Perhaps there is no lovelier effect in all nature than a Sicilian
sunset, when the sky is one rich blaze of colour and the sea below
reflects every vivid hue as in a mirror,--when the very air breathes
voluptuous indolence, and all the restless work of man seems an
impertinence rather than a necessity. Morgana, for once in her quick
restless life, felt the sudden charm of sweet peace and holy
tranquility, as she sat, or rather reclined at ease in a long lounge
chair after dinner in her rose-marble loggia facing the sea and
watching the intense radiance of the heavens burning into the still
waters beneath. She had passed the afternoon going over her whole house
and gardens, and to the Marchese Giulio Rivardi had expressed herself
completely satisfied,--while he, to whom unlimited means had been
entrusted to carry out her wishes, wondered silently as to the real
extent of her fortune, and why she should have spent so much in
restoring a "palazzo" for herself alone. An occasional thought of "the
only man" she had said she was "disposed" to like, teased his brain;
but he was not petty-minded or jealous. He was keenly and sincerely
interested in her intellectual capacity, and he knew, or thought he
knew, the nature of woman. He watched her now as she reclined, a small
slim figure in white, with the red glow of the sun playing on the gold
uptwisted coil of her hair,--a few people of the neighbourhood had
joined her at dinner, and these were seated about, sipping coffee and
chatting in the usual frivolous way of after-dinner guests--one or two
of them were English who had made their home in Sicily,--the others
were travelling Americans.
"I guess you're pretty satisfied with your location, Miss Royal"--said
one of these, a pleasant-faced grey-haired man, who for four or five
years past had wintered in Sicily with his wife, a frail little
creature always on the verge of the next world--"It would be difficult
to match this place anywhere! You only want one thing to complete it!"
Morgana turned her lovely eyes indolently towards him over the top of
the soft feather fan she was waving lightly to and fro.
"One thing? What is that?" she queried.
"A husband!"
She smiled.
"The usual appendage!" she said--"To my mind, quite unnecessary, and
likely to spoil the most perfect environment! Though the Marchese
Rivardi DID ask me to-day what was the use of my pretty 'palazzo' and
gardens without love! A sort of ethical conundrum!"
She glanced at Rivardi as she spoke--he was rolling a cigarette in his
slim brown fingers and his face was impassively intent on his
occupation.
"Well, that's so!"--and her American friend looked at her kindly--"Even
a fairy palace and a fairy garden might prove lonesome for one!"
"And boresome for two!" laughed Morgana--"My dear Colonel Boyd! It is
not every one who is fitted for matrimony--and there exist so many that
ARE,--eminently fitted--we can surely allow a few exceptions! I am one
of those exceptions. A husband would be excessively tiresome to me, and
very much in my way!"
Colonel Boyd laughed heartily.
"You won't always think so!" he said--"Such a charming little woman
must have a heart somewhere!"
"Oh, yes, dear!" chimed in his fragile invalid wife, "I am sure you
have a heart!"
Morgana raised herself on her cushions to a sitting posture and looked
round her with a curious little air or defiance.
"A heart I MUST have!" she said--"otherwise I could not live. It is a
necessary muscle. But what YOU call 'heart'--and what the dear elusive
poets write about, is simply brain,--that is to say, an impulsive
movement of the brain, suggesting the desirability of a particular
person's companionship--and we elect to call that 'love'! On that mere
impulse people marry."
"It's a good impulse"--said Colonel Boyd, still smiling broadly--"It
founds families and continues the race!"
"Ah, yes! But I often wonder why the race should be continued at all!"
said Morgana--"The time is ripe for a new creation!"
A slow footfall sounded on the garden path, and the tall figure of a
man clad in the everyday ecclesiastical garb of the Roman Church
ascended the steps of the loggia.
"Don Aloysius!" quickly exclaimed the Marchese, and every one rose to
greet the newcomer, Morgana receiving him with a profound reverence. He
laid his hand on her head with a kindly touch of benediction.
"So the dreamer has come to her dream!" he said, in soft accents--"And
it has not broken like an air-bubble!--it still floats and shines!" As
he spoke he courteously saluted all present by a bend of his head,--and
stood for a moment gazing at the view of the sea and the dying sunset.
He was a very striking figure of a man--tall, and commanding in air and
attitude, with a fine face which might be called almost beautiful. The
features were such as one sees in classic marbles--the full clear eyes
were set somewhat widely apart under shelving brows that denoted a
brain with intelligence to use it, and the smile that lightened his
expression as he looked from, the sea to his fair hostess was of a
benignant sweetness.
"Yes"--he continued--"you have realised your vision of loveliness, have
you not? Our friend Giulio Rivardi has carried out all your plans?"
"Everything is perfect!" said Morgana--"Or will be when it is finished.
The workmen still have things to do."
"All workmen always have things to do!" said Don Aloysius,
tranquilly--"And nothing is ever finished! And you, dear child!--you
are happy?"
She flushed and paled under his deep, steady gaze.
"I--I think so!" she murmured--"I ought to be!"
The priest smiled and after a pause took the chair which the Marchese
Rivardi offered him. The other guests in the loggia looked at him with
interest, fascinated by his grave charm of manner. Morgana resumed her
seat.
"I ought to be happy"--she said--"And of course I am--or I shall be!"
"'Man never is but always to be blest'!" quoted Colonel Boyd--"And
woman the same! I have been telling this lady, reverend father, that
maybe she will find her 'palazzo' a bit lonesome without some one to
share its pleasures."
Don Aloysius looked round with a questioning glance.
"What does she herself think about it?" he asked, mildly.
"I have not thought at all"--said Morgana, quickly, "I can always fill
it with friends. No end of people are glad to winter in Sicily."
"But will such 'friends' care for YOU or YOUR happiness?" suggested the
Marchese, pointedly.
Morgana laughed.
"Oh, no, I do not expect that! Nowadays no one really cares for anybody
else's happiness but their own. Besides, I shall be much too busy to
want company. I'm bent on all sorts of discoveries, you know!--I want
to dive 'deeper than ever plummet sounded'!"
"You will only find deeper depths!" said Don Aloysius, slowly--"And in
the very deepest depth of all is God!"
There was a sudden hush as he spoke. He went on in gentle accents.
"How wonderful it is that He should be THERE,--and yet HERE! No one
need 'dive deep' to find Him. He is close to us as our very breathing!
Ah!" and he sighed--"I am sorry for all the busy 'discoverers'--they
will never arrive at the end,--and meanwhile they miss the clue--the
little secret by the way!"
Another pause ensued. Then Morgana spoke, in a very quiet and
submissive tone.
"Dear Don Aloysius, you are a 'religious' as they say--and naturally
you mistrust all seekers of science--science which is upsetting to your
doctrine."
Aloysius raised a deprecating hand.
"My child, there is no science that can upset the Source of all
science! The greatest mathematician that lives did not institute
mathematics--he only copies the existing Divine law."
"That is perfectly true"--said the Marchese Rivardi--"But la Signora
Royal means that the dogma of the Church is in opposition to scientific
discovery--"
"I have not found it so"--said Don Aloysius, tranquilly--"We have
believed in what you call your 'wireless telephony'--for
centuries;--when the Sanctus bell rings at Mass, we think and hope a
message from Our Lord comes to every worshipper whose soul is 'in tune'
with the heavenly current; that is one of your 'scientific
discoveries'--and there are hundreds of others which the Church has
incorporated through a mystic fore-knowledge and prophetic instinct.
No--I find nothing upsetting in science,--the only students who are
truly upset both physically and morally, are they who seek to discover
God while denying His existence."
There followed a silence. The group in the loggia seemed for the moment
mesmerised by the priest's suave calm voice, steady eyes and noble
expression, A bell rang slowly and sweetly--a call to prayer in some
not far distant monastery, and the first glimmer of the stars began to
sparkle faintly in the darkening heavens. A little sigh from Morgana
stirred the stillness.
"If one could always live in this sort of mood!" she suddenly
exclaimed--"This lovely peace in the glow of the sunset and the perfume
of the flowers!--and you, Don Aloysius, talking beautiful things!--why
then, one would be perpetually happy and good! But such living would
not be life!--one must go with the time--"
Don Aloysius smiled indulgently.
"Must one? Is it so vitally necessary? If I might take the liberty to
go on speaking I would tell you a story--a mere tradition--but it might
weary you--"
A general chorus of protest from all present assured him of their
eagerness to hear.
"As if YOU could weary anybody!" Morgana said. "You never do--only you
have an effect upon ME which is not very flattering to my
self-love!--you make me feel so small!"
You ARE small, physically"--said Don Aloysius--Do you mind that? Small
things are always sweetest!"
She flushed, and turned her head away as she caught the Marchese
Rivardi's eyes fixed upon her.
"You should not make pretty compliments to a woman, reverend father!"
she said, lightly--"It is not your vocation!"
His grave face brightened and he laughed with real heartiness.
"Dear lady, what do you know of my vocation?" he asked--"Will you teach
it to me? No!--I am sure you will not try! Listen now!--as you all give
me permission--let me tell you of certain people who once 'went with
the time'--and decided to stop en route, and are still at the
stopping-place. Perhaps some of you who travel far and often, have
heard of the Brazen City?"
Each one looked at the other enquiringly, but with no responsive result.
"Those who visit the East know of it"--went on Aloysius--"And some say
they have seen a glimpse of its shining towers and cupolas in the far
distance. However this may be, tradition declares that it exists, and
that it was founded by St. John, the 'beloved disciple.' You will
recall that when Our Lord was asked when and how John should die He
answered--'If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee?'
So--as we read--the rumour went forth that John was the one disciple
for whom there should be no death. And now--to go on with the
legend--it is believed by many, that deep in the as yet unexplored
depths of the deserts of Egypt--miles and miles over rolling sand-waves
which once formed the bed of a vast ocean, there stands a great city
whose roofs and towers are seemingly of brass,--a city barricaded and
built in by walls of brass and guarded by gates of brass. Here dwells a
race apart--a race of beautiful human creatures who have discovered the
secret of perpetual youth and immortality on this earth. They have seen
the centuries come and go,--the flight of time touches them not,--they
only await the day when the whole world will be free to them--that
'world to come' which is not made for the 'many,' but the 'few.' All
the discoveries of our modern science are known to them--our inventions
are their common everyday appliances--and on the wings of air and rays
of light they hear and know all that goes on in every country. Our wars
and politics are no more to them than the wars and politics of ants in
ant-hills,--they have passed beyond all trivialities such as these.
They have discovered the secret of life's true enjoyment--and--they
enjoy!"
"That's a fine story if true!" said Colonel Boyd--
"But all the same, it must be dull work living shut up in a city with
nothing to do,--doomed to be young and to last for ever!"
Morgana had listened intently,--her eyes were brilliant.
"Yes--I think it would be dull after a couple of hundred years or
so"--she said--"One would have tested all life's possibilities and
pleasures by then."
"I am not so sure of that!" put in the Marchese Rivardi--"With youth
nothing could become tiresome--youth knows no ennui."
Some of the other listeners to the conversation laughed.
"I cannot quite agree to that"--said a lady who had not yet
spoken--"Nowadays the very children are 'bored' and ever looking for
something new--it is just as if the world were 'played out'--and
another form of planet expected."
"That is where we retain the vitality of our faith--" said Don
Aloysius--"We expect--we hope! We believe in an immortal progress
towards an ever Higher Good."
"But I think even a soul may grow tired!" said Morgana, suddenly--"so
tired that even the Highest Good may seem hardly worth possessing!"
There was a moment's silence.
"Povera figlia!" murmured Aloysius, hardly above his breath,--but she
caught the whisper, and smiled.
"I am too analytical and pessimistic," she said--"Let us all go for a
ramble among the flowers and down to the sea! Nature is the best
talker, for the very reason that she has no speech!"
The party broke up in twos and threes and left the loggia for the
garden. Rivardi remained a moment behind, obeying a slight sign from
Aloysius.
"She is not happy!" said the priest--"With all her wealth, and all her
gifts of intelligence she is not happy, nor is she satisfied. Do you
not find it so?"
"No woman is happy or satisfied till love has kissed her on the mouth
and eyes!" answered Rivardi, with a touch of passion in his
voice,--"But who will convince her of that? She is satisfied with her
beautiful surroundings,--all the work I have designed for her has
pleased her,--she has found no fault--"
"And she has paid you loyally!" interpolated Aloysius--"Do not forget
that! She has made your fortune. And no doubt she expects you to stop
at that and go no further in an attempt to possess herself as well as
her millions!"
The Marchese flushed hotly under the quiet gaze of the priest's steady
dark eyes.
"It is a great temptation," went on Aloysius, gently--"But you must
resist it, my son! I know what it would mean to you--the restoration of
your grand old home--that home which received a Roman Emperor in the
long ago days of history and which presents now to your eyes so
desolate a picture with its crumbling walls and decaying gardens
beautiful in their wild desolation!--yes, I know all this!--I know how
you would like to rehabilitate the ancient family and make the
venerable genealogical tree sprout forth into fresh leaves and branches
by marriage with this strange little creature whose vast wealth sets
her apart in such loneliness,--but I doubt the wisdom or the honour of
such a course--I also doubt whether she would make a fitting wife for
you or for any man!"
The Marchese raised his eyebrows expressively with the slightest shrug
of his shoulders.
"You may doubt that of every modern woman!" he said--"Few are really
'fitting' for marriage nowadays. They want something
different--something new!--God alone knows what they want!"
Don Aloysius sighed.
"Aye! God alone knows! And God alone will decide what to give them!"
"It must be something more 'sensational' than husband and children!"
said Rivardi a trifle bitterly--"Only a primitive woman will care for
these!"
The priest laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Come, come! Do not be cynical, my son! I think with you that if
anything can find an entrance to a woman's soul it is love--but the
woman must be capable of loving. That is the difficulty with the little
millionairess Royal. She is not capable!"
He uttered the last words slowly and with emphasis.
Rivardi gave him a quick searching glance.
"You seem to know that as a certainty"--he said, "How and why do you
know it?"
Aloysius raised his eyes and looked straight ahead of him with a
curious, far-off, yet searching intensity.
"I cannot tell you how or why"--he answered--"You would not believe me
if I told you that sometimes in this wonderful world of ours, beings
are born who are neither man nor woman, and who partake of a nature
that is not so much human as elemental and ethereal--or might one not
almost say, atmospheric? That is, though generated of flesh and blood,
they are not altogether flesh and blood, but possess other untested and
unproved essences mingled in their composition, of which as yet we can
form no idea. We grope in utter ignorance of the greatest of
mysteries--Life!--and with all our modern advancement, we are utterly
unable to measure or to account for life's many and various
manifestations. In the very early days of imaginative prophecy, the
'elemental' nature of certain beings was accepted by men accounted wise
in their own time,--in the long ago discredited assertions of the Count
de Gabalis and others of his mystic cult,--and I am not entirely sure
that there does not exist some ground for their beliefs. Life is
many-sided;--humanity can only be one facet of the diamond."
Giulio Rivardi had listened with surprised attention.
"You seem to imply then"--he said--"that this rich woman, Morgana
Royal, is hardly a woman at all?--a kind of sexless creature incapable
of love?"
"Incapable of the usual kind of so-called 'love'--yes!" answered
Aloysius--"But of love in other forms I can say nothing, for I know
nothing!--she may be capable of a passion deep and mysterious as life
itself. But come!--we might talk all night and arrive no closer to the
solving of this little feminine problem! You are fortunate in your
vocation of artist and designer, to have been chosen by her to carry
out her conceptions of structural and picturesque beauty--let the
romance stay there!--and do not try to become the husband of a Sphinx!"
He smiled, resting his hand on the Marchese's shoulder with easy
familiarity.
"See where she stands!" he continued,--and they both looked towards the
beautiful flower-bordered terrace at the verge of the gardens
overhanging the sea where for the moment Morgana stood alone, a small
white figure bathed in the deep rose afterglow of the sunken sun--"Like
a pearl dropped in a cup of red wine!--ready to dissolve and disappear!"
His voice had a strange thrill in it, and Giulio looked at him
curiously.
"You admire her very much, my father!" he said, with a touch of
delicate irony in his tone.
"I do, my son!" responded Aloysius, composedly, "But only as a poor
priest may--at a distance!"
The Marchese glanced at him again quickly,--almost suspiciously--and
seemed about to say something further, but checked himself,--and the
two walked on to join their hostess, side by side together.