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

and death by rule and line calculations, and who for no other reason than their mathematically argued denial of God’s existence had gained for themselves a temporary, spurious celebrity. Yes! … surely he had met such men, . . but WHERE? Realizing, with a sort of shock, that he was quite as much in the dark as ever with regard to any real cognizance of his former place of abode and the manner of life he must have led before he entered this bewildering city of Al-Kyris, he roused himself abruptly, and resolutely banishing the heavy thoughts that threatened to oppress his soul, he began without further delay to direct his steps towards Sahluma’s palace.

 

He glanced once more at the river before leaving the embankment,—

it was still blood red, and every now and then, between the sluggish ripples, multitudes of dead fish could be seen drifting along in shoals, and tangled in nets of slimy weed that at a little distance looked like the floating tresses of drowned women.

 

It was an uncanny sight, and though it might certainly be as the wise Mira Khabur had stated, the purely natural effect of purely natural causes, still those natural causes were not as yet explained satisfactorily. An earthquake or land-slip would perhaps account sufficiently for everything,—but then an inquiring mind would desire to know WHERE the earthquake or land-slip occurred,—

and also WHY these supposed far-off disturbances should thus curiously affect the river surrounding Al-Kyris? Answers to such questions as these were not forthcoming either from Professor Mira-Khabur or any other sagacious pundit,—and Theos was therefore still most illogically and unscientifically puzzled as well as superstitiously uneasy.

 

Turning up a side street, he quickened his pace, in order to overtake a young vendor of wines whom he perceived sauntering along in front of him, balancing a flat tray, loaded with thin crystal flasks, on his head. How gloriously the sunshine quivered through those delicately tinted glass bottles, lighting up the glittering liquid contained within them!—why, they look more like soap-bubbles than anything else! … and the boy who carried them moved with such a lazy, noiseless grace that he might have been taken for a dream-sylph rather than a human being!

 

“Hola, my lad!” called Theos, running after him.. “Tell me,—is this the way to the palace of the King’s Laureate?”

 

The youth looked up,—what a beautiful creature he was, with his brilliant, dark eyes and dusky, warm complexion!

 

“Why ask for the King’s Laureate?” he demanded with a pretty scorn,—“The PEOPLE’S Sahluma lives yonder!”—and he pointed to a mass of towering palms from whose close and graceful frondage a white dome rose glistening in the clear air,—“Our Poet’s fame is not the outgrowth of a mere king’s favor, ‘tis the glad and willing tribute of the Nation’s love and praise! A truce to monarchs!—they will soon be at a discount in Al-Kyris!”

 

And with a flashing glance of defiance, and a saucy smile, he passed on, easily sauntering as before.

 

“A budding republican!” though Theos amusedly, as he pursued his course in the direction indicated. “That is how the ‘liberty, equality, fraternity’ system always begins—first among street-boys who think they ought to be gentlemen,—then among shopkeepers who persuade themselves that they deserve to be peers,—then comes a time of topsey-turveydom and fierce contention and by and by everything gets shaken together again in the form of a Republic, wherein the street-boys and shopkeepers are not a whit better off than they were under a monarchy—they become neither peers nor gentlemen, but stay exactly in their original places, with the disadvantage of finding their trade decidedly damaged by the change that has occurred in the national economy! Strange that the inhabitants of this world should make such a fuss about resisting tyranny and oppression, when each particular individual man, by custom and usage, tyrannizes over and oppresses his fellow-man to an extent that would be simply impossible to the fiercest kings!”

 

Thus meditating a few steps more brought him to the entrance of Sahluma’s princely abode,—the gates stood wide open, and a pleasant murmur of laughter and soft singing floated toward him across the splendid court where the great fountains were tossing up to the bright sky their straight, glistening columns of snowy spray. He listened,—and his heart leaped with an intense relief and joy,—Sahluma, the beloved Sahluma, was evidently at home and as yet unharmed,—these mirthful sounds betokened that all was well. The vague trouble and depression that had weighed upon his soul for hours now vanished completely, and hastening along, he sprang lightly up the marble stairs, and into the rainbow-colored, spacious hall, where the first person he saw was Zabastes the Critic.

 

“Ah, good Zabastes!” he cried gayly,—“Where is thy master Sahluma? Has he returned in safety?”

 

“In safety?” croaked Zabastes with an accent of ironic surprise..

“To be sure! … Is he a baby in swaddling-clothes that he cannot be trusted out alone to take care of himself? In safety?—aye! I warrant you he is safe enough, and silly enough, and lazy enough to please any one of his idiot flatterers, . . moreover my ‘master!”—and he emphasized this word with indescribable bitterness—“hath slept as soundly as a swine, and hath duly bathed with the punctiliousness of a conceited swan, and being suitably combed, perfumed, attired, and throned as becomes his dainty puppetship, is now condescending to partake of vulgar food in the seclusion of his own apartment. Go thither and you shall find his verse-stringing Mightiness nobly enshrined as a god among a worshipping crowd of witless maidens,—he hath inquired for you many times, which is somewhat of a wonder, seeing that as a rule he concerns his mind with naught save himself! Furthermore, he is graciously pleased to be in a manner solicitous on behalf of the maiden Niphrata, who hath suddenly disappeared from the household, leaving no message to explain the cause of her evanishment. Hath seen her? … No?”—and the old man thumped his stick petulantly on the floor as Theos shook his head in the negative—“‘Tis the only feminine creature I ever had patience to speak with,—a modest wench and a gentle one, and were it not for her idolatrous adoration of Sahluma, she would be fairly sensible withal. No matter!—she has gone; everything goes, even good women, and nothing lasts save folly, of which there shall surely never be an end!”

 

Here apparently conscious that he had shown more feeling in speaking of Niphrata than was usual with him, he looked up impatiently and waved his staff toward Sahluma’s study; “In, in, boy! In, to, the Chief of poets and prince of egotists! He waits your service,—he is all agape and thirsty for more flattery and delicate cajolement, … stuff him with praise, good youth! …

and who knows but a portion of his mantle may descend on YOU

hereafter and make of YOU as conceited and pretty a bantling bard for the glory of proud posterity!”

 

And chuckling audibly, he hobbled down a side passage, while Theos, half angry, half amused, crossed the hall quickly, and arrived at the door of the Laureate’s private sanctum, where, gently drawing aside the silken draperies, he looked in for a moment without being himself perceived. What a picture he beheld!

… How perfection every shade of color in every line of detail!

Sahluma, reclining in a quaintly carved ebony chair, was toying with the fruit and wine set out before him on an ivory and gold stand,—his dress, simpler than it had been on the previous evening, was of fine white linen gathered loosely about his classic figure,—he wore neither myrtle-wreath nor jewels,—the expression of his face was serious, even noble, and his attitude was one of languid grace and unstudied ease that became him infinitely well. The maidens of his household waited near him,—

some of them held flowers,—one, kneeling at a small lyre, seemed just about to strike a few chords, when Sahluma silenced her by a light gesture:

 

“Peace, Zoralin!” he said softly.. “I cannot listen: thou hast not my Niphrata’s tenderness!”

 

Zoralin, a beautiful, dark girl, with hair as black as night, and eyes that looked as though they held suppressed yet ever burning fire, let her hands instantly drop from the instrument, and sighing, shrank back a little in abashed silence. At that moment Theos advanced,—and the Laureate sprang up delightedly: “Ah, at last, my friend!” he cried, enthusiastically clasping him by both hands,—“Where, in the name of all the gods, hast thou been roaming? How did we part?—by my soul I forget!—but no matter!—thou art here once more, and as I live, we will not separate again so easily! My noble Theos!” and he threw one arm affectionately around his neck—“I have missed thee more than I can tell these past few hours,—thou dost seem so sympathetically conjoined with me, that verily I think I am but half myself in thine absence! Come,—sit thee down and break thy fast! … I almost feared thou hadst met with some mischance on thy way hither, and that I should have had to sally forth and rescue thee again even as I did yesternoon! Say, hast thou occupied thyself with so much friendly consideration on my behalf, as I have on thine?”

 

He laughed gayly as he spoke,—and Theos, looking into his bright, beautiful face, was for a moment too deeply moved by his own strange inward emotions, to utter a word in reply. WHY did he love Sahluma so ardently, he wondered? WHY was it that every smile on that proud mouth, every glance of those flashing eyes, possessed such singular, overwhelming fascination for him? He could not tell,—but he readily yielded to the magic influence of his friend’s extraordinary attractiveness, and sitting down beside him in the azure light and soft fragrance of his regal apartment, he experienced a sudden sense of rest, satisfaction, and completeness, such as may be felt by a man AT ONE WITH HIMSELF, and with all the world!

 

CHAPTER XXII.

 

WASTED PASSION.

 

The assembled maidens had retired modestly into the background, while the Laureate had thus joyously greeted his returned guest; but now, at a signal from their lord, they again advanced, and taking up the glittering dishes of fruit and the flasks of wine, proffered them in turn to Theos with much deferential grace and courtesy. He was by no means slow in responding to the humble attentions of these fair ones, . . there was a sort of deliciously dreamy enchantment in being waited upon by such exquisitely lovely creatures! The passing touch of their little white hands that supported the heavy golden salvers seemed to add new savor to the luscious fare,—the timorous fire of their downcast eyes, softly sparkling through the veil of their long lashes, gave extra warmth to the ambrosial wine,—and he could not refrain from occasionally whispering a tender flattery or delicate compliment in the ear of one or other of his sylph-like servitors, though they all appeared curiously unmoved by his choicely worded adulation. Now and then a pale, flickering blush or sudden smile brightened their faces, but for the most part they maintained a demure and serious demeanor, as though possessed by the very spirit of invincible reserve. With Sahluma it was otherwise,—they hovered about him like butterflies round a rose,—a thousand wistful, passionate glances darted upon him, when he, unconscious or indifferent, apparently saw nothing,—many a deep, involuntary sigh was stifled quickly ere it could escape between the rosy lips whose duty it was to wreathe themselves with smiles, and Theos noticing these things thought:

 

“Heavens! how this man is loved!—and yet … he, out of all men, is perhaps the most ignorant of Love’s true meaning!”

 

Scarcely had this reflection entered his mind than he became bitterly angry with