Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli

by Marie Corelli

  “You must write to us as soon as you get home,” — he said, at parting— “A letter will find us this week at Gairloch — I shall cruise about a bit longer.”

  I made no reply for the moment. He had no idea that I was not going home at all, nor did I intend to tell him.

  “You shall hear from me as soon as possible,” — I said at last, evasively— “I shall be very busy for a time—”

  He laughed.

  “Oh, I know! You are always busy! Will you ever get tired, I wonder?”

  I smiled. “I hope not!”

  With that we shook hands and parted, and within the next twenty minutes the steamer had started, bearing me far away from the Isle of Skye, that beautiful, weird and mystic region full of strange legends and memories, which to me had proved a veritable wonderland. I watched the ‘Diana’ at anchor in the bay of Portree till I could see her no more, — and it was getting on towards noon when I suddenly noticed the people on board the steamer making a rush to one side of the deck to look at something that was evidently both startling and attractive. I followed the crowd, — and my heart gave a quick throb of delight when I saw poised on the sparkling waters the fairylike ‘Dream’! — her sails white as the wings of a swan, and her cordage gleaming like woven gold in the brilliant sunshine. She was a thing of perfect beauty as she seemed to glide on the very edge of the horizon like a vision between sky and sea. And as I pressed forward among the thronging passengers to look at her, she dipped her flag in salutation — a salutation I knew was meant for me alone. When the flag ran up again to its former position, murmurs of admiration came from several people around me —

  “The finest schooner afloat!” — I heard one man remark— “They say she goes by electricity as well as sailing power.”

  “She’s often seen about here,” said another— “She belongs to a foreigner — some prince or other named Santoris.”

  And I watched and waited, — with unconscious tears in my eyes, till the exquisite fairy vessel disappeared suddenly as though it had become absorbed and melted into the sun; then all at once I thought of the words spoken by the wild Highland ‘Jamie’ who had given me the token of the bell-heather— “One way in and another way out! One road to the West, and the other to the East, and round about to the meeting-place!”

  The meeting-place! Where would it be? I could only think and wonder, hope and pray, as the waves spread their silver foaming distance between me and the vanished ‘Dream.’

  XIII. THE HOUSE OF ASELZION

  It is not necessary to enter into particular details of the journey I now entered upon and completed during the ensuing week. My destination was a remote and mountainous corner of the Biscayan coast, situated a little more than three days’ distance from Paris. I went alone, knowing that this was imperative, and arrived without any untoward adventure, scarcely fatigued though I had travelled by night as well as by day. It was only at the end of my journey that I found myself confronted by any difficulty, and then I had to realise that though the ‘Chateau d’Aselzion,’ as it was called, was perfectly well known to the inhabitants of the surrounding district, no one seemed inclined to show me the nearest way there or even to let me have the accommodation of a vehicle to take me up the steep ascent which led to it. The Chateau itself could be seen from all parts of the village, especially from the seashore, over which it hung like a toppling crown of the fortress-like rock on which it was erected.

  “It is a monastery,” — said a man of whom I asked the way, speaking in a curious kind of guttural patois, half French and half Spanish— “No woman goes there.”

  I explained that I was entrusted with an important message.

  He shook his head.

  “Not for any money would I take you,” he declared. “I should be afraid for myself.”

  Nothing could move him from his resolve, so I made up my mind to leave my small luggage at the inn and walk up the steep road which I could see winding like a width of white ribbon towards the goal of my desires. A group of idle peasants watched me curiously as I spoke to the landlady and asked her to take care of my few belongings till I either sent for them or returned to fetch them, to which arrangement she readily consented. She was a buxom, pleasant little Frenchwoman, and inclined to be friendly.

  “I assure you, Mademoiselle, you will return immediately!” she said, with a bright smile— “The Chateau d’Aselzion is a place where no woman is ever seen — and a lady alone! — ah, mon Dieu! — impossible! There are terrible things done there, so they say — it is a house of mystery! In the daytime it looks as it does now — dark, as though it were a prison! — but sometimes at night one sees it lit up as though it were on fire — every window full of something that shines like the sun! It is a Brotherhood that lives there, — not of the Church — ah no! Heaven forbid! — but they are rich and powerful men — and it is said they study some strange science — our traders serve them only at the outer gates and never go beyond. And in the midnight one hears the organ playing in their chapel, and there is a sound of singing on the very waves of the sea! I beg of you, Mademoiselle, think well of what you do before you go to such a place! — for they will send you away — I am sure they will send you away!”

  I smiled and thanked her for her well-meant warning.

  “I have a message to give to the Master of the Brotherhood,” I said— “If I am not allowed to deliver it and the gate is shut in my face, I can only come back again. But I must do my best to gain an entrance if possible.”

  And with these words I turned away and commenced my solitary walk. I had arrived in the early afternoon and the sun was still high in the heavens, — the heat was intense and the air was absolutely still. As I climbed higher and higher, the murmuring noises of human life in the little village I had left behind me grew less and less and presently sank altogether out of hearing, and I became gradually aware of the great and solemn solitude that everywhere encompassed me. No stray sheep browsed on the burnt brown grass of the rocky height I was slowly ascending — no bird soared through the dazzling deep blue of the vacant sky. The only sound I could hear was the soft, rhythmic plash of small waves on the beach below, and an indefinite deeper murmur of the sea breaking through a cave in the far distance. There was something very grand in the silence and loneliness of the scene, — and something very pitiful too, so I thought, about my own self, toiling up the rocky path in mingled hope and fear towards that grim pile of dark stone towers and high forbidding walls, where it was just possible I might meet with but a discouraging reception. Yet with the letter from him who signed himself ‘Your lover’ lying against my heart, I felt I had a talisman to open doors even more closely barred. Nevertheless, my courage gave way a little when I at last stood before the heavy iron gates set in a lofty archway of stone through which I could see nothing but cavernous blackness. The road I had followed ended in a broad circular sweep opposite this archway, and a few tall pines twisted and gnarled in bough and stem, as though the full force of many storm winds had battered and bent them out of their natural shapes, were the only relief to the barrenness of the ground. An iron chain with a massive ring at the end suggested itself as the possible means of pulling a bell or otherwise attracting attention; but for some minutes I had not the boldness to handle it.

  I stood gazing at the frowning portal with a sense of utter loneliness and desolation, — the quick, resistless impulse that had fired me to make the journey and which, as it were, had driven me along by its own impetus, suddenly died away into a dreary consciousness of inadequateness and folly on my own part, — and I began to reproach myself for yielding so utterly to the casual influence of one who, after all, must in a reasonable way be considered a stranger. For what was Rafel Santoris to me? Merely an old college friend of the man who for a fortnight had been my host, and with whom he chanced to renew acquaintanceship during a yachting tour. Anything more simple and utterly commonplace never occurred, — yet, here was I full of strange impressions and visions, whic
h were possibly only the result of clever hypnotism, practised on me because the hypnotist had possibly discovered in my temperament some suitable ‘subject’ matter for an essay of his skill. And I had so readily succumbed to his influence as to make a journey of hundreds of miles to a place I had never heard of before on the chance of seeing a man of whom I knew nothing! — except — that, according to what Rafel Santoris had said of him, he was the follower of a great psychic Teacher whom once I had known.

  Such doubtful and darkening thoughts as these, chasing one another rapidly through my brain, made me severely accuse myself of rash and unpardonable folly in all I had done or was doing, — and I was almost on the point of turning away and retracing my steps, when a sudden ray of light, not of the sun, struck itself sharply as it were before my eyes and hurt them with its blinding glitter. It was like a whip of fire lashing my hesitating mind, and it startled me into instant action. Without pausing further to think what I was about, I went straight up to the entrance of the Chateau and pulled at the iron chain. The gates swung open at once and swiftly, without sound — and I stepped into the dark passage within — whereupon they as noiselessly closed again behind me. There was no going back now, — and nerving myself to resolution, I walked quickly on through what was evidently a long corridor with a lofty arched roof of massive stone; it was dark and cool and refreshing after the great heat outside, and I saw a faint light at the end towards which I made my way. The light widened as I drew near, and an exclamation of relief and pleasure escaped me as I suddenly found myself in a picturesque quadrangle, divided into fair green lawns and parterres of flowers. Straight opposite me as I approached, a richly carved double oaken door stood wide open, enabling me to look into a vast circular domed hall, in the centre of which a fountain sent up tall silver columns of spray which fell again with a tinkling musical splash into a sunken pool bordered with white marble, where delicate pale blue water-lilies floated on the surface of the water. Enchanted by this glimpse of loveliness, I went straight on and entered without seeking the right of admission, — and then stood looking about me in wonder and admiration. If this was the House of Aselzion, where such difficult lessons had to be learned and such trying ordeals had to be faced, it certainly did not seem like a house of penance and mortification but rather of luxury. Exquisite white marble statues were set around the hall in various niches between banked-up masses of roses and other blossoms — many of them perfect copies of the classic models, and all expressing either strength and resolution, or beauty and repose. And most wonderful of all was the light, that poured in from the high dome — I could have said with truth that it was like that ‘light which never was on sea or land.’ It was not the light of the sun, but something more softened and more intense, and was totally indescribable.

  Fascinated by the restful charm of my surroundings, I seated myself on a marble bench near the fountain and watched the sparkle of the water as it rose in rainbow radiance and fell again into the darker shadows of the pool, — and I had for a moment lost myself in a kind of waking dream, — so that I started with a shock of something like terror when I suddenly perceived a figure approaching me, — that of a man, clothed in white garments fashioned somewhat after the monastic type, yet hardly to be called a monk’s dress, though he wore a sort of hood or cowl pulled partially over his face. My heart almost stopped beating and I could scarcely breathe for nervous fear as he came towards me with an absolutely noiseless tread, — he appeared to be young, and his eyes, dark and luminous, looked at me kindly and, as I fancied, with a touch of pity.

  “You are seeking the Master?” he enquired, in a gentle voice— “He has instructed me to receive you, and when you have rested for an hour, to take you to his presence.”

  I had risen as he spoke, and his quiet manner helped me to recover myself a little.

  “I am not tired,” — I answered— “I could go to him at once—”

  He smiled.

  “That is not possible!” he said— “He is not ready. If you will come to the apartment allotted to you I am sure you will be glad of some repose. May I ask you to follow me?”

  He was perfectly courteous in demeanour, and yet there was a certain impressive authority about him which silently impelled obedience. I had nothing further to demand or to suggest, and I followed him at once. He preceded me out of the domed hall into a long stone passage, where every sign of luxury, beauty or comfort disappeared in cold vastness, and where at every few steps large white boards with the word ‘Silence!’ printed upon them in prominent black letters confronted the eyes. The way we had to go seemed long and dreary and dungeon-like, but presently we turned towards an opening where the sun shone through, and my guide ascended a steep flight of stone stairs, at the top of which was a massive door of oak, heavily clamped with iron. Taking a key from his girdle, he unlocked this door, and throwing it open, signed to me to pass in. I did so, and found myself in a plain stone-walled room with a vaulted roof, and one very large, lofty, uncurtained window which looked out upon the sea and sheer down the perpendicular face of the rock on which the Chateau d’Aselzion was built. The furniture consisted of one small camp bedstead, a table, and two easy chairs, a piece of rough matting on the floor near the bed, and a hanging cupboard for clothes. A well-fitted bathroom adjoined this apartment, but beyond this there was nothing of modern comfort and certainly no touch of luxury. I moved instinctively to the window to look out at the sea, — and then turned to thank my guide for his escort, but he had gone. Thrilled with a sudden alarm, I ran to the door — it was locked! I was a prisoner! I stood breathless and amazed; — then a wave of mingled indignation and terror swept over me. How dared these people restrain my liberty? I looked everywhere round the room for a bell or some means of communication by which I could let them know my mind — but there was nothing to help me. I went to the window again, and finding it was like a French casement, merely latched in the centre, I quickly unfastened and threw it open. The scent of the sea rushed at me with a delicious freshness, reminding me of Loch Scavaig and the ‘Dream’ — and I leaned out, looking longingly over the wide expanse of glittering water just now broken into little crests of foam by a rising breeze. Then I saw that my room was a kind of turret chamber, projecting itself sheer over a great wall of rock which evidently had its base in the bed of the ocean. There was no escape for me that way, even if I had sought it. I drew back from the window and paced round and round my room like a trapped animal — angry with myself for having ventured into such a place, and forgetting entirely my previous determination to go through all that might happen to me with patience and unflinching nerve.

  Presently I sat down on my narrow camp bed and tried to calm myself. After all, what was the use of my anger or excitement? I had come to the House of Aselzion of my own wish and will, — and so far I had endured nothing difficult. Apparently Aselzion was willing to receive me in his own good time — and I had only to wait the course of events. Gradually my blood cooled, and in a few minutes I found myself smiling at my own absurdly useless indignation. True, I was locked up in my own room like a naughty child, but did it matter so very much? I assured myself it did not matter at all, — and as I accustomed my mind to this conviction I became perfectly composed and quite at home in my strange surroundings. I took off my hat and cloak and put them by — then I went into the bathroom and refreshed my face with delicious splashes of cold water. The bathroom possessed a full-length mirror fitted into the wall, a fact which rather amused me, as I felt it must have been there always and could not have been put up specially for me, so that it would seem these mystic ‘Brothers’ were not without some personal vanity. I surveyed myself in it with surprise as I took down my hair and twisted it up again more tidily, for I had expected to look fagged and tired, whereas my face presented a smiling freshness which was unexpected and astonishing to myself. The plain black dress I wore was dusty with travel — and I shook it as free as I could from railway grimness, feeling that it was scarcely the at
tire I should have chosen for an audience of Aselzion.

  “However,” — I said to myself— “if he has me locked up like this, and gives me no chance of sending for my luggage at the inn, I can only submit and make the best of it.”

  And returning from the bathroom to the bedroom, I again looked out of my lofty window across the sea. As I did so, leaning a little over the ledge, something soft and velvety touched my hand; — it was a red rose clambering up the turret just within my reach. Its opening petals lifted themselves towards me like sweet lips turned up for kisses, and I was for a moment startled, for I could have sworn that no rose of any kind was there when I first looked out. ‘One rose from all the roses in Heaven!’ Where had I heard those words? And what did they signify? Then — I remembered! Carefully and with extreme tenderness, I bent over that beautiful, appealing flower:

  “I will not gather you!” — I whispered, following the drift of my own dreaming fancy— “If you are a message — and I think you are I — stay there as long as you can and talk to me! I shall understand!”

  And so for a while we made silent friends with each other till I might have said with the poet— ‘The soul of the rose went into my blood.’ At any rate something keen, fine and subtle stole over my senses, moving me to an intense delight in merely being alive. I forgot that I was in a strange place among strange men, — I forgot that I was to all intents and purposes a prisoner — I forgot everything except that I lived, and that life was ecstasy!

  I had no very exact idea of the time, — my watch had stopped. But the afternoon light was deepening, and long lines of soft amber and crimson in the sky were beginning to spread a radiant path for the descent of the sun. While I still remained at the window I suddenly heard the rise and swell of deep organ music, solemn and sonorous; it was as though the waves of the sea had set themselves to song. Some instinct then told me there was someone in the room, — and I turned round quickly to find my former guide in the white garments standing silently behind me, waiting. I had intended to complain at once of the way in which I had been imprisoned as though I were a criminal — but at sight of his grave, composed figure I lost all my hardihood and could say nothing. I merely stood still, attendant on his pleasure. His dark eyes, gleaming from under his white cowl, looked at me with a searching enquiry as though he expected me to speak, but as I continued to keep silence, he smiled.