This temple, as I had fancied from the outside, was larger than either of those I had visited before; and was presumably a natural cavern,[39] since it bore winds from some region beyond. Here I could stand quite upright, but saw that the stones and altars were as[40] low as those in the other temples. On the walls and roof I beheld for the first time some traces of the pictorial art of the ancient race, curious curling streaks of paint that had almost faded or crumbled away; and on two of the altars I saw with rising excitement a maze of well-fashioned[41] curvilinear carvings. As I held my torch aloft it seemed to me that the shape of the roof was too regular to be natural, and I wondered what the prehistoric[42] cutters of stone had first worked upon. Their engineering skill must have been vast.
Then a brighter flare of the fantastic flame shewed me[43] that for which I had been seeking, the opening to those remoter abysses whence the sudden wind had blown; and I grew faint when I saw that it was a small and plainly artificial [44] door chiselled in the solid rock. I thrust my torch within, beholding a black tunnel with the roof arching low over a rough flight of very small, numerous,[45] and steeply descending steps. I shall always see those steps in my dreams, for I came to learn what they meant. At the time I hardly knew whether to call them steps or mere footholds in a precipitous descent. My mind was whirling with mad thoughts,[46] and the words and warnings of Arab prophets seemed to float across the desert from the[47] lands that men know to the nameless city that men dare not know. Yet I hesitated only[48] a moment before advancing through the portal and commencing to climb cautiously down the steep passage, feet first, as though on a ladder.
It is only in the terrible phantasms of drugs or delirium that any other man can have had[49] such a descent as mine. The narrow passage led infinitely down like some hideous haunted well, and the torch I held above my head could not light the unknown depths toward which I was crawling. I lost track of the hours and forgot to consult my watch, though I was frightened when I thought of the distance I must be traversing. There were changes of direction and of steepness,[50] and once I came to a long, low, level passage where I had to wriggle[51] feet first along the rocky floor, holding my[52] torch at arm’s length beyond my head. The place was not high enough for kneeling. After that were more of the steep steps, and I was still scrambling down interminably when my failing torch died out. I do not think I noticed it at the time, for when I did notice it[53] I was still holding it high[54] above me as if it were ablaze. I was quite unbalanced with that instinct for the strange and the unknown which has[55] made me a wanderer upon earth and a haunter of far, ancient, and forbidden places.
In the darkness there flashed before my mind fragments of my cherished treasury[56] of daemoniac lore; sentences from Alhazred the mad Arab, paragraphs from the apocryphal nightmares[57] of Damascius, and infamous lines from the delirious “Image du Monde”[58] of Gauthier de Metz.[59] I repeated queer extracts, and muttered of Afrasiab and the daemons that floated with him down the Oxus; later chanting[60] over and over again a phrase from one of Lord Dunsany’s tales—“the[61] unreverberate blackness of the abyss”.[62] Once when the descent grew amazingly steep I recited something in sing-song[63] from Thomas Moore until I feared to recite more:[64]
“A reservoir of darkness, black
As witches’ cauldrons[65] are, when fill’d
With moon-drugs in th’ eclipse distill’d.
Leaning to look if foot might pass
Down thro’ that chasm, I saw, beneath,
As far as vision could explore,
The jetty sides as smooth as glass,
Looking as if just varnish’d o’er
With that dark pitch the Sea[66] of Death
Throws out upon its slimy shore.”
Time had quite ceased to exist when my feet again felt a level floor, and I found myself in a place slightly higher than the rooms in the two smaller temples now so incalculably far above my head. I could not quite stand, but could kneel upright, and in the dark I shuffled and crept hither and thither at random. I soon knew that I was in a narrow passage whose walls were lined with cases of wood having glass fronts. As in that palaeozoic[67] and abysmal place I felt of such things as polished wood and glass I shuddered at the possible implications. The cases were apparently ranged along each side of the passage at regular intervals, and were oblong and horizontal, hideously like coffins in shape and size. When I tried to move two or three for further examination, I found[68] they were firmly fastened.
I saw that the passage was a long one, so floundered ahead rapidly in a creeping run that would have seemed horrible had any eye watched me in the blackness; crossing from side to side occasionally[69] to feel of my surroundings and be sure[70] the walls and rows of cases still stretched on. Man[71] is so used to thinking visually that I almost forgot the darkness and pictured the endless corridor of wood and glass in its low-studded monotony as though I saw it. And then in a moment of indescribable emotion I did see it.
Just when my fancy merged into real sight I cannot tell; but there came a gradual glow ahead, and all at once I knew that I saw the dim outlines of the corridor and the cases, revealed by some unknown subterranean phosphorescence. For a little while all was exactly as I had imagined it, since the glow was very faint; but as I mechanically kept on[72] stumbling ahead into the stronger light I realised that my fancy had been but feeble. This hall was no relic of crudity like the temples in the city above, but a monument of the most magnificent and exotic art. Rich, vivid, and daringly fantastic designs and pictures formed a continuous scheme of mural painting whose lines and colours were beyond description. The cases were of a strange golden wood, with fronts of exquisite glass, and contained[73] the mummified forms of creatures outreaching in grotesqueness the most chaotic dreams of man.
To convey any idea of these monstrosities is impossible. They were of the reptile kind, with body lines suggesting sometimes the crocodile, sometimes the seal, but more often nothing of which either the naturalist or the paleaeontologist ever heard. In size they approximated a small man, and their fore legs[74] bore delicate and evidently flexible[75] feet curiously like human hands and fingers. But strangest of all were their heads, which presented a contour violating all known biological principles. To nothing can such things be well compared—in one flash I thought of comparisons as varied as the cat, the bulldog,[76] the mythic Satyr, and the human being. Not Jove himself had[77] so colossal and protuberant[78] a forehead, yet the horns and the noselessness and the alligator-like[79] jaw placed the things outside all established categories. I debated for a time on the reality of the mummies, half [80] suspecting they were artificial idols; but soon decided they were indeed some palaeogean species which had lived when the nameless city was alive. To crown their grotesqueness, most of them were gorgeously enrobed in the costliest of fabrics, and lavishly laden with ornaments of gold, jewels, and unknown shining metals.
The importance of these crawling creatures must have been vast, for they held first place among the wild designs on the frescoed walls and ceiling. With matchless skill had the artist drawn them in a world of their own, wherein they had cities and gardens fashioned to suit their dimensions; and I could not[81] but think that their pictured history was allegorical, perhaps shewing the progress of the race that worshipped them. These creatures, I said to myself, were to the men of the nameless city what the she-wolf was to Rome, or some totem-beast is to a tribe of Indians.
Holding this view, I thought[82] I could trace roughly a wonderful epic of the nameless city; the tale of a mighty seacoast metropolis that ruled the world before Africa rose out of the waves, and of[83] its struggles as the sea shrank[84] away, and the desert crept into the fertile valley that held it. I saw its wars and triumphs, its troubles and defeats, and afterward[85] its terrible fight against the desert when thousands of its people—here represented in allegory by the grotesque reptiles—were driven to chisel their way down through the rocks in some marvellous manner to another world whereof thei
r prophets had told them. It was all vividly weird and realistic, and its connexion[86] with the awesome descent I had made was unmistakable. I even recognised[87] the passages.
As I crept along the corridor toward the brighter light I saw later stages of the painted epic[88]—the leave-taking[89] of the race that had dwelt in the nameless city and the valley around for ten million years; the race whose souls shrank from quitting scenes their bodies had known so long,[90] where they had settled as nomads in the earth’s youth, hewing in the virgin rock those primal[91] shrines at which they never[92] ceased to worship. Now that the light was better I studied the pictures more closely,[93] and, remembering that the strange reptiles must represent the unknown men, pondered upon the customs of the nameless city. Many things were peculiar and inexplicable. The civilisation, which included a written alphabet, had seemingly risen to a higher order than those immeasurably later civilisations[94] of Egypt and Chaldaea,[95] yet there were curious omissions.[96] I could, for example, find no pictures to represent deaths or funeral customs, save such as were related to wars, violence, and plagues; and I wondered at the reticence shewn[97] concerning natural death. It was as though an ideal of earthly[98] immortality had been fostered as a cheering illusion.
Still nearer the end of the passage were painted scenes of the utmost picturesqueness and extravagance;[99] contrasted views of the nameless city in its desertion and growing ruin, and of the strange new realm or[100] paradise to which the race had hewed[101] its way through the stone. In these views the city and the desert valley were shewn always by moonlight, a[102] golden nimbus hovering over the fallen walls and half revealing[103] the splendid perfection of former times, shewn[104] spectrally[105] and elusively by the artist. The paradisal scenes were almost too extravagant to be believed;[106] portraying a hidden world of eternal day filled with glorious cities and ethereal[107] hills and valleys. At the very last I thought I saw signs of an artistic anticlimax. The paintings were less skilful,[108] and much more bizarre than even the wildest of the earlier scenes. They seemed to record a slow decadence of the ancient stock, coupled with a growing ferocity toward the outside world from which it was driven by the desert. The forms of the people—always represented by the sacred reptiles—appeared to be gradually wasting away, though their spirit as[109] shewn hovering about[110] the ruins by moonlight gained in proportion. Emaciated priests, displayed as reptiles in ornate robes, cursed the upper air and all who breathed it; and one terrible final scene shewed a primitive-looking man, perhaps a pioneer of ancient Irem, the City of Pillars,[111] torn to pieces by members of the elder race. I remembered[112] how the Arabs fear the nameless city,[113] and was glad that beyond this place the grey walls and ceiling were bare.
As I viewed the pageant of mural history I had approached very closely the end of the low-ceiled hall, and was aware of a great[114] gate through which came all of the illuminating phosphorescence. Creeping up to it, I cried aloud in transcendent amazement at what lay beyond; for instead of other and brighter chambers there was only an illimitable void of uniform radiance, such as one might fancy when gazing down from the peak of Mount Everest upon a sea of sunlit mist. Behind me was a passage so cramped that I could not stand upright in it; before me was an infinity of subterranean effulgence.
Reaching down from the passage into the abyss was the head of a steep flight of steps—small numerous steps like those of the[115] black passages I had traversed—but after a few feet the glowing vapours concealed everything. Swung back open against the left-hand wall of the passage was a massive door of brass, incredibly thick and decorated with fantastic bas-reliefs, which could if closed shut the whole inner world of light away from the vaults and passages of rock. I looked at the steps, and for the nonce dared not try them. I touched the open brass door, and could not move it. Then I sank prone to the stone floor, my mind aflame with prodigious reflections which not even a death-like[116] exhaustion could banish.[117]
As I lay still with closed eyes, free to ponder, many things I had lightly noted[118] in the frescoes came back to me with new and terrible significance—scenes representing the nameless city in its heyday,[119] the vegetation of the valley around it, and the distant lands with which its merchants traded. The allegory of the crawling creatures puzzled me by its universal prominence,[120] and I wondered that it should[121] be so closely followed in a pictured history of such importance.[122] In the frescoes the nameless city had been shewn in proportions fitted to the reptiles. I wondered what its real proportions and magnificence had been, and reflected a moment on certain oddities I had noticed in the ruins. I thought curiously of the lowness of the primal temples and of the underground corridor, which were doubtless hewn thus out of deference to the reptile deities[123] there honoured; though it perforce reduced the worshippers to crawling. Perhaps the very rites had[124] involved a crawling in imitation of the creatures. No religious theory, however, could easily[125] explain why the level passage[126] in that awesome descent should be as low as the temples—or lower, since one could not even kneel in it. As I thought of the crawling creatures, whose hideous mummified forms were so close to me, I felt a new throb of fear. Mental associations are curious, and I shrank from the idea that except for the poor primitive man torn to pieces in the last painting, mine was the only human form amidst the many relics and symbols of primordial life.
But as always in my strange and roving existence, wonder soon drove out fear; for the luminous abyss and what it might contain presented a problem worthy of the greatest explorer. That a weird[127] world of mystery lay far down that flight of peculiarly small steps I could not doubt, and I hoped to find there those human memorials which the painted corridor had failed to give. The frescoes had pictured unbelievable cities, hills,[128] and valleys in this lower realm, and my fancy dwelt on the rich and colossal ruins that awaited me.
My fears, indeed, concerned the past rather than the future. Not even the physical horror of my position in that cramped corridor of dead reptiles and antediluvian frescoes, miles below the world I knew and faced by another world of eery light and mist, could match the lethal dread I felt at the abysmal antiquity of the scene and its soul. An ancientness so vast that measurement is feeble seemed to leer down from the primal stones and rock-hewn temples in[129] the nameless city, while the very latest of the astounding maps in the frescoes shewed oceans and continents that man has forgotten, with only here and there some vaguely familiar outline. Of what could have happened in the geological aeons[130] since the paintings ceased and[131] the death-hating race resentfully succumbed to decay, no man might say. Life had once teemed in these caverns and in the luminous realm beyond; now I was alone with vivid relics, and I trembled to think of the countless ages through which these relics had kept a silent and[132] deserted vigil.
Suddenly there came another burst of that acute fear which had intermittently seized me ever since I first saw the terrible valley and the nameless city under a cold moon, and despite my exhaustion I found myself starting frantically to a sitting[133] posture and gazing back along the black corridor toward the tunnels that rose to the outer world. My sensations were much[134] like those which had made me shun the nameless city at night, and were as inexplicable as they were poignant. In another moment, however, I received a still greater shock in the form of a definite sound—the first which had broken the utter silence of these tomb-like depths. It was a deep, low moaning, as of a distant throng of condemned spirits, and came from the direction in which I was staring. Its volume rapidly grew, till soon it[135] reverberated frightfully through the low passage, and at the same time I became conscious of an increasing draught of cold air, likewise flowing from the tunnels and the city above. The touch of this air seemed to restore my balance, for I instantly recalled the sudden gusts which had risen around the mouth of the abyss each sunset and sunrise, one of which had indeed served to reveal[136] the hidden tunnels to me. I looked at my watch and saw that sunrise was near, so braced myself to resist the gale whi
ch[137] was sweeping down to its cavern home as it had swept forth at evening. My fear again waned low, since a natural phenomenon tends to dispel broodings over the unknown.
More and more madly poured the shrieking, moaning[138] night-wind[139] into that[140] gulf of the inner earth. I dropped prone again and clutched vainly at the floor for fear of being swept bodily through the open gate into the phosphorescent abyss. Such fury I had not expected, and as I grew aware of an actual slipping of my form toward the abyss I was beset by a thousand new terrors of apprehension and imagination. The malignancy of the blast awakened incredible fancies; once more I compared myself shudderingly to the only other[141] human image in that frightful corridor, the man who was torn to pieces by the nameless race, for in the fiendish clawing of the swirling currents there seemed to abide a vindictive rage all the stronger because it was largely impotent. I think I screamed frantically near the last—I was almost mad—but if I did so my cries were lost in the hell-born babel of the howling wind-wraiths. I tried to crawl against the murderous invisible torrent, but I could not even hold my own as I was pushed slowly and inexorably toward the unknown world. Finally reason must have wholly snapped,[142] for I fell to babbling over and over that unexplainable[143] couplet of the mad Arab Alhazred, who dreamed of the nameless city: