The Beetle by Richard Marsh (read e books online free txt) 📕

“If you are a member of the next government you will possibly know; if you aren’t you possibly won’t.”

“I suppose you have to keep this sort of thing secret?”

“I do. It seems that matters of much less moment you wish to keep secret.”

“You mean that business of last night? If a trifle of that sort gets into the papers, or gets talked about⁠—which is the same thing!⁠—you have no notion how we are pestered. It becomes an almost unbearable nuisance. Jones the Unknown can commit murder with less inconvenience to himself than Jones the Notorious can have his pocket picked⁠—there is not so much exaggeration in that as there sounds.⁠—Goodbye⁠—thanks for your promise.” I had given him no promise, but that was by the way. He turned as to go⁠—then stopped. “There’s another thing⁠—I believe you’re a specialist on questions of ancient superstitions and extinct religions.”

“I am interested in such subjects, but I am not a specialist.”

“Can you tell me what were the exact tenets of the worshippers of Isis?”

“Neither I nor any man⁠—with scientific certainty. As you know, she had a brother; the cult of Osiris and Isis was one and the same. What, precisely, were its dogmas, or its practices, or anything about it, none, now, can tell. The papyri, hieroglyphics, and so on, which remain are very far from being exhaustive, and our knowledge of those which do remain, is still less so.”

“I suppose that the marvels which are told of it are purely legendary?”

“To what marvels do you particularly refer?”

“Weren’t supernatural powers attributed to the priests of Isis?”

“Broadly speaking, at that time, supernatural powers were attributed to all the priests of all the creeds.”

“I see.” Presently he continued. “I presume that her cult is long since extinct⁠—that none of the worshippers of Isis exist today.”

I hesitated⁠—I was wondering why he had hit on such a subject; if he really had a reason, or if he was merely asking questions as a cover for something else⁠—you see, I knew my Paul.

“That is not so sure.”

He looked at me with that passionless, yet searching glance of his.

“You think that she still is worshipped?”

“I think it possible, even probable, that, here and there, in Africa⁠—Africa is a large order!⁠—homage is paid to Isis, quite in the good old way.”

“Do you know that as a fact?”

“Excuse me, but do you know it as a fact?⁠—Are you aware that you are treating me as if I was on the witness stand?⁠—Have you any special purpose in making these inquiries?”

He smiled.

“In a kind of a way I have. I have recently come across rather a curious story; I am trying to get to the bottom of it.”

“What is the story?”

“I am afraid that at present I am not at liberty to tell it you; when I am I will. You will find it interesting⁠—as an instance of a singular survival.⁠—Didn’t the followers of Isis believe in transmigration?”

“Some of them⁠—no doubt.”

“What did they understand by transmigration?”

“Transmigration.”

“Yes⁠—but of the soul or of the body?”

“How do you mean?⁠—transmigration is transmigration. Are you driving at something in particular? If you’ll tell me fairly and squarely what it is I’ll do my best to give you the information you require; as it is, your questions are a bit perplexing.”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter⁠—as you say, ‘transmigration is transmigration.’ ” I was eyeing him keenly; I seemed to detect in his manner an odd reluctance to enlarge on the subject he himself had started. He continued to trifle with the retort upon the table. “Hadn’t the followers of Isis a⁠—what shall I say?⁠—a sacred emblem?”

“How?”

“Hadn’t they an especial regard for some sort of a⁠—wasn’t it some sort of a⁠—beetle?”

“You mean Scarabaeus sacer⁠—according to Latreille, Scarabaeus egyptiorum? Undoubtedly⁠—the scarab was venerated throughout Egypt⁠—indeed, speaking generally, most things that had life, for instance, cats; as you know, Orisis continued among men in the figure of Apis, the bull.”

“Weren’t the priests of Isis⁠—or some of them⁠—supposed to assume, after death, the form of a⁠—scarabaeus?”

“I never heard of it.”

“Are you sure?⁠—think!”

“I shouldn’t like to answer such a question positively, offhand, but I don’t, on the spur of the moment, recall any supposition of the kind.”

“Don’t laugh at me⁠—I’m not a lunatic!⁠—but I understand that recent researches have shown that even in some of the most astounding of the ancient legends there was a substratum of fact. Is it absolutely certain that there could be no shred of truth in such a belief?”

“In what belief?”

“In the belief that a priest of Isis⁠—or anyone⁠—assumed after death the form of a scarabaeus?”

“It seems to me, Lessingham, that you have lately come across some uncommonly interesting data, of a kind, too, which it is your bounden duty to give to the world⁠—or, at any rate, to that portion of the world which is represented by me. Come⁠—tell us all about it!⁠—what are you afraid of?”

“I am afraid of nothing⁠—and some day you shall be told⁠—but not now. At present, answer my question.”

“Then repeat your question⁠—clearly.”

“Is it absolutely certain that there could be no foundation of truth in the belief that a priest of Isis⁠—or anyone⁠—assumed after death the form of a beetle?”

“I know no more than the man in the moon⁠—how the dickens should I? Such a belief may have been symbolical. Christians believe that after death the body takes the shape of worms⁠—and so, in a sense, it does⁠—and, sometimes, eels.”

“That is not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“Listen. If a person, of whose veracity there could not be a vestige of a doubt, assured you that he had seen such a transformation actually take place, could it conceivably be explained on natural grounds?”

“Seen a priest of Isis assume the form of a beetle?”

“Or a follower of Isis?”

“Before, or after death?”

He hesitated. I had seldom seen him wear such an appearance of interest⁠—to be frank, I was keenly interested too!⁠—but, on a sudden there came into his eyes a glint of something that was almost terror.