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

It was past eight in the evening when Alwyn, after having spent a
couple of days in bright little Brussels, arrived at Cologne. Most
travelers know to their cost how noisy, narrow, and unattractive
are the streets of this ancient Colonia Agrippina of the Romans,--
how persistent and wearying is the rattle of the vehicles over the
rough, cobbly stones--how irritating to the nerves is the
incessant shrieking whistle and clank of the Rhine steamboats as
they glide in, or glide out, from the cheerless and dirty pier.
But at night, when these unpleasant sounds have partially
subsided, and the lights twinkle in the shop-windows, and the
majestic mass of the Cathedral casts its broad shadow on the
moonlit Dom-Platz, and a few soldiers, with clanking swords and
glittering spurs, come marching out from some dark stone archway,
and the green gleam of the river sparkles along in luminous
ripples,--then it is that a something weird and mystical creeps
over the town, and the glamour of ancient historical memories
begins to cling about its irregular buildings,--one thinks of the
legendary Three Kings, and believes in them, too,--of St. Ursula
and her company of virgins; of Marie de Medicis dying alone in
that tumbled-down house in the Stern-gasse,--of Rubens, who, it is
said, here first saw the light of this world,--of an angry Satan
flinging his Teufelstein from the Seven Mountains in an impotent
attempt to destroy the Dom; and gradually, the indestructible
romantic spell of the Rhine steals into the spirit of common
things that were unlovely by day, and makes the old city beautiful
under the sacred glory of the stars.

Alwyn dined at his hotel, and then, finding it still too early to
retire to rest, strolled slowly across the Platz, looking up at
the sublime God's Temple above him, the stately Cathedral, with
its wondrously delicate carvings and flying buttresses, on which
the moonlight glittered like little points of pale flame. He knew
it of old; many and many a time had he taken train from Bonn, for
the sole pleasure of spending an hour in gazing on that splendid
"sermon in stone,"--one of the grandest testimonies in the world
of man's instinctive desire to acknowledge and honor, by his
noblest design and work, the unseen but felt majesty of the
Creator. He had a great longing to enter it now, and ascended the
steps with that intention; but, much to his vexation, the doors
were shut. He walked from the side to the principal entrance; that
superb western frontage which is so cruelly blocked in by a
dwarfish street of the commonest shops and meanest houses,--and
found that also closed against him. Disappointed and sorry, he
went back again to the side of the colossal structure, and stood
on the top of the steps, close to the central barred doors,
studying the sculptured saints in the niches, and feeling a
sudden, singular impression of extreme LONELINESS,--a sense of
being shut out, as it were, from some high festival in which he
would gladly have taken part.

Not a cloud was in the sky, ... the evening was one of the most
absolute calm, and a delicious warmth pervaded the air,--the
warmth of a fully declared and balmy spring. The Platz was almost
deserted,--only a few persons crossed it now and then, like
flitting shadows,--and somewhere down in one of the opposite
streets a long way off, there was a sound of men's voices singing
a part-song. Presently, however, this distant music ceased, and a
deep silence followed. Alwyn still remained in the sombre shade of
the cathedral archway, arguing with himself against the foolish
and unaccountable depression that had seized him, and watching the
brilliant May moon soar up higher and higher in the heavens;
when,--all at once, the throbbing murmur of the great organ inside
the Dom startled him from pensive dreaminess into swift attention.
He listened,--the rich, round notes thundered through the
stillness with forceful and majestic harmony; anon, wierd tones,
like the passionate lament of Sarasate's "Zigeunerweisen" floated
around and above him: then, a silvery chorus of young voices broke
forth in solemn unison:

"Kyrie Eleison! Christe Eleison! Kyrie Eleison!"

A faint cold tremor crept through his veins,--his heart beat
violently,--again he vainly strove to open the great door. Was
there a choir practising inside at this hour of the night? Surely
not! Then,--from whence had this music its origin? Stooping, he
bent his ear to the crevice of the closed portal,--but, as
suddenly as they had begun, the harmonies ceased; and all was once
more profoundly still.

Drawing a long, deep breath, he stood for a moment amazed and lost
in thought--these sounds, he felt sure, were not of earth but of
heaven! they had the same ringing sweetness as those he had heard
on the Field of Ardath! What might they mean to him, here and now?
Quick as a flash the answer came--DEATH! God had taken pity upon
his solitary earth wanderings,--and the prayers of Edris had
shortened his world-exile and probation! He was to die! and that
solemn singing was the warning,--or the promise,--of his
approaching end!

Yes! it must be so, he decided, as, with a strange, half-sad peace
at his heart, he quietly descended the steps of the Dom,-he would
perhaps be permitted to finish the work he was at present doing,--
and then,--then, the poet-pen would be laid aside forever, chains
would be undone, and he would be set at liberty! Such was his
fixed idea. Was he glad of the prospect, he asked himself? Yes,
and No! For himself he was glad; but in these latter days he had
come to understand the thousand wordless wants and aspirations of
mankind,--wants and aspirations to which only the Poet can give
fitting speech; he had begun to see how much can be done to cheer
and raise and ennoble the world by even ONE true, brave, earnest,
and unselfish worker,--and he had attained to such a height in
sympathetic comprehension of the difficulties and drawbacks of
others, that he had ceased to consider himself at all in the
question, either with regard to the Present or the immortal
Future,--he was, without knowing it, in the simple, unconsciously
perfect attitude of a Soul that is absolutely at one with God, and
that thus, in involuntary God-likeness, is only happy in the
engendering of happiness. He believed that, with the Divine help,
he could do a lasting good for his fellow-men,--and to this cause
he was willing to sacrifice everything that pertained to his own
mere personal advantage. But now,--now,--or so he imagined,--he
was not to be allowed to pursue his labors of love,--his trial was
to end suddenly,--and he, so long banished from his higher
heritage, was to be restored to it without delay,--restored and
drawn back to the land of perfect loveliness where Edris, his
Angel, waited for him, his saint, his queen, his bride!

A thrill of ecstatic joy rushed through him,--joy intermingled
with an almost supernal pain. For he had not as yet said enough to
the world,--the world of many afflictions,--the little Sorrowful
Star covered with toiling, anxious, deluded God-forgetting
millions, in every unit of which was a spark of Heavenly flame, a
germ of the spiritual essence that makes the angel, if only
fostered aright.

Lost in a deep reverie, his footsteps had led him unconsciously to
the Rhine bridge,--paying the customary fee, he walked about half-
way across it, and stood for a while listening to the incessant
swift rush of the river beneath him. Lights twinkled from the
boats moored on either side,--the moon poured down a wide shower
of white beams on the rapid flood,--the city, dusky and dream-
like, crowned with the majestic towers of the Dom, looked
picturesquely calm and grand--it was a night of perfect beauty
and wondrous peace. And he was to die!--to die and leave all
this, the present fairness of the world,--he was to depart, with,
as he felt, his message half unspoken,--he was to be made
eternally happy, while many of the thousands he left behind were,
through ignorance, wilfully electing to be eternally miserable! A
great, almost divine longing to save ONE,--only ONE downward
drifting soul, possessed him,--and the comprehension of Christ's
Sacrifice was no longer a mystery! Yet he was so certain that
death, sudden and speedy closely, awaited him that he seemed to
feel it in the very air,--not like a coming chill of dread, but
like the soft approach of some holy seraph bringing benediction.
It mattered little to him that he was actually in the very
plenitude of health and strength,--that perhaps in all his life he
had never felt such a keen delight in the physical perfection of
his manhood as now,--death, without warning and at a touch, could
smite down the most vigorous, and to be so smitten, he believed,
was his imminent destiny. And while he lingered on the bridge,
fancy-perplexed between grief and joy, a small window opened in a
quaint house that bent its bulging gables crookedly over the
gleaming water, and a girl, holding a small lamp, looked out for a
moment. Her face, fresh and smiling, was fair to see against the
background of dense shadow,--the light she carried flashed like a
star,--and leaning down from the lattice she sang half-timidly,
half mischievously, the first two or three bars of the old song..
"Du, du, liegst in mein Herzen ... !" "Ah! Gute Nacht, Liebchen!"
said a man's voice below.

"Gute Nacht! Schlafen sie wohl!"

A light laugh, and the window closed, "Good-night! Sleep well!"
Love's best wish!--and for some sad souls life's last hope,--a
"good-night and sleep well!" Poor tired World, for whose weary
inhabitants oftentimes the greatest blessing is sleep! Good-night!
sleep well! but the sleep implies waking.--waking to a morning of
pleasure or sorrow,--or labor that is only lightened by,--Love!
Love!--love divine,--love human,--and, sweetest love of all for
us, as Christ has taught when both divine and human are mingled in
one!

Alwyn, glancing up at the clustering stars, hanging like pendent
fire-jewels above him, thought of this marvel-glory of Love,--this
celestial visitant who, on noiseless pinions, comes flying
divinely into the poorest homes, transfiguring common life with
ethereal radiance, making toil easy, giving beauty to the plainest
faces and poetry to the dullest brains. Love! its tremulous hand-
clasp,--its rapturous kiss,--the speechless eloquence it gives to
gentle eyes!--the grace it bestows on even the smallest gift from
lover to beloved, were such gift but a handful of meadow blossoms
tied with some silken threads of hair!

Not for the poet creator of "Nourhulma" such love any more,--had
he not drained the cup of Passion to the dregs in the far Past,
and tasted its mixed sweetness and bitterness to no purpose save
self-indulgence? All that was over;--and yet, as he walked away
from the bridge, back to his hotel in the quiet moonlight, he
thought what a transcendent thing Love might be, even on earth,
between two whose spirits were SPIRITUALLY AKIN,--whose lives were
like two notes played in tuneful concord,--whose hearts beat
echoing faith and tenderness to one another,--and who held their
love as a sacred bond of union--a gift from God, not to be
despoiled by that rough familiarity which surely brings contempt.
And then before his fancy appeared to float the radiant visage of
Edris, half-child, half-angel,--he seemed to see her beautiful
eyes, so pure, so clear, so unshadowed by any knowledge of sin,--
and the exquisite lines of a poet-contemporary, whose work he
specially admired, occurred to him with singular suggestiveness:

"Oh, thou'lt confess that love from man to maid
Is more than kingdoms,--more than light and shade
In sky-built gardens where the minstrels dwell,
And more than ransom from the bonds of Hell.
Thou wilt, I say, admit the truth of this,
And half relent that, shrinking from a kiss,
Thou didst consign me to mine own disdain,
Athwart the raptures of a vision'd bliss.

"I'll seek no joy that is not linked with thine,
No touch of hope, no taste of holy wine,
And after death, no home in any star,
That is not shared by thee, supreme, afar

As here thou'rt first and foremost of all things!
Glory is thine, and gladness, and the wings
That wait on thought, when, in thy spirit-sway,
Thou dost invest a realm unknown to kings!"

Had not she, Edris, consigned him to his "own disdain, Athwart the
raptures of a visioned bliss?" Ay! truly and deservedly!--and this
disdain of himself had now reached its culminating point,--namely,
that he did not consider himself worthy of her love,--or worthy to
do aught than sink again into far spaces of darkness and
perpetually retrospective Memory, there to explore the uttermost
depths of anguish, and count up his errors one by one from the
very beginning of life, in every separate phase he had passed
through, till he had penitently striven his best to atone for them
all! Christ had atoned! yes,--but was it not almost base on his
part to shield himself with that Divine Light and do nothing
further? He could not yet thoroughly grasp the amazing truth that
ONE ABSOLUTELY PURE act of faith in Christ, blots out Past Sin
forever,--it seemed too marvellous and great a boon!

When he retired to rest that night he was fully and firmly
PREPARED TO DIE. With this expectation upon him he was
nevertheless happy and tranquil. The line--"Glory is thine, and
gladness, and the wings" haunted him, and he repeated it over and
over again without knowing why. Wings! the brilliant shafts of
radiance that part angels from mortals,--wings, that, after all,
are not really wings, but lambent rays of living lightning, of
which neither painter nor poet has any true conception, . . long,
dazzling rays such as encircled God's maiden, Edris, with an arch
of roseate effulgence, so that the very air was sunset-colored in
the splendor of her presence! How if she were a wingless angel,--
made woman?

"Glory is thine, and gladness, and the wings!" And with the name
of his angel-love upon his lips he closed his eyes and sank into a
deep and dreamless slumber.

CHAPTER XL.

IN THE CATHEDRAL.

A booming, thunderous, yet mellow sound! a grand, solemn, sonorous
swing of full and weighty rhythm, striking the air with deep,
slowly measured resonance like the rolling of close cannon! Awake,
all ye people!--Awake to prayer and praise! for the Night is past
and sweet Morning reddens in the east, ... another Day is born,--a
day in which to win God's grace and pardon,--another wonder of
Light, Movement, Creation, Beauty, Love! Awake, awake! Be glad and
grateful for the present joy of life,--this life, dear harbinger
of life to come! open your eyes, ye drowsy mortals, to the divine
blue of the beneficent sky, the golden beams of the sun, the color
of flowers, the foliage of trees, the flash of sparkling waters!--
open your ears to the singing of birds, the whispering of winds,
the gay ripple of children's laughter, the soft murmurs of home
affection,--for all these things are freely bestowed upon you with
each breaking dawn, and will you offer unto God NO thanksgiving?--
Awake! Awake! the Voice you have yourselves set in your high
Cathedral towers reproaches your lack of love with its iron
tongue, and summons you all to worship Him the Ever-Glorious,
through whose mercy alone you live!

To and fro,--to and fro,--gravely persistent, sublimely eloquent,
the huge, sustained, and heavy monotone went thudding through the
stillness,--till, startled from his profound sleep by such loud,
lofty, and incessant clangor, Alwyn turned on his pillow and
listened, half-aroused, half-bewildered,--then, remembering where
he was, he understood; it was the great Bell of the Dom pealing
forth its first summons to the earliest Mass. He lay quiet for a
little while, dreamily counting the number of reverberations each
separate stroke sent quivering on the air,--but presently, finding
it impossible to sleep again, he got up, and drawing aside the
curtain looked out of the window of his room, which fronted on the
Platz. Though it was not yet six o'clock, the city was all astir,
--the Rhinelanders are an early working people, and to see the sun
rise is not with them a mere fiction of poesy, but a daily fact.
It was one of the loveliest of lovely spring mornings--the sky was
clear as a pale, polished sapphire, and every little bib of
delicate carving and sculpture on the Dom stood out from its
groundwork with microscopically beautiful distinctness. And as his
gaze rested on the perfect fairness of the day, a strange and
sudden sense of rapturous anticipation possessed his mind,--he
felt as one prepared for some high and exquisite happiness,--some
great and wondrous celebration or feast of joy! The thoughts of
death, on which he had brooded so persistently during the past
yester-eve, had fled, leaving no trace behind,--only a keen and
vigorous delight in life absorbed him now. It was good to be
alive, even on this present earth! it was good to see, to feel, to
know! and there was much to be thankful for in the mere capability
of easy and healthful breathing!

Full of a singular light-heartedness, he hummed a soft tune to
himself as he moved about his room,--his desire to view the
interior of the Cathedral had not abated with sleep, but had
rather augmented,--and he resolved to visit it now, while he had
the chance of beholding it in all the impressive splendor of
uncrowded tranquillity. For he knew that by the time he was
dressed, the first Mass would be over,--the priests and people
would be gone,--and he would be alone to enjoy the magnificence of
the place in full poet-luxury,--the luxury of silence and
solitude. He attired himself quickly, and with a vaguely nervous
eagerness,--he was in almost as great a hurry to enter the Dom as
he had been to arrive at the Field of Ardath! The same feverish
impatience was upon him--impatience that he was conscious of, yet
could not account for,--his fancy busied itself with a whole host
of memories, and fragments of half-forgotten love-songs he had
written in his youth, came back to him without his wish or will,--
songs that he instinctively felt belonged to his Past, when as
"Sah-luma" he had won golden opinions in Al-Kyris. And though they
were but echoes, they seemed this morning to touch him with half-
pleasing, half-tender suggestiveness,--two lines especially from
the Idyl of Roses he had penned so long,--ah! so very long ago,--
came floating through his brain like a message sent from some
other world,--

"By the pureness of love shall our glory in loving increase,
And the roses of passion for us are the lilies of peace."

The "lilies of peace" and the flowers of Ardath,--the "roses of
passion" and the love of Edris, these were all mingled almost
unconsciously in his thoughts, as with an inexplicable, happy
sense of tremulous expectation,--expectation of he knew not what-
he went, walking as one in haste, across the broad Platz and
ascended the steps of the Cathedral. But the side-entrance was
fast shut, as on the previous night,--he therefore made his rapid
way round to the great western door. That stood open,--the bell
had long ago ceased,--Mass was over,--and all was profoundly
still.

Out of the warm sunlit air he stepped into the vast, cool, clear-
obscure, white glory of the stately shrine,--with bared head and
noiseless, reverent feet, he advanced a little way up the nave,
and then stood motionless, every artistic perception in him
satisfied, soothed, and entranced anew, as in his student-days, by
the tranquil grandeur of the scene. What majestic silence! What
hallowed peace! How jewel-like the radiance of the sun pouring
through the rich stained glass on those superb carved pillars,
that, like petrified stems of forest-trees, bear lightly up the
lofty, vaulted roof to that vast height suggestive of a white sky
rather than stone!

Moving on slowly further toward the altar, he was suddenly seized
by an overpowering impression,--a memory that rushed upon him with
a sort of shock, albeit it was only the memory of a tune!--a wild
melody, haunting and passionate, rang in his eras,--the melody
that Sarasate, the Orpheus of Spain, had evoked from the heart of
his speaking violin,--the sobbing love-lament of the
"Zigeunerweisen"--the weird minor-music that had so forcibly
suggested--What? THIS VERY PLACE!--these snowy columns,--this
sculptured sanctity--this flashing light of rose and blue and
amber,--this wondrous hush of consecrated calm! What next? Dear
God! Sweet Christ! what next? The face of Edris?--Would that
heavenly countenance shine suddenly though those rainbow-colored
beams that struck slantwise down toward him?--and should he
presently hear her dulcet voice charming the silence into deeper
ecstasy?

Overcome by a sensation that was something like fear, he stopped
abruptly, and leaning against one of the quaint old oaken benches,
strove to control the quick, excited throbbing of his heart,--then
gradually, very gradually he become conscious that HE WAS NOT
ALONE,--another besides himself was in the church,--another, whom
it was necessary for him to see!

He could not tell how he first grew to be certain of this,--but he
was soon so completely possessed by the idea, that for a moment he
dared not raise his eyes, or move! Some invincible force held him
there spell-bound, yet trembling in every limb,--and while he thus
waited hesitatingly, the great organ woke up in a glory of tuneful
utterance,--wave after wave of richest harmony rolled through the
stately aisles and ... "Kyrie eleison! Kyrie eleison!" rang forth
in loud, full, and golden-toned chorus!

Lifting his head, he stared wonderingly around him; not a living
creature was visible in all the spacious width and length of the
cathedral! His lips parted,--he felt as though he could scarcely
breathe,--strong shudders ran through him, and he was penetrated
by a pleasing terror that was almost a physical pang,--an agonized
entrancement, like death or the desire of love! Presently,
mastering himself by a determined effort, he advanced steadily
with the absorbed air of one who is drawn along by magnetic power
... steadily and slowly up the nave, ... and as he went, the music
surged more tumultuously among the vaulted arches,--there was a
faint echo afar off, as of tinkling crystal bells; and at each
onward step he gained a new access of courage, strength, firmness,
and untrammelled ease, till every timorous doubt and fear had fled
away, and he stood directly in front of the altar railing, gazing
at the enshrined Cross, and seeing for the moment nothing save
that Divine Symbol alone. And still the organ played, and still
the voices sang,--he knew these sounds were not of earth, and he
also knew that they were intended to convey a meaning to him,--but
WHAT meaning?

All at once, moved by a sudden impulse, he turned toward the right
hand side of the altar, where the great statue of St. Christopher
stands, and where one of the loveliest windows in the world gleams
like a great carven gem aloft, filtering the light through a
myriad marvellous shades of color, and there he beheld, kneeling
on the stone pavement, one solitary worshipper,--a girl. Her hands
were clasped, and her face was bent upon them so that her features
were not visible,--but the radiance from the window fell on her
uncovered golden hair, encircling it with the glistening splendor
of a heavenly nimbus,--and round her slight, devotional figure,
rays of azure and rose jasper and emerald, flickered in wide and
lustrous patterns, like the glow of the setting sun on a
translucent sea. How very still she was! ... how fervently
absorbed in prayer!

Vaguely startled, and thrilled by an electric, indefinable
instinct, Alwyn went toward her with hushed and reverential tread,
his eyes dwelling upon the drooping, delicate outline of her form
with fascinated and eager attention. She was clad in gray,--a
soft, silken, dove-like gray, that clung about her in picturesque,
daintily draped folds,--he approached her still more nearly, and
then could scarcely refrain from a loud cry of amazement! What
flowers were those she wore at her breast!--so white, so star-
like, so suggestive of paradise lilies new-gathered? Were they not
the flowers of ARDATH? Dizzy with the sudden tumult of his own
emotions, he dropped on his knees beside her,--she did not stir!
Was she REAL?--or a phantom? Trembling violently, he touched her
garment--it was of tangible, smooth texture, actual enough, if the
sense of touch could be relied upon. In an agony of excitement and
suspense he lost all remembrance of time, place, or custom,--her
bewildering presence must be explained,--he must know who she
was,--he must speak to her,--speak, if he died for it!

"Pardon me!" he whispered faintly, scarcely conscious of his own
words; "I fancy,--I think,--we have met,--before! May I, . . dare
I, . . ask your name?"

Slowly she unclasped her gently folded hands; slowly, very slowly,
she lifted her bent head, and smiled at him! Oh, the lovely light
upon her face! Oh, the angel glory of those strange, sweet eyes!