THE FLOWER OF THE SOUL.
Early on the chief day of the festival Otāré came and took us to see the
mystical rite of cutting the "Flower of the Soul."
The morning was fine, and the clear waters of the lake were bright with
boats filled with joyous parties bound like ourselves for the Holy
Island.
Landing at a noble quay of red granite, we climbed the steep and shaggy
sides of the mountain by a sacred and winding avenue, bordered with
blooming trees and statuary. Most of the figures were exquisitely carved
in a white wood or stone, having a pearly sheen, and represented the
former priestesses of the Temple, or illustrated the animating spirit of
the cult.
On gaining the summit we found ourselves at the brim of a spacious
hollow or basin, which in past ages must have been the crater of the
volcanic peak. The grassy slopes of the basin were laid out in flower
gardens and terraces of coloured marbles, shaded with sombre trees, and
ornamented with sculpture. In the bottom lay an oval sheet of water a
mile long or more, and from the midst of it, towards the near end, a
beautiful islet, crowned by a magnificent temple, rose like a mirage to
the view, and seemed to float on its glassy bosom.
Words of mine cannot give any idea of that sublime architecture, which
resembled no earthly order, though it seemed to partake of both the
Saracenic and the Indian. Fragrant timber, precious stones, and
burnished metals; in fine, the richest materials known to the builders,
had been united with consummate art into one harmonious emblem of their
faith. The first beams of the rising sun blazed on its golden roof and
fretted pinnacles of diamond, and ruby, sapphire, topaz, and emerald;
but the lower part was still in shadow. Nevertheless, we could
distinguish a grand portal in the southern front, which faced the sun,
and a broad flight of marble steps descending from it into the water;
but the massive doors were shut, and not a soul was to be seen about the
temple.
As the worshippers arrived they seated themselves on the turf amongst
the flowering shrubs, or on the benches along the terraces, and either
spoke in subdued tones, or preserved a religious silence. Otāré led us
to a kind of throne or stand facing the temple, and raised above the
other seats, where his father, as chief of the community, sat in state.
Dinus received us with his usual gracious dignity, and gave us chairs on
his right and left hand.
From this height we enjoyed a splendid panorama of the Craterland, at
least that portion which had already caught the sunshine. It lay beneath
us like a picture, the surface rising in a series of zones from the
central sea, which mirrored the serene azure and plume-like vapours of
the heavens, through the sweet meadows, and the smiling gardens, to the
luxuriant wilderness beyond; and we could plainly see the shadow of the
bounding rampart shrink towards the south as the sun mounted higher and
higher.
It was a lovely dawn. A rosy mist hung like a veil of gauze over the
southern sky, and from behind a bar of purple cloud, lined with gold,
which rested on the summit of the cliffs, a coronet of auroral beams or
crepuscular rays, blue on a pink ground, shot upwards, heralding the
advent of the sun, and reminding me of the ancient simile of the earth
as a bride awaiting the arrival of her lord.
At length the first glowing tip of the solar disc peeped over the rim
of the crater, and a deep low murmur, swelling to a shrill cry, ascended
from the passive multitude.
All the people rose to their feet, and every eye was turned on the south
front of the temple, which was now illuminated to the edge of the water.
As the sunlight crept over the surface it sparkled on the dense foliage
of what seemed a bed of water-lilies flourishing quite close to the
marble stairs.
Presently a rich and stately barge, moved by crimson oars, and enlivened
with young girls draped in sky-blue, was seen to glide round a corner of
the temple, and come to rest beside the water-lilies.
A deep silence, as of breathless expectation, fell upon the vast
assembly, and then, without other warning, the great purple doors of the
temple swung open, and revealed a white-robed figure walking at the head
of a glittering procession of maidens decked in jewels and luminous
scarves, which vied with the colours of the rainbow. It was the young
priestess and her train of virgins.
Simultaneously the immense multitude raised their voices in a sacred
hymn of melting sweetness, very low at first, but gathering volume as
the priestess descended the marble stairs to the waterside.
Here, on the lowest of the steps, one of her maidens put into her hand
a sacred knife or sickle, which, as Otāré informed us had a blade of
gold, and a handle of opal. The woman then retired, and we saw her stand
erect for a moment in the full blaze of the mellow sunlight, with her
golden hair falling about her in a kind of glory, and stretch out her
arms towards the sun in a superb attitude of adoration. Then, with a
slow and swan-like movement, she entered the water, and wading among the
lilies, cut the sacred blossom, and held it aloft in triumph, while the
music swelled to a mighty pæan of thanksgiving and praise.
After that she went on board the barge, which had been waiting for her,
and was rowed around the border of the lake not far from the shore, so
that the onlookers might see the loveliness of the flower, and even
smell its perfume. The barge was not unlike an ancient galley in shape,
but ornately curved like the proa of a South Sea Islander. The rowers
were concealed underneath the deck, but the crimson oars kept time to
the music of their voices, and the spectators joined in the song as the
vessel glided onwards.
As for the priestess, she lay reclining under a golden canopy on the
poop, with her face half turned towards the people, and holding the
sacred lily in her hand, whilst two of her maidens fanned her with
brilliant plumes,
"And made their bends adorning."
Ever since she had come out of the temple I had scarcely taken my eyes
off her, and now that I could see the marvellous beauty of her
countenance, I was absolutely fascinated. Never shall I forget these
moments as long as I live, and yet I cannot give a clear and connected
relation of them. I see only a picture in my mind of a purple couch
under a golden canopy, a fair form, a beautiful head crowned with golden
hair, a glowing arm holding a white flower on its long green stalk.
Suddenly, as if impelled by an instinct, she turns her face full upon me
as the barge comes opposite to her father's throne. I see her great
violet eyes fixed upon mine as though she would read into my very soul.
I do not shrink from that pure search. On the contrary, I feel myself
drawn towards her by an irresistible attraction, and return her gaze.
She does not look away. She smiles--yes, she smiles upon me, and
inclines her head to see me, like a sunflower following the sun, as she
is floating past.
From that moment I was an altered man. The vision of that peerless
beauty had worked a miracle in my nature. A strange peace, an
unfathomable joy, I should rather say an ecstacy of bliss, reigned in my
heart. I felt that I had found something for which my soul had craved
without knowing it, and had been seeking unawares--something beyond all
price, which is not merely the best that life, eternity, can offer; but
gives to life, eternity, an inestimable value--I felt that I had found
the counterpart of myself--the celestial mate of my spirit. Henceforth
there was only one woman in the world, in the universe, for me. A
mysterious instinct whispered that we belonged to each other--that this
incomparable creature was mine by an inviolable right, if not on this
side of time at all events hereafter, and for ever. I felt, too, that my
own being had now completed its development, and burst into bloom like a
plant under the vivifying rays of the sun.
Exulting in my new-found happiness, and overcome with gratitude for it,
I watched the receding boat in a sort of trance until the matter-of-fact
voice of Gazen broke the spell.
"Prettiest sight I ever saw in my life," said he to Otāré. "Quite a
living picture."
"I am glad you like it," responded Otāré evidently gratified.
"But what is the good of it?" enquired the professor.
"The good of it?" rejoined the Venusian; "it is beautiful, and gives us
pleasure."
"Oh, of course; but what is the meaning--the inner meaning of it?"
"Ah! the meaning of it," said Otāré, a new light breaking on him, "I
will explain. You saw the flower which the priestess cut and carried in
her hand--?"
"A kind of water-lily, is it not?"
"Yes, it is the Sacred Lily. The plant is rooted in the mire at the
bottom of the pond, and grows up through the water to the surface. The
stem rises in a serpentine curve, and terminates in a flower-bud, which
opens with a sigh of delight when the sun strikes upon it, and fills the
air with its perfume."
"A sigh, did you say?"
"Yes, a low sweet sound resembling a sigh. The flower is white--'living
white'--that is to say, white shot with many colours like the opal. We
call it the Sun Lily, or 'Flower of the Soul.'"
"Why 'Flower of the Soul?'"
"Because we say it has the infinite and ever-changing beauty of the
soul. It is an emblem of Love, and its manifestations--beauty, genius,
holiness. In particular it signifies the birth or awakening of love in
the human soul. As the plant may be said to exist for the flower, its
chief glory, so the man attains his perfection through love, which
confers a boundless and immortal worth upon his life. As the root takes
from the soil and the flower brings forth the fruit, so hate feeds upon
the ill, and love dies for the good of others. It also represents the
human race, for man, and especially woman, may be regarded as the flower
of this lower world. Moreover, the entire plant, root, stem, and flower,
is symbolical of all creation, and some of our poets have named it the
'Lily of Life.' For as the plant begins in the black earth to end in the
sunny ether, so the world, the universe, begins in chaos and darkness,
to end in light and order; begins in matter and force, to end in life
and spirit--begins in hate and selfishness, to end in love and
self-sacrifice--begins in ugliness, to end in beauty. Thus the flower
and root stand for the upper and lower limits or poles of nature, and
the stalk which joins them for the upward range or path of creation. It
is a beautiful stem, curving in opposite ways like a serpent, or the
side of a wave; in fact, it is the most beautiful curve we know--it runs
like this."
Here Otāré described a flamboyant curve in the air with his finger.
"If I'm not mistaken it is what our artists call the 'line of beauty,'"
observed Gazen.
"Oh, indeed!" responded Otāré, with pleased surprise. "Well, with us it
is a symbol of the continuous unfolding of things; the graceful progress
of development."
"So the path of evolution is the 'line of beauty,'" said the professor.
"Apparently," rejoined Otāré, "and as the ends of the curve point
oppositely, we say that a thing has not reached its final stage--that
its development is not complete--until it has turned to its opposite.
Thus man is not a finished being until hate and selfishness have turned
to love and self-sacrifice. The flower of the soul is love, and as the
sun is an emblem of the divine love, when the sacred lily opens and
displays all its beauty in the sunshine, it means to us that the flower
of the soul blooms in the smile of 'The Giver.'"
"I see," said the professor; "and what is done with the flower?"
"It is an offering," replied Otāré, "and after the Priestess of the
Lily, or Priestess of the Sun, as we call her, has shown it to the
people it will be treasured in the temple, and will never fade."
"Beautiful woman, the priestess! And so young."
"She is barely seventeen. The Priestess of the Sun Lily must be in the
flower of her age, and the early dawn of her womanhood. Every year by
the popular voice she is chosen from all the maidens of the country for
her intelligence, beauty, and goodness. For a year before the ceremony
she lives in the temple with her maidens, and never leaves the sacred
island, or has any visitors from the outer world. During this period she
undergoes a preparation and purification for the fulfilment of her holy
office--the culling of the flower. It consists mainly in the study of
our sacred writings, the eating of a certain food, and bathing in the
waters of a holy fountain, which issues from the rock in a sacred grotto
of the island. When the ceremony of cutting the lily is over, and the
holy month has expired, that is to say in ten days from now, she will
leave the temple and return to her family. Another girl will take her
place--the priestess appointed for the coming year--in fact, the maiden
who gave her the sickle."
I had listened to this conversation with breathless interest, but
without daring to take part in it.
"Will she ever marry?" enquired Gazen.
I waited for the answer with a beating heart.
"Oh, yes," replied Otāré, "why not? She will marry if she finds a lover
whom she can love. There are many who admire Alumion."
"What of yourself?" asked the professor, smiling pointedly. "You seem to
know a good deal about her."
"I am her brother."
Nothing more was said, for at this moment the barge was seen coming from
behind the temple, after having made a round of the spectators, and
presently drew up at the marble stairs. Again the doors swung open, and
the maidens reappeared to welcome their mistress with a song of joy. I
saw her ascend the steps bearing the lily in her hand, then turn and
wave an adieu to the multitude, who responded by a parting hymn as the
great purple valves closed together and rapt her from my sight.