footing on the slimy moss that clung to it. But Eric was nimble, young,
and daring; besides, he could swim like a fish, and was absolutely
fearless.
The depth beneath him seemed bottomless; only now and again his eyes
distinguished shadowy forms moving about, but what they were he could
not see.
Now he was close to the bell, and the little waves were striking it on
all sides, making its tones so varied as to become a bewitching song of
penetrating sweetness.
Eric bent his ear down to the bell, which was whispering something to
him under cover of the appealing notes,--but he did not understand, he
only laughed and stroked the bell, quite heedless of the repeated
warning that once again came from the depths of the lake.
He stood up on the quivering footway, and in answer to the old bell's
voice he raised his own, clear and ringing, within which lay all the joy
and gladness of an untouched heart and an unsoiled life, pure,
crystalline, like the voice of an angel.
Stronger and stronger came the floods of melody; all round the green
sides the glad notes resounded like a thousand answers, responding to
the boundless life-joy that this human voice contained.
Again he bent to the old bell and touched it with both hands; then
hurried on over the perilous bridge, eager to reach the other side and
to see what lay beyond.
Now he stood on the farther shore; all about him the light streamed
green and transparent; but it was not only the green light that shone
upon him; another one was penetrating within the dim grotto, showing him
a second dark passage beyond; a golden light as if all the rays of the
sun had been concentrated into a fiery river.
Eric ran forward like an impetuous child following a butterfly, full of
tremendous eagerness for whatever might be waiting there in the middle
of that dazzling radiance.
But such beauty met his gaze, such overpowering enchantment, that he
stood still completely overcome.
His breath came fast, his eyes stared wide open, enraptured, his
artist's soul quivering with ecstasy before what he saw. He was within a
hall of purest marble, the walls, and floor, and roof all white and
glistening like freshly-fallen snow, upon which myriads of crystals
shone, resembling hoar frost on a sunny winter's morn.
In the centre, on a throne, sat a woman whose dress was even whiter than
her surroundings. It lay in long straight folds, and the hem was a thick
mass of blazing diamonds. It rippled down the steps of the throne, and
spread over the spotless floor where the gems flashed in all colours of
the rainbow.
The throne was carved out of a gigantic block of pale-green jade that
was smooth and polished like ice. The woman's feet rested upon a lion
whose skin was as white as the draperies on which he couched. His
immense head lay upon his formidable paws, his eyes looked out, with a
watchful intentness, beneath his tousled mane. On each side of the
throne, fixed into the marble floor, two tall thick tapers burned,
whilst the wax ran dripping down their sides like small frozen rivers.
The candles were crowned by flickering blue lights and exhaled a
delicious perfume; a vapour rose from them in hazy clouds towards the
ceiling, where they hung like a thin mist.
Round throne and tapers garlands of milk-white anemones with golden
hearts were wound.
They had shed many of their petals, which lay like snow upon the marble
floor.
The woman sat rigid, upright, a mass of fair hair covering her shoulders
and streaming down her back.
On her head she wore a thick wreath of the same white anemones fitting
closely to her forehead; but the strangest of all was that the woman's
eyes were covered with a bandage.
A plain white cloth was bound round her temples beneath the wreath of
flowers.
No movement came from the throne; the queenly apparition sat motionless
like unto a statue; the light of the candles alone flickered in the
still air, and the little bluey mists that arose from them hung over the
silent woman's head like a soft veil.
Eric was too entranced by the gorgeous sight to make a single step
forward. Yet he longed to tear the bandage from the covered eyes, in the
great hope that it might hide the look for which he was ever restlessly
searching. Suddenly the beautiful vision rose from her throne, and the
great beast at her feet also got up, standing beside her like the
guardian of some ancient temple.
Slowly the woman descended the four polished steps, her long robe
trailing behind her, sweeping away the fallen leaves of the flowers, the
precious gems making a tinkling sound as they hit against the cool green
jade.
Her feet were bare, and Gundian noticed, as she placed them by turns on
the steps, how marvellous they were.
Slowly she came towards him, both hands outstretched before her, with
the searching movement of the blind.
Then Eric, too, advanced with the feeling that he must take one of those
groping hands and lead this divine creature wherever she might wish to
go.
Now her voice rose soft and bewitching: "Long have I waited thy coming,
fair stranger. I have been sitting here on my throne in sadness and
silence, because thou hast tarried on the road.
"Thou lovest sky, sea, earth, and sun overmuch, but now that thou hast
reached me I shall open unto thee other joys of which thou hast never
dreamed.
"Thy way hath been long, and thou hast wasted many a precious day, but
let that be of no account now that thou art here," and so saying, with a
gentle movement she laid one of her arms about the boy's shoulders and
drew him quietly to her over the snowy floor in the direction of her
throne.
Eric was speechless, quite unprepared for so warm a reception; but
without resistance, as in a trance, he let himself be led by this
matchless being of light, and sank down upon the steps of the throne at
her feet where the lion had had his place.
And there, his head close against the wondrous woman's knees, he
listened in a dreamy transport to the witchery of her voice--not quite
conscious of all she was saying, but the sound was so sweet, and the
touch of her hand so restful and loving, that all his life throbbed
within him in unspeakable delight.
He had entirely forgotten his desire to tear the bandage from her eyes.
He felt his will melt beneath her caress and the sound of her voice.
He had no wish left but to sit there for ever, listening and drinking in
all the inimitable glory of the place. Now the soft voice was telling
him--her face bent down to his, her hair falling in golden waves around
him--about all the wonders she was going to show him if he would only
remain with her,--of all the riches she would strew before his feet, the
music she would play him, the many-tinted flowers she would give him,
the costly apparel in which she would clothe him, the variety of
sweet-tasting dishes she would set before him to choose from ... if he
did not leave her!
Eric looked up in surprise; certainly he would not leave her! Why should
he go from anything so white, so beautiful, so good, and so fair.
He bent his head and kissed one of the clinging hands that caressed him
so softly; oh, without doubt he would stay as long as she wished!
The woman threw back her head and laughed.
Somehow that laugh was the only discord Eric had felt since he was
within those walls; but he thought nothing of it, only it was like a
little icy drop of water running down between his shoulders--and he
wished she would not laugh; far better did he love to feel her soft
breath on his cheek, and her gentle fingers passing through his wavy
locks.
He rose to his knees on the step at her feet and, seizing both her
hands, he begged to be allowed to remove the bandage from her eyes.
But the fair enchantress drew back, disengaging herself from his eager
hands.
"For shame!" she cried, and once more her laugh rang out sharply.
"Who would be so rough! And wish all the mysteries to be revealed at
once? This cloth over my eyes must remain till I give thee leave to
remove it. But much hast thou to learn before that hour strikes.
"It deems me thou art but a reckless youth, understanding but badly how
to spend thy riches, little realizing the charm of expectation!"
And again bending her tantalizing face quite close to his, her lips
hidden amongst his curls, she murmured:
"I shall teach thee, oh so many things; but first of all must I know thy
history and why thou art thus wandering aimlessly through the wide, wide
world."
Then Eric, still on his knees, his hands pressed against her lap like an
anxious child, told her his tale, and how his whole soul was full of the
ardent need of finding the face and eyes he wanted for completing his
masterpiece. "And perhaps thou hidest behind that cloth the very eyes I
have been searching for the wide world over!--that is why my hands are
so eager to tear from thy brow what may be masking all my happiness!"
And then Eric began to plead, his beautiful face flushed and excited,
his bright eyes entreating, his body quivering; indeed, a sight for the
gods in all his youthful perfection.
The woman, although her eyes were covered, seemed aware of what was
going on, and replied again laughing, "Not yet, not yet!--but give me
thy hand and I shall lead thee through the joys I have in store for
thee, and at the end thou mayest quite forget what now thou deemest thy
only aim in life;" and like tinkling, cold, silver bells the woman's
laugh echoed round the snowy vaults.
Fascinated and unresisting our young painter clung to her cool hand, and
let himself be drawn away from the white chamber.
He followed her noiseless steps, feeling that wherever she led he would
follow, follow, because he had given over his will into those
outstretched hands, that had quite taken possession of his heart, and
soul, and senses.
VIII
I am restless, I am athirst for far away things.
TAGORE.
Eric lay at the feet of the enchantress. Days had passed, and from one
beauty to another she had been leading him. But her laugh had become
always harder, a note of impatience had stolen into the silken tones of
her voice.
[Illustration: _Eric lay now, stretched at the feet of the woman he
could not leave._]
This youth was in truth but a child, his hands grasping at the sun-rays,
plucking the flowers, taking the joys that were offered him, lightly
laughing at the birds, sublimely unconscious that perhaps something
might be asked of him in return.
Often he begged the one who held him captive to uncover her eyes,
explaining that although he was happy in his new surroundings he could
not tarry for ever; the open world lay before him through which he was
still pursuing the same vision.
But again and again his companion put him off with fresh
promises--heaping upon him new joys and pleasures, till he felt weary of
so much ease and comfort; there were even times when he had a longing
for the dusty roads,--the heat of the sun--the dangers of the dark
night--for storm and wind.
At those moments the strange woman seemed to read his thoughts in spite
of the bandage over her eyes; and she would redouble her kindness,
always having a fresh joy in store for him, something unexpected and
enchanting.
Eric lay now, as the lion used to lie, stretched at the feet of the
woman he could not leave.
To-day she sat upon a marble bench within a garden where nearly all the
flowers were blue. The garden was small and square, paved with marble;
two narrow water channels, lined with peacock-blue tiles, ran crossways
through it. In the centre stood a marble well; those who leaned over the
side to look into the depths noticed that the water was blue as the sea,
and strange voices seemed calling from below with monotonous entreaty.
On all sides high walls encircled the garden, and shady trees spread
over the whole enclosure, casting mysterious lights and patterns upon
the cool floor.
The flowers were so blue that they also had the colour of the summer sea
when the sun beats on it in all his force. Small marble paths ran along
between the beds, and each path was bordered by some low-growing
fire-coloured flower that glowed with the intensity of a furnace.
Each day the woman was clad in a garment of gorgeous magnificence, each
day more splendid than the last; but never again had she been robed in
the snowy folds of the first day, which Eric had loved best of all.
Now, as she leaned against the carved bench, her dress seemed woven out
of the changing colours of the rainbow. It was golden at the shoulders,
turning gradually into green, blue, and violet, always richer in hue,
till at the foot it deepened into bright-toned purples upon the dark
carpet where Eric rested quite close to her feet.
As always, those little feet were bare, with only thin sandals to
protect the soft soles from the hardness of the stone.
Round her forehead lay a thick dark wreath of corn-flowers, beneath
which the bandage showed startling white.
Her hands were ceaselessly playing with long chains of sapphires and
emeralds. She gathered them into her palms, and let them slip between
her fingers, down upon her golden robe, like bright water splashing out
of a precious jar.
Around the well, upon low marble seats, were grouped the fairest maidens
that earth could give, and they were like unto a wreath of many-shaded
flowers.
They all had coronals of blossoms on their heads in the shades of the
robes they wore; and each held a golden harp on which she played tunes
that melted heart and soul.
All the maidens turned their eyes towards the beautiful lad who lay
among the folds of the woman's dress--but none, oh! none had the orbs of
his dream!
He had searched their faces in turn, and it had been all in vain.
Fair faces they had; their arms were soft and white; their long hair
trailed on the ground mixing with the petals that had fallen from the
wreaths.
The air was heavy with the perfume that came from the flowers, and the
sweet tones of the harps sighed amongst the spreading branches of the
trees.
But Eric was restless, he felt cramped in this garden of beauty;
resentment began to grow in his heart against this fair being who played
with him as a child plays with a toy. She lured him on, yet never did
she satisfy the longing of his soul!
Every time that he extended his hand to tear the covering from her eyes,
with a word or gesture she changed the current of his thoughts.
When he asked to be shown the road that would take him back whence he
had come, the woman would laugh--the laugh he had begun to hate,--and
cover his face with soft caresses which seemed to drain all his manhood
and leave him without will or power to think.
Within his heart he made plans how he might escape. The sweet perfumes,
the melting voices, the endless well-being, the tropical fruit he was
ever feasting upon, wearied and sickened him; and yet he felt he could
not leave this bewitching sorceress before he had seen the colour of her
eyes.
But somehow, although he wished it with a fevered longing, he also
dreaded the disappointment it might bring.
And there he lay in this enchanted garden eating his heart out with the
longing for freedom, and yet unable to break through the silken bonds
that held him as with chains of iron!
IX
L'espoir même a des portes closes;
Cette terre est pleine de choses
Dont nous ne voyons qu'un côte.
V. HUGO.
Eric was wandering through the maze of gardens, grottos, and domed halls
that formed the dwelling of the sorceress. It was night--but a clear
night; almost as light as day because of the radiant moon that lay low
in the sky; she was oppressively near the earth, intruding her wise
rays, that had seen all too much, into every corner and hiding-place.
Eric hated her indiscretion; he had hoped to wrap himself in the mantle
of the dark so that he might steal away at last.
He could stand no longer the suffocating oppression which had gradually
been coming over him. To-night he had slunk away from the luxurious
feast his fair jailer had been giving him.
He had left her there, upon her throne of gold, amidst priceless
draperies, amongst the garlands of red poppies that had been entwined
round the tables at which richly clad, loud-voiced youths were
gathered--youths who drank and sang, and whose eyes had a strangely
tired look, always straining after some pleasure that seemed to pass
them by and leave them with empty outstretched hands.
All had clamoured round that golden throne, pressing near to the queenly
figure who sat there in a scarlet robe, her eyes still bandaged beneath
the wreath of poppies which was pressed upon her shining tresses.
Her penetrating laugh had sounded clearly above all the din, and she had
lifted her hands high in the air throwing the gorgeous-coloured
poppy-leaves over their bowed heads; and she had drunk out of a golden
goblet which she had held in turns to their thirsting lips.
One of the youths was as young as Eric himself and of marvellous beauty,
with eyes like flashing jewels, but which held a look of such intense
suffering that Eric could not bear the sight.
This boy had dragged himself on his knees to the steps of the throne,
uttering incoherent prayers, the hot tears running down his cheeks; then
he had hidden his face within the scarlet folds of her dress and had
cried as if his heart would break, whilst the wild woman in red had
laughed, laughed, mocking his sorrow with hard words, till all the
others had laughed with her.
It was then that Eric had fled, with a mad desire to get out into the
cool night and flee as far as he could from all these revels of which
his simple soul could not grasp the meaning.
Yet the wonderful woman had dropped some of the poison into his veins,
because, in spite of his great desire to escape, he felt a burning
regret in his heart at the thought that he was leaving without having
seen the woman's eyes. At the same time he almost dreaded to find the
face of his dreams behind that white cloth which had become uncanny to
him ... and yet?... why was this burning pain at his heart? Why had he
come here? Why had he not turned back when the old bell had so
persistently warned him? Suddenly he felt older, wiser, as if years had
elapsed since he left the sea-shore and lost his way within this
labyrinth so full of beauty and temptation.
He thought he felt once more the soft touch of the woman's hands, that
he saw the glowing flower of her lips, the soft yielding figure, the
white arms, the rippling fair hair, the tiny feet, and he stood still
clasping his hands over his burning eyes.
Why had he not torn the bandage from her brow, and pressed his lips upon
that tempting mouth, crushing it beneath his own? Indeed he had been a
fool! And no doubt it was thus she considered him, and was now deriding
his memory amongst those shameless guests who crowded around her tables;
those tables that were bending under the weight of the costly dishes,
and where the brilliant poppies were shedding their petals as they faded
and drooped amongst hundreds of lighted candles.
Eric groaned in his distress; he longed to go back before that golden
throne and tell the beautiful woman that he hated her ... hated her!...
But now he must escape--but why was the moon so bright? Why could he not
find his way to the snow-white hall, and from there, over the deep
water, past the mysterious well, out into the wide world once more?
Why did his head ache and throb? Why did his throat feel dry with
ill-contained sobs? What had come to him? Never had he felt thus.
All the sweet peace of his soul had been replaced by waves of unknown
sensations and desires; and beneath it all, that burning pain at his
heart, that unsatisfied yearning for something he could not grasp.
The moon flooded everything in a hard, merciless light; he ran from
place to place seeking an issue, only to find everywhere blank walls to
stop him. He knew that he was losing his head, the blood beat in his
temples, his eyes could no more clearly see.... With a stifled cry of
distress he dropped down, and all became dark around him.
X
For in much wisdom is much grief; and he that increaseth knowledge
increaseth sorrow.
ECCLESIASTES.
After a short time Eric's senses came back; he looked up and saw that he
was in a small, very dark chamber. How he got there he did not know, he
had never seen the place before. Then he rose to his feet with a start.
A curtain had been quietly drawn aside, and he could see now into an
inner chamber out of which a faint light shone.
Forgetting all his fear and misery he ran forward, hoping to find an
outlet whence he could reach the old moaning bell, and thence escape to
liberty under God's great sky, free like a bird once more to wander
wherever he would. But the sight he saw riveted his feet to the ground:
upon a low narrow couch lay the woman he had learnt to hate. She was
stretched motionless, asleep on her back, her wonderful face only
faintly discernible--and oh! marvel, her eyes were no longer covered.
All about her seemed wrapped in grey vapours; the soft draperies with
which her body was covered were also grey, like finely woven cobwebs.
At each side of her couch, close to her head, stood large jars of
tarnished silver, filled with irises the colour of autumn clouds.
At her feet, rigid and unblinking, as if cast out of steel or carved in
granite, his eyes gazing into space, was an eagle of unusual size; there
he sat in quiet majesty at the feet of this vision of beauty, like a
ghost of the mountains that had been turned to stone. A faint haze lay
over all, something mysterious and grave-like; nor was it to be
discovered whence the light came. There were no windows, no opening
anywhere, and yet everything was distinctly visible.
The face of the woman was more perfect than it had ever been. Eric was
now bending over it with a feeling of awe and wonder.
Was ever sleeper so still, was ever living face so pale, lips so
blanched? Gradually a cold sensation of fear began to creep over the
startled youth; he bent lower, his face close to that silent one. He
sprang back with a cry of horror ... beneath the long lashes he saw that
the woman was looking at him, and yet....
Oh! What was it? What horrible nightmare was this?... She was looking,
she was staring ... yes, she was staring with sightless eyes--eyes out
of which the light of life had gone for ever! for ever!...
Eric sank to his knees and hid his face against the still form, and as
he did so he felt something wet upon his cheek, something that was
trickling slowly down upon the floor where he knelt, something that was
gradually spreading in a dark patch, which widened over the grey folds
of the robe. And then Eric saw that within the woman's heart a dagger
had been thrust.... A dagger within the very centre of her heart.
XI
Over thy creations of beauty there is a mist of tears.
TAGORE.
High and austere in their forsaken silence stood the walls of the great
church--God's own sun looked in through the crumbling windows, and God's
own sky was its only roof. Many of the columns had fallen, but others
stood, erect and rigid, frowning down from their immense height, grey
and lonely, like giant trees in winter.
Large heaps of stones lay about the mosaic floor that still showed signs
of a beautiful design; statues had fallen from their pedestals and lay
in helpless attitudes, their arms broken, their vacant eyes gazing with
stony indifference into the sunshine. Sometimes their heads were
missing, having rolled away as they fell.
Nature was rapidly doing her work; she was spreading her consoling
mantle of verdure and flowers over this crumbling work of art, which
human hands had once, long ago, built with pious vows and prayers.
Growths were bursting out of every crevice and crack in rambling
confusion. Even the wild plants of the heath beyond had begun to creep
into the church, giving the forgotten monument a festive look as if
flowers had been strewn everywhere on the floor for some blessed
feast-day. In greater masses than any other plant, wild lavender had
taken possession of the church, bursting the mosaic floor asunder in a
thousand places and pushing its way everywhere, so that over all lay a
bluey-grey shimmer like evening mists rising out of a bog.
Through the wide-open portals the desolate land could be seen,
stretching as far as the eye could reach, covered with the same dusty
blue flower, and quite on the horizon it mixed with the sky, so that it
was difficult to discern where the one began and the other ended.