Ardath by Marie Corelli (best books to read in life .TXT) 📕

approached, their eyes seeming to mutely inquire his opinion, concerning the alarming phenomenon which held them thus spellbound and fear-stricken.

 

He made his way quickly to where they stood, and looking where they looked, uttered a sharp, involuntary exclamation, … the river, the clear, rippling river was RED AS BLOOD. Beneath the slowly breaking light of dawn, that streaked the heavens with delicate lines of silver-gray and daffodil, the whole visible length and breadth of the heaving waters shone with a darkly flickering crimson hue, deeper than the lustre of the deepest ruby, flowing sluggishly the while as though clogged with some thick and weedy slime.

 

As the sky brightened gradually into a pale, ethereal blue, so the tide became ruddier and more pronounced in color,—and presently, as though seized by a resistless panic, the group of staring, terrified bystanders broke up suddenly, and rushed away in various directions, covering their faces as they fled and uttering loud cries of lamentation and despair.

 

Theos alone remained behind, . . resting his folded arms on the sculptured balustrade, he gazed down, down into those crimson depths till their strange tint dazzled and confused his sight,—

looking up for relief to the eastern horizon where the sun was just bursting out in full splendor from a pavilion of violet cloud, the red reflection was still before his eyes, so much so, that the very air seemed flushed with spreading fire.

 

And then like the sound of a tocsin ringing in his ears, the words of the Prophet Khosrul, as pronounced in the presence of the King, recurred to his memory with new and suggestive force. “BLOOD—

BLOOD! ‘TIS A SCARLET SEA WHEREIN LIKE A BROKEN AND EMPTY SHIP AL-KYRIS FOUNDERS,—FOUNDERS NEVER TO RISE AGAIN!”

 

Still painfully oppressed by an increasing sense of some swift-approaching disaster, his thoughts once more reverted anxiously to Sahluma. He must be warned,—yes!—even if he disdained all warning! Yet, . . warn him against what? “BID HIM AVOID THE TEMPLE

AND BEWARE THE KING!”

 

So had said Zuriel the Mystic,—but to the laurelled favorite of the monarch, and idol of the people, such an admonition would seem more than absurd! It was useless to talk to him about the prophecies of Khosrul,—he had heard them all, and laughed them to scorn.

 

“How can I”—then mused Theos disconsolately,—“How can I make him believe that some undeclared evil threatens him, when he is at the very pinnacle of fame and fortune with all Al-Kyris at his feet?

… He would never listen to me, … nor would any persuasions of mine induce him to leave the city where his name is so glorious and his renown so firmly established. Of Lysia’s treachery I may perhaps convince him, … yet even in this attempt I may fail, and incur his hatred for my pains! If I had only myself to consider!

… “—And here his reflections suddenly took a strange, unbidden turn. If he had only himself to consider! … well, what then! Was it not just within the bounds of probability that, under the same circumstances, he might be precisely as self-willed and as haughtily opinionated as the friend whose arrogance he deplored, yet could not alter?

 

So pointed a suggestion was not exactly suited to his immediate humor, and he felt curiously vexed with himself for indulging in such a foolish association of ideas! The positions were entirely different, he argued, angrily addressing the troublesome inward monitor that every now and then tormented him,—there was no resemblance whatever between himself, the unknown, unfamed wanderer in a strange land, and the brilliant Sahluma, chosen Poet Laureate of the realm!

 

No resemblance, . . none at all! … he reiterated over and over again in his own mind, . . except … except, … well! … except in perhaps a few trifling touches of character and temper that were scarcely worth the noting! At this juncture, his uncomfortable reverie was interrupted by the sound of a harsh, metallic voice close behind him.

 

“What fools there are in the world!” said the voice in emphatic accents of supreme contempt—“What braying asses!—What earth-snouting swine! Saw you not yon crowd of whimpering idiots flying helter-skelter like chaff before the wind, weeping, wailing, and bemoaning their miserable little sins, scattering dust on their addled pates, and howling on their gods for mercy,—all forsooth!

because for once in their unobserving lives they behold the river red instead of green! Ay me! ‘tis a thing to laugh at, this crass, and brutish ignorance of the multitude,—no teaching will ever cleanse their minds from the cobwebs of vulgar superstition,—and I, in common with every wise and worthy sage of sound repute and knowledge, must needs waste all my scientific labors on a perpetually ungrateful public!”

 

Turning hastily round Theos confronted the speaker,—a tall, spare man with a pale, clean-shaven, intellectual face, small, shrewd, speculative eyes, and very straight, neatly parted locks,—a man on whose every lineament was expressed a profound belief in himself, and an equally profound scorn for the opinions of any one who might possibly presume to disagree with him. He smiled condescendingly as he met Theos’s half-surprised, half-inquiring look, and saluted him with a gravely pompous air, which however, was not without a saving touch of that indescribable, easy grace which seemed to distinguish the manners of all the inhabitants of Al-Kyris. Theos returned the salutation with equal gravity, whereupon the newcomer waving his hand majestically, continued: “You sir, I see, are young, . . and probably you are enrolled among the advanced students of one or other of our great collegiate institutions,—therefore the peculiar, though not at all unnatural tint of the river this morning, is of course no mystery to you, if, as I presume, you follow the Scientific Classes of Instruction in the Physiology of Nature, of Manifestation of Simple and Complex Motive Force, and the Perpetual Evolution of Atoms?”

 

Theos smiled,—the grandiloquent manner of this self-important individual amused him.

 

“Most worthy sir,” he replied, “you form too favorable an opinion of my scholarly attainments! I am a stranger in Al-Kyris,—and know naught of its educational system, or the interior mechanism of its wondrous civilization! I come from far-off lands, where, if I remember rightly, much is taught and but little retained,—where petty pedagogues persist in dragging new generations of men through old and worn-out ruts of knowledge that future ages shall never have need of, . . and concerning even the progress of science, I confess to a certain incredulity, seeing that to my mind Science somewhat resembles a straight line drawn clear across country but leading, alas! to an ocean wherein all landmarks are lost and swallowed up in blankness. Over and over again the human race has trodden the same pathway of research,—over and over again has it stood bewildered and baffled on the shores of the same vast sea,—

the most marvellous discoveries are after all mere child’s play compared to the tremendous secrets that must remain forever unrevealed; and the poor and trifling comprehension of things that we, after a lifetime of study, succeed in attaining, is only just sufficient to add to our already burdened existence the undesirable clogs of discontent and disappointed endeavor. We die,—in almost as much ignorance as we were born, . . and when we come face to face with the Last Dark Mystery, what shall our little wisdom profit us?”

 

With his arms folded in an attitude of enforced patience and complacent superiority, the other listened.

 

“Curious, . . curious!” he murmured in a mild sotto-voce,—“A would-be pessimist!—aye, aye,—‘tis very greatly the fashion for young men in these days to assume the manner of elderly and exhausted cynics who have tried everything and approve of nothing! ‘Tis a strange craze!—but, my good sir, let us keep to the subject at present under discussion. Like all unripe philosophers, you wander from the point. I did not ask you for your opinion concerning the uselessness or the efficiency of learning,—I merely sought to discover whether you, like the silly throng that lately scattered right and left of you, had any foolish forebodings respecting the transformed color of this river,—a color which, however seeming peculiar, arises, as all good scholars know, from causes that are perfectly simple and easily explainable.”

 

Theos hesitated,—his eyes wandered involuntarily to the flowing tide, which now with the fully risen sun seemed more than ever brilliant and lurid in its sanguinary hue.

 

“Strange things have been said of late concerning Al-Kyris,—” he answered at last, slowly and after a thoughtful pause,—“Things that, though wild and vague, are not without certain dark presages and ominous suggestions. This crimson flood may be, as you say, the natural effect of purely natural causes,—yet, notwithstanding this, it seems to me a singular phenomenon—nay, even a weird and almost fatal augury?”

 

His companion laughed—a gentle, careless laugh of amused disdain.

 

“Phenomenon! … augury! …” he exclaimed shrugging his shoulders lightly … “These words, my young friend, are terms that nowadays belong exclusively to the vocabulary of the uneducated masses; we,—and by WE, I mean scientists, and men of the highest culture,—have long ago rejected them as unmeaning and therefore unnecessary. Phenomenon is a particularly vile expression, serving merely to designate anything wonderful and uncommon,—whereas to the scientific eye, there is nothing left in the world that ought to excite so vulgar and barbarous an emotion as wonder, . . nothing so apparently rare that cannot be reduced at once from the ignorant exaggerations of enthusiasm to the sensible level of the commonplace? The so-called ‘marvels’ of nature have, thanks to the advancement of practical education, entirely ceased to affect by either surprise or admiration the carefully matured, mathematically adjusted, and technically balanced brain of the finished student or professor of Organic Evolution,—and as for the idea of ‘auguries’ or portents, nothing could well be more entirely at variance with our present system of progressive learning, whereby Human Reason is trained and taught to pulverize into indistinguishable atoms all supernatural propositions, and to gradually eradicate from the mind the absurd notion of a Deity or deities, whom it is necessary to propitiate in order to live well.

Much time is of course required to elevate the multitude above all desire for a Religion,—but the seed has been sown, and the harvest will be reaped, and a glorious Era is fast approaching, when the freethinking, free-speaking people of all nations shall govern themselves and rejoice in the grand and Godless Light of Universal Liberty?”

 

Somewhat heated by the fervor of his declamatory utterance, he passed his hand among his straight locks, whether to cool his forehead, or to show off the numerous jewelled rings on his fingers, it was difficult to say, and continued more calmly: “No, young sir!—the color of this river,—a color which, I willingly admit, resembles the tint of flowing human blood,—has naught to do with foolish omens and forecasts of evil,—‘tis simply caused by the influx of some foreign alluvial matter, probably washed down by storm from, the sides of the distant mountains whence these waters have their rising,—see you not how the tide is thick and heavy with an unfloatable cargo of red sand?

Some sudden disturbance of the soil,—or a volcanic movement underneath the ocean,—or even a distant earthquake, . . any of these may be the reason.”…

 

“May be?—why not say MUST be,” observed Theos half ironically, “since learning makes you sure!”

 

His companion pressed the tips of his fingers delicately together, as though blandly deprecating this observation.

 

“Nay, nay!—none of us, however wise, can say ‘MUST BE’”—he argued suavely—“It is not,—strictly speaking,—possible in this world to pronounce an incontestable certainty.”

 

“Not even that two and two are four?” suggested Theos, smiling.

 

“Not even that!”…replied the other with perfect gravity—

“Inasmuch as in the