THE PRIEST ZEL.
As he uttered the last word the sound of an approaching light step
disturbed the silence. It was one of the young girls of the household,
. . a dark, haughty-looking beauty whom Theos remembered to have seen
in the palace-hall when he first arrived, lying indolently among
cushions, and playing with a tame bird which flew to and fro at her
beckoning. She advanced now with an almost imperial stateliness,--her
salute to Sah-luma was grateful, yet scarcely submissive,--while he,
turning eagerly toward her, seemed gladdened and relieved at her
appearance, his face assuming a gratified expression like that of a
child who, having broken one toy, is easily consoled with another.
"Welcome, Irenya!" he exclaimed gayly--"Thou art the very
bitter-sweetness I desire. Thy naughty pout and coldly mutinous eyes
are pleasing contrasts to the overlanguid heat and brightness of the
day! What news hast thou, my sweet? ... Is there fresh havoc in the
city? ... more deaths? ... more troublous tidings? ... nay, then hold
thy peace, for thou art not a fit messenger of woe--thou'rt much too
fair!"
Irenya's red lips curled disdainfully, . . the "naughty pout" was
plainly visible.
"My lord is pleased to flatter his slave!" she said with a touch of
scorn in her musical accents, . . "Certes, of ill news there is more
than enough,--and evil rumors have never been lacking these many
months, as my lord would have known, had he deigned to listen to the
common talk of those who are not poets but merely sad and suffering
men. Nevertheless, though I may think, I speak not at all of matters
such as these,--and for my present errand 'tis but to say that a Priest
of the Inner Temple waits without, desirous of instant speech with the
most illustrious Sah-luma."
"A Priest of the Inner Temple!" echoed the Laureate wonderingly, . .
"By my faith, a most unwelcome visitor! ... What business can he have
with me?"
"Nay, that I know not"--responded Irenya calmly--"He hath come hither,
so he bade me say, by command of The Absolute Authority."
Sah-luma's face flushed and he looked annoyed. Then taking Theos by the
arm he turned away from the terrace, and re-entered his apartment,
where he flung himself full length on his couch, pillowing his handsome
head against a fold of glossy leopard skin which formed a most becoming
background for the soft, dark oval beauty of his features.
"Sit thee down, my friend!" he said glancing smilingly at Theos, and
signing to him to take possession of a luxurious lounge-chair near
him.. "If we must needs receive this sanctified professor of many
hypocrisies, we will do it with suitable indifference and ease. Wilt
thou stay here with us, Irenya," he added, stretching out one arm and
catching the maiden round the waist in spite of her attempted
resistance.. "Or art thou in a froward mood, and wilt thou go thine own
proud way without so much as a consoling kiss from Sah-luma?"
Irenya looked full at him, a repressed anger blazing in her large black
eyes.
"Let my lord save his kisses for those who value them!" she said
contemptuously, "'Twere pity he should waste them upon me, to whom they
are unmeaning and therefore all unwelcome!"
He laughed heartily, and instantly loosened her from his embrace.
"Off, off with thee, sweet virtue! ... fairest prude!" he cried, still
laughing.. "Live out thy life an thou wilt, empty of love or
passion--count the years as they slip by, leaving thee each day less
lovely and less fit for pleasure, ... grow old,--and on the brink of
death, look back, poor child, and see the glory thou hast missed and
left behind thee! ... the light of love and youth that, once departed,
can dawn again no more!"
And lifting himself slightly from his cushions he kissed his hand
playfully to the girl, who, as though suddenly overcome by a sort of
vague regret, still lingered, gazing at him, while a faint color crept
through her cheeks like the deepening hue on the leaves of an opening
rose. Sah-luma saw her hesitation, and his face grew yet more radiant
with malicious mirth.
"Hence.. hence, Irenya!" he exclaimed--"Escape temptation quickly while
thou mayest! Support thy virgin pride in peace! ... thou shalt never
say again Sah-luma's kisses are unwelcome! The Poet's touch shall never
wrong or sanctify thy name!--thou art safe from me as pillared icicles
in everlasting snow! Dear little one, be happy without love if that be
possible! ... nevertheless take heed thou do not weakly clamor in the
after-years for once rejected joy!--Now bid yon waiting Priest attend
me,--tell him I can but spare a few brief moments audience."
Irenya's head drooped,--Theos saw tears in her eyes,--but she managed
to restrain them, and with something of a defiant air she made her
formal obeisance and withdrew. She did not return again, but a page
appeared instead, ushering in with ceremonious civility a tall
personage, clad in flowing white robes and muffled up to the eyes in a
mantle of silver tissue,--a majestic, mysterious, solemn-looking
individual, who, pausing on the threshold of the apartment, described a
circle in the air with a small staff he carried, and said in monotonous
accents:
"By the going-in and passing-out of the Sun through the Gates of the
East and the Gates of the West,--by the Vulture of Gold and White Lotus
and the countless virtues of Nagaya, may peace dwell in this house
forever!"
"Agreed to with all my heart!" responded Sah-luma, carelessly looking
up from his couch but making no attempt to rise, . . "Peace is an
excellent thing, most holy father!"
"Excellent!" returned the Priest slowly advancing and undoing his
mantle so that his face became fully visible,--"So truly excellent
indeed, that at times it is needful to make war in order to insure it."
He sat down, as he spoke, in a chair which was placed for him at
Sah-luma's bidding by the page who had ushered him in, and he
maintained a grave silence till that youthful servitor had departed.
Theos meanwhile studied his countenance with some curiosity,--it was so
strangely impassive, yet at the same time so full of distinctly marked
intellectual power. The features were handsome but also singularly
repulsive,--they were rendered in a certain degree dignified by a full,
dark beard which, however, failed entirely to conceal the receding
chin, and compressed, cruel mouth,--the eyes were keen and crafty and
very clear,--the forehead was high and intelligent, and deeply furrowed
with lines that seemed to be the result of much pondering over close
and cunning calculation, rather than the marks of profound, unselfish,
and ennobling thought. The page having left the room, Sah-luma began
the conversation:
"To what unexpected cause, most righteous sir, am I indebted for the
honor of this present visit? Methinks I recognize the countenance of
the famous Zel, the High-Priest of the Sacrificial Altar--if so, 'tis
marvellous so great a man should venture forth alone and unattended, to
the house of one who loves not priestly company, and who hath at best
for all professors of religion a somewhat indifferent welcome!"
The Priest smiled coldly.
"Most rightly dost thou speak, Sah-luma"--he answered, his measured,
metallic voice seeming to strike a wave of chilling discord through the
air, "and most frankly hast thou thus declared one of thy many
deficiencies! Atheist as thou art and to that manner born, thou art in
very deed outside the pale of all religious teaching and consolement, .
. nevertheless there is much gentle mercy shown thee by the Virgin
Priestess of Nagaya".. here he solemnly bent his head and made the
rapid sign of a Circle on his breast, . . "who, knowing thy great
genius, doth ever strive with thoughtful zeal to draw thee closely
within the saving Silver Veil! Yet it is possible that even her
patience with thy sins may tire at last,--wherefore while there is
time, offer due penance to the offended gods and humble thy stiff heart
before the Holy Maid, lest she expel thee from her sight forever." He
paused, . . a satirical, half-amused smile hovered round Sah-luma's
delicate mouth--his eyes flashed.
"All this is the mere common rhetoric of the Temple Craft"--he said
indolently.. "Why not, good Zel, give plainer utterance to thine
errand?--we know each other's follies well enough to spare formalities!
Lysia has sent thee hither, . . what then? ... what says the beauteous
Virgin to her willing slave?"
An undertone of mockery rang through the languid silvery sweetness of
his accents, and the Priest's dark brows knitted in an irritated frown.
"Thou art over-flippant of speech, Sah-luma!" he observed austerely.
"Take heed thou be not snared into misfortune by the glibness of thy
tongue! Thou dost speak of the chaste Lysia with unseemly
lightness.--learn to be reverent, and so shalt thou be wiser!"
Sah-luma laughed and settled himself more easily on his couch, turning
in such a manner as to look the stately Zel full in the face. They
exchanged one glance, expressive as it seemed of some mutual secret
understanding,--for the Priest coughed as though he were embarrassed,
and stroked his beard deliberately with one hand in an endeavor to hide
the strange smile that, despite his efforts to conceal it, visibly
lightened his cold eyes to a sudden tigerish brilliancy.
"The mission with which I am charged," he resumed presently,--"is to
thee, Chief Laureate of the realm, and runs as followeth: Whereas thou
hast of late avoided many days of public service in the Temple, so that
those among the people who admire thee follow thine ill example, and
absent themselves also with equal readiness,--the Priestess Undefiled,
the noble Lysia, doth to-night command thy presence as a duty not to be
foregone. Therefore come thou and take thy part in the Great Sacrifice,
for these late tumults and disaster in the city, notably the perplexing
downfall of the Obelisk, have caused all hearts to fail and sink for
very fear. The river darkens in its crimson hue each hour by passing
hour,--strange noises have been heard athwart the sky and in the deeper
underground, . . and all these drear unwonted things are so many cogent
reasons why we should in solemn unison implore the favor of Nagaya and
the gods whereby further catastrophes may be perchance averted.
Moreover for motives of most urgent state-policy it is advisable that
all who hold place, dignity, and renown within the city should this
night be seen as fervent supplicants before the Sacred Shrine,--so may
much threatening rebellion be appeased, and order be restored out of
impending confusion. Such is the message I am bidden to convey to
thee,--furthermore I am required to bear back again to the High
Priestess thy faithful promise that her orders shall be surely and
entirely obeyed. Thou art not wont".. and a pale sneer flitted over his
features.. "to set her mandate at defiance."
Sah-luma bit his lips angrily, and folded his arms above his head with
a lazy yet impatient movement.
"Assuredly I shall be present at the Service," he said curtly.. "There
needed no such weighty summoning! 'Twas my intention to join the ranks
of worshippers to-night, though for myself I have no faith in worship,
. . the gods I ween are deaf, and care not a jot whether we mortals
weep or sing. Nevertheless I shall look on with fitting gravity, and
deport myself with due decorum throughout the ceremonious Ritual,
though verily I tell thee, reverend Zel, 'tis tedious and monotonous at
best, . . and concerning the poor maiden-sacrifice, it is a shuddering
horror we could well dispense with."
"I think not so,".. replied the Priest calmly. "Thou, who art well
instructed in the capricious humors of men, must surely know how dearly
the majority of them love the shedding of blood,--'tis a clamorous
brute-instinct in them which must be satisfied. Better therefore that
we, the anointed Priests, should slay one willing victim for the
purposes of religion, than that they, the ignorant mob, should kill a
thousand to gratify their lust of murder. An unresentful, all-loving
Deity would be impossible of comprehension to a mutually hating and
malignant race of beings,--all creeds must be accommodated to the
dispositions of the million."
"Pardon me..." suddenly interrupted Theos, "I am a stranger, and in a
great measure ignorant of this city's customs, . . but I confess I am
amazed to hear a Priest uphold so specious an argument! What! ... must
divine Religion be dragged down from its pure throne to pander to the
selfish passions of the multitude? ... because men are vile, must a
vile god be invented to suit their savage caprices? ... because men are
so cruel, must the unseen Creator of things be delineated as even more
barbarous than they, in order to give them some pietistical excuse for
wickedness?--I ask these questions not out of wanton curiosity, but for
the sake of instruction!"
The haughty Zel turned upon him in severe astonishment.
"Sir," he said--"Stranger undoubtedly thou art,--and so bold a manner
of speech most truly savors of the utterly uneducated western
barbarian! All wise and prudent governments have learned that a god fit
for the adoration of men must be depicted as much like men as
possible,--any absolutely superhuman attributes are unnecessary to the
character of a useful deity, inasmuch as no man ever will, or ever can,
understand the worth of superhuman qualities. Humanity is only capable
of worshipping Self--thus, it is necessary, that when people are
persuaded to pay honor to an elected Divinity, they should be well and
comfortably assured in their own minds that they are but offering
homage to an Image of Self placed before them in a deified or heroic
form. This satisfies the natural idolatrous cravings of Egotism, and
this is all that priests or teachers desire. Now in the worship of
Nagaya, we have the natures of Man and Woman conjoined, . . the Snake
is the emblem of male wisdom united with female subtilty--and the two
essences, mingled in one, make as near an approach to what we may
imagine the positive Divine capacity as can be devised on earth by
earthly intelligences. If, on the other hand, such an absurd doctrine
as that formulated in the fanatic madman Khosrul's 'Prophecy' could be
imagined as actually admitted, and proclaimed to the nations, it would
have very few followers, and the sincerity of those few might well be
open to doubt. For the Deity it speaks of is supposed to be an immortal
God disguised as Man,--a God who voluntarily rejects and sets aside His
own glory to serve and save His perishable creatures,--thus the root of
that religion would consist in Self-abnegation, and Self-abnegation is,
as experience proves, utterly impossible to the human being."
"Why is it impossible?" asked Theos with a quiver of passionate
earnestness in his voice,--"Are there none in all the world who would
sacrifice their own interests to further another's welfare and
happiness?"
The Priest smiled,--a delicately derisive smile.
"Certainly not!" he replied blandly.. "The very question strikes me as
singularly foolish, inasmuch as we live in a planet where, if we do not
serve ourselves and look after our own personal advantage, we may as
well die the minute we are born, or, better still, never be born at
all. There is no one living, . . at least not in the wide realm of
Al-Kyris,--who would put himself to the smallest inconvenience for the
sake of another, were that other his nearest and dearest
blood-relation. And in matters of love and friendship, 'tis the same as
in business,--each man eagerly pursues his own chance of
enjoyment,--even when he loves, or fancies he loves, a woman, it is
solely because her beauty or attractiveness gives HIM temporary
pleasure, not because he has any tenderness or after-regard for the
nature of HER feelings. How can it be otherwise? ... We elect friends
that are useful to US personally,--we care little for THEIR intrinsic
merit, and we only tolerate them as long as they happen to suit OUR
taste. For generally, on the first occasion of a disagreement or
difference of opinion, we shake ourselves free of them without either
regret or remorse, and seek others who will be meek enough not to offer
us any open contradiction. It is, and it must be always so: Self is the
first person we are bound to consider, and all religions, if they are
intended to last, must prudently recognize and silently acquiesce in
this, the chief dogma of Man's constitution."
Sah-luma laughed. "Excellently argued, most politic Zel!" he
exclaimed.. "Yet methinks it is easy to worship Self without either
consecrated altars or priestly assistance!"
"Thou shouldst know better than any one with what facility such
devotion can be practiced!" returned Zel ironically, rising as he
spoke, and beginning to wrap his mantle round him preparatory to
departure--"Thou hast a wider range of perpetual adoration than most
men, seeing thou dost so fully estimate the value of thine own genius!
Some heretics there are in the city, who say thy merit is but a trick
of song shared by thee in common with the birds, . . who truly seem to
take no pride in the particular sweetness of their unsyllabled
language, . . but thou thyself art better instructed, and who shall
blame thee for the veneration with which thou dost daily contemplate
thine own intellectual powers? Not I, believe me!".. and his crafty
eyes glittered mockingly, as he arranged his silver gauze muffler so
that it entirely veiled the lower part of his features, . . "And though
I do somewhat regret to learn that thou, among other noblemen of
fashion, hast of late taken part in the atheistic discussions
encouraged by the Positivist School of Thought, still, as a priest, my
duty is not so much to reproach as to call thee to repentance.
Therefore I inwardly rejoice to know thou wilt present thyself before
the Shrine to-night, if only for the sake of custom ..."
"'Only' for the sake of custom!" repeated Sah-luma amusedly--"Nay, good
Zel, custom should be surely classified as an exceeding powerful god,
inasmuch as it rules all things, from the cut of our clothes to the
form of our creeds!"
"True!" replied Zel imperturbably. "And he who despises custom becomes
an alien from his kind,--a moral leper among the pure and clean."
"Oh, say rather a lion among sheep, a giant among pigmies!" laughed the
Laureate,--"For by my soul, a man who had the courage to scorn custom,
and set the small hypocrisies of society at defiance, would be a
glorious hero! a warrior of strange integrity whom it would be well
worth travelling miles to see!"
"Khosrul was such an one!" interposed Theos suddenly.
"Tush, man! Khosrul was mad!" retorted Sah-luma.
"Are not all men thought mad who speak the truth?" queried Theos gently.
The priest Zel looked at him with proud and supercilious eyes.
"Thou hast strange notions for one still young," he said ... "What art
thou? ... a new disciple of the Mystics? ... or a student of the
Positive Doctrines?"
Theos met his gaze unflinchingly. "What am I?" he murmured sadly, and
his voice trembled, ... "Reverend Priest, I am nothing! ... Great are
the sufferings of men who have lost their wealth, their home, their
friends, ... but I ... I have lost Myself! Were I anything ... could I
ever hope to be anything, I would pray to be accepted a servant of the
Cross, ... that far-off unknown Faith to which my tired spirit clings!"
As he uttered these words, he raised his eyes, ... how dim and misty at
the moment seemed the tall white figure of the majestic Zel! and in
contrast to it, how brilliantly distinct Sah-luma's radiant face
appeared, turned toward him in inquiring wonderment! ... He felt a
swooning dizziness upon him, but the sensation swiftly passed, and he
saw the haughty Priest's dark brows bent upon him in a frown of ominous
disapproval.
"'Tis well thou art not a citizen of Al-Kyris"--he said scornfully--"To
strangers we accord a certain license of opinion,--but if thou wert a
native of these realms, thy speech would cost thee dear! As it is, I
warn thee! ... dare not to make public mention of the Cross, the
accursed Emblem of the dead Khosrul's idolatry, ... guard thy tongue
heedfully!--and thou, Sah-luma if thou dost bring this rashling with
thee to the Temple, thou must take upon thyself all measures for his
safety. For in these days, some words are like firebrands, and he who
casts them forth incautiously may kindle flames that only the forfeit
of his life can quench."
There was a quiver of suppressed fury in his tone, and Sah-luma lifted
his lazy lids, and looked at him with an air of tranquil indifference.
"Prithee, trouble not thyself, most eminent Zel!" he answered
nonchalantly ... "I will answer for my friend's discretion! Thou dost
mistake his temperament,--he is a budding poet, and utters many a
disconnected thought which hath no meaning save to his own
fancy-swarming brain,--he saw the frantic Khosrul die, and the picture
hath impressed him for the moment--nothing more! I pledge my word for
his demurest prudence at the Service to-night--I would not have him
absent for the world, ... 'twere pity he should miss the splendor of a
scene which doubtless hath been admirably contrived, by priestly art
and skill, to play upon the passions of the multitude. Tell me, good
Zel, what is the name of the self-offered Victim?"
The Priest flashed a strangely malevolent glance at him.
"'Tis not to be divulged," he replied curtly--"The virgin is no longer
counted among the living ... she is as one already departed--the name
she bore hath been erased from the city registers, and she wears
instead the prouder title of 'Bride of the Sun and Nagaya.' Restrain
thy curiosity until night hath fallen,--it may be that thou, who hast a
wide acquaintance among fair maidens, wilt recognize her countenance."
"Nay, I trust I know her not"--said Sah-luma carelessly--"For, though
all women die for me when once their beauty fades, still am I loth to
see them perish ere their prime.
"Yet many are doomed to perish so"--rejoined the Priest
impassively--"Men as well as women,--and methinks those who are best
beloved of the gods are chosen first to die. Death is not difficult,
... but to live long enough for life to lose all savor, and love all
charm, ... this is a bitterness that comes with years and cannot be
consoled."
And retreating slowly toward the door, he paused as he had previously
done on the threshold.
"Farewell, Sah-luma!" he said ... "Beware that nothing hinders thee
from the fulfillment of thy promise! ... and let thy homage to the Holy
Maid be reverent at the parting of the Silver Veil!"
He waited, but Sah-luma made no answer--he therefore raised his staff
and described a circle with it in the same solemn fashion that had
distinguished his entrance.
"By the coming-forth of the Moon through the ways of Darkness, . . by
the shining of Stars, . . by the Sleeping Sun and the silence of Night,
. . by the All-Seeing Eye of Raphon and the Wisdom of Nagaya may the
protection of the gods abide in this house forever!"
As he pronounced these words he noiselessly departed, without any
salutation whatever to Sah-luma, who heaved a sigh of relief when he
had gone, and, rising from his couch came and placed one hand
affectionately on Theos's shoulder.
"Thou foolish, yet dear comrade!" he murmured.. "What moves thee to
blurt forth such strange and unwarrantable sayings? ... Why wouldst
thou pray to be a servant of the Cross? ... or why, at any rate, if
thou hast taken a fancy for the dead Khosrul's new doctrine, wert thou
so rash as to proclaim thy sentiment to yon unprincipled, bloodthirsty
Zel, who would not scruple to poison the King himself, if his Majesty
gave sufficient cause of offence! Dost thou desire to be straightway
slain?--Nay, I will not have thee run thus furiously into danger,--thou
wilt be offered the Silver Nectar like Nir-jahs, and not even the
intercession of my friendship would avail to save thee then!"
Theos smiled rather sadly.
"And thus would end for ever my mistakes and follies, . ." he answered
softly.. "And I should perchance discover the small hidden secret of
things--the little, simple unguessed clue, that would unravel the
mystery and meaning of Existence! For can it be that the majestic
marvel of created Nature is purposeless in its design?--that we are
doomed to think thoughts which can never be realized?--to dream dreams
that perish in the dreaming? ... to build up hopes without foundation?
... to call upon God when there is no God? ... to long for Heaven when
there is no Heaven? ... Ah no, Sah-luma!--surely we are not the mere
fools and dupes of Time, ... surely there is some Eternal Beyond which
is not Annihilation, . . some greater, vaster sphere of
soul-development where we shall find all that we have missed on earth!"
Sah-luma's face clouded, and a sigh escaped him.
"I would my thoughts were similar to thine!" he said sorrowfully.. "I
would I could believe in an immortal destiny, ... but alas, my friend!
there is no shadow of ground for such a happy faith,--none neither in
sense nor science. I have reflected on it many a time till I have
wearied myself with mournful musing, and the end of all my meditation
has been a useless protest against the Great Inevitable, . . a clamor
of disdain hurled at the huge, blind, indifferent Force that poisons
the deep sea of Space with an ever-productive spawn of wasted Life!
Anon I have flouted my own despair, and have consoled myself with the
old wise maxim that was found inscribed on the statue of a smiling god
some centuries ago.. 'Enjoy your lives, ye passing tribes of men ...
take pleasure in folly, for this is the only wisdom that avails! Happy
is he whose days are filled with the delight of love and laughter, for
there is nothing better found on earth, and whatsoever ye do, whether
wise or foolish, the same End comes to all!'.. Is not this true
philosophy, my Theos? ... what can a man do better than enjoy?"
"Much depends on the particular form of enjoyment..." responded Theos
thoughtfully. "Some there are, for example, who might find their
greatest satisfaction in the pleasures of the table,--others in the
gratification of sensual desires and gross appetites,--are these to be
left to follow their own devices, without any effort being made to
raise them from the brute-level where they lie?"
"Why, in the name of all the gods, SHOULD they be raised?" demanded
Sah-luma impatiently--"If their choice is to grovel in mire, why ask
them to dwell in a palace?--They would not appreciate the change!"
"Again," went on Theos--"there are others who are only happy in the
pursuit of wisdom, and the more they learn, the more they seek to know.
One wonders, . . one cannot help wondering.. are their aspirations all
in vain? ... and will the grave seal down their hopes forever?"
Sah-luma paused a moment before replying.
"It seems so ..." he said at last slowly and hesitatingly ... "And
herein I find the injustice of the matter,--because however great may
be the imagination and fervor of a poet for instance, he never is able
WHOLLY to utter his thoughts. Half of them remain in embryo, like buds
of flowers that never come to bloom, . . yet they are THERE, burning in
the brain and seeming too vast of conception to syllable themselves
into the common speech of mortals! I have often marvelled why such
ideas suggest themselves at all, as they can neither be written nor
spoken, unless..." and here his voice sank into a dreamy softness,
"unless indeed they are to be received as hints, . . foreshadowings..
of greater works destined for our accomplishment, hereafter!"
He was silent a minute's space, and Theos, watching him wistfully,
suddenly asked:
"Wouldst thou be willing to live again, Sah-luma, if such a thing could
be?"
"Friend, I would rather never die!"--responded the Laureate, half
playfully, half seriously.. "But.. if I were certain that death was no
more than a sleep, from which I should assuredly awaken to another
phase of existence, ..I know well enough what I would do!"
"What?" questioned Theos, his heart beginning to beat with an almost
insufferable anxiety.
"I would live a different life NOW!" answered Sah-luma steadily,
looking his companion full in the eyes as he spoke, while a grave smile
shadowed rather than lightened his features. "I would begin at once, .
. so that when the new Future dawned for me, I might not be haunted or
tortured by the remembrance of a misspent Past! For if we are to
believe in any everlasting things at all, we cannot shut out the fatal
everlastingness of Memory!" His words sounded unlike himself...his
voice was as the voice of some reproving angel speaking,--and Theos,
listening, shuddered, he knew not why, and held his peace.
"Never to be able to FORGET!" continued Sah-luma in the same grave,
sweet tone ... "Never to lose sight of one's own bygone wilful sins, .
. this would be an immortal destiny too terrible to endure! For then,
inexorable Retrospection would forever show us where we had missed the
way, and how we had failed to use the chances given us, . . moreover,
we might haply find ourselves surrounded..." and his accents grew
slower and more emphatic.. "by strange phantoms of our own creating,
who would act anew the drama of our obstinate past follies, perplexing
us thereby into an anguish greater than mortal fancy can depict. Thus
if we indeed possessed the positive foreknowledge of the eternal
regeneration of our lives, 'twould be well to free them from all
hindrance to perfection HERE,--here, while we are still conscious of
Time and opportunity." He paused, then went on in his customary gay
manner: "But fortunately we are not positive, nothing is certain, no
truth is so satisfactorily demonstrated that some wiseacre cannot be
found to disprove it, . . hence it happens my friend..." and his face
assumed its wonted careless expression ... "that we men whose
common-sense is offended by priestly hypocrisy and occult necromantic
jugglery,--we, who perhaps in our innermost heart of hearts ardently
desire to believe in a supreme Divinity and the grandly progressive
Sublime Intention of the Universe, but who, discovering naught but
ignoble Cant and Imposture everywhere, are incontinently thrown back on
our own resources, . . hence it comes, I say, that we are satisfied to
accept ourselves, each man in his own personality, as the Beginning and
End of Existence, and to minister to that Absolute Self which after all
concerns us most, and which will continue to engage our best service
until...well!--until History can show us a perfectly Selfless Example,
which, if human nature remains consistent with its own traditions, will
assuredly never be!"
This was almost more than Theos could bear, . . there was a tightening
agony at his heart that made him long to cry out, to weep, or, better
still, to fling himself on his knees and pray, . . pray to that
far-removed mild Presence, that "Selfless Example" who he KNEW had
hallowed and dignified the world, and yet whose Holy and Beloved Name,
he, miserable sinner, was unworthy to even remember! His suffering at
the moment was so intense that he fancied some reflection of it must be
visible in his face. Sah-luma, however, apparently saw nothing,--he
stepped across the room, and out to the vine-shaded loggia, where he
turned and beckoned his companion to his side.
"Come!" he said, pushing his hair off his brows with a languid gesture,
. . "The afternoon wears onward, and the very heavens seem to smoke
with heat,--let us seek cooler air beneath the shade of yonder
cypresses, whose dark-green boughs shut out the glaring sky. We'll talk
of love and poesy and tender things till sunset, . . I will recite to
thee a ballad of mine that Niphrata loved,--'tis called 'An Idyl of
Roses,'...and it will lighten this hot and heavy silence, when even
birds sleep, and butterflies drowse in the hollowed shelter of the
arum-leaves. Come, wilt thou? ... To-night perchance we shall have
little time for pleasant discourse!"
As he spoke, Theos obediently went toward him with the dazed sensations
of one under the influence of mesmerism, ... the dazzling face and
luminous eyes of the Laureate exercised over him an indescribable yet
resistless authority,--and it was certain that, wherever Sah-luma led
the way, he was bound to follow. Only, as he mechanically descended
from the terrace into the garden, and linked his arm within that of his
companion, he was conscious of a vague feeling of pity for
himself...pity that he should have dwindled into such a nonentity, when
Sah-luma was so renowned a celebrity, . . pity too that he should have
somehow never been able to devise anything original in the Art of
Poetry!
This last was evident, . . for he knew already that the "Idyl of Roses"
Sah-luma purposed reciting could be no other than what he had fancied
was HIS "Idyl of Roses" ... a poem he had composed, or rather had
plagiarized in some mysterious fashion before he had even dreamt of the
design of "Nourhalma"...However he had become in part resigned to the
peculiar position he occupied,--he was just a little sorry for himself,
and that was all. Even as the parted spirit of a dead man might hover
ruthfully above the grave of its perished mortal body, so he
compassionated his own forlorn estate, and heaved a passing sigh of
regret, not only for all HE ONCE HAD BEEN, but also for all HE COULD
NEVER BE!