Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli

by Marie Corelli

  The Prince spoke not, but clenched his sword-hilt with a fiercer grasp, and glared wildly on his opponent. His eyes had a look of madness in them — his dress was much disordered — his hair wet with drops of rain — his face ghastly white, and his whole demeanour was that of a man distraught with grief and passion. But he uttered no word. Heliobas spoke; he was coldly calm, and balanced his sword lightly on his open hand as if it were a toy.

  “This GENTLEMAN,” he said, with deliberate emphasis, “happened, on his way thither, to meet Dr. Morini, who informed him of the fatal catastrophe which has caused my sister’s death. Instead of respecting the sacredness of my solitude under the circumstances, he thrust himself rudely into my presence, and, before I could address him, struck me violently in the face, and accused me of being my sister’s murderer. Such conduct can only meet with one reply. I gave him his choice of weapons: he chose swords. Our combat has just begun — we are anxious to resume it; therefore if you, mademoiselle, will have the goodness to retire—”

  I interrupted him.

  “I shall certainly not retire,” I said firmly. “This behaviour on both your parts is positive madness. Prince Ivan, please to listen to me. The circumstances of Zara’s death were plainly witnessed by me and others — her brother is as innocent of having caused it as I am.”

  And I recounted to him quietly all that had happened during that fatal and eventful evening. He listened moodily, tracing out the pattern of the carpet with the point of his sword. When I had finished he looked up, and a bitter smile crossed his features.

  “I wonder, mademoiselle,” he said, “that your residence in this accursed house has not taught you better. I quite believe all you say, that Zara, unfortunate girl that she was, received her death by a lightning-flash. But answer me this: Who made her capable of attracting atmospheric electricity? Who charged her beautiful delicate body with a vile compound of electrical fluid, so that she was as a living magnet, bound to draw towards herself electricity in all its forms? Who tampered with her fine brain and made her imagine herself allied to a spirit of air? Who but HE — HE! — yonder unscrupulous wretch! — he who in pursuit of his miserable science, practised his most dangerous experiments on his sister, regardless of her health, her happiness, her life! I say he is her murderer — her remorseless murderer, and a thrice-damned villain!”

  And he sprang forward to renew the combat. I stepped quietly, unflinchingly between him and Heliobas.

  “Stop!” I exclaimed; “this cannot go on. Zara herself forbids it!”

  The Prince paused, and looked at me in a sort of stupefaction.

  “Zara forbids it!” he muttered. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” I went on, “that I have seen Zara since her death; I have spoken to her. She herself sent me here.”

  Prince Ivan stared, and then burst into a fit of wild laughter.

  “Little fool!” he cried to me; “he has maddened you too, then! You are also a victim! Miserable girl! out of my path! Revenge — revenge! while I am yet sane!”

  Then pushing me roughly aside, he cast away his sword, and shouted to Heliobas:

  “Hand to hand, villain! No more of these toy-weapons! Hand to hand!”

  Heliobas instantly threw down his sword also, and rushing forward simultaneously, they closed together in savage conflict. Heliobas was the taller and more powerful of the two, but Prince Ivan seemed imbued with the spirit of a hundred devils, and sprang at his opponent’s throat with the silent breathless ferocity of a tiger. At first Heliobas appeared to be simply on the defensive, and his agile, skilful movements were all used to parry and ward off the other’s grappling eagerness. But as I watched the struggle, myself speechless and powerless, I saw his face change. Instead of its calm and almost indifferent expression, there came a look which was completely foreign to it — a look of savage determination bordering on positive cruelty. In a moment I saw what was taking place in his mind. The animal passions of the mere MAN were aroused — the spiritual force was utterly forgotten. The excitement of the contest was beginning to tell, and the desire of victory was dominant in the breast of him whose ideas were generally — and should have been now — those of patient endurance and large generosity. The fight grew closer, hotter, and more terrible. Suddenly the Prince swerved aside and fell, and within a second Heliobas held him down, pressing one knee firmly against his chest. From my point of observation I noted with alarm that little by little Ivan ceased his violent efforts to rise, and that he kept his eyes fixed on the overshadowing face of his foe with an unnatural and curious pertinacity. I stepped forward. Heliobas pressed his whole weight heavily down on the young man’s prostrate body, while with both hands he held him by the shoulders, and gazed with terrific meaning into his fast-paling countenance. Ivan’s lips turned blue; his eyes appeared to start from their sockets; his throat rattled. The spell that held me silent was broken; a flash of light, a flood of memory swept over my intelligence. I knew that Heliobas was exciting the whole battery of his inner electric force, and that thus employed for the purposes of vengeance, it must infallibly cause death. I found my speech at last.

  “Heliobas!” I cried “Remember, remember Azul! When Death lies like a gift in your hand, withhold it. Withhold it, Heliobas; and give Life instead!”

  He started at the sound of my voice, and looked up. A strong shudder shook his frame. Very slowly, very reluctantly, he relaxed his position; he rose from his kneeling posture on the Prince’s breast — he left him and stood upright. Ivan at the same moment heaved a deep sigh, and closed his eyes, apparently insensible.

  Gradually one by one the hard lines faded out of the face of Heliobas, and his old expression of soft and grave beneficence came back to it as graciously as sunlight after rain. He turned to me, and bent his head in a sort of reverential salutation.

  “I thank and bless you,” he said; “you reminded me in time! Another moment and it would have been too late. You have saved me.”

  “Give him his life,” I said, pointing to Ivan.

  “He has it,” returned Heliobas; “I have not taken it from him, thank God! He provoked me; I regret it. I should have been more patient with him. He will revive immediately. I leave him to your care. In dealing with him, I ought to have remembered that human passion like his, unguided by spiritual knowledge, was to be met with pity and forbearance. As it is, however, he is safe. For me, I will go and pray for Zara’s pardon, and that of my wronged Azul.”

  As he uttered the last words, he started, looked up, and smiled.

  “My beautiful one! Thou HAST pardoned me? Thou wilt love me still? Thou art with me, Azul, my beloved? I have not lost thee, oh my best and dearest! Wilt thou lead me? Whither? Nay — no matter whither — I come!”

  And as one walking in sleep, he went out of the room, and I heard his footsteps echoing in the distance on the way to the chapel.

  Left alone with the Prince, I snatched a glass of cold water from the table, and sprinkled some of it on his forehead and hands. This was quite sufficient to revive him; and he drew a long breath, opened his eyes, and stared wildly about him. Seeing no one but me he grew bewildered, and asked:

  “What has happened?”

  Then catching sight of the drawn swords lying still on the ground where they had been thrown, he sprang to his feet, and cried:

  “Where is the coward and murderer?”

  I made him sit down and hear with patience what I had to say. I reminded him that Zara’s health and happiness had always been perfect, and that her brother would rather have slain himself than her. I told him plainly that Zara had expected her death, and had prepared for it — had even bade me good-bye, although then I had not understood the meaning of her words. I recalled to his mind the day when Zara had used her power to repulse him.

  “Disbelieve as you will in electric spiritual force,” I said. “Your message to her then through me was — TELL HER I HAVE SEEN HER LOVER.”

  At these words a sombre shadow flitted ov
er the Prince’s face.

  “I tell you,” he said slowly, “that I believe I was on that occasion the victim of an hallucination. But I will explain to you what I saw. A superb figure, like, and yet unlike, a man, but of a much larger and grander form, appeared to me, as I thought, and spoke. ‘Zara is mine,’ it said— ‘mine by choice; mine by freewill; mine till death; mine after death; mine through eternity. With her thou hast naught in common; thy way lies elsewhere. Follow the path allotted to thee, and presume no more upon an angel’s patience.’ Then this Strange majestic-looking creature, whose face, as I remember it, was extraordinarily beautiful, and whose eyes were like self-luminous stars, vanished. But, after all, what of it? The whole thing was a dream.”

  “I am not so sure of that,” I said quietly, “But, Prince Ivan, now that you are calmer and more capable of resignation, will you tell me why you loved Zara?”

  “Why!” he broke out impetuously. “Why, because it was impossible to help loving her.”

  “That is no answer,” I replied. “Think! You can reason well if you like — I have heard you hold your own in an argument. What made you love Zara?”

  He looked at me in a sort of impatient surprise, but seeing I was very much in earnest, he pondered a minute or so before replying.

  “She was the loveliest woman I have ever seen!” he said at last, and in his voice there was a sound of yearning and regret.

  “Is THAT all?” I queried, with a gesture of contempt. “Because her body was beautiful — because she had sweet kissing lips and a soft skin; because her hand was like a white flower, and her dark hair clustering over her brow reminded one of a misty evening cloud hiding moonlight; because the glance of her glorious eyes made the blood leap through your veins and sting you with passionate desire — are these the reasons of your so-called love? Oh, give it some other and lower name! For the worms shall feed on the fair flesh that won your admiration — their wet and slimy bodies shall trail across the round white arms and tender bosom — unsightly things shall crawl among the tresses of the glossy hair; and nothing, nothing shall remain of what you loved, but dust. Prince Ivan, you shudder; but I too loved Zara — I loved HER, not the perishable casket in which, like a jewel, she was for a time enshrined. I love her still — and for the being I love there is no such thing as death.”

  The Prince was silent, and seemed touched. I had spoken with real feeling, and tears of emotion stood in my eyes.

  “I loved her as a man generally loves,” he said, after a little pause. “Nay — more than most men love most women!”

  “Most men are too often selfish in both their loves and hatreds,” I returned. “Tell me if there was anything in Zara’s mind and intelligence to attract you? Did you sympathize in her pursuits; did you admire her tastes; had you any ideas in common with her?”

  “No, I confess I had not,” he answered readily. “I considered her to be entirely a victim to her brother’s scientific experiments. I thought, by making her my wife, to release her from such tyranny and give her rescue and refuge. To this end I found out all I could from — HIM” — he approached the name of Heliobas with reluctance— “and I made up my mind that her delicate imagination had been morbidly excited; but that marriage and a life like that led by other women would bring her to a more healthy state of mind.”

  I smiled with a little scorn.

  “Your presumption was almost greater than your folly, Prince,” I said, “that with such ideas as these in your mind you could dream of winning Zara for a wife. Do you think she could have led a life like that of other women? A frivolous round of gaiety, a few fine dresses and jewels, small-talk, society scandal, stale compliments — you think such things would have suited HER? And would she have contented herself with a love like yours? Come! Come and see how well she has escaped you!”

  And I beckoned him towards the door. He hesitated.

  “Where would you take me?” he asked.

  “To the chapel. Zara’s body lies there.”

  He shuddered.

  “No, no — not there! I cannot bear to look upon her perished loveliness — to see that face, once so animated, white and rigid — death in such a form is too horrible!”

  And he covered his eyes with his hand — I saw tears slowly drop through his fingers. I gazed at him, half in wonder, half in pity.

  “And yet you are a brave man!” I said.

  These words roused him. He met my gaze with such a haggard look of woe that my heart ached for him. What comfort had he now? What joy could he ever expect? All his happiness was centred in the fact of BEING ALIVE — alive to the pleasures of living, and to the joys the world could offer to a man who was strong, handsome, rich, and accomplished — how could he look upon death as otherwise than a loathsome thing — a thing not to be thought of in the heyday of youthful blood and jollity — a doleful spectre, in whose bony hands the roses of love must fall and wither! With a sense of deep commiseration in me, I spoke again with great gentleness.

  “You need not look upon Zara’s corpse unless you wish it, Prince,” I said. “To you, the mysteries of the Hereafter have not been unlocked, because there is something in your nature that cannot and will not believe in God. Therefore to you, death must be repellent. I know you are one of those for whom the present alone exists — you easily forget the past, and take no trouble for the future. Paris is your heaven, or St. Petersburg, or Vienna, as the fancy takes you; and the modern atheistical doctrines of French demoralization are in your blood. Nothing but a heaven-sent miracle could make you other than you are, and miracles do not exist for the materialist. But let me say two words more before you go from this house. Seek no more to avenge yourself for your love-disappointment on Heliobas — for you have really nothing to avenge. By your own confession you only cared for Zara’s body — that body was always perishable, and it has perished by a sudden but natural catastrophe. With her soul, you declare you had nothing in common — that was herself — and she is alive to us who love her as she sought to be loved. Heliobas is innocent of having slain her body; he but helped to cultivate and foster that beautiful Spirit which he knew to be HER — for that he is to be honored and commended. Promise me, therefore, Prince Ivan, that you will never approach him again except in friendship — indeed, you owe him an apology for your unjust accusation, as also your gratitude for his sparing your life in the recent struggle.”

  The Prince kept his eyes steadily fixed upon me all the time I was speaking, and as I finished, he sighed and moved restlessly.

  “Your words are compelling, mademoiselle,” he said; “and you have a strange attraction for me. I know I am not wrong in thinking that you are a disciple of Heliobas, whose science I admit, though I doubt his theories. I promise you willingly what you ask — nay, I will even offer him my hand if he will accept it.”

  Overjoyed at my success, I answered: “He is in the chapel, but I will fetch him here.”

  Over the Prince’s face a shadow of doubt, mingled with dread, passed swiftly, and he seemed to be forming a resolve in his own mind which was more or less distasteful to him. Whatever the feeling was he conquered it by a strong effort, and said with firmness:

  “No; I will go to him myself. And I will look again upon — upon the face I loved. It is but one pang the more, and why should I not endure it?”

  Seeing him thus inclined, I made no effort to dissuade him, and without another word I led the way to the chapel. I entered it reverently, he following me closely, with slow hushed footsteps. All was the same as I had left it, save that the servants of the household had gone to take some needful rest before the morning light called them to their daily routine of labour. Father Paul, too, had retired, and Heliobas alone knelt beside all that remained of Zara, his figure as motionless as though carved in bronze, his face hidden in his hands. As we approached, he neither stirred nor looked up, therefore I softly led the Prince to the opposite side of the bier, that he might look quietly on the perished loveliness that lay there at re
st for ever. Ivan trembled, yet steadfastly gazed at the beautiful reposeful form, at the calm features on which the smile with which death had been received, still lingered — at the folded hands, the fading orange-blossoms — at the crucifix that lay on the cold breast like the final seal on the letter of life. Impulsively he stooped forward, and with a tender awe pressed his lips on the pale forehead, but instantly started back with the smothered, exclamation:

  “O God! how cold!”

  At the sound of his voice Heliobas rose up erect, and the two men faced each other, Zara’s dead body lying like a barrier betwixt them.

  A pause followed — a pause in which I heard my own heart beating loudly, so great was my anxiety. Heliobas suffered a few moments to elapse, then stretched his hand across his sister’s bier.

  “In HER name, let there be peace between us, Ivan,” he said in accents that were both gentle and solemn.

  The Prince, touched to the quick, responded to these kindly words with eager promptness, and they clasped hands over the quiet and lovely form that lay there — a silent, binding witness of their reconciliation.

  “I have to ask your pardon, Casimir,” then whispered Ivan. “I have also to thank you for my life.”

  “Thank the friend who stands beside you,” returned Heliobas, in the same low tone, with a slight gesture towards me. “She reminded me of a duty in time. As for pardon, I know of no cause of offence on your part save what was perfectly excusable. Say no more; wisdom comes with years, and you are yet young.”

  A long silence followed. We all remained looking wistfully down upon the body of our lost darling, in thought too deep for words or weeping. I then noticed that another humble mourner shared our watch — a mourner whose very existence I had nearly forgotten. It was the faithful Leo. He lay couchant on the stone floor at the foot of the bier, almost as silent as a dog of marble; the only sign of animation he gave being a deep sigh which broke from his honest heart now and then. I went to him and softly patted his shaggy coat. He looked up at me with big brown eyes full of tears, licked my hand meekly, and again laid his head down upon his two fore-paws with a resignation that was most pathetic.