Ardath by Marie Corelli (reading in the dark .txt) 📖

became quite deafening to his ears. Richly ornamented chariots drawn by spirited horses, and driven by personages whose attire seemed to be a positive blaze of gold and gems, rolled past in a continuous procession,—fruit-sellers, carrying their lovely luscious merchandise in huge gilded moss-wreathed baskets, stood at almost every corner,—flower-girls, fair as flowers, bore aloft in their gracefully upraised arms wide wicker trays, overflowing with odorous blossoms tied into clusters and wreaths,—and there were countless numbers of curious little open square carts to which mules, wearing collars of bells, were harnessed, the tinkle-tinkle of their constant passage through the throng making incessant merry music. These vehicles bore the names of traders,—

purveyors in wine and dealers in all sorts of provisions,—but with the exception of such necessary business caterers, the streets were full of elegant loungers of both sexes, who seemed to have nothing whatever to do but amuse themselves.

 

The women were especially noticeable for their lazy grace of manner,—they glided to and fro with an indolent floating ease that was indescribably bewitching,—the more so as many of them were endowed with exquisite beauty of form and feature,—beauty greatly enhanced by the artistic simplicity of their costume.

 

This was composed of a straight clinging gown, slightly gathered at the throat, and bound about the waist with a twisted girdle of silver, gold, and, in some cases, jewels,—their arms, like those of the men, were bare, and their small, delicate feet were protected by sandals fastened with crossed bands of ribbon coquettishly knotted. The arrangement of their hair was evidently a matter of personal taste, and not the slavish copying of any set fashion,—some allowed it to hang in loosely flowing abundance over their shoulders,—others had it closely braided, or coiled carelessly in a thick soft mass at the top of the head,—but all without exception wore white veils,—veils, long, transparent, and filmy as gossamer, which they flung back or draped about them at their pleasure … and presently, after watching several of these fairy creatures pass by and listening to their low laughter and dulcet speech, a sudden memory leaped into Alwyn’s confused brain,—an old, old memory that seemed to have lain hidden among his thoughts for centuries,—the memory of a story called “LAMIA”

told in verse as delicious as music aptly played. Who wrote the story? … He could not tell,—but he recollected that it was about a snake in the guise of a beautiful woman. And these women in this strange city looked as if they also had a snake-like origin,—there was something so soft and lithe and undulating about their movements and gestures. Weary of walking, distracted by the ever-increasing clamor, and feeling lost among the crowd, he at last perceived a wide and splendid square, surrounded wild stately houses, and having in its centre a huge, white granite obelisk which towered like a pillar of snow against the dense blue of the sky. Below it a massively sculptured lion, also of white granite, lay couchant, holding a shield between its paws,—and on either side two fine fountains were in full play, the delicate spiral columns of water being dashed up beyond the extreme point of the obelisk, so that its stone face was wet and glistening with the tossing rainbow shower.

 

Here he turned aside out of the main thoroughfare,—there were tall, shady trees all about, and fantastically carved benches underneath them, … he determined to sit down and rest, and steadily THINK OUT his involved and peculiar condition of mind.

 

As he passed the sculptured lion, he saw certain words engraved on the shield it held,—they were … “THROUGH THE LION AND THE

SERPENT SHALL AL-KYRIS FLOURISH.”

 

There was no disorder in his intelligence concerning this sentence,—he was able to read it clearly and comprehensively, …

and yet … WHAT was the language in which it was written, and how did he come to know it so thoroughly? … With a sigh that was almost a groan, he sank listlessly on a seat, and burying his head in his hands to shut out all the strange sights which so direfully perplexed his reason, he began to subject himself to a patient, serious cross-examination.

 

In the first place … WHO WAS HE? Part of the required answer came readily,—THEOS. Theos what? His brain refused to clear up this point,—it repeated THEOS—THEOS,—over and over again, but no more!

 

Shuddering with a vague dread, he asked himself the next question, … FROM WHENCE HAD HE COME? The reply was direct and decisive—

FROM ARDATH.

 

But what was ARDATH? It was neither a country nor a city—it was a “waste field,” where he had seen. … ah! WHOM had he seen? He struggled furiously with himself for some response to this, …

none came! Total dumb blankness was the sole result of the inward rack to which he subjected his thoughts!

 

And where had he been before he ever saw Ardath? … had he NO

recollection of any other place, any other surroundings?—

ABSOLUTELY NONE!—torture his wits as he would,—ABSOLUTELY NONE!

… This was frightful … incredible! … Surely, surely, he mused piteously, there must have been something in his life before the name of “Ardath” had swamped his intelligence! …

 

He lifted his head, … his face had grown ashen gray and rigid in the deep extremity of his speechless trouble and terror,—there was a sick faintness at his heart, and rising, he moved unsteadily to one of the great fountains, and there dipping his hands in the spray, he dashed some drops on his brow and eyes. Then, making a cup of the hollowed palms, he drank thirstily several draughts of the cool, sweet water,—it seemed to allay the fever in his blood.

…

 

He looked around him with a wild, vague smile,—Al-Kyris! … of course! … he was in Al-Kyris!—why was he so distressed about it? It was a pleasant city,—there was much to see,—and also much to learn! … At that instant a loud blast of silver-toned trumpets split the air, followed by a storm-roar of distant acclamation surging up from thousands of throats,—crowds of men and women suddenly flocked into the Square, across it, and out of it again, all pressing impetuously in one direction,—and urged forward by the general rush as well as by a corresponding impulse within himself, he flung all meditation to the winds, and plunged recklessly into the shouting, onsweeping throng. He was borne swiftly with it down a broad avenue lined with grand old trees and decked with flying flags and streamers, to the margin of a noble river, as still as liquid amber in the wide sheen and heat of the noonday sun. A splendid marble embankment, adorned with colossal statues, girdled it on both sides,—and here, under silken awnings of every color, pattern and design, an enormous multitude was assembled,—its white attired, closely packed ranks stretching far away into the blue distance on either hand.

 

All the attention of this vast concourse appeared to be centered on the slow approach of a strange, gilded vessel, that with great curved prow and scarlet sails flapping idly in the faint breeze, was gliding leisurely yet majestically over the azure blaze of the smooth water. Huge oars like golden fins projected from her sides and dipped lazily every now and then, apparently wielded by the hands of invisible rowers, whose united voices supplied the lack of the needful wind,—and as he caught sight of this cumbrously quaint galley, Theos, moved by sudden interest, elbowed his way resolutely though the dense crowd till he gained the edge of the embankment, where leaning against the marble balustrade, he watched with a curious fascination its gradual advance.

 

Nearer and nearer it came, … brighter and brighter glowed the vivid scarlet of its sails, … a solemn sound of stringed music rippled enchantingly over the glassy river, mingling itself with the wild shouting of the populace,—shouting that seemed to rend the hollow vault of heaven! … Nearer … nearer … and now the vessel slid round and curtsied forward, … its propelling fins moved more rapidly … another graceful sweep,—and lo! it fronted the surging throng like a glittering, fantastic Apparition drawn out of dreamland! …

 

Theos stared at it, dazzled and stricken with a half-blind breathless wonder,—was ever a ship like this he thought?—a ship that sparkled all over as though it were carven out of one great burning jewel? … Golden hangings, falling in rich, loose folds, draped it gorgeously from stem to stern,—gold cordage looped the sails,—on the deck a band of young gals clad in white, and crowned with flowers, knelt, playing softly on quaintly shaped instruments,—and a cluster of tiny, semi-nude boys, fair as young cupids, were grouped in pretty reposeful attitudes along the edge of the gilded prow holding garlands of red and yellow blossoms which trailed down to the surface of the water beneath.

 

As a half-slumbering man may note a sudden brilliant glare of sunshine flashing on the wall of his sleeping-chamber, so Theos at first viewed this floating pageant in confused, uncomprehending bewilderment, … when all at once his stupefied senses were roused to hot life and pulsing action,—with a smothered cry of ecstasy he fixed his straining, eager gaze on one supreme, fair Figure,—the central Glory of the marvellous picture! …

 

A Woman or a Goddess?—a rainbow Flame in mortal shape?—a spirit of earth, air, fire, water? … or a Thought of Beauty embodied into human sweetness and made perfect? … Clothed in gold attire, and girdled with gems, she stood, leaning indolently against the middle mast of the vessel, her great, sombre, dusky eyes resting drowsily on the swarming masses of people, whose frenzied roar of rapture and admiration sounded like the breaking of billows.

 

Presently, with a slow, solemn smile on her haughtily curved lips, she extended one hand and arm, snow-white and glittering with jewels, and made an imperious gesture to command silence.

Instantly a profound hush ensued. Lifting a long, slender, white wand, at the end of which could be plainly seen the gleaming silver head of a Serpent, she described three circles in the air with a perfectly even, majestic motion, and as she did this, her marvellous eyes turned toward Theos, and dwelt steadily upon him.

 

He met her gaze fully, absorbing into his inmost soul the mesmeric spell of her matchless loveliness,—he saw, without actually realizing the circumstance, that the whole vast multitude around him had fallen prostrate in an attitude of worship,—and still he stood erect, drinking in the warmth of those dark, witching, sleepy orbs that flashed at him half-resentfully, half-mockingly, . . and then, . . the beauty-burdened ship began to sway gently, and move onwards,—she, that wondrous Siren-Queen was vanishing,—vanishing!—she and her kneeling maidens, and music, and flowers,—vanishing … Where?

 

With a start he sprang from his post of observation,—he felt he must go after her at all risks,—he must find out her place of abode,—her rank,—her title,—her name! … All at once he was roughly seized by a dozen or more of hands,—loud, angry voices shouted on all sides.. “A traitor! … a traitor!” … “An infidel!”

 

“A spy!” “A malcontent!”

 

“Into the river with him!”

 

“He refuses worship!” “He denies the gods!”

 

“Bear him to the Tribunal!”.. And in a trice of time, he was completely surrounded and hemmed in by an exasperated, gesticulating crowd, whose ominous looks and indignant mutterings were plainly significant of prompt hostility. With a few agile movements he succeeded in wrenching himself free from the grasp of his assailants, and standing among them like a stag at bay he cried:

 

“What have I done? How have I offended? Speak! Or is it the fashion of Al-Kyris to condemn a man unheard?”

 

No one answered this appeal,—the very directness of it