THE JOURNEY TO THE BORMIDOPHIA.
The palace bell announced the beginning of a new day in Calnogor. I
had not slept during the hours of rest, excited as I was by our visit
to Gnaphisthasia and the strange customs of Atvatabar.
Koshnili arrived soon after the bell had sounded to inform me that the
king had commanded his royal army to be assembled in the great square
beyond the palace walls to escort us to the Bormidophia, where a
solemn act of worship would be performed before the throne of the
gods. This was a most delightful message, as nothing on earth could
please me better than to witness the glories of the Bormidophia.
The army under the command of Prince Coltonobory, the brother of the
king, commander-in-chief, consisted of 250,000 wayleals, or flying
soldiers, and 50,000 bockhockids, or flying cavalry. There was also a
detachment of 10,000 fletyemings, or sailors of the royal navy. These
were drawn up in review in a vast square before the royal palace.
Superb bockhockids conveyed us the four miles to the Bormidophia in
the centre of the city.
The king and queen, both of whom wore crowns blazing with jewels, sat
with Koshnili and myself in the first palanquin of bockhockids. The
high officers of the government and nobles of the Borodemy, together
with the officers and sailors of the _Polar King_, were distributed
among the other stately litters.
The route to the pantheon was lined with palaces. An immense
population thronged either side of the roadway. A review of the army
took place _en route_. The wayleals first rose into an enormous
flying column, which subsided into whirling domes and afterward broke
up into a dozen living globes, that appeared to roll one after another
on the ground. These were dissolved into a solid army marching on foot
for a time. Then as if by magic the entire mass of men rose into
spiral columns which dissolved into vast rings inextricably involved
with each other. It was a sight unique and bewildering.
Behind the wayleals, fifty thousand bockhockids kept up their steady
march. The people shouted with enthusiasm.
A mimic battle took place in the air above us. Ten thousand wayleals
fought on either side, brilliant in many-colored uniforms. Finally, a
rainbow arch of flying men spanned the entrance to the great square of
the Bormidophia, or pantheon. Amid the thunder of guns and music, the
entire company alighted at the doors of the pantheon, which consisted
of an immense circular pile of buildings over a mile in circumference.
The interior revealed a scene of surpassing magnificence. Endless
tiers of seats were arranged in terraces that, rising above each
other, traversed the wide sweep of the amphitheatre. The entire
pantheon with its adjacent palaces and colonnades was sculptured out
of a hill of green marble. The exterior walls, rising 200 feet, were
crowned with a lofty dome of enamelled glass, through which the light
of the sun streamed in myriad colors on the sea of worshippers
beneath. The walls of the pantheon, both exteriorly and interiorly,
were sculptured with immense reliefs, the trophies of invention and
art, as well as the magical symbols of spiritual forces.
The lowest circle of the amphitheatre reached down one hundred feet
below the level of the outer pavement, and the royal seat was on a
level with the ground and fifty feet below the top of the far-famed
golden throne of the gods, that stood in the centre of the immense
building.
Our entrance was the signal for welcoming music and a suppressed
murmur of excitement from the myriads of worshippers that sat both
above and below us. The amphitheatre contained not less than 50,000
people. The moment their majesties were seated, a roar of artillery
shook the earth. The forthcoming grand act of worship was evidently
instituted in our honor, for we were the observed of all eyes in that
vast concourse of people.
A dozen choirs, possessed of all kinds of beautiful instruments,
caressed the ear with their melodious songs. There was no dim
religious light; everything was open-eyed beneath that splendid dome.
Suddenly a cloud of flying priests and priestesses seated themselves
on a pyramid formed of terraces of solid silver fifty feet in height
that supported the miraculous throne. They at once began to sing with
such force and pathos as to dissolve the multitude into a hush of
breathless silence.
Then an immense bell of bronze filled the pantheon with a sonorous
moan. Twelve thrilling tones made souls tremble and heads bow down.
With the last vibration there rose from the crown of the throne of the
gods a living woman, nude to the waist, having a broad belt of gold
studded with gems clasping her figure, from which fell to her feet a
garment of aquelium lace wrought with magical symbols.
She was a girl of peerless development; her arms were long and softly
moulded, her breasts firm and splendid. The color of her complexion
and flesh was of soft mat gold, like that of golden fruit, and a
perceptible flush warmed her cheeks. Her profile was perfect, being
both proud and tender in outline. Her hair was a heavy glossy mass, of
a pale sapphire-blue color, that fell in a waving cloud around her
shoulders. Her whole figure bore an infinitely gracious expression,
the result of possessing a tender and sympathetic soul.
On her head was a tiara of terrelium, the vermilion metal, studded
with gems, on her neck she wore a necklace of emerald-green sapphires,
while on either wrist were broad gold bracelets, having a magnificent
blue sapphire on each.
She was Lyone, the Supreme Goddess of Atvatabar, the representative of
Harikar, the Holy Soul; Queen of Magicians; Mother of Sorcerers, and
Princess of Arjeels.
Standing erect for a moment, as if to assure the vast congregation of
her presence, she then slowly sat down on a broad divan of aloe-green
silk velvet, holding in her right hand the terrelium sceptre of
spiritual sovereignty, whose head bore two hearts formed of flaming
rubies.
I was entranced with the appearance of the divine girl, the object of
the adoration of Atvatabar. Every feature of her face was carved with
a full and ripe roundness, exhibiting repose and power. Her eyes,
large and blue and lustrous, were sorcery itself. There was in them an
unutterable tenderness, a divine hospitality, the result of vast pride
and still vaster sympathy.
[Illustration: ON THE THRONE SAT THE SUPREME GODDESS, LYONE, THE
REPRESENTATIVE OF HARIKAR, THE HOLY SOUL.]
All at once she gazed at me! I felt filled with a fever of delicious
delight, of intoxicating adoration. I could then understand the
devotion of Atvatabar, of hearts slain by eyes that were conquering
swords.