A PRIESTESS OF THE TARSIAN TEMPLE
“How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame
Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose,
Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name!
O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose!”
A day of extreme heat was closing in Tarsus. The heavens were like
burnished brass, and the sultry air glowed as if newly discharged from the
mouth of a furnace. The sun had dropped behind a heavy mass of leaden
clouds, tinged with crimson, which hung ominously over the distant range
of the western Taurus, though the horizon above the city was still clear.
The torrid radiation from the dark paving‐stones had arisen in quivering
waves every hour of the long day, and penetrated alike palace and hut.
Marcius was seated in his private library in an absorbed though somewhat
restless temper of mind. There are times when the soul is lifted out of
the petty routine of every‐day living, and thus loosened from present
environment, it soars abroad among scenes and recognitions long past, or,
anon, essays to penetrate the veil of the future. During such seasons the
human spirit transcends its ordinary limitations, and is uplifted by
aspirations and experiences which are beyond the realm of cold logic and
materialistic science.
Of late one portentous augury of bygone days lingered in the mind of
Marcius with untiring persistency. It was but a brief deliverance, yet it
stood before him in letters of fire. He had often thought it trivial, and
dismissed it from recollection, but as often it returned, refusing to be
barred out. Was it a prophetic curse? or only a simple warning which
already had been heeded and its occasion atoned for?
This evening the problem came upon him afresh, and the fateful words
fairly rung in his ears,—
“Thou art incapable of love, and it shall remain unknown to thee!”
How vividly that strange scene of the past flashed before him! The
mysterious _adytum_ of the Temple; the clammy, crawling vapor; the uncanny
Shapes; the ghostly but beautiful Alethea, and her divination of the
future!
He thought lightly of its interpretation when uttered—now it weighed him
down.
His love for Rebecca had become a consuming flame, but it was a white
flame, unmingled with smoke. Day by day every passing breeze fanned it. In
her the transparent beauty of the New Faith blossomed into visible
illustration and embodiment.
Marcius had not yet made an avowal of his love, for he consciously shrank
from breaking in upon the secrecy of the inner adoration of his own soul.
If she felt no response, a declaration would only rudely disturb the
symmetry of his beautiful dream, and if perchance there was a reciprocal
glow, the delightful mystery, like a sealed fragrance, would keep. In
social relation with him she was natural and friendly, but anything beyond
was an enigma.
But again the direful words of Alethea, like the muttering of the now
distant thunder, reverberated through his soul, and disturbed his dream of
bliss. Was he forever doomed to be a stranger to a rounded and
reciprocated love? Might not Alethea now relent, and dissolve her seeming
curse, and grant a blessing instead? Can it be that human jealousy invades
the realm of the Unseen?
Could he not, peradventure, again invoke the fair Alethea, and while
beseeching her own forgiveness for the past, implore her blessing for the
future?
The threatened storm gathered and burst with great force upon the city.
Rain, and at intervals hail, beat upon the walls and roofs of houses, and
cooled the hot flagstones in the streets. Forked lightning rent the
clouds, and thunder caused the very foundations of the city to tremble.
Since Marcius espoused the New Faith he had discontinued visits to the
Temple of Apollo. But now he strongly desired to meet Alethea. Would she
again appear to him if he sought her in the same place? Her condemnation
_must_ be lifted, her forgiveness obtained, and her benediction implored!
The roar of the storm continued with little abatement. What a favorable
time to go unattended and incognito! The desire strengthened into
immediate purpose. Disregarding the tempest, he ordered a trusted servitor
to bring his favorite horse, and hastily disguising himself, mounted, and
rode rapidly toward the Temple.
Upon entering he found the _pronaos_ deserted, and but a few scattered
devotees in the _cella_. Throwing off his outside garment, he seated
himself for a little time to command his thoughts before penetrating into
the _adytum_. The perpetual sacred fire on the great hearth sent its
fitful gleams upon the symbols and hieroglyphs which thickly covered the
walls and ceilings. As he sat and watched them they seemed to fade,
dissolve, and reappear in capricious succession, inspiring a sense of the
presence of invisible enchantments. The harps of Æolia, which hung in the
openings of the outer walls, groaned and shrieked a chaotic _Miserere_, as
if a great chorus of condemned spirits were disquieted by the force of the
angry tempest without.
At length the signal was given, and Marcius passed through the valve, and
following for some distance a dim, winding, and descending corridor, at
length entered the _adytum_. As aforetime, the flaming symbol of the
_Mysteria Eleusinia_ flashed upon him, and then slowly faded into a
ghastly vaporous obscurity. Farther on faint flashes of blue light shot up
from deeps which seemed bottomless.
Marcius silently waited for a brief period, hoping that Alethea would
again appear, but was disappointed. There was no sound save distant echoes
of discordant voices, now seeming to be above, and anon issuing from the
pit below.
Presently, wearied of waiting, he called aloud,—
“Alethea! I would see Alethea!”
Mocking sepulchral reverberations of his words were the only response.
Again pouring out his request with a like result, his wonted composure was
considerably shaken.
With growing disappointment he was about to make one louder call before
leaving, when at his right hand an unseen valve suddenly opened, revealing
a narrow private stairway hitherto unknown to him, leading from some of
the many apartments of the great Temple above. A moment more, and
footsteps, light but very real, were heard coming down.
A female form of enchanting beauty gracefully entered, and stood before
him. Her eyes of a deep liquid blue turned towards him, her silken, blond
tresses fell artlessly backward, and her features were of such loveliness
as rarely comes in human mould. A white, flowing robe of exquisite
softness and gauzelike lightness enveloped her form, leaving her shapely
neck and shoulders fully exposed. A delicate fragrance of wild rose was
borne in upon the atmosphere with her. There she stood, slender, lithe,
symmetrical, radiant.
Marcius was startled.
She was neither Alethea, nor any other spirit.
“Who art thou? and why didst thou appear when I called for another?”
“This is the night for mortals, and not for spirits!” she replied sweetly.
“I am one of the priestesses of the Temple, and they call me the ‘Chosen
One.’”
“What is thy mission here?”
“Behold thou didst vainly call for some one, and I have come to charm away
thy disappointment, give thee solace, and keep thee company.”
She smiled.
Marcius retreated for a step, but his gaze was fastened upon her.
“Peradventure thou dost count me for a shade who hath momentarily put on
the form!” she said archly. “But no! I am very real flesh and blood!”
Then she lightly touched her hand to one of his own convincingly.
“I am well persuaded that thou hast never crossed the Styx; but I came
hither especially to see another, who dwelleth beyond.”
“The signs to‐night forbid!” she replied with an intelligence that seemed
to be official. “Four nights of each week the mystical curtain which veils
the Unseen is parted, but this is not one of them.”
“I will come again,” Marcius replied in a low voice, beginning to turn
away.
“Hasten not! Perchance thy discomfiture and loneliness may be soothed.
Doth not the dominion of Eros cover the earth as well as the realm of
spirit? Nay, doth not the universe bow to his mastery? Even the stars of
heaven woo each other by their attractiveness, and flash forth their
kisses in beams of light, and the cohesion of atoms is but the warm
embrace of an universal enchantment!”
“I cannot listen to thee!”
“But thou art listening! Surely thou dost not despise the worship of the
Temple and her gods, else thou art not a loyal Tarsian! None are dead to
love, and both great and small do her honor!”
“I close my ears to thy beguilement!”
“I would not beguile thee, but thou art heartless, and withal cold in thy
devotion to our sacred divinities!”
“Thy words are wasted, and touch me not!”
She came nearer, placing her hand upon her heart, and looking into his
eyes, said,—
“Behold the roar of the storm without, while the blissful shrine in my
sanctuary above, where I alone reign as priestess, invites a united
homage!”
“I bid thee farewell, and will brave the storm!”
The beautiful features of the priestess suddenly froze into an expression
of scorn and contempt, as she swept quickly out of sight, and the valve
slammed behind her.
Turning again to depart, Marcius had advanced but a step when strains of
heavenly music floated in from the farther end of the cavern. He lingered
entranced, while the harmony swelled and diminished with an unearthly
sweetness which bound him to the spot.
Anon a great volume of dense vapor poured up from below, lifting itself by
a graceful spiral motion, and gaining steadily in density!
Was Alethea yet to appear?
No!
Yes!
See!
It gathers itself into a defined form! It emerges from its soft background
and comes forward!
“Alethea!”
Her bosom heaves with seeming life, and her eyes glisten with emotion.
“O Alethea! I have come this time to implore thy forgiveness and seek thy
blessing!”
“Marcius! I have beheld thy new life from the free domain of the Unseen,
and also stood by thy side this night! Here jealousy hath no place! Thy
past is freely forgiven, and my blessing, and that of Heaven, will rest
upon thee—_and Rebecca_. Until the earth‐life is closed—farewell!”
The form slowly dissolved, and Marcius left the Temple, and passed out
into the storm.