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

water in many weary miles,—and beyond the desert is a forest, gloomy and tiger haunted, wherein the footsteps of man have seldom penetrated. To travel thus far we should need much preparation, . . many servants, many beasts of burden, and many months’ provision.. moreover, ‘tis a foolish, fancy crossed my mind at best,—for what should I, the Laureate of Al-Kyris, do in other lands? Besides, my departure would indeed be the desolation of the city,—well may Al-Kyris fall when Sahluma no longer abides within it! Seawards the way lies open,—maybe, in days to come, we twain may take ship and sail hence for a brief sojourn to those distant western shores, whence thou, though thou sayest naught of them, must assuredly have come; I have often dreamed idly of a gray coast washed with dull rain and swathed in sweeping mists, where ever and anon the sun shines through,—a country cheerless, where a poet’s fame like mine might ring the darkness of the skies with light, and stir the sleepy silence into song!”

 

Still Theos said nothing,—there were hot tears in his throat that choked his utterance. He gazed up at the glowing sky above him,—

it was a burning vault of cloudless blue in which the sun glared forth witheringly like a scorching mass of flame, . . Oh for the freshness of a “gray coast washed with dull rain and swathed in sweeping mists” … such as Sahluma spoke of! … and what a strange sickening yearning suddenly filled his soul for the unforgotten sonorous dash of the sea! He drew a quick breath and pressed his friend’s arm with unconscious fervor, . . why, why could he not take this dear companion away out of possible peril? …

away to those far lands dimly remembered, yet now so completely lost sight of, that they seemed to him but as a delusive mirage faintly discerned above the rising waters of Lethe! Sighing deeply, he controlled his emotion and forced himself to speak calmly though his voice trembled..

 

“Not now then, but hereafter, thou’lt be my fellow-traveller, Sahluma? … ‘twill be a joyous time when we, set free of present hindrance, may journey through a myriad glorious scenes together, sharing such new and mutual gladness that perchance we scarce shall miss the splendor of Al-Kyris left behind! Meanwhile I would that thou couldst promise me one thing,”.. here he paused, but, seeing Sahluma’s inquiring look, went on in a low, eager tone!

“Go not to the Temple tonight!—absent thyself from this Sacrifice, which, though it be the law of the realm, is nevertheless mere murderous barbarity,—and—inasmuch as the King is wrathful—I pray thee avoid his presence!”

 

Sahluma broke into a laugh.. “Now by my faith, good comrade, as well ask me for my head as demand such impossibilities! Absent myself from the temple tonight of all nights in the world, when owing to these late phenomenal occurrences in the city, every one who is of repute and personal distinction will be present to assist at the Service and offer petitions to the fabulous gods that haply their supposititious indignation may be averted? My friend, if only for the sake of custom I must be there, . .

moreover, I should be liable to banishment from the realm for so specially marked a breach of religious discipline! And as for the King, he is my puppet; were he savage as a starving bear my voice could tame him,—and concerning his late churlishness ‘twas no doubt mere heat of humor, and thou shalt see him sue to me for pardon as only monarchs can sue to the bards who keep them in their thrones! Knowest thou not that were I to string three stanzas of a fiery republican ditty, and set it floating on the lips of the people, that song would sing down Zephoranim from his royal estate more surely than the fury of an armed conqueror!

Believe it!—WE, the poets, rule the nation, . . A rhyme has oft had power to kill a king!”

 

Theos smiled at the proud boast, but made no reply, as by this time they had reached the Laureate’s palace, and were ascending the steps that led into the entrance-hall. A young page advanced to meet them, and, dropping on one knee before his master, held out a small scroll tied across and across with what appeared to be a thick strand of amber-colored floss silk.

 

“For the most illustrious Chief of Poets, Sahluma” … said the little lad, keeping his head bent humbly as he spoke … “It was brought lately by one masked, who rode in haste and fear, and, ere he could be questioned, swift departed.”

 

Sahluma took the missive carelessly, scarcely glancing at it, and crossed the hall toward his own apartment, Theos following him. On his way, however, he paused and turned round: “Has Niphrata yet come home?” he demanded of the page who still lingered.

 

“No, my lord! … naught hath been seen or heard concerning her.”

 

Sahluma gave a petulant gesture of annoyance and passed on.

Arrived in his study he seated himself, and allowed his eyes to rest more attentively on the packet just given him. As he looked he uttered a slight exclamation, . . Theos hastened to his side.

“What has happened, Sahluma? … hast thou ill news?”

 

“Ill news?—nay, of a truth I know not”.. and the Laureate gazed up blankly into his friend’s face.. “But this” … and he touched the fair silken substance that tied the scroll he held, “this is Niphrata’s hair!”

 

“Niphrata’s hair!”.. Theos was too much surprised to do more than repeat the words mechanically, while a strange pang shot through his heart as of inward shame or sorrow.

 

“Naught can deceive me in the color of that gold!” went on Sahluma dreamily, as with careful, somewhat tremulous fingers, he gently loosened the twisted shining threads that were so delicately knotted together, and smoothing them out to their full length, displayed what was indeed a lovely tress of hair bright as woven sunlight with a rippling wave in it that, like the tendril of a vine caught and wound about his hand as though it were a fond and feeling thing.

 

“See you not, Theos, how warm and soft and shuddering a curl it is? … It clings to me as if it knew my touch!—as if it half remembered how many and many a time it had been drawn with its companions to my lips and kissed full tenderly! … How sad and desolate it seems thus severed and alone!”

 

He spoke gently, yet not without a touch of passion, and twined the fair tresses lingeringly round his fingers, ..then, with the air of one who is instinctively prepared for some unpleasing tidings, he opened the scroll and perused its contents in silence.

As he read on, his face grew very grave, and full of pained and wondering regret.. quietly he passed the missive to Theos, who took it from his hand with a tremor of something like fear. The delicately traced characters with which it was covered floated for a moment in a faint blur before his eyes,—then they resolved themselves into legible shape and meaning, as follows: “To the ever-worshiped and immortally renowned “Sahluma.

“Poet-Laureate of the Kingdom of Al-Kyris.

“Blame me not, O my beloved Lord, that I have left thy dearest presence thus unwarnedly forever, staying no time to weary thee with my too fond and foolish tears and kisses of farewell! I owe to thee the gift of freedom, and while I thank thee for that gift, I do employ it now to serve me as a sacrifice to Love,—an immolation of myself upon the altars of my own desire! For thou knowest I have loved thee, O Sahluma—not too well but most unwisely,—for what am I that thou shouldst stoop to cover my unworthiness with the royal purple of thy poet-passion? … what could I ever be save the poor trembling slave-idolater, of whose endearments thou must needs most speedily tire! Nevertheless I cannot still this hunger of my heart,—this love that stings me more than it consoles,—and out of the very transport of my burning thoughts I have learned many and strange things,—things whereby I, a woman feebled and unlessoned, have grasped the glimmering foreknowledge of events to come,—events wherein I do perceive for thee, thou Chiefest among men, some dark and threatening disaster. When fore I have prayed unto the most high gods, that they will deign to accept me as thy hostage to misfortune, and set me as a bar between thy life and dawning peril, so that I, long valueless, may serve at least awhile to avert doom from thee who art unparagoned throughout the world!

 

“Thus I go forth alone to brave and pacify the wrath of the Immortals,—call me not back nor weep for my departure, . . thou wilt not miss me long! To die for thee, Sahluma, is better than to live for thee, . . for living I must needs be conquered by my sin of love and lose myself and thee,—but in the quiet Afterwards of Death, no passion shall have strength to mar the peaceful, patient waiting of my soul on thine! Farewell thou utmost heart of my weak heart! ..thou only life of my frail life! … think of me sometimes if thou will, but only as of a flower thou didst gather once in some past half-forgotten spring-time.. a flower that, as it slowly withered, blessed the dear hand in whose warm clasp it died! “NIPHRATA.”

 

Tears rose to Theos’s eyes as he finished reading these evidently unpremeditated pathetic words that suggested so much more than they actually declared. He silently returned the scroll to Sahluma, who sat very still, thoughtfully stroking the long, bright curl that was twisted round his fingers like a glittering strand of spun glass,—and he felt all at once so unreasonably irritated with his friend, that he was even inclined to find fault with the very grace and beauty of his person, . . the mere indolence of his attitude was, for the moment, provoking.

 

“Why art thou so unmoved?” he demanded almost sternly.

 

“What hast thou done to Niphrata, to thus grieve her gentle spirit beyond remedy?”

 

Sahluma looked up, like a surprised child.

 

“Done? … Nay, what should I do? … I have let her love me!”

 

O sublime permission! … he had “LET HER LOVE” him! … He had condescendingly allowed her, as it were, to waste all the treasures of her soul upon him! Theos stared at him in vague amazement,—while he, apparently tired of his own reflections, continued with some impatience:

 

“What more could she desire? … I never barred her from my presence, … nor checked the fervor of her greetings! I wore the flowers she chose,—I listened to the songs she sang, and when she looked more fair than ordinary I stinted not the warmth of my caresses. She was too meek and loving for my fancy … no will save mine—no happiness save in my company,—no thought beyond my pleasure—one wearies of such a fond excess of sweetness!

Nevertheless her sole delight was still to serve me,—could I debar her from that joy because I saw therein some danger for her peace? Slave as she was, I made her free—and lo! how capriciously she plays with her late-given liberty! ‘Tis always the way with women,—no man shall ever learn how best to please them! She knew I loved her not as lovers love,—she knew my heart was elsewhere fixed and fated … and if, notwithstanding this knowledge, she still chose to love me, then assuredly her grief is of her own creating! Methinks ‘tis I who am most injured in this matter! …