The Dreamer Of Dreams Part 6

IX

L'espoir meme a des portes closes; Cette terre est pleine de choses Dont nous ne voyons qu'un cote.

V. HUGO.

Eric was wandering through the maze of gardens, grottos, and domed halls that formed the dwelling of the sorceress. It was night--but a clear night; almost as light as day because of the radiant moon that lay low in the sky; she was oppressively near the earth, intruding her wise rays, that had seen all too much, into every corner and hiding-place.

Eric hated her indiscretion; he had hoped to wrap himself in the mantle of the dark so that he might steal away at last.

He could stand no longer the suffocating oppression which had gradually been coming over him. To-night he had slunk away from the luxurious feast his fair jailer had been giving him.

He had left her there, upon her throne of gold, amidst priceless draperies, amongst the garlands of red poppies that had been entwined round the tables at which richly clad, loud-voiced youths were gathered--youths who drank and sang, and whose eyes had a strangely tired look, always straining after some pleasure that seemed to pa.s.s them by and leave them with empty outstretched hands.

All had clamoured round that golden throne, pressing near to the queenly figure who sat there in a scarlet robe, her eyes still bandaged beneath the wreath of poppies which was pressed upon her shining tresses.

Her penetrating laugh had sounded clearly above all the din, and she had lifted her hands high in the air throwing the gorgeous-coloured poppy-leaves over their bowed heads; and she had drunk out of a golden goblet which she had held in turns to their thirsting lips.

One of the youths was as young as Eric himself and of marvellous beauty, with eyes like flashing jewels, but which held a look of such intense suffering that Eric could not bear the sight.

This boy had dragged himself on his knees to the steps of the throne, uttering incoherent prayers, the hot tears running down his cheeks; then he had hidden his face within the scarlet folds of her dress and had cried as if his heart would break, whilst the wild woman in red had laughed, laughed, mocking his sorrow with hard words, till all the others had laughed with her.

It was then that Eric had fled, with a mad desire to get out into the cool night and flee as far as he could from all these revels of which his simple soul could not grasp the meaning.

Yet the wonderful woman had dropped some of the poison into his veins, because, in spite of his great desire to escape, he felt a burning regret in his heart at the thought that he was leaving without having seen the woman's eyes. At the same time he almost dreaded to find the face of his dreams behind that white cloth which had become uncanny to him ... and yet?... why was this burning pain at his heart? Why had he come here? Why had he not turned back when the old bell had so persistently warned him? Suddenly he felt older, wiser, as if years had elapsed since he left the sea-sh.o.r.e and lost his way within this labyrinth so full of beauty and temptation.

He thought he felt once more the soft touch of the woman's hands, that he saw the glowing flower of her lips, the soft yielding figure, the white arms, the rippling fair hair, the tiny feet, and he stood still clasping his hands over his burning eyes.

Why had he not torn the bandage from her brow, and pressed his lips upon that tempting mouth, crushing it beneath his own? Indeed he had been a fool! And no doubt it was thus she considered him, and was now deriding his memory amongst those shameless guests who crowded around her tables; those tables that were bending under the weight of the costly dishes, and where the brilliant poppies were shedding their petals as they faded and drooped amongst hundreds of lighted candles.

Eric groaned in his distress; he longed to go back before that golden throne and tell the beautiful woman that he hated her ... hated her!...

But now he must escape--but why was the moon so bright? Why could he not find his way to the snow-white hall, and from there, over the deep water, past the mysterious well, out into the wide world once more?

Why did his head ache and throb? Why did his throat feel dry with ill-contained sobs? What had come to him? Never had he felt thus.

All the sweet peace of his soul had been replaced by waves of unknown sensations and desires; and beneath it all, that burning pain at his heart, that unsatisfied yearning for something he could not grasp.

The moon flooded everything in a hard, merciless light; he ran from place to place seeking an issue, only to find everywhere blank walls to stop him. He knew that he was losing his head, the blood beat in his temples, his eyes could no more clearly see.... With a stifled cry of distress he dropped down, and all became dark around him.

X

For in much wisdom is much grief; and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.

ECCLESIASTES.

After a short time Eric's senses came back; he looked up and saw that he was in a small, very dark chamber. How he got there he did not know, he had never seen the place before. Then he rose to his feet with a start.

A curtain had been quietly drawn aside, and he could see now into an inner chamber out of which a faint light shone.

Forgetting all his fear and misery he ran forward, hoping to find an outlet whence he could reach the old moaning bell, and thence escape to liberty under G.o.d's great sky, free like a bird once more to wander wherever he would. But the sight he saw riveted his feet to the ground: upon a low narrow couch lay the woman he had learnt to hate. She was stretched motionless, asleep on her back, her wonderful face only faintly discernible--and oh! marvel, her eyes were no longer covered.

All about her seemed wrapped in grey vapours; the soft draperies with which her body was covered were also grey, like finely woven cobwebs.

At each side of her couch, close to her head, stood large jars of tarnished silver, filled with irises the colour of autumn clouds.

At her feet, rigid and unblinking, as if cast out of steel or carved in granite, his eyes gazing into s.p.a.ce, was an eagle of unusual size; there he sat in quiet majesty at the feet of this vision of beauty, like a ghost of the mountains that had been turned to stone. A faint haze lay over all, something mysterious and grave-like; nor was it to be discovered whence the light came. There were no windows, no opening anywhere, and yet everything was distinctly visible.

The face of the woman was more perfect than it had ever been. Eric was now bending over it with a feeling of awe and wonder.

Was ever sleeper so still, was ever living face so pale, lips so blanched? Gradually a cold sensation of fear began to creep over the startled youth; he bent lower, his face close to that silent one. He sprang back with a cry of horror ... beneath the long lashes he saw that the woman was looking at him, and yet....

Oh! What was it? What horrible nightmare was this?... She was looking, she was staring ... yes, she was staring with sightless eyes--eyes out of which the light of life had gone for ever! for ever!...

Eric sank to his knees and hid his face against the still form, and as he did so he felt something wet upon his cheek, something that was trickling slowly down upon the floor where he knelt, something that was gradually spreading in a dark patch, which widened over the grey folds of the robe. And then Eric saw that within the woman's heart a dagger had been thrust.... A dagger within the very centre of her heart.

XI

Over thy creations of beauty there is a mist of tears.

TAGORE.

High and austere in their forsaken silence stood the walls of the great church--G.o.d's own sun looked in through the crumbling windows, and G.o.d's own sky was its only roof. Many of the columns had fallen, but others stood, erect and rigid, frowning down from their immense height, grey and lonely, like giant trees in winter.

Large heaps of stones lay about the mosaic floor that still showed signs of a beautiful design; statues had fallen from their pedestals and lay in helpless att.i.tudes, their arms broken, their vacant eyes gazing with stony indifference into the sunshine. Sometimes their heads were missing, having rolled away as they fell.

Nature was rapidly doing her work; she was spreading her consoling mantle of verdure and flowers over this crumbling work of art, which human hands had once, long ago, built with pious vows and prayers.

Growths were bursting out of every crevice and crack in rambling confusion. Even the wild plants of the heath beyond had begun to creep into the church, giving the forgotten monument a festive look as if flowers had been strewn everywhere on the floor for some blessed feast-day. In greater ma.s.ses than any other plant, wild lavender had taken possession of the church, bursting the mosaic floor asunder in a thousand places and pushing its way everywhere, so that over all lay a bluey-grey shimmer like evening mists rising out of a bog.

Through the wide-open portals the desolate land could be seen, stretching as far as the eye could reach, covered with the same dusty blue flower, and quite on the horizon it mixed with the sky, so that it was difficult to discern where the one began and the other ended.

A peculiar stillness lay over everything; it was not easy to imagine that human feet had once crowded towards the now broken altar that shone like a death-cloth as the rays of the sun struck upon the still white stone. The thick carpet of lavender sent out a faint perfume of other days, within which a whole treasure of memories was stowed away ...

forgotten. Peace, peace, peace was over all, the peace of things that are past.

Before the altar, stretched out all his length on the ground amongst the blue of the lavender, lay Eric, his face pressed against the floor, his golden curls matted, his neat clothes soiled and dusty. He lay there, all his young body expressing one long cry of protest against the cruel things he had just learnt.

He had fled and fled, blind instinct guiding his steps, quite ignorant as to how he had found his way out. And then, when he once more saw the great sky over his head, he had rushed unseeingly forward, climbing the rocks, leaving the sea far behind.

On, on, in breathless haste to get away from that silent figure wrapped in grey folds, with the sightless eyes and the dagger within her heart ... neither did he know how he had reached this desolate place.

He had seen this ruined fane standing grey and forsaken on a waste of blue-grey flowers; he had seen it outlined in magnificent solitude against the clear sky, and a great wish had come over him to take refuge there, in that holy place, after the atmosphere of tragedy and temptation he had just left behind.