But with Sah-luma it was different! Sah-luma must be guarded and cherished; his was a valuable life — the life of a genius such as the world sees but once in a century — and it should not, so Theos determined, — be emperilled or wasted; no! not even for the sake of the sensuous, exquisite, conquering beauty of this dazzling Priestess of the Sun — the fairest sorceress that ever triumphed over the frail yet immortal Spirit of Man!
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE LOVE THAT KILLS.
How the time went he could not tell; in so gay and gorgeous a scene hours might easily pass with the swiftness of unmarked moments. Peals of laughter echoed now and again through the vaulted dome, and excited voices were frequently raised in clamorous disputations and contentious arguments that only just sheered off the boundary-line of an actual quarrel. All sorts of topics were discussed — the laws, the existing mode of government, the latest discoveries in science, and the military prowess of the King — but the conversation chiefly turned on the spread of disloyalty, atheism, and republicanism among the population of Al-Kyris, — and the influence of Khosrul on the minds of the lower classes. The episode of the Prophet’s late capture and fresh escape seemed to be perfectly well known to all present, though it had occurred so recently; one would have thought the detailed account of it had been received through some private telephone, communicating with the King’s palace.
As the banquet progressed and the wine flowed more lavishly, the assembled guests grew less and less circumspect in their general behavior; they flung themselves full length on their luxurious couches, in the laziest attitudes, now pulling out handfuls of flowers from the tall porcelain jars that stood near, and pelting one another with them for mere idle diversion, . . now summoning the attendant slaves to refill their wine-cups while they lay lounging at ease among their heaped-up cushions of silk and embroidery; and yet with all the voluptuous freedom of their manners, the picturesque grace that distinguished them was never wholly destroyed. These young men were dissolute, but not coarse; bold, but not vulgar; they took their pleasure in a delicately wanton fashion that was infinitely more dangerous in its influence on the mind than would have been the gross mirth and broad jesting of a similar number of uneducated plebeians. The rude licentiousness of an uncultivated boor has its safety-valve in disgust and satiety, . . but the soft, enervating sensualism of a trained and cultured epicurean aristocrat is a moral poison whose effects are so insidious as to be scarcely felt till all the native nobility of character has withered, and naught is left of a man but the shadow-wreck of his former self.
There was nothing repulsive in the half-ironical, half-mischievous merriment of these patrician revellers; their witticisms were brilliant and pointed, but never indelicate; and if their darker passions were roused, and ready to run riot, they showed as yet no sign of it. They ENJOYED — yes! with that selfish animal enjoyment and love of personal indulgence which all men, old and young without exception, take such delight in — unless indeed they be sworn and sorrowful anchorites, and even then you may be sure they are always regretting the easy license and libertinage of their bygone days of unbridled independence when they could foster their pet weaknesses, cherish their favorite vices, and laugh at all creeds and all morality as though Divine Justice were a mere empty name, and they themselves the super-essence of creation. Ah, what a ridiculous spectacle is Man! the two-legged pigmy of limited brain, and still more limited sympathies, that, standing arrogantly on his little grave the earth, coolly criticises the Universe, settles law, and measures his puny stature against that awful Unknown Force, deeply hidden, but majestically existent, which for want of ampler designation we call GOD — God, whom some of us will scarcely recognize, save with the mixture of doubt, levity, and general reluctance; God, whom we never obey unless obedience is enforced by calamity; God, whom we never truly love, because so many of us prefer to stake our chances of the future on the possibility of His non-existence!
Strangely enough, thoughts of this God, this despised and forgotten Creator, came wandering hazily over Theos’s mind at the present moment when, glancing round the splendid banquet-table, he studied the different faces of all assembled, and saw Self, Self, Self, indelibly impressed on every one of them. Not a single countenance was there that did not openly betray the complacent hauteur and tranquil vanity of absolute Egotism, Sah-luma’s especially. But then Sah-luma had something to be proud of — his genius; it was natural that he should be satisfied with himself — he was a great man! But was it well for even a great man to admire his own greatness? This was a pertinent question, and somewhat difficult to answer. A genius must surely be more or less conscious of his superiority to those who have no genius? Yet why? May it not happen, on occasions, that the so-called fool shall teach a lesson to the so-called wise man? Then where is the wise man’s superiority if a fool can instruct him? Theos found these suggestions curiously puzzling; they seemed simple enough, and yet they opened up a vista of intricate disquisition which he was in no humor to follow. To escape from his own reflections he began to pay close attention to the conversation going on around him, and listened with an eager, almost painful interest, whenever he heard Lysia’s sweet, languid voice chiming through the clatter of men’s tongues like the silver stroke of a small bell ringing in a storm at sea.
“And how hast thou left thy pale beauty Niphrata?” she was asking Sah-luma in half-cold, half-caressing accents. “Does her singing still charm thee as of yore? I understand thou hast given her her freedom. Is that prudent? Was she not safer as thy slave?”
Sah-luma glanced up quickly in surprise. “Safer? She is as safe as a rose in its green sheath,” he replied. “What harm should come to her?”
“I spoke not of harm,” said Lysia, with a lazy smile. “But the day may come, good minstrel, when thy sheathed rose may seek some newer sunshine than thy face! … when thy much poesy may pall upon her spirit, and thy love-songs grow stale! … and she may string her harp to a different tune than the perpetual adoration-hymn of Sah-luma!”
The handsome Laureate looked amused.
“Let her do so then!” he laughed carelessly. “Were she to leave me I should not miss her greatly; a thousand pieces of gold will purchase me another voice as sweet as hers, — another maid as fair! Meanwhile the child is free to shape her own fate, — her own future. I bind her no longer to my service; nevertheless, like the jessamine-flower, she clings, — and will not easily unwind the tendrils of her heart from mine.”
“Poor jessamine-flower!” murmured Lysia negligently, with a touch of malice in her tone. “What a rock it doth embrace; how little vantage-ground it hath wherein to blossom!” And her drowsy eyes shot forth a fiery glance from under their heavily fringed drooping white lids.
Sah-luma met her look with one of mingled vexation and reproach; she smiled and raising a goblet of wine to her lips, kissed the brim, and gave it to him with an indescribably graceful, swaying gesture of her whole form that reminded one of a tall white lily bowing in the breeze. He seized the cup eagerly, drank from it and returned it, — his momentary annoyance, whatever it was, passed, and a joyous elation illumined his fine features. Then Lysia, refilling the cup, kissed it again and handed it to Theos with so much soft animation and tenderness in her face as she turned to him, that his enforced calmness nearly gave way, and he had much ado to restrain himself from falling at her feet in a transport of passion, and crying out! … “Love me, O thou sorceress-sovereign of beauty! … love me, if only for an hour, and then let me die! … for I shall have lived out all the joys of life in one embrace of thine!” His hand trembled as he took the goblet, and he drank half its contents thirstily, — then imitating Sah-luma’s example, he returned it to her with a profound salutation. Her eyes dwelt meditatively upon him.
“What a dark, still, melancholy countenance is thine, Sir Theos!” she said abruptly— “Thou art, for sure, a man of strongly repressed and concentrated passions, … ’tis a nature I love! I would there were more of thy
proud and chilly temperament in Al-Kyris! … Our men are like velvet-winged butterflies, drinking honey all day and drowsing in sunshine — full to the brows of folly, — frail and delicate as the little dancing maidens of the King’s seraglio, . . nervous too, with weak heads, that art apt to ache on small provocation, and bodies that are apt to fail easily when but slightly fatigued. Aye! — thou art a man clothed complete in manliness, — moreover…”
She paused, and leaning forward so that the dark shower of her perfumed hair brushed his arm … “Hast ever heard travellers talk of volcanoes? … those marvellous mountains that oft wear crowns of ice on their summits and yet hold unquenchable fire in their depths? … Methinks thou dost resemble these, — and that at a touch, the flames would leap forth uncontrolled!”
Her magical low voice, more melodious in tone than the sound of harps played by moonlight on the water, thrilled in his ears and set his pulses beating madly, — with an effort he checked the torrent of love-words that rushed to his lips, and looked at her in a sort of wildly wondering appeal. Her laughter rang out in silvery sweet ripples, and throwing herself lazily back in her throne, she called..
“Aizif! … Aizif!”
The great tigress instantly bounded forward like an obedient hound, and placed its fore-paws on her knees, while she playfully held a sugared comfit high above its head.
“Up, Aizif! up!” she cried mirthfully.. “Up! and be like a man for once! … snatch thy pleasure at all hazards!”
With a roar, the savage brute leaped and sprang, its sharp white teeth fully displayed, its sly green eyes glisteningly prominent, — and again Lysia’s rich laughter pealed forth, mingling with the impatient snarls of her terrific favorite. Still she held the tempting morsel in her little snowy hand that glittered all over with rare gems, — and still the tigress continued to make impotent attempts to reach it, growing more and more ferocious with every fresh effort, — till all at once she shut her palm upon the dainty so that it could not be seen, and lightly catching the irritated beast by the throat brought its eyes on a level with her own. The effect was instantaneous, … a strong shudder passed through its frame — and it cowered and crouched lower and lower, in abject fear, — the sweat broke out, and stood in large drops on its sleek hide, and panting heavily, as the firm grasp its mistress slowly relaxed, it sank down prone, in trembling abasement on the second step of the dais, still looking up into those densely brilliant gazelle eyes that were full of such deadly fascination and merciless tyranny.
“Good Aizif!” said Lysia then, in that languid, soft voice, that while so sweet, suggested hidden treachery.. “Gentle fondling! … Thou hast fairly earned thy reward! … Here! … take it!” — and unclosing her roseate palm, she showed the desired bonne-bouche, and offered it with a pretty coaxing air, — but the tigress now refused to touch it, and lay as still as an animal of painted stone.
“What a true philosopher she is, my sweet Aizif!” she went on amusedly stroking the creature’s head,— “Her feminine wit teaches her what the dull brains of men can never grasp, . . namely, that pleasures, no matter how sweet, turn to ashes and wormwood when once obtained, — and that the only happiness in this world is the charm of DESIRE! There is a subject for thee, Sah-luma! … write an immortal Ode on the mysteries, the delights, the never-ending ravishment of Desire! … but carry not thy fancy on to desire’s fulfilment, for there thou shalt find infinite bitterness! The soul that wilfully gratifies its dearest wish, has stripped life of its supremest joy, and stands thereafter in an emptied sphere, sorrowful and alone, — with nothing left to hope for, nothing to look forward to, save death, the end of all ambition!”
“Nay, fair lady,” — said Theos suddenly,— “We who deem ourselves the children of the high gods, and the offspring of a Spirit Eternal, may surely aspire to something beyond this death, that, like a black seal, closes up the brief scroll of our merely human existence! And to us, therefore, ambition should be ceaseless, — for if we master the world, there are yet more worlds to win: and if we find one heaven, we do but accept it as a pledge of other heavens beyond it! The aspirations of Man are limitless, — hence his best assurance of immortality, … else why should he perpetually long for things that here are impossible of attainment? … things that like faint, floating clouds rimmed with light, suggest without declaring a glory unperceived?”
Lysia looked at him steadfastly, an under-gleam of malice shining in her slumbrous eyes.
“Why? … Because, good sir, the gods love mirth! … and the wanton Immortals are never more thoroughly diverted, than, when leaning downward from their clear empyrean, they behold Man, their Insect-Toy, arrogating to himself a share in their imperishable Essence! To keep up the Eternal Jest, they torture him with vain delusions, and prick him on with hopes never to be realized; aye! and the whole vast Heaven may well shake with thunderous laughter at the pride with which he doth put forth his puny claim to be elected to another and fairer state of existence! What hath he done? … what does he do, to merit a future life? … Are his deeds so noble? … is his wisdom so great? … is his mind so stainless? He, the oppressor of all Nature and of his brother man, — he, the insolent, self-opinionated tyrant, yet bound slave of the Earth on which he dwells … why should he live again and carry his ignoble presence into the splendors of an Eternity too vast for him to comprehend? ..Nay, nay! … I perceive thou art one of the credulous, for whom a reasonless worship to an unproved Deity is, for the sake of state-policy, maintained, . . I had thought thee wiser! … but no matter! thou shalt pay thy vows to the shrine of Nagaya to-morrow, and see with what glorious pomp and panoply we impose on the faithful, who like thee believe in their own deathless and divinely constituted natures, and enjoy to the full the grand Conceit that persuades them of their right to Immortality!”
Her words carried with them a certain practical positiveness of meaning, and Theos was somewhat impressed by their seeming truth. After all, it WAS a curious and unfounded conceit of a man to imagine himself the possessor of an immortal soul, — and yet … if all things were the outcome of a divine Creative Influence, was it not unjust of that Creative Influence to endow all humanity with such a belief if it had no foundation whatever? And could injustice be associated with divine law? …
He, Theos, for instance, was certain of his own immortality, — so certain that, surrounded as he was by this brilliant company of evident atheists, he felt himself to be the only real and positive existing Being among an assembly of Shadow-figures, — but it was not the time or the place to enter into a theological discussion, especially with Lysia, . . and for the moment at least, he allowed her assertions to remain uncontradicted. He sat, however, in a somewhat stern silence, now and then glancing wistfully and anxiously at Sah-luma, on whom the potent wines were beginning to take effect, and who had just thrown himself down on the dais at Lysia’s feet, close to the tigress that still lay couched there in immovable quiet. It was a picture worthy of the grandest painter’s brush, … that glistening throne black as jet, with the fair form of Lysia shining within it, like a white sea-nymph at rest in a grotto of ocean-stalactites, . . the fantastically attired negresses on each side, with their waving peacock-plumes, — the vivid carnation-color of the dais, against which the black and yellow stripes of the tigress showed up in strong and brilliant contrast, . . and the graceful, jewel-decked figure of the Poet Laureate, who, half sitting, half reclining on a black velvet cushion, leaned his handsome head indolently against the silvery folds of Lysia’s robe, and looked up at her with eyes in which burned the ardent admiration and scarcely restrained passion of a privileged lover.
Suddenly and quite involuntarily Theos thought of Niphrata, … alas, poor maiden! how utterly her devotion to Sah-luma was wasted! What did he care for her timid tenderness, . . her unselfish worship? Nothing? … less than nothing! He was entirely absorbed by the sovereign-peerless beauty of this wonderful High Priestess, — this witch-like weaver of spells more potent than those of Circe; an
d musing thereon, Theos was sorry for Niphrata, he knew not why. He felt that she had somehow been wronged, — that she suffered, … and that he, as well as Sah-luma, was in some mysterious way to blame for this, though he could by no means account for his own share in the dimly suggested reproach. This peculiar, remorseful emotion was transitory, like all the vaguely incomplete ideas that travelled mistily through his perplexed brain, and he soon forgot it in the increasing animation and interest of the scene that immediately surrounded him.
The general conversation was becoming more and more noisy, and the laughter more and more boisterous, — several of the young men were now very much the worse for their frequent libations, and Nir-jalis, particularly, began again to show marked symptoms of an inclination to break loose from all the bonds of prudent reserve. He lay full length on his silk divan, his feet touching Theos, who sat upright, — and, singing little snatches of song to himself, he pulled the vine-wreath from his tumbled fair locks as though he found it too weighty, and flung it on the ground among the other debris of the feast. Then folding his arms lazily behind his head, he stared straight and fixedly before him at Lysia, seeming to note every jewel on her dress, every curve of her body, every slight gesture of her hand, every faint, cold smile that played on her lovely lips. One young man whom the others addressed as Ormaz, a haughty, handsome fellow enough, though with rather a sneering mouth just visible under his black mustache, was talking somewhat excitedly on the subject of Khosrul’s cunningly devised flight, . . for it seemed to be universally understood that the venerable Prophet was one of the Circle of Mystics, — persons whose knowledge of science, especially in matters connected with electricity, enabled them to perform astonishing juggleries, that were frequently accepted by the uninitiated vulgar as almost divine miracles. Not very long ago, according to Ormaz, who was animatedly recalling the circumstance for the benefit of the company, the words “FALL, AL-KYRIS!” had appeared emblazoned in letters of fire on the sky at midnight, and the phenomenon had been accompanied by two tremendous volleys of thunder, to the infinite consternation of the multitude, who received it as a supernatural manifestation. But a member of the King’s Privy Council, a satirical skeptic and mistruster of everybody’s word but his own, undertook to sift the matter, — and adopting the dress of the Mystics, managed to introduce himself into one of their secret assemblies, where with considerable astonishment, he saw them make use of a small wire, by means of which they wrote in characters of azure flame on the whiteness of a blank wall, — moreover, he discovered that they possessed a lofty turret, built secretly and securely in a deep, unfrequented grove of trees, from whence, with the aid of various curious instruments and reflectors, they could fling out any pattern or device they chose on the sky, so that it should seem to be written by the finger of Lightning. Having elucidated these mysteries, and become highly edified thereby, the learned Councillor returned to the King, and gave full information as to the result of his researches, whereupon forty Mystics were at once arrested and flung into prison for life, and their nefarious practices were made publicly known to all the inhabitants of the city. Since then, no so-called “spiritual” demonstrations had taken place till now, when on this very night Zephoranim’s Presence-Chamber had been suddenly enveloped in the thunderous and terrifying darkness which had so successfully covered Khosrul’s escape.
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli Page 160
