Part 15

XII. Dive into your heart and seek the Cause of all this. Do you find it in the magnificent temples; the armies of hired priests, the volumes of Cumbrous rituals? This is the manifestation of the Cause, or the corruption of the Cause, but not the Cause itself. Seek deeper. You will find that this Cross is adored, because ten Centuries and more ago, a Carpenter’s Son, felt the full consciousness of his origin, even as he toiled in the workshop, beside his peasant father. The Soul of that Carpenter’s Son, born of the Almighty Intellect, lives even yet, although its purity may be darkened by the Corruptions of earth-born Souls, and its power, manacled by ten thousand arms and appetites of flesh and blood. And thus, the Crescent is a symbol of the faith of millions, because some centuries ago, an Arabian camel-driver, even amid the sand and stars of a trackless desert, felt that he was a part of Eternity. Track the other religions, to their sources, and you will find that Beams of the Universal Soul, have appeared in forms of flesh, and passed away, leaving no record but their system or their creed.

XIII. Wherefore is there evil in the World? Wherefore does Good always entwine itself with evil? Wherefore does the Simple religion of the Carpenter’s Son, which said, hundred of years ago, that all of truth was written in the words, Do unto others as you would have others do unto you, now hide and bury itself, under the feet of Popes, priests and monks, who say by their deeds, We do unto others as we would not have them do unto us?

XIV. It is a terrible question. Search your heart again. Question the Seers of immemorial time. Descend into the Charnel. Ask an answer from Death itself. Gather your soul within itself until the Spirits of the Other World speak to you.

XV. There is an answer to your question. Let us behold it. While the Universal Soul dwells Supreme, there lives another Power in the Universe. This Power is not eternal, and yet his existence appears like an Eternity when compared with the years of earth. He is not Omnipotent, and yet when compared with a mortal arm, HIS arm seems to be invested with Almighty Power. He lived before earth was born; he will live when earth and its creations are dead. He is at once the FOE and the INFERIOR of the SUPREME SOUL. He has been ever, at war with his Master he has defied his power, confounded his Almighty Good with Evil, and marred the beauty of his works. This inferior has been known by various names but a simple title, expresses at once, his name and his nature.

XVI. He is the SOUL OF EVIL.

XVII. Behold a wonderous truth.

When the UNIVERSAL SOUL, first imparted a portion of his being to living forms, or, forms of flesh and blood, the SOUL OF EVIL, marred his work, by creating other forms, unto whom he gave a part of his own malignant life, impulse and destiny.

XVIII. Do not hesitate. There is yet a more wonderous truth. These forms, in which the SOUL OF EVIL, embodied a portion of his being, resembled the forms, in which the UNIVERSAL SOUL, diffused beams of his light and eternity.

XIX. Through countless ages, the beings, born of Almighty Intellect, warred with the beings, created by the Soul of evil.

XX. At last, the children of eternity, clothed in flesh and blood, mingled their lives and lives, with the offspring of the evil Soul,--doomed to annihilation,--who were also clothed in flesh and blood.

XXI. The earth, on which we live was peopled by the generations of this mingled race; a race composed of Good and Evil, of Eternity and Death.

XXII. In these words, given above, all the mysteries of life, are explained.

XXIII. Wonder no longer at the perpetual paradox, presented in all ages by the human race. It is true that Good and Evil, fight an eternal battle, in the heart of man. It is true, that the basest have some consciousness of their Divine Origin; and that the best, have some throbbings, to remind them of an infernal paternity. Could it be otherwise? Man is made up, of two elements; he is the Child of two distinct races. One is the race of Light and Eternity; the other of Dark and Death.

XXIV. There have been men, whose entire nature, has been formed from the race of the Evil Soul. They have been called, Monsters, by their fellow men, and their name, has passed into a Curse.

XXV. There has also been men, whose entire nature, has been formed from the race of the UNIVERSAL SOUL. They are called, Angels, Demi-gods, by their fellow men, and their name is a Blessing.

XXVI. Search into your own heart. Ponder--reflect--look deeper. Digest these few plain truths, examine their proportions, as you would measure the exactness of a pyramid.

XXVII. Do you not discover the source of all the creeds, which have divided mankind?

XXVIII. Do you not discover the Key to the great mystery of the Universe?

And beneath all this was written----

“_The Spirit of Jehovah is upon me to preach good tidings to the poor, sight to the blind, peace to them that are bruised----and to all men_ THE ACCEPTABLE YEAR OF THE LORD.”

The last sentence, written not in Arabic but in Hebrew, and written by another hand then his own, filled Aldarin with inexplicable emotion.

“If these words spoken by the Nazarene are true, then is my whole life a lie,” he said, and retired into the shadows of the Red-Chamber.

When he came toward the declining light once more, his brow was strangely troubled.

“How strange has been the course of my life! Let me gaze backward over the dark path I have trodden. This night thrice seven long years ago--amid the gloom of the Syrian battle plain, a dark-eyed Arabian gave me in ransom for his life, the book of his race, which he dared not read. And there, in that lone hour, as midnight gathered over the corses of the dead, did he sware by the Eternal Flame of the Fire-worshipper, that in body or in soul, he would be with my heart, and by my side this very night. THE BOOK spoke in words of fire of the secret, and--and--by my soul I have heard no message from the Arab Prince for three long years. He can not, will not fail me now!”

The door of the Red-Chamber was flung suddenly open, and the Lord Guiseppo hastily advanced, with an expression of deep gloom stamped on his brow. He held a scroll of parchment in his extended hand.

“Ha! My Lord Guiseppo, son of mine. I greet thee! Hast thou any message for me?”

“A strange man clad in Paynim costume, attended by a train of twelve, attired strangely as himself, wait at the castle gate. He sends his greeting and this simple scroll.”

“A strange man clad in Paynim costume”--murmured Aldarin in a whispering tone--“A scroll! Give it me, Guiseppo--Ha! What words are these--_Ibrahim-Ben-Malakim salutes his brother, Aldarin the Scholar!_”

A warm flush like a sudden glow of sunshine passed over the face of Aldarin, his eye gleamed and brightened until it seemed burning its socket, and the Scholar stood for a moment agitated and motionless.

“Guiseppo!” he shouted in a voice of thunder as he turned towards the youthful Lord--“Away, away, to the castle gate and answer the giver of this scroll with the words--Aldarin greets his brother Ibrahim!”

“And then my Lord Aldarin”--

“Lead the stranger to my presence!”

And while Guiseppo turned to obey the behest of the Scholar, the Count Aldarin, strode with a hurried step along the floor of the Red Chamber, with his arms folded and his head drooped low upon his breast.

There was a long pause of absorbing thought.

“He comes--he comes, with the last scroll of THE BOOK! He comes with the Charm, which in the hands of Aldarin shall wake the dead! When the last scroll is read, when the last charm is spoken, then, then, Aldarin lives forever! And Ibrahim--ha, ha, ’twere but fair that the blood of the Priest, who first awoke this Idea within my bosom, should mingle with the blood of the victims, slain at the shrine of the awful Thought.”

A dark and meaning smile passed over the lip of Aldarin, and again he communed with his own thoughts.

A footstep sounded through the ante-chamber; in a moment the stranger, tall and majestic, stood before the Scholar.

“Ibrahim gives peace and joy to Aldarin!”

“Peace and joy to Ibrahim-Ben-Malakim!”

As thus they saluted each other, in the Arabian tongue the native language of the one, and the familiar study of the other, Aldarin advanced and gazed upon the stranger.

His face was most impressive.

Regular in feature, dark and tawny in hue, the countenance of the stranger was marked by a high forehead, thick and bushy eye-brows white as snow, giving a strange effect to the glance of the full dark eyes, that looked forth from beneath their shadow: a compressed lip, half hidden by the venerable beard, that well-nigh covered his rounded chin and dark brown cheeks, and descended to his breast in waving locks, frosted by age and toil. A cap of sable fur surmounting his forehead, imparted a striking relief to the visage of the Arabian.

His attire was simple and majestic. A mantle or robe of black cloth, gathered around the throat, by a chain of gold, with a collar of snow-white fur, fell in long folds to his knees, bordered by lace of gold. As the robe waved suddenly aside from his commanding frame, it might be seen that the tunic which gathered around his form, was fashioned of the finest velvet glistening white in color, with a border of strange and mystic characters, his legs were encased in dark hose, and slouching boots of doe-skin, glittering with the knightly spur of gold.

“Thou art changed, Ibrahim!”

“And _thou_ Aldarin!”

There was a long pause, while the Scholar and the Arab Prince perused each others features. When they again spoke it was in the rich Arabian tongue, each word a word of fire, each sentence a thought of wild enthusiasm.

“Twenty-one years, this very night, on the battle-plain amid the Syrian wilds, an Arab prince owed his life to the intercession of Aldarin the Scholar. He offered the Scholar gold for his ransom--the scholar refused the proffered dust. Speak I the truth, Aldarin?”

“Thou dost!”

“Struck by the noble nature of the thoughtful Italian, the Arab prince gave him a gift priceless in value, not to be bought with gold, or purchased with gems of price! A Book--a mighty book had descended to him, through a long line of gallant ancestors. The founder of the race of Ibrahim was a man of dark thoughts, and mysterious studies. Swept from the path of life in the midst of his mystic researches, he left THE BOOK to his children, with the last and most terrible Mystery, the final Charm, which gave importance to the whole volume, confided to their trust, in unwritten words--”

“These words thou wouldst speak to mine own ear and heart?”

“Even so, brother Aldarin! When I gave thee the Book, fraught with strange mysteries, a fearful oath, sworn by every son of the race of Ben-Malakim, bound me to keep the last words, which make the book complete, secret from thine ear, until I was assured thou hadst won the merit of the confidence.”

“Thou didst swear by the Eternal Flame, that thou wouldst meet me this very night, in the soul or in the body, living or dead.”

“I am here! The far-east rings with the fame of Aldarin the Scholar--the last secret is thine!”

“This night, at the hour of midnight, over the Altar of Marble, where the Heart of the Dead mingles its crimson-drops with the White Waters of the Alembic,--there,--will I crave the last Secret at thy hands!”

“There is one condition first.”

“Name it!”

“Lo! it is written in the Scroll which contains the Priceless Secret. The Prince of Ben-Malakim must be a spectator in the lone chamber where the SECRET is carried into action; he must command in the Halls of the Scholar, who may receive the mystery, while the solemn ceremonies named by the Book, are in progress.”

“The condition is strange--yet”--

“So read the words of THE BOOK!”

“Its behests shall be obeyed.”

“Then Scholar, and friend, let the twelve warriors who follow in my train, take the place of the sentinels at the castle-gate; let them command in the castle-hall, and be obeyed as thyself until the morrow morn!”

“It shall be done. And now, my brother, draw near to the casement; let the warm glow of the setting sun fall over thy features I would look upon thy face, as was my wont in the ancient time. By my soul, thou art sadly changed--fearful wrinkles traverse thy countenance, thy hair and beard are gray; thine eyebrows white. A sad and fearful change!”

“The touch of time falls heaviest on the man of thought, good Aldarin. Thou too, art sadly, fearfully changed.”

“And yet this night shall crown the toil of twenty-one years, with a boon almost beyond mortal hope. Yes--yes,” he continued in a deep whisper, as the full glow of the setting sun fell over his face--“The sun sinks down in glory; his beams fall over the form of the mortal Scholar--Lo! his beams gild the sky on the morrow morn and--how my nerves fire, my heart is full to bursting--ALDARIN LIVES FOREVER.”

CHAPTER THE TENTH.

THE SCHOLAR ALDARIN AND THE LORD GUISEPPO

THE LAST INTERVIEW BEFORE THE GRAND SCENE, FOR WHICH ALDARIN HAS TOILED, STRUGGLED AND ENDURED, FOR THRICE SEVEN YEARS.

“Come hither Guiseppo, son of mine, let me look upon thy face. Ah! I remember well--her countenance lives again in thine. Boy, walk by my side, along this solitary chamber; I would converse with thee. Hast thou not oftentimes thought me a dark and stern old man?”

“My Lord, I have. The story of the soldier,--Rough Robin----”

“Name not the slave! Name him not. Have I not scattered his fable of lies, to the winds? Art not satisfied with the guilt of this--Adrian? Speak Guiseppo--have I not told thee a fair and truthful story?”

“I fear me--oh! Saints of Heaven--I fear me--that thy story is true!”

“Thou _fearest_ that my story is true! Is this well Guiseppo? Wouldst rather thy _father_ had been guilty!”

“_My Lord_--”

“‘_My father_’ would sound as well.”

“My father, then; an’ I may speak the name; I thank God from my very heart that I know thee guiltless. Yet I had much rather--the Saints witness my truth--I had much rather, this spot of blood were washed from the garments of all who bear the name of Albarone.”

“And do I not join in the wish! oh Guiseppo--Guiseppo Di Albarone, for I will call thee by thine own true name--look upon me, mark my face, gaze in mine eye! Thou hast known me for years, a man prematurely old, bent with age ere the sands of my manhood’s prime had fallen in the glass. Thus hast thou known me Guiseppo.”

“I have my Lord,--my father, and wondered at the cause.”

“Yet hast thou ever noted the change, the fearful change, that has passed over this face within a few brief days? Dost mark the pallor of this cheek, the blaze of this eye? Dost see this forehead seamed by a single wrinkle between the brows; dost note these wan and wasted features?”

“Yes, yes my father, I do. What hath wrought this fearful change?”

“Canst thou ask? A mighty grief has been swelling the channels of my soul--grief for the _crime of Adrian_, grief that _his_ hands, the hands of the son, should be red--dripping with his own father’s blood.”

He paused--covered his face--there was a moment of voiceless agony “and yet, even in this hour of agony, the resemblance, the sad resemblance, which has haunted me for years, comes back to my soul--”

“The resemblance, my father?”

“Boy, I tell thee, thy face is like the face of--Even now I see it!”

“Father?--”

“The face of thy mother!”

“I tremble my father; mine eyes are wet with burning tears. Tell me--oh, tell me of _her_--my mother.”

“Twenty years ago, a nameless Scholar, who disdaining the din and battle of war, gave his soul to higher and purer thoughts, won the love of a proud and peerless Ladye. They might not wed, for she was the scion of a Royal line. It was evening, boy, calm and gorgeous evening--well do I remember the scene--when the proud Ladye gazed from the portico of a kingly palace, over the temples and the towers of Jerusalem. The glow of sunset was streaming over her face, and her full dark eyes, kindled with the grandeur of the scene, when, when--listen Guiseppo,--her boy, her bright eyed boy, lay prattling on her knee. The Scholar stood by her side--he was silent, for his heart was full--oh, God! methinks I see myself as _I was then_, even through the long lapse of years--”

“Thyself! The boy, who was’t--the boy?”

“Listen; hear the sequel of this dark story. There, there, concealed by a column of that lofty portico, listening to the words of love that broke murmuringly from the lips of the Ladye, gazing upon the face of her bright-eyed boy, all smiles and laughter, there, unknown and unsuspected, stood the Fiend and the Destroyer. Guiseppo--pass thy hand over my brow--see, see, even after the lapse of twenty years, the cold, beaded drops, like death-sweat, stand out from my forehead at the memory.”

“I am breathless, my father--the Destroyer who stood listening--he was--”

“Guiseppo, Guiseppo, let me whisper a world of horror to thine ear in a single word. The light of the setting sun, fell over thy--thy mother’s face, proud, peerless and beautiful--her child prattling on her knee, her lover by her side--the first beams of the morrow’s sun beheld her form, her form of grace and loveliness, flung prostrate over the marble floor of her chamber--_outraged, bleeding, dead_.”

“Oh, God! my brain whirls! And the Destroyer?”

“Was a knight, a leader among the Princes of the Christian Host who won Jerusalem from the Paynim legions. He had been scorned, rejected, despised by the Ladye--thy mother--and behold,--oh fiend of hell--behold his vengeance!”

“His name? Who--who--swept this devil from the earth?”

“He lives!”

“_Lives?_ and thou couldst wield a dagger!”

“Boy, wouldst thou wreak full and terrible vengeance on the ravisher of thy mother?”

“Sate he upon the throne, slept he within the bridal chamber, knelt he at the altar, I would sacrifice the wretch, to the Ghost of the betrayed--”

“To thy knees, to thy knees, and take the oath of vengeance.”

“I kneel, father, I kneel. The oath, the oath!”

“What manner of oath dost thou hold most sacred? Wilt swear by the Cross, by the Holy Trinity, by the Death of the Incarnate, or by the awful existence of God?”

“BY MY MOTHER’S NAME.”

“Place the cross to thy lips, raise thy hands to heaven. Swear--by the Holy Cross, by the Awful Trinity, by the Incarnate God--by thy Mother’s Name--that when thy eye first beholds the wronger and the ravisher, thy dagger shall seek his heart.”

“I swear--I swear!”

“Though he sate on the throne, though he slept within the bridal chamber, though he knelt beside the altar!”

“I swear--I swear!”

And the hollow echoes of the Red-Chamber gave back the echo--“Swear--swear!”

It was in sooth, a strange and impressive scene.

The dim light afforded by the lamp of silver, pendent from the ceiling, glimmering over the hangings of the fatal bed, along the folds of the tapestry and around the massive furniture of the room--the figures of the scene, the aged man and the kneeling boy; Aldarin with his face agitated by contending passions, with his eye gathering a brightness that seemed supernatural, while Guiseppo half prostrate at his feet, raised his hands to Heaven and with every feature of his countenance darkened by revenge, looked above with flashing eyes as he uttered the response--“I swear--I swear!”

It was a strange and impressive scene--and the flitting shadows that fell over the hangings of the bed and along the floor, seemed to start into life at the deep earnest tones of the Avenger.

“The name of the Destroyer--my father--his name--his name!--”

The Count Aldarin stooped low, applied his lips to the ear of Guiseppo and whispered in a quick and hissing tone, the name of the Destroyer.

The kneeling Lord turned pale as death, as with a trembling voice he repeated the well known name.

He bowed his head on his breast, and clasped his hands in very agony.

“My fate,” he shrieked, “is dark--oh Father of Heaven, most dark!----”

“Rise Guiseppo, my son,” said the Count Aldarin in a commanding tone. “Rise Guiseppo, Lord of Albarone!”

“My father--your look is serious, and yet you utter but a merry jest. Methinks it ill becomes the hour.”

“Guiseppo, Aldarin never deals in the jester’s wares. No--no my son, I do not jest. Listen Guiseppo, and hear the solemn determination of my soul. The events of these few brief days; the fearful death of my brother, the knowledge that THE SON was the MURDERER; the flight of my--my daughter; all have conspired to confirm that determination. I have resolved to retire and retire forever from the world. Not within the gloom of the monastery, not within the shadow of the cloister, does Aldarin seek refuge from the sorrows of the world. No--no.

“Within the shadows of the most secret chamber of the Castle, (dead to the world, unseen by living man, save thee Guiseppo, and yet companioned by those Holy Men who this very night, arrived at Albarone, from the far eastern lands,) in penitence and in prayer will Aldarin seek to win favor from heaven for this--this--wretch, this father-murderer. Guiseppo--I charge thee--let men believe me dead, and when thy right to the Lordship of Albarone is questioned, speak boldly of the favor of his Grace of Florence. He will defend the castle from wrong and shelter thee from outrage.”

“My Lord--my father, this is a strange determination! I beseech thee do not burden me with the rule of the Castle.”

“It must be so Guiseppo! From this night henceforth, Aldarin is dead to the world. Whene’er thou wouldst say aught with me, a sealed parchment, placed within a secret drawer arranged in the side of the beaufet, will reach my hands.--And mark ye--let not a single day pass over thy head, without looking into the secret drawer of the beaufet.”

“This is most wonderful! I ever thought thee a bold, ambitious man, and now I behold Aldarin whom all men name with fear, retire from the world, without a sigh.”

“One word more, Guiseppo. When thou hast stricken the blow--when the Destroyer of thy mother’s honor, lies low in death, then, then, hasten to the Round Room--thou hast heard of the chamber?--and within the solitudes of its silent walls, read this pacquet--it contains the fearful story of thy mother’s wrongs.”

“Forgive me, forgive me, my father--” shrieked Guiseppo, as if struck by some sudden thought--“Swayed by some alternate affection for thee as--my father--and regard for Adrian as--my friend, I have locked within the silence of my bosom an important secret--_Sir Geoffrey o’ th’ Longsword has returned from Palestine_.”

Had a thunderbolt fallen at the very feet of Aldarin, he could not have started more suddenly backward, or thrown his arms aloft with a wilder gesture.

“Sir Geoffrey o’ th’ Longsword, returned from Palestine!” he shouted--“where is he now? How far from the Castle? How many soldiers ride in his train? Was the murderer Adrian with him?”

“Father--it was his band I left, when disguised as a Palmer, I hastened toward the Castle. He lurks within the recesses of the mountains, some score of miles away--three hundred men ride in his train--Adrian, whom I believed guiltless, is with him.”

“Did he speak aught of attacking the Castle Di Albarone?”

“After a lapse of seven days, it was resolved to attempt the surprisal of the Castle. From the vague hints I gathered, it seems that their plans were not well matured. Three days of the seven are now passed, and--”