ill-timed question. “I had not heard of your marriage, nor indeed,” I
added, “of your wife’s death.”
“No, of course not,” was the answer, “because I do not know myself
whether she is alive or dead. In all these years I have not been
able to tell. She is here with me, in the great room there above,”
indicating with his hand a wing of the house.
“I do not believe I understand,” I murmured awkwardly, trying to hit
upon a fitting answer.
“Very likely you do not, because I do not.” Grief like a shadow flitted
across his face. For the moment it looked aged and strangely weary.
“Of course you do not understand, because I do not. For fifty years she
has been there--in that room. For fifty years my heart has not wavered
in its allegiance to her, and yet I do not know, as I have told you,
whether she is alive or dead.”
We sat in silence, while my host looked reminiscently out across the
sea, as if somewhere in its spaces he sought the mystery’s solving.
A sensation of fear swept over me, which, however, I controlled upon
the instant. I was ashamed of my folly. This genial, courtly gentleman
was not mad. In the eyes that looked into mine there was none of the
maniac’s frenzy. On the contrary, they were gently meditative, and
pregnant with thought and grief.
“No,” he said, reminiscently, lighting a fresh cigar, whose white smoke
in the gentle evening floated up and blended aureole-like with the
thick whiteness of his hair, “no, I do not mind telling you why I have
never married, as the world puts it. It is a strange story. I doubt if
you will believe it. But you are leaving on the morrow, and I shall
never see you again. Besides, I am old, you know. I am eighty.”
With a sad smile he waved aside my polite demurrer. “Fifty years is
long enough to keep a secret, is it not?” he continued. “And it might
be well in after years for some one to know the truth. It might help
her.”
Involuntarily my thoughts flew to the great silent room above, where
for fifty years the woman had lain who was neither alive nor dead.
Little did I guess what was housed there, as my heart beat eagerly with
anticipation.
“I was born, as you know, in France,” said my host. “My mother died at
my birth. My childhood was spent in a monastic school on the gloomy
coast of La Bas Bretagne. There I did not see much childish merriment,
as you may imagine. Shortly after graduating, when the subject was
being discussed as to whether or not I, the younger son, should take
holy orders--and at that time of my impressionable youth I was not
greatly averse to the idea, so accustomed had I become to monastic
discipline--my father and my brother died, leaving me heir to the name
and fortune. Thus duty, rather than inclination, kept me in a world of
which at that time I knew nothing.
“Finding the loneliness of the old home unendurable, I went to Paris.
There I saw something of life. When at length dissipation palled upon
me, I gave myself over to study and to art. It was then that I met your
grandfather. Finally, I determined to make the _grand tour_, which
in those days was _de rigueur_ for young men of wealth and position.
I sauntered across Europe, pausing wherever caprice seized me, idled
carelessly across Asia, dallying with my art the while, reached its
eastern coast, and found myself confronted by the great Pacific. Here,
not knowing what else to do, but without a definite goal in view, I
took passage for a cruise among the islands of Polynesia. Some months
later, when I had satisfied my curiosity in regard to the South Seas,
just after leaving the Austral Isles, a typhoon struck us and we were
wrecked upon an outlying coral reef. The steamer was virtually cut in
two. The entire crew were drowned with the exception of the first mate,
one sailor, and myself.
“We were swept by the fury of the waves upon a high white beach, where
a group of natives who had seen the wreck were waiting for the storm to
subside, with the intention of plundering the ship. I found that we had
merely exchanged one form of death for another and a crueler one. We
were seized, bound hand and foot, and thrown upon the ground to await
the tribe’s decision of our fate upon the morrow. That night, while I
lay awake wondering what the outcome would be, a young native woman,
whose sinewy strength had caught my eye during the day, slipped up to
where I lay alone at a distance from the others, and with incredible
swiftness cut the thongs that bound me. Putting her finger to her
lips significantly, she motioned me to follow. One fate was as bad as
another, if they all meant death, and I did not hesitate.
“She went across the island, walking so swiftly that it was all that I
could do to keep up. Not once did she look back, or seem to think of
me. She went straight on, as if impelled by fear. I have no idea how
far we walked. When at length she paused with a gesture that made me
know that the journey was at an end, the day was not far off. We had
crossed the island, and again the sea lay before us.
“The shore was different here. It was repellent and stern, like the
coast of La Bas Bretagne which I had known in my gloomy childhood.
Rocks sloped in sharp declivity to the water, which looked threatening
and black.
“Going up to one of the rocky walls, she pointed to an opening beneath,
and went in a little way, motioning me to follow. There I saw a
stairway hewn from the living rock, and descending into the bowels of
the earth. Although it seemed at first glance to be perpendicular, it
sloped slightly toward the water, at whose edge we had entered, so I
knew that whatever pathway lay beyond must lead beneath the sea.
“She crouched down upon the stair beside me and, stretching out one
long bare arm, pointed down, down, down--once, twice, thrice--meaning
that there I must go. Then she took from her back a bag-shaped basket
and handed it to me. In it were food and drink.
“Like a whirr of yellow swords, the first sun-rays pierced the sky. As
if frightened to see the day so soon, she bounded up the stairs and was
gone. To go back meant death; to go on meant I knew not what. But the
chance of a life hung in the balance, so I went on.
“The stairs led downward between smooth walls of rock. How far I do not
know. I counted the steps until I could count no longer. My brain grew
dizzy and refused to work. I sat down and buried my face in my hands
to recover poise. I got up and went on, and again my brain refused to
count the infinite steps. Again I had to give it up.
“The opening above, which for a time shed light plentifully upon
me, became a distant pin-point, then vanished, and inky blackness
surrounded me. I should have felt like one buried alive, had it not
been for the fresh air that swept between the perpendicular walls of
this canal-way.
“But what awaited me at the bottom? Was it water, black and silent
and of fathomless depth--impassable, mysterious water that had never
reflected the stars or the sun? Was I to find myself upon the edge of
an abyss whose depth I could sense but could not estimate?
“What torturing fear and suspense did I not suffer, as I descended that
frightful stairway! Suppose my foot slipped and I should fall! What
then! But she, my guide of the night, had motioned that I was to follow
the stairway. She had not crossed the island merely to bring about my
death. It was her intention to save me. I must have faith in her. There
was no other way. I summoned fresh courage and crept down the blackness.
“I lost all account of time as hours go. But judging by my weariness
and hunger when I reached the level, I think I must have put in a good
part of a day in descending that frightful stairway. At the bottom
I found myself in a smooth and level road enclosed between walls of
granite.
“But the silence and the darkness--how can I tell you what they were?
Such silence drives men mad. The darkness was like velvet in its
black impenetrableness. It seemed to fall upon my face and stifle
me. Nothing disturbed the silence. Even the wind slipped noiselessly
through this grave of granite. And it had come so far that it had freed
its wings of the scents of the world of light, of the sea and of the
earth. No message from the world above came here. Not a sound broke the
silence. From the walls of barren rock no dust clods fell to tell of
the ceaseless, weaving life of the earth. Adown their sides no water
tinkled. Along the road there was not even the friendly whirr of a
dried leaf blown by the wind. Nothing! Nothing!
“After I had traveled for a time and the silence had heaped its leaden
weight upon me, I shrieked. I could restrain myself no longer. I cried
out with all the strength of lung that I possessed, and the granite
walls sent back a million, broken-voiced echoes to beat about my ears.
“For days I traveled on like this, pausing only to eat and sleep. I had
lost reckoning of time, of night, of day. I heard only the measured
sound of my own steps. I do not know how many days and nights had
passed like this, when I found that the road was leading upward. It
became narrower and steeper. I brushed the rock walls as I walked; I
could scarcely squeeze between them. I did not fear. The sound of my
steps had dulled my brain. Darkness had paralyzed the power to think.
“Above my head the roof lowered till I could no longer stand erect. I
fell upon my knees and crept forward. The wind changed; it freshened. I
thought it brought a scent of the sea. Suddenly thick leaves barred the
way. I brushed through them, and the star-splendid circle of a tropic
night swept into view.
“I was in the garden of a spacious residence that crowned an elevation.
Below me a white city lay, and around and beyond the sea. How I drank
in the air! How I rejoiced in the sleepy rustle of leaves and grass,
and in the regained face of the earth!
“The city which presented itself to my eyes was arranged in the form of
a wheel, whose hub was the dwelling in the garden where I stood. From
the dwelling the streets radiated like spokes, and at the end of each,
terminating at the island’s edge, shone the sea. Around the eminence
spread a circular park of considerable breadth, adorned with flowers
and statues. Around this lay a smooth wide road, bordered at regular
intervals with slender palms, whose leaves in the windless night were
motionless. Opposite, the city streets began, and each was headed by
a building of great beauty, so that beyond the park and the roadway
rose a circular sweep of noble buildings. At regular distances from the
central starting-point, each street was interrupted by a small circular
space of greensward, and these, uniting, made a driveway around the
city.
“I chose at random one of the paths that intersected the garden and
followed it. Since I was the toy of chance, I determined to resign
myself bravely. After a detour the path led toward the dwelling,
blended with one of its marble walks, and ended at the foot of a
staircase. I climbed the stairs and entered an uncovered corridor of
white marble. After walking to the end, I found it closed by a smooth
and rounded stone. I touched it. It swung open, enfolding and sweeping
me within its circle, and then closed silently behind me. Impenetrable
draperies of silk hung in front of me, brushing my face. I parted them
and entered the strangest room I ever saw.
“It was long and of unusual height. The top was uncovered and let in
the tropic night. Around the edge of the top of the walls a rim of
opal glass projected, upon which a glass ceiling was folded back, to
be used in case of need. There were no pictures in the room, nor were
there decorations or adornment of any kind. The four walls were hung
uniformly in curtains of heavy white silk, which fell in straight folds
to the floor.
“There was no air moving. Indeed, I remembered the night outside to
have been singularly windless. Yet these white curtains shivered and
swayed with a sibilant and silken murmur. Across their surface gold
lines and figures swept. An endless chain of golden phantoms girdled
the spacious chamber. From the walls bright forms leaped with a burst
of light, and then faded back to whiteness. Round and round swept a
glittering, changing pageant, impalpable and soundless. Sometimes the
gold within the witch-wrought silk blazed forth until the air gleamed
with yellow light that dimmed the stars. Anon it paled to such a vague
misty radiance as engirdles a winter moon. But always there was change
and light and motion and the rustle of swayed silk. If I examined the
curtains closely, if I took them up in my hands, I found that they
were colorless and uniformly white. But if I let them fall again,
and stepped a foot away to look at them, gold light and flashing form
leaped out to startle me.
“There were times when the gold wall-light faded and a dim brilliancy
took its place. Occasionally, too, a silver light inspirited the
restless curtains, pallid frost-shine filled the room, and horizontal
lines of silver swept round the walls. When the silver lines grouped
themselves into form and being, it was as if lustrous spirits danced
airily a ghost dance of joy, now flashing for an instant into vivid
life, now paling and fading into silver mist that still retained their
gracious contours.
“There was no furniture save a long, narrow, bed-like pedestal or
support of ivory, which stood in the center of the room. Upon this
rested a mammoth sickle likewise of ivory, formed like the new moon,
and within its hollow curve there lay--how shall I tell you!--was it a
woman wrapped in lustrous gauze, or was it a mammoth opal that bore a
woman’s form? Standing beside the figure and looking down, I could not
tell. Beneath the pallid surface colors glowed like tint of flesh with
jewels upon it. Again, they seemed to be only the fiery flash of an
opal’s heart, and the surface became icily cold.
“I discovered plainly once or twice the long, noble lines of a figure
relaxed as if in sleep. Within the white stone floated the gracious
semblance of a woman, yet far away and insubstantial, like colors
seen in a dream. Sometimes I thought the figure breathed, but by the
light of those moving curtains I could not tell. They kept up such a
tremor of shifting brightness that my own body became unreal and no
longer seemed to belong to me. They dazzled my senses and broke my
chain of reasoned thinking. I was adrift with nothing to guide me.
When at length I turned from contemplation of the mysterious figure to
find again, if possible, the place of exit, in the wall-labyrinth of
weaving light, some power which I could not but obey compelled me to
pause on a sudden and look back.
“There, standing upright by the moon’s ivory horn, was the opal woman.
The tangling gauze which covered her--which I had not dared to touch
to find if it were gauze or the smooth cold surface of a stone--had
slipped to her feet, where it billowed white like foam. She was taller
than the average woman and more slender, yet withal muscularly built
and round. Hers was the body of Pallas.
“An apron-like corselet of flexible gold, woven in open-work squares,
fitted her smoothly, falling evenly to her feet, but opened to the
waist on either side. Beneath this from the waist downward fell
something silken and white, softening the sharp outline of the gold.
In each little open-work square of the corselet hung a pink gem, and
between her breasts was set a ruby.
“Her hair, which was thick and of a bronze color, was arranged in
great coils on either side of her head, completely covering her ears.
In the center of each coil shone a ruby that matched in size and
color the one between her breasts. From these rubies, and attached to
them, extended a net of tiny pearls, covering her hair and holding it
securely in place.
“So absorbed was I in contemplation of her person, that I forgot that
word was due from me. When at length I lifted my eyes to hers, it was
as if along with the conquest of my senses the conquest of my mind had
been completed. They seemed to enfold and sweep me within a sea of
light where all things were foreign to my will.
“Notwithstanding her strange and fantastic costuming, which at once
revealed and enhanced the beauty of her body, I knew that this was
no vain coquette. This was not a woman to find pleasure in vulgar
admiration. Her costume I felt to be the result of some ideal of life,
of beauty, which was the ruling passion of her mind. Calmly and in
silence we looked at each other. In my face surprise and admiration
struggled. She, however, was undisturbed and looked back at me serenely.
“Even then, before a word had been exchanged between us, I felt that
her life and her ideal of life were altogether dissimilar to my own,
that mentally we were the opposite each of the other. Within her I
sensed unsoundable depths of peace and calm, which had their origin in
some mental possession to which I was an alien. I measured then the
abyss that lay between us.
“She was as richly colored and as gorgeous as a canvas, yet in her
bearing there was nothing that hinted of pride or self-consciousness.
I shall never forget that first glimpse of her. The picture is printed
indelibly upon my brain, despite the years that have intervened--so
vividly, indeed, that nothing has been able to dim it. For me it has
dulled all other visions. Judge of it by the fact that I had known
more or less well the beauties of Paris, and that I was accustomed to
the luxurious gowning of the French city. It was only a few seconds
that we stood there, and yet--so vivifying is the power of beauty--it
was time enough for a world of fancies to sweep my brain.
“Her eyes were two flowers set within the petaled pallor of her face.
Wide, straight-fronting eyes of chastest blue they were, whose vivid
vitality was softened by an inner and a spiritual flame. Her face
symbolized the dream-white city which I had seen outside in the night.
And the changing light-splendor of that wondrous room was caught up
and concentrated there. As I stood looking at her, a thousand vague
and vanishing glimpses of remembered loveliness came back to haunt me.
There was something about her that shut off thought connection with
the active world of fact, and set one adrift among the pages of the
painters. Despite her slenderness and her purely womanly beauty she
was strong and masterful. She suggested the “virile note of great art.”
“In silence I stood and waited for her to speak. In a voice whose
calmness was like the azure flame within her eyes, she said:
“‘You were not going away, were you? Stay and be my guest. Besides, you
know, you cannot go. There is no way.’
“‘Nothing could give me greater pleasure than to be your guest--for a
time,’ I added.
“‘For a time?’
“‘Yes; then I must go back to Europe, to my home--to France.’
“‘Home? Yes, yes; of course--but how can you! You are in the Opal
Isles.’
“‘And where are they?’
“A strange look crossed her face, but so swiftly that I could not tell
whether it was perplexity or grief.
“‘The Opal Isles--they--they--are in the center of the shoreless sea
where the white wave circles. And I am Asra.’
“‘But there are steamers, of course; I can--’
“‘Never mind to-night. That can wait, can it not?’ She touched a hidden
spring that summoned a servant. ‘The blue room.’ Then, turning to me,
she said: ‘He will give you clothing suitable to our life and climate.
Good night.’
“‘Good night,’ I repeated in a daze.
“After nearing the curtain behind which the servant had disappeared
and stood waiting, I looked back. Asra lay silent and white, as I had
first seen her, between the pale crescent’s ivory horns. Again she
seemed to be not a woman, but a gigantic opal, beneath whose surface a
rainbow slept. The curtains had begun their sibilant whispering again,
and from them leaped gold phantoms in a dance of joy. Nearer and nearer
to the ivory moon they circled. They formed a glittering cordon about
it, weaving of bright motion a visible song of sleep. When the long
curtains fell behind me, I thought: ‘Perhaps it has all been a dream,’
I did not know. I could not tell.
“‘This is the guest-room,’ the servant said, breaking in upon my
reverie. ‘It tells of the supremacy of the sea. Here are your clothes.
Good night.’
“The room was similar to the one I had left. Like it, it was roofless.
Like it, too, it was walled in white silk. Within the silk slumbered
not gold and silver, but the mysteries of the sea. I saw depth on
depth of translucent water of every varying shade, running the
entire gamut of blues and greens, within which gem-winged fish, slim
silvery serpents, and strange iridescent sea-life swam. It was as
if I looked through leagues of water, as one looks across a level
prairie. Sometimes the water was blue and warm and pierced by sunlight.
Again it was black-green and angry. Sometimes a cold light shivered
this soundless ocean, a great wave came rolling in, crested with
pale foam the color of fear. At the moment when it seemed ready to
break and shed its tumbling waters over me, it vanished and the white
silk trembled crisply. I remembered what Asra had said of the white
wave that circles the shoreless sea. The servant, too, had spoken of
the supremacy of the sea. I felt that in both expressions there was
concealed a threat, or at least a deeper meaning. Unbidden came the
thought that perhaps the Opal Isles and the people who dwelled within
them were somehow at the mercy of the sea.
“When I stretched myself out upon the narrow ivory bed in the center of
the room, I still continued to watch the curtains, in the dim wonder of
approaching sleep. I was conscious of their beauty and their magic, but
I no longer felt any desire to solve a mystery where all was mystery.
As I fell asleep I wondered if I, too, would be transformed into an
opal. Why not? Are we not all opals by day and night, white flesh opals
beneath whose surface flashes the flame of imagination?
“When I went downstairs the next day dressed in a white tunic worn
after the manner of the Greek costume, I found that I had slept the
greater part of the day. On the way a servant met me and led me to
a room where Asra awaited me. She wore the wonderful costume of the
evening before. The sight of her brought back the golden phantoms
of which she seemed to be an embodied one. I wondered if, when I
approached her, she would vanish and the pallor of space confront
me. I had ceased to trust the testimony of my senses. But she stood
there calmly smiling, the swinging pink corselet gems swaying with the
movement of her breath.
“When I went up to her, she held out her hand frankly and wished me
good morning. I was more surprised to find that she was real, that
she did not vanish at my approach, than if, upon the instant, a dozen
phantoms had leaped to take her place. The little hand within my own
was warm and white. Here was the first reality. In gratitude I bent
over it. As I lifted my head, bright sunlight swept in from the open
side of the room and swathed her about like a robe. Color became sound.
I saw then their relationship to fearlessness and joy.
“With the new clothes I put on a new life--a lighter, freer, happier
life. The black-robed world which I had known seemed far away. Suddenly
it seemed to have been a sort of slavery. I saw it fettered with
restraints and prejudices. I saw it bowed of back and weary. I drew
a deep breath as of one pleasantly released, as if prison doors had
opened and shown me light.
“Laughing, Asra came to where I stood and clasped upon my upper arm a
bracelet of opals.
“‘Now you are a subject of the Opal Isles! Now there is no retreat.’
“I looked down upon the glittering gems. Each stone was emitting
sparklets of cold green light, as if in anger at me, an interloper.
While I was watching almost in fear its malevolent shine, a servant
entered and asked Asra if she wished to drive as usual at that hour.
She looked toward me questioningly.
“‘Nothing could give me greater pleasure,’ I replied, to the unuttered
question in her eyes. ‘I should like to see the city by day.’
“As we drove along, I saw that there were other cities and other
islands, a dozen or more perhaps. They had been hidden from me the
evening before by the luminousness of the night, which had made them
a part of the distance. Between the islands little red-sailed boats
fluttered, but nowhere was the long, black smoke-ribbon of a steamer to
be seen.