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

he had enjoyed a pleasant slumber, for the previous night he had not slept at all. Lower and lower drooped his aching lids, . . he was almost beginning to slip away slowly into a blissful unconsciousness, . . when all at once Sahluma ceased reciting, and a harsh, brazen clang of bells echoed through the silence, storming to and fro with a violent, hurried uproar suggestive of some sudden alarm. He sprang to his feet, rubbing his eyes,—Sahluma rose also, a slightly petulant expression on his face.

 

“Canst thou do no better than sleep”—he queried complainingly, “when thou art privileged to listen to an immortal poem?”

 

Impulsively Theos caught his hand and pressed it fervently.

 

“Nay, dost thou deem me so indifferent, my noble friend?” he cried … “Thou art mistaken, for though perchance mine eyes were closed, my ears were open; I heard thy every word,—I loved thy every line! What dost thou need of praise? … thou, who canst do naught but work which, being perfect, is beyond all criticism!”

 

Sahluma smiled, well satisfied, and the little lines of threatening ill-humor vanished from his countenance.

 

“Enough!” he said.. “I know that thou dost truly honor me above all poets, and that thou wouldst not willingly offend. Hearest thou how great a clamor the ringers of the Temple make tonight?—

‘tis but the sunset chime, . . yet one would think they were pealing forth an angry summons to battle.”

 

“Already sunset!” exclaimed Theos, surprised.. “Why, it seems scarce a minute since, that we came hither!”

 

“Aye!—such is the magic charm of poesy!” rejoined Sahluma complacently.. “It makes the hours flit like moments, and long days seemed but short hours! … Nevertheless ‘tis time we were within doors and at supper,—for if we start not soon for the Temple, ‘twill be difficult to gain an entrance, and I, at any rate, must be early in my place beside the King.”

 

He heaved a short, impatient sigh,—and as he spoke, all Theos’s old misgivings came rushing back upon him and in full force, filling him with vague sorrow, uneasiness, fear. But he knew how useless it was to try and impart any of his inward forebodings to Sahluma,—Sahluma, who had so lightly explained Lysia’s treacherous conduct to his own entire satisfaction, . . Sahluma, on whom neither the prophecies of Khosrul nor the various disastrous events of the day had taken any permanent effect, . . while no attempt could now be made to deter him from attending the Sacrificial Service in the Temple, seeing he had been so positively commanded thither by Lysia, through the medium of the priest Zel.

 

Feeling bitterly his own incompetency to exercise any protective influence on the fate of his companion, Theos said nothing, but silently followed him, as he thrust aside the drooping cypress boughs and made his way out to more open ground, his lithe, graceful figure looking even more brilliant and phantom-like than ever, contrasted with the deep green gloom spread about him by the hoary moss-covered trees that were as twisted and grotesque in shape as a group of fetich idols. As he bent back the last branchy barrier however, and stepped into the full light, he stopped short,—and, uttering a loud exclamation, lifted his hand and pointed westward, his dark eyes dilating with amazement and awe.

 

Theos at once came swiftly up beside him, and looked where he looked, . . what a scene of terrific splendor he beheld! … Right across the horizon, that glistened with a pale green hue like newly frozen water, a cloud, black as the blackest midnight, lay heavy and motionless, in form resembling an enormous leaf, fringed at the edges with tremulous lines of gold.

 

This nebulous mass was absolutely stirless, . . it appeared as though it had been thrown, a ponderous weight, into the vault of heaven, and having fallen, there purposed to remain. Ever and anon beamy threads of lightning played through it luridly, veining it with long, arrowy flashes of orange and silver,—while poised immediately above it was the sun, looking like a dull scarlet seal, … a ball of dim fire destitute of rays.

 

On all sides the sky was crossed by wavy flecks of pearl and sudden glimpses as of burning topaz,—and down toward the earth drooped a thin azure fog,—filmy curtain, through which the landscape took the strangest tints and unearthly flushes of color.

A moment,—and the spectral sun dropped suddenly into the lower darkness, leaving behind it a glare of gold and green,—lowering purple shadows crept over across the heavens, darkening them as smoke darkens flame,—but the huge cloud, palpitating with lightning, moved not at all nor changed its shape by so much as a hair’s breadth, . . it appeared like a vast pall spread out in readiness for the solemn state-burial of the world.

 

Fascinated by the aspect of the weird sky-phenomenon, Theos was at the same time curiously impressed by a sense of its UNREALITY, . .

indeed he found himself considering it with the calm attentiveness of one who is brought face to face with a remarkable picture effectively painted. This peculiar sensation, however, was, like many others of his experience, very transitory, . . it passed, and he watched the lightnings come and go with a certain hesitating fear mingled with wonder. Sahluma was the first to speak.

 

“Storm at last!” … he said, forcing a smile though his face was unusually pale,—“It has threatened us all day…‘twill break before the night is over. How sullenly yonder heavens frown! …

they have quenched the sun in their sable darkness as though it were a beaten foe! This will seem an ill sign to those who worship him as a god,—for truly he doth appear to have withdrawn himself in haste and anger. By my soul! ‘Tis a dull and ominous eve!” …

and a slight shudder ran through his delicate frame, as he turned toward the white-pillared loggia garlanded with its climbing vines, roses, and passion-flowers, through which there now floated a dim golden, suffused radiance reflected from lamps lit within, . .

“I would the night were past and that the new day had come!”

 

With these words, he entered the house, Theos accompanying him, and together they went at once to the banqueting-hall. There they supped royally, served by silent and attentive slaves,—they themselves, feeling mutually depressed, yet apparently not wishing to communicate their depression one to the other, conversed but little. After the repast was finished, they set forth on foot to the Temple, Sahluma informing his companion, as they went, that it was against the law to use any chariot or other sort of conveyance to go to the place of worship, the King himself being obliged to dispense with his sumptuous car on such occasions, and to walk thither as unostentatiously as any one of his poorest subjects.

 

“An excellent rule!” … observed Theos reflectively,—“For the pomp and glitter of an earthly potentate’s display assorts ill with the homage he intends to offer to the Immortals,—and Kings are no more than commoners in the sight of an all-supreme Divinity.”

 

“True, if there WERE an all-supreme Divinity!” rejoined Sahluma dryly,—“But in the present state of well-founded doubt regarding the existence of any such omnipotent personage, thinkest thou there is a monarch living, who is sincerely willing to admit the possibility of any power superior to himself? Not Zephoranim, believe me! … his enforced humility on all occasions of public religious observance serves him merely as a new channel wherein to proclaim his pride. Certes, in obedience to the Priests, or rather let us say in obedience to the High Priestess, he paces the common foot-path in company with the common folk, uncrowned and simply clad,—but what avails this affectation of meekness? All know him for the King—all make servile way for him,—all flatter him! …

and his progress to the Temple resembles as much a triumphal procession as though he were mounted in his chariot and returning from some wondrous victory. Besides, humility in my opinion is more a weakness than a virtue, . . and even granting it were a virtue, it is not possible to Kings,—not as long as people continue to fawn on royalty like grovelling curs, and lick the sceptred hand that often loathes their abject touch.”

 

He spoke with a certain bitterness and impatience as though he were suffering from some inward nervous irritation, and Theos, observing this, prudently made no attempt to continue the conversation. They were just then passing down a narrow, rather dark street, lined on both sides by lofty buildings of quaint and elaborate architecture. Long, gloomy shadows had gathered in this particular spot, where for a short space the silence was so intense that one could almost hear one’s own heart beat. Suddenly a yellowish-green ray of light flashed across the pavement, and lo! the upper rim of the moon peered above the house-tops, looking strangely large and rosily brilliant, . . the air seemed all at once to grow suffocating and sulphurous, and between whiles there came the faint plashing sound of water lapping against stone with a monotonous murmur as of continuous soft whispers.

 

The vast silence, the vast night, were full of a solemn weirdness,—the moon, curiously magnified to twice her ordinary size, soared higher and higher, firing the lofty solitudes of heaven with long, shooting radiations of rose and green, while still in the purple hollow of the horizon lay that immense, immovable Cloud, nerved as it were with living lightning which leaped incessantly from its centre like a thousand swords drawn and re-drawn from as many scabbards.

 

Presently the deep booming noise of a great bell smote heavily on the stillness, . . a sound that Theos, oppressed by the weight of unutterable forebodings, welcomed with a vague sense of relief, while Sahluma, hearing it, quickened his pace. They soon reached the end of the street, which terminated in a spacious quadrangular court guarded on all sides by gigantic black statues, and quickly crossing this place, which was entirely deserted, they came out at once into a dazzling blaze of light, . . the Temple of Nagaya in all its stately magnificence towered before them, a stupendous pile of marvellously delicate architecture so fine as to seem like lace-work rather than stone.

 

It was lit up from base to summit with glittering lamps of all colors, . . the twelve revolving stars on its twelve tall turrets cast forth wide beams of penetrating radiance into the deepening darkness of the night, . . aloft in its topmost crown of pinnacles swung the prayer-commanding bell, . . while the enormous crowds swarming thick about it gave it the appearance of a brilliant Pharos set in the midst of a surging sea. The steps leading up to it were strewn ankle-deep with flowers, . . the doors stood open, and a thunderous hum of solemn music vibrated in wave-like pulsations through the heavy, heated air.

 

Half blinded by the extreme effulgence, and confused by the jostling to and fro of a multitude immeasurably greater than any he had ever seen or imagined, Theos instinctively stretched out his hand in the helpless fashion of one not knowing whither next to turn, . . Sahluma immediately caught it in his own, and hurried him along without saying a word.

 

How they managed to glide through the close ranks of pushing, pressing people, and effect an entrance he never knew,—but when he recovered from his momentary dazed bewilderment, he found himself inside the Temple, standing near a pillar of finely fluted white marble that shot up like the stem of a palm-tree and lost its final point in the dim yet sparkling splendor of the immense dome above. Lights twinkled everywhere,—there was