She: A History of Adventure

by H. Rider Haggard

  XVII

  THE BALANCE TURNS

  Following the lamps of the deaf mutes, which, held out from their bodies as a bearer holds water in a vessel, had the appearance of floating along by themselves, we came presently to a stair which led us to She’s anteroom, the same that Billali had travelled upon all fours on the previous day. Here I wished to bid the Queen adieu, but she would not suffer it.

  “Nay,” she said, “enter with me, O Holly, for of a truth thy talk pleases me. Think, Holly; for two thousand years I have found none to speak with save slaves and my own soul, and though of all this thinking hath much wisdom come, and many secrets been made plain, yet I am weary of my thoughts, and have come to loathe mine own society, for surely the food that memory gives to eat is bitter to the taste, and it is only with the teeth of hope that we can bear to chew it. Now, though thy brain is green and tender, as becometh a man so young, yet is it that of one who thinks. In truth thou dost bring back to my mind certain of those old philosophers with whom in days bygone I have disputed at Athens, and at Becca in Arabia, for thou hast the same crabbed air and dusty look, as though thou hadst passed thy days in reading ill-writ Greek, and been stained dark with the grime of manuscripts. So draw the curtain, and sit here by my side, and we will eat fruit, and talk of pleasant things. See, I will again unveil to thee. Thou hast brought it on thyself, O Holly; I have warned thee straightly—and thou shalt call me beautiful as even those old philosophers were wont to do. Fie upon them, forgetting their philosophy!”

  And without more ado she stood up and shook the white wrappings from her, and came forth shining and splendid like some glittering snake when it has cast its slough; ay, and fixed her wonderful eyes upon me—more deadly than any Basilisk’s—and pierced me through and through with their beauty, and sent her light laugh ringing down the air like chimes of silver bells.

  A new mood was on her, and the colour of her fathomless mind had changed beneath it. It was no longer torture-torn and hateful, as I had seen it when she was cursing her dead rival by the leaping flames, no longer icily terrible as in the judgment-hall; no longer rich, and sombre, and splendid, like to a Tyrian cloth, as in the dwellings of the dead. No, her mood now was that of Aphrodité triumphing. Life—radiant, ecstatic, wonderful—seemed to flow from her and around her. Softly she laughed and sighed, and swift her glances flew. She shook her heavy tresses, and their perfume filled the place; she struck her little sandalled foot upon the floor, and hummed a snatch of some old Greek epithalamium. All the majesty was gone, or it did but lurk and flicker faintly through her laughing eyes, like lightning seen through sunlight. She had cast off the terror of the leaping flame, the cold power of judgment that even now was being done, and the wise sadness of the tombs—cast them off and put them behind her, like the white shroud she wore, and now she stood out an incarnation of lovely tempting womanhood, made more perfect—and in a way more spiritual—than ever woman was before her.

  “So, my Holly, sit there where thou canst see me. It is by thine own wish, remember—again I say, blame me not if thou dost wear away thy little span with such a sick pain at the heart that thou wouldst fain have died before ever thy curious eyes were set upon me. There, sit so, and tell me, for in truth now I desire praises—tell me, am I not beautiful? Nay, speak not so hastily; consider well the point; take me feature by feature, forgetting not my form, and my hands and feet, and my hair, and the whiteness of my skin, and then say truly, hast thou ever known a woman who in aught, ay, in one little portion of her beauty, in the curve of an eyelash even, or the modelling of a shell-like ear, is justified to hold a lamp before my loveliness? Now, my waist! Perchance thou thinkest it too large, but of a truth it is not so; it is this golden snake that is too large, and doth not bind it as it should. It is a wise snake, and knoweth that it is ill to tie in the waist. But see, give me thy hands—so—now press them round me: There, with but a little force, thy fingers almost touch, O Holly!”

  I could bear it no longer. I am but a man, and she was more than a woman. Heaven knows what she was—I do not! But then and there I fell upon my knees before her, and told her in a sad mixture of languages—for such moments confuse the thoughts—that I worshipped her as never woman was worshipped, and that I would give my immortal soul to marry her, which at that time I certainly would have done, and so, indeed, would any other man, or all the race of men rolled into one. For a moment she looked a little surprised; then she began to laugh, and to clap her hands in glee.

  “Oh, so soon, my Holly!” she said. “I wondered how many minutes it would need to bring thee to thy knees. I have not seen a man kneel before me for so many ages, and, believe me, to a woman’s heart the sight is sweet—ay, wisdom and length of days take not from that dear pleasure which is our sex’s only right.

  “What wouldst thou?—what wouldst thou? Thou dost not know what thou doest. Have I not told thee that I am not for thee? I love but one, and thou art not the man. Ah Holly, for all thy wisdom—and in a way thou art wise—thou art but a fool running after folly. Thou wouldst look into mine eyes—thou wouldst kiss me! Well, if it pleaseth thee, look!” and she bent herself towards me, and fixed her dark and thrilling orbs upon my own; “ay, and kiss too, if thou wilt, for, thanks be given to the scheme of things, kisses leave no scars, except upon the heart. But if thou dost kiss, I tell thee of a surety thou wilt eat out thy breast with love of me, and die!” and she bent yet further towards me till her soft hair brushed my brow, and her fragrant breath played upon my face, and made me faint and weak. Then of a sudden, even as I stretched out my arms to clasp, she straightened herself, and a quick change passed over her. Reaching out her hand, she held it over my head, and it seemed to me that something flowed from it which chilled me back to common sense, and a knowledge of propriety and the domestic virtues.

  “Enough of this wanton play,” she said with a touch of sternness. “Listen, Holly. Thou art a good and honest man, and I fain would spare thee; but, oh! it is so hard for woman to be merciful. I have said I am not for thee, therefore let thy thoughts pass by me like an idle wind, and the dust of thy imaginings sink again into the depths—well, of despair, if thou wilt. Thou dost not know me, Holly. Hadst thou seen me but ten hours past, when my passion seized me, thou hadst shrunk from me in fear and trembling. I am of many moods, and, like the water in that vessel, I reflect many things; but they pass, my Holly; they pass, and are forgotten. Only the water is the water still, and I still am I, and that which maketh the water maketh it, and that which maketh me maketh me, nor can my quality be altered. Therefore, pay no heed to what I seem, seeing that thou canst not know what I am. If thou troublest me again I will veil myself, and thou shalt behold my face no more.”

  I rose, and sank on the cushioned couch beside her, yet quivering with emotion, though for a moment my mad passion had left me, as the leaves of a tree quiver still, although the gust be gone that stirred them. I did not dare to tell her that I had seen her in that deep and hellish mood, muttering incantations to the fire in the tomb.

  “So,” she went on, “eat of this fruit; believe me, it is the only true food for man. Now tell me of the philosophy of that Hebrew Messiah, who came after me, and who, thou sayest, to-day doth rule Rome, and Greece, and Egypt, and the barbarians beyond. It must have been a strange philosophy that He taught, for in my time the peoples would have naught of our philosophies. Revel and lust and drink, blood and cold steel, and the shock of men gathered in the battle—these were the canons of their creeds.”

  I had recovered myself a little by now, and, feeling bitterly ashamed of the weakness into which I had been betrayed, I did my best to expound to her the doctrines of Christianity, to which, however, with the single exception of our theory of Heaven and Hell, I found that she paid but faint attention, her interest being all directed towards the Man who taught them. Also I told her that among her own people, the Arabs, another prophet, one Mohammed, had arisen, preaching a new faith, to which many millions of mankind now adhered
.

  “Ah!” she said; “I understand—two new religions! I have known so many, and doubtless there have been others since I knew aught beyond these caves of Kôr. Mankind asks ever of the skies to vision out what lies behind them. It is terror for the end, and but a subtler form of selfishness—this it is that breeds religions. Mark, my Holly, each religion claims the future for its followers; or, at the least, the good thereof. The evil is for those benighted ones who will have none of it; seeing that light which the true believers worship, as the fishes see the stars, but dimly. The religions come and the religions pass, and civilisations come and pass, and naught endures but the world and human nature. Ah! if man would but see that hope is from within, and not from without—that he himself must work out his own salvation! He is there, and within him is the breath of life and a knowledge of good and evil, as good and evil are to him. Thereon let him build and stand erect, and not cast himself before the image of some unknown God, modelled like his poor self, but with a larger brain to think the evil thing, and a longer arm to do it.”

  I thought to myself—which shows how old such reasoning is, being, indeed, one of the recurring quantities of theological discussion—that her argument sounded very like some that I have heard in the nineteenth century, and in other places than the caves of Kôr—with which, by the way, I totally disagree—but I did not care to try to discuss the question with her. To begin with, my mind was too weary with all the emotions through which I had passed, and, in the second place, I knew that I should get the worst of it. It is weary work enough to argue with an ordinary materialist, who hurls statistics and whole strata of geological facts at your head, whilst you can only buffet him with deductions and instincts and the snowflakes of faith, that are, alas! so apt to melt in the hot embers of our troubles. How little chance, then, should I have against one whose brain was supernaturally sharpened, and who had two thousand years of experience, besides all manner of knowledge of the secrets of Nature at her command! Feeling that she would be more likely to convert me than I should to convert her, I thought it best to leave the matter alone, and so sat silent. Many a time since then have I regretted bitterly that I did so, for thereby I lost the only opportunity I can remember of ascertaining what Ayesha really believed, and what was her “philosophy.”

  “Well, my Holly,” she continued, “and so those people of mine have also found a prophet—a false prophet thou sayest, for he is not thine own, and, indeed, I doubt it not. Yet in my day it was otherwise, for then we Arabs had many gods. Allât there was, and Saba, the Host of Heaven; Al Uzza, and Manah the stony one, for whom the blood of victims flowed; and Wadd and Sawâ, and Yaghûth the Lion of the dwellers in Yaman; and Yäûk, the Horse of Morad; and Nasr the Eagle of Hamyar; ay, and many more. Oh, the folly of it all, the shame and the pitiful folly! Yet when I rose in wisdom and spoke thereof, surely they would have slain me in the name of their outraged gods. Well, so it hath ever been;—but, my Holly, art thou weary of me already, that thou dost sit so silent? Or dost thou fear lest I should teach thee my philosophy?—for know I have a philosophy! What would a teacher be without her own philosophy? And if thou dost vex me overmuch, beware! for I will have thee learn it, and thou shalt be my disciple, and we twain will found a faith that shall swallow up all others. Inconstant man! But half an hour since thou wast upon thy knees—the posture does not become thee, Holly—swearing that thou didst love me. What shall we do?—Nay, I have it! I will come and see this youth, the Lion, as the old man Billali calls him, who came with thee, and who is so sick. The fever must have run its course by now, and if he is about to die I will recover him. Fear not, my Holly; I shall use no magic. Have I not told thee that there is no such thing as magic, though there is such a thing as mastering and commanding the forces which are in Nature? Go now, and presently, when I have made the drug ready, I will follow thee.”* Accordingly I went, only to find Job and Ustane in an excess of grief, declaring that Leo was in the throes of death, and that they had been searching for me everywhere. I rushed to the couch, and glanced at him: clearly he was dying. He was senseless, and breathing heavily, but his lips were quivering, and every now and again a little shudder ran down his frame. I knew enough of doctoring to see that in another hour he would be beyond the reach of earthly help—perhaps in another five minutes. How I cursed my selfishness and the folly that had kept me lingering by Ayesha’s side while my dear boy lay dying! Alas and alas! how easily the best of us are lighted down to evil by the gleam of a woman’s eyes! What a wicked wretch was I! Actually, for the last half-hour I had scarcely thought of Leo—and this, be it remembered, of the man who for twenty years had been my dearest companion, and the chief interest of my existence. And now, perhaps, it was too late!

  I wrung my hands, and glanced round. Ustane was sitting by the couch, and in her eyes burnt the dull light of despair. Job was blubbering—I am sorry I cannot name his distress by any more delicate word—audibly in the corner. Seeing my eye fixed upon him, he went outside to give way to his grief in the passage. Obviously the only hope lay in Ayesha. She, and she alone, could save him—unless, indeed, she was an impostor, which I did not believe. I would go and implore her to come. As I started on this errand, however, Job came flying into the room, his hair literally standing on end with terror.

  “Oh, God help us, sir!” he ejaculated in a frightened whisper, “here’s a corpse a-coming sliding down the passage!”

  For a moment I was puzzled, but presently, of course, it struck me that he must have seen Ayesha, wrapped in her grave-like garment, and been deceived by the extraordinary undulating smoothness of her walk into a belief that she was a white ghost gliding towards him. Indeed, at that very moment the question was settled, for Ayesha herself appeared in the apartment, or rather cave. Job turned, and saw her sheeted form, then, with a convulsive howl of “Here it comes!” he sprang into a corner, and hid his head against the wall; while Ustane, guessing whose the dread presence must be, prostrated herself upon her face.

  “Thou comest in a good time, Ayesha,” I said, “for my boy lies at the point of death.”

  “So,” she said softly; “if he be not dead, it is no matter, for I can bring him back to life, my Holly. Is that man there thy servant, and is that the fashion wherewith the servants greet strangers in thy country?”

  “He is frightened of thy garb—it has a death-like air,” I answered. She laughed.

  “And the girl? Ah, I see now. It is she of whom thou didst speak to me. Well, bid them both to leave us, and we will see to this sick Lion of thine. I love not that underlings should perceive my wisdom.”

  Thereon I told Ustane in Arabic and Job in English both to leave the room; an order which the latter obeyed readily enough, and was glad to obey, for he could not in any way subdue his fear. But it was otherwise with Ustane.

  “What does She want?” she whispered, divided between her dread of the terrible Queen and her anxiety to remain near Leo. “It is surely the right of a wife to be with her husband when he dies. Nay, I will not go, my lord the Baboon.”

  “Why doth not that woman depart, my Holly?” asked Ayesha from the other end of the cave, where she was engaged in examining some of the sculptures on the wall.

  “She is not willing to leave Leo,” I answered, not knowing what to say. Ayesha wheeled round, and, pointing at the girl Ustane, said one word, and one only, but it was quite enough, for the tone in which she uttered it meant volumes.

  “Go!”

  Then Ustane crept past her on her hands and knees, and went.

  “Thou seest, my Holly,” said Ayesha, with a little laugh, “it was needful that I should give these people a lesson in obedience. That girl went nigh to disobeying me, but then, she did not learn this noon how I treat the disobedient. Well, she has gone; now let me see the youth,” and she glided towards the couch on which Leo lay, with his face in the shadow and turned towards the wall.

  “He has a noble shape,” she said, as she bent over him to look upon his face. />
  The next second her tall and willowy form was staggering back across the room, as though she had been shot or stabbed, staggering back till at last she struck the cavern wall, and then there burst from her lips the most awful and unearthly scream that it has ever been my lot to hear.

  “What is it, Ayesha?” I cried. “Is he dead?”

  She turned, and sprang towards me like a tigress.

  “Thou dog!” she said, in her terrible whisper, which sounded like the hiss of a snake, “why didst thou hide this from me?” And she stretched out her arm, so that I thought she was about to slay me.

  “What?” I ejaculated, in the most lively terror; “what?”

  “Ah!” she said, “perchance thou didst not know. Learn, my Holly, learn: there—there lies my lost Kallikrates. Kallikrates, who has come back to me at last, as I knew he must, as I knew he must!” and she began to sob and laugh, and, indeed, to conduct herself like any other lady who is overcome, murmuring, “Kallikrates, Kallikrates!”

  “Nonsense,” I thought to myself, but I did not dare to say it; and, indeed, at the moment I was thinking of Leo’s life, having forgotten everything else in that terrible anxiety. What I feared now was that he might die while Ayesha was unnerved by hysteria.

  “Unless thou art able to help him, Ayesha,” I suggested humbly, “thy Kallikrates will soon be far beyond thy calling. Surely he dies even now.”

  “True,” she said, with a start. “Oh! why did I not come before? I am shaken—my hand trembles, even mine—and yet it is very easy. Here, thou Holly, take this phial,” and she produced a tiny jar of pottery from the folds of her garment, “and pour the liquid in it down his throat. It will cure him if he be not dead. Swift, now! Swift! The man dies!”

  I glanced towards him; it was true enough—Leo was in his death-struggle. I saw his poor face turning ashen, and heard the breath begin to rattle in his throat. The phial was stoppered with a little piece of wood. I drew it with my teeth, and a drop of the fluid within flew out upon my tongue. It had a sweet flavour, and for a second caused my head to swim and a mist to gather before my eyes, but happily the effect passed away as quickly as it had arisen.