Books: Ardath

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But with Sah-luma it was different! Sah-luma must be guarded and
cherished; his was a valuable life--the life of a genius such as
the world sees but once in a century--and it should not, so Theos
determined,--be emperilled or wasted; no! not even for the sake of
the sensuous, exquisite, conquering beauty of this dazzling
Priestess of the Sun--the fairest sorceress that ever triumphed
over the frail yet immortal Spirit of Man!

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE LOVE THAT KILLS.

How the time went he could not tell; in so gay and gorgeous a
scene hours might easily pass with the swiftness of unmarked
moments. Peals of laughter echoed now and again through the
vaulted dome, and excited voices were frequently raised in
clamorous disputations and contentious arguments that only just
sheered off the boundary-line of an actual quarrel. All sorts of
topics were discussed--the laws, the existing mode of government,
the latest discoveries in science, and the military prowess of the
King--but the conversation chiefly turned on the spread of
disloyalty, atheism, and republicanism among the population of Al-
Kyris,--and the influence of Khosrul on the minds of the lower
classes. The episode of the Prophet's late capture and fresh
escape seemed to be perfectly well known to all present, though it
had occurred so recently; one would have thought the detailed
account of it had been received through some private telephone,
communicating with the King's palace.

As the banquet progressed and the wine flowed more lavishly, the
assembled guests grew less and less circumspect in their general
behavior; they flung themselves full length on their luxurious
couches, in the laziest attitudes, now pulling out handfuls of
flowers from the tall porcelain jars that stood near, and pelting
one another with them for mere idle diversion, . . now summoning the
attendant slaves to refill their wine-cups while they lay lounging
at ease among their heaped-up cushions of silk and embroidery; and
yet with all the voluptuous freedom of their manners, the
picturesque grace that distinguished them was never wholly
destroyed. These young men were dissolute, but not coarse; bold,
but not vulgar; they took their pleasure in a delicately wanton
fashion that was infinitely more dangerous in its influence on the
mind than would have been the gross mirth and broad jesting of a
similar number of uneducated plebeians. The rude licentiousness of
an uncultivated boor has its safety-valve in disgust and
satiety, . . but the soft, enervating sensualism of a trained and
cultured epicurean aristocrat is a moral poison whose effects are
so insidious as to be scarcely felt till all the native nobility
of character has withered, and naught is left of a man but the
shadow-wreck of his former self.

There was nothing repulsive in the half-ironical, half-mischievous
merriment of these patrician revellers; their witticisms were
brilliant and pointed, but never indelicate; and if their darker
passions were roused, and ready to run riot, they showed as yet no
sign of it. They ENJOYED--yes! with that selfish animal enjoyment
and love of personal indulgence which all men, old and young
without exception, take such delight in--unless indeed they be
sworn and sorrowful anchorites, and even then you may be sure they
are always regretting the easy license and libertinage of their
bygone days of unbridled independence when they could foster their
pet weaknesses, cherish their favorite vices, and laugh at all
creeds and all morality as though Divine Justice were a mere empty
name, and they themselves the super-essence of creation. Ah, what
a ridiculous spectacle is Man! the two-legged pigmy of limited
brain, and still more limited sympathies, that, standing
arrogantly on his little grave the earth, coolly criticises the
Universe, settles law, and measures his puny stature against that
awful Unknown Force, deeply hidden, but majestically existent,
which for want of ampler designation we call GOD--God, whom some
of us will scarcely recognize, save with the mixture of doubt,
levity, and general reluctance; God, whom we never obey unless
obedience is enforced by calamity; God, whom we never truly love,
because so many of us prefer to stake our chances of the future on
the possibility of His non-existence!

Strangely enough, thoughts of this God, this despised and
forgotten Creator, came wandering hazily over Theos's mind at the
present moment when, glancing round the splendid banquet-table, he
studied the different faces of all assembled, and saw Self, Self,
Self, indelibly impressed on every one of them. Not a single
countenance was there that did not openly betray the complacent
hauteur and tranquil vanity of absolute Egotism, Sah-luma's
especially. But then Sah-luma had something to be proud of--his
genius; it was natural that he should be satisfied with himself--
he was a great man! But was it well for even a great man to admire
his own greatness? This was a pertinent question, and somewhat
difficult to answer. A genius must surely be more or less
conscious of his superiority to those who have no genius? Yet why?
May it not happen, on occasions, that the so-called fool shall
teach a lesson to the so-called wise man? Then where is the wise
man's superiority if a fool can instruct him? Theos found these
suggestions curiously puzzling; they seemed simple enough, and yet
they opened up a vista of intricate disquisition which he was in
no humor to follow. To escape from his own reflections he began to
pay close attention to the conversation going on around him, and
listened with an eager, almost painful interest, whenever he heard
Lysia's sweet, languid voice chiming through the clatter of men's
tongues like the silver stroke of a small bell ringing in a storm
at sea.

"And how hast thou left thy pale beauty Niphrata?" she was asking
Sah-luma in half-cold, half-caressing accents. "Does her singing
still charm thee as of yore? I understand thou hast given her her
freedom. Is that prudent? Was she not safer as thy slave?"

Sah-luma glanced up quickly in surprise. "Safer? She is as safe as
a rose in its green sheath," he replied. "What harm should come to
her?"

"I spoke not of harm," said Lysia, with a lazy smile. "But the day
may come, good minstrel, when thy sheathed rose may seek some
newer sunshine than thy face! ... when thy much poesy may pall
upon her spirit, and thy love-songs grow stale! ... and she may
string her harp to a different tune than the perpetual adoration-
hymn of Sah-luma!"

The handsome Laureate looked amused.

"Let her do so then!" he laughed carelessly. "Were she to leave me
I should not miss her greatly; a thousand pieces of gold will
purchase me another voice as sweet as hers,--another maid as fair!
Meanwhile the child is free to shape her own fate,--her own
future. I bind her no longer to my service; nevertheless, like the
jessamine-flower, she clings,--and will not easily unwind the
tendrils of her heart from mine."

"Poor jessamine-flower!" murmured Lysia negligently, with a touch
of malice in her tone. "What a rock it doth embrace; how little
vantage-ground it hath wherein to blossom!" And her drowsy eyes
shot forth a fiery glance from under their heavily fringed
drooping white lids.

Sah-luma met her look with one of mingled vexation and reproach;
she smiled and raising a goblet of wine to her lips, kissed the
brim, and gave it to him with an indescribably graceful, swaying
gesture of her whole form that reminded one of a tall white lily
bowing in the breeze. He seized the cup eagerly, drank from it and
returned it,--his momentary annoyance, whatever it was, passed,
and a joyous elation illumined his fine features. Then Lysia,
refilling the cup, kissed it again and handed it to Theos with so
much soft animation and tenderness in her face as she turned to
him, that his enforced calmness nearly gave way, and he had much
ado to restrain himself from falling at her feet in a transport of
passion, and crying out! ... "Love me, O thou sorceress-sovereign of
beauty! ... love me, if only for an hour, and then let me die! ...
for I shall have lived out all the joys of life in one embrace of
thine!" His hand trembled as he took the goblet, and he drank half
its contents thirstily,--then imitating Sah-luma's example, he
returned it to her with a profound salutation. Her eyes dwelt
meditatively upon him.

"What a dark, still, melancholy countenance is thine, Sir Theos!"
she said abruptly--"Thou art, for sure, a man of strongly
repressed and concentrated passions, ... 'tis a nature I love! I
would there were more of thy proud and chilly temperament in Al-
Kyris! ... Our men are like velvet-winged butterflies, drinking
honey all day and drowsing in sunshine--full to the brows of
folly,--frail and delicate as the little dancing maidens of the
King's seraglio, . . nervous too, with weak heads, that art apt to
ache on small provocation, and bodies that are apt to fail easily
when but slightly fatigued. Aye!--thou art a man clothed complete
in manliness,--moreover..."

She paused, and leaning forward so that the dark shower of her
perfumed hair brushed his arm ... "Hast ever heard travellers talk
of volcanoes? ... those marvellous mountains that oft wear crowns
of ice on their summits and yet hold unquenchable fire in their
depths? ... Methinks thou dost resemble these,--and that at a
touch, the flames would leap forth uncontrolled!"

Her magical low voice, more melodious in tone than the sound of
harps played by moonlight on the water, thrilled in his ears and
set his pulses beating madly,--with an effort he checked the
torrent of love-words that rushed to his lips, and looked at her
in a sort of wildly wondering appeal. Her laughter rang out in
silvery sweet ripples, and throwing herself lazily back in her
throne, she called..

"Aizif! ... Aizif!"

The great tigress instantly bounded forward like an obedient
hound, and placed its fore-paws on her knees, while she playfully
held a sugared comfit high above its head.

"Up, Aizif! up!" she cried mirthfully.. "Up! and be like a man for
once! ... snatch thy pleasure at all hazards!"

With a roar, the savage brute leaped and sprang, its sharp white
teeth fully displayed, its sly green eyes glisteningly prominent,
--and again Lysia's rich laughter pealed forth, mingling with the
impatient snarls of her terrific favorite. Still she held the
tempting morsel in her little snowy hand that glittered all over
with rare gems,--and still the tigress continued to make impotent
attempts to reach it, growing more and more ferocious with every
fresh effort,--till all at once she shut her palm upon the dainty
so that it could not be seen, and lightly catching the irritated
beast by the throat brought its eyes on a level with her own. The
effect was instantaneous, ... a strong shudder passed through its
frame--and it cowered and crouched lower and lower, in abject
fear,--the sweat broke out, and stood in large drops on its sleek
hide, and panting heavily, as the firm grasp its mistress slowly
relaxed, it sank down prone, in trembling abasement on the second
step of the dais, still looking up into those densely brilliant
gazelle eyes that were full of such deadly fascination and
merciless tyranny.

"Good Aizif!" said Lysia then, in that languid, soft voice, that
while so sweet, suggested hidden treachery.. "Gentle fondling! ...
Thou hast fairly earned thy reward! ... Here! ... take it!"--and
unclosing her roseate palm, she showed the desired bonne-bouche,
and offered it with a pretty coaxing air,--but the tigress now
refused to touch it, and lay as still as an animal of painted
stone.

"What a true philosopher she is, my sweet Aizif!" she went on
amusedly stroking the creature's head,--"Her feminine wit teaches
her what the dull brains of men can never grasp, . . namely, that
pleasures, no matter how sweet, turn to ashes and wormwood when
once obtained,--and that the only happiness in this world is the
charm of DESIRE! There is a subject for thee, Sah-luma! ... write
an immortal Ode on the mysteries, the delights, the never-ending
ravishment of Desire! ... but carry not thy fancy on to desire's
fulfilment, for there thou shalt find infinite bitterness! The
soul that wilfully gratifies its dearest wish, has stripped life
of its supremest joy, and stands thereafter in an emptied sphere,
sorrowful and alone,--with nothing left to hope for, nothing to
look forward to, save death, the end of all ambition!"

"Nay, fair lady,"--said Theos suddenly,--"We who deem ourselves
the children of the high gods, and the offspring of a Spirit
Eternal, may surely aspire to something beyond this death, that,
like a black seal, closes up the brief scroll of our merely human
existence! And to us, therefore, ambition should be ceaseless,--
for if we master the world, there are yet more worlds to win: and
if we find one heaven, we do but accept it as a pledge of other
heavens beyond it! The aspirations of Man are limitless,--hence
his best assurance of immortality, ... else why should he
perpetually long for things that here are impossible of
attainment? ... things that like faint, floating clouds rimmed
with light, suggest without declaring a glory unperceived?"

Lysia looked at him steadfastly, an under-gleam of malice shining
in her slumbrous eyes.

"Why? ... Because, good sir, the gods love mirth! ... and the
wanton Immortals are never more thoroughly diverted, than, when
leaning downward from their clear empyrean, they behold Man, their
Insect-Toy, arrogating to himself a share in their imperishable
Essence! To keep up the Eternal Jest, they torture him with vain
delusions, and prick him on with hopes never to be realized; aye!
and the whole vast Heaven may well shake with thunderous laughter
at the pride with which he doth put forth his puny claim to be
elected to another and fairer state of existence! What hath he
done? ... what does he do, to merit a future life? ... Are his
deeds so noble? ... is his wisdom so great? ... is his mind so
stainless? He, the oppressor of all Nature and of his brother
man,--he, the insolent, self-opinionated tyrant, yet bound slave
of the Earth on which he dwells ... why should he live again and
carry his ignoble presence into the splendors of an Eternity too
vast for him to comprehend? ..Nay, nay! ... I perceive thou art
one of the credulous, for whom a reasonless worship to an unproved
Deity is, for the sake of state-policy, maintained, . . I had
thought thee wiser! ... but no matter! thou shalt pay thy vows to
the shrine of Nagaya to-morrow, and see with what glorious pomp
and panoply we impose on the faithful, who like thee believe in
their own deathless and divinely constituted natures, and enjoy to
the full the grand Conceit that persuades them of their right to
Immortality!"

Her words carried with them a certain practical positiveness of
meaning, and Theos was somewhat impressed by their seeming truth.
After all, it WAS a curious and unfounded conceit of a man to
imagine himself the possessor of an immortal soul,--and yet ... if
all things were the outcome of a divine Creative Influence, was it
not unjust of that Creative Influence to endow all humanity with
such a belief if it had no foundation whatever? And could
injustice be associated with divine law? ...

He, Theos, for instance, was certain of his own immortality,--so
certain that, surrounded as he was by this brilliant company of
evident atheists, he felt himself to be the only real and positive
existing Being among an assembly of Shadow-figures,--but it was
not the time or the place to enter into a theological discussion,
especially with Lysia, . . and for the moment at least, he allowed
her assertions to remain uncontradicted. He sat, however, in a
somewhat stern silence, now and then glancing wistfully and
anxiously at Sah-luma, on whom the potent wines were beginning to
take effect, and who had just thrown himself down on the dais at
Lysia's feet, close to the tigress that still lay couched there in
immovable quiet. It was a picture worthy of the grandest painter's
brush, ... that glistening throne black as jet, with the fair form
of Lysia shining within it, like a white sea-nymph at rest in a
grotto of ocean-stalactites, . . the fantastically attired negresses
on each side, with their waving peacock-plumes,--the vivid
carnation-color of the dais, against which the black and yellow
stripes of the tigress showed up in strong and brilliant
contrast, . . and the graceful, jewel-decked figure of the Poet
Laureate, who, half sitting, half reclining on a black velvet
cushion, leaned his handsome head indolently against the silvery
folds of Lysia's robe, and looked up at her with eyes in which
burned the ardent admiration and scarcely restrained passion of a
privileged lover.

Suddenly and quite involuntarily Theos thought of Niphrata, ...
alas, poor maiden! how utterly her devotion to Sah-luma was
wasted! What did he care for her timid tenderness, . . her unselfish
worship? Nothing? ... less than nothing! He was entirely absorbed
by the sovereign-peerless beauty of this wonderful High
Priestess,--this witch-like weaver of spells more potent than
those of Circe; and musing thereon, Theos was sorry for Niphrata,
he knew not why. He felt that she had somehow been wronged,--that
she suffered, ... and that he, as well as Sah-luma, was in some
mysterious way to blame for this, though he could by no means
account for his own share in the dimly suggested reproach. This
peculiar, remorseful emotion was transitory, like all the vaguely
incomplete ideas that travelled mistily through his perplexed
brain, and he soon forgot it in the increasing animation and
interest of the scene that immediately surrounded him.

The general conversation was becoming more and more noisy, and the
laughter more and more boisterous,--several of the young men were
now very much the worse for their frequent libations, and Nir-
jalis, particularly, began again to show marked symptoms of an
inclination to break loose from all the bonds of prudent reserve.
He lay full length on his silk divan, his feet touching Theos, who
sat upright,--and, singing little snatches of song to himself, he
pulled the vine-wreath from his tumbled fair locks as though he
found it too weighty, and flung it on the ground among the other
debris of the feast. Then folding his arms lazily behind his head,
he stared straight and fixedly before him at Lysia, seeming to
note every jewel on her dress, every curve of her body, every
slight gesture of her hand, every faint, cold smile that played on
her lovely lips. One young man whom the others addressed as Ormaz,
a haughty, handsome fellow enough, though with rather a sneering
mouth just visible under his black mustache, was talking somewhat
excitedly on the subject of Khosrul's cunningly devised flight, . .
for it seemed to be universally understood that the venerable
Prophet was one of the Circle of Mystics,--persons whose knowledge
of science, especially in matters connected with electricity,
enabled them to perform astonishing juggleries, that were
frequently accepted by the uninitiated vulgar as almost divine
miracles. Not very long ago, according to Ormaz, who was
animatedly recalling the circumstance for the benefit of the
company, the words "FALL, AL-KYRIS!" had appeared emblazoned in
letters of fire on the sky at midnight, and the phenomenon had
been accompanied by two tremendous volleys of thunder, to the
infinite consternation of the multitude, who received it as a
supernatural manifestation. But a member of the King's Privy
Council, a satirical skeptic and mistruster of everybody's word
but his own, undertook to sift the matter,--and adopting the dress
of the Mystics, managed to introduce himself into one of their
secret assemblies, where with considerable astonishment, he saw
them make use of a small wire, by means of which they wrote in
characters of azure flame on the whiteness of a blank wall,--
moreover, he discovered that they possessed a lofty turret, built
secretly and securely in a deep, unfrequented grove of trees, from
whence, with the aid of various curious instruments and
reflectors, they could fling out any pattern or device they chose
on the sky, so that it should seem to be written by the finger of
Lightning. Having elucidated these mysteries, and become highly
edified thereby, the learned Councillor returned to the King, and
gave full information as to the result of his researches,
whereupon forty Mystics were at once arrested and flung into
prison for life, and their nefarious practices were made publicly
known to all the inhabitants of the city. Since then, no so-called
"spiritual" demonstrations had taken place till now, when on this
very night Zephoranim's Presence-Chamber had been suddenly
enveloped in the thunderous and terrifying darkness which had so
successfully covered Khosrul's escape.

"The King should have slain him at once--" declared Ormaz
emphatically, turning to Lysia as he spoke.. "I am surprised that
His Majesty permitted so flagrant an impostor and trespasser of
the law to speak one word, or live one moment in his royal
presence."

"Thou art surprised, Ormaz, at most things, especially those which
savor of simple good-nature and forbearance..." responded Lysia
coldly. "Thou art a wolfish, youth, and wouldst tear thine own
brother to shreds if he thwarted thy pleasure! For myself I see
little cause for astonishment, that a soldier-hero like Zephoranim
should take some pity on so frail and aged a wreck of human wit as
Khosrul. Khosrul blasphemes the Faith, . . what then? ... do ye not
all blaspheme?"

"Not in the open streets!" said Ormaz hastily.

"No--ye have not the mettle for that!"--and Lysia smiled darkly,
while the great eye on her breast flashed forth a sardonic lustre--
"Strong as ye all are, and young, ye lack the bravery of the weak
old man who, mad as he may be, has at least the courage of his
opinions! Who is there here that believes in the Sun as a god, or
in Nagaya as a mediator? Not one, . . but ye are cultured hypocrites
all, and careful to keep your heresies secret!"

"And thou, Lysia!" suddenly cried Nir-jalis, . . "Why if thou canst
so liberally admire the valor of thy sworn enemy Khosrul, why dost
not THOU step boldly forth, and abjure the Faith thou art
Priestess of, yet in thy heart deridest as a miserable
superstition?"

She turned her splendid flashing orbs slowly upon him, ... what an
awful chill, steely glitter leaped forth from their velvet-soft
depths!

"Prithee, be heedful of thy speech, good Nirjalis!" she said, with
a quiver in her voice curiously like the suppressed snarl of her
pet tigress.. "The majority of men are fools, ... like thee! ...
and need to be ruled according to their folly!"

Ormaz broke into a laugh. "And thou dost rule them, wise Virgin,
with a rod of iron!" he said satirically ... "The King himself is
but a slave in thy hands!" "The King is a devout believer,"--
remarked a dainty, effeminate-looking youth, arrayed in a
wonderfully picturesque garb of glistening purple,--"He pays his
vows to Nagaya three times a day, at sunrise, noon, and sunset,--
and 'tis said he hath oft been seen of late in silent meditation
alone before the Sacred Veil, even after midnight. Maybe he is
there at this very moment, offering up a royal petition for those
of his less pious subjects who, like ourselves, love good wine
more than long prayers. Ah!--he is a most austere and noble
monarch,--a very anchorite and pattern of strict religious
discipline! "And he shook his head to and fro with an air of mock
solemn fervor. Every one laughed, . . and Ormaz playfully threw a
cluster of half-crushed roses at the speaker.

"Hold thy foolish tongue, Pharnim,--" he said,--"The King doth but
show a fitting example to his people, . . there is a time to pray,
and a time to feast, and our Zephoranim can do both as becomes a
man. But of his midnight meditations I have heard naught, . . since
when hath he deserted his Court of Love for the colder chambers of
the Sacred Temple?"

"Ask Lysia!" muttered Nir-jalis drowsily, under his breath--"She
knows more of the King than she cares to confess!"

His words were spoken in a low voice, and yet they were distinct
enough for all present to hear. A glance of absolute dismay went
round the table, and a breathless silence followed like the
ominous hush of a heated atmosphere before a thunder-clap. Nir-
jalis, apparently struck by the sudden stillness, looked lazily
round from among the tumbled cushions where he reclined,--a
vacant, tipsy smile on his lips.

"What a company of mutes ye are!" he said thickly..

"Did ye not hear me? I bade ye ask Lysia, . ." and all at once he
sat bolt upright, his face crimsoning as with an access of
passion.. "Ask Lysia!" he repeated loudly.. "Ask her why the
mighty Zephoranim creeps in and out the Sacred Temple at midnight
like a skulking slave instead of a King! ... at midnight, when he
should be shut within his palace walls, playing the fool among his
women! I warrant 'tis not piety that persuades him to wander
through the underground Passage of the Tombs alone and in
disguise! Sah-luma! ... pretty pampered hound as thou art! ...
thou art near enough to Our Lady of Witcheries,--ask her, ... ask
her! ... she knows, . . "and his voice sank into an incoherent
murmur, . . "she knows more than she cares to confess!"