Books: Ardath

M >> Marie Corelli >> Ardath

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How they managed to glide through the close ranks of pushing,
pressing people, and effect an entrance he never knew,--but when
he recovered from his momentary dazed bewilderment, he found
himself inside the Temple, standing near a pillar of finely fluted
white marble that shot up like the stem of a palm-tree and lost
its final point in the dim yet sparkling splendor of the immense
dome above. Lights twinkled everywhere,--there was the odor of
faint perfumes mingled with the fresher fragrance of flowers,--
there were distant glimpses of jewelled shrines, and the leering
faces of grotesque idols clothed in draperies of amber, purple,
and green,--and between the multitudinous columns that ringed the
superb fane with snowy circles, one within the other, hung
glittering lamps, set with rare gems and swinging by long chains
of gold.

But the crowning splendor of the whole was concentrated on the
place of the secret Inner Shrine. There an Arch of pale-blue fire
spanned the dome from left to right, . . there, from huge bronze
vessels mounted on tall tripods the smoke of burning incense arose
in thick and odorous clouds,--there children clad in white, and
wearing garlands of vivid scarlet blossoms, stood about in little
groups as still as exquisitely modelled statuettes, their small
hands folded, and their eyes downcast, . . there, the steps were
strewn with branches of palm, flowering oleander, rose-laurel, and
olive-sprays,--but the Sanctuary itself was not visible.

Before that Holy of Holies hung the dazzling folds of the "Silver
Veil," a curtain of the most wonderfully woven silver tissue, that
seen in the flashing azure light of the luminous arch above it,
resembled nothing so much as a suddenly frozen sheet of foam.
Across it was emblazoned in large characters:

I AM THE PAST, THE PRESENT, THE FUTURE,

THE MIGHT-HAVE-BEEN, AND THE SHALL-NOT-BE,

THE EVER, AND THE NEVER,

NO MORTAL KNOWETH MY NAME.

As Theos with some difficulty, owing to the intense brilliancy of
the Veil, managed to decipher these words, he heard a solitary
trumpet sounded,--a clear-blown note that echoed itself many times
among the lofty arches before it finally floated into silence.
Recognizing this as an evident signal for some new and important
phase in the proceedings, he turned his eyes away from the place
of the Shrine, and looking round the building was surprised to see
how completely the vast area was filled with crowds upon crowds of
silent and expectant people. It seemed as though not the smallest
wedge could have been inserted between the shoulders of one man
and another, yet where he stood with Sah-luma there was plenty of
room. The reason of this however was soon apparent,--they were in
the place reserved for the King and the immediate officers of the
Royal Household,--and scarcely had the sweet vibration of that
clear trumpet-blast died away, when Zephoranim himself appeared,
walking slowly and majestically in the midst of a select company
of his nobles and courtiers.

He wore the simple white garb of an ordinary citizen of Al-Kyris,
together with a silver belt and plain-sheathed dagger, . . not a
jewel relieved the classic severity of his costume, and not even
the merest fillet of gold in his rough dark hair denoted his royal
rank. But the pride of precedence spoke in his flashing eyes,--the
arrogance of authority in the self-conscious poise of his figure
and haughtiness of his step,--his brows were knitted in something
of a frown, and his face looked pale and slightly careworn. He
spied out Sah-luma at once and smiled kindly,--there was not a
trace of coldness in his manner toward his favored minstrel, and
Theos noted this with a curious sense of sudden consolation and
encouragement. "Why should I have feared Zephoranim?" he thought.
"Sah-luma has no greater friend, . . except myself! The King would
be the last person in the world to do him any injury!"

Just then a magnificent burst of triumphal music rolled through
the Temple,--the music of some mighty instrument, organ-like in
sound, but several tones deeper than the grandest organ ever made,
mingled with children's voices singing. The King seated himself on
a cushioned chair directly in front of the Silver Veil, . . Sah-luma
took a place at his right hand, giving Theos a low bench close
beside him, while the various distinguished personages who had
attended Zephoranim disposed themselves indifferently wherever
they could find standing-room, only keeping as near to their
monarch as they were able to do in the extreme pressure of so vast
a congregation.

For now every available inch of space was occupied,--as far as eye
could see there were rows upon rows of men and white-veiled
women, . . Theos imagined there must have been more then five
thousand people present. On went the huge pulsations of melody,
surging through the incense-laden air like waves thudding
incessantly on a rocky shore, and presently out of a side archway
near the Sanctuary-steps came with slow and gliding noiselessness
a band of priests, walking two by two, and carrying branches of
palm. These were all clad in purple and crowned with ivy-wreaths,
--they marched sedately, keeping their eyes lowered, while their
lips moved constantly, as though they muttered inaudible
incantations. Waving their palm-boughs to and fro, they paced
along past the King and down the centre aisle of the Temple,--then
turning, they came back again to the lowest step of the Shrine and
there they all prostrated themselves, while the children who stood
near the incense-burners flung fresh perfumes on the glowing
embers and chanted the following recitative:

"O Nagaya, great, everlasting and terrible!
Thou who dost wind thy coils of wisdom into the heart!
Thou, whose eyes, waking and sleeping, do behold all things!
Thou who art the joy of the Sun and the Master of Virgins!
Hear us, we beseech thee, when we call upon thy name!"

Their young treble voices were clear and piercing, and pealed up
to the dome to fall again like the drops of distinct round melody
from a lark's singing-throat,--and when they ceased there came a
short impressive pause. The Silver Veil quivered from end to end
as though swayed by a faint wind, and the flaming Arch above
turned from pale blue to a strange shimmering green. Then, in
mellow unison, the kneeling priests intoned:

"O thou who givest words of power to the dumb mouth of the
soul in Hades; hear us, Nagaya!
O thou who openest the grave and givest peace to the heart;
plead for us, Nagaya!
O thou who art companion of the Sun and controller of the
East and of the West; comfort us, Nagaya!

Here they ended, and the children began again, not to chant but to
sing.. a strange and tristful tune, wilder than any that vragrant
winds could play on the strings of an aeolian lyre:

"O Virgin of Virgins, Holy Maid, to what shall we resemble thee?
Chaste Daughter of the Sun, how shall we praise thy peerless
beauty!
Thou art the Gate of the House of Stars!--thou art the first of
the Seven Jewels of Nagaya!
Thou dost wield the sceptre of ebony, and the Eye of Raphon
beholds thee with love and contentment!
Thou art the Chiefest of Women, ... thou hast the secrets of earth
and heaven, thou knowest the dark mysteries!
Hail, Lysia! Queen of the Hall of Judgment!
Hail, pure Pearl in the Sea of the Sun's glory!
Declare unto us, we beseech thee, the Will of Nagaya!"

They closed this canticle softly and slowly, . . then flinging
themselves prone, they pressed their faces to the earth, . . and
again the glittering Veil waved to and fro suggestively, while
Theos, his heart beating fast, watched its shining woof with
straining eyes and a sense of suffocation in his throat, . . what
ignorant fools, what mad barbarians, what blind blasphemers were
these people, he indignantly thought, who could thus patiently
hear the praise of an evil woman like Lysia publicly proclaimed
with almost divine honors!

Did they actually intend to worship her, he wondered? If so, he at
any rate would never bend the knee to one so vile! He might have
done so once, perhaps, ... but now ...! At that instant a flute like
murmur of melody crept upward as it seemed from the ground, with a
plaintive whispering sweetness like the lament of some exiled
fairy,--so exquisitely tender and pathetic, and yet withal so
heart-stirring and passionate, that, despite himself, he listened
with a strange, swooning sense of languor stealing insidiously
over him,--a dreamy lassitude, that while it made him feel
enervated and deprived of strength, was still not altogether
unpleasing, . . a faint sigh escaped his lips,--and he kept his gaze
fixed on the Silver Veil as pertinaciously as though behind it lay
the mystery of his soul's ruin or salvation.

How the light flashed on its shimmering folds like the rippling
phosphorescence on southern seas! ... as green and clear and
brilliant as rays reflected from thousands and thousands of
glistening emeralds! ... And that haunting, sorrowful, weird
music! ... How it seemed to eat into his heart and there waken a
bitter remorse combined with an equally bitter despair!

Once more the Veil moved, and this time it appeared to inflate
itself in the fashion of a sail caught by a sudden breeze,--then
it began to part in the middle very slowly and without sound.
Further and further back on each side it gradually receded, and
... like a lily disclosed between folding leaves--a Figure, white,
wonderful and angelically fair, shone out, the centre jewel of the
stately shrine,--a shrine whose immense carven pillars, grotesque
idols, bronze and gold ornaments, jewelled lamps and dazzling
embroideries, only served as a sort of neutral-tinted background
to intensify with a more lustrous charm the statuesque loveliness
revealed! O Lysia, UNvirgined Priestess of the Sun and Nagaya, how
gloriously art thou arrayed in sin! ... O singular Sweetness whose
end must needs be destruction, was ever woman fairer than thou!
... O love, love, lost in the dead Long-Ago, and drowned in the
uttermost darkness of things evil, wilt thou drag my soul with
thee again into everlasting night!

Thus Theos inwardly raved, without any real comprehension of his
own thoughts, but only stricken anew by a feverish passion of
mingled love and hatred as he stared on the witching sorceress
whose marvellous beauty was such wonder and torture to his eyes, . .
what mattered it to him that King, Laureate, and people had all
prostrated themselves before her in reverent humility? ... HE knew
her nature, . . he had fathomed her inborn wickedness, . . and though
his senses were attracted by her, his spirit loathingly repelled
her, . . he therefore remained seated stiffly upright, watching her
with a sort of passive, immovable intentness. As she now appeared
before him, her loveliness was absolutely and ideally perfect,--
she looked the embodiment of all grace,--the model of all
chastity.

She stood quite still, . . her hands folded on her breast, . . her
head slightly lifted, her dark eyes upturned, . . her unbound black
hair streamed over her shoulders in loose glossy waves, and above
her brows her diadem of serpents' heads sparkled like a coronal of
flame. Her robe was white, made of some silky shining stuff that
glistened with soft pearly hues; it was gathered about her waist
by a twisted golden girdle. Her arms were bare, decked as before
with the small jewelled snakes that coiled upward from wrist to
shoulder,--and when after a brief pause she unfolded her hands and
raised them with a slow, majestic movement above her head, the
great Symbolic Eye flared from her bosom like a darting coal,
seeming to turn sinister glances on all sides as though on the
search for some suspected foe.

Fortunately no one appeared to notice Theos's deliberate non-
observance of the homage due to her,--no one except.. Lysia,
herself. She met the open defiance, scorn, and reluctant
admiration of his glance, . . and a cold smile dawned on her
features, . . a smile more dreadful in its very sweetness than any
frown, . . then, turning away her beautiful, fathomless, slumberous
eyes and still keeping her arms raised, she lifted up her voice, a
voice mellow as a golden flute, that pierced the silence with a
straight arrow of pure sound, and chanted:

"Give glory to the Sun, O ye people! for his Light doth illumine
your darkness!"

And the murmur of the mighty crowd surged back in answer:

"We give him glory!"

Here came a brief clash of brazen bells, and when the clamor
ceased, Lysia continued:

"Give glory to the Moon, O ye people! ... for she is the servant
of the Sun and the Ruler of the House of Sleep!"

Again the people responded;

"We give her glory!'.. and again the bells jangled tempestuously.

"Give glory to Nagaya, O ye people! for he alone can turn aside
the wrath of the Immortals!"

"We give him glory!".. rejoined the multitude,--and "We give him
glory! seemed to be shouted high among the arches of the Temple
with a strange sound as of the mocking laughter of devils."

This preliminary over, there came out of unseen doors on both
sides of the Sanctuary twenty priests in companies of ten each;
ten advancing from the left, ten from the right. These were clad
in flowing garments of carnation-colored silk, heavily bordered
with gold, and the leader of the right-hand group was the priest
Zel. His demeanor was austere and dignified, . . he carried a square
cushion covered in black, on which lay a long, thin cruel-looking
knife with a jewelled hilt. The chief of the priests, who stood on
the left, bore a very tall and massive staff of polished ebony,
which he solemnly presented to the High Priestess, who grasped it
firmly in one slight hand and allowed it to rest steadily on the
ground, while its uppermost point reached far above her head.

Then followed the strangest, weirdest scene that even the pen of
poets or brush of painter devised, . . a march round and round the
Temple of all the priests, bearing lighted flambeaux and singing
in chorus a wild Litany,--a confused medley of supplications to
the Sun and Nagaya, which, accompanied as it was by the discordant
beating drums and the clanging of bells, had an evidently powerful
effect on the minds of the assembled populace, for presently they
also joined in the maddening chant, and growing more and more
possessed by the contagious fever of fanaticism, began to howl and
shriek and clap their hands furiously, creating a frightful din
suggestive of some fiendish clamor in hell.

Theos, half deafened by the horrible uproar, as well as roused to
an abnormal pitch of restless excitement, looked round to see how
Sah-luma comported himself. He was sitting quite still, in a
perfectly composed attitude,--a faint, derisive smile played on
his lips, . . his profile, as it just then appeared, had the
firmness and the pure soft outline of a delicately finished
cameo, . . his splendid eyes now darkened, now lightened with
passion, as he gazed at Lysia, who, all alone in the centre of the
Shrine, held her ebony staff as perpendicularly erect as though it
were a tree rooted fathoms deep in earth, keeping herself too as
motionless as a figure of frozen snow.

And the King? ... what of him? ... Glancing at that bronze-like
brooding countenance, Theos was startled and at the same time half
fascinated by its expression. Such a mixture of tigerish
tenderness, servile idolatry, intemperate desire, and craven fear
he had never seen delineated on the face of any human being. In
the black thirsty eyes there was a look that spoke volumes,--a
look that betrayed what the heart concealed,--and reading that
featured emblazonment of hidden guilt, Theos knew beyond all doubt
that the rumors concerning the High Priestess and the King were
true, . . that the dead Khosrul had spoken rightly, . . that
Zephoranim loved Lysia! ... Love? ... it seemed too tame a word
for the pent-up fury of passion that visibly and violently
consumed the man! What would be the result? ...

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

These foolish doggerel lines! ... why did they suggest themselves?
... they meant nothing. The question did not concern Al-Kyris at
all,--let the city stand or fall as it list, who cared, so long as
Sah-luma escaped injury! Such, at least, was the tenor of Theos's
thoughts, as he rapidly began to calculate certain contingencies
that now seemed likely to occur. If, for instance, the King were
made aware of Sah-luma's intrigue with Lysia, would not his rage
and jealousy exceed all bounds? ... and if, on the other hand,
Sah-luma were convinced of the King's passion for the same fatally
fair traitress, would not his wrath and injured self-love overbear
all loyalty and prudence?

And between the two powerful rivals who thus by stealth enjoyed
her capricious favors, what would Lysia's own decision be?--Like a
loud hissing in his ears, he heard again the murderous command,--a
command which was half a menace: "KILL SAH-LUMA!"

Faint shudders as of icy cold ran through him,--he nerved himself
to meet some deadly evil, though he could not guess what that evil
might be,--he was willing to throw away all the past that haunted
him, and cut off all hope of a future, provided he could only
baffle the snares of the pitiless beauty to whom the torture of
men was an evident joy, and rescue his beloved and gifted friend
from her perilous attraction! Making a strong effort to master the
inward conflict of fear and pain that tormented him, he turned his
attention anew to the gorgeous ceremony that was going on, . . the
march of the priests had come to an abrupt end. They stood now on
each side of the Shrine, divided in groups of equal numbers,
tossing their flambeaux around and above them to the measured
ringing of bells. At every upward wave of these flaring torches, a
tongue of fire leaped aloft, to instantly break and descend in a
sparkling shower of gold,--the effect of this was wonderful in the
extreme, as by the dexterous way in which the flames were flung
forth, it appeared to the spectator's eyes as though a luminous
Snake were twisting and coiling itself to and fro in mid-air.

All loud music ceased, . . the multitude calmed down by degrees and
left off their delirious cries of frenzy or rapture, . . there was
nothing heard but a monotonous chanting in undertone, of which not
a syllable was distinctly intelligible. Then from out a dark
portal unperceived in the shadowed gloom of a curtained niche,
there advanced a procession of young girls,--fifty in all, clad in
pure white and closely veiled.

They carried small citherns, and arriving in front of the shrine,
they knelt down in a semicircle, and very gently began to strike
the short, responsive strings. The murmur of a lazy rivulet among
whispering reeds, . . the sighing suggestions of leaves ready to
fall in autumn,--the low, languid trilling of nightingales just
learning to sing,--any or all these might be said to resemble the
dulcet melody they played; while every delicate arpeggio, every
rippling chord was muffled with a soft pressure of their hands ere
the sound had time to become vehement. This elf-like harping
continued for a short interval, during which the priests,
gathering in a ring round a huge bronze font-shaped vessel hard
by, dipped their flambeaux therein and suddenly extinguished them.

At the same moment the lights in the body of the Temple were all
lowered, . . only the Arch spanning the Shrine blazed in
undiminished brilliancy, its green tint appearing more intense in
contrast with the surrounding deepening shadow. And now with a
harsh clanging noise as of the turning of heavy bolts and keys,
the back of the Sanctuary parted asunder in the fashion of a
revolving double doorway,--and a golden grating was disclosed, its
strong glistening bars welded together like knotted ropes and
wrought with marvellous finish and solidity. Turning toward this
semblance of a prison-cell Lysia spoke aloud--her clear tones
floating with mellifluous slowness above the half-hushed
quiverings of the cithern-choir:

"Come forth, O Nagaya, thou who didst slumber in the bosom of
Space ere ever the world was made!

"Come forth, O Nagaya, thou who didst behold the Sun born out of
Chaos, and the Earth enriched with ever-producing life!

"Come forth, O Nagaya, Friend of the gods and the people, and
comfort us with the Divine Silence of thy Wisdom supernal!"

While she pronounced these words, the golden grating ascended
gradually inch by inch, with the steady clank as of the upward
winding of a chain,--and when she ceased, there came a mysterious,
rustling, slippery sound, suggestive of some creeping thing
forcing its way through wet and tangled grass, or over dead
leaves, . . one instant more, and a huge Serpent--a species of
python some ten feet in length--glided through the round aperture
made by the lifted bars, and writhed itself slowly along the
marble pavement straight to where Lysia stood.

Once it stopped, curving back its glistening body in a strange
loop as though in readiness to spring--but it soon resumed its
course, and arrived at the High Priestess's feet. There, its whole
frame trembled and glowed with extraordinary radiance, . . the
prevailing color of its skin was creamy white, marked with
countless rings and scaly bright spots of silver, purple, and a
peculiar livid blue,--and all these tints came into brilliant
prominence, as it crouched before Lysia and twisted its sinuous
neck to and fro with an evidently fawning and supplicatory
gesture; while she, keeping her sombre dark eyes fixed full upon
it, moved not an inch from her position, but, majestically serene,
continued to hold the tall staff of ebony straight and erect as a
growing palm.

The cithern-playing had now the soothing softness of a mother's
lullaby to a tired child, and as the liquid notes quavered
delicately on the otherwise deep stillness, the formidable reptile
began to coil itself ascendingly round and round the ebony rod, . .
higher and higher,--one glistening ring after another,--higher
still, till its eyes were on a level with the "Eye of Raphon" that
flamed on Lysia's breast, . . there it paused in apparent
reflectiveness, and seemed to listen to the slumberous strains
that floated toward it in wind-like breaths of sound, . . then,
starting afresh on its upward way, it carefully, and with almost
human tenderness, avoided touching Lysia's hand, which now rested
on the staff between two thick twists of its body, . . and finally
it reached the top, where fully raising its crested head, it
displayed the prismatic tints of its soft, restless, wavy throat,
which was adorned furthermore by a flexible circlet of magnificent
diamonds.

Nothing more striking or more singular could Theos imagine than
the scene now before him, . . the beautiful woman, still as
sculptured marble, and the palpitating Snake coiled on that mast-
like rod and uplifted above her,--while round the twain knelt the
Priests, their faces covered in their robes, and from all parts of
the Temple the loud shout arose:

"ALL HAIL, NAGAYA!"
"Praise, Honor, and Glory be unto thee forever and ever!"

Then it was that the proud King flung himself to earth and kissed
the dust in abject submission,--then Sah-luma, carelessly
complaisant, bent the knee and smiled to himself mockingly as he
performed the act of veneration, ... then the enormous multitude
with clasped hands and beseeching looks fell down and worshipped
the glittering beast of the field, whose shining, emerald-like,
curiously sad eyes roved hither and thither with a darting yet
melancholy eagerness over all the people who called it Lord!

To Theos's imagination it looked a creature more sorrowful than
fierce,--a poor charmed brute, that while netted in the drowsy
woofs of its mistress Lysia's magnetic spell, seemed as though it
dimly wondered why it should thus be raised aloft for the
adoration of infatuated humankind. Its brilliant crest quivered
and emitted little arrowy scintillations of lustre--the "god" was
ill at ease in the midst of all his splendor, and two or three
times bent back his gleaming neck as though desirous of descending
to the level ground.

But when these hints of rebellion declared themselves in the
tremors running through the scaly twists of his body, Lysia looked
up, and at once, compelled as it were by involuntary attraction,
"Nagaya the Divine" looked down. The strange, subtle, mesmeric,
sleepy eyes of the woman met the glittering green, mournful eyes
of the snake,--and thus the two beautiful creatures regarded each
other steadfastly and with an apparent vague sympathy, till the
"deity," evidently overcome by a stronger will than his own, and
resigning himself to the inevitable, twisted his radiant head back
again to the top of the ebony staff, and again surveyed the
kneeling crowds of worshippers.

Presently his glistening jaws opened,--his tongue darted forth
vibratingly,--and he gave vent to a low hissing sound, erecting
and depressing his crest with extraordinary rapidity, so that it
flashed like an aigrette of rare gems. Then, with slow and solemn
step, the Priest Zel advanced to the front of the Shrine, and
spreading out his hands in the manner of one pronouncing a
benediction, said loudly and with emphasis: