Books: Ardath

M >> Marie Corelli >> Ardath

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Like an enraged Queen she stood,--one white, jewelled arm
stretched forth menacingly,--her bosom heaving, and her face
aflame with wrath, but Theos, leaning against Sah-luma's couch,
heard her with as much impassiveness as though her threatening
voice were but the sound of an idle wind. Only, when she ceased,
he turned his untroubled gaze calmly and full upon her,--and
then,--to his own infinite surprise she shivered and shrank
backwards, while over her countenance flitted a vague,
undefinable, almost spectral expression of terror. He saw it, and
swift words came at once to his lips,--words that uttered
themselves without premeditation.

"To-morrow, Lysia, thou shalt claim nothing!" he said in a still,
composed voice that to himself had something strange and unearthly
in its tone ... "Not even a grave! Get thee hence! ... pray to thy
gods if thou hast any,--for truly there is need of prayer! Thou
shalt not harm Sah-luma, . . his love for thee may be his present
curse,--but it shall not work his future ruin! As for me, . . though
canst not slay me, Lysia,--seeing that to myself I am dead
already! ... dead, yet alive in thought, . . and thou dost now seem
to my soul but the shadow of a past Crime, . . the ghost of a
temptation overcome and baffled! Ah, thou sweet Sin!" here he
suddenly moved toward her and caught her hands hard, looking
fearlessly the while at her flushed half-troubled face,--"I do
confess that I have loved thee, . . I do own that I have found thee
fair! ... but now--now that I see thee as thou art, in all the
nameless horror of thy beauty, I do entreat,".. and his accents
sank to a low yet fervent supplication--"I do entreat the most
high God that I may be released from thee forever!"

She gazed upon him with dilated, terrified eyes, ... and he dimly
wondered, as he looked, why she should seem to fear him?--Not a
word did she utter in reply, . . step by step she retreated from
him, . . her glittering, exquisite form grew paler and more
indistinct in outline--and presently, catching at the gold curtain
that divided the two pavilions, she paused...still regarding him
steadfastly. An evil smile curved her lips, . . a smile of cold
menace and derisive scorn, . . the iris-colored jewel on her breast
darted forth vivid flashes of azure, and green and gray, . . the
snakes in her hair seemed to rise and hiss at him, . . and then,--
with an awful unspoken threat written resolvedly on every line of
her fair features, . . she let the gold draperies fall softly,--and
so disappeared, . . leaving him alone with Sah-luma! He stood for a
moment half amazed, half perplexed,--then, drawing a deep breath,
he pushed the clustering hair off his forehead with an unconscious
gesture of relief. She was gone! ... and he felt as though he had
gained a victory over something, though he knew not what. The cold
air from the lake blew refreshingly on his heated brow, . . and a
thousand odors from orange-flowers and jessamine floated
caressingly about him. The night was very still,--and approaching
the opening of the tent, he looked out. There, in the soft sky
gloom, moved the majestic procession of the Undiscovered Worlds
seeming to be no more than bright dots on the measureless expanse
of pure ether, . . there, low on the horizon, the yellow moon
swooned languidly downwards in a bed of fleecy cloud,--the drowsy
chirrup of a dreaming bird came softly now and again from the
deep-branched shadows of the heavy foliage,--and the lilies on the
surface of the lake nodded mysteriously among the slow ripples,
like wise, white elves whispering to one another some secret of
fairyland. And Sah-luma still slept, . . and still that puzzled and
weary frown darkened the fairness of his broad brow, . . and, coming
back to his side, Theos stood watching him with a yearning and
sorrowful wistfulness. Gathering up the jewels that had fallen out
of his dress, he replaced them one by one,--and strove to re-
arrange the tossed and tumbled garb as best he might. While he was
thus occupied his hand happened to touch the tablet that hung by a
silver chain from the Laureate's belt,--he glanced at it, . . it was
covered with fine writing, and turning it more toward the light,
he soon made out four stanzas, perfectly rhymed and smoothly
flowing as a well-modulated harmony. He read them slowly with a
faint smile,--he recognized them as HIS OWN!--they were part of a
poem he had long ago begun, yet have never finished! And now Sah-
luma had the same idea! ... moreover he had chosen the same
rhythm, the same words! ... well! ... after all, what did it
matter? Nothing, he felt, so far as he was concerned,--he had
ceased to care for his own personality or interests,--Sah-luma had
become dearer to him than himself!

His immediate anxiety was centered in the question of how to rouse
his friend from the torpor in which he lay, and get him out of
this voluptuous garden of delights, before any lurking danger
could overtake him. Full of this intention, he presently ventured
to draw aside the curtain that concealed Lysia's pavilion, . . and
looking in, he saw to his great relief, that she was no longer
there. Her couch of crushed roses scented the place with heavy
fragrance, and the ruby lamp was still burning, . . but she herself
had departed. Now was the time for escape!--thought Theos--now,--
while she was absent,--now, if Sah-luma could be persuaded to come
away, he might reach his own palace in safety, and once there, he
could be warned of the death that threatened him through the
treachery of the woman he loved. But would he believe in, or
accept, the warning? At any rate some effort must be made to
rescue him, and Theos, without more ado, bent above him and called
aloud:

"Sah-luma! ... Wake! Sah-luma!"

CHAPTER XX.

THE PASSAGE OF THE TOMBS.

Sah-luma stirred uneasily and smiled in his sleep.

"More wine!" he muttered thickly--"More, . . more I say! What! wilt
thou stint the generous juice that warms my soul to song? Pour, . .
pour out lavishly! I will mix the honey of thy luscious lips with
the crimson bubbles on this goblet's brim, and the taste thereof
shall be as nectar dropped from paradise! Nay, nay! I will drink
to none but Myself,--to the immortal bard Sah-luma,--Poet of
poets,--named first and greatest on the scroll of Fame! ... aye,
'tis a worthy toast and merits a deeper draught of mellow vintage!
Fill...fill again!--the world is but the drunken dream of a God
Poet and we but the mad revellers of a shadow day! 'Twill pass--
'twill pass, . . let us enjoy ere all is done,--drown thought in
wine, and love, and music, . . wine and music..."

His voice broke in a short, smothered sigh,--Theos surveyed him
with mingled impatience, pity, and something of repulsion, and
there was a warm touch of indignant remonstrance in his tone when
he called again:

"Sah-luma! Rouse thee, man, for very shame's sake! Art thou dead
to the honor of thy calling, that thou dost wilfully consent to be
the victim of wine-bibbing and debauchery? O thou frail soul! how
hast thou quenched the heavenly essence within thee! ... why wilt
thou be thus self-disgraced and all inglorious? Sah-luma! Sah-
luma!"--and he shook him violently by the arm--"Up,--up, thou
truant to the faith of Art! I will not let thee drowse the hours
away in such unseemliness, . . wake! for the night is almost past,--
the morning is at hand, and danger threatens thee,--wouldst thou
be found here drunk at sunrise?"

This time Sah-luma was thoroughly disturbed, and with a half
uttered oath he sat up, pushed his tumbled hair from his brows,
and stared at his companion in blinking, sleepy wonderment.

"Now, by my soul! ... thou art a most unmannerly ruffian!" he said
pettishly, yet with a vacant smile,--"what question didst thou
bawl unmusically in mine ear? Will I be drunk at sunrise? Aye! ...
and at sunset too, Sir Malapert, if that will satisfy thee! Hast
thou been grudged sufficient wine that thou dost envy me my
slumber? What dost thou here? ... where hast thou been?".. and,
becoming more conscious of his surroundings he suddenly stood up,
and catching hold of Theos to support himself, gazed upon him
suspiciously with very dim and bloodshot eyes ... "Art thou fresh
from the arms of the ravishing Nelida? ... is she not fair? a
choice morsel for a lover's banquet? ... Doth she not dance a
madness into the veins? ... aye, aye!--she was reserved for thee,
my jolly roysterer! but thou art not the first nor wilt thou be
the last that hath revelled in her store of charms! No matter!"--
and he laughed foolishly ... "Better a wild dancer than a tame
prude!" Here he looked about him in confused bewilderment.. "Where
is Lysia? Was she not here a moment since? ..." and he staggered
toward the neighboring pavilion, and dashed the dividing curtain
aside ... "Lysia! ... Lysia! ..." he shouted noisily,--then,
receiving no answer, he flung himself down on the vacant couch of
roses, and gathering up a handful of the crumpled flowers, kissed
them passionately,--"The witch has flown!" he said, laughing again
that mirthless, stupid laugh as he spoke--"She doth love to
tantalize me thus! ... Tell me! what dost thou think of her? Is
she not a peerless moon of womanhood? ... doth she not eclipse all
known or imaginable beauty? ... Aye! ... and I will tell thee a
secret,--she is mine!--mine from the dark tresses down to the
dainty feet! ... mine, all mine, so long as I shall please to call
her so! ...--notwithstanding that the foolish people of Al-Kyris
think she is impervious to love, self-centered, holy and
'immaculate'! Bah! ... as if a woman ever was 'immaculate'! But
mark you! ... though she loves me,--me, crowned Laureate of the
realm, she loves no other man! And why? Because no other man is
found half so worthy of love! All men must love her, . . Nirjalis
loved her, and he is dead because of overmuch presumption, . . and
many there be who shall still die likewise, for love of her, but
_I_ am her chosen and elected one,--her faith is mine!--her heart
is mine,--her very soul is mine!--mine I would swear though all
the gods of the past, present, and future denied her constancy!"

Here his uncertain, wandering gaze met the grave, pained, and
almost stern regard of Theos. "Why dost thou stare thus owl-like
upon me?"--he demanded irritably.. "Art thou not my friend and
worshipper? Wilt preach? Wilt moralize on the folly of the time,--
the vices of the age? Thou lookest it,--but prithee hold thy peace
an thou lovest me!--we can but live and die and there's an end, . .
all's over with the best and wisest of us soon,--let us be merry
while we may!"

And he tossed a cluster of roses playfully in the air, catching
them as they fell again in a soft shower of severed fluttering
pink and white petals. Theos listened to his rambling, unguarded
words with a sense of acute personal sorrow. Here was a man,
young, handsome, and endowed with the rarest gift of nature, a
great poetic genius,--a man who had attained in early manhood the
highest worldly fame together with the friendship of a king, and
the love of a people, . . yet what was he in himself? A mere petty
Egoist, . . a poor deluded fool, the unresisting prey of his own
passions, . . the besotted slave of a treacherous woman and the
voluntary degrader of his own life! What was the use of Genius,
then, if it could not aid one to overcome Self, . . what the worth
of Fame, if it were not made to serve as a bright incentive and
noble example to others of less renown? As this thought passed
across his mind, Theos sighed, . . he felt curiously conscience-
stricken, ashamed, and humiliated, THROUGH Sah-luma, and solely
for Sah-luma's sake! At present, however, his chief anxiety was to
get his friend safely out of Lysia'a pavilion before she should
return to it, and his spirit chafed within him at each moment of
enforced delay.

"Come, come, Sah-luma!" he said at last, gently, yet with
persuasive earnestness.. "Come away from this place, . . the feast
is over,--the fair ones are gone, . . why should we linger? Thou art
half-asleep,--believe me 'tis time thou wert home and at rest.
Lean upon me, ... so! that is well!"--this, as the other rose
unsteadily to his feet and lurched heavily against him, . . "Now let
me guide thee,--though of a truth I know not the way through this
wondrous woodland maze, . . canst tell me whither we should turn?
... or hast thou no remembrance of the nearest road to thine own
dwelling?"--

Thus speaking, he managed to lead his stupefied companion out of
the tent into the cool, dewy garden, where, feeling somewhat
refreshed by the breath of the night wind blowing on his face,
Sah-luma straightened himself, and made an absurd attempt to look
exceedingly dignified.

"Nay, an thou wilt depart with such scant ceremony"--he grumbled
peevishly--"get thee thence and find out the road as best thou
mayest! ... why should I aid thee? For myself I am well contented
here to remain and sleep,--no better couch can the Poet have than
this violet-scented moss"--and he waved his arm with a
grandiloquent gesture,--"no grander canopy than this star-
besprinkled heaven! Leave me,--for my eyes are wondrous heavy, and
I would fain slumber undisturbed till the break of day! By my
soul, thou art a rough companion! ..." and he struggled violently
to release himself from Theos's resolute and compelling grasp..
"Where wouldst thou drag me?"

"Out of danger and the shadow of death!" replied Theos firmly..
"Thy life is threatened, Sah-luma, and I will not see thee slain!
If thou canst not guard thyself, then I must guard thee! ... Come,
delay no longer, I beseech thee!--do I not love thee, friend?--and
would I urge thee thus without good reason? O thou misguided soul!
thou dost most ignorantly court destruction, but if my strength
can shield thee, thou shalt not die before thy time!"

And he hurried his pace, half leading, half carrying the reluctant
poet, who, however, was too drowsy and lethargic to do more than
feebly resent his action,--and thus they went together along a
broad path that seemed to extend itself in a direct line straight
across the grounds, but which in reality turned and twisted about
through all manner of perplexing nooks and corners,--now under
trees so closely interwoven that not a glimpse of the sky could be
seen through the dense darkness of the crossed boughs,--now by
gorgeous banks of roses, pale yellow and white, that looked like
frozen foam in the dying glitter of the moon,--now beneath fairy-
light trellis work, overgrown with jasamine, and peopled by
thousands of dancing fire-flies,--while at every undulating bend
or sharp angle in the road, Theos's heart beat quickly in fear
lest they should meet some armed retainer or spy of Lysia's, who
might interrupt their progress, or perhaps peremptorily forbid
their departure. Nothing of the kind happened, or seemed likely to
happen,--the splendid gardens were all apparently deserted,--and
not a living soul was anywhere to be seen. Presently through an
archway of twisted magnolia stems, Theos caught a glimpse of the
illuminated pool with the marble nymph in its centre which had so
greatly fascinated him on his first arrival,--and he pressed
forward eagerly, knowing that now they could not be very far from
the gates of exit. All at once the tall figure of a man clad in
complete armor came into sudden view between some heavily drooping
boughs,--it stood out for a second, and then hurriedly
disappeared, muffling its face in a black mantle as it fled. Not,
however, before Theos had recognized those dark, haughty features,
those relentless brows, and that, stern almost lurid smile! ...
and with a quick convulsive movement he grasped his companion's
arm.

"Hist, Sah-luma!" he whispered ... "Saw you not the King?"

Sah-luma started as though he had received a dagger thrust, . . his
very lips turned pale in the moonlight.

"The KING?" he echoed, with an accent of incredulous
amazement ... "The King? ... thou art mad! ... it could not be!
Where didst thou see him?"

In silence Theos pointed to the dark shrubbery. Sahluma shook
himself free of his friend's hold, and, standing erect, gazed in
the direction indicated, with an expression of mingled fear,
distrust, bewilderment, and wrath on his features, . . he was
suddenly but effectually sobered, and all the delicate beauty of
his face came back like the rich tone of a fine picture restored.
His hand fell instinctively toward the jewelled hilt of the
poniard at his belt.

"The King?" he muttered under his breath, ... "The King? ...
Then.. is Khosrul right after all, and must one learn wisdom from
a madman? ... By my soul! ... If I thought..." Here he checked
himself abruptly and turned upon Theos ... "Nay, thou art deceived!"
he said with a forced smile.. "'Twas not the King! ... 'twas some
rash, unknown intruder whose worthless life must pay the penalty
of trespass!"--and he drew his flashing weapon from his sheath..
"THIS shall unmask him! ... And thou, my friend, get thee away and
home, . . fear nothing for my safety! ... go hence and quickly; I'll
follow thee anon!"

And before Theos could utter a word of warning, he plunged
impetuously into the innermost recess of the dense foliage behind
which the mysterious armed figure had just vanished, and was
instantly lost to sight.

"Sah-luma! ... Sah-luma!"--called Theos passionately ... "Come
back! Whether wilt thou go? ... Sah-luma!"

Only silence answered him,--silence rendered even more profound by
the subdued, faint rustling of the wind among the leaves,--and
agitated by all manner of vague alarms and dreary forebodings, he
stood still for a moment hesitating as to whether he should follow
his friend or no. Some instinct stronger than himself, however,
persuaded him that it would be best to continue his road,--he
therefore went on slowly, hoping against hope that Sah-luma might
still rejoin him,--but herein he was disappointed. He waited a
little while near the illuminated water, dreamily eying the
beautiful marble nymph crowned with her wreath of amethystine
flame, . . she resembled Lysia somewhat, he thought,--only this was
a frozen fairness, while the peerless charms of the cruel High
Priestess were those of living flesh and blood. Yet the
remembrance of all the tenderly witching loveliness that might
have been his, had he slain Sah-luma at her bidding, now moved him
neither to regret nor lover's passion, but only touched his spirit
with a sense of bitter repulsion, . . while a strange pity for the
Poet Laureate's infatuation awoke in him,--pity that any man could
he so reckless, blind, and desperate as to love a woman for her
mere perishable beauty of body, and never care to know whether the
graces of her mind were equal to the graces of her form.

"We men have yet to learn the true meaning of love,"--he mused
rather sadly--"We consider it from the selfish standpoint of our
own unbridled passions,--we willingly accept a fair face as the
visible reflex of a fair soul, and nine times out of ten, we are
utterly mistaken! We begin wrongly, and we therefore end
miserably,--we should love a woman for what she IS, and not for
what she appears to be. Yet, how are we to fathom her nature? how
shall we guess, . . how can we decide? Are we fooled by an evil
fate?--or do we in our loves and marriages deliberately fool
ourselves?"

He pondered the question hazily without arriving at any
satisfactory answer, . . and as Sah-luma still did not return, he
resumed his slow, unguided, and solitary way. He presently found
himself in a close boscage of tall trees straight as pines, and
covered with very large, thick leaves that exhaled a peculiarly
faint odor,--and here, pausing abruptly, he looked anxiously about
him. This was certainly not the avenue through which he had
previously come with Sah-luma, . . and he soon felt uncomfortably
convinced that he had somehow taken the wrong path. Perceiving a
low iron gate standing open in front of him, he went thither and
discovered a steep stone staircase leading down, down into what
seemed to be a vast well, black and empty as a starless midnight.
Peering doubtfully into this gloomy pit, he fancied he saw a
small, blue flame wavering to and fro at the bottom, and, pricked
by a sudden impulse of curiosity, he made up his mind to descend.

He went down slowly and cautiously, counting each step as he
placed his foot upon it, . . there were a hundred steps in all, and
at the end the light he had seen completely vanished, leaving him
in the most profound darkness. Confused and startled, he stretched
out his hands instinctively as a blind man might do, and thus came
in contact with something sharp, pointed, and icy cold like the
frozen talon of a dead bird. Shuddering at the touch, he
recoiled,--and was about to try and grope his way up the stairs
again, when the light once more appeared, this time casting a
thin, slanting, azure blaze through the dense shadows,--and he was
able gradually to realize the horrors of the place into which he
had unwittingly adventured. One faint cry escaped his lips,--and
then he was mute and motionless,--chilled to the very heart. A
great awe and speechless dread overwhelmed him, . . for he--a living
man and fully conscious of life--stood alone, surrounded by a
ghastly multitude of skeletons, skeletons bleached white as ivory
and glistening with a smooth, moist polish as of pearl. Shoulder
to shoulder, arm against arm, they stood, placed upright, and as
close together as possible,--every bony hand held a rusty spear,--
and on every skull gleamed a small metal casque inscribed with
hieroglyphic characters. Thousands of eyeless sockets seemed to
turn toward him in blank yet questioning wonder, suggesting
awfully to his mind that the eyes might still be there, fallen far
back into the head from whence they yet SAW, themselves unseen,--
thousands of grinning jaws seemed to mock at him, as he leaned
half-fainting against the damp, weed-grown portal,--he fancied he
could hear the derisive laugh of death echoing horribly through
those dimly distant arches! This, . . this, he thought wildly, was
the sequel to his brief and wretched history! ... for this one end
he had wandered out of the ways of his former life, and forgotten
almost all he had ever known,--here was the only poor finale an
all-wise and all-potent God could contrive for the close of His
marvelous symphony of creative Love and Light! ... Ah, cruel,
cruel! Then there was no justice, no pity, no compensation in all
the width and breadth of the Universe, if Death indeed was the end
of everything!--and God or the great Force called by that name was
nothing but a Tyrant and Torturer of His helpless creature, Man!
So thinking, dully and feebly, he pressed his hand on his aching
eyes, to shut out the sight of that grim crowd of fleshless, rigid
Shapes that everywhere confronted him, . . the darkness of the place
seemed to descend upon him crushingly, and, reeling forward, he
would have fallen in a swoon, had not a strong hand suddenly
grasped his arm and supported him firmly upright.

"How now, my son!"--said a grave, musical voice that had in it a
certain touch of compassion, . . "What ails thee? ... and why art
thou here? Art thou condemned to die! ... or dost thou seek an
escape from death?"

Making an effort to overcome the sick giddiness that confused his
brain, he looked up,--a bright lamp flared in his eyes,
contrasting so dazzlingly with the surrounding gloom that for a
moment he was half-blinded by its brilliancy, but presently
steadying his gaze he was able to discern the dark outline of a
tall, black-garmented figure standing beside him,--the figure of
an old man, whose severe and dignified aspect at first reminded
him somewhat of the prophet Khosrul. Only that Khosrul's rugged
features had borne the impress of patient, long-endured, bitter
suffering, and the personage who now confronted him had a face so
calm and seriously impassive that it might have been taken for
that of one newly dead, from whose lineaments all traces of
earthly passion had forever been smoothed away.

"Art thou condemned to die, or dost thou seek an escape from
death?" The question had, or seemed to have, a curious
significance,--it reiterated itself almost noisily in his ears,--
his mind was troubled by vague surmises and dreary forebodings,--
speech was difficult to him, and his lips quivered pathetically,
when he at last found force to frame his struggling thoughts into
language.

"Escape from death!" he murmured, gazing wildly around as he
spoke, on the vast skeleton crowd that encircled him.. "Old man,
dost thou also talk of dream-like impossibilities? Wilt thou also
maintain a creed of hope when naught awaits us but despair? Art
thou fooled likewise with the glimmering Soul-mirage of a never-
to-be-realized future? ... Escape from death? ... How?--and where!
Art not these dry and vacant forms sufficiently eloquent of the
all-omnipotence of Decay?" ... and he caught his unknown companion
almost fiercely by the long robe, while a sound that was half a
sob and half a sigh came from his aching throat.. "Lo you, how
emptily they stare upon us! ... how frozen-piteous is their smile!
... Poor, poor frail shapes! ... nay!--who would think these
hollow shells of bone had once been men! Men with strong hearts,
warm-flowing blood, and throbbing pulses, . . men of thought and
action, who maybe did most nobly bear themselves in life upon the
earth, and yet are now forgotten, . . men--ah, great Heaven! can it
be that these most rueful, loathly things have loved, and hoped,
and labored through all their days for such an end as this! Escape
from death! ... alas, there is no escape, . . 'tis evident we all
must die, . . die, and with dust-quenched eyes unlearn our knowledge
of the sun, the stars, the marvels of the universe,--for us no
more shall the flowers bloom or the sweet birds sing; the poem of
the world will write itself anew in every roseate flushing of the
dawn,--but we,--we who have joyed therein,--we who have sung the
praises of the light, the harmonies of wind and sea, the
tunefulness of woods and fields,--we whose ambitious thoughts have
soared archangel-like through unseen empyreans of space, there to
drink in a honeyed hope of Heaven,--we shall be but DEAD! ...
mute, cold, and stirless as deep, undug stones, . . dead! ... Ah
God, thou Utmost Cruelty!"--and in a sudden access of grief and
passion he raised one hand and shook it aloft with a menacing
gesture--"Would I might look upon Thee face to face, and rebuke
Thee for Thy merciless injustice!"