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

“I believe in YOU,” I said firmly; “and I know thoroughly well that I was not dreaming; I certainly heard strange music, and entrancing voices. But in acknowledging your powers over something unseen, I must explain to you the incredulity I at first felt, which I believe annoyed you. I was made sceptical on one occasion, by attending a so-called spiritual seance, where they tried to convince me of the truth of table-turning—”

Heliobas laughed softly, still holding my hands.

“Your reason will at once tell you that disembodied spirits never become so undignified as to upset furniture or rap on tables. Neither do they write letters in pen and ink and put them under doors. Spiritual beings are purely spiritual; they cannot touch anything human, much less deal in such vulgar display as the throwing about of chairs, and the opening of locked sideboards. You were very rightly sceptical in these matters. But in what I have endeavoured to prove to you, you have no doubts, have you?”

“None in the world,” I said. “I only ask you to go on teaching me the wonders that seem so familiar to you. Let me know all I may; and soon!” I spoke with trembling eagerness.

“You have been only eight days in the house, my child,” said Heliobas, loosening my hands, and signing me to come out of the chapel with him; “and I do not consider you sufficiently strong as yet for the experiment you wish me to try upon you. Even now you are agitated. Wait one week more, and then you shall be—”

“What?” I asked impatiently.

“Lifted up,” he replied. “Lifted up above this little speck called earth. But now, no more of this. Go to Zara; keep your mind well employed; study, read, and pray—pray much and often in few and simple words, and with as utterly unselfish a heart as you can prepare. Think that you are going to some high festival, and attire your soul in readiness. I do not say to you ‘Have faith;’ I would not compel your belief in anything against your own will. You wish to be convinced of a future existence; you seek proofs; you shall have them. In the meantime avoid all conversation with me on the subject. You can confide your desires to Zara if you like; her experience may be of use to you. You had best join her now. Au revoir!” and with a kind parting gesture, he left me.

I watched his stately figure disappear in the shadow of the passage leading to his own study, and then I hastened to Zara’s room. The musical episode in the chapel had certainly startled me, and the words of Heliobas were full of mysterious meaning; but, strange to say, I was in no way rendered anxious or alarmed by the prospect I had before me of being “lifted up,” as my physician had expressed it. I thought of Raffaello Cellini and his history, and I determined within myself that no cowardly hesitation or fear should prevent me from making the attempt to see what he professed to have seen. I found Zara reading. She looked up as I entered, and greeted me with her usual bright smile.

“You have had a long practice,” she began; “I thought you were never coming.”

I sat down beside her, and related at once all that had happened to me that afternoon. Zara listened with deep and almost breathless interest.

“You are quite resolved,” she said, when I had concluded, “to let Casimir exert his force upon you?”

“I am quite resolved,” I answered.

“And you have no fear?”

“None that I am just now conscious of.”

Zara’s eyes became darker and deeper in the gravity of her intense meditation. At last she said:

“I can help you to keep your courage firmly to the point, by letting you know at once what Casimir will do to you. Beyond that I cannot go. You understand the nature of an electric shock?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Well, there are different kinds of electric shocks—some that are remedial, some that are fatal. There are cures performed by a careful use of the electric battery—again, people are struck dead by lightning, which is the fatal result of electric force. But all this is EXTERNAL electricity; now what Casimir will use on you will be INTERNAL electricity.”

I begged her to explain more clearly. She went on:

“You have internally a certain amount of electricity, which has been increased recently by the remedies prescribed for you by Casimir. But, however much you have, Casimir has more, and he will exert his force over your force, the greater over the lesser. You will experience an INTERNAL electric shock, which, like a sword, will separate in twain body and spirit. The spiritual part of you will be lifted up above material forces; the bodily part will remain inert and useless, till the life, which is actually YOU, returns to put its machinery in motion once more.”

“But shall I return at all?” I asked half doubtfully.

“You must return, because God has fixed the limits of your life on earth, and no human power can alter His decree. Casimir’s will can set you free for a time, but only for a time. You are bound to return, be it never so reluctantly. Eternal liberty is given by Death alone, and Death cannot be forced to come.”

“How about suicide?” I asked.

“The suicide,” replied Zara, “has no soul. He kills his body, and by the very act proves that whatever germ of an immortal existence he may have had once, has escaped from its unworthy habitation, and gone, like a flying spark, to find a chance of growth elsewhere. Surely your own reason proves this to you? The very animals have more soul than a man who commits suicide. The beasts of prey slay each other for hunger or in self-defence, but they do not slay themselves. That is a brutality left to man alone, with its companion degradation, drunkenness.”

I mused awhile in silence.

“In all the wickedness and cruelty of mankind,” I said, “it is almost a wonder that there is any spiritual existence left on earth at all. Why should God trouble Himself to care for such few souls as thoroughly believe in and love Him?—they can be but a mere handful.”

“Such a mere handful are worth more than the world to him,” said Zara gravely. “Oh, my dear, do not say such things as why should God trouble Himself? Why do you trouble yourself for the safety and happiness of anyone you love?”

Her eyes grew soft and tender, and the jewel she wore glimmered like moonlight on the sea. I felt a little abashed, and, to change the subject, I said:

“Tell me, Zara, what is that stone you always wear? Is it a talisman?”

“It belonged to a king,” said Zara,—“at least, it was found in a king’s coffin. It has been in our family for generations. Casimir says it is an electric stone—there are such still to be found in remote parts of the sea. Do you like it?”

“It is very brilliant and lovely,” I said.

“When I die,” went on Zara slowly, “I will leave it to you.”

“I hope I shall have to wait a long time before I get it, then,” I exclaimed, embracing her affectionately. “Indeed, I will pray never to receive it.”

“You will pray wrongly,” said Zara, smiling. “But tell me, do you quite understand from my explanation what Casimir will do to you?”

“I think I do.”

“And you are not afraid?”

“Not at all. Shall I suffer any pain?”

“No actual pang. You will feel giddy for a moment, and your body will become unconscious. That is all.”

I meditated for a few moments, and then looking up, saw Zara’s eyes watching me with a wistful inquiring tenderness. I answered her look with a smile, and said, half gaily:

“L’audace, l’audace, et toujours l’audace! That must be my motto, Zara. I have a chance now of proving how far a woman’s bravery can go, and I assure you I am proud of the opportunity. Your brother uttered some very cutting remarks on the general inaptitude of the female sex when I first made his acquaintance; so, for the honour of the thing, I must follow the path I have begun to tread. A plunge into the unseen world is surely a bold step for a woman, and I am determined to take it courageously.”

“That is well,” said Zara. “I do not think it possible for you ever to regret it. It is growing late—shall we prepare for dinner?”

I assented, and we separated to our different rooms. Before commencing to dress I opened the pianette that stood near my window, and tried very softly to play the melody I had heard in the chapel. To my joy it came at once to my fingers, and I was able to remember every note. I did not attempt to write it down—somehow I felt sure it would not escape me now. A sense of profound gratitude filled my heart, and, remembering the counsel given by Heliobas, I knelt reverently down and thanked God for the joy and grace of music. As I did so, a faint breath of sound, like a distant whisper of harps played in unison, floated past my ears,—then appeared to sweep round in ever-widening circles, till it gradually died away. But it was sweet and entrancing enough for me to understand how glorious and full of rapture must have been the star-symphony played on that winter’s night long ago, when the angels chanted together, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace and goodwill to Man!”

CHAPTER IX.

AN ELECTRIC SHOCK.

Prince Ivan Petroffsky was a constant visitor at the Hotel Mars, and I began to take a certain interest in him, not unmingled with pity, for it was evident that he was hopelessly in love with my beautiful friend Zara. She received him always with courtesy and kindness; but her behaviour to him was marked by a somewhat cold dignity, which, like a barrier of ice, repelled the warmth of his admiration and attention. Once or twice, remembering what he had said to me, I endeavoured to speak to her concerning him and his devotion; but she so instantly and decisively turned the conversation that I saw I should displease her if I persisted in it. Heliobas appeared to be really attached to the Prince, at which I secretly wondered; the worldly and frivolous young nobleman was of so entirely different a temperament to that of the thoughtful and studious Chaldean philosopher. Yet there was evidently some mysterious attraction between them—the Prince appeared to be profoundly interested in electric theories and experiments, and Heliobas never wearied of expounding them to so attentive a listener. The wonderful capabilities of the dog Leo also were brought into constant requisition for Prince Ivan’s benefit, and without doubt they were most remarkable. This animal, commanded—or, I should say, brain-electrified—by Heliobas, would fetch anything that was named to him through his master’s force, providing it was light enough for him to carry; and he would go into the conservatory and pluck off with his teeth any rare or common flower within his reach that was described to him by the same means. Spoken to or commanded by others, he was simply a good-natured intelligent Newfoundland; but under the authority of Heliobas, he became more than human in ready wit and quick obedience, and would have brought in a golden harvest to any great circus or menagerie.

He was a never-failing source of wonder and interest to me, and even more so to the Prince, who made him the subject of many an abstruse and