The Jewel of Seven Stars by Bram Stoker (ebook and pdf reader .txt) đź“–
- Author: Bram Stoker
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Doctor Winchester seemed to hold himself in a business-like attitude, as
if before the operating-table. But I felt low-spirited, and miserable,
and ashamed; and besides I was pained and alarmed by Margaret’s ghastly
pallor.
Then the work began. The unrolling of the mummy cat had prepared me
somewhat for it; but this was so much larger, and so infinitely more
elaborate, that it seemed a different thing. Moreover, in addition to
the ever present sense of death and humanity, there was a feeling of
something finer in all this. The cat had been embalmed with coarser
materials; here, all, when once the outer coverings were removed, was
more delicately done. It seemed as if only the finest gums and spices
had been used in this embalming. But there were the same surroundings,
the same attendant red dust and pungent presence of bitumen; there was
the same sound of rending which marked the tearing away of the bandages.
There were an enormous number of these, and their bulk when opened was
great. As the men unrolled them, I grew more and more excited. I did
not take a part in it myself; Margaret had looked at me gratefully as I
drew back. We clasped hands, and held each other hard. As the
unrolling went on, the wrappings became finer, and the smell less laden
with bitumen, but more pungent. We all, I think, began to feel it as
though it caught or touched us in some special way. This, however, did
not interfere with the work; it went on uninterruptedly. Some of the
inner wrappings bore symbols or pictures. These were done sometimes
wholly in pale green colour, sometimes in many colours; but always with
a prevalence of green. Now and again Mr. Trelawny or Mr. Corbeck would
point out some special drawing before laying the bandage on the pile
behind them, which kept growing to a monstrous height.
At last we knew that the wrappings were coming to an end. Already the
proportions were reduced to those of a normal figure of the manifest
height of the Queen, who was more than average height. And as the end
drew nearer, so Margaret’s pallor grew; and her heart beat more and more
wildly, till her breast heaved in a way that frightened me.
Just as her father was taking away the last of the bandages, he happened
to look up and caught the pained and anxious look of her pale face. He
paused, and taking her concern to be as to the outrage on modesty, said
in a comforting way:
“Do not be uneasy, dear! See! there is nothing to harm you. The Queen
has on a robe.—Ay, and a royal robe, too!”
The wrapping was a wide piece the whole length of the body. It being
removed, a profusely full robe of white linen had appeared, covering the
body from the throat to the feet.
And such linen! We all bent over to look at it.
Margaret lost her concern, in her woman’s interest in fine stuff. Then
the rest of us looked with admiration; for surely such linen was never
seen by the eyes of our age. It was as fine as the finest silk. But
never was spun or woven silk which lay in such gracious folds, constrict
though they were by the close wrappings of the mummy cloth, and fixed
into hardness by the passing of thousands of years.
Round the neck it was delicately embroidered in pure gold with tiny
sprays of sycamore; and round the feet, similarly worked, was an endless
line of lotus plants of unequal height, and with all the graceful
abandon of natural growth.
Across the body, but manifestly not surrounding it, was a girdle of
jewels. A wondrous girdle, which shone and glowed with all the forms
and phases and colours of the sky!
The buckle was a great yellow stone, round of outline, deep and curved,
as if a yielding globe had been pressed down. It shone and glowed, as
though a veritable sun lay within; the rays of its light seemed to
strike out and illumine all round. Flanking it were two great moonstones
of lesser size, whose glowing, beside the glory of the sunstone, was
like the silvery sheen of moonlight.
And then on either side, linked by golden clasps of exquisite shape, was
a line of flaming jewels, of which the colours seemed to glow. Each of
these stones seemed to hold a living star, which twinkled in every phase
of changing light.
Margaret raised her hands in ecstasy. She bent over to examine more
closely; but suddenly drew back and stood fully erect at her grand
height. She seemed to speak with the conviction of absolute knowledge
as she said:
“That is no cerement! It was no meant for the clothing of death! It is
a marriage robe!”
Mr. Trelawny leaned over and touched the linen robe. He lifted a fold
at the neck, and I knew from the quick intake of his breath that
something had surprised him. He lifted yet a little more; and then he,
too, stood back and pointed, saying:
“Margaret is right! That dress is not intended to be worn by the dead!
See! her figure is not robed in it. It is but laid upon her.” He
lifted the zone of jewels and handed it to Margaret. Then with both
hands he raised the ample robe, and laid it across the arms which she
extended in a natural impulse. Things of such beauty were too precious
to be handled with any but the greatest care.
We all stood awed at the beauty of the figure which, save for the face
cloth, now lay completely nude before us. Mr. Trelawny bent over, and
with hands that trembled slightly, raised this linen cloth which was of
the same fineness as the robe. As he stood back and the whole glorious
beauty of the Queen was revealed, I felt a rush of shame sweep over me.
It was not right that we should be there, gazing with irreverent eyes on
such unclad beauty: it was indecent; it was almost sacrilegious! And
yet the white wonder of that beautiful form was something to dream of.
It was not like death at all; it was like a statue carven in ivory by
the hand of a Praxiteles. There was nothing of that horrible shrinkage
which death seems to effect in a moment. There was none of the wrinkled
toughness which seems to be a leading characteristic of most mummies.
There was not the shrunken attenuation of a body dried in the sand, as I
had seen before in museums. All the pores of the body seemed to have
been preserved in some wonderful way. The flesh was full and round, as
in a living person; and the skin was as smooth as satin. The colour
seemed extraordinary. It was like ivory, new ivory; except where the
right arm, with shattered, bloodstained wrist and missing hand had lain
bare to exposure in the sarcophagus for so many tens of centuries.
With a womanly impulse; with a mouth that drooped with pity, with eyes
that flashed with anger, and cheeks that flamed, Margaret threw over the
body the beautiful robe which lay across her arm. Only the face was
then to be seen. This was more startling even than the body, for it
seemed not dead, but alive. The eyelids were closed; but the long,
black, curling lashes lay over on the cheeks. The nostrils, set in
grave pride, seemed to have the repose which, when it is seen in life,
is greater than the repose of death. The full, red lips, though the
mouth was not open, showed the tiniest white line of pearly teeth
within. Her hair, glorious in quantity and glossy black as the raven’s
wing, was piled in great masses over the white forehead, on which a few
curling tresses strayed like tendrils. I was amazed at the likeness to
Margaret, though I had had my mind prepared for this by Mr. Corbeck’s
quotation of her father’s statement. This woman—I could not think of
her as a mummy or a corpse—was the image of Margaret as my eyes had
first lit on her. The likeness was increased by the jewelled ornament
which she wore in her hair, the “Disk and Plumes”, such as Margaret,
too, had worn. It, too, was a glorious jewel; one noble pearl of
moonlight lustre, flanked by carven pieces of moonstone.
Mr. Trelawny was overcome as he looked. He quite broke down; and when
Margaret flew to him and held him close in her arms and comforted him, I
heard him murmur brokenly:
“It looks as if you were dead, my child!”
There was a long silence. I could hear without the roar of the wind,
which was now risen to a tempest, and the furius dashing of the waves
far below. Mr. Trelawny’s voice broke the spell:
“Later on we must try and find out the process of embalming. It is not
like any that I know. There does not seem to have been any opening cut
for the withdrawing of the viscera and organs, which apparently remain
intact within the body. Then, again, there is no moisture in the flesh;
but its place is supplied with something else, as though wax or stearine
had been conveyed into the veins by some subtle process. I wonder could
it be possible that at that time they could have used paraffin. It
might have been, by some process that we know not, pumped into the
veins, where it hardened!”
Margaret, having thrown a white sheet over the Queen’s body, asked us to
bring it to her own room, where we laid it on her bed. Then she sent us
away, saying:
“Leave her alone with me. There are still many hours to pass, and I do
not like to leave her lying there, all stark in the glare of light.
This may be the Bridal she prepared for—the Bridal of Death; and at
least she shall wear her pretty robes.”
When presently she brought me back to her room, the dead Queen was
dressed in the robe of fine linen with the embroidery of gold; and all
her beautiful jewels were in place. Candles were lit around her, and
white flowers lay upon her breast.
Hand in hand we stood looking at her for a while. Then with a sigh,
Margaret covered her with one of her own snowy sheets. She turned away;
and after softly closing the door of the room, went back with me to the
others who had now come into the dining room. Here we all began to talk
over the things that had been, and that were to be.
Now and again I could feel that one or other of us was forcing
conversation, as if we were not sure of ourselves. The long wait was
beginning to tell on our nerves. It was apparent to me that Mr.
Trelawny had suffered in that strange trance more than we suspected, or
than he cared to show. True, his will and his determination were as
strong as ever; but the purely physical side of him had been weakened
somewhat. It was indeed only natural that it should be. No man can go
through a period of four days of absolute negation of life without being
weakened by it somehow.
As the hours crept by, the time passed more and more slowly. The other
men seemed to get unconsciously a little drowsy. I wondered if in the
case of Mr. Trelawny and Mr. Corbeck, who had already been under the
hypnotic influence of the Queen, the same dormance was manifesting
itself. Doctor Winchester had periods of distraction
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