THE HAPPENING OF THE UNEXPECTED.
Deucalion entered the hillside door to be met in the court by several
weeping handmaids, one of whom cried out to him:
“Æole is no more. Æole is no more!”
He paused, and his look questioned; when another handmaid answered.
“She had just been called to the inner holy place, when, therein, we
heard a great stir, and Sensel ran out to cry that she was lying dead at
the foot of the statue of Amen. He had borne her in there, as she, of
her grief, fell even at the door. Ah, poor Æole—poor Æole!”
This handmaid began to sob so that she could not continue. Then another
handmaid spoke for her.
“Thus we ran to the inner holy place, forgetting we should not go there.
And, at the foot of Amen, beheld her as Sensel had said, whilst about
her were gathering the high priest and the other priests. At first we
could not believe her dead; and rubbed her hands, and bathed her brow.
But she would not arouse. Now is the cold of death upon her.”
And this handmaid began to sob loud, the others joining with her. So
extreme was their grief that Deucalion could obtain no further
information, in spite of his many signs. Thus he left them to hasten to
the inner sanctuary.
This apartment, upon entering, gave the impression of mystery, luxury,
sensuousness—anything save devotion—notwithstanding its golden altar at
the eastern end, its sacred fire thereon; notwithstanding its great
golden statues of Amen and Poseidon, the one to the altar’s right, the
other to its left, and both most wonderful in their size, majesty, and
benignity of mien.
Everywhere in this inner sanctuary were gold and silver used lavishly.
And, in the available places, were set magnificent gems, that, in their
artful clustering, simulated flowers and fruits, thus affording the
needful climax to all the splendors.
Glowing with orichalcum and clustering gems was the ceiling, while from
it hung golden lamps resplendent in jewels. In corners, smoked silver
vessels emitting perfumes whose subtlety overmastered the will. About
the greenstone columns, the rarest flowers were wreathed.
Yet, incongruously with the taste displayed, the fitness of the
splendors, were the effeminate furnishings. Softest mats covered the
tiled floor; couches, stands, and tables of fantastic workmanship were
scattered about; whilst, in the center, stood a larger table containing
stimulating drinks, fruits and sweetmeats. And elegant hangings fell
from the doors.—Could this indeed be a sanctuary?
The vast apartment was a dream of luxury and sensuousness; and, from the
half-opened doors at its northern end, could be gained a faint idea of
the sumptuousness of its withdrawing rooms. No wonder was it that, upon
entering, the mind, instead of concentrating upon things divine, should
become enthralled by dreams of sense!
The great Amen was represented as a human being with the head of a ram,
for the reason, doubtless, that he was considered as standing in the
same relation to the people that the ram does to the flock. He was
guide, governor, and protector. And, about his head was a crown
simulating the sun’s rays. For, Amen was the Sun God.
Æole had been laid on a couch near this statue; and about her were
gathered handmaids and priests. Yes, here, pale and motionless, lay the
lovely form hushing the gazers into awe. Here, revelry had given away to
a strange quiet. Here, the handmaids, with blanched faces, were
restraining their sobbing. Here, priests were looking from the dead to
each other, mystified and apprehensive. Here, Atlano and Oltis were ever
casting terrified, quickly averted looks at the statue of Amen that
seemed to frown in response.
As the ‘Silent Priest’ took his place among the watchers, they turned as
one to regard him. But, unmindful of their questioning gaze, his eyes
rested long upon the waxen form. Finally, at an impatient movement from
Oltis, he raised his head, and flashed from him to Atlano a look so
condemnatory that the spectators shook with dismay. Though neither of
the ones thus rebuked gave any response, save to turn as if to look upon
the dead girl.
Then, the ‘Silent Priest’ moved toward the statue of Amen. But, had
scarcely reached it, when attracted by the sudden incoming of Electra.
As if beside herself, she ran to kneel before him; and in tones as
persuasive as piteous, entreated:
“O ‘Silent Priest,’ is this how the gods would help? If thou wilt but
heed me. Beseech of them that I, too, may go. Life is such a woe that I
am tempted to end it. Ah, to die with Æole! If thou wilt but plead with
Amen and Poseidon to have mercy upon me—as they have had upon her. Let
me go to her.”
He took her hand. And, oh the sudden strength that came to her! In an
instant, she was no longer despairing. Then, he signed for her to arise;
and she stood up as a queen.
“‘Silent Priest,’ thou hast spoken. It is not mine to ask thee to
beseech the gods. If it is their will I should sorrow more, I must bear.
I will chafe no longer.”
He regarded her with approbation; and bowed in acquiescence. She felt he
was saying inwardly:
“Keep this, thy humility. It will lead thee to light. May the gods cheer
thee.”
Though the tears were welling thick in her eyes, for all her strength.
As these fell, she moaned, “Hard, hard, will it be without Æole. How
soon she filled my heart. From the first was I fond of her. And fond was
she to me!” Then, impetuously, with arms outstretched, she turned to run
toward the couch, when called by one of several handmaids entering from
the passage.
She paused. They came beside her; and the handmaid who had called,
whispered: “We have made ready the bed of lilies in front of the altar.
There Æole will lie until the embalmers send the word. We have come for
her.”
Painful was it to witness Electra’s pallor. She murmured: “Let us draw
beside her. I would kiss her.” Whereupon, this handmaid led the
suffering girl in among the watchers, and to the place where she could
take Æole’s hand—to kiss, to bathe it with her tears.
One of the handmaids left then spoke to a priest. This priest, in turn,
spoke to Oltis. Thus Oltis, in loud tone, asked:
“Where is Sensel?”
In answer, Sensel appeared in the passage. Oltis ordered:
“Bring the white robe.”
Sensel left to return at once with a robe of lamb’s wool, pure as snow.
Oltis continued:
“Wrap therein the maiden. And bear her to the bed of lilies.”
Touching was the reverence with which Sensel enfolded Æole in this. Amid
the hysterical sobbing of the handmaids, he raised her in his arms. And
bore her, as a babe might have been borne, through the great apartment
to the passage, and thence into the temple; king, priests, handmaids
following.
Upon the bed of lilies was Æole laid—the robe being removed. With loving
touch, the handmaids drew her long gown about her feet, and arranged the
hands and arms. Then they kissed the sweet forehead, and caressed the
long, shining hair. After this, they ranged about her and the kneeling
Electra, who had again taken a hand to clasp to her breast. Thus, they
awaited the summons of the embalmer.
Crowds of people were arriving, so fast had spread the news. Even Queen
Atlana came to hang stricken but unweeping over the body of this young
girl she had loved so well. Hellen also came, to stand and gaze fixedly
upon the dear, calm face.
In an hour, word was brought that the embalmers were ready. Amid the
stir that ensued, the attendants deputed moved to the sides of the bed
of lilies, in order to bear it with its lovely burden to the embalming
room. But, scarcely had they taken their places than rendered motionless
by the shrill cry from Hellen:
“See! Her eyelids quiver!”
Awful was the hush. Instantly, the ‘Silent Priest’ was beside Æole, and
looking in her face. Breathlessly the people waited until he turned to
sign that Hellen spoke the truth. Then went up a great cry of gladness.
Then sank the relieved queen in the arms of her ladies. Then arose
Electra from her knees to stare at the ‘Silent Priest’ incredulously.
Atlano and Oltis came forward for inspection; and found confirmation.
Oltis said to the people:
“Of a truth, her eyelids quiver. She is not dead.”
Another glad shouting went up. Each felt as thankful as though the young
girl was his own. From Queen Atlana, the blessed tears of hope were
beginning to flow; whilst Electra, in her revulsion of feeling, so
tottered that Hellen darted to her side to sustain her.
Then, while the people were quieting somewhat, and the handmaids were
sobbing loud for gladness, the attendants and messenger from the
embalmers retired.
Still Æole lay passive. Even the eyelids had ceased to quiver. Yet, the
faintest tinge of pink was coming into her cheeks. The great throng
about her scarcely pulsated more than herself in its expectation of the
unexpected when those beside her proclaimed this new development.
There was a long interval of suspense. Then arose the cry:
“Look! Her lips part!”
Terrible was the hush. Would she speak? Would her soft tones issue
forth?
Instead, there came upon them a sound as of the sweeping wind—a sound,
that, as it became intelligible, caused the listeners to shake as
aspens. This must be the voice of a mighty spirit! And these words none
could mistake.
“Atlanteans, I would warn. There are gods! Therefore, call to mind how
ye have set aside the olden laws, what mockeries ye have brought upon
temple and inner holy place.
“Further, hold no longer the Pelasgian children. This day, give them
over unto the ‘Silent Priest.’ He, with the sun of the morrow, will bear
them to their home.”
The lips closed.
Atlano and the priests had listened, shivering. Theirs was the
corruption of these islanders—theirs, the profanations of altar and
sanctuary. The sharp spear of dread was piercing them. It was minutes
before Atlano could control himself to ask humbly:
“Mighty Spirit, is it in truth the will of our Father Poseidon that we
give over the captives to the ‘Silent Priest’?”
“Thou speakest it.”
“Tell our father that we hearken. We pray that he will plead for us with
Amen.”
“It is heard.”
There succeeded an awful silence. It was felt that the mighty spirit had
departed. And, as before, Æole lay as dead.
Though the throng, in its expectation wavered not—to be rewarded within
an hour. For then, Hellen cried:
“Look—look! Again cometh the color into her cheeks!”
Frantically were they pressing about her when waved back by the ‘Silent
Priest.’ The queen and Electra, of their trembling, required support. As
to Atlano and Oltis, they seemed as if turned to stone.
There came another cry from Hellen:
“She doth breathe! Her eyes open!”
He bent over her in such agitation that the ‘Silent Priest’ thought best
to lead him away, and beside Electra. She held out to him her hand,
which he seized.
“Hellen, dear Hellen, be calm,” she whispered. “Our strength is needed.
The gods are with us.”
She cast a grateful look at Sensel, who stood between them and Æole
vibrating and brilliant, and who returned her look with one that meant
victory.
Meanwhile, the handmaids had been applying to Æole’s nostrils a sponge
dampened with a pungent liquor brought by Oltis. Under its influence,
she quickly revived, and shortly was being propped up on cushions,
whilst about her was tucked the robe of lambs’ wool. Afterward, the
‘Silent Priest’ brought her a drink which caused her to be quite
herself, though her bewilderment at her surroundings proved her
unconsciousness of what had occurred.
But the priests, of their doubt, would question her. Therefore, Oltis
was not long in asking: “Handmaid Æole, didst thou dream in thy sleep?”
Æole, reddening and paling, replied feebly:
“Most Honored and High Priest, I dreamed not.”
“Knowest thou aught of what hath happened since thou wert found as if
dead?”
“Most Honored and High Priest, I know naught since I fell before Amen in
the inner holy place, and besought him to take me from this life.”
Oltis shrank back, and a murmur arose that swelled through the vast
assemblage. This murmur grew to a shout as Queen Atlana, who had not
shown herself, leaned over, and clasped Æole to her.
With a glad cry that brought tears to the eyes near her, the young girl
returned the embrace, and kissed again and again the hands of this
almost mother.
But soon Queen Atlana raised to her full height, to her lovely, gracious
bearing, and looked about her.
“Atlanteans,” she said, with a world of meaning. Delighted cries
answered her.
“Atlanteans, am I right to take her back to the palace—this fair young
captive who hath grown to be my daughter?”
Deafening were the shouts:
“Yea! Yea!”
“Ye will aid me?”
“We will! We will!”
She turned to Rica, and said:
“Order a chair.”
This Rica proceeded to do of an attendant, as Atlano, in a rage,
vociferated:
“Nay!”
Queen Atlana again spoke to Rica: “I will have the chair.” Then to
Atlano, she said low, and with emphasis: “If I am not obeyed, I go not
back to the palace.”
They eyed each other as no man and wife should. Hard is it when a wife
is obliged, in presence of others, to assert herself. Terrible is it to
perceive a husband’s face take on an expression murderous! The people
again clamored their indignation until Atlana herself quieted them by
the eloquence of her hands. Though there continued cries here and there
for the chair.
King Atlano had turned aside in sullen discomfiture, when the queen
again spoke the word for the chair. And now it was brought beside her,
and eagerly, if it must be told.
The attendants were thronging to lift Æole therein when Sensel pressed
in among them, to urge:
“It is mine to lift her, to bear her.”
Before they had scarcely accepted his purpose, she was raised from the
bed of lilies and placed in the chair, and he waited calm beside it.
The queen’s look pierced him, but he returned it proudly, growing so
brilliant that her look became one of amaze. Then, to her surprise, as
well as that of the beholders, she bowed in consent. With that, Sensel
and an attendant bore the chair on to the queen’s chariot.
As Queen Atlana turned to follow, she beckoned to Electra. Electra then
came beside her, and the queen subjoined:
“Electra, thou wilt come also.”
Unmindful of the scowling king, she took the hand of the overjoyed young
girl, and passed with gracious smiles through the lines of intent
islanders, whose love showed in their looks, whose sympathy breathed in
eloquent undertones. Quickly they were entering the great broad low
chariot, on whose soft cushions reclined Æole.
Sensel was standing very near her. He had been talking with her, and she
was smiling, rosy. Further, to the surprise of the queen and Electra,
she held out her hand when they were about to drive off, and said, in
her gracious way:
“I will give the parting word, Sensel.”
“Thou wilt do that after I have seen thee in the palace,” he returned,
in his brilliant manner. Then the chariot drove away.
True to his word, he was in the courtyard when they arrived, and not
only that, but would lift her out, would place her in the chair, would
help to bear her within. When no more could be done for her, he said, in
softest tone:
“Now is my parting word, Æole.”
Then bowing low and elegantly to the queen, he darted away in his most
undulatory fashion.
“What a strange being,” exclaimed Queen Atlana. “But I like him.”
“So do we,” murmured Æole, and blushed.