Then, suddenly, whilst I rejoiced in this splendid vigour of a newfound self, from far away there came the dreadful muttering noise, that grew and grew to a crash and a roar, which combined in itself all that is terrible and yet splendid in the possibilities of sound. Nearer it came, and nearer yet, till it was close upon us, rolling down like all the thunder-wheels of heaven behind the horses of the lightning. On it travelled, and with it the glorious blinding cloud of many-coloured light, and stood before us for a space, slowly revolving, as it seemed to us; then, accompanied by its attendant pomp of sound, it passed away I know not whither.
So astonishing was the wondrous sight that one and all of us, save She, who stood up and stretched her hands towards the fire, sank down before it, and hid our faces in the sand.
When it was gone Ayesha spoke.
“At length, Kallikrates,” she said, “the moment is at hand. When the great flame comes again thou must bathe in it; but throw aside thy garments, for it will burn them, though thee it will not hurt. Thou must stand in the fire while thy senses will endure, and when it embraces thee suck the essence down into thy very heart, and let it leap and play around thy every limb, so that thou lose no moiety of its virtue. Hearest thou me, Kallikrates?”
“I hear thee, Ayesha,” answered Leo, “but, of a truth—I am no coward—but I doubt me of that raging flame. How know I that it will not utterly destroy me, so that I lose myself and lose thee also? Nevertheless I will do it,” he added.
Ayesha thought for a minute, and then said—
“It is not wonderful that thou shouldst doubt. Tell me, Kallikrates: if thou seest me stand in the flame and come forth unharmed, wilt thou enter also?”
“Yes,” he answered, “I will enter even if it slay me. I have said that I will enter now.”
“And that will I also,” I cried.
“What, my Holly!” she laughed aloud; “methought that thou wouldst naught of length of days. Why, how is this?”
“Nay, I know not,” I answered, “but there is that in my heart which calleth to me to taste of the flame, and live.”
“It is well,” she said. “Thou art not altogether lost in folly. See now, I will for the second time bathe me in this living bath. Fain would I add to my beauty and to my length of days, if that be possible. If it be not possible, at the least it cannot harm me.
“Also,” she continued, after a momentary pause, “there is another and a deeper cause why I would once again dip me in the fire. When first I tasted of its virtue my heart was full of passion and of hatred of that Egyptian Amenartas, and therefore, despite my strivings to be rid of them, passion and hatred have been stamped upon my soul from that sad hour to this. But now it is otherwise. Now is my mood a happy mood, and I am filled with the purest part of thought, and thus I would ever be. Therefore, Kallikrates, will I once more wash and make me pure and clean, and yet more meet for thee. Therefore also, when in turn thou dost stand in the fire, empty all thy heart of evil, and let contentment hold the balance of thy mind. Shake loose thy spirit’s wings, muse upon thy mother’s kiss, and turn thee toward the vision of the highest good that hath ever swept on silver wings across the silence of thy dreams. For from the seed of what thou art in that dread moment shall grow the fruit of what thou shalt be for all unreckoned time.
“Now prepare thee, prepare! even as though thy last hour were at hand, and thou wast about to cross through Death to the Land of Shadow, and not by the Gates of Glory into the realm of Life made beautiful. Prepare, I say, Kallikrates!”
*It will be observed that Ayesha’s account of the death of Kallikrates differs materially from that written on the potsherd by Amenartas. The writing on the sherd says, “Then in her rage did she smite him by her magic, and he died.” We never ascertained which was the correct version, but it will be remembered that the body of Kallikrates showed a spear-wound in the breast, which seems conclusive, unless, indeed, it was inflicted after death. Another thing that we never ascertained was how the two women—She and the Egyptian Amenartas—were able to bear the corpse of the man they both loved across the dread gulf and down the shaking spur. What a spectacle the two distracted creatures must have presented in their grief and loveliness as they toiled along that awful place with the dead man between them! Probably, however, its passage was easier then.—L. H. H.
XXVI
WHAT WE SAW
Then followed a few moments’ pause, during which Ayesha seemed to be gathering up her strength for the fiery trial, while we clung to each other, and waited in utter silence.
At last, from far, far away, came the first murmur of sound, that grew and gathered till it began to crash and bellow in the distance. As she heard it Ayesha swiftly threw off her gauzy wrapping and loosened the golden snake from her kirtle. Then, shaking her lovely hair about her like a garment, beneath its cover she slipped off the white robe and replaced the snaky belt around her outside the masses of her falling locks. There she stood before us as Eve might have stood before Adam, clad in nothing but her abundant hair, held round her by the golden band; and no words of mine can tell how sweet she looked—and how divine. Nearer and nearer drew the thunder wheels of fire, and as they came she pushed one ivory arm through the dark masses of her hair and wound it about Leo’s neck.
“Oh, my love, my love!” she murmured, “wilt thou ever know how I have loved thee?” and she kissed him on the forehead, hesitated a little as though in doubt, then advanced and stood in the pathway of the flame of Life.
There was, I remember, something very touching to my mind about her words and that embrace upon Leo’s forehead. It was like a mother’s kiss, and seemed to carry a benediction with it.
On came the crashing, rolling noise, and the sound of it was as the sound of a forest being swept flat by a mighty wind, to be tossed up again like so much grass, and hurled in thunder down a mountain-side. Nearer and nearer it approached; now flashes of light, forerunners of the revolving pillar of flame, were passing like arrows through the rosy air; and now the edge of the pillar itself appeared. Ayesha turned towards it, and stretched out her arms to greet it. On it rolled very slowly and lapped her round with fire. I saw the essence run up her form. I saw her lift it with both hands as though it were water, and pour it over her head. I even saw her open her mouth and draw it down into her lungs, and it was a dread and wonderful sight.
Then she paused, and, stretching out her arms, she stood quite still, a heavenly smile upon her face, as though she were the very Spirit of the Flame.
The mysterious fire played up and down her dark and rolling locks, twining and twisting itself through and around them like threads of golden lace; it gleamed upon her ivory breast and shoulder, from which the hair had slipped aside; it slid along her pillared throat and delicate features, and seemed to find a home in the glorious eyes that shone and shone, more brightly even than the burning spiritual ether.
Oh, how beautiful she looked there in the flame! No angel out of heaven could have worn a greater loveliness. Even now my heart faints before the recollection of it, as naked in the naked fire she stood and smiled at our awed faces, and I would give half my remaining time upon this earth thus to see her once again.
But suddenly—more suddenly than I can tell—an indescribable change came over her countenance, a change which I could not define or explain, but none the less a change. The smile vanished, and in its stead there crept a dry, hard look; the rounded face seemed to grow pinched, as though some great anxiety was leaving its impress there.
26.1 “I saw the essence run up her form.”
The glorious eyes, too, lost their light, and, as I thought, the form its perfect shape and erectness.
I rubbed my eyes, thinking that I was the victim of some hallucination, or that the radiance of the intense light produced an optical delusion; and, as I marvelled, the flaming pillar slowly twisted and thundered on to whithersoever it passes in the bowels of the great earth, leaving Ayesha standing where it had been.
S
o soon as it was gone she stepped forward to Leo’s side—it seemed to me that there was no spring in her step—and stretched out her hand to lay it upon his shoulder. I gazed at her arm. Where was its wonderful roundness and beauty? It looked thin and angular. And her face—by Heaven!—her face was growing old before my eyes! I suppose that Leo saw it also; certainly he recoiled a little.
“What is it, my Kallikrates?” she said, and her voice—what was wrong with those deep and thrilling notes? They sounded high and cracked.
“Why, what is it—what is it?” she said confusedly. “I am dazed. Surely the quality of the fire hath not altered. Can the principle of Life alter? Tell me, Kallikrates, is there aught wrong with my eyes? I see not clear,” and she put her hand to her head and touched her hair—and oh, horror of horrors!—it all fell upon the floor.
“Look!—look!—look!” shrieked Job, in a shrill falsetto of terror, his eyes starting from his head, and foam upon his lips. “Look!—look!—look! she’s shrivelling up! she’s turning into a monkey!” and down he fell upon the ground, foaming and gnashing in a fit.
True enough—I faint even as I write it in the living presence of that terrible recollection—Ayesha was shrivelling up; the golden snake that had encircled her gracious form slipped over her hips and to the ground. Smaller and smaller she grew; her skin changed colour, and in place of the perfect whiteness of its lustre it turned dirty brown and yellow, like to an old piece of withered parchment. She felt at her head: the delicate hand was nothing but a claw now, a human talon resembling that of a badly preserved Egyptian mummy. Then she seemed to understand what kind of change was passing over her, and she shrieked—ah, she shrieked!—Ayesha rolled upon the floor and shrieked.
Smaller she grew, and smaller yet, till she was no larger than a monkey. Now the skin had puckered into a million wrinkles, and on her shapeless face was the stamp of unutterable age. I never saw anything like it; nobody ever saw anything to equal the infinite age which was graven on that fearful countenance, no bigger now than that of a two-months’ child, though the skull retained its same size; and let all men pray they never shall, if they wish to keep their reason.
At last she lay still, or only moving feebly. She, who but two minutes gone had gazed upon us—the loveliest, noblest, most splendid woman the world has ever seen—she lay still before us, near the masses of her own dark hair, no larger than a big ape, and hideous—ah, too hideous for words! And yet, think of this—at that very moment I thought of it—it was the same woman!
She was dying: we saw it, and thanked God—for while she lived she could feel, and what must she have felt? She raised herself upon her bony hands, and blindly gazed around her, swaying her head slowly from side to side as does a tortoise. She could not see, for her whitish eyes were covered with a horny film. Oh, the horrible pathos of the sight! But she could still speak.
“Kallikrates,” she said in husky, trembling tones. “Forget me not, Kallikrates. Have pity on my shame; I die not. I shall come again, and shall once more be beautiful, I swear it—it is true! Oh—h—h—” and she fell upon her face, and was still.
Yes, thus, on the very spot where more than twenty centuries before she had slain Kallikrates the priest, Ayesha herself fell down and died.
Overcome with the extremity of horror, we too sank to the sandy floor of that dread place, and swooned away.
I know not how long we remained thus. Many hours, I suppose. When at last I opened my eyes the other two were still outstretched upon the floor. The rosy light yet beamed like a celestial dawn, and the thunder-wheels of the Spirit of Life yet rolled upon their accustomed track, for as I awoke the great pillar was passing away. There, too, lay the hideous little monkey frame, covered with crinkled yellow parchment, that once had been the glorious She. Alas! it was no hideous dream—it was an awful and unparalleled fact!
What had chanced to bring about this shocking change? Had the nature of the life-giving fire varied? Did it, perhaps, from time to time send forth an essence of Death instead of an essence of Life? Or was it that the frame once charged with its marvellous virtue could bear no more, so that were the process repeated—it mattered not at what lapse of time—the two impregnations neutralised each other, and left the body on which they acted as it was before ever it came into contact with the very spring of Being? This, and this alone, would account for the sudden and terrible ageing of Ayesha, as the whole length of her two thousand years took effect upon her. I had not the slightest doubt myself but that the shape now lying before me was just what the frame of a woman would be if by any extraordinary means life could be preserved in her till at length she died at the age of some two-and-twenty centuries.
But who can tell what happened? There was the fact. Often since this awful hour I have reflected that it requires no great stretch of imagination to see the finger of Providence in the matter. Ayesha locked up in her living tomb, waiting from age to age for the coming of her lover, worked but a small change in the order of the World. But Ayesha strong and happy in her love, clothed with immortal youth, godlike beauty and power, and the wisdom of the centuries, would have revolutionised society, and even perchance have changed the destinies of Mankind. Thus she opposed herself to the eternal law, and, strong though she was, by it was swept back into nothingness—swept back with shame and hideous mockery!
For some minutes I lay, faintly turning these terrors over in my mind, while my physical strength came back to me, which it did quickly in that buoyant atmosphere. Then I bethought me of the others, and staggered to my feet, to see if I could arouse them. But first I took up Ayesha’s kirtle and the gauzy scarf with which she had been wont to hide her dazzling loveliness from the eyes of men, and, averting my head so that I might not look upon it, I covered up that dreadful relic of the glorious dead, that shocking epitome of human beauty and human life. This I did hurriedly, fearing lest Leo should recover, and see it again.
Then, stepping over the perfumed masses of dark hair that were scattered upon the sand, I went to Job, who was lying upon his breast, and turned him over. As I lifted him his arm fell back in a way that I did not like—which sent a chill through me, indeed—and I glanced sharply at his face. One look was enough. Our old and faithful servant was dead. Already shattered by all he had seen and undergone, his nerves had utterly broken down beneath this last dire sight, and he had died of terror, or in a fit brought on by terror. I had only to look at his features to be assured of it.
This was another blow; but it may help people to understand how overwhelmingly awful was the experience through which we had passed when I say that we did not feel it much at the time. It seemed quite natural that the poor old fellow should be dead. When Leo came to himself, which he did with a groan and trembling of the limbs about ten minutes afterwards, and I told him that Job was dead, he merely said, “Oh!” And, mind you, this was from no heartlessness, for he and Job were much attached to each other; and he often talks of him now with the deepest regret and affection. It was only that his mind would bear no more. A harp can give out but a certain quantity of sound, however heavily it is smitten.
Well, I set myself to recovering Leo, who, to my infinite relief, I found was not dead, but only fainting, and in the end I succeeded, as I have said, and he sat up. Then I saw another dreadful thing. When we entered that awful place his curling hair had been of the ruddiest gold; now it was turning grey, and by the time we gained the outer air it was snow white. Besides, he looked twenty years older.
“What is to be done, old fellow?” he said in a hollow, dead sort of voice, when his brain cleared a little, and a recollection of what had happened forced itself upon him.
“Try and get out, I suppose,” I answered; “that is, unless you would like to go in there,” and I pointed to the column of fire, which was once more rolling by.
“I would if I were sure that it would kill me,” he said with a little laugh. “It was my cursed hesitation that did this. If I had not been doubtful She might never have
tried to show me the road. But I am not sure. The fire might have the opposite effect upon me. It might make me immortal; and, old fellow, I have not the patience to wait a couple of thousand years for her to come back again as she did for me. I had rather die when my hour comes—and I should fancy that it isn’t far off either—and go my ways to look for her. Do you try it, if you like.”
But I merely shook my head; my excitement was as dead as ditch-water, and my distaste for the prolongation of our mortal span had come back upon me more strongly than ever. Besides, we neither of us knew what the effects of the essence might be. The result upon She had not been of an encouraging nature, and of the exact causes which produced that result we were, of course, ignorant.
“Well, my boy,” I said, “we cannot stop here till we follow those two,” and I pointed to the little heap under the white garment and to the stiffening corpse of poor Job. “If we are going we had better go. But, by the way, I expect that the lamps have burnt out,” and I took one up to look at it, and sure enough it had.
“There is some more oil in the vase,” said Leo indifferently—“if it is not broken, at least.”
I examined the vessel in question—it was intact. With a trembling hand I filled the lamps—luckily there was still some of the linen wick unburnt. Then I lit them with one of our wax matches. While I did so we heard the pillar of fire approaching again as it went on its never-ending journey, if, indeed, it was the same pillar that passed and repassed in a circle.