Books: Ardath

M >> Marie Corelli >> Ardath

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ZEPHORANIM,

written in scintillating letters of fire, indicated to all
beholders the name and abode of the powerful Monarch under whose
dominion, according to Sah-luma, Al-Kyris had reached its present
height of wealth and prosperity.

Theos looked everywhere about him, seeing yet scarcely realizing
the wonders on which he gazed,--leaning one arm on the burnished
edge of the car, he glanced now and then up at the dusky skies
growing thick with swarming worlds, and meditated dreamily whether
it might not be within the range of possibility to be lifted with
Sah-luma, chariot, steeds and all into that beautiful, fathomless
empyrean, and drive among planets as though they were flowers,
reining in at last before some great golden gate, which unbarred
should open into a lustrous Glory-Land fairer than all fair
regions ever pictured!

How like a god Sah-luma looked, he mused! ... his eyes resting
tenderly on the light, glittering form he was never weary of
contemplating. Could there be a more perfect head than that dark
one crowned with myrtle? ... could there be a more dazzling
existence than that enjoyed by this child of happy fortune, this
royal Laureate of a mighty King? How many poets starving in
garrets and waiting for a hearing, would not curse their unlucky
destinies when comparing themselves with such a Prince of Poesy,
each word of whose utterance was treasured and enshrined in the
hearts of a grateful and admiring people!

This was Fame indeed, . . Fame at its utmost best,--and Theos sighed
once or twice restlessly as he inwardly reflected how poor and
unsatisfying were his own poetical powers, and how totally
unfitted he was to cope with a rival so vastly his superior. Not
that he by any means desired to cross swords with Sah-luma in a
duel of song,-that was an idea that never entered his mind; he was
simply conscious of a certain humiliated feeling,--an impression
that it' he would be a poet at all, he must go back to the very
first beginning of the art and re-learn all he had ever known, or
thought he knew.

Many strange and complex emotions were at work within him, . .
emotions which he could neither control nor analyze,--and though
he felt himself fully alive,--alive to his very finger-tips, he
was ever and anon aware of a curious sensation like that
experienced by a suddenly startled somnambulist, who, just on the
point of awaking, hesitates reluctantly on the threshold of
dreamland, unwilling to leave one realm of shadows for another
more seeming true, yet equally transient. Entangled in perplexed
reveries he scarcely noticed the brilliant crowds of people that
were flocking hither and thither through the streets, many of whom
recognizing Sah-luma waved their hands or shouted some gay word of
greeting,--he saw, as it were without seeing. The whirling pageant
around him was both real and unreal,--there was always a deep
sense of mystery that hung like a cloud over his mind,--a cloud
that no resolution of his could lift,--and often he caught himself
dimly speculating as to what lay BEHIND that cloud. Something, he
felt sure,--something that like the clew to an. intricate problem,
would explain much that was now altogether incomprehensible,--
moreover he remorsefully realized that he had formerly known that
clew and had foolishly lost it, but how he could not tell.

His gaze wandered from the figure of Sah-luma to that of the
attendant harp-bearer who, perched on a narrow foothold on the
back of the chariot, held his master's golden instrument aloft as
though it were a flag of song,--the signal of a poet's triumph,
destined to float above the world forever!

Just then the equipage--arrived at the Kings palace. Turning the
horses' heads with a sharp jerk so that the mettlesome creatures
almost sprang erect on their haunches, Sah-luma drove them swiftly
into a spacious courtyard, lined with soldiers in full armor, and
brilliantly illuminated, where two gigantic stone Sphinxes, with
lit stars ablaze between their enormous brows, guarded a flight of
steps that led up to what seemed to be an endless avenue of white
marble columns. Here slaves in gorgeous attire rushed forward, and
seizing the prancing coursers by the bridle rein, held them fast
while the Laureate and his companion alighted. As they did so, a
mighty and resounding clash of weapons struck the tesselated
pavement,--every soldier flung his drawn sword on the ground and
doffed his helmet, and the cry of

"HAIL, SAH-LUMA!"

rose in one brief, mellow, manly shout that echoed vibratingly
through the heated air. Sah-luma meanwhile ascended half-way up
the steps, and there turning round, smiled and bowed with an
exquisite grace and infinite condescension,--and again Theos gazed
at him yearningly, lovingly, and somewhat enviously too. What a
picture he made standing between the great frowning sculptured
Sphinxes! ... contrasted with those cold and solemn visages of stone
he looked like a dazzling butterfly or stray bird of paradise. His
white garb glistened at every point with gems, and from his
shoulders, where it was fastened with large sapphire elasps,
depended a long mantle of cloth of gold, bordered thickly with
swansdown,--this he held up negligently in one hand as ho remained
for a moment in full view of the assembled soldiery, graciously
acknowledging their enthusiastic greetings, . . then with easy and
unhasting tread he mounted the rest of the stairway, followed by
Theos and his harp-bearer, and passed into the immense outer
entrance hall of the Royal Palace, known, as he explained to his
guest, as the Hall of the Two Thousand Columns.

Here among the massively carved pillars which looked like
straight, tall, frosted trunks of trees, were assembled hundreds
of men young and old,--evident aristocrats and nobles of high
degree, to judge from the magnificence of their costumes, while in
and out their brilliant ranks glided little pages in crimson and
blue,--black slaves, semi-nude or clothed in vivid colors,--court
officials with jewelled badges and insignias of authority,--
military guards clad in steel armor and carrying short, drawn
scimetars,--all talking, laughing, gesticulating and elbowing one
another as they moved to and fro,--and so thickly were they
pressed together that at first sight it seemed impossible to
penetrate through so dense a crowd: but no sooner did Sah-luma
appear, than they all fell back in orderly rows, thus making an
open avenue-like space for his admittance.

He walked slowly, with proudly-assured mien and a confident
smile,--bowing right and left in response to the respectful
salutations he received from all assembled,--many persons glanced
inquisitively at Theos, but as he was the Laureate's companion he
was saluted with nearly equal courtesy. The old critic Zabastes,
squeezing his lean, bent body from out the throng, hobbled after
Sah-luma at some little distance behind the harp-bearer, muttering
to himself as he went, and bestowing many a side-leer and
malicious grin on those among his acquaintance whom he here and
there recognized. Theos noted his behavior with a vague sense of
amusement,--the man took such evident delight in his own ill-
humor, and seemed to be so thoroughly convinced that his opinion
on all affairs was the only one worth having.

"Thou must check thy tongue today, Zabastes!" said a handsome
youth in dazzling blue and silver, who, just then detaching
himself from the crowd, laid a hand on the Critic's arm and
laughed as he spoke--"I doubt me much whether the King is in humor
for thy grim fooling! His Majesty hath been seriously discomposed
since his return from the royal tiger-hunt this morning,
notwithstanding that his unerring spear slew two goodly and most
furious animals. He is wondrous sullen,-and only the divine Sah-
luma is skilled in the art of soothing his troubled spirit.
Therefore,--if thou hast aught of crabbed or cantankerous to urge
against thy master's genius, thou hadst best reserve it for
another time, lest thy withered head roll on the market-place with
as little reverence as a dried gourd flung from a fruiterer's
stall!"

"I thank thee for thy warning, young jackanapes!" retorted
Zabastes, pausing in his walk and leaning on his staff while he
peered with his small, black, bad-tempered eyes at the speaker-
"Thou art methinks somewhat over well-informed for a little
lacquey! What knowest thou of His Majesty's humors? Hast been his
fly-i'-the-ear or cast-off sandal-string? I pray thee extend not
thy range of learning beyond the proper temperature of the bath,
and the choice of rare unguents for thy skin-greater knowledge
than this would injure the tender texture of thy fragile brain!
Pah!"--and Zabastes sniffed the air in disgust--"Thou hast a most
vile odor of jessamine about thee! ... I would thou wert clean of
perfumes and less tawdry in attire!"

Chuckling hoarsely he ambled onward, and chancing to, catch the
wondering backward glance of Pheos, he made expressive signs with
his fingers in derision of Sah-luma's sweeping mantle, which now,
allowed to fall to its full length, trailed along the marble floor
with a rich, rustling sound, the varied light sparkling on it at
every point and making it look like a veritable shower of gold.

On through the seemingly endless colonnades they passed, till they
came to a huge double door formed of two glittering, colossed
winged figures holding enormous uplifted shields. Here stood a
personage clad in a silver coat-of-mail, so motionless that at
first he appeared to be part of the door, .. but at the approach
of Sah-luma he stirred into life and action, and touching a spring
beside him, the arms of the twin colossi moved, the great double
shields were slowly lowered, and the portals slid asunder
noiselessly, thus displaying the sumptuous splendor of the Royal
Presence-Chamber.

It was a spacious and lofty saloon, completely lined with gilded
columns, between which hung numerous golden lamps having long,
pointed, amber pendants, that flashed down a million sparkles as
of sunlight on the magnificent mosaic floor beneath. On the walls
were rich tapestries storied with voluptuous scenes of love as
well as ghastly glimpses of warfare, ... and languishing beauties
reposing in the arms of their lovers, or listening to the songs of
passion, were depicted side by side with warriors dead on the
field of battle, or struggling hand to hand in grim and bleeding
conflict. The corners of this wonderful apartment were decked with
all sorts of flags and weapons, and in the middle of the painted
ceiling was suspended a huge bird with the spread wings of an
eagle and the head of an owl, that held in its curved talons a
superb girandole formed of a hundred extended swords, each bare
blade having at its point a bright lamp in the shape of a star,
while the clustered hilts composed the centre.

Officers in full uniform were ranged on both sides of the room,
and a number of other men richly attired stood about, conversing
with each other in low tones, ... but though Theos took in all
these details rapidly at a glance, his gaze soon became fixed on
the glittering Pavilion that occupied the furthest end of the
saloon, where on a massive throne of ivory and silver sat the
chief object of attraction, ... Zephoranim the King. The steps of
the royal dais were strewn ankle-deep with flowers, ... . on
either hand a bronze lion lay couchant, ... . and four gigantic
black statues of men supported the monarch's gold-fringed canopy,
their uplifted arms being decked with innumerable rows of large
and small pearls. The King's features were not just then visible--
he was leaning back in an indolent attitude, resting on his elbow,
and half covering his face with one hand. The individual in the
silver coat-of-mail whispered something in Sah-luma's ear either
by way of warning or advice, and then advanced, prostrating
himself before the dais and touching the ground humbly with his
forehead and hands. The King stirred slightly, but did not alter
his position, ... he was evidently wrapped in a deep and seemingly
unpleasant reverie.

"Dread my lord. ... !" began the Herald-in-Waiting. A movement of
decided impatience on the part of the monarch caused him to stop
short.

"By my soul!" said a rich, strong voice that made itself
distinctly audible throughout the spacious hall--"Thou art ever
shivering on the edge of thy duty when thou shouldst plunge boldly
into the midst thereof! How long wilt mouth thy words? ... Canst
never speak plain?"

"Most potent sovereign!" went on the stammering herald--"Sah-luma
waits thy royal pleasure!"

"Sah-luma!" and the monarch sprang erect, his eyes flashing fire--
"Nay, that HE should wait, bodes ill for thee, thou knave! How
darest thou bid him wait?--Entreat him hither with all gentleness,
as befits mine equal in the realm!"

As he thus spoke, Theos was able to observe him more attentively;
indeed it seemed as though a sudden and impressive pause had
occurred in the action of a drama in order to allow him as
spectator, to thoroughly master the meaning of one special scene.
Therefore he took the opportunity offered, and, looking full at
Zephoranim, thought he had never beheld so magnificent a man. Of
stately height and herculean build, he was most truly royal in
outward bearing,--though a physiognomist judging him from the
expression of his countenance would at once have given him all the
worst vices of a reckless voluptuary and utterly selfish
sensualist. His straight, low brows indicated brute force rather
than intellect,--his eyes, full, dark, and brilliant, had in them
a suggestion of something sinister and cruel, despite their fine
clearness and lustre, while the heavy lines of his mouth, only
partly concealed by a short, thick black beard, plainly betokened
that the monarch's tendencies were by no means toward the strict
and narrow paths of virtue.

Nevertheless he was a splendid specimen of the human animal at its
best physical development, and his attire, which was a mixture of
the civilized and savage, suited him as it certainly would not
have suited any less stalwart frame. His tunic was of the deepest
purple broidered with gold,--his vest of pale amber silk was
thrown open so as to display to the greatest advantage his broad
muscular chest and throat glittering all over with gems,--and he
wore, flung loosely across his left shoulder, a superb leopard
skin, just kept in place by a clasp of diamonds. His feet were
shod with gold-colored sandals,--his arms were bare and lavishly
decked with jewelled armlets,--his rough, dark hair was tossed
carelessly about his brow, whereon a circlet of gold studded with
large rubies glittered in the light,--from his belt hung a great
sheathed sword, together with all manner of hunting implements,--
and beside him, on a velvet-covered stand, lay a short sceptre,
having at its tip one huge egg-shaped pearl set in sapphires.

Noting the grand poise of his figure, and the statuesque grace of
his attitude, a strange, hazy, far-off memory began to urge itself
on Theos's mind,--a memory that with every second grew more
painfully distinct, ... HE HAD SEEN ZEPHORANIM BEFORE! Where,
he could not tell,--but he was as positive of it as that he
himself lived! ... and this inward conviction was accompanied by a
certain undefinable dread,--a vague terror and foreboding, though
he knew no actual cause for fear.

He had however no time to analyze his emotion,--for just then the
Herald-in-Waiting, having performed a backward evolution from the
throne to the threshold of the audience-chamber, beckoned
impatiently to Sah-luma, who at once stepped forward, bidding
Theos keep close behind him. The harp-bearer followed, . . and thus
all three approached the dais where the King still stood erect,
awaiting them. Zabastes the Critic glided in also, almost
unnoticed, and joined a group of courtiers at the furthest end of
the long, gorgeously lighted room, while at sight of the Laureate
the assembled officers saluted, and all conversation ceased. At
the foot of the throne Sah-luma paused, but made no obeisance,--
raising his glorious eyes to the monarch's face he smiled,--and
Theos beheld with amazement, that here it was not the Poet who
reverenced the King, but the King who reverenced the Poet!

What a strange state of things! he thought,--especially when the
mighty Zephoranim actually descended three steps of his flower-
strewn dais, and grasping Sah-luma's hands raised them to his lips
with all the humility of a splendid savage paying homage to his
intellectual conqueror! It was a scene Theos was destined never to
forget, and he gazed upon it as one gazes on a magnificently
painted picture, wherein two central figures fascinate and most
profoundly impress the beholder's imagination. He heard, with a
vague sense of mingled pleasure and sadness, the deep, mellow
tones of the monarch's voice vibrating through the silence, ... .

"Welcome, my Sah-luma!--Welcome at all times, but chiefly welcome
when the heart is weighted by care! I have thought of thee all
day, believe me! ... aye, since early dawn, when on my way to the
chase I heard in the depths of the forest a happy nightingale
singing, and deemed thy voice had taken bird-shape and followed
me! And that I sent for thee in haste, blame me not!--as well
blame the desert athirst for rain, or the hungry heart agape for
love to come and fill it!" Here his restless eye flashed on Theos,
who stood quietly behind Sah-luma, passive, yet expectant of he
knew not what.

"Whom hast thou there? ... A friend?" This as Sah-luma apparently
explained something in a low tone, ... "He is welcome also for thy
sake"--and he extended one hand, on which a great ruby signet
burned like a red star, to Theos, who, bending over it, kissed it
with the grave courtesy he fancied due to kings. Zephoranim
appeared good-naturedly surprised at this action, and eyed him
somewhat scrutinizingly as he said: "Thou art not of Sah-luma's
divine calling assuredly, fair sir, else thou wouldst hardly stoop
to a mere crowned head like mine! Soldiers and statesmen may bend
the knee to their chosen rulers, but to whom shall poets bend?
They, who with arrowy lines cause thrones to totter and fall,--
they, who with deathless utterance brand with infamy or hallow
with honor the most potent names of kings and emperors,--they by
whom alone a nation lives in the annals of the future,--what
homage do such elect gods owe to the passing holders of one or
more earthly sceptres? Thou art too humble, methinks, for the
minstrel-vocation,--dost call thyself a Minstrel? or a student of
the art of song?"

Theos looked up, his eyes resting full on the monarch's
countenance, as he replied in low, clear tones:

"Most noble Zephoranim, I am no minstrel! ... nor do I deserve to
be called even a student of that high, sweet music-wisdom in which
Sah-luma alone excels! All I dare hope for is that I may learn of
him in some small degree the lessons he has mastered, that at some
future time I may approach as nearly to his genius as a common
flower on earth can approach to a fixed star in the furthest blue
of heaven!"

Sah-luma smiled and gave him a pleased, appreciative glance,--
Zephoranim regarded him somewhat curiously.

"By my faith, thou'rt a modest and gentle disciple of Poesy!" he
said--"We receive thee gladly to our court as suits Sah-luma's
pleasure and our own! Stand thee near thy friend and master, and
listen to the melody of his matchless voice,--thou shalt hear
therein the mysteries of many things unravelled, and chiefly the
mystery of love, in which all other passions centre and have
power."

Re-ascending the steps of the dais, he flung himself indolently
back in his throne,--whereupon two pages brought a magnificent
chair of inlaid ivory and placed it near the foot of the dais at
his right hand. In this Sah-luma seated himself, the pages
arranging his golden mantle around him in shining, picturesque
folds,--while Theos, withdrawing slightly into the background,
stood leaning against a piece of tapestry on which the dead figure
of a man was depicted lying prone on the sward with a great wound
in his heart, and a bird of prey hovering above him expectant of
its grim repast. Kneeling on one knee close to Sah-luma, the harp-
bearer put the harp in tune, and swept his fingers lightly over
the strings,--then came a pause. A clear, small bell chimed
sweetly on the stillness, and the King, raising himself a little,
signed to a black slave who carried a tall silver wand emblematic
of some office.

"Let the women enter!" he commanded--"Speak but Sah-luma's name
and they will gather like waves rising to the moon,--but bid them
be silent as they come, lest they disturb thoughts more lasting
than their loveliness."

This with a significant glance toward the Laureate, who, sunk in
his ivory chair, seemed rapt in meditation.

His beautiful face had grown grave, . . even sad, ... he played idly
with the ornaments at his belt, ... and his eyes had a drowsy yet
ardent light within them, as they flashed now and then from under
the shade of his long curling lashes. The slave departed on his
errand ... and Zabastes edging himself out from the hushed and
attentive throng of nobles stood as it were in the foreground of
the picture, his thin lips twisted into a sneer. and his lean
hands grasping his staff viciously as though he longed to strike
somebody down with it.

A moment or so passed, and then the slave returned, his silver rod
uplifted, marshalling in a lovely double procession of white-
veiled female figures that came gliding along as noiselessly as
fair ghosts from forgotten tombs, each one carrying a garland of
flowers. They floated, rather than walked, up to the royal dais,
and there prostrated themselves two by two before the King, whose
fiery glance rested upon them more carelessly than tenderly,--and
as they rose, they threw back their veils, displaying to full view
such exquisite faces, such languishing, brilliant eyes, such snow-
white necks and arms, such graceful voluptuous forms, that Theos
caught at the tapestry near him in reeling dazzlement of sight and
sense, and wondered how Sah-luma seated tranquilly in the
reflective attitude he had assumed, could maintain so unmoved and
indifferent a demeanor.

Indifferent he was, however, even when the unveiled fair ones,
turning from the King to the Poet, laid all their garlands at his
feet,--he scarcely noticed the piled-up flowers, and still less
the lovely donors, who, retiring modestly backwards, took their
places on low silken divans, provided for their accommodation, in
a semicircle round the throne. Again a silence ensued,--Sah-luma
was evidently centred like a spider in a web of his own thought-
weaving,--and his attendant gently swept the strings of the harp
again to recall his wandering fancies. Suddenly he looked up, . .
his eyes were sombre, and a musing trouble shadowed the brightness
of his face.

"Strange it is, O King"--he said in low, suppressed tones that had
in them a quiver of pathetic sweetness,--"Strange it is that to-
night the soul of my singing dwells on sorrow! Like a stray bird
flying 'mid falling leaves, or a ship drifting out from sunlight
to storm, so does my fancy soar among drear, flitting images
evolved from the downfall of kingdoms,--and I seem to behold in
the distance the far-off shadow of Death..."

"Talk not of death!" interrupted the King loudly and in haste,--
"'Tis a raven note that hath been croaked in mine ears too often
and too harshly already! What! ... hast thou been met by the mad
Khosrul who lately sprang on me, even as a famished wolf on prey,
and grasping my bridle-rein bade me prepare to die! 'Twas an ill
jest, and one not to be lightly forgiven! 'Prepare to die, O
Zephoranim?' he cried--'For thy time of reckoning is come!' By my
soul!" and the monarch broke into a boisterous laugh--"Had he bade
me prepare live 'twould have been more to the purpose! But yon
frantic graybeard prates of naught but death, ... 'twere well he
should be silenced." And as he spoke, he frowned, his hand
involuntarily playing with the jewelled hilt of his sword.

"Aye,--death is an unpleasing suggestion!" suddenly said Zabastes,
who had gradually moved up nearer and nearer till he made one of
the group immediately round Sah-luma--"'Tis a word that should
never be mentioned in the presence of Kings! Yet, . .
notwithstanding the incivility of the statement, . . it is most
certain that His Most Potent Majesty as well as His Majesty's Most
Potent Laureate, MUST..DIE.. !" And he accompanied the words
"must..die..." with two decisive taps of his staff, smacking his
withered lips meanwhile as though he tasted something peculiarly
savory.

"And thou also, Zabastes!" retorted the King with a dark smile,
jestingly drawing his sword and pointing it full at him,--then, as
the old Critic shrank slightly at the gleam of the bare steel,
replacing it dashingly in its sheath,--"Thou also! ... and thine
ashes shall be cast to the four winds of heaven as suits thy
vocation, while those of thy master and thy master's King lie
honorably urned in porphyry and gold!"