Books: Ardath

M >> Marie Corelli >> Ardath

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"There, my friend, is a specimen of the true mob-literature! ...
written to-day, forgotten to-morrow! 'Tis a droll thing to
meditate upon, the ephemeral nature of all this pouring-out of
unnecessary words and stale stock-phrases!--and, wouldst thou
believe it, Theos! each little paid scribe that adds his poor
quota to this ill-assorted trash deems himself wiser and greater
far than any poet or philosopher dead or living! Why, in this very
news-sheet I have seen the immortal works of the divine Hyspiros
so hacked by the blunt knives of ignorant and vulgar criticism
that, by my faith! ... were it not for contempt, one would be
disposed to nail the hands of such trumpery scribblers to a post,
and scourge their bare backs with thorny rods to cure them of
their insolence! Nay, even my fool Zabastes hath found place in
these narrow columns, to write his carping diatribes against me,--
me, the King's Laureate! ... As I live, his cumbersome diction
hath caused me infinite mirth, and I have laughed at his crabbed
and feeble wit till my sides have ached most potently! Now get
thee gone, fellow!--thou and thy news!"--and he nodded a good-
humored dismissal to the deferential Zibya, who with his woolly
gray head very much on one side stood listening gravely and
approvingly to all that was said,--" Yet stay! ... has gossip
whispered thee the name of the poor virgin self-destined for this
evening's sacrifice?"

"No, my lord"--responded Zibya promptly--"'Tis veiled in deeper
mystery than usual. I have inquired of many, but in vain,--and
even the Chief Flamen of the Outside Court of the Temple, always
drunk and garrulous as he is, can tell me naught of the holy
victim's title or parentage. "Tis a passing fair wench!' said he,
with a chuckle.. 'That is all I know concerning her ... a passing
fair wench!' Ah!" and Zibya rolled up the whites of his eyes and
sighed in a comically contemplative manner.. "If ever a Flamen
deserved expulsion from his office, it is surely yon ancient,
crafty, carnal-minded soul! ... so keen a glance for a woman's
beauty is not a needful qualification for a servant of the Snake
Divine! Methinks we have fallen upon evil days! ... maybe the
crazed Prophet is right after all, and things are coming to an
end!"

"Like thy discourse, I hope, Zibya!" observed Sah-luma, yawning
and flinging himself lazily back on his velvet couch,--"Get hence,
and serve thy customers with their cheap news, . . depend upon it,
some of them are cursing thee mightily for thy delay! And if thou
shouldst chance to meet the singing-maiden of my household,
Niphrata, bid her make haste homeward,--she hath been absent since
the break of morn,--too long for my contentment. Maybe I did
unwisely to give the child her freedom,--as slave she would not
have presumed to gad abroad thus wantonly, without her lord's
permission. Say, if thou seest her, that I am wrathful,--the
thought of mine anger will be as a swift wing to waft her hither
like a trembling dove,--afraid, all penitent, and eager for my
pardon! Remember! ... be sure thou tell her of my deep
displeasure!"

Zibya bowed profoundly, his outspread hands almost touching the
floor in the servility of his obeisance, and backed out of the
room as humbly as though he were leaving the presence of royalty.
When he had gone, Theos looked up from the news-scroll he was
perusing:

"Is it not strange Niphrata should have left thee thus, Sah-
luma?".. he said with a touch of anxiety in his tone ... "Maybe"..
and he hesitated, conscious of a strange, unbidden remorse that
suddenly and without any apparent reason overwhelmed his
conscience.. "Maybe she was not happy?"...

"Not happy!" ejaculated Sah-luma amazedly, "Not happy with ME? ...
not happy in MY house,--protected by MY patronage? Where then, if
not here, could she find happiness?"

And his beautiful flashing eyes betokened his entire and naive
astonishment at the mere supposition. Theos smiled involuntarily..
how, charming, after all was Sah-luma's sublime egotism!--how
almost child-like was his confidence in himself and his own
ability to engender joy! All at once the young girl Zoralin
spoke,--her accents were low and timorous:

"May it please my lord Sah-luma to hear me..." she said and
paused.

"Thy lord Sah-luma hears thee with pleasure, Zoralin," replied the
Laureate gently. "Thou dost speak more sweetly than many a bird
doth sing!"

A rich, warm blush crimsoned the maiden's cheeks at these dulcet
words,--she drew a quick, uneasy breath, and then went on,--

"I love Niphrata!" she murmured in a soft tone of touching
tenderness, . . "And I have watched her often when she deemed
herself unseen, . . she has, methinks, shed many tears for sake of
some deep, heart-buried sorrow! We have lived as sisters, sharing
the same room, and the same couch of sleep, but alas! in spite of
all my lord's most constant kindly favor, Niphrata is not happy,
..and.. and I have sometimes thought--" here her mellow voice sank
into a nervous indistinctness--"that it may be because she loves
my lord Sah-luma far too well!"

And as she said this she looked up with a sudden affright in her
dark, lovely eyes, as though she were alarmed at her own
presumption. Sah-luma met her troubled gaze calmly and with a
bright smile of complacent vanity.

"And dost thou plead for thine absent friend, Zoralin?" ... he
asked with just sufficient satire in his utterance to render it
almost cruel.. "Am I to blame for the foolish fancies of all the
amorous maidens in Al-Kyris? ... Many there be who love me, . .
well,--what then?--Must I love many in return? Nay! Not so! the
Poet is the worshiper of Ideal Beauty, and for him the brief
passions of mortal men and women serve as mere pastime to while
away an hour! But.. by my faith, thou hast gained wondrous
boldness in thy speech to prate so glibly of the heart's emotion,
--what knowest THOU concerning such things.. thou, who hast counted
scarcely fifteen summers! ... hast thou caught contagion from
Niphrata, and art thou too, sick of love?"

Oh, the dazzling smile with which he accompanied this poignant
question! ... the pitiless, burning ardor he managed to convey into
the sleeping brilliancy of his soft, poetic eyes! ... the
beautiful languor of his attitude, as leaning his head back easily
on one arm, he turned upon the shrinking girl a look that seemed
intended to pierce into the very inmost recesses of her soul! The
roseate color faded from her cheeks, . . white as a marble image she
stood, her breath coming between her lips in quick, frightened
gasps...

"My lord! ..." she stammered ... "I ..." Here her voice failed her,
and suddenly covering her face with her hands, she broke into a
passion of weeping. Sah-luma's delicate brows darkened into a
close frown,--and he waved his hand with a petulant gesture of
impatience.

"Ye gods! what fools are women!" he said wearily. "Ever hovering
uncertainly on a narrow verge between silly smiles and sillier
tears! As I live, they are most uncomfortable play-fellows!--and
dwelling with them long would drive all the inspiration out of
man, no matter how nobly he were gifted! Ye butterflies--ye little
fluttering souls!" and beginning to laugh as readily as he had
frowned, he addressed the other maidens, who, though they did not
dare to move or speak, were evidently affected by the grief of
their companion--"Go hence all!-and take this sensitive baby,
Zoralin, into your charge, and console her for her fancied
troubles--'tis a mere frenzy of feminine weakness, and will pass
like an April shower. But, ... by the Sacred Veil!--if I saw much
of woman's weeping, I would discard forever woman's company, and
dwell in peaceful hermit fashion alone among the treetops! ... so
heed the warning, pretty ones! ... Let me witness none of your
tears if ye are wise,--or else say farewell to Sah-luma, and seek
some less easy and less pleasing service!"

With this injunction he signed to them all to depart,--whereupon
the awed and trembling girls noiselessly surrounded the still
convulsively sobbing Zoralin, and gently leading her away, they
quickly withdrew, each one making a profound obeisance to their
imperious master ere leaving his presence. When they had finally
disappeared Sah-luma heaved a sigh of relief.

"Can anything equal the perverseness of these frivolous feminine
toys!" he murmured pettishly, turning his head round toward Theos
as he spoke--"Was ever a more foolish child than Zoralin? ... Just
as I would fain have consoled her for her pricking heartache, she
must needs pour out a torrent of tear-drops to change my humor and
quench her own delight! 'Tis the most irksome inconsistency!"

Theos glanced at him with a vague emotion of wonder and self-
reproachful sadness.

"Nay, wouldst thou indeed have consoled her, Sah-luma?" he
inquired gravely, "How?"

"How?" and Sah-luma laughed musically.. "My simple friend, dost
thou ask me such a babe's question?"... He sprang from his couch,
and standing erect, pushed his clustering dark hair off his wide,
bold brows. . "Am I disfigured, aged, lame, or crooked-limbed? ...
Cannot these arms embrace?--these lips engender kisses?--these
eyes wax amorous? ... and shall not one brief hour of love with me
console the weariest maid that ever pined for passion? ... Now, by
my faith, how solemn is thy countenance! ... Art thou an
anchorite, good Theos, and wouldst thou have me scourge my flesh
and groan, because the gods have given me youth and vigorous
manhood?"

He drew himself up with an inimitable gesture of pride,--his
attitude was statuesque and noble,--and Theos looked at him as he
would have looked at a fine picture, with a sense of critically
satisfied admiration.

"Most assuredly I am no anchorite, Sah-luma!" he said smiling
slightly, yet with a touch of sorrow in his voice. "But methinks
the consolement thou wouldst offer to enamoured maids is far more
dangerous than lasting! Thy love to them means ruin,--thy embraces
shame,--thy unthinking passion death! What!--wilt thou be a
spendthrift of desire?--wilt thou drain the fond souls of women as
a bee drains the sweetness of flowers?--wilt thou, being honey-
cloyed, behold them droop and wither around thee, and wilt thou
leave them utterly destroyed and desolate? Hast thou no vestige of
a heart, my friend? a poet-heart, to feel the misery of the world?
..the patient grief of all-appealing Nature, commingled with the
dreadful, yet majestic silence of an unknown God? ... Oh, surely,
thou hast this supremest gift of genius, . . this loving, enduring,
faithful, sympathetic HEART! ... for without it, how shall thy
fame be held long in remembrance? ... how shall thy muse-grown
laurels escape decay? Tell me! ..." and leaning forward he caught
his friend's hand in his eagerness.. "Thou art not made of
stone, . . thou art human, . . thou art not exempt from mortal
suffering ..."

"Not exempt--no!" interposed Sah-luma thoughtfully ... "But, as
yet,--I have never really suffered!"

"Never really suffered!".. Theos dropped the hand he held, and an
invisible barrier seemed to rise slowly up between him and his
beautiful companion. Never really suffered! ... then he was no
true poet after all, if he was ignorant of sorrow! If he could not
spiritually enter into the pathos of speechless griefs and unshed
tears,--if he could not absorb into his own being the prayers and
plaints of all Creation, and utter them aloud in burning and
immortal language, his calling was in vain, his election futile!
This thought smote Theos with the strength of a sudden blow,--he
sat silent, and weighed with a dreary feeling of disappointment to
which he was unable to give any fitting expression.

"I have never really suffered ..." repeated Sah-luma slowly: . .
"But--I have IMAGINED suffering! That is enough for me! The
passions, the tortures, the despairs of imagination are greater
far than the seeming REAL, petty afflictions with which human
beings daily perplex themselves; indeed, I have often wondered..
"here his eyes grew more earnest and reflective ..." whether this
busy working of the brain called 'Imagination' may not perhaps be
a special phase or supreme effort of MEMORY, and that therefore we
do not IMAGINE so much as we remember. For instance,--if we have
ever lived before, our present recollection may, in certain
exalted states of the mind, serve to bring back the shadow-
pictures of things long gone by, . . good or evil deeds, . . scenes of
love and strife, . . ethereal and divine events, in which we have
possibly enacted each our different parts as unwittingly as we
enact them here!".. He sighed and seemed somewhat troubled, but
presently continued in a lighter tone.. "Yet, after all, it is not
necessary for the poet to personally experience the emotions
whereof he writes. The divine Hyspiros depicts murderers, cowards,
and slaves in his sublime Tragedies,--but thinkest thou it was
essential for him to become a murderer, coward, and slave himself
in order to delineate these characters? And I ... I write of
Love,--love spiritual, love eternal,--love fitted for the angels I
have dreamt of--but not for such animals as men,--and what matters
it that I know naught of such love, . . unless perchance I knew it
years ago in some far-off fairer sphere! ... For me the only charm
of worth in woman is beauty! ... Beauty! ... to its entrancing
sway my senses all make swift surrender ..."

"Oh, too swift and too degrading a surrender!" interrupted Theos
suddenly with reproachful vehemence ... "Thy words do madden
patience!--Better a thousand times that thou shouldst perish, Sah-
lama, now in the full plenitude of thy poet-glory, than thus
confess thyself a prey to thine own passions,--a credulous victim
of Lysia's treachery!"

For one second the Laureate stood amazed, . . the next, he sprang
upon his guest and grasping him fiercely by the throat.

"Treachery?" he muttered with white lips.. "Treachery? ... Darest
thou speak of treachery and Lysia in the same breath? ... O thou
rash fool! dost thou blaspheme my lady's name and yet not fear to
die?"

And his lithe brown fingers tightened their clutch. But Theos
cared nothing for his own life,--some inward excitation of feeling
kept him resolute and perfectly controlled.

"Kill me, Sah-luma!" he gasped--"Kill me, friend whom I love! ...
death will be easy at thy hands! Deprive me of my sad existence, . .
'tis better so, than that _I_ should have slain THEE last night at
Lysia's bidding!"

At this, Sah-luma suddenly released his hold and started backward
with a sharp cry of anguish, . . his face was pale, and his
beautiful eyes grew strained and piteous.

"Slain ME! ... Me! ... at Lysia's bidding!" he murmured wildly..
"O ye gods, the world grows dark! is the sun quenched in heaven?
... At Lysia's bidding! ..Nay, . . by my soul, my sight is dimmed!
... I see naught but flaring red in the air, . . Why! ..." and he
laughed discordantly.. "thou poor Theos, thou shalt use no
dagger's point,--for lo! ... I am dead already! ... Thy words have
killed me! Go, . . tell her how well her cruel mission hath sped,--
my very soul is slain...at her bidding! Hasten to her, wilt
thou!".. and his accents trembled with pathetic plaintiveness! ...
"Say I am gone! ... lost! drawn into a night of everlasting
blackness like a taper blown swiftly out by the wind, . . tell her
that Sah-luma,--the poet Sah-luma, the foolish-credulous Sah-luma
who loved her so madly is no more!"

His voice broke, . . his head drooped, . . while Theos, whose every
nerve throbbed in responsive sympathy with the passion of his
despair, strove to think of some word of comfort, that like
soothing balm might temper the bitterness of his chafed and
wounded spirit, but could find none. For it was a case in which
the truth must be told, . . and truth is always hard to bear if it
destroys, or attempts to destroy, any one of our cherished self-
delusions!

"My friend, my friend!" he said presently with gentle
earnestness,--"Control this fury of thy heart! ... Why such
unmanly sorrow for one who is not worthy of thee?"

Sah-luma looked up,--his black, silky lashes were wet with tears.

"Not worthy! ... Oh, the old poor consolation!" he exclaimed,
quickly dashing the drops from his eyes, . . "Not worthy?--No! ...
what mortal woman IS ever worthy of a poet's love?--Not one in all
the world! Nevertheless, worthy or unworthy, true or treacherous,
naught can make Lysia otherwise than fair! Fair beyond all
fairness! ... and I--I was sole possessor of her beauty!--for me
her eyes warmed into stars of fire,--for me her kisses ripened in
their pearl and ruby nest, . . all--all for me!--and now! ... "He
flung himself desolately on his couch, and fixed his wistful gaze
on his companion's grave, pained countenance,--till all at once a
hopeful light flashed across his features, . . a light that seemed
to shine through him like an inwardly kindled flame.

"Ah! what a querulous fool am I!" he cried, joyously,--so joyously
that Theos knew not whether to be glad or sorry at his sudden and
capricious change of mood.. "why should I thus bemoan myself for
fancied wrong?--Good, noble Theos, thou hast been misled!--My
Lysia's words were but to try thy mettle! ... to test thee to the
core, and prove thee truly faithful as Sah-luma's friend! She bade
thee slay me! ... Even so!--but hadst thou rashly undertaken such
a deed, thine own life would have paid the forfeit! Now I begin to
understand it all--'tis plain!"--and his face grew brighter and
brighter, as he cheated himself into the pleasing idea his own
fancy had suggested.. "She tried thee,--she tempted thee, . . she
found thee true and incorruptible.. Ah! 'twas a jest, my friend!"
--and entirely recovering from his depression, he clapped his hand
heartily on Theos's shoulder--"'Twas all a jest!--and she the fair
inquisitor will herself prove it so ere long, and make merry with
our ill-omened fears! Why, I can laugh now at mine own
despondency!--come, look thou also more cheerily, gentle Theos,--
and pardon these uncivil fingers that so nearly gripped thee into
silence!"--and he laughed--"Thou art the best and kindest of loyal
comrades, and I will so assure Lysia of thy merit, that she shall
institute no more torture-trials upon thy frank and trusting
nature. Heigho!"--and stretching out his arms lazily, he heaved a
sigh of tranquil satisfaction--"Methought I was wounded into
death! but 'twas the mere fancied prick of an arrow after all, and
I am well again! What, art thou still melancholy! ... still
sombre! ... Nay, surely thou wilt not be a veritable kill-joy!"

Theos stood mute and sorely perplexed. He saw at once how useless
it was now to try and convince Sah luma of any danger threatening
him through the instigation of the woman he loved,--he would never
believe it! And yet ... something must be done to put him on his
guard. Taking up the scroll of the public news, where the account
of the finding of the body of Nir-jalis was written with all that
exaggerated attention to repulsive details which seems to be a
special gift of the cheap re-porters, Theos pointed to it.

"His was a cruel end!"--he said in a low, uncertain voice,--"Sah-
luma, canst thou expect mercy from a woman who has once been so
merciless?"

"Bah!" returned the Laureate lightly. "Who and what was Nir-jalis?
A hewer of stone images--a no-body!--he will not be missed!
Besides, he is only one of many who have perished thus."

"Only one of many!" ejaculated Theos with a shudder of aversion..
"And yet, . . O thou most reckless and misguided soul! ... thou dost
love this wanton murderess!"

A warm flush tinted Sah-luma's olive skin,--his hands clenched and
unclenched slowly as though he held some struggling, prisoned
thing, and raising his head he looked at his companion full and
steady with a singularly solemn and reproving expression in his
luminous eyes.

"Hast THOU not loved her also?" he demanded, a faint, serious
smile curving his lips as he spoke, . . "If only for the space of
some few passing moments, was not thy soul ravished, thy heart
enslaved, thy manhood conquered by her spell? ... Aye! ... Thou
dost shrink at that!" And his smile deepened as Theos, suddenly
conscience-stricken, avoided his friend's too-scrutinizing gaze..
"Blame ME not, therefore, for THINE OWN weakness!"

He paused.. then went on slowly with a meditative air.. "I love
her, ... yes!--as a man must always love the woman that baffles
him, ... the woman whose moods are complex and fluctuating as the
winds on the sea,--and whose humor sways between the softness of
the dove and the fierceness of the tiger. Nothing is more fatally
fascinating to the masculine sense than such a creature,--more
especially if to this temperament is united rare physical grace,
combined with keen intellectual power. 'Tis vain to struggle
against the irresistible witchery exercised over us by the
commingling of beauty and ferocity,--we see it in the wild animals
of the forest and the high-soaring birds of the air,--and we like
nothing better than to hunt it, capture it, tame it.. or.. kill
it--as suits our pleasure!"

He paused again,--and again smiled, . . a grave, reluctant, doubting
smile such as seemed to Theos oddly familiar, suggesting to his
bewildered fancy that he must have seen it before, ON HIS OWN
FACE, reflected in a mirror!

"Even thus do I love Lysia!" continued Sah-luma--"She perplexes
me, . . she opposes her will to mine, ... the very irritation and
ferment into which I am thrown by her presence adds fire to my
genius, . . and but for the spur of this never-satiated passion, who
knows whether I should sing so well!"

He was silent for a little space--then he resumed in a more
ordinary tone:

"The wretched Nir-jalis, whose fate thou dost so persistently
deplore, deserved his end for his presumption, ... didst thou not
hear his insolent insinuation concerning the King?"

"I heard it--yes!" replied Theos--"And I saw no harm in the manner
of his utterance."

"No harm!" exclaimed Sah-luma excitedly--"No harm! Nay, but I
forget! ... thou art a stranger in Al-Kyris, and therefore thou
art ignorant of the last words spoken by the Sacred Oracle some
hundred years or more ago. They are these:

"'When the High Priestess
Is the King's mistress
Then fall Al-Kyris!'

'Tis absolute doggerel, and senseless withal,--nevertheless, it
has caused the enactment of a Law, which is to the effect that the
reigning monarch of Al-Kyris shall never, under any sort of
pretext, confer with the High Priestess of the Temple on any
business whatsoever,--and that, furthermore, he shall never be
permitted to look upon her face except at times of public service
and state ceremonials. Now dost thou not at once perceive how vile
were the suggestions of Nir-jalis, . . and also how foolish was thy
fancy last night with regard to the armed masquerader thou didst
see in Lysia's garden?"

Theos made no reply, but sat absorbed in his own reflections. He
began now to understand much that had before seemed doubtful and
mysterious,--no wonder, he thought, that Zephoranim's fury against
the audacious Khosrul had been so excessive! For had not the
crazed Prophet called Lysia an "unvirgined virgin and Queen-
Courtesan"? ... and, according to Sah-luma's present explanation,
nothing more dire and offensive in the way of open blasphemy could
be uttered! Yet the question still remained--, was Khosrul right
or wrong? This was a problem which Theos longed to investigate and
yet recoiled from,--instinctively he felt that upon its answer
hung the fate of Al-Kyris,--and also, what just then seemed more
precious than anything else,--the life of Sah-luma. He could not
decide with himself WHY this was so,--he simply accepted his own
inward assurance that so it was. Presently he inquired:

"How comes it, Sah-luma, that the corpse of Nir-jalis was found on
the shores of the river? Did we not see it weighted with iron and
laid elsewhere ... ?"

"O simpleton!" laughed Sah-luma--"Thinkest thou Lysia's lake of
lilies is a common grave for criminals? The body of Nir-jalis sank
therein, 'tis true, . . but was there no after-means of lifting it
from thence, and placing it where best such carrion should be
found? Hath not the High Priestess of Nagaya slaves enough to work
her will? ... Verily thou dost trouble thyself overmuch concerning
these trivial every-day occurences,--I marvel at thee!--Hundreds
have drained the Silver Nectar gladly for so fair a woman's sake,
--hundreds will drain it gladly still for the mere privilege of
living some brief days in the presence of such peerless beauty!
... But,--speaking of the river--didst thou remark it on thy way
hither?"

"Aye!" responded Theos dreamily--"'Twas red as blood"!"

"Strange!" and Sah-luma looked thoughtful for an instant, then
rousing himself, said lightly, "'Tis from some simple cause, no
doubt--yet 'twill create a silly panic in the city--and all the
fanatics for Khosrul's new creed will creep forth, shouting afresh
their prognostications of death and doom. By my faith, 'twill be a
most desperate howling! ... and I'll not walk abroad till the
terror hath abated. Moreover, I have work to do,--some lately
budded thoughts of mine have ripened into glorious conclusion,--
and Zabastes hath orders presently to attend me that he may take
my lines down from mine own dictation. Thou shalt hear a most
choice legend of love an thou wilt listen--" here he laid his hand
affectionately on Theos's shoulder--"a legend set about, methinks,
with wondrous jewels of poetic splendor! ... 'tis a rare privilege
I offer thee, my friend, for as a rule Zabastes is my only
auditor,--but I would swear thou art no plagiarist, and wouldst
not dishonor thine own intelligence so far as to filch pearls of
fancy from another minstrel! As well steal my garments as my
thoughts!--for verily the thoughts are the garments of the poet's
soul,--and the common thief of things petty and material is no
whit more contemptible than he who robs an author of ideas wherein
to deck the bareness of his own poor wit! Come, place thyself at
ease upon this cushioned couch, and give me thy attention, ... I
feel the fervor rising within me, ... I will summon Zabastes, ...
" Here he pulled a small silken cord which at once set a clanging
bell echoing loudly through the palace, ... "And thou shalt
freely hear, and freely judge, the last offspring of my fertile
genius,--my lyrical romance 'Nourhalma!'" Theos started violently,
... he had the greatest difficulty to restrain the anguished cry
that arose to his lips. "Nourhalma!" O memory! ... slow-filtering,
reluctant memory! ... why, why was his brain thus tortured with
these conflicting pang, of piteous recollection! Little by little,
like sharp deep stabs of nervous suffering, there came back to him
a few faint, fragmentary suggestions which gradually formed
themselves into a distinct and comprehensive certainty, . .
"Nourhalma" was the title of HIS OWN POEM,--the poem HE had
written, surely not so very long ago, among the mountains of the
Pass of Dariel!