A Romance of Two Worlds - Marie Corelli (online e reader .TXT) 📗

I followed him, somewhat mystified. On the way downstairs he said:

“Do you know why Zara wished that statue destroyed?”

“No,” I said frankly; “unless for the reason that it was incomplete.”

“It always would have been incomplete,” returned Heliobas; “even had she lived to work at it for years. It was a daring attempt, and a fruitless one. She was trying to make a clay figure of one who never wore earthly form—the Being who is her Twin-Soul, who dominates her entirely, and who is with her now. As well might she have tried to represent in white marble the prismatic hues of the rainbow!”

We had now reached the hall, and the servants were assembling by twos and threes. They glanced at their master with looks of awe, as he took up a commanding position near the fountain, and faced them with a glance of calm scrutiny and attention. I drew a chair behind one of the marble columns and seated myself, watching everything with interest. Leo appeared from some corner or other, and laid his rough body down close at his master’s feet.

In a few minutes all the domestics, some twenty in number, were present, and Heliobas, raising his voice, spoke with a clear deliberate enunciation:

“I have sent for you all this morning, because I am perfectly aware that you have all determined to give me notice.”

A stir of astonishment and dismay ensued on the part of the small audience, and I heard one voice near me whisper:

“He IS the devil, or how could he have known it?”

The lips of Heliobas curled in a fine sarcastic smile. He went on:

“I spare you this trouble. Knowing your intentions, I take upon myself to dismiss you at once. Naturally, you cannot risk your characters by remaining in the service of the devil. For my own part, I wonder the devil’s money has not burnt your hands, or his food turned to poison in your mouths. My sister, your kind and ever-indulgent mistress, is dead. You know this, and it is your opinion that I summoned up the thunderstorm which caused her death. Be it so. Report it so, if you will, through Paris; your words do not affect me. You have been excellent machines, and for your services many thanks! As soon as my sister’s funeral is over, your wages, with an additional present, will be sent to you. You can then leave my house when you please; and, contrary to the usual custom of accepted devils, I am able to say, without perishing in the effort— God speed you all!”

The faces of those he addressed exhibited various emotions while he spoke—fear contending with a good deal of shame. The little Greek page stepped forward timidly.

“The master knows that I will never leave him,” he murmured, and his large eyes were moist with tears.

Heliobas laid a gentle hand on the boy’s dark curls, but said nothing. One of the four Armenians advanced, and with a graceful rapid gesture of his right hand, touched his head and breast.

“My lord will not surely dismiss US who desire to devote ourselves to his service? We are willing to follow my lord to the death if need be, for the sake of the love and honour we bear him.”

Heliobas looked at him very kindly.

“I am richer in friends than I thought myself to be,” he said quietly. “Stay then, by all means, Afra, you and your companions, since you have desired it. And you, my boy,” he went on, addressing the tearful page, “think you that I would turn adrift an orphan, whom a dying mother trusted to my care? Nay, child, I am as much your servant as you are mine, so long as your love turns towards me.”

For all answer the page kissed his hand in a sort of rapture, and flinging back his clustering hair from his classic brows, surveyed the domestics, who had taken their dismissal in silent acquiescence, with a pretty scorn.

“Go, all of you, scum of Paris!” he cried in his clear treble tones- -“you who know neither God nor devil! You will have your money—more than your share—what else seek you? You have served one of the noblest of men; and because he is so great and wise and true, you judge him a fiend! Oh, so like the people of Paris—they who pervert all things till they think good evil and evil good! Look you! you have worked for your wages; but I have worked for HIM—I would starve with him, I would die for him! For to me he is not fiend, but Angel!”

Overcome by his own feelings the boy again kissed his master’s hand, and Heliobas gently bade him be silent. He himself looked round on the still motionless group of servants with an air of calm surprise.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked. “Consider yourselves dismissed, and at liberty to go where you please. Any one of you that chooses to apply to me for a character shall not lack the suitable recommendation. There is no more to say.”

A lively-looking woman with quick restless black eyes stepped forward.

“I am sure,” she said, with a mincing curtsey, “that we are very sorry if we have unintentionally wronged monsieur; but monsieur, who is aware of so many things, must know that many reports are circulated about monsieur that make one to shudder; that madame his sister’s death so lamentable has given to all, what one would say, the horrors; and monsieur must consider that poor servants of virtuous reputation—”

“So, Jeanne Claudet!” interrupted Heliobas, in a thrilling low tone. “And what of the child—the little waxen-faced helpless babe left to die on the banks of the Loire? But it did not die, Jeanne—it was rescued; and it shall yet live to loathe its mother!”

The woman uttered a shriek, and fainted.

In the feminine confusion and fuss that ensued, Heliobas, accompanied by his little page and the dog Leo, left the hall and entered his own private room, where for some time I left him undisturbed.

In the early part of the afternoon a note was brought to me. It was from Colonel Everard, entreating me to come as soon as possible to his wife, who was very ill.

“Since she heard of the death of that beautiful young lady, a death so fearfully sudden and unexpected,” wrote the Colonel, “she has been quite unlike herself—nervous, hysterical, and thoroughly unstrung. It will be a real kindness to her if you will come as soon as you can—she has such, a strong desire for your company.”

I showed this note at once to Heliobas. He read it, and said:

“Of course you must go. Wait till our simple funeral ceremony is over, and then—we part. Not for ever; I shall see you often again. For now I have lost Zara, you are my only female disciple, and I shall not willingly lose sight of you. You will correspond with me?”

“Gladly and gratefully,” I replied.

“You shall not lose by it. I can initiate you into many secrets that will be useful to you in your career. As for your friend Mrs. Everard, you will find that your presence will cure her. You have progressed greatly in electric force: the mere touch of your hand will soothe her, as you will find. But never be tempted to try any of the fluids of which you have the recipes on her, or on anybody but yourself, unless you write to me first about it, as Cellini did when he tried an experiment on you. As for your own bodily and spiritual health, you know thoroughly what to do—KEEP THE SECRET; and make a step in advance every day. By-and-by you will have double work.”

“How so?” I asked.

“In Zara’s case, her soul became dominated by a Spirit whose destiny was fulfilled and perfect, and who never could descend to imprisonment in earthly clay. Now, you will not be dominated—you will be simply EQUALIZED; that is, you will find the exact counterpart of your own soul dwelling also in human form, and you will have to impart your own force to that other soul, which will, in its turn, impart to yours a corresponding electric impetus. There is no union so lovely as such an one—no harmony so exquisite; it is like a perfect chord, complete and indissoluble. There are sevenths and ninths in music, beautiful and effective in their degrees; but perhaps none of them are so absolutely satisfying to the ear as the perfect chord. And this is your lot in life and in love, my child— be grateful for it night and morning on your bended knees before the Giver of all good. And walk warily—your own soul with that other shall need much thought and humble prayer. Aim onward and upward— you know the road—you also know, and you have partly seen, what awaits you at the end.”

After this conversation we spoke no more in private together. The rest of the afternoon was entirely occupied with the final preparations for Zara’s funeral, which was to take place at Pere-la- Chaise early the next morning. A large and beautiful wreath of white roses, lilies, and maiden-hair arrived from Prince Ivan; and, remembering my promise to him, I went myself to lay it in a conspicuous place on Zara’s corpse. That fair body was now laid in its coffin of polished oak, and a delicate veil of filmy lace draped it from head to foot. The placid expression of the features remained unchanged, save for a little extra rigidity of the flesh; the hands, folded over the crucifix, were stiff, and looked as though they were moulded in wax. I placed the wreath in position and paused, looking wistfully at that still and solemn figure. Father Paul, slowly entering from a side-door, came and stood beside me.

“She is happy!” he said; and a cheerful expression irradiated his venerable features.

“Did you also know she would die that night?” I asked softly.

“Her brother sent for me, and told me of her expected dissolution. She herself told me, and made her last confession and communion. Therefore I was prepared.”

“But did you not doubt—were you not inclined to think they might be wrong?” I inquired, with some astonishment.

“I knew Heliobas as a child,” the priest returned. “I knew his father and mother before him; and I have been always perfectly aware of the immense extent of his knowledge, and the value of his discoveries. If I were inclined to be sceptical on spiritual matters, I should not be of the race I am; for I am also a Chaldean.”

I said no more, and Father Paul trimmed the tapers burning round the coffin in devout silence. Again I looked at the fair dead form before me; but somehow I could not feel sad again. All my impulses bade me rejoice. Why should I be unhappy on Zara’s account?—more especially when the glories of the Central Sphere were yet fresh in my memory, and when I knew as a positive fact that her happiness was now perfect. I left the chapel with a light step and lighter heart, and went to my own room to pack up my things that all might be in readiness for my departure on the morrow. On my table I found a volume whose quaint binding I at once recognised—“The Letters of a Dead Musician.” A card lay beside it, on which was written in pencil:

“Knowing of your wish to possess this book, I herewith offer it for your acceptance. It teaches you a cheerful devotion to Art, and an indifference to the world’s opinions—both of which are necessary to you in your career.—HELIOBAS.”

Delighted with this gift, I opened the book, and found