The Birth-Mark
During my waiting for the summons to Mr. Trelawny’s room, which I knew
would come, the time was long and lonely. After the first few moments
of emotional happiness at Margaret’s joy, I somehow felt apart and
alone; and for a little time the selfishness of a lover possessed me.
But it was not for long. Margaret’s happiness was all to me; and in
the conscious sense of it I lost my baser self. Margaret’s last words
as the door closed on them gave the key to the whole situation, as it
had been and as it was. These two proud, strong people, though father
and daughter, had only come to know each other when the girl was grown
up. Margaret’s nature was of that kind which matures early.
The pride and strength of each, and the reticence which was their
corollary, made a barrier at the beginning. Each had respected the
other’s reticence too much thereafter; and the misunderstanding grew to
habit. And so these two loving hearts, each of which yearned for
sympathy from the other, were kept apart. But now all was well, and in
my heart of hearts I rejoiced that at last Margaret was happy. Whilst
I was still musing on the subject, and dreaming dreams of a personal
nature, the door was opened, and Mr. Trelawny beckoned to me.
“Come in, Mr. Ross!” he said cordially, but with a certain formality
which I dreaded. I entered the room, and he closed the door again. He
held out his hand, and I put mine in it. He did not let it go, but
still held it as he drew me over toward his daughter. Margaret looked
from me to him, and back again; and her eyes fell. When I was close to
her, Mr. Trelawny let go my hand, and, looking his daughter straight in
the face, said:
“If things are as I fancy, we shall not have any secrets between us.
Malcolm Ross knows so much of my affairs already, that I take it he
must either let matters stop where they are and go away in silence, or
else he must know more. Margaret! are you willing to let Mr. Ross see
your wrist?”
She threw one swift look of appeal in his eyes; but even as she did so
she seemed to make up her mind. Without a word she raised her right
hand, so that the bracelet of spreading wings which covered the wrist
fell back, leaving the flesh bare. Then an icy chill shot through me.
On her wrist was a thin red jagged line, from which seemed to hang red
stains like drops of blood!
She stood there, a veritable figure of patient pride.
Oh! but she looked proud! Through all her sweetness, all her dignity,
all her high-souled negation of self which I had known, and which never
seemed more marked than now—through all the fire that seemed to shine
from the dark depths of her eyes into my very soul, pride shone
conspicuously. The pride that has faith; the pride that is born of
conscious purity; the pride of a veritable queen of Old Time, when to
be royal was to be the first and greatest and bravest in all high
things. As we stood thus for some seconds, the deep, grave voice of her
father seemed to sound a challenge in my ears:
“What do you say now?”
My answer was not in words. I caught Margaret’s right hand in mine as
it fell, and, holding it tight, whilst with the other I pushed back the
golden cincture, stooped and kissed the wrist. As I looked up at her,
but never letting go her hand, there was a look of joy on her face such
as I dream of when I think of heaven. Then I faced her father.
“You have my answer, sir!” His strong face looked gravely sweet. He
only said one word as he laid his hand on our clasped ones, whilst he
bent over and kissed his daughter:
“Good!”
We were interrupted by a knock at the door. In answer to an impatient
“Come in!” from Mr. Trelawny, Mr. Corbeck entered. When he saw us
grouped he would have drawn back; but in an instant Mr. Trelawny had
sprung forth and dragged him forward. As he shook him by both hands,
he seemed a transformed man. All the enthusiasm of his youth, of which
Mr. Corbeck had told us, seemed to have come back to him in an instant.
“So you have got the lamps!” he almost shouted. “My reasoning was
right after all. Come to the library, where we will be alone, and tell
me all about it! And while he does it, Ross,” said he, turning to me,
“do you, like a good fellow, get the key from the safe deposit, so that
I may have a look at the lamps!”
Then the three of them, the daughter lovingly holding her father’s arm,
went into the library, whilst I hurried off to Chancery Lane.
When I returned with the key, I found them still engaged in the
narrative; but Doctor Winchester, who had arrived soon after I left,
was with them. Mr. Trelawny, on hearing from Margaret of his great
attention and kindness, and how he had, under much pressure to the
contrary, steadfastly obeyed his written wishes, had asked him to
remain and listen. “It will interest you, perhaps,” he said, “to learn
the end of the story!”
We all had an early dinner together. We sat after it a good while, and
then Mr. Trelawny said:
“Now, I think we had all better separate and go quietly to bed early.
We may have much to talk about tomorrow; and tonight I want to think.”
Doctor Winchester went away, taking, with a courteous forethought, Mr.
Corbeck with him, and leaving me behind. When the others had gone Mr.
Trelawny said:
“I think it will be well if you, too, will go home for tonight. I want
to be quite alone with my daughter; there are many things I wish to
speak of to her, and to her alone. Perhaps, even tomorrow, I will be
able to tell you also of them; but in the meantime there will be less
distraction to us both if we are alone in the house.” I quite
understood and sympathised with his feelings; but the experiences of
the last few days were strong on me, and with some hesitation I said:
“But may it not be dangerous? If you knew as we do—” To my surprise
Margaret interrupted me:
“There will be no danger, Malcolm. I shall be with Father!” As she
spoke she clung to him in a protective way. I said no more, but stood
up to go at once. Mr. Trelawny said heartily:
“Come as early as you please, Ross. Come to breakfast. After it, you
and I will want to have a word together.” He went out of the room
quietly, leaving us together. I clasped and kissed Margaret’s hands,
which she held out to me, and then drew her close to me, and our lips
met for the first time.
I did not sleep much that night. Happiness on the one side of my bed
and Anxiety on the other kept sleep away. But if I had anxious care, I
had also happiness which had not equal in my life—or ever can have.
The night went by so quickly that the dawn seemed to rush on me, not
stealing as is its wont.
Before nine o’clock I was at Kensington. All anxiety seemed to float
away like a cloud as I met Margaret, and saw that already the pallor of
her face had given to the rich bloom which I knew. She told me that
her father had slept well, and that he would be with us soon.
“I do believe,” she whispered, “that my dear and thoughtful Father has
kept back on purpose, so that I might meet you first, and alone!”
After breakfast Mr. Trelawny took us into the study, saying as he
passed in:
“I have asked Margaret to come too.” When we were seated, he said
gravely:
“I told you last night that we might have something to say to each
other. I dare say that you may have thought that it was about Margaret
and yourself. Isn’t that so?”
“I thought so.”
“Well, my boy, that is all right. Margaret and I have been talking,
and I know her wishes.” He held out his hand. When I wrung it, and
had kissed Margaret, who drew her chair close to mine, so that we could
hold hands as we listened, he went on, but with a certain
hesitation—it could hardly be called nervousness—which was new to me.
“You know a good deal of my hunt after this mummy and her belongings;
and I dare say you have guessed a good deal of my theories. But these
at any rate I shall explain later, concisely and categorically, if it
be necessary. What I want to consult you about now is this: Margaret
and I disagree on one point. I am about to make an experiment; the
experiment which is to crown all that I have devoted twenty years of
research, and danger, and labour to prepare for. Through it we may
learn things that have been hidden from the eyes and the knowledge of
men for centuries; for scores of centuries. I do not want my daughter
to be present; for I cannot blind myself to the fact that there may be
danger in it—great danger, and of an unknown kind. I have, however,
already faced very great dangers, and of an unknown kind; and so has
that brave scholar who has helped me in the work. As to myself, I am
willing to run any risk. For science, and history, and philosophy may
benefit; and we may turn one old page of a wisdom unknown in this
prosaic age. But for my daughter to run such a risk I am loth. Her
young bright life is too precious to throw lightly away; now especially
when she is on the very threshold of new happiness. I do not wish to
see her life given, as her dear mother’s was—”
He broke down for a moment, and covered his eyes with his hands. In an
instant Margaret was beside him, clasping him close, and kissing him,
and comforting him with loving words. Then, standing erect, with one
hand on his head, she said:
“Father! mother did not bid you stay beside her, even when you wanted
to go on that journey of unknown danger to Egypt; though that country
was then upset from end to end with war and the dangers that follow
war. You have told me how she left you free to go as you wished; though
that she thought of danger for you and feared it for you, is proved
by this!” She held up her wrist with the scar that seemed to run
blood. “Now, mother’s daughter does as mother would have done herself!”
Then she turned to me:
“Malcolm, you know I love you! But love is trust; and you must trust
me in danger as well as in joy. You and I must stand beside Father in
this unknown peril. Together we shall come through it; or together we
shall fail; together we shall die. That is my wish; my first wish to my
husband that is to be! Do you not think that, as a daughter, I am
right? Tell my Father what you think!”
She looked like a Queen stooping to plead. My love for her grew and
grew. I stood up beside her; and took her hand and said:
“Mr. Trelawny! in this Margaret and I are one!”
He took both our hands and held them hard. Presently he said with deep
emotion:
“It is as her mother would have done!”
Mr. Corbeck and Doctor Winchester came exactly at the time appointed,
and joined us in the library. Despite my great happiness I felt our
meeting to be a very solemn function. For I could never forget the
strange things that had been; and the idea of the strange things which
might be, was with me like a cloud, pressing down on us all. From the
gravity of my companions I gathered that each of them also was ruled by
some such dominating thought.
Instinctively we gathered our chairs into a circle round Mr. Trelawny,
who had taken the great arm-chair near the window. Margaret sat by him
on his right, and I was next to her. Mr. Corbeck was on his left, with
Doctor Winchester on the other side. After a few seconds of silence Mr.
Trelawny said to Mr. Corbeck:
“You have told Doctor Winchester all up to the present, as we arranged?”
“Yes,” he answered; so Mr. Trelawny said:
“And I have told Margaret, so we all know!” Then, turning to the
Doctor, he asked:
“And am I to take it that you, knowing all as we know it who have
followed the matter for years, wish to share in the experiment which we
hope to make?” His answer was direct and uncompromising:
“Certainly! Why, when this matter was fresh to me, I offered to go on
with it to the end. Now that it is of such strange interest, I would
not miss it for anything which you could name. Be quite easy in your
mind, Mr. Trelawny. I am a scientist and an investigator of phenomena.
I have no one belonging to me or dependent on me. I am quite alone,
and free to do what I like with my own—including my life!” Mr.
Trelawny bowed gravely, and turning to Mr. Corbeck said:
“I have known your ideas for many years past, old friend; so I need ask
you nothing. As to Margaret and Malcolm Ross, they have already told me
their wishes in no uncertain way.” He paused a few seconds, as though
to put his thoughts or his words in order; then he began to explain his
views and intentions. He spoke very carefully, seeming always to bear
in mind that some of us who listened were ignorant of the very root and
nature of some things touched upon, and explaining them to us as he
went on:
“The experiment which is before us is to try whether or no there is any
force, any reality, in the old Magic. There could not possibly be more
favourable conditions for the test; and it is my own desire to do all
that is possible to make the original design effective. That there is
some such existing power I firmly believe. It might not be possible to
create, or arrange, or organise such a power in our own time; but I
take it that if in Old Time such a power existed, it may have some
exceptional survival. After all, the Bible is not a myth; and we read
there that the sun stood still at a man’s command, and that an ass—not
a human one—spoke. And if the Witch at Endor could call up to Saul
the spirit of Samuel, why may not there have been others with equal
powers; and why may not one among them survive? Indeed, we are told in
the Book of Samuel that the Witch of Endor was only one of many, and
her being consulted by Saul was a matter of chance. He only sought one
among the many whom he had driven out of Israel; ‘all those that had
Familiar Spirits, and the Wizards.’ This Egyptian Queen, Tera, who
reigned nearly two thousand years before Saul, had a Familiar, and was
a Wizard too. See how the priests of her time, and those after it
tried to wipe out her name from the face of the earth, and put a curse
over the very door of her tomb so that none might ever discover the
lost name. Ay, and they succeeded so well that even Manetho, the
historian of the Egyptian Kings, writing in the tenth century before
Christ, with all the lore of the priesthood for forty centuries behind
him, and with possibility of access to every existing record, could not
even find her name. Did it strike any of you, in thinking of the late
events, who or what her Familiar was?” There was an interruption, for
Doctor Winchester struck one hand loudly on the other as he ejaculated:
“The cat! The mummy cat! I knew it!” Mr. Trelawny smiled over at him.
“You are right! There is every indication that the Familiar of the
Wizard Queen was that cat which was mummied when she was, and was not
only placed in her tomb, but was laid in the sarcophagus with her.
That was what bit into my wrist, what cut me with sharp claws.” He
paused. Margaret’s comment was a purely girlish one:
“Then my poor Silvio is acquitted! I am glad!” Her father stroked her
hair and went on:
“This woman seems to have had an extraordinary foresight. Foresight
far, far beyond her age and the philosophy of her time. She seems to
have seen through the weakness of her own religion, and even prepared
for emergence into a different world. All her aspirations were for the
North, the point of the compass whence blew the cool invigorating
breezes that make life a joy. From the first, her eyes seem to have
been attracted to the seven stars of the Plough from the fact, as
recorded in the hieroglyphics in her tomb, that at her birth a great
aerolite fell, from whose heart was finally extracted that Jewel of
Seven Stars which she regarded as the talisman of her life. It seems
to have so far ruled her destiny that all her thought and care circled
round it. The Magic Coffer, so wondrously wrought with seven sides, we
learn from the same source, came from the aerolite. Seven was to her a
magic number; and no wonder. With seven fingers on one hand, and seven
toes on one foot. With a talisman of a rare ruby with seven stars in
the same position as in that constellation which ruled her birth, each
star of the seven having seven points—in itself a geological
wonder—it would have been odd if she had not been attracted by it.
Again, she was born, we learn in the Stele of her tomb, in the seventh
month of the year—the month beginning with the Inundation of the Nile.
Of which month the presiding Goddess was Hathor, the Goddess of her own
house, of the Antefs of the Theban line—the Goddess who in various
forms symbolises beauty, and pleasure, and resurrection. Again, in
this seventh month—which, by later Egyptian astronomy began on October
28th, and ran to the 27th of our November—on the seventh day the
Pointer of the Plough just rises above the horizon of the sky at Thebes.
“In a marvellously strange way, therefore, are grouped into this
woman’s life these various things. The number seven; the Pole Star,
with the constellation of seven stars; the God of the month, Hathor,
who was her own particular God, the God of her family, the Antefs of
the Theban Dynasty, whose Kings’ symbol it was, and whose seven forms
ruled love and the delights of life and resurrection. If ever there
was ground for magic; for the power of symbolism carried into mystic
use; for a belief in finites spirits in an age which knew not the
Living God, it is here.
“Remember, too, that this woman was skilled in all the science of her
time. Her wise and cautious father took care of that, knowing that by
her own wisdom she must ultimately combat the intrigues of the
Hierarchy. Bear in mind that in old Egypt the science of Astronomy
began and was developed to an extraordinary height; and that Astrology
followed Astronomy in its progress. And it is possible that in the
later developments of science with regard to light rays, we may yet
find that Astrology is on a scientific basis. Our next wave of
scientific thought may deal with this. I shall have something special
to call your minds to on this point presently. Bear in mind also that
the Egyptians knew sciences, of which today, despite all our
advantages, we are profoundly ignorant. Acoustics, for instance, an
exact science with the builders of the temples of Karnak, of Luxor, of
the Pyramids, is today a mystery to Bell, and Kelvin, and Edison, and
Marconi. Again, these old miracle-workers probably understood some
practical way of using other forces, and amongst them the forces of
light that at present we do not dream of. But of this matter I shall
speak later. That Magic Coffer of Queen Tera is probably a magic box
in more ways than one. It may—possibly it does—contain forces that
we wot not of. We cannot open it; it must be closed from within. How
then was it closed? It is a coffer of solid stone, of amazing
hardness, more like a jewel than an ordinary marble, with a lid equally
solid; and yet all is so finely wrought that the finest tool made today
cannot be inserted under the flange. How was it wrought to such
perfection? How was the stone so chosen that those translucent patches
match the relations of the seven stars of the constellation? How is
it, or from what cause, that when the starlight shines on it, it glows
from within—that when I fix the lamps in similar form the glow grows
greater still; and yet the box is irresponsive to ordinary light
however great? I tell you that that box hides some great mystery of
science. We shall find that the light will open it in some way:
either by striking on some substance, sensitive in a peculiar way to
its effect, or in releasing some greater power. I only trust that in
our ignorance we may not so bungle things as to do harm to its
mechanism; and so deprive the knowledge of our time of a lesson handed
down, as by a miracle, through nearly five thousand years.
“In another way, too, there may be hidden in that box secrets which,
for good or ill, may enlighten the world. We know from their records,
and inferentially also, that the Egyptians studied the properties of
herbs and minerals for magic purposes—white magic as well as black.
We know that some of the wizards of old could induce from sleep dreams
of any given kind. That this purpose was mainly effected by hypnotism,
which was another art or science of Old Nile, I have little doubt. But
still, they must have had a mastery of drugs that is far beyond
anything we know. With our own pharmacopoeia we can, to a certain
extent, induce dreams. We may even differentiate between good and
bad—dreams of pleasure, or disturbing and harrowing dreams. But these
old practitioners seemed to have been able to command at will any form
or colour of dreaming; could work round any given subject or thought in
almost any was required. In that coffer, which you have seen, may rest
a very armoury of dreams. Indeed, some of the forces that lie within
it may have been already used in my household.” Again there was an
interruption from Doctor Winchester.
“But if in your case some of these imprisoned forces were used, what
set them free at the opportune time, or how? Besides, you and Mr.
Corbeck were once before put into a trance for three whole days, when
you were in the Queen’s tomb for the second time. And then, as I
gathered from Mr. Corbeck’s story, the coffer was not back in the tomb,
though the mummy was. Surely in both these cases there must have been
some active intelligence awake, and with some other power to wield.”
Mr. Trelawny’s answer was equally to the point:
“There was some active intelligence awake. I am convinced of it. And
it wielded a power which it never lacks. I believe that on both those
occasions hypnotism was the power wielded.”
“And wherein is that power contained? What view do you hold on the
subject?” Doctor Winchester’s voice vibrated with the intensity of his
excitement as he leaned forward, breathing hard, and with eyes staring.
Mr. Trelawny said solemnly:
“In the mummy of the Queen Tera! I was coming to that presently.
Perhaps we had better wait till I clear the ground a little. What I
hold is, that the preparation of that box was made for a special
occasion; as indeed were all the preparations of the tomb and all
belonging to it. Queen Tera did not trouble herself to guard against
snakes and scorpions, in that rocky tomb cut in the sheer cliff face a
hundred feet above the level of the valley, and fifty down from the
summit. Her precautions were against the disturbances of human hands;
against the jealousy and hatred of the priests, who, had they known of
her real aims, would have tried to baffle them. From her point of
view, she made all ready for the time of resurrection, whenever that
might be. I gather from the symbolic pictures in the tomb that she so
far differed from the belief of her time that she looked for a
resurrection in the flesh. It was doubtless this that intensified the
hatred of the priesthood, and gave them an acceptable cause for
obliterating the very existence, present and future, of one who had
outraged their theories and blasphemed their gods. All that she might
require, either in the accomplishment of the resurrection or after it,
were contained in that almost hermetically sealed suite of chambers in
the rock. In the great sarcophagus, which as you know is of a size
quite unusual even for kings, was the mummy of her Familiar, the cat,
which from its great size I take to be a sort of tiger-cat. In the
tomb, also in a strong receptacle, were the canopic jars usually
containing those internal organs which are separately embalmed, but
which in this case had no such contents. So that, I take it, there was
in her case a departure in embalming; and that the organs were restored
to the body, each in its proper place—if, indeed, they had ever been
removed. If this surmise be true, we shall find that the brain of the
Queen either was never extracted in the usual way, or, if so taken out,
that it was duly replaced, instead of being enclosed within the mummy
wrappings. Finally, in the sarcophagus there was the Magic Coffer on
which her feet rested. Mark you also, the care taken in the
preservance of her power to control the elements. According to her
belief, the open hand outside the wrappings controlled the Air, and the
strange Jewel Stone with the shining stars controlled Fire. The
symbolism inscribed on the soles of her feet gave sway over Land and
Water. About the Star Stone I shall tell you later; but whilst we are
speaking of the sarcophagus, mark how she guarded her secret in case of
grave-wrecking or intrusion. None could open her Magic Coffer without
the lamps, for we know now that ordinary light will not be effective.
The great lid of the sarcophagus was not sealed down as usual, because
she wished to control the air. But she hid the lamps, which in
structure belong to the Magic Coffer, in a place where none could find
them, except by following the secret guidance which she had prepared
for only the eyes of wisdom. And even here she had guarded against
chance discovery, by preparing a bolt of death for the unwary
discoverer. To do this she had applied the lesson of the tradition of
the avenging guard of the treasures of the pyramid, built by her great
predecessor of the Fourth Dynasty of the throne of Egypt.
“You have noted, I suppose, how there were, in the case of her tomb,
certain deviations from the usual rules. For instance, the shaft of
the Mummy Pit, which is usually filled up solid with stones and
rubbish, was left open. Why was this? I take it that she had made
arrangements for leaving the tomb when, after her resurrection, she
should be a new woman, with a different personality, and less inured to
the hardships that in her first existence she had suffered. So far as
we can judge of her intent, all things needful for her exit into the
world had been thought of, even to the iron chain, described by Van
Huyn, close to the door in the rock, by which she might be able to
lower herself to the ground. That she expected a long period to elapse
was shown in the choice of material. An ordinary rope would be
rendered weaker or unsafe in process of time, but she imagined, and
rightly, that the iron would endure.
“What her intentions were when once she trod the open earth afresh we
do not know, and we never shall, unless her own dead lips can soften
and speak.”