"It may be thousands of years before such a meeting is
consummated,"--he continued--"For thousands of years are but hours in
the eternal countings. Yet in those thousands of years what lives must
be lived!--what lessons must be learned!--what sins committed and
expiated!--what precious time lost or found!--what happiness missed or
wasted!"
His voice thrilled--and again he took my hand and held it gently
clasped.
"You must believe in yourself alone,"--he said,--"if any lurking
thought suggests a disbelief in me! It is quite natural that you should
doubt me a little. You have studied long and deeply--you have worked
hard at problems which puzzle the strongest man's brain, and you have
succeeded in many things because you have kept what most men manage to
lose when grappling with Science,--Faith. You have always studied with
an uplifted heart--uplifted towards the things unseen and eternal. But
it has been a lonely heart, too,--as lonely as mine!"
A moment's silence followed,--a silence that seemed heavy and dark,
like a passing cloud, and instinctively I looked up to see if indeed a
brooding storm was not above us. A heaven of splendid colour met my
gaze--the whole sky was lighted with a glory of gold and blue. But
below this flaming radiance there was a motionless mass of grey vapour,
hanging square as it seemed across the face of the lofty mountain at
the head of the lake, like a great canvas set ready for an artist's
pencil and prepared to receive the creation of his thought. I watched
this in a kind of absorbed fascination, conscious that the warm hand
holding mine had strengthened its close grasp,--when suddenly something
sharp and brilliant, like the glitter of a sword or a forked flash of
lightning, passed before my eyes with a dizzying sensation, and the
lake, the mountains, the whole landscape, vanished like a fleeting
mirage, and in all the visible air only the heavy curtain of mist
remained. I made an effort to move--to speak--in vain! I thought some
sudden illness must have seized me--yet no!--for the half-swooning
feeling that had for a moment unsteadied my nerves had already
passed--and I was calm enough. Yet I saw more plainly than I have ever
seen anything in visible Nature, a slowly moving, slowly passing
panorama of scenes and episodes that presented themselves in marvellous
outline and colouring,--pictures that were gradually unrolled and
spread out to my view on the grey background of that impalpable mist
which like a Shadow hung between myself and impenetrable Mystery, and I
realised to the full that an eternal record of every life is written
not only in sound, but in light, in colour, in tune, in mathematical
proportion and harmony,--and that not a word, not a thought, not an
action is forgotten!
A vast forest rose before me. I saw the long shadows of the leafy
boughs flung thick upon the sward and the wild tropical vines hanging
rope-like from the intertwisted stems. A golden moon looked warmly in
between the giant branches, flooding the darkness of the scene with
rippling radiance, and within its light two human beings walked,--a man
and woman--their arms round each other,--their faces leaning close
together. The man seemed pleading with his companion for some favour
which she withheld, and presently she drew herself away from him
altogether with a decided movement of haughty rejection. I could not
see her face,--but her attire was regal and splendid, and on her head
there shone a jewelled diadem. Her lover stood apart for a moment with
bent head--then he threw himself on his knees before her and caught her
hand in an evident outburst of passionate entreaty. And while they
stood thus together, I saw the phantom-like figure of another woman
moving towards them--she came directly into the foreground of the
picture, her white garments clinging round her, her fair hair flung
loosely over her shoulders, and her whole demeanour expressing
eagerness and fear. As she approached, the man sprang up from his knees
and, with a gesture of fury, drew a dagger from his belt and plunged it
into her heart! I saw her reel back from the blow--I saw the red blood
well up through the whiteness of her clothing, and as she turned
towards her murderer, with a last look of appeal, I recognised MY OWN
FACE IN HERS!--and in his THE FACE OF SANTORIS! I uttered a cry,--or
thought I uttered it--a darkness swept over me--and the vision vanished!
* * *
* *
*
Another vivid flash struck my eyes, and I found myself looking upon the
crowded thoroughfares of a great city. Towers and temples, palaces and
bridges, presented themselves to my gaze in a network of interminable
width and architectural splendour, moving and swaying before me like a
wave glittering with a thousand sparkles uplifted to the light.
Presently this unsteadiness of movement resolved itself into form and
order, and I became, as it were, one unobserved spectator among
thousands, of a scene of picturesque magnificence. It seemed that I
stood in the enormous audience hall of a great palace, where there were
crowds of slaves, attendants and armed men,--on all sides arose huge
pillars of stone on which were carved the winged heads of monsters and
fabulous gods,--and looming out of the shadows I saw the shapes of four
giant Sphinxes which guarded a throne set high above the crowd. A
lambent light played quiveringly on the gorgeous picture, growing more
and more vivid as I looked, and throbbing with colour and motion,--and
I saw that on the throne there sat a woman crowned and veiled,--her
right hand held a sceptre blazing with gold and gems. Slaves clad in
costumes of the richest workmanship and design abased themselves on
either side of her, and I heard the clash of brazen cymbals and
war-like music, as the crowd of people surged and swayed, and murmured
and shouted, all apparently moved by some special excitement or
interest. Suddenly I perceived the object on which the general
attention was fixed--the swooning body of a man, heavily bound in
chains and lying at the foot of the throne. Beside him stood a tall
black slave, clad in vivid scarlet and masked,--this sinister-looking
creature held a gleaming dagger uplifted ready to strike,--and as I saw
this, a wild yearning arose in me to save the threatened life of the
bound and helpless victim. If I could only rush to defend and drag him
away from impending peril, I thought!--but no!--I was forced to stand
helplessly watching the scene, with every fibre of my brain burning
with pent-up anguish. At this moment, the crowned and veiled woman on
the throne suddenly rose and stood upright,--with a commanding gesture
she stretched out her glittering sceptre--the sign was given! Swiftly
the dagger gleamed through the air and struck its deadly blow straight
home! I turned away my eyes in shuddering horror,--but was compelled by
some invincible power to raise them again,--and the scene before me
glowed red as with the hue of blood--I saw the slain victim,--the
tumultuous crowd--and above all, the relentless Queen who, with one
movement of her little hand, had swept away a life,--and as I looked
upon her loathingly, she threw back her shrouding golden veil. MY OWN
FACE LOOKED FULL AT ME from under the jewelled arch of her sparkling
diadem--ah, wicked soul!--I wildly cried--pitiless Queen!--then, as
they lifted the body of the murdered man, his livid countenance was
turned towards me, and I saw again the face of Santoris! Dumb and
despairing I sank as it were within myself, chilled with inexplicable
misery, and I heard for the first time in this singular pageant of
vision a Voice--slow, calm, and thrilling with infinite sadness:
"A life for a life!"--it said--"The old eternal law!--a life for a
life! There is nothing taken which shall not be returned again--nothing
lost which shall not be found--a life for a life!"
Then came silence and utter darkness.
* * *
* *
*
Slowly brightening, slowly widening, a pale radiance like the earliest
glimmer of dawn stole gently on my eyes when I again raised them. I saw
the waving curve of a wide, sluggishly flowing river, and near it a
temple of red granite stood surrounded with shadowing foliage and
bright clumps of flowers. Huge palms lifted their fronded heads to the
sky, and on the edge of the quiet stream there loitered a group of
girls and women. One of these stood apart, sad and alone, the others
looking at her with something of pity and scorn. Near her was a tall
upright column of black basalt, as it seemed, bearing the sculptured
head of a god. The features were calm and strong and reposeful,
expressive of dignity, wisdom and power. And as I looked, more people
gathered together--I heard strains of solemn music pealing from the
temple close by--and I saw the solitary woman draw herself farther
apart and almost disappear among the shadows. The light grew brighter
in the east,--the sun shot a few advancing rays upward,--suddenly the
door of the temple was thrown open, and a long procession of priests
carrying flaming tapers and attended by boys in white garments and
crowned with flowers made their slow and stately way towards the column
with the god-like Head upon it and began to circle round it, chanting
as they walked, while the flower-crowned boys swung golden censers to
and fro, impregnating the air with rich perfume. The people all
knelt--and still the priests paced round and round, chanting and
murmuring prayers,--till at last the great sun lifted the edge of its
glowing disc above the horizon, and its rays springing from the east
like golden arrows, struck the brow of the Head set on its basalt
pedestal. With the sudden glitter of this morning glory the chanting
ceased,--the procession stopped; and one priest, tall and commanding of
aspect, stepped forth from the rest, holding up his hands to enjoin
silence. And then the Head quivered as with life,--its lips
moved--there was a rippling sound like the chord of a harp smitten by
the wind,--and a voice, full, sweet and resonant, spoke aloud the
words:--
"I face the Sunrise!"
With a shout of joy priests and people responded:
"We face the Sunrise!"
And he who seemed the highest in authority, raising his arms invokingly
towards heaven, exclaimed:
"Even so, O Mightiest among the Mighty, let us ever remember that Thy
Shadow is but part of Thy Light,--that Sorrow is but the passing humour
of Joy--and that Death is but the night which dawns again into Life! We
face the Sunrise!"
Then all who were assembled joined in singing a strange half-barbaric
song and chorus of triumph, to the strains of which they slowly moved
off and disappeared like shapes breathed on a mirror and melting away.
Only the tall high priest remained,--and he stood alone, waiting, as it
were, for something eagerly expected and desired. And presently the
woman who had till now remained hidden among the shadows of the
surrounding trees, came swiftly forward. She was very pale--her eyes
shone with tears--and again I saw MY OWN FACE IN HERS. The priest
turned quickly to greet her, and I distinctly heard every word he spoke
as he caught her hands in his own and drew her towards him.
"Everything in this world and the next I will resign," he said--"for
love of thee! Honour, dignity and this poor earth's renown I lay at thy
feet, thou most beloved of women! What other thing created or imagined
can be compared to the joy of thee?--to the sweetness of thy lips, the
softness of thy bosom--the love that trembles into confession with thy
smile! Imprison me but in thine arms and I will count my very soul well
lost for an hour of love with thee! Ah, deny me not!--turn me not away
from thee again!--love comes but once in life--such love as
ours!--early or late, but once!"
She looked at him with tender passion and pity--a look in which I
thankfully saw there was no trace of pride, resentment or affected
injury.
"Oh, my beloved!" she answered, and her voice, plaintive and sweet,
thrilled on the silence like a sob of pain--"Why wilt thou rush on
destruction for so poor a thing as I am? Knowest thou not, and wilt
thou not remember that, to a priest of thy great Order, the love of
woman is forbidden, and the punishment thereof is death? Already the
people view thee with suspicion and me with scorn--forbear, O dearest,
bravest soul!--be strong!"
"Strong?" he echoed--"Is it not strong to love?--ay, the very best of
strength! For what avails the power of man if he may not bend a woman
to his will? Child, wherever love is there can be no death, but only
life! Love is as the ever-flowing torrent of eternity in my veins--the
pulse of everlasting youth and victory! What are the foolish creeds of
man compared with this one Truth of Nature--Love! Is not the Deity
Himself the Supreme Lover?--and wouldst thou have me a castaway from
His holiest ordinance? Ah no!--come to me, my beloved!--soul of my
soul--inmost core of my heart! Come to me in the silence when no one
sees and no one hears--come when--"
He broke off, checked by her sudden smile and look of rapture. Some
thought had evidently, like a ray of light, cleared her doubts away.
"So be it!" she said--"I give thee all myself from henceforth!--I will
come!"
He uttered an exclamation of relief and joy, and drew her closer, till
her head rested on his breast and her loosened hair fell in a shower
across his arms.
"At last!" he murmured--"At last! Mine--all mine this tender soul, this
passionate heart!--mine this exquisite life to do with as I will! O
crown of my best manhood!--when wilt thou come to me?"
She answered at once without hesitation.
"To-night!" she said--"To-night, when the moon rises, meet me here in
this very place,--this sacred grove where Memnon hears thy vows to him
broken, and my vows consecrated to thee!--and as I live I swear I will
be all thine! But now--leave me to pray!"
She lifted her head and looked into his adoring eyes,--then kissed him
with a strange, grave tenderness as though bidding him farewell, and
with a gentle gesture motioned him away. Elated and flushed with joy,
he obeyed her sign, and left her, disappearing in the same phantom-like
way in which all the other figures in this weird dream-drama had made
their exit. She watched him go with a wistful yearning gaze--then in
apparent utter desperation she threw herself on her knees before the
impassive Head on its rocky pedestal and prayed aloud:
"O hidden and unknown God whom we poor earthly creatures
symbolise!--give me the strength to love unselfishly--the patience to
endure uncomplainingly! Thou, Heart of Stone, temper with thy coldest
wisdom my poor throbbing heart of flesh! Help me to quell the tempest
in my soul, and let me be even as thou art--inflexible,
immovable,--save when the sun strikes music from thy dreaming brows and
tells thee it is day! Forgive, O great God, forgive the fault of my
beloved!--a fault which is not his, but mine, merely because I live and
he hath found me fair,--let all be well for him,--but for me let
nothing evermore be either well or ill--and teach me--even me--to face
the Sunrise!"
Her voice ceased--a mist came before me for a moment--and when this
cleared, the same scene was presented to me under the glimmer of a
ghostly moon. And she who looked so like myself, lay dead at the foot
of the great Statue, her hands clasped on her breast, her eyes closed,
her mouth smiling as in sleep, while beside her raved and wept her
priestly lover, invoking her by every tender name, clasping her
lifeless body in his arms, covering her face with useless passionate
kisses, and calling her back with wild grief from the silence into
which her soul had fled. And I knew then that she had put all thought
of self aside in a sense of devotion to duty,--she had chosen what she
imagined to be the only way out of difficulty,--to save the honour of
her lover she had slain herself. But--was it wise? Or foolish? This
thought pressed itself insistently home to my mind. She had given her
life to serve a mistaken creed,--she had bowed to the conventions of a
temporary code of human law--yet--surely God was above all strange and
unnatural systems built up by man for his own immediate convenience,
vanity or advantage, and was not Love the nearest thing to God? And if
those two souls were destined lovers, COULD they be divided, even by
their own rashness? These questions were curiously urged upon my inward
consciousness as I looked again upon the poor fragile corpse among the
reeds and palms of the sluggishly flowing river, and heard the
clamorous despair of the man to whom she might have been joy,
inspiration and victory had not the world been then as it is not
now--the man, who as the light of the moonbeams fell upon him, showed
me in his haggard and miserable features the spectral likeness of
Santoris. Was it right, I asked myself, that the two perfect lines of a
mutual love should be swept asunder?--or if it was, as some might
conceive it, right according to certain temporary and conventional
views of 'rightness.' was it POSSIBLE to so sever them? Would it not be
well if we all occasionally remembered that there is an eternal law of
harmony between souls as between spheres?--and that if we ourselves
bring about a divergence we also bring about discord? And again,--that
if discord results by our inter-meddling, it is AGAINST THE LAW, and
must by the working of natural forces be resolved into concord again,
whether such resolvance take ten, a hundred, a thousand or ten thousand
years? Of what use, then, is the struggle we are for ever making in our
narrow and limited daily lives to resist the wise and holy teaching of
Nature? Is it not best to yield to the insistence of the music of life
while it sounds in our ears? For everything must come round to Nature's
way in the end--her way being God's way, and God's way the only way! So
I thought, as in half-dreaming fashion I watched the vision of the dead
woman and her despairing lover fade into the impenetrable shadows of
mystery veiling the record of the light beyond.
* * *
* *
*
Presently I became conscious of a deep murmuring sound tike the subdued
hum of many thousands of voices,--and lifting my eyes I saw the wide
circular sweep of a vast arena crowded with people. In the centre, and
well to the front of the uplifted tiers of seats, there was a gorgeous
pavilion of gold, draped with gaudy coloured silk and hung with
festoons of roses, wherein sat a heavily-built, brutish-looking man
royally robed and crowned, and wearing jewels In such profusion as to
seem literally clothed in flashing points of light. Beautiful women
were gathered round him,--boys with musical instruments crouched at his
feet--attendants stood on every hand to minister to his slightest call
or signal,--and all eyes were fixed upon him as upon some worshipped
god of a nation's idolatry. I felt and knew that I was looking upon the
'shadow-presentment' of the Roman tyrant Nero; and I wondered vaguely
how it chanced that he, in all the splendour of his wild and terrible
career of wickedness, should be brought into this phantasmagoria of
dream in which I and One Other alone seemed to be chiefly concerned.
There were strange noises in my ears,--the loud din of trumpets--the
softer sound of harps played enchantingly in some far-off distance--the
ever-increasing loud buzzing of the voices of the multitude--and then
all at once the roar as of angry wild beasts in impatience or pain. The
time of this vision seemed to be late afternoon--I thought I could see
a line of deep rose colour in a sky where the sun had lately set--the
flare of torches glimmered all round the arena and beyond it, striking
vivid brilliancy from the jewels on Nero's breast and throwing into
strong relief the groups of soldiers and people immediately around him.
I perceived now that the centre of the arena, previously empty, had
become the one spot on which the looks of the people began to turn--one
woman stood there all alone, clad in white, her arms crossed on her
breast. So still was she,--so apparently unconscious of her position,
that the mob, ever irritated by calmness, grew suddenly furious, and a
fierce cry arose:--"Ad leones! Ad leones!" The great Emperor stirred
from his indolent, half-reclining position and leaned forward with a
sudden look of interest on his lowering features,--and as he did so a
man attired in the costume of a gladiator entered the arena from one of
its side doors and with a calm step and assured demeanour walked up to
the front of the royal dais and there dropped on one knee. Then quickly
rising he drew himself erect and waited, his eyes fixed on the woman
who stood as immovably as a statue, apparently resigned to some
untoward fate. And again the vast crowd shouted "Ad leones! Ad leones!"
There came a heavy grating noise of drawn bolts and bars--the sound of
falling chains--then a savage animal roar--and two lean and ferocious
lions sprang into the arena, lashing their tails, their manes bristling
and their eyes aglare. Quick as thought, the gladiator stood in their
path--and I swiftly recognised the nature of the 'sport' that had
brought the Emperor and all this brave and glittering show of humanity
out to watch what to them was merely a 'sensation'--the life of a
Christian dashed out by the claws and fangs of wild beasts--a common
pastime, all unchecked by either the mercy of man or the intervention
of God! I understood as clearly as if the explanation had been
volunteered to me in so many words, that the woman who awaited her
death so immovably had only one chance of rescue, and that chance was
through the gladiator, who, to please the humour of the Emperor, had
been brought hither to combat and frighten them off their intended
victim,--the reward for him, if he succeeded, being the woman herself.
I gazed with aching, straining eyes on the wonderful dream-spectacle,
and my heart thrilled as I saw one of the lions stealthily approach the
solitary martyr and prepare to spring. Like lightning, the gladiator
was upon the famished brute, fighting it back in a fierce and horrible
contest, while the second lion, pouncing forward and bent on a similar
attack, was similarly repulsed. The battle between man and beasts was
furious, prolonged and terrible to witness--and the excitement became
intense. "Ad leones! Ad leones!" was now the universal wild shout,
rising ever louder and louder into an almost frantic clamour. The woman
meanwhile never stirred from her place--she might have been frozen to
the ground where she stood. She appeared to notice neither the lions
who were ready to devour her, nor the gladiator who combated them in
her defence--and I studied her strangely impassive figure with keen
interest, waiting to see her face,--for I instinctively felt I should
recognise it. Presently, as though in response to my thought, she
turned towards me,--and as in a mirror I saw MY OWN REFLECTED
PERSONALITY again as I had seen it so many times in this chain of
strange episodes with which I was so singularly concerned though still
an outside spectator. Between her Shadow-figure and what I felt of my
own existing Self there seemed to be a pale connecting line of light,
and all my being thrilled towards her with a curiously vague anxiety. A
swirling mist came before my eyes suddenly,--and when this cleared I
saw that the combat was over--the lions lay dead and weltering in their
blood on the trampled sand of the arena, and the victorious gladiator
stood near their prone bodies triumphant, amid the deafening cheers of
the crowd. Wreaths of flowers were tossed to him from the people, who
stood up in their seats all round the great circle to hail him with
their acclamations, and the Emperor, lifting his unwieldy body from
under his canopy of gold, stretched out his hand as a sign that the
prize which the dauntless combatant had fought to win was his. He at
once obeyed the signal;--but now the woman, hitherto so passive and
immovable, stirred. Fixing upon the gladiator a glance of the deepest
reproach and anguish, she raised her arms warningly as though
forbidding him to approach her--and then fell face forward on the
ground. He rushed to her side, and kneeling down sought to lift
her;--then suddenly he sprang erect with a loud cry:--
"Great Emperor! I asked of thee a living love!--and this is dead!"
A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd. The Emperor leaned forward
from his throne and smiled.
"Thank your Christian God for that!" he said--"Our pagan deities are
kinder! They give us love for love!"
The gladiator gave a wild gesture of despair and turned his face upward
to the light--THE FACE OF SANTORIS!
"Dead!--dead!"--he cried--"Of what use then is life? Dark are the
beloved eyes!--cold is the generous heart!--the fight has been in
vain--my victory mocks me with its triumph! The world is empty!"
Again the laughter of the populace stirred the air.
"Go to, man!"--and the rough voice of Nero sounded harshly above the
murmurous din--"The world was never the worse for one woman the less!
Wouldst thou also be a Christian? Take heed! Our lions are still
hungry! Thy love is dead, 'tis true, but WE have not killed her! She
trusted in her God, and He has robbed thee of thy lawful possession.
Blame Him, not us! Go hence, with thy laurels bravely won! Nero
commends thy prowess!"
He flung a purse of gold at the gladiator's feet--and then I saw the
whole scene melt away into a confused mass of light and colour till all
was merely a pearl-grey haze floating before my eyes. Yet I was hardly
allowed a moment's respite before another scene presented itself like a
painting upon the curtain of vapour which hung so persistently in front
of me--a scene which struck a closer chord upon my memory than any I
had yet beheld.
* * *
* *
*
The cool, spacious interior of a marble-pillared hall or studio slowly
disclosed itself to my view--it was open to an enchanting vista of
terraced gardens and dark undulating woods, and gay parterres of
brilliant blossom were spread in front of it like a wonderfully
patterned carpet of intricate and exquisite design. Within it was all
the picturesque grace and confusion of an artist's surroundings; and at
a great easel, working assiduously, was one who seemed to be the artist
himself, his face turned from me towards his canvas. Posed before him,
in an attitude of indolent grace, was a woman, arrayed in clinging
diaphanous drapery, a few priceless jewels gleaming here and there like
stars upon her bosom and arms--her hair, falling in loose waves from a
band of pale blue velvet fastened across it, was of a warm brown hue
like an autumn leaf with the sun upon it, and I could see that whatever
she might be according to the strictest canons of beauty, the man who
was painting her portrait considered her more than beautiful. I heard
his voice, in the low, murmurous yet perfectly distinct way in which
all sounds were conveyed to me in this dream pageant--it was exactly as
if persons on the stage were speaking to an audience.
"If we could understand each other,"--he said--"I think all would be
well with us in time and eternity!"
There was a pause. The picturesque scene before me seemed to glow and
gather intensity as I gazed.
"If you could see what is in my heart,"--he continued--"you would be
satisfied that no greater love was ever given to woman than mine for
you! Yet I would not say I give it to you--for I have striven against
it." He paused--and when he spoke again his words were so distinct that
they seemed close to my ears.
"It has been wrung out of my very blood and soul--I can no more resist
it than I can resist the force of the air by which I live and breathe.
I ought not to love you,--you are a joy forbidden to me--and yet I
feel, rightly speaking, that you are already mine--that you belong to
me as the other half of myself, and that this has been so from the
beginning when God first ordained the mating of souls. I tell you I
FEEL this, but cannot explain it,--and I grasp at you as my one hope of
joy!--I cannot let you go!"
She was silent, save for a deep sigh that stirred her bosom under its
folded lace and made her jewels sparkle like sunbeams on the sea.
"If I lose you now, having known and loved you," he went on--"I lose my
art. Not that this would matter--"
Her voice trembled on the air.
"It would matter a great deal"--she said, softly--"to the world!"
"The world!" he echoed--"What need I care for it? Nothing seems of
value to me where you are not--I am nerveless, senseless, hopeless
without you. My inspiration--such as it is--comes from you--"
She moved restlessly--her face was turned slightly away so that I could
not see it.
"My inspiration comes from you,"--he repeated--"The tender look of your
eyes fills me with dreams which might--I do not say would--realise
themselves in a life's renown--but all this is perhaps nothing to you.
What, after all, can I offer you? Nothing but love! And here in
Florence you could command more lovers than there are days in the week,
did you choose--but people say you are untouchable by love even at its
best. Now I--"
Here he stopped abruptly and laid down his brush, looking full at her.
"I," he continued--"love you at neither best nor worst, but simply and
entirely with all of myself--all that a man can be in passionate heart,
soul and body!"
(How the words rang out! I could have sworn they were spoken close
beside me and not by dream-voices in a dream!)
"If you loved me--ah God!--what that would mean! If you dared to brave
everything--if you had the courage of love to break down all barriers
between yourself and me!--but you will not do this--the sacrifice would
be too great--too unusual--"
"You think it would?"
The question was scarcely breathed. A look of sudden amazement
lightened his face--then he replied, gently--
"I think it would! Women are impulsive,--generous to a fault--they give
what they afterwards regret--who can blame them! You have much to lose
by such a sacrifice as I should ask of you--I have all to gain. I must
not be selfish. But I love you!--and your love would be to more than
the hope of Heaven!"
And now strange echoes of a modern poet's rhyme became mingled in my
dream:
"You have chosen and clung to the chance they sent you--
Life sweet as perfume and pure as prayer,
But will it not one day in heaven repent you?
Will they solace you wholly, the days that were?
Will you lift up your eyes between sadness and bliss,
Meet mine and see where the great love is?
And tremble and turn and be changed?--Content you;
The gate is strait; I shall not be there.
Yet I know this well; were you once sealed mine,
Mine in the blood's beat, mine in the breath,
Mixed into me as honey in wine,
Not time that sayeth and gainsayeth,
Nor all strong things had severed us then,
Not wrath of gods nor wisdom of men,
Nor all things earthly nor all divine,
Nor joy nor sorrow, nor life nor death!"
I watched with a deepening thrill of anxiety the scene in the studio,
and my thoughts centred themselves upon the woman who sat there so
quietly, seeming all unmoved by the knowledge that she held a man's
life and future fame in her hands. The artist took up his palette and
brushes again and began to work swiftly, his hand trembling a little.
"You have my whole confession now!"--he said--"You know that you are
the eyes of the world to me--the glory of the sun and the moon! All my
art is in your smile--all my life responds to your touch. Without you I
am--can be nothing--Cosmo de Medicis--"
At this name a kind of shadow crept upon the scene, together with a
sense of cold.
"Cosmo de Medicis"--he repeated, slowly--"my patron, would scarcely
thank me for the avowals I have made to his fair ward!--one whom he
intends to honour with his own alliance. I am here by his order to
paint the portrait of his future bride!--not to look at her with the
eyes of a lover. But the task is too difficult--"
A little sound escaped her, like a smothered cry of pain. He turned
towards her.
"Something in your face,"--he said--"a touch of longing in your sweet
eyes, has made me risk telling you all, so that you may at least choose
your own way of love and life--for there is no real life without love."
Suddenly she rose and confronted him--and once again, as in a magic
mirror, I saw MY OWN REFLECTED PERSONALITY. There were tears in her
eyes,--yet a smile quivered on her mouth.
"My beloved!"--she said--and then paused, as if afraid.
A look of wonder and rapture came on his face like the light of
sunrise, and I RECOGNISED THE NOW FAMILIAR FEATURES OF SANTORIS! Very
gently he laid down his palette and brushes and stood waiting in a kind
of half expectancy, half doubt.
"My beloved!" she repeated--"Have you not seen?--do you not know? O my
genius!--my angel!--am I so hard to read?--so difficult to win?"
Her voice broke in a sob--she made an uncertain step forward, and he
sprang to meet her.
"I love you, love you!"--she cried, passionately--"Let the whole world
forsake me, if only you remain! I am all yours!--do with me as you
will!"
He caught her in his arms--straining her to his heart with all the
passion of a long-denied lover's embrace--their lips met--and for a
brief space they were lost in that sudden and divine rapture that comes
but once in a lifetime,--when like a shivering sense of cold the name
again was whispered:
"Cosmo de Medicis!"
A shadow fell across the scene, and a woman, dark and heavy-featured,
stood like a blot in the sunlit brightness of the studio,--a woman very
richly attired, who gazed fixedly at the lovers with round, suspicious
eyes and a sneering smile. The artist turned and saw her--his face
changed from joy to a pale anxiety--yet, holding his love with one arm,
he flung defiance at her with uplifted head and fearless demeanour.
"Spy!"--he exclaimed--"Do your worst! Let us have an end of your
serpent vigilance and perfidy!--better death than the constant sight of
you! What! Have you not watched us long enough to make discovery easy?
Do your worst, I say, and quickly!"
The cruel smile deepened on the woman's mouth,--she made no answer, but
simply raised her hand. In immediate obedience to the signal, a man,
clad in the Florentine dress of the sixteenth century, and wearing a
singular collar of jewels, stepped out from behind a curtain, attended
by two other men, who, by their dress, were, or seemed to be, of
inferior rank. Without a word, these three threw themselves upon the
unarmed and defenceless painter with the fury of wild animals pouncing
on prey. There was a brief and breathless struggle--three daggers
gleamed in air--a shriek rang through the stillness--another instant
and the victim lay dead, stabbed to the heart, while she who had just
clung to his living body and felt the warmth of his living lips against
hers, dropped on her knees beside the corpse with wild waitings of
madness and despair.
"Another crime on your soul, Cosmo de Medicis!"--she cried--"Another
murder of a nobler life than your own!--may Heaven curse you for it!
But you have not parted my love from me--no!--you have but united us
for ever! We escape you and your spies--thus!"
And snatching a dagger from the hand of one of the assassins before he
could prevent her, she plunged it into her own breast. She fell without
a groan, self-slain,--and I saw, as in a mist of breath on a mirror,
the sudden horror on the faces of the men and the one woman who were
left to contemplate the ghastly deed they had committed. And
then--noting as in some old blurred picture the features of the man who
wore the collar of jewels, I felt that I knew him--yet I could not
place him in any corner of my immediate recognition. Gradually this
strange scene of cool white marble vastness with its brilliant vista of
flowers and foliage under the bright Italian sky, and the betrayed
lovers lying dead beside each other in the presence of their murderers,
passed away like a floating cloud,--and the same slow, calm Voice I had
heard once before now spoke again in sad, stern accents:
"Jealousy is cruel as the grave!--the coals thereof are coals of fire
which hath a most vehement flame! Many waters cannot quench love,
neither can the floods drown it--if a man would give all his substance
for love it would be utterly contemned!"
* * *
* *
*
I closed my eyes,--or thought I closed them--a vague terror was growing
upon me,--a terror of myself and a still greater terror of the man
beside me who held my hand,--yet something prevented me from turning my
head to look at him, and another still stronger emotion possessed me
with a force so overpowering that I could hardly breathe under the
weight and pain of it, but I could give it no name. I could not think
at all--and I had ceased even to wonder at the strangeness and variety
of these visions or dream-episodes full of colour and sound which
succeeded each other so swiftly. Therefore it hardly seemed remarkable
to me when I saw the heavy curtain of mist which hung in front of my
eyes suddenly reft asunder in many places and broken into a semblance
of the sea.
* * *
* *
*
A wild sea! Gloomily grey and grand in its onsweeping wrath, its huge
billows rose and fell like moving mountains convulsed by an
earthquake,--light and shadow combated against each other in its dark
abysmal depths and among its toppling crests of foam--I could hear the
savage hiss and boom of breakers dashing themselves to pieces on some
unseen rocky coast far away,--and my heart grew cold with dread as I
beheld a ship in full sail struggling against the heavy onslaught of
the wind on that heaving wilderness of waters, like a mere feather lost
from a sea-gull's wing. Flying along like a hunted creature she
staggered and plunged, her bowsprit dipping into deep chasms from which
she was tossed shudderingly upward again as in light contempt, and as
she came nearer and nearer into my view I could discern some of the
human beings on board--the man at the wheel, with keen eyes peering
into the gathering gloom of the storm, his hair and face dashed with
spray,--the sailors, fighting hard to save the rigging from being torn
to pieces and flung into the sea,--then--a sudden huge wave swept her
directly in front of me, and I saw the two distinct personalities that
had been so constantly presented to me during this strange
experience,--THE MAN WITH THE FACE OF SANTORIS--THE WOMAN WITH MY OWN
FACE SO TRULY REFLECTED that I might have been looking at myself in a
mirror. And just now the resemblance to us both was made more close and
striking than it had been in any of the previous visions--that is to
say, the likenesses of ourselves were given almost as we now existed.
The man held the woman beside him closely clasped with one arm,
supporting her and himself, with the other thrown round one of the
shaking masts. I saw her look up to him with the light of a great and
passionate love in her eyes. And I heard him say:--
"The end of sorrow and the beginning of joy! You are not afraid?"
"Afraid?" And her voice had no tremor--"With you?"
He caught her closer to his heart and kissed her not once but many
times in a kind of mingled rapture and despair.
"This is death, my beloved!"--he said.
And her answer pealed out with tender certainty. "No!--not death, but
life!--and love!"
A cry went up from the sailors--a cry of heartrending agony,--a mass of
enormous billows rolling steadily on together hurled themselves like
giant assassins upon the frail and helpless vessel and engulfed it--it
disappeared with awful swiftness, like a small blot on the ocean sucked
down into the whirl of water--the vast and solemn greyness of the sea
spread over it like a pall--it was a nothing, gone into nothingness! I
watched one giant wave rise in a crystalline glitter of dark sapphire
and curl over the spot where all that human life and human love had
disappeared,--and then--there came upon my soul a sudden sense of
intense calm. The great sea smoothed itself out before my eyes into
fine ripples which dispersed gradually into mist again--and almost I
found my voice--almost my lips opened to ask: "What means this vision
of the sea?" when a sound of music checked me on the verge of
utterance--the music of delicate strings as of a thousand harps in
heaven. I listened with every sense caught and entranced--my gaze still
fixed half unseeingly upon the heavy grey film which hung before
me--that mystic sky-canvas upon which some Divine painter had depicted
in life-like form and colour scenes which I, in a sort of dim
strangeness, recognised yet could not understand--and as I looked a
rainbow, with every hue intensified to such a burning depth of
brilliancy that its light was almost intolerably dazzling, sprang in a
perfect arch across the cloud! I uttered an involuntary cry of
rapture--for it was like no earthly rainbow I had ever seen. Its
palpitating radiance seemed to penetrate into the very core and centre
of space,--aerially delicate yet deep, each separate colour glowed with
the fervent splendour of a heaven undreamed of by mere mortality and
too glorious for mortal description. It was the shining repentance of
the storm,--the assurance of joy after sorrow--the passionate love of
the soul rising upwards in perfect form and beauty after long
imprisonment in ice-bound depths of repression and solitude--it was
anything and everything that could be thought or imagined of divinest
promise!
My heart beat quickly--tears sprang to my eyes--and almost
unconsciously I pressed the kind, strong hand that held mine. It
trembled ever so slightly--but I was too absorbed in watching that
triumphal arch across the sky to heed the movement. By degrees the
lustrous hues began to pale very slowly, and almost imperceptibly they
grew fainter and fainter till at last all was misty grey as before,
save in one place where there were long rays of light like the falling
of silvery rain. And then came strange rapidly passing scenes as of
cloud forms constantly shifting and changing, in all of which I
discerned the same two personalities so like and yet so unlike
ourselves who were the dumb witnesses of every episode,--but everything
now passed in absolute silence--there was no mysterious music,--the
voices had ceased--all was mute.
Suddenly there came a change over the face of what I thought the
sky--the clouds were torn asunder as it were to show a breadth of
burning amber and rose, and I beheld the semblance of a great closed
Gateway barred across as with gold. Here a figure slowly shaped
itself,--the figure of a woman who knelt against the closed barrier
with hands clasped and uplifted in pitiful beseeching. So strangely
desolate and solitary was her aspect in all that heavenly brilliancy
that I could almost have wept for her, shut out as she seemed from some
mystic unknown glory. Round her swept the great circle of the
heavens--beneath her and above her were the deserts of infinite
space--and she, a fragile soul rendered immortal by quenchless fires of
love and hope and memory, hovered between the deeps of immeasurable
vastness like a fluttering leaf or flake of snow! My heart ached for
her--my lips moved unconsciously in prayer:
"O leave her not always exiled and alone!" I murmured, inwardly--"Dear
God, have pity! Unbar the gate and let her in! She has waited so long!"
The hand holding mine strengthened its clasp,--and the warm, close
pressure sent a thrill through my veins. Almost I would have turned to
look at my companion--had I not suddenly seen the closed gateway in the
heavens begin to open slowly, allowing a flood of golden radiance to
pour out like the steady flowing of a broad stream. The kneeling
woman's figure remained plainly discernible, but seemed to be gradually
melting into the light which surrounded it. And then--something--I know
not what--shook me down from the pinnacle of vision,--hardly aware of
my own action, I withdrew my hand from my companion's, and saw--just
the solemn grandeur of Loch Coruisk, with a deep amber glow streaming
over the summit of the mountains, flung upward by the setting sun!
Nothing more!--I heaved an involuntary sigh--and at last, with some
little hesitation and dread, looked full at Santoris. His eyes met mine
steadfastly--he was very pale. So we faced each other for a
moment--then he said, quietly:--
"How quickly the time has passed! This is the best moment of the
sunset,--when that glory fades we shall have seen all!"