Мария Корелли - Скорбь сатаны / The sorrows of Satan. Уровень 4

He fell back stupefied and confused.

“God bless my soul!” he muttered feebly. “It’s like a dream! I was never more astonished in my life!”

“Nor I!” I said. “But strange things happen in life. And that book will be the success of the season! What will you take to publish it?”

“Publish? I?”

“Yes, you – why not? I offer you a chance to get some money. Will your ‘readers’ prevent your accepting it? You are not a slave, this is a free country. I know the kind of people who ‘read’ for you, the gaunt unlovable spinster of fifty, the dyspeptic book-worm who is a ‘literary failure’ and can find nothing else to do. Why should you rely on such incompetent opinion? I’ll pay you for the publication of my book. And I guarantee you another thing. I’ll mention you as a publisher. I’ll advertise it. Everything in this world can be done for money.”

“Stop, stop,” he interrupted. “This is so sudden! You must give me time to consider!”

“Take a day for your meditations then,” I said. “But no longer. For if you don’t say yes, I’ll get another man! Be wise in time, my friend! Good-bye!”

He ran after me.

“Wait, look here! You’re so strange, so wild, so erratic! Dear dear me,” and he smiled benevolently. “Why, you don’t give me a chance to congratulate you. I really do, you know – I congratulate you sincerely!” And he shook me by the hand quite fervently. “And I will think about your book – where will a letter find you?”

“Grand Hotel,” I responded. I knew he was already mentally calculating how much he could get from me for my literary whim. “Come there, and lunch or dine with me. Tomorrow if you like – only send me a word beforehand. Remember, it must be yes or no, in twenty-four hours!”

And with this I left him. I went on, laughing to myself inaudibly, till I saw one or two passers-by looking at me so surprisingly that I came to the conclusion that they took me for a madman. I walked briskly, and presently my excitement cooled down.

I returned to the Grand, looking and feeling much better in my new suit. A waiter met me in the corridor and with the most obsequious deference, informed me that ‘His Excellency the Prince’ was waiting for me in his own apartments for lunch.

I found my new friend alone in his sumptuous drawing-room, standing near the large window and holding in his hand an oblong crystal case through which he was looking with an almost affectionate solicitude.

“Ah, Geoffrey! Here you are!” he exclaimed. “I waited for you.”

“Very good of you!” I said, pleased at the friendly familiarity he displayed in thus calling me by my Christian name. “What have you got there?”

“A pet of mine,” he answered, smiling slightly. “Did you ever see anything like it before?”

I approached and examined the box he held. It was perforated with holes for the admission of air, and within it lay a brilliant coloured winged insect.

“Is it alive?” I asked.

“It is alive, and has some intelligence,” replied Rimanez. “I feed it and it knows me. It is quite tame and friendly as you perceive.”

He opened the case gently. The beetle expanded its radiant wings, and it rose at once to its protector’s hand. He lifted it and held it aloft, then shaking it to and fro lightly, he exclaimed,

“Off, Sprite! Fly, and return to me!”

The creature was looking like a beautiful iridescent jewel. After a few graceful movements hither and thither, it returned to its owner’s hand, and again settled there.

“There is a well-worn saying which declares that ‘in the midst of life we are in death’,” said the prince. “But that maxim is wrong. It should be ‘in the midst of death we are in life.’ This creature is a rare and curious production of death. I found it myself. Listen. I was present at the uncasing of an Egyptian female mummy. She was a princess of a famous royal house. On her chest was a piece of a gold quarter. Underneath this gold plate, her body was swathed round and round. When these were removed it was discovered that the mummified flesh between her breasts had decayed away, and in the hollow or nest, this insect was found alive!”

I could not repress a slight nervous shudder.

“Horrible!” I said. “If I were you, I should kill it, I think.”

He looked at me.

“Why?” he asked. “I’m afraid, my dear Geoffrey, you are not a scientist. To kill the poor creature who managed to find life in the very bosom of death, is a cruel suggestion, is it not? It has eyes, and the senses of taste, smell, touch and hearing. I accept the idea of the transmigration of souls, and so sometimes I think that perhaps the princess of that Royal Egyptian house had a wicked, brilliant, vampire soul, – and that… here it is!”

A cold thrill ran through me from head to foot at these words, and as I looked at the speaker standing opposite me, with the ‘wicked, brilliant, vampire soul’ on his hand. I examined the weird insect more closely. As I did so, its bright beady eyes sparkled, I thought, vindictively, and I stepped back.

“It is certainly remarkable,” I murmured. “No wonder you value it, as a curiosity. Its eyes are quite distinct, almost intelligent.”

“No doubt she had beautiful eyes,” said Rimanez smiling.

“She? Whom do you mean?”

“The princess, of course!” he answered, evidently amused. “The dear dead lady. Some of her personality must be in this creature: it had nothing but her body to nourish itself upon.”

And here he replaced the creature in its crystal habitation.

“I suppose,” I said slowly, “you think that nothing actually perishes completely?”

“Exactly!” returned Rimanez emphatically. “Nothing can be entirely annihilated; not even a thought.”

I was silent.

“And now for luncheon,” he said gaily, passing his arm through mine. “You look twenty per cent. better than when you went out this morning, Geoffrey.”

Seated at table with the dark-faced Amiel in attendance, I related my morning’s adventures. I told him about the publisher who had on the previous day refused my manuscript, and who now, I felt sure, would be glad to accept the offer I had made. Rimanez listened attentively, smiling.

“Of course!” he said, when I had concluded. “I think he showed remarkable discretion and decency. His pleasant hypocrisy shows him to be a person of tact and foresight. Did you ever imagine a human being or a human conscience that could not be bought? The Pope will sell you a specially reserved seat in his heaven if you give him the cash while he is on earth! Nothing is given free in this world. Everything must be bought – with blood, tears and groans occasionally, – but usually with money.”

I fancied that Amiel, behind his master’s chair, smiled darkly at this. I could not formulate to myself any substantial reason for my aversion to this confidential servant. But the aversion increased each time I saw his sullen and sneering features. Yet he was perfectly respectful and deferential; I could find no fault with him

As soon as we were alone, Rimanez lit a cigar.

“Now let us talk,” he said. “I believe I am at present your best friend, and I certainly know the world better than you do. How will you begin spending your money?”

I laughed.

“Well, I shan’t provide funds for the building of a church or a hospital,” I said. “My dear Prince Rimanez, I mean to spend my money on my own pleasure, and I daresay I shall find plenty of ways to do it.”

“With your fortune, you could make hundreds of miserable people happy;” he suggested.

“Thanks, I would rather be happy myself first,” I answered gaily. “I daresay I seem to you selfish. You are philanthropic I know; I am not.”