Ardath: The Story of a Dead Self Part 20

Nir-jalis perceived his annoyance, and added good naturedly:

"Tush, man! Vex not thy soul as to thy friend's virtues or vices--what are they to thee? And of truth Sah-luma is no worse than the rest of us. All I maintain is that he is certainly no better. I have known many poets in my day, and they are all more or less alike--petulant as babes, peevish as women, selfish as misers, and conceited as peac.o.c.ks.

They SHOULD be different? Oh, yes!--they SHOULD be the perpetual youth of mankind, the faithful singers of love idealized and made perfect.

But then none of us are what we ought to be! Besides, if we were all virtuous, . . by the G.o.ds! the world would become too dull a hole to live in! Enough! Wilt drink with me?" and beckoning a slave, he had his own goblet and that of Theos filled to the brim with wine.

"To our more intimate acquaintance!" he said smilingly, and Theos, somewhat captivated by the easy courtesy of his manner, could do no less than respond cordially to the proffered toast. At that moment a triumphant burst of music, like the sound of mingled flutes, hautboys, and harps, pushed through the dome like a strong wind sweeping in from the sea, and with it the hum and buzz of conversation began in good earnest. Theos, lifting his gaze toward Lysia's seat, saw that she was now surrounded by the four attendant negresses, who, standing two on each side of her throne, held large fans of peac.o.c.k plumes, which, as they were waved slowly to and fro, emitted a thousand scintillations of jewel-like splendor. A slave, attired in scarlet, knelt on one knee before her, proffering a golden salver loaded with the choicest fruits and wines; a lazy smile played on her lips--lips that outrivaled the dewy tint of half-opening roses; the serpents in her hair and on her rounded arms quivered in the light like living things; the great Symbolic Eye glanced wickedly out from the white beauty of her heaving breast; and as he surveyed her, thus resplendent in all the startling seductiveness of her dangerous charms, her loveliness entranced and intoxicated him like the faint perfume of some rare and powerful exotic, ... his senses seemed to sink drowningly in the whelming influence of her soft and dazzling grace; and though he still resented, he could not resist her mesmeric power. No wonder, he thought, that Sah-luma's eyes darkened with pa.s.sions as they dwelt on her! ... and no wonder that he, like Sah-luma, was content to be gently but surely drawn within the glittering web of her magic spell--a spell fatal, yet too bewilderingly sweet for human strength to fight against. The mysterious sense he had of danger lurking somewhere for Sah-luma applied, so he fancied, in no way to himself--it did not much matter what happened to HIM--HE was a mere n.o.body. He could be of no use anywhere; he was as one banished into strange exile; his brain--that brain he had once deemed so clear, so subtle, so eminently reasoning and all-comprehensive--was now nothing but a chaotic confusion of vague suggestions, and only served to very slightly guide him in the immediate present, giving him no practical clue at all as to the past through which he had lived, or the circ.u.mstances he most wished to remember. He was a fool--a dreamer--ungifted--unfamous! ... were he to die, not a soul would regret his loss. His own fate therefore concerned him little--he could handle fire recklessly and not feel the flame; he could, so he believed, run any risk, and yet escape, comparatively free of harm.

But with Sah-luma it was different! Sah-luma must be guarded and cherished; his was a valuable life--the life of a genius such as the world sees but once in a century--and it should not, so Theos determined,--be emperilled or wasted; no! not even for the sake of the sensuous, exquisite, conquering beauty of this dazzling Priestess of the Sun--the fairest sorceress that ever triumphed over the frail yet immortal Spirit of Man!

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE LOVE THAT KILLS.

How the time went he could not tell; in so gay and gorgeous a scene hours might easily pa.s.s with the swiftness of unmarked moments. Peals of laughter echoed now and again through the vaulted dome, and excited voices were frequently raised in clamorous disputations and contentious arguments that only just sheered off the boundary-line of an actual quarrel. All sorts of topics were discussed--the laws, the existing mode of government, the latest discoveries in science, and the military prowess of the King--but the conversation chiefly turned on the spread of disloyalty, atheism, and republicanism among the population of Al-Kyris,--and the influence of Khosrul on the minds of the lower cla.s.ses. The episode of the Prophet's late capture and fresh escape seemed to be perfectly well known to all present, though it had occurred so recently; one would have thought the detailed account of it had been received through some private telephone, communicating with the King's palace.

As the banquet progressed and the wine flowed more lavishly, the a.s.sembled guests grew less and less circ.u.mspect in their general behavior; they flung themselves full length on their luxurious couches, in the laziest att.i.tudes, now pulling out handfuls of flowers from the tall porcelain jars that stood near, and pelting one another with them for mere idle diversion, . . now summoning the attendant slaves to refill their wine-cups while they lay lounging at ease among their heaped-up cus.h.i.+ons of silk and embroidery; and yet with all the voluptuous freedom of their manners, the picturesque grace that distinguished them was never wholly destroyed. These young men were dissolute, but not coa.r.s.e; bold, but not vulgar; they took their pleasure in a delicately wanton fas.h.i.+on that was infinitely more dangerous in its influence on the mind than would have been the gross mirth and broad jesting of a similar number of uneducated plebeians.

The rude licentiousness of an uncultivated boor has its safety-valve in disgust and satiety, . . but the soft, enervating sensualism of a trained and cultured epicurean aristocrat is a moral poison whose effects are so insidious as to be scarcely felt till all the native n.o.bility of character has withered, and naught is left of a man but the shadow-wreck of his former self.

There was nothing repulsive in the half-ironical, half-mischievous merriment of these patrician revellers; their witticisms were brilliant and pointed, but never indelicate; and if their darker pa.s.sions were roused, and ready to run riot, they showed as yet no sign of it. They ENJOYED--yes! with that selfish animal enjoyment and love of personal indulgence which all men, old and young without exception, take such delight in--unless indeed they be sworn and sorrowful anchorites, and even then you may be sure they are always regretting the easy license and libertinage of their bygone days of unbridled independence when they could foster their pet weaknesses, cherish their favorite vices, and laugh at all creeds and all morality as though Divine Justice were a mere empty name, and they themselves the super-essence of creation.

Ah, what a ridiculous spectacle is Man! the two-legged pigmy of limited brain, and still more limited sympathies, that, standing arrogantly on his little grave the earth, coolly criticises the Universe, settles law, and measures his puny stature against that awful Unknown Force, deeply hidden, but majestically existent, which for want of ampler designation we call G.o.d--G.o.d, whom some of us will scarcely recognize, save with the mixture of doubt, levity, and general reluctance; G.o.d, whom we never obey unless obedience is enforced by calamity; G.o.d, whom we never truly love, because so many of us prefer to stake our chances of the future on the possibility of His non-existence!

Strangely enough, thoughts of this G.o.d, this despised and forgotten Creator, came wandering hazily over Theos's mind at the present moment when, glancing round the splendid banquet-table, he studied the different faces of all a.s.sembled, and saw Self, Self, Self, indelibly impressed on every one of them. Not a single countenance was there that did not openly betray the complacent hauteur and tranquil vanity of absolute Egotism, Sah-luma's especially. But then Sah-luma had something to be proud of--his genius; it was natural that he should be satisfied with himself--he was a great man! But was it well for even a great man to admire his own greatness? This was a pertinent question, and somewhat difficult to answer. A genius must surely be more or less conscious of his superiority to those who have no genius? Yet why? May it not happen, on occasions, that the so-called fool shall teach a lesson to the so-called wise man? Then where is the wise man's superiority if a fool can instruct him? Theos found these suggestions curiously puzzling; they seemed simple enough, and yet they opened up a vista of intricate disquisition which he was in no humor to follow. To escape from his own reflections he began to pay close attention to the conversation going on around him, and listened with an eager, almost painful interest, whenever he heard Lysia's sweet, languid voice chiming through the clatter of men's tongues like the silver stroke of a small bell ringing in a storm at sea.

"And how hast thou left thy pale beauty Niphrata?" she was asking Sah-luma in half-cold, half-caressing accents. "Does her singing still charm thee as of yore? I understand thou hast given her her freedom. Is that prudent? Was she not safer as thy slave?"

Sah-luma glanced up quickly in surprise. "Safer? She is as safe as a rose in its green sheath," he replied. "What harm should come to her?"

"I spoke not of harm," said Lysia, with a lazy smile. "But the day may come, good minstrel, when thy sheathed rose may seek some newer suns.h.i.+ne than thy face! ... when thy much poesy may pall upon her spirit, and thy love-songs grow stale! ... and she may string her harp to a different tune than the perpetual adoration-hymn of Sah-luma!"

The handsome Laureate looked amused.

"Let her do so then!" he laughed carelessly. "Were she to leave me I should not miss her greatly; a thousand pieces of gold will purchase me another voice as sweet as hers,--another maid as fair! Meanwhile the child is free to shape her own fate,--her own future. I bind her no longer to my service; nevertheless, like the jessamine-flower, she clings,--and will not easily unwind the tendrils of her heart from mine."

"Poor jessamine-flower!" murmured Lysia negligently, with a touch of malice in her tone. "What a rock it doth embrace; how little vantage-ground it hath wherein to blossom!" And her drowsy eyes shot forth a fiery glance from under their heavily fringed drooping white lids.

Sah-luma met her look with one of mingled vexation and reproach; she smiled and raising a goblet of wine to her lips, kissed the brim, and gave it to him with an indescribably graceful, swaying gesture of her whole form that reminded one of a tall white lily bowing in the breeze.

He seized the cup eagerly, drank from it and returned it,--his momentary annoyance, whatever it was, pa.s.sed, and a joyous elation illumined his fine features. Then Lysia, refilling the cup, kissed it again and handed it to Theos with so much soft animation and tenderness in her face as she turned to him, that his enforced calmness nearly gave way, and he had much ado to restrain himself from falling at her feet in a transport of pa.s.sion, and crying out! ... "Love me, O thou sorceress-sovereign of beauty! ... love me, if only for an hour, and then let me die! ... for I shall have lived out all the joys of life in one embrace of thine!" His hand trembled as he took the goblet, and he drank half its contents thirstily,--then imitating Sah-luma's example, he returned it to her with a profound salutation. Her eyes dwelt meditatively upon him.

"What a dark, still, melancholy countenance is thine, Sir Theos!" she said abruptly--"Thou art, for sure, a man of strongly repressed and concentrated pa.s.sions, ... 'tis a nature I love! I would there were more of thy proud and chilly temperament in Al-Kyris! ... Our men are like velvet-winged b.u.t.terflies, drinking honey all day and drowsing in suns.h.i.+ne--full to the brows of folly,--frail and delicate as the little dancing maidens of the King's seraglio, . . nervous too, with weak heads, that art apt to ache on small provocation, and bodies that are apt to fail easily when but slightly fatigued. Aye!--thou art a man clothed complete in manliness,--moreover..."

She paused, and leaning forward so that the dark shower of her perfumed hair brushed his arm ... "Hast ever heard travellers talk of volcanoes?

... those marvellous mountains that oft wear crowns of ice on their summits and yet hold unquenchable fire in their depths? ... Methinks thou dost resemble these,--and that at a touch, the flames would leap forth uncontrolled!"

Her magical low voice, more melodious in tone than the sound of harps played by moonlight on the water, thrilled in his ears and set his pulses beating madly,--with an effort he checked the torrent of love-words that rushed to his lips, and looked at her in a sort of wildly wondering appeal. Her laughter rang out in silvery sweet ripples, and throwing herself lazily back in her throne, she called..

"Aizif! ... Aizif!"

The great tigress instantly bounded forward like an obedient hound, and placed its fore-paws on her knees, while she playfully held a sugared comfit high above its head.

"Up, Aizif! up!" she cried mirthfully.. "Up! and be like a man for once! ... s.n.a.t.c.h thy pleasure at all hazards!"

With a roar, the savage brute leaped and sprang, its sharp white teeth fully displayed, its sly green eyes glisteningly prominent,--and again Lysia's rich laughter pealed forth, mingling with the impatient snarls of her terrific favorite. Still she held the tempting morsel in her little snowy hand that glittered all over with rare gems,--and still the tigress continued to make impotent attempts to reach it, growing more and more ferocious with every fresh effort,--till all at once she shut her palm upon the dainty so that it could not be seen, and lightly catching the irritated beast by the throat brought its eyes on a level with her own. The effect was instantaneous, ... a strong shudder pa.s.sed through its frame--and it cowered and crouched lower and lower, in abject fear,--the sweat broke out, and stood in large drops on its sleek hide, and panting heavily, as the firm grasp its mistress slowly relaxed, it sank down p.r.o.ne, in trembling abas.e.m.e.nt on the second step of the dais, still looking up into those densely brilliant gazelle eyes that were full of such deadly fascination and merciless tyranny.

"Good Aizif!" said Lysia then, in that languid, soft voice, that while so sweet, suggested hidden treachery.. "Gentle fondling! ... Thou hast fairly earned thy reward! ... Here! ... take it!"--and unclosing her roseate palm, she showed the desired bonne-bouche, and offered it with a pretty coaxing air,--but the tigress now refused to touch it, and lay as still as an animal of painted stone.

"What a true philosopher she is, my sweet Aizif!" she went on amusedly stroking the creature's head,--"Her feminine wit teaches her what the dull brains of men can never grasp, . . namely, that pleasures, no matter how sweet, turn to ashes and wormwood when once obtained,--and that the only happiness in this world is the charm of DESIRE! There is a subject for thee, Sah-luma! ... write an immortal Ode on the mysteries, the delights, the never-ending ravishment of Desire! ... but carry not thy fancy on to desire's fulfilment, for there thou shalt find infinite bitterness! The soul that wilfully gratifies its dearest wish, has stripped life of its supremest joy, and stands thereafter in an emptied sphere, sorrowful and alone,--with nothing left to hope for, nothing to look forward to, save death, the end of all ambition!"

"Nay, fair lady,"--said Theos suddenly,--"We who deem ourselves the children of the high G.o.ds, and the offspring of a Spirit Eternal, may surely aspire to something beyond this death, that, like a black seal, closes up the brief scroll of our merely human existence! And to us, therefore, ambition should be ceaseless,--for if we master the world, there are yet more worlds to win: and if we find one heaven, we do but accept it as a pledge of other heavens beyond it! The aspirations of Man are limitless,--hence his best a.s.surance of immortality, ... else why should he perpetually long for things that here are impossible of attainment? ... things that like faint, floating clouds rimmed with light, suggest without declaring a glory unperceived?"

Lysia looked at him steadfastly, an under-gleam of malice s.h.i.+ning in her slumbrous eyes.

"Why? ... Because, good sir, the G.o.ds love mirth! ... and the wanton Immortals are never more thoroughly diverted, than, when leaning downward from their clear empyrean, they behold Man, their Insect-Toy, arrogating to himself a share in their imperishable Essence! To keep up the Eternal Jest, they torture him with vain delusions, and p.r.i.c.k him on with hopes never to be realized; aye! and the whole vast Heaven may well shake with thunderous laughter at the pride with which he doth put forth his puny claim to be elected to another and fairer state of existence! What hath he done? ... what does he do, to merit a future life? ... Are his deeds so n.o.ble? ... is his wisdom so great? ... is his mind so stainless? He, the oppressor of all Nature and of his brother man,--he, the insolent, self-opinionated tyrant, yet bound slave of the Earth on which he dwells ... why should he live again and carry his ign.o.ble presence into the splendors of an Eternity too vast for him to comprehend? ..Nay, nay! ... I perceive thou art one of the credulous, for whom a reasonless wors.h.i.+p to an unproved Deity is, for the sake of state-policy, maintained, . . I had thought thee wiser! ...

but no matter! thou shalt pay thy vows to the shrine of Nagaya to-morrow, and see with what glorious pomp and panoply we impose on the faithful, who like thee believe in their own deathless and divinely const.i.tuted natures, and enjoy to the full the grand Conceit that persuades them of their right to Immortality!"

Her words carried with them a certain practical positiveness of meaning, and Theos was somewhat impressed by their seeming truth. After all, it WAS a curious and unfounded conceit of a man to imagine himself the possessor of an immortal soul,--and yet ... if all things were the outcome of a divine Creative Influence, was it not unjust of that Creative Influence to endow all humanity with such a belief if it had no foundation whatever? And could injustice be a.s.sociated with divine law? ...

He, Theos, for instance, was certain of his own immortality,--so certain that, surrounded as he was by this brilliant company of evident atheists, he felt himself to be the only real and positive existing Being among an a.s.sembly of Shadow-figures,--but it was not the time or the place to enter into a theological discussion, especially with Lysia, . . and for the moment at least, he allowed her a.s.sertions to remain uncontradicted. He sat, however, in a somewhat stern silence, now and then glancing wistfully and anxiously at Sah-luma, on whom the potent wines were beginning to take effect, and who had just thrown himself down on the dais at Lysia's feet, close to the tigress that still lay couched there in immovable quiet. It was a picture worthy of the grandest painter's brush, ... that glistening throne black as jet, with the fair form of Lysia s.h.i.+ning within it, like a white sea-nymph at rest in a grotto of ocean-stalact.i.tes, . . the fantastically attired negresses on each side, with their waving peac.o.c.k-plumes,--the vivid carnation-color of the dais, against which the black and yellow stripes of the tigress showed up in strong and brilliant contrast, . . and the graceful, jewel-decked figure of the Poet Laureate, who, half sitting, half reclining on a black velvet cus.h.i.+on, leaned his handsome head indolently against the silvery folds of Lysia's robe, and looked up at her with eyes in which burned the ardent admiration and scarcely restrained pa.s.sion of a privileged lover.

Suddenly and quite involuntarily Theos thought of Niphrata, ... alas, poor maiden! how utterly her devotion to Sah-luma was wasted! What did he care for her timid tenderness, . . her unselfish wors.h.i.+p? Nothing?

... less than nothing! He was entirely absorbed by the sovereign-peerless beauty of this wonderful High Priestess,--this witch-like weaver of spells more potent than those of Circe; and musing thereon, Theos was sorry for Niphrata, he knew not why. He felt that she had somehow been wronged,--that she suffered, ... and that he, as well as Sah-luma, was in some mysterious way to blame for this, though he could by no means account for his own share in the dimly suggested reproach. This peculiar, remorseful emotion was transitory, like all the vaguely incomplete ideas that travelled mistily through his perplexed brain, and he soon forgot it in the increasing animation and interest of the scene that immediately surrounded him.

The general conversation was becoming more and more noisy, and the laughter more and more boisterous,--several of the young men were now very much the worse for their frequent libations, and Nir-jalis, particularly, began again to show marked symptoms of an inclination to break loose from all the bonds of prudent reserve. He lay full length on his silk divan, his feet touching Theos, who sat upright,--and, singing little s.n.a.t.c.hes of song to himself, he pulled the vine-wreath from his tumbled fair locks as though he found it too weighty, and flung it on the ground among the other debris of the feast. Then folding his arms lazily behind his head, he stared straight and fixedly before him at Lysia, seeming to note every jewel on her dress, every curve of her body, every slight gesture of her hand, every faint, cold smile that played on her lovely lips. One young man whom the others addressed as Ormaz, a haughty, handsome fellow enough, though with rather a sneering mouth just visible under his black mustache, was talking somewhat excitedly on the subject of Khosrul's cunningly devised flight, . . for it seemed to be universally understood that the venerable Prophet was one of the Circle of Mystics,--persons whose knowledge of science, especially in matters connected with electricity, enabled them to perform astonis.h.i.+ng juggleries, that were frequently accepted by the uninitiated vulgar as almost divine miracles. Not very long ago, according to Ormaz, who was animatedly recalling the circ.u.mstance for the benefit of the company, the words "FALL, AL-KYRIS!" had appeared emblazoned in letters of fire on the sky at midnight, and the phenomenon had been accompanied by two tremendous volleys of thunder, to the infinite consternation of the mult.i.tude, who received it as a supernatural manifestation. But a member of the King's Privy Council, a satirical skeptic and mistruster of everybody's word but his own, undertook to sift the matter,--and adopting the dress of the Mystics, managed to introduce himself into one of their secret a.s.semblies, where with considerable astonishment, he saw them make use of a small wire, by means of which they wrote in characters of azure flame on the whiteness of a blank wall,--moreover, he discovered that they possessed a lofty turret, built secretly and securely in a deep, unfrequented grove of trees, from whence, with the aid of various curious instruments and reflectors, they could fling out any pattern or device they chose on the sky, so that it should seem to be written by the finger of Lightning. Having elucidated these mysteries, and become highly edified thereby, the learned Councillor returned to the King, and gave full information as to the result of his researches, whereupon forty Mystics were at once arrested and flung into prison for life, and their nefarious practices were made publicly known to all the inhabitants of the city. Since then, no so-called "spiritual"

demonstrations had taken place till now, when on this very night Zephoranim's Presence-Chamber had been suddenly enveloped in the thunderous and terrifying darkness which had so successfully covered Khosrul's escape.

"The King should have slain him at once--" declared Ormaz emphatically, turning to Lysia as he spoke.. "I am surprised that His Majesty permitted so flagrant an impostor and trespa.s.ser of the law to speak one word, or live one moment in his royal presence."

"Thou art surprised, Ormaz, at most things, especially those which savor of simple good-nature and forbearance..." responded Lysia coldly.

"Thou art a wolfish, youth, and wouldst tear thine own brother to shreds if he thwarted thy pleasure! For myself I see little cause for astonishment, that a soldier-hero like Zephoranim should take some pity on so frail and aged a wreck of human wit as Khosrul. Khosrul blasphemes the Faith, . . what then? ... do ye not all blaspheme?"

"Not in the open streets!" said Ormaz hastily.

"No--ye have not the mettle for that!"--and Lysia smiled darkly, while the great eye on her breast flashed forth a sardonic l.u.s.tre--"Strong as ye all are, and young, ye lack the bravery of the weak old man who, mad as he may be, has at least the courage of his opinions! Who is there here that believes in the Sun as a G.o.d, or in Nagaya as a mediator? Not one, . . but ye are cultured hypocrites all, and careful to keep your heresies secret!"

"And thou, Lysia!" suddenly cried Nir-jalis, . . "Why if thou canst so liberally admire the valor of thy sworn enemy Khosrul, why dost not THOU step boldly forth, and abjure the Faith thou art Priestess of, yet in thy heart deridest as a miserable superst.i.tion?"

She turned her splendid flas.h.i.+ng orbs slowly upon him, ... what an awful chill, steely glitter leaped forth from their velvet-soft depths!

"Prithee, be heedful of thy speech, good Nirjalis!" she said, with a quiver in her voice curiously like the suppressed snarl of her pet tigress.. "The majority of men are fools, ... like thee! ... and need to be ruled according to their folly!"

Ormaz broke into a laugh. "And thou dost rule them, wise Virgin, with a rod of iron!" he said satirically ... "The King himself is but a slave in thy hands!" "The King is a devout believer,"--remarked a dainty, effeminate-looking youth, arrayed in a wonderfully picturesque garb of glistening purple,--"He pays his vows to Nagaya three times a day, at sunrise, noon, and sunset,--and 'tis said he hath oft been seen of late in silent meditation alone before the Sacred Veil, even after midnight.

Maybe he is there at this very moment, offering up a royal pet.i.tion for those of his less pious subjects who, like ourselves, love good wine more than long prayers. Ah!--he is a most austere and n.o.ble monarch,--a very anchorite and pattern of strict religious discipline! "And he shook his head to and fro with an air of mock solemn fervor. Every one laughed, . . and Ormaz playfully threw a cl.u.s.ter of half-crushed roses at the speaker.

"Hold thy foolish tongue, Pharnim,--" he said,--"The King doth but show a fitting example to his people, . . there is a time to pray, and a time to feast, and our Zephoranim can do both as becomes a man. But of his midnight meditations I have heard naught, . . since when hath he deserted his Court of Love for the colder chambers of the Sacred Temple?"

"Ask Lysia!" muttered Nir-jalis drowsily, under his breath--"She knows more of the King than she cares to confess!"