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

"Farewell, Sah-luma!" he said ... "Beware that nothing hinders
thee from the fulfillment of thy promise! ... and let thy homage
to the Holy Maid be reverent at the parting of the Silver Veil!"

He waited, but Sah-luma made no answer--he therefore raised his
staff and described a circle with it in the same solemn fashion
that had distinguished his entrance.

"By the coming-forth of the Moon through the ways of Darkness, . .
by the shining of Stars, . . by the Sleeping Sun and the silence of
Night, . . by the All-Seeing Eye of Raphon and the Wisdom of Nagaya
may the protection of the gods abide in this house forever!"

As he pronounced these words he noiselessly departed, without any
salutation whatever to Sah-luma, who heaved a sigh of relief when
he had gone, and, rising from his couch came and placed one hand
affectionately on Theos's shoulder.

"Thou foolish, yet dear comrade!" he murmured.. "What moves thee
to blurt forth such strange and unwarrantable sayings? ... Why
wouldst thou pray to be a servant of the Cross? ... or why, at any
rate, if thou hast taken a fancy for the dead Khosrul's new
doctrine, wert thou so rash as to proclaim thy sentiment to yon
unprincipled, bloodthirsty Zel, who would not scruple to poison
the King himself, if his Majesty gave sufficient cause of offence!
Dost thou desire to be straightway slain?--Nay, I will not have
thee run thus furiously into danger,--thou wilt be offered the
Silver Nectar like Nir-jahs, and not even the intercession of my
friendship would avail to save thee then!"

Theos smiled rather sadly.

"And thus would end for ever my mistakes and follies, . ." he
answered softly.. "And I should perchance discover the small
hidden secret of things--the little, simple unguessed clue, that
would unravel the mystery and meaning of Existence! For can it be
that the majestic marvel of created Nature is purposeless in its
design?--that we are doomed to think thoughts which can never be
realized?--to dream dreams that perish in the dreaming? ... to
build up hopes without foundation? ... to call upon God when there
is no God? ... to long for Heaven when there is no Heaven? ... Ah
no, Sah-luma!--surely we are not the mere fools and dupes of Time,
... surely there is some Eternal Beyond which is not
Annihilation, . . some greater, vaster sphere of soul-development
where we shall find all that we have missed on earth!"

Sah-luma's face clouded, and a sigh escaped him.

"I would my thoughts were similar to thine!" he said sorrowfully..
"I would I could believe in an immortal destiny, ... but alas, my
friend! there is no shadow of ground for such a happy faith,--none
neither in sense nor science. I have reflected on it many a time
till I have wearied myself with mournful musing, and the end of
all my meditation has been a useless protest against the Great
Inevitable, . . a clamor of disdain hurled at the huge, blind,
indifferent Force that poisons the deep sea of Space with an ever-
productive spawn of wasted Life! Anon I have flouted my own
despair, and have consoled myself with the old wise maxim that was
found inscribed on the statue of a smiling god some centuries
ago.. 'Enjoy your lives, ye passing tribes of men ... take
pleasure in folly, for this is the only wisdom that avails! Happy
is he whose days are filled with the delight of love and laughter,
for there is nothing better found on earth, and whatsoever ye do,
whether wise or foolish, the same End comes to all!'.. Is not this
true philosophy, my Theos? ... what can a man do better than
enjoy?"

"Much depends on the particular form of enjoyment..." responded
Theos thoughtfully. "Some there are, for example, who might find
their greatest satisfaction in the pleasures of the table,--others
in the gratification of sensual desires and gross appetites,--are
these to be left to follow their own devices, without any effort
being made to raise them from the brute-level where they lie?"

"Why, in the name of all the gods, SHOULD they be raised?"
demanded Sah-luma impatiently--"If their choice is to grovel in
mire, why ask them to dwell in a palace?--They would not
appreciate the change!"

"Again," went on Theos--"there are others who are only happy in
the pursuit of wisdom, and the more they learn, the more they seek
to know. One wonders, . . one cannot help wondering.. are their
aspirations all in vain? ... and will the grave seal down their
hopes forever?"

Sah-luma paused a moment before replying.

"It seems so ..." he said at last slowly and hesitatingly ... "And
herein I find the injustice of the matter,--because however great
may be the imagination and fervor of a poet for instance, he never
is able WHOLLY to utter his thoughts. Half of them remain in
embryo, like buds of flowers that never come to bloom, . . yet they
are THERE, burning in the brain and seeming too vast of conception
to syllable themselves into the common speech of mortals! I have
often marvelled why such ideas suggest themselves at all, as they
can neither be written nor spoken, unless..." and here his voice
sank into a dreamy softness, "unless indeed they are to be
received as hints, . . foreshadowings.. of greater works destined
for our accomplishment, hereafter!"

He was silent a minute's space, and Theos, watching him wistfully,
suddenly asked:

"Wouldst thou be willing to live again, Sah-luma, if such a thing
could be?"

"Friend, I would rather never die!"--responded the Laureate, half
playfully, half seriously.. "But.. if I were certain that death
was no more than a sleep, from which I should assuredly awaken to
another phase of existence, ..I know well enough what I would do!"

"What?" questioned Theos, his heart beginning to beat with an
almost insufferable anxiety.

"I would live a different life NOW!" answered Sah-luma steadily,
looking his companion full in the eyes as he spoke, while a grave
smile shadowed rather than lightened his features. "I would begin
at once, . . so that when the new Future dawned for me, I might not
be haunted or tortured by the remembrance of a misspent Past! For
if we are to believe in any everlasting things at all, we cannot
shut out the fatal everlastingness of Memory!" His words sounded
unlike himself...his voice was as the voice of some reproving
angel speaking,--and Theos, listening, shuddered, he knew not why,
and held his peace.

"Never to be able to FORGET!" continued Sah-luma in the same
grave, sweet tone ... "Never to lose sight of one's own bygone
wilful sins, . . this would be an immortal destiny too terrible to
endure! For then, inexorable Retrospection would forever show us
where we had missed the way, and how we had failed to use the
chances given us, . . moreover, we might haply find ourselves
surrounded..." and his accents grew slower and more emphatic.. "by
strange phantoms of our own creating, who would act anew the drama
of our obstinate past follies, perplexing us thereby into an
anguish greater than mortal fancy can depict. Thus if we indeed
possessed the positive foreknowledge of the eternal regeneration
of our lives, 'twould be well to free them from all hindrance to
perfection HERE,--here, while we are still conscious of Time and
opportunity." He paused, then went on in his customary gay manner:
"But fortunately we are not positive, nothing is certain, no truth
is so satisfactorily demonstrated that some wiseacre cannot be
found to disprove it, . . hence it happens my friend..." and his
face assumed its wonted careless expression ... "that we men whose
common-sense is offended by priestly hypocrisy and occult
necromantic jugglery,--we, who perhaps in our innermost heart of
hearts ardently desire to believe in a supreme Divinity and the
grandly progressive Sublime Intention of the Universe, but who,
discovering naught but ignoble Cant and Imposture everywhere, are
incontinently thrown back on our own resources, . . hence it comes,
I say, that we are satisfied to accept ourselves, each man in his
own personality, as the Beginning and End of Existence, and to
minister to that Absolute Self which after all concerns us most,
and which will continue to engage our best service until...well!--
until History can show us a perfectly Selfless Example, which, if
human nature remains consistent with its own traditions, will
assuredly never be!"

This was almost more than Theos could bear, . . there was a
tightening agony at his heart that made him long to cry out, to
weep, or, better still, to fling himself on his knees and pray, . .
pray to that far-removed mild Presence, that "Selfless Example"
who he KNEW had hallowed and dignified the world, and yet whose
Holy and Beloved Name, he, miserable sinner, was unworthy to even
remember! His suffering at the moment was so intense that he
fancied some reflection of it must be visible in his face. Sah-
luma, however, apparently saw nothing,--he stepped across the
room, and out to the vine-shaded loggia, where he turned and
beckoned his companion to his side.

"Come!" he said, pushing his hair off his brows with a languid
gesture, . . "The afternoon wears onward, and the very heavens seem
to smoke with heat,--let us seek cooler air beneath the shade of
yonder cypresses, whose dark-green boughs shut out the glaring
sky. We'll talk of love and poesy and tender things till sunset, . .
I will recite to thee a ballad of mine that Niphrata loved,--'tis
called 'An Idyl of Roses,'...and it will lighten this hot and
heavy silence, when even birds sleep, and butterflies drowse in
the hollowed shelter of the arum-leaves. Come, wilt thou? ... To-
night perchance we shall have little time for pleasant discourse!"

As he spoke, Theos obediently went toward him with the dazed
sensations of one under the influence of mesmerism, ... the
dazzling face and luminous eyes of the Laureate exercised over him
an indescribable yet resistless authority,--and it was certain
that, wherever Sah-luma led the way, he was bound to follow. Only,
as he mechanically descended from the terrace into the garden, and
linked his arm within that of his companion, he was conscious of a
vague feeling of pity for himself...pity that he should have
dwindled into such a nonentity, when Sah-luma was so renowned a
celebrity, . . pity too that he should have somehow never been able
to devise anything original in the Art of Poetry!

This last was evident, . . for he knew already that the "Idyl of
Roses" Sah-luma purposed reciting could be no other than what he
had fancied was HIS "Idyl of Roses" ... a poem he had composed, or
rather had plagiarized in some mysterious fashion before he had
even dreamt of the design of "Nourhalma"...However he had become
in part resigned to the peculiar position he occupied,--he was
just a little sorry for himself, and that was all. Even as the
parted spirit of a dead man might hover ruthfully above the grave
of its perished mortal body, so he compassionated his own forlorn
estate, and heaved a passing sigh of regret, not only for all HE
ONCE HAD BEEN, but also for all HE COULD NEVER BE!

CHAPTER XXVII.

IN THE TEMPLE OF NAGAYA.

The hours wore on with stealthy rapidity,--but the two friends,
reclining together under a deep-branched canopy of cypress-boughs,
paid little or no heed to the flight of time. The heat in the
garden was intense--the grass was dry and brittle as though it had
been scorched by passing flames,--and a singularly profound
stillness reigned everywhere, there being no wind to stir the
faintest rustle among the foliage. Lying lazily upon his back,
with his arms clasped above his head, Theos looked dreamily up at
the patches of blue sky seen between the dark-green gnarled stems
and listened to the measured cadence of the Laureate's mellow
voice as he recited with much tenderness the promised poem.

Of course it was perfectly familiar,--the lines were precisely the
same as those which he, Theos, remembered to have written out,
thinking them his own, in an old manuscript book he had left at
home. "At-home!" ... Where was that? It must be a very long way
off! ... He half-closed his eyes,--a sense of delightful
drowsiness was upon him, . . the rise and fall of his friend's
rhythmic utterance soothed him into a languid peace, . . the "Idyl
of Roses" was very sweet and musical, and, though he knew it of
old, he heard it now with special satisfaction, inasmuch as, it
being no longer his, he was at liberty to bestow upon it that full
measure of admiration which he felt it deserved!

Yet every now and then his thoughts wandered,--and though he
anxiously strove to concentrate his attention on the lovely
stanzas that murmured past his ears like the gentle sound of waves
flowing beneath the mesmerism of the moon, his brain was in a
continual state of ferment, and busied itself with all manner of
vague suggestions to which he could give no name.

A great weariness weighed down his spirit--a dim consciousness of
the futility of all ambition and all endeavor--he was haunted,
too, by the sharp hiss of Lysia's voice when she had said, "KILL
SAH-LUMA!"...Her look, her attitude, her murderous smile, troubled
his memory and made him ill at ease,--the thing she had thus
demanded at his hands seemed more monstrous than if she had bidden
him kill himself! For there had been one moment, when, mastered by
her beauty and the force of his own passion, he WOULD have killed
himself had she requested it...but to kill his adored, his beloved
friend! ... ah no! not for a thousand sorceress-queens as fair as
she!

He drew a long breath, . . an irresistible desire for rest came over
him, . . the air was heavy and warm and fragrant,--his companion's
dulcet accents served as a lullaby to his tired mind,--it seemed a
long time since he had enjoyed a pleasant slumber, for the
previous night he had not slept at all. Lower and lower drooped
his aching lids, . . he was almost beginning to slip away slowly
into a blissful unconsciousness, . . when all at once Sah-luma
ceased reciting, and a harsh, brazen clang of bells echoed through
the silence, storming to and fro with a violent, hurried uproar
suggestive of some sudden alarm. He sprang to his feet, rubbing
his eyes,--Sah-luma rose also, a slightly petulant expression on
his face.

"Canst thou do no better than sleep"--he queried complainingly,
"when thou art privileged to listen to an immortal poem?"

Impulsively Theos caught his hand and pressed it fervently.

"Nay, dost thou deem me so indifferent, my noble friend?" he
cried ... "Thou art mistaken, for though perchance mine eyes were
closed, my ears were open; I heard thy every word,--I loved thy
every line! What dost thou need of praise? ... thou, who canst do
naught but work which, being perfect, is beyond all criticism!"

Sah-luma smiled, well satisfied, and the little lines of
threatening ill-humor vanished from his countenance.

"Enough!" he said.. "I know that thou dost truly honor me above
all poets, and that thou wouldst not willingly offend. Hearest
thou how great a clamor the ringers of the Temple make to-night?--
'tis but the sunset chime, . . yet one would think they were pealing
forth an angry summons to battle."

"Already sunset!" exclaimed Theos, surprised.. "Why, it seems
scarce a minute since, that we came hither!"

"Aye!--such is the magic charm of poesy!" rejoined Sah-luma
complacently.. "It makes the hours flit like moments, and long
days seemed but short hours! ... Nevertheless 'tis time we were
within doors and at supper,--for if we start not soon for the
Temple, 'twill be difficult to gain an entrance, and I, at any
rate, must be early in my place beside the King."

He heaved a short, impatient sigh,--and as he spoke, all Theos's
old misgivings came rushing back upon him and in full force,
filling him with vague sorrow, uneasiness, fear. But he knew how
useless it was to try and impart any of his inward forebodings to
Sah-luma,--Sah-luma, who had so lightly explained Lysia's
treacherous conduct to his own entire satisfaction, . . Sah-luma, on
whom neither the prophecies of Khosrul nor the various disastrous
events of the day had taken any permanent effect, . . while no
attempt could now be made to deter him from attending the
Sacrificial Service in the Temple, seeing he had been so
positively commanded thither by Lysia, through the medium of the
priest Zel.

Feeling bitterly his own incompetency to exercise any protective
influence on the fate of his companion, Theos said nothing, but
silently followed him, as he thrust aside the drooping cypress
boughs and made his way out to more open ground, his lithe,
graceful figure looking even more brilliant and phantom-like than
ever, contrasted with the deep green gloom spread about him by the
hoary moss-covered trees that were as twisted and grotesque in
shape as a group of fetich idols. As he bent back the last branchy
barrier however, and stepped into the full light, he stopped
short,--and, uttering a loud exclamation, lifted his hand and
pointed westward, his dark eyes dilating with amazement and awe.

Theos at once came swiftly up beside him, and looked where he
looked, . . what a scene of terrific splendor he beheld! ... Right
across the horizon, that glistened with a pale green hue like
newly frozen water, a cloud, black as the blackest midnight, lay
heavy and motionless, in form resembling an enormous leaf, fringed
at the edges with tremulous lines of gold.

This nebulous mass was absolutely stirless, . . it appeared as
though it had been thrown, a ponderous weight, into the vault of
heaven, and having fallen, there purposed to remain. Ever and anon
beamy threads of lightning played through it luridly, veining it
with long, arrowy flashes of orange and silver,--while poised
immediately above it was the sun, looking like a dull scarlet
seal, ... a ball of dim fire destitute of rays.

On all sides the sky was crossed by wavy flecks of pearl and
sudden glimpses as of burning topaz,--and down toward the earth
drooped a thin azure fog,--filmy curtain, through which the
landscape took the strangest tints and unearthly flushes of color.
A moment,--and the spectral sun dropped suddenly into the lower
darkness, leaving behind it a glare of gold and green,--lowering
purple shadows crept over across the heavens, darkening them as
smoke darkens flame,--but the huge cloud, palpitating with
lightning, moved not at all nor changed its shape by so much as a
hair's breadth, . . it appeared like a vast pall spread out in
readiness for the solemn state-burial of the world.

Fascinated by the aspect of the weird sky-phenomenon, Theos was at
the same time curiously impressed by a sense of its UNREALITY, . .
indeed he found himself considering it with the calm attentiveness
of one who is brought face to face with a remarkable picture
effectively painted. This peculiar sensation, however, was, like
many others of his experience, very transitory, . . it passed, and
he watched the lightnings come and go with a certain hesitating
fear mingled with wonder. Sah-luma was the first to speak.

"Storm at last!" ... he said, forcing a smile though his face was
unusually pale,--"It has threatened us all day...'twill break
before the night is over. How sullenly yonder heavens frown! ...
they have quenched the sun in their sable darkness as though it
were a beaten foe! This will seem an ill sign to those who worship
him as a god,--for truly he doth appear to have withdrawn himself
in haste and anger. By my soul! 'Tis a dull and ominous eve!" ...
and a slight shudder ran through his delicate frame, as he turned
toward the white-pillared loggia garlanded with its climbing
vines, roses, and passion-flowers, through which there now floated
a dim golden, suffused radiance reflected from lamps lit within, . .
"I would the night were past and that the new day had come!"

With these words, he entered the house, Theos accompanying him,
and together they went at once to the banqueting-hall. There they
supped royally, served by silent and attentive slaves,--they
themselves, feeling mutually depressed, yet apparently not wishing
to communicate their depression one to the other, conversed but
little. After the repast was finished, they set forth on foot to
the Temple, Sah-luma informing his companion, as they went, that
it was against the law to use any chariot or other sort of
conveyance to go to the place of worship, the King himself being
obliged to dispense with his sumptuous car on such occasions, and
to walk thither as unostentatiously as any one of his poorest
subjects.

"An excellent rule!" ... observed Theos reflectively,--"For the
pomp and glitter of an earthly potentate's display assorts ill
with the homage he intends to offer to the Immortals,--and Kings
are no more than commoners in the sight of an all-supreme
Divinity."

"True, if there WERE an all-supreme Divinity!" rejoined Sah-luma
dryly,--"But in the present state of well-founded doubt regarding
the existence of any such omnipotent personage, thinkest thou
there is a monarch living, who is sincerely willing to admit the
possibility of any power superior to himself? Not Zephoranim,
believe me! ... his enforced humility on all occasions of public
religious observance serves him merely as a new channel wherein to
proclaim his pride. Certes, in obedience to the Priests, or rather
let us say in obedience to the High Priestess, he paces the common
foot-path in company with the common folk, uncrowned and simply
clad,--but what avails this affectation of meekness? All know him
for the King--all make servile way for him,--all flatter him! ...
and his progress to the Temple resembles as much a triumphal
procession as though he were mounted in his chariot and returning
from some wondrous victory. Besides, humility in my opinion is
more a weakness than a virtue, . . and even granting it were a
virtue, it is not possible to Kings,--not as long as people
continue to fawn on royalty like grovelling curs, and lick the
sceptred hand that often loathes their abject touch."

He spoke with a certain bitterness and impatience as though he
were suffering from some inward nervous irritation, and Theos,
observing this, prudently made no attempt to continue the
conversation. They were just then passing down a narrow, rather
dark street, lined on both sides by lofty buildings of quaint and
elaborate architecture. Long, gloomy shadows had gathered in this
particular spot, where for a short space the silence was so
intense that one could almost hear one's own heart beat. Suddenly
a yellowish-green ray of light flashed across the pavement, and
lo! the upper rim of the moon peered above the house-tops, looking
strangely large and rosily brilliant, . . the air seemed all at once
to grow suffocating and sulphurous, and between whiles there came
the faint plashing sound of water lapping against stone with a
monotonous murmur as of continuous soft whispers.

The vast silence, the vast night, were full of a solemn
weirdness,--the moon, curiously magnified to twice her ordinary
size, soared higher and higher, firing the lofty solitudes of
heaven with long, shooting radiations of rose and green, while
still in the purple hollow of the horizon lay that immense,
immovable Cloud, nerved as it were with living lightning which
leaped incessantly from its centre like a thousand swords drawn
and re-drawn from as many scabbards.

Presently the deep booming noise of a great bell smote heavily on
the stillness, . . a sound that Theos, oppressed by the weight of
unutterable forebodings, welcomed with a vague sense of relief,
while Sah-luma, hearing it, quickened his pace. They soon reached
the end of the street, which terminated in a spacious quadrangular
court guarded on all sides by gigantic black statues, and quickly
crossing this place, which was entirely deserted, they came out at
once into a dazzling blaze of light, . . the Temple of Nagaya in all
its stately magnificence towered before them, a stupendous pile of
marvellously delicate architecture so fine as to seem like lace-
work rather than stone.

It was lit up from base to summit with glittering lamps of all
colors, . . the twelve revolving stars on its twelve tall turrets
cast forth wide beams of penetrating radiance into the deepening
darkness of the night, . . aloft in its topmost crown of pinnacles
swung the prayer-commanding bell, . . while the enormous crowds
swarming thick about it gave it the appearance of a brilliant
Pharos set in the midst of a surging sea. The steps leading up to
it were strewn ankle-deep with flowers, . . the doors stood open,
and a thunderous hum of solemn music vibrated in wave-like
pulsations through the heavy, heated air.

Half blinded by the extreme effulgence, and confused by the
jostling to and fro of a multitude immeasurably greater than any
he had ever seen or imagined, Theos instinctively stretched out
his hand in the helpless fashion of one not knowing whither next
to turn, . . Sah-luma immediately caught it in his own, and hurried
him along without saying a word.