Produced by Suzanne Shell, Anuradha Valsa Raj, and Project
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His Hour
By
Elinor Glyn
Author of "Three Weeks"
1910
[Illustration: A miniature of Prince Milaslávski in the uniform of oneof his ancestors, in which he appeared at the famous fancy ball at theWinter Palace some years ago. He was about twenty-three at the time. Ihave selected this likeness of him in preference to a later photograph,as the artist has happily caught him in one of his rarely soft moods,and also, the face being clean shaven, the characteristic chiselling ofthe lips can be seen. THE AUTHOR.]
"His Hour" is called in England and Russia "When the Hour Came."
With grateful homage and devotion I dedicate this book to
Her Imperial Highness The Grand Duchess Vladimir Of Russia
In memory of the happy evenings spent in her gracious presence whenreading to her these pages, which her sympathetic aid, in facilitatingmy opportunities for studying the Russian character, enabled me towrite. Her kind appreciation of the finished work is a source of thedeepest gratification to me.
Elinor Glyn
St. Petersburg, May, 1910
The Sphinx was smiling its eternal smile. It was two o'clock in themorning. The tourists had returned to Cairo, and only an Arab or twolingered near the boy who held Tamara's camel, and then gradually slunkaway; thus, but for Hafis, she was alone—alone with her thoughts andthe Sphinx.
The strange, mystical face looked straight at her from the elevationwhere she sat. Its sensual mocking calm penetrated her brain. Thecreature seemed to be laughing at all humanity—and saying—"There isno beyond—live and enjoy the things of the present—Eat, drink, and bemerry, for to-morrow you die, and I—I who sit here and know, tell youthere is no beyond. The things you can touch and hold to your bodiesare the only ones worth grasping."
"No, no!" said Tamara, half aloud, "I will not—I will not believe it."
"Fool," said the Sphinx. "What is your soul? And if you have one, whathave you done with it hitherto? Are you any light in the world?—No,you have lived upon the orders of others, you have let yourindividuality be crushed these twenty-four years—since the day youcould speak. Just an echo it is—that fine thing, your soul! Show itthen, if you have one! Do you possess an opinion? Not a bit of it. Yousimply announce platitudes that you have been taught were the rightanswers to all questions! Believe me, you have no soul. So take whatyou can—a body! You certainly have that, one can see it—well, snatchwhat it can bring you, since you have not enough will to try for higherthings. Grasp what you may, poor weakling. That is the wisdom sittinghere for eternity has taught me."
Tamara stirred her hands in protest—but she knew the indictment wastrue. Yes, her life had been one long commonplace vista of followingleads—like a sheep.
But was it too late to change? Had she the courage? Dared she think forherself? If not, the mystic message of the Sphinx's smile were betterfollowed: "Eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow you die."
The blue of the sky seemed to soothe her, and speak of hope. Could anyother country produce a sky of so deep a sapphire as the night sky ofEgypt? All around was intense