He spoke with a rush of earnestness and eloquence that was both persuasive and powerful, and he now stood silent and absorbed, his dreamy eyes resting meditatively on the massive bust of the immortal personage he called Hyspiros, which smiled out in serene, cold whiteness from the velvet-shadowed shrine it occupied. Theos watched him with fascinated and fraternal fondness, . . did ever man possess so dulcet a voice, he thought? … so grave and rich and marvellously musical, yet thrilling with such heart-moving suggestions of mingled pride and plaintiveness?
“Thou art a most alluring orator, Sah-luma!” he said suddenly— “Methinks I could listen to thee all day and never tire!”
“I’ faith, so could not I!” interposed Zabastes grimly. “For when a bard begins to gabble goose-like platitudes which merely concern his own vocation, the gods only know when he can be persuaded to stop! Nay, ’tis more irksome far than the recitation of his professional jingle — for to that there must in time come a merciful fitting end, but, as I live, if ’twas my custom to say prayers, I would pray to be delivered from the accursed volubility of a versifier’s tongue! And perchance it will not be considered out of my line of duty if I venture to remind my most illustrious and renowned MASTER—” this with a withering sneer,— “that if he has any more remarkable nothings to dictate concerning this particularly inane creation of his fancy ‘Nourhalma,’ ‘twill be well that we should proceed therewith, for the hours wax late and the sun veereth toward his House of Noon.”
And he spread out fresh slips of papyrus and again prepared his long quill.
Sah-luma smiled, as one who is tolerant of the whims of a hired buffoon, — and, this time seating himself in his ebony chair, was about to commence dictating his Second Canto when Theos, yielding to his desire to speak aloud the idea that had just flashed across his brain said abruptly:
“Has it ever seemed to thee, Sah-luma, as it now does to me, that there is a strange resemblance between thy imaginative description of the ideal ‘Nourhalma,’ and the actual charms and virtues of thy strayed singing-maid Niphrata?”
Sah-luma looked up, thoroughly astonished, and laughed.
“No! — Verily I have not traced, nor can I trace the smallest vestige of a similarity! Why, good Theos, there is none! — not the least in the world, — for this heroine of mine, Nourhalma, loves in vain, and sacrifices all, even her innocent and radiant life, for love, as thou wilt hear in the second half of the poem, — moreover she loves one who is utterly unworthy of her faithful tenderness. Now Niphrata is a child of delicate caprice … she loves ME, — me, her lord, — and methinks I am not negligent or undeserving of her devotion! … again, she has no strength of spirit, — her timorous blood would freeze at the mere thought of death, — she is more prone to play with flowers and sing for pure delight of heart than perish for the sake of love! ’Tis an unequal simile, my friend! — as well compare a fiery planet with a twinkling dewdrop, as draw a parallel between the heroic ideal maid ‘Nourhalma’ — and my fluttering singing-bird, Niphrata!”
Theos sighed involuntarily, — but forcing a smile, let the subject drop and held his peace, while Sah-luma, taking up the thread of his poetical narrative, went on reciting. When the story began to ripen toward its conclusion he grew more animated, … rising, he paced the room as he declaimed the splendid lines that now rolled gloriously one upon another like deep-mouthed billows thundering on the shore, — his gestures were all indicative of the fervor of his inward ecstasy, — his eyes flashed, — his features glowed with that serene, proud light of conscious power and triumph that rests on the calm, wide brows of the sculptured Apollo, — and Theos, leaning one arm in a half-sitting posture, contemplated him with a curious sensation of wistful eagerness and passionate pain, such as might be felt by some forgotten artist mysteriously permitted to come out of his grave and wander back to earth, there to see his once-rejected pictures hung in places of honor among the world’s chief treasures.
A strange throb of melancholy satisfaction stirred his pulses as he reflected that he might now, without any self-conceit, at least ADMIRE the poem! — since he had decided that was no longer his, but another’s, he was free to bestow on it as much as he would of unstinting praise! For it was very fine, — there could be no doubt of that, whatever Zabastes might say to the contrary, — and it was not only fine, but intensely, humanly pathetic, seeming to strike a chord of passion such as had never before been sounded, — a chord to which the world would be COMPELLED to listen, — yes, — COMPELLED! thought Theos exultingly, — as Sah-luma drew nearer and nearer the close of his dictation … The deep quiet all around was so heavy as to be almost uncomfortable in its oppressiveness, — it exercised a sort of strain upon the nerves …
Hark! what was that? Through the hot and silent air swept a sullen surging noise as of the angry shouting of a vast multitude, — then came the fast and furious gallop of many horses, — and again that fierce, resentful roar of indignation, swelling up as it seemed from thousands of throats. Moved, all three at once, by the same instinctive desire to know what was going on, Theos, Sah-luma, and Zabastes sprang from their different places in the room, and hurried out on the marble terrace, dashing aside the silken awnings as they went in order the better to see the open glimpses of the city thoroughfares that lay below. Theos, leaning far out over the western half of the balustrade, was able to command a distant view of the great Square in which the huge white granite Obelisk occupied so prominent a position, and, fixing his eyes attentively on this spot, saw that it was filled to overflowing with a dense mass of people, whose white-raimented forms, pressed together in countless numbers, swayed restlessly to and fro like the rising waves of a stormy sea.
Lifted above this troubled throng, one tall, dark figure was distinctly outlined against the dazzling face of the Obelisk — a figure that appeared to be standing on the back of the colossal Lion that lay couchant beneath. And as Theos strained his sight to distinguish the details of the scene more accurately, he suddenly beheld a glittering regiment of mounted men in armor, charging straightly and with cruelly determined speed, right into the centre of the crowd, apparently regardless of all havoc to life and limb that might ensue. Involuntarily he uttered an exclamation of horror at what seemed to him so wanton and brutal an act, when just then Sah-luma caught him eagerly by the arm, — Sah-luma, whose soft, oval countenance was brilliant with excitement, and in whose eyes gleamed a mingled expression of mirth and ferocity.
“Come, come, my friend!” he said hastily— “Yonder is a sight worth seeing! ’Tis the mad Khosrul who is thus entrenched and fortified by the mob, — as I live, that sweeping gallop of His Majesty’s Royal Guards is magnificent! They will seize the Prophet this time without fail! Aye, if they slay a thousand of the populace in the performance of their duty! Come! — let us hasten to the scene of action— ‘twill be a struggle I would not miss for all the world!”
He sprang down the steps of the loggia, accompanied by Theos, who was equally excited, — when all at once Zabastes, thrusting out his head through a screen of vine-leaves, cried after them:
“Sah-luma! — Most illustrious! What of the poem? It is not finished!”
“No matter!” returned Sah-luma—”’Twill be finished hereafter!”
And he hastened on, Theos treading close in his footsteps and thinking as he went of the new enigma thus proposed to puzzle afresh the weary workings of his mind. HIS poem of Nourhalma — or rather the poem he had fancied was his — had been entirely completed down to the last line; now Sah-luma’s was left “TO BE FINISHED HEREAFTER.”
Strange that he should find a pale glimmering of consolation in this! — a feeble hope that perhaps after all, at some future time, he might be able to produce a few, a very few lines of noble verse that should be deemed purely original! … enough perchance, to endow him with a faint, far halo of diminished glory such as plodding students occasionally win, by following humbly yet ardently … even as he now followed Sah-luma … in the paths of
excellence marked out by greater men!
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE FALL OF THE OBELISK.
In less time than he could have imagined possible, he found himself in the densely crowded Square, buffeting and struggling against an angry and rebellious mob, who half resentful and half terrified, had evidently set themselves to resist the determined charge made by the mounted soldiery into their midst. For once Sah-luma’s appearance created no diversion, — he was pushed and knocked about as unceremoniously as if he were the commonest citizen of them all, He seemed carelessly surprised at this, but nevertheless took his hustling very good humoredly, and, keeping his shoulders well squared forced his way with Theos by slow degrees through the serried ranks of people, many of whom, roused to a sort of frenzy threw themselves in front of the advancing horses of the guard, and seizing the reins held on to these like grim death, reckless of all danger.
As yet no weapons were used either by the soldiers or the populace, — the former seemed for the present contented to simply ride down those who impeded their progress, — and that they had done so in terrible earnest was plainly evident from the numbers of wounded creatures that lay scattered about on every side in an apparently half dying condition. Yet there was surely a strange insensibility to suffering among them all, inasmuch as in spite of the contention and confusion there were no violent shrieks of either pain or fury, — no exclamations of rage or despair, — no sound whatever indeed, save a steady, sullen, monotonous snarl of opposition, above which the resonant voice of the Prophet Khosrul rang out like a silver clarion.
“O people doomed and made desolate!” he cried.. “O nation once mighty, brought low to the dust of destruction! Hear me, ye strong men and fair women! — and you, ye poor little children who never again shall see the sun rise on the thousand domes of Al-Kyris! Lift up the burden of bitter lamentation! — lift it up to the Heaven of Heavens, the Throne of the All-Seeing Glory, the Giver of Law, the Destroyer of Evil! Weep! … weep for your sins and the sins of your sons and your daughters — cast off the jewels of pride, — rend the fine raiment, … let your tears be abundant as the rain and dew! Kneel down and cry aloud on the great and terrible Unknown God — the God ye have denied and wronged, — the Founder of worlds, who doth hold in His Hand the Sun as a torch, and scattereth stars with the fire of His breath! Mourn and bend ye all beneath the iron stroke of Destiny! — for know ye not how fierce a thing has come upon Al-Kyris? … a thing that lips cannot utter nor words define, — a thing more horrible than strange sounds in thick darkness, — more deadly than the lightning when it leaps from Heaven with intent to slay! O City stately beyond all cities! Thy marble palaces are already ringed round with a river of blood! — the temples of thy knowledge wherein thy wise men have studied to exceed all wisdom, begin to totter to their fall, — thou shalt be swept away even as a light heap of ashes, and what shall all thy learning avail thee in that brief and fearful end! Hear me, O people of Al-Kyris! — Hear me and cease to strive among yourselves, … resist not thus desperately the King’s armed minions, for to them I also speak and say, — Lo! the time approaches when a stronger hand than that of the mighty Zephoranim shall take me prisoner and bear me hence where most I long to go! Peace, I command you! … in the Name of that God whose truth I do proclaim … Peace!”
As he uttered the last word an instantaneous hush fell upon the crowd, — every head was turned toward his grand, gaunt, almost spectral figure; and even the mounted soldiery reined up their plunging, chafing steeds and remained motionless as though suddenly fixed to the ground by some powerful magnetic spell. Theos and Sah-luma took immediate advantage of this lull in the conflict, to try and secure for themselves a better point of vantage, though there was much difficulty in pressing through the closely packed throng, inasmuch as not a man moved to give them passage-room.
Presently, however, Sah-luma managed to reach the nearest one of the two great fountains, which adorned either side of the Obelisk, and, springing as lightly as a bird on its marble edge, he stood erect there, his picturesque form presenting itself to the view like a fine statue set against the background of sun-tinted foaming water that dashed high above him and sprinkled his garments with drops of sparkling spray. Theos at once joined him, and the two friends, holding each other fast by the arm, gazed down on the silent, mighty multitude around them, — a huge concourse of the citizens of Al-Kyris, who, strange as this part of their behavior seemed, still paid no heed to the presence of their Laureate, but with pale, rapt faces and anxious, frightened eyes, riveted their attention entirely on the sombre, black-garmented Prophet whose thin ghostly arms, outstretched above them, appeared to mutely invoke in their behalf some special miracle of mercy.
“See you not”.. whispered Sah-luma to his companion,— “how yon aged fool wears upon his breast the Symbol of his own Prophecy? ’Tis the maddest freak to thus display his death-warrant! — Only a month ago the King issued a decree, warning all those whom it might concern, that any one of his born subjects presuming to carry the sign of Khosrul’s newly invented Faith should surely die! And that the crazed reprobate carries it himself makes no exemption from the rule!”
Theos shuddered. His eyes were misty, but he could very well see the Emblem to which Sah-luma alluded, — it was the Cross again! … the same sacred Prefigurement of things “to come,” according to the perplexing explanation given by the Mystic Zuriel whom he had met in the Passage of the Tombs, though to his own mind it conveyed no such meaning. What was it then? … if not a Prototype of the future, was it a Record of the Past? He dared not pursue this question, — it seemed to send his brain reeling on the verge of madness! He made no answer to Sah-luma’s remark, — but fixed his gaze wistfully on the tall, melancholy Shape that like a black shadow darkened the whiteness of the Obelisk, — and his sense of hearing became acute almost to painfulness when once more Khosrul’s deep vibrating tones peeled solemnly through the heavy air.
“God speaks to Al-Kyris!” and as the Prophet enunciated these words with majestic emphasis a visible thrill ran through the hushed assemblage.. “God saith: Get thee up, O thou City of Pleasure, from thy couch of sweet wantonness, — get thee up, gird thee with fire, and flee into the desert of forgotten things! For thou art become a blot on the fairness of My world, and a shame to the brightness of My Heaven! — thy rulers are corrupt, — thy teachers are proud of heart and narrow in judgment, — thy young men and maidens go astray and follow each after their own vain opinions, — in thy great temples and holy places Falsehood abides, and Vice holds court in thy glorious palaces. Wherefore because thou hast neither sought nor served Me, and because thou hast set up gold as thy god, and a multitude of riches as thy chief good, lo! now mine eyes have grown weary of beholding thee, and I will descend upon thee suddenly and destroy thee, even as a hill of sand is destroyed by the whirlwind, — and thou shalt be known in the land of My creatures no more! Woe to thee that thou hast taken pride in thy wisdom and learning, for therein lies thy much wickedness! If thou wert truly wise thou wouldst have found Me, — if thou wert nobly learned thou wouldst have understood My laws, — but thou art proved altogether gross, foolish, and incapable, — and the studies whereof thou hast boasted, the writings of thy wise men, the charts of sea and land, the maps of thy chief astronomers, the engraved tablets of learning, in gold, in silver, in ivory, in stone, thy chronicles of battle and conquest, the documents of thine explorers in far countries, the engines of thine invention whereby thou dost press the lightning into thy service, and make the air respond to the messages of thy kings and councillors, — all these shall be thrust away into an everlasting silence, and no man hereafter shall be able to declare that such things have ever been!”
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22) Page 172