Sapphire and Amber
It may have been no more than thirty seconds before the silence was
broken, though it felt like many, many minutes. But at length one of
the newcomers, turning to his companions, the while keeping his eyes
still fastened upon us, began to speak in low, rhythmic tones that
were singularly musical and pleasant. I could catch not one syllable
of what he said, though I strained my ears in the attempt; nor could
I understand any syllable of what his fellows spoke in reply, though
their voices too were so soft and sweet-sounding that they might have
been intoning poetry. Yet, in spite of the gentleness of their voices,
I could detect a certain excitement in their manner; and, from their
casual nods and gestures in our direction, I was only too certain of
the theme of their discussion.
After several minutes of whispered conversation, one of the strangers
stepped toward us and raised his voice as if addressing us. As might
have been foretold, I understood nothing of what he said; and, as this
was no doubt what he expected, he did not look surprised, but after a
moment ceased speaking and motioned us to follow him.
Since there was manifestly nothing else to do, we obeyed readily
enough, and were glad indeed to find ourselves stepping once more
through the doorway and out into the street, even though the half
dozen strangers had grouped themselves on all sides of us as a sort of
bodyguard. We knew, in fact, that we were virtually prisoners, and yet
were no longer alarmed, for no imprisonment could be worse than that
which we had already suffered. Also we had an intuitive sense that
we should not be badly treated; whether out of consideration for our
feelings or merely because they were afraid of us, our attendants did
not attempt to lay hands on us or to coerce us in any way. Yet when
they indicated by gestures the direction in which they desired us to
walk, we had no thought of objecting, but obeyed as docilely as though
they were our acknowledged masters.
For a distance of possibly two or three miles they led us with them
through the city streets; and far from brooding over our predicament
(which was manifestly serious), we amused ourselves with observing the
sights of the town. Dozens of the inhabitants had come out to peer at
us as we strode past; and, though they kept at a cautious distance, we
could see them clearly enough: their slender, graceful forms and blond
features, their amiable blue eyes and rippling, unbound hair, their
loose-hanging, light-tinted robes, variously colored from buff and
lilac to azure and pale rose, gave them the appearance less of human
beings than of walking butterflies or flowers.
But even more interesting to us than these humans was the architecture
of the town. We were fascinated, first of all, by the very pavement
beneath us, which was of baked clay worked into a multihued and
picturesque mosaic; we were still more fascinated by the buildings,
which on close observation proved to be even more artistically designed
than we had imagined, for exquisite little statues abounded in
niches between the columns or under the domes and spires, and superb
frescoes decorated the ceilings of the numberless colonnades and the
outside walls of temples, and curving walks wound gracefully between
terraces adorned with a lovely waxen flower or around the brink of
the shimmering rainbowed fountains. I particularly noted the width
of the avenues, in whose spacious reaches and wide adjoining courts
the bright-robed children laughed and played; and I was surprised to
observe that the buildings, instead of being jammed together in the
modern box-like fashion, were each separated from their neighbors by
broad paved ways or wide patches of vegetation, so that the whole gave
an uncrowded and leisurely and yet skilfully patterned effect.
But magnificent as were the edifices in their garb of sandstone or
granite or many-hued marble, the most extraordinary by far was that
to which our guides ultimately led us. It was not the size of the
structure that distinguished it, since the city boasted far larger
buildings, and size in itself did not seem to have been an object
with the builders; but the quality of the masonry and the style of
the workmanship had surely no parallel in human experience. For the
walls and the interior circles of columns were not of any material
ever employed before, not of steel or of stone, of brick or of clay,
or gold or of ebony; they were of a translucent yellow hue, the hue of
amber, and seemed to be composed, if not actually of amber, at least
of glass tinted amber color. This, however, was scarcely the most
remarkable fact, for the floor was likewise translucent, and shone with
an entrancing blue, the blue of sapphire; and sapphire seemed also the
substance of the fretted and vaulted ceiling, from which hung images
of great birds with wide-spread wings, giving a startling illusion of
flight. Three successive circles of columns, each more massive than the
last and all adorned at the base with bas-reliefs of strange fishes and
stranger sea plants, supported the great arching expanse of the roof;
and completely enclosed by the columns, on a steep and curving incline
of the sapphire floor, were row after row of amber seats grouped in a
half circle about a flat open space, and forming--so it seemed to me--a
Grecian theatre of unique design.
* * * * *
As Rawson and I accompanied our guides into this queer building, we
were so captivated by the architecture and so enthralled by the silence
and the weird half-light of sapphire and amber that we did not at first
observe that other human beings had preceded us into the place. It was
long, indeed, before we could recover from the awed sense of entering
some cathedral where all is reverential and unworldly; and it was long
before, turning our eyes upon the theatre with its rows and rows of
seats, we observed that not all the chairs were vacant as we had at
first assumed. In the front tiers sat perhaps a hundred light-gowned
individuals whose sedate and earnest faces proclaimed that they were
convened for some solemn purpose.
Our arrival was greeted by a sudden murmuring of low, musical voices,
but by nothing more demonstrative; and our presence was doubtless
explained by our attendants, who spoke a few words to the assembled
group, after which they took seats to one side and motioned us to do
likewise. We obeyed readily enough, but as I crossed the room to take
my designated place, I received a sudden shock, an electrical shock of
pleasure, such as one experiences upon meeting a friend unexpectedly
in a strange city. In the foremost row, staring up at me with a most
curious and kindly air, sat that enchanting woman whom I had seen
dancing along the colonnades! As a sober and practical man, and one
already in love with the gracious Alma Huntley, I should no doubt have
regarded her with a wholly aloof and impersonal air; but I was sadly
impressionable, alas! and was almost transfixed with joy at sight of
those shining Madonna features and clear magnetic, great blue eyes.
For an instant, indeed, I actually stopped short in my tracks, until,
regaining my presence of mind, I hastened toward my seat shamefaced at
having so betrayed myself. It was several minutes before I ventured
again to glance toward the fair one, and then she was looking in an
opposite direction; and, stare at her as I might, she seemed totally
oblivious of my existence.
I am afraid that, in the ensuing hour, my thoughts were more on her
than on proceedings in the theatre. I was aware, indeed, that some sort
of debate was in progress, a discussion in which most of the spectators
took part and during which Rawson and I were more than once pointed
out with significant gestures. But, since I could understand not one
word of what was spoken, I let my imagination travel to the beautiful
unknown, and tried to fancy how it would feel to be befriended by so
fairy-like a creature. Even to speak a word with her, I thought, would
be a delight, and to hold a conversation with her would be the rarest
of good fortune. Of course, her face might belie her character, and she
might be unintelligent as she was beautiful; yet I was convinced that a
rare soul shone out of the calm seductive depths of her eyes, and was
more than willing to believe that she combined the wisdom of a Socrates
with the charms of an Aphrodite.
So pleasantly was I occupied in contemplating this fascinating being
and her scarcely less fascinating fellows, that it seemed but a
moment before the debate was over and the assembled men and women
rose from their seats and began to depart. With a start I sprang to
my feet, suddenly realizing that the assemblage had perhaps reached
some critical decision regarding me. And when four or five of the men
approached Rawson and myself and motioned us away, I had the feeling
of a captive being led back into imprisonment. The loveliest of all
women had now been lost to view amid the crowd, and I was sadder at
her disappearance than at thought of my personal sufferings; but as I
walked slowly out of that sapphire and amber palace, gentle strains
of music began to play on unseen instruments, rippling delightedly as
waves on a calm sea; and gradually and insensibly I was comforted,
and somehow I was convinced that I should see that glorious womanly
apparition again.
* * * * *
Once more we were escorted through the city streets, but this time had
only a few hundred yards to walk. After a minute or two we were led up
the steps of a many-columned marble mansion, and into a long hall whose
stained glass windows cast a subdued illumination upon a score of vivid
paintings. We were wondering what to do, when our guides motioned us
to cushioned seats that seemed made of woven seaweed; and after we had
settled ourselves at ease in the great sofa-like chairs, two of the
men disappeared momentarily and returned with a feast of some singular
substance reminding me of mushrooms flavored with a sprinkling of
honey. At first we were suspicious and reluctant to eat; but the honest
and frankly puzzled faces of our hosts convinced us of our folly; and
we found the dish, while strange to our palates, not only appetizing
but invigorating after our long fast.
After we had eaten and the remains of the meal had been borne away, we
were treated to a still greater surprise. A man came stalking in laden
with five or six variously colored cloths, which I recognized as the
native costumes; and, having spread these out before us, he motioned us
to discard our own clothing and take our choice of the local apparel.
Our attendants then politely withdrew, leaving us more perplexed than
ever.
But it was long before we could make up our minds to array ourselves
in the native garb. And while we stood hesitating, casting occasional
disdainful glances at the colored garments before making the decision
which we knew we ultimately must make, our attention was distracted
by the paintings that adorned the walls. Although all were executed
with the deft and flawless hand of a master, they were in a sense
different from any paintings I had ever seen before; and what struck
me in particular was not so much their peculiar style of art, which
combined a minute realism with an almost cosmic suggestiveness, as
their arresting and unparalleled subject-matter. Half of them were
of a marine type, and depicted ocean caves where the giant squid or
octopus wavered through the gray depths, or gardens of the ocean floor
where the many-branching coral was the playground for shimmering blue
and yellow fishes; the other half, and the most remarkable by far,
portrayed scenes of ruin and destruction on a scale that might have
staggered the most daring imagination. One of them, for example,
pictured a city with slender skyscrapers not unlike those of modern New
York, but all the skyscrapers were crumpled and toppling as though from
some titanic blast; another, which likewise represented a many-spired
city, showed the ocean rolling up in one colossal wave and battering
and washing away the buildings as a rain storm may wash away a child’s
sand castles; while a third, and by all odds the most ghastly of the
group, depicted a sea bottom strewn with the wreckage of great stone
edifices, in whose vacant towers and windows and among whose shattered
courts the sword-fish and the eel sported and slunk and the fanged
shark pursued its prey.
“Strange!” I remarked to Rawson. “What peculiarly morbid people is this
that its artists should delight in scenes of flood and ruin? Or is it
that its painters are striving to represent some actual disaster, some
overwhelming ancient catastrophe unheard of on earth?”
Hoping to find an answer to these questions, I strained my eyes
over the inscriptions that marked each picture--inscriptions in the
near-Greek characters I had already tried to decipher. As before, I
had at first no success in translation; but, having nothing else to
do, I persevered; and once again I ended by construing two or three
words--words that left me only more deeply mystified. “After the
Submergence,” was the legend that explained the picture of the ruined
town at the sea bottom; and, noting how closely this phrase resembled
those I had previously interpreted, I was forced to conclude that “The
Submergence” was indeed some definite historical event. But when it had
occurred or how was still a question as unanswerable as though it had
concerned the planet Mars.
“It is possible that we will never be able to solve the problem.” I
was observing to Rawson, when suddenly I heard that which made me stop
short in amazement, momentarily forgetting all about tidal waves and
sunken cities.
“Saints in heaven, that’s a good one! That’s the time I put one over
on you, boys!” came to me in indistinct tones, accompanied by a loud
guffaw; and Rawson and I stared at one another in astonishment,
bewildered as men who have seen a ghost.
“Stranahan!” we cried in one voice; and the tears were ready to flow at
the thought that we had found our lost companion.
A moment later, having made our way through a columned hallway into an
adjoining room, we were met by the strangest sight we had yet seen in
this land of many wonders.
Sprawled haphazard on the floor, absorbed in the distribution of a
pack of cards, were our four lost fellow seamen, all of them looking
grotesque indeed in their colored native garments, and Stranahan
appearing particularly outlandish in his gown of pale green, his
trouser legs showing from beneath, his blue sailor’s blouse conspicuous
through the open neck in front!