THE WANDERER
WITHIN a certain forest was a Castle, hidden tolerably deep within it.
It lay not many miles from the Castle of Belisle, which stood upon an
eminence. Though hidden from it by the surrounding trees the dwellers at
Belisle knew of its existence. It was named, so I have heard, Castle
Syrtes. It had a somewhat unwholesome reputation; it has also been
termed magical in an evil manner.
You came upon it by tortuous paths through the forest, the outskirts of
which were slushy and boggy to the feet. Having passed the outskirts you
could find paths in plenty. Despite their tortuous winding they led
eventually to the Castle. Outwardly pleasing to the eye, built of a
reddish stone brought from no man knew where, the interior pleased the
senses no less. Here were marble halls, shaded bowers, silken curtains,
pictures very subtly painted, rare curios brought from home and lands
beyond the seas. Flowers within and without, many-coloured and
full-perfumed, lent a sweet and somewhat heavy scent to the atmosphere.
It was never wind-lifted. The winds, which at times blew freely on the
outskirts of the forest, brought no cleansing breath to the interior.
Perchance the trees grew too thickly to allow of it passing between
their branches; perchance there was some deeper reason. For that you may
make what judgment you choose. My part is to set forth facts as I know
them.
Within the Castle dwelt a woman named Thaïs. To my thinking she had been
better named Venus or Aphrodite. Failing either of those names Thaïs
suits her not ill-well. She did not dwell alone; solitude would have
been by no means to her liking. Guests she had in plenty, and they fared
very luxuriously at her hands. The days were passed in feasting and
pleasure; song, music, and wine lent good aid thereto. In brief the
existence was one of exceeding soft luxury.
At times a guest wearied of the pastimes, found them over sweet to his
taste. Such a one was known now and again to leave the Castle; but I
have heard it given as fact, which fact may be noteworthy, that he found
the return through the forest more wearisome than the approach. Thorns
and brambles, which stood aside to let him pass on entrance, hedged his
path sadly on departure. Perchance herein lay its reputation for
evil-magic. Certain it is the forest was strange, very dark, and full of
a sweet sickly odour. No fresh-scented flowers grew there, such as one
may find in open meadows and cool breeze-swept woods, but curious
orchids, spotted and twisted, reptile-like in colour and form. Also no
song-birds penetrated to its depths, misliking the darkness.
What brought Peregrine thither I know not, seeing he had at the first
wandered many a day’s march from Belisle. Possibly he circled thereto
unheeding his route, knowing not he was returning on his own traces.
Be that as it may, one evening at sundown he saw the forest facing him.
It lay a dark patch on the horizon, backed by torn clouds through which
the sunset sky showed red and lurid. Around him was the pathless earth,
rough and very desolate. No sign of human habitation was in sight. Rocky
boulders flung up here and there among the coarse-grassed earth loomed
with uncouth shapes in the waning light. To his thinking they seemed
cast there by some mighty spirit in grim play; one, who, wearying of the
game, had withdrawn to some distant region, the loneliness now
emphasized by his one-time presence there.
Behind the forest the torn clouds began piecing together in a heaped
ominous mass, the red light obliterated. The heavy air, exceeding
sultry, bespoke storm. Far off, to the right, he saw a white road
climbing a hillside. A bare tree, set where the top of the hill touched
the sky, flung a couple of branches wide-spread from its trunk.
Cross-like it crowned the summit; leafless, dead, yet symbol of the Tree
of Life.
Peregrine looked towards the road. Doubtless it led some whither. But
where? There was the question. Also it was far off and very steep. A
storm was brewing. Already he could hear the low muttering of thunder.
To gain yonder road and seek some distant shelter along it would entail
a very thorough drenching before any goal had been attained. The forest
was but a quarter the distance from him. He might well seek harbourage
there.
Yet, despite the thought, his eyes turned again towards the distant
road. An’ he were sure of shelter beyond the summit of the climb he
might risk the storm which very certainly would break upon him. For the
space of some moments he hesitated. Then common sense won the day. The
white road might lead him but on some fool’s errand. Before him lay
obvious cover from the oncoming deluge. He stepped out across the coarse
grass, now hastening his steps somewhat. Nearing the forest the grass
became shorter and smoother, but here the bog began to show itself.
“I bargained not for this,” said Peregrine, as his feet sank into the
slush. Even as he spoke heavy drops began to fall; thunder muttered very
ominously. A third time he glanced towards the distant road.
“Bah!” he said, “’tis too far off. A sharp transit, and shelter will be
gained.” He made quick strides forward. The atmosphere, which had been
windless, was suddenly rent by a heavy blast. “Now it comes,” said
Peregrine, as the storm beat upon him, and the rain sluiced down on the
sodden earth.
“A very miry way,” muttered Peregrine breathless as he gained the margin
of the forest, looked ruefully down at his feet. Turning, he looked
behind him. Where had been spongey earth were now wide pools, stung by
falling rain, whipped by slashing wind. The further landscape was
blotted out by mist and quick-gathering dusk.
“A most villainous storm,” said Peregrine, “and it is well I have found
cover from it. Here I must bide for a while at least. There is no
re-crossing that morass.”
Now he must think what to do. To sit quiet where he was, and watch the
rain were dull and dismal work. For all that the forest was very dark it
might be well to explore somewhat further. He turned down a winding
path. In spite of the first sense of darkness he was now aware of a
curious light glimmering through the place. This came, he saw, from some
strange fungus on the trunks of the trees, which gave forth an uncanny
illumination. It was faint truly, but sufficed to show the path before
him.
As he walked, the odour of the forest struck upon his nostrils, heavy,
sickly-sweet. Passing to his brain it dulled his senses somewhat, like
the odour of a powerful drug. He found himself pursuing his way after
the manner of a man half-dreaming, heedless now of where his path might
lead. Half drowsed though he was he noted now and again the orchids that
grew among the trees, saw their spotted hue, their twisted reptile-like
form. Despite his drowsiness he felt some slight repulsion at the sight
of them, thought momentarily on sun-kissed flowers in open meadows. By
contrast the orchids fared ill in his mind. But sleep clutching at his
eyelids made thought an effort.
He stumbled onward very heavily. How long he walked he knew not. It
might have been an hour, two hours; yet, time perchance being as
leaden-footed as he, it might have been a bare ten minutes.
Suddenly, with no volition on his own part, his brain swung from
dulness, roused itself to action; and strange action truly. It awakened,
it would seem, from stupor to fantastic delirium. He felt himself
vividly alive, and utterly alone. Alone he was verily in that forest
devoid of living creatures. Yet the loneliness was of spirit rather than
of body. In that moment his spirit was caught up into space. Knowing the
earth beneath him, solid, material, around and above him were vast
distances, deep silences. In the furthest distance, in the deepest
silence, at so great an altitude that his brain seeing it reeled,
gleamed a great star. Now here was the fuller fantasy. Within the depth
of his own soul he was conscious of a like spot of light, a glowing
star, yet very tiny. And he knew that between the star within him and
the star above him was a strange attraction.
In space then his spirit hung, poised on nothingness, so it seemed. And
here he was aware that he himself held his soul thus poised. By will he
could clutch at the earth beneath him, draw himself down to it; by
relinquishment of will he could be drawn, by virtue of the star within
him, into the distance to the other star, infinitely remote. Deep
silence lay around him, a hush as of expectation and waiting. To him
like a breath of wind from far-off places came the words, “_Excelsus
super omnes gentes Dominus, et super cælus gloria ejus_.” He knew now
what it meant; saw in a lightning flash where the choice lay. Yet the
vastness above him filled him with terror. A strange cowardice seized
upon him; a frantic desire for the material, the solid. Madly his will
clutched at the earth beneath him....
He found himself walking in the forest, the stupor and the delirium
alike passed. And now he was very sure he had been dreaming. Once more
his brain was clear and steady. He half mocked at himself for his brief
delusion.
Some half-dozen paces further on the trees thinned on a sudden. He came
out upon a smooth grass sward beyond which stood a Castle, the light
streaming from the windows.
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