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Ardath

<h2 id="id01421" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> <h5 id="id01422">THE PRIEST ZEL.</h5> As he uttered the last word the sound of an approaching light step disturbed the silence. It was one of the young girls of the household, . . a dark, haughty-looking beauty whom Theos remembered to have seen in the palace-hall when he first arrived, lying indolently among cushions, and playing with a tame bird which flew to and fro at her beckoning. She advanced now with an almost imperial stateliness,—her salute to Sah-luma was grateful, yet scarcely submissive,—while he, turning eagerly toward her, seemed gladdened and relieved at her appearance, his face assuming a gratified expression like that of a child who, having broken one toy, is easily consoled with another. "Welcome, Irenya!" he exclaimed gayly—"Thou art the very bitter-sweetness I desire. Thy naughty pout and coldly mutinous eyes are pleasing contrasts to the overlanguid heat and brightness of the day! What news hast thou, my sweet? … Is there fresh havoc in the city? … more deaths? … more troublous tidings? … nay, then hold thy peace, for thou art not a fit messenger of woe—thou'rt much too fair!" Irenya's red lips curled disdainfully, . . the "naughty pout" was plainly visible. "My lord is pleased to flatter his slave!" she said with a touch of scorn in her musical accents, . . "Certes, of ill news there is more than enough,—and evil rumors have never been lacking these many months, as my lord would have known, had he deigned to listen to the common talk of those who are not poets but merely sad and suffering men. Nevertheless, though I may think, I speak not at all of matters such as these,—and for my present errand 'tis but to say that a Priest of the Inner Temple waits without, desirous of instant speech with the most illustrious Sah-luma." "A Priest of the Inner Temple!" echoed the Laureate wonderingly, . . "By my faith, a most unwelcome visitor! … What business can he have with me?" "Nay, that I know not"—responded Irenya calmly—"He hath come hither, so he bade me say, by command of The Absolute Authority." Sah-luma's face flushed and he looked annoyed. Then taking Theos by the arm he turned away from the terrace, and re-entered his apartment, where he flung himself full length on his couch, pillowing his handsome head against a fold of glossy leopard skin which formed a most becoming background for the soft, dark oval beauty of his features. "Sit thee down, my friend!" he said glancing smilingly at Theos, and signing to him to take possession of a luxurious lounge-chair near him.. "If we must needs receive this sanctified professor of many hypocrisies, we will do it with suitable indifference and ease. Wilt thou stay here with us, Irenya," he added, stretching out one arm and catching the maiden round the waist in spite of her attempted resistance.. "Or art thou in a froward mood, and wilt thou go thine own proud way without so much as a consoling kiss from Sah-luma?" Irenya looked full at him, a repressed anger blazing in her large black eyes. "Let my lord save his kisses for those who value them!" she said contemptuously, "'Twere pity he should waste them upon me, to whom they are unmeaning and therefore all unwelcome!" He laughed heartily, and instantly loosened her from his embrace. "Off, off with thee, sweet virtue! … fairest prude!" he cried, still laughing.. "Live out thy life an thou wilt, empty of love or passion—count the years as they slip by, leaving thee each day less lovely and less fit for pleasure, … grow old,—and on the brink of death, look back, poor child, and see the glory thou hast missed and left behind thee! … the light of love and youth that, once departed, can dawn again no more!" And lifting himself slightly from his cushions he kissed his hand playfully to the girl, who, as though suddenly overcome by a sort of vague regret, still lingered, gazing at him, while a faint color crept through her cheeks like the deepening hue on the leaves of an opening rose. Sah-luma saw her hesitation, and his face grew yet more radiant with malicious mirth. "Hence.. hence, Irenya!" he exclaimed—"Escape temptation quickly while thou mayest! Support thy virgin pride in peace! … thou shalt never say again Sah-luma's kisses are unwelcome! The Poet's touch shall never wrong or sanctify thy name!—thou art safe from me as pillared icicles in everlasting snow! Dear little one, be happy without love if that be possible! … nevertheless take heed thou do not weakly clamor in the after-years for once rejected joy!—Now bid yon waiting Priest attend me,—tell him I can but spare a few brief moments audience." Irenya's head drooped,—Theos saw tears in her eyes,—but she managed to restrain them, and with something of a defiant air she made her formal obeisance and withdrew. She did not return again, but a page appeared instead, ushering in with ceremonious civility a tall personage, clad in flowing white robes and muffled up to the eyes in a mantle of silver tissue,—a majestic, mysterious, solemn-looking individual, who, pausing on the threshold of the apartment, described a circle in the air with a small staff he carried, and said in monotonous accents: "By the going-in and passing-out of the Sun through the Gates of the East and the Gates of the West,—by the Vulture of Gold and White Lotus and the countless virtues of Nagaya, may peace dwell in this house forever!" "Agreed to with all my heart!" responded Sah-luma, carelessly looking up from his couch but making no attempt to rise, . . "Peace is an excellent thing, most holy father!" "Excellent!" returned the Priest slowly advancing and undoing his mantle so that his face became fully visible,—"So truly excellent indeed, that at times it is needful to make war in order to insure it." He sat down, as he spoke, in a chair which was placed for him at Sah-luma's bidding by the page who had ushered him in, and he maintained a grave silence till that youthful servitor had departed. Theos meanwhile studied his countenance with some curiosity,—it was so strangely impassive, yet at the same time so full of distinctly marked intellectual power. The features were handsome but also singularly repulsive,—they were rendered in a certain degree dignified by a full, dark beard which, however, failed entirely to conceal the receding chin, and compressed, cruel mouth,—the eyes were keen and crafty and very clear,—the forehead was high and intelligent, and deeply furrowed with lines that seemed to be the result of much pondering over close and cunning calculation, rather than the marks of profound, unselfish, and ennobling thought. The page having left the room, Sah-luma began the conversation: "To what unexpected cause, most righteous sir, am I indebted for the honor of this present visit? Methinks I recognize the countenance of the famous Zel, the High-Priest of the Sacrificial Altar—if so, 'tis marvellous so great a man should venture forth alone and unattended, to the house of one who loves not priestly company, and who hath at best for all professors of religion a somewhat indifferent welcome!" The Priest smiled coldly. "Most rightly dost thou speak, Sah-luma"—he answered, his measured, metallic voice seeming to strike a wave of chilling discord through the air, "and most frankly hast thou thus declared one of thy many deficiencies! Atheist as thou art and to that manner born, thou art in very deed outside the pale of all religious teaching and consolement, . . nevertheless there is much gentle mercy shown thee by the Virgin Priestess of Nagaya".. here he solemnly bent his head and made the rapid sign of a Circle on his breast, . . "who, knowing thy great genius, doth ever strive with thoughtful zeal to draw thee closely within the saving Silver Veil! Yet it is possible that even her patience with thy sins may tire at last,—wherefore while there is time, offer due penance to the offended gods and humble thy stiff heart before the Holy Maid, lest she expel thee from her sight forever." He paused, . . a satirical, half-amused smile hovered round Sah-luma's delicate mouth—his eyes flashed. "All this is the mere common rhetoric of the Temple Craft"—he said indolently.. "Why not, good Zel, give plainer utterance to thine errand?—we know each other's follies well enough to spare formalities! Lysia has sent thee hither, . . what then? … what says the beauteous Virgin to her willing slave?" An undertone of mockery rang through the languid silvery sweetness of his accents, and the Priest's dark brows knitted in an irritated frown. "Thou art over-flippant of speech, Sah-luma!" he observed austerely. "Take heed thou be not snared into misfortune by the glibness of thy tongue! Thou dost speak of the chaste Lysia with unseemly lightness.—learn to be reverent, and so shalt thou be wiser!" Sah-luma laughed and settled himself more easily on his couch, turning in such a manner as to look the stately Zel full in the face. They exchanged one glance, expressive as it seemed of some mutual secret understanding,—for the Priest coughed as though he were embarrassed, and stroked his beard deliberately with one hand in an endeavor to hide the strange smile that, despite his efforts to conceal it, visibly lightened his cold eyes to a sudden tigerish brilliancy. "The mission with which I am charged," he resumed presently,—"is to thee, Chief Laureate of the realm, and runs as followeth: Whereas thou hast of late avoided many days of public service in the Temple, so that those among the people who admire thee follow thine ill example, and absent themselves also with equal readiness,—the Priestess Undefiled, the noble Lysia, doth to-night command thy presence as a duty not to be foregone. Therefore come thou and take thy part in the Great Sacrifice, for these late tumults and disaster in the city, notably the perplexing downfall of the Obelisk, have caused all hearts to fail and sink for very fear. The river darkens in its crimson hue each hour by passing hour,—strange noises have been heard athwart the sky and in the deeper underground, . . and all these drear unwonted things are so many cogent reasons why we should in solemn unison implore the favor of Nagaya and the gods whereby further catastrophes may be perchance averted. Moreover for motives of most urgent state-policy it is advisable that all who hold place, dignity, and renown within the city should this night be seen as fervent supplicants before the Sacred Shrine,—so may much threatening rebellion be appeased, and order be restored out of impending confusion. Such is the message I am bidden to convey to thee,—furthermore I am required to bear back again to the High Priestess thy faithful promise that her orders shall be surely and entirely obeyed. Thou art not wont".. and a pale sneer flitted over his features.. "to set her mandate at defiance." Sah-luma bit his lips angrily, and folded his arms above his head with a lazy yet impatient movement. "Assuredly I shall be present at the Service," he said curtly.. "There needed no such weighty summoning! 'Twas my intention to join the ranks of worshippers to-night, though for myself I have no faith in worship, . . the gods I ween are deaf, and care not a jot whether we mortals weep or sing. Nevertheless I shall look on with fitting gravity, and deport myself with due decorum throughout the ceremonious Ritual, though verily I tell thee, reverend Zel, 'tis tedious and monotonous at best, . . and concerning the poor maiden-sacrifice, it is a shuddering horror we could well dispense with." "I think not so,".. replied the Priest calmly. "Thou, who art well instructed in the capricious humors of men, must surely know how dearly the majority of them love the shedding of blood,—'tis a clamorous brute-instinct in them which must be satisfied. Better therefore that we, the anointed Priests, should slay one willing victim for the purposes of religion, than that they, the ignorant mob, should kill a thousand to gratify their lust of murder. An unresentful, all-loving Deity would be impossible of comprehension to a mutually hating and malignant race of beings,—all creeds must be accommodated to the dispositions of the million." "Pardon me…" suddenly interrupted Theos, "I am a stranger, and in a great measure ignorant of this city's customs, . . but I confess I am amazed to hear a Priest uphold so specious an argument! What! … must divine Religion be dragged down from its pure throne to pander to the selfish passions of the multitude? … because men are vile, must a vile god be invented to suit their savage caprices? … because men are so cruel, must the unseen Creator of things be delineated as even more barbarous than they, in order to give them some pietistical excuse for wickedness?—I ask these questions not out of wanton curiosity, but for the sake of instruction!" The haughty Zel turned upon him in severe astonishment. "Sir," he said—"Stranger undoubtedly thou art,—and so bold a manner of speech most truly savors of the utterly uneducated western barbarian! All wise and prudent governments have learned that a god fit for the adoration of men must be depicted as much like men as possible,—any absolutely superhuman attributes are unnecessary to the character of a useful deity, inasmuch as no man ever will, or ever can, understand the worth of superhuman qualities. Humanity is only capable of worshipping Self—thus, it is necessary, that when people are persuaded to pay honor to an elected Divinity, they should be well and comfortably assured in their own minds that they are but offering homage to an Image of Self placed before them in a deified or heroic form. This satisfies the natural idolatrous cravings of Egotism, and this is all that priests or teachers desire. Now in the worship of Nagaya, we have the natures of Man and Woman conjoined, . . the Snake is the emblem of male wisdom united with female subtilty—and the two essences, mingled in one, make as near an approach to what we may imagine the positive Divine capacity as can be devised on earth by earthly intelligences. If, on the other hand, such an absurd doctrine as that formulated in the fanatic madman Khosrul's 'Prophecy' could be imagined as actually admitted, and proclaimed to the nations, it would have very few followers, and the sincerity of those few might well be open to doubt. For the Deity it speaks of is supposed to be an immortal God disguised as Man,—a God who voluntarily rejects and sets aside His own glory to serve and save His perishable creatures,—thus the root of that religion would consist in Self-abnegation, and Self-abnegation is, as experience proves, utterly impossible to the human being." "Why is it impossible?" asked Theos with a quiver of passionate earnestness in his voice,—"Are there none in all the world who would sacrifice their own interests to further another's welfare and happiness?" The Priest smiled,—a delicately derisive smile. "Certainly not!" he replied blandly.. "The very question strikes me as singularly foolish, inasmuch as we live in a planet where, if we do not serve ourselves and look after our own personal advantage, we may as well die the minute we are born, or, better still, never be born at all. There is no one living, . . at least not in the wide realm of Al-Kyris,—who would put himself to the smallest inconvenience for the sake of another, were that other his nearest and dearest blood-relation. And in matters of love and friendship, 'tis the same as in business,—each man eagerly pursues his own chance of enjoyment,—even when he loves, or fancies he loves, a woman, it is solely because her beauty or attractiveness gives HIM temporary pleasure, not because he has any tenderness or after-regard for the nature of HER feelings. How can it be otherwise? … We elect friends that are useful to US personally,—we care little for THEIR intrinsic merit, and we only tolerate them as long as they happen to suit OUR taste. For generally, on the first occasion of a disagreement or difference of opinion, we shake ourselves free of them without either regret or remorse, and seek others who will be meek enough not to offer us any open contradiction. It is, and it must be always so: Self is the first person we are bound to consider, and all religions, if they are intended to last, must prudently recognize and silently acquiesce in this, the chief dogma of Man's constitution." Sah-luma laughed. "Excellently argued, most politic Zel!" he exclaimed.. "Yet methinks it is easy to worship Self without either consecrated altars or priestly assistance!" "Thou shouldst know better than any one with what facility such devotion can be practiced!" returned Zel ironically, rising as he spoke, and beginning to wrap his mantle round him preparatory to departure—"Thou hast a wider range of perpetual adoration than most men, seeing thou dost so fully estimate the value of thine own genius! Some heretics there are in the city, who say thy merit is but a trick of song shared by thee in common with the birds, . . who truly seem to take no pride in the particular sweetness of their unsyllabled language, . . but thou thyself art better instructed, and who shall blame thee for the veneration with which thou dost daily contemplate thine own intellectual powers? Not I, believe me!".. and his crafty eyes glittered mockingly, as he arranged his silver gauze muffler so that it entirely veiled the lower part of his features, . . "And though I do somewhat regret to learn that thou, among other noblemen of fashion, hast of late taken part in the atheistic discussions encouraged by the Positivist School of Thought, still, as a priest, my duty is not so much to reproach as to call thee to repentance. Therefore I inwardly rejoice to know thou wilt present thyself before the Shrine to-night, if only for the sake of custom …" "'Only' for the sake of custom!" repeated Sah-luma amusedly—"Nay, good Zel, custom should be surely classified as an exceeding powerful god, inasmuch as it rules all things, from the cut of our clothes to the form of our creeds!" "True!" replied Zel imperturbably. "And he who despises custom becomes an alien from his kind,—a moral leper among the pure and clean." "Oh, say rather a lion among sheep, a giant among pigmies!" laughed the Laureate,—"For by my soul, a man who had the courage to scorn custom, and set the small hypocrisies of society at defiance, would be a glorious hero! a warrior of strange integrity whom it would be well worth travelling miles to see!" "Khosrul was such an one!" interposed Theos suddenly. "Tush, man! Khosrul was mad!" retorted Sah-luma. "Are not all men thought mad who speak the truth?" queried Theos gently. The priest Zel looked at him with proud and supercilious eyes. "Thou hast strange notions for one still young," he said … "What art thou? … a new disciple of the Mystics? … or a student of the Positive Doctrines?" Theos met his gaze unflinchingly. "What am I?" he murmured sadly, and his voice trembled, … "Reverend Priest, I am nothing! … Great are the sufferings of men who have lost their wealth, their home, their friends, … but I … I have lost Myself! Were I anything … could I ever hope to be anything, I would pray to be accepted a servant of the Cross, … that far-off unknown Faith to which my tired spirit clings!" As he uttered these words, he raised his eyes, … how dim and misty at the moment seemed the tall white figure of the majestic Zel! and in contrast to it, how brilliantly distinct Sah-luma's radiant face appeared, turned toward him in inquiring wonderment! … He felt a swooning dizziness upon him, but the sensation swiftly passed, and he saw the haughty Priest's dark brows bent upon him in a frown of ominous disapproval. "'Tis well thou art not a citizen of Al-Kyris"—he said scornfully—"To strangers we accord a certain license of opinion,—but if thou wert a native of these realms, thy speech would cost thee dear! As it is, I warn thee! … dare not to make public mention of the Cross, the accursed Emblem of the dead Khosrul's idolatry, … guard thy tongue heedfully!—and thou, Sah-luma if thou dost bring this rashling with thee to the Temple, thou must take upon thyself all measures for his safety. For in these days, some words are like firebrands, and he who casts them forth incautiously may kindle flames that only the forfeit of his life can quench." There was a quiver of suppressed fury in his tone, and Sah-luma lifted his lazy lids, and looked at him with an air of tranquil indifference. "Prithee, trouble not thyself, most eminent Zel!" he answered nonchalantly … "I will answer for my friend's discretion! Thou dost mistake his temperament,—he is a budding poet, and utters many a disconnected thought which hath no meaning save to his own fancy-swarming brain,—he saw the frantic Khosrul die, and the picture hath impressed him for the moment—nothing more! I pledge my word for his demurest prudence at the Service to-night—I would not have him absent for the world, … 'twere pity he should miss the splendor of a scene which doubtless hath been admirably contrived, by priestly art and skill, to play upon the passions of the multitude. Tell me, good Zel, what is the name of the self-offered Victim?" The Priest flashed a strangely malevolent glance at him. "'Tis not to be divulged," he replied curtly—"The virgin is no longer counted among the living … she is as one already departed—the name she bore hath been erased from the city registers, and she wears instead the prouder title of 'Bride of the Sun and Nagaya.' Restrain thy curiosity until night hath fallen,—it may be that thou, who hast a wide acquaintance among fair maidens, wilt recognize her countenance." "Nay, I trust I know her not"—said Sah-luma carelessly—"For, though all women die for me when once their beauty fades, still am I loth to see them perish ere their prime. "Yet many are doomed to perish so"—rejoined the Priest impassively—"Men as well as women,—and methinks those who are best beloved of the gods are chosen first to die. Death is not difficult, … but to live long enough for life to lose all savor, and love all charm, … this is a bitterness that comes with years and cannot be consoled." And retreating slowly toward the door, he paused as he had previously done on the threshold. "Farewell, Sah-luma!" he said … "Beware that nothing hinders thee from the fulfillment of thy promise! … and let thy homage to the Holy Maid be reverent at the parting of the Silver Veil!" He waited, but Sah-luma made no answer—he therefore raised his staff and described a circle with it in the same solemn fashion that had distinguished his entrance. "By the coming-forth of the Moon through the ways of Darkness, . . by the shining of Stars, . . by the Sleeping Sun and the silence of Night, . . by the All-Seeing Eye of Raphon and the Wisdom of Nagaya may the protection of the gods abide in this house forever!" As he pronounced these words he noiselessly departed, without any salutation whatever to Sah-luma, who heaved a sigh of relief when he had gone, and, rising from his couch came and placed one hand affectionately on Theos's shoulder. "Thou foolish, yet dear comrade!" he murmured.. "What moves thee to blurt forth such strange and unwarrantable sayings? … Why wouldst thou pray to be a servant of the Cross? … or why, at any rate, if thou hast taken a fancy for the dead Khosrul's new doctrine, wert thou so rash as to proclaim thy sentiment to yon unprincipled, bloodthirsty Zel, who would not scruple to poison the King himself, if his Majesty gave sufficient cause of offence! Dost thou desire to be straightway slain?—Nay, I will not have thee run thus furiously into danger,—thou wilt be offered the Silver Nectar like Nir-jahs, and not even the intercession of my friendship would avail to save thee then!" Theos smiled rather sadly. "And thus would end for ever my mistakes and follies, . ." he answered softly.. "And I should perchance discover the small hidden secret of things—the little, simple unguessed clue, that would unravel the mystery and meaning of Existence! For can it be that the majestic marvel of created Nature is purposeless in its design?—that we are doomed to think thoughts which can never be realized?—to dream dreams that perish in the dreaming? … to build up hopes without foundation? … to call upon God when there is no God? … to long for Heaven when there is no Heaven? … Ah no, Sah-luma!—surely we are not the mere fools and dupes of Time, … surely there is some Eternal Beyond which is not Annihilation, . . some greater, vaster sphere of soul-development where we shall find all that we have missed on earth!" Sah-luma's face clouded, and a sigh escaped him. "I would my thoughts were similar to thine!" he said sorrowfully.. "I would I could believe in an immortal destiny, … but alas, my friend! there is no shadow of ground for such a happy faith,—none neither in sense nor science. I have reflected on it many a time till I have wearied myself with mournful musing, and the end of all my meditation has been a useless protest against the Great Inevitable, . . a clamor of disdain hurled at the huge, blind, indifferent Force that poisons the deep sea of Space with an ever-productive spawn of wasted Life! Anon I have flouted my own despair, and have consoled myself with the old wise maxim that was found inscribed on the statue of a smiling god some centuries ago.. 'Enjoy your lives, ye passing tribes of men … take pleasure in folly, for this is the only wisdom that avails! Happy is he whose days are filled with the delight of love and laughter, for there is nothing better found on earth, and whatsoever ye do, whether wise or foolish, the same End comes to all!'.. Is not this true philosophy, my Theos? … what can a man do better than enjoy?" "Much depends on the particular form of enjoyment…" responded Theos thoughtfully. "Some there are, for example, who might find their greatest satisfaction in the pleasures of the table,—others in the gratification of sensual desires and gross appetites,—are these to be left to follow their own devices, without any effort being made to raise them from the brute-level where they lie?" "Why, in the name of all the gods, SHOULD they be raised?" demanded Sah-luma impatiently—"If their choice is to grovel in mire, why ask them to dwell in a palace?—They would not appreciate the change!" "Again," went on Theos—"there are others who are only happy in the pursuit of wisdom, and the more they learn, the more they seek to know. One wonders, . . one cannot help wondering.. are their aspirations all in vain? … and will the grave seal down their hopes forever?" Sah-luma paused a moment before replying. "It seems so …" he said at last slowly and hesitatingly … "And herein I find the injustice of the matter,—because however great may be the imagination and fervor of a poet for instance, he never is able WHOLLY to utter his thoughts. Half of them remain in embryo, like buds of flowers that never come to bloom, . . yet they are THERE, burning in the brain and seeming too vast of conception to syllable themselves into the common speech of mortals! I have often marvelled why such ideas suggest themselves at all, as they can neither be written nor spoken, unless…" and here his voice sank into a dreamy softness, "unless indeed they are to be received as hints, . . foreshadowings.. of greater works destined for our accomplishment, hereafter!" He was silent a minute's space, and Theos, watching him wistfully, suddenly asked: "Wouldst thou be willing to live again, Sah-luma, if such a thing could be?" "Friend, I would rather never die!"—responded the Laureate, half playfully, half seriously.. "But.. if I were certain that death was no more than a sleep, from which I should assuredly awaken to another phase of existence, ..I know well enough what I would do!" "What?" questioned Theos, his heart beginning to beat with an almost insufferable anxiety. "I would live a different life NOW!" answered Sah-luma steadily, looking his companion full in the eyes as he spoke, while a grave smile shadowed rather than lightened his features. "I would begin at once, . . so that when the new Future dawned for me, I might not be haunted or tortured by the remembrance of a misspent Past! For if we are to believe in any everlasting things at all, we cannot shut out the fatal everlastingness of Memory!" His words sounded unlike himself…his voice was as the voice of some reproving angel speaking,—and Theos, listening, shuddered, he knew not why, and held his peace. "Never to be able to FORGET!" continued Sah-luma in the same grave, sweet tone … "Never to lose sight of one's own bygone wilful sins, . . this would be an immortal destiny too terrible to endure! For then, inexorable Retrospection would forever show us where we had missed the way, and how we had failed to use the chances given us, . . moreover, we might haply find ourselves surrounded…" and his accents grew slower and more emphatic.. "by strange phantoms of our own creating, who would act anew the drama of our obstinate past follies, perplexing us thereby into an anguish greater than mortal fancy can depict. Thus if we indeed possessed the positive foreknowledge of the eternal regeneration of our lives, 'twould be well to free them from all hindrance to perfection HERE,—here, while we are still conscious of Time and opportunity." He paused, then went on in his customary gay manner: "But fortunately we are not positive, nothing is certain, no truth is so satisfactorily demonstrated that some wiseacre cannot be found to disprove it, . . hence it happens my friend…" and his face assumed its wonted careless expression … "that we men whose common-sense is offended by priestly hypocrisy and occult necromantic jugglery,—we, who perhaps in our innermost heart of hearts ardently desire to believe in a supreme Divinity and the grandly progressive Sublime Intention of the Universe, but who, discovering naught but ignoble Cant and Imposture everywhere, are incontinently thrown back on our own resources, . . hence it comes, I say, that we are satisfied to accept ourselves, each man in his own personality, as the Beginning and End of Existence, and to minister to that Absolute Self which after all concerns us most, and which will continue to engage our best service until…well!—until History can show us a perfectly Selfless Example, which, if human nature remains consistent with its own traditions, will assuredly never be!" This was almost more than Theos could bear, . . there was a tightening agony at his heart that made him long to cry out, to weep, or, better still, to fling himself on his knees and pray, . . pray to that far-removed mild Presence, that "Selfless Example" who he KNEW had hallowed and dignified the world, and yet whose Holy and Beloved Name, he, miserable sinner, was unworthy to even remember! His suffering at the moment was so intense that he fancied some reflection of it must be visible in his face. Sah-luma, however, apparently saw nothing,—he stepped across the room, and out to the vine-shaded loggia, where he turned and beckoned his companion to his side. "Come!" he said, pushing his hair off his brows with a languid gesture, . . "The afternoon wears onward, and the very heavens seem to smoke with heat,—let us seek cooler air beneath the shade of yonder cypresses, whose dark-green boughs shut out the glaring sky. We'll talk of love and poesy and tender things till sunset, . . I will recite to thee a ballad of mine that Niphrata loved,—'tis called 'An Idyl of Roses,'…and it will lighten this hot and heavy silence, when even birds sleep, and butterflies drowse in the hollowed shelter of the arum-leaves. Come, wilt thou? … To-night perchance we shall have little time for pleasant discourse!" As he spoke, Theos obediently went toward him with the dazed sensations of one under the influence of mesmerism, … the dazzling face and luminous eyes of the Laureate exercised over him an indescribable yet resistless authority,—and it was certain that, wherever Sah-luma led the way, he was bound to follow. Only, as he mechanically descended from the terrace into the garden, and linked his arm within that of his companion, he was conscious of a vague feeling of pity for himself…pity that he should have dwindled into such a nonentity, when Sah-luma was so renowned a celebrity, . . pity too that he should have somehow never been able to devise anything original in the Art of Poetry! This last was evident, . . for he knew already that the "Idyl of Roses" Sah-luma purposed reciting could be no other than what he had fancied was HIS "Idyl of Roses" … a poem he had composed, or rather had plagiarized in some mysterious fashion before he had even dreamt of the design of "Nourhalma"…However he had become in part resigned to the peculiar position he occupied,—he was just a little sorry for himself, and that was all. Even as the parted spirit of a dead man might hover ruthfully above the grave of its perished mortal body, so he compassionated his own forlorn estate, and heaved a passing sigh of regret, not only for all HE ONCE HAD BEEN, but also for all HE COULD NEVER BE! <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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