A Romance of Two Worlds by Marie Corelli (inspirational books for women TXT) 📖

be treated by different means. Sometimes cases occur in which persons, at first NOT on my circle, are irresistibly attracted to it by a force not mine. Sometimes, in order to perform a cure, I establish a communication between myself and a totally alien sphere of thought; and to do this is a long and laborious effort. But it can be done.”

“Then, if it can be done,” said Prince Ivan, “why do you not accomplish it for me?”

“Because you are being forcibly drawn towards me without any effort on my part,” replied Heliobas, with one of his steady, keen looks. “For what motive I cannot at present determine; but I shall know as soon as you touch the extreme edge of my circle. You are a long way off it yet, but you are coming in spite of yourself, Ivan.”

The Prince fidgeted restlessly in his chair, and toyed with the fruit on his plate in a nervous manner.

“If I did not know you to be an absolutely truthful and honourable man, Casimir,” he said, “I should think you were trying to deceive me. But I have seen what you can do, therefore I must believe you. Still I confess I do not follow you in your circle theory.”

“To begin with,” returned Heliobas, “the Universe is a circle. Everything is circular, from the motion of planets down to the human eye, or the cup of a flower, or a drop of dew. MY ‘circle theory,’ as you call it, applied to human electric force, is very simple; but I have proved it to be mathematically correct. Every human being is provided INTERNALLY and EXTERNALLY with a certain amount of electricity, which is as necessary to existence as the life-blood to the heart or fresh air to the lungs. Internally it is the germ of a soul or spirit, and is placed there to be either cultivated or neglected as suits the WILL of man. It is indestructible; yet, if neglected, it remains always a germ; and, at the death of the body it inhabits, goes elsewhere to seek another chance of development. If, on the contrary, its growth is fostered by a persevering, resolute WILL, it becomes a spiritual creature, glorious and supremely powerful, for which a new, brilliant, and endless existence commences when its clay chrysalis perishes. So much for the INTERNAL electrical force. The EXTERNAL binds us all by fixed laws, with which our wills have nothing whatever to do. (Each one of us walks the earth encompassed by an invisible electric ring—wide or narrow according to our capabilities. Sometimes our rings meet and form one, as in the case of two absolutely sympathetic souls, who labour and love together with perfect faith in each other. Sometimes they clash, and storm ensues, as when a strong antipathy between persons causes them almost to loathe each other’s presence.) All these human electric rings are capable of attraction and repulsion. If a man, during his courtship of a woman, experiences once or twice a sudden instinctive feeling that there is something in her nature not altogether what he expected or desired, let him take warning and break off the attachment; for the electric circles do not combine, and nothing but unhappiness would come from forcing a union. I would say the same thing to a woman. If my advice were followed, how many unhappy marriages would be avoided! But you have tempted me to talk too much, Ivan. I see the ladies wish to adjourn. Shall we go to the smoking-room for a little, and join them in the drawing-room afterwards?”

We all rose.

“Well,” said the Prince gaily, as he prepared to follow his host, “I realize one thing which gives me pleasure, Casimir. If in truth I am being attracted towards your electric circle, I hope I shall reach it soon, as I shall then, I suppose, be more en rapport with madame, your sister.”

Zara’s luminous eyes surveyed him with a sort of queenly pity and forbearance.

“By the time YOU arrive at that goal, Prince,” she said calmly, “it is most probable that I shall have departed.”

And with one arm thrown round my waist, she saluted him gravely, and left the room with me beside her.

“Would you like to see the chapel on your way to the drawing-room?” she asked, as we crossed the hall.

I gladly accepted this proposition, and Zara took me down a flight of marble steps, which terminated in a handsomely-carved oaken door. Pushing this softly open, she made the sign of the cross and sank on her knees. I did the same, and then looked with reverential wonder at the loveliness and serenity of the place. It was small, but lofty, and the painted dome-shaped roof was supported by eight light marble columns, wreathed with minutely-carved garlands of vine-leaves. The chapel was fitted up in accordance with the rites of the Catholic religion, and before the High Altar and Tabernacle burned seven roseate lamps, which were suspended from the roof by slender gilt chains. A large crucifix, bearing a most sorrowful and pathetic figure of Christ, was hung on one of the side walls; and from a corner altar, shining with soft blue and silver, an exquisite statue of the Madonna and Child was dimly seen from where we knelt. A few minutes passed, and Zara rose. Looking towards the Tabernacle, her lips moved as though murmuring a prayer, and then, taking me by the hand, she led me gently out. The heavy oaken door swung softly behind us as we ascended the chapel steps and re-entered the great hall.

“You are a Catholic, are you not?” then said Zara to me.

“Yes,” I answered; “but—”

“But you have doubts sometimes, you would say! Of course. One always doubts when one sees the dissensions, the hypocrisies, the false pretences and wickedness of many professing Christians. But Christ and His religion are living facts, in spite of the suicide of souls He would gladly save. You must ask Casimir some day about these things; he will clear up all the knotty points for you. Here we are at the drawing-room door.”

It was the same room into which I had first been shown. Zara seated herself, and made me occupy a low chair beside her.

“Tell me,” she said, “can you not come here and stay with me while you are under Casimir’s treatment?”

I thought of Madame Denise and her Pension.

“I wish I could,” I said; “but I fear my friends would want to know where I am staying, and explanations would have to be given, which I do not feel disposed to enter upon.”

“Why,” went on Zara quietly, “you have only to say that you are being attended by a Dr. Casimir who wishes to have you under his own supervision, and that you are therefore staying in his house under the chaperonage of his sister.”

I laughed at the idea of Zara playing the chaperon, and told her she was far too young and beautiful to enact that character.

“Do you know how old I am?” she asked, with a slight smile.

I guessed seventeen, or at any rate not more than twenty.

“I am thirty-eight,” said Zara.

Thirty-eight! Impossible! I would not believe it. I could not. I laughed scornfully at such an absurdity, looking at her as she sat there a perfect model of youthful grace and loveliness, with her lustrous eyes and rose-tinted complexion.

“You may doubt me if you choose,” she said, still smiling; “but I have told you the truth. I am thirty-eight years of age according to the world’s counting. What I am, measured by another standard of time, matters not just now. You see I look young, and, what is more, I am young. I enjoy my youth. I hear that women of society at thirty-eight are often faded and blase—what a pity it is that they do not understand the first laws of self-preservation! But to resume what I was saying, you know now that I am quite old enough in the eyes of the world to chaperon you or anybody. You had better arrange to stay here. Casimir asked me to settle the matter with, you.”

As she spoke, Heliobas and Prince Ivan entered. The latter looked flushed and excited—Heliobas was calm and stately as usual. He addressed himself to me at once.

“I have ordered my carriage, mademoiselle, to take you back this evening to the Avenue du Midi. If you will do as Zara tells you, and explain to your friends the necessity there is for your being under the personal supervision of your doctor, you will find everything will arrange itself very naturally. And the sooner you come here the better—in fact, Zara will expect you here tomorrow early in the afternoon. I may rely upon you?”

He spoke with a certain air of command, evidently expecting no resistance on my part. Indeed, why should I resist? Already I loved Zara, and wished to be more in her company; and then, most probably, my complete restoration to health would be more successfully and quickly accomplished if I were actually in the house of the man who had promised to cure me. Therefore I replied:

“I will do as you wish, monsieur. Having placed myself in your hands, I must obey. In this particular case,” I added, looking at Zara, “obedience is very agreeable to me.”

Heliobas smiled and seemed satisfied. He then took a small goblet from a side-table and left the room. Returning, however, almost immediately with the cup filled to the brim, he said, handing it to me:

“Drink this—it is your dose for to-night; and then you will go home, and straight to bed.”

I drank it off at once. It was delicious in flavour—like very fine Chianti.

“Have you no soothing draught for me?” said Prince Ivan, who had been turning over a volume of photographs in a sullenly abstracted sort of way.

“No,” replied Heliobas, with a keen glance at him; “the draught fitted for your present condition might soothe you too thoroughly.”

The Prince looked at Zara, but she was mute. She had taken a piece of silk embroidery from a workbasket near her, and was busily employed with it. Heliobas advanced and laid his hand on the young man’s arm.

“Sing to us, Ivan,” he said, in a kind tone. “Sing us one of your wild Russian airs—Zara loves them, and this young lady would like to hear your voice before she goes.”

The Prince hesitated, and then, with another glance at Zara’s bent head, went to the piano. He had a brilliant touch, and accompanied himself with great taste and delicacy; but his voice was truly magnificent—a baritone of deep and mellow quality, sonorous, and at the same time tender. He sang a French rendering of a Slavonic love-song, which, as nearly as I can translate it into English, ran as follows:

“As the billows fling shells on the shore, As the sun poureth light on the sea, As a lark on the wing scatters song to the spring, So rushes my love to thee.

“As the ivy clings close to the tower, As the dew lieth deep in a flower, As the shadow to light, as the day unto night, So clings my wild soul to thee!

“As the moon glitters coldly alone, Above earth on her cloud-woven throne, As the rocky-bound cave repulses a wave, So thy anger repulseth me.

“As the bitter black frost of a night Slays the roses with pitiless might, As a sharp dagger-thrust hurls a king to the dust, So thy cruelty murdereth me.

“Yet in spite of thy queenly disdain, Thou art seared by my passion and pain; Thou shalt hear me repeat, till I die for it, sweet! ‘I love thee! I dare to love THEE!’”

He ended abruptly and with