The Secret Power - Marie Corelli (books to get back into reading TXT) 📗

was a small child I used to feed my fancy on the ‘Arabian Nights,’ and most dearly did I love the story of Aladdin and his palace that was transported through the air. I used to say ‘I will have a flying palace myself!’ And now I have realised my dream.”

“That remains to be proved”—said Rivardi—“With all our work we may not have entirely carried out your plan.”

“If not, it will HAVE to be carried out”—returned Morgana, tranquilly—“There is no reason, moral or scientific, why it should NOT be carried out—we have all the forces of Nature on our side.”

He was silent, and accompanied her as she walked to the aerodrome and entered it. There were half a dozen or more men within, all working—but they ceased every movement as they saw her,—while she, on her part, scarcely seemed to note their presence. Her eyes were uplifted and fixed on a vast, smooth oblong object, like the body of a great bird with shut wings, which swung from the roof of the aerodrome and swayed lightly to and fro as though impelled by some mysterious breathing force. Morgana’s swift glance travelled from its one end to the other with a flash of appreciation, while at the same time she received the salutations of all the men who advanced to greet her.

“You have done well, my friends!”—she said, speaking in fluent French—“This beautiful creature you have made seems a perfect thing,—from the OUTSIDE. What of the interior?”

A small, dark, intelligent looking man, in evident command of the rest, smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

“Ah, Signora! It is as you commanded!” he answered—“It is beautiful—like a chrysalis for a butterfly. But a butterfly has the advantage—it comes to LIFE, to use its wings!”

“Quite true, Monsieur Gaspard!” and Morgana gave him a smile as sunny as his own. “But what is life? Is it not a composition of many elements? And should we not learn to combine such elements to vitalise our ‘White Eagle’? It is possible!”

“With God all things are possible!” quoted the Marchese Rivardi— “But with man—”

“We are taught that God made man ‘in His image. In the image of God created He him.’ If this is true, all things should be possible to man”—said Morgana, quietly—“To man,—and to that second thought of the Creator—Woman! And we mustn’t forget that second thoughts are best!” She laughed, while the man called Gaspard stared at her and laughed also for company. “Now let me see how I shall be housed in air!” and with very little assistance she climbed into the great bird-shaped vessel through an entrance so deftly contrived that it was scarcely visible,—an entrance which closed almost hermetically when the ship was ready to start, air being obtained through other channels.

Once inside it was easy to believe in Fairyland. Not a scrap of any sort of mechanism could be seen. There were two exquisitely furnished saloons—one a kind of boudoir or drawing-room where everything that money could buy or luxury suggest as needful or ornamental was collected and arranged with thoughtful selection and perfect taste. A short passage from these apartments led at one end to some small, daintily fitted sleeping-rooms beyond,—at the other was the steering cabin and accommodation for the pilot and observer. The whole interior was lined with what seemed to be a thick rose- coloured silk of a singularly smooth and shining quality, but at a sign from Morgana, Rivardi and Gaspard touched some hidden spring which caused this interior covering to roll up completely, thus disclosing a strange and mysterious “installation” beneath. Every inch of wall-space was fitted with small circular plates of some thin, shining substance, set close together so that their edges touched, and in the center of each plate or disc was a tiny white knob resembling the button of an ordinary electric bell. There seemed to be at least two or three thousand of these discs—seen all together in a close mass they somewhat resembled the “suckers” on the tentacles of a giant octopus. Morgana, seating herself in an easy chair of the richly carpeted “drawing-room” of her “air palace,” studied every line, turn and configuration of this extraordinary arrangement with a keenly observant and criticising eye. The Marchese Rivardi and Gaspard watched her expression anxiously.

“You are satisfied?” asked Rivardi, at last—“It is as you planned?”

She turned towards Gaspard with a smile.

“What do YOU think about it?” she queried—“You are an expert in modern scientific work—you understand many of the secrets of natural force—what do YOU think?”

“Madama, I think as I have always thought!—a body without soul!”

“What IS soul?” she said—“Is it not breath?—the breath of life? Is it not said that God ‘made man of the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life and man became a living soul!’ And what is the breath of life? Is it not composed of such elements as are in the universe and which we may all discover if we will, and use to our advantage? You cannot deny this! Come, Marchese!—and you, Monsieur Gaspard! Call to them below to set this Eagle free; we will fly into the sunrise for an hour or two,—no farther, as we are not provisioned.”

“Madama!” stammered Gaspard—“I am not prepared—”

“You are frightened, my friend!” and Morgana smiled, laying her little white hand soothingly on his arm—“But if I tell you there is no cause for fear, will you not believe me? Do you not think I love my own life? Oh yes, I love it so much that I seek to prolong it, not risk it by sudden loss. Nor would I risk YOUR life—or HIS!” and she looked towards Rivardi—“HE is not frightened—he will come with me wherever I go! Now, Monsieur Gaspard, see! Here is our breath of life!” And she held up before his eyes the two cylindrically shaped packages she had previously shown to Rivardi—“The Marchese has already had some experience of it”—here she unfastened the wrappings of the packages, and took out two tubes made of some metallic substance which shone like purest polished gold—“I will fix these in myself—will you open the lower end chamber first, please?”

Silently the two men obeyed her gesture and opened the small compartment fixed at what might be called the hull end of the air- ship. The interior was seen to be lined with the same round discs which covered the walls of the vessel, every disc closely touching its neighbour. With extreme caution and delicacy Morgana set one of the tubes she held upright in the socket made to receive it, and as she did this, fine sharp, needle like flashes of light broke from it in a complete circle, filling the whole receptacle with vibrating rays which instantly ran round each disc, and glittered in and out among them like a stream of quicksilver. As soon as this manifestation occurred, Morgana beckoned to her two assistants to shut the compartment. They did so with scarcely an effort, yet it closed down with a silent force and tenacity that suggested some enormous outward pressure, yet pressure there seemed none. And now a sudden throbbing movement pulsated through the vessel—its huge folded wings stirred.

“Quick! Tell them below to lose no time! Open the shed and let her rise!—when the contact is once established there will not be half a second to spare!”

Hurriedly the man Gaspard, though obviously terrified, shouted the necessary orders, while Morgana went to the other end of the ship where Rivardi opened for her the second compartment into which she fixed the second tube. Once again the circular flashes broke out, but this time directly the compartment was closed down, the shining stream of light was seen to run rapidly and completely round the interior of the vessel, touching every disc that lined the walls as with the sparkling point of a jewel. The wings of the ship palpitated as with life and began to spread open. . . .

“Let her go!” cried Morgana—“Away to your place, pilot!” and she waved a commanding hand as Rivardi sprang to the steering gear— “Hold her fast! . . . Keep her steady! Straight towards the sun- rise!”

As she spoke, a wonderful thing happened—every disc that lined the interior of the ship started throbbing like a pulse,—every little white knob in the centre of each disc vibrated with an extraordinary rapidity of motion which dazzled the eyes like the glittering of swiftly falling snow, and Gaspard, obeying Morgana’s sign, drew down at once all the rose silk covering which completely hid the strange mechanism from view. There was absolutely no noise in this intense vibration,—and there was no start or jar, or any kind of difficulty, when the air-ship, released from bondage, suddenly rose, and like an actual living bird sprang through the vast opening gateway of the aerodrome and as it sprang, spread out its wings as though by its own volition. In one moment, it soared straight upright, far far into space, and the men who were left behind stood staring amazedly after it, themselves looking no more than tiny black pin-heads down below,—then, with a slow diving grace it righted itself as it were, and as if it had of its own will selected the particular current of air on which to sail. It travelled with a steady swiftness in absolute silence,—its great wings moved up and down with a noiseless power and rhythm for which there seemed no possible explanation,—and Morgana turned her face, now delicately flushed with triumph, on the pale and almost breathless Gaspard, smiling as she looked at him, her eyes questioning his. He seemed stricken dumb with astonishment,—his lips moved, but no word issued from them.

“You believe me now, do you not?” she said—“We have nothing further to do but to steer. The force we use re-creates itself as it works— it cannot become exhausted. To slow down and descend to earth one need only open the compartments at either end—then the vibration grows less and less, and like a living creature the ‘White Eagle’ sinks gently to rest. You see there is no cause for fear!”

While she yet spoke, the light of the newly risen sun bathed her in its golden glory, the long dazzling beams filtering through mysterious apertures inserted cunningly in the roof of the vessel and mingling with the roseate hues of the silken sheathing that covered its walls. So fired with light she looked ethereal—a very spirit of air or of flame; and Rivardi, just able to see her from his steering place, began to think there was some truth an the strange words of Don Aloysius—“Sometimes in this wonderful world of ours beings are born who are neither man nor woman and who partake of a nature that is not so much human as elemental—or, might not one almost say atmospheric?”

At the moment Morgana seemed truly “atmospheric”—a small creature so fine and fair as to almost suggest an evanescent form about to melt away in mist. Some sudden thrill of superstitious fear moved Gaspard to make the sign of the cross and mutter an “Ave,”—Morgana heard him and smiled kindly.

“I am not an evil spirit, my friend!” she said—“You need not exorcise me! I am nothing but a student with a little more imagination than is common, and in the moving force which carries our ship along I am only using a substance which, as our scientists explain, ‘has an exceptional capacity for receiving the waves of energy emanating from the sun and giving them off.’ On the ‘giving off’ of those waves we move—it is all natural and easy, and, like every power existent in the universe, is meant for our comprehension and use.