IN THE TEMPLE OF NAGAYA.
The hours wore on with stealthy rapidity,--but the two friends,
reclining together under a deep-branched canopy of cypress-boughs, paid
little or no heed to the flight of time. The heat in the garden was
intense--the grass was dry and brittle as though it had been scorched
by passing flames,--and a singularly profound stillness reigned
everywhere, there being no wind to stir the faintest rustle among the
foliage. Lying lazily upon his back, with his arms clasped above his
head, Theos looked dreamily up at the patches of blue sky seen between
the dark-green gnarled stems and listened to the measured cadence of
the Laureate's mellow voice as he recited with much tenderness the
promised poem.
Of course it was perfectly familiar,--the lines were precisely the same
as those which he, Theos, remembered to have written out, thinking them
his own, in an old manuscript book he had left at home. "At-home!" ...
Where was that? It must be a very long way off! ... He half-closed his
eyes,--a sense of delightful drowsiness was upon him, . . the rise and
fall of his friend's rhythmic utterance soothed him into a languid
peace, . . the "Idyl of Roses" was very sweet and musical, and, though
he knew it of old, he heard it now with special satisfaction, inasmuch
as, it being no longer his, he was at liberty to bestow upon it that
full measure of admiration which he felt it deserved!
Yet every now and then his thoughts wandered,--and though he anxiously
strove to concentrate his attention on the lovely stanzas that murmured
past his ears like the gentle sound of waves flowing beneath the
mesmerism of the moon, his brain was in a continual state of ferment,
and busied itself with all manner of vague suggestions to which he
could give no name.
A great weariness weighed down his spirit--a dim consciousness of the
futility of all ambition and all endeavor--he was haunted, too, by the
sharp hiss of Lysia's voice when she had said, "KILL SAH-LUMA!"...Her
look, her attitude, her murderous smile, troubled his memory and made
him ill at ease,--the thing she had thus demanded at his hands seemed
more monstrous than if she had bidden him kill himself! For there had
been one moment, when, mastered by her beauty and the force of his own
passion, he WOULD have killed himself had she requested it...but to
kill his adored, his beloved friend! ... ah no! not for a thousand
sorceress-queens as fair as she!
He drew a long breath, . . an irresistible desire for rest came over
him, . . the air was heavy and warm and fragrant,--his companion's
dulcet accents served as a lullaby to his tired mind,--it seemed a long
time since he had enjoyed a pleasant slumber, for the previous night he
had not slept at all. Lower and lower drooped his aching lids, . . he
was almost beginning to slip away slowly into a blissful
unconsciousness, . . when all at once Sah-luma ceased reciting, and a
harsh, brazen clang of bells echoed through the silence, storming to
and fro with a violent, hurried uproar suggestive of some sudden alarm.
He sprang to his feet, rubbing his eyes,--Sah-luma rose also, a
slightly petulant expression on his face.
"Canst thou do no better than sleep"--he queried complainingly, "when
thou art privileged to listen to an immortal poem?"
Impulsively Theos caught his hand and pressed it fervently.
"Nay, dost thou deem me so indifferent, my noble friend?" he cried ...
"Thou art mistaken, for though perchance mine eyes were closed, my ears
were open; I heard thy every word,--I loved thy every line! What dost
thou need of praise? ... thou, who canst do naught but work which,
being perfect, is beyond all criticism!"
Sah-luma smiled, well satisfied, and the little lines of threatening
ill-humor vanished from his countenance.
"Enough!" he said.. "I know that thou dost truly honor me above all
poets, and that thou wouldst not willingly offend. Hearest thou how
great a clamor the ringers of the Temple make to-night?--'tis but the
sunset chime, . . yet one would think they were pealing forth an angry
summons to battle."
"Already sunset!" exclaimed Theos, surprised.. "Why, it seems scarce a
minute since, that we came hither!"
"Aye!--such is the magic charm of poesy!" rejoined Sah-luma
complacently.. "It makes the hours flit like moments, and long days
seemed but short hours! ... Nevertheless 'tis time we were within doors
and at supper,--for if we start not soon for the Temple, 'twill be
difficult to gain an entrance, and I, at any rate, must be early in my
place beside the King."
He heaved a short, impatient sigh,--and as he spoke, all Theos's old
misgivings came rushing back upon him and in full force, filling him
with vague sorrow, uneasiness, fear. But he knew how useless it was to
try and impart any of his inward forebodings to Sah-luma,--Sah-luma,
who had so lightly explained Lysia's treacherous conduct to his own
entire satisfaction, . . Sah-luma, on whom neither the prophecies of
Khosrul nor the various disastrous events of the day had taken any
permanent effect, . . while no attempt could now be made to deter him
from attending the Sacrificial Service in the Temple, seeing he had
been so positively commanded thither by Lysia, through the medium of
the priest Zel.
Feeling bitterly his own incompetency to exercise any protective
influence on the fate of his companion, Theos said nothing, but
silently followed him, as he thrust aside the drooping cypress boughs
and made his way out to more open ground, his lithe, graceful figure
looking even more brilliant and phantom-like than ever, contrasted with
the deep green gloom spread about him by the hoary moss-covered trees
that were as twisted and grotesque in shape as a group of fetich idols.
As he bent back the last branchy barrier however, and stepped into the
full light, he stopped short,--and, uttering a loud exclamation, lifted
his hand and pointed westward, his dark eyes dilating with amazement
and awe.
Theos at once came swiftly up beside him, and looked where he looked, .
. what a scene of terrific splendor he beheld! ... Right across the
horizon, that glistened with a pale green hue like newly frozen water,
a cloud, black as the blackest midnight, lay heavy and motionless, in
form resembling an enormous leaf, fringed at the edges with tremulous
lines of gold.
This nebulous mass was absolutely stirless, . . it appeared as though
it had been thrown, a ponderous weight, into the vault of heaven, and
having fallen, there purposed to remain. Ever and anon beamy threads of
lightning played through it luridly, veining it with long, arrowy
flashes of orange and silver,--while poised immediately above it was
the sun, looking like a dull scarlet seal, ... a ball of dim fire
destitute of rays.
On all sides the sky was crossed by wavy flecks of pearl and sudden
glimpses as of burning topaz,--and down toward the earth drooped a thin
azure fog,--filmy curtain, through which the landscape took the
strangest tints and unearthly flushes of color. A moment,--and the
spectral sun dropped suddenly into the lower darkness, leaving behind
it a glare of gold and green,--lowering purple shadows crept over
across the heavens, darkening them as smoke darkens flame,--but the
huge cloud, palpitating with lightning, moved not at all nor changed
its shape by so much as a hair's breadth, . . it appeared like a vast
pall spread out in readiness for the solemn state-burial of the world.
Fascinated by the aspect of the weird sky-phenomenon, Theos was at the
same time curiously impressed by a sense of its UNREALITY, . . indeed
he found himself considering it with the calm attentiveness of one who
is brought face to face with a remarkable picture effectively painted.
This peculiar sensation, however, was, like many others of his
experience, very transitory, . . it passed, and he watched the
lightnings come and go with a certain hesitating fear mingled with
wonder. Sah-luma was the first to speak.
"Storm at last!" ... he said, forcing a smile though his face was
unusually pale,--"It has threatened us all day...'twill break before
the night is over. How sullenly yonder heavens frown! ... they have
quenched the sun in their sable darkness as though it were a beaten
foe! This will seem an ill sign to those who worship him as a god,--for
truly he doth appear to have withdrawn himself in haste and anger. By
my soul! 'Tis a dull and ominous eve!" ... and a slight shudder ran
through his delicate frame, as he turned toward the white-pillared
loggia garlanded with its climbing vines, roses, and passion-flowers,
through which there now floated a dim golden, suffused radiance
reflected from lamps lit within, . . "I would the night were past and
that the new day had come!"
With these words, he entered the house, Theos accompanying him, and
together they went at once to the banqueting-hall. There they supped
royally, served by silent and attentive slaves,--they themselves,
feeling mutually depressed, yet apparently not wishing to communicate
their depression one to the other, conversed but little. After the
repast was finished, they set forth on foot to the Temple, Sah-luma
informing his companion, as they went, that it was against the law to
use any chariot or other sort of conveyance to go to the place of
worship, the King himself being obliged to dispense with his sumptuous
car on such occasions, and to walk thither as unostentatiously as any
one of his poorest subjects.
"An excellent rule!" ... observed Theos reflectively,--"For the pomp
and glitter of an earthly potentate's display assorts ill with the
homage he intends to offer to the Immortals,--and Kings are no more
than commoners in the sight of an all-supreme Divinity."
"True, if there WERE an all-supreme Divinity!" rejoined Sah-luma
dryly,--"But in the present state of well-founded doubt regarding the
existence of any such omnipotent personage, thinkest thou there is a
monarch living, who is sincerely willing to admit the possibility of
any power superior to himself? Not Zephoranim, believe me! ... his
enforced humility on all occasions of public religious observance
serves him merely as a new channel wherein to proclaim his pride.
Certes, in obedience to the Priests, or rather let us say in obedience
to the High Priestess, he paces the common foot-path in company with
the common folk, uncrowned and simply clad,--but what avails this
affectation of meekness? All know him for the King--all make servile
way for him,--all flatter him! ... and his progress to the Temple
resembles as much a triumphal procession as though he were mounted in
his chariot and returning from some wondrous victory. Besides, humility
in my opinion is more a weakness than a virtue, . . and even granting
it were a virtue, it is not possible to Kings,--not as long as people
continue to fawn on royalty like grovelling curs, and lick the sceptred
hand that often loathes their abject touch."
He spoke with a certain bitterness and impatience as though he were
suffering from some inward nervous irritation, and Theos, observing
this, prudently made no attempt to continue the conversation. They were
just then passing down a narrow, rather dark street, lined on both
sides by lofty buildings of quaint and elaborate architecture. Long,
gloomy shadows had gathered in this particular spot, where for a short
space the silence was so intense that one could almost hear one's own
heart beat. Suddenly a yellowish-green ray of light flashed across the
pavement, and lo! the upper rim of the moon peered above the
house-tops, looking strangely large and rosily brilliant, . . the air
seemed all at once to grow suffocating and sulphurous, and between
whiles there came the faint plashing sound of water lapping against
stone with a monotonous murmur as of continuous soft whispers.
The vast silence, the vast night, were full of a solemn weirdness,--the
moon, curiously magnified to twice her ordinary size, soared higher and
higher, firing the lofty solitudes of heaven with long, shooting
radiations of rose and green, while still in the purple hollow of the
horizon lay that immense, immovable Cloud, nerved as it were with
living lightning which leaped incessantly from its centre like a
thousand swords drawn and re-drawn from as many scabbards.
Presently the deep booming noise of a great bell smote heavily on the
stillness, . . a sound that Theos, oppressed by the weight of
unutterable forebodings, welcomed with a vague sense of relief, while
Sah-luma, hearing it, quickened his pace. They soon reached the end of
the street, which terminated in a spacious quadrangular court guarded
on all sides by gigantic black statues, and quickly crossing this
place, which was entirely deserted, they came out at once into a
dazzling blaze of light, . . the Temple of Nagaya in all its stately
magnificence towered before them, a stupendous pile of marvellously
delicate architecture so fine as to seem like lace-work rather than
stone.
It was lit up from base to summit with glittering lamps of all colors,
. . the twelve revolving stars on its twelve tall turrets cast forth
wide beams of penetrating radiance into the deepening darkness of the
night, . . aloft in its topmost crown of pinnacles swung the
prayer-commanding bell, . . while the enormous crowds swarming thick
about it gave it the appearance of a brilliant Pharos set in the midst
of a surging sea. The steps leading up to it were strewn ankle-deep
with flowers, . . the doors stood open, and a thunderous hum of solemn
music vibrated in wave-like pulsations through the heavy, heated air.
Half blinded by the extreme effulgence, and confused by the jostling to
and fro of a multitude immeasurably greater than any he had ever seen
or imagined, Theos instinctively stretched out his hand in the helpless
fashion of one not knowing whither next to turn, . . Sah-luma
immediately caught it in his own, and hurried him along without saying
a word.
How they managed to glide through the close ranks of pushing, pressing
people, and effect an entrance he never knew,--but when he recovered
from his momentary dazed bewilderment, he found himself inside the
Temple, standing near a pillar of finely fluted white marble that shot
up like the stem of a palm-tree and lost its final point in the dim yet
sparkling splendor of the immense dome above. Lights twinkled
everywhere,--there was the odor of faint perfumes mingled with the
fresher fragrance of flowers,--there were distant glimpses of jewelled
shrines, and the leering faces of grotesque idols clothed in draperies
of amber, purple, and green,--and between the multitudinous columns
that ringed the superb fane with snowy circles, one within the other,
hung glittering lamps, set with rare gems and swinging by long chains
of gold.
But the crowning splendor of the whole was concentrated on the place of
the secret Inner Shrine. There an Arch of pale-blue fire spanned the
dome from left to right, . . there, from huge bronze vessels mounted on
tall tripods the smoke of burning incense arose in thick and odorous
clouds,--there children clad in white, and wearing garlands of vivid
scarlet blossoms, stood about in little groups as still as exquisitely
modelled statuettes, their small hands folded, and their eyes downcast,
. . there, the steps were strewn with branches of palm, flowering
oleander, rose-laurel, and olive-sprays,--but the Sanctuary itself was
not visible.
Before that Holy of Holies hung the dazzling folds of the "Silver
Veil," a curtain of the most wonderfully woven silver tissue, that seen
in the flashing azure light of the luminous arch above it, resembled
nothing so much as a suddenly frozen sheet of foam. Across it was
emblazoned in large characters:
I AM THE PAST, THE PRESENT, THE FUTURE,
THE MIGHT-HAVE-BEEN, AND THE SHALL-NOT-BE,
THE EVER, AND THE NEVER,
NO MORTAL KNOWETH MY NAME.
As Theos with some difficulty, owing to the intense brilliancy of the
Veil, managed to decipher these words, he heard a solitary trumpet
sounded,--a clear-blown note that echoed itself many times among the
lofty arches before it finally floated into silence. Recognizing this
as an evident signal for some new and important phase in the
proceedings, he turned his eyes away from the place of the Shrine, and
looking round the building was surprised to see how completely the vast
area was filled with crowds upon crowds of silent and expectant people.
It seemed as though not the smallest wedge could have been inserted
between the shoulders of one man and another, yet where he stood with
Sah-luma there was plenty of room. The reason of this however was soon
apparent,--they were in the place reserved for the King and the
immediate officers of the Royal Household,--and scarcely had the sweet
vibration of that clear trumpet-blast died away, when Zephoranim
himself appeared, walking slowly and majestically in the midst of a
select company of his nobles and courtiers.
He wore the simple white garb of an ordinary citizen of Al-Kyris,
together with a silver belt and plain-sheathed dagger, . . not a jewel
relieved the classic severity of his costume, and not even the merest
fillet of gold in his rough dark hair denoted his royal rank. But the
pride of precedence spoke in his flashing eyes,--the arrogance of
authority in the self-conscious poise of his figure and haughtiness of
his step,--his brows were knitted in something of a frown, and his face
looked pale and slightly careworn. He spied out Sah-luma at once and
smiled kindly,--there was not a trace of coldness in his manner toward
his favored minstrel, and Theos noted this with a curious sense of
sudden consolation and encouragement. "Why should I have feared
Zephoranim?" he thought. "Sah-luma has no greater friend, . . except
myself! The King would be the last person in the world to do him any
injury!"
Just then a magnificent burst of triumphal music rolled through the
Temple,--the music of some mighty instrument, organ-like in sound, but
several tones deeper than the grandest organ ever made, mingled with
children's voices singing. The King seated himself on a cushioned chair
directly in front of the Silver Veil, . . Sah-luma took a place at his
right hand, giving Theos a low bench close beside him, while the
various distinguished personages who had attended Zephoranim disposed
themselves indifferently wherever they could find standing-room, only
keeping as near to their monarch as they were able to do in the extreme
pressure of so vast a congregation.
For now every available inch of space was occupied,--as far as eye
could see there were rows upon rows of men and white-veiled women, . .
Theos imagined there must have been more then five thousand people
present. On went the huge pulsations of melody, surging through the
incense-laden air like waves thudding incessantly on a rocky shore, and
presently out of a side archway near the Sanctuary-steps came with slow
and gliding noiselessness a band of priests, walking two by two, and
carrying branches of palm. These were all clad in purple and crowned
with ivy-wreaths,--they marched sedately, keeping their eyes lowered,
while their lips moved constantly, as though they muttered inaudible
incantations. Waving their palm-boughs to and fro, they paced along
past the King and down the centre aisle of the Temple,--then turning,
they came back again to the lowest step of the Shrine and there they
all prostrated themselves, while the children who stood near the
incense-burners flung fresh perfumes on the glowing embers and chanted
the following recitative:
"O Nagaya, great, everlasting and terrible!
Thou who dost wind thy coils of wisdom into the heart!
Thou, whose eyes, waking and sleeping, do behold all things!
Thou who art the joy of the Sun and the Master of Virgins!
Hear us, we beseech thee, when we call upon thy name!"
Their young treble voices were clear and piercing, and pealed up to the
dome to fall again like the drops of distinct round melody from a
lark's singing-throat,--and when they ceased there came a short
impressive pause. The Silver Veil quivered from end to end as though
swayed by a faint wind, and the flaming Arch above turned from pale
blue to a strange shimmering green. Then, in mellow unison, the
kneeling priests intoned:
"O thou who givest words of power to the dumb mouth of the
soul in Hades; hear us, Nagaya!
O thou who openest the grave and givest peace to the heart;
plead for us, Nagaya!
O thou who art companion of the Sun and controller of the
East and of the West; comfort us, Nagaya!
Here they ended, and the children began again, not to chant but to
sing.. a strange and tristful tune, wilder than any that vragrant winds
could play on the strings of an aeolian lyre:
"O Virgin of Virgins, Holy Maid, to what shall we resemble thee?
Chaste Daughter of the Sun, how shall we praise thy peerless
beauty!
Thou art the Gate of the House of Stars!--thou art the first of
the Seven Jewels of Nagaya!
Thou dost wield the sceptre of ebony, and the Eye of Raphon
beholds thee with love and contentment!
Thou art the Chiefest of Women, ... thou hast the secrets of earth
and heaven, thou knowest the dark mysteries!
Hail, Lysia! Queen of the Hall of Judgment!
Hail, pure Pearl in the Sea of the Sun's glory!
Declare unto us, we beseech thee, the Will of Nagaya!"
They closed this canticle softly and slowly, . . then flinging
themselves prone, they pressed their faces to the earth, . . and again
the glittering Veil waved to and fro suggestively, while Theos, his
heart beating fast, watched its shining woof with straining eyes and a
sense of suffocation in his throat, . . what ignorant fools, what mad
barbarians, what blind blasphemers were these people, he indignantly
thought, who could thus patiently hear the praise of an evil woman like
Lysia publicly proclaimed with almost divine honors!
Did they actually intend to worship her, he wondered? If so, he at any
rate would never bend the knee to one so vile! He might have done so
once, perhaps, ... but now ...! At that instant a flute like murmur of
melody crept upward as it seemed from the ground, with a plaintive
whispering sweetness like the lament of some exiled fairy,--so
exquisitely tender and pathetic, and yet withal so heart-stirring and
passionate, that, despite himself, he listened with a strange, swooning
sense of languor stealing insidiously over him,--a dreamy lassitude,
that while it made him feel enervated and deprived of strength, was
still not altogether unpleasing, . . a faint sigh escaped his
lips,--and he kept his gaze fixed on the Silver Veil as pertinaciously
as though behind it lay the mystery of his soul's ruin or salvation.
How the light flashed on its shimmering folds like the rippling
phosphorescence on southern seas! ... as green and clear and brilliant
as rays reflected from thousands and thousands of glistening emeralds!
... And that haunting, sorrowful, weird music! ... How it seemed to eat
into his heart and there waken a bitter remorse combined with an
equally bitter despair!
Once more the Veil moved, and this time it appeared to inflate itself
in the fashion of a sail caught by a sudden breeze,--then it began to
part in the middle very slowly and without sound. Further and further
back on each side it gradually receded, and ... like a lily disclosed
between folding leaves--a Figure, white, wonderful and angelically
fair, shone out, the centre jewel of the stately shrine,--a shrine
whose immense carven pillars, grotesque idols, bronze and gold
ornaments, jewelled lamps and dazzling embroideries, only served as a
sort of neutral-tinted background to intensify with a more lustrous
charm the statuesque loveliness revealed! O Lysia, UNvirgined Priestess
of the Sun and Nagaya, how gloriously art thou arrayed in sin! ... O
singular Sweetness whose end must needs be destruction, was ever woman
fairer than thou! ... O love, love, lost in the dead Long-Ago, and
drowned in the uttermost darkness of things evil, wilt thou drag my
soul with thee again into everlasting night!
Thus Theos inwardly raved, without any real comprehension of his own
thoughts, but only stricken anew by a feverish passion of mingled love
and hatred as he stared on the witching sorceress whose marvellous
beauty was such wonder and torture to his eyes, . . what mattered it to
him that King, Laureate, and people had all prostrated themselves
before her in reverent humility? ... HE knew her nature, . . he had
fathomed her inborn wickedness, . . and though his senses were
attracted by her, his spirit loathingly repelled her, . . he therefore
remained seated stiffly upright, watching her with a sort of passive,
immovable intentness. As she now appeared before him, her loveliness
was absolutely and ideally perfect,--she looked the embodiment of all
grace,--the model of all chastity.
She stood quite still, . . her hands folded on her breast, . . her head
slightly lifted, her dark eyes upturned, . . her unbound black hair
streamed over her shoulders in loose glossy waves, and above her brows
her diadem of serpents' heads sparkled like a coronal of flame. Her
robe was white, made of some silky shining stuff that glistened with
soft pearly hues; it was gathered about her waist by a twisted golden
girdle. Her arms were bare, decked as before with the small jewelled
snakes that coiled upward from wrist to shoulder,--and when after a
brief pause she unfolded her hands and raised them with a slow,
majestic movement above her head, the great Symbolic Eye flared from
her bosom like a darting coal, seeming to turn sinister glances on all
sides as though on the search for some suspected foe.
Fortunately no one appeared to notice Theos's deliberate non-observance
of the homage due to her,--no one except.. Lysia, herself. She met the
open defiance, scorn, and reluctant admiration of his glance, . . and a
cold smile dawned on her features, . . a smile more dreadful in its
very sweetness than any frown, . . then, turning away her beautiful,
fathomless, slumberous eyes and still keeping her arms raised, she
lifted up her voice, a voice mellow as a golden flute, that pierced the
silence with a straight arrow of pure sound, and chanted:
"Give glory to the Sun, O ye people! for his Light doth illumine your
darkness!"
And the murmur of the mighty crowd surged back in answer:
"We give him glory!"
Here came a brief clash of brazen bells, and when the clamor ceased,
Lysia continued:
"Give glory to the Moon, O ye people! ... for she is the servant of the
Sun and the Ruler of the House of Sleep!"
Again the people responded;
"We give her glory!'.. and again the bells jangled tempestuously.
"Give glory to Nagaya, O ye people! for he alone can turn aside the
wrath of the Immortals!"
"We give him glory!".. rejoined the multitude,--and "We give him glory!
seemed to be shouted high among the arches of the Temple with a strange
sound as of the mocking laughter of devils."
This preliminary over, there came out of unseen doors on both sides of
the Sanctuary twenty priests in companies of ten each; ten advancing
from the left, ten from the right. These were clad in flowing garments
of carnation-colored silk, heavily bordered with gold, and the leader
of the right-hand group was the priest Zel. His demeanor was austere
and dignified, . . he carried a square cushion covered in black, on
which lay a long, thin cruel-looking knife with a jewelled hilt. The
chief of the priests, who stood on the left, bore a very tall and
massive staff of polished ebony, which he solemnly presented to the
High Priestess, who grasped it firmly in one slight hand and allowed it
to rest steadily on the ground, while its uppermost point reached far
above her head.
Then followed the strangest, weirdest scene that even the pen of poets
or brush of painter devised, . . a march round and round the Temple of
all the priests, bearing lighted flambeaux and singing in chorus a wild
Litany,--a confused medley of supplications to the Sun and Nagaya,
which, accompanied as it was by the discordant beating drums and the
clanging of bells, had an evidently powerful effect on the minds of the
assembled populace, for presently they also joined in the maddening
chant, and growing more and more possessed by the contagious fever of
fanaticism, began to howl and shriek and clap their hands furiously,
creating a frightful din suggestive of some fiendish clamor in hell.
Theos, half deafened by the horrible uproar, as well as roused to an
abnormal pitch of restless excitement, looked round to see how Sah-luma
comported himself. He was sitting quite still, in a perfectly composed
attitude,--a faint, derisive smile played on his lips, . . his profile,
as it just then appeared, had the firmness and the pure soft outline of
a delicately finished cameo, . . his splendid eyes now darkened, now
lightened with passion, as he gazed at Lysia, who, all alone in the
centre of the Shrine, held her ebony staff as perpendicularly erect as
though it were a tree rooted fathoms deep in earth, keeping herself too
as motionless as a figure of frozen snow.
And the King? ... what of him? ... Glancing at that bronze-like
brooding countenance, Theos was startled and at the same time half
fascinated by its expression. Such a mixture of tigerish tenderness,
servile idolatry, intemperate desire, and craven fear he had never seen
delineated on the face of any human being. In the black thirsty eyes
there was a look that spoke volumes,--a look that betrayed what the
heart concealed,--and reading that featured emblazonment of hidden
guilt, Theos knew beyond all doubt that the rumors concerning the High
Priestess and the King were true, . . that the dead Khosrul had spoken
rightly, . . that Zephoranim loved Lysia! ... Love? ... it seemed too
tame a word for the pent-up fury of passion that visibly and violently
consumed the man! What would be the result? ...
"When the High Priestess Is the King's mistress Then fall Al-Kyris!"
These foolish doggerel lines! ... why did they suggest themselves? ...
they meant nothing. The question did not concern Al-Kyris at all,--let
the city stand or fall as it list, who cared, so long as Sah-luma
escaped injury! Such, at least, was the tenor of Theos's thoughts, as
he rapidly began to calculate certain contingencies that now seemed
likely to occur. If, for instance, the King were made aware of
Sah-luma's intrigue with Lysia, would not his rage and jealousy exceed
all bounds? ... and if, on the other hand, Sah-luma were convinced of
the King's passion for the same fatally fair traitress, would not his
wrath and injured self-love overbear all loyalty and prudence?
And between the two powerful rivals who thus by stealth enjoyed her
capricious favors, what would Lysia's own decision be?--Like a loud
hissing in his ears, he heard again the murderous command,--a command
which was half a menace: "KILL SAH-LUMA!"
Faint shudders as of icy cold ran through him,--he nerved himself to
meet some deadly evil, though he could not guess what that evil might
be,--he was willing to throw away all the past that haunted him, and
cut off all hope of a future, provided he could only baffle the snares
of the pitiless beauty to whom the torture of men was an evident joy,
and rescue his beloved and gifted friend from her perilous attraction!
Making a strong effort to master the inward conflict of fear and pain
that tormented him, he turned his attention anew to the gorgeous
ceremony that was going on, . . the march of the priests had come to an
abrupt end. They stood now on each side of the Shrine, divided in
groups of equal numbers, tossing their flambeaux around and above them
to the measured ringing of bells. At every upward wave of these flaring
torches, a tongue of fire leaped aloft, to instantly break and descend
in a sparkling shower of gold,--the effect of this was wonderful in the
extreme, as by the dexterous way in which the flames were flung forth,
it appeared to the spectator's eyes as though a luminous Snake were
twisting and coiling itself to and fro in mid-air.
All loud music ceased, . . the multitude calmed down by degrees and
left off their delirious cries of frenzy or rapture, . . there was
nothing heard but a monotonous chanting in undertone, of which not a
syllable was distinctly intelligible. Then from out a dark portal
unperceived in the shadowed gloom of a curtained niche, there advanced
a procession of young girls,--fifty in all, clad in pure white and
closely veiled.
They carried small citherns, and arriving in front of the shrine, they
knelt down in a semicircle, and very gently began to strike the short,
responsive strings. The murmur of a lazy rivulet among whispering
reeds, . . the sighing suggestions of leaves ready to fall in
autumn,--the low, languid trilling of nightingales just learning to
sing,--any or all these might be said to resemble the dulcet melody
they played; while every delicate arpeggio, every rippling chord was
muffled with a soft pressure of their hands ere the sound had time to
become vehement. This elf-like harping continued for a short interval,
during which the priests, gathering in a ring round a huge bronze
font-shaped vessel hard by, dipped their flambeaux therein and suddenly
extinguished them.
At the same moment the lights in the body of the Temple were all
lowered, . . only the Arch spanning the Shrine blazed in undiminished
brilliancy, its green tint appearing more intense in contrast with the
surrounding deepening shadow. And now with a harsh clanging noise as of
the turning of heavy bolts and keys, the back of the Sanctuary parted
asunder in the fashion of a revolving double doorway,--and a golden
grating was disclosed, its strong glistening bars welded together like
knotted ropes and wrought with marvellous finish and solidity. Turning
toward this semblance of a prison-cell Lysia spoke aloud--her clear
tones floating with mellifluous slowness above the half-hushed
quiverings of the cithern-choir:
"Come forth, O Nagaya, thou who didst slumber in the bosom of Space ere
ever the world was made!
"Come forth, O Nagaya, thou who didst behold the Sun born out of Chaos,
and the Earth enriched with ever-producing life!
"Come forth, O Nagaya, Friend of the gods and the people, and comfort
us with the Divine Silence of thy Wisdom supernal!"
While she pronounced these words, the golden grating ascended gradually
inch by inch, with the steady clank as of the upward winding of a
chain,--and when she ceased, there came a mysterious, rustling,
slippery sound, suggestive of some creeping thing forcing its way
through wet and tangled grass, or over dead leaves, . . one instant
more, and a huge Serpent--a species of python some ten feet in
length--glided through the round aperture made by the lifted bars, and
writhed itself slowly along the marble pavement straight to where Lysia
stood.
Once it stopped, curving back its glistening body in a strange loop as
though in readiness to spring--but it soon resumed its course, and
arrived at the High Priestess's feet. There, its whole frame trembled
and glowed with extraordinary radiance, . . the prevailing color of its
skin was creamy white, marked with countless rings and scaly bright
spots of silver, purple, and a peculiar livid blue,--and all these
tints came into brilliant prominence, as it crouched before Lysia and
twisted its sinuous neck to and fro with an evidently fawning and
supplicatory gesture; while she, keeping her sombre dark eyes fixed
full upon it, moved not an inch from her position, but, majestically
serene, continued to hold the tall staff of ebony straight and erect as
a growing palm.
The cithern-playing had now the soothing softness of a mother's lullaby
to a tired child, and as the liquid notes quavered delicately on the
otherwise deep stillness, the formidable reptile began to coil itself
ascendingly round and round the ebony rod, . . higher and higher,--one
glistening ring after another,--higher still, till its eyes were on a
level with the "Eye of Raphon" that flamed on Lysia's breast, . . there
it paused in apparent reflectiveness, and seemed to listen to the
slumberous strains that floated toward it in wind-like breaths of
sound, . . then, starting afresh on its upward way, it carefully, and
with almost human tenderness, avoided touching Lysia's hand, which now
rested on the staff between two thick twists of its body, . . and
finally it reached the top, where fully raising its crested head, it
displayed the prismatic tints of its soft, restless, wavy throat, which
was adorned furthermore by a flexible circlet of magnificent diamonds.
Nothing more striking or more singular could Theos imagine than the
scene now before him, . . the beautiful woman, still as sculptured
marble, and the palpitating Snake coiled on that mast-like rod and
uplifted above her,--while round the twain knelt the Priests, their
faces covered in their robes, and from all parts of the Temple the loud
shout arose:
"ALL HAIL, NAGAYA!"
"Praise, Honor, and Glory be unto thee forever and ever!"
Then it was that the proud King flung himself to earth and kissed the
dust in abject submission,--then Sah-luma, carelessly complaisant, bent
the knee and smiled to himself mockingly as he performed the act of
veneration, ... then the enormous multitude with clasped hands and
beseeching looks fell down and worshipped the glittering beast of the
field, whose shining, emerald-like, curiously sad eyes roved hither and
thither with a darting yet melancholy eagerness over all the people who
called it Lord!
To Theos's imagination it looked a creature more sorrowful than
fierce,--a poor charmed brute, that while netted in the drowsy woofs of
its mistress Lysia's magnetic spell, seemed as though it dimly wondered
why it should thus be raised aloft for the adoration of infatuated
humankind. Its brilliant crest quivered and emitted little arrowy
scintillations of lustre--the "god" was ill at ease in the midst of all
his splendor, and two or three times bent back his gleaming neck as
though desirous of descending to the level ground.
But when these hints of rebellion declared themselves in the tremors
running through the scaly twists of his body, Lysia looked up, and at
once, compelled as it were by involuntary attraction, "Nagaya the
Divine" looked down. The strange, subtle, mesmeric, sleepy eyes of the
woman met the glittering green, mournful eyes of the snake,--and thus
the two beautiful creatures regarded each other steadfastly and with an
apparent vague sympathy, till the "deity," evidently overcome by a
stronger will than his own, and resigning himself to the inevitable,
twisted his radiant head back again to the top of the ebony staff, and
again surveyed the kneeling crowds of worshippers.
Presently his glistening jaws opened,--his tongue darted forth
vibratingly,--and he gave vent to a low hissing sound, erecting and
depressing his crest with extraordinary rapidity, so that it flashed
like an aigrette of rare gems. Then, with slow and solemn step, the
Priest Zel advanced to the front of the Shrine, and spreading out his
hands in the manner of one pronouncing a benediction, said loudly and
with emphasis:
"Nagaya the Divine doth hear the prayers of his people!
"Nagaya the Supreme doth accept the offered Sacrifice!
"BRING FORTH THE VICTIM!"
The last words were spoken with stern authoritativeness, and scarcely
had they been uttered when the great entrance doors of the Temple flew
open, and a procession of children appeared, strewing flowers and
singing:
"O happy Bride, we bring thee unto joy and peace!
"To thee are opened the Palaces of the Air,
"The beautiful silent Palaces where the bright stars dwell
"O happy Bride of Nagaya! how fair a fate is thine!"
Pausing, they flung wreaths and garlands among the people, and
continued:
"O happy Bride! for thee are past all Sorrows and Sin,
"Thou shalt never know shame, or pain or grief or the
weariness of tears;
"For thee no husband shall prove false, no children prove
ungrateful;
"O happy Bride of Nagaya! how glad a fate is thine.
"O happy Bride! when thou art wedded to the beautiful god, the
god of Rest,--
"Thou shalt forget all trouble and dwell among sweet dreams for
ever!
"Thou art the blessed one, chosen for the love-embraces of
Nagaya!
"O happy Bride! ... how glorious a fate is thine!"
Thus they sang in the soft, strange vowel-language of Al-Kyris, and
tripped along with that innocent, unthinking gayety usual to such young
creatures, up to the centre aisle toward the Sanctuary. They were
followed by four priests in scarlet robes and closely masked, . . and
walking steadfastly between these, came a slim girl clad in white,
veiled from head to foot and crowned with a wreath of lotus lilies. All
the congregation, as though moved by an impulse, turned to look at her
as she passed,--but her features were not as yet discernible through
the mist-like draperies that enfolded her.
The singing children, always preceding her and scattering flowers,
having arrived at the steps of the Shrine, grouped themselves on either
side,--and the red garmented Priests, after having made several
genuflections to the glittering Python that now, with reared neck and
quivering fangs, seemed to watch everything that was going on with
absorbed and crafty vigilance, proceeded to unveil the maiden martyr,
and also to tie her slight hands behind her back by means of a knotted
silver cord. Then in a firm voice the Priest Zel proclaimed:
"Behold the elected Bride of the Sun and the Divine Nagaya!
"She bears away from the city the burden of your sins, O ye people, and
by her death the gods are satisfied!
"Rejoice greatly, for ye are absolved,--and by the Silver Veil and the
Eye of Raphon we pronounce upon all here present the blessing of pardon
and peace!"
As he spoke the girl turned round as though in obedience to some
mechanical impulse, and fully confronted the multitude, . . her pale,
pure face, framed in a shining aureole of rippling fair hair, floated
before Theos's bewildered eyes like a vision seen indistinctly in a
magic crystal, and he was for a moment uncertain of her identity; but
quick as a flash Sah-luma's glance lighted upon her, and, with a cry of
horror that sent desolate echoes through and through the arches of the
Temple, he started from his seat, his arms outstretched, his whole
frame convulsed and quivering.
"Niphrata! ... Niphrata! ..." and his rich voice shook with a passion
of appeal, "O ye gods! ... what mad, blind, murderous cruelty!
Zephoranim!" ... and he turned impetuously on the astonished monarch:
"As thou livest crowned King I say this maid is MINE! ... and in the
very presence of Nagaya, I swear she shall NOT die!"