The Secret Power by Marie Corelli (the reading strategies book txt) 📕

“You will have nothing to do but just be pleasant!” Morgana had told her, smilingly, “And enjoy your self as you like. Of course I do not expect to be controlled or questioned,—I am an independent woman, and go my own way, but I’m not at all ‘modern.’ I don’t drink or smoke or ‘dope,’ or crave for male society. I think you’ll find yourself all right!”

And Lady Kingswood had indeed “found herself all right.” Her own daughter had never been so thoughtful for her comfort as Morgana was, and she became day by day more interested and fascinated by the original turn of mind and the bewitching personality of the strange little creature for whom the ordinary amusements of society seemed to have no attraction. And now, installed in her own sumptuously fitted rooms in the Palazzo d’Oro, Morgana’s Sicilian paradise, she almost forgot there was such a thing as poverty, or the sordid business of “making both ends meet.” Walking up and down the rose- marble loggia and looking out to the exquisite blue of the sea, she inwardly thanked God for all His mercies, and wondered at the exceptional good luck that had brought her so much peace, combined with comfort and luxury in the evening of her days. She was a handsome old lady; her refined features, soft blue eyes and white hair were a “composition” for an eighteenth-century French miniature, and her dress combined quiet elegance with careful taste. She was inflexibly loyal to her stated position; she neither “questioned” nor “controlled” Morgana, or attempted to intrude an opinion as to her actions or movements,—and if, as was only natural, she felt a certain curiosity concerning the aims and doings of so brilliant and witch-like a personality she showed no sign of it. She was interested in the Marchese Rivardi, but still more so in the priest, Don Aloysius, to whom she felt singularly attracted, partly by his own dignified appearance and manner, and partly by the leaning she herself had towards the Catholic Faith where “Woman” is made sacred in the person of the Holy Virgin, and deemed worthy of making intercession with the Divine. She knew, as we all in our innermost souls know, that it is a symbol of the greatest truth that can ever be taught to humanity.

The special morning on which she walked, leaning slightly on a silver-knobbed stick, up and down the loggia and looked at the sea, was one of rare beauty even in Sicily, the sky being of that pure ethereal blue for which one can hardly find a comparison in colour, and the ocean below reflecting it, tone for tone, as in a mirror. In the terraced garden, half lost among the intertwining blossoms, Morgana moved to and fro, gathering roses,—her little figure like a white rose itself set in among the green leaves. Lady Kingswood watched her, with kindly, half compassionate eyes.

“It must be a terrible responsibility for her to have so much money!” she thought. “She can hardly know what to do with it! And somehow—I do not think she will marry.”

At that moment Morgana came slowly up the steps cut in the grass bordered on either side by flowers, and approached her.

“Here are some roses for you, dear ‘Duchess!’” she said, “Duchess” being the familiar or “pet” name she elected to call her by. “Specially selected, I assure you! Are you tired?—or may I have a talk?”

Lady Kingswood took the roses with a smile, touching Morgana’s cheek playfully with one of the paler pink buds.

“A talk by all means!” she replied—“How can I be tired, dear child? I’m a lazy old woman, doing nothing all day but enjoy myself!”

Morgana nodded her golden head approvingly.

“That’s right!—I’m glad!” she said. “That’s what I want you to do! It’s a pretty place, this Palazzo d’Oro, don’t you think?”

“More than pretty—it’s a perfect paradise!” declared Lady Kingswood, emphatically.

“Well, I’m glad you like it”—went on Morgana—“Because then you won’t mind staying here and looking after it when I’m away. I’ll have to go away quite soon.”

Lady Kingswood controlled her first instinctive movement of surprise.

“Really?” she said—“That seems a pity as you only arrived so recently—”

Morgana gave a wistful glance round her at the beautiful gardens and blue sea beyond.

“Yes—perhaps it is a pity!” she said, with a light shrug of her shoulders—“But I have a great deal to do, and ever so much to learn. I told you, didn’t I?—that I have had an air-ship built for me quite on my own lines?—an air-ship that moves like a bird and is quite different from any other air-ship ever made or known?”

“Yes, you told me something about it”—answered Lady Kingswood—“But you know, my dear, I am very stupid about all these wonderful new inventions. ‘Progress of science’ they call it. Well, I’m rather afraid of the ‘progress of science.’ I’m an old-fashioned woman and I cannot bear to hear of aeroplanes and air-ships and poor wretched people falling from the sky and being dashed to pieces. The solid earth is quite good enough for my old feet as long as they will support me!”

Morgana laughed.

“You dear Duchess!” she said, affectionately—“Don’t worry! I’m not going to ask you to travel in my air-ship—I wouldn’t so try your nerves for the world! Though it is an absolutely safe ship,— nothing”—and she emphasised the word—”NOTHING can upset it or drive it out of its course unless natural law is itself upset! Now let us sit here”—and she drew two wicker chairs into the cool shadow of the loggia and set them facing the sea—“and have our talk! I’ve begun it—I’ll go on! Tell me”—and she nestled down among the cushions, watching Lady Kingswood seat herself in slower, less supple fashion—“tell me—what does it feel like to be married?”

Lady Kingswood opened her eyes, surprised and amused.

“What does it feel like? My dear—?”

“Oh, surely you know what I mean!” pursued Morgana—”YOU have been married. Well, when you were first married were you very, very happy? Did your husband love you entirely without a thought for anybody or anything else?—and were you all in all to each other?”

Lady Kingswood was quite taken aback by the personal directness of these questions, but deciding within herself that Morgana must be contemplating marriage on her own behalf, answered simply and truthfully—

“My husband and I were very fond of each other. We were the best of friends and good companions. Of course he had his military duties to attend to and was often absent—”

“And you stayed at home and kept house,”—interpolated Morgana, musingly—“I see! That is what all wives have to do! But I suppose he just adored you?”

Lady Kingswood smiled.

“‘Adore’ is a very strong word to use, my dear!” she said—“I doubt if any married people ‘adore’ each other! If they can be good friends and rub along pleasantly through all the sorrows and joys of life together, they should be satisfied.”

“And you call that LOVE!” said Morgana, with a passionate thrill in her voice—“Love! ‘Love that is blood within the veins of time!’ Just ‘rubbing along pleasantly together!’ Dear ‘Duchess,’ that wouldn’t suit ME!”

Lady Kingswood looked at her with interested, kind eyes.

“But then, what WOULD suit you?” she queried—“You know you mustn’t expect the impossible!”

“What the world calls the impossible is always the possible”—said Morgana—“And only the impossible appeals to me!”

This was going beyond the boundary-line of Lady Kingswood’s brain capacity, so she merely remained agreeably quiescent.

“And when your child was born”—pursued Morgana—“did you feel a wonderful ecstasy?—a beautiful peace and joy?—a love so great that it was as if God had given you something of His Own to hold and keep?”

Lady Kingswood laughed outright.

“My dear girl, you are too idealistic! Having a baby is not at all a romantic business!—quite the reverse! And babies are not interesting till they ‘begin to take notice’ as the nurses say. Then when they get older and have to go to school you soon find out that you have loved THEM far more than they have loved or ever WILL love YOU!”

As she said this her voice trembled a little and she sighed.

“I see! I think I quite understand!” said Morgana—“And it is just what I have always imagined—there is no great happiness in marriage. If it is only a matter of ‘rubbing along pleasantly together’ two friends can always do that without any ‘sex’ attraction, or tying themselves up together for life. And it’s not much joy to bring children into the world and waste treasures of love on them, if after you have done all you can, they leave you without a regret,—like the birds that fly from a nest when once they know how to use their wings.”

Lady Kingswood’s eyes were sorrowful.

“My daughter was a very pretty girl,”—she said—“Her father and I were proud of her looks and her charm of manner. We spared every shilling we could to give her the best and most careful education— and we surrounded her with as much pleasure and comfort at home as possible,—but at the first experience of ‘society,’ and the flattery of strangers, she left us. Her choice of a husband was most unfortunate—but she would not listen to our advice, though we had loved her so much—she thought ‘he’ loved her more.”

Morgana lifted her eyes. The “fey” light was glittering in them.

“Yes! She thought he loved her! That’s what many a woman thinks— that ‘he’—the particular ‘he’ loves her! But how seldom he does! How much more often he loves himself!”

“You must not be cynical, my dear!” said Lady Kingswood, gently— “Life is certainly full of disappointments, especially in love and marriage—but we must endure our sorrows patiently and believe that God does everything for the best.”

This was the usual panacea which the excellent lady offered for all troubles, and Morgana smiled.

“Yes!—it must be hard work for God!” she said—“Cruel work! To do everything for the best and to find it being turned into the worst by the very creatures one seeks to benefit, must be positive torture! Well, dear ‘Duchess,’ I asked you all these questions about love and marriage just to know if you could say anything that might alter my views—but you have confirmed them. I feel that there is no such thing in the world as the love I want—and marriage without it would be worse than any imagined hell. So I shall not marry.”

Lady Kingswood’s face expressed a mild tolerance.

“You say that just now”—she said—“But I think you will alter your mind some day! You would not like to be quite alone always—not even in the Palazzo d’Oro.”

“YOU are quite alone?”

“Ah, but I am an old woman, my dear! I have lived my day!”

“That’s not true,” said Morgana, decisively—“You have not ‘lived your day’ since you are living NOW! And if you are old, that is just a reason why you should