Marie Corelli
A Romance of Two Worlds, Vol. II
(1886)
***********
About the print version:
A Romance of Two Worlds. A Novel.
BY
MARIE CORELLI.
IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. II. LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON, Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen.
1886. [All Rights Reserved.]
*********
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
I. MY STRANGE DEPARTURE
II. A MINIATURE CREATION
III. SECRETS OF THE SUN AND MOON
IV. SOCIABLE CONVERSE
V. THE ELECTRIC CREED
VI. DEATH BY LIGHTNING
VII. THE STRUGGLE FOR THE MASTERY
VIII. CONCLUSION
A ROMANCE OF TWO WORLDS.
CHAPTER I.
MY STRANGE DEPARTURE.
THE next morning brought me two letters; one from Mrs. Everard, telling
me that she and the Colonel had resolved on coming to Paris.
"All the nice people are going away from here," she wrote. "Madame
Didier and her husband have started for Naples; and, to crown our lonesomeness,
Raffaello Cellini packed up all his traps, and left us yesterday morning en route for Rome. The weather continues to be delicious; but
you seem to be getting on so well in Paris, in spite of the cold there, we have
made up our minds to join you, the more especially as I want to renovate my
wardrobe. We shall go straight to the Grand Hotel; and I am writing to Mrs.
Challoner by this post, asking her to get us rooms. We are so glad you are
feeling nearly recovered--of course, you must not leave your physician till you
are quite ready. At any rate, we shall not arrive till the end of next week."
I began to calculate. During that strange interview in the chapel,
Heliobas had said that in eight days more I should be strong enough to undergo
the transmigration he had promised to effect upon me. Those eight days were now
completed on this very morning. I was glad of this; for I did not care to see
Mrs. Everard or anyone till the experiment was over. The other letter I received was from Mrs. Challoner, who asked me to give an "Improvisation" at the Grand Hotel that day fortnight.
When I went down to breakfast, I mentioned both these letters, and said,
addressing myself to Heliobas:
"Is it not rather a sudden freak of Raffaello Cellini's to leave Cannes?
We all thought he was settled for the winter there. Did you know he was going to
Rome?"
"Yes," replied Heliobas, as he stirred his coffee abstractedly. "I knew
he was going there someday this month; his presence is required there on
business."
"Are you going to give the Improvisation this Mrs. Challoner asks you
for?" inquired Zara.
I glanced at Heliobas. He answered for me.
"I should certainly give it if I were you," he said quietly; "there will
be nothing to prevent your doing so at the date named."
I was relieved. I had not been altogether able to divest myself of the
idea that I might possibly never come out alive from the electric trance to
which I had certainly consented; and this assurance on the part of Heliobas was
undoubtedly comforting. We were all very silent that morning; we all wore grave
and preoccupied expressions. Zara was very pale, and appeared lost in thought.
Heliobas, too, looked slightly careworn, as though he had been up all night,
engaged in some brain-exhausting labor. No mention was made of Prince Ivan; we
avoided his name by a sort of secret mutual understanding. When the breakfast
was over, I looked with a fearless smile at the calm face of Heliobas, which
appeared nobler and more dignified than ever with that slight touch of sadness
upon it, and said softly:
"The eight days are accomplished."
He met my gaze fully, with a steady and serious observation of my
features, and replied:
"My child, I am aware of it. I expect you in my private room at noon. In
the meantime speak to no one--not even to Zara; read no books; touch no note of
music. The chapel has been prepared for you; go there and pray. When you see a
small point of light touch the extreme edge of the cross upon the altar, it will
be twelve o'clock, and you will then come to me."
With these words, uttered in a grave and earnest tone, he left me. A
sensation of sudden awe stole upon me. I looked at Zara. She laid her finger on
her lips and smiled, enjoining silence; then drawing my hand close within her
own, she led me to the door of the chapel. There she took a soft veil of some
white transparent fabric, and flung it over me, embracing and kissing me
tenderly as she did so, but uttering no word. Taking my hand again, she entered
the chapel with me, and accompanied me through what seemed a blaze of light and
colour to the high altar, before which was placed a prie-dieu of crimson velvet.
Motioning me to kneel, she kissed me once more through the filmy veil that
covered me from head to foot; then turning noiselessly away she disappeared, and
I heard the heavy oaken door close behind her. Left alone, I was able to quietly
take note of everything around me. The altar before which I knelt was ablaze
with lighted candles, and a wealth of the purest white flowers decorated it,
mingling their delicious fragrance with the faintly perceptible odour of
incense. On all sides of the chapel, in every little niche, and at every shrine,
tapers were burning like fireflies in a summer twilight. At the foot of the
large crucifix, which occupied a somewhat shadowy corner, lay a wreath of
magnificent crimson roses. It would seem as though some high festival were about to be celebrated, and I gazed around me with a beating heart, half expecting some invisible touch to awaken the notes of the organ and a chorus of spirit-voices to respond with the "Gloria in excelsis Deo!" But there was silence--absolute, beautiful, restful silence. I strove to collect my thoughts, and turning my eyes towards the jewelled cross that surmounted the high altar, I clasped my hands, and began to wonder how and for what I should pray. Suddenly the idea struck me that surely it was selfish to ask Heaven for anything; would it not be better to reflect on all that had already been given me, and to offer up thanks? Scarcely had this thought entered my mind when a sort of overwhelming sense of unworthiness came over me. Had I ever been unhappy? I wondered. If so, why? I began to count up my blessings and compare them with my
misfortunes. Exhausted pleasure-seekers may be surprised to hear that I proved
the joys of my life to have far exceeded my sorrows. I found that I had sight,
hearing, youth, sound limbs, an appreciation of the beautiful in art and nature,
and an intense power of enjoyment. For all these things, impossible of purchase
by mere wealth, should I not give thanks? For every golden ray of sunshine, for
every flower that blooms, for the harmonies of the wind and sea, for the singing
of birds and the shadows of trees, should I not--should we not all give thanks?
For is there any human sorrow so great that the blessing of mere daylight on the
earth does not far exceed? We mortals are spoilt and petted children--the more
gifts we have the more we crave; and when we burn or wound ourselves by our own
obstinacy or carelessness, we are ungratefully prone to blame the Supreme
Benefactor for our faults. We don black mourning robes as a sort of sombre protest against Him for having some special object of our choice and love, whereas, if we believed in Him and were grateful
to Him, we should wear dazzling white in sign of rejoicing that our treasure is
safe in the land of perfect joy where we ourselves desire to be. Do we suffer
from illness, loss of money, position, or friends, we rail against Fate--another
name for God--and complain like babes who have broken their toys; yet the sun
shines on, the seasons come and go, the lovely panorama of Nature unrolls itself
all for our benefit, while we murmur and fret and turn our eyes away in anger.
Thinking of these things and kneeling before the altar, my heart became
filled with gratitude; and no petition suggested itself to me save one, and that
was, "Let me believe and love!" I thought of the fair, strong, stately figure of
Christ, standing out in the world's history, like a statue of pure white marble against a dark background; I mused on the endurance,
patience, forgiveness, and perfect innocence of that most spotless life which
was finished on the cross, and again I murmured, "Let me believe and love!" And
I became so absorbed in meditation that the time ...
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