A Romance of Two Worlds by Marie Corelli (the little red hen ebook .txt) 📕

“Gladly and gratefully I consented, and we spent the next ten days together, during which Heliobas administered to me certain remedies, external and internal, which had a marvellous effect in renovating and invigorating my system. By the expiration of that time I was strong and well—a sound and sane man, as my rescuer had promised I should be—my brain was fresh and eager for work, and my mind was filled with new and grand ideas of art. And I had gained through Heliobas two inestimable things—a full comprehension of the truth of religion, and the secret of human destiny; and I had won a LOVE so exquisite!”

Here Cellini paused, and his eyes were uplifted in a sort of wondering rapture. He continued after a pause:

“Yes, mademoiselle, I discovered that I was loved, and watched over and guided by ONE so divinely beautiful, so gloriously faithful, that mortal language fails before the description of such perfection!”

He paused again, and again continued:

“When he found me perfectly healthy again in mind and body, Heliobas showed me his art of mixing colours. From that hour all my works were successful. You know that my pictures are eagerly purchased as soon as completed, and that the colour I obtain in them is to the world a mystery almost magical. Yet there is not one among the humblest of artists who could not, if he chose, make use of the same means as I have done to gain the nearly imperishable hues that still glow on the canvases of Raphael. But of this there is no need to speak just now. I have told you my story, mademoiselle, and it now rests with me to apply its meaning to yourself. You are attending?”

“Perfectly,” I replied; and, indeed, my interest at this point was so strong that I could almost hear the expectant beating of my heart. Cellini resumed:

“Electricity, mademoiselle, is, as you are aware, the wonder of our age. No end can be foreseen to the marvels it is capable of accomplishing. But one of the most important branches of this great science is ignorantly derided just now by the larger portion of society—I mean the use of human electricity; that force which is in each one of us—in you and in me—and, to a very large extent, in Heliobas. He has cultivated the electricity in his own system to such an extent that his mere touch, his lightest glance, have healing in them, or the reverse, as he chooses to exert his power—I may say it is never the reverse, for he is full of kindness, sympathy, and pity for all humanity. His influence is so great that he can, without speaking, by his mere presence suggest his own thoughts to other people who are perfect strangers, and cause them to design and carry out certain actions in accordance with his plans. You are incredulous? Mademoiselle, this power is in every one of us; only we do not cultivate it, because our education is yet so imperfect. To prove the truth of what I say, I, though I have only advanced a little way in the cultivation of my own electric force, even I have influenced YOU. You cannot deny it. By my thought, impelled to you, you saw clearly my picture that was actually veiled. By MY force, you replied correctly to a question I asked you concerning that same picture. By MY desire, you gave me, without being aware of it, a message from one I love when you said, ‘Dieu vous garde!’ You remember? And the elixir I gave you, which is one of the simplest remedies discovered by Heliobas, had the effect of making you learn what he intended you to learn—his name.”

“He!” I exclaimed. “Why, he does not know me—he can have no intentions towards me!”

“Mademoiselle,” replied Cellini gravely, “if you will think again of the last of your three dreams, you will not doubt that he HAS intentions towards you. As I told you, he is a PHYSICAL ELECTRICIAN. By that is meant a great deal. He knows by instinct whether he is or will be needed sooner or later. Let me finish what I have to say. You are ill, mademoiselle—ill from overwork. You are an improvisatrice—that is, you have the emotional genius of music, a spiritual thing unfettered by rules, and utterly misunderstood by the world. You cultivate this faculty, regardless of cost; you suffer, and you will suffer more. In proportion as your powers in music grow, so will your health decline. Go to Heliobas; he will do for you what he did for me. Surely you will not hesitate? Between years of weak invalidism and perfect health, in less than a fortnight, there can be no question of choice.”

I rose from my seat slowly.

“Where is this Heliobas?” I asked. “In Paris?”

“Yes, in Paris. If you decide to go there, take my advice, and go alone. You can easily make some excuse to your friends. I will give you the address of a ladies’ Pension, where you will be made at home and comfortable. May I do this?”

“If you please,” I answered.

He wrote rapidly in pencil on a card of his own:

“MADAME DENISE, “36, Avenue du Midi, “Paris,”

and handed it to me. I stood still where I had risen, thinking deeply. I had been impressed and somewhat startled by Cellini’s story; but I was in no way alarmed at the idea of trusting myself to the hands of a physical electrician such as Heliobas professed to be. I knew that there were many cases of serious illnesses being cured by means of electricity—that electric baths and electric appliances of all descriptions were in ordinary use; and I saw no reason to be surprised at the fact of a man being in existence who had cultivated electric force within himself to such an extent that he was able to use it as a healing power. There seemed to me to be really nothing extraordinary in it. The only part of Cellini’s narration I did not credit was the soul-transmigration he professed to have experienced; and I put that down to the over-excitement of his imagination at the time of his first interview with Heliobas. But I kept this thought to myself. In any case, I resolved to go to Paris. The great desire of my life was to be in perfect health, and I determined to omit no means of obtaining this inestimable blessing. Cellini watched me as I remained standing before him in silent abstraction.

“Will you go?” he inquired at last.

“Yes; I will go,” I replied. “But will you give me a letter to your friend?”

“Leo has taken it and all necessary explanations already,” said Cellini, smiling; “I knew you would go. Heliobas expects you the day after tomorrow. His residence is Hotel Mars, Champs Elysees. You are not angry with me, mademoiselle? I could not help knowing that you would go.”

I smiled faintly.

“Electricity again, I suppose! No, I am not angry. Why should I be? I thank you very much, signor, and I shall thank you more if Heliobas indeed effects my cure.”

“Oh, that is certain, positively certain,” answered Cellini; “you can indulge that hope as much as you like, mademoiselle, for it is one that cannot be disappointed. Before you leave me, you will look at your own picture, will you not?” and, advancing to his easel, he uncovered it.

I was greatly surprised. I thought he had but traced the outline of my features, whereas the head was almost completed. I looked at it as I would look at the portrait of a stranger. It was a wistful, sad-eyed, plaintive face, and on the pale gold of the hair rested a coronal of lilies.

“It will soon be finished,” said Cellini, covering the easel again; “I shall not need another sitting, which is fortunate, as it is so necessary for you to go away. And now will you look at the ‘Life and Death’ once more?”

I raised my eyes to the grand picture, unveiled that day in all its beauty.

“The face of the Life-Angel there,” went on Cellini quietly, “is a poor and feeble resemblance of the One I love. You knew I was betrothed, mademoiselle?”

I felt confused, and was endeavouring to find an answer to this when he continued:

“Do not trouble to explain, for I know how YOU knew. But no more of this. Will you leave Cannes tomorrow?”

“Yes. In the morning.”

“Then good-bye, mademoiselle. Should I never see you again–”

“Never see me again!” I interrupted. “Why, what do you mean?”

“I do not allude to your destinies, but to mine,” he said, with a kindly look. “My business may call me away from here before you come back—our paths may lie apart—many circumstances may occur to prevent our meeting—so that, I repeat, should I never see you again, you will, I hope, bear me in your friendly remembrance as one who was sorry to see you suffer, and who was the humble means of guiding you to renewed health and happiness.”

I held out my hand, and my eyes filled with tears. There was something so gentle and chivalrous about him, and withal so warm and sympathetic, that I felt indeed as if I were bidding adieu to one of the truest friends I should ever have in my life.

“I hope nothing will cause you to leave Cannes till I return to it,” I said with real earnestness. “I should like you to judge of my restoration to health.”

“There will be no need for that,” he replied; “I shall know when you are quite recovered through Heliobas.”

He pressed my hand warmly.

“I brought back the book you lent me,” I went on; “but I should like a copy of it for myself. Can I get it anywhere?”

“Heliobas will give you one with pleasure,” replied Cellini; “you have only to make the request. The book is not on sale. It was printed for private circulation only. And now, mademoiselle, we part. I congratulate you on the comfort and joy awaiting you in Paris. Do not forget the address—Hotel Mars, Champs Elysees. Farewell!”

And again shaking my hand cordially, he stood at his door watching me as I passed out and began to ascend the stairs leading to my room. On the landing I paused, and, looking round, saw him still there. I smiled and waved my hand. He did the same in response, once—twice; then turning abruptly, disappeared.

That afternoon I explained to Colonel and Mrs. Everard that I had resolved to consult a celebrated physician in Paris (whose name, however, I did not mention), and should go there alone for a few days. On hearing that I knew of a well-recommended ladies’ Pension, they made no objection to my arrangements, and they agreed to remain at the Hotel de L–till I returned. I gave them no details of my plans, and of course never mentioned Raffaello Cellini in connection with the matter. A nervous and wretchedly agitated night made me more than ever determined to try the means of cure proposed to me. At ten o’clock the following morning I left Cannes by express train for Paris. Just before starting I noticed that the lilies of the valley Cellini had given me for the dance had, in spite of my care, entirely withered, and were already black with decay—so black that they looked as though they had been scorched by a flash of lightning.

CHAPTER VI.

THE HOTEL MARS AND ITS OWNER.

It was between three and four o’clock in the afternoon of the day succeeding the night of my arrival in Paris, when I found