Books: Ardath

M >> Marie Corelli >> Ardath

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49

One or two, more daring, stretched out their hands to touch the
golden frame of the harp as it was carried past them by the youth
in crimson,--a pretty fellow enough, who looked extremely haughty,
and almost indignant at this effrontery on the part of the fair
poet-worshippers, but he made no remonstrance, and merely held his
head a little higher and walked with a more consequential air, as
he followed his master at a respectful distance. Another long
ecstatic shout of "Hail Sah-luma!" arose on all sides, rippling
away,--away,--down, as it seemed, to the very furthest edge of
echoing resonance,--and then the remainder of the crowd quickly
scattered right and left, leaving the spacious embankment almost
deserted, save for the presence of several copper-colored, blue-
shirted individuals who were commencing the work of taking down
and rolling up the silken awnings, accompanying their labors by a
sort of monotonous chant that, mingling with the slow, gliding
plash of the river, sounded as weird and mournful as the sough of
the wind through leafless trees.

Meanwhile Theos, in the company of his new friend, began to
express his thanks for the timely rescue he had received,--but
Sah-luma waived all such acknowledgments aside.

"Nay, I have only served thee as a crowned Laureate should ever
serve a lesser minstrel,"--he said, with that indescribably
delicious air of self-flattery which was so whimsical, and yet so
winning,--"And I tell thee in all good faith that, for a newly
arrived visitor in Al-Kyris, thy first venture was a reckless one!
To omit to kneel in the presence of the High Priestess during her
Benediction, was a violation of our customs and ceremonies
dangerous to life and limb! A religiously excited mob is
merciless,--and if I had not chanced upon the scene of action, . ."

"I should have been no longer the man I am!" smiled Theos, looking
down on his companion's light, lithe, elegant form as it moved
gracefully by his side--"But that I failed in homage to the High
Priestess was a most unintentional lack of wit on my part,--for if
THAT was the High Priestess,--that dazzling wonder of beauty who
lately passed in a glittering ship, on her triumphant way down the
river, like a priceless pearl in a cup of gold..."

"Aye, aye!" and Sah-luma's dark brows contracted in a slight
frown--"Not so many fine words, I pray thee! Thou couldst not well
mistake her,--there is only one Lysia!"

"Lysia!" murmured Theos dreamily, and the musical name slid off
his lips with a soft, sibilant sound,--"Lysia! And I forgot to
kneel to that enchanting, that adorable being! Oh unwise,
benighted fool!--where were my thoughts? Next time I see her I
will atone! .--no matter what creed she represents,--I will kiss
the dust at her feet, and so make reparation for my sin!"

Sah-luma glanced at him with a somewhat dubious expression.

"What!--art thou already persuaded?" he queried lightly, "and wilt
thou also be one of us? Well, thou wilt need to kiss the dust in
very truth, if thou servest Lysia, . . no half-measures will suit
where she, the Untouched and Immaculate, is concerned,"--and here
there was a faint inflection of mingled mockery and sadness in his
tone--"To love her is, for many men, an absolute necessity,--but
the Virgin Priestess of the Sun and the Serpent receives love, as
statues may receive it,--moving all others to frenzy, she is
herself unmoved!"

Theos listened, scarcely hearing. He was studying every line in
Sah-luma's face and figure with fixed and wistful attention.
Almost unconsciously he pressed the arm he held, and Sah-luma
looked up at him with a half-smile.

"I fancy we shall like each other!" he said--"Thou art a western
singing bird-of-passage, and I a nested nightingale amid the roses
of the East,--our ways of making melody are different,--we shall
not quarrel!"

"Quarrel!" echoed Theos amazedly--"Nay! ... I might quarrel with
my nearest and dearest, but never with thee, Sah-luma! For I know
thee for a very prince of poets! ... and would as soon profane the
sanctity of the Muse herself, as violate thy proffered
friendship!"

"Why, so!" returned Sah-luma, his brilliant eyes flashing with
undisguised pleasure,--"An' thou thinkest thus of me we shall be
firm and fast companions! Thou hast spoken well and not without
good instruction--I perceive my fame hath reached thee in thine
own ocean-girdled lands, where music is as rare as sunshine. Right
glad am I that chance has thrown us together, for now thou wilt be
better able to judge of my unrivalled master-skill in sweet word-
weaving! Thou must abide with me for all the days of thy sojourn
here. ... Art willing?"

"Willing? ... Aye! more than willing!" exclaimed Theos
enthusiastically--"But,--if I burden hospitality.."

"Burden!" and Sah-luma laughed--"Talk not of burdens to me!--I,
who have feasted kings, and made light of their entertaining!
Here," he added as he led the way through a broad alley, lined
with magnificent palms--"here is the entrance to my poor
dwelling!" and a sparkling, mischievous smile brightened his
features.--"There is room enough in it, methinks to hold thee,
even if thou hadst brought a retinue of slaves!"

He pointed before him as he spoke, and Theos stood for a moment
stock-still and overcome with astonishment, at the size and
splendor of the palace whose gates they were just approaching. It
was a dome-shaped building of the purest white marble, surrounded
on all sides by long, fluted colonnades, and fronted by spacious
court paved with mosaics, where eight flower-bordered fountains
dashed up to the hot, blue sky, incessant showers of refreshing
spray.

Into this court and across it, Sah-luma led his wondering guest, . .
ascending a wide flight of steps, they entered a vast open hall,
where the light poured in through rose-colored and pale blue
glass, that gave a strange yet lovely effect of mingled sunset and
moonlight to the scene. Here--reclining about on cushions of silk
and velvet--were several beautiful girls in various attitudes of
indolence and ease,--one laughing, black-haired houri was amusing
herself with a tame bird which flew to and from her uplifted
finger,--another in a half-sitting posture, played cup-and-ball
with much active and graceful dexterity,--some were working at
gold and silver embroidery,--others, clustered in a semicircle
round a large osier basket filled with myrtle, were busy weaving
garlands of the fragrant leaves,--and one maiden, seemingly
younger than the rest, and of lighter and more delicate
complexion, leaned somewhat pensively against an ebony-framed
harp, as though she were considering what sad or suggestive chords
she should next awaken from its responsive strings. As Sah-luma
and Theos appeared, these nymphs all rose from their different
occupations and amusements, and stood with bent heads and folded
hands in statuesque silence and humility.

"These are my human rosebuds!" said Sah-luma softly and gayly, as
holding the dazzled Theos by the arm he escorted him past these
radiant and exquisite forms--"They bloom, and fade, and die, like
the flowers thrown by the populace,--proud and happy to feel that
their perishable loveliness has, even, for a brief while, been
made more lasting by contact with my deathless poet-fame! Ah,
Niphrata!" and he paused at the side of the girl standing by the
harp--"Hast thou sung many of my songs to-day? ... or is thy voice
too weak for such impassioned cadence? Thou art pale, . . I miss thy
soft blush and dimpling smile,--what ails thee, my honey-throated
oriole?"

"Nothing, my lord"--answered Niphrata in a low tone, raising a
pair of lovely, dusky, violet eyes, fringed with long black
lashes,--"Nothing,--save that my heart is always sad in thine
absence!"

Sah-luma smiled, well pleased.

"Let it be sad no longer then!" he said, caressing her cheek with
his hand,--and Theos saw a wave of rich color mounting swiftly to
her fair brows at his touch, as though she were a white poppy
warming to crimson in the ardent heat of the sun--"I love to see
thee merry,--mirth suits a young and beauteous face like thine!
Look you, Sweet!--I bring with me here a stranger from far-off
lands,--one to whom Sah-luma's name is as a star in the desert!--I
must needs have thy voice in all its full lusciousness of tune to
warble for his pleasure those heart-entangling ditties of mine
which thou hast learned to render with such matchless tenderness!
... Thanks, Gisenya," ... this as another maiden advanced, and,
gently removing the myrtle-wreath he wore, placed one just freshly
woven on his clustering curls, . . then, turning to Theos, he
inquired--"Wilt thou also wear a minstrel-garland, my friend?
Niphrata or Gisenya will crown thee!"

"I am not worthy"--answered Theos, bending his head in low
salutation to the two lovely girls, who stood eying him with a
certain wistful wonder--"One spray from Sah-luma's discarded
wreath will best suffice me!"

Sah-luma broke into a laugh of absolute delight.

"I swear thou speakest well and like a true man!" he said
joyously. "Unfamous as thou art, thou deservest honor for the
frank confession of thy lack of merit! Believe me, there are some
boastful rhymers in Al-Kyris who would benefit much by a share of
thy becoming modesty! Give him his wish, Gisenya--" and Gisenya,
obediently detaching a sprig of myrtle from the wreath Sah-luma
had worn all day, handed it to Theos with a graceful obeisance--
"For who knows but the leaves may contain a certain witchery we
wot not of, that shall endow him with a touch of the divine
inspiration!"

At that moment, a curious figure came shuffling across the
splendid hall,--that of a little old man somewhat shabbily
attired, upon whose wrinkled countenance there seemed to be a
fixed, malign smile, like the smile of a mocking Greek mask. He
had small, bright, beady black eyes placed very near the bridge of
his large hooked nose,--his thin, wispy gray locks streamed
scantily over his bent shoulders, and he carried a tall staff to
support his awkward steps,--a staff with which he made a most
disagreeable tapping noise on the marble pavement as he came
along.

"Ah, Sir Gad-about!" he exclaimed in a harsh, squeaky voice as he
perceived Sah-luma--"Back again from your self-advertising in the
city! Is there any poor soul left in Al-Kyris whose ears have not
been deafened by the parrot-cry of the name of Sah-luma?--If there
is,--at him, at him, my dainty warbler of tiresome trills!--at
him, and storm his senses with a rhodomontade of rhymes without
reason!--at him, Immortal of the Immortals!--Bard of Bards!--stuff
him with quatrains and sextains!--beat him with blank verse, blank
of all meaning!--lash him with ballad and sonnet-scourges, till
the tortured wretch, howling for mercy, shall swear that no poet
save Sah-luma, ever lived before, or will ever live again, on the
face of the shuddering and astonished earth!"

And breathless with this extraordinary outburst, he struck his
staff loudly on the floor, and straightway fell into such a
violent fit of coughing that his whole lean body shook with the
paroxysm.

Sah-luma laughed heartily,--laughter in which he was joined by all
the assembled maidens, including the gentle, pensive-eyed
Niphrata. Standing erect in his glistening princely attire, with
one hand resting familiarly on Theos's arm, and the sparkle of
mirth lighting up his handsome features, he formed the greatest
contrast imaginable to the little shrunken old personage, who,
clinging convulsively to his staff, was entirely absorbed in his
efforts to control and overcome his sudden and unpleasant attack
of threatened suffocation.

"Theos, my friend,"--he said, still laughing--"Thou must know the
admirable Zabastes,--a man of vast importance in his own opinion!
Have done with thy wheezing,"--he continued, vehemently thumping
the struggling old gentleman on the back--"Here is another one of
the minstrel craft thou hatest,--hast aught of bitterness in thy
barbed tongue wherewith to welcome him as guest to mine abode?"

Thus adjured, the old man peered up at Theos inquisitively, wiping
away the tears that coughing had brought into his eyes, and after
a minute or two began also to laugh in a smothered, chuckling
way,--a laugh that resembled the croaking of frogs in a marshy
pool.

"Another one of the minstrel-craft," he echoed derisively--"Aye,
aye! ... Like meets like, and fools consorts with fool. The guest
of Sah-luma, . . Hearken, young man,--" and he drew closer, the
malign grin widening on his furrowed face,--"Thou shalt learn
enough trash here to stock thee with idiot-songs for a century.
Thou shalt gather up such fragments of stupidity, as shall provide
thee with food for all the puling love-sick girls of a nation!
Dost thou write follies also? ... thou shalt not write them here,
thou shalt not even think them!--for here Sah-luma,--the great,
the unrivalled Sah-luma,--is sole Lord of the land of Poesy.
Poesy,--by all the gods!--I would the accursed art had never been
invented ... so might the world have been spared many long-drawn
nothings, enwoofed in obscure and distracting phraseology! ...
THOU a would-be Poet?--go to!--make brick, mend sandals, dig
entrenchments, fight for thy country,--and leave the idle
stringing of words, and the tinkling of rhyme, to children like
Sah-luma, who play with life instead of living it."

And with this, he hobbled off uneasily, grunting and grumbling as
he went, and waving his staff magisterially right and left to warn
the smiling maidens out of his way,--and once more Sah-luma's
laughter, clear and joyous, pealed through the vaulted vestibule.

"Poor Zabastes!" he said in a tone of good-humored tolerance--"He
has the most caustic wit of any man in Al-Kyris! He is a positive
marvel of perverseness and ill-humor, well worth the four hundred
golden pieces I pay him yearly for his task of being my scribe and
critic. Like all of us he must live, eat and wear decent
clothing,--and that his only literary skill lies in the abuse of
better men than himself is his misfortune, rather than his fault.
Yes! ... he is my paid Critic, paid to rail against me on all
occasions public or private, for the merriment of those who care
to listen to the mutterings of his discontent,--and, by the Sacred
Veil! ... I cannot choose but laugh myself whenever I think of
him. He deems his words carry weight with the people,--alas, poor
soul! his scorn but adds to my glory,--his derision to my fame!
Nay, of a truth I need him,--even as the King needs the court
fool,--to make mirth for me in vacant moments,--for there is
something grotesque in the contemplation of his cankered
clownishness, that sees nought in life but the eating, the
sleeping, the building, and the bargaining. Such men as he can
never bear to know that there are others, gifted by heaven, for
whom all common things take radiant shape and meaning,--for whom
the flowers reveal their fragrant secrets,--for whom birds not
only sing, but speak in most melodious utterance--for whose
dreaming eyes, the very sunbeams spin bright fantasies in mid-air
more lasting than the kingdoms of the world! Blind and unhappy
Zabastes! ... he is ignorant as a stone, and for him the mysteries
of Nature are forever veiled. The triumphal hero-march of the
stars,--the brief, bright rhyme of the flashing comet,--the
canticle of the rose as she bears her crimson heart to the smile
of the sun,--the chorus of green leaves chanting orisons to the
wind--the never completed epic of heaven's lofty solitudes where
the white moon paces, wandering like a maiden in search of love,--
all these and other unnumbered joys he has lost--joys that Sah-
luma, child of the high gods and favorite of Destiny drinks in
with the light and the air."

His eyes softened with a dreamy, intense lustre that gave them a
new and almost pathetic beauty, while Theos, listening to each
word he uttered, wondered whether there were ever any sounds
sweeter than the rise and fall of his exquisite voice,--a voice as
deliciously clear and mellow as a golden flute tenderly played.

"Yes!--though we must laugh at Zabastes we should also pity him,"
--he resumed in gayer accents--"His fate is not enviable. He is
nothing but a Critic--he could not well be a lesser man,--one who,
unable himself to do any great work, takes refuge in finding fault
with the works of others. And those who abhor true Poesy are in
time themselves abhorred,--the balance of Justice never errs in
these things. The Poet wins the whole world's love, and immortal
fame,--his adverse Critic, brief contempt, and measureless
oblivion. Come,"--he added, addressing Theos--"we will leave these
maidens to their duties and pastimes,--Niphrata!" here his
dazzling smile flashed like a beam of sunlight over his face--
"thou wilt bring us fruit and wine yonder,--we shall pass the
afternoon together within doors. Bid my steward prepare the Rose
Chamber for my guest, and let Athazel and Zimra attend there to
wait upon him."

All the maidens saluted, touching their heads with their hands in
token of obedience, and Sah-luma leading the way, courteously
beckoned Theos to follow. He did so, conscious as he went of two
distinct impressions,--first, that the mysterious mental agitation
he had suffered from when he had found himself so unexpectedly in
a strange city, was not completely dispelled,--and secondly, that
he felt as though he must have known Sah-luma all his life! His
memory still remained a blank as regarded his past career,--but
this fact had ceased to trouble him, and he was perfectly
tranquil, and altogether satisfied with his present surroundings.
In short, to be in Al-Kyris, seemed to him quite in keeping with
the necessary course of events,--while to be the friend and
companion of Sah-luma was more natural and familiar to his mind,
than all once natural and familiar things.

CHAPTER XIII.

A POET'S PALACE.

Gliding along with that graceful, almost phantom-like swiftness of
movement that was so much a part of his manner, Sah-luma escorted
his visitor to the further end of the great hall. There,--throwing
aside a curtain of rich azure silk which partially draped two
large folding-doors,--he ushered him into a magnificent apartment
opening out upon the terrace and garden beyond,--a garden filled
with such a marvellous profusion of foliage and flowers, that
looking at it from between the glistening marble columns
surrounding the palace, it seemed as though the very sky above
rested edge-wise on towering pyramids of red and white bloom.
Awnings of pale blue stretched from the windows across the entire
width of the spacious outer colonnade, and here two small boys,
half nude, and black as polished ebony, were huddled together on
the mosaic pavement, watching the arrogant deportment of a superb
peacock that strutted majestically to and fro with boastfully
spreading tail and glittering crest as brilliant as the gleam of
the hot sun on the silver fringe of the azure canopies.

"Up, lazy rascals!" cried Sah-luma imperiously, as with the
extreme point of his sandaled foot he touched the dimpled, shiny
back of the nearest boy--"Up, and away! ... Fetch rose-water and
sweet perfumes hither! By the gods! ye have let the incense in
yonder burner smoulder!"--and he pointed to a massive brazen
vessel, gorgeously ornamented, from whence rose but the very
faintest blue whiff of fragrant smoke--"Off with ye both, ye
basking blackamoors! bring fresh frankincense,--and palm-leaves
wherewith to stir this heated air--hence and back again like a
lightning-flash! ... or out of my sight forever!"

While he spoke, the little fellows stood trembling and ducking
their woolly heads, as though they half expected to be seized by
their irate master and flung, like black balls, out into the
wilderness of flowers, but glancing timidly up and perceiving that
even in the midst of his petulance he smiled, they took courage,
and as soon as he had ceased they darted off with the swiftness of
flying arrows, each striving to outstrip the other in a race
across the terrace and garden. Sah-luma laughed as he watched them
disappear,--and then stepping back into the interior of the
apartment he turned to Theos and bade him be seated. Theos sank
unresistingly into a low, velvet-cushioned chair richly carved and
inlaid with ivory, and stretching his limbs indolently therein,
surveyed with new and ever-growing admiration the supple, elegant
figure of his host, who, throwing himself full length on a couch
covered with leopard-skins, folded his arms behind his head, and
eyed his guest with a complacent smile of vanity and self-
approval.

"'Tis not an altogether unfitting retreat for a poet's musings"--
he said, assuming an air of indifference, as he glanced round his
luxurious, almost royally appointed room--"I have heard of worse!
--But truly it needs the highest art of all known nations to
worthily deck a habitation wherein the divine Muse may daily
dwell, ... nevertheless, air, light, and flowers are not lacking,
and on these methinks I could subsist, were I deprived of all
other things!"

Theos sat silent, looking about him wistfully. Was ever poet,
king, or even emperor, housed more sumptuously than this, he
thought? ... as his eyes wandered to the domed ceiling, wreathed
with carved clusters of grapes and pomegranates,--the walls,
frescoed with glowing scenes of love and song-tournament,--the
groups of superb statuary that gleamed whitely out of dusky,
velvet-draped corners,--the quaintly shaped book-cases,
overflowing with books, and made so as to revolve round and round
at a touch, or move to and fro on noiseless wheels,--the grand
busts, both in bronze and marble, that stood on tall pedestals or
projecting bracket; and,--while he dimly noted all these splendid
evidences of unlimited wealth and luxury,--the perfume and lustre
of the place, the glitter of gold and azure, silver and scarlet,
the oriental languor pervading the very air, and above all the
rich amber and azure-tinted light that bathed every object in a
dream-like and fairy radiance, plunged his senses into a delicious
confusion,--a throbbing fever of delight to which he could give no
name, but which permeated every fibre of his being.

He felt half blinded with the brilliancy of the scene,--the
dazzling glow of color,--the sheen of deep and delicate hues
cunningly intermixed and contrasted,--the gorgeous lavishness of
waving blossoms that seemed to surge up like a sea to the very
windows,--and though many thoughts flitted hazily through his
brain, he could not shape them into utterance. He stared vaguely
at the floor,--it was paved with variegated mosaic and strewn with
the soft, dark, furry skins of wild animals,--at a little distance
from where he sat there was a huge bronze lectern supported by a
sculptured griffin with horns,--horns which curving over at the
top, turned upward again in the form of candelabra,--the harp-
bearer had brought in the harp, and it now stood in a conspicuous
position decked with myrtle, some of the garlands woven by the
maidens being no doubt used for this purpose.

Yet there was something mirage-like and fantastic in the splendor
that everywhere surrounded him,--he felt as though he were one of
the spectators in a vast auditorium where the curtain had just
risen on the first scene of the play He was dubiously considering
in his own perplexed mind, whether such princely living were the
privilege, or right, or custom of poets in general, when Sah-luma
spoke again, waving his hand toward one of the busts near him--a
massive, frowning head, magnificently sculptured.

"There is the glorious Orazel!" he said--"The father, as we all
must own, of the Art of Poesy, and indeed of all true literature!
Yet there be some who swear he never lived at all--aye! though his
poems have come down to us,--and many are the arguments I have had
with so-called wise men like Zabastes, concerning his style and
method of versification. Everything he has written bears the
impress of the same master-touch,--nevertheless garrulous
controversialists hold that his famous work the 'Ruva-Kalama'
descended by oral tradition from mouth to mouth till it came to us
in its 'improved' present condition. 'Improved!'" and Sah-luma
laughed disdainfully,--"As if the mumbling of an epic poem from
grandsire to grandson could possibly improve it! ... it would
rather be deteriorated, if not altogether changed into the merest
doggerel! Nay, nay!--the 'Ruva-Kalama,' is the achievement of one
great mind,--not twenty Oruzels were born in succession to write
it,--there was, there could be only one, and he, by right supreme,
is chief of the Bards Immortal! As well might fools hereafter
wrangle together and say there were many Sah-lumas! ... only I
have taken good heed posterity shall know there was only ONE,--
unmatched for love-impassioned singing throughout the length and
breadth of the world!"

He sprang up from his recumbent posture and attracted Theos's
attention to another bust even finer than the last,--it was placed
on a pedestal wreathed at the summit and at the base with laurel.