He broke off, then resumed in quieter tones:
“I say to you: Use your opportunities while you have them. After dinner I will leave you alone with the Princess. I will go out for a stroll with Dr. Dean. Take your chance, Denzil, for, as I live, it is your last! It will be my turn next! Give me credit for to-night’s patience!”
He turned quickly away, and in a moment was gone. Denzil Murray stood still for a while, thinking deeply, and trying to review the position in which he found himself. He was madly in love with a woman for whom his only sister had the most violent antipathy; and that sister, who had once been all in all to him, had now become almost less than nothing in the headstrong passion which consumed him. No consideration for her peace and ultimate happiness affected him, though he was sensible of a certain remorseful pity when thinking of her gentle ways and docile yielding to his often impatient and impetuous humors; but, after all, she was only his sister, — she could not understand his present condition of mind. Then there was Gervase, whom he had for some years looked upon as one of his most admired and intimate friends; now he was nothing more or less than a rival and an enemy, notwithstanding his seeming courtesy and civil self-restraint. As a matter of fact, he, Denzil, was left alone to face his fate: to dare the brilliant seduction of the witching eyes of Ziska, — to win her or to lose her forever! And consider every point as he would, the weary conviction was borne in upon him that, whether he met with victory or defeat, the result would bring more misery than joy.
When he entered the Princess’s salon that evening, he found Dr. Dean and Gervase already there. The Princess herself, attired in a dinner-dress made with quite a modern Parisian elegance, received him in her usual graceful manner, and expressed with much sweetness her hope that the air of the desert would prove beneficial to him after the great heats that had prevailed in Cairo. Nothing but conventionalities were spoken. Oh, those conventionalities! What a world of repressed emotions they sometimes cover! How difficult it is to conceive that the man and woman who are greeting each other with calm courtesy in a crowded drawing-room are the very two, who, standing face to face in the moonlit silence of some lonely grove of trees or shaded garden, once in their lives suddenly realized the wild passion that neither dared confess! Tragedies lie deepest under conventionalities — such secrets are buried beneath them as sometimes might make the angels weep! They are safeguards, however, against stronger emotions; and the strange bathos of two human creatures talking politely about the weather when the soul of each is clamoring for the other, has sometimes, despite its absurdity, saved the situation.
At dinner, the Princess Ziska devoted herself almost entirely to the entertainment of Dr. Dean, and awakened his interest very keenly on the subject of the Great Pyramid.
“It has never really been explored,” she said. “The excavators who imagine they have fathomed its secrets are completely in error. The upper chambers are mere deceits to the investigator; they were built and planned purposely to mislead, and the secrets they hide have never even been guessed at, much less discovered.”
“Are you sure of that?” inquired the Doctor, eagerly. “If so, would you not give your information. …”
“I neither give my information nor sell it,” interrupted the Princess, smiling coldly. “I am only a woman — and women are supposed to know nothing. With the rest of my sex, I am judged illogical and imaginative; you wise men would call my knowledge of history deficient, my facts not proven. But, if you like, I will tell you the story of the construction of the Great Pyramid, and why it is unlikely that anyone will ever find the treasures that are buried within it. You can receive the narrative with the usual incredulity common to men; I shall not attempt to argue the pros and cons with you, because I never argue. Treat it as a fairy-tale — no woman is ever supposed to know anything for a fact, — she is too stupid. Only men are wise!”
Her dark, disdainful glance flashed on Gervase and Denzil; anon she smiled bewitchingly, and added:
“Is it not so?”
“Wisdom is nothing compared to beauty,” said Gervase. “A beautiful woman can turn the wisest man into a fool.”
The Princess laughed lightly.
“Yes, and a moment afterwards he regrets his folly,” she said. “He clamors for the beautiful woman as a child might cry for the moon, and when he at last possesses her, he tires. Satisfied with having compassed her degradation, he exclaims: ‘What shall I do with this beauty, which, because it is mine, now palls upon me? Let me kill it and forget it; I am aweary of love, and the world is full of women!’ That is the way of your sex, Monsieur Gervase; it is a brutal way, but it is the one most of you follow.”
“There is such a thing as love!” said Denzil, looking up quickly, a pained flush on his handsome face.
“In the hearts of women, yes!” said Ziska, her voice growing tremulous with strange and sudden passion. “Women love — ah! — with what force and tenderness and utter abandonment of self! But their love is in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred utterly wasted; it is a largesse flung to the ungrateful, a jewel tossed in the mire! If there were not some compensation in the next life for the ruin wrought on loving women, the Eternal God himself would be a mockery and a jest.”
“And is he not?” queried Gervase, ironically. “Fair Princess, I would not willingly shake your faith in things unseen, but what does the ‘Eternal God,’ as you call Him, care as to the destiny of any individual unit on this globe of matter? Does He interfere when the murderer’s knife descends upon the victim? And has He ever interfered? He it is who created the sexes and placed between them the strong attraction that often works more evil and misery than good; and what barrier has He ever interposed between woman and man, her natural destroyer? None! — save the trifling one of virtue, which is a flimsy thing, and often breaks down at the first temptation. No, my dear Princess; the ‘Eternal God,’ if there is one, does nothing but look on impassively at the universal havoc of creation. And in the blindness and silence of things, I cannot recognize an Eternal God at all; we were evidently made to eat, drink, breed and die — and there an end.”
“What of ambition?” asked Dr. Dean. “What of the inspiration that lifts a man beyond himself and his material needs, and teaches him to strive after the Highest?”
“Mere mad folly!” replied Gervase impetuously. “Take the Arts. I, for example, dream of painting a picture that shall move the world to admiration, — but I seldom grasp the idea I have imagined. I paint something, — anything, — and the world gapes at it, and some rich fool buys it, leaving me free to paint another something; and so on and so on, to the end of my career. I ask you what satisfaction does it bring? What is it to Raphael that thousands of human units, cultured and silly, have stared at his ‘Madonnas’ and his famous Cartoons?”
“Well, we do not exactly know what it may or may not be to Raphael,” said the Doctor, meditatively. “According to my theories, Raphael is not dead, but merely removed into another form, on another planet possibly, and is working elsewhere. You might as well ask what it is to Araxes now that he was a famous warrior once?”
Gervase moved uneasily.
“You have got Araxes on the brain, Doctor,” he said, with a forced smile, “and in our conversation we are forgetting that the Princess has promised to tell us a fairytale, the story of the Great Pyramid.”
The Princess looked at him, then at Denzil Murray, and lastly at Dr.
Dean.
“Would you really care to hear it?” she asked.
“Most certainly!” they all three answered.
She rose from the dinner-table.
“Come here to the window,” she said. “You can see the great structure now, in the dusky light, — look at it well and try, if you can, to realize that deep, deep down in the earth on which it stands is a connected gallery of rocky caves wherein no human foot has ever penetrated since the Deluge swept over the land and made a desert of all the old-time civilization!”
Her slight fig
ure appeared to dilate as she spoke, raising one slender hand and arm to point at the huge mass that towered up against the clear, starlit sky. Her listeners were silent, awed and attentive.
“One of the latest ideas concerning the Pyramids is, as you know, that they were built as towers of defence against the Deluge. That is correct. The wise men of the old days foretold the time when ‘the waters should rise and cover the earth,’ and these huge monuments were prepared and raised to a height which it was estimated would always appear above the level of the coming flood, to show where the treasures of Egypt were hidden for safety. Yes, — the treasures of Egypt, the wisdom, the science of Egypt! They are all down there still! And there, to all intents and purposes, they are likely to remain.”
“But archaeologists are of the opinion that the Pyramids have been thoroughly explored,” began Dr. Dean, with some excitement.
The Princess interrupted him by a slight gesture.
“Archaeologists, my dear Doctor, are like the rest of this world’s so-called ‘learned’ men; they work in one groove, and are generally content with it. Sometimes an unusually brilliant brain conceives the erratic notion of working in several grooves, and is straightway judged as mad or fanatic. It is when these comet-like intelligences sweep across the world’s horizon that we hear of a Julius Caesar, a Napoleon, a Shakespeare. But archaeologists are the narrowest and dryest of men, — they preconceive a certain system of work and follow it out by mathematical rule and plan, without one touch of imagination to help them to discover new channels of interest or historical information. As I told you before I began to speak, you are welcome to entirely disbelieve my story of the Great Pyramid, — but as I have begun it, you may as well hear it through.” She paused a moment, then went on: “According to my information, the building of the Pyramids was commenced three hundred years before the Deluge, in the time of Saurid, the son of Sabaloc, who, it is said, was the first to receive a warning dream of the coming flood. Saurid, being convinced by his priests, astrologers and soothsayers that the portent was a true one, became from that time possessed of one idea, which was that the vast learning of Egypt, its sciences, discoveries and strange traditions should not be lost, — and that the exploits and achievements of those who were great and famous in the land should be so recorded as never to be forgotten. In those days, here where you see these measureless tracts of sand, there were great mountainous rocks and granite quarries, and Saurid utilized these for the hollowing out of deep caverns in which to conceal treasure. When these caverns were prepared to his liking, he caused a floor to be made, portions of which were rendered movable by means of secret springs, and then leaving a hollow space of some four feet in height, he started foundations for another floor above it. This upper floor is what you nowadays see when you enter the Pyramid, — and no one imagines that under it is an open space with room to walk in, and yet another floor below, where everything of value is secreted.”
Dr. Dean drew a long breath of wonderment.
“Astonishing, if true!”
The Princess smiled somewhat disdainfully, and went on:
“Saurid’s work was carried on after his death by his successors, and with thousands of slaves toiling night and day the Pyramids were in the course of years raised above the caverns which concealed Egypt’s mysteries. Everything was gradually accumulated in these underground store-houses, — the engraved talismans, the slabs of stone on which were deeply carved the geometrical and astronomical sciences; indestructible glass chests containing papyri, on which were written the various discoveries made in beneficial drugs, swift poisons, and other medicines. And among these many things were thirty great jars full of precious stones, some of which were marvels of the earth. They are there still! And some of the great men who died were interred in these caves, every one in a separate chamber inlaid with gold and gems, and I think,” here the Princess turned her dark eyes full on Dr. Dean, “I think that if you knew the secret way of lifting the apparently immovable floor, which is like the solid ground, and descending through the winding galleries beneath, it is more than probable you would find in the Great Pyramid the tomb of Araxes!”
Her eyes glistened strangely in the evening light with that peculiar fiery glow which had made Dr. Dean once describe them as being like the eyes of a vampire-bat, and there was something curiously impressive in her gesture as she once more pointed to the towering structure which loomed against the heavens, with one star flashing immediately above it. A sudden involuntary shudder shook Gervase as with icy cold; he moved restlessly, and presently remarked:
“Well, it is a safe tomb, at any rate! Whoever Araxes was, he stands little chance of being exhumed if he lies two floors below the Great Pyramid in a sealed-up rocky cavern! Princess, you look like an inspired prophetess! — so much talk of ancient and musty times makes me feel uncanny, and I will, with your permission, have a smoke with Dr. Dean in the garden to steady my nerves. The mere notion of thirty vases of unclaimed precious stones hidden down yonder is enough to upset any man’s equanimity!”
“The papyri would interest me more than the jewels,” said Dr. Dean.
“What do you say, Denzil?”
Denzil Murray woke up suddenly from a fit of abstraction.
“Oh, I don’t know anything about it,” he answered. “I never was very much interested in those old times, — they seem to me all myth. I could never link past, present and future together as some people can; they are to me all separate things. The past is done with, — the present is our own to enjoy or to detest, and the future no man can look into.”
“Ah, Denzil, you are young, and reflection has not been very hard at work in that headstrong brain of yours,” said Dr. Dean with an indulgent smile, “otherwise you would see that past, present and future are one and indissoluble. The past is as much a part of your present identity as the present, and the future, too, lies in you in embryo. The mystery of one man’s life contains all mysteries, and if we could only understand it from its very beginning we should find out the cause of all things, and the ultimate intention of creation.”
“Well, now, you have all had enough serious talk,” said the Princess Ziska lightly, “so let us adjourn to the drawing-room. One of my waiting-women shall sing to you by and by; she has a very sweet voice.”
“Is it she who sings that song about the lotus-lily?” asked Gervase, suddenly.
The Princess smiled strangely.
“Yes, — it is she.”
Dr. Dean chose a cigar from a silver box on the table; Gervase did the same.
“Won’t you smoke, Denzil?” he asked carelessly.
“No, thanks!” Denzil spoke hurriedly and hoarsely. “I think — if the Princess will permit me — I will stay and talk with her in the drawing-room while you two have your smoke together.”
The Princess gave a charming bow of assent to this proposition. Gervase took the Doctor somewhat roughly by the arm and led him out through the open French window into the grounds beyond, remarking as he went:
“You will excuse us, Princess? We leave you in good company!”
She smiled.
“I will excuse you, certainly! But do not be long!”
And she passed from the dining-room into the small saloon beyond, followed closely by Denzil.
Once out in the grounds, Gervase gave vent to a boisterous fit of wild laughter, so loud and fierce that little Dr. Dean came to an abrupt standstill, and stared at him in something of alarm as well as amazement.
“Are you going mad, Gervase?” he asked.
“Yes!” cried Gervase, “that is just it, — I am going mad, — mad for love, or whatever you please to call it! What do you think I am made of? Flesh and blood, or cast-iron? Heavens! Do you think if all the elements were to combine in a war against me, they should cheat me out of this woman or rob me of her? No, no! A thousand times no! Satisfy yourself, my excellent Doctor, with your musty records of the past, — prate as you choose of the future, — but in the immediate
, burning, active present my will is law! And the fool Denzil thinks to thwart me, — I, who have never been thwarted since I knew the meaning of existence!”
He paused in a kind of breathless agitation, and Dr. Dean grasped his arm firmly.
“Come, come, what is all this excitement for?” he said. “What are you saying about Denzil?”
Gervase controlled himself with a violent effort and forced a smile.
“He has got his chance, — I have given it to him! He is alone with the
Princess, and he is asking her to be his wife!”
“Nonsense!” said the Doctor sharply. “If he does commit such a folly, it will be no use. The woman is NOT HUMAN!”
“Not human?” echoed Gervase, his black eyes dilating with a sudden amazement— “What do you mean?”
The little Doctor rubbed his nose impatiently and seemed sorry he had spoken.
“I mean — let me see! What do I mean?” he said at last meditatively— “Oh, well, it is easy enough of explanation. There are plenty of people like the Princess Ziska to whom I would apply the words ‘not human.’ She is all beauty and no heart. Again — if you follow me — she is all desire and no passion, which is a character ‘like unto the beasts which perish.’ A large majority of men are made so, and some women, — though the women are comparatively few. Now, so far as the Princess Ziska is concerned,” continued the Doctor, fixing his keen, penetrative glance on Gervase as he spoke, “I frankly admit to you that I find in her material for a very curious and complex study. That is why I have come after her here. I have said she is all desire and no passion. That of itself is inhuman; but what I am busy about now is to try and analyze the nature of the particular desire that moves her, controls her, keeps her alive, — in short. It is not love; of that I feel confident; and it is not hate, — though it is more like hate than love. It is something indefinable, something that is almost occult, so deep-seated and bewildering is the riddle. You look upon me as a madman — yes! I know you do! But mad or sane, I emphatically repeat, the Princess is NOT HUMAN, and by this expression I wish to imply that though she has the outward appearance of a most beautiful and seductive human body, she has the soul of a fiend. Now, do you understand me?”
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22) Page 424