Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli

by Marie Corelli

  Sah-luma was indeed the very picture of dismay, . . if he had never suffered in his life before, surely he suffered now! Niphrata, the tender, the humbly adoring Niphrata, positively rejected him! — refused to recognize his actual presence, and turned insanely away from him toward some dream-ideal Sah-luma whom she fancied could only be found in that unexplored country bordered by the cold river of Death! Meanwhile, the silence in the Temple was intense, — the Priests were like so many wax figures fastened in fixed positions; the King, leaning slightly forward in his chair, had the appearance of a massively moulded image of bronze, — and to Theos’s overwrought condition of mind, the only actually living things present seemed to be the monster Serpent whose scaly folds palpitated visibly in the strong light, . . and the hideous “Eye of Raphon,” that blazed on Lysia’s breast with a menacing stare, as of a wrathful ghoul. All at once a flash of comprehension lightened the Laureate’s sternly perplexed face, — a bitter laugh broke from his lips.

  “She has been drugged!” he cried fiercely, pointing to Niphrata’s white and rigid form, . . “Poisoned by some deadly potion devised of devils, to twist and torture the quivering centres of the brain! Accursed work! — Will none undo it?” and springing forward nearer the Shrine, he raised his angry, impassioned eyes to the dark, inscrutable ones of the High Priestess, who met his troubled look with serene and irresponsive gravity … “Is there no touch of human pity in things divine? … no mercy in the icy fate that rules our destinies? … This child knows naught of what she does; she hath been led astray in a moment of excitement and religious exaltation, . . her mind hath lost its balance, — her thoughts float disconnectedly on a sea of vague illusions, … Ah! … by the gods! … I understand it all now!” and he suddenly threw himself on his knees, his appealing gaze resting, not on the Snake-Deity, but on the lovely countenance of Lysia, fair and brilliant as a summer morn, with a certain waving light of triumph about it, like the reflected radiance of sunbeams, … “She is under the influence of Raphon! … O withering madness! … O cureless misery.. She is ruled by that most horrible secret force, unknown as yet to the outer world of men! … and she hears things that are not, and sees what has no existence! O Lysia, Daughter of the Sun! … I do beseech thee, by all the inborn gentleness of womanhood, unwind the Mystic Spell!”

  A serious smile of feigned, sorrowful compassion parted the beautiful lips of the Priestess; but she gave no word or sign in answer, — and the weird Jewel on her breast at that moment shot forth a myriad scintillations as of pointed sharp steel. Some extraordinary power in it, or in Lysia herself, was manifestly at work, — for with a violent start Sah-luma rose from his knees, and staggered helplessly backward, . . one hand pressed to his eyes as though to shut out some blinding blaze of lightning! He seemed to be vaguely groping his way to his former place beside the King, and Theos, seeing this, quickly caught him by the arm and drew him thither, whispering anxiously the while:

  “Sah-luma!-Sah-luma! … What ails thee?”

  The Laureate turned upon him a bewildered, piteous face, white with an intensity of speechless anguish.

  “Nothing!”…he faltered,— “Nothing! … ’tis over, . . the child must die!”…Then all suddenly the hard, drawn lines of his countenance relaxed, — great tears gathered in his eyes, and fell slowly one by one, . . and moving aside, he shrank away as far as possible into the shadow cast by a huge column close by.. “O Niphrata! … Niphrata!”.. Theos heard him say in a voice broken by despair.. “Why do I love thee only now, . . NOW, when thou art lost to me forever!”

  The King looked after him half-compassionately, half-sullenly; but presently paid no further heed to his distress. Theos, however, kept near him, whispering whatever poor suggestions of comfort he could, in the extremity of his own grief, devise, . . a hopeless task, — for to all his offered solace Sah-luma made but the one reply:

  “Oh let me weep! … Let me weep for the untimely death of Innocence!”

  And now the cithern-playing, which had ceased, commenced again, accompanied by the mysterious thrilling bass notes of the invisible organ-like instrument, whose sound resembled the roll and rush of huge billows breaking into foam. As the rich and solemn strains swept grandly through the spacious Temple, Niphrata stretched out her hands toward the High Priestess, a smile of wonderful beauty lighting up her fair child-face.

  “Take me, O ye immortal gods!” she cried, her voice ringing in clear tune above all the other music.. “Take me and bear me away on your strong, swift wings to the Everlasting Palaces of Air, wherein all sorrows have end, and patient love meets at last its long-delayed reward! Take me.. for lo! I am ready to depart! My soul is wounded and weary of its prison, — it struggles to be free! O Destiny, I thank thee for thy mercy! … I praise thee for the glory thou dost here unveil before mine eyes! Pardon my sins! … accept my life! … sanctify my love!”

  A murmur of relief and rejoicing ran rippling through the listening crowds, — a weight seemed lifted from their minds, . . the victim was willing to die after all! … the Sacrifice would be proceeded with. There was a slight pause, — during which the priests crossed and re-crossed the Sanctuary many times, one of them descending the steps to tie Niphrata’s hands behind her back as before. In the immediate interest of the moment, Sah-luma and his hot interference seemed to be almost forgotten, . . a few people, indeed, cast injured and indignant looks toward the corner where he dejectedly leaned, and once the wrinkled, malicious head of old Zabastes peered at him, with an expression of incredulous amazement, — but otherwise no sympathy was manifested by any one for the popular Laureate’s suffering and discomfiture. He was the nation’s puppet, . . its tame bird, whose business was to sing when bidden, . . but he was not expected to have any voice in matters of religion or policy, — and still less was he supposed to intrude any of his own personal griefs on the public notice. Let him sing! — and sing well, — that was enough; but let him dare to be afflicted, and annoy others with his wants and troubles, why then he at once became uninteresting! … he might even die for all anybody cared! This was the unspoken sullen thought that Theos, sensitive to the core on his friend’s behalf, instinctively felt to be smouldering in the heart of the mighty multitude, — and he resented the half-implied, latent ungratefulness of the people with all his soul.

  “Fools!”.. he muttered under his breath,— “For you, and such as you, the wisest sages toil in vain! … on you Art wastes her treasures of suggestive loveliness! … low grovellers in earth, ye have no eyes for heaven! O ignorant, ungenerous, fickle hypocrites, whose ruling passion is the greed of gold! — Why should great men perish, that YE may live! … And yet.. your acclamations make up the thing called Fame! Fame? … Good God!— ’tis a brief shout in the universal clamor, scarce heard and soon forgotten!”

  And filled with strange bitterness, he gazed disconsolately at Niphrata, who stood like one in a trance of ecstasy, patiently awaiting her doom, her lovely, innocent blue eyes gladly upturned to the long, jewel-like head of Nagaya, which twined round the summit of the ebony staff, seemed to peer down at her in a sort of drowsy reflectiveness. Then, all suddenly, Lysia spoke, . . how enchanting was the exquisite modulation of that slow, languid, silvery voice!

  “Come hither, O Maiden fair, pure, and faithful!

  The desire of thy soul is granted!

  Before thee are the Gates of the Unknown World!

  Already they open to admit thee;

  Through their golden bars gleams the glory of thy future!

  Speak! … What seest thou?”

  A moment of breathless silence ensued, — all present seemed to be straining their ears to catch the victim’s answer. It came, — soft and clear as a bell:

  “I see a wondrous land o’er-canopied with skies of gold and azure: . . white flowers grow in the fragrant fields, . . there are many trees, . . I hear the warbling of many birds; . . I see fair faces that smile upon me and gentle hands that beckon! … Figures that wear glistening robes, and car
ry garlands of roses and myrtle, pass slowly, singing as they go! … How beautiful they are! How strange! … how sweet!”

  And as she uttered these words, in accents of dreamy delight, she ascended the first step of the Shrine. Theos, looking, held his breath in wonder and fear, while Sah-luma with a groan turned himself resolutely away, and, pressing his forehead against the great column where he stood, hid his eyes in his clasped hands.

  The High Priestess continued:

  “Come hither, O Maiden of chaste and patient life!

  Rejoice greatly, for thy virtue hath pleased the gods:

  The undiscovered marvels of the Stars are thine,

  Earth has no more control over thee:

  Heaven is thine absolute Heritage! …

  Behold! the Ship of the Sun awaits thee!

  Speak! … What seest thou?”

  A soft cry of rapture came from the girl’s lips.

  “Oh, I see glory everywhere!”.. she exclaimed.. “Light everywhere! … Peace everywhere! … O joy, joy! … The face of my beloved shines upon me, — he calls, . . he bids me come to him! … Ah! we shall be together at last, . . we twain shall be as one never to part, never to doubt, never to suffer more! O let me hasten to him! … Why should I linger thus, when I would fain, be gone!”

  And she sprang eagerly up the second and third steps of the Sanctuary, and faced Lysia, — her head thrown back, her blue eyes ablaze with excitement, her bosom heaving, and her delicate features transfigured and illumined by unspeakable inward delirious bliss. Just then the Priest Zel lifted the long, jewel-hilted knife from the black cushion where it had lain till now, and, crouching stealthily in the shadow behind Lysia, held it in both bands, pointed straight forward in a level line with Niphrata’s breast. Thus armed, he waited, silent and immovable.

  A slight shudder of morbid expectancy seemed to quiver through the vast congregation, . . but Theos’s nerves were strung up to such a high pitch of frenzied horror that he could neither speak nor sigh, — motionless as a statue, he could only watch, with freezing blood, each detail of the extraordinary scene. Once more the High Priestess spoke:

  “Come hither, O happy Maiden whose griefs are ended:

  The day of thy triumph and reward has dawned!

  For thee the Immortals unveiled the mysteries of being, —

  To thee, they openly declare all secrets …

  To thee the hidden things of Wisdom are made manifest:

  For the last time ere thou leavest us, hear, and answer, . .

  Speak! — What seest thou?”

  “LOVE!” replied Niphrata in a tone of thrilling and solemn tenderness.. “LOVE, the Eternal All, in which dark things are made light! — Love, that is never served in vain! … LOVE wherein lost happiness is rediscovered and perfected! … O DIVINE LOVE, by whom the passion of my heart is sanctified! Absorb me in the quenchless glory of thine Immortality! … Draw me to Thyself, and let me find in Thee my Soul’s completion!”

  Her voice sank to a low prayerful emphasis, . . her look was as of a rapt angel waiting for wings. Lysia’s gaze dwelt upon her with slow-dilating wonder and contempt.. such a devout and earnest supplication was evidently not commonly heard from the lips of Nagaya’s victims. At that instant, too, Nagaya himself seemed curiously excited and disturbed, — his great glittering coils quivered so violently, as to shake the rod on which he was twined, . . and when his Priestess raised her mesmeric reproving eyes toward him, he bent back his head rebelliously, and sent a vehement hiss through the silence, like the noise made by the whirl of a scimitar.

  Suddenly, and with deafening abruptness, a clap of thunder, short and sharp as a quick volley of musketry, crashed overhead, — accompanied by a strange circular sweep of lightning that blazed through the windows of the Temple, illumining it from end to end with a brilliant blue glare. The superstitious crowd exchanged startled looks of terror, . . the King moved uneasily and glanced frowningly about him, — it was plainly manifest that no one had forgotten the disastrous downfall of the Obelisk, ..and there seemed to be a contagion of alarm in the very air. But Lysia was perfectly self-possessed, . . in fact she appeared to accept the threat of a storm as an imposing, and by no means undesirable, adjunct to the mysteries of the Sacrificial Rite, for riveting her basilisk eyes on Niphrata, she said in firm, clear, decisive accents:

  “The gods grow impatient! … Wherefore, O Princess and People of Al-Kyris, let us hasten to appease their anger! Depart, O stainless Maid! … depart hence, and betake thee to the Golden Throne of the Sun, our Lord and Ruler, . . and in the Name of Nagaya, may the shedding of thy virginal blood avert from us and ours the wrath of the Immortals! Linger no longer, . . Nagaya accepts thee! … and the Hour strikes Death!”

  With the last word a sullen bell boomed heavily through and through the Temple.. and, at once, . . like a frenzied bird or butterfly winging its way into scorching flame, . . Niphrata rushed forward with swift, unhesitating, dreadful precision straight on the knife outheld by the untrembling ruthless hands of the Priest Zel! One second, — and Theos sick with horror, saw her speeding thus, . . the next, — and the whole place was enveloped in dense darkness!

  CHAPTER XXIX.

  THE CUP OF WRATH AND TREMBLING.

  A flash of time, . . an instant of black, horrid eclipse, too brief for the utterance of even a word or cry, … and then, — with an appalling roar, as of the splitting of huge rocks and the tearing asunder of mighty mountains, the murky gloom was lifted, rent, devoured, and swept away on all sides by a sudden bursting forth of Fire! … Fire leaped up alive in twenty different parts of the building, springing aloft in spiral coils from the marble pavement that yawned crashingly open to give the impetuous flames their rapid egress, . . fire climbed lithely round and round the immense carven columns, and ran, nimbly dancing and crackling its way among the painted and begemmed decorations of the dome, … fire enwrapped the side-altars, and shrivelled the jewelled idols at a breath, . . fire unfastened and shook down the swinging-lamps, the garlands, the splendid draperies of silk and cloth-of-gold…fire — fire everywhere! … and the madly affrighted multitude, stunned by the abrupt shock of terror, stood for a moment paralyzed and inert, . . then, with one desperate yell of wild brute fear and ferocity, they rushed headlong in a struggling, shrieking, cursing, sweltering swarm toward the great closed portals of the central aisle. As they did so, a tremendous weight of thunder seemed to descend solidly on the roof with a thudding burst as though a thousand walls had been battered down at one blow, . . the whole edifice rocked and trembled in the terrific reverberation, and almost simultaneously, the doors were violently jerked open, wrenched from their hinges, and hurled, all burning and split with flame, against the forward-fighting crowds! Several hundred fell under the fiery mass, a charred heap of corpses, — the raging remainder pressed on in frenzied haste, clambering over piles of burning dead, — trampling on scorched, disfigured faces that perhaps but a moment since had been dear to them, — each and all bent on forcing a way out to the open air. In the midst of the overwhelming awfulness of the scene, Theos still retained sufficient presence of mind to remember that, whatever happened, his first care must be for Sah-luma, . . always for Sah-luma, no matter who else perished! … and he now held that beloved comrade closely clasped by the arm, while he eagerly glanced about him on every side for some outlet through which to make a good and swift escape.

  The most immediate place of safety seemed to be the Inner Sanctuary of Nagaya, . . it was untouched by the flames, and its Titanic pillars of brass and bronze suggested, in their very massiveness, a nearly impregnable harbor of refuge. The King had fled thither, and now stood, like a statue of undaunted gloomy amazement, beside Lysia, who on her part appeared literally frozen with terror. Her large, startled eyes, roving here and there in helpless anxiety, alone gave any animation to the deathly, rigid whiteness of her face, and she still mechanically supported the Sacred Ebony Staff, without apparently being aware of the fact that the Snake Deity,
convulsed through all his coils with fright, had begun to make there-from his rapid DESCENT. The priests, the virgins, — the poor, unhappy little singing children, — flocked hurriedly together, and darted to the back of the great Shrine, in the manifest intention of reaching some private way of egress known only to themselves, — but their attempts were evidently frustrated, for no sooner had they gone than they sped back again, their faces scorched and blackened, and uttering cries and woeful lamentations they flung themselves wildly among the struggling crowds in the main body of the Temple, and fought for life in the jaws of death, every one for Self, and no one for another! Volumes of smoke rolled up from the ground, in thick and suffocating clouds, accompanied by incessant sharp reports like the close firing of guns, . . jets of flame and showers of cinders broke forth fountain-like, scattering hot destruction on every hand, . . while a few flying sparks caught the end of the “Silver Veil” — and withered it into nothingness with one bright resolute flare!