Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli

by Marie Corelli

  As he spoke, Theos obediently went toward him with the dazed sensations of one under the influence of mesmerism, … the dazzling face and luminous eyes of the Laureate exercised over him an indescribable yet resistless authority, — and it was certain that, wherever Sah-luma led the way, he was bound to follow. Only, as he mechanically descended from the terrace into the garden, and linked his arm within that of his companion, he was conscious of a vague feeling of pity for himself…pity that he should have dwindled into such a nonentity, when Sah-luma was so renowned a celebrity, . . pity too that he should have somehow never been able to devise anything original in the Art of Poetry!

  This last was evident, . . for he knew already that the “Idyl of Roses” Sah-luma purposed reciting could be no other than what he had fancied was HIS “Idyl of Roses” … a poem he had composed, or rather had plagiarized in some mysterious fashion before he had even dreamt of the design of “Nourhalma”…However he had become in part resigned to the peculiar position he occupied, — he was just a little sorry for himself, and that was all. Even as the parted spirit of a dead man might hover ruthfully above the grave of its perished mortal body, so he compassionated his own forlorn estate, and heaved a passing sigh of regret, not only for all HE ONCE HAD BEEN, but also for all HE COULD NEVER BE!

  CHAPTER XXVII.

  IN THE TEMPLE OF NAGAYA.

  The hours wore on with stealthy rapidity, — but the two friends, reclining together under a deep-branched canopy of cypress-boughs, paid little or no heed to the flight of time. The heat in the garden was intense — the grass was dry and brittle as though it had been scorched by passing flames, — and a singularly profound stillness reigned everywhere, there being no wind to stir the faintest rustle among the foliage. Lying lazily upon his back, with his arms clasped above his head, Theos looked dreamily up at the patches of blue sky seen between the dark-green gnarled stems and listened to the measured cadence of the Laureate’s mellow voice as he recited with much tenderness the promised poem.

  Of course it was perfectly familiar, — the lines were precisely the same as those which he, Theos, remembered to have written out, thinking them his own, in an old manuscript book he had left at home. “At-home!” … Where was that? It must be a very long way off! … He half-closed his eyes, — a sense of delightful drowsiness was upon him, . . the rise and fall of his friend’s rhythmic utterance soothed him into a languid peace, . . the “Idyl of Roses” was very sweet and musical, and, though he knew it of old, he heard it now with special satisfaction, inasmuch as, it being no longer his, he was at liberty to bestow upon it that full measure of admiration which he felt it deserved!

  Yet every now and then his thoughts wandered, — and though he anxiously strove to concentrate his attention on the lovely stanzas that murmured past his ears like the gentle sound of waves flowing beneath the mesmerism of the moon, his brain was in a continual state of ferment, and busied itself with all manner of vague suggestions to which he could give no name.

  A great weariness weighed down his spirit — a dim consciousness of the futility of all ambition and all endeavor — he was haunted, too, by the sharp hiss of Lysia’s voice when she had said, “KILL SAH-LUMA!”…Her look, her attitude, her murderous smile, troubled his memory and made him ill at ease, — the thing she had thus demanded at his hands seemed more monstrous than if she had bidden him kill himself! For there had been one moment, when, mastered by her beauty and the force of his own passion, he WOULD have killed himself had she requested it…but to kill his adored, his beloved friend! … ah no! not for a thousand sorceress-queens as fair as she!

  He drew a long breath, . . an irresistible desire for rest came over him, . . the air was heavy and warm and fragrant, — his companion’s dulcet accents served as a lullaby to his tired mind, — it seemed a long time since he had enjoyed a pleasant slumber, for the previous night he had not slept at all. Lower and lower drooped his aching lids, . . he was almost beginning to slip away slowly into a blissful unconsciousness, . . when all at once Sah-luma ceased reciting, and a harsh, brazen clang of bells echoed through the silence, storming to and fro with a violent, hurried uproar suggestive of some sudden alarm. He sprang to his feet, rubbing his eyes, — Sah-luma rose also, a slightly petulant expression on his face.

  “Canst thou do no better than sleep” — he queried complainingly, “when thou art privileged to listen to an immortal poem?”

  Impulsively Theos caught his hand and pressed it fervently.

  “Nay, dost thou deem me so indifferent, my noble friend?” he cried … “Thou art mistaken, for though perchance mine eyes were closed, my ears were open; I heard thy every word, — I loved thy every line! What dost thou need of praise? … thou, who canst do naught but work which, being perfect, is beyond all criticism!”

  Sah-luma smiled, well satisfied, and the little lines of threatening ill-humor vanished from his countenance.

  “Enough!” he said.. “I know that thou dost truly honor me above all poets, and that thou wouldst not willingly offend. Hearest thou how great a clamor the ringers of the Temple make to-night?— ’tis but the sunset chime, . . yet one would think they were pealing forth an angry summons to battle.”

  “Already sunset!” exclaimed Theos, surprised.. “Why, it seems scarce a minute since, that we came hither!”

  “Aye! — such is the magic charm of poesy!” rejoined Sah-luma complacently.. “It makes the hours flit like moments, and long days seemed but short hours! … Nevertheless ’tis time we were within doors and at supper, — for if we start not soon for the Temple, ‘twill be difficult to gain an entrance, and I, at any rate, must be early in my place beside the King.”

  He heaved a short, impatient sigh, — and as he spoke, all Theos’s old misgivings came rushing back upon him and in full force, filling him with vague sorrow, uneasiness, fear. But he knew how useless it was to try and impart any of his inward forebodings to Sah-luma, — Sah-luma, who had so lightly explained Lysia’s treacherous conduct to his own entire satisfaction, . . Sah-luma, on whom neither the prophecies of Khosrul nor the various disastrous events of the day had taken any permanent effect, . . while no attempt could now be made to deter him from attending the Sacrificial Service in the Temple, seeing he had been so positively commanded thither by Lysia, through the medium of the priest Zel.

  Feeling bitterly his own incompetency to exercise any protective influence on the fate of his companion, Theos said nothing, but silently followed him, as he thrust aside the drooping cypress boughs and made his way out to more open ground, his lithe, graceful figure looking even more brilliant and phantom-like than ever, contrasted with the deep green gloom spread about him by the hoary moss-covered trees that were as twisted and grotesque in shape as a group of fetich idols. As he bent back the last branchy barrier however, and stepped into the full light, he stopped short, — and, uttering a loud exclamation, lifted his hand and pointed westward, his dark eyes dilating with amazement and awe.

  Theos at once came swiftly up beside him, and looked where he looked, . . what a scene of terrific splendor he beheld! … Right across the horizon, that glistened with a pale green hue like newly frozen water, a cloud, black as the blackest midnight, lay heavy and motionless, in form resembling an enormous leaf, fringed at the edges with tremulous lines of gold.

  This nebulous mass was absolutely stirless, . . it appeared as though it had been thrown, a ponderous weight, into the vault of heaven, and having fallen, there purposed to remain. Ever and anon beamy threads of lightning played through it luridly, veining it with long, arrowy flashes of orange and silver, — while poised immediately above it was the sun, looking like a dull scarlet seal, … a ball of dim fire destitute of rays.

  On all sides the sky was crossed by wavy flecks of pearl and sudden glimpses as of burning topaz, — and down toward the earth drooped a thin azure fog, — filmy curtain, through which the landscape took the strangest tints and unearthly flushes of color. A moment, — and the spectral sun
dropped suddenly into the lower darkness, leaving behind it a glare of gold and green, — lowering purple shadows crept over across the heavens, darkening them as smoke darkens flame, — but the huge cloud, palpitating with lightning, moved not at all nor changed its shape by so much as a hair’s breadth, . . it appeared like a vast pall spread out in readiness for the solemn state-burial of the world.

  Fascinated by the aspect of the weird sky-phenomenon, Theos was at the same time curiously impressed by a sense of its UNREALITY, . . indeed he found himself considering it with the calm attentiveness of one who is brought face to face with a remarkable picture effectively painted. This peculiar sensation, however, was, like many others of his experience, very transitory, . . it passed, and he watched the lightnings come and go with a certain hesitating fear mingled with wonder. Sah-luma was the first to speak.

  “Storm at last!” … he said, forcing a smile though his face was unusually pale,— “It has threatened us all day…’twill break before the night is over. How sullenly yonder heavens frown! … they have quenched the sun in their sable darkness as though it were a beaten foe! This will seem an ill sign to those who worship him as a god, — for truly he doth appear to have withdrawn himself in haste and anger. By my soul! ’Tis a dull and ominous eve!” … and a slight shudder ran through his delicate frame, as he turned toward the white-pillared loggia garlanded with its climbing vines, roses, and passion-flowers, through which there now floated a dim golden, suffused radiance reflected from lamps lit within, . . “I would the night were past and that the new day had come!”

  With these words, he entered the house, Theos accompanying him, and together they went at once to the banqueting-hall. There they supped royally, served by silent and attentive slaves, — they themselves, feeling mutually depressed, yet apparently not wishing to communicate their depression one to the other, conversed but little. After the repast was finished, they set forth on foot to the Temple, Sah-luma informing his companion, as they went, that it was against the law to use any chariot or other sort of conveyance to go to the place of worship, the King himself being obliged to dispense with his sumptuous car on such occasions, and to walk thither as unostentatiously as any one of his poorest subjects.

  “An excellent rule!” … observed Theos reflectively,— “For the pomp and glitter of an earthly potentate’s display assorts ill with the homage he intends to offer to the Immortals, — and Kings are no more than commoners in the sight of an all-supreme Divinity.”

  “True, if there WERE an all-supreme Divinity!” rejoined Sah-luma dryly,— “But in the present state of well-founded doubt regarding the existence of any such omnipotent personage, thinkest thou there is a monarch living, who is sincerely willing to admit the possibility of any power superior to himself? Not Zephoranim, believe me! … his enforced humility on all occasions of public religious observance serves him merely as a new channel wherein to proclaim his pride. Certes, in obedience to the Priests, or rather let us say in obedience to the High Priestess, he paces the common foot-path in company with the common folk, uncrowned and simply clad, — but what avails this affectation of meekness? All know him for the King — all make servile way for him, — all flatter him! … and his progress to the Temple resembles as much a triumphal procession as though he were mounted in his chariot and returning from some wondrous victory. Besides, humility in my opinion is more a weakness than a virtue, . . and even granting it were a virtue, it is not possible to Kings, — not as long as people continue to fawn on royalty like grovelling curs, and lick the sceptred hand that often loathes their abject touch.”

  He spoke with a certain bitterness and impatience as though he were suffering from some inward nervous irritation, and Theos, observing this, prudently made no attempt to continue the conversation. They were just then passing down a narrow, rather dark street, lined on both sides by lofty buildings of quaint and elaborate architecture. Long, gloomy shadows had gathered in this particular spot, where for a short space the silence was so intense that one could almost hear one’s own heart beat. Suddenly a yellowish-green ray of light flashed across the pavement, and lo! the upper rim of the moon peered above the house-tops, looking strangely large and rosily brilliant, . . the air seemed all at once to grow suffocating and sulphurous, and between whiles there came the faint plashing sound of water lapping against stone with a monotonous murmur as of continuous soft whispers.

  The vast silence, the vast night, were full of a solemn weirdness, — the moon, curiously magnified to twice her ordinary size, soared higher and higher, firing the lofty solitudes of heaven with long, shooting radiations of rose and green, while still in the purple hollow of the horizon lay that immense, immovable Cloud, nerved as it were with living lightning which leaped incessantly from its centre like a thousand swords drawn and re-drawn from as many scabbards.

  Presently the deep booming noise of a great bell smote heavily on the stillness, . . a sound that Theos, oppressed by the weight of unutterable forebodings, welcomed with a vague sense of relief, while Sah-luma, hearing it, quickened his pace. They soon reached the end of the street, which terminated in a spacious quadrangular court guarded on all sides by gigantic black statues, and quickly crossing this place, which was entirely deserted, they came out at once into a dazzling blaze of light, . . the Temple of Nagaya in all its stately magnificence towered before them, a stupendous pile of marvellously delicate architecture so fine as to seem like lace-work rather than stone.

  It was lit up from base to summit with glittering lamps of all colors, . . the twelve revolving stars on its twelve tall turrets cast forth wide beams of penetrating radiance into the deepening darkness of the night, . . aloft in its topmost crown of pinnacles swung the prayer-commanding bell, . . while the enormous crowds swarming thick about it gave it the appearance of a brilliant Pharos set in the midst of a surging sea. The steps leading up to it were strewn ankle-deep with flowers, . . the doors stood open, and a thunderous hum of solemn music vibrated in wave-like pulsations through the heavy, heated air.

  Half blinded by the extreme effulgence, and confused by the jostling to and fro of a multitude immeasurably greater than any he had ever seen or imagined, Theos instinctively stretched out his hand in the helpless fashion of one not knowing whither next to turn, . . Sah-luma immediately caught it in his own, and hurried him along without saying a word.

  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 em
blazoned 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!”