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

intellectual force, and dictative firmness: . . when she dies I know not what will happen.”

 

Here he interrupted himself, and a dark shadow crossed his brows.

“By my soul!” he muttered, “how this thought of death haunts me like the unburied corpse of a slain foe! I would there were no such thing as Death; ‘tis a cruel and wanton sport of the gods to give us life at all if life must end so utterly and so soon!”

 

He sighed deeply. Theos echoed the sigh, but answered nothing. At that moment the restless Aizif gave another appalling roar, and pounced swiftly toward the eastern side of the pavilion, where a large painted panel could be dimly discerned, the subject of the painting being a hideous idol, whose long, half-shut, inscrutable eyes leered through the surrounding foliage with an expression of hateful cunning and malevolence. In front of this panel the tigress lay down, licking the pavement thirstily from time to time and giving vent to short purring sounds of impatience: . . then all suddenly she rose with ears pricked, in an attitude of attention.

The panel slowly moved, it glided back,—and the great brute leaped forward, flinging her two soft paws on the shoulders of the figure that appeared—the figure of a woman, who, clad in glistening gold from head to foot, shone in the dark aperture like a gilded image in a shrine of ebony. Theos beheld the brilliant apparition in some doubt and wonder. Was this Lysia? He could not see her face, as she wore a thick white veil through which only the faintest sparkle of dark eyes glimmered like flickering sunbeams; nor was he able to discern the actual outline of her form, as it was completely enveloped and lost in the wide, shapeless folds of her stiff, golden gown. Yet every nerve in his body thrilled at her presence! … every drop of blood seemed to rush from his heart to his brain in a swift, scorching torrent that for a second blinded his eyes with a red glare and made him faint and giddy.

 

Woman and tigress! They looked strangely alike, he thought, as they stood mutually caressing each other under the great drooping masses of fantastic leaves. Yet where was the resemblance? What possible similarity could there he between a tawny, treacherous brute of the forests, full of sly malice and voracious cruelty, and that dazzling, gold-garmented creature, whose small white hand, flashing with jewels, now tenderly smoothed the black, silken stripes on the sleek coat of her savage favorite?

 

“Down, sweet Aizif, down!” she said, in a grave, dulcet voice as softly languorous as the last note of a love-song. “Down, my gentle one! thou art too fond, down! so!” this as the tigress instantly removed its embracing paws from her neck, and, trembling in every limb, crouched on the ground in abjectly submissive obedience. Another moment, and she advanced leisurely into the pavilion, Aizif slinking stealthily along beside her and seeming to imitate her graceful gliding movements, till she stood within a few paces of Theos and Sahluma, just near the spot where the lotus-flowers swayed over the grass-green, stagnant pool. There she paused, and apparently scrutinized her visitors intently through the folds of her snowy veil. Sahluma bent his head before her in a half haughty, half humble salutation.

 

“The tardy Sahluma!” she said, with an undercurrent of laughter in her musical tones, “the poet who loves the flattery of a foolish king, and the applause of a still more foolish court! And so Khosrul disturbed the flood of thine inspiration tonight, good minstrel? Nay, for that he should die, if for no other crime! And this,” here she turned her veiled features toward Theos, whose heart beat furiously as he caught a luminous flash from those half-hidden, brilliant eyes, “this is the unwitting stranger who honored me by so daring a scrutiny this morning! Verily, thou hast a singularly venturesome spirit of thine own, fair sir! Still, we must honor courage, even though it border on rashness, and I rejoice to see that the wrathful mob of Al-Kyris hath yet left thee man enough to deserve my welcome! Nevertheless thou were guilty of most heinous presumption!” Here she extended her jewelled hand. “Art thou repentant? and wilt thou sue for pardon?”

 

Scarcely conscious of what he did, Theos approached her, and kneeling on one knee took that fair, soft hand in his own and kissed it with passionate fervor.

 

“Criminal as I am,” he murmured tremulously, “I glory in my crime, nor will I seek forgiveness? Nay, rather will I plead, with thee that I may sin so sweet a sin again, and blind myself with beauty unreproved!”

 

Slowly she withdrew her fingers from his clasp.

 

“Thou art bold!” she said, with a touch of indolent amusement in her accents. “But in thy boldness there is something of the hero.

Knowest thou not that I, Lysia, High Priestess of Nagaya, could have thee straightway slain for that unwise speech of thine?—

unwise because over-hasty and somewhat over-familiar. Yes, I could have thee slain!” and she laughed,—a rippling little laugh like that of a pleased child. “Howbeit thou shalt not die this time for thy foolhardiness—thy looks are too much in thy favor! Thou art like Sahluma in his noblest moods, when tired of verse-stringing and sonnet-chanting he condescends to remember that he is not quite divine! See how he chafes at that!” and plucking a lotus-bud she threw it playfully at the Laureate, whose handsome face flushed vexedly at her words. “And thou art prudent, Sir Theos—do I not pronounce thy name aptly?—thou wilt be less petulant than he, and less absorbed in self-adoration, for here men—even poets —are deemed no more than men, and their constant querulous claim to be considered as demi-gods meets with no acceptance! Wilt ‘blind thyself with beauty’ as thou say’st? Well then, lose thine eyes, but guard thy heart!”

 

And with a careless movement she loosened her veil; it fell from her like a soft cloud, and Theos, springing to his feet, gazed upon her with a sense of enraptured bewilderment and passionate pain. It was as though he saw the wraith of some fair, dead woman he had loved of old, risen anew to redemand from him his former allegiance. O, unfamiliar yet well-known face! … O, slumbrous, starry eyes that seemed to hold the memory of a thousand love-thoughts! … O, sweet curved lips whereon a delicious smile rested as softly as sunlight on young rose-petals! Where, . . where, in God’s name, had he seen all this marvelous, witching, maddening loveliness BEFORE? His heart beat with heavy, laboring thuds, . .

his brain reeled, . . a dim, golden, suffused radiance seemed to hover like an aureole above that dazzling white brow, adorned with a clustering wealth of raven-black tresses, whose massive coils were crowned with the strangest sort of diadem—a wreath of small serpents’ heads cunningly fashioned in rubies and rose brilliants, and set in such a manner that they appeared to lift themselves erect from out the dusky hair as though in darting readiness to sting. Full of a vague, wild longing, he instinctively stretched out his arms, . . then on a sudden impulse turned swiftly away, in a dizzy effort to escape from the basilisk fire-gleam of those sombre, haunting eyes that plunged into his inmost soul, and there aroused such dark desires, such retrospective evil, such wild weakness as shamed the betterness of his nature! Sahluma’s clear, mocking laugh just then rang sharply through the perfumed stillness.

 

“Thou mad Theos! Whither art thou bound?” cried the Laureate mirthfully. “Wilt leave our noble hostess ere the entertainment has begun? Ungallant barbarian! What frenzy possesses thee?”

 

These words recalled him to himself. He came back slowly step by step, and with bowed head, to where Lysia stood—Lysia, whose penetrating gaze still rested upon him with strangely fixed intensity.

 

“Forgive me,” he said, in a low, unsteady voice that to his own ears sounded full of suppressed yet passionate appeal. “Forgive me, lady, that for one moment I have seemed discourteous. I am not so, in very truth. Sad fancies fret my brain at times, and—and there is that within thine unveiled beauty which sword-like wounds my soul! I am not joyous natured: …unlike Sahluma, chosen favorite of fortune, I have lost all, all that made my life once seem fair. I am dead to those that loved me, … forgotten by those that honored me, . . a wanderer in strange lands, a solitary wayfarer perplexed with many griefs to which I cannot give a name!

Nevertheless,” and he drew a quick, hard breath, “if I may serve thee, fairest Lysia,—as Sahluma serves thee,—subject to thy sovereign favor,—thou shalt not find me lacking in obedience!

Command me as thou wilt; let me efface myself to worship thee! Let me, if it be possible, drown thought,—slay memory,—murder conscience,—so that I may once more, as in the old time, be glad with the gladness that only love can give and only death can take away!”

 

As he finished this unpremeditated, uncontrollable outburst his eyes wistfully sought hers. She met his look with a languid indifference and a half-disdainful smile.

 

“Enough! restrain thine ardor!” she said coldly, her dark dilating orbs shining like steel beneath the velvet softness of her long lashes. “Thou dost speak ignorantly, unknowing what thy words involve—words to which I well might bind thee, were I less forbearing to thine inconsiderate rashness. How like all men thou art! How keen to plunge into unfathomed deeps, merely to snatch the pearl of present pleasure! How martyr-seeming in thy fancied sufferings, as though THY little wave of personal sorrow swamped the world! O wondrous human Egotism! that sees but one great absolute ‘I’ scrawled on the face of Nature! ‘I’ am afflicted, let none dare to rejoice! ‘I’ would be glad, let none presume to grieve!” … She laughed, a little low laugh of icy satire, and then resumed: “I thank thee for thy proffered service, sir stranger, albeit I need it not,—nor do I care to claim it at thy hands. Thou art my guest—no more! Whether thou wilt hereafter deserve to be enrolled my bondsman depends upon thy prowess and—

my humor!”

 

Her beautiful eyes flashed scornfully, and there was something cruel in her glance. Theos felt it sting him like a sharp blow.

His nerves quivered,—his spirit rose in arms against the cynical hauteur of this woman whom he loved; yes,—LOVED, with a curious sense of revived passion—passion that seemed to have slept in a tomb for ages, and that now suddenly sprang into life and being, like a fire kindled anew on dead ashes!

 

Acting on a sudden proud impulse he raised his head and looked at her with a bold steadfastness,—a critical scrutiny,—a calmly discriminating valuation of her physical charms that for the moment certainly appeared to startle her self-possession, for a deep flush colored the fairness of her face and then faded, leaving her pale as marble. Her emotion, whatever it was, lasted but a second,—yet in that second he had measured his mental strength against hers, and had become aware of his own supremacy!

This consciousness filled him with peculiar satisfaction. He drew a long breath like one narrowly escaped from close peril. He had now no fear of her—only a great, all-absorbing, all-evil love, and to that he was recklessly content to yield. Her eyes dwelt glitteringly first upon him and then on Sahluma, as the eyes of a falcon dwell on its prey, and her smile was touched with a little malice, as she said, addressing them both: “Come, fair sirs! we will not linger in this wilderness of wild flowers. A feast awaits us yonder—a feast prepared for