Lisfer of the ten realms! The Seagull went up your rivers, along your coasts, slept in your harbors. To the daughters of Nirvanir, your life appears harsher and more active, and yet labor does not forget beauty. The eyes of your young women are reflected in their eyes while they seek a mutual exchange of thoughts. Your rudely-wooded mountains loom over them. Your cascades expand in veils of foam in your rocky gullies. Your lakes extend on your windswept plateaux. But everywhere, there is benevolent brightness. Two lunar cycles of Oriah pass by every 74 days.
Although the Drymeans only have their pole star for a few months of the year, their navigators, following indications provided by the suns, have discovered the compass. Momentarily, Hertha wondered whether she ought to set a course south-westwards to reach the realm of Sands, but she did not feel that she had the right to risk other lives than her own for the sake of vague curiosity. For there was open sea between Lisfer and Nirvanir. Couriers traversed it continually during the endless day, but now the period of nights was beginning.
The Seagull set forth over the long billows. All day long the steel wheel whipped the sea, and during the brief night searchlights scanned the waves. The wheezing engine pushed eastwards. There was sometimes bad weather; the clouds might cover the suns and the winds whistle—but the Seagull advanced like an arrow. The young women raised eyes full of confidence toward their leader when unstable air darkened the horizon. Then, the waves became clement again, and when the brief stars appeared one evening, Nirvanir emerge slowly from the wave.
At the first port, Hertha sent warning to the queen; then, the following morning, the Seagull resumed her journey toward the capital. With her tall masts, the ship could not travel along the canals. Joy radiated from the faces of the daughters of Nirvanir. They had shown themselves gentle and docile throughout the voyage, but they had endured the dread and sadness of separation. Nevea showed herself to their eyes in every crisis; they turned their hearts and gazes toward her. Standing at her post, she inspired feelings of security, but in her absence, everything crumbled.
An obscure regret rose up in Hertha. That unity of ship and crew, which had made the vessel almost a living being beneath her hand, was about to break. She saw her companions, leaning on the rail, reciting the names of familiar horizons. For months, they joys and difficulties had been united. Doubtless they had been astonished that Nevea, dominating everything—humans and things alike—from her station, had wanted to go further, ever further. But now, finally, they were seeing Nirvanir again!
VII. The Return
A few hours later, the Seagull anchored in the royal port of Nirvanir, at the foot of the palace. Months of issuing commands, always obeyed, constant responsibility, and distant skies, had hardened Hertha’s face, tightened her lips, deepened her eyes. Old Helgar, on seeing her standing there, tall and strong in her leather garments, would almost have acknowledged her as a son, without the abundant blonde hair that fell over her shoulders. On arriving in Nirvanir, however, she took care to put on the white costume of a daughter of the royal blood again, with the silver sun on her forehead and the jewels that Nyve had give her on days of celebration. The city seemed to her to be a welcoming homeland. She had left something of her life there.
Queen Nacrysa received her with visible pleasure. She spoke to her on the same terrace where she had once invoked anxiety.
“Nevea, I experience more joy in seeing you again than I would have thought. I have no more to fear from that torment that you wear around you. A new influence has arisen in the realm: Nyve, my daughter, who is everywhere called the Princess of the Little Girls. I don’t know how she has found among the virgins or women of my realm those who support her work, but it’s said that in travelling through Nirvanir she had caused to emerge from their hearts or skillful fingers harmonious drawings, enchanted tales and ingenious prudence for the joy and health of the smiling people of tomorrow. ‘You should not be jealous, Mother,’ she said to me, at the outset, ‘if I reign over the children; I’m still very young.’ I sensed her thought then, but like a benevolent star, not like the devouring suns. If she is the idol of little girls, she does not neglect her duty at all. She consults the sages and her actions are all that my heart can desire for the realm—and I am satisfied.
“I know what you part was in this; I’ve read all that you wrote to Nyve, and I know your heart. What I love is that you said to her: ‘Consult the Queen and the best; their wisdom is polished by the experience of centuries, and mine is foreign.’ You may see her again now. I’ve notified her of your arrival. She’s waiting for you in the Summer Land. You may go.”
The golden sun still reigned in the sky when the Seagull came in sight of the Summer Palace. Hertha quickly took her ship to the quay. Scarcely was she among the flowers of the park when she saw Nyve coming. She seemed more beautiful than before, and her face was radiant. Power in the service of generosity is a rare encounter. Hertha thought of a line by a Greek poet: Equal to goddesses, save for immortality.38
They looked at one another momentarily, their hands interlaced in the silence that is the homeland of souls. Around them, summer was triumphant. Then Hertha took the Princess in her arms and kissed her gently on the forehead, for the first time. The kiss was like a prayer, for it thanked God for having permitted her an amour.
When the stars appeared, they were still in conversation beside the calm lake. Hertha confessed that she had sometimes been afraid on the violent sea—not for herself, but for others. It had been necessary to smile as she gave her orders, though, for the daughters of Nivanir turned to her as if she had the tempest in her hand. As well as the bleak solitudes of the waves, there were the resplendent cities of Drymea. Hertha’s memories appeared in Nyve’s eyes and the golden dawn rose on her slumber. The heavy burden of those months abandoned her. Nyve stayed momentarily, leaning over the motionless Nevea, but her Duty drew her away.
When she came back, Hertha felt at home again in the Palace. Then, Nyve said: “How I regretted your departure! I often prayed to the Goddess for you. I was no dupe, but my mother said nothing to me about the true reason for your going away. You can admit it now. Why did you leave me, my friend, in spite of your own wishes, and mine?”
“You want the truth,” said Hertha, smiling. “I left because I wanted time to efface the mark I had made on you. I want to love you, my Princess, and not myself in you. I feared my empire over your soul. Was I wrong? You are worth more than a charming reflection, Nyve. My words might seem to you to be full of foolish pride, but you must judge me as if I had passed the portals of death. You seem to think, daughter of this world, that I am a goddess without sin or stain. I’m only human, oppressed by my race. I refused the Veil, the Shadow and the Cup because I was afraid for you. I know how dangerous the Forces are with which you were playing; space does not exist for them, and on my Earth, I knew something about them. So, I did not want to become the mistress of your soul. To set you free, I put a world between us. I loved you more highly than you did yourself; I have returned you to yourself. Will you forgive me for the pain I caused you? Mine has been heavy too.”
Nyve with the soft eyes smiled and asked: “What is that unfamiliar caress, when you placed you lips on my forehead? Nirvanir shall know it because of you.”
“The gesture of the best friendship,” said Hertha.
“And who taught you that?”
Hertha reviewed ages past. Her mother, who never complained, her sister Mary, the support of the little girl or the bright-faced adolescent, and her father, hard Helgar, mild for her. The dark Helen, her unique friend. Grief came back into her beautiful features, for, other than that, she had never loved.
“This is my response, if I forgive you,” said Nyve, having listened to Hertha. She kissed her on the forehead, not without a hint of awkwardness. “Now I want to prove to you my Princess’s knowledge, for I know how to command. I have learned that since your departure. I cannot call you my subject, when I see the star of Flormal on your forehead, bu
t you can promise me obedience to one of my wishes.” She rested her dark head lightly on Hertha’s shoulder, in a familiar gesture.
“What do you want from me, Nyve, my Nyve!” Hertha exclaimed, slightly intoxicated by the joy of her return, the success of her voyage and the assurance of further triumphs. “Must I build you a palace under the sea? Shall we travel all over Drymea with the wings of a bird? Should we fathom the abyss of the waves? Conquer the realm of the Sands? Were you ask me, my Princess with the soft eyes, for Oriah or Nynfa, for voyages without end, I would be able to give them to you—because, for you, save for combating the black spirit of death, nothing seems impossible for me.”
Nyve looked at her friend as a little girl of legend admires a marvelous fairy, but she replied, not without a certain malice: “It’s much easier to do, and you’ll have nothing to regret. The Queen won’t reproach you for having said yes. You see, Nevea, and now, obey me if you love me!”
For once, the blonde virgin, descendant of a hard race, understood that it is sweet to yield when the heart alone commands. “I will obey!” she said.
“You will not leave without my accompanying you—for I tremble at your danger. At least, if misfortune arrives, we shall depart together for the land of the Goddess.”
“What are you saying?” Hertha exclaimed. “I have only my life to lose. I am justified in having lived, now, for it was not in vain—but you support a realm.”
“I believed so,” said Nyve, “but I believe it less. You have upset the universe in which I was complacent. What is Nirvanir, what is Drymea, in the infinity that you described?”
“To think thus, you are equal to your position. You bear heavy responsibilities, but you must and you can be worthy of them. You will see, as it was written in my world, the stars ‘snowing’ in the skies. You know that.”
“Nevea, who has revealed so much to me, and who speaks to me of eternity, I would like to hear about the sweetness of your world. It must exist. You have shown me its dark and cold side, its harsh power, its inhuman science that guided you, and that you did not guide, although it was yours—but nothing of its heart.
“You have told me about wealth, knowledge, the actions of your companions, but how strange they seem to me. Some were friends, faithful auxiliaries, but none was able to love you. Out there, however, you must have encountered gentle virgins. Does there ever exist among you, daughters of a powerful and icy world, profound gazes, caressing hands and words more caressing still? Tresses that mingle when one hears a sincere heart beating? You have never told me about such things. Nevea, Nevea, have you ever loved?”
Lord! Thought Hertha. I have never loved. Nyve is right without knowing it, but in her ignorance, what is she asking me?
“People also love on my world,” she said, “but my life was submissive to cold reason. I had seen too many faces while too young. I set before my eyes a model that overstretched my will. Glacial intelligence ruled my heart. I loved the vast world, I served duty, and chose no one. I was two years older than you when I arrived in Kartha, where my sister reigned. I became a piece of the machine of State. Add ambition, work and pride. You cannot imagine the rigid mechanism that we constructed: hard and just, in which everyone turned her wheel. That realm, regarded as a model, we submitted to iron regulation. Implacable organization, precise efficiency, bleak equity. I judge Drymea better! Many lies deceive naïve hearts. The wicked mingle with the good on my cruel Earth. You know how unfortunates and innocent children were dying of poverty.”
“I don’t understand,” said Nyve. “Your science, so great, your machines, so industrious—what purpose did that serve? Your land produced everything; you had tamed it. Why the poverty of humans amid the wealth of humankind?”
“We had not tamed our hearts. Power belonged to a few. They did not want to and could not produce anything except for those who were able to exchange with them. The most useless objects were fabricated for the rich who wanted them, but in famished countries, the wheat was stolen to sell to others. Nyve with the soft eyes, you cannot believe that—but it was so.”
“You also spoke to me about the Goddess with the welcoming arms worshipped by your white race. She ordered you to love one another, to forgive one another’s sins. Now, I only see queens or subjects obedient to those precepts. You have translated for us the book of your Goddess, which your sister of Earth gave to you. You do what she wishes—but what of the others?”
“Alas,” said Hertha, “there were temples and priestesses in multitudes, but those who believed in the Goddess—for many refused to worship her—served her with their mouths, not their hearts. Rich people and queens, for a thousand years and more, spilled blood while justifying themselves in her name. In my childhood, in the Occident, innocent multitudes were sacrificed to the ambition of the few. Those who caused their deaths said to their people: The Goddess is with us; she approves this murder! Or they talked about right and justice, faces of the veiled Being. If some did not want to obey and shed the blood of others, the queens and the powerful had them tried by judges who always condemned them to death. Wickedness governed for years; goodness and sincerity were not the stronger. The mouth said yes, the heart said no.”
Nyve shivered. “I understand that your world had expelled you because you were too good. But on death, will you go to your Goddess, and I to mine? Will we be separated for eternity?”
Hertha was momentarily amused. She became serious again in order to reply. “You worship the veiled Being, sincerely. But the Goddess with the welcoming arms said: ‘In my Mother’s house, there are many mansions.’ Yours will receive me, if I merit it. Banish all anxiety, little Princess of dreams. In the Infinite reigns the Unique!”
In the clear warm night, Hertha wondered whether Prince Charming might not have given better answers than her to the Princess’s questions—but it was as well that he had not come. Would the child with the soft eyes have understood him? Son of a hard-hearted race, would he not have broken her?
VIII. Northwards
“You’ve told me tales of your world,” said Nyve. “I know why you like to call me your Princess with the soft eyes; it reminds you of your childhood and your dreams: a thousand images of beauty, devotion and generosity, more brilliant than Earth and Drymea, for your soul has no limits.”
“I do indeed, my Princess, put many ideas into those words. I think about your future grandeur. Beautiful Nirvanir will name you its queen, and I shall serve you beside your white throne.”
Once again, they were as they had been on Nyve’s birthday, before the already-distant departure into the realm. Gazing at pale Oriah, Nyve said: “I think that I might call you my distant and charming Princess, you who have taught me so much about the heavens and worlds, of yours and even of mine. Listen to my question. Do people in your world love as we do in Nirvanir? You must know that, Nevea, and yet, you never loved there—you would have told me, for you love me too much to deceive me. Even your dark Helen, your faithful friend, was not your beloved. No one was your beloved!”
No, Hertha thought, not one.
“But on Drymea, I am your Nyve with the soft eyes. I know that, for your soul shines brightly for me. You are my strength and my joy, you lift me higher by your gaze alone. I am not taking into consideration what you have done for Drymea, for Nirvanir, for me. I see only Nevea, who gives. You feel no difficulty or burden on my account, and do not excuse yourself the impossible. You would kill yourself for me! Compared with Nevea, I am weak and unarmed, but you bend to my smile, except when you want something better for me than I do. I can say, however, that I am not looking for anything in you, for then I would love you less. You sometimes call me daughter of Eden, the garden of innocence—but would your world have been able to love you like your Princess of the soft eyes, since it pleases you to name me thus?”
Hertha replied slowly: “There are few on Earth who know what you know. The majority are egotists. They love themselves in the beloved, not her. There is often a disturbing e
lement of strength and tyranny, or personal pleasure, mingled in terrestrial amours. More than half of the inhabitants of my Earth, on my departure, knew domination rather than love. It is difficult for me to explain clearly a planet different in its souls—for you ought not to judge the others by me. Nyve, Drymea is worth more in terms of love than the Earth.”
After that judgment, there was a silence.
In truth, Hertha thought, Nyve has spoken to me as amour would have spoken to me on my world, But there is no abyss her between amour and amity. Among us, the amorous couple breaks friendship for others, and sometimes itself. Why are there frontiers between sentiments? The crushing crown on the head of old Eros has dazzled everyone. But I ought not to dream about the past. Here, friendship is lifelong, if desired. Are you right, little Princess? Would I have found a heart equal to yours on Earth? Since the Azure Isle, I have promised to forget. In my strange adventure, of which my youth never dreamed, I must act according to the law of Drymea, and Nyve will be the only amour of my life. Of the two of us, one will be happy according to the avowal of her race!
Then, on the tenebrous sea, fires appeared: ships with two lights, red and green. Abruptly, a beam shot into the sky, and another; then the luminous beams fell back and began to search the shore. Momentarily, it passed over Hertha and Nyve.
“There are…ten,” the blonde woman counted. “They are responding, gladly, to the call of the sea.”
“My beloved,” said Nyve, with a smile, “you have not had confidence in me. Come on—I understand your silence! You have built palaces under the sea to please me. You have launched your flying machines into the air—Aeracs, as you call them. You have not forgotten Flormal and its blue islands. You have been working for us. Inert matter has been better educated to obey us. But I see your eyes fix upon the horizon. Your race still lives in your heart. You have not said anything, however, because you fear for me. Those ships, the best in Nirvanir, await your orders, along with your Seagull. The Queen consents to your departure—and mine! These days at sea will be my repose.”
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