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

“I have told you,” she said, “again and again that it is impossible. You waste your life in the pursuit of a phantom; for a phantom I must be to you always—a mere dream, not a woman such as your love would satisfy. You are a strong man, in sound health and spirits; you care for the world and the things that are in it. I do not. You would make me happy, you say. No doubt you would do your best—your wealth and influence, your good looks, your hospitable and friendly nature would make most women happy. But what should I care for your family diamonds? for your surroundings? for your ambitions? The society of the world fills me with disgust and prejudice. Marriage, as the world considers it, shocks and outrages my self-respect; the idea of a bodily union without that of souls is to me repulsive and loathsome. Why, therefore, waste your time in seeking a love which does not exist, which never will exist for you?”

I heard the deep, passionate tones of Prince Ivan in answer:

“One light kindles another, Zara! The sunlight melts the snow! I cannot believe but that a long and faithful love may—nay, MUST— have its reward at last. Even according to your brother’s theories, the emotion of love is capable of powerful attraction. Cannot I hope that my passion—so strong, so great, so true, Zara!—will, with patience, draw you, star of my life, closer and closer, till I at last call you mine?”

I heard the faint rustle of Zara’s silk robe, as though she were moving farther from him.

“You speak ignorantly, Prince. Your studies with Casimir appear to have brought you little knowledge. Attraction! How can you attract what is not in your sphere? As well ask for the Moons of Jupiter or the Ring of Saturn! The laws of attraction and repulsion, Prince Ivan, are fixed by a higher authority than yours, and you are as powerless to alter or abate them by one iota, as a child is powerless to repel the advancing waves of the sea.”

Prince Ivan spoke again, and his voice quivered, with suppressed anger.

“You may talk as you will, beautiful Zara; but you shall never persuade me against my reason. I am no dreamer; no speculator in aerial nothings; no clever charlatan like Casimir, who, because he is able to magnetize a dog, pretends to the same authority over human beings, and dares to risk the health, perhaps the very sanity, of his own sister, and that of the unfortunate young musician whom he has inveigled in here, all for the sake of proving his dangerous, almost diabolical, experiments. Oh, yes; I see you are indignant, but I speak truth. I am a plain man;—and if I am deficient in electric germs, as Casimir would say, I have plenty of common sense. I wish to rescue you, Zara. You are becoming a prey to morbid fancies; your naturally healthy mind is full of extravagant notions concerning angels and demons and what not; and your entire belief in, and enthusiasm for, your brother is a splendid advertisement for him. Let me tear the veil of credulity from your eyes. Let me teach you how good a thing it is to live and love and laugh like other people, and leave electricity to the telegraph-wires and the lamp-posts.”

Again I heard the silken rustle of Zara’s dress, and, impelled by a strong curiosity and excitement, I raised a corner of the curtain hanging over the door, and was able to see the room distinctly. The Prince stood, or rather lounged, near the window, and opposite to him was Zara; she had evidently retreated from him as far as possible, and held herself proudly erect, her eyes flashing with unusual brilliancy contrasted with the pallor of her face.

“Your insults to my brother, Prince,” she said calmly, “I suffer to pass by me, knowing well to what a depth of wilful blind ignorance you are fallen. I pity you—and—I despise you! You are indeed a plain man, as you say—nothing more and nothing less. You can take advantage of the hospitality of this house, and pretend friendship to the host, while you slander him behind his back, and insult his sister in the privacy of her own apartment. Very manlike, truly; and perfectly in accordance with a reasonable being who likes to live and love and laugh according to the rule of society—a puppet whose wires society pulls, and he dances or dies as society pleases. I told you a gulf existed between us—you have widened it, for which I thank you! As I do not impose any of my wishes upon you, and therefore cannot request you to leave the room, you must excuse me if I retire elsewhere.”

And she approached the entrance of her studio, which was opposite to where I stood; but the Prince reached it before her, and placed his back against it. His face was deathly pale, and his dark eyes blazed with wrath and love intermingled.

“No, Zara!” he exclaimed in a sort of loud whisper. “If you think to escape me so, you are in error. I came to you reckless and resolved! You shall be mine if I die for it!” And he strove to seize her in his arms. But she escaped him and stood at bay, her lips quivering, her bosom heaving, and her hands clenched.

“I warn you!” she exclaimed. “By the intense loathing I have for you; by the force which makes my spirit rise in arms against you, I warn you! Do not dare to touch me! If you care for your own life, leave me while there is time!”

Never had she looked so supremely, terribly beautiful. I gazed at her from my corner of the doorway, awed, yet fascinated. The jewel on her breast glowed with an angry red lustre, and shot forth dazzling opaline rays, as though it were a sort of living, breathing star. Prince Ivan paused—entranced no doubt, as I was, by her unearthly loveliness. His face flushed—he gave a low laugh of admiration. Then he made two swift strides forward and caught her fiercely in his embrace. His triumph was brief. Scarcely had his strong arm clasped her waist, when it fell numb and powerless— scarcely had his eager lips stooped towards hers, when he reeled and sank heavily on the ground, senseless! The spell that had held me a silent spectator of the scene was broken. Terrified, I rushed into the room, crying out:

“Zara, Zara! What have you done?”

Zara turned her eyes gently upon me—they were soft and humid as though recently filled with tears. All the burning scorn and indignation had gone out of her face—she looked pityingly at the prostrate form of her admirer.

“He is not dead,” she said quietly. “I will call Casimir.”

I knelt beside the Prince and raised his hand. It was cold and heavy. His lips were blue, and his closed eyelids looked as though, in the words of Homer, “Death’s purple finger” had shut them fast forever. No breath—no pulsation of the heart. I looked fearfully at Zara. She smiled half sadly.

“He is not dead,” she repeated.

“Are you sure?” I murmured. “What was it, Zara, that made him fall? I was at the door—I saw and heard everything.”

“I know you did,” said Zara gently; “and I am glad of it. I wished you to see and hear all.”

“Is it a fit, do you think?” I asked again, looking sorrowfully at the sad face of the unfortunate Ivan, which seemed to me to have already graven upon it the stern sweet smile of those who have passed all passion and pain forever. “Oh, Zara! do you believe he will recover?” And tears choked my voice—tears of compassion and regret.

Zara came and kissed me.

“Yes, he will recover—do not fret, little one. I have rung my private bell for Casimir; he will be here directly. The Prince has had a shock—not a fatal one, as you will see. You look doubtful— are you afraid of me, dear?”

I gazed at her earnestly. Those clear childlike eyes—that frank smile—that gentle and dignified mien—could they accompany evil thoughts? No! I was sure Zara was good as she was lovely.

“I am not afraid of you, Zara,” I said gravely; “I love you too well for that. But I am sorry for the poor Prince; and I cannot understand–”

“You cannot understand why those who trespass against fixed laws should suffer?” observed Zara calmly. “Well, you will understand some day. You will know that in one way or another it is the reason of all suffering, both physical and mental, in the world.”

I said no more, but waited in silence till the sound of a firm approaching footstep announced Heliobas. He entered the room quickly—glanced at the motionless form of the Prince, then at me, and lastly at his sister.

“Has he been long thus?” he asked in a low tone.

“Not five minutes,” replied Zara.

A pitying and affectionate gentleness of expression filled his keen eyes.

“Reckless boy!” he murmured softly, as he stooped and laid one hand lightly on Ivan’s breast. “He is the very type of misguided human bravery. You were too hard upon him, Zara!”

Zara sighed.

“He spoke against you,” she said. “Of course he did,” returned her brother with a smile. “And it was perfectly natural he should do so. Have I not read his thoughts? Do not I know that he considers me a false pretender and CHARLATAN? And have I not humoured him? In this he is no worse than any one of his race. Every great scientific discovery is voted impossible at the first start. Ivan is not to blame because he is like the rest of the world. He will be wiser in time.”

“He attempted to force his desires,” began Zara again, and her cheeks flushed indignantly.

“I know,” answered her brother. “I foresaw how it would be, but was powerless to prevent it. He was wrong—but bold! Such boldness compels a certain admiration. This fellow would scale the stars, if he knew how to do it, by physical force alone.”

I grew impatient, and interrupted these remarks.

“Perhaps he is scaling the stars now,” I said; “or at any rate he will do so if death can show him the way.”

Heliobas gave me a friendly glance.

“You also are growing courageous when you can speak to your physician thus abruptly,” he observed quietly. “Death has nothing to do with our friend as yet, I assure you. Zara, you had better leave us. Your face must not be the first for Ivan’s eyes to rest upon. You,” nodding to me, “can stay.”

Zara pressed my hand gently as she passed me, and entered her studio, the door of which closed behind her, and I heard the key turn in the lock. I became absorbed in the proceedings of Heliobas. Stooping towards the recumbent form of Prince Ivan, he took the heavy lifeless hands firmly in his own, and then fixed his eyes fully and steadily on the pale, set features with an expression of the most forcible calm and absolutely undeniable authority. Not one word did he utter, but remained motionless as a statue in the attitude thus assumed—he seemed scarcely to breathe—not a muscle of his countenance moved. Perhaps twenty or thirty seconds might have elapsed, when a warm tinge of colour came back to the apparently dead face—the brows twitched—the lips quivered and parted in a heavy sigh. The braised appearance of the eyelids gave place to the natural tint—they opened, disclosing the eyes, which stared directly into those of the compelling Master who thus forced their obedience. A strong shudder shook the young man’s