Zimiamvia: A Trilogy

by E R Eddison

  These pragmatical sophisters, with their loose psychology and their question-begging logic-chopping that masquerades as metaphysic! I would almost give them leave to gag truth and lead the world by the nose like a jackass, if they could but be men as this man, and bend error and self-deception to high and lofty imaginings as he did. For it is certain mankind would build better if they built for themselves; few can love and tender an unknown posterity. But this man, as I have long observed him, looked on all things sub specie aeternitatis; his actions all moved (like the slow procession of this northern summer night) to slow perfection, where the common run of men spoil all in their make-shift hurry. If he followed will-o'-the-wisps in metaphysics, they proved safe lights for him in practical affairs. He was neither deceived nor alarmed by the rabble's god, mere Quantity, considering that if you inflate it big enough the Matterhorn becomes as insignificant as a grain of sand, since the eye can no longer perceive it, and that a nebula in which our whole earth would be but as a particle in a cloud of tobacco-smoke is, (unless as a whetter of imagination's appetite), more unimportant than that smoke, because further divorced from life. And so, with sound wisdom, he applied all his high gifts of nature, and that sceptre which his colossal wealth set ready in his hand, not to dissipate them in the welter of the world, but to fields definite enough to show the effect. And for all his restless vigour and love of action, he withheld himself as a rule from action in the world, except where he could find conditions, as in Paraguay and again in Lofoten, outside the ordinary texture of modern life. For he felt, I think, by a profound instinct, that in modern life action swallows up the individual. There is no scope for a good climber, he said, to show his powers in a quagmire. Well, it is night now; and no more climbing.'

  It was not until I had ended that I felt I had been making something of a fool of myself, letting my thoughts run away with my tongue. For some minutes there was silence, broken only by the solemn ticking of the clock, and now and then a sea-bird's desolate cry without. Then the Senorita's voice stole on the silence as a meteor steals across darkness: 'All must pass away, all must break at last, everything we care for: lips wither, the bright brain grow dim, "the vine, the woman, and the rose": even the names, even the mention and remembrance of created things, must die and be forgotten; until at last not these only, but death and oblivion itself must - cease, dissipated in that infinite frost of illimitable nothingness of space and time, for ever and ever and ever.'

  I listened with that sensation of alternating strain and collapse of certain muscles which belongs to some dreams where the dreamer climbs insecurely from frame to frame over rows of pictures hung on a wall of tremendous height below which opens the abyss. Hitherto the mere conception of annihilation (when once I had imaginatively compassed it, as now and then I have been able to do,-lying awake in the middle of the night) had had so much power of horror upon me that I could barely refrain from shrieking in my bed. But now, for the first time in my life, I found I could look down from that sickening verge steadfastly and undismayed. It seemed a strange turn, that here in death's manifest presence I, for the first time, found myself unable seriously to believe in death.

  My outward eyes were on Lessingham's face, the face of an Ozymandias. My inward eye searched the night, plunging to those deeps beyond the star-shine where, after uncounted millions of light-years' journeying, the two ends of a straight line meet, and the rays complete the full circle on themselves; so that what to my earthly gaze shows as this almost indiscernible speck of mist, seen through a gap in the sand-strewn thousands of the stars of the Lion, may be but the back view of the very same unknown cosmic island of suns and galaxies which (as a like unremarkable speck) faces my searching eye in the direct opposite region of the heavens, in the low dark sign of Capricorn.

  Then, as another meteor across darkness: 'Many have blasphemed God for these things,' she said; 'but without reason, surely. Shall infinite Love that is able to wield infinite Power be subdued to our necessities? Must the Gods make haste, for Whom no night cometh? Is there a sooner or a later in Eternity? Have you thought of this: you had an evil dream: you were in hell that night; yet you woke and forgot it utterly. Are you to-night any jot the worse for it?'

  She seemed to speak of forgotten things that I had known long ago and that, remembered now, brought back all that was lost and healed all sorrows. I had no words' to answer her, but I thought of Lessingham's poems, and they seemed to be, to this mind she brought me to, as shadows before the sun. I reached down from the shelf at my left, beside the window, a book of vellum with clasps of gold. 'Lessingham shall answer you from this book,' I said, looking up at her where she sat against the sunset The book opened at his rondel of Aphrodite Ourania. I read it aloud. My voice shook, and marred the reading:

  Between the sunset and the sea

  The years shall still behold Your glory,

  Seen through this troubled fantasy

  Of doubtful things and transitory.

  Desire's clear eyes still search for Thee

  Beyond Time's transient territory,

  Upon some flower-robed promontory

  Between the sunset and the sea.

  Our Lady of Paphos: though a story

  They count You: though Your temples be

  Time-wrecked, dishonoured, mute and hoary—

  You are more than their philosophy.

  Between the sunset and the sea

  Waiteth Your eternal glory.

  While I read, the Senorita sat motionless, her gaze bent on Lessingham. Then she rose softly from her seat in the window and stood once more in that place where I had first seen her that night, like the Queen of Love sorrowing for a great lover dead. The clock ticked on, and I measured it against my heart-beats. An unreasoning terror now took hold of me, that Death was in the room and had laid on my heart also his fleshless and icy hand. I dropped the book and made as if to rise from my seat, but my knees gave way like a drunken man's. Then with the music of her voice, speaking once more, as if love itself were speaking out of the interstellar spaces from beyond the mists of time and desolation and decay, my heart gave over its fluttering and became quiet like a dove held safe in its mistress's hand. 'It is midnight now,' she said. 'Time to say farewell, seal the chamber, and light the pyre. But first you have leave to look upon the picture, and to read that which was written.'

  At the time, I wondered at nothing, but accepted, as in a dream, her knowledge of this secret charge bequeathed - to me by Lessingham through sealed instructions locked in a fireproof box which I had only opened on his death, and of which he had once or twice assured me that no person other than himself had seen the contents. In that box was a key of gold, and with that I was at midnight of his death-day to unlock the folding doors of a cabinet that was built into the wall above his bed, and so leave him lying in state under the picture that was in the cabinet. And I must seal the room, and burn up Digermulen castle, and him and all that was in it, as he had burnt up his house in Wastdale fifty years before. And he had let me know that in that cabinet was his wife's picture, painted by himself, his masterpiece never seen by living eye except the painter's and the sitter's; the only one of all her pictures that he had spared.

  The cabinet doors were of black lacquer and gold, flush with the wall. I turned the golden key, and opened them left and right. My eyes swam as I looked upon that loveliness that showed doubtfully in the glittering candlelight and the diffused rosy dusk from without. I saw well now that this great picture had been painted for himself alone. A sob choked me as I thought of this last pledge of our friendship, planned by him so many years ago to speak for him to me from beyond death, that my eyes should be allowed to see his treasure before it was committed, with his own mortal remains, to the consuming element of fire. And now I saw how upon the inside panels of the cabinet was inlaid (by his own hand, I doubt not) in letters of gold this poem, six stanzas upon either door:

  I will have gold and silver for my delight:

  Hanging
s of red silk, purfled and worked in gold

  With mantichores and what worse shapes of fright

  Terror Antiquus spawn'd in the days of old.

  I will have columns of Parian vein'd with gems,

  Their capitals by Pheidias' self design'd,

  By his hand carv'd, for flowers with strong smooth stems,

  Nepenthe, Elysian Amaranth, and their kind.

  I will have night: and the taste of a field well fought,

  And a golden bed made wide for luxury;

  And there,—since else were all things else prov’d naught,—

  Bestower and hallower of all things: I will have Thee.

  —Thee, and hawthorn time. For in that new birth though all

  Change, you I will have unchanged: even that dress,

  So fall'n to your hips as lapping waves should fall:

  You, cloth'd upon with your beauty's nakedness.

  The line of your flank: so lily-pure and warm:

  The globed wonder of splendid breasts made bare:

  The gleam, like cymbals a-clash, when you lift your arm;

  And the faun leaps out with the sweetness of red-gold hair.

  My dear,—my tongue is broken: 1 cannot see:

  A sudden subtle fire beneath my skin

  Runs, and an inward thunder deafens me,

  Drowning mine ears: I tremble.—O unpin

  Those pins of anachite diamond, and unbraid

  Those strings of margery-pearls, and so let fall

  Your python tresses in their deep cascade

  To be your misty robe imperial.—

  The beating of wings, the gallop, the wild spate,

  Die down. A hush resumes all Being, which you

  Do with your starry presence consecrate,

  And peace of moon-trod gardens and falling dew.

  Two are our bodies: two are our minds, but wed.

  On your dear shoulder, like a child asleep,

  I let my shut lids press, while round my head

  Your gracious hands their benediction keep.

  Mistress of my delights; and Mistress of Peace:

  O ever changing, never changing, You:

  Dear pledge of our true love's unending lease,

  Since true to you means to mine own self true.—

  I will have gold and jewels for my delight:

  Hyacinth, ruby, and smaragd, and curtains work'd in gold

  With mantichores and what worse shapes of fright

  Terror Antiquus spawn'd in the days of old.

  Earth I will have, and the deep sky's ornament:

  Lordship, and hardship, and peril by land and sea.—

  And still, about cock-shut time, to pay for my banishment,

  Safe in the lowe of the firelight 1 will have Thee.

  Half blinded with tears, I read the stanzas and copied them down. All the while I was conscious of the Senorita's presence at my side, a consciousness from which in some irrational way I seemed to derive an inexplicable support, beyond comprehension or comparisons. These were things which by all right judgement it was unpardonable that any living creature other than myself should have looked upon. Yet of the lightness of her presence, (more, of its deep necessity), my sense was so lively as to pass without remark or question. When I had finished my writing, I saw that she had not moved, but remained there, very still, one hand laid lightly on the bedpost at the foot of the bed, between the ears of the great golden hippogriff. I heard her say, faint as the breath of night-flowers under the stars: 'The fabled land of ZIMIAMVIA. Is it true, will you think, which poets tell us of that fortunate land: that no mortal foot may tread it, but the blessed souls do inhabit it of the dead that be departed: of them that were great upon earth and did great deeds when they were living, that scorned not earth and the delights and the glories of earth, and yet did justly and were not dastards nor yet oppressors?'

  'Who knows?' I said. 'Who dares say he knows?'

  Then I heard her say, in her voice that was gentler than the glow-worm's light among rose-trees in a forgotten garden between dewfall and moonrise: Be content. I have promised and I will perform.

  And as my eyes rested on that strange woman's face, it seemed to take upon itself, as she looked on Lessingham dead, that unsearchable look, of laughter-loving lips divine, half closed in a grave expectancy, of infinite pity, infinite patience, and infinite sweetness, which sits on the face of Praxiteles's Knidian Aphrodite.

  Principal Persons

  LESSINGHAM

  BARGANAX

  FIORINDA

  ANTIOPE

  I

  A Spring Night in Mornagay

  A COMMISSION OF PERIL THE THREE KINGDOMS MASTERLESS POLICY OF THE VICAR THE PROMISE HEARD IN ZIMIAMVIA.

  'BY all accounts, 'twas to give him line only,' said Amaury; 'and if King Mezentius had lived, would have been war between them this summer. Then he should have been boiled in his own syrup; and 'tis like danger now, though smaller, to cope the son. You do forget your judgement, I think, in this single thing, save which I could swear you are perfect in all things.'

  Lessingham made no answer. He was gazing with a strange intentness into the wine which brimmed the crystal goblet in his right hand. He held it up for the bunch of candles that stood in the middle of the table to shine through, turning the endless stream of bubbles into bubbles of golden fire. Amaury, half facing him on his right, watched him. Lessingham set down the goblet and looked round at him with the look of a man awaked from sleep.

  'Now I've angered you,' said Amaury. 'And yet, I said but true.'

  As a wren twinkles in and out in a hedge-row, the demurest soft shadow of laughter came and went in Lessingham's swift grey eyes. 'What, were you reading me good counsel? Forgive me, dear Amaury: I lost the thread on't You were talking of my cousin, and the great King, and might-a-beens; but I was fallen a-dreaming and marked you not'

  Amaury gave him a look, then dropped his eyes. His thick eyebrows that were the colour of pale rye-straw frowned and bristled, and beneath the sunburn his face, clear-skinned as a girl's, flamed scarlet to the ears and hair-roots, and he sat sulky, his hands thrust into his belt at either side, his chin buried in his ruff. Lessingham, still leaning on his left elbow, stroked the black curls of his mustachios and ran a finger slowly and delicately over the jewelled filigree work of the goblet's feet. Now and again he cocked an eye at Amaury, who at last looked up and their glances met. Amaury burst out laughing. Lessingham busied himself still for a moment with the sparkling, rare, and sunset-coloured embellishments of the goldsmith's art, then, pushing the cup from him, sat back. 'Out with it,' he said; ' 'tis shame to plague you.v Let me know what it is, and if it be in my nature I'll be schooled/

  'Here were comfort,' said Amaury; 'but that I much fear 'tis your own nature I would change.'

  'Well, that you will never do,' answered he.

  'My lord,' said Amaury, 'will you resolve me this: Why are we here? What waiting for?’What intending?'

  Lessingham stroked his beard and smiled.

  Amaury said. 'You see, you will not answer. Will you answer this, then: It is against the nature of you not to be rash, and against the condition of rashness not to be 'gainst all reason; yet why, (after these five years that I've followed you up and down the world, and seen you mount so swiftly the degrees and steps of greatness that, in what courts or princely armies soever you might be come, you stuck in the eyes of all as the most choice jewel there): why needs must you, with the wide world to choose from, come back to this land of Rerek, and, of all double-dealers and secretaries of hell, sell your sword to the Vicar?'

  'Not sell, sweet Amaury,' answered Lessingham. 'Lend Lend it in cousinly friendship.'

  Amaury laughed. 'Cousinly friendship! Give us patience! With the Devil and him together on either hand of you!' He leapt up, oversetting the chair, and strode to the fireplace. He kicked the logs together with his heavy riding-boots, and the smother of flame and sparks roared up the chimney. Turning about
, his back to the fire, feet planted wide, hands behind him, he said: 'I have you now in a good mood, though 'twere over much to hope you reasonable. And now you shall listen to me, for your good. You do know me: am I not myself by complexion subject to hasty and rash motions? yet I it is must catch at your bridle-rein; for in good serious earnest, you do make toward most apparent danger, and no tittle of advantage to be purchased by it. Three black clouds moving to a point; and here are you, in the summer and hunting-season of your youth, lying here with your eight hundred horse these three days, waiting for I know not what cat to jump, but (as you have plainly told me) of a most set obstinacy to tie yourself hand and heart to the Vicar's interest. You have these three months been closeted in his counsels: that I forget not. Nor will I misprise your politic wisdom: you have played chess with the Devil ere now and given him stalemate. But 'cause of these very things, you must see the peril you stand in: lest, if by any means he should avail to bring all things under his beck, he should then throw you off and let you hop naked; or, in the other event, and his ambitious thoughts should break his neck, you would then have raised up against yourself most bloody and powerful enemies.