WASTED PASSION.
The assembled maidens had retired modestly into the background, while
the Laureate had thus joyously greeted his returned guest; but now, at
a signal from their lord, they again advanced, and taking up the
glittering dishes of fruit and the flasks of wine, proffered them in
turn to Theos with much deferential grace and courtesy. He was by no
means slow in responding to the humble attentions of these fair ones, .
. there was a sort of deliciously dreamy enchantment in being waited
upon by such exquisitely lovely creatures! The passing touch of their
little white hands that supported the heavy golden salvers seemed to
add new savor to the luscious fare,--the timorous fire of their
downcast eyes, softly sparkling through the veil of their long lashes,
gave extra warmth to the ambrosial wine,--and he could not refrain from
occasionally whispering a tender flattery or delicate compliment in the
ear of one or other of his sylph-like servitors, though they all
appeared curiously unmoved by his choicely worded adulation. Now and
then a pale, flickering blush or sudden smile brightened their faces,
but for the most part they maintained a demure and serious demeanor, as
though possessed by the very spirit of invincible reserve. With
Sah-luma it was otherwise,--they hovered about him like butterflies
round a rose,--a thousand wistful, passionate glances darted upon him,
when he, unconscious or indifferent, apparently saw nothing,--many a
deep, involuntary sigh was stifled quickly ere it could escape between
the rosy lips whose duty it was to wreathe themselves with smiles, and
Theos noticing these things thought:
"Heavens! how this man is loved!--and yet ... he, out of all men, is
perhaps the most ignorant of Love's true meaning!"
Scarcely had this reflection entered his mind than he became bitterly
angry with himself for having indulged in it. How recreant, how base an
idea! ... how incompatible with the adoring homage he felt for his
friend! What!--Sah-luma,--a Poet, whose songs of Love were so perfect,
so wildly sweet and soul-entrancing--HE, to be ignorant of Love's true
meaning? ... Oh, impossible!--and a burning flush of shame rose to
Theos's brow,--shame that he could have entertained such a blasphemy
against his Idol for a moment! Then that curious, vague, soft
contrition he had before experienced stole over him once again--a
sudden moisture filled his eyes,--and turning abruptly toward his host
he held out his own just filled goblet:
"Drink we the loving-cup together, Sah-luma!" he said, and his voice
trembled a little with its own deep tenderness, . . "Pledge me thy
faith as I do pledge thee mine! And for to-day at least let me enjoy
thy boon companionship, . . who knows how soon we may be forced to part
... forever!" And he breathed the last word softly with a faint sigh.
Sah-luma looked at him with an expressive glance of bright surprise.
"Part?" he exclaimed joyously--"Nay, not we, my friend! ... Not till we
find each other tiresome, . . not till we prove that our spirits, like
over-mettlesome steeds, do chafe and fret one another too rudely in the
harness of custom, . . wherefore then, and then only, 'twill be time to
break loose at a gallop, and seek each one a wider pasture-land!
Meanwhile, here's to thee!"--and bending his handsome head he readily
drank a deep draught of the proffered wine.. "May all the gods hold
fast our bond of friendship!"
And with a graceful salute he returned the jewelled cup half-empty.
Theos at once drained off what yet remained within it, and then,
leaning more confidentially over the Laureate's chair, he whispered:
"Hast thou in very truth forgotten thy rashness of last night,
Sah-luma? Surely thou must guess how unquiet I have been concerning
thee! Tell me, . . was thy hot pursuit in vain? ... or.. didst thou
discover the King?"
"Peace!" and a quick frown darkened the smooth beauty of Sah-luma's
face as he grasped Theos's arm hard to warn him into silence,--then
forcing a smile he answered in the same low tone.. "'Twas not the King,
. . it could not be! Thou wert mistaken ..."
"Nay but," persisted Theos gently--"convince me of mine error! Didst
thou overtake and steadily confront yon armed and muffled stranger?"
"Not I!"--and Sah-luma shrugged his shoulders petulantly--"Sleep fell
upon me suddenly when I left thee,--and methinks I must have wandered
home like a shadow in a dream! Was I not drunk last night?--Aye!--and
so in all likelihood wert thou! ... little could we be trusted to
recognize either King or clown!"--He laughed,--then
added--"Nevertheless I tell thee once again 'twas not the King, . . His
Majesty hath too much at stake, to risk so dangerous a pleasantry!"
Theos heard, but he was dissatisfied and ill at ease, . . Sah-luma's
careless contentment increased his own disquietude. Just then a
curious-looking personage entered the apartment,--a gray-haired,
dwarfish negro, who carried slung across his back a large bundle,
consisting of several neatly rolled-up pieces of linen, one of which he
presently detached from the rest and set down before the Laureate, who
in return gave him a silver coin, at the same time asking jestingly:
"Is the news worth paying for to-day, Zibya?--or is it the same
ill-written, clumsy chronicle of trumpery, common-place events?"
Zibya, slipping the coin he had received into a wide leathern pouch
which hung from his girdle, appeared to meditate a moment,--then he
replied:
"If the truth must be told, most illustrious, there is nothing whatever
to interest the minds of the cultured. The cheap scribes of the Daily
Circular cater chiefly for the mob, and do all in their power to foster
morbid qualities of disposition and murderous tendencies among the
lower orders; hence though there is nothing in the news-sheet
pertaining to Literature or the Fine Arts, there is much concerning the
sudden death of the young sculptor Nir-jalis, whose body was found
flung on the banks of the river this morning."
Theos started, . . Sah-luma listened with placid indifference. "'Tis a
case of self-slaughter"--pursued Zibya chattily.. "or so say the wise
writers who are supposed to know everything, . . self-slaughter
committed during a state of temporary insanity! Well, well! I myself
would have had a different opinion."
"And a sagacious one no doubt!" interrupted Sah-luma coldly, and with a
dangerous flash as of steel in his eyes.. "But.. be advised, good
Zibya! ... give thine opinion no utterance!"
The old negro shrank back nervously, making numerous apologetic
gestures, and waited in abashed silence till the Laureate's features
regained their wonted soft serenity. Then he ventured to speak
again,--though not without a little hesitation.
"Concerning the topics of the hour..." he murmured timorously.. "My
lord is perhaps not aware that the river itself is a subject of much
excited discussion,--the water having changed to a marvellous
blood-color during the night, which singular circumstance hath caused a
great panic among the populace. Even now, as I passed by the
embankment, the crowd there was thick as a hive of swarming bees!"
He paused, but Sah-luma made no remark, and he continued more glibly,
"Also, to-day's 'Circular' contains the full statement of the King's
reward for the capture of the Prophet Khosrul, and the formal Programme
of the Sacrificial Ceremonial announced to take place this evening in
the Temple of Nagaya. All is set forth in the fine words of the petty
public scribes, who needs must make as much as possible out of
little,--and there is likewise a so-called facsimile of the King's
signature, which will naturally be of supreme interest to the vulgar.
Furthermore it is proclaimed that a grand Combat of wild beasts in the
Royal Arena will follow immediately after the Service in the Temple is
concluded,--methinks none will go to bed early, seeing there is so full
a list of amusements!"
He paused again, somewhat out of breath,--and Sah-luma meanwhile
unrolled the linen scroll he had purchased, which measured about
twenty-four inches in length and twenty in width. Carefully ruled black
and red lines divided it into nearly the same number of columns as
those on the page of an ordinary newspaper, and it was covered with
close writing, here and there embellished by bold, profusely ornamented
headings. One of these, "Death of the Sculptor, Nir-jalis," seemed to
burn into Theos's brain like letters of fire,--how was it, he wondered,
that the body of that unfortunate victim had been found on the shore of
the river, when he himself had seen it loaded with iron weights, and
cast into the lake that formed part of Lysia's fatal garden? Presently
Sah-luma passed the scroll to him with a smile, saying lightly:
"There, my friend, is a specimen of the true mob-literature! ...
written to-day, forgotten to-morrow! 'Tis a droll thing to meditate
upon, the ephemeral nature of all this pouring-out of unnecessary words
and stale stock-phrases!--and, wouldst thou believe it, Theos! each
little paid scribe that adds his poor quota to this ill-assorted trash
deems himself wiser and greater far than any poet or philosopher dead
or living! Why, in this very news-sheet I have seen the immortal works
of the divine Hyspiros so hacked by the blunt knives of ignorant and
vulgar criticism that, by my faith! ... were it not for contempt, one
would be disposed to nail the hands of such trumpery scribblers to a
post, and scourge their bare backs with thorny rods to cure them of
their insolence! Nay, even my fool Zabastes hath found place in these
narrow columns, to write his carping diatribes against me,--me, the
King's Laureate! ... As I live, his cumbersome diction hath caused me
infinite mirth, and I have laughed at his crabbed and feeble wit till
my sides have ached most potently! Now get thee gone, fellow!--thou and
thy news!"--and he nodded a good-humored dismissal to the deferential
Zibya, who with his woolly gray head very much on one side stood
listening gravely and approvingly to all that was said,--"Yet stay!
... has gossip whispered thee the name of the poor virgin self-destined
for this evening's sacrifice?"
"No, my lord"--responded Zibya promptly--"'Tis veiled in deeper mystery
than usual. I have inquired of many, but in vain,--and even the Chief
Flamen of the Outside Court of the Temple, always drunk and garrulous
as he is, can tell me naught of the holy victim's title or parentage.
'Tis a passing fair wench!' said he, with a chuckle.. 'That is all I
know concerning her ... a passing fair wench!' Ah!" and Zibya rolled up
the whites of his eyes and sighed in a comically contemplative manner..
"If ever a Flamen deserved expulsion from his office, it is surely yon
ancient, crafty, carnal-minded soul! ... so keen a glance for a woman's
beauty is not a needful qualification for a servant of the Snake
Divine! Methinks we have fallen upon evil days! ... maybe the crazed
Prophet is right after all, and things are coming to an end!"
"Like thy discourse, I hope, Zibya!" observed Sah-luma, yawning and
flinging himself lazily back on his velvet couch,--"Get hence, and
serve thy customers with their cheap news, . . depend upon it, some of
them are cursing thee mightily for thy delay! And if thou shouldst
chance to meet the singing-maiden of my household, Niphrata, bid her
make haste homeward,--she hath been absent since the break of
morn,--too long for my contentment. Maybe I did unwisely to give the
child her freedom,--as slave she would not have presumed to gad abroad
thus wantonly, without her lord's permission. Say, if thou seest her,
that I am wrathful,--the thought of mine anger will be as a swift wing
to waft her hither like a trembling dove,--afraid, all penitent, and
eager for my pardon! Remember! ... be sure thou tell her of my deep
displeasure!"
Zibya bowed profoundly, his outspread hands almost touching the floor
in the servility of his obeisance, and backed out of the room as humbly
as though he were leaving the presence of royalty. When he had gone,
Theos looked up from the news-scroll he was perusing:
"Is it not strange Niphrata should have left thee thus, Sah-luma?".. he
said with a touch of anxiety in his tone ... "Maybe".. and he
hesitated, conscious of a strange, unbidden remorse that suddenly and
without any apparent reason overwhelmed his conscience.. "Maybe she was
not happy?"...
"Not happy!" ejaculated Sah-luma amazedly, "Not happy with ME? ... not
happy in MY house,--protected by MY patronage? Where then, if not here,
could she find happiness?"
And his beautiful flashing eyes betokened his entire and naive
astonishment at the mere supposition. Theos smiled involuntarily.. how,
charming, after all was Sah-luma's sublime egotism!--how almost
child-like was his confidence in himself and his own ability to
engender joy! All at once the young girl Zoralin spoke,--her accents
were low and timorous:
"May it please my lord Sah-luma to hear me..." she said and paused.
"Thy lord Sah-luma hears thee with pleasure, Zoralin," replied the
Laureate gently. "Thou dost speak more sweetly than many a bird doth
sing!"
A rich, warm blush crimsoned the maiden's cheeks at these dulcet
words,--she drew a quick, uneasy breath, and then went on,--
"I love Niphrata!" she murmured in a soft tone of touching tenderness,
. . "And I have watched her often when she deemed herself unseen, . .
she has, methinks, shed many tears for sake of some deep, heart-buried
sorrow! We have lived as sisters, sharing the same room, and the same
couch of sleep, but alas! in spite of all my lord's most constant
kindly favor, Niphrata is not happy, ..and.. and I have sometimes
thought--" here her mellow voice sank into a nervous
indistinctness--"that it may be because she loves my lord Sah-luma far
too well!"
And as she said this she looked up with a sudden affright in her dark,
lovely eyes, as though she were alarmed at her own presumption.
Sah-luma met her troubled gaze calmly and with a bright smile of
complacent vanity.
"And dost thou plead for thine absent friend, Zoralin?" ... he asked
with just sufficient satire in his utterance to render it almost
cruel.. "Am I to blame for the foolish fancies of all the amorous
maidens in Al-Kyris? ... Many there be who love me, . . well,--what
then?--Must I love many in return? Nay! Not so! the Poet is the
worshiper of Ideal Beauty, and for him the brief passions of mortal men
and women serve as mere pastime to while away an hour! But.. by my
faith, thou hast gained wondrous boldness in thy speech to prate so
glibly of the heart's emotion,--what knowest THOU concerning such
things.. thou, who hast counted scarcely fifteen summers! ... hast thou
caught contagion from Niphrata, and art thou too, sick of love?"
Oh, the dazzling smile with which he accompanied this poignant
question! ... the pitiless, burning ardor he managed to convey into the
sleeping brilliancy of his soft, poetic eyes! ... the beautiful languor
of his attitude, as leaning his head back easily on one arm, he turned
upon the shrinking girl a look that seemed intended to pierce into the
very inmost recesses of her soul! The roseate color faded from her
cheeks, . . white as a marble image she stood, her breath coming
between her lips in quick, frightened gasps...
"My lord! ..." she stammered ... "I ..." Here her voice failed her, and
suddenly covering her face with her hands, she broke into a passion of
weeping. Sah-luma's delicate brows darkened into a close frown,--and he
waved his hand with a petulant gesture of impatience.
"Ye gods! what fools are women!" he said wearily. "Ever hovering
uncertainly on a narrow verge between silly smiles and sillier tears!
As I live, they are most uncomfortable play-fellows!--and dwelling with
them long would drive all the inspiration out of man, no matter how
nobly he were gifted! Ye butterflies--ye little fluttering souls!" and
beginning to laugh as readily as he had frowned, he addressed the other
maidens, who, though they did not dare to move or speak, were evidently
affected by the grief of their companion--"Go hence all!-and take this
sensitive baby, Zoralin, into your charge, and console her for her
fancied troubles--'tis a mere frenzy of feminine weakness, and will
pass like an April shower. But, ... by the Sacred Veil!--if I saw much
of woman's weeping, I would discard forever woman's company, and dwell
in peaceful hermit fashion alone among the treetops! ... so heed the
warning, pretty ones! ... Let me witness none of your tears if ye are
wise,--or else say farewell to Sah-luma, and seek some less easy and
less pleasing service!"
With this injunction he signed to them all to depart,--whereupon the
awed and trembling girls noiselessly surrounded the still convulsively
sobbing Zoralin, and gently leading her away, they quickly withdrew,
each one making a profound obeisance to their imperious master ere
leaving his presence. When they had finally disappeared Sah-luma heaved
a sigh of relief.
"Can anything equal the perverseness of these frivolous feminine toys!"
he murmured pettishly, turning his head round toward Theos as he
spoke--"Was ever a more foolish child than Zoralin? ... Just as I would
fain have consoled her for her pricking heartache, she must needs pour
out a torrent of tear-drops to change my humor and quench her own
delight! 'Tis the most irksome inconsistency!"
Theos glanced at him with a vague emotion of wonder and
self-reproachful sadness.
"Nay, wouldst thou indeed have consoled her, Sah-luma?" he inquired
gravely, "How?"
"How?" and Sah-luma laughed musically.. "My simple friend, dost thou
ask me such a babe's question?"... He sprang from his couch, and
standing erect, pushed his clustering dark hair off his wide, bold
brows. . "Am I disfigured, aged, lame, or crooked-limbed? ... Cannot
these arms embrace?--these lips engender kisses?--these eyes wax
amorous? ... and shall not one brief hour of love with me console the
weariest maid that ever pined for passion? ... Now, by my faith, how
solemn is thy countenance! ... Art thou an anchorite, good Theos, and
wouldst thou have me scourge my flesh and groan, because the gods have
given me youth and vigorous manhood?"
He drew himself up with an inimitable gesture of pride,--his attitude
was statuesque and noble,--and Theos looked at him as he would have
looked at a fine picture, with a sense of critically satisfied
admiration.
"Most assuredly I am no anchorite, Sah-luma!" he said smiling slightly,
yet with a touch of sorrow in his voice. "But methinks the consolement
thou wouldst offer to enamoured maids is far more dangerous than
lasting! Thy love to them means ruin,--thy embraces shame,--thy
unthinking passion death! What!--wilt thou be a spendthrift of
desire?--wilt thou drain the fond souls of women as a bee drains the
sweetness of flowers?--wilt thou, being honey-cloyed, behold them droop
and wither around thee, and wilt thou leave them utterly destroyed and
desolate? Hast thou no vestige of a heart, my friend? a poet-heart, to
feel the misery of the world? ..the patient grief of all-appealing
Nature, commingled with the dreadful, yet majestic silence of an
unknown God? ... Oh, surely, thou hast this supremest gift of genius, .
. this loving, enduring, faithful, sympathetic HEART! ... for without
it, how shall thy fame be held long in remembrance? ... how shall thy
muse-grown laurels escape decay? Tell me! ..." and leaning forward he
caught his friend's hand in his eagerness.. "Thou art not made of
stone, . . thou art human, . . thou art not exempt from mortal
suffering ..."
"Not exempt--no!" interposed Sah-luma thoughtfully ... "But, as yet,--I
have never really suffered!"
"Never really suffered!".. Theos dropped the hand he held, and an
invisible barrier seemed to rise slowly up between him and his
beautiful companion. Never really suffered! ... then he was no true
poet after all, if he was ignorant of sorrow! If he could not
spiritually enter into the pathos of speechless griefs and unshed
tears,--if he could not absorb into his own being the prayers and
plaints of all Creation, and utter them aloud in burning and immortal
language, his calling was in vain, his election futile! This thought
smote Theos with the strength of a sudden blow,--he sat silent, and
weighed with a dreary feeling of disappointment to which he was unable
to give any fitting expression.
"I have never really suffered ..." repeated Sah-luma slowly: . .
"But--I have IMAGINED suffering! That is enough for me! The passions,
the tortures, the despairs of imagination are greater far than the
seeming REAL, petty afflictions with which human beings daily perplex
themselves; indeed, I have often wondered.. "here his eyes grew more
earnest and reflective ..." whether this busy working of the brain
called 'Imagination' may not perhaps be a special phase or supreme
effort of MEMORY, and that therefore we do not IMAGINE so much as we
remember. For instance,--if we have ever lived before, our present
recollection may, in certain exalted states of the mind, serve to bring
back the shadow-pictures of things long gone by, . . good or evil
deeds, . . scenes of love and strife, . . ethereal and divine events,
in which we have possibly enacted each our different parts as
unwittingly as we enact them here!".. He sighed and seemed somewhat
troubled, but presently continued in a lighter tone.. "Yet, after all,
it is not necessary for the poet to personally experience the emotions
whereof he writes. The divine Hyspiros depicts murderers, cowards, and
slaves in his sublime Tragedies,--but thinkest thou it was essential
for him to become a murderer, coward, and slave himself in order to
delineate these characters? And I ... I write of Love,--love spiritual,
love eternal,--love fitted for the angels I have dreamt of--but not for
such animals as men,--and what matters it that I know naught of such
love, . . unless perchance I knew it years ago in some far-off fairer
sphere! ... For me the only charm of worth in woman is beauty! ...
Beauty! ... to its entrancing sway my senses all make swift surrender
..."
"Oh, too swift and too degrading a surrender!" interrupted Theos
suddenly with reproachful vehemence ... "Thy words do madden
patience!--Better a thousand times that thou shouldst perish, Sah-lama,
now in the full plenitude of thy poet-glory, than thus confess thyself
a prey to thine own passions,--a credulous victim of Lysia's treachery!"
For one second the Laureate stood amazed, . . the next, he sprang upon
his guest and grasping him fiercely by the throat.
"Treachery?" he muttered with white lips.. "Treachery? ... Darest thou
speak of treachery and Lysia in the same breath? ... O thou rash fool!
dost thou blaspheme my lady's name and yet not fear to die?"
And his lithe brown fingers tightened their clutch. But Theos cared
nothing for his own life,--some inward excitation of feeling kept him
resolute and perfectly controlled.
"Kill me, Sah-luma!" he gasped--"Kill me, friend whom I love! ... death
will be easy at thy hands! Deprive me of my sad existence, . . 'tis
better so, than that _I_ should have slain THEE last night at Lysia's
bidding!"
At this, Sah-luma suddenly released his hold and started backward with
a sharp cry of anguish, . . his face was pale, and his beautiful eyes
grew strained and piteous.
"Slain ME! ... Me! ... at Lysia's bidding!" he murmured wildly.. "O ye
gods, the world grows dark! is the sun quenched in heaven? ... At
Lysia's bidding! ..Nay, . . by my soul, my sight is dimmed! ... I see
naught but flaring red in the air, . . Why! ..." and he laughed
discordantly.. "thou poor Theos, thou shalt use no dagger's point,--for
lo! ... I am dead already! ... Thy words have killed me! Go, . . tell
her how well her cruel mission hath sped,--my very soul is slain...at
her bidding! Hasten to her, wilt thou!".. and his accents trembled with
pathetic plaintiveness! ... "Say I am gone! ... lost! drawn into a
night of everlasting blackness like a taper blown swiftly out by the
wind, . . tell her that Sah-luma,--the poet Sah-luma, the
foolish-credulous Sah-luma who loved her so madly is no more!"
His voice broke, . . his head drooped, . . while Theos, whose every
nerve throbbed in responsive sympathy with the passion of his despair,
strove to think of some word of comfort, that like soothing balm might
temper the bitterness of his chafed and wounded spirit, but could find
none. For it was a case in which the truth must be told, . . and truth
is always hard to bear if it destroys, or attempts to destroy, any one
of our cherished self-delusions!
"My friend, my friend!" he said presently with gentle
earnestness,--"Control this fury of thy heart! ... Why such unmanly
sorrow for one who is not worthy of thee?"
Sah-luma looked up,--his black, silky lashes were wet with tears.
"Not worthy! ... Oh, the old poor consolation!" he exclaimed, quickly
dashing the drops from his eyes, . . "Not worthy?--No! ... what mortal
woman IS ever worthy of a poet's love?--Not one in all the world!
Nevertheless, worthy or unworthy, true or treacherous, naught can make
Lysia otherwise than fair! Fair beyond all fairness! ... and I--I was
sole possessor of her beauty!--for me her eyes warmed into stars of
fire,--for me her kisses ripened in their pearl and ruby nest, . .
all--all for me!--and now! ..." He flung himself desolately on his
couch, and fixed his wistful gaze on his companion's grave, pained
countenance,--till all at once a hopeful light flashed across his
features, . . a light that seemed to shine through him like an inwardly
kindled flame.
"Ah! what a querulous fool am I!" he cried, joyously,--so joyously that
Theos knew not whether to be glad or sorry at his sudden and capricious
change of mood.. "why should I thus bemoan myself for fancied
wrong?--Good, noble Theos, thou hast been misled!--My Lysia's words
were but to try thy mettle! ... to test thee to the core, and prove
thee truly faithful as Sah-luma's friend! She bade thee slay me! ...
Even so!--but hadst thou rashly undertaken such a deed, thine own life
would have paid the forfeit! Now I begin to understand it all--'tis
plain!"--and his face grew brighter and brighter, as he cheated himself
into the pleasing idea his own fancy had suggested.. "She tried
thee,--she tempted thee, . . she found thee true and incorruptible..
Ah! 'twas a jest, my friend!"--and entirely recovering from his
depression, he clapped his hand heartily on Theos's shoulder--"'Twas
all a jest!--and she the fair inquisitor will herself prove it so ere
long, and make merry with our ill-omened fears! Why, I can laugh now at
mine own despondency!--come, look thou also more cheerily, gentle
Theos,--and pardon these uncivil fingers that so nearly gripped thee
into silence!"--and he laughed--"Thou art the best and kindest of loyal
comrades, and I will so assure Lysia of thy merit, that she shall
institute no more torture-trials upon thy frank and trusting nature.
Heigho!"--and stretching out his arms lazily, he heaved a sigh of
tranquil satisfaction--"Methought I was wounded into death! but 'twas
the mere fancied prick of an arrow after all, and I am well again!
What, art thou still melancholy! ... still sombre! ... Nay, surely thou
wilt not be a veritable kill-joy!"
Theos stood mute and sorely perplexed. He saw at once how useless it
was now to try and convince Sah luma of any danger threatening him
through the instigation of the woman he loved,--he would never believe
it! And yet ... something must be done to put him on his guard. Taking
up the scroll of the public news, where the account of the finding of
the body of Nir-jalis was written with all that exaggerated attention
to repulsive details which seems to be a special gift of the cheap
re-porters, Theos pointed to it.
"His was a cruel end!"--he said in a low, uncertain voice,--"Sah-luma,
canst thou expect mercy from a woman who has once been so merciless?"
"Bah!" returned the Laureate lightly. "Who and what was Nir-jalis? A
hewer of stone images--a no-body!--he will not be missed! Besides, he
is only one of many who have perished thus."
"Only one of many!" ejaculated Theos with a shudder of aversion.. "And
yet, . . O thou most reckless and misguided soul! ... thou dost love
this wanton murderess!"
A warm flush tinted Sah-luma's olive skin,--his hands clenched and
unclenched slowly as though he held some struggling, prisoned thing,
and raising his head he looked at his companion full and steady with a
singularly solemn and reproving expression in his luminous eyes.
"Hast THOU not loved her also?" he demanded, a faint, serious smile
curving his lips as he spoke, . . "If only for the space of some few
passing moments, was not thy soul ravished, thy heart enslaved, thy
manhood conquered by her spell? ... Aye! ... Thou dost shrink at that!"
And his smile deepened as Theos, suddenly conscience-stricken, avoided
his friend's too-scrutinizing gaze.. "Blame ME not, therefore, for
THINE OWN weakness!"
He paused.. then went on slowly with a meditative air.. "I love her,
... yes!--as a man must always love the woman that baffles him, ... the
woman whose moods are complex and fluctuating as the winds on the
sea,--and whose humor sways between the softness of the dove and the
fierceness of the tiger. Nothing is more fatally fascinating to the
masculine sense than such a creature,--more especially if to this
temperament is united rare physical grace, combined with keen
intellectual power. 'Tis vain to struggle against the irresistible
witchery exercised over us by the commingling of beauty and
ferocity,--we see it in the wild animals of the forest and the
high-soaring birds of the air,--and we like nothing better than to hunt
it, capture it, tame it.. or.. kill it--as suits our pleasure!"
He paused again,--and again smiled, . . a grave, reluctant, doubting
smile such as seemed to Theos oddly familiar, suggesting to his
bewildered fancy that he must have seen it before, ON HIS OWN FACE,
reflected in a mirror!
"Even thus do I love Lysia!" continued Sah-luma--"She perplexes me, . .
she opposes her will to mine, ... the very irritation and ferment into
which I am thrown by her presence adds fire to my genius, . . and but
for the spur of this never-satiated passion, who knows whether I should
sing so well!"
He was silent for a little space--then he resumed in a more ordinary
tone:
"The wretched Nir-jalis, whose fate thou dost so persistently deplore,
deserved his end for his presumption, ... didst thou not hear his
insolent insinuation concerning the King?"
"I heard it--yes!" replied Theos--"And I saw no harm in the manner of
his utterance."
"No harm!" exclaimed Sah-luma excitedly--"No harm! Nay, but I forget!
... thou art a stranger in Al-Kyris, and therefore thou art ignorant of
the last words spoken by the Sacred Oracle some hundred years or more
ago. They are these:
"'When the High Priestess
Is the King's mistress
Then fall Al-Kyris!'
'Tis absolute doggerel, and senseless withal,--nevertheless, it has
caused the enactment of a Law, which is to the effect that the reigning
monarch of Al-Kyris shall never, under any sort of pretext, confer with
the High Priestess of the Temple on any business whatsoever,--and that,
furthermore, he shall never be permitted to look upon her face except
at times of public service and state ceremonials. Now dost thou not at
once perceive how vile were the suggestions of Nir-jalis, . . and also
how foolish was thy fancy last night with regard to the armed
masquerader thou didst see in Lysia's garden?"
Theos made no reply, but sat absorbed in his own reflections. He began
now to understand much that had before seemed doubtful and
mysterious,--no wonder, he thought, that Zephoranim's fury against the
audacious Khosrul had been so excessive! For had not the crazed Prophet
called Lysia an "unvirgined virgin and Queen-Courtesan"? ... and,
according to Sah-luma's present explanation, nothing more dire and
offensive in the way of open blasphemy could be uttered! Yet the
question still remained--, was Khosrul right or wrong? This was a
problem which Theos longed to investigate and yet recoiled
from,--instinctively he felt that upon its answer hung the fate of
Al-Kyris,--and also, what just then seemed more precious than anything
else,--the life of Sah-luma. He could not decide with himself WHY this
was so,--he simply accepted his own inward assurance that so it was.
Presently he inquired:
"How comes it, Sah-luma, that the corpse of Nir-jalis was found on the
shores of the river? Did we not see it weighted with iron and laid
elsewhere...?"
"O simpleton!" laughed Sah-luma--"Thinkest thou Lysia's lake of lilies
is a common grave for criminals? The body of Nir-jalis sank therein,
'tis true, . . but was there no after-means of lifting it from thence,
and placing it where best such carrion should be found? Hath not the
High Priestess of Nagaya slaves enough to work her will? ... Verily
thou dost trouble thyself overmuch concerning these trivial every-day
occurences,--I marvel at thee!--Hundreds have drained the Silver Nectar
gladly for so fair a woman's sake,--hundreds will drain it gladly
still for the mere privilege of living some brief days in the presence
of such peerless beauty! ... But,--speaking of the river--didst thou
remark it on thy way hither?"
"Aye!" responded Theos dreamily--"'Twas red as blood"!"
"Strange!" and Sah-luma looked thoughtful for an instant, then rousing
himself, said lightly, "'Tis from some simple cause, no doubt--yet
'twill create a silly panic in the city--and all the fanatics for
Khosrul's new creed will creep forth, shouting afresh their
prognostications of death and doom. By my faith, 'twill be a most
desperate howling! ... and I'll not walk abroad till the terror hath
abated. Moreover, I have work to do,--some lately budded thoughts of
mine have ripened into glorious conclusion,--and Zabastes hath orders
presently to attend me that he may take my lines down from mine own
dictation. Thou shalt hear a most choice legend of love an thou wilt
listen--" here he laid his hand affectionately on Theos's shoulder--"a
legend set about, methinks, with wondrous jewels of poetic splendor!
... 'tis a rare privilege I offer thee, my friend, for as a rule
Zabastes is my only auditor,--but I would swear thou art no plagiarist,
and wouldst not dishonor thine own intelligence so far as to filch
pearls of fancy from another minstrel! As well steal my garments as my
thoughts!--for verily the thoughts are the garments of the poet's
soul,--and the common thief of things petty and material is no whit
more contemptible than he who robs an author of ideas wherein to deck
the bareness of his own poor wit! Come, place thyself at ease upon this
cushioned couch, and give me thy attention, ... I feel the fervor
rising within me, ... I will summon Zabastes, ..." Here he pulled a
small silken cord which at once set a clanging bell echoing loudly
through the palace, ... "And thou shalt freely hear, and freely judge,
the last offspring of my fertile genius,--my lyrical romance
'Nourhalma!'" Theos started violently, ... he had the greatest
difficulty to restrain the anguished cry that arose to his lips.
"Nourhalma!" O memory! ... slow-filtering, reluctant memory! ... why,
why was his brain thus tortured with these conflicting pang, of piteous
recollection! Little by little, like sharp deep stabs of nervous
suffering, there came back to him a few faint, fragmentary suggestions
which gradually formed themselves into a distinct and comprehensive
certainty, . . "Nourhalma" was the title of HIS OWN POEM,--the poem HE
had written, surely not so very long ago, among the mountains of the
Pass of Dariel!