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

"LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION!" ... He murmured the phrase under
his breath as he gazed with straining eyes out into the languorous
beauty of that garden-scene that spread its dewy, emerald glamour
before him,--and--"deliver us from evil!" broke from his lips in a
half-sobbing sigh, as the peal of the chiming bells softened by
degrees into a subdued tunefulness of indistinct and tremulous
semitones, and the clarion-clearness of the cymbals again smote
the still air with forceful and jarring clangor. Then...like a
rainbow-garmented Peri floating easefully out of some far-off
sphere of sky-wonders,--an aerial Maiden-Shape glided into the
full lustre of the varying light,--a dancer, nude save for the
pearly glistening veil that was carelessly cast about her dainty
limbs, her white arms and delicate ankles being adorned with
circlets of tiny, golden bells, which kept up a melodious jingle-
jangle as she moved. And now began the strangest music,--music
that seemed to hover capriciously between luscious melody and
harsh discord,--a wild and curious medley of fantastic, minor
suggestions in which the imaginative soul might discover hints of
tears and folly, love and madness. To this uncertain yet
voluptuous measure the glittering girl-dancer leaped forward with
a startlingly beautiful abruptness,--and halting, as it were, on
the boundary-line between the dome and the garden beyond, raised
her rounded arms in a snowy arch above her head, and so for one
brief instant, looked like an exquisite angel ready to soar upward
to her native realm. Her pause was a mere breathing space in
duration, ... dropping her arms again with a swift decision that
set all the little bells on them clashing stormily, she
straightway hurled herself, so to speak, into the giddy paces of a
dance that was more like an enigma than an exercise. Round and
round she floated wildly, like an opal-winged butterfly in a net
of sunbeams,--now seemingly shaken by delicate tremors as aspen
leaves are shaken by the faintest wind, ..now assuming the most
voluptuous eccentricities of posture, . . sometimes bending
wistfully toward the velvet turf on which she trod, as though she
listened to the chanting of demon voices underground, . . and again,
with her waving white hands, appearing to summon spirits downward
from their wanderings in upper air. Her figure was in perfect
harmony with the seductive grace of her gestures,--not only her
twinkling feet, but her whole body danced,--her very features
bespoke entire abandonment to the frenzy of rapid movement,--her
large black eyes flashed with something of fierceness as well as
languor; her raven hair streamed behind her like a dark spread
wing, . . her parted lips pouted and quivered with excitement and
ardor while ever and anon she turned her beautiful head toward the
eagerly attentive group of revelers who watched her performance,
with an air of indescribable sweetness, malice, and mockery. Again
and again she whirled,--she flew, she sprang,--and wild cries of
"Hail, Nelida!" "Triumph to Nelida!" resounded uproariously
through the dome. Suddenly the character of the music changed, ...
from an appealing murmurous complaint and persuasion, it rose to a
martial and almost menacing fervor; the roll of drums and the
shrill, reedy warbling of pipes and other fluty minstrelsy crossed
the silvery thread of strung harps and viols, ... the light from
the fiery globe shot forth a new effulgence, this time in two
broad rays, one a dazzling, pale azure, the other a clear, pearly
white. Nelida's graceful movements grew slower and slower, till
she merely seemed to sway indolently to and fro like a mermaid
rocking herself to sleep on the summit of a wave, ... and then,--
from among the veiling shadows of the trees, there stepped forth a
man,--beautiful as a sculptured god, of magnificently moulded form
and noble stature, clothed from chest to knee in a close fitting
garb of what seemed to be a thick network of massively linked
gold. His dark hair was crowned with ivy, and at his belt gleamed
an unsheathed dagger. Slowly and with courtly grace he approached
the panting Nelida, who now, with half-closed eyes and slackening
steps, looked as though she were drowsily footing her way into
dreamland. He touched her snowy shoulder,--she started with an
inimitable gesture of surprise, ... a smile, brilliant as morning,
dawned on her face,--withdrawing herself slightly, she assumed an
air of haughtily sweet disdain and refusal, ... then capriciously
relenting, she gave him her hand, and in another instant, to the
sound of a joyous melody that seemed to tumble through the air as
billows tumble on the beach, the dazzling pair whirled away in a
giddy waltz like two bright flames blown suddenly together by the
wind. No language could give an adequate idea of the marvelous
bewitchment and beauty of their united movements, and as they flew
over the dark smooth turf, with the flower-laden trees drooping
dewily about them, and the yellow moonbeams like melted amber
beneath their noiseless feet, ... while the pale sapphire and
white radiations from the dome, sparkling upon them aureole-wise,
gave them the appearance of glittering birds circling through a
limitless space of luminous and never-clouded ether. On, on! ...
and they scarcely touched the earth as they spun dizzily round and
round, their gracefully entwined limbs shining like polished ivory
in the light, ... on, on!--with ever-increasing swiftness they
sped, till their two forms seemed to merge into one, ... when as
though oppressed by their own abandonment of joy they paused
hoveringly, their embracing arms closing round one another, their
lips almost touching, ... their eyes reflecting each other's
ardent looks, ... then, ... their figures grew less and less
distinct, ... they appeared to melt mysteriously into the azure,
pearly light that surrounded them, and finally, like faint clouds
fading on the edge of a sea-horizon, they vanished! The effect of
this brief voluptuous dance, and its equally voluptuous end, was
simply indescribable,--the young men, who had watched it through
in silence and flushed ecstasy, now sprang from their couches with
shouts of rapture and unrestrained excitement, and seizing the
other dancing-maidens who had till now remained in clustered,
half-hidden groups behind the crystalline columns of the hall,
whirled them off into the inviting pleasaunce beyond, where the
little white and gold pavilions peeped through the heavy foliage,
--and before Theos, in the picturesque hurry and confusion of the
scene, could quite realize what had happened, the great globe in
the dome was suddenly extinguished, ... a firm hand closed
imperiously on his own, and he was drawn along swiftly, he knew
not whither!

A slight tremor shook him as he discovered that Sah-luma was no
longer by his side ... the friend whom he so ardently desired to
protect had gone,--and he could not tell where. He glanced about
him,--in the semi-obscurity he was able to discern the sheen of
the lake with its white burden of water-lilies, and the branchy
outlines of the moonlit garden, ... and ... yes! it was Lysia
whose grasp lay so warmly on his arm, ... Lysia whose lovely,
tempting face was so perilously near his own,--Lysia whose smile
colored the soft gloom with such alluring lustre! ... His heart
beat,--his blood burned,--he strove in vain to imagine what fate
was now in store for him. He was conscious of the beauty of the
night that spread its star-embroidered splendors about him,--
conscious too of the vital youth and passion that throbbed
amorously in his veins, endowing him with that keenly sweet,
headstrong rapture which is said to come but once in a lifetime,
and which in the very excess of its fond folly is too often apt to
bring sorrow and endless remorse in its train. One moment more and
he found himself in an exquisitely adorned pavilion of painted
silk, faintly lit by one lamp of tenderest rose lustre, and
carpeted with gold-spangled tissue. It was surrounded by a thicket
of orange trees in full bloom, and the fragrance of the waxen-
white flowers clung heavily to the air, breathing forth delicate
suggestions of languor and sleep. The measured rush of the near
waterfall alone disturbed the deep silence, with now and then the
subdued and plaintive trill of a nightingale soothing itself to
rest with its own song in some deep shadowed copse. Here, on a
couch of heaped-up, stemless roses, such as might have been
prepared for the repose of Titania, Lysia seated herself, while
Theos stood gazing at her in fascinated wonderment and gradually
increasing masterfulness of passion. She looked lovelier than ever
in that dim, soft, mingled light of rosy lamp and silver
moonbeams,--her smile was no longer cold but warmly sweet,--her
eyes had lost their mocking glitter, and swam in a soft languor
that was strangely bewitching,--even the Orbed Symbol on her white
bosom seemed for once to drowse. Her lips parted in a faint sigh,--
a glance like fire flashed from beneath her black, silken lashes,
...

"Theos!" she said tremulously. "Theos!" and waited.

He, mute and oppressed by indistinct, hovering recollections, fed
his gaze on her seductive fairness for one earnest moment longer,
--then suddenly advancing he knelt before her, and took her
unresisting hands in his.

"Lysia!"--and his voice, even to his own ears, had a solemn as
well as passionate thrill,--"Lysia, what wouldst thou have with
me? Speak! ... for my heart aches with a burden of dark memories,
--memories conjured up by the wizard spell of thine eyes,--those
eyes so cruel-sweet that seem to lure me to my soul's ruin! Tell
me--have we not met before? ... loved before? ... wronged each
other and God before? ... parted before? ... Maybe 'tis but a
brain sick fancy,--nevertheless my spirit knows thee,--feels
thee,--clings to thee,--and yet recoils from thee as one whom I
did love in by-gone days of old! My thoughts of thee are strange,
fair Lysia!"--and he pressed her warm, delicate fingers with
unconscious fierceness,--"I would have sworn that in the Past thou
didst betray me!"

Her low laugh stirred the silence into a faint, tuneful echo.

"Thou foolish dreamer!" she murmured half mockingly, half tenderly
... "Thou art dazed with wine, steeped in song, bewitched with
beauty, and knowest nothing of what thou sayest! Methinks thou art
a crazed poet, and more fervid than Sah-luma in the mystic nature
of thine utterance,--thou shouldst be Laureate, not he! What if
thou wert offered his place? ... his fame?"

He looked at her, surprised and perplexed, and paused an instant
before replying. Then he said slowly:

"So strange a thing could never be ... for Sah-luma's place, once
empty, could not again be filled! I grudge him not his glory-
laurels,--moreover, ... what is Fame compared to Love!" He uttered
the last words in a low tone as though he spoke them to himself,
... she heard,--and a flash of triumph brightened her beautiful
face.

"Ah! ..." and she drooped her head lower and lower till her dark,
fragrant tresses touched his brow ... "Then, ... thou dost love
me?"

He started. A dull pang ached in his heart,--a chill of vague
uncertainty and dread. Love! ... was it love indeed that he felt?
... love, ... or ... base desire? Love ... The word rang in his
ears with the same sacred suggestiveness as that conveyed by the
chime of bells,--surely, Love was a holy thing, ... a passion
pure, impersonal, divine, and deathless,--and it seemed to him
that somewhere it had been written or said ... "Wheresoever a man
seeketh himself, there he falleth from Love" And he, ... did he
not seek himself, and the gratification of his own immediate
pleasure? Painfully he considered, ... it was a supreme moment
with him,--a moment when he felt himself to be positively held
within the grasp of some great Archangel, who, turning grandly
reproachful eyes upon him, demanded ...

"Art thou the Servant of Love or the Slave of Self?" And while he
remained silent, the silken sweet voice of the fairest woman he
had ever seen once more sent its musical cadence through his brain
in that fateful question:

"Thou dost love me?"

A deep sigh broke from him, ... he moved nearer to her, ... he
entwined her warm waist with his arms, and stared upon her as
though he drank her beauty in with his eyes. Up to the crowning
masses of her dusky hair where the little serpents' heads darted
forth glisteningly,--over the dainty curve of her white shoulders
and bosom where the symbolic Eye seemed to regard him with a
sleepy weirdness,--down to the blue-veined, small feet in the
silvery sandals, and up again to the red witchery of her mouth and
black splendor of those twin fire-jewels that flashed beneath her
heavy lashes--his gaze wandered hungrily, searchingly,
passionately,--his heart beat with a loud, impatient eagerness
like a wild thing struggling in its cage, but though his lips
moved, he said no word,--she too was silent. So passed or seemed
to pass some minutes,--minutes that were almost terrible in the
weight of mysterious meaning they held unuttered. Then, with a
half-smothered cry, he suddenly released her and sprang erect.

"Love!" he cried, ... "Nay!--'tis a word for children and angels!
--not for me! What have I to do with love? ... what hast thou? ...
thou, Lysia, who dost make the lives of men thy sport and their
torments thy mockery! There is no name for this fever that
consumes me when I look upon thee, ... no name for this unquiet
ravishment that draws me to thee in mingled bliss and agony! If I
must perish of mine own bitter-sweet frenzy, let me be slain now
and most utterly, ... but Love has no abiding-place 'twixt me and
thee, Lysia! ... Love! ... ah, no, no! ... speak no more of love
... it hath a charmed sound, recalling to my soul some glory I
have lost!"

He spoke wildly, incoherently, scarcely knowing what he said, and
she, half lying on her couch of roses, looked at him curiously,
with somber, meditative eyes. A smile of delicate derision parted
her lips.

"Of a truth, our late feasting hath roused in thee a most singular
delirium!" she murmured indolently with a touch of cold amusement
in her accents--"Thou dost seem to dwell in the Past rather than
the Present! What ails thee? ... Come hither--closer!"--and she
stretched out her lovely arms on which the twisted diamond snakes
glittered in such flashing coils,--"Come! ... or is thy manful
guise mere feigning, and dost thou fear me?"

"Fear thee!"--and stung to a sudden heat Theos made one bound to
her side and seizing her slim wrists, held them in a vise-like
grip--"So little do I fear thee, Lysia, so well do I know thee,
that in my very caresses I would slay thee, couldst thou thus be
slain! Thou art to me the living presence of an unforgotten Sin,--
a sin most deadly sweet and unrepented of, . . ah! why dost thou
tempt me!"--and he bent over her more ardently--"must I not meet
my death at thy hands? I must,--and more than death!--yet for thy
kiss I will risk hell,--for one embrace of thine I will brave
perdition! Ah, cruel enchantress!"--and winding his arms about
her, he drew her close against his breast and looked down on the
dreamy fairness of her face,--"Would there WERE such a thing as
Death for souls like mine and thine! Would we might die most
absolutely thus, heart against heart, never to wake again and
loathe eathtypo or archaism? other! Who speaks of the cool
sweetness of the grave,--the quiet ending of all strife,--the
unbreaking seal of Fate, the deep and stirless rest? ... These
things are not, and never were, . . for the grave gives up its
dead,--the strife is forever and ever resumed,--the seal is
broken, and in all the laboring Universe there shall be found no
rest, and no forgetfulness, . . ah, God! ... no forgetfulness!" A
shudder ran through his frame,--and clasping her almost roughly,
he stooped toward her till his lips nearly touched hers, . . "Thou
art accursed, Lysia,--and I share thy curse! Speak--how shall we
cheer each other in the shadow-realm of fiends? Thou shall be
Queen there, and I thy servitor,--we will make us merry with the
griefs of others,--our music shall be the dropping of lost women's
tears, and the groans of betrayed and tortured men,--and the light
around us shall be quenchless fire! Shall it not be so, Lysia? ...
and thinkest thou that we shall ever regret the loss of Heaven?"

The words rushed impetuously from his lips; he thought little and
cared less what he said, so long as he could, by speech, no matter
how incoherent, relieve in part, the terrible oppression of vague
memories that burdened his brain. But she, listening, drew herself
swiftly from his embrace and stood up,--her large eyes fixed full
upon him with an expression of wondering scorn and fear.

"Thou art mad!" she said, a quiver of alarm in her voice ... "Mad as
Khosrul, and all his evil-croaking brethren! I offer thee Love,--
and thou pratest of death,--life is here in all the fulness of the
now, for thy delight, and thou ravest of an immortal Hereafter
which is not, and can never be! Why talk thus wildly? ... why gaze
on me with so distraught a countenance? But an hour agone, thou
wert the model of a cold discretion and quiet valor,--thus I had
judged thee worthy of my favor--favor sought by many, and granted
to few, . . but an thou dost wander amid such chaotic and
unreasoning fancies, thou canst not serve me,--nor therefore canst
thou win the reward that would otherwise have awaited thee."...

Here she paused,--a questioning, keen under-glance flashed from
beneath her dark lashes, . . he, however, with pained, wistful eyes
raised steadfastly to hers, gave no sign of apology or contrition
for the disconnected strangeness of his recent outburst. Only he
became gradually conscious of an inward, growing calm,--as though
the Divine Voice that had once soothed the angry waves of Galilee
were now hushing his turbulent emotions with a soft "Peace be
still!" She watched him closely, . .and all at once apparently
rendered impatient by his impassive attitude, she came coaxingly
toward him, and laid one soft hand on his shoulder.

"Canst thou not be happy, Theos?" she whispered gently--"Happy as
other men are, when loved as thou art loved?"

His upturned gaze rested on the glittering serpents' heads that
crowned her dusky tresses,--then on the great Eye that stared
watchfully between her white breasts. A strong tremor shook him,
and he sighed.

"Happy as other men are, when they love and are deceived in
love!"--he said.. "Yes, even so, Lysia,--I can be happy!"

She threw one arm about him. "Thou shalt not be deceived"--she
murmured quickly,--"Thou shalt be honored above the noblest in the
realm, . . thy dearest hopes shall be fulfilled, . . thy utmost
desires shall be granted, . . riches, power, fame,--all shall be
thine,--IF THOU WILT DO MY BIDDING!"

She uttered the last words with slow and meaning emphasis. He met
her eager, burning looks quietly, almost coldly,--the curious numb
apathy of his spirit increased, and when he spoke, his voice was
low and faint like the voice of one who speaks unconsciously in
his sleep.

"What canst thou ask that I will not grant?" he said listlessly..
"Is it not as it was in the old time,--thou to command, and I to
obey? ... Speak, fair Queen!--how can I serve thee?"

Her answer came, swift and fierce as the hiss of a snake:

"KILL SAH-LUMA!"

The brief sentence leaped into his brain with the swift, fiery
action of some burning drug,--a red mist rose to his eyes,--
pushing her fiercely from him, he started to his feet in a
bewildered, sick horror. KILL SAH-LUMA! ... kill the gracious,
smiling, happy creature whose every minute of existence was a
joy,--kill the friend he loved,--the poet he worshipped! ... Kill
him! ... ah God! ... never! ... never! ... He staggered backward
dizzily,--and Lysia with a sudden stealthy spring, like that of
her favorite tigress, threw herself against his breast and looked
up at him, her splendid eyes ablaze with passion, her black hair
streaming, her lips curved in a cruel smile, and the hateful Jewel
on her breast seeming to flash with ferocious vindictiveness.

"Kill him!" she repeated eagerly--"Now--in his sottish slumber,--
now when he hath lost sight of his Poetmission in the hot fumes of
wine,--now, when, despite his genius, he hath made of himself a
thing lower than the beasts! Kill him! ...--I will keep good
council, and none shall ever know who did the deed! He loves me,
and I weary of his love, . . I would have him dead--dead as Nir-
jalis! ... but were he to drain the Silver Nectar, the whole city
would cry out upon me for his loss,--therefore he may not perish
so. But an thou wilt slay him, . . see!" and she clung to Theos with
the fierce tenacity of some wild animal--"All this beauty of mine,
is thine!--thy days and nights shall be dreams of rapture,--thou
shalt be second to none in Al-Kyris,--thou shalt rule with me over
King and people,--and we will make the land a pleasure-garden for
our love and joy! Here is thy weapon.."--and she thrust into his
hand a dagger,--the very dagger her slave Gazra, had deprived him
of, when by its prompt use he might have mercifully ended the
cruel torments of Nir-jalis,--"Let thy stroke be strong and
unfaltering, . . stab him to the heart,--the cold, cold, selfish
heart that has never ached with a throb of pity! ... kill him!--
'tis an easy task,--for lo! how fast he sleeps!"

And suddenly throwing back a rich gold curtain that depended from
one side of the painted pavilion, she disclosed a small interior
chamber hung with amber and crimson, where, on a low, much-tumbled
couch covered with crumpled glistening draperies, lay the King's
Chief Minstrel,--the dainty darling of women,--the Laureate of the
realm, sunk in a heavy, drunken stupor, so deep as to be almost
death-like. Theos stared upon him amazed and bewildered, . . how
came he there? Had he heard any of the conversation that had just
passed between Lysia and himself? ... Apparently not, . . he seemed
bound as by chains in a stirless lethargy. His posture was
careless, yet uneasy,--his brilliant attire was torn and otherwise
disordered,--and some of his priceless jewels had fallen on the
couch, and gleamed here and there like big stray dewdrops. His
face was deeply flushed, and his straight dark brows were knit
frowningly, his breathing was hurried and irregular, . . one arm was
thrown above his head,--the other hung down nervelessly, the
relaxed fingers hovering immediately above a costly jewelled cup
that had dropped from his clasp,--two emptied wine flagons lay
cast on the ground beside him, and he had evidently experienced
the discomfort and feverous heat arising from intoxication, for
his silken vest was loosened as though for greater ease and
coolness, thus leaving the smooth breadth of his chest bare and
fully exposed. To this Lysia pointed with a fiendish glee, as she
pulled Theos forward.

"Strike now!" she whispered.. "Quick.. why dost thou hesitate?"

He looked at her fixedly, . . the previous hot passion he had felt
for her froze like ice within his veins, ... her fairness seemed
no longer so distinctly fair, . . the witching radiance of her eyes
had lost its charm, . . ... and he motioned her from him with a
silent gesture of stern repugnance. Catching sight of the sheeny
glimmer of the lake through the curtained entrance of the tent, he
made a sudden spring thither--dashed aside the draperies, and
flung the dagger he held, far out towards the watery mirror. It
whirled glittering through the air, and fell with a quick splash
into the silver-rippled depths,--and, gravely contented, he turned
upon her, dauntless and serene in the consciousness of power.

"Thus do I obey thee!" he said, in firm tones that thrilled
through and through with scorn and indignation,--"Thou evil
Beauty! ... thou fallen Fairness! ... Kill Sah-luma? ... Nay,
sooner would I kill myself...or thee! His life is a glory to the
world, . . his death shall never profit thee!"...

For one instant a lurid anger blazed in her face,--the next her
features hardened themselves into a rigidly cold expression of
disdain, though her eyes widened with wrathful wonder. A low laugh
broke from her lips.

"Ah!" she cried--"Art thou angel or demon that thou darest defy
me? Thou shouldst be either or both, to array thyself in
opposition against the High Priestess of Nagaya, whose relentless
Will hath caused empires to totter and thrones to fall! HIS life a
glory to the world? ..." and she pointed to Sah-luma's recumbent
figure with a gesture of loathing and contempt, . . "HIS? ... the
life of a drunken voluptuary? ... a sensual egotist? ... a poet
who sees no genius save his own, and who condemns all vice, save
that which he himself indulges in! A laurelled swine! ... a false
god of art! ... and for him thou dost reject Me! ... ah, thou
fool!" and her splendid eyes shot forth resentful fire.. "Thou
rash, unthinking, headstrong fool! thou knowest not what thou hast
lost! Aye, guard thy friend as thou wilt,--thou dost guard him at
thine own peril! ... think not that he, . . or thou, ... shall
escape my vengeance! What!--dost thou play the heroic with me? ...
thou who art Man, and therefore NO hero? ... For men are cowards
all, except when in the heat of battle they follow the pursuit of
their own brief glory! ... poltroons and knaves in spirit,
incapable of resisting their own passions! ... and wilt THOU
pretend to be stronger than the rest? ... Wilt thou take up arms
against thyself and Destiny? Thou madman!"--and her lithe form
quivered with concentrated rage--"Thou puny wretch that dost first
clutch at, and then refuse my love!--thou who dost oppose thy
miserable force to the Fate that hunts thee down!--thou who dost
gaze at me with such grave, child-foolish eyes! ... Beware, . .
beware of me! I hate thee as I hate ALL men! ... I will humble
thee as I have humbled the proudest of thy sex! ..--wheresoever
thou goest I will track thee out and torture thee! ... and thou
shalt die--miserably, lingeringly, horribly,--as I would have
every man die could I fulfil my utmost heart's desire! To-night,
be free! ... but to-morrow as thou livest, I will claim thee!"