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; and 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.
"The King should have slain him at once--" declared Ormaz emphatically,
turning to Lysia as he spoke.. "I am surprised that His Majesty
permitted so flagrant an impostor and trespasser of the law to speak
one word, or live one moment in his royal presence."
"Thou art surprised, Ormaz, at most things, especially those which
savor of simple good-nature and forbearance..." responded Lysia coldly.
"Thou art a wolfish, youth, and wouldst tear thine own brother to
shreds if he thwarted thy pleasure! For myself I see little cause for
astonishment, that a soldier-hero like Zephoranim should take some pity
on so frail and aged a wreck of human wit as Khosrul. Khosrul
blasphemes the Faith, . . what then? ... do ye not all blaspheme?"
"Not in the open streets!" said Ormaz hastily.
"No--ye have not the mettle for that!"--and Lysia smiled darkly, while
the great eye on her breast flashed forth a sardonic lustre--"Strong as
ye all are, and young, ye lack the bravery of the weak old man who, mad
as he may be, has at least the courage of his opinions! Who is there
here that believes in the Sun as a god, or in Nagaya as a mediator? Not
one, . . but ye are cultured hypocrites all, and careful to keep your
heresies secret!"
"And thou, Lysia!" suddenly cried Nir-jalis, . . "Why if thou canst so
liberally admire the valor of thy sworn enemy Khosrul, why dost not
THOU step boldly forth, and abjure the Faith thou art Priestess of, yet
in thy heart deridest as a miserable superstition?"
She turned her splendid flashing orbs slowly upon him, ... what an
awful chill, steely glitter leaped forth from their velvet-soft depths!
"Prithee, be heedful of thy speech, good Nirjalis!" she said, with a
quiver in her voice curiously like the suppressed snarl of her pet
tigress.. "The majority of men are fools, ... like thee! ... and need
to be ruled according to their folly!"
Ormaz broke into a laugh. "And thou dost rule them, wise Virgin, with a
rod of iron!" he said satirically ... "The King himself is but a slave
in thy hands!" "The King is a devout believer,"--remarked a dainty,
effeminate-looking youth, arrayed in a wonderfully picturesque garb of
glistening purple,--"He pays his vows to Nagaya three times a day, at
sunrise, noon, and sunset,--and 'tis said he hath oft been seen of late
in silent meditation alone before the Sacred Veil, even after midnight.
Maybe he is there at this very moment, offering up a royal petition for
those of his less pious subjects who, like ourselves, love good wine
more than long prayers. Ah!--he is a most austere and noble monarch,--a
very anchorite and pattern of strict religious discipline! "And he
shook his head to and fro with an air of mock solemn fervor. Every one
laughed, . . and Ormaz playfully threw a cluster of half-crushed roses
at the speaker.
"Hold thy foolish tongue, Pharnim,--" he said,--"The King doth but show
a fitting example to his people, . . there is a time to pray, and a
time to feast, and our Zephoranim can do both as becomes a man. But of
his midnight meditations I have heard naught, . . since when hath he
deserted his Court of Love for the colder chambers of the Sacred
Temple?"
"Ask Lysia!" muttered Nir-jalis drowsily, under his breath--"She knows
more of the King than she cares to confess!"
His words were spoken in a low voice, and yet they were distinct enough
for all present to hear. A glance of absolute dismay went round the
table, and a breathless silence followed like the ominous hush of a
heated atmosphere before a thunder-clap. Nir-jalis, apparently struck
by the sudden stillness, looked lazily round from among the tumbled
cushions where he reclined,--a vacant, tipsy smile on his lips.
"What a company of mutes ye are!" he said thickly..
"Did ye not hear me? I bade ye ask Lysia, . ." and all at once he sat
bolt upright, his face crimsoning as with an access of passion.. "Ask
Lysia!" he repeated loudly.. "Ask her why the mighty Zephoranim creeps
in and out the Sacred Temple at midnight like a skulking slave instead
of a King! ... at midnight, when he should be shut within his palace
walls, playing the fool among his women! I warrant 'tis not piety that
persuades him to wander through the underground Passage of the Tombs
alone and in disguise! Sah-luma! ... pretty pampered hound as thou art!
... thou art near enough to Our Lady of Witcheries,--ask her, ... ask
her! ... she knows, . . "and his voice sank into an incoherent murmur,
. . "she knows more than she cares to confess!"
Another deep and death like pause ensued, ... and then Lysia's silvery
cold tones smote the profound silence with calm, clear resonance.
"Friend Nir-jalis," she said, . . how tuneful were her accents, . . how
chilly sweet her smile! ... "Methinks thou art grown altogether too
wise for this world! ... 'tis pity thou shouldest continue to linger in
so narrow and incomplete a sphere! ... Depart hence therefore! ... I
shall frely excuse thine absence, since THY HOUR HAS COME! ..."
And, taking from the table at her side a tall crystal chalice fashioned
in the form of a lily set on a golden stem, she held it up toward him.
Starting wildly from his couch he looked at her, as though doubting
whether he had heard her words aright, . . a strong shudder shook him
from head to foot, . . his hands clenched themselves convulsively
together,--and then slowly, slowly, he staggered to his feet and stood
upright. He was suddenly but effectually sobered--the flush of
intoxication died off his cheeks--and his eyes grew strained and
piteous. Theos, watching him in wonder and fear, saw his broad chest
heave with the rapid-drawn gasping of his breath, ..he advanced a step
or two--then all at once stretched out his hands in imploring agony.
"Lysia!" he murmured huskily. "Lysia! ... pardon! ... spare me! ... For
the sake of past love have pity!"
At this Sah-luma sprang up from his lounging posture on the dais, his
hand on the hilt of his dagger, his whole face flaming with wrath.
"By my soul!" he cried, "what doth this fellow prate of? ... Past love?
... Thou profane boaster! ... how darest thou speak of love to the
Priestess of the Faith?"
Nir-jalis heeded him not. His eyes were fixed on Lysia, like the eyes
of a tortured animal who vainly seeks for mercy at the hand of its
destroyer. Step by step he came hesitatingly to the foot of her throne,
. . and it was then that Theos perceived rear at hand a personage he
immediately recognized,--the black scarlet-clad slave Gazia, who had
brought Lysia's message to Sah-luma that same afternoon. He had made
his appearance now so swiftly and silently, that it was impossible to
tell where he had come from,--and he stood close to Nir-jalis, his
muscular firms folded tightly across his chest, and his hideous mouth
contorted into a grin of cruel amusement and expectancy. Absolute quiet
reigned within the magnificent banquet hall, . . the music had
ceased,--and not a sound could be heard, save the delicate murmur of
the wind outside swaying the water-lilies on the moonlit lake. Every
one's attention was centred on the unhappy young man, who with lifted
head and rigidly clasped hands, faced Lysia as a criminal faces a
judge, . . Lysia, whose dazzling smile beamed upon him with the
brightness of summer sunbeams,--Lysia, whose exquisite voice lost none
of its richness as she spoke his doom.
"By the vow which thou hast vowed to me, Nir-jalis--" she said slowly..
"and by thine oath sworn on the Symbolic Eye of Raphon".. here she
touched the dreadful Jewel on her breast--"which bound thy life to my
keeping, and thy death to my day of choice, I herewith bestow on thee
the Chalice of Oblivion--the Silver Nectar of Peace! Sleep, and wake no
more!--drink and die! The gateways of the Kingdom of Silence stand open
to receive thee! ... thy service is finished! ...... fare-thee-well!"
With the utterance of the last word, she gave him the glittering cup
she held. He took it mechanically,--and for one instant glared about
him on all sides, scanning the faces of the attentive guests as though
in the faint hope of some pity, some attempt at rescue. But not a
single look of compassion was bestowed upon him save by Theos, who,
full of struggling amazement and horror, would have broken out into
indignant remonstrance, had not an imperative glance from Sah-luma
warned him that any interference on his part would only make matters
worse. He therefore, sorely against his will, and only for Sah-luma's
sake, kept silence, watching Nir-jalis meanwhile in a sort of horrible
fascination.
There was something truly awful in the radiant unquenchable laughter
that lurked in Lysia's lovely eyes, . . something positively devilish
in the grace of her manner, as with a negligent movement, she reseated
herself in her crystal throne, and taking a knot of magnolia-flowers
that lay beside her, idly toyed with their creamy buds, all the while
keeping her basilisk gaze fixed immovably and relentlessly on her
sentenced victim. He, grasping the lily-shaped chalice convulsively in
his right hand, looked up despairingly to the polished dome of
malachite, with its revolving globe of fire that shed a solemn
blood-red glow upon his agonized young face, . . a smile was on his
lips,--the dreadful smile of desperate, maddened misery.
"Oh, ye malignant gods!" he cried fiercely--"ye immortal Furies that
made Woman for Man's torture, ... Bear witness to my death! ... bear
witness to my parting spirit's malediction! Cursed be they who love
unwisely and too well! ... cursed be all the wiles of desire and the
haunts of dear passion!--cursed he all fair faces whose fairness lures
men to destruction! ... cursed be the warmth of caresses, the beating
of heart against heart, the kisses that color midnight with fire!
Cursed be Love from birth unto death!--may its sweetness be brief, and
its bitterness endless!--its delight a snare, and its promise
treachery! O ye mad lovers!--fools all!" ... and he turned his splendid
wild eyes round on the hushed assemblage,--"Despise me and my words as
ye will, throughout ages to come, the curse of the dead Nir-jalis shall
cling!"
He lifted the goblet to his lips, and just then his delirious glanced
lighted on Sah-luma.
"I drink to thee, Sir Laureate!" he said hoarsely, and with a ghastly
attempt at levity--"Sing as sweetly as thou wilt, thou must drain the
same cup ere long!"
And without another second's hesitation he drank off the entire
contents of the chalice at a draught. Scarcely had he done so, when
with a savage scream he fell prone on the ground, his limbs twisted in
acute agony,--his features hideously contorted,--his hands beating the
air wildly, as though in contention with some invisible foe, ..while in
strange and terrible dissonance with his tortured cries, Lysia's
laughter, musically mellow, broke out in little quick peals, like the
laughter of a very young child.
"Ah, ah, Nir-jalis!" she exclaimed. "Thou dost suffer! That is well!
... I do rejoice to see thee fighting for life in the very jaws of
death! Fain would I have all men thus tortured out of their proud and
tyrannous existence! ... their strength made strengthless, their
arrogance brought to naught, their egotism and vain-glory beaten to the
dust! Ah, ah! thou that wert the complacent braggart of love,--the
self-sufficient proclaimer of thine own prowess, where is thy boasted
vigor now? ... Writhe on, good fool! ... thy little day is done! ...
All honor to the Silver Nectar whose venom never fails!"
Leaning forward eagerly, she clapped her hands in a sort of fierce
ecstasy--and apparently startled by the sound, the tigress rose up from
its couchant posture, and shaking itself with a snarling yawn, glared
watchfully at the convulsed human wretch whose struggles became with
each moment more and more frightful to witness. The impassive,
cold-blooded calmness with which all the men present, even Sah-luma,
looked on at the revolting spectacle of their late comrade's torture,
filled Theos with shuddering abhorrence, ... sick at heart, he strove
to turn away his eyes from the straining throat and upturned face of
the miserable Nir-jalis,--a face that had a moment or two before been
beautiful, but was now so disfigured as to be almost beyond
recognition. Presently as the anguish of the poisoned victim increased,
shriek after shriek broke from his pallid lips, . . rolling himself on
the ground like a wild beast, he bit his hands and arms in his frenzy
till he was covered with blood, ... and again and yet again the dulcet
laughter of the High Priestess echoed through the length and breadth of
the splendid hall,--and even Sah-luma, the poet Sah-luma, condescended
to smile! That smile, so cold, so cruel, so unpitying, made Theos for a
moment hate him, . . of what use, he thought, was it, to be a writer of
soft and delicate verse, if the inner nature of the man was merciless,
selfish, and utterly regardless of the woes of others? ... The rest of
the guests were profoundly indifferent,--they kept silence, it is true,
... but they went on drinking their wine with perfectly unabated
enjoyment.. they were evidently accustomed to such scenes. The
attendant slaves stood all mute and motionless, with the exception of
Gazra, who surveyed the torments of Nir-jalis with an air of
professional interest, and appeared to be waiting till they should have
reached that pitch of excruciating agony when Nature, exhausted, gives
up the conflict and welcomes death as a release from pain.
But this desirable end was not yet. Suddenly springing to his feet,
Nir-jalis tore open his richly jewelled vest, and pressed his two hands
hard upon his heart, ... the veins in his flesh were swollen and
blue,--his labored breath seemed as though it must break his ribs in
its terrible, panting struggle,--his face, livid and lined with purple
marks like heavy bruises, bore not a single trace of its former
fairness, ... and his eyes, rolled up and fixed glassily in their
quivering sockets, seemed to be dreadfully filled with the speechless
memory of his lately spoken curse. He staggered toward Theos, and
dropped heavily on his knees, . .
"Kill me!" he moaned piteously, feebly pointing to the sheathed dagger
in the other's belt. "In mercy! ... Kill me! ... One thrust! ...
release me! ... this agony is more than I can bear, ... Kill ... Kill.
... !"
His voice died away in an inarticulate, gasping cry,--and Theos stared
down upon him in dizzy fear and horror! For...HE HAD SEEN THIS SAME
NIR-JALIS DYING THUS CRUELLY BEFORE! Oh God! ... where,--where had
this tragedy been previously enacted? Bewildered and overcome with
unspeakable dread, he drew his dagger--he would at least, he thought,
put the tortured sufferer out of his misery, ... but scarcely had his
weapon left the sheath, when Lysia's clear, cold voice exclaimed:
"Disarm him!" and with the silent rapidity of a lightning-flash, Gazra
glided to his side, and the steel was snatched from his hand. Full of
outraged pride and wrath, he sprang up, a torrent of words rushing to
his lips, but before he could utter one, two slaves pounced upon him,
and holding his arms, dexterously wound a silk scarf tight about his
mouth.
"Be silent!" whispered some one in his ear,--"As you value your life
and the life of Sah-luma,--be silent!"
But he cared nothing for this warning, . . reckless of consequences, he
tore the scarf away and breaking loose from the hands that held him,
made a bound toward Lysia ... here he paused. Her eyes met his
languidly, shedding a sombre, mysterious light upon him through the
black shower of her abundant hair, ... the evil glitter of the great
Symbolic Gem she wore fixed him with its stony yet mesmeric luster ...
a delicious smile parted her roseate lips,--and breaking off a
magnolia-bud from the cluster she held, she kissed and gave it to him...
"Be at peace, good Theos!" she said in a low, tender tone, . . "Beware
of taking up arms in the defence of the unworthy, . . rather reserve
thy courage for those who know how best to reward thy service!"
As one in a trance he took the flower she offered,--its fragrance,
subtle and sweet, seemed to steal into his veins, and rob his manhood
of all strength, ... sinking submissively at her feet he gazed up at
her in wondering wistfulness and ardent admiration, . . never was there
a woman so bewilderingly beautiful as she! What were the sufferings of
Nir-jalis now? ... what was anything compared to the strangely
enervating ecstasy he felt in letting his eyes dwell fondly on the
fairness of her face, the whiteness of her half-veiled bosom, the
delicate, sheeny dazzle of her polished skin, the soft and supple
curves of her whole exquisite form, . . and spell-bound by the witchery
of her loveliness, he almost forgot the very presence of her dying
victim. Occasionally indeed, he glanced at the agonized creature where
he lay huddled on the ground in the convulsive throes of his dreadful
death-struggle,--but it was now with precisely the same quiet and
disdainful smile as that for which he had momentarily hated Sah-luma!
There was a sound of singing somewhere,--singing that had a mirthful
under-throbbing in it, as though a thousand light-footed fairies were
dancing to its sweet refrain! And Nir-jalis heard it! ... dying inch by
inch as he was, he heard it, and with a last superhuman effort forced
himself up once more to his feet, ... his arms stiffly outstretched, .
. his anguished eyes full of a softened, strangely piteous glory.
"To die!" he whispered in awed accents that penetrated the air with
singular clearness--"To die! ... nay...not so! ... There is no death!
... I see it all! ... I know! ... .To die is to live! ... to live
again.. and to remember...to remember,--and repent, . . the past!"
And with the last word he fell heavily, face forward, a corpse. At the
same moment a terrific roar resounded through the dome, and the tigress
Aizif sprang stealthily down from the dais, and pounced upon the warm,
lifeless body, mounting guard over it in an ominously significant
attitude, with glistening eyes, lashing tail and nervously quivering
claws. A slight thrill of horror ran through the company, but not a man
moved.
"Aizif!--Aizif!" called Lysia imperiously.
The animal looked round with an angry snarl, and seemed for once
disposed to disobey the summons of its mistress. She therefore rose
from her throne, and stepping forward with a swift, agile grace, caught
the savage beast by the neck, and dragged it from its desired prey.
Then, with the point of her little, silver-sandaled foot, she turned
the fallen face of the dead man slightly round, so that she might
observe it more attentively, and noting its livid disfigurement, smiled.
"So much for the beauty and dignity of manhood!" she said with a
contemptuous shrug of her snowy shoulders,--"All perished in the space
of a few brief moments! Look you, ye fair sirs that take pride in your
strength and muscular attainments! ... Ye shall not find in all
Al-Kyris a fairer face or more nobly knit frame than was possessed by
this dead fool, Nir-jalis, and yet, lo!--how the Silver Nectar doth
make havoc on the sinews of adamant, the nerves of steel, the stalwart
limbs! Tried by the touchstone of Death, ye are, with all your vaunted
intelligence, your domineering audacity and self-love, no better than
the slain dogs that serve vultures for carrion! ...--moreover, ye are
less than dogs in honesty, and vastly shamed by them in fidelity!"
She laughed scornfully as she spoke, still grasping the tigress by the
neck in one slight hand,--and her glorious eyes flashed a mocking
defiance on all the men assembled. Their countenances exhibited various
expressions of uneasiness amounting to fear, . . some few smiled
forcedly, others feigned a careless indifference, . . Sah-luma flushed
an angry red, and Theos, though he knew not why, felt a sudden pricking
sense of shame. She marked all these signs of disquietude with
apparently increasing amusement, for her lovely face grew warm and
radiant with suppressed, malicious mirth. She made a slight imperative
gesture of command to Gazra, who at once approached, and, bending over
the dead Nir-jalis, proceeded to strip off all the gold clasps and
valuable jewels that had so lavishly adorned the ill-fated young man's
attire,--then beckoning another slave nearly as tall and muscular as
himself, they attached to the neck and feet of the corpse round,
leaden, bullet-shaped weights, fastened by means of heavy iron chains.
This done, they raised the body from the floor and carried it between
them to the central and largest casement of all that stood open to the
midnight air, and with a dexterous movement flung it out into the
waters of the lake beneath. It fell with a sullen splash, the pale
lilies on the surface rocking stormily to and fro as though blown by a
gust of wind, while great circling ripples shone softly in the yellow
gleam of the moonlight, as the dead man sank down, down, down like a
stone into his crystal-quiet grave.
Lysia returned to her throne with a serene step and unruffled brow,
followed by the sulky and disappointed Aizif, . . smiling gently on
Theos and Sah-luma she reseated herself, and touched a small bell at
her side. It gave a sharp kling-klang like a suddenly struck
cymbal--and lo! ... the marble floor yawned asunder, and the
banquet-table with all its costly fruits and flowers vanished
underground with the swiftness of lightning! The floor closed again, .
. the broad, circular centre-space of the hall was now clear from all
obstruction,--and the company of revellers roused themselves a little
from their drowsy postures of half-inebriated languor. The singing
voices that had stirred Nir-jalis to sudden animation even in his dying
agony, sounded nearer and nearer, and the globe of fire overhead
changed its hue from that of crimson to a delicate pink. At the extreme
end of the glittering vista of pale-green, transparent columns, a door
suddenly opened, and a flock of doves came speeding forth, their white,
spread wings colored softly in the clear rose-radiance,--they circled
round and round the dome three times, then fluttered in a palpitating
arch over Lysia's head, and finally sped straight across the hall to
the other end, where they streamed snowily through another aperture and
disappeared. Still nearer rippled the sound of singing, . . and all at
once a troop of girls came dancing noiselessly as fire-flies into the
full, quivering pinkness of the jewel-like light that floated about
them, . . girls as lovely, as delicate, as dainty as cyclamens that
wave in the woods in the early days of an Italian spring. Their
garments were so white, so transparent, so filmy and clinging, that
they looked like elves robed in mountain-vapor rather than human
creatures, . . there were fifty of them in all, and as they tripped
forward, they, like the doves that had heralded their approach,
surrounded Lysia flutteringly, saluting her with gestures of exquisite
grace and devout humility, while she, enthroned in supreme fairness,
with her tigress crouched beside her, looked down on them like a
goddess calmly surveying a crowd of vestal worshippers. Their
salutations done, they rushed pell-mell, like a shower of white
rose-leaves drifting before a gale, into the exact centre of the hall,
and there poising bird-like, with their snowy arms upraised as though
about to fly, they waited, . . their lovely faces radiant with
laughter, their eyes flashing dangerous allurement, their limbs
glistening like polished alabaster through the gauzy attire that
betrayed rather than concealed their exquisite forms. Then came the
soft pizzicato of pulled strings, ... and a tinkling jangle of silver
bells beating out a measured, languorous rhythm,--and with one accord,
they all merged together in the voluptuous grace of a dance more
ravishing, more wild and wondrous than ever poet pictured in his
word-fantasies of fairy-land! Theos drank in the intoxicating delight
of the scene with eager, dazzled eyes and heavily beating heart, ..the
mysterious passion of mingled love and hatred he felt for Lysia stole
over him more strongly than ever in the sultry air of this strange
night, . . this night of sweet delirium, in which all that was most
dangerous and erring in his nature woke into life and mastered his
better will! A curious, instinctive knowledge swept across his
mind,--namely THAT SAH-LUMA'S EMOTIONS WERE THE FAITHFUL REFLEX OF HIS
OWN,--but as he had felt no anger against his rival in fame, so now he
had no jealousy of his possible rival in love. Their sympathies were
too closely united for distrust to mar the friendship so ardently
begun, ... nevertheless, as he fell resistlessly deeper and deeper into
the glittering snares that were spread for his destruction, he was
CONSCIOUS OF EVIL THOUGH HE LACKED FORCE TO OVERCOME IT. At any rate,
he would save Sah-luma from harm, he resolved, if he could not save
himself! Meantime he watched the bewildering evolutions and witching
entanglements of the gliding maze of fair faces, snowy bosoms and
twining limbs, that palpitated to and fro under the soft rose-light of
the dome like white flowers colored by the sunset, and, glancing ever
and again at Lysia's imperial sorceress-beauty, he thought dreamily ...
"Better the love that kills than no love at all!" And he thereupon gave
himself up a voluntary captive to the sway of his own passions,
determining to enjoy the immediate present, no matter what the future
might have in store. Outside, the water-lilies nodded themselves to
sleep in their shrouding, dark leaves, . . and the unbroken smoothness
of the lake spread itself out in the moon like a sheet of molten gold
over the spot where Nir-jalis had found his chilly rest. "THE CURSE OF
THE DEAD NIR-JALIS SHALL CLING!" Yes,--possibly!--in the hereafter! ...
but now his parting malison seemed but a foolish clamor against
destiny, ... he was gone! ... none of his late companions missed him,
... none regretted him--like all dead men, once dead he was soon
forgotten!