Part 3

The strip of beach he stood upon was quite shallow, so that his feet almost touched the deep dark water. In the middle of the tiny lake that filled this wonderful grotto hung a bell, also green and wondrously shining; and although the rest of the water was absolutely calm, strong short waves rose from the centre and hit against the bell, bringing forth the deep boom that had first lured Eric into this magic hall.

Straight across the dark water a narrow bridge was stretched, both sides resting on the tinted sand, passing in the middle quite near to the calling bell.

The bridge was but a yielding plank, a hand's-breadth wide, overgrown with slippery, dripping moss as green as grass on a spring day when the sun shines over it.

The bell gave out weird sounds, sometimes like a cautioning voice warning him against some danger--then again it was full of love and entreaty, containing an endless promise of joy and sweetness.

But Eric was too young and happy to hear within its notes anything but entrancing melodies existing solely to delight his ears.

Unhesitatingly he stepped on to the swaying board, upon which he could only advance by carefully putting one foot before the other, almost like balancing himself on a tight-rope. This gave him great joy, and his merry laugh echoed round the green walls as if he were joking with gay comrades. An immense curiosity was upon him to look at the bell from near, and to see what lay on the other side of the dark lake.

He had the intuition that something still more surprising was hidden not far off.

The slippery plank dipped beneath his weight; he could hardly keep his footing on the slimy moss that clung to it. But Eric was nimble, young, and daring; besides, he could swim like a fish, and was absolutely fearless.

The depth beneath him seemed bottomless; only now and again his eyes distinguished shadowy forms moving about, but what they were he could not see.

Now he was close to the bell, and the little waves were striking it on all sides, making its tones so varied as to become a bewitching song of penetrating sweetness.

Eric bent his ear down to the bell, which was whispering something to him under cover of the appealing notes,--but he did not understand, he only laughed and stroked the bell, quite heedless of the repeated warning that once again came from the depths of the lake.

He stood up on the quivering footway, and in answer to the old bell's voice he raised his own, clear and ringing, within which lay all the joy and gladness of an untouched heart and an unsoiled life, pure, crystalline, like the voice of an angel.

Stronger and stronger came the floods of melody; all round the green sides the glad notes resounded like a thousand answers, responding to the boundless life-joy that this human voice contained.

Again he bent to the old bell and touched it with both hands; then hurried on over the perilous bridge, eager to reach the other side and to see what lay beyond.

Now he stood on the farther shore; all about him the light streamed green and transparent; but it was not only the green light that shone upon him; another one was penetrating within the dim grotto, showing him a second dark passage beyond; a golden light as if all the rays of the sun had been concentrated into a fiery river.

Eric ran forward like an impetuous child following a butterfly, full of tremendous eagerness for whatever might be waiting there in the middle of that dazzling radiance.

But such beauty met his gaze, such overpowering enchantment, that he stood still completely overcome.

His breath came fast, his eyes stared wide open, enraptured, his artist's soul quivering with ecstasy before what he saw. He was within a hall of purest marble, the walls, and floor, and roof all white and glistening like freshly-fallen snow, upon which myriads of crystals shone, resembling hoar frost on a sunny winter's morn.

In the centre, on a throne, sat a woman whose dress was even whiter than her surroundings. It lay in long straight folds, and the hem was a thick mass of blazing diamonds. It rippled down the steps of the throne, and spread over the spotless floor where the gems flashed in all colours of the rainbow.

The throne was carved out of a gigantic block of pale-green jade that was smooth and polished like ice. The woman's feet rested upon a lion whose skin was as white as the draperies on which he couched. His immense head lay upon his formidable paws, his eyes looked out, with a watchful intentness, beneath his tousled mane. On each side of the throne, fixed into the marble floor, two tall thick tapers burned, whilst the wax ran dripping down their sides like small frozen rivers.

The candles were crowned by flickering blue lights and exhaled a delicious perfume; a vapour rose from them in hazy clouds towards the ceiling, where they hung like a thin mist.

Round throne and tapers garlands of milk-white anemones with golden hearts were wound.

They had shed many of their petals, which lay like snow upon the marble floor.

The woman sat rigid, upright, a mass of fair hair covering her shoulders and streaming down her back.

On her head she wore a thick wreath of the same white anemones fitting closely to her forehead; but the strangest of all was that the woman's eyes were covered with a bandage.

A plain white cloth was bound round her temples beneath the wreath of flowers.

No movement came from the throne; the queenly apparition sat motionless like unto a statue; the light of the candles alone flickered in the still air, and the little bluey mists that arose from them hung over the silent woman's head like a soft veil.

Eric was too entranced by the gorgeous sight to make a single step forward. Yet he longed to tear the bandage from the covered eyes, in the great hope that it might hide the look for which he was ever restlessly searching. Suddenly the beautiful vision rose from her throne, and the great beast at her feet also got up, standing beside her like the guardian of some ancient temple.

Slowly the woman descended the four polished steps, her long robe trailing behind her, sweeping away the fallen leaves of the flowers, the precious gems making a tinkling sound as they hit against the cool green jade.

Her feet were bare, and Gundian noticed, as she placed them by turns on the steps, how marvellous they were.

Slowly she came towards him, both hands outstretched before her, with the searching movement of the blind.

Then Eric, too, advanced with the feeling that he must take one of those groping hands and lead this divine creature wherever she might wish to go.

Now her voice rose soft and bewitching: "Long have I waited thy coming, fair stranger. I have been sitting here on my throne in sadness and silence, because thou hast tarried on the road.

"Thou lovest sky, sea, earth, and sun overmuch, but now that thou hast reached me I shall open unto thee other joys of which thou hast never dreamed.

"Thy way hath been long, and thou hast wasted many a precious day, but let that be of no account now that thou art here," and so saying, with a gentle movement she laid one of her arms about the boy's shoulders and drew him quietly to her over the snowy floor in the direction of her throne.

Eric was speechless, quite unprepared for so warm a reception; but without resistance, as in a trance, he let himself be led by this matchless being of light, and sank down upon the steps of the throne at her feet where the lion had had his place.

And there, his head close against the wondrous woman's knees, he listened in a dreamy transport to the witchery of her voice--not quite conscious of all she was saying, but the sound was so sweet, and the touch of her hand so restful and loving, that all his life throbbed within him in unspeakable delight.

He had entirely forgotten his desire to tear the bandage from her eyes. He felt his will melt beneath her caress and the sound of her voice.

He had no wish left but to sit there for ever, listening and drinking in all the inimitable glory of the place. Now the soft voice was telling him--her face bent down to his, her hair falling in golden waves around him--about all the wonders she was going to show him if he would only remain with her,--of all the riches she would strew before his feet, the music she would play him, the many-tinted flowers she would give him, the costly apparel in which she would clothe him, the variety of sweet-tasting dishes she would set before him to choose from ... if he did not leave her!

Eric looked up in surprise; certainly he would not leave her! Why should he go from anything so white, so beautiful, so good, and so fair.

He bent his head and kissed one of the clinging hands that caressed him so softly; oh, without doubt he would stay as long as she wished!

The woman threw back her head and laughed.

Somehow that laugh was the only discord Eric had felt since he was within those walls; but he thought nothing of it, only it was like a little icy drop of water running down between his shoulders--and he wished she would not laugh; far better did he love to feel her soft breath on his cheek, and her gentle fingers passing through his wavy locks.

He rose to his knees on the step at her feet and, seizing both her hands, he begged to be allowed to remove the bandage from her eyes.

But the fair enchantress drew back, disengaging herself from his eager hands.

"For shame!" she cried, and once more her laugh rang out sharply.

"Who would be so rough! And wish all the mysteries to be revealed at once? This cloth over my eyes must remain till I give thee leave to remove it. But much hast thou to learn before that hour strikes.

"It deems me thou art but a reckless youth, understanding but badly how to spend thy riches, little realizing the charm of expectation!"

And again bending her tantalizing face quite close to his, her lips hidden amongst his curls, she murmured:

"I shall teach thee, oh so many things; but first of all must I know thy history and why thou art thus wandering aimlessly through the wide, wide world."

Then Eric, still on his knees, his hands pressed against her lap like an anxious child, told her his tale, and how his whole soul was full of the ardent need of finding the face and eyes he wanted for completing his masterpiece. "And perhaps thou hidest behind that cloth the very eyes I have been searching for the wide world over!--that is why my hands are so eager to tear from thy brow what may be masking all my happiness!"

And then Eric began to plead, his beautiful face flushed and excited, his bright eyes entreating, his body quivering; indeed, a sight for the gods in all his youthful perfection.

The woman, although her eyes were covered, seemed aware of what was going on, and replied again laughing, "Not yet, not yet!--but give me thy hand and I shall lead thee through the joys I have in store for thee, and at the end thou mayest quite forget what now thou deemest thy only aim in life;" and like tinkling, cold, silver bells the woman's laugh echoed round the snowy vaults.

Fascinated and unresisting our young painter clung to her cool hand, and let himself be drawn away from the white chamber.

He followed her noiseless steps, feeling that wherever she led he would follow, follow, because he had given over his will into those outstretched hands, that had quite taken possession of his heart, and soul, and senses.

VIII

I am restless, I am athirst for far away things.

TAGORE.

Eric lay at the feet of the enchantress. Days had passed, and from one beauty to another she had been leading him. But her laugh had become always harder, a note of impatience had stolen into the silken tones of her voice.

This youth was in truth but a child, his hands grasping at the sun-rays, plucking the flowers, taking the joys that were offered him, lightly laughing at the birds, sublimely unconscious that perhaps something might be asked of him in return.

Often he begged the one who held him captive to uncover her eyes, explaining that although he was happy in his new surroundings he could not tarry for ever; the open world lay before him through which he was still pursuing the same vision.

But again and again his companion put him off with fresh promises--heaping upon him new joys and pleasures, till he felt weary of so much ease and comfort; there were even times when he had a longing for the dusty roads,--the heat of the sun--the dangers of the dark night--for storm and wind.

At those moments the strange woman seemed to read his thoughts in spite of the bandage over her eyes; and she would redouble her kindness, always having a fresh joy in store for him, something unexpected and enchanting.

Eric lay now, as the lion used to lie, stretched at the feet of the woman he could not leave.

To-day she sat upon a marble bench within a garden where nearly all the flowers were blue. The garden was small and square, paved with marble; two narrow water channels, lined with peacock-blue tiles, ran crossways through it. In the centre stood a marble well; those who leaned over the side to look into the depths noticed that the water was blue as the sea, and strange voices seemed calling from below with monotonous entreaty.

On all sides high walls encircled the garden, and shady trees spread over the whole enclosure, casting mysterious lights and patterns upon the cool floor.

The flowers were so blue that they also had the colour of the summer sea when the sun beats on it in all his force. Small marble paths ran along between the beds, and each path was bordered by some low-growing fire-coloured flower that glowed with the intensity of a furnace.

Each day the woman was clad in a garment of gorgeous magnificence, each day more splendid than the last; but never again had she been robed in the snowy folds of the first day, which Eric had loved best of all.

Now, as she leaned against the carved bench, her dress seemed woven out of the changing colours of the rainbow. It was golden at the shoulders, turning gradually into green, blue, and violet, always richer in hue, till at the foot it deepened into bright-toned purples upon the dark carpet where Eric rested quite close to her feet.

As always, those little feet were bare, with only thin sandals to protect the soft soles from the hardness of the stone.

Round her forehead lay a thick dark wreath of corn-flowers, beneath which the bandage showed startling white.

Her hands were ceaselessly playing with long chains of sapphires and emeralds. She gathered them into her palms, and let them slip between her fingers, down upon her golden robe, like bright water splashing out of a precious jar.

Around the well, upon low marble seats, were grouped the fairest maidens that earth could give, and they were like unto a wreath of many-shaded flowers.

They all had coronals of blossoms on their heads in the shades of the robes they wore; and each held a golden harp on which she played tunes that melted heart and soul.

All the maidens turned their eyes towards the beautiful lad who lay among the folds of the woman's dress--but none, oh! none had the orbs of his dream!

He had searched their faces in turn, and it had been all in vain.

Fair faces they had; their arms were soft and white; their long hair trailed on the ground mixing with the petals that had fallen from the wreaths.

The air was heavy with the perfume that came from the flowers, and the sweet tones of the harps sighed amongst the spreading branches of the trees.

But Eric was restless, he felt cramped in this garden of beauty; resentment began to grow in his heart against this fair being who played with him as a child plays with a toy. She lured him on, yet never did she satisfy the longing of his soul!

Every time that he extended his hand to tear the covering from her eyes, with a word or gesture she changed the current of his thoughts.

When he asked to be shown the road that would take him back whence he had come, the woman would laugh--the laugh he had begun to hate,--and cover his face with soft caresses which seemed to drain all his manhood and leave him without will or power to think.

Within his heart he made plans how he might escape. The sweet perfumes, the melting voices, the endless well-being, the tropical fruit he was ever feasting upon, wearied and sickened him; and yet he felt he could not leave this bewitching sorceress before he had seen the colour of her eyes.

But somehow, although he wished it with a fevered longing, he also dreaded the disappointment it might bring.

And there he lay in this enchanted garden eating his heart out with the longing for freedom, and yet unable to break through the silken bonds that held him as with chains of iron!

IX

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

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 pass 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-shore 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 God'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 space, 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....