# The Mummy (Loudon)/Volume 3/Chapter 8

CHAPTER VIII.
"Have you heard the news?" asked Lord Maysworth one morning, bustling into the breakfast-room of Lord Gustavus de Montfort.
"What is it?" demanded that noble lord, who was sitting at breakfast with his usual satellites.
"The King of Ireland has arrived at Oxford with an immense army, intending to re-establish Elvira."
"Impossible!" cried Lord Gustavus.
"Impossible!" echoed the satellites.
"Something must be done," said Lord Maysworth.
"Thinking as I think, and as I am confident every one who hears me must think, or at least, ​ought to think," said Lord Gustavus; "no government can be worse than the one we have at present."
"The Queen has not performed one of her promises," subjoined Dr. Hardman; "and her caprice and cruelty are beyond endurance."
"Her extravagance is unbounded," said Lord Maysworth.
"And her arrogance extreme," rejoined Lord Gustavus.
The satellites shook their heads in chorus.
"In my opinion," said Lord Maysworth, "we had better seek Elvira and try to propitiate her. She was used to be mild and gentle."
"But will she not be too much exasperated with our former desertion, to listen to us?" asked Dr. Hardman.
"I think not," said Lord Gustavus pompously.
The result of this conference may be easily imagined. Rosabella found herself deserted; many who would not have had courage to abandon her cause, had they not found precedents ​for their conduct, fled in the suite of the rebel lords. Roderick rapidly advanced, and his army was every day augmented by the discontented English.
"I am lost, Marianne!" cried the Queen, when she found the enemy was within a day's march of her capital; "I am ruined past redemption."
"Do not desert yourself," said Marianne, "and you may yet be saved. If you despair, it is a virtual acknowledgment of the weakness of your cause."
"What will become of me?" continued Rosabella, wringing her hands; "no earthly help can save me."
"But courage may," said the deep voice of Cheops, who had entered the room unobserved.
"Ah!" screamed Rosabella; "it is the fiend!"
Cheops laughed, and the unearthly sound rang hoarsely in the ears of his auditors.
"Speak, demon! or whatever thou art," cried Marianne; "shall we perish?"
"You shall meet with your reward!" said the Mummy calmly: "Are you satisfied?"
​"Oh, Rosabella!" screamed Father Morris, rushing into the room in an agony of despair; "save her! save my child!"
"Your child?" cried Rosabella; "can it be possible that you are my father?"
"I am—I am;—but fly—fly—and I forgive every thing; only let us fly!"
"Alas!" cried Marianne; "he has but too much reason for his agony. The enemy have entered the city."
"What will become of us?" ejaculated the friar. "Fiend! monster! barbarian!" cried he, addressing Cheops, and seizing him roughly by the arm; "deliver us! It was thy accursed counsels which involved us in ruin. Save us!"
"My counsels that led you to ruin!" returned Cheops, with one of his bitter laughs; "say rather, your own passions. Did I urge you to murder Claudia? Nay, did I not save Elvira? Did I not warn you that the throne and misery were inseparably connected? And have not all my promises been fulfilled to the very letter?"
​"Yes, yes; to the letter," returned Father Morris; "but not in spirit."
"By the sacred hawks of Osiris kept at Edfou! I swore Rosabella should be Queen, and you her favourite minister."
"Talk not of what is past," cried the priest impatiently; "tell me how to act. The foe is at the gates of the palace."
"Did you not say there was a secret passage, leading from this chamber?"
"There is! there is!" cried Father Morris, with rapture; "we will there lie concealed, and may surprise them."
Cheops laughed:—"Am I still your foe?" asked he, with his usual bitterness.
"Name it not, name it not!" cried Father Morris; "we have not an instant to lose. Hurry into the subterranean passage. I hear the horses of the enemy in the court of the palace!"
"Thebes was perforated with passages, yet she has fallen," muttered Cheops, as he followed the friar and Rosabella through the opening into the secret chamber; ​Marianne joined them, and the spring pannel closed.
Nothing could be more flattering than the reception Elvira met with from her people. Roderick had placed her at the head of his army, and the people hailed her appearance with rapture. Not a blow had been struck, for the army of Rosabella had joined her banners; and Elvira advanced to London without opposition. Too mild and forgiving to indulge a single feeling of revenge, she felt rejoiced that her rival had escaped, and wished no pursuit to be instituted.
Edric, however, was not so quiescent. A thousand circumstances flashed upon his mind, to prove that the accession of Rosabella had been long planned by Father Morris, and he felt convinced he had been the dupe of the plans they had laid to induce him to quit the kingdom.
"I will find him," said he, "and expose his infamy. He shall not escape me thus."
Vain, however, was his search, and he returned to the room so lately occupied by Rosabella restless and dispirited. Elvira was now in this ​splendid chamber, surrounded by her friends; and, trembling with agitation, was awaiting the expected arrival of her father.
"Oh, Heavens!" exclaimed she, as the poor old man was led in; "Roderick! my beloved Roderick! can we not save him!"
"Alas!" returned Roderick, "I fear—but compose yourself, my dearest girl; all may yet go well."
"Where is Elvira? my child, my darling Elvira!" cried the old man: "I did not kill her! No," whispered he, drawing near to Roderick; "'I killed him, it is true, but it was for her sake. He slandered my child, and I could not bear that."
"Oh God! oh God!" cried Elvira! "have mercy upon him! It breaks my heart to see him thus. Leave us, I implore you," she continued, addressing her friends; "I cannot bear that even you should see the extent of his malady. Leave him with me, and perhaps my presence may recall his lost recollection."
Finding opposition only increased her ​anxiety, her friends at length consented; and Elvira was left alone with her father. Kneeling by his side as he lay stretched upon a sofa, the Queen endeavoured to console him; but he knew her not, and wrung her heart by calling vehemently upon Elvira. "If I could see my child," said he, "I should die contented. Call my child! where is Elvira? Yes, yes, I know she is a Queen, and cannot come to me! Yet I think even a Queen might look at her poor old father: I only want her to look at me!"
Whilst this scene was passing, Rosabella and her friends lay concealed in the secret chamber; and, through the moveable pannel, watched every thing that passed.
"Now is the time," cried Father Morris; when he saw that Elvira, exhausted by her grief, had hidden her face in her hands, to indulge her tears unrestrainedly.
"You ensure your own destruction if you kill her!" said Cheops.
"I care not," returned Father Morris; and removing the pannel, he approached. Elvira ​saw him not: and the shining dagger already was aimed at her breast, when it caught the eye of the maniac; and returning reason flashed through his mind.
"Edgar!" cried he, with a piercing scream, "spare my child!"
The cry roused the friends of Elvira, who had remained in the antechamber, and they rushed in. In an instant the room was crowded; Father Morris was secured; and his confederates (from his having left the pannel open) discovered.
"Edgar!" cried the duke; "yes, it is Edgar! my brother! my only brother! and this is Elvira. She is not fled; I knew she was not! She is safe!"
"And is it possible," cried Edric, "that you can be Duke Edgar!"
"I am that wretch!" said Father Morris.
"Then Rosabella is—"
"My child! and for her I have become the wretch I am! Yet to her I have done my duty; and if she be spared—"
"Ah!" cried M. de Mallet; "it is, it is— ​yes, I am not deceived, that is the woman who sold us Pauline."
"Who, which?" exclaimed Edric eagerly.
"There," cried the Swiss, pointing to Marianne.
"Marianne!" exclaimed Edric.
"Yes," said she, "Marianne! He is right; it was I, and now is the moment of my vengeance. Seduced and deserted by this man," pointing to Father Morris, "my passions, always impetuous, panted for revenge. I instigated him to murder the wife for whom he had abandoned me—I stole his child and sold her to a stranger—and I substituted my own wretched offspring, whom I had had by a man he abhorred, in its place."
"What!" cried Father Morris, his livid lips quivering with anguish; "is not Rosabella my child?"
"No," said Marianne; "twenty years ago I sold your child to this gentleman," pointing to M. de Mallet. "He was a foreigner, and I believed, by placing her in his hands, you would never see her more."
​"Then who is Rosabella?"
"My child, and by your servant Jacques."
"Curses on thee, woman! What! have I then destroyed myself here and hereafter for the offspring of that wretch? A man I detested, abhorred, despised!"
"Yes," said Marianne, with a fiendish laugh. "You abandoned me, and I swore to be revenged: he heard my oath, and by promising to assist me obtained my consent to be his paramour. By his aid I effected all the rest. He has long been dead, but still I have pursued my plan; and when I saw you risking body and soul for Rosabella, I have gloried, for I was revenged."
"Fiend!" cried the priest; and rushing upon her before any one could prevent him, he stabbed her to the heart, and then instantly withdrawing the dagger buried it in his own bosom. "Still I am revenged!" cried Marianne, as hearing a deep sigh she expired. Father Morris never spoke again.
My tale is nearly closed, for dull must be the mind that cannot picture all the rest. The ​duke recovered his reason, and enjoyed all the happiness his bosom was yet capable of, in witnessing the union of his daughter and Roderick, whom he had loved as Henry Seymour, and now adored as the hero of Ireland. He gave Pauline a noble fortune, as his niece, and she married Edric; who, in the absence of his brother, took possession of his father's wealth, and fixed his residence in his former dwelling, where, after all his troubles, Dr. Entwerfen found himself comfortably re-established in his ancient chamber; whilst Clara, by becoming the bride of Prince Ferdinand, enchanted her mother, and secured her own happiness.
The coronation of Roderick and Elvira, as King and Queen of the United Kingdoms of Great Britain and Ireland, was superb, and far excelled that in which Elvira had previously been an actress. Taught wisdom by experience, however, she no longer placed implicit reliance upon the shouts of applause that followed her footsteps;—yet, even with the reflection that all the promises she received might be evanescent, she could not ​resist the emotion of pleasure that swelled her breast, when, after the priest had pronounced the nuptial benediction, she walked with Roderick, the chosen of her heart, through a long line of kneeling subjects, and heard every mouth implore blessings on their heads, and bestow praises on her choice.
Proudly did Elvira look around as she reached the entrance of Westminster Hall; yet, ere she entered it, a rush and bustle in the crowd attracted her attention, and a man, clad like a monk, threw himself before her. Elvira screamed; when the man, throwing back his cowl, fixed his heavy eyes upon her and exclaimed, "Do you not know me, Elvira?" It was Edmund.
"Alas! alas!" cried he, "the demon was right; I trusted in my own strength, and I have fallen, miserably fallen. Though I knew it not, ambition was my god—and every thing else weighed lightly in the scale. Yet, even when my ambition was gratified, I was wretched; for I loved you, Elvira, even whilst I plotted against you;—and as my own heart reproached ​me, I felt every wrong you suffered far more poignantly than you could yourself. My poor father too!—but all is over now, and I am doomed to bitter expiation of my sins—bitter indeed, for oh, how far beyond all other sufferings are the never-dying tortures of remorse. One thought alone haunted my mind,—one image alone floated before my senses. I could not die till I had obtained your pardon. Pardon me then, Elvira! See! thus humbly at thy feet I implore thy forgiveness; crouching in the dust, and bending my neck to be thy footstool!"
"Rise, I entreat you, rise!" said Elvira; "and be assured I forgive you—nay, that I pity you from my inmost soul."
"She pities me!" cried Edmund; "yet I can bear even this: even pity. And am I indeed fallen so low as to be pitied! Yes, yes, I am indeed to be pitied."
"I did not mean to wound your feelings," returned Elvira, "believe me, Edmund. Tell me, what is there I can do for you?"
"Nothing!" cried he wildly; "the world is nothing for me now. Pity that unhappy ​woman that was my wife; and as for me, forget me!"
"Never!" said Elvira; "for never can I forget your disinterested love and your devoted affection. The heart, however, is capricious; and mine, though sensible to your merits, was destined for another."
"And well does that other deserve your love;—for even jealousy itself must own that Roderick is worthy to be your husband. Yes, to him I can resign you. Farewell, Elvira! you shall never see me more! Let my brother take my inheritance! May you be happy! God bless you! God bless you!"
And starting from his knees, he disappeared, before she could reply.
The spirits of Elvira were agitated by this event, which threw a damp over the remaining festivities of the day; and, trembling and unnerved, she proceeded to the magnificent hall, where a sumptuous banquet was prepared for her reception. For some days after this event, the attention of Roderick and Elvira was occupied in arranging the different affairs of the kingdom; whilst Edric and Pauline, with the ​old Duke of Cornwall, M. de Mallet, and Father Murphy retired to the house of the former in the country, where Dr. Entwerfen was already comfortably established.
A thousand emotions swelled in the heart of Edric as he approached this venerable mansion, and saw again its well-known turrets peeping through the trees. Strange, indeed, are the feelings that oppress the mind, when the wanderer returns, after along absence, to the habitation of his forefathers. A mingled crowd of contradictory sensations, of disappointed hopes, of undefined fears, float through his fancy; and, as well-remembered objects recal the visions that formerly delighted him, he starts at the difference the experience of their fallacy has made in himself, and he sighs in vain for a return of the blissful ignorance he formerly despised. All too appears changed! As the human mind judges only by comparison, the eyes become dazzled by distant splendours, and that which to the eyes of youth had appeared superb, seems to the maturer judgment of manhood, tame, rapid, and insipid,—whilst the imagination which had fondly cherished the ​favourite dreams of childhood, and decked them in all the vivid colours of fancy, feels disappointed and disgusted, though it scarce knows why, to find the reality so different from the image it had pictured to itself.
Such were the feelings of Edric as he entered the grand hall of this residence of his ancestors, and gazed upon the well-remembered faces of the crowd of servants assembled to meet him. At the head of these was Davis; his tall thin figure waving to and fro, and his long thin white hair floating upon his shoulders; and the more spruce and gallant aspects of Abelard and his devoted Eloisa, the late Mrs. Russell, who had blest him with the possession of her fair hand a few days before, and now stood blushing and simpering, with all the affected modesty of a bride of sixty, to receive the congratulations of those around her.
"Welcome! welcome, my dear Edric!" cried Dr. Entwerfen, rushing down-stairs to meet them, his sleeves tucked up, and his wig thrown back, in a very experimental-philosophic manner; "rejoice with me too, for I have recovered my balloon! My darling caoutchouc bottle of ​inflammability! My immortalizing snuff, and, more than all, my adored galvanic battery! Yes, my compendium of science, my epitome of talent, and my most inestimable treasure, is safe! Not, indeed, that which was employed in galvanizing the Mummy, but its counterpart, its duplicate, its prototype. The Mummy came to England, and the balloon being recognized to be mine, it was placed in my apartment, where it has remained ever since, stowed up in safe but inglorious obscurity, till my return."
"Och! and that's a clear case!" said Father Murphy; "and there's no doubt of it."
Leaving the delighted doctor to show the treasures of his laboratory to M. de Mallet, Edric retired to his chamber, and after surveying again and again the well-known objects it contained, he hurried to his favourite grove.
It is singular how inanimate objects, which have been long unseen, recal the thoughts and train of feelings indulged in when one last beheld them: thus, the house, the groves, the walks, the gardens, and the river, recalled all its former longings to Edric's mind; and he ​again burnt to converse with a disembodied spirit, as he entered the grove where he had formerly so often ruminated, and indulged dreams wild and improbable as the delusions of delirium. The day was beautiful; it was one of those bright glowing mornings in April, when dew drops hang upon every thorn, when the sun shines brightly through the clear pure air, and all nature seems awaking to new life and vigour from repose.
Edric entered the grove, and threw himself upon that very bank where he had reclined only a few months before, under such different feelings. The river, the grove, the bank, were all the same; he only was changed. "And yet," said he, "is not my mind still as unsettled as before? Am I not still wandering in a labyrinth of doubts? Unknowing where to turn; and yet tormented with a restless desire to discover my way. What can have become of the Mummy, I so strangely resuscitated? It is strange, that since the restoration of Elvira it seems to have vanished, and yet all here speak of it as of a living animated being. Would that I could see it. O Cheops! Cheops—"
​Suddenly a strange unearthly voice seemed to murmur harshly in his ear—"Go to the Pyramid! There and there only can thy hopes be gratified." Edric started upon his feet—no one was near him, and not a sound broke the awful stillness that reigned around, save the gentle rippling of the river that flowed at his feet. He gazed wildly on every side, hoping, yet fearing to behold the ghastly being, he fancied his words had conjured up. It was in vain; no dark figure interposed between him and the clear bright sunshine; no gloomy shadow stretched along the plain; all looked gay as youth and happiness; yet still that awful voice rang in his ears, and thrilled through every nerve.
"I will go the Pyramid," cried he energetically; "I will again enter that horrid tomb—but I will go alone."
In pursuance of this sudden, but irresistible desire, Edric hastily prepared to return to Egypt; and feigning that he was called to London by business of importance, to satisfy the anxious curiosity of Pauline, he departed. Indescribable emotions throbbed in his bosom ​as he took his seat in the stage balloon which was to convey him to Egypt; but when he saw the towers and temples, and, above all, the pyramids of this mysterious country, lying beneath his feet, his agitation increased almost to agony. It was with infinite difficulty that he obtained permission again to visit the objects of his journey; as, since the mysterious disappearance of the Mummy, the tomb of Cheops had been closed from mortal eyes. The interference of the British consul, however, at length obviated all objections, and Edric (whose impatience had become absolute torture from the delay) once more entered that awful receptacle of fallen greatness.
Scarcely a twelvemonth had elapsed since he had last trodden those solemn vaults, yet what a change had taken place in his destiny! When he considered the number and variety of the events that had befallen him, he could scarcely fancy it possible that they had been crowded into so short a space of time; and, instead of a year, centuries seemed to have rolled over his head. His feeling of personal identity seemed confused—his senses became ​bewildered, and he mechanically followed his conductor almost without knowing whither he was going.
At last the guide stopped—"This is the tomb of Cheops," said he; "I suppose, Sir, you will enter it alone."
Edric started—the words of the guide seemed to ring in his ears as the knell of death, and he shuddered as the thought crossed his mind that some horrid and appalling punishment might even now await him for his presumption. Desperately he snatched the torch from the hands of his guide and advanced alone.
Darkly did those gloomy vaults seem to frown at his approach, and fearfully did his footsteps resound as he slowly penetrated into their deep recesses. At length, he reached the tomb, but the brazen gates were closed, and he attempted in vain to open them. He placed the torch upon the ground, and again tried to unclose the fatal portal; he exerted his whole strength, but still it resisted his efforts. Rendered desperate, he now threw himself against the gates with almost superhuman ​force. Suddenly a hollow sound murmured through the cavern, and a current of wind rushed by with mighty and resistless fury. The brazen gates flew open with a fearful clang, and the torch fell and was extinguished. The next moment the sepulchral lamp shot forth a faint gleaming light, which brightened by degrees into a steady flame, whilst heavenly music sounded faintly upon the ear, dying gradually away in murmurs, soft as those of the Æolian harp.
The brilliant light of the lamp now glowed with noon-day radiance, and showed distinctly every corner of the fatal chamber. Edric looked timidly around, and shuddered as each well-remembered object met his eyes; but what was his horror and surprise when, glancing at the marble sarcophagus of Cheops, he beheld the gigantic figure of the Mummy standing erect beside it! It was again simply wrapped in the garments of the tomb, and its glassy eyes, rigid features, and statue-like form, chilled Edric to the heart. He looked at it a few moments in silence, till it raised its arm and seemed about to address him; when, shrinking back with ​indescribable horror, he uttered a faint shriek, and hid his face in his hands.
"Why dost thou tremble?" asked the Mummy in a deep hollow voice that thrilled through Edric's very soul. "Didst thou not come here to seek me, and dost thou shudder to behold my form? I am now before thee. Ask what thou wilt, I am permitted to reply. Why art thou silent? Why does thy heart seem to wither in my presence? Alas! alas! is no mortal to be found free from the debasing influence of fear? Thou art called bold, courageous, and noble. Thou hast dared to soar above thy fellow-men, and thou hast ardently wished to see me. Behold I am here, and now, weak, fearful, and inconsistent as thou art, thou shunnest my approach."
"I do not shun thee," said Edric, removing his hands, and endeavouring to look calmly on the fearful being before him, though the flesh seemed to quiver on his bones with the effort—"I do not shun thee; but the nerves will shrink though the mind be firm. I did ​wish to see thee; for ardently do I still desire to know the secrets of the tomb."
Cheops burst into one of his fearful laughs. "Weak, silly worm! are you not satisfied then? How would this knowledge avail you? Has any thing but misery attended your former researches? And can any thing but misery attend the knowledge you now covet? Learn wisdom by experience! Seek not to pry into secrets denied to man! If you wish still, however, to be resolved of your doubts, behold me ready to satisfy them; but, I warn you, wretchedness will wait upon my words."
"Then I no longer seek to hear them; for, even weak as you esteem me, I can learn wisdom from experience. Thus, then, I tear the tormenting doubts, that have so long haunted ed me, from my mind, and bid them farewell for ever!"
"It is well," said Cheops, his eyes beaming with joy. "Then my task is accomplished. I have at last found a reasonable man. I honour you, for you can command yourself, and now you may command me."
​"I wish it not," said Edric.
"Have you no curiosity?" asked the Mummy, with a ghastly smile.
"None," returned Edric; "unless it be that I would fain know your history, and the meaning of the sculptures upon your tomb."
"'What are they?" demanded Cheops.
"A youthful warrior is bearing off a beautiful woman in his arms, whilst an old man laments bitterly in the distance."
"I was the warrior," said Cheops; "and the beautiful female was Arsinoë. I loved her, and to gratify my impetuous passion I tore her from the arms of her father by force."
"The warrior is afterwards contending with the old man who falls beneath his blows—"
"He did, he did," cried Cheops; "he died by my hand; and eternal misery haunts me for the deed."
"And this old man was—"
"My father!" cried the Mummy, writhing in agony.
"And Arsinoë—"
​"My sister—my own, my beloved sister!"
A solemn pause followed this speech, for Edric was too much shocked to speak again to the awful being who had avowed such crimes, and upon whose face were traced passions too horrible to be imagined. After a short silence Cheops again exclaimed—
"Yes, yes; I see your horror, and it is just; but think you that I do not suffer? know that a fiend—a wild, never-dying fiend rages here," continued he, pressing his hand upon his breast. "It gnaws my vitals—it burns with unquenchable fire and never ceasing torment. Permitted for a time to revisit earth, I have made use of the powers entrusted to me to assist the good and punish the malevolent. Under pretence of aiding them, I gave them counsels which only plunged them yet deeper in destruction, whilst the evil that my advice appeared to bring upon the good was only like a passing cloud before the sun: it gave lustre to the success that followed. My task is now finished;—be happy, Edric, for happiness is in your power; be wise, for wisdom may be obtained by reflection; and be merciful, for unless we give, how can we ​expect mercy? Rely not on your own strength—seek not to pry into mysteries designed to be concealed from man; and enjoy the comforts within your reach—for know, that knowledge, above the sphere of man's capacity, produces only wretchedness; and that to be contented with our station, and to make ourselves useful to our fellow-creatures, is the only true path to happiness."
The Mummy ceased to speak, and his features, which had appeared wild and animated during his conversation with Edric, became fixed—the unearthly lustre that had flashed from his eyes, faded away, and gave place to a glassy deadness—his limbs became rigid, and as the light of the lamp gradually sunk to less distinctness, the ghastly form of the Mummy seemed rapidly changing into stone. Edric felt that the moment when it was possible for him to hold communion with this strange being was rapidly passing away, and almost shrieked as he exclaimed, "One question! only one ere it be too late." The Mummy feebly raised his languid eyelids, but Edric felt his blood freeze at the unnatural glare. ​With a violent effort, however, he rouzed himself to speak. "Was it a human power that dragged you from the tomb?"
"The power that gave me life could alone restore it," replied the Mummy in slow measured accents, as it sank gradually back into its former tomb. Edric shuddered, and involuntarily rushed forward, but the Mummy no longer lived or breathed. Cold, pale, and inanimate it lay, as though its sleep of two thousand years had never been broken.
"Oblivion laid him down upon his hearse!"
and no mortal ever more could boast of holding converse with The Mummy.
THE END.
LONDON: PRINTED BY S. AND R. BENTLEY, DORSET STREET.