Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli, page 849
part #22 of Delphi Series Series
Half pleased, half puzzled, Diana smiled her recognition of the friendly toast, but in her own mind, wondered what ‘t all meant? Why did dear old Madame Dimitrius stare at her so much? Why did even Vasho, the negro servant, roll the whites of his eyes at her as though she were somebody he had never seen before? And taking these things into account, why did Dimitrius himself maintain such an indifferent and uninterested demeanour? Nevertheless, whatever the circumstances might portend, she was more disposed to mirth than gravity, and the delicious timbre of her voice made music at table, both in speaking and laughter, — the music of mingled wit and eloquence, rare enough in a man, but still rarer in a woman. Very few women have the art of conversing intelligently, and at a dinner nowadays the chief idea seems to be to keep on “safe” ground, avoiding every subject of any real interest. But Diana was not particular in this regard, — she talked, and talked well. On this evening she seemed to throw herself with greater zest into the always for her congenial task of keeping her mysterious “employer” and his mother amused, — and Dimitrius himself began to feel something of the glamour of a woman’s fascination against which he had always been as he boasted— “spirit-proof.” His was a curious and complex nature. For years and years, ever since his early boyhood, he had devoted himself to the indefatigable study of such arts and sciences as are even now regarded as only “possible,” but “non-proven,” — and he had cut himself off from all the ordinary ambitions as well as from the social customs and conventions of the world, in order to follow up a certain clue which his researches had placed in his hands. Though his ultimate intention was to benefit humanity he was so fearful of miscalculating one line of the mathematical problem he sought to solve, that for the time being, humanity weighed as nothing in his scale. He would admit of no obstacle in his path, and though he was not a cruel man, if he had found that he would need a hundred human “subjects” to work upon, he would have killed them all without compunction, had killing been necessary to the success of his experiments. And yet, — he had a heart, which occasionally gave him trouble as contending with his brain, — for the brain was cool and calculating, and the heart was warm and impulsive. He had never actually shunned women, because they too, as well as men, were needful points of study, — but most of the many he had met, incurred his dislike or derision because of what he considered their unsettled fancies and general “vagueness.” His mother he adored; but to no other woman had he ever accorded an atom of really deep or well-considered homage. When he advertised for a woman to help him in his experimental work, he did so, honestly because he judged a woman, especially “of mature years,” was of no particular use to anybody, or, if she did happen to be of use, she could easily be replaced. With an almost brutal frankness, he had said to himself: “If the experiment I make upon her should prove fatal, she will be the kind of human unit that is never missed.”
But Diana was an unexpected sort of “unit.” Her independence, clear perception and courage were a surprise to him. Her “mature years” did not conceal from him the fact that she had once been charming to look at, — and one point about her which gave him especial pleasure, was her complete resignation of any idea that she could have attraction for men at her age. He knew how loth even the oldest women are to let go this inborn notion of captivating or subjugating the male sex, — but Diana was wholesomely free from any touch of the “volatile spinster,” — and unlike the immortal Miss Toxin “Dombey and Son,” was not in the least prone to indulge in a dream of marriage with the first man who might pay her a kindly compliment. And his dread of the possible result of his first experimental essay upon her was perfectly genuine, while his relief at finding her none the worse for it was equally sincere. Looking at her now, and listening to her bright talk and to the soft ripple of her low, sweet laughter, his thoughts were very busy. She was his “subject;” a living subject bound by her signed agreement to be under his command and as much at his disposal as a corpse given over for anatomical purposes to a surgeon’s laboratory. He did not propose to have any pity upon her, even if at any time her condition should call for pity. His experiment must be carried out at all costs. He did not intend to have any more “heart” for her than the vivisector has for the poor animal whose throbbing organs he mercilessly probes; — but to-night he was conscious of a certain attraction about her for which he was not prepared. He was in a sense relieved when dinner was over, and when she and his mother left the room. As soon as they had gone he addressed Vasho:
“Did you see?”
The negro inclined his head, and his black lips parted in a smile.
“It is the beginning!” said Dimitrius, meditatively. “But the end is far off!”
Vasho made rapid signs with his fingers in the dumb alphabet. His words were:
“The Master will perhaps be over-mastered!” Dimitrius laughed, and patted the man kindly on the shoulder.
“Vasho, you are an oracle! How fortunate you are dumb! But your ears are keen, — keep them open!” Vasho nodded emphatically, and with his right hand touched his forehead and then his feet, signifying that from head to foot he was faithful to duty.
And Dimitrius thereupon went into the drawing-room, there to find Diana seated on a low stool beside his mother’s chair, talking animatedly about their intended visit to. Davos Platz. Madame Dimitrius instantly assailed him with the question she had previously started at dinner.
“Féodor, you put me off just now,” she said, “but you really must tell me if you see any change in Diana! Look at her!” — and she put one hand under Diana’s chin and turned her face more up to the light—” Isn’t there a very remarkable alteration in her?”
Dimitrius smiled.
“Well, no! — not a very remarkable one,” he answered, with affected indifference. “A slight one, — certainly for the better. All doctors agree in the opinion that it is only after a month or two in a different climate that one begins to notice an improvement in health and looks—”
“Nonsense!” interrupted his mother, with a slight touch of impatience. “It’s not that sort of thing at all i It’s something quite different!”
“Well, what is it?” laughed Diana. “Dear, kind Madame Dimitrius! — you always see something nice in me! — which is very flattering but which I don’t deserve! You are getting used to my appearance — that’s all!”
“You are both in league against me!’ declared the old lady, shaking her head. “Féodor knows and you know that you are quite different! — I mean that you have a different expression — I don’t know what it is—”
I’m sure I don’t!” Diana said, still laughing. “I feel very well and very happy — much better than I have felt for a long time — and of course if one feels well one looks well —— —— —— —”
“Did you feel as well and happy a few hours ago, when you left me to go and do some work for Féodor?” asked Madame. “You did not look then as you look now!”
Diana glanced at Dimitrius questioningly, mutely asking what she should say next. He gave her a reassuring smile.
“You are like a Grand Inquisitor, mother mine!” he said. “And sharp as a needle in your scrutiny! Perhaps you are right! — Miss May is a little altered. In fact I think I may acknowledge and admit the fact — but I’m sure it is so slight a change that she has scarcely noticed it herself. And when she has retired and gone to bed, you and I will have a little private talk about it. Will that satisfy you?” —
She looked at him trustfully and with a great tenderness.
“I am not unsatisfied even now, my son!” she answered, gently—” I am only curious! I am like the lady in the fairy tale of ‘Blue Beard’ — I want to unlock your cupboard of mystery! And you won’t cut my head off for that, will you?”
He laughed.
“I would sooner cut off my own!” he said, gaily. “Be sure of that! You shall know all that is needful, in good time! Meanwhile, Miss Diana had better leave us for the present” — Diana at once rose and came towards him to say good-night—” I hope I am not giving you too abrupt a dismissal,” he added, “but I think, under the circumstances, you should get all the rest you can.”
She bent her head in mute obedience, thanking him with a smile. As she turned with a softly breathed “goodnight” to Madame Dimitrius, the old lady drew her close and kissed her.
“Bless you, my dear!” she said. “If you change in your looks, do not change in your heart!”
“That can hardly be guaranteed,” said Dimitrius.
Diana looked at him.
“Can it not? But I will be my own guarantee,” she said. “I shall not change — not in love for my friends. Good-night!”
As she left the room they both looked after her, — her figure had a supple, swaying grace of movement which was new and attractive, and in an impulse of something not unlike fear, Madame Dimitrius laid her hand entreatingly on her son’s arm.
“What have you done to her, Feodor? What are you doing?”
His eyes glittered with a kind of suppressed menace.
“Nothing!” he answered. “Nothing, as yet! What I shall do is another matter! I have begun — and I cannot stop. She is my subject, — I am like that old-world painter, who, in sheer devotion to his art, gave a slave poison, in order that he might be able to watch him die and so paint a death-agony accurately.”
“Féodor!” She gave a little cry of terror “Do not be afraid, mother mine! My task is an agony of birth — not death! — the travail of a soul re-constituting the atoms of its earthly habitation, — recharging with energy the cells of its brain — the work of a unit whose house of clay is beginning to crumble, and to whom I give the material wherewith to build it up again! It all depends, of course, on the unit’s own ability, — if you break a spider’s web, the mending of it depends on the spider’s industry, tenacity and constructive intelligence, — but, whatever happens, mark you! — whatever happens, I have begun my experiment, and I must go on! I must go on to the very end, — no matter what that end may be!” She looked at him in wonder and appeal.
“You will not, — you cannot be cruel, Féodor?” she said, in a voice which trembled with suppressed alarm. “You will not injure the poor woman who works for you so patiently, and who trusts you?”
“How can I tell whether I shall or shall not injure her?” he demanded, almost fiercely. “Science accepts no half service. The ‘poor woman,’ as you call her, knows her risks and has accepted them. So far, no injury has been done. If I succeed, she will have cause to thank me for the secret I have wrenched from Nature, — should I fail, she will not complain very much of a little more hurried exit from a world, where, according to her own statement, she is alone and unloved.”
Madame Dimitrius clasped and unclasped her delicate old hands nervously, and the diamonds in a ring she wore glittered scarcely more than the bright tears which suddenly fell from her eyes. Moved by a pang of remorse, he fell on his knees beside her.
“Why, mother!” he murmured, soothingly—” you should not weep! Can you not trust me? This woman, Diana May, is a stranger, and nothing to you. Certainly she is a kind, bright creature, with a great many undeveloped gifts of brain and character, which make her all the more useful to me. I give her as much chance as I give myself. If I let her alone, — that is to say, if I ignore all the reasons for which I engaged her, and allow her to become a mere secretary, or your domestic companion, — she goes on in the usual way of a woman of her years, — withering slowly — sinking deeper in the ruts of care, and fading into a nonentity for whom life is scarcely worth the living. On the other hand, if I continue my work upon her—”
“But what work?” asked his mother, anxiously. “What result do you expect?”
He rose from his kneeling attitude, and straightened himself to his full height, lifting his head with an unconscious air of defiance and pride.
“I expect Nature to render me obedience!” he said. “I expect the surrender of the Flaming Sword! It ‘turns every way to keep the way of the Tree of Life’ — but the hilt must be given into my hand!”
“Féodor! Oh, my son! Such arrogance is blasphemy!”
“Blasphemy? Mother, you wrong yourself and me by the thought! Blasphemy is a lie to God, like the utterance of the ‘Credo’ by people who do net believe, — but there is no blasphemy in searching for a truth as part of God’s mind, and devoutly accepting it when found! The priest who tells his congregation that God is to he pleased or pacified by sufficient money in the collection plate blasphemes, — but I, who most humbly adore His unspeakable Beneficence in placing the means of health and life in our hands, and who seek to use those means intelligently, do not blaspheme! I praise God with all my heart, — Y believe in Him with all my soul!”
His attitude at the moment was superb; his expression as of one inspired. His mother looked at him fondly, but the tears were still in her eyes.
“Féodor,” she said at last tremulously—” I — I have grown fond of Diana. I shall not be able to look on and see her suffer!”
He bent his brows upon her almost sternly.
“When you do see her suffer it will be time to speak” — he answered—” Not before! And whatever else you see, having no connection with ‘suffering’ in any way, you must allow to pass without comment or inquiry. You love me, I know, — well, you will never prove your love for me more than by consenting to this. If at any moment you can tell me that Diana May is unhappy or in pain, I promise you I will do my best to spare her. But if nothing of this sort happens I rely on your silence and discretion. May I do so?”
She inclined her head gently.
“You may!”
He took her hand and kissed its soft, finely wrinkled whiteness.
“That’s my kind mother!” he said, tenderly—” Always indulgent to me and my fancies as you have been, I know you will not fail me now! And so, — whatever change you observe or think you observe in my ‘subject,’ you must accept it as perfectly natural (for it will be) and not surprising or disturbing. And you must tactfully check the comments and questions of others. I foresee that Chauvet will be tiresome, — he has taken a great fancy to Diana. And Farnese, of course, is a perpetual note of interrogation. But these people must be kept at a distance. You have grown fond of Diana, you say, — fond of this complete stranger in our house! — but I am glad of it, for she needs some sort of tenderness in a life which seems to have been exceptionally lonely. Grow still fonder of her, if you like! — indeed, it is probable you will. For though she is anything but a child, she has all a child’s affection in her which apparently has been wasted, or has met with scant return.”
“You think so?” And Madame Dimitrius looked up with a smile.
“I do think so, assuredly, but because I think so it does not follow that any return can come from me,” he said. “You are a person of sentiment — I am not. You are the one to supply her with the manna which falls from the heaven of a loving heart. And by doing so you will help my experiment.”
“You will not tell me what the experiment really is?” she asked.
“No, Because, if it fails I prefer to ridicule myself rather than that you should ridicule me. And if I succeed the whole value of my discovery consists in keeping it secret.”
“Very well!” And his mother rose and put away her knitting. “You shall do as you will, Feodor! — you were always a spoilt boy and you will be spoilt to the end! My fault, I know!”
“Yes, your fault, beloved!”
“he said—” But a fault of instinctive knowledge and wisdom! For if you had not let me follow my own way I might not have stumbled by chance on another way — a way which leads—”
He broke off abruptly with a wonderful “uplifted” look in his eyes. She came to him and laid her gentle hands upon his shoulders.
“A way which leads — where, my Féodor? Tell me!”
He drew her hands down and held them warmly clasped together in his.
“The way to that ‘new heaven and new earth’ where God is with men!” he answered, in a low, rapt tone—” ‘Where there shall be no more death, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain,’ and where ‘the former things are passed away!’ Be patient with my dream! It may come true!”
CHAPTER XIII
MEANTIME, Diana, up in her own room, was engaged in what to her had, of late years, been anything but an agreeable pastime, — namely, looking at herself in the mirror. She was keenly curious to find out what was the change in her appearance which had apparently surprised Madame Dimitrius so much that she could hardly be restrained, even by her masterful son, from expressing open wonderment. She stood before the long cheval glass, gazing deeply into it as if it were the magic mirror of the “Lady of Shalott,” and as if she saw
“The helmet and the plume
Of bold Sir Lancelot.”
Her face was serious, — calmly contemplative, — but to herself she could not admit any positive change. Perhaps the slightest suggestion of more softness and roundness in the outline of the cheeks and an added brightness in the eyes might be perceived, — but this kind of improvement, as she knew, happened often as a temporary effect of something in the atmosphere, or of a happier condition of mind, and was apt to vanish as rapidly as it occurred. Still looking at herself with critical inquisitiveness, she slipped out of her pale blue gown and stood revealed in an unbecoming gauntness of petticoat and camisole, — so gaunt and crude in her own opinion that she hastened to pull the pins out of her hair, so that its waving brightness might fall over her scraggy shoulders and flat chest and hide the unfeminine hardness of these proportions. Then, with a deep sigh, she picked up her gown from the floor where she had let it fall, shook out its folds and hung it up in the wardrobe.
“It’s all nonsense!” she said. “I’m just the same thin old thing as ever! What difference Madame Dimitrius can see in me is a mystery! And he—”
