Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22)

by Marie Corelli

  “So be it!” she said … “May Heaven truly sanctify all pure thoughts, and free the soul of my Beloved from sin!”

  And slowly bending forward, as a delicate iris-blossom bends to the sway of the wind, she laid her hands about his neck, and touched his lips with her own…

  Ah! … what divine ecstasy, — what wild and fiery transport filled him then! … Her kiss, like a penetrating lighting-flash, pierced to the very centre of his being, — the moonbeams swam round him in eddying circles of gold — the white field heaved to and fro, … he caught her waist and clung to her, and in the burning marvel of that moment he forget everything, save that, whether spirit or mortal, she was in woman’s witching shape, and that all the glamour of her beauty was his for this one night at least, . . this night which now in the speechless, glorious delirium of love that overwhelmed him, seemed like the Mahometan’s night of Al-Kadr, “better than a thousand months!”

  Drawn to her by some subtle mysterious attraction which he could neither explain nor control, and absorbed in a rapture beyond all that his highest and most daring flights of poetical fancy had ever conceived, he felt as though his very life were ebbing out of him to become part of hers, and this thought was strangely sweet, — a perfect consummation of all his best desires! …

  All at once a cold shudder ran freezingly through his veins, — a something chill and impalpable appeared to pass between him and her caressing arms — his limbs grew numb and heavy — his sight began to fail him … he was sinking … sinking, he knew not where, when suddenly she withdrew herself from his embrace. Instantly his strength came back to him with a rush — he sprang to his feet and stood erect, breathless, dizzy, and confused — his pulses beating like hammer-strokes and every fiber in his frame quivering with excitement.

  Entranced, impassioned, elated, — filled with unutterable incomprehensible joy, he would have clasped her again to his heart, — but she retreated swiftly from him, and standing several paces off, motioned him not to approach her more nearly. He scarcely heeded her warning gesture, … plunging recklessly through the flowers he had almost reached her side, when to his amazement and fear, his eager progress was stopped!

  Stopped by some invisible, intangible barrier, which despite all his efforts, forcibly prevented him from advancing one step further, — she was close within an arm’s length of him — and yet he could not touch her! … Nothing apparently divided them, save a small breadth of the Ardath blossoms gleaming ivory-soft in the moonlight … nevertheless that invincible influence thrust him back and held him fast, as though he were chained to the ground with weights of iron!

  “Edris!”. he cried loudly, his former transport of delight changed into agony.. “Edris! … Come to me! I cannot come to you! What is this that parts us?”

  “Death!” she answered.. and the solemn word seemed to toll slowly through the still air like a knell.

  He stood bewildered and dismayed. Death! What could she mean? What in the name of all her beautiful, delicate, glowing youth, had she to do with death? Gazing at her in mute wonder, he saw her stoop and gather one flower from the clusters growing thickly around her — she held it shieldwise against her breast, where it shone like a large white jewel, and regarded him with sweet, wistful eyes full of a mournful longing.

  “Death lies between us, my Beloved!” she continued— “One line of shadow … only one little line! But thou mayest not pass it, save when God commands, — and I — I cannot! For I know naught of death, . . save that it is a heavy dreamless sleep allotted to over-wearied mortals, wherein they gain brief rest ‘twixt many lives, — lives that, like recurring dawns, rouse them anew to labor. How often hast thou slept thus, my Theos, and forgotten me!”

  She paused, … and Alwyn met her clear, steadfast looks with a swift glance of something like defiance. For as she spoke, his previous idea concerning her came back upon him with redoubled force. He was keenly conscious of the vehement fever of love into which her presence had thrown him, — but all the same he was unable to dispossess himself of the notion that she was a pupil and an accomplice of Heliobas, thoroughly trained and practiced in his mysterious doctrine, and that therefore she most probably had some magnetic power in herself that at her pleasure not only attracted him TO her, but also held him thus motionless at a distance, FROM her.

  She talked, of course, in an indefinite mystic way either to intimidate or convince him … but, . . and he smiled a little.. in any case it only rested with himself to unmask this graceful pretender to angelic honors! And while he thought thus, her soft tones trembled on the silence again, … he listened as a dreaming mariner might listen to the fancied singing of the sea-fairies.

  “Through long bright aeons of endless glory,” she said— “I have waited and prayed for thee! I have pleaded thy cause before the blinding splendors of God’s Throne, I have sung the songs of thy native paradise, but thou, grown dull of hearing, hast caught but the echo of the music! Life after life hast thou lived, and given no thought to me — yet I remember and am faithful! Heaven is not all Heaven to me without thee, my Beloved, . . and now in this time of thy last probation, . . now, if thou lovest me indeed …”

  “Love thee?” suddenly exclaimed Theos, half beside himself with the strange passion of yearning her words awakened in him— “Love thee, Edris? — Aye! … as the gods loved when earth was young! … with the fullness of the heart and the vigor of glad life even so I love thee! What sayest thou of Heaven? … Heaven is here — here on this bridal field of Ardath, o’er-canopied with stars! Come, sweet one, . . cease to play this mystic midnight fantasy — I have done with dreams! … Edris, be thyself! … for them art Woman, not Angel — thy kiss was warm as wine! Nay, why shrink from me? .” this, as she retreated still further away, her eyes flashing with unearthly brilliancy, . . “I will make thee a queen, fair Edris, as poets ever make queens of the women they love, — my fame shall be a crown for thee to wear, — a crown that the whole world, gazing on, shall envy!”

  And in the heat and ardor of the moment, forgetful of the unseen barrier that divided her from him, he made a violent effort to spring forward — when lo! a wave of rippling light appeared to break from beneath her feet, . . it rolled toward him, and completely flooded the space between them like a glittering pool, — and in it the flowers of Ardath swayed to and fro as water-lilies on a woodland lake sway to the measured dash of passing oars! Starting back with a cry of terror, he gazed wildly on this miracle, — a voice richer than all music rang silvery clear across the liquid radiance.

  “Fame!” said the voice … “Wouldst thou crown Me, Theos, with so perishable a diadem?”

  Paralyzed and speechless, he lifted his straining, dazzled eyes — was THAT Edris? — that lustrous figure, delicate as a sea-mist with the sun shining through? He stared upon her as a dying man might stare for the last time on the face of his nearest and dearest, … he saw her soft gray garments change to glistening white, … the wreath she wore sparkled as with a million dewdrops.. a roseate halo streamed above her and around her, — long streaks of crimson flared down the sky like threads of fire swung from the stars, — and in the deepening glory, her countenance, divinely beautiful, yet intensely sad, expressed the touching hope and fear of one who makes a final farewell appeal. Ah God! … he knew her now! … too late, too late he knew her! … the Angel of his vision stood before him! … and humbled to the very dust and ashes of despair he loathed himself for his unworthiness and lack of faith!

  “O doubting and unhappy one!” she went on, in accents sweeter than a chime of golden bells— “Thou art lost in the gloom of the Sorrowful Star where naught is known of life save its shadow! Lost.. and as yet I cannot rescue thee — ah! forlorn Edris that I am, left lonely up in Heaven! But prayers are heard, and God’s great patience never tires, — learn therefore ‘FROM THE PERILS OF THE PAST, THE PERILS OF THE FUTURE’ — and weigh against an immortal destiny of love the worth of fame!”

  Wider and more dazzling grew the bri
lliancy surrounding her — raising her eyes, she clasped her hands in an attitude of impassioned supplication … .

  “O fair King Christ!” she cried, and her voice seemed to strike a melodious passage through the air.. “THOU canst prevail!” A burst of music answered her, . . music that rushed wind-like downwards and swept in strong vibrating chords over the land, — again the “KYRIE ELEISON! CHRISTE ELEISON! KYRIE ELEISON!” pealed forth in the same full youthful-toned chorus that had before sounded so mysteriously outside Elzear’s hermitage — and the separate crimson rays glittering aurora-wise about her radiant figure, suddenly melted all together in the form of a great cross, which, absorbing moon and stars in its fiery redness, blazed from end to end of the eastern horizon!

  Then, like a fair white dove or delicate butterfly she rose … she poised herself above the bowing Ardath bloom … anon, soaring aloft, she floated higher…. higher! … and ever higher, serenely and with aerial slow ease, — till drawn into the glory of that wondrous flaming cross whose outstretched beams seemed waiting to receive her, — she drifted straight up wards through its very centre…. and so vanished! …

  Theos stared aghast at the glowing sky … whither had she gone? Her words still rang in his ears, — the warmth of her kiss still lingered on his lips, — he loved her! … he worshipped her! … why, why had she left him “lost” as she herself had said, in a world that was mere emptiness without her? He struggled for utterance…

  “Edris … !” he whispered hoarsely— “Edris! … My Angel-love! … come back! Come back … pity me! … forgive! … Edris!”

  His voice died in a hard sob of imploring agony, — smitten to the very soul by a remorse greater than he could bear, his strength failed him, and he fell senseless, face forward among the flowers of the Prophet’s field; . . flowers that, circling snowily around his dark and prostrate form, looked like fairy garlands bordering a Poet’s Grave!

  PART II. — IN AL-KYRIS.

  “That which hath been, is now: and that which is to be, hath

  already been: . . and God requireth that which is past.”

  ECCLESIASTES.

  CHAPTER XI.

  THE MARVELLOUS CITY.

  Profound silence, — profound unconsciousness, — oblivious rest! Such are the soothing ministrations of kindly Nature to the overburdened spirit; Nature, who in her tender wisdom and maternal solicitude will not permit us to suffer beyond a certain limit. Excessive pain, whether it be physical or mental, cannot last long, — and human anguish wound up to its utmost quivering-pitch finds at the very height of desolation, a strange hushing, Lethean calm. Even so it was with Theos Alwyn, — drowned in the deep stillness of a merciful swoon, he had sunk, as it were, out of life, — far out of the furthest reach or sense of time, in some vast unsounded gulf of shadows where earth and heaven were alike forgotten! …

  How long he lay thus he never knew, — but he was roused at last.. roused by the pressure of something cold and sharp against his throat, . . and on languidly opening his eyes he found himself surrounded by a small body of men in armor, who, leaning on tall pikes which glistened brilliantly in the full sunlight, surveyed him with looks of derisive amusement. One of these, closer to him than the rest, and who seemed from his dress and bearing to be some officer in authority, held instead of a pike a short sword, the touch of whose pointed steel blade had been the effectual means of awakening him from his lethargy.

  “How now!” said this personage in a rough voice as he withdrew his weapon— “What idle fellow art thou? … Traitor or spy? Fool thou must be, and breaker of the King’s law, else thou hadst never dared to bask in such swine-like ease outside the gates of Al-Kyris the Magnificent!”

  Al-Kyris the Magnificent! What was the man talking about? Uttering a hasty exclamation, Alwyn staggered to his feet with an effort, and shading his eyes from the hot glare of the sun, stared bewilderedly at his interlocutor.

  “What..what is this?” he stammered dreamily— “I do not understand you!

  … I.. I have slept on the field of Ardath!”

  The soldiers burst into a loud laugh, in which their leader joined.

  “Thou hast drunk deep, my friend!” he observed, putting up his sword with a sharp clatter into its shining sheath,— “What name sayst thou? … ARDATH? We know it not, nor dost thou, I warrant, when sober! Go to — make for thy home speedily! Aye, aye! the flavor of good wine clings to thy mouth still,— ’tis a pleasant sweetness that I myself am partial to, and I can pardon those who, like thee, love it somewhat too well! Away! — and thank the gods thou hast fallen into the hands of the King’s guard, rather then Lysia’s priestly patrol! See! the gates are open, — in with thee! and cool thy head at the first fountain?”

  “The gates?” … What gates? Removing his hand from his eyes Alwyn gazed around confusedly. He was standing on an open stretch of level road, dustily-white, and dry, with long-continued heat, — and right in front of him was an enormously high wall, topped with rows of bristling iron spikes, and guarded by the gates alluded to, — huge massive portals seemingly made of finely molded brass, and embellished on either side by thick, round, stone watch towers, from whose summits scarlet pennons drooped idly in the windless air. Amazed, and full of a vague, trembling terror, he fixed his wondering looks once more upon his strange companions, who in their turn regarded him with cool military indifference.”

  “I must be mad or dreaming,” he thought, — then growing suddenly desperate he stretched out his hands with a wild appealing gesture:

  “I swear to you I know nothing of this place!” he cried— “I never saw

  it before! Some trick has been played on me … who brought me here?

  Where is Elzear the hermit? … the Ruins of Babylon? … where is, …

  Good God! … what fearful freak of fate is this!”

  The soldiers laughed again, — their commander looked at him a little curiously.

  “Nay, art THOU one of the escaped of Lysia’s lovers?” he asked, suspiciously— “And has the Silver Nectar failed of its usual action, and driven thy senses to the winds, that thou ravest thus? For if thou art a stranger and knowest naught of us, how speakest thou our language? … Why wearest thou the garb of our citizens?”

  Alwyn shrank and shivered as though he had received a deadening blow, — an awful, inexplicable chill horror froze his blood. It was true! … he understood the language spoken! … it was perfectly familiar to him, — more so than his own native tongue, — stop! what WAS his native tongue?

  He tried to think — and, the sick fear at his heart grew stronger, — he could not remember a word of it! And his dress! … he glanced at it dismayed and appalled, — he had not noticed it till now. It bore some resemblance to the costume of ancient Greece, and consisted of a white linen tunic and loose upper vest, both garments being kept in place by a belt of silver. From this belt depended a sheathed dagger, a square writing tablet, and a pencil-shaped implement which he immediately recognized as the antique form of stylus. His feet were shod with sandals — his arms were bare to the shoulder, and clasped at the upper part by two broad silver armlets richly chased.

  Noting all these details, the fantastic awfulness of his position smote him with redoubled force, — and he felt as a madman may feel when his impending doom has not entirely asserted itself, — when only grotesque and leering suggestions of madness cloud his brain, — when hideous faces, dimly discerned, loom out of the chaos of his nightly visions, — and when all the air seems solid darkness, with one white line of fire cracking it asunder in the midst, and that the fire of his own approaching frenzy. Such a delirium of agony possessed Alwyn at that moment, — he could have shrieked, laughed, groaned, wept, and fallen down in the dust before these bearded armed men, praying them to slay him with their weapons there where he stood, and put him mercifully and at once out of his mysterious misery. But an invisible influence stronger than himself, prevented him from becoming altogether the victim of his own torturing emotion
s, and he remained erect and still as a marble figure, with a wondering, white piteous face of such unutterable affliction that the officer who watched him seemed touched, and, advancing, clapped his shoulder in a friendly manner.

  “Come, come!” he said— “Thou need’st fear nothing, — we are not the men to blab of thy trespass against the city’s edict, — for, of a truth, there is too much whispering away of young and goodly lives nowadays. What! — thou art not the first gay gallant, nor wilt thou be the last, that has seen the world turn upside down in a haze of love and late feasting! If thou hast not slept long enough, why sleep again an thou wilt, — but not here…”

  He broke off abruptly, — a distant clatter of horses’ hoofs was heard, as of one galloping at full speed. The soldiers started, and assumed an attitude of attention, — their leader muttered something like an oath, and seizing Alwyn by the arm, hurried him to the brass gates which, as he had said, stood open, and literally thrust him through.

  “In, in, my lad!” he urged with rough kindliness,— “Thou hast a face fairer than that of the King’s own minstrel, and why wouldst thou die for sake of an extra cup of wine? If Lysia is to blame for this scattering of thy wits, take heed thou do not venture near her more — it is ill jesting with the Serpent’s sting! Get thee hence quickly, and be glad of thy life, — thou hast many years before thee yet in which to play the lover and fool!”

  With this enigmatical speech he signed to his men to follow him, — they all filed through the gates, which closed after them with a jarring clang, … a dark bearded face peered out of a narrow loophole in one of the watch-towers, and a deep voice called:

  “What of the hour?”

  The officer raised his gauntleted hand, and answered promptly:

  “Peace and safety!”

  “Salutation!” cried the voice again.

  “Salutation!” responded the officer, and with a reassuring nod and smile to the bewildered Alwyn, he gathered his little band around him, and they all marched off, the measured clink-clank of their footsteps making metallic music, as they wheeled round a corner and disappeared from sight.