VI
THE WARDENS OF THE GATE
The clamour swelled or sank, and the men called or cried the namesof many women, some dead, some lost. Others were mute, silent in thepresence of the World's Desire, silent as when we see lost faces ina dream. The Wanderer had looked once and then cast down his eyes andstood with his face hidden in his hands. He alone waited and strove tothink; the rest were abandoned to the bewilderment of their passions andtheir amaze.
What was it that he had seen? That which he had sought his whole lifelong; sought by sea and land, not knowing what he sought. For this hehad wandered with a hungry heart, and now was the hunger of his heartto be appeased? Between him and her was the unknown barrier and theinvisible Death. Was he to pass the unmarked boundary, to force thoseguarded gates and achieve where all had failed? Had a magic deceived hiseyes? Did he look but on a picture and a vision that some art could callagain from the haunted place of Memory?
He sighed and looked again. Lo! in his charmed sight a fair girl seemedto stand upon the pylon brow, and on her head she bore a shining urn ofbronze.
He knew her now. He had seen her thus at the court of King Tyndareus ashe drove in his chariot through the ford of Eurotas; thus he had seenher also in the dream on the Silent Isle.
Again he sighed and again he looked. Now in his charmed sight a womansat, whose face was the face of the girl, grown more lovely far, but sadwith grief and touched with shame.
He saw her and he knew her. So he had seen her in Troy towers when hestole thither in a beggar's guise from the camp of the Achaeans. So hehad seen her when she saved his life in Ilios.
Again he sighed and again he looked, and now he saw the Golden Helen.
She stood upon the pylon's brow. She stood with arms outstretched,with eyes upturned, and on her shining face there was a smile like theinfinite smile of the dawn. Oh, now indeed he knew the shape that wasBeauty's self--the innocent Spirit of Love sent on earth by the undyingGods to be the doom and the delight of men; to draw them through theways of strife to the unknown end.
Awhile the Golden Helen stood thus looking up and out to the worldsbeyond; to the peace beyond the strife, to the goal beyond the grave.Thus she stood while men scarce dared to breathe, summoning all to comeand take that which upon the earth is guarded so invincibly.
Then once more she sang, and as she sang, slowly drew herself away, tillat length nothing was left of the vision of her save the sweetness ofher dying song.
Who wins his Love shall lose her, Who loses her shall gain, For still the spirit woos her, A soul without a stain; And Memory still pursues her With longings not in vain!
He loses her who gains her, Who watches day by day The dust of time that stains her, The griefs that leave her grey, The flesh that yet enchains her Whose grace hath passed away!
Oh, happier he who gains not The Love some seem to gain: The joy that custom stains not Shall still with him remain, The loveliness that wanes not, The love that ne'er can wane.
In dreams she grows not older The lands of Dream among, Though all the world wax colder, Though all the songs be sung, In dreams doth he behold her Still fair and kind and young.
Now the silence died away, and again madness came upon those whohad listened and looked. The men without the wall once more hurledthemselves against the gates, while the women clung to them, shriekingcurses on the beauty of the Hathor, for the song meant nothing to thesewomen, and their arms were about those whom they loved and who won themtheir bread. But most of the men who were in the outer court rushedup to the inner gates within which stood the alabaster shrine of theHathor. Some flung themselves upon the ground and clutched at it, asin dreams men fling themselves down to be saved from falling into a pitthat has no bottom. Yet as in such an evil slumber the dreamer isdrawn inch by inch to the mouth of the pit by an unseen hand, so thesewretched men were dragged along the ground by the might of theirown desire. In vain they set their feet against the stones to holdthemselves from going, for they thrust forward yet more fiercelywith their hands, and thus little by little drew near the inner gateswrithing forwards yet moving backwards like a wounded snake draggedalong by a rope. For of those who thus entered the outer court andlooked upon the Hathor, few might go back alive.
Now the priests drew the cloths from their eyes, and rising, flungwide the second gates, and there, but a little way off, the veil of theshrine wavered as if in a wind. For now the doors beyond the veil werethrown open, as might be seen when the wind swayed its Tyrian web, andthrough the curtain came the sound of the same sweet singing.
"Draw near! Draw near!" cried the ancient priest. "Let him who would winthe Hathor draw near!"
Now at first the Wanderer was minded to rush on. But his desire had notwholly overcome him, nor had his wisdom left him. He took counsel withhis heart and waited to let the others go, and to see how it fared withthem.
The worshippers were now hurrying back and now darting onwards, as fearand longing seized them, till the man who was blind drew near, led bythe hand of a priest, for his hound might not enter the second court ofthe temple.
"Do ye fear?" he cried. "Cowards, I fear not. It is better to look uponthe glory of the Hathor and die than to live and never see her more. Setmy face straight, ye priests, set my face straight, at the worst I canbut die."
So they led him as near the curtains as they dared to go and set hisface straight. Then with a great cry he rushed on. But he was caught andwhirled about like a leaf in a wind, so that he fell. He rose and againrushed on, again to be whirled back. A third time he rose and rushedon, smiting with his blind man's staff. The blow fell, and stayed inmid-air, and there came a hollow sound as of a smitten shield, and thestaff that dealt the blow was shattered. Then there was a noise like thenoise of clashing swords, and the man instantly sank down dead, thoughthe Wanderer could see no wound upon him.
"Draw near! Draw near!" cried the priest again. "This one is fallen. Lethim who would win the Hathor draw near!"
Then the man who had fled from the host of the Apura rushed forward,crying on the Lion of his tribe. Back he was hurled, and back again, butat the third time once more there came the sound of clashing swords, andhe too fell dead.
"Draw near! Draw near!" cried the priest. "Another has fallen! Let himwho would win the Hathor draw near!"
And now man after man rushed on, to be first hurled back and then slainof the clashing swords. And at length all were slain save the Wandereralone.
Then the priest spake:
"Wilt thou indeed rush on to doom, thou glorious man? Thou hast seen thefate of many. Be warned and turn away."
"Never did I turn from man or ghost," said the Wanderer, and drawinghis short sword he came near, warily covering his head with his broadshield, while the priests stood back to see him die. Now, the Wandererhad marked that none were touched till they stood at the very thresholdof the doorway. Therefore he uttered a prayer to Aphrodite and came onslowly till his feet were within a bow's length of the threshold, andthere he stood and listened. Now he could hear the very words of thesong that the Hathor sang as she wove at her loom. So dread and sweetit was that for a while he thought no more on the Guardians of the Gate,nor of how he might win the way, nor of aught save the song. For shewas singing shrill and clear in his own dear tongue, the tongue of theAchaeans:
Paint with threads of gold and scarlet, paint the battles fought for me, All the wars for Argive Helen; storm and sack by land or sea; All the tale of loves and sorrows that have been and are to be.
Paint her lips that like a cup have pledged the lips of heroes all, Paint her golden hair unwhitened while the many winters fall, Paint the beauty that is mistress of the wide world and its thrall!
Paint the storms of ships and chariots, rain of arrows flying far, Paint the waves of Warfare leaping up at Beauty like a star, Like a st
ar that pale and trembling hangs above the waves of War.
Paint the ancient Ilios fallen; paint the flames that scaled the sky, When the foe was in the fortress, when the trumpet and the cry Rang of men in their last onset, men whose hour had dawned to die.
Woe for me once loved of all men, me that never yet have known How to love the hearts that loved me. Woe for woe, who hear the moan Of my lovers' ghosts that perished in their cities overthrown.
Is there not, of Gods or mortals, oh, ye Gods, is there not one-- One whose heart shall mate with my heart, one to love ere all be done, All the tales of wars that shall be for my love beneath the sun?
Now the song died away, and the Wanderer once more bethought him of theWardens of the Gate and of the battle which he must fight. But ashe braced himself to rush on against the unseen foe the music of thesinging swelled forth again, and whether he willed it or willed it not,so sweet was its magic that there he must wait till the song was done.And now stronger and more gladly rang the sweet shrill voice, like thevoice of one who has made moan through the livelong winter night, andnow sees the chariot of the dawn climbing the eastern sky. And thus theHathor sang:
Ah, within my heart a hunger for the love unfelt, unknown, Stirs at length, and wakes and murmurs as a child that wakes to moan, Left to sleep within some silent house of strangers and alone.
So my heart awakes, and waking, moans with hunger and with cold, Cries in pain of dim remembrance for the joy that was of old; For the love that was, that shall be, half forgot and half foretold.
Have I dreamed it or remembered? In another world was I, Lived and loved in alien seasons, moved beneath a golden sky, In a golden clime where never came the strife of men that die.
But the Gods themselves were jealous, for our bliss was over great, And they brought on us division, and the horror of their Hate, And they set the Snake between us, and the twining coils of Fate.
And they said, "Go forth and seek each other's face, and only find Shadows of that face ye long for, dreams of days left far behind, Love the shadows and be loved with loves that waver as the wind."
Once more the sweet singing died away, but as the Wanderer grasped hissword and fixed the broad shield upon his arm he remembered the dreamof Meriamun the Queen, which had been told him by Rei the Priest. For inthat dream twain who had sinned were made three, and through many deathsand lives must seek each other's face. And now it seemed that the burdenof the song was the burden of the dream.
Then he thought no more on dreams, or songs, or omens, but only on thedeadly foe that stood before him wrapped in darkness, and on Helen, inwhose arms he yet should lie, for so the Goddess had sworn to him insea-girt Ithaca. He spoke no word, he named no God, but sprang forwardas a lion springs from his bed of reeds; and, lo! his buckler clashedagainst shields that barred the way, and invisible arms seized him tohurl him back. But no weakling was the Wanderer, thus to be pushed asideby magic, but the stoutest man left alive in the whole world now thatAias, Telamon's son, was dead. The priests wondered as they saw how hegave back never a step, for all the might of the Wardens of the Gate,but lifted his short sword and hewed down so terribly that fire leaptfrom the air where the short sword fell, the good short sword ofEuryalus the Phaeacian. Then came the clashing of the swords, and fromall the golden armour that once the god-like Paris wore, ay, frombuckler, helm, and greaves, and breastplate the sparks streamed up asthey stream from the anvil of the smith when he smites great blows onswords made white with fire.
Swift as hail fell the blows of the unseen blades upon the goldenarmour, but he who wore it took no harm, nor was it so much as markedwith the dint of the swords. So while the priests wondered at thismiracle the viewless Wardens of the Gate smote at the Wanderer, and theWanderer smote at them again. Then of a sudden he knew this, that theywho barred the path were gone, for no more blows fell, and his swordonly cut the air.
Then he rushed on and passed behind the veil and stood within theshrine.
But as the curtains swung behind him the singing rose again upon theair, and he might not move, but stood fixed with his eyes gazing where,far up, a loom was set within the shrine. For the sound of the singingcame from behind the great web gleaming in the loom, the sound of thesong of Helen as she heard the swords clash and the ringing of theharness of those whose knees were loosened in death. It was thus shesang:
Clamour of iron on iron, and shrieking of steel upon steel, Hark how they echo again! Life with the dead is at war, and the mortals are shaken and reel, The living are slain by the slain!
Clamour of iron on iron; like music that chimes with a song, So with my life doth it chime, And my footsteps must fall in the dance of Erinnys, a revel of wrong, Till the day of the passing of Time!
Ghosts of the dead that have loved me, your love have been vanquished of death, But unvanquished of death is your hate; Say, is there none that may woo me and win me of all that draw breath, Not one but is envied of Fate?
Now the song died, and the Wanderer looked up, and before him stoodthree shadows of mighty men clad in armour. He gazed upon them, and heknew the blazons painted on their shields; he knew them for heroes longdead--Pirithous, Theseus, and Aias.
They looked upon him, and then cried with one voice:
"Hail to thee, Odysseus of Ithaca, son of Laertes!"
"Hail to thee," cried the Wanderer, "Theseus, AEgeus' son! Once beforedidst thou go down into the House of Hades, and alive thou camest forthagain. Hast thou crossed yet again the stream of Ocean, and dost thoulive in the sunlight? For of old I sought thee and found thee not in theHouse of Hades?"
The semblance of Theseus answered: "In the House of Hades I abide thisday, and in the fields of asphodel. But that thou seest is a shadow,sent forth by Queen Persephone, to be the guard of the beauty of Helen."
"Hail to thee, Pirithous, Ixion's son," cried the Wanderer again. "Hastthou yet won the dread Persephone to be thy love? And why doth Hadesgive his rival holiday to wander in the sunlight, for of old I soughtthee, and found thee not in the House of Hades."
Then the semblance of Pirithous answered:
"In the House of Hades I dwell this day, and that thou seest is but ashadow which goes with the shadow of the hero Theseus. For where he isam I, and where he goes I go, and our very shadows are not sundered; butwe guard the beauty of Helen."
"Hail to thee, Aias, Telamon's son," cried the Wanderer. "Hast thou notforgotten thy wrath against me, for the sake of those accursed arms thatI won from thee, the arms of Achilles, son of Peleus? For of old in theHouse of Hades I spoke to thee, but thou wouldst not answer one word, soheavy was thine anger."
Then the semblance of Aias made answer: "With iron upon iron, and thestroke of bronze on bronze, would I answer thee, if I were yet a livingman and looked upon the sunlight. But I smite with a shadowy spear andslay none but men foredoomed, and I am the shade of Aias who dwells inHades. Yet the Queen Persephone sent me forth to be the guard of thebeauty of Helen."
Then the Wanderer spake.
"Tell me, ye shadows of the sons of heroes, is the way closed, and dothe Gods forbid it, or may I that am yet a living man pass forward andgaze on that ye guard, on the beauty of Helen?"
Then each of the three nodded with his head, and smote once upon hisshield, saying:
"Pass by, but look not back upon us, till thou hast seen thy desire."
Then the Wanderer went by, into the innermost chamber of the alabastershrine.
Now when the shadows had spoken thus, they grew dim and vanished, andthe Wanderer, as they had commanded, drew slowly up on the alabastershrine, till at length he stood on the hither side of the web uponthe loom. It was a great web, wide and high, and hid all the innermostrecesses of the shrine. Here he waited, not knowing how he should breakin upon the Hathor.
br /> As he stood wondering thus his buckler slipped from his loosened handand clashed upon the marble floor, and as it clashed the voice of theHathor took up the broken song; and thus she sang ever more sweetly:--
Ghosts of the dead that have loved me, your love has been vanquished by Death, But unvanquished by Death is your Hate; Say, is there none that may woo me and win me of all that draw breath, Not one but is envied of Fate?
None that may pass you unwounded, unscathed of invisible spears-- By the splendour of Zeus there is one, And he comes, and my spirit is touched as Demeter is touched by the tears Of the Spring and the kiss of the sun.
For he comes, and my heart that was chill as a lake in the season of snow, Is molten, and glows as with fire. And the Love that I knew not is born and he laughs in my heart, and I know The name and the flame of Desire.
As a flame I am kindled, a flame that is blown by a wind from the North, By a wind that is deadly with cold, And the hope that awoke in me faints, for the Love that is born shall go forth To my Love, and shall die as of old!
Now the song sobbed itself away, but the heart of the Wanderer echoed toits sweetness as a lyre moans and thrills when the hand of the strikeris lifted from the strings.
For a while he stood thus, hidden by the web upon the loom, while hislimbs shook like the leaves of the tall poplar, and his face turnedwhite as turn the poplar leaves. Then desire overcame him, and a longinghe could not master, to look upon the face of her who sang, and heseized the web upon the loom, and rent it with a great rending noise, sothat it fell down on either side of him, and the gold coils rippled athis feet.