to see your favourite picture, are you?"
I trembled. Was not that picture veiled? I looked--there was no
curtain
at all, and the faces of the two Angels shone out of the canvas with
intense brilliancy! Strange to say, I felt no surprise at this
circumstance, which, had it occurred a moment previously, would have
unquestionably astonished and perhaps alarmed me. The mistiness of my brain
suddenly cleared; I saw everything plainly; I heard distinctly; and when I
spoke, the tone of my voice sounded as full and ringing as it had
previously seemed low and muffled. I gazed steadfastly at the painting, and
replied, half smiling:
"I should be indeed 'far gone,' as the saying is, if I
could not see that, signor! It is
truly your masterpiece. Why have you never exhibited it?"
"Can you ask that?" he said with impressive
emphasis, at the same time drawing nearer and fixing upon me the
penetrating glace of his dark fathomless eyes. It then seemed to me that
some great inner force compelled me to answer this half inquiry, in words
of which I had taken no previous thought, and which, as I uttered them,
conveyed no special meaning to my own ears.
"Of course," I said slowly, as if I were repeating a lesson,
"you would not so betray the high trust committed to your
charge."
"Well said!" replied Cellini; "you are fatigued,
mademoiselle. Au revoir! Till to-morrow!" And, throwing open the door
of his studio, he stood aside for me to pass out. I looked at him
inquiringly.
"Must I come at the same time to-morrow?" I asked.
"If you please."
I passed my hand across my forehead perplexedly. I felt I had something
else to say before I left him. He waited patiently, holding back with one
hand the curtains of the portière.
"I think I had a parting word to give you," I said at last,
meeting his gaze frankly; "but I seem to have forgotten what it
was."
Cellini smiled gravely.
"Do not trouble to think about it, mademoiselle. I am unworthy the
effort on your part."
A flash of vivid light crossed my eyes for a second, and I exclaimed
eagerly:
"I remember now! it was 'Dieu vous
garde,' signor!"
He bent his head reverentially.
"Merci mille fois, mademoiselle! Dieu vous garde--vous aussi.
Au
revoir."
And clasping my hand with a light yet friendly pressure, he closed the
door of his
room behind me. Once alone in the passage, the sense of high elation and contentment that had just possessed me began gradually to decrease. I did not become actually dispirited, but a languid feeling of weariness oppressed me, and my limbs ached as though I had walked incessantly for many miles. I went straight to my own room. I consulted my watch; it was half-past one, the hour at which the hotel luncheon was usually served. Mrs. Everard had evidently not returned from her drive. I did not care to attend the table d'hôte alone; besides, I had no inclination to eat. I drew down the window-blinds to shut out the brilliancy of the beautiful southern sunlight, and throwing myself on my bed I determined to rest quietly till Amy came back. I had brought the "Letters of a Dead Musician" away with me from Cellini's studio, and I began to read, intending to keep myself awake by this means. But I found I
could not fix my attention on the page, nor could I think at all connectedly. Little by little my eyelids closed; the book dropped from my nerveless hand; and in a few minutes I was in a deep and tranquil slumber.
with the flight and song of birds. Then comes a sound of waters; the riotous rushing of a torrent unchecked, that leaps sheer down from rocks a thousand feet high, thundering forth the praises of its own beauty as it tosses in the air triumphant crowns of silver spray. How the living diamonds within it shift, and change, and sparkle! Fain would I linger to watch this magnificence; but the coil of roses still unwinds before me, and the fairy voices still cry, "Follow!" I press on. The trees grow thicker; the songs of the birds cease; the light around me grows pale and subdued. In the far distance I see a golden crescent that seems suspended by some invisible thread in the air. Is it the young moon? No; for as I gaze it breaks apart into a thousand points of vivid light like wandering stars. These meet; they blaze into letters of fire. I strain my dazzled eyes to spell out their meaning. They form
one word--HELIOBAS. I read it. I utter it aloud. The rose-chain breaks at my feet, and disappears. The fairy voices die away on my ear. There is utter silence, utter darkness, save where that one NAME writes itself in burning gold on the blackness of the heavens.
The interior of a vast cathedral is opened before my gaze. The lofty
white marble columns support a vaulted roof painted in fresco, from which
are suspended a thousand lamps that emit a mild and steady effulgence. The
great altar is illuminated; the priests, in glittering raiment, pace slowly
to and fro. The large voice of the organ murmuring to itself awhile, breaks
forth in a shout of melody; and a boy's clear, sonorous treble tones
pierce
the incense-laden air.
"Credo"--and the silver,
trumpet-like notes fall from the immense height of the building like a bell
ringing in a pure
atmosphere--"Credo in unum Deum; Patrem omnipotentum, factorem coeli et terræ, visibilium omnium et invisibilium."
The cathedral echoes with answering voices; and, involuntarily kneeling,
I follow the words of the grand chant. I hear the music slacken; the notes
of rejoicing change to a sobbing and remorseful wail; the organ shudders
like a forest of pines in a tempest, "Crucifixus
etiam pro nobis; passus et sepultus est." A darkness grows
up around me; my senses swim. The music altogether ceases; but a brilliant
radiance streams through a side-door of the church, and twenty maidens,
clad in white and crowned with myrtle, pacing two by two, approach me. They
gaze at me with joyous eyes. "Art thou also one of us?" they
murmur: then they pass onward to the altar, where again the lights are
glimmering. I watch them with eager interest; I hear them uplift their
fresh young voices in prayer and praise. One
of them, whose deep blue eyes are full of lustrous tenderness, leaves her companions, and softly approaches me. She holds a pencil and tablet in her hand.
"Write!" she says, in a thrilling whisper; "and write
quickly! for whatsoever thou shalt now inscribe is the clue to thy
destiny."
I obey her mechanically, impelled not by my own will, but by some
unknown powerful force acting within and around me. I trace upon the tablet
one word only; it is a name that startles me even while I myself write it
down--HELIOBAS. Scarcely have I written it when a thick cloud veils
the
cathedral from my sight; the fair maiden vanishes, and all is again
still.
I am listening to the accents of a grave melodious voice, which, from
its slow and measured tones, would seem to be in the action of reading or
reciting aloud. I see
a small room sparely furnished, and at a table covered with books and manuscripts is seated a man of noble features and commanding presence. He is in the full prime of life; his dark hair has no thread of silver to mar its luxuriance; his face is unwrinkled; his forehead unfurrowed by care; his eyes, deeply sunk beneath his shelving brows, are of a singularly clear and penetrating blue, with an absorbed and watchful look in them, like the eyes of one accustomed to gaze far out at sea. His hand rests on the open pages of a massive volume; he is reading, and his expression is intent and earnest--as if he were uttering his own thoughts aloud, with the conviction and force of an orator who knows the truth of which he speaks:
"The Universe is upheld solely by the Law of Love. A majestic
invisible Protectorate governs the winds, the tides, the incoming and
outgoing of the seasons, the birth of the flowers, the growth of
forests, the outpourings of the sunlight, the silent glittering of the stars. A wide illimitable Beneficence embraces all creation. A vast Eternal Pity exists for all sorrow, all sin. He who first swung the planets in the air, and bade them revolve till Time shall be no more--He, the Fountain-Head of Absolute Perfection, is no deaf, blind, capricious, or remorseless Being. To Him the death of the smallest singing-bird is as great or as little as the death of a world's emperor. To Him the timeless withering of an innocent flower is as pitiful as the decay of a mighty nation. An infant's first prayer to Him is heard with as tender a patience as the united petitions of thousands of worshippers. For in everything and around everything, from the sun to a grain of sand, He hath a portion, small or great, of His own most Perfect Existence. Should He hate His Creation, He must perforce hate Himself; and that Love
should hate Love is an impossibility. Therefore He loves all his work; and as Love, to be perfect, must contain Pity, Forgiveness, and Forbearance, so doth He pity, forgive, and forbear. Shall a mere man deny himself for the sake of his child or friend? and shall the Infinite Love refuse to sacrifice itself--yea, even to as immense a humility as its greatness is immeasurable? Shall we deny those merciful attributes to God which we acknowledge in His creature, Man? O my Soul, rejoice that thou hast pierced the veil of the Beyond; that thou hast seen and known the Truth; that to thee is made clear the Reason of Life, and the Recompense of Death: yet while rejoicing, grieve that thou art not fated to draw more than a few souls to the comfort thou hast thyself attained!"
Fascinated by the speaker's voice and countenance I listen,
straining my
ears to catch every word that falls from his lips.
He rises; he stands erect; he stretches out his hands as though in solemn entreaty.
"Azùl!" he exclaims, "Messenger of my fate,
thou who art a guiding spirit of the elements, thou who ridest the
storm-cloud and sittest throned on the edge of the lightning! Ay that
electric spark within me, of which thou art the Twin Flame, I ask of thee
to send me this one more poor human soul; let me charge its unrestfulness
into repose, its hesitation to certainty, its weakness to strength, its
weary imprisonment to the light of liberty! Azùl!"
His voice ceases, his extended hands fall slowly, and gradually,
gradually he turns his whole figure towards me. He faces
me--his intense eves burn through me--his strange yet tender
smile absorbs
me. Yet I am full of unreasoning terror; I tremble--I strive to turn
away
from that searching and magnetic gaze. His deep, melodious
tones again ring softly on the silence. He addresses me.
"Fearest thou me, my child? Am I not thy friend? Knowest thou not
the name of HELIOBAS?"
At this word I start and gasp for breath; I would shriek, but cannot,
for a heavy hand seems to close my mouth, and an immense weight presses me
down. I struggle violently with this unseen Power--little by little I
gain
the advantage. One effort more! I win the victory--I wake!
"Sakes alive!" says a familiar voice; "you
have had a spell of sleep! I got home about two, nearly
starving, and I found you here curled up 'in a rosy infant
slumber,' as the song says.--So I hunted up the Colonel and had
lunch, for it seemed a sin to disturb you. It's just struck four.
Shall we
have some tea up here?"
I looked at Mrs. Everard, and smiled assent. So I had been sleeping for
two
hours and a half, and I had evidently been dreaming all the time; but my dreams had been as vivid as realities. I felt still rather drowsy, but I was thoroughly rested and in a state of delicious tranquility. My friend rang the bell for tea, and then turned round and surveyed me with a sort of wonder.
"What have you done to yourself, child?" she said at last,
approaching the bed where I lay, and staring fixedly at me.
"What do you mean?"
"Why, you look a different creature. When I left you this morning
you were pale and haggard, a sort of die-away delicate invalid; now your
eyes are bright, and your cheeks have quite a lovely colour in them; your
lips, too, are the right tint. But perhaps," and here she looked
alarmed--"perhaps you've got the fever?"
"I don't think so," I said amusedly, and I stretched
out my
hand for her to feel.
"No, you haven't," she continued, evidently reassured;
"your palm is moist and cool, and your pulse is regular. Well, you
look spry, anyhow. I shouldn't wonder if you made up your mind to have
a
dance to-night."
"Dance?" I queried. "What dance, and where?"
"Well, Madame Didier, that jolly little furbelowed Frenchwoman
with whom I was driving just now, has got up a regular party
to-night--"
"Hans Breitmann gib a barty?" I interposed, with a mock
solemn air of inquiry.
Amy laughed.
"Well, yes, it may be that kind of thing, for all I
know to the contrary. Anyhow, she's hired the band and ordered a
right-down
elegant supper. Half the folks in the hotel are going, and a lot of
outsiders have got invitations. She asked if we couldn't
come--myself, the
Colonel, and you. I said
I could answer for myself and the Colonel, but not for you, as you were an invalid. But if you keep on looking as you do at present, no one will believe that there's anything the matter with you.--Tea, Alphonse!" This to a polite waiter, who was our special attendant, and who just then knocked at the door to know "madame's" orders.
Utterly disbelieving what my friend said in regard to my improved
appearance, I rose from the bed and went to the dressing-table to look in
the mirror and judge for myself. I almost recoiled from my own reflection,
so great was my surprise. The heavy marks under my eyes, the lines of pain
that had been for months deepening in my forehead, the plaintive droop of
the mouth that had given me such an air of ill-health and anxiety--all
were
gone as if by magic. I saw a rose-tinted complexion, a pair of laughing,
lustrous eyes, and, altogether, such a
happy, mirthful young face smiled back at me, that I half doubted whether it was indeed myself I saw.
"There now!" cried Amy in triumph, watching me as I pushed
my clustering hair from my brows, and examined myself more intently.
"Did I not tell you so? The change in you is marvelous! I know what
it is. You have been getting better unconsciously to yourself in this
lovely air and scene, and the long afternoon sleep you've just had has
completed the cure."
I smiled at her enthusiasm, but was forced to admit that she was right
as far as my actual looks went. No one would believe that I was, or ever
had been, ill. In silence I loosened my hair and began to brush it and put
it in order before the mirror, and as I did so my thoughts were very busy.
I remembered distinctly all that had happened in the studio of Raffaello
Cellini, and still more was I able to recall every detail of the
three dreams that had visited me in my slumber. The name, too, that had been the key-note of them all I also remembered, but some instinct forbade me to utter it aloud. Once I thought, "Shall I take a pencil and write it down lest I forget it?" and the same instinct said "No." Amy's voluble chatter ran on like the sound of a rippling brook all the time I thus meditated over the occurrences of the day.
"Say, child!" she exclaimed; "will you go to the
dance?"
"Certainly I will, with pleasure," I answered, and indeed I
felt as if I should thoroughly enjoy it.
"Brava! It will be real fun. There are no end of foreign titles
coming, I believe. The Colonel's a bit grumpy about it; he always is
when
he has to wear his dress suit. He just hates it. That man hasn't a
particle
of vanity. He looks handsomer in his evening clothes than in
anything else, and yet he doesn't see it. But tell me," and her pretty face became serious with a true feminine anxiety, "what ever will you wear? You've bought no ball fixings, have you?"
I finished twisting up the last coil of my hair, and turned and kissed
her affectionately. She was the most sweet-tempered and generous of women,
and she would have placed any one of her elaborate costumes at my disposal
had I expressed the least desire in that direction. I answered:
"No, dear; I certainly have no regular ball 'fixings,'
for I never expected to dance here, or anywhere for that matter. I did not
bring the big trunks full of Parisian toilettes that you indulge in, you
spoilt bride! Still I have something that may do. In fact it will have to
do."
"What is it? Have I seen it? Do show!" and her curiosity was
unappeasable.
The discreet Alphonse tapped at the door again just at this moment.
"Entrez!" I answered; and our tea, prepared with the
tempting nicety peculiar to the Hôtel de L--, appeared. Alphonse
set
the tray down with his usual artistic flourish, and produced a small note
from his vest-pocket.
"For mademoiselle," he said with a bow; and as he handed it
to me, his eyes opened wide in surprise. He too, perceived the change in my
appearance. But he was dignity itself, and instantly suppressed his
astonishment into the polite impassiveness of a truly accomplished waiter,
and gliding from the room on the points of his toes, as was his usual
custom, he disappeared. The note was from Cellini, and ran as follows:
"If mademoiselle will be so
good as to refrain from choosing any flowers for her toilette this evening,
she will confer a favour on her humble friend and servant,
"Raffaello
Cellini."
I handed it to Amy, who was evidently burning with inquisitiveness to
know its contents.
"Didn't I say he was a queer young man?" she exclaimed,
as
she perused the missive attentively. "This is only his way of saying
that he means to send you some flowers himself. But what puzzles me is to
think how he could possibly know you were going to make any special
'toilette' this evening. It is really very mysterious when I
come to think of it, for Madame Didier said plainly that she would not ask
Cellini to the dance till she saw him at the table
d'hôte to-night."
"Perhaps Alphonse has told him all about it," I
suggested.
My friend's countenance brightened.
"Of course! That is it; and Mr. Cellini takes it for granted that
a girl of your age would not be likely to refuse a dance. Still there is
something odd about it, too. By-the-bye, I forgot to ask you how the
picture got on?"
"Oh, very well, I believe," I replied, evasively.
"Signor Cellini only made a slight outline sketch as a
beginning."
"And was it like you?--a really good resemblance?"
"I really did not examine it closely enough to be able to
judge."
"What a demure young person you are!" laughed Mrs. Everard.
"Now, I should have rushed straight up to the easel and
examined every line of what he was doing. You are a model of discretion,
really! I shan't be anxious about leaving you alone any more. But
about
your dress for to-night. Let me see it, there's a good
girl."
I opened my trunk and took out a robe of ivory-tinted crêpe. It
was made with almost severe simplicity, and was unadorned, save by a soft
ruffle of old Mechlin lace round the neck and sleeves. Amy examined it
critically.
"Now, you would have looked perfectly
ghastly in this last night, when you were as pale and hollow-eyed as a sick nun; but to-night," and she raised her eyes to my face, "I believe you will do. Don't you want the bodice cut lower?"
"No, thanks!" I said smiling. "I will leave that to
the portly dowagers--they will expose neck enough for half-a-dozen
other
women."
My friend laughed.
"Do as you like," she returned; "only I see your gown
has short sleeves, and I thought you might like a square neck instead of
that little simple Greek round. But perhaps it's better as it is. The
stuff
is lovely; where did you get it?"
"At one of the London emporiums of Eastern art," I answered.
"My dear, your tea is getting cold."
She laid the dress on the bed, and in doing so, perceived the
antique-looking book with the silver clasps which I had left there.
"What's this?" she asked, turning it round to discover
its
name. "'Letters of a Dead Musician!' What a shivery
title! It suggests the 'Fat Boy' in 'Pickwick,' who
said, 'I want to make your flesh creep.' Is it
that kind of entertaining reading?"
"Not at all," I replied, as I leaned comfortably back in an
easy-chair and sipped my tea. "It is a very scholarly, poetical, and
picturesque work. Signor Cellini lent it to me; the author was a friend of
his."
Amy looked at me with a knowing and half-serious expression.
"Say now--take care, take care! Aren't you and Cellini
getting to
be rather particular friends--something a little beyond the Platonic,
eh?"
This notion struck me as so absurd that I laughed heartily. Then,
without pausing for one instant to think what I was saying, I answered with
amazing readiness and frankness, considering that I really knew nothing
about it:
"Why, my dear, Rafaello Cellini is betrothed, and he is a most
devoted lover."
A moment after I had uttered this assertion I was surprised at myself.
What authority had I for saying that Cellini was betrothed? What did I know
about it? Confused, I endeavoured to find some means of retracting this
unfounded and rash remark, but no words of explanation would come to my
lips that had been so ready and primed to deliver what might be, for all I
knew, a falsehood. Amy did not perceive my embarrassment. She was pleased
and interested at the idea of Cellini's being in love.
"Really!" she exclaimed, "it makes him a more romantic
character than ever! Fancy his telling you that he was betrothed! How
delightful! I must ask him all about his chosen fair one. But I'm
positively thankful it isn't you, for I'm sure
he's just a
leetle bit off his head. Even this book he has lent you looks
like
a wizard's property;" and she fluttered the leaves of the "Dead Musician's" volume, turning them rapidly over in search of something attractive. Suddenly she paused and cried out: "Why, this is right-down awful! He must have been a regular madman! Just listen!" and she read aloud:
"'How mighty are the Kingdoms of the Air! How vast they
are--how densely populated--how glorious are their
destinies--how
all-powerful and wise are their inhabitants! They possess everlasting
health and beauty--their movements are music--their glances are
light--they
cannot err in their laws or judgements, for existence is love. Thrones,
principalities and powers are among them, yet all are equal. Each one has a
different duty to perform, yet all their labours are lofty. But what a fate
is ours on this low earth? For, from the cradle to the grave, we are
watched by these
spiritual spectators--watched with unflinching interest, unhesitating regard. O Angelic Spirits, what is there in the poor and shabby spectacle of human life to attract your mighty Intelligences? Sorrow, sin, pride, shame, ambition, failure, obstinacy, ignorance, selfishness, forgetfulness--enough to make ye veil your radiant faces in unpierceable clouds to hide for ever the sight of so much crime and misery. Yet if there be the faintest, feeblest effort in our souls to answer to the call of your voices, to rise above the earth by force of the same will that pervades your destinies, how the sound of great rejoicing permeates those wide continents ye inhabit, like a wave of thunderous music; and ye are glad, Blessed Spirits!--glad with a gladness beyond that of your own lives, to feel and to know that some vestige, however fragile, is spared from the general wreck of selfish and unbelieving Humanity. Truly we work under the shadow of a "cloud of
witnesses." Disperse, disperse, O dense yet brilliant multitudes! turn away from me your burning, truthful, immutable eyes, filled with that look of divine, perpetual regret and pity! Lo, how unworthy am I to behold your glory! and yet I must see and know and love you all, while the mad blind world rushes on to its own destruction, and none can avert its doom.'"
Here Amy threw down the book with a sort of contempt, and said to
me:
"If you are going to muddle your mind with the ravings of a
lunatic, you are not what I took you for. Why, it's regular
spiritualism!
Kingdoms of the air indeed! And his cloud of witnesses! Rubbish!"
"He quotes the cloud of witnesses from St.
Paul," I remarked.
"More shame for him!" replied my friend, with the usual
inconsistent indignation that good Protestants invariably display when
their pet corn, the Bible, is accidentally trodden on. "It has been
very well said that the devil can quote Scripture, and this musician (a good job he is dead, I'm sure) is perfectly blasphemous to quote the Testament in support of his ridiculous ideas! St. Paul did not mean by 'a cloud of witnesses.' a lot of 'air multitudes' and 'burning immutable eyes,' and all that nonsense."
"Well, what did he mean?" I gently
persisted.
"Oh, he meant--why, you know very well what he
meant," said Amy, in a tone of reproachful solemnity. "And I
wonder at your asking me such a question! Surely you know your Bible, and
you must be aware that St. Paul could never have approved of
spiritualism."
"'And there are bodies celestial and bodies terrestrial,
but one is the glory of the celestial,'" I quoted with a
slight smile.
Mrs. Everard looked shocked and almost angry.
"My dear, I am ashamed of you! You
are a believer in spirits, I do declare! Why, I thought Maskelyne and Cook had cured everybody of such notions; and now here's this horrid book going to make you more nervous than ever. I shall have you getting up one night and shrieking about burning immutable eyes looking at you."
I laughed merrily as I rose to pick up the discarded volume from the
floor.
"Don't be afraid," I said; "I'll give back
the book to
Signor Cellini to-morrow, and I will tell him that you do not like the idea
of my reading it, and that I am going to study the Bible instead. Come now,
dear, don't look cross!" and I embraced her warmly, for I liked
her
far too well to wish to offend her. "Let us concentrate our attention
on our finery for to-night, when a 'dense and brilliant
multitude,' not of air, but of the 'earth earthy,' will
pass us under critical survey. I assure you I mean to make the best of my
improved looks, as I don't believe they will
last. I dare say I shall be the 'sick nun' that you termed me again to-morrow."
"I hope not, dearest," said my friend kindly, returning my
caress and forgetting her momentary ill-humour. "A jolly dance will
do you good if you are careful to avoid over-exertion. But you are quite
right, we must really fix our things ready for the evening, else we shall
be all in a flurry at the last moment, and nothing riles the Colonel so
much as to see women in a fuss. I shall wear my lace dress; but it wants
seeing to. Will you help me?"
Readily assenting, we were soon deep in the arrangement of the
numberless little mysteries that make up a woman's toilette; and
nothing
but the most frivolous conversation ensued. But as I assisted in the
sorting of laces, jewels, and other dainty appendages of evening costume, I
was deep in earnest meditation. Reviewing in my own mind the various
sensations I had experienced since I had tasted that
Eastern wine in Cellini's studio, I came to the conclusion that he must have tried an experiment on me with some foreign drug, of which he alone knew the properties. Why he should do this I could not determine; but that be had done it I was certain. Besides this, I felt sure that he personally exerted some influence upon me--a soothing and calming influence I was forced to admit--still, it could hardly be allowed to continue. To be under the control, however slight, of one who was almost a stranger to me, was, at the least, unnatural and unpleasant. I was bound to ask him a few plain questions. And, supposing Mrs. Everard were to speak to him about his being betrothed, and he were to deny it, and afterwards were to turn round upon me and ask what authority I had for making such a statement, what should I say? Convict myself of falsehood? However, it was no use to puzzle over the solution of this
difficulty till it positively presented itself. At any rate, I determined I would ask him frankly, face to face, for some explanation of the strange emotions I had felt ever since meeting him; and thus resolved, I waited patiently for the evening.
faced placid man--"mon petit mari," as she called him--permitted her to have her own way in everything, and considered all she did as perfectly well done. Therefore, when she had proposed this informal dance at the Hôtel de L--, he made no objection, but entered into her plans with spirit; and, what was far more important, opened his purse readily to her demands for the necessary expenses. So nothing was stinted; the beautiful ballroom attached to the hotel was thrown open, and lavishly decorated with flowers, fountains, and twinkling lights; an awning extended from its windows right down the avenue of dark ilex-trees, which were ornamented with Chinese lanterns; an elegant supper was laid out in the large dining-room, and the whole establishment was en fête. The delicious strains of a Viennese band floated to our ears as Colonel Everard, his wife, and myself, descended the staircase on our way to the scene of revelry; and sugges-
tions of fairyland were presented to us in the graceful girlish forms, clad in light diaphanous attire, that flitted here and there, or occasionally passed us. Colonel Everard marched proudly along with the military bearing that always distinguished him, now and then glancing admiringly at his wife, who, indeed, looked her very best. Her dress was of the finest Brussels lace, looped over a skirt of the palest shell-pink satin; deep crimson velvet roses clustered on her breast, and nestled in her rich hair; a necklace of magnificent rubies clasped her neck, and the same jewels glittered on her round white arms. Her eyes shone with pleasurable excitement, and the prettiest colour imaginable tinted her delicate cheeks.
"When an American woman is lovely, she is
very lovely," I said. "You will be the
belle of the room to-night, Amy!"
"Nonsense!" she replied, well pleased,
though, at my remark. "You must remember I have a rival in yourself."
I shrugged my shoulders incredulously.
"It is not like you to be sarcastical," I said. "You
know very well I have the air of a resuscitated corpse."
The Colonel wheeled round suddenly, and brought us all up to a
stand-still before a great mirror.
"If you are like a resuscitated corpse, I'll
throw a
hundred dollars into the next mud-pond," he observed. "Look at
yourself."
I looked, at first indifferently, and then with searching scrutiny. I
saw a small slender girl, clad in white, with a mass of gold hair twisted
loosely up from her neck, and fastened with a single star of diamonds. A
superb garniture of natural lilies of the valley was fastened on this
girl's shoulder; and, falling loosely across her breast, lost itself
in the
trailing folds of her gown. She held a palm-leaf fan, entirely covered
with lilies of the valley, and a girdle of the same flowers encircled her waist. Her face was serious, but contented; her eyes were bright, but with an intense and thoughtful lustre; and her cheeks were softly coloured as though a west wind had blown freshly against them. There was nothing either attractive or repulsive about her that I could see; and yet--I turned away from the mirror with a faint smile.
"The lilies form the best part of my toilette," I said.
"That they do," asserted Amy, with emphasis.
"They are the finest specimens I ever saw. It was real elegant of Mr.
Cellini to send them all fixed up ready like that, fan and all. You must be
a favourite of his!"
"Come, let us proceed," I answered, with some abruptness.
"We are losing time."
In a few seconds more we entered the
ballroom, and were met at once by Madame Didier, who, resplendent in black lace and diamonds, gave us hearty greeting. She stared at me with unaffected amazement.
"Mon Dieu!" she
exclaimed--her
conversation with us was always a mixture of French and broken
English--"I should not 'ave know zis young lady again! She
'ave si
bonne mine. You veel dance,
sans doute?"
We readily assented, and the usual assortment of dancing-men of all ages
and sizes was brought forward for our inspection; while the Colonel, being
introduced to a beaming English girl of some seventeen summers, whirled her
at once into the merry maze of dancers, who were spinning easily round to
the lively melody of one of Strauss's most fascinating waltzes.
Presently I
also found myself circling the room with an amiable young German, who
ambled round with a certain amount
of cleverness, considering that he was evidently ignorant of the actual waltz step; and I caught a glimpse now and then of Amy's rubies as they flashed past me in the dance--she was footing it merrily with a handsome Austrian Hussar. The room was pleasantly full--not too crowded for the movements of the dancers; and the whole scene was exceedingly pretty and animated. I had no lack of partners, and I was surprised to find myself so keenly alive to enjoyment, and so completely free from my usual preoccupied condition of nervous misery. I looked everywhere for Raffaello Cellini, but he was not to be seen. The lilies that I wore, which he had sent me, seemed quite unaffected by the heat and glare of the gaslight--not a leaf drooped, not a petal withered; and their remarkable whiteness and fragrance elicited many admiring remarks from those with whom I conversed. It was growing late;
there were only two more waltzes before the final cotillon. I was standing near the large open window of the ball-room, conversing with one of my recent partners, when a sudden inexplicable thrill shot through me from head to foot. Instinctively I turned, and saw Cellini approaching. He looked remarkably handsome, though his face was pale and somewhat wearied in expression. He was laughing and conversing gaily with two ladies, one of whom was Mrs. Everard; and as he came towards me he bowed courteously, saying:
"I am too much honoured by the kindness mademoiselle has shown me
in not discarding my poor flowers."
"They are lovely," I replied simply; "and I am very
much obliged to you, signor, for sending them to me."
"And how fresh they keep!" said Amy, burying her little nose
in the fragrance of
my fan; "yet they have been in the heat of the room all the evening."
"They can not perish while mademoiselle wears them," said
Cellini gallantly. "Her breath is their life."
"Bravo!" cried Amy, clapping her hands. "That is very
prettily said, isn't it?"
I was silent. I never could endure compliments. They always seem to me
like the so-called jam puffs sold by the London confectioners--all
puff and
no jam. Signor Cellini appeared to divine my thoughts, for he said in a
lower tone:
"Pardon me, mademoiselle; I see my observation displeased you; but
there is more truth in it than you perhaps know."
"Oh, say!" interrupted Mrs. Everard at this juncture;
"I am so interested, signor, to hear you are engaged! I suppose she
is a dream of beauty?"
The hot colour rushed to my cheeks, and I bit my lips in confusion and
inquietude. What would he answer? My anxiety was not of long
duration. Cellini smiled, and seemed in no way surprised. He said
quietly:
"Who told you, madame, that I am engaged?"
"Why, she did, of course!" went on my friend, nodding
towards me, regardless of an imploring look I cast at her. "And said
you were perfectly devoted!"
"She is quite right," replied Cellini, with another of those
rare sweet smiles of his; "and you also are right, madame, in your
supposition; my betrothed is a dream of beauty."
I was infinitely relieved. I had not, then, been guilty of a falsehood.
But the mystery remained: how had I discovered the truth of the matter at
all? While I puzzled my mind over this question, the other lady who had
accompanied Mrs.
Everard spoke. She was an Austrian of brilliant position and attainments,
"You quite interest me, signor," she said. "Is your
fair fiancée here to-night?"
"No, madame," replied Cellini; "she is not in this
country."
"What a pity!" exclaimed Amy. "I want to see her real
bad. Don't you?" she asked, turning to me.
I raised my eyes and met the dark clear ones of the artist fixed full
upon me.
"Yes," I said hesitatingly; "I should like to meet
her. Perhaps the chance will occur at some future time."
"There is not the slightest doubt about that," said Cellini.
"And now, mademoiselle, will you give me the pleasure of this waltz
with you? or are you promised to another partner?"
I was not engaged, and I at once accepted his proffered arm. Two
gentlemen came hurriedly up to claim Amy and
her Austrian friend; and for one brief moment Signor Cellini and I stood alone in a comparatively quiet corner of the ballroom, waiting for the music to begin. I opened my lips to ask him a question, when he stopped me by a slight gesture of his hand.
"Patience!" he said in a low and earnest tone. "In a
few moments you shall have the opportunity you seek."
The band burst forth just then in the voluptuous strains of a waltz by
Gung'l, and together we floated away to its exquisite gliding measure.
I
use the word floated advisedly, for no other term could
express the delightful sensation I enjoyed. Cellini was a superb dancer. It
seemed to me that our feet scarcely touched the floor, so swiftly, so
easily and lightly we sped along. A few rapid turns, and I noticed we were
nearing the open French windows, and, before I well realized it, we had
stopped dancing and were pacing quietly side by
side down the ilex avenue, where the little lanterns twinkled like red fireflies and green glow-worms among the dark and leafy branches.
We walked along in silence till we reached the end of the path. There,
before us, lay the open garden, with its broad green lawn, bathed in the
lovely light of the full moon, sailing aloft in a cloudless sky. The night
was very warm, but, regardless of this fact, Cellini wrapped carefully
round me a large fleecy white burnous that he had taken from a chair where
it was lying, on his way through the avenue.
"I am not cold," I said, smiling.
"No; but you will be, perhaps. It is not wise to run any useless
risks."
I was again silent. A low breeze rustled in the treetops near us; the
music of the ballroom reached us only in faint and far echoes; the scent of
roses and myrtle was wafted delicately on the balmy air; the radiance of
the moon softened the outlines
of the landscape into a dreamy suggestiveness of its reality. Suddenly a sound broke on our ears--a delicious, long, plaintive trill; then a wonderful shower of sparkling roulades; and finally, a clear, imploring, passionate note repeated many times. It was a nightingale, singing as only the nightingales of the South can sing. I listened entranced.
"'Thou wast not born for death, immortal
Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee
down;
The voice I hear this passing night was
heard
In ancient days by emperor and
clown.'"
quoted Cellini in earnest tone.
"You admire Keats?" I asked eagerly.
"More than any other poet that has lived," he replied.
"His was the most ethereal and delicate muse that ever consented to
be tied down to earth. But, mademoiselle, you do not wish to examine me as
to my taste in poetry. You have some other questions to put to me, have you
not?"
For one instant I hesitated. Then I spoke out frankly, and answered:
"Yes, Signor. What was there in that wine you gave me this
morning?"
He met my searching gaze unflinchingly.
"A medicine," he said. "An excellent and perfectly
simple remedy made of the juice of plants, and absolutely
harmless."
"But why," I demanded, "why did you give me this
medicine? Was it not wrong to take so much responsibility upon
yourself?"
He smiled.
"I think not. If you are injured or offended, then I was wrong;
but if, on the contrary, your health and spirits are ever so little
improved, as I see they are, I deserve your thanks,
mademoiselle."
And he waited with an air of satisfaction and expectancy. I was puzzled
and half-angry, yet I could not help acknowledging to myself that I felt
better and more cheerful than I had done for many months. I
looked up at the artist's dark, intelligent face, and said almost humbly:
"I do thank you, signor. But surely you will tell me
your reasons for constituting yourself my physician without even asking my
leave."
He laughed, and his eyes looked very friendly.
"Mademoiselle, I am one of those strangely constituted beings who
cannot bear to see any innocent thing suffer. It matters not whether it be
a worm in the dust, a butterfly in the air, a bird, a flower, or a human
creature. The first time I saw you I knew that your state of health
precluded you from the enjoyment of life natural to your sex and age. I
also perceived that the physicians had been at work upon you trying to
probe into the causes of your ailment, and they had signally failed.
Physicians, mademoiselle, are very clever and estimable men, and there are
a few things which come within the limit of their
treatment; but there are also other things which baffle their utmost profundity of knowledge. One of these is that wondrous piece of human machinery, the nervous system; that intricate and delicate network of fine threads--electric wires on which run the messages of thought, impulse, affection, emotion, If these threads or wires become, from any subtle cause, entangled, the skill of the mere medical practitioner is of no avail to undo the injurious knot, or to unravel the confused skein. The drugs generally used in such cases are, for the most part, repellent to the human blood and natural instinct, therefore they are always dangerous, and often deadly. I knew, by studying your face, mademoiselle, that you were suffering as acutely as I, too, suffered some five years ago, and I ventured to try upon you a simple vegetable essence, merely to see if you were capable of benefiting by it. The experiment has been so far successful; but --"
He paused, and his face became graver and more abstracted.
"But what?" I queried eagerly.
"I was about to say," he continued, "that the effect
is only transitory. Within forty-eight hours you must naturally relapse
into your former prostrate condition, and I, unfortunately, am powerless to
prevent it."
I sighed wearily, and a feeling of disappointment oppressed me. Was it
possible that I must again be the victim of miserable dejection, pain and
stupor?
"You can give another dose of your remedy," I said.
"That I cannot, mademoiselle," he answered regretfully;
"I dare not, without further advice and guidance."
"Advice and guidance from whom?" I inquired.
"From the friend who cured me of my long and almost hopeless
illness," said Cellini. "He alone can tell me whether
I am right in my theories respecting your nature and constitution."
"And what are those theories?" I asked, becoming deeply
interested in the conversation.
Cellini was silent for a minute or so; he seemed absorbed in a sort of
inward communion with himself. Then he spoke with impressiveness and
gravity:
"In this world, mademoiselle, there are no two natures alike, yet
all are born with a small portion of Divinity within them, which we call
the Soul. It is a mere spark smouldering in the centre of the clay with
which we are encumbered, yet it is is there. Now this particular germ or
seed can be cultivated if we WILL--that is, if we desire and insist on
its
growth. As a child's taste for art or learning can be educated into
high
capabilities for the future, so can the human Soul be educated into so
high, so supreme an attainment, that no merely mortal standard of
measure-
ment can reach its magnificence. With much more than half the inhabitants of the globe, this germ of immortality remains always a germ, never sprouting, overlaid and weighted down by the lymphatic laziness and materialistic propensities of its shell or husk--the body. But I must put aside the forlorn prospect of the multitudes in whom the Divine Essence attains to no larger quantity than that proportioned out to a dog or bird--I have only to speak of the rare few with whom the soul is everything--those who, perceiving and admitting its existence within them, devote all their powers to fanning up their spark of light till it becomes a radiant, burning, inextinguishable flame. The mistake made by these examples of beatified Humanity is that they too often sacrifice the body to the demands of the spirit. It is difficult to find the medium path, but it can be found; and the claims of body and soul can be satisfied without sacrificing the one to
the other. I beg your earnest attention, mademoiselle, for what I say concerning the rare few with whom the Soul is everything. You are one of those few, unless I am greatly in error. And you have sacrificed your body so utterly to your spirit that the flesh rebels and suffers. This will not do. You have work before you in the world, and you cannot perform it unless you have bodily health as well as spiritual desire. And why? Because you are a prisoner here on earth, and you must obey the laws of the prison, however unpleasant they may be to you. Were you free as you have been in ages past and as you will be in ages to come, things would be different; but at present you must comply with the order of your gaolers--the Lords of Life and Death."
I heard him, half awed, half fascinated. His words were full of
mysterious suggestions.
"How do you know I am of the
tempera-
ment you describe?" I asked in a low voice.
"I do not know, mademoiselle; I can only guess. There is but one
person who can perhaps judge of you correctly--a man older than myself
by
many years--whose life is the very acme of spiritual
perfection--whose
learning is vast and unprejudiced. I must see and speak to him before I try
any more of my, or rather his, remedies. But we have lingered
long enough out here, and unless you have something more to say to me, we
will return to the ballroom. You will otherwise miss the
cotillon;" and he turned to retrace the
way through the illuminated grove.
But a sudden thought had struck me, and I resolved to utter it aloud.
Laying my hand on his arm, and looking him full in the face, I said slowly
and distinctly:
"This friend of yours that you speak of--is not his name
HELIOBAS?"
Cellini started violently; the blood rushed
up to his brows and as quickly receded, leaving him paler than before. His dark eyes glowed with suppressed excitement--his hand trembled. Recovering himself, slowly, he met my gaze fixedly; his glance softened and he bent his head with an air of respect and reverence.
"Mademoiselle, I see that you must know all. It is your fate. You
are greatly to be envied. Come to me to-morrow, and I will tell you
everything that is to be told. Afterwards your destiny rests in your own
hands. Ask nothing more of me just now.
He escorted me without further words back to the ballroom, where the
merriment of the cotillon was then at its
height. Whispering to Mrs. Everard as I passed her that I was tired and was
going to bed, I reached the outside passage, and there, turning to Cellini,
I said gently:
"Good-night, signor. To-morrow at noon I will come."
He replied:
"Good night, mademoiselle! To-morrow at noon you will find me
ready."
With that he saluted me courteously and turned away. I hurried up to my
own room, and on arriving there I could not help observing the remarkable
freshness of the lilies I wore. They looked as if they had just been
gathered. I unfastened them all from my dress, and placed them carefully in
water; then quickly disrobing, I was soon in bed. I meditated for a few
minutes on the various odd occurrences of the day; but my thoughts soon
grew misty and confused, and I travelled quickly off into the Land of Nod,
and thence into the region of sleep, where I remained undisturbed by so
much as the shadow of a dream.
quiet, almost seeming as though half the visitors had departed during the night. It was a lovely morning, sunny and calm; and Cellini, observing that I looked listless and fatigued, placed a comfortable easy-chair for me near the window, from whence I could see one of the prettiest parterres of the garden, gay with flowers of every colour and perfume. He himself remained standing, one hand resting lightly on his writing-table, which was strewn with a confusion of letters and newspapers.
"Where is Leo?" I asked, as I glanced round the room in
search of that noble animal.
"Leo left for Paris last night," replied Cellini; "he
carried an important despatch for me, which I feared to trust to the
post-office."
"Is it safer in Leo's charge?" I inquired, smiling, for
the
sagacity of the dog amused as well as interested me.
"Much safer! Leo carries on his collar
a small tin case, just large enough to contain several folded sheets of paper. When he knows he has that box to guard during his journeys, he is simply unapproachable. He would fight anyone who attempted to touch it with the ferocity of a hungry tiger, and there is no edible dainty yet invented that could tempt his appetite or coax him into any momentary oblivion of his duty. There is no more trustworthy or faithful messenger."
"I suppose you have sent him to your friend--his
master," I
said.
"Yes. He has gone straight home to--Heliobas."
This name now awakened in me no surprise or even curiosity. It simply
sounded home-like and familiar. I gazed abstractedly out of the window at
the brilliant blossoms in the garden, that nodded their heads at me like so
many little elves with coloured caps on, but I said nothing. I felt that
Cellini watched
me keenly and closely. Presently he continued:
"Shall I tell you everything now, mademoiselle?"
I turned towards him eagerly.
"If you please," I answered.
"May I ask you one question?"
"Certainly."
"How and where did you hear the name of Heliobas?"
I looked up hesitatingly.
"In a dream, signor, strange to say; or rather in three dreams. I
will relate them to you."
And I described the vision I had seen, being careful to omit no detail,
for, indeed, I remembered everything with curious distinctness.
The artist listened with grave and fixed attention. When I had concluded
he said:
"The elixir I gave you acted more potently than even I imagined it
would.
You are more sensitive than I thought. Do not fatigue yourself any more, mademoiselle, by talking. With your permission I will sit down here opposite to you and tell you my story. Afterwards you must decide for yourself whether you will adopt the method of treatment to which I owe my life, and something more than my life--my reason."
He turned his own library-chair towards me, and seated himself. A few
moments passed in silence; his expression was very earnest and absorbed,
and he regarded my face with a sympathetic interest which touched me
profoundly. Though I felt myself becoming more and more enervated and
apathetic as the time went on, and though I knew I was gradually sinking
down again into my old Slough of Despond, yet I felt instinctively that I
was somehow actively concerned in what was about to be said, therefore I
forced myself to attend closely to every word
uttered. Cellini began to speak in low and quiet tones as follows:
"You must be aware, mademoiselle, that those who adopt any art as
a means of livelihood begin the world heavily handicapped--weighted
down,
as it were, in the race for fortune. The following of art is a very
different thing to the following of trade or mercantile business. In buying
or selling, in undertaking the work of import or export, a good head for
figures, and an average quantity of shrewd common-sense, are all that is
necessary in order to win a fair share of success. But in the finer
occupations, whose results are found in sculpture, painting, music, and
poetry, demands are made upon the imagination, the emotions, the entire
spiritual susceptibility of man. The most delicate fibres of the brain are
taxed; the subtle inner working of thought are brought into active play;
and the temperament becomes daily and hourly more finely
strung, more sensitive, more keenly alive to every passing sensation. Of course there are many so-called "artists" who are mere shams of the real thing; persons who, having a little surface education in one or the other branch of the arts, play idly with the paint-brush, or dabble carelessly in the deep waters of literature,--or borrow a few crochets and quavers from other composers, and putting them together in haste, call it original composition. Among these are to be found the self-called 'professors' of painting; the sculptors who allow the work of their 'ghosts' to be admired as their own; the magazine-scribblers; the 'smart' young leader-writers and critics; the half-hearted performers on piano or violin who object to any innovation, and prefer to grind on in the unemotional, coldly correct manner which they are pleased to term 'the classical'--such persons exist, and will exist, so long as good and evil are leading
forces of life. They are the aphides on the rose of art. But the men and women I speak of as artists are those who work day and night to attain even a small degree of perfection, and who are never satisfied with their own best efforts. I was one of these some years ago, and I humbly assert myself still to be of the same disposition; only the difference between myself then and myself now is, that then I struggled blindly and despairingly, and now I labour patiently and with calmness, knowing positively that I shall obtain what I seek at the duly appointed hour. I was educated as a painter, mademoiselle, by my father, a good, simple-hearted man, whose little landscapes looked like bits cut out of the actual field and woodland, so fresh and pure were they. But I was not content to follow in the plain path he first taught me to tread. Merely correct drawing, merely correct colouring, were not sufficient for my ambition. I had dazzled
my eyes with the loveliness of Correggio's 'Madonna,' and had marvelled at the wondrous blue of her robe--a blue so deep and intense that I used to think that one might scrape away the paint till a hole was bored in the canvas and yet not reach the end of that fathomless azure tint; I had studied the warm hues of Titian; I had felt ready to float away in the air with the marvellous 'Angel of the Annunciation'--and with all these thoughts in me, how could I content myself with the ordinary aspiration of modern artists? I grew absorbed in one subject--Colour. I noted how lifeless and pale the colouring of to-day appeared beside that of the old masters, and I meditated deeply on the problem thus presented to me. What was the secret of Correggio--of Fra Angelico--of Raphael? I tried various experiments; I bought the most expensive and highly guaranteed pigments. In vain, for they were all adulterated by the dealers! Then
I obtained colours in the rough, and ground and mixed them myself; still, though a little better result was obtained, I found trade adulteration still at work with the oils, the varnishes, the mediums--in fact, with everything that painters use to gain effect in their works. I could nowhere escape from vicious dealers, who, to gain a miserable percentage on every article sold, are content to be among the most dishonest men in this dishonest age.
"I assure you, mademoiselle, that not one of the pictures which
are now being painted for the salons of Paris and London can possibly last
a hundred years. I recently visited that Palace of Art, the South
Kensington Museum, in London, and saw there a large fresco by Sir Frederick
Leighton. It had just been completed, I was informed. It was already
fading! Within a few years it will be a blur of indistinct outlines. I
compared its
condition with the cartoons of Raphael, and a superb Giorgione in the same building; these were as warm and bright as though recently painted. It is not Leighton's fault that his works are doomed to perish as completely off the canvas as though he had never traced them; it is his dire misfortune, and that of every other nineteenth-century painter, thanks to the magnificent institution of free trade, which has resulted in a vulgar competition of all countries and all classes to see which can most quickly jostle the other out of existence. But I am wearying you, mademoiselle--pardon me! To resume my own story. As I told you, I could think of nothing but the one subject of Colour; it haunted me incessantly. I saw in my dreams visions of exquisite forms and faces that I longed to transfer to my canvas, but I could never succeed in the attempt. My hand seemed to have lost all skill. About this time my father died,
and I, having no other relation in the world, and no ties of home to cling to, lived in utter solitude, and tortured my brain more and more with the one question that baffled and perplexed me. I became moody and irritable; I avoided intercourse with every one, and at last sleep forsook my eyes. Then came a terrible season of feverish trouble, nervous dejection and despair. At times I would sit silently brooding; at others I started up and walked rapidly for hours, in the hope to calm the wild unrest that took possession of my brain. I was then living in Rome, in the studio that had been my father's. One evening--how well I remember it!--I was attacked by one of those fierce impulses that forbade me to rest or think or sleep, and as usual, I hurried out for one of those long aimless excursions I had latterly grown accustomed to. At the open street-door stood the proprietress of the house, a stout, good-
natured contadina, with her youngest child Pippa holding to her skirt. As she saw me approaching, she started back with an exclamation of alarm, and catching the little girl up in her arms, she made the sign of the cross rapidly. Astonished at this, I paused in my hasty walk, and said with as much calmness as I could muster:
"'What do you mean by that? Have I the evil-eye, think
you?'
"Curly-haired Pippa stretched out her arms to me--I had often
caressed the little one, and given her sweetmeats and toys--but her
mother
held her back with a sort of smothered scream and muttered:
"'Holy Virgin! Pippa must not touch him; he is
mad!'
"Mad? I looked at the woman and child in scornful amazement. Then
without further words I turned and went swiftly away down the street out of
their sight. Mad! Was I indeed losing my reason? Was this the terrific
meaning of
my sleepless nights, my troubled thoughts, my strange inquietude? Fiercely
I strode along, heedless whither I was going, till I found myself suddenly
on the borders of the desolate Campagna. A young moon gleamed aloft,
looking like a slender sickle thrust into the heavens to reap an
over-abundant harvest of stars. I paused irresolutely. There was a deep
silence everywhere. I felt faint and giddy; curious flashes of light danced
past my eyes, and my limbs shook like those of a palsied old man. I sank
upon a stone to rest, to try and arrange my scattered ideas into some sort
of connection and order. Mad! I clasped my aching head between my hands,
and brooded on the fearful prospect looming before me, and in the words of
poor King Lear, I prayed in my heart:
"'O let me not be mad, not mad, sweet
heavens!'
"Prayer! There was another thought. How could
I pray? For I was a sceptic.
My father had educated me with broadly materialistic views; he himself was a follower of Voltaire, and with his finite rod he took the measure of Divinity, greatly to his own satisfaction. He was a good man, too, and he died with exemplary calmness in the absolute certainty of there being nothing in his composition but dust, to which he was bound to return. He had not a shred of belief in anything but what he called the Universal Law of Necessity; perhaps this was why all his pictures lacked inspiration. I accepted his theories without thinking much about them, and I had managed to live respectably without any religious belief. But now--now with the horrible phantom of madness rising before me--my firm nerves quailed. I tried, I longed to pray. Yet to whom? To what? To the Universal Law of Necessity? In that there could be no hearing or answering of human petitions. I meditated on this with a
kind of sombre ferocity. Who portioned out this Law of Necessity? What brutal Code compels us to be born, to live, to suffer, and to die without recompense or reason? Why should this Universe be an ever-circling Wheel of Torture? Then a fresh impetus came to me. I rose from my recumbent posture and stood erect; I trembled no more. A curious sensation of defiant amusement possessed me so violently that I laughed aloud. Such a laugh, too! I recoiled from the sound, as from a blow, with a shudder. It was the laugh of--a madman! I thought no more; I was resolved. I would fulfill the grim Law of Necessity to its letter. If Necessity caused my birth, it also demanded my death. Necessity could not force me to live against my will. Slowly and deliberately I took from my vest a Milanese dagger of thin sharp steel--one that I always carried with me as a means
of self-defence--I drew it from its sheath, and looked at the fine edge glittering coldly in the pallid moon-rays. I kissed it joyously; it was my final remedy! I poised it aloft with firm fingers--another instant and it would have been buried deep in my heart, when I felt a powerful grasp on my wrist, and a strong arm struggling with mine forced the dagger from my hand. Savagely angry at being thus foiled in my desperate intent, I staggered back a few paces and sullenly stared at my rescuer. He was a tall man, clad in a dark overcoat bordered with fur; he looked very like a wealthy Englishman or American travelling for pleasure. His features were fine and commanding; his eyes gleamed with a gentle disdain as he coolly met my resentful gaze. When he spoke his vice was rich and mellifluous, though his accents had a touch in them of grave scorn.
"'So you are tired of your life, young
man. All the more reason have you to live. Anyone can die. A murderer has moral force enough to jeer at his hangman. It is very easy to draw the last breath. It can be accomplished successfully by a child or a warrior. One pang of far less anguish than the toothache, and all is over. There is nothing heroic about it, I assure you! It is as common as going to bed; it is almost prosy. Life is heroism, if you like; but death is a mere cessation of business. And to make a rapid and rude exit off the stage before the prompter gives the sign is always, to say the least of it, ungraceful. Act the part out, no matter how bad the play. What say you?'
"And, balancing the dagger lightly on one finger, as though it
were a paper-knife, he smiled at me with so much frank kindliness that it
was impossible to resist him. I advanced and held out my hand.
"'Whoever you are,' I said, 'you speak like a
true man. But you are ignorant of the causes which compelled me
to--'
and a hard sob choked my utterance. My new acquaintance pressed my
proffered hand cordially, but the gravity of his tone did not vary as he
replied:
"'There is no cause, my friend, which compels us to take
violent leave of existence, unless it be madness or cowardice.'
"'Aye! and what if it were madness?' I asked him
eagerly. He scanned me attentively, and laying his fingers lightly on my
wrist, felt my pulse.
"'Pooh, my dear sir!' he said; 'you are no more
mad than I am. You are a little over-wrought and excited--that I
admit. You
have some mental worry that consumes you. You shall tell me all about it. I
have no doubt I can cure you in a few days.'
"Cure me? I looked at him in wonderment and doubt.
"'Are you a physician?' I asked.
He laughed. 'Not I! I should be sorry to belong to the profession.
Yet I administer medicines and give advice in certain cases. I am simply a
remedial agent--not a doctor. But why do we stand here in this bleak
place,
which must be peopled by the ghosts of olden heroes? Come with me, will
you? I am going to the Hôtel Costanza, and we can talk there. As for
this pretty toy, permit me to return it to you. You will not force it again
to the unpleasant task of despatching its owner.'
"And he handed the dagger back to me with a slight bow. I sheathed
it at once, feeling somewhat like a chidden child, as I met the slightly
satirical gleam of the clear blue eyes that watched me.
"'Will you give me your name, signor?' I asked, as we
turned from the Campagna towards the city.
"'With pleasure. I am called Heliobas.
A strange name? Oh, not at all! It is pure Chaldee. My mother--as lovely an Eastern houri as Murillo's Madonna, and as devout as Santa Teresa--gave me the Christian saint's name of Casimir also, but Heliobas pur et simple suits me best, and by it I am generally known.'
"'You are a Chaldean?' I inquired.
"'Exactly so. I am descended directly from one of those
"wise men of the East" (and, by the way, there were more than
three, and they were not all kings), who, being wide awake, happened to
notice the birth-star of Christ on the horizon before the rest of the
word's inhabitants had so much as rubbed their sleepy eyes. The
Chaldeans
have been always quick of observation from time immemorial. But in return
for my name, you will favour me with yours?'
"I gave it readily, and we walked on together. I felt wonderfully
calmed and cheered--as soothed, mademoiselle. I
have noticed you yourself have felt when in my company."
Here Cellini paused, and looked at me as though expecting a question;
but I preferred to remain silent till I had heard all he had to say. He
therefore resumed:
"We reached the Hôtel Costanza, where Heliobas was evidently
well known. The waiters addressed him as Monsieur le Comte; but he gave me
no information as to this title. He had a superb suite of rooms in the
hotel, furnished with every modern luxury; and as soon as we entered, a
light supper was served. He invited me to partake, and within the space of
half an hour I had told him all my history--my ambition--my
strivings after
the perfection of colour--my disappointment, dejection, and
despair--and,
finally, the fearful dread of coming madness that had driven me to attempt
my own life. He listened patiently and with unbroken attention. When I had
finished, he laid one hand on my shoulder, and said gently:
"'Young man, pardon me if I say that up to the present your
career has been an inactive, useless, selfish "kicking against the
pricks," as St. Paul says. You set before yourself a task of noble
effort, namely, to discover the secret of colouring as known to the old
masters; and because you meet with the petty difficulty of modern trade
adulteration in your materials, you think that there is no
chance--that all
is lost. Fie! Do you think Nature is over-come by a few dishonest traders!
She can still give you in abundance the unspoilt colours she gave to
Raphael and Titian; but not in haste--not if you vulgarly scramble for
her
gifts in a mood that is impatient of obstacle and delay.
Ohne häst, ohne räst," is the
motto of the stars. Learn it well. You have injured your bodily health by
useless fretfulness and peevish discontent, and with that we have
first to deal. In a week's time, I will make a sound, sane man of you; and then I will teach you how to get the colours you seek--yes!' he added, smiling, 'even to the compassing of Correggio's blue.'
"I could not speak for joy and gratitude; I grasped my friend and
preserver by the hand. We stood thus together for a brief interval, when
suddenly Heliobas drew himself up to the full stateliness of his height and
bent his calm eyes deliberately upon me. A strange thrill ran through me; I
still held his hand.
"'Rest!' he said in slow and emphatic tones.
'Weary and over-wrought frame, take thy full and needful measure of
repose! Struggling and deeply injured spirit, be free of thy narrow prison!
By that Force which I acknowledge within me and thee and in all created
things, I command thee, rest!'
"Fascinated, awed, overcome by his manner, I gazed at him and
would have
spoken, but my tongue refused its office--my senses swam--my eyes closed--my limbs gave way--I fell senseless."
Cellini again paused and looked at me. Intent on his words, I would not
interrupt him. He went on:
"When I say senseless, mademoiselle, I allude of course to my
body. But I, myself--that is, my soul--was conscious; I lived, I
moved, I
heard, I saw. Of that experience I am forbidden to speak. When I returned
to mortal existence I found myself lying on a couch in the same room where
I had supped with Heliobas, and Heliobas himself sat near me reading. It
was broad noonday. A delicious sense of tranquility and youthful buoyancy
was upon me, and without speaking I sprang up from my recumbent position
and touched him on the arm. He looked up.
"'Well?' he asked, and his eyes smiled.
"I seized his hand, and pressed it reverently to my lips.
"'My best friend!' I exclaimed. 'What wonders
have I not seen--what truths have I not learned--what
mysteries!'
"'On all these things be silent,' replied Heliobas.
'They must not be lightly spoken of. And of the questions you
naturally desire to ask me, you shall have the answers in due time. What
has happened to you is not extraordinary; you have simply been acted upon
by scientific means. But your cure is not yet complete. A few days more
passed with me will restore you thoroughly. Will you consent to remain so
long in my company?'
"Gladly and gratefully I consented, and we spent the next ten days
together, during which Heliobas administered to me certain remedies,
external and internal, which had a marvellous effect in renovating and
invigorating my system. By the expiration of that time I was strong and
well--a sound and sane man as my
rescuer had promised I should be--my brain was fresh and eager for work, and my mind was filled with new and grand ideas of art. And I had gained through Heliobas two inestimable things--a full comprehension of the truth of religion, and the secret of human destiny; and I had won a love so exquisite!"
Here Cellini paused, and his eyes were uplifted in a sort of wondering
rapture. He continued after a pause:
"Yes, mademoiselle, I discovered that I was loved, and watched
over and guided by One so divinely beautiful, so gloriously
faithful, that mortal language fails before the description of such
perfection!"
He paused again, and again continued:
"When he found me perfectly healthy again in mind and body,
Heliobas showed me his art of mixing colours. From that hour all my works
were successful. You know that my pictures are eagerly
purchased as soon as completed, and that the colour I obtain in them is to the world a mystery almost magical. Yet there is not one among the humblest of artists who could not if he chose make use of the same means as I have done to gain the nearly imperishable hues that still glow on the canvases of Raphael. But of this there is no need to speak just now. I have told you my story, mademoiselle, and it now rests with me to apply its meaning to yourself. You are attending?"
"Perfectly," I replied; and, indeed, my interest at this
point was so strong, that I could almost hear the expectant beating of my
heart. Cellini resumed:
"Electricity, mademoiselle, is, as you are aware, the wonder of
our age. No end can be foreseen to the marvels it is capable of
accomplishing. But one of the most important branches of this great science
is ignorantly derided just now by the larger portion of society--I
mean the
use of human electricity; that force which is in each one of us--in you and in me--and to a very great extent, in Heliobas. He has cultivated the electricity in his own system to such an extent that his mere touch, his lightest glance, have healing in them, or the reverse, as he chooses to exert his power--I may say it is never the reverse, for he is full of kindness, sympathy and pity for all humanity. His influence is so great that he can, without speaking, by his mere presence suggest his own thoughts to other people who are perfect strangers, and cause them to design and carry out certain actions in accordance with his plans. You are incredulous? Mademoiselle, this power is in every one of us, only we do not cultivate it, because our education is yet so imperfect. To prove the truth of what I say, I, though I have only advanced a little way in the cultivation of my own electric force, even I have influenced you. You cannot deny
it. By my thought, impelled to you, you saw clearly my picture that was actually veiled. By my force, you replied correctly to a question I asked you concerning that same picture. By my desire, you gave me, without being aware of it, a message from one I love when you said, 'Dieu vous garde!' You remember? And the elixir I gave you, which is one of the simplest remedies discovered by Heliobas, had the effect of making you learn what he intended you to learn--his name."
"He!" I exclaimed. "Why, he does not know me--he
can
have no intentions towards me!"
"Mademoiselle," replied Cellini gravely, "if you will
think again of the last of your three dreams, you will not doubt that he
has intentions towards you. As I told you, he is a
physical electrician. By that is meant a great deal. He knows
by instinct whether he is or will be needed sooner or later. Let me finish
what I
have to say. You are ill, mademoiselle--ill from over-work. You are an improvisatrice--that is, you have the emotional genius of music, a spiritual thing unfettered by rules, and utterly misunderstood by the world. You cultivate this faculty, regardless of cost; you suffer, and you will suffer more. In proportion as your powers in music grow, so will your health decline. Go to Heliobas; he will do for you what he did for me. Surely you will not hesitate? Between years of weak invalidism and perfect health in less than a fortnight, there can be no question of choice."
I rose from my seat slowly.
"Where is this Heliobas?" I asked. "In
Paris?"
"Yes, in Paris. If you decide to go there, take my advice, and go
alone. You can easily make some excuse to your friends. I will give you the
address of a ladies' Pension, where you
will
be made
at home and comfortable. May I do this?"
"If you please," I answered.
He wrote rapidly in pencil on a card of his own:
"MADAME DENISE,
"36 Avenue du Midi,
"Paris,"
and handed it to me. I stood still where I had risen, thinking deeply. I
had been impressed and somewhat startled by Cellini's story; but I was
in
no way alarmed at the idea of trusting myself to a physical electrician
such as Heliobas professed to be. I knew that that there were many cases of
serious illness being cured by means of electricity--that electric
baths
and electric appliances of all descriptions were in ordinary use; and I saw
no reason to be surprised at the fact of a man being in existence who had
cultivated electric force within himself to
such an extent that he was able to use it as a healing power. There seemed to me to be really nothing extraordinary in it. The only part of Cellini's narration I did not credit was the soul-transmigration he professed to have experienced; and I put that down to over-excitement of his imagination at the time of his first interview with Heliobas. But I kept this thought to myself. In any case, I resolved to go to Paris. The great desire of my life was to be in perfect health, and I determined to omit no means of obtaining this inestimable blessing. Cellini watched me as I remained standing before him in silent abstraction.
"Will you go?" he inquired at last.
"Yes; I will go," I replied. "But will you give me a
letter to your friend?"
"Leo has taken it and all necessary explanations already,"
said Cellini, smiling; "I knew you would go. Heliobas expects you the
day after to-morrow. His resi-
dence is Hôtel Mars, Champs Élysées. You are not angry with me, mademoiselle? I could not help knowing that you would go."
I smiled faintly.
"Electricity again, I suppose! No, I am not angry. Why should I
be? I thank you very much, signor, and I shall thank you more if Heliobas
indeed effects my cure."
"Oh, that is certain, positively certain," answered Cellini;
"you can indulge that hope as much as you like, mademoiselle, for it
is one that cannot be disappointed. Before you leave me, you will look at
your own picture, will you not?" and, advancing to his easel, he
uncovered it.
I was greatly surprised. I thought he had but traced the outline of my
features, whereas the head was almost completed. I looked at it as I would
look at the portrait of a stranger. It was a wistful, sad-
eyed, plaintive face, and on the pale gold of the hair rested a coronal of lilies.
"It will soon be finished," said Cellini, covering the easel
again; "I shall not need another sitting, which is fortunate, as it
is so necessary for you to go away. And now will you look at 'Life
and Death' once more?"
I raised my eyes to the grand picture, unveiled that day in all its
beauty.
"The face of the Life-Angel there," went on Cellini quietly,
"is a poor and feeble resemblance of the One I love. You knew I was
betrothed, mademoiselle?
I felt confused, and was endeavouring to find an answer to this when he
continued:
"Do not trouble to explain, for I know how
you knew. But no more of this. Will you leave Cannes
to-morrow?"
"Yes. In the morning."
"Then good-bye, mademoiselle. Should I never see you
again--"
"Never see me again!" I interrupted. "Why, what do you
mean?"
"I do not allude to your destinies, but to
mine," he said, with a kindly look. "My business
may call me away from here before you come back--our paths may lie
apart--many circumstances may occur to prevent our meeting--so
that, I
repeat, should I never see you again, you will, I hope, bear me in your
friendly remembrance as one who was sorry to see you suffer, and who was
the humble means of guiding you to renewed health and happiness."
I held out my hand, and my eyes filled with tears. There was something
so gentle and chivalrous about him, and withal so warm and sympathetic,
that I felt indeed as if I were bidding adieu to one of the truest friends
I should ever have in my life.
"I hope nothing will cause you to leave Cannes till I return to
it," I said with real
earnestness. "I should like you to judge of my restoration to health."
"There will be no need for that," he replied; "I shall
know when you are quite recovered through Heliobas."
He pressed my hand warmly.
"I brought back the book you lent me," I went on; "but
I should like a copy of it for myself. Can I get it anywhere?"
"Heliobas will give you one with pleasure," replied Cellini;
"you have only to make the request. The book is not on sale. It was
printed for private circulation only. And now, mademoiselle, we part. I
congratulate you on the comfort and joy awaiting you in Paris. Do not
forget the address--Hôtel Mars, Champs Élysées.
Farewell!"
And again shaking my hand cordially, he stood at his door watching me as
I passed out and began to ascend the stairs leading to my room. On the
landing I
paused, and, looking round, saw him still there. I smiled and waved my hand. He did the same in response, once--twice; then turning abruptly, disappeared.
me for the dance had, in spite of my care, entirely withered, and were
already black with decay--so black that they looked as though they had
been
scorched by a flash of lightning.
a plain shield, inscribed with the old Roman greeting to strangers,
"Salve!" Over the portico was designed a scroll which bore the
name "Hôtel Mars" in clearly cut capitals, and the
monogram C.H.
behind me instantly with its previous swiftness and silence.
twelve or thirteen years of age, and he was attired in a simple Greek
costume of white linen, relieved with a broad crimson silk sash. A small
flat crimson cap rested on his thick black curls; this he lifted with
deferential grace, and saluting me, said respectfully:
near the central window, informing me as he did so that "Monsieur le
Comte" would be with me instantly; whereupon he departed.
possible clearness. There were flowers everywhere in this
apartment--in
graceful vases and in gilded osier baskets--and a queer lop-sided
Oriental
jar stood quite near me, filled almost to overflowing with Neapolitan
violets. Yet it was winter in Paris, and flowers were rare and costly.
was yet time. Yes; I would not see him to-day, at any rate; I would write
and explain. These and other disjointed thoughts crossed my mind; and
yielding to the unreasoning impulse of fear that possessed me, I actually
turned to leave the room, when I saw the crimson velvet
portière dividing again in its regular
and graceful folds, and Heliobas himself entered.
held out his hand. I gave him mine at once.
and studied my face attentively. I described all my symptoms, and he
listened with the utmost patience. When I had concluded he leaned back in
his chair and appeared to ponder deeply for some moments. Then he
spoke:
covery, and he came perfectly satisfied. That is all. You do not need his
experience."
you have no better instinctive knowledge of me than that! Do
you deem women all alike--all on one common level, fit for nothing but
to
be the toys or drudges of men? Can you not realize that there are some
among them who despise the inanities of everyday life--who care
nothing for
the routine of society, and whose hearts are filled with cravings that no
mere human love or life can satisfy? Yes--even weak women are capable
of
greatness; and if we do sometimes dream of what we cannot accomplish
through lack of the physical force necessary for large achievements, that
is not our fault but our misfortune. We did not create ourselves. We did
not ask to be born with the over-sensitiveness, the fatal delicacy, the
highly strung nervousness of the feminine nature. Monsieur Heliobas, you
are a learned and far-seeing man, I have no doubt; but you do not read
me aright if you judge me as a mere woman who is perfectly
contented with the petty commonplaces of ordinary living. And as for my
creed, what is it to you whether I kneel in the silence of my own room or
in the glory of a lighted cathedral to pour out my very soul to ONE whom I
know exists, and whom I am satisfied to believe in, as you say, without
proofs, save such proofs as I obtain from my own inner consciousness? I
tell you, though in your opinion it is evident my sex is against me, I
would rather die than sink into the miserable nonentity of such lives as
are lived by the majority of women."
speak of the 'over-sensitiveness, the fatal delicacy, the
highly-strung nervousness of the feminine nature.' My dear lady, if
you had lived as long as I have, you would know that these are mere stock
phrases--for the most part meaningless. As a rule, women are less
sensitive
than men. There are many of your sex who are nothing but lumps of lymph and
fatty matter--women with less instinct than the dumb beasts, and with
more
brutality. There are others who, adding the low cunning of the monkey to
the vanity of the peacock, seek no other object but the furtherance of
their own designs, which are always petty even when not absolutely mean.
There are obese women whose existence is a doze between dinner and tea.
There are women with thin lips and pointed noses, who only live to squabble
over domestic grievances and interfere in their neighbours' business.
There
are your murderous women with
large almond eyes, fair white hands, and voluptuous red lips, who, deprived
of the dagger or the poison-bowl, will slay a reputation in a few lazily
enunciated words, delivered with a perfectly high-bred accent. There are
the miserly women who look after cheese-parings and candle-ends, and lock
up the soap. There are the spiteful women whose very breath is acidity and
venom. There are the frivolous women, whose chitter-chatter and senseless
giggle are as empty as the rattling of dry peas on a drum. In fact, the
delicacy of women is extremely over-rated--their coarseness is never
done
full justice to. I have heard them recite in public, selections of a kind
that no man would dare to undertake--such as Tennyson's
'Rizpah,' for instance. I know a woman who utters every line of
it, with all its questionable allusions, boldly before any and everybody,
without so much as an attempt at blushing. I assure you men are far more
delicate than women
--far more chivalrous--far larger in their views, and more
generous in
their sentiments. But I will not deny the existence of about four women in
every two hundred and fifty, who may be, and possibly are, examples of what
the female sex was originally intended to be--pure-hearted,
self-denying,
gentle and truthful--filled with tenderness and inspiration. Heaven
knows
my own mother was all this and more! And my sister is-- But let me
speak to
you of yourself. You love music, I understand--you are a professional
artist?"
my experiences in public came to my mind.
to the London press, clap-trap; while the coldly correct
performances of Joachim, and the 'icily-null' renderings of
Charles Hallé are voted 'magnificent' and 'full of
colour.' But to return to yourself. Will you play to me?"
I understand your temperament thoroughly. And now let me give you my first
prescription."
Heliobas. "If it had been entirely, your improvisations would have
had no chance. In fact you never would have improvised. You would have
played the piano like poor mechanical Arabella Goddard. As it is, there is
some hope of originality in you--you need not be one of the rank and
file
unless you choose."
tated. Ought I not to ask him his fee? Surely the medicines ought to be
paid for!
the face of a friend to me, one that I was certain I had known
long, long ago, and moreover one that I must have loved in some distant
time, for my whole soul seemed to yearn towards that indistinct haze where
smiled the fully recognised yet unfamiliar countenance. This strange
sensation lasted but a few seconds, for Heliobas suddenly dropped my hand.
The room swam round me; the walls seemed to rock; then everything steadied
and came right again, and all was as usual, only I was amazed and
bewildered.
and a sense of some indestructible force within me gave me a bright
courage.
which this interview had taken place, and crossed the hall. As we
approached the entrance, Heliobas turned towards me and said with a
smile:
had exercised such strange authority over me.
Grand Hotel. She begged me to call upon them, and enclosed two letters of
introduction for the purpose. She concluded her epistle by saying:
the humorous side of life. I thoroughly enjoyed her sparkling chatter and
her expressive gesticulations, and we all three made ourselves merry till
bedtime. Acting on the advice of Heliobas, I retired early to my room,
where a warm bath had been prepared in compliance with my orders. I
uncorked the glass tube No. 1, and poured the colourless fluid it contained
into the water, which immediately bubbled gently as though beginning to
boil. After watching it for a minute or two, and observing that this
seething movement steadily continued, I undressed quickly and stepped in.
Never shall I forget the exquisite sensation I experienced! I can only
describe it as the poor little Doll's Dressmaker in "Our Mutual
Friend" described her angel visitants her "blessed
children," who used to come and "take her up and make
her light." If my body had been composed of no grosser matter
than fire and air, I could not have felt more weightless, more
buoy-
ant, more thoroughly exhilarated than when, at the end of the prescribed
five minutes, I got out of that marvellous bath of healing! As I prepared
for bed, I noticed that the bubbling of the water had entirely ceased; but
this was easy of comprehension, for if it had contained electricity, as I
supposed, my body had absorbed it by contact, which would account for the
movement being stilled. I now took the second little phial, and prepared it
as I had been told. This time the fluid was motionless. I noticed it was
very faintly tinged with amber. I drank it off--it was perfectly
tasteless.
Once in bed, I seemed to have no power to think any more--my eyes
closed
readily--the slumber of a year-old child, as Heliobas had said, came
upon
me with resistless and sudden force, and I remembered no more.
toilette. As I brushed out my hair I heard the sound of a violin. Some one
was playing next door. I listened, and recognized a famous Beethoven
Concerto. The unseen musician played brilliantly and withal tenderly, both
touch and tone reminding me of some beautiful verses in a book of poems I
had recently read, called "Love-letters by a Violinist," in
which the poet talks of his "loved Amati," and says:
I must need support and patronage, and with impulsive large-heartedness
were beginning to plan as to the best means of organizing a concert for me.
I was taken by surprise at this, for I had general!y found the exact
reverse of this sympathy among English patrons of art, who were never tired
of murmuring the usual platitudes about there being "so many
musicians," "music was overdone," "improvising was
not understood or cared for," etc., etc.
idea of the kind, but they were incorrigibly generous.
I replied; "and I hope soon to be quite well."
easy-chairs, reading a volume of Plato. He rose and greeted me cordially.
Before I could speak a word, he said:
afterglow of the set sun streamed through a high oriel window of richly
stained glass. Turning towards the left, Heliobas drew aside the folds of
some azure satin hangings, and calling in a low voice "Zara!"
motioned me to enter. I stepped into a spacious and lofty apartment where
the light seemed to soften and merge into many shades of opaline radiance
and delicacy--a room the beauty of which would at any other time have
astonished and delighted me, but which now appeared as nothing beside the
surpassing loveliness of the woman who occupied it. Never shall I behold
again any face or form so divinely beautiful! She was about the medium
height of women, but her small finely shaped head was set upon so slender
and proud a throat that she appeared taller than she actually was. Her
figure was most exquisitely rounded and proportioned, and she came across
the room to give me greeting with a sort of gliding graceful
movement, like that of a stately swan floating on calm sunlit water. Her
complexion was transparently clear--most purely white, most delicately
rosy. Her eyes--large, luminous and dark as night, fringed with long
silky
black lashes--looked like
hues--now bright crimson, now lightning-blue, sometimes deepening into
a
rich purple or tawny orange. Its lustre was intense, almost dazzling to the
eye. Its beautiful wearer gave me welcome with a radiant smile and a few
cordial words, and drawing me by the hand to the low couch she had just
vacated, made me sit down beside her. Heliobas had disappeared.
of the couch beside me. "You can make statues in marble like Michael
Angelo?"
love you. My brother has always had so much distrust of the companionship
of women for me. You know his theories; and he has always asserted that the
sphere of thought in which I have lived all my life is so widely apart from
those in which other women exist--that nothing but unhappiness for me
could
come out of associating us together. When he told me yesterday that you
were coming to see me to-day, I knew he must have discovered something in
your nature that was not antipathetic to mine; otherwise he would not have
brought you to me. Do you think you can like me?--perhaps
love
me after a little while?"
elect me as a friend. I therefore replied to her words by putting my arm
affectionately round her waist and kissing her. My beautiful, tender Zara!
How innocently happy she seemed to be thus embraced! and how gently her
fragrant lips met mine in that sisterly caress! She leaned her dark head
for a moment on my shoulder, and the mysterious jewel on her breast flashed
into a weird hue like the light of a stormy sunset.
everywhere in abundance. Lifting the hangings at the further end of the
apartment, she passed, I following, into a lofty studio, filled with all
the appurtenances of the sculptor's art. Here and there were the usual
spectral effects which are always suggested to the mind by unfinished
plaster models--an arm in one place, a head in another; a torso, or a
single hand, protruding ghost-like from a fold of dark drapery. At the very
end of the room stood a large erect figure, the outlines of which could but
dimly be seen through its linen coverings; and to this work, whatever it
was, Zara did not appear desirous of attracting my attention. She led me to
one particular corner; and, throwing aside a small crimson velvet curtain,
said:
possible that the fragile little hand of the woman who stood beside me
could have executed such a perfect work. She had depicted
"Evening" as a beautiful nude female figure in the act of
stepping forward on tip-toe; the eyes were half closed, and the sweet mouth
slightly parted in a dreamily serious smile. The right forefinger was laid
lightly on the lips, as though suggesting silence; and in the left hand was
loosely clasped a bunch of poppies. That was all. But the poetry and force
of the whole conception as carried out in the statue was marvellous.
the Scriptures, 'There were giants in those days.'
Giants--veritable ones; and we modernists are the pigmies. We can only
see
Art now through the eyes of others who came before us. We cannot create
anything new. We look at a painting through Raphael; sculpture through
Angelo; poetry through Shakespeare; philosophy through Plato. It is all
done for us; we are copyists. The world is getting old--how glorious
to
have lived when it was young! But nowadays the very children are
blasé."
that term means to live long, to barter whatever genius you have for gold,
to hear the fulsome and unmeaning flatteries of the ignorant, who are as
ready with condemnation as praise--to be envied and maligned by those
less
lucky than you are. Heaven forbid me from such a fate!"
shade of annoyance flitted away from her fair face like a passing shadow,
as she replied quietly:
and I prefer it to a gong!" And slipping her arm affectionately
through mine, she drew me from the studio into the passage, and together we
went down the staircase into a large dining-room, rich with oil-paintings
and carved oak, where Heliobas awaited us. Close by him stood another
gentleman, who was introduced to me as Prince Ivan Petroffsky. He was a
fine-looking, handsome-featured young man, of about thirty, tall and
broad-shouldered, though beside the commanding stature of Heliobas, his
figure did not show to so much advantage as it might have done beside a
less-imposing contrast. He bowed to me with easy and courteous grace; but
his deeply reverential salute to Zara had something in it of that humility
which a slave might render to a queen. She bent her head slightly to
answer, and still holding me by the hand, moved to her seat at the bottom
of the table, while her brother took the head. My seat was
at the right hand of Heliobas, Prince Ivan's at the left, so that we
directly faced each other.
quite unknown to me--one in especial, of a pale pink colour, that
sparkled
slightly as it was poured into my glass, seemed to me a kind of nectar of
the gods, so soft it was to the palate. The conversation, at first somewhat
desultory, grew more concentrated as the time went on, though Zara spoke
little and seemed absorbed in her own thoughts more than once. The Prince,
warmed with the wine and the general good cheer, became witty and amusing
in his conversation; he was a man who had evidently seen a good deal of the
world, and was accustomed to take everything in life
à la bagatelle. He told us gay stories
of his life in St. Petersburg; of the pranks he had played in the
Florentine Carnival; of his journey to the American States, and his narrow
escape from the matrimonial clutches of a Boston heiress.
then at the preposterous puns the young man would insist on making at every
opportunity that presented itself.
"Do you know, Casimir, I find you sometimes as puzzling as
Socrates."
new experience,' says the American imitator of
Plato--Emerson. If this advice is faithfully followed, we all have
enough
to occupy us busily from the cradle to the grave."
suggests, I am a bad philosopher. I do not pretend to more than the
ordinary attributes of any ordinary man; it is fortunate, if I may be
permitted to say so, that the rest of the world's inhabitants are very
like
me, for if everyone reached to the sublime heights of science and knowledge
that you and your brother have attained--"
soft rubbing itself gently against my dress; and looking down, I saw the
noble head and dark intelligent eyes of my old acquaintance Leo, whom I had
last met at Cannes. I gave an exclamation of pleasure, and the dog,
encouraged, stood up and laid a caressing paw on my arm.
fondled. "I should never have been much encouraged in my researches,
had he not been at hand. I feared to experimentalize much on my sister, she
being young at the time--and women are always frail of
construction--but
Leo was willing and ready to be a victim to science, if necessary. Instead
of a martyr he is a living triumph--are you not, old boy?" he
continued, stroking the silky coat of the animal, who responded with a low
bark of satisfaction.
man, younger than Prince Ivan, I absorbed myself in the study of
electricity--its wonderful powers, and its various capabilities. From
the
consideration of electricity in the different forms by which it is known to
civilized Europe, I began to look back through history, to what are
ignorantly called 'the dark ages,' but which might more justly
be termed the enlightened youth of the world. I found that the force of
electricity was well understood by the ancients--better understood by
them,
in fact, than it is by the scientists of our day. The 'MENE, MENE,
TEKEL, UPHARSIN' that glittered in unearthly characters on the wall
at Belshazzar's feast was written by electricity; and the Chaldean
kings
and priests understood a great many secrets of another form of electric
force which the world to-day scoffs at and almost ignores--I mean
human
electricity, which we all possess, but which we do not cultivate within us.
When once I realized the
existence of the fact of human electric force, I applied the discovery to
myself, and spared no pains to foster and educate whatever germ of this
power lay within me. I succeeded with more ease and celerity than I had
imagined possible. At the time I pursued these studies, Leo here was quite
a young dog, full of the clumsy playfulness and untrained ignorance of a
Newfoundland puppy. One day I was very busy reading an interesting Sanskrit
scroll which treated of ancient medicines and remedies, and Leo was
gambolling in his awkward way about the room playing with an old slipper
and worrying it with his teeth. The noise he made irritated and disturbed
me, and I rose in my chair and called him by name, somewhat angrily. He
paused in his game and looked up--his eyes met mine exactly. His head
drooped; he shivered uneasily, whined, and lay down motionless. He never
stirred once from the position he had taken, till I gave him
permission--and remember, he was untrained. This strange behaviour led
me
to try other experiments with him. and all succeeded. I gradually led him
up to the point I desired--that is, I forced him to receive my
thought and act upon it, as far as canine capabilities could do, and
he never once failed. It is sufficient for me to strongly will
him to do a certain thing, and I can convey that command of mine to his
brain without uttering a single word, and he will obey me."
not?" she said; "but I assure you it is quite true."
him with equal steadiness. This interchange of looks lasted but a few
seconds. Leo left the room, walking with an unruffled and dignified pace,
while we waited his return--Heliobas and Zara with indifference,
Prince
Ivan with amusement, and I with interest and expectancy. Two or three
minutes elapsed, and the dog returned with the same majestic demeanour,
carrying between his teeth my handkerchief. He came straight to me and
placed it in my hand; shook himself, wagged his tail, and conveying a
perfectly human expression of satisfaction into his face, went under the
table again to his bone. I was utterly amazed, but at the same time
convinced. I had not seen the dog since my arrival in Paris, and it was
impossible for him to have known where to find my handkerchief, or to
recognize it as being mine unless through the means Heliobas had
explained.
I asked, with a slight tremor of nervousness.
soon as you touch the extreme edge of my circle. You are a long way off it
yet, but you are coming in spite of yourself, Ivan."
which is as necessary to existence as the life-blood to the heart or fresh
air to the lungs. Internally it is the germ of a soul or spirit, and is
placed there to be either cultivated or neglected as suits the
will of man. It is indestructible; yet, if neglected, it
remains always a germ; and at the death of the body it inhabits, goes
elsewhere to seek another chance of development. If, on the contrary, its
growth is fostered by a persevering, resolute WILL, it becomes a spiritual
creature, glorious and supremely powerful, for which a new, brilliant, and
endless existence commences when its clay chrysalis perishes. So much for
the internal electrical force. The external binds
us all by fixed laws, with which our wills have nothing whatever to do.
Each one of us walks the earth encompassed by an invisible electric
ring--wide or narrow according to our capabilities. Sometimes our
rings
meet and form one, as in the case of two
abso-
lutely sympathetic souls, who labour and love together with perfect faith
in each other. Sometimes they clash, and storm ensues, as when a strong
antipathy between persons causes them almost to loathe each other's
presence. All these human electric rings are capable of attraction and
repulsion. If a man, during his courtship of a woman, experiences once or
twice a sudden instinctive feeling that there is something in her nature
not altogether what he expected or desired, let him break off the
attachment; for the electric circles do not combine, and nothing but
unhappiness would come from forcing a union. I would say the same thing to
a woman. If my advice were followed, how many unhappy marriages would be
avoided! But you have tempted me to talk too much, Ivan. I see the ladies
wish to adjourn. Shall we go to the smoking-room for a little, and then
join them in the drawing-room afterwards?"
open, she made the sign of the cross and sank on her knees. I did the same,
and then looked with reverential wonder at the loveliness and serenity of
the place. It was small, but lofty, and the painted dome-shaped roof was
supported by eight light marble columns, wreathed with minutely-carved
garlands of vine-leaves. The chapel was fitted up in accordance with the
rites of the Catholic religion, and before the High Altar and Tabernacle
burned seven roseate lamps, which were suspended from the roof by slender
gilt chains. A large crucifix, bearing a most sorrowful and pathetic figure
of Christ, was hung on one side of the walls; and from a corner altar,
shining with soft blue and silver, an exquisite statue of the Madonna and
Child were dimly seen from where we knelt. A few minutes passed and Zara
rose. Looking towards the Tabernacle, her lips moved as though murmuring a
prayer; and then, taking me
by the hand, she led me gently out. The heavy oaken door swung gently
behind us as we ascended the chapel steps and re-entered the great
hall.
come here and stay with me while you are under Casimir's
treatment?"
stay here. Casimir asked me to settle the matter with you."
probably, my complete restoration to health would be more successfully and
quickly accomplished if I were actually in the house of the man who had
promised to cure me. Therefore I replied:
turning over a volume of photographs in a sullenly abstracted sort of
way.
quality, sonorous, and at the same time tender. He sang a French rendering
of a Sclavonic love-song, which, as nearly as I can translate it into
English, ran as follows:
pawed the stones and pranced. Before descending the steps I shook hands
with Heliobas, and thanked him for the pleasant evening I had passed.
--she was employed at one time as under-housemaid at Dr.
Casimir's, and she
had things to say--ah, to make the blood like ice!"
her tremble from head to foot. Now, mademoiselle, judge yourself whether it
is fit for one who is suffering with nerves to go to so strange a
house!"
sieur le Comte Casimir, or Dr. Casimir--for he is called
both--came in all
suddenly, and in half an hour had saved the little one's life. I do
not
deny that be may have some good in him, and that be understands medicine;
but there is something wrong--" And Madame Denise shook her head
forlornly a great number of times.
I could enter it by going down a few steps, and could have the satisfaction
of gathering roses and lilies of the valley, while outside the east wind
blew and the cold snow-flakes fell over Paris. I wrote to Mrs. Everard from
my retreat, and I also informed the Challoners where they could find me if
they wanted me. These duties done, I gave myself up to enjoyment. Zara and
I became inseparables; we worked together, read together, and together
every morning gave those finishing touches to the ordering and arrangement
of the household which are essentially feminine, and which not the wisest
philosopher in all the world has been, or will be, able to accomplish
successfully. We grew to love each other dearly with that ungrudging,
sympathizing, confiding friendship that is very rarely found between two
women. In the meantime my cure went on rapidly. Every night on retiring to
rest Heliobas prepared a medicinal dose for me, of the
qualities of which I was absolutely ignorant, but which I took trustingly
from his hand. Every morning a different little phial of liquid was placed
in the bath-room for me to empty into the water for my daily bath, and
every hour I grew better, brighter, and stronger. The natural vivacity of
my temperament returned to me; I suffered no pain, no anxiety, no
depression, and I slept as soundly as a child, unvisited by a single dream.
The mere fact of being alive became a joy to me; I felt grateful for
everything--for my eyesight, my speech, my hearing, my
touch--because all
my senses seemed to be sharpened and invigorated and braced up to the
keenest delight. This happy condition of my system did not come
suddenly--sudden cures mean sudden relapses; it was a gradual, steady,
ever-increasing, reliable recovery.
manners were evenly gracious and kindly, and the life they led was a model
of perfect household peace and harmony. There was never a fuss about
anything; the domestic arrangements seemed to work on smoothly oiled
wheels; the different repasts were served with quiet elegance and
regularity; the servants were few, but admirably trained; and we all lived
in an absolutely calm atmosphere, unruffled by so much as a breath of
worry. Nothing of a mysterious nature went on, as far as I could see.
and was invariably cheerful, generally entertaining us with lively converse
and sparkling narrative, though now and then the thoughtful tendency of his
mind predominated, and gave a serious tone to his remarks.
as is unknown to the tired multitudes who toil on hopelessly and wearily,
wondering, as they work, why they were born. Zara evidently had no doubts
for speculations of this kind; she drank in every minute of her existence
as if it were a drop of honey-dew prepared specially for her palate. I
never could believe that her age was what she had declared it to be. She
seemed to look younger every day; sometimes her eyes had that limpid,
lustrous innocence that is seen in the eyes of a very little child; and,
again, they would change and glow with the earnest and lofty thought of one
who had lived through years of study, research, and discovery. For the
first few days of my visit she did not work in her studio at all, but
appeared to prefer reading or talking with me. One afternoon, however, when
we had returned from a short drive in the Bois de Boulogne, she said half
hesitatingly:
morrow morning, if you will not think me unsociable."
and I shall not come near you till you call me."
one request. But in regard to your pursuits, dear, while I am at work in my
studio, you can use the grand piano in the drawing-room when you please, as
well as the little one in your own room; and you can improvise on the
chapel organ as much as you like."
the newspapers of the day, and a little clapping and shouting from a
gathering of ordinary-minded persons, who only clap and shout because it is
possibly the fashion to do so. It is really ludicrous. If the music the
musician offers to the public be really great, it will live by itself, and
defy praise or blame. Because Schubert died of want and sorrow, that does
not interfere with the life of his creations. Because Wagner is voted
impossible and absurd by many who think themselves good judges of musical
art, that does not offer any obstacle to the steady spread of his fame,
which is destined to become as universal as that of Shakespeare. Poor
Joachim, the violinist, has got a picture in his private house, in which
Wagner is painted as suffering the tortures of hell; can anything be more
absurd, when we consider how soon the learned fiddler, who has occupied his
life in playing other people's compositions, will be a
handful of forgotten dust, while multitudes yet to come will shout their
admiration of 'Tristran' and 'Parsifal.' Yes, as I
said, I never cared for musical people much, till I met a friend of my
brother's--a man whose inner life was an exquisite
harmony."
life became 'one grand sweet song.' But there are
tears in your eyes, dear! What have I said to grieve you?"
world is no more than a grain of dust, measured by the standard of your own
soul. This is no mere platitude--no repetition of the poetical
statement
'The mind's the standard of the man;' it is a
fact,
and can be proved as completely as that two and two make four. Ask Casimir
to set you free."
and strong, though Heliobas continued to give me his remedies regularly
night and morning. I began an energetic routine of musical practice; the
beautiful Pleyell piano in the drawing-room answered readily to my touch,
and a delightful hour slipped by as I tried various new difficulties on the
keyboard, or worked out different combinations of harmony. I spent a great
deal of my time at the organ in the little chapel, the bellows of which
were worked by electricity, in a manner that gave not the least trouble,
and was perfectly simple of management.
brain and a succession of solemn and tender melodies wove themselves under
my fingers as a broidered carpet is woven on the loom.
organ, and prepared to leave the chapel, overcome by a strange
incomprehensible terror. I was glad when I found myself safely outside the
door, and I rushed into the hall as though I were being pursued; yet the
oddest part of my feeling was, that whoever thus pursued me, did so out of
love, not enmity, and that I was almost wrong in running away. I leaned for
a moment against one of the columns in the hall, trying to calm the excited
beating of my heart, when a deep voice startled me:
me not name it;--where the wealthy, high-fed ministers of the nation
slowly
argue away the lives of better men than themselves, with vain words of
colder and more cruel force than the whirling spears of untaught savages!
What have you, an ardent disciple of music, to do in such a land where
favouritism and backstair influence win the day over even the merits of a
Schubert. Supposing you were a second Beethoven, what could you do in that
land without faith or hope? that land which is like a disappointed,
churlish and aged man with tottering feet and purblind eyes, who has long
exhausted all enjoyment and sees nothing new under the sun. The world is
wide--faith is yet extant--and the teachings of Christ are true.
'Believe and live; doubt and die!' That saying is true
also."
world. Prove your powers upon me; I am not afraid."
be at first apparent. Poets must always be prophets, or their calling is in
vain. Put this standard of judgment to the verse-writers of the day, and
where would they be? The English Laureate is no seer; he is a mere relater
of pretty stories. Algernon Charles Swinburne has more fire in him, and
more wealth of expression, but he does not prophesy; he has a clever way of
combining Biblical similes with Provençal
passion--et voilà tout! The
prophets
are always poor--the sackcloth and ashes of the world are their
portion;
and their bodies moulder a hundred years or more in the grave before the
world finds out what they meant by their ravings. But apropos of these
lines of Shelley. He speaks of the duality of existence. 'Nothing
in the world is single.' He might have gone further, and said
nothing in the universe is single. Cold and heat, storm and sunshine, good
and evil, joy and sorrow--all go in pairs.
This double life extends to all the spheres and above the spheres. Do you
understand?"
nothing about the sympathy or attachment between souls. There are people,
however, who do care, and who never find their Twin-Flame or companion
Spirit at all on earth, and never will find it. And why? Because it is not
imprisoned in clay; it is elsewhere."
no good puzzling your brain any more about it. No doubt you think I am
taking very wildly about Twin-Flames and Spiritual Affinities that live for
us in another sphere. You do not believe, perhaps, in the existence of
beings in the very air that surrounds us, invisible to ordinary human eyes,
yet actually akin to us, with a closer relationship than any tie of blood
known on earth?"
German Wagner--did he not himself say that he walked up and down in
the
avenues, 'trying to catch the harmonies as they floated in the
air'? Come with me--come back to the place you left, and I
will
see if you, like Wagner, are able to catch a melody flying."
voice, "open the gateways of the Air that we may hear the sound of
Song!"
farther--and finally ceased. But the melody--that one distinct
passage of
notes I had followed out--remained with me, and I played it again and
again
with feverish eagerness lest it should escape me. I had forgotten the
presence of Heliobas. But a touch on my shoulder roused me. I looked up and
met his eyes fixed upon me with a steady and earnest regard. A shiver ran
through me, and I felt bewildered.
peoples. So far, and only so far, music is your own. But are you convinced?
or do you think you have been dreaming all that you heard just
now?"
disembodied spirits never become so undignified as to upset furniture or
rap on tables. Neither do they write letters in pen and ink and put them
under doors. Spiritual beings are purely spiritual; they cannot touch
anything human, much less deal in such vulgar display as the throwing about
of chairs, and the opening of locked sideboards. You were very rightly
sceptical in these matters. But In what I have endeavoured to prove to you,
you have no doubts, have you?"
Even now you are agitated, Wait one week more, and then you shall
be--"
afternoon. Zara listened with deep and almost breathless interest.
lightning, which is the fatal result of electric force. But all this is
external electricity; now what Casimir will use on you will be
internal electricity."
fixed the limits of your life on earth, and no human power can alter His
decree. Casimir's will can set you free for a time, but only for a
time,
You are bound to return, be it ever so reluctantly. Eternal liberty is
given by Death alone, and Death cannot be forced to come."
are such still to be found in remote parts of the sea, Do you like
it?"
answered her look with a smile, and sad, half gaily:
play the melody I had heard in the chapel. To my joy it came at once to my
fingers, and I was able to remember every note. I did not attempt to write
it down--somehow I felt sure it would not escape me now. A sense of
profound gratitude filled my heart, and, remembering the counsel given by
Heliobas, I knelt reverently down and thanked God for the joy and grace of
music. As I did so, a faint breath of sound, like a distant whisper of
harps played in unison, floated past my ears, then appeared to sweep round
in ever-widening circles, till it gradually died away. But it was sweet and
entrancing enough for me to understand how glorious and full of rapture
must have been the star-symphony played on that winter's night long
ago,
when the angels chanted together, "Glory to God in the highest, and
on earth peace and good-will to Man!"
tion; but she so instantly and decisively turned the conversation that I
saw I should displease her if I persisted in it. Heliobas appeared to be
really attached to the Prince, at which I secretly wondered; the worldly
and frivolous young nobleman was of so entirely different a temperament to
that of the thoughtful and studious Chaldean philosopher. Yet there was
evidently some mysterious attraction between them--the Prince appeared
to
be profoundly interested in electric theories and experiments, and Heliobas
never wearied of expounding them to so attentive a listener. The wonderful
capabilities of the dog Leo, also, were brought into constant requisition
for Prince Ivan's benefit, and without doubt they were most
remarkable.
This animal, commanded--or, I should say,
brain-electrified--by Heliobas, would fetch anything that
was
named to him through his master's force, providing it was light enough
for
him to carry; and
he would go into the conservatory and pluck off with his teeth any rare or
common flower within his reach that was described to him by the same means.
Spoken to or commanded by others, he was simply a good-natured intelligent
Newfoundland; but under the authority of Heliobas, he became more than
human in ready wit and quick obedience, and would have brought in a golden
harvest to any great circus or menagerie.
occurred which startled and deeply impressed me. Prince Ivan had dined with
us; he was in extraordinarily high spirits--his gaiety was almost
boisterous, and his face was deeply flushed. Zara glanced at him half
indignantly more than once when his laughter became unusually uproarious,
and I saw that Heliobas watched him closely and half-inquiringly, as if he
thought there was something amiss.
to him, and while listening, equally impossible not to admire him. Even
Zara, who was generally indifferent to his music, became, on this
particular night, fascinated into a sort of dreamy attention. He perceived
this, and suddenly addressed himself to her in softened tones which bore no
trace of their previous loudness.
you an English song--one of the loveliest ever penned. I have set it
to
music myself, as such words are not of the kind to suit ordinary composers
or publishers; they are too much in earnest, too passionate, too full of
real human love and sorrow. The songs that suit modern drawing-rooms and
concert-halls, as a rule, are those that are full of sham sentiment--a
real, strong, throbbing heart pulse through a song is too
terribly exciting for lackadaisical society. Listen!" And, playing a
dreamy, murmuring prelude like the sound of a brook flowing through a
hollow cavern, he sang Swinburne's "Leave-Taking," surely
one
of the saddest and most beautiful poems in the English language.
seemed to declare itself in the complete despair of his low vibrating
tones:
entered with a letter on a silver salver. It was for his master. Heliobas
read it quickly, and rose, saying:
song. Do you know Swinburne, mademoiselle?"
and overwrought. Zara meant no slight to you in leaving the room before
your song was finished. I am quite sure of that. She is kindness
itself--her nature is all sweetness and gentleness. She would not
willingly
offend you--"
here, you! If Casimir returns, tell him I have gone for a walk of half an
hour. Play to him--keep him occupied--be my friend in this one
thing--I
trust you. Let him not seek for Zara, or for me. I shall not be long
absent."
I am sure you do not know what you are talking about."
matter of course that, whatever the force was, it must be for good, not
evil, over a being so pure, so lovely and so intelligent as Zara.
mounted Walkyres in Wagner's 'Nibelungen Ring,' galloping
to
Walhalla with the bodies of dead warriors slung before them. A low moaning
wind had arisen, and was beginning to sob round the house like the Banshee.
Hark! what was that? I started violently. Surely that was a faint shriek? I
listened intently. Nothing but the wind rustling among some creaking
branches.
breath! Oh, so much the more need of prayer!
her. I was free to go anywhere in the house, only avoiding her studio
during her hours of work; and she never worked at night. I would go to her
and confide all my strange thoughts and terrors to her friendly sympathy. I
hurried through the hall and up the staircase quickly, and should have gone
straight into Zara's boudoir had I not heard a sound or voices which
caused
me to stop precipitately outside the door. Zara was speaking. Her low,
musical accents fell like a silver chime on the air.
wealth and influence, your good looks, your hospitable and friendly nature
would make most women happy. But what should I care for your
family diamonds? for your surroundings? for your ambitions? The society of
the world fills me with disgust and prejudice. Marriage, as the world
considers it, shocks and outrages my self-respect; the idea of a bodily
union without that of souls is to me repulsive and loathsome. Why,
therefore, waste your time in seeking a love which does not exist, which
will never exist for you?"
will, with patience, draw you, star of my life, closer and closer, till I
at last call you mine?"
speculator in aërial nothings; no clever
charlatan like Casimir, who, because he is
able to magnetize a dog, pretends to the same authority over human beings,
and dares to risk the health, perhaps the very sanity of his own sister,
and that of the unfortunate young musician whom he has inveigled in here,
all for the sake of proving his dangerous, almost diabolical experiments.
Oh yes; I see you are indignant, but I speak truth. I am a plain
man;--and
if I am deficient in electric germs, as Casimir would say, I
have plenty of common-sense. I wish to rescue you, Zara. You are becoming a
prey to morbid fancies; your naturally healthy mind is full of extravagant
notions concerning angels and demons and what not; and your entire belief
in, and enthusiasm for, your brother is a splendid advertisement for him.
Let me tear the veil of credulity from your eyes. Let me teach you how good
a thing it is to live and love and laugh like other people,
and leave electricity to the telegraph-wires and the lamp-posts."
in the privacy of her own apartment. Very man-like, truly; and perfectly in
accordance with a reasonable being who likes to live and love and laugh
according to the rule of society--a puppet whose wires society pulls,
and
he dances or dies as society pleases. I told you a gulf existed between
us--you have widened it, for which I thank you! As I do not impose any
of
my wishes upon you, and therefore cannot request
you to leave the room, you must excuse me if I
retire elsewhere."
if I die for it!" And he strove to seize her in his arms. But she
escaped him and stood at bay, her lips quivering, her bosom heaving, and
her hands clenched.
strong arm clasped her waist, when it fell numb and
powerless--scarcely had
his eager lips stooped towards hers, when he reeled and sank heavily on the
ground, senseless! The spell that had held me a silent spectator of the
scene was broken. Terrified, I rushed into the room, crying out:
looked fearfully at Zara. She smiled half sadly.
Prince has had a shock--not a fatal one, as you will see. You look
doubtful--are you afraid of me, dear?"
form of the Prince, then at me, and lastly at his sister.
Ivan is not to blame because he is like the rest of the world. He will be
wiser in time."
assure you. Zara, you had better leave us. Your face must not be the first
for Ivan's eyes to rest upon. You," nodding to me, "can
stay."
quivered and parted in a heavy sigh. The bruised appearance of the eyelids
gave place to the natural tint--they opened, disclosing the eyes,
which
stared directly into those of the compelling Master who thus forced their
obedience. A strong shudder shook the young man's frame; his before
nerveless hands grasped those of Heliobas with force and fervour, and still
meeting that steady look which seemed to pierce the very centre of his
system, Prince Ivan, like Lazarus of old, arose and stood erect. As he did
so, Heliobas withdrew his eyes, dropped his hands and smiled.
Heliobas, thus openly and plainly displayed.
yet touched with a strange humility. He advanced to Heliobas, holding out
his hand.
the most docile of your pupils. As for Zara--" He paused, as if
overcome.
Tell her that I understand; tell her I have seen her lover."
not the sentiment of repulsion towards me which would enable you to do it.
Shall I go on guessing?"
discovered to exist in certain fish. Listen: 'They are nervous
apparatuses which in the arrangement of their parts may be compared to a
Voltaic pile. They develop electricity and give electrical
discharges.'"
To modern civilization it may seem a discovery, because the tendency of all
so-called progress is to forget the past. The scent of the human savage is
extraordinarily keen--keener than that of any animal--he can
follow a track
unerringly by some odour be is able to detect in the air. Again, he can lay
back his ears to the wind and catch a faint, far-off sound with certainty
and precision, and tell you what it is. Civilized beings have forgotten all
this; they can neither smell nor hear with actual keenness. Just in the
same way they have forgotten the use of the electrical organs they all
indubitably possess in large or minute degree. As the muscles of the arm
are developed in practice, so can the wonderful internal electrical
apparatus of man be strengthened and enlarged by use. The world in its
youth knew this; the world in its age forgets, as an old man forgets or
smiles disdainfully at the past sports of his childhood. But
do not let us talk any more to-night. If you think your ideas of me are
correct--"
angel look on some repentant sinner pleading for Heaven's
forgiveness.
communication be established, like a sort of spiritual Atlantic cable,
between man and the beings of other spheres and other solar systems? The
more I reflected on the subject the more lost I became in daring
speculations concerning that other world, to which I was soon to be lifted.
Then, in a sort of half doze, I fancied I saw an interminable glittering
chain of vivid light composed of circles that were all looped one in
another, which seemed to sweep around the realms of space and to tie up the
sun, moon, and stars like flowers in a ribbon of fire. After much anxious
and humble research, I found myself to be one of the smallest links in this
great chain. I do not know whether I was grateful or afraid at this
discovery, for sleep put an end to my drowsy fancies, and dropped a dark
curtain over my waking dreams.
That afternoon I explained to Colonel and Mrs. Everard that I had
resolved to consult a celebrated physician in Paris (whose name, however, I
did not mention), and should go there alone for a few days. On hearing that
I knew of well-recommended ladies'
Page 145
Page 146CHAPTER VI.
THE HÔTEL MARS AND ITS OWNER.
IT was between three and four o'clock in the afternoon of
the
day succeeding the night of my arrival in Paris, when I found myself
standing at the door of the Hôtel Mars, Champs Élysées.
I had proved the Pension kept by Madame
Denise to be everything that could be desired and on my presentation of
Raffaello Cellini's card of introduction, I had been welcomed by the
maîtresse de la maison with a cordial
effusiveness that amounted almost to enthusiasm.
Page 147
"Ce cher Cellini!" the cheery and pleasant little woman had
exclaimed, as she set before me a deliciously prepared breakfast. "Je
l'aime tant! Il a si bon coeur! et ses beaux yeux! Mon Dieu,
comme un
ange!"
As soon as I had settled the various little details respecting my room
and attendance, and had changed my travelling-dress for a quiet visiting
toilette, I started for the abode of Heliobas.
The weather was very cold; I had left the summer behind me at Cannes, to
find winter reigning supreme in Paris. A bitter east wind blew, and a few
flakes of snow fell now and then from the frowning sky. The house to which
I betook myself was situated at a commanding corner of a road facing the
Champs Élysées. It was a noble-looking building. The broad
steps leading to the entrance were guarded on either side by a sculptured
Sphinx, each of whom held, in its massive stone paws,
Page 148
I ascended the steps with some hesitation, and twice I extended my hand
towards the bell, desiring yet fearing to awaken its summons. I noticed it
was an electric bell, not needing to be pulled but pressed; and at last,
after many doubts and anxious suppositions, I very gently laid my fingers
on the little button which formed its handle. Scarcely had I done this than
the great door slid open rapidly without the least noise. I looked for the
servant in attendance--there was none. I paused an instant; the door
remained invitingly open, and through it I caught a glimpse of flowers.
Resolving to be bold, and to hesitate no longer, I entered. As I crossed
the threshold, the door closed
Page 149
I found myself in a spacious hall, light and lofty, surrounded with
fluted pillars of white marble. In the centre a fountain bubbled
melodiously, and tossed up every now and then a high jet of sparkling
spray, while round its basin grew the rarest ferns and exotics, which
emitted a subtle and delicate perfume. No cold air penetrated here; it was
as warm and balmy as a spring day in Southern Italy. Light Indian bamboo
chairs provided with luxurious velvet cushions were placed in various
corners between the marble columns, and on one of these I seated myself to
rest a minute, wondering what I should do next, and whether anyone would
come to ask me the cause of my intrusion. My meditations were soon put to
flight by the appearance of a young lad, who crossed the hall from the
left-hand side and approached me. He was a handsome boy of
Page 150
"My master is ready to receive you, mademoiselle."
I rose without a word and followed him, scarcely permitting myself to
speculate as to how his master knew I was there at all.
The hall was soon traversed, and the lad paused before a magnificent
curtain of deep crimson velvet, heavily bordered with gold. Pulling a
twisted cord that hung beside it, the heavy, regal folds parted in twain
with noiseless regularity, and displayed an octagon room, so exquisitely
designed and ornamented that I gazed upon it as upon some rare and
beautiful picture. It was unoccupied, and my young escort placed a chair
for me
Page 151
Left alone, I gazed in bewilderment at the loveliness around me. The
walls and ceiling were painted in fresco. I could not make out the
subjects, but I could see faces of surpassing beauty smiling from clouds,
and peering between stars and crescents. The furniture appeared to be of
very ancient Arabian design; each chair was a perfect masterpiece of
wood-carving, picked out and inlaid with gold. The sight of a semi-grande
piano, which stood open, displaying the name of its
maker--"PLEYELL"--upon it, brought me back to the
realization
that I was living in modern times, and not in a dream of the Arabian
Nights; while the Paris Figaro and the London
Times--both of that day's issue--lying on a
side-table,
demonstrated the nineteenth century to me with every
Page 152
Looking about me, I perceived an excellent cabinet photograph of
Raffaello Cellini, framed in antique silver; and I rose to examine it more
closely, as being the face of a friend. While I looked at it, I heard the
sound of an organ in the distance playing softly an old familiar church
chant. I listened. Suddenly I bethought myself of the three dreams that had
visited me. This Heliobas, was I right after all in coming to consult him?
Was he not perhaps a mere charlatan? and
might not his experiments upon me prove fruitless, and possibly fatal? An
idea seized me that I would escape while there
Page 153
I stood mute and motionless. I knew him well; he was the very man I had
seen in my third and last dream; the same noble, calm features; the same
commanding presence; the same keen, clear eyes; the same compelling smile.
There was nothing extraordinary about his appearance except his stately
bearing and handsome countenance; his dress was that of any well-to-do
gentleman of the present day, and there was no affectation of mystery in
his manner. He advanced and bowed courteously; then, with a friendly look,
Page 154
"So you are the young musician?" he said, in those warm
mellifluous accents that I had heard before and that I so well remembered.
"My friend Raffaello Cellini has written to me about you. I hear you
have been suffering from physical depression?"
He spoke as any physician might do who inquired after a patient's
health. I was surprised and relieved. I had prepared myself for something
darkly mystical, almost cabalistic; but there was nothing unusual in the
demeanour of this pleasant and good-looking gentleman who, bidding me be
seated, took a chair himself opposite to me, and observed me with that
sympathetic and kindly interest which any well-bred doctor would esteem it
his duty to exhibit. I became quite at ease, and answered all his questions
fully and frankly. He felt my pulse in the customary way,
Page 155
"You know, of course, that I am not a doctor?"
"I know," I said; "Signor Cellini explained to
me."
"Ah!" and Heliobas smiled. "Raffaello explained as
much as he might, but not everything. I must tell you I have a simple
pharmacopoeia of my own--it contains twelve remedies, and only
twelve.
In fact there are no more that are of any use to the human mechanism. All
are made of the juice of plants, and six of them are electric. Raffaello
tried you with one of them, did he not?"
As he put this question, I was aware of a keenly inquiring look sent
from the eyes of my interrogator into mine.
Page 156
"Yes," I answered frankly, "and it made me dream, and
I dreamt of you."
Heliobas laughed lightly.
"So!--that is well. Now I am going in the first place to give
you
what I am sure will be satisfactory information. If you will agree to trust
yourself to my care, you will be in perfect health in a little less than a
fortnight--but you must follow my rules exactly."
I started up from my seat.
"Of course!" I exclaimed eagerly, forgetting all my previous
fear of him; "I will do all you advise, even if you wish to magnetize
me as you magnetized Signor Cellini!
"I never magnetized Raffaello," he said
gravely; "he was on the verge of madness, and he had no faith whereby
to save himself. I simply set him free for a time, knowing that his was a
genius which would find out things for itself or perish in the effort. I
let him go on a voyage of dis-
Page 157
"How do you know?" I asked.
"You are a woman--your desire is to be well and strong,
health
being beauty--to love and to be beloved--to wear pretty toilettes
and to be
admired; and you have a creed which satisfies you, and which you believe in
without proofs."
There was the slightest possible tinge of mockery in his voice as he
said these words. A tumultuous rush of feelings overcame me. My high dreams
of ambition, my innate scorn of the trite and commonplace, my deep love of
art, my desires of fame--all these things bore down upon my heart and
overcame it, and a pride too deep for tears arose in me and found
utterance.
"You think I am so slight and weak a thing!" I
exclaimed. "You, who profess to understand the secrets
of electricity--
Page 158
Page 159
I paused, overcome by my own feelings. Heliobas smiled.
"So! You are stung!" he said quietly; "stung into
action. That is as it should be. Resume your seat, mademoiselle, and do not
be angry with me. I am studying you for your own good. In the meantime
permit me to analyze your words a little. You are young and inexperienced.
You
Page 160
Page 161
Page 162
"I was," I answered, "till my state of health stopped
me from working."
Heliobas bent his eyes upon me in friendly sympathy.
"You were, and you will be again, an
improvisatrice," he went on. "Do
you not find it difficult to make your audiences understand your
aims?"
I smiled as the remembrance of some of
Page 163
"Yes," I said, half laughing. "In England, at least,
people do not know what is meant by improvising. They think it
is to take a little theme and compose variations on it--the mere A B C
of
the art. But to sit down to the piano and plan a whole sonata or symphony
in your head, and play it while planning it, is a thing they do not and
will not understand. They come to hear, and they wonder and go away, and
the critics declare it to be clap-trap."
"Exactly!" replied Heliobas. "But you are to be
congratulated on having attained this verdict. Everything that people
cannot quite understand is called clap-trap in England; as for
instance the matchless violin playing of Sarasate; the tempestuous
splendour of Rubinstein; the elfish, weird grumblings and gambollings of
Bottesini's contra-basso--this is, according
Page 164
"I have not touched the instrument for two months," I said;
"I am afraid I am out of practice."
"Then you shall not exert yourself to-day," returned
Heliobas kindly. "But I believe I can help you with your
improvisations. You compose the music as you play, you tell me. Well, have
you any idea how the melodies or the harmonies form themselves in your
brain?"
"Not the least in the world," I replied.
"Is the act of thinking them out an effort to you?" he
asked.
"Not at all. They come as though some one else were planning them
for me."
"Well, well! I think I can certainly be of use to you in this
matter as in others.
Page 165
He went to a corner of the room and lifted from the floor an ebony
casket, curiously carved and ornamented with silver. This he unlocked. It
contained twelve flasks of cut glass, stoppered with gold and numbered in
order. He next pulled out a side drawer in this casket, and in it I saw
several little thin empty glass tubes, about the size of a
cigarette-holder. Taking two of these he filled them from two of the larger
flasks, corked them tightly, and then turning to me, said:
"To-night, on going to bed, have a warm bath, empty the contents
of the tube marked No. 1 into it, and then immerse yourself thoroughly for
about five minutes. After the bath, put the fluid in this other tube marked
2, into a tumbler of fresh spring water, and drink it off. Then go straight
to bed."
Page 166
"Shall I have any dreams?" I inquired with a little
anxiety.
"Certainly not," replied Heliobas, smiling. "I wish
you to sleep as soundly as a year-old child. Dreams are not for you
to-night. Can you come to me to-morrow afternoon at five o'clock? If
you
can arrange to stay to dinner, my sister will be pleased to meet you; but
perhaps you are otherwise engaged?"
I told him I was not, and explained where I had taken rooms, adding that
I had come to Paris expressly to put myself under his treatment.
"You shall have no cause to regret the journey," he said
earnestly. "I can cure you thoroughly, and I will. I forget your
nationality--you are not English?"
"No, not entirely. I am half Italian."
"Ah, yes! I remember now. But you have been educated in
England?"
"Partly."
"I am glad it is only partly," remarked
Page 167
"I do not choose," I said.
"Well, but you must take the consequences, and they are bitter. A
woman who does not go with her time is voted eccentric; a woman who prefers
music to tea and scandal is an undesirable acquaintance; and a woman who
prefers Byron to Austin Dobson is--in fact, no measure can gauge her
general impossibility!"
I laughed gaily. "I will take all the consequences as willingly as
I will take your medicines," I said, stretching out my hand for the
little vases which he gave me wrapped in paper. "And I thank you very
much monsieur. And"--here I hesi-
Page 168
Heliobas appeared to read my thoughts, for he said, as though answering
my unuttered question:
"I do not accept fees, mademoiselle. To relieve your mind from any
responsibility of gratitude to me, I will tell you at once that I never
promise to effect a cure unless I see that the person who comes to be cured
has a certain connection with myself. If the connection exists I am bound
by fixed laws to serve him or her. Of course I am able also to cure those
who are not by nature connected with me; but then I have to
establish a connection, and this takes time, and is sometimes
very difficult to accomplish, almost as tremendous a task as the laying
down of the Atlantic cable. But in your case I am actually
compelled to do my best for you, so you need be under no sense
of obligation."
Page 169
Here was a strange speech--the first really inexplicable one I had
heard
from his lips.
"I am connected with you?" I asked, surprised.
"How? In what way?"
"It would take too long to explain to you just now," said
Heliobas gently; "but I can prove to you in a moment that a
connection does exist between your inner self and
my inner self, if you wish it."
"I do wish it very much," I answered.
"Then take my hand," continued Heliobas, stretching it out,
"and look steadily at me.
I obeyed, half trembling. As I gazed, a veil appeared to fall from my
eyes. A sense of security, of comfort, and of absolute confidence came upon
me, and I saw what might be termed the image of another face
looking at me through or behind the actual form
and face of Heliobas. And that other face was his, and yet not his; but
whatever it appeared to be, it was
Page 170
"What does it mean?" I murmured.
"It means the simplest thing in nature," replied Heliobas
quietly, "namely that your soul and mine are for some reason or other
placed on the same circle of electricity. Nothing more nor less. Therefore
we must serve each other. Whatever I do for you, you have it in your power
to repay me amply for hereafter."
I met the steady glance of his keen eyes,
Page 171
"Decide for me as you please," I answered fearlessly.
"I trust you completely, though I do not know why I do
so."
"You will know before long. You are satisfied of the fact that my
touch can influence you?"
"Yes; most thoroughly."
"Very well. All other explanations, if you desire them, shall be
given you in due time. In the power I possess over you and some others,
there is neither mesmerism nor magnetism--nothing but a purely
scientific
fact which can be clearly and reasonably proved and demonstrated. But till
you are thoroughly restored to health, we will defer all discussion. And
now, mademoiselle, permit me to escort you to the door. I shall expect you
to-morrow."
Together we left the beautiful room in
Page 172
"Did not the manoeuvres of my street-door astonish
you?"
"A little," I confessed.
"It is very simple. The button you touch outside is electric; it
opens the door and at the same time rings the bell in my study, thus
informing me of a visitor. When the visitor steps across the threshold he
treads, whether he will or no, on another apparatus, which closes the door
behind him and rings another bell in my page's room, who immediately
comes
to me for orders. You see how easy? and from within it is managed in almost
the same manner."
And he touched a handle similar to the one outside, and the door opened
instantly. Heliobas held out his hand--that hand which a few minutes
previously
Page 173
"Good-bye, mademoiselle. You are not afraid of me now?"
I laughed. "I do not think I was ever really afraid of you,"
I said. "If I was, I am not so any longer. You have promised health,
and that promise is sufficient to give me entire courage."
"That is well," said Heliobas. "Courage and hope in
themselves are the precursors of physical and mental energy. Remember
to-morrow at five, and do not keep late hours to-night. I should advise you
to be in bed by ten at the latest."
I agreed to this, and we shook hands and parted. I walked blithely
along, back to the Avenue du Midi, where, on my arrival indoors, I found a
letter from Mrs. Everard. She wrote "in haste" to give me the
names of some friends of hers whom she had discovered, through the
"American Register," to be staying at the
Page 174
"Raffaello Cellini has been
invisible ever since your departure, but our inimitable waiter, Alphonse,
says he is very busy finishing a picture for the Salon--something that
we
have never seen. I shall intrude myself into his studio on some pretence or
other, and will then let you know all about it. In the meantime, believe
me,
"Your ever devoted friend,
"AMY."
I answered this letter, and then spent a pleasant evening at the
Pension, chatting sociably with Madame Denise
and another cheery little Frenchwoman, a day governess, who boarded there,
and who had no end of droll experiences to relate, her enviable temperament
being always to see
Page 175
Page 176
Page 177CHAPTER VII.
ZARA AND PRINCE IVAN.
THE sun poured brilliantly into my room when I awoke the next
morning. I was free from all my customary aches and pains, and a delightful
sense of vigour and elasticity pervaded my frame. I rose at once, and,
looking at my watch, found to my amazement that it was twelve o'clock
in
the day! Hastily throwing on my dressing-gown, I rang the hell, and the
servant appeared.
"Is it actually mid-day?" I asked her. "Why did you
not call me?"
The girl smiled apologetically.
Page 178
"I did knock at mademoiselle's door, but she gave me no
answer.
Madame Denise came up also, and entered the room; but seeing mademoiselle
in so sound a sleep she said it was a pity to disturb
mademoiselle."
Which statement good Madame Denise, toiling upstairs just then with
difficulty, she being stout and short of breath, confirmed with many
smiling nods of her head.
"Breakfast shall be served at the instant," she said,
rubbing her fat hands together; "but to disturb you when you
slept--ah, Heaven! the sleep of an infant--I could not do it! I
should have
been wicked!"
I thanked her for her care of me; I could have kissed her, she looked so
motherly, and kind, and altogether lovable. And I felt so merry and well!
She and the servant retired to prepare my coffee, and I proceeded to make
my
Page 179
"I prayed my prayer. I wove unto my
song
Fervour, and joy, and mystery, and the
bleak,
The wan despair that words could never
speak,
I prayed as if my spirit did belong
To some old master
who was wise and strong,
Because he lov'd and
suffered, and was weak.
"I trill'd
the
notes, and curb'd them to a sigh,
And when they
faltered most, I made them leap
Fierce from my bow,
as from a summer sleep
A young she devil. I was fired
thereby
To bolder efforts--and a muffled cry
Page 180
"I changed
the
theme. I dallied with the bow
Just time enough to
fit it to a mesh
Of merry tones, and drew it back
afresh,
To talk of truth, and constancy, and woe,
And life, and
love, and madness, and the glow
Of my own soul which
burns into my flesh."
All my love for music welled freshly up in my heart; I, who had felt
disinclined to touch the piano for months, now longed to try my strength
again upon the familiar and responsive key-board. For a piano has never
been a mere piano to me; it is a friend who answers to my thought, and
whose notes meet my fingers with caressing readiness and obedience.
Breakfast came, and I took it with great relish. Then, to pass the day,
I went out and called on Mrs. Everard's friends, Mr. and Mrs.
Challoner and
their daughters. I found them very agreeable, with that easy
bonhomie and lack of stiffness that
distinguishes the best Americans. Finding out through Mrs. Everard's
letter
that I was an "artiste," they at
once concluded
Page 181
But these agreeable Americans, as soon as they discovered that I had not
come for any professional reason to Paris, but only to consult a physician
about my health, were actually disappointed.
"Oh, we shall persuade you to give a recital some time!"
persisted the handsome smiling mother of the family. "I know lots of
people in Paris. We'll get it up for you!"
I protested, half laughing, that I had no
Page 182
"Nonsense!" said Mrs. Challoner, arranging her diamond rings
on her pretty white hand with pardonable pride. "Brains don't go
for
nothing in our country. As soon as you are fixed up in health,
we'll give you a grand soirée in
Paris, and we'll work up all our folks in the place. Don't tell
me you are
not as glad of dollars as any one of us."
"Dollars are very good," I admitted, "but real
appreciation is far better."
"Well, you shall have both from us," said Mrs. Challoner.
"And now, will you stop to luncheon?"
I accepted this invitation, given as it was with the most friendly
affability, and enjoyed myself very much.
"You don't look ill," said the eldest Miss
Challoner to me, later on. "I don't see that you want a
physician."
"Oh, I am getting much better now,"
Page 183
"Who's your doctor?"
I hesitated. Somehow the name of Heliobas would not come to my lips.
Fortunately Mrs. Challoner diverted her daughter's attention at this
moment
by the announcement that a dressmaker was waiting to see her; and in the
face of such an important visit, no one remembered to ask me again the name
of my medical adviser.
I left the Grand Hotel in good time to prepare for my second visit to
Heliobas. As I was going there to dinner I made a slightly dressy toilette,
if a black silk robe relieved with a cluster of pale pink roses can be
called dressy. This time I drove to the Hôtel Mars, dismissing the
coachman, however, before ascending the steps. The door opened and closed
as usual, and the first person I saw in the hall was Heliobas himself,
seated in one of the
Page 184
"You need not tell me that you slept well. I see it in your eyes
and face. You feel better?"
My gratitude to him was so great that I found it difficult to express my
thanks. Tears rushed to my eyes, yet I tried to smile, though I could not
speak. He saw my emotion, and continued kindly:
"I am as thankful as you can be for the cure which I see has
begun, and will soon be effected. My sister is waiting to see you. Will you
come to her room?"
We ascended a flight of stairs thickly carpeted, and bordered on each
side by tropical ferns and flowers, placed in exquisitely painted china
pots and vases. I heard the distant singing of many birds mingled with the
ripple and splash of waters. We reached a landing where the
Page 185
Page 186
"Fairy lakes, where tender thoughts
Swam softly
to
and fro."
Her rich black hair was arranged à la
Marguerite, and hung down in one long loose thick braid that
nearly reached the end of her dress; and she was attired in a robe of deep
old gold Indian silk as soft as cashmere, which was gathered in round her
waist by an antique belt of curious jewel-work, in which rubies and
turquoises seemed to be thickly studded. On her bosom shone a strange gem,
the colour and form of which I could not determine. It was never the same
for two minutes together. It glowed with many various
Page 187
"And so," said Zara--how soft and full of music was her
voice!--"so you are one of Casimir's patients? I cannot
help
considering that you are fortunate in this, for I know my brother's
power.
If he says he will cure you, you may be sure he means it. And you are
already better, are you not?"
"Much better," I said, looking earnestly into the lovely
star-like eyes that regarded me with such interest and friendliness.
"Indeed, to-day I have felt so well, that I cannot realize ever
having been ill."
Page 188
"I am very glad," said Zara. "I know you are a
musician, and I think there can be no bitterer fate than for one belonging
to your art to be incapacitated from performance of work by some physical
obstacle. Poor grand old Beethoven! Can anything be more pitiful to think
of than his deafness? Yet how splendidly he bore up against it! And Chopin,
too--so delicate in health that he was too often morbid even in his
music.
Strength is needed to accomplish great things--the double strength of
body
and soul."
"Are you, too, a musician?" I inquired.
"No. I love music passionately, and I play a little on the organ
in our private chapel; but I follow a different art altogether. I am a mere
imitator of noble form--I am a sculptress."
"You?" I said in some wonder, looking at the very small
beautifully formed white hand that lay passively on the edge
Page 189
"Like Angelo?" murmured Zara; and she lowered her brilliant
eyes with a reverential gravity. "No one in these modem days can
approach the immortal splendour of that great master. He must have known
heroes and talked with gods to be able to hew out of the rocks such
perfection of shape and attitude as his 'David.' Alas! my
strength of brain and hand is mere child's play compared to what
has been done in sculpture, and what will yet be
done; still, I love the work for its own sake, and I am always trying to
render a resemblance of--"
Here she broke off abruptly, and a deep blush suffused her cheeks. Then,
looking up suddenly, she took my hand impulsively and pressed it.
"Be my friend," she said, with a caressing inflection in her
rich voice. "I have no friends of my own sex, and I wish to
Page 190
It would have been a cold heart indeed that would not have responded to
such a speech as this, uttered with the pleading prettiness of a loving
child. Besides, I had warmed to her from the first moment I had touched her
hand; and I was overjoyed to think that she was willing to
Page 191
"And now we have drawn up, signed, and sealed our compact of
friendship," she said gaily, "will you come and see my studio?
There is nothing in it that deserves to last, I think; still, one has
patience with a child when he builds his brick houses, and you must have
equal patience with me. Come!"
And she led the way through her lovely room, which I now noticed was
full of delicate statuary, fine paintings, and exquisite embroidery, while
flowers were
Page 192
"This is the last thing I have finished in marble. I call it
'Approaching Evening.'"
I stood silently before the statue, lost in admiration. I could not
conceive it
Page 193
"Do you like it?" asked Zara, half timidly.
"Like it!" I exclaimed. "It is lovely--wonderful!
It
is worthy to rank with the finest Italian masterpieces."
"Oh no!" remonstrated Zara; "no, indeed! When the
great Italian sculptors lived and worked--ah! one may say with
Page 194
"And you--are not you
blasé to talk like that, with your
genius and all the world before you?" I asked laughingly, slipping my
arm through hers. "Come, confess!"
Zara looked at me gravely.
"I sincerely hope the world is not all before
me," she said; "I should be very sorry if I thought so. To have
the world all before you in the general acceptation of
Page 195
She spoke with earnestness and solemnity; then dropping the curtain
before her statue, turned away. I was admiring the vine-wreathed head of a
young Bacchante that stood on a pedestal near me, and was about to ask Zara
what subject she had chosen for the large veiled figure at the farthest end
of her studio, when we were interrupted by the entrance of the little Greek
page whom I had seen on my first visit to the house. He saluted us both,
and addressing himself to Zara, said:
"Monsieur le Comte desires me to tell you, madame, that Prince
Ivan will be present at dinner."
Zara looked somewhat vexed; but the
Page 196
"Tell Monsieur le Comte, my brother, that I shall be happy to
receive Prince Ivan."
The page bowed deferentially and departed. Zara turned round, and I saw
the jewel on her breast flashing with a steely glitter like the blade of a
sharp sword.
"I do not like Prince Ivan myself," she said; "but he
is a singularly brave and resolute man, and Casimir has some reason for
admitting him to our companionship. Though I greatly doubt if--"
Here
a flood of music broke upon our ears like the sound of a distant orchestra.
Zara looked at me and smiled. "Dinner is ready!" she announced;
"but you must not imagine that we keep a band of music to play us to
our table in triumph. It is simply a musical instrument worked by
electricity that imitates the orchestra; both Casimir
Page 197
Page 198
There were two men-servants in attendance, dressed in dark livery, who
waited upon us with noiseless alacrity. The dinner was exceedingly choice;
there was nothing coarse or vulgar in the dishes--no great heavy
joints
swimming in thin gravy à
l'Anglaise;
no tureens of unpalatable sauce; no clumsy decanters filled with burning
sherry or drowsy port. The table itself was laid out in the most perfect
taste with the finest Venetian glass and old Dresden ware, in which
tempting fruits gleamed amid clusters of glossy dark leaves. Flowers in
tall vases bloomed wherever they could be placed effectively; and in the
centre of the board a small fountain played, tinkling as it rose and fell
like a very faintly echoing fairy chime. The wines that were served to us
were most delicious, though their flavour was
Page 199
Heliobas listened to him with a sort of indulgent kindness, only smiling
now and
Page 200
"You are a lucky fellow, Ivan," he said at last. "You
like the good things of life, and you have got them all without any trouble
on your own part. You are one of those men who have absolutely nothing to
wish for."
Prince Ivan frowned and pulled his dark moustache with no very satisfied
air.
"I am not so sure about that," he returned. "No one is
contented in this world, I believe. There is always something left to
desire, and the last thing longed for always seems the most necessary to
happiness."
"The truest philosophy," said Heliobas. "is not to
long for anything in particular, but to accept everything as it comes, and
find out the reason of it coming."
"What do you mean by 'the reason of its
coming'?" questioned Prince Ivan.
Page 201
"Socrates?--Socrates was as clear as a drop of morning dew,
my
dear fellow," replied Heliobas. "There was nothing puzzling
about him. His remarks were all true and trenchant--hitting smartly
home to
the heart like daggers plunged down to the hilt. That was the worst of
him--he was too clear--too honest--too disdainful of
opinions. Society does
not love such men. What do I mean, you ask, by accepting everything as it
comes, and trying to find out the reason of its coming? Why, I mean what I
say. Each circumstance that happens to each one of us brings its own
special lesson and meaning--forms a link in the chain of our
existence. It
seems nothing to you that you walk down a particular street at a particular
hour, and yet that slight action of yours may lead to a result you wot not
of. 'Accept the hint of each
Page 202
Prince Ivan looked at Zara, who sat quietly thoughtful, only lifting her
bright eyes now and then to glance at her brother as he spoke.
"I tell you," he said, with sudden moroseness, "there
are some hints that we cannot accept--some circumstances that we must
not
yield to. Why should a man, for instance, be subjected to an undeserved and
bitter disappointment?"
"Because," said Zara, joining in the conversation for the
first time, "he has most likely desired what he is not fated to
obtain."
The Prince bit his lips, and gave a forced laugh.
"I know, madame, you are against me in all our arguments,"
he observed, with some bitterness in his tone. "As Casimir
Page 203
"The course of human destiny would run out, and Paradise would be
an established fact," laughed Heliobas. "Come, Ivan! You are a
true Epicurean. Have some more wine, and a truce to discussions for the
present." And, beckoning to one of the servants, he ordered the
Prince's glass to be re-filled.
Dessert was now served, and luscious fruits in profusion, including
peaches, bananas, plantains, green figs, melons, pine-apples, and
magnificent grapes, were offered for our choice. As I made a selection for
my own plate, I became aware of something
Page 204
"You know Leo, of course," said Heliobas, turning to me.
"He went to see Raffaello while you were at Cannes. He is a wonderful
animal--more valuable to me than his weight in gold."
Prince Ivan, whose transient moodiness had passed away like a bad devil
exorcised by the power of good wine, joined heartily in the praise bestowed
on this four-footed friend of the family.
"It was really through Leo," he said, "that you were
induced to follow out your experiments in human electricity, Casimir, was
it not?"
"Yes," replied Heliobas, calling the dog, who went to him
immediately to be
Page 205
My curiosity was much excited by these remarks, and I said eagerly:
"Will you tell me in what way Leo has been useful to you? I have a
great affection for dogs, and I never tire of hearing stories of their
wonderful intelligence."
"I will certainly tell you," replied Heliobas. "To
some people the story might appear improbable, but it is perfectly true and
at the same time simple of comprehension. When I was a very young
Page 206
Page 207
Page 208
I suppose I showed surprise and incredulity in my face, for Heliobas
smiled at me and continued:
"I will put him to the proof at any time you like. If you wish him
to fetch anything that he is physically able to carry, and will write the
name whatever it is on a slip of paper, just for me to know what you
require, I guarantee Leo's obedience."
I looked at Zara, and she laughed.
"It seems like magic to you, does it
Page 209
"I am bound to admit," said Prince Ivan, "that I once
doubted both Leo and his master, but I am quite converted. Here,
mademoiselle," he continued, handing me a leaf from his pocket-book
and a pencil--"write down something that you want; only
don't send
the dog to Italy on an errand just now, as we want him back before we
adjourn to the drawing-room."
I remembered that I had left an embroidered handkerchief on the couch in
Zara's room, and I wrote this down on the paper, which I passed to
Heliobas. He glanced at it and tore it up. Leo was indulging himself with a
bone under the table, but came instantly to his master's call.
Heliobas
took the dog's head between his two hands, and gazed steadily into the
grave brown eyes that regarded
Page 210
"Can you command human beings so?"
Page 211
"Not all," returned Heliobas quietly. "In fact, I may
say, very few. Those who are on my own circle of power I can, naturally,
draw to or repel from me; but those who are not, have to be treated by
different means. Sometimes cases occur in which persons, at first
not on my circle, are irresistibly attracted to it by a force
not mine. Sometimes, in order to perform a cure, I establish a
communication between myself and a totally alien sphere of thought; and to
do this is a long and laborious effort. But it can be done."
"Then, if it can be done, said Prince Ivan, "why do you not
accomplish it for me?"
"Because you are being forcibly drawn towards me without any
effort on my part," replied Heliobas, with one of his steady, keen
looks, "For what motive I cannot at present determine; but I shall
know as
Page 212
The Prince fidgeted restlessly in his chair, and toyed with the fruit on
his plate in a nervous manner.
"If I did not know you to be an absolutely truthful and honorable
man, Casimir," he said, "I should think you were trying to
deceive me. But I have seen what you can do, therefore I must believe you.
Still I confess I do not follow you in your circle theory."
"To begin with," returned Heliobas, "the Universe is a
circle. Everything is circular, from the motion of planets down to the
human eye, or the cup of a flower, or a drop of dew. My
'circle theory,' as you call it, applied to a human electric
force, is very simple; but I have proved it to be mathematically correct.
Every human being is provided internally and
externally with a certain amount of electricity,
Page 213
Page 214
Page 215
We all rose.
"Well," said the Prince gaily, as he prepared to follow his
host, "I realize one thing which gives me pleasure, Casimir. If in
truth I am being attracted towards your electric circle, I
hope I shall reach it soon, as I shall then, I suppose, be more
en rapport with madame your
sister."
Zara's luminous eyes surveyed him with a sort of queenly pity and
forbearance.
"By the time you arrive at that goal, Prince,"
she said calmly, "it is most probable that I shall have
departed."
And with one arm thrown round my waist, she saluted him gravely, and
left the room with me beside her.
"Would you like to see the chapel on your way to the
drawing-room?" she asked, as we crossed the hall.
I gladly accepted this proposition, and Zara took me down a flight of
marble steps, which terminated in a handsomely-carved oaken door. Pushing
this softly
Page 216
Page 217
"You are a Catholic, are you not?" then said Zara to me.
"Yes," I answered; "but--"
"But you have doubts sometimes, you would say? Of course. One
always doubts when one sees the dissensions, the hypocrisies, the false
pretences and wickedness of many professing Christians. But Christ and His
religion are living facts, in spite of the suicide of souls He would gladly
save. You must ask Casimir some day about these things; he will clear up
all the knotty points for you. Here we are at the drawing-room
door."
It was the same room into which I had first been shown. Zara seated
herself, and made me occupy a low chair beside her.
"Tell me," she said, "can you not
Page 218
I thought of Madame Denise and her
Pension.
"I wish I could," I said; "but I fear my friends would
want to know where I am staying, and explanations would have to be given,
which I do not feel disposed to enter upon."
"Why," went on Zara quietly, "you have only to say
that you are being attended by a Dr. Casimir, who wishes to have you under
his own supervision, and that you are therefore staying in his house under
the chaperonage of his sister."
I laughed at the idea of Zara playing the chaperon, and told her she was
far too young and beautiful to enact that character.
"Do you know how old I am?" she asked with a slight
smile.
I guessed seventeen, or at any rate not more than twenty.
Page 219
"I am thirty-eight," said Zara.
Thirty-eight! Impossible! I would not believe it. I could not. I laughed
scornfully at such an absurdity, looking at her as she sat there a perfect
model of youthful grace and loveliness, with her lustrous eyes and
rose-tinted complexion.
"You may doubt me if you choose," she said, still smiling;
"but I have told you the truth. I am thirty-eight years of age
according to the world's counting. What I am, measured by another
standard
of time, matters not just now. You see I look young, and what is more, I am
young. I enjoy my youth. I hear that women of society at thirty-eight are
often faded and blasé--what a
pity it
is that they do not understand the first laws of self-preservation! But to
resume what I was saying, you know now that I am quite old enough in the
eyes of the world to chaperon you or anybody. You had better arrange to
Page 220
As she spoke, Heliobas and Prince Ivan entered. The latter looked
flushed and excited--Heliobas was calm and stately as usual. He
addressed
himself to me at once.
"I have ordered my carriage, mademoiselle, to take you back this
evening to the Avenue du Midi. If you will do as Zara tells you, and
explain to your friends the necessity there is for your being under the
personal supervision of your doctor, you will find everything will arrange
itself very naturally. And the sooner you come here the better--in
fact,
Zara will expect you here to-morrow early in the afternoon. I may rely upon
you?"
He spoke with a certain air of command, evidently expecting no
resistance on my part. Indeed, why should I resist? Already I loved Zara,
and wished to be more in her company; and then, most
Page 221
"I will do as you wish, monsieur. Having placed myself in your
hands, I must obey. In this particular case," I added, looking at
Zara, "obedience is very agreeable to me."
Heliobas smiled and seemed satisfied. He then took a small goblet from a
side-table and left the room. Returning, however, almost immediately with
the cup filled to the brim, he said, handing it to me:
"Drink this--it is your dose for to-night; and then you will
go
home, and straight to bed."
I drank it off at once. It was delicious in flavour--like very fine
Chianti.
"Have you no soothing draught for me?" said Prince Ivan, who
had been
Page 222
"No," replied Heliobas, with a keen glance at him;
"the draught fitted for your present condition might soothe you too
thoroughly."
The Prince looked at Zara, but she was mute. She had taken a piece of
silk embroidery from a work-basket near her, and was busily employed with
it. Heliobas advanced and laid his hand on the young man's arm.
"Sing to us Ivan," he said, in a kind tone. "Sing us
one of your wild Russian airs--Zara loves them, and this young lady
would
like to hear your voice before she goes."
The Prince hesitated, and then with another glance at Zara's bent
head,
went to the piano. He had a brilliant touch, and accompanied himself with
great taste and delicacy; but his voice was truly magnificent--a
baritone
of deep and mellow
Page 223
"As the billows fling shells
on the shore,
As the sun poureth light on the
sea,
As a lark on the wing scatters song to the
spring,
So rushes my love to
thee.
"As the ivy
clings close to the tower,
As the dew lieth deep in
a flower,
As the shadow to light, as the day unto
night,
So clings my wild soul to
thee!
"As the moon
glitters coldly alone,
Above earth on her
cloud-woven throne,
As the rocky-hound cave repulses a
wave,
So thy anger repulseth
me.
"As the bitter
black frost of a night
Slays the roses with pitiless
might,
As a sharp dagger-thrust hurls a king to the
dust,
So thy cruelty murdereth
me.
"Yet in spite of
thy queenly disdain,
Thou art seared by my passion
and pain;
Thou shalt hear me repeat, till I die for it
sweet!
'I love thee! I dare to love
thee!'"
Page 224
He ended abruptly and with passion, and rose from the piano
directly.
I was enthusiastic in my admiration of the song and of the splendid
voice which had given it utterance, and the Prince seemed almost grateful
for the praise accorded him both by Heliobas and myself.
The page entered to announce that "the carriage was waiting for
mademoiselle," and I prepared to leave. Zara kissed me
affectionately, and whispering, "Come early to-morrow," made a
graceful salute to Prince Ivan, and left the room immediately.
Heliobas then offered me his arm to take me to the carriage. Prince Ivan
accompanied us. As the hall-door opened in its usual noiseless manner, I
perceived an elegant light brougham drawn by a pair of black horses, who
were giving the coachman a great deal of trouble by the fretting and
spirited manner in which they
Page 225
"We will try to make all your time with us pass as
pleasantly," he returned. "Good-night! What, Ivan," as he
perceived the Prince attiring himself in his great coat and hat, "are
you also going?"
"Yes, I am off," he replied, with a kind of forced gaiety;
"I am bad company for anyone to-night, and I won't inflict
myself
upon you, Casimir. Au revoir! I will put mademoiselle into the carriage if
she will permit me."
We went down the steps together, Heliobas watching us from the open
door. As the Prince assisted me into the brougham, he whispered:
"Are you one of them?"
I looked at him in bewilderment.
"One of them!" I repeated. "What do you
mean?"
Page 226
"Never mind," he muttered impatiently, as he made a pretence
of covering me with the fur rugs inside the carriage; "if you are not
now, you will be, or Zara would not have kissed you. If you ever have the
chance, ask her to think of me at my best. Good-night!"
I was touched and a little sorry for him. I held out my hand in silence.
He pressed it hard, and calling to the coachman, "36, Avenue du
Midi," stood on the pavement bareheaded, looking singularly pale and
grave in the starlight, as the carriage rolled swiftly away, and the door
of the Hôtel Mars closed.
Page 227CHAPTER VIII.
A SYMPHONY IN THE AIR.
WITHIN a very short time I became a temporary resident in the
house of Heliobas, and felt myself to be perfectly at home there. I had
explained to Madame Denise the cause of my leaving her comfortable
Pension, and she had fully approved of my
being under a physician's personal care in order to ensure rapid
recovery;
but when she heard the name of that physician which I gave (in accordance
with Zara's instructions) as Dr. Casimir, she held up her fat hands in
dismay.
Page 228
"Oh, mademoiselle," she exclaimed, "have you not dread
of that terrible man? Is it not he that is reported to be a cruel mesmerist
who sacrifices everybody--yes, even his own sister, to his medical
experiments? Ah, mon Dieu! it makes me to shudder!"
And she shuddered directly, as a proof of her veracity. I was amused. I
saw in her the example of the common multitude, who are more ready to
believe in vulgar spirit-rapping and mesmerism than to accept an
established scientific fact.
"Do you know Dr. Casimir and his sister?" I asked her.
"I have seen them, mademoiselle; perhaps
once--twice--three times!
It is true madame is lovely as an angel; but they say"--here she
lowered her voice mysteriously--"that she is wedded to a devil!
It is
true, mademoiselle--all people say so. And Suzanne Michot--a very
respectable young person, mademoiselle, from Auteuil
Page 229
"What did she say?" I asked with a half-smile.
"Well," and Madame Denise came close to me and looked
confidential. "Suzanne--I assure you a most respectable
girl--said that one evening she was crossing the passage near Madame
Casimir's boudoir, and she saw a light like a fire coming through the
curtains of the portière. And she
stopped to listen, and she heard a strange music like the sound of harps.
She ventured to go nearer--Suzanne is a brave girl, mademoiselle, and
most
virtuous--and to raise the curtain the smallest portion just to permit
the
glance of an eye. And--imagine what she saw!"
"Well?" I exclaimed impatiently. "What
did she see?"
Page 230
"Ah, mademoiselle, you will not believe me--but Suzanne
Michot has
respectable parents, and would not tell a lie--well, Suzanne saw her
mistress, Madame Casimir, standing up near her couch with both arms
extended as to embrace the air. Round her there was--believe it or
not,
mademoiselle, as you please--a ring of light like a red fire, which
seemed
to grow larger and redder always. All suddenly, madame grew pale and more
pale and then fell on her couch as one dead, and all the red fire went out.
Suzanne had fear, and she tried to call out--but now see what happened
to
Suzanne! She was pushed from the spot, mademoiselle, pushed
along as though by some strong personage; yet she saw no one until she
reached her own door, and in her room she fainted from alarm. The very next
morning Dr. Casimir dismissed her, with her full wages and a handsome
present besides; but he looked at her, Suzanne said, in a
manner to make
Page 231
I laughed. Her story had not the least effect upon me. In fact, I made
up my mind that the so respectable and virtuous Suzanne Michot had been
drinking some of her master's wine. I said:
"Your words make me only more desirous to go, Madame Denise.
Besides, Dr. Casimir has already done me a great deal of good. You must
have heard things of him that are not altogether bad, surely?"
The little woman reflected seriously, and then said, as with some
reluctance:
"It is certainly true, mademoiselle, that in the quarter of the
poor he is much beloved. Jean Duclos--he is a
chiffonnier--had his one child dying of
typhoid fever, and he was watching it struggling for breath; it was at the
point to die. Mon-
Page 232
None of her statements deterred me from my intention, and I was
delighted when I found myself fairly installed at the Hôtel Mars.
Zara gave me a beautiful room next to her own; she had taken pains to fit
it up herself with everything that was in accordance with my particular
tastes, such as a choice selection of books; music, including many of the
fascinating scores of Schubert and Wagner; writing materials; and a pretty,
full-toned pianette. My window looked out on a small courtyard, which had
been covered over with glass and transformed into a conservatory.
Page 233
Page 234
I found the society of Heliobas and his sister very fascinating. Their
conversation was both thoughtful and brilliant, their
Page 235
Heliobas passed the greater part of the day in his study--a small,
plainly furnished room, the fac-simile of the one I had beheld him in when
I had dreamed those three dreams at Cannes. Whether he received many or few
patients there I could not tell; but that some applied to him for advice I
knew, as I often met strangers crossing the hall on their way in and out.
He always joined us at dinner,
Page 236
Zara was uniformly bright and even in her temperament. She was my very
ideal of the Greek Psyche, radiant yet calm, pensive yet mirthful. She was
full of beautiful ideas and poetical fancies, and so thoroughly untouched
by the world and its aims, that she seemed to me just to poise on the earth
like a delicate butterfly on a flower; and I should have been scarcely
surprised had I seen her unfold a pair of shining wings and fly away to
some other region. Yet in spite of this
spirituelle nature, she was physically
stronger and more robust than any other woman I ever saw. She was gay and
active; she was never tired, never ailing and she enjoyed life with a keen
zest such
Page 237
"I think I will go to work again
to-
Page 238
"Why, Zara dearest!" I replied. "Of course I shall not
think you unsociable. I would not interfere with any of your pursuits for
the world."
She looked at me with a sort of wistful affection, and continued:
"But you must know I like to work quite alone, and though it may
look churlish, still not even you must come into the studio. I never can do
anything before a witness; Casimir himself knows that, and keeps away from
me."
"Well!" I said, "I should be an ungrateful wretch if I
could not oblige you in so small a request. I promise not to disturb you,
Zara; and do not think for one moment that I shall be dull. I have books, a
piano, flowers--what more do I want? And if I like I can go out; then
I
have letters to write, and all sorts of things to occupy me. I shall be
quite happy,
Page 239
Zara kissed me.
"You are a dear girl," she said; "I hate to appear
inhospitable, but I know you are a real friend--that you will love me
as
much away from you as near you, and that you have none of that vulgar
curiosity which some women give way to, when what they desire to see is
hidden from them. You are not inquisitive, are you?"
I laughed.
"The affairs of other people have never appeared so interesting to
me that I have cared to bother myself about them," I replied.
"Blue-Beard's Chamber would never have been unlocked had I been
that
worthy man's wife."
"What a fine moral lesson the old fairy-tale teaches!" said
Zara. "I always think those wives of Blue-Beard deserved their fate
for not being able to obey him in his
Page 240
I was delighted at this idea, and thanked her heartily. She smiled
thoughtfully.
"What happiness it must be for you to love music so
thoroughly!" she said. "It fills you with enthusiasm. I used to
dislike to read the biographies of musical people; they all seemed to find
so much fault with one another, and grudged each other every little bit of
praise wrung from the world's cold, death-doomed lips. It is to me
pathetically absurd to see gifted persons all struggling along, and rudely
elbowing each other out of the way to win--what? A few stilted
commonplace
words of approbation or fault-finding in
Page 241
Page 242
"I know!" I interrupted her. "He wrote the
'Letters of a Dead Musician.'"
"Yes," said Zara. "I suppose you saw the book at
Raffaello's studio. Good Raffaello Cellini! his is another absolutely
ungrudging and unselfish spirit. But this musician that I speak of was like
a child in humility and reverence. Casimir told me he had never sounded so
perfect a nature. At one time he, too, was a little anxious for recognition
and praise, and Casimir saw that he was likely to wreck himself on that
fatal rock of poor ambition. So he took him in hand, and taught him the
meaning of his work, and why it was especially given him to do; and that
man's
Page 243
And she caressed me tenderly. The tears were indeed thick in my eyes,
and a minute or two elapsed before I could master them. At last I raised my
head and endeavoured to smile.
"They are not sad tears, Zara," I said; "I think they
come from a strong desire I have to be what you are, what your brother is,
what the dead musician must have been. Why, I have longed, and do long for
fame, for wealth, for the world's applause, for all the things which
you
seem to think so petty and mean. How can I help it? Is not fame power? Is
not money a double power, strong to assist one's self and those one
loves?
Is not the world's favour a necessary means to gain these
things?"
Zara's eyes gleamed with a soft and pitying gentleness.
Page 244
"Do you understand what you mean by power?" she asked.
"World's fame? World's wealth? Will these things make you
enjoy life?
You will perhaps say yes. I tell you no. Laurels of earth's growing
fade;
gold of earth's getting is good for a time, but it palls quickly.
Suppose a
man rich enough to purchase all the treasures of the world--what then?
He
must die and leave them. Suppose a poet or musician so famous that all
nations know and love him; he too must die and go where nations exist no
longer. And you actually would grasp ashes and drink wormwood, little
friend? Music, the heaven-born spirit of pure sound, does not teach you
so!"
I was silent. The gleam of the strange jewel Zara always wore flashed in
my eyes like lightning, and anon changed to the similitude of a crimson
star. I watched it dreamily, fascinated by its unearthly glitter.
Page 245
"Still," I said, "you yourself admit that such fame as
that of Shakespeare or Wagner becomes a universal monument to their
memories. That is something, surely?"
"Not to them," replied Zara; "they have partly
forgotten that they were ever imprisoned in such a narrow gaol as this
world. Perhaps they do not care to remember it, though memory is part of
immortality."
"Ah!" I sighed restlessly; "your thoughts go beyond
me, Zara. I cannot follow your theories."
Zara smiled.
"We will not talk about them any more," she said; "you
must tell Casimir--he will teach you far better than I can."
"What shall I tell him?" I asked; "and what will he
teach me?"
"You will tell him what a high opinion you have of the world and
its judgments," said Zara, "and he will teach you that the
Page 246
"To set me free?" I asked, surprised.
"Yes!" and Zara looked at me brightly. "He will know
if you are strong enough to travel!" And nodding her head gaily to
me, she left the room to prepare for the dinner-hour which was fast
approaching.
I pondered over her words a good deal without arriving at any
satisfactory conclusion as to the meaning of them. I did not resume the
conversation with her nor did I speak to Heliobas as yet, and the days went
on smoothly and pleasantly till I had been nearly a week in residence at
the Hôtel Mars. I now felt perfectly well
Page 247
The organ itself was peculiarly sweet in tone, the "vox
humana" stop especially producing an entrancingly rich and tender
sound. The silence, warmth, and beauty of the chapel, with the winter
sunlight streaming through its stained windows, and the unbroken solitude I
enjoyed there, all gave fresh impetus to the fancies of my
Page 248
One particular afternoon, I was sitting at the instrument as usual, and
my thoughts began to busy themselves with the sublime tragedy at Calvary. I
mused, playing softly all the while, on the wonderful, blameless, glorious
life that had ended in the shame and cruelty of the Cross, when suddenly,
like a cloud swooping darkly across the heaven of my thoughts, came the
suggestive question: "Is it all true? Was Christ indeed
Divine--or is
it all a myth, a fable--an imposture?" Unconsciously I struck a
discordant chord on the organ--a faint tremor shook me, and I ceased
playing. An uncomfortable sensation came over me, as of some invisible
presence being near me and approaching softly, slowly, yet always more
closely; and I hurriedly rose from my seat, shut the
Page 249
"So! you are agitated and alarmed! Unbelief is easily
scared!"
I looked up and met the calm eyes of Heliobas. He appeared to be taller,
statelier, more like a Chaldean prophet or king than I had ever seen him
before. There was something in his steady scrutiny of my face that put me
to a sort of shame, and when he spoke again it was in a tone of mild
reproof.
Page 250
"You have been led astray, my child, by the conflicting vain
opinions of mankind. You, like many others In the world, delight to
question, to speculate, to weigh this, to measure that, with little or no
profit to yourself or your fellow-creatures. And you have come freshly from
a land where, in the great Senate-house, a poor perishable lump of clay
calling itself a man, dares to stand up boldly and deny the existence of
God, while his compeers, less bold than he, pretend a holy displeasure, yet
secretly support him--all blind worms denying the existence of the
sun; a
land where so-called Religion is split into hundreds of cold and narrow
sects, gatherings assembled for the practice of hypocrisy, lip-service and
lies--where Self, not the Creator, is the prime object of worship; a
land,
mighty once among the mightiest, but which now, like an over-ripe pear,
hangs loosely on its tree, awaiting but a touch to make it fall! A
land--let
Page 251
I had listened to these words in silence; but now I spoke eagerly and
impatiently, remembering what Zara had told me.
Page 252
"Then," I said, "if I had been misguided by modern
opinions--if I have unconsciously absorbed the doctrines of modern
fashionable atheism--lead me right. Teach me what you know. I am
willing to
learn. Let me find out the reason of my life. Set me
free!"
Heliobas regarded me with earnest solemnity.
"Set you free!" he murmured, in a low tone. "Do you
know what you ask?"
"No," I answered, with reckless fervour. "I do
not know what I ask; but I feel that you have the power to
show me the unseen things of another world. Did you not yourself tell me in
our first interview that you had let Raffaello Cellini 'go on a
voyage of discovery, and that he came back perfectly satisfied'?
Besides, he told me his history. From you he has gained all that gives him
peace and comfort. You possess electric secrets undreamt of by the
Page 253
Heliobas smiled. "Not afraid! And you ran out of the chapel just
now as if you were pursued by a fiend! You must know that the only
woman I ever tried my greatest experiment upon is my sister
Zara. She was trained and prepared for it in the most careful manner; and
it succeeded. Now"--and Heliobas looked half-sad,
half-triumphant--"she has passed beyond my power; she is
dominated by
one greater than I. But she cannot use her force for others; she can only
employ it to defend herself. Therefore, I am willing to try you if you
indeed desire it--to see if the same thing will occur to you as to
Zara;
and I firmly believe it will."
A slight tremor came over me; but I said with an attempt at
indifference:
"You mean that I shall be dominated also by some great force or
influence?"
Page 254
"I think so," replied Heliobas musingly. "Your nature
is more prone to love than to command. Try and follow me in the explanation
I am going to give you. Do you know some lines by Shelley that run--
"'Nothing in the world is
single,
All things by a law divine
In one
another's being mingle,
Why not I with
thine?'"
"Yes," I said. "I know the lines well. I used to think
them very sentimental and pretty."
"They contain," said Heliobas, "the germ of a great
truth, as many of the most fanciful verses of the poets do. As the
'image of a voice,' mentioned in the Book of Job
hinted at the telephone, and as Shakespeare's 'girdle round
the
earth' foretold the electric telegraph, so the utterances of the
inspired starvelings of the world, known as poets, suggest many more
wonders of the universe than may
Page 255
Page 256
"I understand what you say," I said slowly; "but I
cannot see your meaning as applied to myself or yourself."
"I will teach you in a few words," went on Heliobas.
"You believe in the soul?"
"Yes."
"Very well. Now realize that there is no soul on this earth that
is complete, alone. Like everything else, it is dual. It is
like half a flame that seeks the other half, and is dissatisfied and
restless till it attains its object. Lovers, misled by the blinding light
of Love, think they have reached completeness when they are united to the
person beloved. Now, in very, very rare cases, perhaps one in a thousand,
this desirable result is effected; but the majority of people are content
with the union of bodies only, and care little or
Page 257
"Well?" I asked eagerly.
"Well, you seem to ask me by your eyes what this all means. I will
apply it at once to myself. By my researches into human electrical science,
I discovered that my companion, my other half of
existence, though not on earth, was near me, and could be commanded by me;
and, on being commanded, obeyed. With Zara it was different. She could not
command--she obeyed; she was the weaker of
the
two. With you, I think it will be the same thing. Men sacrifice everything
to ambition; women to love. It is natural. I see that there is much of what
I have said that appears to have mystified you; it is
Page 258
I hesitated. Heliobas saw my hesitation, and his eyes darkened with
sombre wrath.
"Are you one of these also who must see in order to
believe?" he said half angrily. "Where do you suppose your
music comes from? Where do you suppose any music comes from
that is not mere imitation? The greatest composers of the world have been
mere receptacles of sound; and the emptier they were of self-love and
vanity, the greater the quantity of heaven-born melody they held. The
Page 259
He grasped my unresisting arm, and led me, half-frightened,
half-curious, into the little chapel, where he bade me seat myself at the
organ.
"Do not play a single note," he said, "till you are
compelled."
And standing beside me, Heliobas laid his hands on my head, then pressed
them on my ears, and finally touched my hands, that rested passively on the
keyboard.
He then raised his eyes, and uttered the name I had often thought of but
never mentioned--the name he had called upon in my dream.
"Azùl!" he said, in a low, penetrating
Page 260
A soft rushing noise of wind answered has adjuration. This was followed
by a burst of music, transcendently lovely, but unlike any music I had ever
heard. There were sounds of delicate and entrancing tenderness such as no
instrument made by human hands could produce; there was singing of clear
and tender tone, and of infinite purity such as no human voices could be
capable of. I listened, perplexed, alarmed, yet entranced. Suddenly I
distinguished a melody running through the wonderful air-symphonies--a
melody like a flower, fresh and perfect. Instinctively I touched the organ
and began to play it; I found I could produce it note for note. I forgot
all fear in my delight, and I played on and on in a sort of deepening
rapture. Gradually I became aware that the strange sounds about me were
dying slowly away; fainter and fainter they grew--softer--
Page 261
"Have I lost it?" I asked.
"Lost what?" he demanded.
"The tune I heard--the harmonies."
"No," he replied; "at least I think not. But if you
have, no matter. You will hear others. Why do you look so
distressed?"
"It is lovely," I said wistfully, "all that music; but
it is not mine;" and tears of regret filled my eyes.
"Oh, if it were only mine--my very own composition!"
Heliobas smiled kindly.
Page 262
"It is as much yours as anything belongs to anyone. Yours? why
what can you really call your own? Every talent you have, every breath you
draw, every drop of blood flowing in your veins, is lent to you only; you
must pay in all back. And as far as the arts go, it is a bad sign of poet,
painter, or musician, who is arrogant enough to call his work his own. It
never was his and never will be. It is planned by a higher intelligence
than his, only he happens to be the hired labourer chosen to carry out the
conception; a sort of mechanic in whom boastfulness looks absurd; as absurd
as if one of the stone-masons working at the cornice of a cathedral were to
vaunt himself as the designer of the whole edifice. And when a work, any
work, is completed, it passes out of the labourer's hands; it belongs
to
the age and the people for whom it was accomplished, and, if deserving,
goes on belonging to future ages and future
Page 263
I rose from the organ, closed it gently, and, moved by a sudden impulse,
held out both my hands to Heliobas. He took them and held them in a
friendly clasp, watching me intently as I spoke.
"I believe in you," I said firmly; "and I
know thoroughly well that I was not dreaming; I certainly
heard strange music, and entrancing voices. But in acknowledging your
powers over something unseen, I must explain to you the incredulity I at
first felt, which I believe annoyed you. I was made sceptical on one
occasion, by attending a so-called spiritual
séance, where they tried to convince
me of the truth of table-turning--"
Heliobas laughed softly, still holding my hands.
"Your reason will at once tell you that
Page 264
"None in the world," I said. "I only ask you to go on
teaching me the wonders that seems so familiar to you. Let me know all I
may; and soon!" I spoke with trembling eagerness.
"You have been only eight days in the house, my child," said
Heliobas, loosening my hands, and signing me to come out of the chapel with
him; "and I do not consider you sufficiently strong as yet for the
experiment you wish me to try upon you.
Page 265
"What?" I asked impatiently.
"Lifted up," he replied. "Lifted up above this little
speck called earth. But now, no more of this. Go to Zara; keep your mind
well employed; study, read, and pray--pray much and often
in
few and simple words, and with as utterly unselfish a heart as you can
prepare. Think that you are going to some high festival, and attire your
soul in readiness. I do not say to you 'Have faith;' I would
not compel your belief in anything against your own will. You wish to be
convinced of a future existence; you seek proofs; you shall have them. In
the meantime avoid all conversation with me on the subject. You can confide
your desires to Zara if you like; her experience may be of use to you. You
had best join her now. Au revoir!" and
with a kind parting gesture, he left me.
Page 266
I watched his stately figure disappear in the shadow of the passage
leading to his own study, and then I hastened to Zara's room. The
musical
episode in the chapel had certainly startled me, and the words of Heliobas
were full of mysterious meaning; but, strange to say, I was in no way
rendered anxious or alarmed by the prospect I had before me of being
"lifted up," as my physician had expressed it. I thought of
Raffaello Cellini and his history, and I determined within myself that no
cowardly hesitation or fear should prevent me from making the attempt to
see what he professed to have seen. I found Zara reading. She looked up as
I entered, and greeted me with her usual bright smile.
"You have had a long practice," she began; "I thought
you were never coming."
I sat down beside her, and related at once all that had happened to me
that
Page 267
"You are quite resolved," she said, when I had concluded,
"to let Casimir exert his force upon you?"
"I am quite resolved!" I answered.
"And you have no fear?"
"None that I am just now conscious of."
Zara's eyes became darker and deeper in the gravity of her intense
meditation. At last she said:
"I can help you to keep your courage firmly to the point, by
letting you know at once what Casimir will do to you. Beyond that I cannot
go. You understand the nature of an electric shock?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Well, there are different kinds of electric shocks--some
that are
remedial, some that are fatal. There are cures performed by a careful use
of the electric battery--again, people are struck dead by
Page 268
I begged her to explain more clearly. She went on:
"You have internally a certain amount of electricity, which has
been increased recently by the remedies prescribed for you by Casimir. But,
however much you have, Casimir has more, and he will exert his force over
your force, the greater over the lesser. You will experience an
internal electric shock, which, like a sword, will separate in
twain body and spirit. The spiritual part of you will be lifted up above
material forces; the bodily part will remain inert and useless, till the
life, which is actually you, returns to put its machinery in
motion once more."
"But shall I return at all?" I asked half doubtfully.
"You must return, because God has
Page 269
"How about suicide?" I asked.
"The suicide," replied Zara, "has no soul. He kills
his body and by the very act proves that whatever germ of an immortal
existence he may have had once, has escaped from its unworthy habitation.
and gone, like a flying spark, to find a chance of growth elsewhere. Surely
your own reason proves this to you? The very animals have more soul than a
man who commits suicide. The beasts of prey slay each other for hunger or
in self-defence, but they do not slay themselves. That is a brutality left
to man alone, with its companion degradation, drunkenness."
I mused awhile in silence.
Page 270
"In all the wickedness and cruelty of mankind," I said,
"it is almost a wonder that there is any spiritual existence left on
earth at all. Why should God trouble Himself to care for such few souls as
thoroughly believe in and love Him?--they can be but a mere
handful."
"Such a mere handful are worth more than the world to Him,"
said Zara gravely. "Oh, my dear, do not say such things as why should
God trouble Himself? Why do you trouble yourself for the
safety and happiness of anyone you love?"
Her eyes grew soft and tender, and the jewel she wore glimmered like
moonlight on the sea. I felt a little abashed, and, to change the subject,
I said:
"Tell me, Zara, what is that stone you always wear? Is it a
talisman?"
"It belonged to a king," said Zara,--"at least,
it was
found in a king's coffin. It has been in our family for generations.
Casimir says it is an electric stone--there
Page 271
"It is very brilliant and lovely," I said.
"When I die," went on Zara slowly, "I will leave it to
you."
"I hope I shall have to wait a long time before I get it,
then," I exclaimed, embracing her affectionately. "Indeed, I
will pray never to receive it."
"You will pray wrongly," said Zara, smiling. "But tell
me, do you quite understand from my explanation what Casimir will do to
you?"
"I think I do."
"And you are not afraid?"
"Not at all. Shall I suffer any pain?"
"No actual pang. You will feel giddy for a moment, and your body
will become unconscious. That is all."
I meditated for a few moments, and then, looking up, saw Zara's
eyes
watching me with a wistful inquiring tenderness. I
Page 272
"L'audace, l'audace, et toujours,
l'audace! That must be my motto, Zara. I have a chance now
of
proving how far a woman's bravery can go, and I assure you I am proud
of
the opportunity. Your brother uttered some very cutting remarks on the
general inaptitude of the female sex when I first made his acquaintance;
so, for the honour of the thing, I must follow the path I have begun to
tread. A plunge in the unseen world is surely a bold step for a woman, and
I am determined to take it courageously."
"That is well," said Zara. "I do not think it possible
for you ever to regret it. It is growing late--shall we prepare for
dinner?"
I assented and we separated to our different rooms. Before commencing to
dress I opened the pianette that stood near my window, and tried very
softly to
Page 273
Page 274CHAPTER IX.
AN ELECTRIC SHOCK.
PRINCE IVAN PETROFFSKY was a constant visitor at the
Hôtel Mars, and I began to take a certain interest in him, not
unmingled with pity, for it was evident that he was hopelessly in love with
my beautiful friend Zara. She received him always with courtesy and
kindness; but her behaviour to him was marked by a somewhat cold dignity,
which, like a barrier of ice, repelled the warmth of his admiration and
attention. Once or twice, remembering what he had said to me, I endeavoured
to speak to her concerming him and his
devo-
Page 275
Page 276
He was a never-failing source of wonder and interest to me, and even
more so to the Prince, who made him the subject of many an abstruse and
difficult discussion with his friend Casimir. I noticed that Zara seemed to
regret the frequent companionship of Ivan Petroffsky and her brother, and a
shade of sorrow or vexation often crossed her fair face when she saw them
together absorbed in conversation or argument.
One evening a strange circumstance
Page 277
The Prince, however, heedless of his host's observant eye, tossed
off
glass after glass of wine, and talked incessantly. After dinner, when we
all assembled in the drawing-room, he seated himself at the piano without
being asked, and sang several songs. Whether he were influenced by drink or
strong excitement, his voice at any rate showed no signs of weakness or
deterioration. Never had I heard him sing so magnificently. He seemed
possessed not by an angel but by a demon of song. It was impossible not to
listen
Page 278
"Madame, you honour me to-night by listening to my poor efforts.
It is seldom I am thus rewarded."
Zara flushed deeply, and then grew very pale.
"Indeed, Prince," she answered quietly, "you mistake
me. I always listen with pleasure to your singing--tonight, perhaps,
my
mood is more fitted to music than is usual with me, and thus I may appear
to you to be more attentive. But your voice always delights me, as it must
delight everybody who hears it."
"While you are in a musical mood then," returned Prince
Ivan, "let me sing
Page 279
He subdued his voice to suit the melancholy hopelessness of the lines,
and rendered it with so much intensity of pathetic expression that it was
difficult to keep tears from filling the eyes. When he came to the last
verse, the anguish of a wasted life
Page 280
"Let us go hence and rest; she will not love.
She shall
not hear us if we sing hereof,
Nor see love's ways, how sore
they are
and steep.
Come hence, let be, lie still; it is enough.
Love is
a barren sea, bitter and deep;
And though she saw all heaven in
flower above.
She would not love!"
The deep melancholy of the music and the quivering pathos of the deep
baritone voice were so affecting that it was almost a relief when the song
ceased. I had been looking out of the window at the fantastic patterns of
the moonlight on the garden walk, but now I turned to see in Zara's
face
her appreciation of what we had just heard. To my surprise she had left the
room. Heliobas reclined in an easy-chair, glancing up and down the columns
of the Figaro; and the Prince still sat at the piano, moving
his fingers idly up and down the keys without playing. The little page
Page 281
"I must leave you to entertain yourselves for ten minutes while I
answer this letter. Will you excuse me?"and with the ever-courteous
salute to us which was part of his manner, he left the room,
I still remained at the window. Prince Ivan still dumbly played the
piano. There were a few minutes of absolute silence. Then the Prince
hastily got up, shut the piano and approached me.
"Do you know where Madame Zara is?" he demanded in a low
fierce tone.
I looked at him in surprise and a little alarm--he spoke with so
much
suppressed anger, and his eyes glittered so strangely.
"No," I answered frankly. "I never saw her leave the
room."
"I did," he said. "She slipped out like a ghost, or a
witch, or an angel, while I was singing the last verse of Swinburne's
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"No," I replied, wondering at his manner more and more.
"I only know him, as you do, to be a poet."
"Poet, madman, or lover--all three should be one and the same
thing," muttered the Prince, clenching and unclenching that strong
right hand of his on which sparkled a diamond like a star. "I have
often wondered if poets feel what they write--whether Swinburne, for
instance, ever felt the weight of a dead cold thing within him
here," slightly touching the region of his heart,
"and realized that he had to drag that corpse of unburied love with
him everywhere even to the grave, and beyond--O God!--beyond the
grave!"
I touched him gently on the arm. I was full of pity for him--his
despair
was so bitter and keen.
"Prince Ivan," I said, "you are excited
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"Offend me!" he exclaimed; "she could not
offend me if she tried. She could tread upon me, stab me, slay me, but
never offend me. I see you are sorry for me--and I thank you, I kiss
your
hand for your gentle pity, mademoiselle."
And he did so, with a knightly grace that became him well. I thought his
momentary anger was passing, but I was mistaken. Suddenly he raised his arm
with a fierce gesture, and exclaimed:
"By heaven! I will wait no longer. I am a fool to hesitate. I may
wait a century before I draw out of Casimir the secret that would enable me
to measure swords with my rival. Listen!" and he grasped my shoulder
roughly. "Stay
Page 284
"Stay," I whispered hurriedly. "What are you going to
do? Surely you know the power of Heliobas. He is supreme here. He could
find out anything he chose. He could--"
Prince Ivan looked at me fixedly. "Will you swear to me that you
actually do not know?"
"Know what?" I asked, perplexed.
He laughed bitterly, sarcastically.
"Did you ever hear that line of poetry which speaks of
'A woman wailing for her demon-lover'? That is what
Zara does. Of one thing I am certain--she does not wail or wait long,
he
comes quickly."
"What do you mean?" I exclaimed, utterly
mystified "Who comes quickly?
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"I do know," he replied firmly; "and I am
going to prove my knowledge. Remember what I have asked you."
And without another word or look, he threw open the velvet curtains of
the portière, and disappeared behind
them.
Left to myself, I felt very nervous and excited. All sorts of odd
fancies came into my head, and would not go away, but danced around like
Will-o'-the-wisps on a morass. What did Prince Ivan mean? Was he mad?
or
had he drunk too much wine? What strange illusion had he in his mind about
Zara and a demon? Suddenly a thought flashed upon me that made me tremble
from head to foot. I remembered what Heliobas had said about twin flames
and dual affinities; and I also reflected that he had declared Zara to be
dominated by a more powerful force than his own. But then, I had accepted
it as a
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I knew and felt that there were good and evil forces. Now, suppose Zara
were commanded by some strange evil thing, unguessed at, undreamt of in the
wildest nightmare? I shuddered as with icy cold. It could not be. I
resolutely refused to admit such a fearful conjecture. Why, I thought to
myself, with a faint smile, I was no better in my imaginings than the so
virtuous and ever-respectable Suzanne Michot of whom Madame Denise had
spoken. Still, the hateful thought came back again and again, and refused
to go away.
I went to my old place at the window and looked out. The moonlight fell
in cold slanting rays; but an army of dark clouds were hurrying up from the
horizon, looking in their weird shapes like the
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"A woman wailing for her demon-lover."
How that line haunted me! And with it there slowly grew up in my mind a
black looming horror; an idea, vague and ghastly, that froze my blood and
turned me faint and giddy. Suppose, when I had consented to be experimented
upon by Heliobas--when my soul in the electric trance was lifted up to
the
unseen world--suppose an evil force, terrible and all-compelling, were
to
dominate me and hold me for ever and ever! I gasped for
Page 288
"Pray much and often, with as unselfish a heart as you can
prepare."
Thus Heliobas had said; and I thought to myself, if all those who were
on the brink of great sin or crime could only be brought to feel beforehand
what I felt when facing the spectral dread of unknown evil, then surely
sins would be fewer and crimes never committed. And I murmured softly,
"Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."
The mere utterance of these words seemed to calm and encourage me; and
as I gazed up at the sky again, with its gathering clouds, one star, like a
bright consoling eye, looked at me, glittering cheerfully amid the
surrounding darkness.
More than ten minutes had elapsed since Prince Ivan had left the room,
and there was no sound of returning footsteps. And where was Zara? I
determined to seek
Page 289
"I have told you," she said, "again and again that it
is impossible. You waste your life in the pursuit of a phantom; for a
phantom I must be to you always--a mere dream, not a woman such as
your
love would satisfy. You are a strong man, in sound health and spirits; you
care for the world and the things that are in it. I do not. You would make
me happy, you say. No doubt you would do your best--your
Page 290
I heard the deep, passionate tones of Prince Ivan in answer:
"One light kindles another, Zara! The sunlight melts the snow! I
cannot believe but that a long and faithful love may--nay,
must--have its reward at last. Even according to your
brother's theories, the emotion of love is capable of powerful
attraction.
Cannot I hope that my passion--so strong, so great, so true,
Zara!--
Page 291
I heard the faint rustle of Zara's silk robe as though she were
moving
further from him.
"You speak ignorantly, Prince. Your studies with Casimir appear to
have brought you little knowledge. Attraction! How can you attract what is
not in your sphere? As well ask for the Moons of Jupiter or the Ring of
Saturn! The laws of attraction and repulsion, Prince Ivan, are fixed by a
higher authority than yours, and you are as powerless to alter or abate
them by one iota, as a child is powerless to repel the advancing waves of
the sea."
Prince Ivan spoke again, and his voice quivered with suppressed
anger.
"You may talk as you will, beautiful Zara; but you shall never
persuade me against my reason. I am no dreamer; no
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Page 293
Again I heard the silken rustle of Zara's dress, and, impelled by
strong
curiosity and excitement, I raised a corner of the curtain hanging over the
door, and was able to see the room distinctly. The Prince stood, or rather
lounged, near the window, and opposite to him was Zara; she had evidently
retreated from him as far as possible, and held herself proudly erect, her
eyes flashing with unusual brilliancy contrasted with the pallor of her
face.
"Your insults to my brother, Prince," she said calmly,
"I suffer to pass by me, knowing well to what a depth of wilful blind
ignorance you are fallen. I pity you--and--I despise you! You are
indeed a
plain man, as you say--nothing more, and nothing less. You can take
advantage of the hospitality of this house, and pretend friendship to the
host, while you slander him behind his back, and insult his sister
Page 294
And she approached the entrance of her studio, which was opposite to
where I stood; but the Prince reached it before her, and placed his back
against it. His face was deathly pale, and his dark eyes blazed with wrath
and love intermingled.
"No, Zara!" he exclaimed in a sort of loud whisper.
"If you think to escape me so, you are in error. I came to you
reckless and resolved! You shall be mine
Page 295
"I warn you!" she exclaimed. "By the intense loathing
I have for you; by the force which makes my spirit rise in arms against
you, I warn you! Do not dare to touch me! If you care for your own life,
leave me while there is time!"
Never had she looked so supremely, terribly beautiful. I gazed at her
from my corner of the doorway, awed, yet fascinated. The jewel on her
breast glowed with an angry red lustre, and shot forth dazzling opaline
rays, as though it were a sort of living, breathing star. Prince Ivan
paused--entranced no doubt, as I was, by her unearthly loveliness. His
face
flushed--he gave a low laugh of admiration. Then he made two swift
strides
forward and caught her fiercely in his embrace. His triumph was brief.
Scarcely had his
Page 296
"Zara, Zara What have you done?"
Zara turned her eyes gently upon me--they were soft and humid as
though
recently filled with tears. All the burning scorn and indignation had gone
out of her face--she looked pityingly at the prostrate form of her
admirer.
"He is not dead," she said quietly. "I will call
Casimir."
I knelt beside the Prince and raised his hand. It was cold and heavy.
His lips were blue, and his closed eyelids looked as though, in the words
of Homer, "Death's purple finger" had shut them fast for
ever.
No breath--no pulsation of the heart. I
Page 297
"He is not dead," she repeated.
"Are you sure?" I murmured. "What was it, Zara, that
made him fall? I was at the door--I saw and heard
everything."
"I know you did," said Zara gently; "and I am glad of
it. I wished you to see and hear all."
"Is it a fit, do you think?" I asked again, looking
sorrowfully at the sad face of the unfortunate Ivan, which seemed to me to
have already graven upon it the stern sweet smile of those who have passed
all passion and pain for ever. "Oh, Zara! do you believe he will
recover?" And tears choked my voice--tears of compassion and
regret.
Zara came and kissed me.
"Yes, he will recover--do not fret, little one, I have rung
my
private bell for Casimir; he will be here directly. The
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I gazed at her earnestly. Those clear childlike eyes--that frank
smile--that gentle and dignified mien--could they accompany evil
thoughts?
No! I was sure Zara was as good as she was lovely.
"I am not afraid of you, Zara," I said gravely; "I
love you too well for that. But I am sorry for the poor Prince; and I
cannot understand--"
"You cannot understand why those who trespass against fixed laws
should suffer?" observed Zara, calmly. "Well, you will
understand some day. You will know that in one way or another it is the
reason of all suffering, both physical, and mental, in the
world."
I said no more, but waited in silence till the sound of a firm
approaching footstep announced Heliobas. He entered the room
quickly--glanced at the motionless
Page 299
"Has he been long thus?" he asked in a low tone.
"Not five minutes," replied Zara.
A pitying and affectionate gentleness of expression filled his keen
eyes.
"Reckless boy!" he murmured softly, as he stooped and laid
one hand lightly on Ivan's breast. "He is the very type of
misguided
human bravery. You were too hard upon him, Zara!"
Zara sighed.
"He spoke against you," she said.
"Of course he did," returned her brother with a smile.
"And it was perfectly natural he should do so. Have I not read his
thoughts? Do not I know that he considers me a false pretender and
charlatan? And have I not humoured him? In
this he is no worse than any one of his race. Every great scientific
discovery is voted impossible at the first start.
Page 300
"He attempted to force his desires," began Zara again, and
her cheeks flushed indignantly.
"I know," answered her brother. "I foresaw how it
would be, but was powerless to prevent it. He was wrong--but bold!
Such
boldness compels a certain admiration. This fellow would scale the stars,
if he knew how to do it, by physical force alone."
I grew impatient, and interrupted these remarks.
"Perhaps he is scaling the stars now," I said; "or at
any rate he will do so if death can show him the way."
Heliobas gave me a friendly glance.
"You also are growing courageous when you can speak to your
physician thus abruptly," he observed quietly. "Death has
nothing to do with our friend as yet, I
Page 301
Zara pressed my hand gently as she passed me, and entered her studio,
the door of which closed behind her, and I heard the key turn in the lock.
I became absorbed in the proceedings of Heliobas. Stooping towards the
recumbent form of Prince Ivan, he took the heavy, lifeless hands firmly in
his own, and then fixed his eyes fully and steadily on the pale, set
features with an expression of the of the most forcible, calm and
absolutely undeniable authority. Not one word did he utter, but remained
motionless as a statue in the attitude thus assumed--he seemed
scarcely to
breathe--not a muscle of his countenance moved. Perhaps twenty or
thirty
seconds had elapsed, when a warm tinge of colour came back to the
apparently dead face--the brows twitched--the lips
Page 302
"You are better, Ivan?" he inquired kindly.
The Prince looked about him, bewildered. He passed one hand across his
forehead without replying. Then he turned slightly and perceived me in the
window-embrasure, whither I had retreated in fear and wonderment at the
marvellous power of
Page 303
"Tell me," he said, addressing me, "have I been
dreaming?"
I could not answer him. I was glad to see him recover, yet I was a
little afraid. Heliobas pushed a chair gently towards him.
"Sit down, Ivan," he said quietly.
The Prince obeyed, and covered his face with his hand as though in deep
and earnest meditation. I looked on in silence and wonderment. Heliobas
spoke not another word, and together we watched the pensive figure in the
chair, so absorbed in serious thought. Some minutes passed. The gentle tick
of the clock in the outer hall grew obtrusive, so loud did it seem in the
utter stillness that surrounded us, I longed to speak--to ask
questions--to
proffer sympathy--but dared not move or utter a syllable. Suddenly the
Prince rose; his manner was calm and dignified,
Page 304
"Forgive me, Casimir!" he said simply.
Heliobas at once grasped the proffered palm within his own, and looked
at the young man with an almost fatherly tenderness.
"Say no more, Ivan!" he returned, his rich voice sounding
more than usually mellow in its warmth and heartiness. "We must all
learn before we can know, and some of our lessons are sharp and difficult.
Whatever you have thought of me, remember I have not, and do not, blame
you. To be offended with unbelievers is to show that you are not yourself
quite sure of the faith to which you would compel them."
"I would ask you one thing," went on the Prince, speaking in
a low tone. "Do not let me stay to fall into fresh errors. Teach
me--guide me, Casimir; I will be
Page 305
"Come with me," said Heliobas, taking his arm; "a
glass of good wine will invigorate you. It is better to see Zara no more
for a time. Let me take charge of you. You, mademoiselle," turning to
me, "will be kind enough to tell Zara that the Prince has recovered,
and sends her a friendly good-night. "Will that message
suffice?" he inquired of Ivan, with a smile.
The Prince looked at me with a sort of wistful gravity as I came forward
to bid him farewell.
"You will embrace her," he said slowly, "without fear.
Her eyes will rain sunshine upon you; they will not dart lightning. Her
lips will meet yours, and their touch will be warm--not cold, as sharp
steel. Yes; bid her good-night for me; tell her that an erring man kisses
the hem of her robe, and prays her for pardon.
Page 306
With these words, uttered distinctly and emphatically, he turned away
with Heliobas, who still held him by the arm in a friendly, half-protecting
manner. The tears stood in my eyes. I called softly:
"Good-night, Prince Ivan!"
He looked back with a faint smile.
"Good-night, mademoiselle!"
Heliobas also looked back and gave me an encouraging nod, which meant
several things at once, such as "Do not be anxious," "He
will be all right soon," and "Always believe the best." I
watched their two figures disappear through the doorway, and then, feeling
almost cheerful again, I knocked at the door of Zara's studio. She
opened
it at once, and came out. I delivered the Prince's message word for
word,
as he had given it. She listened, and sighed deeply.
"Are you sorry for him, Zara?" I asked.
Page 307
"Yes," she replied; "I am sorry for him as far as I
can be sorry for anything. I am never actually very sorry for
any circumstances, however grievous they may appear."
I was surprised at this avowal.
"Why, Zara," I said, "I thought you were so keenly
sympathetic?"
"So I am sympathetic, but only with suffering ignorance--a
dying
bird that knows not why it should die--a withering rose that sees not
the
reason for its withering; but for human beings, who willfully blind
themselves to the teachings of their own instincts, and are always doing
what they know they ought not to do in spite of warning, I cannot say I am
sorry. And for those who do study the causes and ultimate
results of their existence, there is no occasion to be sorry, as they are
perfectly happy, knowing everything that happens to them to be for their
advancement and justification."
Page 308
"Tell me," I asked with a little hesitation, "what did
Prince Ivan mean by saying he had seen your lover, Zara?"
"He meant what he said, I suppose," replied Zara, with
sudden coldness. "Excuse me, I thought you said you were not
inquisitive."
I could not bear this change of tone in her, and I clasped my arms tight
about her and smiled in her face.
"You shall not get angry with me, Zara. I am not
going to be treated like poor Ivan. I have found out what you are, and how
dangerous it is to admire you; but I do admire and love you. And I defy you
to knock me down as unceremoniously as you did the Prince--you
beautiful
living bit of Lightning!"
Zara moved restlessly in my embrace, but I held her fast. At the last
epithet I bestowed on her she grew very pale; but her eyes resembled the
jewels on her breast in their sheeny glitter.
Page 309
"What have you found out?" she murmured. "What do you
know?"
"I cannot say I know," I went on boldly, still
keeping my arms round her; "but I have made a guess which I think
comes near the truth. Your brother has had the care of you since you were a
little child, and I believe he has, by some method known only to himself,
charged you with electricity. Yes, Zara," for she had started and
tried to loosen my hold of her; "and it is that which keeps you young
and fresh as a girl of sixteen, at an age when other women lose their bloom
and grow wrinkles. It is that which gives you the power to impart a
repelling shock to people you dislike, as in the case of Prince Ivan. It is
that which gives you such an attractive force for those with whom you have
a little sympathy--such as myself, for instance; and you cannot, Zara,
with
all your electrical strength, unclasp my arms from your waist, because you
have
Page 310
Zara made a sign of assent--the expression of her face had
softened, and
a dimpling smile played round the corners of her mouth.
"Your lover," I went on steadily and slowly, "is a
native of some other sphere--perhaps the creation of your own
fancy--perhaps (for I will not be skeptical any more) a beautiful and
all-powerful angelic spirit. I will not discuss this with you. I believe
that when Prince Ivan fell senseless, he saw, or fancied he saw, that
nameless being. And now," I added, loosening my clasp of her,
"have I guessed well?"
Zara looked meditative. "I do not know," she said,
"why you should imagine--"
"Stop!" I exclaimed; "there is no imagination in the
case. I have reasoned it out. Here is a book I found in the library on
electric organs as they are
Page 311
"Well!" said Zara.
"You say 'Well!' as if you did not know!" I
exclaimed half angrily, half laughingly. "These fish have helped me
to understand a great deal, I assure you. Your brother must have discovered
the seed or commencement of electrical organs like those described, in the
human body; and he has cultivated them in you and in himself, and has
brought them to a high state of perfection. He has cultivated them in
Raffaello Cellini, and he is beginning to cultivate them in me, and I hope
most sincerely he will succeed. I think his theory is a magnificent
one."
Zara gazed seriously at me, and her large eyes seemed to grow darker
with the intensity of her thought.
Page 312
"Supposing you had reasoned out the matter correctly," she
said--"and I will not deny that you have done a great deal
towards
the comprehension of it--have you no fear? do you not include some
drawbacks in even Casimir's learning such a secret, and being able to
cultivate and educate such a deadly force as that of electricity in the
human being?"
"If it is deadly, it is also life giving," I answered.
"Remedies are also poisons. You laid the Prince senseless at your
feet, but your brother raised him up again. Both these things were done by
electricity. I can understand it all now; I see no obscurity, no mystery.
And oh, what a superb discovery it is!"
Zara smiled.
"You enthusiast!" she said, "it is nothing new. It was
well known to the ancient Chaldeans. It was known to Moses and his
followers; it was practiced in perfection by Christ and his disciples.
Page 313
Page 314
"I am sure they are!" I cried, triumphantly. Zara held out
her arms to me. "And you are sure you love me?" she asked.
I nestled into her embrace and kissed her.
"Sure!" I answered. "Zara, I love and honour you more
than any woman I ever met or ever shall meet. And you love me--I know
you do!"
"How can I help it?" she said. "Are you not one of us?
Good-night, dearest! Sleep well!"
"Good-night!" I answered. "And remember Prince Ivan
asked for your pardon."
"I remember!" she replied softly. "I have already
pardoned him, and I will pray for him." And a sort of radiant pity
and forbearance illumined her lovely features, as we parted for the night.
So might an
Page 315
I lay awake for some time that night, endeavouring to follow out the
track of thought I had entered upon in my conversation with Zara. With such
electricity as Heliobas practised, once admitting that human electric force
existed, all things were possible. Even a knowledge of superhuman events
might be attained, if there were anything in the universe that
was superhuman; and surely it would be arrogant and ignorant
to refuse to contemplate such a probability. At one time people mocked at
the wild idea that a message could flash in a moment of time from one side
of the Atlantic to the other by means of a cable laid under the sea; now
that it is an established fact, the world has grown accustomed to it, and
has ceased to regard it as a wonder. Granting human electricity to exist,
why should not a
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END OF VOL. I.
BILLING & SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD. S. & H.