Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22)

by Marie Corelli

  “You are looking well — well,” — he muttered— “Not a shade older — always sound and strong! Just Heavens! — if I had your physique, I think with Archimedes, that I could lift the world! But I am getting very old, — the life in me is ebbing fast, — and I have not done my work — ...God!...God! I have not done my work!”

  He clenched his hands, and his voice quavered down into a sound that was almost a groan. EI-Râmi’s black beaming eyes rested on him compassionately.

  “You are worn out, my dear Kremlin,” — he said gently— “worn out and exhausted with long toil. You shall sleep to-night. I have come according to my promise, and I will do what I can for you. Trust me — you shall not lose the reward of your life’s work by want of time. You shall have time,-even leisure to complete your labours, — I will give you ‘length of days’!”

  The elder man sank into a chair trembling, and rested his head wearily on one hand.

  “You cannot;” — he said faintly-”you cannot stop the advance of death, my friend! You are a very clever man — you have a far-reaching subtlety of brain, — but your learning and wisdom must pause there — there at the boundary-line of the grave. You cannot overstep it or penetrate beyond it — you cannot slacken the pace of the on-rushing years; — no, no! I shall be forced to depart with half my discovery uncompleted.”

  El-Râmi smiled, — a slightly derisive smile.

  “You, who have faith in so much that cannot be proved, are singularly incredulous of a fact that can be proved;” — he said— “Anyway, whatever you choose to think, here I am in answer to your rather sudden summons — and here is your saving remedy;—” and he placed a gold-stoppered flask on the table near which they sat— “It is, or might be called, a veritable distilled essence of time, — for it will do what they say God cannot do, make the days spin backward!”

  Dr. Kremlin took up the flask curiously.

  “You are so positive of its action?”

  “Positive. I have kept one human creature alive and in perfect health for six years on that vital fluid alone.”

  “Wonderful! — wonderful!” — and the old scientist held it close to the light, where it seemed to flash like a diamond, — then he smiled dubiously— “Am I the new Faust, and you Mephisto?”

  “Bah!” and El-Râmi shrugged his shoulders carelessly— “An old nurse’s tale! — yet, like all old nurses’ tales and legends of every sort under the sun, it is not without its grain of truth. As I have often told you, there is really nothing imagined by

  the human brain that is not possible of realization, either here or hereafter. It would be a false note and a useless calculation to allow thought to dwell on what cannot be, — hence our airiest visions are bound to become facts in time. All the same, I am not of such superhuman ability that I can make you change your skin like a serpent, and blossom into youth and the common vulgar lusts of life, which to the thinker must be valueless. No. What you hold there, will simply renew the tissues, and gradually enrich the blood with fresh globules — nothing more, — but that is all you need. Plainly and practically speaking, as long as the tissues and the blood continue to renew themselves, you cannot die except by violence.”

  “Cannot die!” echoed Kremlin, in stupefied wonder— “Cannot die?”

  “Except by violence—” repeated El-Râmi with emphasis— “Well! — and what now? There is nothing really astonishing in the statement. Death by violence is the only death possible to anyone familiar with the secrets of Nature, and there is more than one lesson to be learned from the old story of Cain and Abel. The first death in the world, according to that legend, was death by violence. Without violence, life should be immortal, or at least renewable at pleasure.”

  “Immortal!” muttered Dr. Kremlin— “Immortal! Renewable at pleasure! My God! — then I have time before me — plenty of time!”

  “You have, if you care for it—” said El-Râmi with a tinge of melancholy in his accents— “and if you continue to care for it. Few do, nowadays.”

  But his companion scarcely heard him. He was balancing the little flask in his hand in wonderment and awe.

  “Death by violence?” — he repeated slowly. “But, my friend, may not God Himself use violence towards us? May He not snatch the unwilling soul from its earthly tenement at an unexpected moment, — and so, all the scheming and labour and patient calculation of years be ended in one flash of time?”

  “God — if there be a God, which some are fain to believe there is, — uses no violence—” replied El-Râmi— “Deaths by violence are due to the ignorance, or brutality, or long-inherited fool-hardiness and interference of man alone.”

  “What of shipwreck? — storm? — lightning?” — queried Dr. Kremlin, still playing with the flask he held.

  “You are not going to sea, are you?” asked El-Râmi, smiling— “And surely you, of all men, should know that even shipwrecks are clue to a lack of mathematical balance in ship-building. One little trifle of exactitude, which is always missing, unfortunately, — one little delicate scientific adjustment, and the fiercest storm and wind could not prevail against the properly poised vessel. As for lightning — of course people are killed by it if they persist in maintaining an erect position like a lightning-rod or conductor, while the electrical currents are in full play. If they were to lie flat down, as savages do, they could not attract the descending force. But who, among arrogant stupid men, cares to adopt such simple precautions? Any way, I do not see that you need fear any of these disasters.”

  “No no,” — said the old man meditatively, “I need not fear, — no, no! I have nothing to fear.”

  His voice sank into silence. He and El-Râmi were sitting in a small square chamber of the tower, — very narrow, with only space enough for the one tiny table and two chairs which furnished it, — the walls were covered with very curious maps, composed of lines and curves and zig-zag patterns, meaningless to all except Kremlin himself, whose dreamy gaze wandered to them between-whiles with an ardent yearning and anxiety. And ever that strange deep, monotonous humming noise surged through the tower as of a mighty wheel at work, the vibration of the sound seeming almost to shake the solid masonry, while mingling with it now and again came the wild sea-bird cry of the wind. El-Râmi listened.

  “And still it moves?” he queried softly, using almost the words of Galileo,— “e pur, si muove.”

  Dr. Kremlin looked up, his pale eyes full of a sudden fire and animation.

  “Ay! — still it moves!” he responded with a touch of eager triumph in his tone— “Still it moves — and still it sounds! The music of the Earth, my friend! — the dominant note of all Nature’s melody! Hear it! — round, full, grand and perfect! — one tone in the ascending scale of the planets, — the song of one Star, — our Star — as it rolls on its predestined way! Come! — come with me!” and he sprang up excitedly— “It is a night for work; — the heavens are clear as a mirror, — come and see my Dial of the Fates, — you have seen it before, I know, but there are new reflexes upon it now, — new lines of light and colour, — ah, my good El-Râmi, if you could solve my Problem, you would be soon wiser than you are! Your gift of long life would be almost valueless compared to my proof of what is beyond life—”

  “Yes — if the proof could be obtained—” interposed El-Râmi.

  “It shall be obtained!” cried Kremlin wildly— “It shall! I will not die till the secret is won. I will wrench it out from the Holy of Holies — I will pluck it from the very thoughts of God!”

  He trembled with the violence of his own emotions, — then passing his hand across his forehead, he relapsed into sudden calm, and smiling gently, said again —

  “Come!”

  El-Râmi rose at once in obedience to this request, — and the old man preceded him to a high narrow door which looked like a slit in the wall, and which he unbarred and opened with an almost jealous care. A brisk puff of wind blew in their faces through the aperture, but this subsided into mere cool
freshness of air, as they entered and stood together within the great central chamber of the tower, — a lofty apartment, where the strange work of Kremlin’s life was displayed in all its marvellous complexity, — a work such as no human being had ever attempted before, or would be likely to attempt again.

  CHAPTER X.

  THE singular object that at once caught and fixed the eye in fascinated amazement and something of terror, was a huge Disc, suspended between ceiling and floor by an apparently inextricable mesh and tangle of wires. It was made of some smooth glittering substance like crystal, and seemed from its great height and circumference to occupy nearly the whole of the lofty tower-room. It appeared to be lightly poised and balanced on a long steel rod, — a sort of gigantic needle which hung from the very top of the tower. The entire surface of the Disc was a subdued blaze of light, — light which fluctuated in waves and lines, and zig-zag patterns like a kaleidoscope, as the enormous thing circled round and round, as it did, with a sort of measured motion, and a sustained solemn buzzing sound. Here was the explanation of the mysterious noise that vibrated throughout the house, — it was simply the movement of this round shield-like mass among its wonderful network of rods and wires. Dr. Kremlin called it his “crystal” Disc, — but it was utterly unlike ordinary crystal, for it not only shone with a transparent watery clearness, but possessed the scintillating lustre of a fine diamond cut into numerous prisms, so that El-Râmi shaded his eyes from the flash of it as he stood contemplating it in silence. It swirled round and round steadily; facing it, a large casement window, about the size of half the wall, was thrown open to the night, and through this could be seen a myriad sparkling stars. The wind blew in, but not fiercely now, for part of the wrath of the gale was past, — and the wash of the sea on the beach below had exactly the same tone in it as the monotonous hum of the Disc as it moved. At one side of the open window a fine telescope mounted on a high stand, pointed out towards the heavens, — there were numerous other scientific implements in the room, but it was impossible to take much notice of anything but the Disc itself, with its majestic motion and the solemn sound to which it swung. Dr. Kremlin seemed to have almost forgotten El-Râmi’s presence, — going up to the window, he sat down on a low bench in the corner, and folding his arms across his breast gazed at his strange invention with a fixed, wondering, and appealing stare.

  “How to unravel the meaning — how to decipher the message!” he muttered— “Sphinx of my brain, tell me, is there No answer? Shall the actual offspring of my thought refuse to clear up the riddle I propound? Nay, is it possible the creature should baffle the creator? See! the lines change again — the vibrations are altered, — the circle is ever the circle, but the reflexes differ, — how can one separate or classify them — how?”

  Thus far his half-whispered words were audible, — when El-Râmi came and stood beside him. Then he seemed to suddenly recollect himself, and looking up, he rose to his feet and spoke in a perfectly calm and collected manner.

  “You see” — he said, pointing to the Disc with the air of a lecturer illustrating his discourse— “To begin with, there is the fine hair’s-breadth balance of matter which gives perpetual motion. Nothing can stop that movement save the destruction of the whole piece of mechanism. By some such subtly delicate balance as that, the Universe moves, — and nothing can stop it save the destruction of the Universe. Is not that fairly reasoned?”

  “Perfectly,” replied El-Râmi, who was listening with profound attention.

  “Surely that of itself, — the secret of perpetual motion, — is a great discovery, is it not?” questioned Kremlin eagerly.

  El-Râmi hesitated.

  “It is,” he said at last. “Forgive me if I paused a moment before replying, — the reason of my doing so was this. You cannot claim to yourself any actual discovery of perpetual motion, because that is Nature’s own particular mystery. Perhaps I do not explain myself with sufficient clearness, — well, what I mean to imply is this — namely, that your wonderful dial there would not revolve as it does, if the Earth on which we stand were not also revolving. If we could imagine our planet stopping suddenly in its course, your Disc would stop also, — is not that correct?”

  “Why, naturally!” assented Kremlin impatiently. “Its movement is mathematically calculated to follow, in a slower degree, but with rhythmical exactitude, the Earth’s own movement, and is so balanced as to be absolutely accurate to the very half-quarter of a hair’s-breadth.”

  “Yes, — and there is the chief wonder of your invention,” said El-Râmi quietly. “It is that peculiarly precise calculation of yours that is so marvellous, in that it enables you to follow the course of perpetual motion. With perpetual motion itself you have nothing to do, — you cannot find its why or its when or its how, — it is eternal as Eternity. Things must move, — and we all move with them — your Disc included.”

  “But the moving things are balanced — so!” said Kremlin, pointing triumphantly to his work— “On one point — one pivot!”

  “And that point — ?” queried El-Râmi dubiously.

  “Is a Central Universe” — responded Kremlin— “where God abides.”

  El-Râmi looked at him with dark, dilating, burning eyes.

  “Suppose,” he said suddenly— “suppose — for the sake of argument — that this Central Universe you imagine exists, were but the outer covering or shell of another Central Universe, and so on through innumerable Central Universes for ever and ever and ever, and no point or pivot reachable!”

  Kremlin uttered a cry, and clasped his hands with a gesture of terror.

  “Stop — stop!” he gasped— “Such an idea is frightful! — horrible! Would you drive me mad? — mad, I tell you? No human brain could steadily contemplate the thought of such pitiless infinity!”

  He sank back on the seat and rocked himself to and fro like a person in physical pain, the while he stared at El-Râmi’s majestic figure and dark meditative face as though he saw some demon in a dream. El-Râmi met his gaze with a compassionate glance in his own eyes.

  “You are narrow, my friend,” — he observed— “as narrow of outward and onward conception as most scientists are. I grant you the human brain has limits; but the human Soul has none! There is no ‘pitiless infinity’ to the Soul’s aspirations, — it is never contented, — but eternally ambitious, eternally enquiring, eternally young, it is ready to scale heights and depths without end, unconscious of fatigue or satiety. What of a million million Universes? I — even I — can contemplate them without dismay, — the brain may totter and reel at the multiplicity of them, — but the SOUL would absorb them all and yet seek space for more!”

  His rich, deep tranquil voice had the effect of calming Kremlin’s excited nerves. He paused in his uneasy rocking to and fro, and listened as though he heard music.

  “You are a bold man, El-Râmi,” he said slowly— “I have always said it, — bold even to rashness. Yet with all your large ideas I find you inconsistent; for example, you talk of the Soul now, as if you believed in it, — but there are times when you declare yourself doubtful of its existence.”

  “It is necessary to split hairs of argument with you, I see” — returned El-Râmi with a slight smile,— “Can you not understand that I may believe in the Soul without being sure of it? It is the natural instinct of every man to credit himself with immortality, because this life is so short and unsatisfactory, — the notion may be a fault of heritage perhaps, still it is implanted in us all the same. And I do believe in the Soul, — but I require certainty to make my mere belief an undeniable Fact. And the whole business of my life is to establish that fact provably, and beyond any sort of doubt whatever, — what inconsistency do you find there?”

  “None — none—” said Kremlin hastily— “But you will not succeed, — yours is too daring an attempt, — too arrogant and audacious a demand upon the Unknown Forces.”

  “And what of the daring and arrogance displayed here?” asked El-Râ
mi, with a wave of his hand towards the glittering Disc in front of them.

  Kremlin jumped up excitedly.

  “No, no! — you cannot call the mere scien — tific investigation of natural objects arrogant,” he said— “Besides, the whole thing is so very simple after all. It is well known that every star in the heavens sends forth perpetual radiations of light; which radiations in a given number of minutes, days, months or years, reach our Earth. It depends of course on the distance between the particular star and our planet, as to how long these light-vibrations take to arrive here. One ray from some stars will occupy thousands of years in its course, — in fact, the original planet from which it fell, may be swept out of existence before it has time to penetrate our atmosphere. All this is in the lesson-books of children, and is familiar to every beginner in the rudiments of astronomy. But apart from time and distance, there is no cessation to these light-beats or vibrations; they keep on arriving for ever, without an instant’s pause. Now, my great idea, was, as you know, to catch these reflexes on a mirror or dial of magnetic spar, — and you see for yourself that this thing, which seemed impossible, is to a certain extent done. Magnetic spar is not a new substance to you, any more than it was to the Egyptian priests of old — and the quality it has, of attracting light in its exact lines wherever light falls, is no surprise to you, though it might seem a marvel to the ignorant. Every little zigzag or circular flash on that Disc, is a vibration of light from some star, — but what puzzles and confounds my skill is this; — That there is a Meaning in those lines — a distinct Meaning which asks to be interpreted, — a picture which is ever on the point of declaring itself, and is never declared. Mine is the torture of a Tantalus watching night after night that mystic Dial!”

  He went close up to the Disc, and pointed out one particular spot on its surface where at that moment there was a glittering tangle of little prismatic tints.