Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli

by Marie Corelli

  “Yes — I understand you perfectly” — he replied— “That I speak English is quite natural, for I was educated at Stonyhurst, in England. I was then for a time at Fort Augustus in Scotland, and studied a great many of the strange traditions of the Highland Celts, to which mystic people Miss Royal by birth belongs. Her ancestry has a good deal to do with her courage and character.”

  While he spoke Lady Kingswood gazed anxiously into the sky, searching it north, south, east, west, for the first glimpse of the returning “White Eagle,” but there was no sign of it.

  “You must not worry yourself,” — went on the priest, putting a chair for her in the loggia, and taking one himself— “If we sit here we shall see the air-ship returning, I fancy, by the western line, — certainly near the sunset. In any case let me assure you there is no danger!” “No danger?”

  “Absolutely none!”

  Lady Kingswood looked at him in bewildered amazement.

  “Surely there MUST be danger?” she said— “The terrible accidents that happen every day to these flying machines—”

  “Yes — but you speak of ordinary flying machines,” said Aloysius,— “This ‘White Eagle’ is not an ordinary thing. It is the only one of its kind in the world — the only one scientifically devised to work with the laws of Nature. You saw it ascend?”

  “I did.”

  “It made no sound?”

  “None.”

  “Then how did its engines move, if it HAD engines?” pursued Aloysius— “Had you no curiosity about it?”

  “I’m afraid I hadn’t — I was really too nervous! Morgana begged me to go inside, but I could not!”

  Don Aloysius was silent for a minute or two, out of gentle tolerance. He recognised that Lady Kingswood belonged to the ordinary class of good, kindly women not overburdened with brains, to whom thought, particularly of a scientific or reflective nature, would be a kind of physical suffering. And how fortunate it is that there are, and always will be such women! Many of them are gifted with the supreme talent of making happiness around themselves, — and in this way they benefit humanity more than the often too self-absorbed student of things which are frequently “past finding out.”

  “I understand your feeling”; — he said, at last— “And I hardly wonder at your very natural fears. I must admit that I think human daring is going too fast and too far — the science of to-day is not tending to make men and women happier — and after all, happiness is the great goal.”

  A slight sigh escaped him, and Lady Kingswood looked at his fine, composed features with deep interest.

  “Do you think God meant us to be happy?” she asked, gently.

  “It is a dubious question!” he answered— “When we view the majesty and loveliness of nature — we cannot but believe we were intended to enjoy the splendid treasures of beauty freely spread out before us, — then again, if we look back thousands of years and consider the great civilisations of the past that have withered into dust and are now forgotten, we cannot help wondering why there should be such a waste of life for apparently no purpose. I speak in a secular sense, — of course my Church has but one reply to doubt, or what we call ‘despair of God’s mercy’ — that it is sin. We are not permitted to criticise or to question the Divine.”

  “And surely that is best!” said Lady Kingswood, “and surely you have found happiness, or what is nearest to happiness, in your beautiful Faith?”

  His eyes were shadowed by deep gravity.

  “Miladi, I have never sought happiness,” he replied; “From my earliest boyhood I felt it was not for me. Among the comrades of my youth many started the race of life with me — happiness was the winning post they had in view — and they tried many ways to reach it — some through ambition, some through wealth, some through love — but I have never chanced to meet one of them who was either happy or satisfied. MY mind was set on nothing for myself — except this — to grope through the darkness for the Great Mind behind the Universe — to drop my own ‘ego’ into it, as a drop of rain into the sea — and so — to be content! And in this way I have learned much, — more than I consider myself worthy to know. Modern science of the surface kind — (not the true deep discoveries) — has done its best to detach the rain-drop from the sea! — but it has failed. I stay where I have plunged my soul!”

  He spoke as it were to himself with the air of one inspired; he had almost forgotten the presence of Lady Kingswood, who was gazing at him in a rapture of attention.

  “Oh, if I could only think as you do!” she said, in a low tone— “Is it truly the Catholic Church that teaches these things?”

  “The Catholic Church is the sign and watchword of all these things!” he answered— “Not only that, but its sacred symbols, though ancient enough to have been adopted from Babylonia and Chaldea, are actually the symbols of our most modern science. Catholicism itself does not as yet recognise this. Like a blind child stumbling towards the light it has FELT the discoveries of science long before discovery. In our sacraments there are the hints of the transmutation of elements, — the ‘Sanctus’ bell suggests wireless telegraphy or telepathy, that is to say, communication between ourselves and the divine Unseen, — and if we are permitted to go deeper, we shall unravel the mystery of that ‘rising from the dead’ which means renewed life. I am a ‘prejudiced’ priest, of course,” — and he smiled, gravely— “but with all its mistakes, errors, crimes (if you will) that it is answerable for since its institution, through the sins of unworthy servants, Catholicism is the only creed with the true seed of spiritual life within it — the only creed left standing on a firm foundation in this shaking world!”

  He uttered these words with passionate eloquence and added —

  “There are only three things that can make a nation great, — the love of God, the truth of man, the purity of woman. Without these three the greatest civilisation existing must perish, — no matter how wide its power or how vast its wealth. Ignorant or vulgar persons may sneer at this as ‘the obvious’ — but it is the ‘obvious’ sun alone that rules the day.”

  Lady Kingswood’s lips trembled; there were tears in her eyes.

  “How truly you speak!” she murmured— “And yet we live in a time when such truths appear to have no influence with people at all. Every one is bent on pleasure — on self—”

  “As every one was in the ‘Cities of the Plain,’” — he said, “and we may well expect another rain of fire!”

  Here, lifting his eyes, he saw in the soft blush rose of the approaching sunset a small object like a white bird flying homeward across the sea.

  “Here it comes!” he exclaimed— “Not the rain of fire, but something more agreeable! I told you, did I not, miladi, that there was no danger? See!”

  Lady Kingswood looked where he pointed.

  “Surely that is not the air-ship?” she said— “It is too small!”

  “At this distance it is small” — answered Aloysius— “But wait! Watch, — and you will soon perceive Its great wings! What a marvellous thing it is! Marvellous! — and a woman’s work!”

  They stood together, gazing into the reddening west, thrilled with expectancy, — while with a steady swiftness and accuracy of movement the bird-like object which at the first glimpse had seemed so small gradually loomed larger with nearer vision, its enormous wings spreading wide and beating the air rhythmically as though the true pulsation of life impelled their action. Neither Lady Kingswood nor Don Aloysius exchanged a word, so absorbed were they in watching the “White Eagle” arrive, and not till it began to descend towards the shore did they relax their attention and turn to each other with looks of admiration and amazement.

  “How long have they been gone?” asked Aloysius then.

  Lady Kingswood glanced at her watch.

  “Barely two hours.”

  At that moment the “White Eagle” swooped suddenly over the gardens, noiselessly and with an enormous spread of wing that was like a white cloud in the sky — th
en gracefully swerved aside towards its “shed” or aerodrome, folding its huge pinions as of its own will and sliding into its quarters as easily as a hand may slide into a loose-fitting glove. The two interested watchers of its descent and swift “run home” had no time to exchange more than a few words of comment before Morgana ran lightly up the terrace, calling to them with all the gaiety of a child returning on a holiday.

  “It was glorious!” she exclaimed— “Just glorious! We’ve been to Naples, — crowds gathered in the street to stare at us, — we were ever so high above them and they couldn’t make us out, as we moved so silently! Then we hovered for a bit over Capri, — the island looked like a lovely jewel shining with sun and sea, — and now here we are! — home in plenty of time to dress for dinner! You see, dear ‘Duchess’ — you need not have been nervous, — the ‘White Eagle’ is safer than any railway train, and ever so much pleasanter!”

  “Well, I’m glad you’ve come back all right” — said Lady Kingswood— “It’s a great relief! I certainly was afraid—”

  “Oh, you must never be afraid of anything!” laughed Morgana— “It does no good. We are all too much afraid of everything and everybody, — and often when there’s nothing to be afraid of! Am I not right, most reverend Father Aloysius?” and she turned with a radiant smile to the priest whose serious dark eyes rested upon her with an expression of mingled admiration and wonder— “I’m so glad to find you here with Lady Kingswood — I’m sure you told her there was no danger for me, didn’t you? Yes? I thought so! Now do stay and dine with us, please! — I want you to talk to the Marchese Rivardi — he’s rather cross! He cannot bear me to have my own way! — I suppose all men are like that! — they want women to submit, not to command!” She laughed again. “See! — here he comes, — with the sulky air of a naughty boy!” this, as Rivardi slowly mounted the terrace steps and approached— “I’m off to dress for dinner — come, ‘Duchess!’ We’ll leave the men to themselves!”

  She slipped her arm through Lady Kingswood’s and hurried her away. Don Aloysius was puzzled by her words, — and, as Rivardi came up to him raised his eyebrows interrogatively. The Marchese answered the unspoken query by an impatient shrug.

  “Altro! She is impossible!” he said irritably— “Wild as the wind! — uncontrollable! She will kill herself! — but she does not care!”

  “What has she done?” asked Aloysius, smiling a little— “Has she invented something new? — a parachute in which to fall gracefully like a falling star?”

  “Nothing of the kind” — retorted Rivardi; vexed beyond all reason at the priest’s tranquil air of good-humored tolerance— “But she insists on steering the air-ship herself! She took my place to-day.”

  “Well?”

  “Well! You think that nothing? I tell you it is very serious — very foolhardy. She knows nothing of aerial navigation—”

  “Was her steering faulty?”

  Rivardi hesitated.

  “No, — it was wonderful” — he admitted, reluctantly; “Especially for a first attempt. And now she declares she will travel with the ‘White Eagle’ alone! Alone! Think of it! That little creature alone in the air with a huge air-ship under her sole control! The very idea is madness!”

  “Have patience, Giulio!” said Don Aloysius, gently— “I think she cannot mean what she says in this particular instance. She is naturally full of triumph at the success of her invention, — an amazing invention you must own! — and her triumph makes her bold. But be quite easy in your mind! — she will not travel alone!”

  “She will — she will!” declared Rivardi, passionately— “She will do anything she has a mind to do! As well try to stop the wind as stop her! She has some scheme in her brain, — so fantastic vision of that Brazen City you spoke of the other day—”

  Don Aloysius gave a sudden start.

  “No! — not possible!” he said— “She will not pursue a phantasm, — a dream!”

  He spoke nervously, and his face paled. Rivardi looked at him curiously.

  “There is no such place then?” he asked— “It is only a legend?”

  “Only a legend!” replied Aloysius, slowly— “Some travellers say it is a mirage of the desert, — others tell stories of having heard the bells in the brazen towers ring, — but no one — NO ONE,” and he repeated the words with emphasis— “has ever been able to reach even the traditional environs of the place. Our hostess,” and he smiled— “is a very wonderful little person, but even she will hardly be able to discover the undiscoverable!”

  “Can we say that anything is undiscoverable?” suggested Rivardi.

  Don Aloysius thought a moment before replying.

  “Perhaps not!” — he said, at last— “Our life all through is a voyage of discovery wherein we have no certainty of the port of arrival. The puzzling part of it is that we often ‘discover’ what has been discovered before in past ages where the discoverers seemed to make no use of their discoveries! — and so we lose ourselves in wonder — and often in weariness!” He sighed, — then added— “Had we not better go in and prepare to meet our hostess at dinner? And Giulio! — unbend your brows! — you must not get angry with your charming benefactress! If you do not let her have HER way, she will never let you have YOURS!”

  Rivardi gave a resigned gesture.

  “Oh, MINE! I must give up all hope — she will never think of me more than as a workman who has carried out her design. There is something very strange about her — she seems, at certain moments, to withdraw herself from all the interests of mere humanity. To-day, for instance, she looked down from the air-ship on the swarming crowds in the streets of Naples and said ‘Poor little microbes! How sad it is to see them crawling about and festering down there! What IS the use of them! I wish I knew!’ Then, when I ventured to suggest that possibly they were more than ‘microbes,’ — they were human beings that loved and worked and thought and created, she looked at me with those wonderful eyes of hers and answered— ‘Microbes do the same — only we don’t take the trouble to think about them! But if we knew their lives and intentions, I dare say we should find they are quite as clever in their own line as we are in ours!’ What is one to say to a woman who argues in this way?”

  Don Aloysius laughed gently.

  “But she argues quite correctly after all! My son, you are like the majority of men — they grow impatient with clever women, — they prefer stupid ones. In fact they deliberately choose stupid ones to be the mothers of their children — hence the ever increasing multitude of fools!” He moved towards the open doors of the beautiful lounge-hall of the Palazzo, Rivardi walking at his side. “But you will grant me a measure of wisdom in the advice I gave you the other day-the little millionairess is unlike other women — she is not capable of loving, — not in the way loving is understood in this world, — therefore do not seek from her what she cannot give! — As for her ‘flying alone’ — leave that to the fates! — I do not think she will attempt it.”

  They entered the Palazzo just as a servant was about to announce to them that dinner would be served in a quarter of an hour, and their talk, for the time being, ended. But the thoughts of both men were busy; and unknown to each other, centered round the enigmatical personality of one woman who had become more interesting to them than anything else in the world, — so much so indeed that each in his own private mind wondered what life would be worth without her!

  CHAPTER XVI

  That evening Morgana was in one of her most bewitching moods — even the old Highland word “fey” scarcely described her many brilliant variations from grave to gay, from gay to romantic, and from romantic to a kind of humorous-satiric vein which moved her to utter quick little witticisms which might have seemed barbed with too sharp a point were they not so quickly covered with a sweetness of manner which deprived them of all malice. She looked her best, too, — she had robed herself in a garment of pale shimmering blue which shone softly like the gleam of moonbeams through crystal — her won
derful hair was twisted up in a coronal held in place by a band of diamonds, — tiny diamonds twinkled in her ears, and a star of diamonds glittered on her breast. Her elfin beauty, totally unlike the beauty of accepted standards, exhaled a subtle influence as a lily exhales fragrance — and the knowledge she had of her own charm combined with her indifference as to its effect upon others gave her a dangerous attractiveness. As she sat at the head of her daintily adorned dinner-table she might have posed for a fairy queen in days when fairies were still believed in and queens were envied, — and Giulio Rivardi’s thoughts were swept to and fro in his brain by cross-currents of emotion which were not altogether disinterested or virtuous. For years his spirit had been fretted and galled by poverty, — he, the descendant of a long line of proud Sicilian nobles, had been forced to earn a precarious livelihood as an art decorator and adviser to “newly rich” people who had neither taste nor judgment, teaching them how to build, restore or furnish their houses according to the pure canons of art, in the knowledge of which he excelled, — and now, when chance or providence had thrown Morgana in his way, — Morgana with her millions, and an enchanting personality, — he inwardly demanded why he should not win her to have and to hold for his own? He was a personable man, nobly born, finely educated, — was it possible that he had not sufficient resolution and force of character to take the precious citadel by storm? These ideas flitted vaguely across his mind as he watched his fair hostess talking, now to Don Aloysius, now to Lady Kingswood, and sometimes flinging him a light word of badinage to rally him on what she chose to call his “sulks.”

  “He can’t get over it!” she declared, smiling— “Poor Marchese Giulio! That I should have dared to steer my own air-ship was too much for him, and he can’t forgive me!”

  “I cannot forgive your putting yourself into danger,” said Rivardi— “You ran a great risk — you must pardon me if I hold your life too valuable to be lightly lost.”