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

possessed by the haunting vision of Lysia—a vision half-human, half-divine —a beautiful, magical, irresistible Sweetness that allured his soul, and roused within him a wordless passion of infinite desire.

 

He exchanged not a syllable with Sahluma—an indefinable yet tacit understanding existed between them,—an intuitive foreknowledge and subtle perception of each other’s character, intentions, and aims, that for the moment rendered speech unnecessary. And there was something, after all, in the profound silence of the night that, while strange, was also eloquent—

eloquent of meanings, unutterable, such as lie hidden in the scented cups of flowers when lovers gather them on idle summer afternoons and weave them into posies for one another’s wearing.

How fleetly the gilded, shell-shaped car sped on its way!—trees, houses, bridges, domes, and cupolas, seemed to fly past in a varied whirl of glistening color! Now and again a cluster of fire-flies broke from some thicket of shade and danced drowsily by in sparkling tangles of gold and green; here and there from great open squares and branch-shadowed gardens gleamed the stone face of an obelisk, or the white column of a fountain; while over all things streamed the long prismatic rays flung forth from the revolving lights in the Twelve Towers of the Sacred Temple, like flaming spears ranged lengthwise against the limitless depth of the midnight horizon. With straining necks, tossed manes, and foam flying from their nostrils, Sahluma’s fiery coursers dashed onward at almost lightning speed, and the journey became a wild, headstrong rush through the dividing air—a rush toward some voluptuous end, dimly discerned, yet indefinite!

 

At last they stopped. Before them rose a lofty building, crested with fantastic pinnacles such as are formed by ice on the roof in times of intense cold; a great gate stood open, and pacing slowly up and down in front of it was a tall slave in white tunic and turban, who, turning his gleaming eyeballs on Sahluma, nodded by way of salutation, and then uttered a sharp, peculiar whistle.

This summons brought out two curious, dwarfish figures of men, whose awkward misshapen limbs resembled the contorted branches of wind-blown trees, and whose coarse and repulsive countenances betokened that malignant delight in evil-doing which only demons are supposed to know. These ungainly servitors possessed themselves of the Laureate’s chafing steeds, and led them and the chariot away into some unseen courtyard; while the Laureate himself, still saying no word, kept fast hold of his companion’s arm, and hurried him along a dark avenue overshadowed with thick boughs that drooped heavily downward to the ground—a solitary place where the intense quiet was disturbed only by the occasional drip, drip of dewy moisture trickling tearfully from the leaves, or the sweet, faint, gurgling sound of fountains playing somewhere in the distance.

 

On they went for several paces, till at a sharp bend in the moss-grown path, an amethystine light broke full between the arched green branches; directly in front of them glimmered a broad piece of water, and out of the purple-tinted depths rose the white, nude, lovely form of a woman, whose rounded, outstretched arms appeared to beckon them, . . whose mouth smiled in mingled malice and sweetness, . . and round whose looped-up tresses sparkled a diadem of sapphire flame. With a cry of astonishment and ecstacy Theos sprang forward: Sahluma held him back in laughing remonstrance.

 

“Wilt drown for a statue’s sake?” he inquired mirthfully. “By my soul, good Theos, if thy wits thus wander at sight of a witching, marble nymph illumed by electric glamours, what will become of thee when thou art face to face with living, breathing loveliness!

Come, thou hotheaded neophyte! thou shalt not waste thy passion on images of stone, I warrant thee! Come!”

 

But Theos stood still. His eyes roved from Sahluma to the glittering statue and from the statue back again to Sahluma in mingled doubt and dread. A vague foreboding filled his mind, he fancied that a bevy of mocking devils peered at him from out the wooded labyrinth, … and that Sin was the name of the white siren yonder, whose delicate body seemed to palpitate with every slow ripple of the surrounding waters. He hesitated,—with that often saving hesitation a noble spirit may feel ere willfully yielding to what it instinctively knows to be wrong,—and for the briefest possible space an imperceptible line was drawn between his own self-consciousness and the fascinating personality of his lately found friend—a line that parted them asunder as though by a gulf of centuries.

 

“Sahluma,” he said, in a tremulous, low tone, “tell me truly,—is it good for us to be here?”

 

Sahluma regarded him in wide-eyed amazement.

 

“Good? good?” he repeated with a sort of impatient disdain. “What dost thou mean by ‘good’? What is good? What is evil? Canst thou tell? If so, thou art wiser than I! Good to be here? If it is good to drown remembrance of the world in draughts of pleasure; if it is good to love and be beloved; if it is good to ENJOY, aye! enjoy with burning zest every pulsation of the blood and every beat of the heart, and to feel that life is a fiery delight, an exquisite dream of drained-off rapture, then it is good to be here! If,” and he caught Theos’s hand in his own warm palm and pressed it, while his voice sank to a soft and infinitely caressing sweetness, “if it is good to climb the dizzy heights of joy and drowse in the deep sunshine of amorous eyes, . . to slip away on elfin wings into the limitless freedom of Love’s summerland, … to rifle rich kisses from warm lips even as rosebuds are rifled from the parent rose, and to forget! …—to forget all bitter things that are best forgotten—”

 

“Enough, enough!” cried Theos, fired with a reckless impulse of passionate ardor. “On, on, Sahluma! I follow thee! On! let us delay no more!”

 

At that moment a far-off strain of music saluted his ears—music evidently played on stringed instruments. It was accompanied by a ringing clash of cymbals; he listened, and listening, saw a smile lighten Sahluma’s features—a smile sweet, yet full of delicate mockery. Their eyes met; a wanton impetuosity flashed like reflected flame from one face to the other, and then, without another instant’s pause, they hurried on.

 

Across a broad, rose-marbled terrace garlanded with a golden wealth of orange-trees and odorous oleanders.. … under a trellis-work covered with magnolias whose half-shut, ivory-tinted buds glistened in the moonlight like large suspended pearls, . .

then through a low-roofed stone-corridor, close and dim, lit only by a few flickering oil-lamps placed at far intervals, . . then on they went, till at last, ascending three red granite steps on which were carved some curious hieroglyphs, they plunged into what seemed to be a vast jungle enclosed in some dense tropical forest.

What a strange, unsightly thicket of rank verdure was here, thought Theos! … it was as though Nature, grown tired of floral beauty, had, in a sudden malevolent mood, purposely torn and blurred the fair green frondage and twisted every bud awry! Great, jagged leaves covered with prickles and stained all over with blotches as of spilt poison, . . thick brown stems glistening with slimy moisture and coiled up like the sleeping bodies of snakes, . .

masses of purple and blue fungi, . . and blossoms seemingly of the orchid species, some like fleshy tongues, others like the waxen yellow fingers of a dead hand, protruded spectrally through the matted foliage,—while all manner of strange, overpowering odors increased the swooning oppressiveness of the sultry, languorous air.

 

This uncouth botanical garden was apparently roofed in by a lofty glass dome, decorated with hangings of watery-green silk, but the grotesque trees and plants grew to so enormous a height that it was impossible to tell which were the falling draperies and which the straggling leaves. Curious birds flew hither and thither, voiceless creatures, scarlet and amber winged; a huge gilded brazier stood in one corner from whence ascended the constant smoke of burning incense, and there were rose-shaded lamps all about, that shed a subdued mysterious lustre on the scene, and bestowed a pale glitter on a few fantastic clumps of arums and nodding lotus-flowers that lazily lifted themselves out of a greenish pool of stagnant water sunk deeply in on one side of the marble flooring. Theos, holding Sahluma’s arm, stepped eagerly across the threshold; he was brimful of expectation: . . and what mattered it to him whether the weed-like things that grew in this strange pavilion were pure or poisonous, provided he might look once more upon the witching face that long ago had so sweetly enticed him to his ruin! … Stay! what was he thinking of? Long ago? Nay, that was impossible,—since he had only seen the Priestess Lysia for the first time that very morning! How piteously perplexing it was to be thus tormented with these indistinct ideas!—these half-formed notions of previous intimate acquaintance with persons and places he never could have known before!

 

All at once he drew back with a startled exclamation; an enormous tigress, sleek and jewel-eyed, bounded up from beneath a tangled mass of red and yellow creepers and advanced toward him with a low savage snarl.

 

“Peace, Aizif, peace;” said Sahluma, carelessly patting the animal’s head. “Thou art wont to be wiser in distinguishing ‘twixt thy friends and foes.” Then turning to Theos he added—“She is harmless as a kitten, this poor Aizif! Call her, good Theos, she will come to thy hand—see!” and he smiled, as Theos, not to be outdone by his companion in physical courage, bent forward and stroked the cruel-looking beast, who, while submitting to his caress, never for a moment ceased her smothered snarling.

Presently, however, she was seized with a sudden fit of savage playfulness,—and throwing herself on the ground before him, she rolled her lithe body to and fro with brief thirsty roars of satisfaction, . . roars that echoed through the whole pavilion with terrific resonance: then rising, she shook herself vigorously and commenced a stealthy, velvet-footed pacing up and down, lashing her tail from side to side, and keeping those sly, emerald-like eyes of hers watchfully fixed on Sahluma, who merely laughed at her fierce antics. Leaning against one of the dark, gnarled trees, he tapped his sandaled foot with some impatience on the marble pavement, while Theos, standing close beside him, wondered whether the mysterious Lysia knew of their arrival.

 

Sahluma appeared to guess his thoughts, for he answered them as though they had been spoken aloud.

 

“Yes,” he said, “she knows we are here—she knew the instant we entered her gates. Nothing is or can be hidden from her! He who would have secrets must depart out of Al-Kyris and find some other city to dwell in, . . for here he shall be unable to keep even his own counsel. To Lysia all things are made manifest; she reads human nature as one reads an open scroll, and with merciless analysis she judges men as being very poor creatures, limited in their capabilities, disappointing and monotonous in their passions, unproductive and circumscribed in their destinies. To her ironical humor and icy wit the wisest sages seem fools; she probes them to the core, and discovers all their weaknesses; . . she has no trust in virtue, no belief in honesty. And she is right!

Who but a madman would be honest in these days of competition and greed of gain? And as for virtue, ‘tis a pretty icicle that melts at the first touch of a hot temptation! Aye! the Virgin Priestess of Nagaya hath a most profound comprehension of mankind’s immeasurable brute stupidity; and, strong in this knowledge, she governs the multitude with iron will,