THE SAGE
MENIPPUS LACHESIS, sitting in his turret chamber, was poring over a
parchment. You may be very sure this was not the name with which his
parents had started him in life. It was with one simpler. I have heard
it rumoured that once on a time he was known as Thomas Herdman,—a good
honest appellation truly. That time, however, was now many years old,
and rumour can easily go astray; indeed, rumour wandering from the mark
more often than not, there is little credence to be put in that quarter.
At all events it is sufficient for our purpose that he was now known as
above set forth,—Menippus Lachesis, the Sage, reader of the riddle of
the stars, gazer of crystals, philosopher of numbers, and penetrator
into the secrets of life. Many men sought his wisdom, and if they left
him little the wiser, through the multiplicity of his words or the
brevity of his cryptic utterances, either of which was given them
according to their needs as figured by Menippus, that doubtless was due
to their own lack of receptiveness.
The turret chamber was a circular room hung with twelve blue curtains.
To the north the curtains were indigo; they then passed through shades
of sapphire to a clear light blue at the south, and back again through
sapphire blue to indigo. Here you have shown the darkness of the winter
months, lightening through spring to summer, and back again to the
darkness of winter. Each curtain was embroidered in gold with its own
sign of the Zodiac, from the Ram, through the rest of them to the
Fishes.
On the table near him, lying on black velvet the better to avoid
reflections, was an egg-shaped crystal. A pretty enough thing it was,
with its smooth surface clear and very luminous, true rock crystal,
wherein your least initiated may gaze with advantage, so termed. For my
part, I will take leave to question the advantage. By the crystal stood
a gold vessel, cup-shaped, quaintly wrought with devices, of which the
most obvious was the pentagram. It held a purplish liquid of the
consistency of ink.
The room had no windows. At all times it was lighted by a small hanging
lamp, two gold wings bearing between them a red glass holding oil and a
burning wick. For the better lighting of the place when the Sage was at
his studies, there were a couple of candles set in bronze candlesticks.
Menippus, reading from the parchment, paused now and again to peer into
the gold cup, or look a moment towards the crystal. That some weighty
matter was under consideration might be judged by the wrinkling of his
brow, and the tapping of his clawlike finger on the table. A tall man,
this Menippus, he looked the part himself, or Fate, had given him
exceeding well. His hair, white and plentiful, fell straight on either
side his face, and to the nape of his neck. His moustache and beard were
of glossy silkiness. The latter, pointed, touched the third button of
his black gown fashioned not unlike a priest’s cassock, the sleeves only
being somewhat wider and looser. Round his neck hung a gold chain, and
from it a gold device. The centre thereof was a small cross set within a
triangle. Without the triangle was a circle, and without the circle a
second triangle.
On the forefinger of his right hand he wore a large seal ring, the
setting blackened silver, the seal itself very ancient, reddish stone,
carved with devices as follows: Man in his potential divinity (I give
the reading Menippus would have given you) before the Fire Altar, backed
by the Pillar of Truth, and looking towards the Trinity (Pagan), Man,
Woman, and Child: these three surmounted by the Supreme,—a Woman crowned
with the Sun; behind her, the Cornucopia, before her, the Caduceus;
behind the Pillar of Truth, the Crescent Moon, horns pointing upwards;
above it, a seven-pointed star. About his head he wore a thin gold
fillet, in the centre was placed a Rising Sun. To those versed in such
matters the sun, the ring, and the symbol at his breast showed him as
belonging to the Ancient Order of Lux. An exceeding ancient Order this,
Egyptian, and dating from far beyond the time of Solomon.
Where and how Menippus received his initiation into this Order was a
mystery, but that his initiation was more than the mere wearing of the
symbols of the Order, he proved in vastly more ways than one. The few
who came to his tower to leave it with greater knowledge than was
contained in multiplicity of words and brief cryptic utterances, left it
with sealed lips, but with hearts wherein awe and dread were strangely
intermingled. Such power as Menippus showed them was unquestionably
power, but whence it came was another matter.
A high-nosed, thin-lipped man he was, his face yellow like the
parchments he studied. His eyes, black as sloes, and very piercing, were
set beneath shaggy eyebrows. The lids of them folding far back at his
will, left them at times staring and unblinking. This gave them an
hypnotic power. At other times, when in deep thought, they cut across
the pupil of the eye; then you saw the eyes heavy-lidded. This
alteration of the eyelids’ form was a marked characteristic of his. It
set the hearts of curious women—those who sought his wisdom—a-beating;
more than once sent them scuttling like frightened hens to the door, and
adown the stairs, while Menippus sat chuckling cynically. Weak enough to
desire his power to be sought and acknowledged by all men, mere
curiosity bored him vastly. You may judge that he was more often bored
by his visitors than not. Vanity alone made boredom worth the enduring.
It was a strange quality to find in a man of his age and power. Pride
and unscrupulousness one might well expect; but here was a strain of
weakness running through his strength, one which had endured from his
earliest years. It is perchance needless to say that but for it he would
have been greater than he was, and he was no small man intellectually no
more than physically. This same vanity had led him into works no man
dare even name with impunity.
Turning now from the parchment before him, he fetched a deep sigh, let
his gaze rest ardently on the crystal. Now you see the heavy lids
cutting the pupils in a straight line. An’ you had seen more, had seen
with those same heavy-lidded black eyes, you would have seen the crystal
cloud to milkiness, first a mere drop in its clearness, spreading
gradually across the whole. The cloudiness gave way to light, sudden and
brilliant, at first many-hued as a rainbow, then turning to a clear
whiteness. Across the whiteness rode a ship full-sailed. Here was the
definite signal of on-coming vision. Next, and you must take the vision
with what credence you may, he saw a man struggling through a snowstorm,
blinded, dazed. He watched more closely. Could you have read his mind,
you would have known the sight not unexpected. It held the
interpretation to certain cryptic utterances in the parchment spread
before him. I do not pretend to understand how these things may be; I
but give you as plainly as I am able all that chanced on that night of
snow and storm, and that which followed after. With the powers that
leagued together in the handling of the matter I desire no dealing. An’
the whole happening had not close bearing on the history of Peregrine it
might well be omitted. Being, however, close bound with him at the
moment, and with that which was to befall him later, it is incumbent on
me, and I would be a fair chronicler, to set it plainly forth. In the
crystal, then, Menippus saw a man struggling through the snow, saw him
coming ever nearer, saw him sink at last as we have seen him. At this
the vision was obliterated. Returning to concrete surroundings, he saw
the crystal lying on the black velvet, catching the glow from the
hanging lamp, naught else pictured within it.
Menippus got quickly to his feet, made his way to the door.
“Castrano,” he called.
A huge negro came silently from behind a curtain.
“Come on the instant,” said Menippus. “I need your aid. A man lies in a
snow-drift without.”
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