“What’s the matter, mother mine?” he asked, playfully. “You have seen her?”
“Féodor! Féodor! You are dealing with strange powers! — perhaps powers of evil! Oh, my son! be careful, be careful what you do!” she implored, almost tearfully. “You may not go too far!”
“Too far, too far!” he echoed, lightly. “There is no too far or farthest where Nature and Science lead! The Flaming Sword! — it turns every way to keep the Tree of Life! — but I see the blossom under the blade!”
She looked up at his dark, strong face in mingled fondness and terror:
“You cannot re-create life, Féodor!” she said.
“Why not?” he demanded. “To-day our surgeons graft new flesh on old and succeed in their design — why should not fresh cells of life be formed through Nature’s own germinating processes to take the place of those that perish? It is not an impossible theory, — I do not waste my time on problems that can never be solved. Come, come, mother! Put your superstitious-terrors aside — and if you have the faith in God that I have, you will realize that there are no ‘powers of evil’ save man’s own uncontrolled passions, which he inherits from the brute creation, and which it is his business to master! No mere brute beast foraging the world for prey can be an astronomer, a scientist, a thinker, or a ruler of the powers of life, — but a MAN, with self-control, reason, and devout faith with humility, can! — for is not the evolvement of his being only ‘a little lower than the angels?’”
She sighed, half incredulous.
“But beauty—” she said. “Actual beauty—”
“Beauty is a thing of health, form and atmosphere,” he answered. “Easy enough to attain with these forces suitably combined, and no malign environment. Now, dearest mother, puzzle yourself no more over my mysteries! You have seen Diana — and you can guess my reason for wishing to get away to Davos Platz as soon as possible. People here will talk and wonder, — at Davos no one has seen her — not as she was when she first arrived here — and no questions are likely to be asked. Besides, — the experiment is not half completed — it has only just begun.”
“When will it be finished?” his mother asked.
He smiled, and stooping, kissed her forehead.
“Not till the summer solstice,” he said. “When light and heat are at their best and strongest, then I may reach my goal and win my victory!”
“And then?”
“And then?” he echoed, smiling.” Ah, who knows what then! Possibly a happier world! — and yet — did not the Angel Üriel say to the Prophet Esdras: ‘The Most High hath made this world for the many, but the world to come for the few!’ My secret is a part of the world to come!”
CHAPTER XVI
TWO or three days later the Château Fragonard was closed, — its windows were shuttered and its gates’ locked. The servants were dismissed, all save Vasho, who, with his black face, white teeth, rolling eyes and dumb lips, remained as sole custodian. The usual callers called in vain, — and even the Baroness Rousillon, a notable and persistent inquirer into all matters of small social interest, could learn nothing beyond the fact (written neatly on a card which Vasho handed to all visitors) that “Dr and Madame Dimitrius had left home for several weeks.” Of Diana May no information was given. Among those who were the most surprised and deeply chagrined at this turn of events was the Marchese Farnese, who had himself been compelled to be away for some time on business in Paris, but who had returned as soon as he could to Geneva in the hope of improving his acquaintance with Diana sufficiently to procure some sort of reliable information as to the problems and projects of Dimitrius. His disappointment was keen and bitter, for not only did he find her gone, but he could obtain no clue as to her whereabouts. And even Professor Chauvet had been left very much in the dark, for Diana had only written him the briefest note, running thus:
“DEAR KIND FRIEND!
“I’m going away for a little while with Madame Dimitrius, who needs change of air and scene, but I will let you know directly I come back. I shall think of you very often while absent!
“Affectionately yours, “DIANA.”
Chauvet put by these brief lines very preciously in the safe where he kept his jewels, “Affectionately yours” was a great consolation, he thought! — they almost touched the verge of tenderness! — there was surely hope for him! And he amused himself in his solitary hours with the drawing of an exquisite design for a small coronal to be worn in Diana’s hair, wherein he purposed having some of his rarest jewels set in a fashion of his own.
Meanwhile the frozen stillness of an exceptionally dreary and bitter winter enveloped the Château Fragonard and its beautiful gardens, and no one was ever seen to go to it, or come from it, though there were certain residents on the opposite side of the lake who could perceive its roof and chimneys through the leafless trees and who declared that its great glass dome was always more or less illumined as though a light were constantly kept burning within. Rumour was busy at first with all sorts of suggestions and contradictions, but as there appeared to be no foundation for any one of them, the talk gradually wore itself out, most people being always too much interested in themselves to keep up any interest in others for long.
But, had Rumour a million eyes, as it is said to have a million tongues, it might well have had occasion to use them all during the full swing of that particular “season” at Davos Platz, where, in the “winter sports” and gaieties of the time, Diana was an admitted “belle” and universal favourite. She, who only three or four months previously had been distinctly “on the shelf” or “in the way,” was now flattered and sought after by a whole train of male admirers, who apparently could never have enough of her society. She conversed brilliantly, danced exquisitely, and skated perfectly, — so perfectly indeed that one fatuous elderly gentleman nicknamed her “the Ice Queen,” and another, younger but not less enterprising, addressed her as “Boule de Neige,” conceiving the title prettier in French than in rough English as “Snowball.” She accepted the attentions lavished upon her with amused indifference, which made her still more attractive to men whose “sporting” tendencies are invariably sharpened by obstacles in the way of securing their game, and, much to her own interest, found herself the centre of all sorts of rivalries and jealousies.
“If they only knew my age!” she thought. “If they only knew!”
But they did not know. And it would have been quite impossible for them to guess. Thus much Diana herself was now forced to concede. Every day her mirror showed her a fair, unworn face, with the softly rounded outline of youth, and the clear eyes which betoken the unconscious joy of perfect health and vitality, and the change in her was so marked and manifest that she no longer hesitated to speak to Madame Dimitrius about it when they were alone together. At first the old lady was very nervous of the subject, and fearful lest she should in some way displease her masterful son, — but Diana reassured her, promising that he should never know the nature or extent of their confidences. It was a great relief to them both when they entered into closer mutual relations and decided to talk to each other freely, — especially to Madame Dimitrius, who was anxious to be made certain that Diana was not in any physical suffering or mental distress through the exercise of Féodor’s extraordinary and, as she imagined, almost supernatural powers. She was soon satisfied on that score, for Diana could assure her, with truth, that she had never felt better or brighter.
“It’s like a new life,” she said, one day, as she sat at the window of their private sitting-room in the hotel, which commanded a fine view of the snowy mountain summits. “I feel as if I had somehow been born again! All my past years seem rolled away like so much rubbish! I’ve often thought of those words: ‘Except ye be born again ye shall not enter into the Kingdom of God.’ They used to be a mystery to me, but they’re not so mysterious now! And it is just like ‘entering the Kingdom of God’ to look out on this glorious beauty of the mountains? the snow and the pine trees, and to feel alive to it all
, grateful for it all, loving it all, — as I do!”
Madame Dimitrius regarded her earnestly.
“You do not think, then,” she suggested, “that my son is guilty of any offence against the Almighty by his dealings with these strange, unknown forces — —”
“Dear Madame!” interrupted Diana, quickly— “do not for a moment entertain such an idea! It belongs to those foolish times when the Church was afraid to know the truth and tortured people for telling it! What offence can there be in exerting to the utmost, the intelligent faculties God has given us, and in studying to find out the wonderful advantages and benefits which may be possessed by those who cultivate reason and knowledge! I think it is a far greater offence against God, to wilfully remain in ignorance of His goodness to us all!”
“Perhaps!” — and the old lady sighed — then smiled. “I’m afraid I am one of those who ‘darken counsel by words without knowledge!’ But, after all, the great thing for me is that I see you well’ and happy — and greatest marvel of all — growing younger every day! You see that for yourself, don’t you? — and you feel it?”
“Yes.” And, as she spoke, a strange, far-away look came into Diana’s eyes. “But — there is one thing I wish! Could explain, even to myself! I feel well, happy, keenly alive to all I see and hear, — and yet — there is an odd sensation back of it all! — a feeling that I have no feeling!”
“My dear Diana!” And Madame Dimitrius’s pale blue eyes opened a little wider. “What a strange thing to say! You are full of feeling!”
Diana shook her head decisively.
“No, I’m not! It’s all put on! It is, really! That is, so far as human beings and human events are concerned.
I feel nothing whatever about them! The only ‘feeling’
I have is a sort of suppressed ecstasy of delight in beauty — the beauty of the skies, the effects of sunlight on the hills and plains, the loveliness of a flower or a bit of exquisite natural scenery — but I have somehow lost the sense of all association with humanity!” —
“But — my dear girl!—” began Madame, in perplexity.
Diana laughed.
“Ah, now you call me a ‘girl,’ too!” she exclaimed, merrily. “Just as they all do here in this hotel! I’m not a girl at all — I’m a woman of ‘mature years,’ but nobody would believe it! Even Dr. Féodor himself is getting puzzled — for he addressed me as ‘dear child’ this very morning!” She laughed again — her pretty laugh, — which was like a musical cadence.
“Yes, dear Madame! — it’s a fact! — with my renewal of youth I’m developing youth’s happy-go-lucky indifference to emotions! People, — the creatures that walk about on two legs and eat and talk — have absolutely no interest for me! — unless they do something absurd which they imagine to be clever — and that makes me laugh, — sometimes, — not always! Even your wonderful son, with his amazing powers and his magnetic eyes which used to send a thrill right down my spine, fails to move me now to any concern as to my ultimate fate in this hands. I know that he is, so far, succeeding in his experiment; but what the final result may be I don’t know — and — I don’t care!”
“You don’t care!” echoed Madame, in bewilderment. “Really and truly? You don’t care?”
“No, not a bit! That’s just the worst of it! See here, you dear, kind woman! — here I am; a bought ‘subject’ for Dr. Féodor to try his skill upon. He told me plainly enough on one occasion that it wouldn’t matter and couldn’t be helped if I died under his treatment — and I quite agreed with him. Up to the present I’m not dead and don’t feel like dying —— — but I’m hardening! Yes! that’s it! Steadily, slowly hardening! Not in my muscles — not in my arteries — no! — but in my sentiments and emotions which are becoming positively nil!” Her merry laugh rang out again, and her eyes sparkled with amusement. “But what a good thing it is, after all! Men are so fond of telling one that they hate ‘emotions’ — so it’s just as well to be without them! Now, for instance, I’m having a splendid time here — I love all the exercise in the open air, the skating, tobogganing, and dancing in the evening, — it’s all great fun, but I don’t ‘feel’ that it is as splendid as it seems! Men flatter me every day, — they say ‘How well you skate!’ or ‘How well you dance!’ ‘How well you play!’ or even ‘How charming you look!’ and if such things had been said to me in England six months ago I should have been so happy and at ease that I should never have been afraid and awkward as I generally was in society — but now! Why now I simply don’t care! — I only think what fools men are!”
“But you must remember,” said Madame Dimitrius gently—” you were very different in appearance six months ago to what you are now—”
“Exactly! That’s just it!” And Diana gave an expressive gesture of utter disdain. “That’s what I hate and despise! One is judged by looks only. I’m just the same woman as ever — six months ago I danced as well, skated as well, and played the piano as well as I do now — but no one ever gave me the smallest encouragement! Now everything I do is made the subject of exaggerated compliment, by the men of course! — not by the women; they always hate a successful rival of their own sex! Ah, how petty and contemptible it all is! You see I’m growing young looks with old experience! — rather a dangerous combination of forces, I think! — however, if our souls become angels when we die, they will have a vast experience to look back upon, dating from the beginning of creation!”
“And, looking back so far, they will understand all,” said Madame Dimitrius. “As one of our great writers has said: ‘To know all is to pardon all.’”
Diana shrugged her shoulders.
“Perhaps!” she carelessly conceded. “But that’s just where I should fail as an angel! I cannot ‘pardon all.’ I hold a standing grudge against injustice, callousness, cruelty and cowardice. I forgive none of these things. I loathe a hypocrite — especially a pious one! I should take pleasure in revenge of some sort on any such loathsome creature. I would rather save a fly from drowning in the milk-jug than a treacherous human being from the gallows!”
“Dear me!” and Madame smiled—” you speak very strongly, Diana! Especially when you assure me that you cannot ‘feel! ‘“
“Oh, I can feel hatred!” said Diana. “That sort of feeling seems to have a good grip of me! But love, interest, sympathy for other folks — no! — ten thousand times no! One might love a man with all the ardour and passion of a lifetime, and yet he may be capable of boasting of your ‘interest’ in him at his club and damaging your reputation — (you know some clubs are like old washerwomen’s corners where they meet to talk scandal) — and you may waste half your time in interest and sympathy for other folks and they’ll only ask dubiously, ‘What is it all for?’ and ‘round’ on you at the first opportunity, never crediting you with either honesty or unselfishness in your words or actions. No, no! It’s best to ‘play’ the world’s puppets — never to become one of them!”
“You are bitter, my dear!” commented Madame. “I think it is because you have missed a man’s true love.” Diana laughed and sprang up from her chair.
“Maybe!” she replied. “But—’ a man’s true love’ — as I see it, seems hardly worth the missing! You are a dear, sentimental darling! — you have lived in the ‘early Victorian’ manner, finding an agreeable lover who gave you his heart, after the fashion of an antique Valentine, and whom you married in the proper and conventional style, and in due course gave him a baby. That’s it! And oh, SUCH a baby! Féodor Dimitrius! — doctor of sciences and master of innumerable secrets of nature — yet, after all, only your ‘baby!’ It is a miracle! But I wonder if it was worth while! Don’t mind my nonsense, dearest lady I — just think of me as hardening and shining! — like bits of the glacier we saw the other day which move only about one inch in a thousand years! There’s a ‘sports’ ball on the ice to-night — a full moon too! — and your wonderful son has agreed to skate with me — I wish you would come and look at us!” —
“He’s afraid!” and Diana stood, looking at her for a moment. “He’s afraid of killing you! But he’s not afraid of killing me!” —
With that she went, — and Madame, laying down her work, folded her hands and prayed silently that no evil might come to her beloved son through the strange mysteries which he was seeking to solve, and which to her simple and uninstructed mind appeared connected with the powers of darkness rather than the powers of light. and his impressive manner, she stood inert, her hand remaining passively in his firm grasp.
“Men propose-to you,” he went on, “because they find you attractive, and because your face and figure excite their passions — there is no real ‘love’ in the case, any more than there is in most proposals. The magnetism of sex is the thing that ‘pulls — but you — you, my ‘subject,’ have no sex! That’s what nobody outside ourselves is likely to understand. The ‘love’ which is purely physical, — the mating which has for its object the breeding of children, is not for you any more than it would be for an angel — you are removed from its material and sensual contact. But the love which should touch your soul to immortal issues, and which by its very character is expressed through youth and beauty, — that may come to you! — that may be yours in due time! Meanwhile, beware how you talk of my ‘forced product’ — for behind all the powers I am permitted to use is the Greatest Power of all, to Whom I am but the poorest of servants!”
A deep sigh broke from him and he released her hand as suddenly as he had grasped it.
“You have felt no ill effects from the treatment?” he then asked, in a matter-of-fact tone.
“No,” she answered. “None at all — except—”
“Except — what?”
“Oh, well! — no very great matter! Only that I seem to have lost something out of myself — I have no interest in persons or events — no sympathy with human kind. It’s curious, isn’t it? I feel that I belong more to the atmosphere than to the earth, and that I love trees, grass, flowers, birds and what is called the world of Nature more than the world of men. Of course I always loved Nature, — but what was once a preference has now become a passion — and perhaps, when you’ve done with me if I live, I shall go and be a sort of hermit in the woods, away altogether from ‘people.’ I don’t like flesh and blood! — there’s a kind of coarseness in it!” she concluded carelessly as she resumed her walk towards the hotel.
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22) Page 854