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Ardath

<h2 id="id00202" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER V.</h2> <h5 id="id00203">A MYSTIC TRYST.</h5> As he uttered the last words, his eyes darkened into a soft expression of musing tenderness, and he remained silent for many minutes, during which the entranced, almost unearthly beauty of his face underwent a gradual change … the mystic light that had for a time transfigured it, faded and died away—and by degrees he recovered all his ordinary self possession. Presently glancing at Heliobas, who stood patiently waiting till he should have overcome whatever emotions were at work in his mind, he smiled. "You must think me mad!" he said. "Perhaps I am,—but if so, it is the madness of love that has seized me. Love! … it is a passion I have never known before.. I have used it as a mere thread whereon to string madrigals, a background of uncertain tint serving to show off the brighter lines of Poesy—but now! … now I am enslaved and bound, conquered and utterly subdued by love! … love for the sweetest, queenliest, most radiant creature that ever captured or commanded the worship of man! I may SEEM mad—but I know I am sane—I realize the actual things of this world about me mind is—my clear, my thoughts are collected, and yet I repeat, I LOVE! … aye! with all the force and fervor of this strongly beating human heart of mine;"—and he touched his breast as he spoke. "And it comes to this, most wise and worthy Heliobas,—if your spells have conjured up this vision of immortal youth and grace and purity that has suddenly assumed such sovereignty over my life—then you must do something further, … you must find, or teach me how to find, the living Reality of my Dream!" Heliobas surveyed him with some wonder and commiseration. "A moment ago and you yourself declared your DREAM was true!" he observed. "This," and he pointed to the manuscript on the table, "seemed to you sufficient to prove it. Now you have altered you opinion: . . Why? I have worked no spells upon you, and I am entirely ignorant as to what your recent experience has been. Moreover, what do you mean by a 'living Reality'? The flesh and blood, bone and substance that perishes in a brief seventy years or so and crumbles into indistinguishable dust? Surely, … if, as I conjecture from your words, you have seen one of the fair inhabitants of higher spheres than ours, . . you would not drag her spiritual and death unconscious brightness down to the level of the 'reality of a merely human life? Nay, if you would, you could not!" Alwyn looked at him inquiringly and with a perplexed air. "You speak in enigmas," he said somewhat vexedly. "However, the whole thing is an enigma and would puzzle the most sagacious head. That the physicial workings of the brain, in a site of trance, should arouse in me a passion of love for an imaginary being, and, at the same time, enable to write a poem such as must make the fame of any man, is certainly a remarkable and noteworthy result of scientific mesmerism!" "Now, my dear sir," interrupted Heliobas in a tone of good-natured remonstrance,—"do not—if you have any respect for science at all—do not, I beg of you, talk to me of the 'physical workings' of a DEAD BRAIN?" "A dead brain!" echoed Alwyn. "What do you mean?" "What I say," returned Heliobas, composedly. "'Physical workings' of any kind are impossible unless the motive power of physical life be in action. You, regarded as a HUMAN creature merely, had during seven hours practically CEASED TO BE,—the vital principle no longer existed in your body, having taken its departure together with its inseparable companion, the Soul. When it returned, it set the clockwork of your material mechanism in motion again, obeying the sovereignty of the Spirit that sought to express by material means, the utterance of heaven-inspired thought. Thus your hand mechanically found its way to the pen—thus you wrote, unconscious of what you were writing, yielding yourself entirely to the guidance of the spiritual part of your nature, which AT THAT PARTICULAR JUNCTURE was absolutely predominant, though now weighted anew by earthy influences it has partially relaxed its supernal sway. All this I readily perceive and understand … but what you did, and where you were conducted during the time of your complete severance from the tenement of clay in which you are again imprisoned, … this I have yet to learn." While Heliobas was speaking, Alwyn's countenance had grown vaguely troubled, and now into his deep poetic eyes there came a look of sudden penitence. "True!" he said softly, almost humbly, "I will tell you everything while I remember it,—though it is not likely I shall ever forget! I believe there must be some truth after all in what you say concerning the Soul, … at any rate, I do not at present feel inclined to call your theories in question. To begin with, I find myself unable altogether to explain what it was that happened to me during my conversation with you last night. It was a very strange sensation! I recollect that I had expressed a wish to be placed under your magnetic or electric influence, and that you had refused my request. Then an odd idea suggested itself to me—namely, that I could if I chose COMPEL your assent,—and, filled with this notion, I think I addressed you, or was about to address you, in a rather peremptory manner, when—all at once—a flash of blinding light struck me fiercely across the eyes like a scourge! Stung with the hot pain, and dazzled by the glare, I turned away from you and fled … or so it seemed—fled on my own instinctive impulse … into DARKNESS!" He paused and drew a long, shuddering breath, like one who has narrowly escaped imminent destruction. "Darkness!" he went on in low accents that thrilled with the memory of a past feat—"dense, horrible, frightful darkness!—darkness that palpitated heavily with the labored motion of unseen things!—darkness that clung and closed about me in masses of clammy, tangible thickness,—its advancing and resistless weight rolled over me like a huge waveless ocean—and, absorbed within it, I was drawn down—down—down toward some hidden, impalpable but All Supreme Agony, the dull unceasing throbs of which I felt, yet could not name. 'O GOD!' I cried aloud, abandoning myself to wild despair, 'O GOD! WHERE ARE THOU?' Then I heard a great rushing sound as of a strong wind beaten through with wings, and a Voice, grand and sweet as a golden trumpet blown suddenly in the silence of night, answered: 'HERE! … AND EVERYWHERE!' With that, a slanting stream of opaline radiance cleft the gloom with the sweep of a sword-blade, and I was caught up quickly … I know not how … for I saw nothing!" Again he pushed and looked wistfully at Heliobas, who in turn regarded him with gentle steadfastness. "It was wonderful—terrible!" … he continued slowly—"yet beautiful! … that Invisible Strength that rescued, surrounded, and uplifted me; and—" here he hesitated, and a faint flush colored his cheeks and stole up to the roots of his clustering hair—"dream or no dream, I feel I cannot now altogether reject the idea of an existing Divinity. In brief … I believe in God!" "Why?" asked Heliobas quietly. Alwyn met his gaze frankly and with a soft brightening of his handsome features. "I cannot give you any logical reasons," he said. "Moreover, logical reasoning would not now affect me in a matter which seems to me more full of conviction than any logic. I believe, … simply because I believe!" Heliobas smiled—a very warm and kindly smile—but said nothing, and Alwyn resumed his narrative. "As I tell you, I was caught up,—snatched out of that black profundity with inconceivable swiftness,—and when the ascending movement ceased, I found myself floating lightly like a wind-blown leaf through twining arches of amber mist, colored here and there with rays of living flame … I heard whispers, and fragments of song and speech, all sweeter than the sweetest of our known music, … and still I saw nothing. Presently some one called me by name—'THEOS! … THEOS!' I strove to answer, but I had no words wherewith to match that silver-toned, far-reaching utterance; and once again the rich vibrating notes pealed through the vaporous fire-tinted air—'THEOS, MY BELOVED! HIGHER! … HIGHER! … All my being thrilled and quivered to that call. I yearned to obey, … I struggled to rise—my efforts were in vain; when, to my joy and wonder, a small, invisible hand, delicate yet strong, clasped mine, and I was borne aloft with breathless, indescribable, lightning-like rapidity—on … on … and ever upward, till at last, alighting on a smooth, fair turf, thick-grown with fragrant blossoms of strange loveliness and soft hues, I beheld Her! … and she bade me welcome." "And who," questioned Heliobas, in tones of hushed reverence, "Who was this Being that thus enchants your memory?" "I know not!" replied Alwyn, with a dreamy smile of rapture on his lips and in his eyes. "And yet her face … oh! the entrancing beauty of that face! … was not altogether unfamiliar. I felt that I must have loved and lost her ages upon ages ago! Crowned with white flowers, and robed in a garb that seemed spun from midsummer moonbeams, she stood … a smiling Maiden-Sweetness in a paradise of glad sights and sounds, … ah! Eve, with the first sunrise radiance on her brows, was not more divinely fair! … Venus, new-springing from the silver sea-foam, was not more queenly glorious! 'I WILL REMIND THEE OF ALL THOU HAST FORGOTTEN,' she said, and I understood her soft, half-reproachful accents. 'IT IS NOT YET TOO LATE! THOU HAST LOST MUCH AND SUFFERED MUCH, AND THOU HAST BLINDLY ERRED, BUT NOTWITHSTANDING ALL THESE THINGS, THOU ART MY BELOVED SINCE THESE MANY THOUSAND DAYS!'" "Days—which the world counts as years!" murmured Heliobas. "You saw no one but her?" "No one—we were alone together. A vast woodland stretched before us, she took my hand and led me beneath broad-arching trees to where a lake, silvered by some strange radiance, glittered diamond-like in the stirring of a balmy wind. Here she bade me rest—and sank gently on the flowery bank beside me. Then viewing her more closely I greatly feared her beauty—for I saw a wondrous halo wide and dazzling—a golden aureole that spread itself around her in scintillating points of light—light that reflected itself also on me and bathed me in its luminous splendor. And as I gazed at her in speechless awe, she leaned toward me nearer and nearer, her deep, pure eyes burning softly into mine … her hands touched me—her arms closed round me … her bright head lay in all its shining loveliness on my breast! A tremulous ecstasy thrilled me as with fire … I gazed upon her as one might gaze on some fluttering, rare-plumaged bird … I dare not move or speak … I drank her sweetness down into my soul! Now and then a sound as of distant harps playing broke the love-weighted silence … and thus we remained together a heavenly breathing-space of wordless rapture; till suddenly and swiftly, as though she had received an invisible summons, she arose, her looks expressing a saintly patience, and laying her two hands upon my brows—'Write,' she said, 'WRITE AND PROCLAIM A MESSAGE OF HOPE TO THE SORROWFUL STAR! WRITE AND LET THINE UTTERANCE BE A TRUE ECHO OF THE ETERNAL MUSIC WITH WHICH THESE SPHERES ARE FILLED! WRITE TO THE RHYTHMIC BEAT OF THE HARMONIES WITHIN THEE … FOR LO! ONCE MORE AS IN AFORETIME MY CHANGELESS LOVE RENEWS IN THEE THE POWER OF PERFECT SONG!' With that she moved away serenely and beckoned me to follow … I obeyed in haste and trembling … long rays of rosy light swept after her like trailing wings, and as she walked, the golden nimbus round her form glowed with a thousand brilliant and changeful hues like the rainbows seen in the spray of falling water! Through lush green grass thick with blossom,—under groves heavy with fragrant leaves and laden with the songs of birds … over meadows cool and mountain-sheltered, on we went—she, like the goddess of advancing Spring, I eagerly treading in her radiant footsteps … and presently we came to a place where two paths met, … one all overgrown with azure and white flowers, that ascended away and away into undiscerned distance, … the other sloping deeply downward, and full of shadows, yet dimly illumined by a pale, mysterious splendor like frosty moonlight streaming on sad-colored seas. Here she turned and faced me, and I saw her divine eyes droop with the moisture of unshed tears. 'THEOS! … THEOS!' … she cried, and the passionate cadence of her voice was as the singing of a nightingale in lonely woodlands … 'AGAIN … AGAIN WE MUST PART! … PART! … OH, MY BELOVED! … MY BELOVED! HOW LONG WILT THOU SEVER ME FROM THY SOUL AND LEAVE ME ALONE AND SORROWFUL AMID THE JOYS OF HEAVEN?' As she thus spoke a sense of utter shame and loss and failure overwhelmed me, … pierced to the very core of my being by an unexplained yet most bitter remorse, I cast myself down in deep abasement before her, … I caught her glittering robe … I strove to say 'Forgive!' but I was speechless as a convicted traitor in the presence of a wronged queen! All at once the air about us was rent by a great noise of thunder intermingled with triumphal music,—she drew her sheeny garment from my touch in haste, and stooping to me where I knelt, she kissed my forehead … 'THY ROAD LIES THERE'—she murmured in quick, soft tones, pointing to the vista of varying light and shadow,—'MINE, YONDER!' and she looked toward the flower-garlanded avenue—'HASTEN! … IT IS TIME THOU WERT FAR HENCE! … RETURN TO THINE OWN STAR LEST ITS PORTALS BE CLOSED ON THEE FOREVER AND THOU BE PLUNGED INTO DEEPER DARKNESS! SEEK THOU THE FIELD OF ARDATH!—AS CHRIST LIVES, I WILL MEET THEE THERE! FAREWELL!' With these words she left me, passing away, arrayed in glory, treading on flowers, and ever ascending till she disappeared! … while I, stricken with a great repentance, went slowly, as she bade me, down into the shadow, and a rippling breeze-like melody, as of harps and lutes most tenderly attuned, followed me as I descended. And now," said Alwyn, interrupting his narrative and speaking with emphatic decision, "surely there remains but one thing for me to do—that is, to find the 'Field of Ardath.'" Heliobas smiled gravely. "Nay, if you consider the whole episode a dream," he observed, "why trouble yourself? Dreams are seldom realized, … and as to the name of Ardath, have you ever heard it before?" "Never!" replied Alwyn. "Still—if there is such a place on this planet I will most certainly journey thither! Maybe YOU know something of its whereabouts?" "Finish your story," said Heliobas, quietly evading the question. "I am curious to hear the end of your strange adventure." "There is not much more to tell," and Alwyn sighed a little as he spoke. "I wandered further and further into the gloom, oppressed by many thoughts and troubled by vague fears, till presently it grew so dark that I could scarcely see where I was going, though I was able to guide myself in the path that stretched before me by means of the pale luminous rays that frequently pierced the deepening obscurity, and these rays I now noticed fell ever downwards in the form of a cross. As I went on I was pursued as it were by the sound of those delicate harmonies played on invisible, sweet strings; and after a while I perceived at the extreme end of the long, dim vista a door standing open, through which I entered and found myself alone in a quiet room. Here I sat down to rest,—the melody of the distant harps and lutes still floated in soft echoes on the silence … and presently words came breaking through the music, like buds breaking from their surrounding leaves.. words that I was compelled to write down as quickly as I heard them … and I wrote on and on, obeying that symphonious and rhythmical dictation with a sense of growing ease and pleasure, … when all suddenly a dense darkness overcame me, followed by a gradual dawning gray and golden light … the words dispersed into fragmentary half-syllables … the music died away, … I started up amazed … to find myself here! … here in this monastery of Lars, listening to the chanting of the Angelus!" He ceased, and looked wistfully out through the window at the white encircling rim of the opposite snow-mountains, now bathed in the full splendor of noon. Heliobas advanced and laid one hand kindly on his shoulder…. "And do not forget," he said, "that you have brought with you from the higher regions a Poem that will in all probability make your fame! 'Fame! fame! next grandest word to God!' … so wrote one of your craft, and no doubt you echo the sentiment! Have you not desired to blazon your name on the open scroll of the world? Well! … now you can have your wish—the world waits to receive your signature!" "That is all very well!" and Alwyn smiled rather dubiously as he glanced at the manuscript on the table beside him. "But the question is,—considering how it was written,—can I, dare I call this poem MINE?" "Most assuredly you can," returned Heliobas. "Though your hesitation is a worthy one, and as rare as it is worthy. Well would it be for all poets and artists were they to pause thus, and consider before rashly calling their work their own! Self-appreciation is the death-blow of genius. The poem is as much yours as your life is yours—no more and no less. In brief, you have recovered your lost inspiration; the lately dumb oracle speaks again:—and are you not satisfied?" "No!" said Alwyn quickly, with a sudden brightening of his eyes as he met the keenly searching glance that accompanied this question. "No! for I love! … and the desire of love burns in me as ardently as the desire of fame!" He paused, and in quieter tones continued, "You see I speak freely and frankly to you as though—," and he laughed a little, "as though I were a good Catholic, and you my father-confessor! Good heavens! if some of the men I know in London were to hear me, they would think me utterly crazed! But craze or no craze, I feel I shall never be satisfied now till I find out whether there IS anywhere is the world a place called Ardath. Can you, will you help me in the search? I am almost ashamed to ask you, for you have already done so much for me, and I really owe to your wonderful power my trance or soul-liberty, or whatever it may be called…." "You owe me nothing," interposed Heliobas calmly, "not even thanks. Your own will accomplished your freedom, and I am not responsible for either your departure or your return. It was a predestined occurrence, yet perfectly scientific and easy of explanation. Your inward force attracted mine down upon you in one strong current, with the result that your Spirit instantly parted asunder from your body, and in that released condition you experienced what you have described. But I had no, more to do with that experience than I shall have with your journey to the 'field of Ardath,' should you decide to go there." "There IS an Ardath then!" cried Alwyn excitedly. Heliobas eyed him with something of scorn. "Naturally! Are you still so much of a sceptic that you think an ANGEL would have bidden you seek a place that had no existence? Oh, yes! I see you are inclined to treat your ethereal adventure as a mere dream,—but I know it was a reality, more real than anything in this present world." And turning to the loaded bookshelves he took down a large volume, and spread it open on the table. "You know this book?" he asked. Alwyn glanced at it. "The Bible! Of course!" he replied indifferently. "Everybody knows it!" "Pardon!" and Heliobas smiled. "It would be more correct to say nobody knows it. To read is not always to understand. There are meanings and mysteries in it which have never yet been penetrated, and which only the highest and most spiritually gifted intellects can ever hope to unravel. Now" … and he turned over the pages carefully till he came to the one he sought, "I think there is something here that will interest you—listen!" and he read aloud, "'The Angel Uriel came unto me and said: Go into a field of flowers where no house is builded and eat only the flowers of the field—taste no flesh, drink no wine, but eat flowers only. And pray unto the Highest continually, and then will I come and talk to thee. So I went my way into the field which is called ARDATH, … '" "The very place!" exclaimed Alwyn, eagerly bending over the sacred book; then drawing back with a gesture of disappointment he added, "But you are reading from Esdras, the Apocrypha! an utterly unreliable source of information!" "On the contrary, as reliable as any history ever written," rejoined Heliobas calmly. "Study it for yourself, … you will see that the prophet was at that time resident in Babylon; the field he mentions was near the city …" "Yes—WAS!" interrupted Alwyn incredulously. "Was and IS," continued Heliobas. "No earthquake has crumbled it, no sea has invaded it, and no house has been 'builded' thereon. It is, as it was then, a waste field, lying about four miles west of the Babylonian ruins, and there is nothing whatever to hinder you from journeying thither when you please." Alwyn's expression as he heard this was one of stupefied amazement. Part of his so-called "dream" had already proved itself true—a "field of Ardath" actually existed! "You are certain of what you say?" he demanded. "Positively certain!" returned Heliobas. There was a silence, during which a little tinkling bell resounded in the outer corridor, followed by the tread of sandaled feet on the stone pavement. Heliobas closed the Bible and returned it to its shelf. "That was the dinner-bell," he announced cheerfully. "Will you accompany me to the refectory, Mr. Alwyn? … we can talk further of this matter afterwards." Alwyn roused himself from the fit of abstraction into which he had fallen, and gathering together the loose sheets of his so strangely written manuscript, he arranged them all in an orderly heap without speaking. Then he looked up and met the earnest eyes of Heliobas with an expression of settled resolve in his own. "I shall set out for Babylon to-morrow," he said quietly. "As well go there as anywhere! … and on the result of my journey I shall stake my future! In the mean time—" He hesitated, then suddenly extending his hand with a frank grace that became him well, "In spite of my brusquerie last night, I trust we are friends?" "Why, most assuredly we are!" returned Heliobas, heartily pressing the proffered palm. "You had your doubts of me and you have them still; but what of that! I take no offence at unbelief. I pity those who suffer from its destroying influence too profoundly to find room in my heart for anger. Moreover, I never try to convert anybody…. it is so much more satisfactory when sceptics convert themselves, as you are unconsciously doing! Come, … shall we join the brethren?" Over Alwyn's face flitted a transient shade of uneasiness and hauteur. "I would rather they knew nothing about all this," he began. "Make your mind quite easy on that score," rejoined Heliobas. "None of my companions here are aware of your recent departure, except my very old personal friend Hilarion, who, with myself, saw your body while in its state of temporary death. But he is one of those remarkably rare wise men who know when it is best to be silent; then again, he is ignorant as to the results of your soul-transmigration, and will, as far as I am concerned, remain in ignorance. Your confidence I assure you is perfectly safe with me—as safe as though it had been received under the sacred seal of confession." With this understanding Alwyn seemed relieved and satisfied, and thereupon they left the apartment together. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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