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

is here in all the fulness of the now, for thy delight, and thou ravest of an immortal Hereafter which is not, and can never be! Why talk thus wildly? … why gaze on me with so distraught a countenance? But an hour agone, thou wert the model of a cold discretion and quiet valor,—thus I had judged thee worthy of my favor—favor sought by many, and granted to few, . . but an thou dost wander amid such chaotic and unreasoning fancies, thou canst not serve me,—nor therefore canst thou win the reward that would otherwise have awaited thee.”…

 

Here she paused,—a questioning, keen underglance flashed from beneath her dark lashes, . . he, however, with pained, wistful eyes raised steadfastly to hers, gave no sign of apology or contrition for the disconnected strangeness of his recent outburst. Only he became gradually conscious of an inward, growing calm,—as though the Divine Voice that had once soothed the angry waves of Galilee were now hushing his turbulent emotions with a soft “Peace be still!” She watched him closely, . .and all at once apparently rendered impatient by his impassive attitude, she came coaxingly toward him, and laid one soft hand on his shoulder.

 

“Canst thou not be happy, Theos?” she whispered gently—“Happy as other men are, when loved as thou art loved?”

 

His upturned gaze rested on the glittering serpents’ heads that crowned her dusky tresses,—then on the great Eye that stared watchfully between her white breasts. A strong tremor shook him, and he sighed.

 

“Happy as other men are, when they love and are deceived in love!”—he said.. “Yes, even so, Lysia,—I can be happy!”

 

She threw one arm about him. “Thou shalt not be deceived”—she murmured quickly,—“Thou shalt be honored above the noblest in the realm, . . thy dearest hopes shall be fulfilled, . . thy utmost desires shall be granted, . . riches, power, fame,—all shall be thine,—IF THOU WILT DO MY BIDDING!”

 

She uttered the last words with slow and meaning emphasis. He met her eager, burning looks quietly, almost coldly,—the curious numb apathy of his spirit increased, and when he spoke, his voice was low and faint like the voice of one who speaks unconsciously in his sleep.

 

“What canst thou ask that I will not grant?” he said listlessly..

“Is it not as it was in the old time,—thou to command, and I to obey? … Speak, fair Queen!—how can I serve thee?”

 

Her answer came, swift and fierce as the hiss of a snake: “KILL SAH-LUMA!”

 

The brief sentence leaped into his brain with the swift, fiery action of some burning drug,—a red mist rose to his eyes,—

pushing her fiercely from him, he started to his feet in a bewildered, sick horror. KILL SAH-LUMA! … kill the gracious, smiling, happy creature whose every minute of existence was a joy,—kill the friend he loved,—the poet he worshipped! … Kill him! … ah God! … never! … never! … He staggered backward dizzily,—and Lysia with a sudden stealthy spring, like that of her favorite tigress, threw herself against his breast and looked up at him, her splendid eyes ablaze with passion, her black hair streaming, her lips curved in a cruel smile, and the hateful Jewel on her breast seeming to flash with ferocious vindictiveness.

 

“Kill him!” she repeated eagerly—“Now—in his sottish slumber,—

now when he hath lost sight of his Poetmission in the hot fumes of wine,—now, when, despite his genius, he hath made of himself a thing lower than the beasts! Kill him! …—I will keep good council, and none shall ever know who did the deed! He loves me, and I weary of his love, . . I would have him dead—dead as Nirjalis! … but were he to drain the Silver Nectar, the whole city would cry out upon me for his loss,—therefore he may not perish so. But an thou wilt slay him, . . see!” and she clung to Theos with the fierce tenacity of some wild animal—“All this beauty of mine, is thine!—thy days and nights shall be dreams of rapture,—thou shalt be second to none in Al-Kyris,—thou shalt rule with me over King and people,—and we will make the land a pleasure-garden for our love and joy! Here is thy weapon..”—and she thrust into his hand a dagger,—the very dagger her slave Gazra, had deprived him of, when by its prompt use he might have mercifully ended the cruel torments of Nirjalis,—“Let thy stroke be strong and unfaltering, . . stab him to the heart,—the cold, cold, selfish heart that has never ached with a throb of pity! … kill him!—

‘tis an easy task,—for lo! how fast he sleeps!”

 

And suddenly throwing back a rich gold curtain that depended from one side of the painted pavilion, she disclosed a small interior chamber hung with amber and crimson, where, on a low, much-tumbled couch covered with crumpled glistening draperies, lay the King’s Chief Minstrel,—the dainty darling of women,—the Laureate of the realm, sunk in a heavy, drunken stupor, so deep as to be almost death-like. Theos stared upon him amazed and bewildered, . . how came he there? Had he heard any of the conversation that had just passed between Lysia and himself? … Apparently not, . . he seemed bound as by chains in a stirless lethargy. His posture was careless, yet uneasy,—his brilliant attire was torn and otherwise disordered,—and some of his priceless jewels had fallen on the couch, and gleamed here and there like big stray dewdrops. His face was deeply flushed, and his straight dark brows were knit frowningly, his breathing was hurried and irregular, . . one arm was thrown above his head,—the other hung down nervelessly, the relaxed fingers hovering immediately above a costly jewelled cup that had dropped from his clasp,—two emptied wine flagons lay cast on the ground beside him, and he had evidently experienced the discomfort and feverous heat arising from intoxication, for his silken vest was loosened as though for greater ease and coolness, thus leaving the smooth breadth of his chest bare and fully exposed. To this Lysia pointed with a fiendish glee, as she pulled Theos forward.

 

“Strike now!” she whispered.. “Quick.. why dost thou hesitate?”

 

He looked at her fixedly, . . the previous hot passion he had felt for her froze like ice within his veins, … her fairness seemed no longer so distinctly fair, . . the witching radiance of her eyes had lost its charm, . . … and he motioned her from him with a silent gesture of stern repugnance. Catching sight of the sheeny glimmer of the lake through the curtained entrance of the tent, he made a sudden spring thither—dashed aside the draperies, and flung the dagger he held, far out towards the watery mirror. It whirled glittering through the air, and fell with a quick splash into the silver-rippled depths,—and, gravely contented, he turned upon her, dauntless and serene in the consciousness of power.

 

“Thus do I obey thee!” he said, in firm tones that thrilled through and through with scorn and indignation,—“Thou evil Beauty! … thou fallen Fairness! … Kill Sahluma? … Nay, sooner would I kill myself…or thee! His life is a glory to the world, . . his death shall never profit thee!”…

 

For one instant a lurid anger blazed in her face,—the next her features hardened themselves into a rigidly cold expression of disdain, though her eyes widened with wrathful wonder. A low laugh broke from her lips.

 

“Ah!” she cried—“Art thou angel or demon that thou darest defy me? Thou shouldst be either or both, to array thyself in opposition against the High Priestess of Nagaya, whose relentless Will hath caused empires to totter and thrones to fall! HIS life a glory to the world? …” and she pointed to Sahluma’s recumbent figure with a gesture of loathing and contempt, . . “HIS? … the life of a drunken voluptuary? … a sensual egotist? … a poet who sees no genius save his own, and who condemns all vice, save that which he himself indulges in! A laurelled swine! … a false god of art! … and for him thou dost reject Me! … ah, thou fool!” and her splendid eyes shot forth resentful fire.. “Thou rash, unthinking, headstrong fool! thou knowest not what thou hast lost! Aye, guard thy friend as thou wilt,—thou dost guard him at thine own peril! … think not that he, . . or thou, … shall escape my vengeance! What!—dost thou play the heroic with me? …

thou who art Man, and therefore NO hero? … For men are cowards all, except when in the heat of battle they follow the pursuit of their own brief glory! … poltroons and knaves in spirit, incapable of resisting their own passions! … and wilt THOU

pretend to be stronger than the rest? … Wilt thou take up arms against thyself and Destiny? Thou madman!”—and her lithe form quivered with concentrated rage—“Thou puny wretch that dost first clutch at, and then refuse my love!—thou who dost oppose thy miserable force to the Fate that hunts thee down!—thou who dost gaze at me with such grave, child-foolish eyes! … Beware, . .

beware of me! I hate thee as I hate ALL men! … I will humble thee as I have humbled the proudest of thy sex! ..—wheresoever thou goest I will track thee out and torture thee! … and thou shalt die—miserably, lingeringly, horribly,—as I would have every man die could I fulfil my utmost heart’s desire! Tonight, be free! … but tomorrow as thou livest, I will claim thee!”

 

Like an enraged Queen she stood,—one white, jewelled arm stretched forth menacingly,—her bosom heaving, and her face aflame with wrath, but Theos, leaning against Sahluma’s couch, heard her with as much impassiveness as though her threatening voice were but the sound of an idle wind. Only, when she ceased, he turned his untroubled gaze calmly and full upon her,—and then,—to his own infinite surprise she shivered and shrank backwards, while over her countenance flitted a vague, undefinable, almost spectral expression of terror. He saw it, and swift words came at once to his lips,—words that uttered themselves without premeditation.

 

“Tomorrow, Lysia, thou shalt claim nothing!” he said in a still, composed voice that to himself had something strange and unearthly in its tone … “Not even a grave! Get thee hence! … pray to thy gods if thou hast any,—for truly there is need of prayer! Thou shalt not harm Sahluma, . . his love for thee may be his present curse,—but it shall not work his future ruin! As for me, . . though canst not slay me, Lysia,—seeing that to myself I am dead already! … dead, yet alive in thought, . . and thou dost now seem to my soul but the shadow of a past Crime, . . the ghost of a temptation overcome and baffled! Ah, thou sweet Sin!” here he suddenly moved toward her and caught her hands hard, looking fearlessly the while at her flushed half-troubled face,—“I do confess that I have loved thee, . . I do own that I have found thee fair! … but now—now that I see thee as thou art, in all the nameless horror of thy beauty, I do entreat,”.. and his accents sank to a low yet fervent supplication—“I do entreat the most high God that I may be released from thee forever!”

 

She gazed upon him with dilated, terrified eyes, … and he dimly wondered, as he looked, why she should seem to fear him?—Not a word did she utter in reply, . . step by step she retreated from him, . . her glittering, exquisite form grew paler and more indistinct in outline—and presently, catching at the gold curtain that divided the