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Ardath

<h2 id="id01599" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> <h5 id="id01600">THE SACRIFICE.</h5> A solemn silence ensued. Consternation and wrath were depicted on every countenance. The Sacred Service was interrupted! … a defiance had been hurled as it were in the very teeth of the god Nagaya! … and this horrible outrage to Religion and Law had been actually committed by the Laureate of the realm! It was preposterous, … incredible! … and the gaping crowds reached over each other's shoulders to stare at the offender, pressing forward eager, wondering, startled faces, which to Theos looked far more spectral than real, seen in the shimmering green radiance that was thrown flickering upon them from the luminous Arch above the Altar. The priests stood still in speechless indignation, . . Lysia moved not at all, nor raised her eyes; only her lips parted in a very slight cold smile. Seized with mortal dread, Theos gazed helplessly at his reckless, beautiful poet friend, who with head erect and visage white as a waning moon, haughtily confronted his Sovereign and audaciously asserted his right to be heard, even in the Holy place of worship! The King was the first to break the breathless stillness: his words came harshly from his throat, . . and the great muscles in his neck seemed to swell visibly with his hardly controlled anger. "Peace! … Thou art suddenly distraught, Sah-luma! …" he said, in half-smothered, fierce accents—"How darest thou uplift thy clamorous tongue thus wantonly before Nagaya, and interrupt the progress of his Sacred Ritual? … check thy mad speech! … if ever yonder maid were thine, 'tis certain she is thine no longer; … she hath offered herself, a voluntary sacrifice, and the gods are pleased to claim what thou perchance hast failed to value!" For all answer, Sah-luma flung himself desperately at the monarch's feet. "Zephoranim!" he cried again … "I tell thee she is mine! … mine, as truly mine as Love can make her! Oh, she is chaster than lily-buds in her sweet body! … but in her spirit she is wedded—wedded to me, Sah-luma, whom thou, O King, hast ever delighted to honor! And now must I kneel to thee in vain?—thou whose victories I have sung, whose praises I have chanted in burning words that shall carry thy name forever with triumph, down to unborn generations? … Wilt thou become inglorious? … a warrior stricken strengthless by the mummeries of priestcraft,—the juggleries of a perishing creed? Thou art the ruler of Al-Kyris,—thou and thou only! Restore to me this innocent virgin-life that has scarcely yet begun to bloom! … speak but the word and she is saved! … and her timely rescue shall add lustre to the record of thy noblest deeds!" His matchless voice, full of passionate pulsations, exercised for a moment a resistless influence and magnetic charm. The King's lowering brows relaxed,—and a gleam of pity passed like light across his countenance. Instinctively he extended his hand to raise Sah-luma from his humble attitude, as though, even in his wrath, he were conscious of the immense intellectual superiority of a great Poet to ever so great a King; and a thrill of involuntary compassion seemed at the same time to run sympathetically through the vast congregation. Theos drew a quick breath of relief, and glanced at Niphrata, … how cold and unconcerned was her demeanor! … Did she not hear Sah-luma's pleading in her behalf? … No matter!—she would be saved, he thought, and all would yet be well! And truly it now appeared as if mercy, and not cruelty, were to be the order of the hour, . . for just then the Priest Zel, after having exchanged a few inaudible words with Lysia, advanced again to the front of the Shrine and spoke in distinct tones of forced gentleness and bland forbearance: "Hear me, O King, Princes and People! … Whereas it has unhappily occurred, to the wonder and sorrow of many, that the holy Spouse of the divine Nagaya is delayed in her desired departure, by the unforeseen opposition and unedifying contumacy of Sah-luma, Poet Laureate of this realm; and lest it may be perchance imagined by the uninitiated, that the maiden is in any way unwilling to fulfil her glorious destiny, the High and Immaculate Priestess of the Shrine doth bid me here pronounce a respite; a brief interval wherein, if the King and the People be willing, he who is named Sah-luma shall, by virtue of his high renown, be permitted to address the Virgin-victim and ascertain her own wishes from her own lips. Injustice cannot dwell within this Sacred Temple,—and if, on trial, the maiden chooses the transitory joys of Earth in preference to the everlasting joys of the Palaces of the Sun, then in Nagaya's name shall she go free!—inasmuch as the god loves not a reluctant bride, and better no Sacrifice at all, than one that is grudgingly consummated!" He ceased,—and Sah-luma sprang erect, his eyes sparkling, his whole demeanor that of a man unexpectedly disburdened from some crushing grief. "Thanks be unto the benevolent destinies!" he exclaimed, flashing a quick glance of gratitude toward Lysia, . . the statuesque Lysia, on whose delicately curved lips the faintly derisive smile still lingered … "And in return for the life of my Niphrata I will give a thousand jewels rare beyond all price to deck Nagaya's tabernacle!—and I will pour libations to the Sun for twenty days and nights, in token of my heart's requital for mercy well bestowed!" Stooping he kissed the King's hand,—whereupon at a sign from Zel, one of the priests attired in scarlet unfastened Niphrata's bound hands, and led her, as one leads a blind child, straight up to where Sah-luma and Theos stood, close beside the King, who, together with many others, stared curiously upon her. How fixed and feverishly brilliant were her large dark-blue eyes! … how set were the sensitive lines of her mouth!—how indifferent she seemed, how totally unaware of the Laureate's presence! The priest who brought her retired into the background, and she remained where he left her, quite mute and motionless. Oh, how every nerve in Theos's body throbbed with inexpressible agony as he beheld her thus! The wildest remorse possessed him, . . it was as though he looked on the dim picture of a ruin which he himself had recklessly wrought, . . and he could have groaned aloud in the horrible vagueness of his incomprehensible despair! Sah-luma caught the girl's hand, and peered into her white, still face. "Niphrata! .. .Niphrata!" he said in a tremulous half-whisper, "I am here,—Sah-luma! … Dost thou not know me!" She sighed, . . a long, shivering sigh,—and smiled, . . what a strange, wistful, dying smile it was! … but she made no answer. "Niphrata!"—continued the Laureate, passionately pressing the little, cold fingers that lay so passively in his grasp.. "Look at me! … I have come to save thee! … to take thee home again, . . home to thy flowers, thy birds, thy harp, . . thy pretty chamber with its curtained nook, where thy friend Zoralin waits and weeps all day for thee! … O ye gods!—how weak am I!".. and he fiercely dashed away the drops that glistened on his black silky lashes, . . "Come with me, sweet one! …" he resumed tenderly—"Come!—Why art thou thus silent? … thou whose voice hath many a time outrivalled the music of the nightingales! Hast thou no word for me, thy lord?—Come!".. and Theos, struggling to repress his own rising tears, heard his friend's accents sink into a still lower, more caressing cadence … "Thou shalt never again have cause for grief, my Niphrata, never! … We will never part! … Listen! … am I not he whom thou lovest?" The poor child's set mouth trembled,—her beautiful sad eyes gazed at him uncomprehendingly. "He whom I love is not here!".. she said in tired, soft tones; "I left him, but he followed me; and now, he waits for me…yonder!".. And she turned resolutely toward the Sanctuary, as though compelled to do so by some powerful mesmeric attraction, . . "See you not how fair he is!"…and she pointed with her disengaged hand to the formidable python, through whose huge coils ran the tremors of impatient and eager breathing, . . "How tenderly his eyes behold me! … those eyes that I have worshipped so patiently, so faithfully, and yet that never lightened into love for me till now! O thou more than beloved!—How beautiful thou art, my adored one, my heart's idol!" and a look of pale exaltation lightened her features, as she fixed her wistful gaze, like a fascinated bird, on the shadowy recess whence the Serpent had emerged—"There,—there thou dost rest on a couch of fadeless roses!—how softly the moonlight enfolds thee with a radiance as of outspread wings!—I hear thy voice charming the silence! … thou dost call me by my name, . . O once poor name made rich by thy sweet utterance! Yes, my beloved, I am ready! … I come! I shall die in thy embraces, . . nay, I shall not die but sleep! … and dream a dream of love that shall last forever and ever! No more sorrow … no more tears, . . no more heartsick longings …" Here she stopped in her incoherent speech, and strove to release her hand from Sah-luma's, her blue eyes filling with infinite anxiety and distress. "I pray thee, good stranger," she entreated with touching mildness,—"whosoever thou art, delay me not, but let me go! … I am but a poor love-sorrowful maid on whom Love hath at last taken pity!—be gentle therefore, and hinder me not on my way to Sah-luma. I have waited for happiness so long! … so long!" Her young, plaintive voice quavered into a half sob,—and again she endeavored to break away from the Laureate's hold. But he, overcome by the excess of his own grief and agitation, seized her other hand, and drew her close up to him. "Niphrata, Niphrata!" he cried despairingly. "What evil hath befallen thee? Where is thy sight.. thy memory? … LOOK! … Look straight in these eyes of mine, and read there my truth and tenderness! … I am Sah-luma, thine own Sah-luma! … thy poet, thy lover, thy master, thy slave, . . all that thou wouldst have me be, I am! Whither wouldst thou wander in search of me? Thou hast no further to go, dear heart, than these arms, . . thou art safe with me, my singing bird, . . come! ..Let me lead thee hence, and home!" She watched him while he spoke, with a strange expression of distrust and uneasiness. Then, by a violent effort, she wrenched her hands from his clasp, and stood aloof, waving him back with an eloquent gesture of amazed reproach. "Away!" she said, in firm accents of sweet severity,—"Thou art a demon that dost seek to tempt my soul to ruin! THOU Sah-luma!".. and she lifted her lily-crowned head with a movement of proud rejection.. "Nay! … thou mayst wear his look, his smile, . . thou mayst even borrow the clear heaven-lustre of his eyes,—but I tell thee thou art fiend, not angel, and I will not follow thee into the tangled ways of sin! Oh, thou knowest not the meaning of true love, thou! … There is treachery on thy lips, and thy tongue is trained to utter honeyed falsehood! Methinks thou hast wantonly broken many a faithful heart!—and made light jest of many a betrayed virgin's sorrow! And thou darest to call thyself MY Poet, . . MY Sah-luma, in whom there is no guile, and who would die a thousand deaths rather than wound the frailest soul that trusted him! … Depart from me, thou hypocrite in Poet's guise! … thou cruel phantom of my love! … Back to that darkness where thou dost belong, and trouble not my peace!" Sah-luma recoiled from her, amazed and stupefied. Theos clenched his hands together in a sort of physical effort to keep down the storm of emotions working within him,—for Niphrata's words burnt into his brain like fire, ..too well, too well he understood their full intensity of meaning! She loved the IDEAL Sah-luma, . . the Sah-luma of her own pure fancies and desires, . . NOT the REAL man as he was, with all his haughty egotism, vainglory, and vice,—vice in which he took more pride than shame. Perhaps she had never known him in his actual character,—she, like other women of her lofty and ardent type, had no doubt set up the hero of her life as a god in the shrine of her own holy and enthusiastic imagination, and had there endowed him with resplendent virtues, which he had never once deemed it worth his while to practise. Oh the loving hearts of women!—How much men have to answer for, when they voluntarily break these clear mirrors of affection, wherein they, all unworthy, have been for a time reflected angel-wise, with all the warmth and color of an innocently adoring passion shining about them like the prismatic rays in a vase of polished crystal! To Niphrata, Sah-luma remained as a sort of splendid divinity, for whom no devotion was too vast, too high, or too complete, . . better, oh surely far better that she should die in her beautiful self-deception, than live to see her elected idol descend to his true level, and openly display all the weaknesses of his volatile, flippant, godless, sensual, yet, alas! most fascinating and genius-gifted nature, . . a nature, which, overflowing as it was with potentialities of noble deeds, yet lacked sufficient intrinsic faith and force to accomplish them! This thought stung Theos like a sharp arrow-prick, and filled him with a strange, indescribable penitence; and he stood in dumb misery, remorsefully eyeing his friend's consternation, disappointment, and pained bewilderment, without being able to offer him the slightest consolation. Sah-luma was indeed the very picture of dismay, . . if he had never suffered in his life before, surely he suffered now! Niphrata, the tender, the humbly adoring Niphrata, positively rejected him!—refused to recognize his actual presence, and turned insanely away from him toward some dream-ideal Sah-luma whom she fancied could only be found in that unexplored country bordered by the cold river of Death! Meanwhile, the silence in the Temple was intense,—the Priests were like so many wax figures fastened in fixed positions; the King, leaning slightly forward in his chair, had the appearance of a massively moulded image of bronze,—and to Theos's overwrought condition of mind, the only actually living things present seemed to be the monster Serpent whose scaly folds palpitated visibly in the strong light, . . and the hideous "Eye of Raphon," that blazed on Lysia's breast with a menacing stare, as of a wrathful ghoul. All at once a flash of comprehension lightened the Laureate's sternly perplexed face,—a bitter laugh broke from his lips. "She has been drugged!" he cried fiercely, pointing to Niphrata's white and rigid form, . . "Poisoned by some deadly potion devised of devils, to twist and torture the quivering centres of the brain! Accursed work!—Will none undo it?" and springing forward nearer the Shrine, he raised his angry, impassioned eyes to the dark, inscrutable ones of the High Priestess, who met his troubled look with serene and irresponsive gravity … "Is there no touch of human pity in things divine? … no mercy in the icy fate that rules our destinies? … This child knows naught of what she does; she hath been led astray in a moment of excitement and religious exaltation, . . her mind hath lost its balance,—her thoughts float disconnectedly on a sea of vague illusions, … Ah! … by the gods! … I understand it all now!" and he suddenly threw himself on his knees, his appealing gaze resting, not on the Snake-Deity, but on the lovely countenance of Lysia, fair and brilliant as a summer morn, with a certain waving light of triumph about it, like the reflected radiance of sunbeams, … "She is under the influence of Raphon! … O withering madness! … O cureless misery.. She is ruled by that most horrible secret force, unknown as yet to the outer world of men! … and she hears things that are not, and sees what has no existence! O Lysia, Daughter of the Sun! … I do beseech thee, by all the inborn gentleness of womanhood, unwind the Mystic Spell!" A serious smile of feigned, sorrowful compassion parted the beautiful lips of the Priestess; but she gave no word or sign in answer,—and the weird Jewel on her breast at that moment shot forth a myriad scintillations as of pointed sharp steel. Some extraordinary power in it, or in Lysia herself, was manifestly at work,—for with a violent start Sah-luma rose from his knees, and staggered helplessly backward, . . one hand pressed to his eyes as though to shut out some blinding blaze of lightning! He seemed to be vaguely groping his way to his former place beside the King, and Theos, seeing this, quickly caught him by the arm and drew him thither, whispering anxiously the while: "Sah-luma!-Sah-luma! … What ails thee?" The Laureate turned upon him a bewildered, piteous face, white with an intensity of speechless anguish. "Nothing!"…he faltered,—"Nothing! … 'tis over, . . the child must die!"…Then all suddenly the hard, drawn lines of his countenance relaxed,—great tears gathered in his eyes, and fell slowly one by one, . . and moving aside, he shrank away as far as possible into the shadow cast by a huge column close by.. "O Niphrata! … Niphrata!".. Theos heard him say in a voice broken by despair.. "Why do I love thee only now, . . NOW, when thou art lost to me forever!" The King looked after him half-compassionately, half-sullenly; but presently paid no further heed to his distress. Theos, however, kept near him, whispering whatever poor suggestions of comfort he could, in the extremity of his own grief, devise, . . a hopeless task,—for to all his offered solace Sah-luma made but the one reply: "Oh let me weep! … Let me weep for the untimely death of Innocence!" And now the cithern-playing, which had ceased, commenced again, accompanied by the mysterious thrilling bass notes of the invisible organ-like instrument, whose sound resembled the roll and rush of huge billows breaking into foam. As the rich and solemn strains swept grandly through the spacious Temple, Niphrata stretched out her hands toward the High Priestess, a smile of wonderful beauty lighting up her fair child-face. "Take me, O ye immortal gods!" she cried, her voice ringing in clear tune above all the other music.. "Take me and bear me away on your strong, swift wings to the Everlasting Palaces of Air, wherein all sorrows have end, and patient love meets at last its long-delayed reward! Take me.. for lo! I am ready to depart! My soul is wounded and weary of its prison,—it struggles to be free! O Destiny, I thank thee for thy mercy! … I praise thee for the glory thou dost here unveil before mine eyes! Pardon my sins! … accept my life! … sanctify my love!" A murmur of relief and rejoicing ran rippling through the listening crowds,—a weight seemed lifted from their minds, . . the victim was willing to die after all! … the Sacrifice would be proceeded with. There was a slight pause,—during which the priests crossed and re-crossed the Sanctuary many times, one of them descending the steps to tie Niphrata's hands behind her back as before. In the immediate interest of the moment, Sah-luma and his hot interference seemed to be almost forgotten, . . a few people, indeed, cast injured and indignant looks toward the corner where he dejectedly leaned, and once the wrinkled, malicious head of old Zabastes peered at him, with an expression of incredulous amazement,—but otherwise no sympathy was manifested by any one for the popular Laureate's suffering and discomfiture. He was the nation's puppet, . . its tame bird, whose business was to sing when bidden, . . but he was not expected to have any voice in matters of religion or policy,—and still less was he supposed to intrude any of his own personal griefs on the public notice. Let him sing!—and sing well,—that was enough; but let him dare to be afflicted, and annoy others with his wants and troubles, why then he at once became uninteresting! … he might even die for all anybody cared! This was the unspoken sullen thought that Theos, sensitive to the core on his friend's behalf, instinctively felt to be smouldering in the heart of the mighty multitude,—and he resented the half-implied, latent ungratefulness of the people with all his soul. "Fools!".. he muttered under his breath,—"For you, and such as you, the wisest sages toil in vain! … on you Art wastes her treasures of suggestive loveliness! … low grovellers in earth, ye have no eyes for heaven! O ignorant, ungenerous, fickle hypocrites, whose ruling passion is the greed of gold!—Why should great men perish, that YE may live! … And yet.. your acclamations make up the thing called Fame! Fame? … Good God!—'tis a brief shout in the universal clamor, scarce heard and soon forgotten!" And filled with strange bitterness, he gazed disconsolately at Niphrata, who stood like one in a trance of ecstasy, patiently awaiting her doom, her lovely, innocent blue eyes gladly upturned to the long, jewel-like head of Nagaya, which twined round the summit of the ebony staff, seemed to peer down at her in a sort of drowsy reflectiveness. Then, all suddenly, Lysia spoke, . . how enchanting was the exquisite modulation of that slow, languid, silvery voice! "Come hither, O Maiden fair, pure, and faithful! The desire of thy soul is granted! Before thee are the Gates of the Unknown World! Already they open to admit thee; Through their golden bars gleams the glory of thy future! Speak! … What seest thou?" A moment of breathless silence ensued,—all present seemed to be straining their ears to catch the victim's answer. It came,—soft and clear as a bell: "I see a wondrous land o'er-canopied with skies of gold and azure: . . white flowers grow in the fragrant fields, . . there are many trees, . . I hear the warbling of many birds; . . I see fair faces that smile upon me and gentle hands that beckon! … Figures that wear glistening robes, and carry garlands of roses and myrtle, pass slowly, singing as they go! … How beautiful they are! How strange! … how sweet!" And as she uttered these words, in accents of dreamy delight, she ascended the first step of the Shrine. Theos, looking, held his breath in wonder and fear, while Sah-luma with a groan turned himself resolutely away, and, pressing his forehead against the great column where he stood, hid his eyes in his clasped hands. The High Priestess continued: "Come hither, O Maiden of chaste and patient life! Rejoice greatly, for thy virtue hath pleased the gods: The undiscovered marvels of the Stars are thine, Earth has no more control over thee: Heaven is thine absolute Heritage! … Behold! the Ship of the Sun awaits thee! Speak! … What seest thou?" A soft cry of rapture came from the girl's lips. "Oh, I see glory everywhere!".. she exclaimed.. "Light everywhere! … Peace everywhere! … O joy, joy! … The face of my beloved shines upon me,—he calls, . . he bids me come to him! … Ah! we shall be together at last, . . we twain shall be as one never to part, never to doubt, never to suffer more! O let me hasten to him! … Why should I linger thus, when I would fain, be gone!" And she sprang eagerly up the second and third steps of the Sanctuary, and faced Lysia,—her head thrown back, her blue eyes ablaze with excitement, her bosom heaving, and her delicate features transfigured and illumined by unspeakable inward delirious bliss. Just then the Priest Zel lifted the long, jewel-hilted knife from the black cushion where it had lain till now, and, crouching stealthily in the shadow behind Lysia, held it in both bands, pointed straight forward in a level line with Niphrata's breast. Thus armed, he waited, silent and immovable. A slight shudder of morbid expectancy seemed to quiver through the vast congregation, . . but Theos's nerves were strung up to such a high pitch of frenzied horror that he could neither speak nor sigh,—motionless as a statue, he could only watch, with freezing blood, each detail of the extraordinary scene. Once more the High Priestess spoke: "Come hither, O happy Maiden whose griefs are ended: The day of thy triumph and reward has dawned! For thee the Immortals unveiled the mysteries of being,— To thee, they openly declare all secrets … To thee the hidden things of Wisdom are made manifest: For the last time ere thou leavest us, hear, and answer, . . Speak!—What seest thou?" "LOVE!" replied Niphrata in a tone of thrilling and solemn tenderness.. "LOVE, the Eternal All, in which dark things are made light!—Love, that is never served in vain! … LOVE wherein lost happiness is rediscovered and perfected! … O DIVINE LOVE, by whom the passion of my heart is sanctified! Absorb me in the quenchless glory of thine Immortality! … Draw me to Thyself, and let me find in Thee my Soul's completion!" Her voice sank to a low prayerful emphasis, . . her look was as of a rapt angel waiting for wings. Lysia's gaze dwelt upon her with slow-dilating wonder and contempt.. such a devout and earnest supplication was evidently not commonly heard from the lips of Nagaya's victims. At that instant, too, Nagaya himself seemed curiously excited and disturbed,—his great glittering coils quivered so violently, as to shake the rod on which he was twined, . . and when his Priestess raised her mesmeric reproving eyes toward him, he bent back his head rebelliously, and sent a vehement hiss through the silence, like the noise made by the whirl of a scimitar. Suddenly, and with deafening abruptness, a clap of thunder, short and sharp as a quick volley of musketry, crashed overhead,—accompanied by a strange circular sweep of lightning that blazed through the windows of the Temple, illumining it from end to end with a brilliant blue glare. The superstitious crowd exchanged startled looks of terror, . . the King moved uneasily and glanced frowningly about him,—it was plainly manifest that no one had forgotten the disastrous downfall of the Obelisk, ..and there seemed to be a contagion of alarm in the very air. But Lysia was perfectly self-possessed, . . in fact she appeared to accept the threat of a storm as an imposing, and by no means undesirable, adjunct to the mysteries of the Sacrificial Rite, for riveting her basilisk eyes on Niphrata, she said in firm, clear, decisive accents: "The gods grow impatient! … Wherefore, O Princess and People of Al-Kyris, let us hasten to appease their anger! Depart, O stainless Maid! … depart hence, and betake thee to the Golden Throne of the Sun, our Lord and Ruler, . . and in the Name of Nagaya, may the shedding of thy virginal blood avert from us and ours the wrath of the Immortals! Linger no longer, . . Nagaya accepts thee! … and the Hour strikes Death!" With the last word a sullen bell boomed heavily through and through the Temple.. and, at once, . . like a frenzied bird or butterfly winging its way into scorching flame, . . Niphrata rushed forward with swift, unhesitating, dreadful precision straight on the knife outheld by the untrembling ruthless hands of the Priest Zel! One second,—and Theos sick with horror, saw her speeding thus, . . the next,—and the whole place was enveloped in dense darkness! <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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