The Jewel of Seven Stars by Bram Stoker (books to read in your 20s TXT) 📕

not disconcerted; and

Doctor Winchester seemed to hold himself in a business-like attitude, as

if before the operating-table. But I felt low-spirited, and miserable,

and ashamed; and besides I was pained and alarmed by Margaret’s ghastly

pallor.

 

Then the work began. The unrolling of the mummy cat had prepared me

somewhat for it; but this was so much larger, and so infinitely more

elaborate, that it seemed a different thing. Moreover, in addition to

the ever present sense of death and humanity, there was a feeling of

something finer in all this. The cat had been embalmed with coarser

materials; here, all, when once the outer coverings were removed, was

more delicately done. It seemed as if only the finest gums and spices

had been used in this embalming. But there were the same surroundings,

the same attendant red dust and pungent presence of bitumen; there was

the same sound of rending which marked the tearing away of the bandages.

There were an enormous number of these, and their bulk when opened was

great. As the men unrolled them, I grew more and more excited. I did

not take a part in it myself; Margaret had looked at me gratefully as I

drew back. We clasped hands, and held each other hard. As the

unrolling went on, the wrappings became finer, and the smell less laden

with bitumen, but more pungent. We all, I think, began to feel it as

though it caught or touched us in some special way. This, however, did

not interfere with the work; it went on uninterruptedly. Some of the

inner wrappings bore symbols or pictures. These were done sometimes

wholly in pale green colour, sometimes in many colours; but always with

a prevalence of green. Now and again Mr. Trelawny or Mr. Corbeck would

point out some special drawing before laying the bandage on the pile

behind them, which kept growing to a monstrous height.

 

At last we knew that the wrappings were coming to an end. Already the

proportions were reduced to those of a normal figure of the manifest

height of the Queen, who was more than average height. And as the end

drew nearer, so Margaret’s pallor grew; and her heart beat more and more

wildly, till her breast heaved in a way that frightened me.

 

Just as her father was taking away the last of the bandages, he happened

to look up and caught the pained and anxious look of her pale face. He

paused, and taking her concern to be as to the outrage on modesty, said

in a comforting way:

 

“Do not be uneasy, dear! See! there is nothing to harm you. The Queen

has on a robe.—Ay, and a royal robe, too!”

 

The wrapping was a wide piece the whole length of the body. It being

removed, a profusely full robe of white linen had appeared, covering the

body from the throat to the feet.

 

And such linen! We all bent over to look at it.

 

Margaret lost her concern, in her woman’s interest in fine stuff. Then

the rest of us looked with admiration; for surely such linen was never

seen by the eyes of our age. It was as fine as the finest silk. But

never was spun or woven silk which lay in such gracious folds, constrict

though they were by the close wrappings of the mummy cloth, and fixed

into hardness by the passing of thousands of years.

 

Round the neck it was delicately embroidered in pure gold with tiny

sprays of sycamore; and round the feet, similarly worked, was an endless

line of lotus plants of unequal height, and with all the graceful

abandon of natural growth.

 

Across the body, but manifestly not surrounding it, was a girdle of

jewels. A wondrous girdle, which shone and glowed with all the forms

and phases and colours of the sky!

 

The buckle was a great yellow stone, round of outline, deep and curved,

as if a yielding globe had been pressed down. It shone and glowed, as

though a veritable sun lay within; the rays of its light seemed to

strike out and illumine all round. Flanking it were two great moonstones

of lesser size, whose glowing, beside the glory of the sunstone, was

like the silvery sheen of moonlight.

 

And then on either side, linked by golden clasps of exquisite shape, was

a line of flaming jewels, of which the colours seemed to glow. Each of

these stones seemed to hold a living star, which twinkled in every phase

of changing light.

 

Margaret raised her hands in ecstasy. She bent over to examine more

closely; but suddenly drew back and stood fully erect at her grand

height. She seemed to speak with the conviction of absolute knowledge

as she said:

 

“That is no cerement! It was no meant for the clothing of death! It is

a marriage robe!”

 

Mr. Trelawny leaned over and touched the linen robe. He lifted a fold

at the neck, and I knew from the quick intake of his breath that

something had surprised him. He lifted yet a little more; and then he,

too, stood back and pointed, saying:

 

“Margaret is right! That dress is not intended to be worn by the dead!

See! her figure is not robed in it. It is but laid upon her.” He

lifted the zone of jewels and handed it to Margaret. Then with both

hands he raised the ample robe, and laid it across the arms which she

extended in a natural impulse. Things of such beauty were too precious

to be handled with any but the greatest care.

 

We all stood awed at the beauty of the figure which, save for the face

cloth, now lay completely nude before us. Mr. Trelawny bent over, and

with hands that trembled slightly, raised this linen cloth which was of

the same fineness as the robe. As he stood back and the whole glorious

beauty of the Queen was revealed, I felt a rush of shame sweep over me.

It was not right that we should be there, gazing with irreverent eyes on

such unclad beauty: it was indecent; it was almost sacrilegious! And

yet the white wonder of that beautiful form was something to dream of.

It was not like death at all; it was like a statue carven in ivory by

the hand of a Praxiteles. There was nothing of that horrible shrinkage

which death seems to effect in a moment. There was none of the wrinkled

toughness which seems to be a leading characteristic of most mummies.

There was not the shrunken attenuation of a body dried in the sand, as I

had seen before in museums. All the pores of the body seemed to have

been preserved in some wonderful way. The flesh was full and round, as

in a living person; and the skin was as smooth as satin. The colour

seemed extraordinary. It was like ivory, new ivory; except where the

right arm, with shattered, bloodstained wrist and missing hand had lain

bare to exposure in the sarcophagus for so many tens of centuries.

 

With a womanly impulse; with a mouth that drooped with pity, with eyes

that flashed with anger, and cheeks that flamed, Margaret threw over the

body the beautiful robe which lay across her arm. Only the face was

then to be seen. This was more startling even than the body, for it

seemed not dead, but alive. The eyelids were closed; but the long,

black, curling lashes lay over on the cheeks. The nostrils, set in

grave pride, seemed to have the repose which, when it is seen in life,

is greater than the repose of death. The full, red lips, though the

mouth was not open, showed the tiniest white line of pearly teeth

within. Her hair, glorious in quantity and glossy black as the raven’s

wing, was piled in great masses over the white forehead, on which a few

curling tresses strayed like tendrils. I was amazed at the likeness to

Margaret, though I had had my mind prepared for this by Mr. Corbeck’s

quotation of her father’s statement. This woman—I could not think of

her as a mummy or a corpse—was the image of Margaret as my eyes had

first lit on her. The likeness was increased by the jewelled ornament

which she wore in her hair, the “Disk and Plumes”, such as Margaret,

too, had worn. It, too, was a glorious jewel; one noble pearl of

moonlight lustre, flanked by carven pieces of moonstone.

 

Mr. Trelawny was overcome as he looked. He quite broke down; and when

Margaret flew to him and held him close in her arms and comforted him, I

heard him murmur brokenly:

 

“It looks as if you were dead, my child!”

 

There was a long silence. I could hear without the roar of the wind,

which was now risen to a tempest, and the furius dashing of the waves

far below. Mr. Trelawny’s voice broke the spell:

 

“Later on we must try and find out the process of embalming. It is not

like any that I know. There does not seem to have been any opening cut

for the withdrawing of the viscera and organs, which apparently remain

intact within the body. Then, again, there is no moisture in the flesh;

but its place is supplied with something else, as though wax or stearine

had been conveyed into the veins by some subtle process. I wonder could

it be possible that at that time they could have used paraffin. It

might have been, by some process that we know not, pumped into the

veins, where it hardened!”

 

Margaret, having thrown a white sheet over the Queen’s body, asked us to

bring it to her own room, where we laid it on her bed. Then she sent us

away, saying:

 

“Leave her alone with me. There are still many hours to pass, and I do

not like to leave her lying there, all stark in the glare of light.

This may be the Bridal she prepared for—the Bridal of Death; and at

least she shall wear her pretty robes.”

 

When presently she brought me back to her room, the dead Queen was

dressed in the robe of fine linen with the embroidery of gold; and all

her beautiful jewels were in place. Candles were lit around her, and

white flowers lay upon her breast.

 

Hand in hand we stood looking at her for a while. Then with a sigh,

Margaret covered her with one of her own snowy sheets. She turned away;

and after softly closing the door of the room, went back with me to the

others who had now come into the dining room. Here we all began to talk

over the things that had been, and that were to be.

 

Now and again I could feel that one or other of us was forcing

conversation, as if we were not sure of ourselves. The long wait was

beginning to tell on our nerves. It was apparent to me that Mr.

Trelawny had suffered in that strange trance more than we suspected, or

than he cared to show. True, his will and his determination were as

strong as ever; but the purely physical side of him had been weakened

somewhat. It was indeed only natural that it should be. No man can go

through a period of four days of absolute negation of life without being

weakened by it somehow.

 

As the hours crept by, the time passed more and more slowly. The other

men seemed to get unconsciously a little drowsy. I wondered if in the

case of Mr. Trelawny and Mr. Corbeck, who had already been under the

hypnotic influence of the Queen, the same dormance was manifesting

itself. Doctor Winchester had periods of distraction