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

by Marie Corelli

  “We men have yet to learn the true meaning of love,” — he mused rather sadly— “We consider it from the selfish standpoint of our own unbridled passions, — we willingly accept a fair face as the visible reflex of a fair soul, and nine times out of ten, we are utterly mistaken! We begin wrongly, and we therefore end miserably, — we should love a woman for what she IS, and not for what she appears to be. Yet, how are we to fathom her nature? how shall we guess, . . how can we decide? Are we fooled by an evil fate? — or do we in our loves and marriages deliberately fool ourselves?”

  He pondered the question hazily without arriving at any satisfactory answer, . . and as Sah-luma still did not return, he resumed his slow, unguided, and solitary way. He presently found himself in a close boscage of tall trees straight as pines, and covered with very large, thick leaves that exhaled a peculiarly faint odor, — and here, pausing abruptly, he looked anxiously about him. This was certainly not the avenue through which he had previously come with Sah-luma, . . and he soon felt uncomfortably convinced that he had somehow taken the wrong path. Perceiving a low iron gate standing open in front of him, he went thither and discovered a steep stone staircase leading down, down into what seemed to be a vast well, black and empty as a starless midnight. Peering doubtfully into this gloomy pit, he fancied he saw a small, blue flame wavering to and fro at the bottom, and, pricked by a sudden impulse of curiosity, he made up his mind to descend.

  He went down slowly and cautiously, counting each step as he placed his foot upon it, . . there were a hundred steps in all, and at the end the light he had seen completely vanished, leaving him in the most profound darkness. Confused and startled, he stretched out his hands instinctively as a blind man might do, and thus came in contact with something sharp, pointed, and icy cold like the frozen talon of a dead bird. Shuddering at the touch, he recoiled, — and was about to try and grope his way up the stairs again, when the light once more appeared, this time casting a thin, slanting, azure blaze through the dense shadows, — and he was able gradually to realize the horrors of the place into which he had unwittingly adventured. One faint cry escaped his lips, — and then he was mute and motionless, — chilled to the very heart. A great awe and speechless dread overwhelmed him, . . for he — a living man and fully conscious of life — stood alone, surrounded by a ghastly multitude of skeletons, skeletons bleached white as ivory and glistening with a smooth, moist polish as of pearl. Shoulder to shoulder, arm against arm, they stood, placed upright, and as close together as possible, — every bony hand held a rusty spear, — and on every skull gleamed a small metal casque inscribed with hieroglyphic characters. Thousands of eyeless sockets seemed to turn toward him in blank yet questioning wonder, suggesting awfully to his mind that the eyes might still be there, fallen far back into the head from whence they yet SAW, themselves unseen, — thousands of grinning jaws seemed to mock at him, as he leaned half-fainting against the damp, weed-grown portal, — he fancied he could hear the derisive laugh of death echoing horribly through those dimly distant arches! This, . . this, he thought wildly, was the sequel to his brief and wretched history! … for this one end he had wandered out of the ways of his former life, and forgotten almost all he had ever known, — here was the only poor finale an all-wise and all-potent God could contrive for the close of His marvelous symphony of creative Love and Light! … Ah, cruel, cruel! Then there was no justice, no pity, no compensation in all the width and breadth of the Universe, if Death indeed was the end of everything! — and God or the great Force called by that name was nothing but a Tyrant and Torturer of His helpless creature, Man! So thinking, dully and feebly, he pressed his hand on his aching eyes, to shut out the sight of that grim crowd of fleshless, rigid Shapes that everywhere confronted him, . . the darkness of the place seemed to descend upon him crushingly, and, reeling forward, he would have fallen in a swoon, had not a strong hand suddenly grasped his arm and supported him firmly upright.

  “How now, my son!” — said a grave, musical voice that had in it a certain touch of compassion, . . “What ails thee? … and why art thou here? Art thou condemned to die! … or dost thou seek an escape from death?”

  Making an effort to overcome the sick giddiness that confused his brain, he looked up, — a bright lamp flared in his eyes, contrasting so dazzlingly with the surrounding gloom that for a moment he was half-blinded by its brilliancy, but presently steadying his gaze he was able to discern the dark outline of a tall, black-garmented figure standing beside him, — the figure of an old man, whose severe and dignified aspect at first reminded him somewhat of the prophet Khosrul. Only that Khosrul’s rugged features had borne the impress of patient, long-endured, bitter suffering, and the personage who now confronted him had a face so calm and seriously impassive that it might have been taken for that of one newly dead, from whose lineaments all traces of earthly passion had forever been smoothed away.

  “Art thou condemned to die, or dost thou seek an escape from death?” The question had, or seemed to have, a curious significance, — it reiterated itself almost noisily in his ears, — his mind was troubled by vague surmises and dreary forebodings, — speech was difficult to him, and his lips quivered pathetically, when he at last found force to frame his struggling thoughts into language.

  “Escape from death!” he murmured, gazing wildly around as he spoke, on the vast skeleton crowd that encircled him.. “Old man, dost thou also talk of dream-like impossibilities? Wilt thou also maintain a creed of hope when naught awaits us but despair? Art thou fooled likewise with the glimmering Soul-mirage of a never-to-be-realized future? … Escape from death? … How? — and where! Art not these dry and vacant forms sufficiently eloquent of the all-omnipotence of Decay?” … and he caught his unknown companion almost fiercely by the long robe, while a sound that was half a sob and half a sigh came from his aching throat.. “Lo you, how emptily they stare upon us! … how frozen-piteous is their smile! … Poor, poor frail shapes! … nay! — who would think these hollow shells of bone had once been men! Men with strong hearts, warm-flowing blood, and throbbing pulses, . . men of thought and action, who maybe did most nobly bear themselves in life upon the earth, and yet are now forgotten, . . men — ah, great Heaven! can it be that these most rueful, loathly things have loved, and hoped, and labored through all their days for such an end as this! Escape from death! … alas, there is no escape, . . ’tis evident we all must die, . . die, and with dust-quenched eyes unlearn our knowledge of the sun, the stars, the marvels of the universe, — for us no more shall the flowers bloom or the sweet birds sing; the poem of the world will write itself anew in every roseate flushing of the dawn, — but we, — we who have joyed therein, — we who have sung the praises of the light, the harmonies of wind and sea, the tunefulness of woods and fields, — we whose ambitious thoughts have soared archangel-like through unseen empyreans of space, there to drink in a honeyed hope of Heaven, — we shall be but DEAD! … mute, cold, and stirless as deep, undug stones, . . dead! … Ah God, thou Utmost Cruelty!” — and in a sudden access of grief and passion he raised one hand and shook it aloft with a menacing gesture— “Would I might look upon Thee face to face, and rebuke Thee for Thy merciless injustice!”

  He spoke wildly as though possessed by a sort of frenzy, — his unknown companion heard him with an air of mild and pitying patience.

  “Peace — peace! Blaspheme not the Most High, my son!” he said gently, yet reproachfully. “Distraught as thou dost seem with some strange misery, and sick with fears, forbear thine ignorant fury against Him who hath for love’s dear sake alone created thee. Control thy soul in patience! — surely thou art afflicted by thine own vain and false imaginings, which for a time contort and darken the clear light of truth. Why dost thou thus disquiet thyself concerning the end of life, seeing that verily it hath NO end? … and that what we men call death is not a conclusion but merely a new beginning? Waste not thy pity on these skeleton forms, — the empty dwellings of martial spirits long since fled, . . as wel
l weep over fallen husks of corn from which the blossoms have sprung right joyously upward! This world is but our roadside hostelry, wherein we heaven-bound sojourners tarry for one brief, restless night, — why regret the loss of the poor refreshment offered thee here, when there are a thousand better feasts awaiting thee elsewhere on thy way? Come, — let me lead thee hence, . . this place is known as the Passage of the Tombs, — and communicates with the Inner Court of the Sacred Temple, — and if, as I fear, thou art a stray fugitive from the accursed Lysia’s band of lovers, thou mayest be tracked hither and quickly slain. Come, — I will show thee a secret labyrinth by which thou canst gain the embankment of the river, and from thence betake thyself speedily home, . . if thou hast a home…” here he paused, and a keen, questioning glance flashed in his dark eyes. “But, — notwithstanding thy fluency of speech and fashion of attire, methinks thou hast the lost and solitary air of one who is a stranger in the city of Al-Kyris?”

  Theos sighed.

  “A stranger I am indeed!” he said drearily— “A stranger to my very self and all my former belongings! Ask me no questions, good father, for, as I live, I cannot answer them! I am oppressed by a nameless and mysterious suffering, . . my brain is darkened, — my thoughts but half-formed and never wholly uttered, and I, — I who once deemed human intelligence and reason all-supreme, all-clear, all-absolute, am now compelled to use that reason reasonlessly, and to work with that intelligence in helpless ignorance as to what end my mental toil shall serve! Woeful and strange it is! — yet true; . . I am as a broken straw in a whirlwind, — or the pale ghost of my own identity groping for things forgotten in a land of shadows; . . I know not whence I came, nor whither I go! Nay, do not fear me, — I am not mad: I am conscious of my life, my strength, and physical well-being, — and though I may speak wildly, I harbor no ill-intent toward any man — my quarrel is with God alone!”

  He paused, — then resumed in calmer accents,— “You judge rightly, reverend sir, — I am a stranger in Al-Kyris. I entered the city-gates this morning when the sun was high, — and ere noon I found courteous welcome and princely shelter, — I am the guest of the poet Sah-luma.”

  The old man looked at him half compassionately.

  “Ah, Sah-luma is thine host?” he said with a touch of melancholy surprise in his tone— “Then wherefore art thou here? … here in this dark abode where none may linger and escape with life? … how earnest thou within the bounds of Lysid’s fatal pleasaunce! … Has the Laureate’s friendship thus misguided thee?”

  Theos hesitated before replying. He was again moved by that curious instinctive dread of hearing Sah-luma’s name associated with any sort of reproach, — and his voice had a somewhat defiant ring as he answered:

  “Nay, surely I am neither child nor woman that I should weakly yield to guidance or misleading! Some trifling matter of free-will remains to me in spite of mine affliction, — and that I have supped with Sah-luma at the Palace of the High Priestess, has been as much my choice as his example. Who among men would turn aside from high feasting and mirthful company? … not I, believe me! … and Sah-luma’s desires herein were but the reflex of mine own. We came together through the woodland, and parted but a moment since…”

  He stopped abruptly, startled by a sudden clash as of steel and the tramp-tramp of approaching feet. His aged companion caught him by the arm…

  “Hush!” he whispered.. “Not a word more.. not a breath! … or thy life must pay the penalty! Quick, — follow me close! … step softly! … there is a hiding-place near at hand where we may couch unseen till these dread visitants pass by.”

  Moving stealthily and with anxious precaution, he led the way to a niche hollowed deeply out in the thickness of the wall, and turning his lamp aside so that not the faintest glimmer of it could be perceived, he took Theos by the hand, and drew him into what seemed to be a huge cavernous recess, utterly dark and icy cold.

  Here, crouching low in the furthest gloom, they both waited silently, — Theos ignorant as to the cause of the sudden alarm, and wondering vaguely what strange new circumstance was about to happen. The measured tramp-tramp of feet came nearer and nearer, and in another moment the flare of smoking torches illumined the vaulted passage, casting many a ruddy flicker and flash on the ivory-gleaming whiteness of the vast skeleton army that stood with such grim and pallid patience as though waiting for a marching signal.

  Presently there appeared a number of half-naked men, carrying short axes stained with blood, — coarse, savage, cruel-looking brutes all, whose lowering faces bore the marks of a thousand unrepented crimes, — these were followed by four tall personages clad in flowing white robes and closely masked, — and finally there came a band of black slaves clothed in vivid scarlet, dragging between them two writhing, bleeding creatures, — one a man, the other a girl in her earliest youth, both convulsed by the evident last agonies of death.

  Arrived at the centre of that part of the vault where the skeleton crowd was thickest, this horrible cortege halted, while one of the masked personages undid from his girdle a large bunch of keys. And now Theos, watching everything with dreadful interest from the obscure corner where he was, thanks to his unknown friend, successfully concealed, perceived for the first time a low, iron door, heavily barred, and surmounted by sharp spikes as long as drawn daggers. When this dreary portal was, with many a jarring groan and clang, slowly opened, such an awful cry broke from the lips of the tortured man as might have wrung compassion from the most hardened tyrant. Wresting himself fiercely out of the grasp of the slaves who held him, he struggled to his feet, while the blood poured from the cruel wounds that were inflicted all over his body, and raising his manacled hands aloft he cried..

  “Mercy! … mercy! … not for me, but for her! … for her, my love, my life, my tenderest little one! … What is her crime, ye fiends? … why do ye deem love a sin and passion a dishonor? … Shall there be no more heart-longings because ye are cold? … Spare her! … she is so young, so fond, so innocent of all reproach save one, the shame of loving me! Spare her! … or, if ye will not spare, slay her at once! … now! — now, with swift compassionate sword, . . but cast her not alive into yon hideous serpent’s den! … not alive! … ah no, no, — ye gods have pity! …”

  Here his voice broke and a sudden light passed over his agonized countenance. Gazing steadfastly at the girl, whose beautiful, white body now lay motionless on the cold stone, with a cloud of fair hair falling veil-like over it, his eyes seemed to strain themselves out of their sockets in the intensity of his eager regard, when all at once he gave vent to a wild peal of delirious laughter and exclaimed..

  “Dead.. dead! … Thanks be to the merciless gods for this one gift of grace at the last! Dead.. dead! … O the blessed favor and freedom of death! … Sweetheart, they can torture thee no more.. no more! … Ah, devils that ye are!” and his voice grown frantically loud, pierced the gloomy arches with terrible resonance, as he saw the red-garmented slaves vainly endeavoring to rouse, with ferocious blows and thrusts, new life in the fair, stiffening corpse before them.. “This time ye are baffled! … Baffled! — and I live to see your vanquishment! Give her to me!” and he stretched out his trembling arms … “Give her…she is dead — and ye cannot offer to Nagaya any lifeless thing! I will weave her a shroud of her own gold hair — I will bury her softly away in the darkness — I will sing to her as I used to sing in the silent summer evenings, when we fancied our secret of forbidden love unknown, — and with my lips on hers, I will pray.. pray for the pardon of passion grown stronger…than…life! …”

  He ceased, and swaying forward, fell, . . a shiver ran through his limbs…one deep, gasping sigh…and all was over. The band of torturers gathered round the body, uttering fierce oaths and exclamations of dismay.

  “Both dead!” said one of the individuals in white.. “’Tis a most fatal augury!”

  “Fatal indeed!” said another, and turning to the men with the blood stained axes, he added angrily— “Ye wer
e too swift and lavish of your weapons — ye should have let these criminals suffer slowly inch by inch, and yet have left them life enough wherewith to linger on in anguish many hours.”

  The wretches thus addressed looked sullen and humiliated, and approaching the two corpses, would have brutally inflicted fresh wounds on them, had not the seeming chief of the party interfered.

  “Let be.. let be!” he said austerely— “Ye cannot cause the dead to feel, . . would that it were possible! Then might the glorious and god like thirst of vengeance in our great High Priestess be somewhat more appeased in this matter. For the unlawful communion of love between a vestal virgin and an anointed priest cannot be too utterly abhorred and condemned, — and these twain, who thus did foully violate their vows, have perished far too easily. The sanctity of the Temple has been outraged, . . Lysia will not be satisfied, . . and how shall we pacify her righteous wrath, concerning this too tranquil death of the undeserving and impure?”

  Drawing all together in a close group they held a whispered consultation, and finally, appearing to have come to some sort of decision, they took up the dead bodies one after another, and flung them carelessly into the dark aperture lately unclosed. As they did this, a stealthy, rustling sound was heard, as of some great creature moving to and fro in the far interior, but they soon locked and barred the iron portal once more, and then took their departure rather hurriedly, leaving the vault by the way Theos had entered it — namely, up the stone stairway that led into Lysia’s palace-gardens. As the last echo of their retreating steps died away and the last glimmer of their lurid torches vanished, Theos sprang out from his hiding-place, — his venerable companion slowly followed.