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Genesis of the cosmos the ancient science of continuous
creation 2nd Edition Laviolette Digital Instant Download
Author(s): LaViolette, Paul A.
ISBN(s): 9781591430346, 1591430348
Edition: 2
File Details: PDF, 11.07 MB
Year: 2004
Language: english

Distant cluster of galaxies as observed by the Hubble Space Telescope. Photo courtesy of
NASA's Space Telescope Science Institute.

GENESIS
of the
COSMOS
The Ancient Science
of Continuous Creation
Paul A. LaViolette, Ph.D.
Bear & Company
Rochester, Vermont

Bear & Company
One Park Street
Rochester, Vermont 05767
www.InnerTraditions.com
Bear & Company is a division of Inner Traditions International
Copyright © 1995, 2004 by Paul A. LaViolette
Originally published in hardcover in 1995 by Park Street Press under the title Beyond the Big Bang
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means,
electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and
retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
The Library of Congress has cataloged a previous edition of the title as follows:
LaViolette, Paul A.
Beyond the big bang: ancient myth and the science of continuous creation / Paul A. LaViolette
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-1-59143-034-6 (hardcover)
1. Cosmology. 2. Creation. 3. System theory. 4. Microphysics. 5. Science-History. I. Title.
QB981.L327 1995
113—dc20 94 – 29978
ISBN of current title Genesis of the Cosmos: ISBN 1-59143-034-8
Printed and bound in the United States at Lake Book Manufacturing, Inc.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2
Text design by Virginia Scott Bowman
This book was typeset in Minion with Futura as the display typeface

1
2
3
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5
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10
11
CONTENTS
PART 1
RESURRECTING THE SCIENCE OF ORDER
A Lost Science Rediscovered 2
Process and Order 15
The New Alchemy 37
The Transmuting Ether 58
Cosmogenesis 73
PART 2
EXAMINING THE ANCIENT RECORD
The Egyptian Creation Myths 98
The Egyptian Mysteries 127
The Tarot: A Key to the Ancient Metaphysics 143
The Thermodynamics of Astrology 181
Subatomic Atlantis 222
Myths from the Ancient East and Mediterranean 245
Preface vii

P A R T 3
CHANGING THE PARADIGM
12 Ether or Vacuum? 264
13 The Twentieth-Century Creation Mythos 273
14 Smashing the Crystalline Sphere 302
15 Energy in the Universe 318
16 Back to the Future 340
Notes 345
Glossary 356
Bibliography 358
Index 365

PREFACE
NOT ALL SCIENTIFIC DISCOVERIES come about as a result of a long and ardu-
ous transcendental journey. However, this one did. It began one night in the spring
of 1968 when a series of insights began flooding into my mind, concepts at once
simple yet of considerable advancement. The ideas themselves were as amazing as
the manner in which they were coming to me, as if sensed from some other level.
Superimposed on the background of the music I had been listening to in my Johns
Hopkins dorm room came notions of flux, balance, and dynamic equilibrium. I
was shown these principles harmonizing together, forming the very essence of exis-
tence. Like an attentive pupil, I absorbed them.
There seemed to be an urgency about the whole affair. I was given to understand
that, sometime back during the course of its development, Western science, or more
specifically physics, had mistakenly taken the wrong turn. It was not that its exper-
iments were improperly construed or that its observations were improperly made;
it had to do with the theoretical framework that had been set up to interpret them.
The errors were at a very basic assumptive level. I was shown that the classical
physicist’s view that physical reality is comprised of inert structures at its most basic
level was wrong. I saw that nature at its most fundamental level is instead in per-
petual balanced change, like life itself.
This new ecological metaphysics filled me in the months that followed. I began
seeing how, through recurrence, natural processes formed the enduring systems
around us, atoms, living organisms, solar systems, galaxies, and so on. I understood
that there was hierarchical structure to this vast chain of being, with systems nested
within systems in a repeating manner. And so began the formulation of “my theory
of existence”, a theory of systems founded on the principle of process.
Almost five years later, I discovered, with some relief, that others had followed
this same path. Seminal thinkers such as Ludwig von Bertalanffy, Kenneth
Boulding, and others had banded together seventeen years earlier and formed the
Society for General Systems Research, which now had a membership of over a
thousand. Here was not one individual, but a whole society of scientists who, like
myself, were studying the fabric of nature and finding it to be governed by specific
laws of organic process. And there were others who had also blazed the way, such as
vii

viii Preface
Pierre Teilhard de Chardin and Alfred North Whitehead. The burden of responsi-
bility to communicate these basic truths to others was lifted from my shoulders.
But my journey was far from finished. At about that same time, I had become
engrossed in learning about a new branch of thermodynamics that studied how
certain systems whose constituents abide in a state of incessant flux spontaneously
generate orderly patterns from their internal chaos. Writings by Prigogine, Nicolis,
and others; a picture of exotic chemical waves spiraling on the front cover of Science
magazine; a paper by Einstein speculating on the fundamental nature of matter—
all these combined together one night to spawn in an insightful flash a new theory
of microphysics. A new dimension had opened up for me, and I was for some days
sensing the flux in all things, even in rocks—things that my former academic
physics training had taught should be lifeless.
When it first came forth, the theory was crudely formed. It would take several
years to hone and refine its concepts. This new approach to subatomic physics,
which I later came to call subquantum kinetics, was based not on mechanics but on
chemistry, not on static structure but on process. This new microphysics followed
an avenue that had been overlooked by eighteenth- and nineteenth-century ether
theorists for the simple reason that chemical waves and “dissipative structures” had
not yet been discovered at that time. The only models then available for under-
standing wave and particle phenomena were mechanical in nature. Subquantum
kinetics was not just pleasing from a philosophical standpoint. It surpassed con-
ventional physics in a number of respects. It explained the origin of matter and
energy, the structure of matter, how force fields arose, and how they induced move-
ment. It could also solve many of the problems that plagued standard physics.
As the theory took shape, I realized that a new mission once again lay ahead of me,
a responsibility to communicate a discovery of great importance. As before, I was to
find that others had followed this path. But in this case, these former theorists lived
in an era much further back in time, before the dawn of recorded civilization.
This shocking discovery happened in 1975 while I was working as a consultant
in Boston. A friend, after hearing me describe subquantum kinetics, commented
that the basic idea sounded a lot like the Tarot metaphysics and urged me to take a
class on the subject. Several weeks later I noticed that a weekly adult eduction class
on the Tarot was scheduled in the Harvard Square area, so I decided to attend.
After the first few lectures it became apparent that there was indeed a strong
similarity between the symbolic meaning of the major Tarot arcana and concepts
basic to my process physics. I recognized that the Tarot was describing the science
of system genesis, the process by which ordered forms (systems) spontaneously
spring into being. More specifically, it was presenting a theory of how our universe
came into being!
I was stunned. Here was a physics based on systems principles discovered mostly
in the latter half of the twentieth century that were known to people many thou-

Preface ix
sands of years ago. All that I had learned about Western civilization’s rise from a
primitive past lay hopelessly shattered.
The next year I moved to Oregon to begin work at Portland State University on
a doctorate in general system theory. This was one of the few universities in the
world offering a degree in this fascinating field. While there, I continued refining
subquantum kinetics and made a major theoretical breakthrough in the summer of
1978. I also continued investigating the ancient roots of this esoteric physics. I had
found that this science of creation was not unique to the Tarot. The same princi-
ples also appeared in the symbology of astrology, in the I Ching, and in certain
ancient myths describing the world’s creation.
After years of hard work, my theory of subquantum kinetics was finally pub-
lished in 1985 in a special issue of the International Journal of General Systems.
Subsequently, many of its astronomical and cosmological predictions were pub-
lished in a number of other scientific journals. In 1994, I published a book on the
theory entitled Subquantum Kinetics (see www.etheric.com). Now it is time that the
full story about its ancient origins is known. This book reveals for the first time
advanced scientific wisdom that has remained hidden for so long in our ancient
myths and esoteric lore. Consider this legacy left by our predecessors and wonder—
who were they?
I would like to thank my father and mother, Fred and Irene, for the long hours they
spent helping me edit this manuscript. I would also like to thank my sister Mary,
Larry Svart, Ann Richards, Marilyn Ferguson, Rosemary Loeine, Tom Abshier,
Carolyn Halsey, Rosi Goldsmith, and others for their editorial assistance.

P A R T 1
Resurrecting the
Science of Order

1
A LOST SCIENCE REDISCOVERED
OUR ANCIENT LEGACY
From ancient times to modern, people have been fascinated by the idea that Earth
was once peopled by a civilization that had developed a highly advanced science. In
his Dialogues, Plato writes about how the early ancestors of the Greeks and
Egyptians had developed a technically advanced culture, but their intellectual
achievements had been later lost due to humanity’s endurance of a global confla-
gration and deluge that culminated around 11,600 years ago.1
The notion prevalent among many paleontologists that human civilization
began for the first time only 6,000 years ago is challenged by ancient texts that trace
the culture and science of China, India, and Egypt to a civilized prehistory of con-
siderably greater antiquity. For example, Manetho, an Egyptian priest who lived in
the third century b.c.e., reported that the divine and mortal dynasties that reigned
prior to the beginning of the historical Egyptian empire spanned a total of 24,927
years. The historical period of ancient Egypt is recognized to have begun following
the unification of Upper and Lower Egypt under Menes, an event that is variously
dated between 4240 b.c.e. and 3200 b.c.e. Consequently, Manetho maintained that
Egyptian prehistoric civilization began more than 30,000 years ago.
The Royal Papyrus of Turin gives an even earlier date. It lists the kings who ruled
over Upper and Lower Egypt prior to Menes and the total length of their reigns as
36,620 years, thereby placing the origin of Egyptian prehistoric civilization at
around 42,000 years before the present.2 A passage from the writings of Herodotus
may corroborate this early date. After stating that 340 generations of kings and
priests had ruled over Egypt, Herodotus said that he had been told that during this
long succession of centuries “the sun moved from his wonted course, twice rising
where he now sets, and twice setting where he now rises”. The Egyptologist R. A.
Schwaller de Lubicz has suggested that this seemingly puzzling passage be taken in
an astronomical sense, that during this long period of rulership the Earth’s axis had
precessed through one and a half Great Cycles, slowly translating the vernal equi-
nox so that it passed one and a half times through the zodiac sign sequence. As a
2

result, on two previous occasions the spring sun would have risen in the opposed
constellation, where it today sets.3 Given that it takes about 26,000 years for the
poles to make a complete Great Cycle revolution, Schwaller de Lubicz estimates a
passage of 39,000 years up to the time of Herodotus, placing the beginnings of
Egyptian civilization at around 41,500 years before the present.
Mysterious megalithic structures of possible prehistoric origin have been found
at various sites throughout the world, such as the Temple of the Sphinx adjacent to
the Giza Sphinx; the cyclopean fortress at Baalbek in Lebanon; the strange statues
on Easter Island; and the pre-Incan fortresses, temples, and walls found at
Ollantaytambo, Tiahuanaco, and Sacsahuaman in the Peruvian Andes. The
immense size of the blocks and the way they are interlocked to form some of these
monuments suggest that their construction utilized technologies far in advance of
those available to known ancient civilizations. Could these be relics of a technically
advanced race that once inhabited the globe and met its decline during a period of
climatic turmoil?
Geological evidence indicates that from about 14,000 b.c.e. until about 9600
b.c.e., the Earth’s climate experienced abrupt changes that brought it out of the last
ice age. This harsh transition was marked by periods of rapid ice sheet melting and
withdrawal, continental flooding, and a prolonged episode of mass animal extinc-
tion. If civilized antediluvian empires collapsed during this interval, as legend
appears to suggest, it is conceivable that certain of their scholars would have had the
foresight to attempt to preserve some of their science for transmission to future
generations in the hope that it would one day be understood.
Such transmission of knowledge could explain why certain of the ancient cul-
tures were able to spring into existence fully developed from the very start of their
recorded histories. In the case of ancient Egypt, Schwaller de Lubicz notes that from
the dawning of the historical period with the appearance of the first known
pharaohs there existed a complete writing, a carefully established calendar, a social
order, a census, and a perfectly ordered myth and cult, all of which point to the exis-
tence of a long civilized epoch preceding the historical period.4 In particular, he
points out that the Egyptian Sothic calendar, which was in use as early as 4240
b.c.e., was quite advanced by most standards. Based on observations of the heliacal
rising of the star Sirius, known to the ancient Egyptians as Sothis, it yields a highly
accurate solar year of 365¼ days. This implies that the Egyptians had an excep-
tional knowledge of astronomy inherited from prehistoric times.
The Egyptologist John Anthony West agrees with Schwaller de Lubicz’s assess-
ment of ancient Egyptian culture. He remarks:
Every aspect of Egyptian knowledge seems to have been complete at the very
beginning. The sciences, artistic and architectural techniques and the hieroglyphic
system show virtually no signs of a period of “development”; indeed, many of the

4 Resurrecting the Science of Order
achievements of the earliest dynasties were never surpassed, or even equaled later
on. This astonishing fact is readily admitted by orthodox Egyptologists, but the
magnitude of the mystery it poses is skillfully understated, while its many impli-
cations go unmentioned.
How does a complex civilization spring full-blown into being? . . . The answer
to the mystery is of course obvious, but because it is repellent to the prevailing cast
of modern thinking, it is seldom seriously considered. Egyptian civilization was not
a “development”, it was a legacy.5
DO MYTHS ENCODE SCIENTIFIC TRUTHS?
If advanced knowledge from prehistoric times had been transmitted orally across
the intervening “dark age”, it is quite possible that it would have been conveyed in
the form of symbol-laden myths and lore. By concealing abstract scientific concepts
in entertaining stories that were meaningful to tribal cultures, this science would
have survived through the generations even though its carriers might not under-
stand its significance.
Tradition holds that fragments of such an advanced science have survived in
astrology, in the Tarot, and in the symbolism of certain ancient myths. The specifics
of this hidden knowledge, however, have long eluded Hermetic scholars. It is as
though they had been left to fathom the depths of cryptic physics texts containing
just equations with no accompanying words of explanation. Nevertheless, with the
scientific understandings that have emerged over the past several decades, it is now
possible to fill in the missing background material and reconstruct this lost science.
Modern scientists have only recently begun to understand and formulate con-
cepts that explain how living systems function and to generalize these ideas to form
the interdisciplinary field of study called general system theory. Key to this new
understanding is that natural systems maintain their physical form or state of order
through the continuous operation of energy-expending, order-building processes.
By understanding that process is fundamentally important to structure, systems
theorists have also been able to explain how natural systems first came into being.
Applying these order-genesis concepts to a variety of scientific disciplines, they
have been able to describe how tornadoes form in a turbulent atmosphere, how
chemical concentration patterns self-organize in reacting chemical solutions, how
proto-organisms may have first developed out of nutrients in the Earth’s primeval
oceans, how new social orders emerge, and how creative thoughts spontaneously
come into being. As recently as 1973 these ideas were applied to the microphysical
realm to develop a theory of how matter and energy first came into being in our
universe. So it is indeed quite surprising to find that specific myths and lore from
the dawn of recorded history use similar concepts to construct a highly sophisti-
cated cosmological science.

When certain creation myths are closely examined, the various actions or attrib-
utes of their main characters are found to portray, through metaphor, a sequence
of fundamental natural principles that describe how the physical world first came
into being out of a primordial vital flux. This same scientific theory of creation is
found in the Egyptian story of Atum, the Sumerian myth of Anu and Apsu, the
Enuma Elish myth of ancient Babylon, as well as in various creation myths from
ancient Greece, India, China, and Polynesia. It is also encoded both in the Tarot and
in the lore of astrology. Moreover, scattered fragments of it appear in the process-
oriented metaphysical writings of Heraclitus, Lao Tzu, and Confucius and in
ancient Hindu and Buddhist mystical teachings.
A common theme that runs through many of the ancient traditions is their
depiction of earth and sky separating from an initially unitary state at the dawn of
physical creation. For example, the ancient Egyptians had a myth explaining that
the physical universe was created precisely at the moment when the air god Shu
separated his two children, Geb (earth) and Nut (sky), from their initially unitary
love embrace. Sumerian myth relates that physical creation began when the heaven
god An and earth goddess Ki uncoupled from their initially commingled state.
According to Akaddian myth, the universe began to form when the warrior hero
Marduk split the body of the defeated ocean goddess, Tiamat, thereby forming the
sky and earth from her two halves. We encounter the same separation metaphor in
the book of Genesis, where the moment of creation is marked by God’s division of
the primordial waters into heaven and earth. Even in the Southern Hemisphere, the
Maori of New Zealand have a myth stating that the physical world became created
when Tane, the god of the forests, separated his parents Rangi (sky) and Pappa
(earth) from their initial love embrace. The ancient Chinese P’an-ku creation myth
also depicts this bipolar emergence. It relates that in the beginning there existed
chaos, which was contained in a single cosmic egg. Chaos then separated into earth
(yin) and sky (yang), the two being pushed apart by the dwarf P’an-ku, who for
18,000 years grew in size at the rate of ten feet per day.* It is said that out of his body
grew the cardinal mountains, stars, planets, thunder, lightning, rain, rivers, seas,
soil, and rocks.
Could these myths be more than just entertaining stories? Consider, for exam-
ple, the myth of P’an-ku. According to the ancient Chinese, yin and yang signified
feminine and masculine aspects of an all-pervading ether, the subtle substance that
forms all material things. This ancient ether, however, was substantially different
from the mechanical ether of the classical era of modern physics. Whereas the ether
of classical physics was inert and unchanging, its more ancient predecessor was
*After 18,000 years of growth, P’an-ku would have reached a height of about 21,000 kilometers, which hap-
pens to be about 60 percent larger than the actual diameter of the Earth.

conceived to be an active substance, one that transmuted and reacted much like a
reacting chemical solution. Its yin and yang polarities were conceived to continu-
ously transmute into one another in a never-ending cyclical process, yin
alchemically transforming into yang, and yang alchemically transforming into yin.
In their “separated”, postcreation state, yin and yang were said to reciprocally alter-
nate in dominance in repeating cycles, a predominantly yang condition always
evolving into a predominantly yin condition, and back again in cyclic fashion. In
effect, the P’an-ku myth portrays the creation of the physical world as the primor-
dial self-emergence of an etheric wave pattern that proliferated to generate all phys-
ical form. Only during the early twentieth century did modern science discover that
subatomic particles, the building blocks of our physical world, were formed of
fields having wavelike characteristics.
Since the yin-yang wave was conceived to arise in an ether that was continually
transforming, it is better likened to a chemical wave than a mechanical wave.
Chemical waves are fundamentally very different from mechanical waves. They form
only in solutions that are in the process of reacting, consuming energy-rich reactants
and releasing energy-depleted reaction products. More specifically, they arise only
from reactions that proceed in a closed loop much like the yin-yang transformation
loop of ancient Chinese metaphysics. Such waves consist of cyclic variations in the
concentrations of chemical species engaged in this ongoing, looping reaction.
Provided that their underlying chemical reaction continues to function, they are able
to arise spontaneously and persist, despite the ever-present tendency of molecular
diffusion to disperse them. Because molecular diffusion also plays an important role
in their formation, chemical waves are often termed reaction-diffusion waves.
The Belousov-Zhabotinskii reaction offers a good example of the chemical wave
phenomenon (see figure 1.1).6 This reaction was first observed in laboratory exper-
iments carried out in 1958 by the Soviet chemist B. P. Belousov, and it was this dis-
covery that first attracted scientists’ attention to the existence of chemical waves.
The phenomenon became more widely known ten years later when the chemists
A. N. Zaikin and A. M. Zhabotinskii perfected the reaction by adding a dye indica-
tor to make its waves visible.
Whereas mechanical waves were known to physicists of the Renaissance period
and ancient world, reaction-diffusion waves became known for the first time to
modern science only in the late twentieth century. This is understandable since,
unlike mechanical waves, reaction-diffusion waves are not readily apparent in
nature. Although the B-Z reaction can be easily reproduced in a high school class-
room with the proper chemical reagents, its discovery was made possible only
because chemistry had progressed to a considerably advanced level. So it comes
somewhat as a surprise to find ancient myths modeling the process of physical cre-
ation after this phenomenon.
Reaction-diffusion processes are a fundamental par t of cell metabolism and,

Figure 1.1. Chemical waves produced by the Belousov-Zhabotinskii reaction in a solution
covering the bottom of a petri dish. The waves are made visible by a dye indicator that
alternates from red to blue. The patterns form naturally as bull’s-eyes but can also be made to
adopt spiral configurations. Photos courtesy of Arthur Winfree and Fritz Goro.
broadly speaking, serve as the underpinnings of all ecological and social interac-
tions. So, by suggesting a reaction-diffusion type of ether, the ancient mythmakers
were developing an organic, living-system approach to physics and cosmology.
Actually, all of us experience reaction-diffusion waves in our everyday life without
being aware of them. The nerve impulses and wave forms that form the basis for all
thought, feeling, and sensation are actually chemical reaction waves. However, sci-
entists have become aware of this only recently, following the completion of many
years of carefully controlled physiological studies. Broadly interpreted, “reaction-
diffusion” waves are also commonly present in nature in the form of predator-prey
population waves, domains of high or low animal population density that migrate
through an ecosystem environment over the course of many years. Yet the wave-like
movement of such population fronts normally passes unnoticed unless one has the
foresight and interest to conduct careful demographic surveys. So, in view of the
elusiveness of the reaction-diffusion phenomenon, it is intriguing to find that, well
before the time of the Greek atomists, ancient philosopher-scientists had chosen a
reaction-diffusion medium as the primordial substrate for giving birth to physical
form.
The ancient creation science conceives all physical form, animate or inanimate,
to be sustained by an undercurrent of process, a flux of vital energy that is present
in all regions of space. Such ongoing metabolic activity might even be regarded as
manifesting a kind of vital consciousness. This view has much in common with the
animistic worldview of aboriginal tribal cultures, which infers the presence of life-
like consciences or spirits in all things, even in inanimate objects such as rocks and
rivers or the Earth itself. Myths and esoteric lore conveying this ancient science

similarly endow the natural world with sacred qualities. The ether, conceived to
serve as the substrate for physical form, is portrayed on the other hand as the
domain of the spirit. This view of a vast, living beyond contrasts sharply with the
sanitized mechanistic paradigm of modern physics, which has denied the existence
of an unseen supernatural realm and forged a wedge between science and religion.
It is reasonable to expect that early attempts to reason about nature’s elusive sub-
atomic realm would have been inspired by mechanical rather than chemical phe-
nomena. Almost everything in our everyday experience is perceived in terms of the
relationships and relative motions of solids, liquids, and gases making up our envi-
ronment. So it is not particularly surprising to find the ancient Greek atomist
philosophers Leucippus and Democritus proposing that all matter is composed of
mechanical agglomerations of atoma, inert and lifeless particles suspended in a
void. Aristotle perpetuated this mechanical view when he taught that all physical
things are formed from hylê (ele), an unobservable lifeless prime matter whose sub-
stance could become mechanically formed like moldable clay. His concept survived
into the classical era of physics (seventeenth to nineteenth centuries), where it
became reconceived as the luminiferous ether, a frictionless, elastic, solid substance
that was supposed to have served as the carrier of light waves. Light waves were con-
ceived to be mechanical waves that moved through this ether substance in much the
same way that vibrational stresses move forward along the length of a pipe when
one end is hit with a hammer.
Unlike chemical waves, mechanical waves cannot arise spontaneously from the
medium itself, but must be created by some outside disturbance. Thus the mechan-
ical ether of classical physics was conceived to have a passive rather than an active
role in wave transmission; it served merely as a wave carrier, not a wave creator,
light waves being simply bulk movements of its inert medium. This mechanical
ether concept prevailed during the formative years for classical electromagnetism
when empirical discoveries began to reveal the laws of electricity and magnetism.
Electric and magnetic force fields were imagined to consist of mechanical stresses
communicated through the elastic ether substance to distant locations. As for their
notion of matter, some classical physicists adhered to Aristotle’s view and consid-
ered material particles to be mechanically formed out of the ether itself, while oth-
ers leaned more toward the Democritean view and considered particles to be
entities distinct from the ether, much like stones immersed in a pool of water.
Although physicists abandoned the ether concept near the beginning of the twen-
tieth century, this mechanical view of particles and their fields was retained and still
haunts physical theory today.
The history of science has shown that mechanical, machinelike models tend to
predominate when a field of investigation is in its infancy, later to be replaced by
more lifelike, organismic concepts. Whether it is the field of biology, business
administration, sociology, or psychology, early theories that leaned heavily on

mechanistic thinking were later replaced by more sophisticated theories formed
within the organismic paradigm. Phenomena once described in a reductionistic,
piecemeal fashion later became viewed in holistic contexts, and linear cause-effect
descriptions were replaced by more sophisticated nonlinear multi-interactive mod-
els. Physicists, though, have been slow to relinquish the mechanical paradigm that
has encompassed them for so long, perhaps because microphysics deals with a
realm that evades direct observation. Nevertheless it is quite striking that in an era
well before the time of Democritus scholars had adopted an organic physics world-
view, one that far surpasses in sophistication the simple animistic ideas of primitive
tribal cultures.
As we will find in considering the material that follows, certain ancient creation
myths are products of a much greater level of intellectual achievement than myth
historians have led us to believe. Apparently, the scientific content of these works
had been overlooked for these many centuries because the historians studying them
did not have the proper scientific grounding to comprehend their contained scien-
tific metaphors. Only as recently as the late twentieth century have scientific devel-
opments advanced our understanding of nature to the point that now, for the first
time, we are able to perceive in myth the outlines of a physical science remarkably
similar to what theorists are just now beginning to develop. Far from being crude
tales devised by primitives, certain ancient myths record a sophisticated cosmolog-
ical science of exceeding brilliance, one that rivals the contemporary big bang the-
ory in its predictive accuracy and is in many ways more aesthetically pleasing.
This ancient reaction-kinetic science leads to a theory of physical creation that
is quite different from that espoused by the big bang theory of contemporary sci-
ence. The big bang cosmology proclaims space, time, and existence to be an
improbable transient phenomenon, of relatively finite extent, that emerged essen-
tially out of nowhere together with physical form. The ancient science, on the other
hand, theorizes that physical creation has come into being from a preexisting prime
substance, or ether, and that space, time, and this ether are infinite and virtually
immortal. Whereas the big bang theory postulates that material existence emerged
all at once in the briefest fraction of a second from an infinitesimally small point,
the ancient science describes matter and energy creation as a continuing process
taking place over a period of many billions of years. The big bang theory proposes
that the universe and the space in which it exists emerged explosively, leaving dis-
tant galaxies to rush away from our own at incredible speeds. The ancient science,
on the other hand, makes no such claim; it assumes that space is static, neither
expanding nor contracting, and that it has been so for all time. Finally, the big bang
theory postulates the emergence of a quantum of energy of such great power that
this single burst produced all the matter and energy in the universe, yet it offers no
clear explanation as to how this enormous amount of energy came into being. The
ancient science, on the other hand, proposes the emergence of an incredibly small

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perhaps, the sudden death of a loved one can alone produce. She
was as frightened and nervously apprehensive as if she had known
that Death had a second arrow fitted to launch at another of us. My
arrival did something to cheer her, and Mrs. Curwen, who was with
her constantly at the house, joined with her in declaring that Mercy
and I must not be separated again.
It was not the melancholy side of the event which appealed to
Lascelles. He was now head of the family, and the importance of
that position filled his thoughts to the comparative exclusion of any
mere personal grief. A peer of the realm was not as other men. The
King was dead, long live the King—and the King in the hour of
coming to his own had no time for vulgar indulgence in mere
emotion.
Three days after the funeral, he explained his wishes in regard
to myself.
"Ferdinand, I wish to go into things with you," he said, with
quite gracious condescension, having carried me to the study.
"I am afraid I haven't many things worth going into at all,
Lascelles," said I. "The father had prepared me for his will. There is
a thousand pounds for me, three hundred a year for Mercy—her own
fortune, of course—and the rest for the title. I don't complain in the
least, and my worst wish is that you may make that good marriage
as soon as decency permits. How go matters with Mrs. Curwen?" But
this carrying the war into his own country did not accord at all with
his point of view. He wished to dictate to me about my affairs, not to
listen to me about his; and after fidgetting uneasily, he replied—
"You go very fast, Ferdinand, and I'm sure that in diplomacy you
will not find it advantageous to do that. Things are a great deal

changed since you left London."
"Alas, yes. It's a way that death has."
"I hope you don't mean that for flippancy, but it sounds like it."
"My dear Lascelles, a long face, a chronic groan, and the white
of one's eyes are not essential to real grief."
"Well, it sounded flippant, and it jarred—jarred very much. I
have felt very keenly the father's death, although, of course, the
duties of my new position have compelled me to face the world with
—with a due rigidity of demeanour."
"What was it you were going to say about change?"
"Well, in point of fact I—er—I was referring to—to a match that
concerned you as much as myself. Of course I can't do more for you
than—than the will provides, and I am glad you recognise that; but
there is one thing I can do—and perhaps I ought to do it now—and
it will be of great, indeed of the greatest consequence to you."
It was so unlike him to beat nervously about a subject in this
way, that I watched him in speculative surprise.
"I think, you know, that you might—that in point of fact you
ought to make a wealthy marriage; and I believe that such a thing is
quite open to you." What was he driving at?
"Isn't it a bit early to talk of this?" I suggested.
"Under other circumstances, perhaps, it might be," he said,
speaking without hesitation now that he was well under weigh; "but
as it must affect your plans and movements a good deal, I have
thought it desirable to broach the matter at once. I think you ought
not to return to Madrid, but to remain here in London in pursuance
of this object."

"And who is the object I am to pursue? What's her name?" I
could not resist this little play on his awkward phrase.
"I wish, Ferdinand, you wouldn't catch up my words in that way
and distort them. I meant project, of course. As a matter of fact, I
am disposed to abandon in your favour the project I once had in
regard to—Mrs. Curwen." There was a last hesitation in mentioning
the name, and a little flush of colour gave further evidence of his
momentary awkwardness; but having got it out, he went on rapidly
and talked himself out of his embarrassment, giving me a variety of
reasons for his decision, and plenty more for my adopting the
suggestion.
"Have you somebody else in your eye, then, Lascelles?" I asked,
quietly, when he had exhausted himself.
"I think that's a very coarse remark, Ferdinand—quite vulgar;
and I am surprised at it." Perhaps he was right to be shocked, but
he reddened so nervously that I could see I had hit the target; and
for the life of me I couldn't help smiling.
"I can't say that Madrid has improved you," he cried, angrily,
seeing the smile. "I am inspired by no feeling but a sincere desire for
the welfare of one of the family; but you must do as you please."
"It's all right, Lascelles, and no doubt you mean well. But I'm
not going to marry Mrs. Curwen or any one else for her money; and
I am going back to Madrid. Is there anything more?" and I got up to
show I had had enough.
"No, there's nothing more, as you put it. But, of course, if you
place yourself at once in opposition to my wishes, you can't expect
me to——"

"Don't bother to finish the sentence. When I turn beggar I won't
hold out my cap to you. Don't let us quarrel. I went to Madrid to
please you and help your plans, and I'm going back to please myself.
And you'll be interested to know that the most powerful Minister in
Spain at this moment wishes to be a close friend of mine, and his
house always stands open to me. I mean Sebastian Quesada."
"I'm unfeignedly glad to hear it, Ferdinand," cried my brother,
instantly appeased. "And if I can do anything to push your fortunes
over there, of course my influence is at your command."
"It's very good of you, and I'm sure of it," said I, laughing in my
sleeve at the notion of a man like Quesada being influenced by my
fussy, pompous, little brother.
When Mercy heard of my resolve to return to Spain she was
loud with her protests; and I found that she knew of Lascelles'
abandonment of his matrimonial project—and knew the reason too.
He had proposed three times to Mrs. Curwen in the short interval of
my absence and had been refused; the last time finally, and with a
distinct assurance that nothing would induce Mrs. Curwen to marry
him.
When Mrs. Curwen herself heard of my return, she met it very
differently.
"I am so glad, Mr. Ferdinand. It would have been so tiresome if
you hadn't been returning. I don't believe I could possibly have
ventured out there alone, and you can be of such use to me. And, of
course, now that poor Lord Glisfoyle is dead, Mercy can go with me."
"You are really going to venture out there?" I asked, not over
pleased by the news.

"Venture? Of course I am. I'm going on business, you know. My
lawyer has put before me a most tempting speculation—a Spanish
silver mine; and I'm going out to look into it myself. A poor lone
widow must have something to occupy her, you see. Now, you will
be nice, won't you, and give me all the help you can?"
"I really think you'd better not go," said I; and I meant it very
heartily.
"You know, that's real sweet of you. It's the first nice thing
you've said since you came back. It shows you take sufficient
interest in me to wish me to keep out of danger."
"If you persist in going I can help you a good deal, I think," I
said, gravely.
"Of course we're going."
"Then I can introduce to you just the best fellow in the world—
my old friend, Silas Mayhew, and he'll do everything you want."
"I do think you're horrid, and that's a fact," she cried, turning
away with a pout of annoyance. But nothing would stop her going,
and such was her resolution that she did not rest content until she
had arranged to make the journey with Mercy under my escort.
I fixed a date about a fortnight ahead, as I wished certain
business matters arising out of my father's death to be settled
before I left; but I had a note from Mayhew a week before then with
news which I regarded as very serious; and it caused a change in
my plans. After giving me some Embassy gossip, he wrote—
"I am writing this mainly because I think you will care to know
that some very disquieting rumours are afloat about Sarita Castelar.
The Carlists have been unpleasantly active in certain districts, and I
hear the Government—Quesada, that is—is meditating a number of

arrests. Amongst those listed for this is, I have every reason to
believe, the Senorita Castelar.
"By the way, a letter came for you to the Embassy to-day, and I
forward it with one or two more I found waiting at your rooms."
The letter filled me with apprehension on Sarita's account, and
fired me with eagerness to be back in Madrid. I sat chewing gloomily
the thought of her danger; I knew how urgent it might be if
Quesada once decided to strike, and I resolved to return to Madrid
at once. Then I glanced hurriedly at the enclosed letters. Two or
three were small bills, but one bore the Saragossa post mark, and
the writing, a man's hand, was unknown to me. But a glimpse of its
contents showed me its importance.
It was from Vidal de Pelayo, and spoke of the plot which he
himself had mentioned, and showed me that all was now ripe.
"I have obeyed your injunctions to the letter. I have never
breathed a word to a soul of what passed when, on the greatest day
of my life, I saw and spoke with you and held your hand. I have also
done everything since that you have directed, and until this minute
all was as I reported. But at the last moment those I trusted have
failed me. The little guest must not come this way. Someone has
betrayed us. You have never told me how to communicate with you
under the altered circumstances; and I take this desperate step of
writing to the British Embassy to you. If I am wrong, forgive and
punish me; but I know not what to do. Only, if the little guest comes
here on the 17th, all will be lost."
I knew only too well much of what it meant, and could easily
guess the remainder. The Carlists had been pushing forward their
mad scheme of kidnapping the young King, and now everything was

in readiness. Sarita's absences from Madrid were explained—she had
taken alarm at my declared intention to thwart the scheme, and had
herself been hurrying things on in the necessary quarters. It was
clear that she or someone had communicated with Vidal de Pelayo,
and had given him some fresh instructions in the name of Ferdinand
Carbonnell—this was how I read his phrase: "I have done everything
since that you have directed," and "You have never told me how to
communicate with you under the altered circumstances." He had
pushed his preparations to the verge of completion, and then had
come some hitch; and being at his wit's end, and not knowing how
to communicate with anyone, he had taken the step of writing to the
Embassy, feeling sure, no doubt, that the authorities would not
tamper with a letter addressed there.
The date named was the 17th—the day on which I had fixed to
start with Mrs. Curwen and Mercy. I had, indeed, been living in a
fool's paradise, but there was, happily, ample time yet for me to
interfere and do something. By starting that night I could be in
Madrid by the 14th; and I went at once in search of Mercy to tell her
of my change of plan.
Mrs. Curwen was with her, as it chanced, and I told them both I
was sorry, but that I was compelled, by news from Madrid, to hurry
out at once, and must start that night. The widow was a practical
little body, and having satisfied herself by a sharp scrutiny of my
face that there really had been news which had upset me, she said—
"I thought you were spoofing, you know, but I can see by your
face there is something up. Can't you put it off till to-morrow?"
"No, I cannot waste a minute."

"Waste," she cried, with a shrug. "If this thing's bad enough to
shake you out of your manners, it must be bad. But I don't think you
need be quite so frank in calling it waste of time to wait for us."
"I beg your pardon; I didn't mean that. I mustn't delay."
"That's better; and we won't delay you. But, say, I'll make a
bargain with you. It'll be just an awful rush for me to catch any train
to-night, and if you'll give me till to-morrow morning, we'll go by the
day boat and travel special right through from Paris to Madrid. When
a lone widow woman's going silver mine hunting, I suppose it will
run to a special train anyhow. And I just love the fuss it makes."
I demurred on the ground of the expense, the trouble, and the
possible difficulties of making the arrangements; but she laughed
them airily away.
"My dear Mr. Ferdinand, I can fix it up in an hour. One thing I
did learn from poor A.B.C., and that was the power of dollars. You
can have anything on a railway if you'll only pay for it; and a
member of the Madrid Embassy travelling hot-foot to Madrid with his
sister and her friend could have twenty specials in twenty minutes,
for a due consideration. It's a bargain then? I must be off, Mercy,
dearest. Whoop, but we'll scoop some fun in—I beg your pardon, I
forgot. But it'll do you good to get out of this gloomy old house,
dear, and there is no sin in a laugh or two. And if we don't enjoy our
jaunt, may I never have another. Look here, to-morrow ten o'clock
at Charing Cross, special to Dover. Good-bye," and she was gone.
"You'll have to marry her, Nand," said Mercy. "And she really is a
dear, honest-hearted thing; as good as she is indefatigable and
energetic."

"I can do better than marry her, I can find her a husband who
can give her what she wants—some love in return." And I was
thinking of Silas Mayhew. But the other matters were clamouring for
my thoughts just then. Sarita, and the troubles and dangers she was
coiling round herself; the plot against the young King; the part I
meant to play in it all; and in the background the grim, stern,
menacing face of Sebastian Quesada—the thoughtful face of the
master at the chess board, moving each piece with deliberate intent,
working steadily with set plan as he lured his opponents forward till
the moment came to show his hand and strike.
The idea took such possession of me that in the short hours of
tossing slumber that night I dreamed of it; and in the dream came a
revelation which clung to me even when I woke—that in some way,
at present inscrutable, unguessable, Quesada knew all that these
Carlists were planning, that it was a part of some infinitely subtle
scheme which had emanated by devious, untraceable, and secret
ways from his own wily brain, and was duly calculated for the
furtherance of his limitless, daring ambition.
I was full of the thought when we reached the station at the
time appointed and found the indefatigable widow before us. She
had made all the arrangements, and was lording it over the officials
and impressing upon everyone the critical affairs of State business
which impelled the important member of the Madrid Embassy to
travel in such hot haste to the Spanish capital.
I was a little abashed at my reception by them, and disposed to
rebuke her excess of zeal; but she only laughed and said:—
"You ought to thank me for my moderation, indeed, for I was
sorely tempted to say you were the Ambassador himself. But we

shall get through all right as it is."
CHAPTER XI
"THE WAYS OF THE CARLISTS WILL BE HARD."
There is no necessity to dwell upon the incidents of that memorable
journey to Madrid. As Mrs. Curwen had said, "we got through all
right." We were, indeed, treated with as much consideration during
the whole journey as if we had been personages of the most
illustrious distinction, and I found that her agents had contrived in
some way to have telegrams despatched to all points, advising the
officials everywhere on the route to pay particular heed to our
special, and to forward it by all available means.
That we were a very distinguished party no one doubted, and
Mercy was so excited by the results at different places and so
exhilarated by the change of scene and by her friend's vivacity and
high spirits, that the roses began to come back to her pale cheeks,
her nerves toughened with every mile, and before we left Paris she
was laughing with something of her usual lightheartedness.
During the journey, Mrs. Curwen declared that as she was going
out on business and I was going to help her, we had better discuss
the matter fully. As I had looked upon the story of the silver mine as
an ingenious fable, designed only to be a cover for her visit to
Madrid, I was surprised when she put into my hands a quantity of
papers having reference to the subject, and begged me to study
them.

"Shall we leave them until you think seriously of the thing?" I
asked, with a smile, having, in truth, little taste for the business.
"Seriously? Why, I was never more serious in my life. If what
I'm told is true, there's a big fortune in it. What do you think I'm
going there for?"
"To see Madrid and give Mercy a treat."
Mercy laughed and glanced at her friend, who coloured very
slightly.
"Partly that, and partly, too, to be there when there's someone I
know there—and that's you. But I am also in earnest about this."
"Then I'll read the papers with pleasure," said I, and without
more ado I plunged into them, and almost at the outset made a
discovery which caused deep surprise and excited my keenest
interest. The land on which the silver mine was said to exist was
being offered by Sebastian Quesada, and it formed a part of the
property which had belonged to Sarita Quesada—my Sarita's mother.
In other words it belonged by right to Sarita and Ramon Castelar,
and formed a portion of the estate the very existence of which
Quesada had denied to me.
I need not say how earnestly I studied the papers until I had
mastered every detail of the case. I was, in fact, so absorbed in the
work, and gave so many hours to it, that Mrs. Curwen at length
protested her regret at having handed me the documents at all.
I assured her, however, that it was fortunate I had read them as
I was able of my own private knowledge to say there was a flaw in
the title, but that I might be able to make arrangements when we
reached Madrid by which matters could be put right. My idea was
that the work of developing the mine might after all be done by

means of her money, but that the advantage should be reaped, not
by Quesada, but by Sarita and her brother; and I resolved to tackle
the Minister as soon as practicable after my arrival in Madrid.
As we drew nearer to our destination, the possible
embarrassments of Mrs. Curwen's and Mercy's presence in Madrid
began to bulk more largely in my thoughts. The first few days after
my return were sure to find me deeply engrossed by the work I had
to do, and I did not care to explain this to either of them. As soon as
I knew for certain the time of our arrival, therefore, I wired to
Mayhew to meet us. I was glad to find him on the platform when
our special drew up, and we all went off together to the hotel, where
rooms had been reserved by Mrs. Curwen. A few words explained
the situation to Mayhew, who was glad enough to take charge of my
companions.
"If anyone knows his Madrid, it's Mayhew," said I. "And he's a
first-class pilot. My duties to the Embassy will be rather heavy for a
few days, so you won't see much of me."
I was glad that Mrs. Curwen was very favourably impressed by
my friend, and as he was keen for London news, and she and Mercy
were eager for Madrid gossip, the evening passed very brightly.
As Mayhew and I walked to my rooms later, he was rather
enthusiastic in the widow's praises.
"She's a good sort, Silas, a real good sort—bright, cheery, and
chippy," I said, "But keep off spoons; or, at least, don't show 'em.
She's beastly rich, and, like all rich folks, thinks everybody's after the
dollars. Treat her like any other unimportant woman, show her a bit
of a cold shoulder now and then, contradict her, and make her go
your way and not her own, put her in the wrong occasionally and

make her feel it, don't keep all the appointments you make, and pay
more attention to Mercy sometimes than you do to her—in fact, be
natural and don't make yourself cheap, and—well, you'll save me a
lot of trouble and be always sure of a welcome from her."
"You seem to know a lot about her," he said, drily.
"She's my sister's chum, Si, and I don't want to be on duty for
some days at any rate;" and I plumed myself on having given him
some excellent advice and started a pretty little scheme for the
mutual advantage of them both.
Then I turned to matters that had much more importance for
me, and questioned him as to the rumour he had sent me about
Sarita's possible arrest. It was no more than a rumour, and he had
had it from a man pretty high up at the Embassy, who in turn had
heard it whispered by a member of the Government.
"The most I can make of it, Ferdinand, is that there is some
kind of coup projected by the Carlists—I believe they are organising
one or two simultaneous risings—and the Government are alarmed
and will strike, and strike hard. In fact, at the Embassy we are
looking for lively times, and I thought you'd like to know it. By the
way, there was a queer-looking provincial came asking for you at the
Embassy yesterday, and I found he'd been to your rooms."
"He left no name or word?"
"No name, but said he had written you, and that his business
was perfectly private and personal, but important."
I jumped to the conclusion at once that it was Vidal de Pelayo,
and that, having had no reply to his letter, he had risked another
visit to me; and I had no sooner reached my rooms, late though the

hour was, than he arrived. He was looking haggard, weary, and
anxious.
"Senor, I have been waiting and watching for you three days
here in Madrid. When no reply came to my letter and your further
instructions reached me four days ago, I knew something must be
wrong, and in my desperation I came here."
"What further instructions do you mean? Give them me."
"Confirming the arrangements, giving me the time for the little
guest's arrival at Huesca, and directing me to receive him. What was
I to do, Senor? I saw ruin to us all and to everything in this false
step; I could communicate with no one—what could I do but come
here to you?" He spoke wildly, and with patent signs of distress and
agitation.
"I have your letter, and have made the necessary arrangements.
The little guest will not go to Huesca. Have no further care. You
might have known I should not blunder in this way." I spoke with
studied sharpness.
"The blessed Virgin be thanked for this," he cried, fervently.
"The fear has weighed on me like a blessed martyr's curse."
"You need fear no more," I said, and was dismissing him when
the possibility occurred to me that I might still make some use of
him in the last resort. "You will go back to Saragossa, and on the
17th you will proceed to Huesca. I may be there and have need of
you. Meanwhile, silence like that of the grave;" and with some more
words of earnest caution I sent him away. If the worst came to the
worst and the young King was carried to Huesca on the 17th, I could
yet use this man to get possession of His majesty.

I had still to learn how the actual abduction was to take place,
and I had two days only in which to find this out. It was already the
14th; and cast about in my thoughts as I would, I could see no way
of discovering a secret which meant life or death to those who knew
it and would be guarded with sacred jealousy and closeness.
To me it seemed that any attempt of the kind must certainly fail.
The young King was protected and watched with the utmost
vigilance; his movements were not even premeditated and were
scarcely ever known long in advance even to those in the immediate
circle of the Palace; he was never left alone; and the whole
arrangements for his safe keeping might have been framed with an
eye to the prevention of just such an attempt as was now planned.
Yet here were these Carlists fixing a day well ahead for the
enterprise, making all calculations and arrangements, and taking it
for certain that they would have the opportunity which to an
onlooker seemed an absolute impossibility. It baffled me completely
that night.
In the course of the next morning I sent a note to Sebastian
Quesada announcing my return and saying I wished to see him; and
a note came back by my messenger asking me to call on him at
once at his office.
His greeting could not have been warmer and more cordial had
I been his oldest friend returned after a long absence. At the
moment of my arrival he was engaged, but by his express orders I
was shown instantly to him; he dismissed the officials closeted with
him with the remark that even that business must wait upon his
welcome of me; and had I not discouraged him I am sure he would
have kissed me after the Spanish demonstrative style.

"I have missed you, Ferdinand," he said, using my Christian
name for the first time, and speaking with the effusiveness of a girl.
"I have missed you more than I could have believed possible. Our
little chats, our rides and drives together, have become necessary to
me—that is a selfish view to take of a friend, is it not?—but they
have been delightful breaks in my too strenuous life. When I got
your little note an hour ago I felt almost like a schoolboy whose
chief companion has just come back to school. I was grieved to hear
of Lord Glisfoyle's death."
We chatted some time and then he surprised me.
"I suppose you know the world's opinion of me, Ferdinand—a
hard, scheming, ambitious, grasping, avaricious item of human
machinery, all my movements controlled by judgment, and
conceived and regulated to advance only along the path of my own
self-interest. What a liar the world can be—and I am going to show
you this. I have been thinking it out while you have been away. You
remember in the first hours of our friendship you spoke of the
Castelars and their property, and you seemed surprised at my
declaration that they had none. Well, I resolved for the sake of this
new thing in my life, our friendship, to have the matter more closely
looked into. I have done this, and I find I have been wrong all these
years. Certain property that I have looked upon as mine, is theirs,
and I am getting ready to make them full restitution. It will mean
great riches to them; for amongst it is a district, at present barren
and profitless, which I believe has most valuable deposits of silver. I
shall restore it to them as soon as the formalities can be concluded;
and you, my dear friend, shall, if you desire, be the bearer of the

news to them; for it is to you, to our friendship, that in fact they will
owe it."
"I am unfeignedly glad to hear this," I exclaimed. I was in truth
lost in sheer amazement alike at the intention and at the motive to
which he ascribed it. But so deep was my distrust of him that I could
not stifle the doubts of his candour, even while he was speaking, and
my thoughts went flying hither and thither in search of his real
motive. Could he in any way have guessed that the facts were in my
possession? Did he know that his agents in London had put the
matter to Mrs. Curwen, and that she had travelled with me to
Madrid?
"It has been a genuine pleasure to me to think of this little act
of justice as the outcome of our friendship, Ferdinand—sincere,
genuine pleasure. And now let us speak of another matter. Have you
ever heard of your name having been used here in Spain?" The
question came with such sharp suddenness that I was unprepared
with a fencing reply.
"Yes, I have heard something of it," I answered, meeting the
keen glance he bent on me.
"It is a curious business. Don't tell me what you have heard; I
should not be surprised if I know it already. But if you have played
with this thing at all, I beg you be cautious. If I were to tell you the
nature of some of the reports my agents bring me, you would be
intensely surprised. Happily our friendship enables me to distinguish
accurately between my dear friend Ferdinand Carbonnell, and—the
other. All do not hold the key to the mystery, however, and—well,
perhaps it is fortunate in many ways that I do possess it. I tell you
this now, because, while you have been absent from Madrid, strange

things have occurred, and we are in the midst of much danger. Even
as I sit here talking to you, it is scarcely an exaggeration to say the
very existence of the Government, aye, and of the Monarchy itself
may be trembling in the balance."
"You mean this?" I cried.
"My dear Ferdinand, on some things I never make mistakes. You
know I have opposed this clamour for war with all my power, putting
all I have of value to the hazard in that opposition. I have done that
because I see as plainly as if the events had already occurred how
hopeless would be a war for Spain. We can scarcely hold Cuba as it
is, and Manila is but another name for menace. Can we dream then
of winning when all the wealth and power of America is thrown into
the scale against us? Alas, my poor, infatuated country!"
He leant back in his chair, lost for a moment in deep meditation.
"They prate to me, these fools, of European intervention and
help. Who can intervene? Or if intervening, can do aught but dash
themselves fruitlessly against the naval might of your country? If
only England would speak the word! Then we might hope indeed;
and then in all truth I would cry for war. But as it is, what else do we
resemble so much as the swine of the Gadarenes inspired by the
devils of our empty pride to rush down the precipice of war to sure
and certain ruin? Ah, Ferdinand, my friend, pray to God—or
whatever you hold for a God, that it may never be your lot to sit in
the high places of your people and watch them rushing to ruin;
seeing the ruin clearly and yet powerless to avert it. It is a cursed
heritage!" he cried bitterly.
"The war could still be averted," I said.
He smiled and shook his head.

"At what cost? Good God, at what cost? At the cost of a
revolution, the overthrow of the monarchy, the outbreak of Civil War!
And to do what—to overset one feeble family, and prop up another.
Was ever a country cleft by such a sharp and cruel sword?"
That he should have spoken to me in this strain surprised me;
for though we had frequently discussed Spanish politics, he had
never spoken with such freedom—and he seemed to read the
thought in my face.
"You wonder why I speak so frankly. I have reasons. The hour is
striking when all men will know the truth as I see it now. Then it is a
relief to speak: I believe even the highest mountains and tallest
trees grow weary at times of their solitude. And lastly, we are on the
eve of stirring events, and I must warn you to be doubly circumspect
in regard to this coincidence of your name. In the hour of her agony,
Spain may prove as unjust as in the days of the Inquisition.
Therefore, be careful. I know you English can keep secrets."
"Will you tell me one thing? Is Sarita Castelar in danger and
likely to be arrested?"
"She has been foolish, wild and reckless even in her Carlism.
And if the outbreak comes and any rising, the 'ways of the Carlists
will be hard.' But of this be sure—she may always reckon now that I
will try to save her; although any hour may see my power broken. If
war comes, Ferdinand, it will be largely to divert the dangers of
Carlism. And then, no man can say what will follow." He spoke with
apparently deep earnestness of manner; and as he finished, a clerk
came with a paper which caused him to end the interview and send
me away, urging me to see him again shortly.

I had scarcely been more impressed by any event in my life
than by that interview, and for all he had said in explanation, the
reason for his conduct was a mystery; and a mystery which after
events were to render infinitely deeper, until the hour when the clue
came into my hands. I could not shake off the disturbing thought
that throughout all he was misleading me and using me for some
presently unfathomable purpose.
But one result was clear—he had given me good news to carry
to Sarita; and when the time came for me to go to Madame
Chansette's house, the thought of Sarita's pleasure at my news, and
the hope that I might use it to induce her to leave this atmosphere
of intrigue and danger, found my heart beating high.
Friendship ripens as fast as fruit in that sunny land; would she
be as glad to see me again as I to see her? Had she been counting
the minutes to the time of our meeting as eagerly as I? I asked
myself the questions as I stood on the doorstep waiting impatiently
to be shown to her.
CHAPTER XII
SARITA'S WELCOME
If brightening eyes, rising colour in the cheek, radiant looks, smiling
lips and the cordial clasp of outstretched, eager hands spell
pleasure, then assuredly was Sarita glad to see me.
"We got your message and I have been so impatient," she said,
holding both my hands in hers. "And yet so anxious."

It was good to look on her again; to feel the subtle sweetness
of her presence; to listen to her voice; to watch the play of feelings
as each left its mark on her expressive features; to touch her hand
and have it left all trustfully in mine; to have the sunlight of her
smiling eyes warming my heart; to revel in the thousand essences of
delight which spread around her. Ah me. Life is good, and youth and
beauty are good, also; but love is best of all. And my heart told me
as I gazed at her how intensely and deeply I loved her, and what a
charm there was in the mere loving. But these thoughts do not help
the tongue to frame common-places.
"It is good to be with you again, Sarita;" was all I said for some
moments; and we just laughed and made believe that this was as
good as the most sparkling and brilliant conversation that ever
wisdom conceived and wit clothed in phrase.
And for all our silence I believe we understood one another
better than ever before. To me I know that the moments of
inarticulate nothingism were more eloquent in meaning than any
words; for somehow by that subtle instinct or affinity, that strange
other sense that has no physical attribute and is all alert and
powerful at times in the best as in the worst of us, I felt I did not
love in vain, but that this woman, peerless to me among women,
who held my hands and smiled to me with all the witchery of
loveliness, was swayed by some of the same weird, delightful,
thrilling, tantalising emotions which bewildered me.
What stayed me I know not; but the swift, sudden, rushing
temptation seized me to draw her to my heart and whisper some of
the love thoughts that were whirling with mad ecstacy in my brain;
and when I paused as though greatly daring and yet not daring

enough, I think my heart must have spoken straight to hers, for with
a vivid blush, she shrank, cried "No, no," tore her hands from mine
and, breaking away, ran swiftly to the end of the room, and stood,
her flashing pride laid by, palpitating, trembling and glancing at me
like a timid child.
A long hush fell upon us, and when it had passed, I had retaken
control of my emotions and was myself again. But in that instant I
know that our hearts spoke and were laid bare each to the other.
"I bring you some very strange news, Sarita. Perhaps the last
you would expect."
"From England?"
"No, it was waiting here in Madrid, though I brought out from
London something that might have influenced it."
"That is very clear," she laughed.
"Sebastian Quesada has decided to make restitution of your
fortune," I said looking for some sign of surprise. But she gave none,
and after reflecting an instant said:
"You have seen him before coming here?"
"I went to him to try and force the act of restitution on the
strength of some news I had learned, and he forestalled me by
announcing his intention to make it."
"He is very shrewd; but how did he know that you had this
news?"
"That occurred to me; but I don't see how he could have known
it."
"You are no match for him, Ferdinand. But there is no merit in
his act even if sincere. He did not say the matter was already
completed and the papers executed, did he?"

"It will be made as soon as the formalities can be complied
with."
She laughed again and shook her head sceptically.
"It is a safe promise—for he knows."
"Knows what?"
"What will happen—before the formalities will be complied
with." Her tone was thoughtful, and very serious; and she sighed.
"I think I know what you mean, and I am glad to be in time."
She was leaning her face on her hand, and lifted it to look up in
surprise. "I want to warn you, too, Sarita—I know you are in danger
—and to urge you to abandon this."
"You think I am in danger? Ah, Ferdinand, you do not know the
under-currents. What do you think my real danger is?"
"I know you are in danger of arrest; and I urge you to come to
England and be free."
"Would that be serving my country and my cause?"
"It would be serving your family." She laughed, and the music of
her laughter was indescribably sweet.
"Family," she repeated, half-mischievously, half-earnestly. "I
believe you are very much in earnest, Ferdinand, and I forgive you. I
am not quite sure you are not foolish. But if anyone else said that,
do you think I could hear another syllable from them? It is a counsel
of treachery; and such counsel comes ill from the lips of a friend."
"You allow now that I am a friend then?"
"How solemn you English are, when—when you are solemn!"
she cried, smiling again. "Do I think you are a friend? Yes, I do, in all
truth. I know it. We shall not quarrel again. I believe you are so
much my friend that, if I would let you, you would ruin yourself for

me. That is how you would read friendship and how I read you. But
I will not let my family do that."
"And how may I read you?" I said, quickly.
"How do you read me?" she retorted, with unwonted eagerness.
"How would you have me read you?"
"How would I have you read me?" She paused, glanced away,
and then, looking me straight in the eyes, answered seriously and
meaningly. "As what I am, not as what I might have been. You of all
the world must not make the mistake of confusing the two."
"I do not mistake. What you might have been is what you shall
be, Sarita," I said, earnestly—so earnestly that the expression in her
eyes changed slightly, and she turned them away and started, and I
thought she trembled. She knew my meaning; and after a moment
or two, in which she had forced under the feelings that seemed to
have surprised herself, she said calmly and almost formally—
"I will tell you what I think you do not know. I am in no real
danger, for I am all but pledged to marry—Sebastian Quesada!" Her
firmness scarcely lasted to the end of the sentence, and she uttered
the last words as if looking for some expostulation from me; but I
made none. Instead, I laughed and shook my head. I would not take
it seriously.
"There is much virtue in that 'all but.'" She seemed surprised
and in a sense disappointed at my reception of the news.
"It is true. I have three days left to give my answer. He gave me
a week."
"He might as well have given you an hour—or a year. It's all the
same. It will never be more than 'all but.' There are those who will
never allow it."

"Allow?" she cried with a start, the glance of surprise ending in
a smile.
"For one thing your family would bring pressure upon you," I
answered, gravely.
"Family, again," and the smile deepened, and then died away, as
she added, "But do you know what the marriage would mean to
me?"
"I know what it would mean to Quesada. He would never live to
lead you to the altar, Sarita."
"You would not do anything so mad?"
"I am not the only man in Madrid who would stop such a
marriage. You have sown passion, the harvest may be death." For a
moment she looked troubled, then her face cleared and grew very
serious.
"You mean Juan Livenza. Yes, he is dangerous; but he is only a
man; and after all Sebastian Quesada's man."
"Is Quesada more than a man, and proof against revenge?"
"I cannot tell you all there is in this; nor all that the marriage
would mean to me." This perplexed me. Her face was almost stern
as she spoke, and after a moment's pause, she exclaimed with a
gesture of impatience and irresolution: "Don't question me. It must
be."
"You have seen Quesada while I have been away." It was really
a question, but I said it as though stating a fact.
"I told you he had given me a week for my reply."
"And you would marry him—loving another?" The colour that
rushed to her cheeks was as much a flush of pain as of surprise. For
an instant her burning eyes met mine in indignant protest and

repudiation, but they fell before my steady gaze. I think she read the
resolve that ruled me now, and feared it.
"You have no right to speak like this to me," she said; but there
was neither life nor force in her words, and her voice faltered.
"On the contrary, I have the best of all rights. And you know
this." She made an effort to assert herself then. Drawing herself up,
she met my gaze steadily, and said in a tone she sought to make
indignant:
"What right do you mean?"
For the space of a dozen quickened heart-beats we faced each
other thus, and then I said, in a tone that thrilled with the passion in
me:
"I love you, and I am the man you love, Sarita, and by the God
that made us both, I swear no other man shall call you wife."
The masterfulness of my love conquered her, and with a low cry
she broke away, sank into a seat near, and sat trembling, her face
hidden in her hands. Love's instinct prompted me then to act, while
my passion mastered her. I placed my arms about her, lifted her to
her feet, took her hands from her face and kissed her.
"Do you think I will lose you, Sarita, in the very moment our
love has spoken." At the touch of my lips she trembled violently, and
with a cry of love, she wound her arms round my neck. As her head
found love's shelter on my shoulder, my passion burst all control and
found expression in a lava of words, hot, burning, incoherent,
tumultuous and vehement, poured forth in the delirious madness of
the moment of love's triumph.
We were standing there, still passion-locked, when a most
unwelcome interruption came. The door was opened, and Colonel

Juan Livenza was shown into the room.
He stopped on the threshold, his face livid with the rage that
blazed up in his eyes at what he saw, and struggling for an instant
to regain sufficient self-control to trust himself to speak, he said in a
voice husky and hoarse with rage:
"Your pardon; my arrival is inopportune;" and with a bow and a
look of deadly hate and menace at me, he went out and closed the
door behind him.
Sarita, who had drawn herself hurriedly from my arms, turned
pale and gazed at the shut door, trembling with agitation and
distress.
"I have sown passion, and the harvest will be death," she
murmured, repeating my words. "Heaven have mercy upon us."
"Or upon him," I answered. "But we need not take it quite so
seriously. Come, sweetheart," and I held out my arms to her.
"No, no, no. It can never be, Ferdinand. I was mad," she cried
distractedly.
"It was a very sweet madness, and shall last our lifetime," I
answered, but she would not let me place my arm round her again.
"As you will," I said, gently. "The knowledge of your love is all in all
to me. The rest I can trustfully leave to time."
"You must go, Ferdinand. I forgot that he was coming this
afternoon. You have made me forget everything. Oh, I am mad.
Now, all may be lost." The words jarred.
"Lost," I cried; and then a sudden divination of her meaning and
of Livenza's visit flashed into my mind. "He was coming, of course,
for this business of the day after to-morrow—but you will abandon
that now, Sarita?"

"How did you know? Is it guess or knowledge?" and her startled
eyes and parted lips told of her surprise.
"I was with Quesada this morning," I answered, the words
coming in obedience to an impulse that I could neither account for
nor resist.
"I am afraid of you, Ferdinand. How do you learn these things?
How much do you know?"
"My dear one, you are playing with weapons of death, and with
men who will but use and then fool you. Your one chance of safety
and of happiness lies in trusting me. Leave all this seething
maelstrom of intrigue, and come with me away from it all." I
pleaded with all the force at command and with all the power of love
to back the appeal.
But my note was a wrong one. Sarita, my love, would have
yielded, but Sarita, the Carlist, was still the stronger; and my appeal
fell on ears deadened by the calls of her patriotism and the cause
she loved so fanatically. She grew less and less in sympathy as I
pleaded.
"You must not tempt me to treachery, Ferdinand, and I cannot,
I dare not, I will not listen. I should despise myself. Remember what
I told you when first we met. You came too late."
"I will not hear that. I will not let you be sacrificed. You are
mine, Sarita, bound to me by the bonds of our love! and, come what
may, I will save you from this, despite yourself."
"Do you think I heed myself in such a cause? Then you little
know me. What you ask is impossible—the one thing in all the world
you should ever ask of me in vain, Ferdinand. But this I cannot
grant."

"I will not take that answer. I know you to be in far deeper peril
than you dream. If this scheme for abducting the King were to
succeed, how would you profit? Can't you see the master-craft that
is directing all: the wires that make you all no more than the
puppets of the man who does nothing without a purpose, and
everything for the one purpose of his own good. If Spain were
kingless to-morrow, who would gain? You Carlists? To the winds with
such a dream. When has Quesada lent himself to a cause which was
not for his own advantage? Have you asked yourself this? How
would he stand to gain by any such change? What were his words to
me to-day? By heaven, I begin to see his master-stroke now. You
are his dupe, Sarita, nothing but his dupe. You told me once you
knew his heart—aye, but you have not yet measured the height of
his ambition? To 'overset one feeble family in order to set up
another'—that was his phrase. Where, then, is his profit in this? He
lets you think you have won him over through his love for you; that
you know his heart; that he will help you for this coup if you in
return will be his wife. Sarita, are you blind? What think you is the
meaning of the careful network of preparations to strike at all you
Carlists? What are those copious lists of names already in the hands
of his agents? To help you Carlists, or to crush you? By God," I cried,
passionately, as a great light burst in on me—"I see the object. He
would have the young King out of his path; and yours are the hands
by which it shall be done. And when you have done it, do you dream
that he will help to set up another King? What would be his chance?
Picture it. Once the young King were away, who would be supreme
in this Spain of yours? Who is the most powerful man to-day? To
whom would the eyes of the people turn in the hour of kingless

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