Adsum, born in Norway, was a lumber-room of human knowledge; he added to his model’s mystical aspect all modern scientific knowledge and all philosophical hypotheses. Having met Antal Fodor in India, he had realized how useful the young man, as handsome as a god, might be to him. He had made him part of a new religion, intelligent and commercial, and had entered into an alliance with him.
Adsum was one of those illuminati who, having created an idea, devoted himself to it passionately. Fodor’s own faith was mediocre; he saw it above all as a means to wealth and domination. In sum, the two individuals complemented one another. Both were possessed of a curious intellectual force.
“Well?”
“It went marvelously. I have them all.” He set his shiny hat down on a cushion, lit a cigarette and told the old savant all about the soirée and its result: the assured support of Pytor and Melcom, influence over the Duchess of Rutland, and so on.
“Good,” said Adsum. “Our doctrine addresses an elite. After the gods of Olympus, who had nothing beneath their myths, in sum, but the adoration of nature, and after the supremacy of Christianity over the poor in spirit, it’s finally time for the reign of reason. Our hope lies in America, the issue of Old Europe. Such a race, without the old atavism of idolatry, ought to have already created a philosophy capable of reducing all religious fanaticism to annihilation.”
“What are you saying, Master? It seems to me that you’re overshooting the target. Humans are, above all, lovers of the marvelous. If we have some success, it’s because of our magical science. It’s necessary that they retain somewhat in awe of us, as superhumans. As in all religions, it’s necessary to make the most of it.”
“It’s necessary to reign over minds, my Son, not over strong-boxes. Let’s focus on one ideal—and as a means of propaganda, we only need one thing: Diana Bering’s colossal fortune. It’s necessary, in everyone’s eyes to be disinterested. Do you think that those who come to us won’t weigh our actions and our words? All religions have addressed themselves, above all, to the humble and the innocent. We’ll do the opposite, in order that the concentration of intelligence will bring us close to the knowledge of the great mystery. Ormus, you haven’t yet completely got rid of your old self. All you see in my dream is a means of becoming rich and powerful—but I, your Master, only see a means of centralizing intelligence in order to discover the truth. Material assistance is, however, indispensable to us. The Duchess, then…?”
“In my hands, she will be the instrument that you’ve judiciously chosen. At the age when bored women are attracted to the occult sciences, her vanity will be flattered by the role played by her in an anterior life. I’ve suggested an entire filiation: the wife of a Pharaoh. Cleopatra, the Empress Eudoxia, what do I care? Her brain’s already working and building on it.” Taking a puff on his cigarette, he concluded: “The woman’s mine, I tell you.”
“Not yet, for you’re not sure of yourself.”
“Yes, two mentalities are competing within me. The words escaping my lips create dupes, and I feel myself that I’m an impostor. During my tale of the life of Tut-Ankh-Amun, my mind, extended toward that objective, suggested to the Duchess of Rutland that she had been the Pharaoh’s wife: Am-Phaoli, the loving wife of the Egyptian king and god. She has no inkling of the upstart Antal Fodor; for her, I’m the Mage Ormus, the last incarnation of vanished superior beings. But if others believe in me, O Master, I still doubt.”
Adsum took a step forward. Majestic in his ample white robe, he placed a hand on the other’s shoulder, and, staring into his eyes with steel-gray eyes that did not blink, he said: “It’s necessary to have no doubt, my son. Doubt weakens the will, and you don’t have the right to that, my pupil, my spiritual child. Look into the past. You have been the Pharaoh Tut-Ankh-Amun, just as I have been the great pontiff of Heliopolis, the regenerator of the ancient and only true religion: worship of the Sun.
Antal Fodor bowed, and Adsum placed his thumb at the root of the nose. Looking him straight in the eyes, the latter said: “In the name of the Father, in the name of the Sun, escape your wretched form and remount the ladder of elapsed centuries. Let your mind, liberated from all bonds, traverse seas and deserts, and follow my thought. The Father, who is in the sky, has just surged over the horizon. Above the desert plains of Arabia, his rays illuminate the obelisks and the tall pylons of the temples of Thebes. Look! At the far end of the narrow and long row of gigantic columns, on a throne of gold and precious stones, a young man in the hieratic stance of the great granite gods is motionless, seemingly seeing nothing of trivial human life. Is he a man? Is he a god? Both. He is as young and beautiful as spring, that master of old Egypt. Do you recognize him?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
“Then why do you speak of doubt?”
“Because I’m still too attached to matter. I have to deceive the Duchess, then? Suggest a lie to her?”
“Perhaps it isn’t one. I know nothing about Lady Rutland except what you’ve told me. Do you have news from Europe?”
“Yes, Master. The Flower of Truth is growing, slowly but surely. We need propaganda though—we need, if necessary, to maintain those who come to us. For that we need money, which is the master prior to the mind.”
“This billionairess must be ours! And to be ours, she needs to have faith. She will believe, because we’ll teach her the truth. Don’t hesitate any longer to speak with the faith that moves mountains. At your voice, the dead will rise up from their graves to aid us.”
IV. A Savant Flirt
Built on a hundred-meter hill, Redge House overlooked the surroundings of Long Island, and from its windows, one could see the green waters of the Atlantic crawling. The façade was in the somewhat staid but harmonious style of the French architect Gabriel. As for the grounds, they were large and eccentric. It was there that Diana felt most tranquil, and received her habitual companions in the magical art—and it was there that she had asked the Mage Ormus to come to instruct her.
And for a month already, he had been initiating the Duchess in the great mysteries. While admiring and sharing the theologian’s doctrines, she could not separate the man from the savant, and without being aware of it she was subject to masculine influence, aspiring to new sensations—and the Mage sensed that he had only to say the word to change the pupil into a mistress. He knew, however, that the lover would compromise the sorcerer, and he carefully avoided the instruction going down that road. The Duchess, moreover, had already donated a million to their common ideal: the Flower of Truth. The handsome adventurer’s ambition was aiming much higher.
“So,” said the Duchess, “I was your future queen, Am-Phaoli, who took food to the sacred crocodiles? And in a subsequent incarnation, the divine Cleopatra?”
“And I the triumvir Mark Antony. Do you remember?”
“Yes, when you’re here.”
“That’s because you haven’t yet succeeded in isolating your mind. The exteriorization isn’t complete. It’s necessary to focus your will, disengage yourself from its material envelope.”
“I’m trying to do that, but I need to be helped.”
The Mage, suddenly straightening up, put his hands on his breast and closed his eyes. He seemed to be concentrating all his will-power internally. Abruptly, the splendid golden eyes darted their gaze at the Duchess, who shuddered as if she had received an electric shock.
Then the Mage spoke.
“The sun is rising over Alexandria. I’ve spent the night with Cleopatra, the immortal charmer. Accompanied by the physician Philotas, I’m going to the harbor to talk to Sextus Aphissa, the great captain of the Egyptian fleet. Caesar has declared war on Egypt, under the pretext that I’ve exceeded my authority in proclaiming Cleopatra an independent queen, with her son Caesarion as a successor.
“The Egyptian fleet, more than a hundred galleys strong, could easily stand up to Caesar if it were well-equipped with oarsmen. Unfortunately, there’s a shortage of mariners, and ships too. Sextus Aphissa has
been trying hard to recruit oarsmen from the islands, and that’s why I’m going to the harbor. I’m chatting with Philotas when a trireme comes in to dock at a junction of the quay. ‘Mark Antony!’ shouts a voice.
“I turn round; sitting in the stern, a woman wearing the costume of a palace servant beckons to me. I go forward; then I hear a loud burst of laughter and I recognize Cleopatra in disguise. ‘Climb aboard!’ she says to me. I jump on to the vessel, followed by Philotas.
“‘Forgive me,’ says the queen. ‘I thought that you wanted to deceive me, and I came to make sure that your meeting with Sextus was real. Come on, Sextus is aboard.’
“Indeed, Aphissa shows himself. ‘Greetings, Augustus! I only have sixty galleys, but I know, from a reliable source, that the Romans only have thirty-two, each with only a single rank of oarsmen.’
“Philotas intervenes. ‘Caesar’s mariners are battle-hardened, and I have no confidence in your heavy galleys with three ranks; you’d do better to take your chances with the land army.’
“That’s also my opinion, but the queen wants to see a naval battle. ‘I want my trireme to be in the first rank,’ she commands, ‘and Caesar will see whether I’m worthy to rule Egypt.’
“‘Isn’t it enough to reign over Antony’s heart?’ asks Philotas.
“‘Since Antony has betrayed me to marry Octavia, I doubt his constancy.’
“‘Would I be here if I had wanted to please Caesar’s sister? Mark Antony is entirely yours.’
“‘Then let Antonia obey me. In the meantime, Sextus, I desire to take an excursion by sea and go to eat oysters at Marhissa.’
“‘That would be extremely imprudent, O Queen, and for Caesar, there would be no capture as fine as that of our two sovereigns by the enemy fleet in that little fishing village.’
“The queen stamps her foot. ‘Let’s go, or I’ll believe that you’re afraid.’
“Sextus Aphissa turns the ship about in order to obey the queen’s caprice. Now we’re following the coast in the direction of Marhissa.
“We’ve been sailing for an hour when we find ourselves confronting three Roman triremes. Sextus immediately leaps down to the oar-deck, and we come about so close to the enemy that the leading ship brushes our stern. ‘Faster! Faster! Freedom for all if we escape!’ Our vessel flies over the waves—but the Roman galleys are gaining on us. While one of them gives chase, the other two make haste to cut us off.
“‘We’re doomed,’ says Philotas. ‘The lighter Roman galleys will surround us.’ The situation is critical. Fortunately, the Romans fear a trap. The point of Bura-Agieh, which we’re approaching, might conceal an ambush. That’s why the other two ships have gone on ahead in order to explore the shore. The coast is no more than a hundred fathoms away. I launch myself on to the false deck, where Sextus is spurring on the oarsmen, and I tell him my plan.
“He approves, and I go back up. The two Roman triremes, having ascertained that there’s no one behind the cape, are pursuing up at top speed. Suddenly, on an order from Sextus, our rowers stop, and then begin rowing backwards.
“The Romans, who didn’t expect that maneuver, come at us at top speed and crash into our vessel, which is heavier than theirs. They take on water immediately, and sink. We head straight for the coast and launch out skiff on to the sand.
“I pick Cleopatra up in my arms and jump into the water. The oarsmen and one of the chiefs do the same, and now we’re all running toward the city. A volley of arrows falls behind us, wounding the unfortunate Philotas grievously.
“An hour later, we get back to Alexandria, and you say, once you’ve recovered from your emotion: ‘Hurry up, Antony, and beat the Romans, so that I can go and eat oysters at Marhissa.’”
“Do you remember that excursion at sea?”
“I remember having a little fright on that beautiful day, my dear Mage, but I don’t remember the night before.”
Ormus did not appear to understand the allusion. He continued: “That wasn’t the first time that you’d tried Antony’s patience and courage. You were as whimsical as you were beautiful, and the triumvir was subjected to rude proofs by your whims.”
“Mark Antony, what do you think of Cleopatra?”
“Enchantress, no man could resist your charms.”
“And I love you too—until death!”
“Don’t lie to the past,” said the Mage. “If Cleopatra hadn’t feared being attached to Caesar’s chariot as a captive, you wouldn’t have killed yourself. Our mutual majesty permitted us to deliver ourselves shamelessly and unstintingly to any excess; we used and abused it. It was an epoch when everything was done on a lavish scale. For me, that incarnation had no spiritual profit—on the contrary; it was a complete triumph of materialism, almost a moral regression.”
“And for me? For Cleopatra, I mean?”
“You never had any objective other than sensual satisfaction, and did not think much. You’re making progress, as you can see.”
“Yes, perhaps—but I don’t regret having been Cleopatra.”
V. The Eternal Triangle
At that moment, an automobile horn resounded in the avenue leading to Redge House. The Duchess darted a glance outside.
“My husband!” she said, I a tone of annoyance. “I thought he was with the Olivani-Sforzas. He’s bringing his inseparable Will here.”
“That drunken buffoon, always mocking. How can the Duke compromise himself in the company of such a clown?”
“For us, Shakespeare is a parasite. He’s by no means stupid, and his company has often helped me to tolerate that of the Duke—but since I’ve come to know you, they seem as annoying as one another. They’ve come to disturb my initiation again.”
“I’ve noticed,” said Ormus, “that the Duke, who welcomed me benevolently at first, seems less well-disposed toward me now.”
“He’s somewhat subject to the influence of Shakespeare, a thoroughgoing materialist, and as soon as my husband escapes your influence, he falls back under his friend’s unfortunate sway.”
“I’ll go, then. When do you want to continue your studies, Madame?”
“This coming and going between here and New York is intolerable. I’m going to speak to George about putting you up at Redge House. That way, I’ll have you more to myself. The season’s about to start; all of fashionable society will be here on Long Island before long. It’s in your interest—the interests of our work—for us to be together.”
Having had himself announced, the Duke came into the drawing room. “Ah!” he said. “You’re in conference with your Mage! Hello, my dear chap.” He kissed the Duchess’s hand. “Is you pupil making progress?”
“I’ve just offered the Mage Ormus hospitality at Redge House,” Diana interjected, “which would thus become the active center of our doctrine, the Flower of Truth. Would you please make the arrangements for the Master’s accommodation?”
“Certainly…certainly...”
“I’ll leave you, then,” said Diana, standing up.
“Follow me,” said Lord Rutland to the Mage, after the Duchess’s departure. “I need to talk to you, and I don’t like talking without a drink.”
VI. The Forbidden Bar
Reformist laws do not apply to billionaires, and prohibition imposed on sin only makes it more attractive; a glass of alcohol drunk in secret has a completely different flavor from those quaffed in times when one could drink without impediment. The dry regime was prevalent throughout the United States, and yet the number of measures taken against drunkards was increasing incessantly. Drinkers fell back on clubs, where clandestine barmen poured the forbidden liquids discreetly.
In imitation of the clubs, rich houses competed in luxury and comfort in the installation of secret bars. George Manners, gladly conforming with this fashion, had therefore installed a bar in his apartment, skillfully disposed so as to be invisible to profane eyes. All the mystery, however, was more to satisfy convention than by virtue of veritable utility, for he had no reason to
fear the slightest risk of a search—but it is fun to mock laws, especially when they are futile.
The bar at Redge House was a veritable marvel. Large panels of Japanese silk representing birds and flowers alternated with lacquered woodwork encrusted with nacre and gold. Behind the bar of waxed oak, a large leather panel of embossed leather represented the triumph of Bacchus. There were high chairs of curved wood, divans upholstered in Cordovan leather as broad and deep as beds, and Oriental carpets thick enough to deaden potential falls. Service was insured by an accomplished barman, who disappeared only to reappear at the summons of an electric button. The room was ventilated by an invisible shaft to the outside, running behind a thick ledge of sculpted and gilded wood surrounding the discreet room, admirably disposed for sacrifices to the god Alcohol. One entered by means of the displacement of one of the Japanese panels, sliding along grooves.
It was into this secluded bar that the Duke introduced Antal Fodor. William Shakespeare, installed on a stool at the high counter, was discussing a cocktail of his composition with the barman.
“Take careful note. Master Guidevor: one third old Xeres, one third French cognac, as old as possible, a pinch of Cayenne, two cloves, a mussel, three crayfish and a duck’s egg. Beat forcefully, freeze and finish off with dry Mumm. Tell me what you think. Aha! Here’s our sorcerer. Honor to the Pharaoh Tut-Ankh-Amun! The possible descendant of William Shakespeare salutes you!”
The Duke of Rutland said: “One can’t talk properly on these perches. Let’s sit down at a table.”
They sat down in profound armchairs, and William stretched out on a divan. When the barman had served three cocktails, he withdrew.
The Duke took a mouthful, coughed, scratched the tip of his nose, and said: “My dear Ormus, what I have to say to you is rather delicate, especially after what the Duchess has just decided. You interest me enormously, that’s indisputable. You’re plan for a new religion isn’t banal, and it doesn’t displease me to play the role of a founder member. But…well…hmmm…help me out, Will!”
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