with the spacious courts and chambers she had seen elsewhere in the
palace. This apartment differed, also, in its furnishings--a few
uncompromising stone benches along the walls and nothing more--while
the dim light gave to everything a gloomy, uninviting character. But
Una was in no mood to linger; the queen's words had filled her with
an anxiety that must be appeased at once. Hurrying down the middle of
the long room, she reached, at the further end, a sort of staircase,
or ramp, leading upward in long, sweeping spirals to a height that was
lost in intervening walls and clustered columns. Mounting this ramp,
she noted with pleasure that as the ground floor receded everything
lightened. Judging by the splendid upward curve of the walls, she
concluded that she must be ascending a gallery winding around the great
central dome of the court where, a moment before, she had listened with
the others to Sajipona's account of the mysteries of the cave. On the
inner side of the gallery, the side overhanging the court, the wall was
semi-transparent, and through it sparkled flashes of the radium light
flooding the great chamber within. Light came, also, from the opposite
side, filtering downward, apparently through another medium, from the
central luminary above. The air grew warmer; there were faint perfumes,
as if of essences distilled from tropical flowers, that thrilled with
a delightful drowsiness. Soft echoes from distant music increased this
feeling of restfulness. Sound and fragrance were so subtly united, they
seemed so completely an irradiation from the inner spirit brooding over
the place, that one accepted them as being utterly natural, utterly free
from the startling or the marvelous.
Una could not guess the source of the liquid, musical notes. They might
have come from the quaint instruments she had seen so deftly played
upon by the cavemen marching with Anitoo, or from the lyre that, at
Sajipona's touch, gave forth such plaintive melodies. But the music she
listened to now was not continuous; its lack of formal melody, unity of
theme, gave it a quality different from anything she had ever heard.
In the outer world it might have been taken for the windsong sweeping
through tossed branches of forest trees. But here there was neither
wind nor forest. The air was motionless, and had ever been so; the vast
spaces seemed filled with the unruffled sleep of centuries. Down below,
in the great court, and even in the palace garden, saturated with light
and beauty though both were, one felt something of the chill mystery
that penetrates all underground places. Here there was mystery, but it
was a kind that soothed rather than terrified. Tier by tier, as Una
passed along the slender white columns enclosing the gallery up which
she was ascending, the sense of gloom, foreboding, that had weighed
upon her until now, was weakened. She felt the magic of a new world of
romance and adventure. She was at the very heart of its secret. Flashes
of color in paneled niches along the walls piqued her curiosity. Robes
of vivid scarlet, hiding limbs of sparkling whiteness, it might be,
hung just beyond her reach. Further on these niches were filled with
glittering masses of gold, heaped high in barbaric scorn of art or
fitness. Rudely fashioned crowns, massive enough to have burdened their
wearers with more than the traditional care that goes with royalty;
armlets, breastplates, tiaras heavy with emeralds--in deep recesses, row
on row, from story to story, these witnesses of the pomp and pride of
fallen nations, were thrown together in a careless profusion possible
only in an Aladdin's palace of marvels.
As Una hurried past she realized with a thrill that she was in the
ancient treasure-house of a once mighty empire. The fruit of the earth's
richest mines, brought here by the labor and cunning of centuries, lay
at her hand. It seemed impossible that all this jeweled splendor could
have escaped the fires of war and crime that had kindled within the
breasts of millions who had sacrificed their lives merely to grasp some
small portion of it. Fascinating baubles now were these relics of past
greatness, dainty or rude, meaningless, or eloquent of forgotten faiths
and legends. Innocent of harm they seemed, a passing feast for the eye,
trophies to celebrate and adorn feminine loveliness, but no longer a
madness in the bones of men.
Thus, vaguely, did this vision of ancient riches appear to Una. Gold
and jewels, robes and ornaments wrought by an art that had been lost
long since--the rich color, the glitter of all these things delighted
her. They seemed a part--the visible part--of the music and fragrance
with which the winding gallery of marvels was filled. It appeared to
her that she was on the threshold of some great awakening experience.
She knew that it was David whom she would see; and this knowledge
started a strange conflict of emotions. The memory of his lack of faith,
the incomprehensible manner in which he had turned from her, brought
humiliation, anger. But the first bitterness that went with all this
had lost its corrosive power. The spell of the ancient Indian race
whose secrets she was exploring was upon her. Her senses were soothed
by the mysterious beauty of these enchanted corridors. Here she would
see David--and the thought was indefinitely satisfying. She did not know
whether she could forgive him, whether she could become reconciled to a
disloyalty that had so easily swerved him from the most sacred of vows.
But after all it was witchcraft--only witchcraft could work such things
as these--that had estranged him from her. This she knew because the
inner heart of her own love remained as it had ever been. He was still
David. He needed her, he was unhappy. Outwardly he might seem faithless
as the most shameless Proteus of romance. Nevertheless, there was
something else, something that even Sajipona could not know, but that
she knew and that bound him to her. It was for this she had followed him
through inconceivable adventures--for this, one danger after another had
been faced and overcome. And now all this misery had reached a happy
ending. He was here, awaiting her like some prince in a fairy palace.
Sajipona had promised it, had brought them together at last. She felt
his presence before she heard his voice. And then he spoke to her:
"Una, what new witchcraft has brought you here!"
He stood at a turn in the gallery up which she was ascending. As their
eyes met, the distant, wind-blown music, the subtle fragrance of
flowers, seemed to bring into this palace of mystery and enchantment
the fields and meadows of Rysdale. There she and David were again
together, vowing their first love. The harmonies of brooks, birds, the
ripples that sped their canoe past woodland and down shaded valleys,
the thousand intimate details of the springtide loved of lovers, were
about them once more. For the David who stood beside her in the queen's
treasure-house was the David of that far-off, peaceful countryside,
not the strange being she had met for that brief dark moment in front
of Sajipona's palace. At the first glance she could see he had passed
through some vital change since then. He was no longer as a man walking
in dreams. There was no troubled uncertainty in his face, no faltering
in his step. He came to her now, all his soul in his eyes, but with
perplexed look for all that, as if the destiny that had parted them had
not yet consented to their reunion.
"I have been dreaming," he said simply. "It was an old dream, I find.
Now that I am awake, some lights and shadows from my dream-world remain
to haunt me."
His brief explanation of the strange mental experience he had just been
through was scarcely needed. Una told him how they had searched for him,
how they had finally heard of this cave and of his first adventure in
it. And then, how, tracking him to this place, they had met Sajipona
and learned of the wonders of her underground kingdom.
"We are awaiting the festival now," she said wistfully. "She told me of
it, and sent me here to meet you. I think it must have begun already.
The music--it must be the music for the Gilded Man--has grown louder and
louder as I have climbed this wonderful gallery. Sajipona and the rest
will meet us--it must be just there, beyond."
They had clasped each other's hands, their eyes looked their fill. But
now they stood apart, their faces averted, words of passionate avowal
unuttered on David's lips.
"The festival! I know!" David exclaimed.
Then he turned again to Una, taking her hand and trying to disguise
the grief that was all too plain in words and manner. He told her of
Sajipona's kindness, of his gratitude to her. He described something
of her plans to redeem her people from the ill fortune that had shut
them out from the rest of the world. All this, he said, could not be
accomplished right away; but the first step would be taken now. David
had a part to play in the working out of the queen's plan. But just what
he was to do, what this part was, he guessed only vaguely. The bringing
together of the ancient people with the new, the Indian race with their
white conquerors--something of the kind was in her mind. The vast store
of wealth, also, that they saw about them was to be distributed among
those who needed it. Sajipona and her people had long since ceased
to care for this treasure that had brought such untold suffering and
misfortune to their race. But they would not part with it until they
were certain of their recompense. And perhaps they wouldn't part with
it at all--there seemed to be a curse attached to these blood-stained
emeralds and gold.
In all this, perhaps symbolically, the festival, the first strains
of which they could hear, would have much to do--and Sajipona and
he were to be the leading figures in that festival. He had consented
to this--freely. The declaration was made with melancholy emphasis.
It seemed to Una the death-knell to their happiness. It placed David
suddenly in a world quite outside her own, as if all along his life had
been, must be, apart from hers. There could be only one reason for this,
of course--Sajipona! Una seized upon it bitterly.
"You have always loved her!" she cried.
David did not answer. The fates that had brought them to this pass were
much too intricate to be lightly disentangled. Sajipona was to him a
being exquisitely beautiful--beautiful in every way--the most perfect
woman he had known. But there was a strength and glory in her loveliness
that placed her above the reach of mere human affection. She was a being
separate and distinct from all others--and yet necessary to the very
existence of the thousands who seemed to be dependent on her. It might
be love that he felt for her--but it was more like the adoration with
which one regards something sacred, infinitely distant and beyond our
own likings and frailties. This feeling of adoration might, indeed, have
been transformed into the passion called love. This surely would have
happened had it not been for one thing----
"Una, I love you!"
She started, looking wonderingly at him. How could he say that to her
now, after all that had passed? Could it be possible that he was
still in that strange dream-state from which, he declared, he had been
so happily awakened? Ah, but it was in that dream-state that he did
not love her, did not even know her! And now--her own exclamation was
eloquent of the doubt, the amazement with which she heard him--
"David!"
"But, it is perfectly true," he protested. "Why don't you believe
me? You always have believed me! What is before us I cannot tell for
certain. Sajipona has my word, and whatever she commands I will do.
I owe her my life. More than that--the faith that a man gives to one
whose beauty has opened to him the depths of his own soul. But this has
nothing to do with us. This is not love. Come what will, I love you,
Una. I love you--I love you!"
They looked at each other fearfully. There might be logic, of a
sort--logic born of a kind of poetic exaltation--in the distinction
that David tried to draw between the two women and his own feeling for
them. Circumstances, however, were stronger than argument. They felt
the approach of disaster. By David's own confession, if Sajipona willed
it, their love was lost. For the first time Una realized that it was
not David, not anything really tangible, but a power outside of him
that kept them apart. Against the apparent evidence of her senses, her
faith in David was restored. She knew him now, she felt, as she had
never known him before. And they loved--that was enough. It was all very
difficult to unravel, the maze they were in. There might be endless
tragedy at the next turn of the gallery. But at least there was love
here, if only for the briefest of moments. Their reawakened passion
tingled in their veins. Reason or unreason, they knew they belonged to
each other--although they might be separated forever before this day of
miracles was over. Una's jealousy, doubt, bitterness were all forgotten.
Her cheek flushed with joy, her eyes sparkled with the sweet madness
that belongs only to youth, youth at the highest pinnacle of its desire.
Neither spoke. Speech would have silenced the wordless eloquence with
which their love revealed itself. They drew closer to each other. Again
their hands met. Their lips touched. Love swept away all doubts and
denials in one passionate embrace.
Ever since the world began lovers have solved their difficulties thus,
and they will doubtless choose this dumb method long after an aging
civilization has pointed out a better one. Whether they are wise or not,
a college of philosophers would fail to convince us. In this particular
instance Love put forth his plea at the very instant when these, his
youthful votaries, were wanted of another, alien destiny. As they stood
together, oblivious of all else save their own passion, the music grew
louder, more joyous, throbbing now in statelier, more intelligible
cadence than before. At the end of the gallery a new light began to
break. The intervening wall disappeared, disclosing an inner chamber
filled with a throng of gaily dressed people, some of whom played upon
musical instruments, while others swung golden censers from which
floated forth in amber clouds the fragrance of many gardens.
A living corridor of color, formed of courtiers, musicians, priests,
extended from this inner chamber in a spreading half circle, the broad
portion of which reached the gallery where David and Una were standing.
At the center of all this light and motion and color was Sajipona, every
inch of her a queen, although the pallor of her cheek, the unwonted
tenseness of eye and lip, told of emotions that needed all a queen's
strength to restrain. Immediately about her were grouped the explorers;
Miranda, silenced for once by the splendor of the scene in which he
suddenly found himself in a leading part; Leighton, still absorbed in
the problems of science revealed at every turn in this wonderland.
Just above and behind them rose a human figure of heroic proportions,
concealed from head to foot in flowing white draperies. Against the
rounded pedestal of green stone sustaining this figure leaned Sajipona,
one arm resting along the base of the statue, the other lost in the
silken folds of her robe.
As David and Una, startled by the sudden clash of the music, raised
their heads, her eye caught theirs. Like a queen of marble she looked
at them, unrecognizing, motionless, save for the slightest tremor of
her faultlessly chiseled mouth--the one sign that she saw and knew.
With a gesture she checked the music. Silence followed, unbroken by
the faintest murmur of voices or rustle of garments from the waiting
throng of cavemen. Unabashed by this strange reception, moved only by
the steady gaze of the majestic woman standing before him, David, still
clasping Una's hand, came swiftly forward and would have thrown himself
impetuously at Sajipona's feet. The faintest hint of a smile gleamed in
her eyes as she prevented this show of homage. Her greeting came clear
and low from quivering lips:
"This is our festival, David!"
Again the music sounded, not, as before, in a joyous burst of melody,
but in a slow chant, barbaric in feeling, wailing, unearthly. The
listening throng moved uneasily, filled with vague premonitions of
what was to come. Sajipona lifted her hands to the statue, then smiled
serenely at the two lovers before her. The spell was broken.
"This is the ancient festival of my people," she said. "It should be a
time for rejoicing. The Gilded Man awaits us."
As she spoke the veils covering the statue dropped one by one to the
ground. Before them stood, dazzling, glorious, the figure of a man
carved in gold. His head was uplifted, as if intent on something
beyond the ordinary ken of mortal. Only the face was clearly and
sharply chiseled; the rest of the figure--limbs, body, and flowing
drapery--blended together in one massive pillar of flaming gold.
The effect on the beholder of this exquisitely molded shaft of
metal, upon which the radium light from above sparkled and flashed,
was indescribable. The brilliance, the lavishness of it, savored of
barbarism; but the delicacy of detail, the simple pathos and exaltation
portrayed in the face, had in it an art that was Nature's own. And the
wonder of it, the miracle that caught all men's eyes as they looked, was
the likeness that lived in every feature. For this Gilded Man, newly
wrought to preside over the last festival of this forgotten race; this
one final splendid piece of work that summed up all that was best and
noblest in an ancient art, was a deathless portrait in gold of the man
who stood before Sajipona, of the man upon whom she had built her hopes,
and for whom she would sacrifice everything. It was David--a queen's
tribute of immortal love.
Touched at heart, the living David knelt at Sajipona's feet, pressing
her robe to his lips. A moment she stooped caressingly above him,
whispering words that none--not even he--could hear. Then proudly she
stood before them, regarding those about her with an eye that did not
falter in its imperious glance.
"It is the last festival," she said. "With this the Land of the Condor
will pass away. The outside world of men has tracked us here before the
dream that we had of a golden age could be fulfilled. Not with us can
these be allied. They love not as we love; their faith, the beauty that
they prize, is not as ours. In another time it might have been--perhaps
it still will be. But, if it is to be, that dream will come true ages
after this Feast, this Sacrifice, of the Golden Man is over."
As she finished speaking, Sajipona looked again at David, unspoken
grief in her eyes. He stretched his hands to her, murmuring her name,
appealing to her, terror-stricken by the stern look that slowly
overspread her features, telling of some great and tragic purpose she
was bent on carrying out. But she was unmoved by his entreaties. Slowly
she turned away. Then, beckoning to the priests, Saenzias and Omono,
she disappeared with them behind the golden statue. Those who remained,
breathlessly awaited her return--the explorers restless and anxious,
the cavemen rapt in a sort of religious ecstasy. It was thus that their
ancestors had awaited the plunge of the Indian monarch into the dark
silent waters of the Sacred Lake.
And now high above them the thin wall of the palace roof was opened.
Without, the great sun of this underworld poured down its radiance.
Almost blinded, they could still dimly see, standing just on a level
with this sun, Sajipona arrayed as became the last descendant of the
zipas. At her side were the two priests; but these retreated as the
scorching heat pierced them. For an instant she stood where they
left her, a vision of majestic beauty that fascinated and held them
spellbound. Then, chanting an Indian song of triumph, the pæan with
which the ancient kings heralded their descent to the god beneath the
waters of the Sacred Lake, she cast herself into the globe of fire.
A wave of light flamed across the upturned face of the golden statue, a
wail of mingled exultation and despair arose from the throng below.
The Festival of the Gilded Man was ended.
Transcriber's note
Words in italics have been surrounded by _underscores_.
The following corrections have been made, on page
6 , changed to . (had for her uncle.)
80 "Sapniards" changed to "Spaniards" (owing to the presence of the
Spaniards)
95 "posssibility" changed to "possibility" (a possibility that filled
him with dreams)
108 "ligting" changed to "lighting" (a glint of sympathy lighting his
eyes)
122 "passsed" changed to "passed" (David had neither reached nor
passed the inn)
143 "Roaul" changed to "Raoul" (darting an accusing glance at Raoul)
161 "betweeen" changed to "between" (the difference between his two
impressions)
191 "jewerly" changed to "jewelry" (handle these pieces of jewelry
without mishap)
296 "graden" changed to "garden" (advanced rapidly across the garden)
313 ' changed to " (do you mean?" she asked).
Otherwise the original has been preserved, including inconsistencies
in spelling, hyphenation and accentuation.