“Why yes, as a legendary story the idea is beautiful,”—I admitted—“And to me, as I told you once before, quite new. Still, as men are never likely to be honest or women pure, I’m afraid the poor devil stands a bad chance of ever getting redeemed!”
“I fear so too!” and he eyed me with a curious derision—“I very much fear so! And his chances being so slight, I rather respect him for being the Arch-Enemy of such a worthless race!” He paused a moment, then added—“I wonder how we have managed to get on such an absurd subject of conversation? It is dull and uninteresting as all ‘spiritual’ themes invariably are. My object in bringing you out on this voyage is not to indulge in psychological argument, but to make you forget your troubles as much as possible, and enjoy the present while it lasts.”
There was a vibration of compassionate kindness in his voice which at once moved me to an acute sense of self-pity, the worst enervator of moral force that exists. I sighed heavily.
“Truly I have suffered”—I said—“More than most men!”
“More even than most millionaires deserve to suffer!” declared Lucio, with that inevitable touch of sarcasm which distinguished some of his friendliest remarks—“Money is supposed to make amends to a man for everything,—and even the wealthy wife of a certain Irish ‘patriot’ has not found it incompatible with affection to hold her moneybags close to herself while her husband has been declared a bankrupt. How she has ‘idolized’ him, let others say! Now, considering your cash-abundance, it must be owned the fates have treated you somewhat unkindly!”
[p 443]
The smile that was half-cruel and half-sweet radiated in his eyes as he spoke,—and again a singular revulsion of feeling against him moved me to dislike and fear. And yet,—how fascinating was his company! I could not but admit that the voyage with him to Alexandria on board ‘The Flame’ was one of positive enchantment and luxury all the way. There was nothing in a material sense left to wish for,—all that could appeal to the intelligence or the imagination had been thought of on board this wonderful yacht which sped like a fairy ship over the sea. Some of the sailors were skilled musicians, and on tranquil nights or at sunset, would bring stringed instruments and discourse to our ears the most dulcet and ravishing melodies. Lucio himself too would often sing,—his luscious voice resounding, as it seemed, over all the visible sea and sky, with such passion as might have drawn an angel down to listen. Gradually my mind became impregnated with these snatches of mournful, fierce, or weird minor tunes,—and I began to suffer in silence from an inexplicable depression and foreboding sense of misery, as well as from another terrible feeling to which I could scarcely give a name,—a dreadful uncertainty of myself, as of one lost in a wilderness and about to die. I endured these fits of mental agony alone,—and in such dreary burning moments, believed I was going mad. I grew more and more sullen and taciturn, and when we at last arrived at Alexandria I was not moved to any particular pleasure. The place was new to me, but I was not conscious of novelty,—everything seemed flat, dull, and totally uninteresting. A heavy almost lethargic stupor chained my wits, and when we left the yacht in harbour and went on to Cairo, I was not sensible of any personal enjoyment in the journey, or interest in what I saw. I was only partially roused when we took possession of a luxurious dahabeah, which, with a retinue of attendants, had been specially chartered for us, and commenced our lotus-like voyage up the Nile. The reed-edged, sluggish yellow river fascinated me,—I used to spend long hours reclining at full length in a deck-chair, gazing at the flat shores, the blown sand-heaps, the broken [p 444] columns and mutilated temples of the dead kingdoms of the past. One evening, thus musing, while the great golden moon climbed languidly up into the sky to stare at the wrecks of earthly ages I said—
“If one could only see these ancient cities as they once existed, what strange revelations might be made! Our modern marvels of civilization and progress might seem small trifles after all,—for I believe in our days we are only re-discovering what the peoples of old time knew.”
Lucio drew his cigar from his mouth and looked at it meditatively. Then he glanced up at me with a half-smile—
“Would you like to see a city resuscitated?” he inquired—“Here, in this very spot, some six thousand years ago, a king reigned, with a woman not his queen but his favourite, (quite a lawful arrangement in those days) who was as famous for her beauty and virtue, as this river is for its fructifying tide. Here civilization had progressed enormously,—with the one exception that it had not outgrown faith. Modern France and England have beaten the ancients in their scorn of God and creed, their contempt for divine things, their unnameable lasciviousness and blasphemy. This city”——and he waved his hand towards a dreary stretch of shore where a cluster of tall reeds waved above the monster fragment of a fallen column,—“was governed by the strong pure faith of its people more than anything,—and the ruler of social things in it was a woman. The king’s favourite was something like Mavis Clare in that she possessed genius,—she had also the qualities of justice, intelligence, love, truth and a most noble unselfishness,—she made this place happy. It was a paradise on earth while she lived,—when she died, its glory ended. So much can a woman do if she chooses,—so much does she not do, in her usual cow-like way of living!”
“How do you know all this you tell me of?” I asked him.