Books: Ardath

M >> Marie Corelli >> Ardath

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"I thought you had forgotten me!" he murmured in a vexed, half-
reproachful tone.

"Forgotten you? Forgotten Sah-luma? Impossible!" and her silvery
laughter shook the air into little throbs of music. "When the
greatest poet of the age is forgotten, then fall Al-Kyris! ... for
there shall be no more need of kingdoms!"

Laughing still and allowing her hand to remain in his, she passed
out of the pavilion, and Theos followed them both as a man might
follow the beckoning sylphs in a fairy dream.

A mellow, luminous, witch-like radiance seemed to surround them
as they went--two dazzling figures gliding on before him with the
slow, light grace of moonbeams flitting over a smooth ocean. They
seemed made for each other, ... he could not separate them in his
thoughts; but the strangest part of the matter was the feeling he
had, that he himself somehow belonged to them and they to him. His
ideas on the subject, however, were very indefinite; he was in a
condition of more or less absolute passiveness, save when strong
shudders of grief, memory, remorse or roused passion shook him
with sudden force like a storm blast shaking some melancholy
cypress whose roots are in the grave. He mused on Lysia's scornful
words with a perplexed pain. Was he then so selfish? "The one
great absolute 'I' scrawled on the face of Nature!" Could that
apply to him? Surely not! since in his present state of mind he
could hardly lay claim to any distinct personality, seeing that
that personality was forever merging itself and getting lost in
the more clearly perfect identity of Sah-luma, whom he regarded
with a species of profound hero-worship such as one man seldom
feels for another. To call himself a Poet NOW seemed the acme of
absurdity; how should such an one as he attempt to conquer fame
with a rival like Sah-luma already in the field and already
supremely victorious?

Full of these fancies, he scarcely heeded the wonders through
which he passed, as he followed his two radiant guides along. His
eyes were tired, and rested almost indifferently on the
magnificence that everywhere surrounded him, though here and there
certain objects attracted his attention as being curiously
familiar. These lofty corridors, gorgeously frescoed, . . these
splendid groups of statuary, . . these palm-shaded nooks of verdure
where imprisoned nightingales warbled plaintive songs that were
all the sweeter for their sadness, ... these spacious marble
loggias cooled by the rising and falling spray of myriad
fountains--did he not dimly recognize all these things? He thought
so, yet was not sure,--for he had arrived at a pass when he could
neither rely on his reason nor his memory. Naught of deeper
humiliation could he have than this, to feel within himself that
he was still AN INTELLECTUAL, THINKING, SENTIENT HUMAN BEING, and
that yet at the same time, his INTELLIGENCE COULD DO NOTHING TO
EXTRICATE HIM from the terrific mystery which had engulfed him
like a huge flood, and wherein he was now tossed to and fro as
helplessly as a floating straw.

On, still on he went, treading closely in Sah-luma's footsteps and
wistfully noting how often the myrtle-garlanded head of his friend
drooped caressingly toward Lysia's dusky perfumed locks, whence
those jewelled serpents' fangs darted flashingly upward like light
from darkness. On, still on, till at last he found himself in a
grand vestibule, built entirely of sparkling red granite. Here
were ten sphinxes, so huge in form that a dozen men might have
lounged at ease on each one of their enormous paws; they were
ranged in rows of five on each side, and their coldly meditative
eyes appeared to dwell steadfastly on the polished face of a large
black Disc placed conspicuously on a pedestal in the exact centre
of the pavement. Strange letters shone from time to time on this
ebony tablet, . . letters that seemed to be written in quicksilver;
they glittered for a second, then ran off like phosphorescent
drops of water, and again reappeared, but the same signs were
never repeated twice over. All were different, . . all were rapid in
their coming and going as flashes of lightning. Lysia, approaching
the Disc, turned it slightly; at her touch it revolved like a
flying wheel, and for a brief space was literally covered with
mysterious characters, which the beautiful Priestess perused with
an apparent air of satisfaction. All at once the fiery writing
vanished, the Disc was left black and bare,--and then a silver
ball fell suddenly upon it, with a clang, from some unseen height,
and rolling off again instantly disappeared. At the same moment a
harsh voice, rising as it were from the deepest underground,
chanted the following words in a monotonous recitative:

"Fall, O thou lost Hour, into the dreadful Past! Sink, O thou
Pearl of Time, into the dark and fathomless abyss! Not all the
glory of kings or the wealth of empires can purchase thee back
again! Not all the strength of warriors or the wisdom of sages can
draw thee forth from the Abode of Silence whither thou art fled!
Farewell, lost Hour!--and may the gods defend us from thy reproach
at the Day of Doom! In the name of the Sun and Nagaya, ... Peace!"

The voice died away in a muffled echo, and the slow, solemn boom
of a brazen-tongued bell struck midnight. Then Theos, raising his
eyes, saw that all further progress was impeded by a great wall of
solid rock that glistened at every point with flashes of pale and
dark violet light--a wall composed entirely of adamantine spar,
crusted thick with the rough growth of oriental amethyst. It rose
sheer up from the ground to an altitude of about a hundred feet,
and apparently closed in and completed the vestibule.

Surely there was no passing through such a barrier as this? ... he
thought wonderingly; nevertheless Lysia and Sah-luma still went
on, and he--as perforce he was compelled--still followed. Arrived
at the foot of the huge erection that towered above him like a
steep cliff of molten gems, he fancied he heard a faint sound
behind it as of clinking glasses and boisterous laughter, but
before he had time to consider what this might mean, Lysia laid
her hand lightly on a small, protruding knob of crystal, pressed
it, and lo! ... the whole massive structure yawned open suddenly
without any noise, suspending itself as it were in sparkling
festoons of purple stalactites over the voluptuously magnificent
scene disclosed.

At first it was difficult to discern more than a gorgeous maze of
swaying light and color as though a great field of tulips in full
bloom should be seen waving to and fro in the breath of a soft
wind; but gradually this bewildering dazzle of gold and green,
violet and crimson, resolved itself into definite form and
substance; and Theos, standing beside his two companions on the
elevated threshold of the partition through which they had
entered, was able to look down and survey with tolerable composure
the wondrous details of the glittering picture--a picture that
looked like a fairy-fantasy poised in a haze of jewel-like
radiance as of vaporized sapphire.

He saw beneath him a vast circular hall or amphitheatre, roofed in
by a lofty dome of richest malachite, from the centre of which was
suspended a huge globe of fire, that revolved with incredible
swiftness, flinging vivid, blood-red rays on the amber-colored
silken carpets and embroideries that strewed the floor below. The
dome was supported by rows upon rows of tall, tapering crystal
columns, clear as translucent water and green as the grass in
spring, . . and between and beyond these columns on the left-hand
side there were large, oval-shaped casements set wide open to the
night, through which the gleam of a broad lake laden with water-
lilies could be seen shimmering in the yellow moon. The middle of
the hall was occupied by a round table covered with draperies of
gold, white, and green, and heaped with all the costly accessories
of a sumptuous banquet such as might have been spread before the
gods of Olympus in the full height of their legendary prime. Here
were the lovely hues of heaped-up fruit,--the tender bloom of
scattered flowers,--the glisten of jewelled flagons and goblets,
the flash of massive golden dishes carried aloft by black slaves
attired in white and crimson,--the red glow of poured-out wine;
and here, in the drowsy warmth, lounging on divans of velvet and
embroidered satin, eating, drinking, idly gossiping, loudly
laughing, and occasionally bursting into wild snatches of song,
were a company of brilliant-looking personages,--all men, all
young, all handsome, all richly clad, and all evidently bent on
enjoying the pleasures offered by the immediate hour. Suddenly,
however, their noisy voices ceased--with one accord, as though
drawn by some magnetic spell, they all turned their heads toward
the platform where Lysia had just silently made her appearance,--
and springing from their seats they broke into a boisterous shout
of acclamation and welcome. One young man whose flushed face had
all the joyous, wanton, effeminate beauty of a pictured Dionysius,
reeled forward, goblet in hand, and tossing the wine in air so
that it splashed down again at his feet, staining his white
garments as it fell with a stain as of blood, he cried, tipsily:

"All hail, Lysia! Where hast thou wandered so long, thou Goddess
of Morn? We have been lost in the blackness of night, sunk in the
depths of a hell-like gloom--but lo! now the clouds have broken in
the east, and our hearts rejoice at the birth of day! Vanish, dull
moon, and be ashamed! ... for a fairer planet rules the sky!
Hence, ye stars! ... puny glow-worms lazily crawling in the fields
of ether! Lysia invests the heaven and earth, and in her smile we
live! Ha! art thou there, Sah-luma? Come, praise me for my
improvised love-lines; they are as good as thine, I warrant thee!
Canst compose when thou art drunk, my dainty Laureate? Drain a cup
then, and string me a stanza! Where is thy fool Zebastes? I would
fain tickle his long ears with ribald rhyme, and hearken to the
barbarous braying forth of his asinine reflections! Lysia! what,
Lysia! ... dost thou frown at me? Frown not, sweet queen, but
rather laugh! ... thy laughter kills, 'tis true, but thy frown
doth torture spirits after death! Unbend thy brows! Night looms
between them like a chaos! ... we will have no more night, I say,
but only noon! ... a long, languorous, lovely noon, flower-girdled
and sunbeam-clad!

"'With roses, roses, roses crown my head, For my days are few! And
remember, sweet, when I am dead, That my heart was true!'"

Singing unsteadily, with the empty goblet upside-down in his hand,
he looked up laughing,--his bright eyes flashing with a wild
feverish fire, his fair hair tossed back from his brows and
entangled in a half-crushed wreath of vine-leaves,--his rich
garments disordered, his whole demeanor that of one possessed by a
semi-delirium of sensuous pleasure...when all at once, meeting
Lysia's keen glance, he started as though he had been suddenly
stabbed,--the goblet fell from his clasp, and a visible shudder
ran through his strong, supple frame. The low, cold, merciless
laughter of the beautiful Priestess cut through the air hissingly
like the sweep of a scimetar.

"Thou art wondrous merry, Nir-jalis," she said, in languid, lazily
enunciated accents. "Knowest thou not that too much mirth
engenders weeping, and that excessive rejoicing hath its fitting
end in grievous lamentation? Nay, even now already thou lookest
more sadly! What sombre cloud has crossed thy wine-hued heaven? Be
happy while thou mayest, good fool! ... I blame thee not! Sooner
or later all things must end! ... in the mean time, make thou the
most of life while life remains; 'tis at its best an uncertain
heritage, that once rashly squandered can never be restored,--
either here or hereafter."

The words were gently, almost tenderly, spoken; but Nir-jalis
hearing them, grew white as death--his smile faded, leaving his
lips set and stern as the lips of a marble mask. Stooping, he
raised his fallen goblet and held it out almost mechanically to a
passing slave, who re-filled it with wine, which he drank off
thirstily at a draught, though the generous liquid brought no
color back to his drawn and ashy features.

Lysia paid no further heed to his evident discomfiture; bidding
Sah-luma and Theos follow her, she descended the few steps that
led from the raised platform into the body of the brilliant hall;
the rocky screen of amethyst closed behind her as noiselessly as
it had opened, and in another moment she stood among her assembled
guests, who at once surrounded her with eager salutations and
gracefully worded flatteries. Smiling on them all with that
strange smile of hers that was more scornful than sweet, and yet
so infinitely bewitching, she said little in answer to their
greetings, . . she moved as a queen moves through a crowd of
courtiers, the varied light of crimson and green playing about her
like so many sparkles of living flame, . . her dark head, wreathed
with those jewelled serpents, lifting itself proudly erect from
her muffling golden mantle, and her eyes shining with that frosty
gleam of mockery which made them look so lustrous yet so cold. And
now Theos perceived that at one end of the splendid banquet table
a dais was erected, draped richly in carnation-colored silk, and
that on this dais a throne was placed--a throne composed entirely
of BLACK crystals, whose needle-like points sparkled with a dark
flash as of bayonets seen through the smoke of battle. It was
cushioned in black velvet, and above it was a bent arch of ivory
on which glittered a twisted snake of clustered emeralds.

With that slow, superb ease that distinguished all her actions,
Lysia, attended closely by her tigress, mounted the dais,--and as
she did so a loud clash of brazen bells rang out from some
invisible turret beyond the summit of the great dome. At the sound
of the jangling chime four negresses appeared--goblin creatures
that looked as though they had suddenly sprung from some sooty,
subterranean region of gnomes--and humbly prostrating themselves
before Lysia, kissed the ground at her feet. This done, they rose,
and began to undo the fastenings of her golden, domino-like
garment; but either they were slow, or the fair priestess was
impatient for she suddenly shook herself free of their hands, and,
loosening the gorgeous mantle herself from its jewelled clasps, it
fell slowly from her symmetrical form on the perfumed floor with a
rustle as of falling leaves.

A sigh quivered audibly through the room--whether of grief, joy,
hope, relief, or despair it was difficult to tell. The pride and
peril of a matchless loveliness was revealed in all its fatal
seductiveness and invincible strength--the irresistible perfection
of woman's beauty was openly displayed to bewilder the sight and
rouse the reckless passions of man! Who could look on such
delicate, dangerous, witching charms unmoved? Who could gaze on
the exquisite outlines of a form fairer than that of any
sculptured Venus and refuse to acknowledge its powerfully sweet
attraction?

The Virgin Priestess of the Sun had stepped out of her
shrine; . . no longer a creature removed, impersonal, and sacred,
she had become most absolutely human. Moreover, she might now have
been taken for a bacchante, a dancer, or any other unsexed example
of womanhood inasmuch as with her golden mantle she had thrown off
all disguise of modesty. Her beautiful limbs, rounded and smooth
as pearl, could be plainly discerned through the filmy garb of
silvery tissue that clung like a pale mist about the voluptuous
curves of her figure and floated behind her in shining gossamer
folds; her dazzling white neck and arms were bare; and from slim
wrist to snowy shoulder, little twining diamond snakes glistened
in close coils against the velvety fairness of her flesh. A silver
serpent with a head of sapphires girdled her waist, and just above
the full wave of her bosom, that rose and fell visibly beneath the
transparent gathers of her gauzy drapery, shone a large, fiery
jewel, fashioned in the semblance of a human Eye. This singular
ornament was so life-like as to be absolutely repulsive, and as it
moved to and fro with its wearer's breathing it seemed now to
stare aghast,--anon to flash wickedly as with a thought of evil,--
while more often still it assumed a restlessly watchful expression
as though it were the eye of a fiend-inquisitor intent on the
detection of some secret treachery. Poised between those fair
white breasts it glared forth a glittering Menace; . . a warning of
unimaginable horror; and Theos, gazing at it fixedly, felt a
curious thrill run through him, as if, so to speak, a hook of
steel had been suddenly thrust into his quivering veins to draw
him steadily and securely on toward some pitfall of unknown
tortures. Then he remembered what Sah-luma had said about the
"all-reflecting Eye, the weird mirror and potent dazzler of human
sight," and wondered whether its mystical properties were such as
to compel men to involuntarily declare their inmost thoughts, for
it seemed to him that its sinister glow penetrated into the very
deepest recesses of his mind, and there discovered all the hidden
weaknesses, follies, and passions of the worst side of his nature!

He trembled and grew faint,--his dazed eyes wandered over the
dainty grace and marvel of Lysia's almost unclad loveliness with
mingled emotions of allurement and repugnance. Fascinated, yet at
the same time repelled, his soul yearned toward her as the soul of
the knight in the Lore-lei legend yearned toward the singing
Rhine-siren, whose embrace was destruction; and then.. ... he
became filled with a strange, sudden fear; fear, not for himself,
but for Sah-luma, whose ardent glance burned into her dark,
languid-lidded, amorous orbs with the lustre of flame meeting
flame--Sah-luma, whose beautiful flushed face was as that of a god
inspired, or lover triumphant. What could he do to shield and save
this so idolized friend of his?--this dear familiar for whom he
had such close and ever-increasing sympathy! Might he not possibly
guard him in some way and ward off impending danger? But what
danger? What spectral shadow of dread hovered above this brilliant
scene of high feasting and voluptuous revelry? None that he could
imagine or define, and yet he was conscious, of an omimous,
unuttered premonition of peril in the very air--peril for Sah-
luma, always for Sah-luma, never for himself, ... Self seemed dead
and entombed forever! Involuntarily lifting his eyes to the great
green dome where the globe of fire twirled rapidly like a rolling
star, he saw some words written round it in golden letters, they
were large and distinct, and ran thus:

"Live in the Now, but question not the Afterwards!"

A wise axiom! ... yet almost a platitude, for did not every one
occupy themselves exclusively with the Now, regardless of future
consequences? Of course! Who but sages--or fools--would stop to
question the Afterwards!

Just then Lysia ascended her black crystal throne in all her
statuesque majesty, and sinking indolently amid its sable
cushions, where she shone in her wonderful whiteness like a
glistening pearl set in ebony, she signed to her guests to resume
their places at table. She was instantly obeyed. Sah-luma took
what was evidently his accustomed post at her right hand, while
Theos found a vacant corner on her left, next to the picturesque,
lounging figure of the young man Nir jahs, who looked up at him
with a half smile as he seated himself, and courteously made more
room for him among the tumbled emerald silk diapers of the
luxurious divan, they now shared together. Nir jahs was by no
means sober, but he had recovered a little of his self-possession
since Lysia's sleepy eyes had darted such cold contempt upon him,
and he seemed for the present to be on his guard against giving
any further possible cause of offence.

"Thou art a new comer,--a stranger, if I mistake not?" he inquired
in a low, abrupt, yet kindly tone.

"Yes," replied Theos in the same soft sotto-voce. "I am a mere
sojourner in Al-Kyris for a few days only, ... the guest of the
divine Sah-luma."

Nir-jahs raised his eyebrows with an expression of amused wonder.

"Divine!" he ejaculated "By my faith! what neophyte have we here!"
and supporting himself on one elbow he stared at his companion as
though he saw in him some singular human phenomenon. "Dost thou
really believe," he went on jestingly, "in the divinity of poets?
Dost thou think they write what they mean, or practice what they
preach? Then art thou the veriest innocent that ever wore the
muscular semblance of man! Poets, my friend, are the most absolute
impostors, . . they melodize their rhymed music on phases of emotion
they have never experienced; as for instance our Lameate yonder
will string a pretty sonnet on the despair of love, he knowing
nothing of despair, . . he will write of a broken heart, his own
being unpricked by so much as a pin's point of trouble; and he
will speak in his verso of dying for love when he would not let
his little finger ache for the sake of a woman who worshipped him!
Look not so vaguely! 'tis so, indeed! and as for the divine part
of him, wait but a little, and thou shalt see thy poet-god become
a satyr!"

He laughed maliciously, and Theos felt an angry flush rising to
his brows. He could not bear to hear Sah-luma thus lightly
maligned even by this half-drunken reveller, it stung him to the
quick, as if he personally were included in the implied accusation
of unworthiness. Nir-jalis perceived his annoyance, and added
good naturedly:

"Tush, man! Vex not thy soul as to thy friend's virtues or vices--
what are they to thee? And of truth Sah-luma is no worse than the
rest of us. All I maintain is that he is certainly no better. I
have known many poets in my day, and they are all more or less
alike--petulant as babes, peevish as women, selfish as misers, and
conceited as peacocks. They SHOULD be different? Oh, yes!--they
SHOULD be the perpetual youth of mankind, the faithful singers of
love idealized and made perfect. But then none of us are what we
ought to be! Besides, if we were all virtuous, . . by the gods! the
world would become too dull a hole to live in! Enough! Wilt drink
with me?" and beckoning a slave, he had his own goblet and that of
Theos filled to the brim with wine.

"To our more intimate acquaintance!" he said smilingly, and Theos,
somewhat captivated by the easy courtesy of his manner, could do
no less than respond cordially to the proffered toast. At that
moment a triumphant burst of music, like the sound of mingled
flutes, hautboys, and harps, pushed through the dome like a strong
wind sweeping in from the sea, and with it the hum and buzz of
conversation began in good earnest. Theos, lifting his gaze toward
Lysia's seat, saw that she was now surrounded by the four
attendant negresses, who, standing two on each side of her throne,
held large fans of peacock plumes, which, as they were waved
slowly to and fro, emitted a thousand scintillations of jewel-like
splendor. A slave, attired in scarlet, knelt on one knee before
her, proffering a golden salver loaded with the choicest fruits
and wines; a lazy smile played on her lips--lips that outrivaled
the dewy tint of half-opening roses; the serpents in her hair and
on her rounded arms quivered in the light like living things; the
great Symbolic Eye glanced wickedly out from the white beauty of
her heaving breast; and as he surveyed her, thus resplendent in
all the startling seductiveness of her dangerous charms, her
loveliness entranced and intoxicated him like the faint perfume of
some rare and powerful exotic, ... his senses seemed to sink
drowningly in the whelming influence of her soft and dazzling
grace; and though he still resented, he could not resist her
mesmeric power. No wonder, he thought, that Sah-luma's eyes
darkened with passions as they dwelt on her! ... and no wonder
that he, like Sah-luma, was content to be gently but surely drawn
within the glittering web of her magic spell--a spell fatal, yet
too bewilderingly sweet for human strength to fight against. The
mysterious sense he had of danger lurking somewhere for Sah-luma
applied, so he fancied, in no way to himself--it did not much
matter what happened to HIM--HE was a mere nobody. He could be of
no use anywhere; he was as one banished into strange exile; his
brain--that brain he had once deemed so clear, so subtle, so
eminently reasoning and all-comprehensive--was now nothing but a
chaotic confusion of vague suggestions, and only served to very
slightly guide him in the immediate present, giving him no
practical clue at all as to the past through which he had lived,
or the circumstances he most wished to remember. He was a fool--a
dreamer--ungifted--unfamous! ... were he to die, not a soul would
regret his loss. His own fate therefore concerned him little--he
could handle fire recklessly and not feel the flame; he could, so
he believed, run any risk, and yet escape, comparatively free of
harm.