“That is the way the great majority of men amuse themselves,”—he mused8. “Drink, stupidity, brutality9, sensuality—all blatant10 proofs of miserable11 unresisted weakness,—can it be possible that God can care for such? Could even the pity of Christ pardon such wilful12 workers of their own ruin? The pity of Christ, said I?—nay13, at times even He was pitiless. Did He not curse a fig-tree because it was barren?—though truly we are not told the cause of its barrenness. Of course the lesson is that Life—the fig-tree—has no right to be barren of results,—but why curse it, if it is? What is the use of a curse at any time? And what, may equally be asked, is the use of a blessing14? Neither are heard; the curse is seldom, if ever, wreaked,—and the blessing, so the sorrowful say, is never granted.”
The noise and the laughter outside died away,—and a deep silence ensued. He caught sight of himself in the mirror, and noted15 his own reflective attitude,—his brooding visage; and studied himself critically as he would have studied a picture.
“You are no Antinous, my friend”—he said aloud, addressing his own reflection with some bitterness—“A mere16 suntanned Oriental with a pair of eyes in which the light is more of hell than heaven. What should you do with yourself, frowning at Fate? You are a superb egoist,—no more.”
As he spoke17, the roses in the vase beside him swayed lightly to and fro, as though a faint wind had fanned them, and their perfume stole upon the air like the delicate breath of summer wafted18 from some distant garden.
There was no window open—and El-Râmi had not stirred, so that no movement on his part could have shaken the vase,—and yet the roses quivered on their stalks as if brushed by a bird’s wing. He watched them with a faint sense of curiosity—but with no desire to discover why they thus nodded their fair heads to an apparently19 causeless vibration20. He was struggling with an emotion that threatened to overwhelm him,—he knew that he was not master of himself,—and instinctively21 he kept his face turned away from the tranced Lilith.
“I must not look upon her—I dare not;” he whispered to the silence—“Not yet—not yet.”
There was a low chair close by, and he dropped into it wearily, covering his eyes with one hand. He tried to control his thoughts—but they were rebellious22, and ran riot in spite of him. The words of Zaroba rang in his ears—“For you were the days of Ashtaroth.” The days of Ashtaroth!—for what had they been renowned23? For Jove and the feasts of love,—for mirth and song and dance—for crowns of flowers, for shouting of choruses and tinkling24 of cymbals25, for exquisite26 luxury and voluptuous27 pleasures,—for men and women who were not ashamed of love and took delight in loving;—were there not better, warmer ways of life in those old times than now—now when cautious and timid souls make schemes for marriage as they scheme for wealth,—when they snigger at “love” as though it were some ludicrous defect in mortal composition, and when real passion of any kind is deemed downright improper28, and not to be spoken of before cold and punctilious29 society?
“Ay, but the passion is there all the same;”—thought El-Râmi—“Under the ice burns the fire,—all the fiercer and the more dangerous for its repression30.”
And he still kept his hand over his eyes, thinking.
“The Christ claims all”—had said Zaroba. Nay, what has Christ done that He should claim all? “He died for us!” cry the preachers. Well,—others can die also. “He was Divine!” proclaim the churches. We are all Divine, if we will but let the Divinity in us have way. And moved by these ideas, El-Râmi rose up and crossed to a niche31 in the purple-pavilioned walls of the room, before which hung a loose breadth of velvet32 fringed with gold,—this he drew aside, and disclosed a picture very finely painted, of Christ standing near the sea, surrounded by His disciples—underneath it were inscribed33 the words—“Whom say ye that I am?”
The dignity and beauty of the face and figure were truly marvellous, the expression of the eyes had something of pride as well as sweetness, and El-Râmi confronted it as he had confronted it many times before, with a restless inquisitiveness34.
“Whom say ye that I am?”
The painted Christ seemed to audibly ask the question.
“O noble Mystery of a Man, I cannot tell!” exclaimed El-Râmi suddenly and aloud—“I cannot say who you are, or who you were. A riddle35 for all the world to wonder at,—a white Sphinx with a smile inscrutable,—all the secrets of Egypt are as nothing to your secret, O simple, pure-souled Nazarene! You, born in miserable plight36 in miserable Bethlehem, changed the aspect of the world, altered and purified the modes of civilisation37, and thrilled all life with higher motives38 for work than it had ever been dowered with before. All this in three years’ work, ending in a criminal’s death! Truly, if there was not something Divine in you, then God Himself is an error!”
The grand face seemed to smile upon him with a deep and solemn pity, and “Whom say ye that I am?” sounded in his ears as though it were spoken by some one in the room.
“I must be getting nervous;”—he muttered, drawing the curtain softly over the picture again, and looking uneasily round about him, “I think I cannot be much more than the weakest of men,—after all.”
A faint tremor39 seized him as he turned slowly but resolutely40 round towards the couch of Lilith, and let his eyes rest on her enchanting41 loveliness. Step by step he drew nearer and nearer till he bent42 closely over her, but he did not call her by name. A loose mass of her hair lay close to his arm,—with an impetuous suddenness he gathered it in his hands and kissed it.
“A sheaf of sunbeams!”—he whispered, his lips burning as they caressed43 the shining wealth of silken curls—“A golden web in which kisses might be caught and killed! Ah Heaven, have pity on me!” and he sank by the couch, stifling44 his words beneath his breath—“If I love this girl—if all this mad tumult45 in my soul is Love—let her never know it, O merciful Fates!—or she is lost, and so am I. Let me be bound,—let her be free,—let me fight down my weakness, but let her never know that I am weak, or I shall lose her long obedience46. No, no! I will not summon her to me now—it is best she should be absent,—this body of hers, this fair fine casket of her spirit is but a dead thing when that spirit is elsewhere. She cannot hear me,—she does not see me—no, not even when I lay this hand—this ‘shadow of a hand,’ as she once called it, here, to quell47 my foolish murmurings.”
And, lifting Lilith’s hand as he spoke, he pressed its roseate palm against his lips,—then on his forehead. A strange sense of relief and peace came upon him with the touch of those delicate fingers—it was as though a cool wind blew, bringing freshness from some quiet mountain lake or river. Silently he knelt,—and presently, somewhat calmed, lifted his eyes again to look at Lilith,—she smiled in her deep trance—she was the very picture of some happy angel sleeping. His arm sank in the soft satin coverlet as he laid back the little hand he held upon her breast,—and with eager scrutiny48 he noted every tint49 and every line in her exquisite face;—the lovely long lashes50 that swept the blush-rose of her cheeks,—the rounded chin, dimpled in its curve,—the full white throat, the perfect outline of the whole fair figure as it rested like a branched lily in a bed of snow,—and, as he looked, he realised that all this beauty was his—his, if he chose to take Love and let Wisdom go. If he chose to resign the chance of increasing his knowledge of the supernatural,—if he were content to accept earth for what it is, and heaven for what it may be, Lilith, the bodily incarnation of loveliness, purity and perfect womanhood, was his—his only. He grew dizzy at the thought,—then by an effort conquered the longing51 of his heart. He remembered what he had sworn to do,—to discover the one great secret before he seized the joy that tempted52 him,—to prove the actual, individual, conscious existence of the Being that is said to occupy a temporary habitation in flesh. He knew and he saw the body of Lilith,—he must know, and he must see her Soul. And while he leaned above her couch, entranced, a sudden strain of music echoed through the stillness,—music solemn and sweet, that stirred the air into rhythmic53 vibrations54 as of slow and sacred psalmody. He listened, perplexed55 but not afraid,—he was not afraid of anything in earth or heaven save—himself. He knew that man has his worst enemy in his own Ego,—beyond that, there is very little in life that need give cause for alarm. He had, till now, been able to practise the stoical philosophy of an Epictetus while engaged in researches that would have puzzled the brain of a Plato,—but his philosophy was just now at fault and his self-possession gone to the four winds of heaven—and why? He knew not—but he was certain the fault lay in himself, and not in others. Of an arrogant56 temper and a self-reliant haughty57 disposition58 he had none of that low cowardice59 which people are guilty of, who, finding themselves in a dilemma60, cast the blame at once on others, or on “circumstances” which, after all, were most probably of their own creating. And the strange music that ebbed61 and flowed in sonorous62 pulsations through the air around him troubled him not at all,—he attributed it at once to something or other that was out of order in his own mental perceptions. He knew how, in certain conditions of the brain, some infinitesimal trifle gone wrong in the aural63 nerves will persuade one that trumpets64 are blowing, violins playing, birds singing or bells ringing in the distance,—just as a little disorder65 of the visual organs will help to convince one of apparitions66. He knew how to cast a “glamour67” better than any so-called “theosophist” in full practice of his trickery,—and, being thus perfectly68 aware how the human sense can be deceived, listened to the harmonious69 sounds he heard with speculative70 interest, wondering how long this “fancy” of his would last. Much more startled was he when amid the rising and falling of the mysterious melody he heard the voice of Lilith saying softly in her usual manner—
“I am here!”
His heart beat rapidly, and he rose slowly from his kneeling position by her side. “I did not call you, Lilith!” he said tremblingly.
“No!” and her sweet lips smiled—“you did not call, ... I came!”
“Why did you come?” he asked, still faintly.
“For my own joy and yours!” she answered in thrilling tones—“Sweeter than all the heavens is Love, and Love is here!”
An icy cold crept through him as he heard the rapture71 in her accents,—such rapture!—like that of a lark72 singing in the sunlight on a fresh morning of May. And like the dim sound of a funeral bell came the words of the monk73, tolling74 solemnly across his memory, in spite of his efforts to forget them, “With Lilith’s love comes Lilith’s freedom.”
“No, no!” he muttered within himself—“It cannot be,—it shall not be!—she is mine, mine only. Her fate is in my hands; if there be justice in Heaven, who else has so much right to her body or her soul as I?”
And he stood, gazing irresolutely75 at the girl, who stirred restlessly and flung her white arms upward on her pillows, while the music he had heard suddenly ceased. He dared not speak,—he was afraid to express any desire or impose any command upon this “fine sprite” which had for six years obeyed him, but which might now, for all he could tell, be fluttering vagrantly76 on the glittering confines of realms far beyond his ken7.
Her lips moved,—and presently she spoke again.
“Wonderful are the ways of Divine Law!” she murmured softly—“and infinite are the changes it works among its creatures! An old man, despised and poor, by friends rejected, perplexed in mind, but pure in soul; such Was the Spirit that now Is. Passing me flame-like on its swift way heavenward,—saved and uplifted, not by Wisdom, but by Love.”
“Of the knowledge of the stars and the measuring of light there is more than enough in the Universe;”—went on Lilith dreamily—“but of faithful love, such as keeps an Angel for ever by one’s side, there is little; therefore the Angels on earth are few.”
He could no longer restrain his curiosity.
“Do you speak of one who is dead, Lilith?” he asked—“One whom I knew——”
“I speak of one who is living,”—she replied—“and one whom you know. For none are dead; and Knowledge has no Past, but is all Present.”
Her voice sank into silence. El-Râmi bent above her, studying her countenance78 earnestly—her lashes trembled as though the eyelids79 were about to open,—but the tremor passed and they remained shut. How lovely she looked!—how more than lovely!
“Lilith!” he whispered, suddenly oblivious80 of all his former forebodings, and unconscious of the eager passion vibrating in his tone—“Sweet Lilith!”
She turned slightly towards him, and, lifting her arms from their indolently graceful81 position on the pillows, she clasped her hands high above her head in apparent supplication82.
“Love me!” she cried, with such a thrill in her accent that it rang through the room like a note of music—“Oh my Belovëd, love me!”
El-Râmi grew faint and dizzy,—his thoughts were all in a whirl, ... was he made of marble or ice that he should not respond? Scarcely aware of what he did, he took her clasped hands in his own.
“No, no!” said Lilith with passionate84 emphasis—“Not me,—not me, Myself! Oh my Belovëd! love Me, not my Shadow!”
He loosened her hands, and recoiled85, awed and perplexed. Her appeal struck at the core of all his doubts,—and for one moment he was disposed to believe in the actual truth of the Immortal86 Soul without those “proofs” for which he constantly searched,—the next he rallied himself on his folly87 and weakness. He dared not trust himself to answer her, so he was silent,—but she soon spoke again with such convincing earnestness of tone that almost ... almost he believed—but not quite.
“To love the Seeming and not the Real,”—she said—“is the curse of all sad Humanity. It is the glamour of the air,—the barrier between Earth and Heaven. The Body is the Shadow—the Soul is the Substance. The Reflection I cast on Earth’s surface for a little space is but a Reflection only,—it is not Me:—I am beyond it!”
For a moment El-Râmi stood irresolute,—then gathering88 up his scattered89 thoughts, he began to try and resolve them into order and connection. Surely the time was ripe for his great Experiment?—and, as he considered this, his nerves grew more steady,—his self-reliance returned—all his devotion to scientific research pressed back its claim upon his mind,—if he were to fail now, he thought, after all his patience and study,—fail to obtain any true insight into the spiritual side of humanity, would he not be ashamed, ay, and degraded in his own eyes? He resolved to end all his torture of pain and doubt and disquietude,—and, sitting on the edge of Lilith’s couch, he drew her delicate hands down from their uplifted position, and laid them one above the other cross-wise on his own breast.
“Then you must teach me, Lilith”—he said softly and with tender persuasiveness—“you must teach me to know you. If I see but your Reflection here,—let me behold90 your Reality. Let me love you as you are, if now I only love you as you seem. Show yourself to me in all your spiritual loveliness, Lilith!—it may be I shall die of the glory,—or—if there is no death as you say,—I shall not die, but simply pass away into the light which gives you life. Lift the veil that is between us, Lilith, and let me see you face to face. If this that seems you”—and he pressed the little hands he held—“is naught91, let me realise the nothingness of so much beauty beside the greater beauty that engenders92 it. Come to me as you are, Lilith!—come!”
As he spoke, his heart beat fast with a nervous thrill of expectancy93; what would she answer? ... what would she do? He could not take his eyes from her face—he half fancied he should see some change there; for the moment he even thought it possible that she might transform herself into some surpassing Being, which, like the gods of the Greek mythology94, should consume by its flame-like splendour whatever of mortality dared to look upon it. But she remained unaltered, and sculpturally calm,—only her breathing seemed a little quicker, and the hands that he held trembled against his breast.
Her next words, however, startled him—
“I will come!” she said, and a faint sigh escaped her lips—“Be ready for me. Pray!—pray for the blessing of Christ,—for, if Christ be with us, all is well.”
“Christ!” he muttered more to himself than to her—“What is He to me? Who is He that He should be with us?”
“This world’s rescue and all worlds’ glory!”
The answer rang out like a silver clarion96, with something full and triumphant97 in the sound, as though not only Lilith’s voice had uttered it, but other voices had joined in a chorus. At the same moment, her hands moved, as if in an effort to escape from his hold. But he held them closely in a jealous and masterful grasp.
“When will you come to me, Lilith?” he demanded in low but eager accents—“When shall I see you and know you as Lilith? ... my Lilith, my own for ever?”
“God’s Lilith—God’s own for ever!” murmured Lilith dreamily, and then was silent.
An angry sense of rebellion began to burn in El-Râmi’s mind. Summoning up all the force of his iron will, he unclasped her hands and laid them back on each side of her, and placed his own hand on her breast, just where the ruby98 talisman99 shone and glowed.
“Answer me, Lilith!” he said, with something of the old sternness which he had used to employ with her on former occasions—“When will you come to me?”
Her limbs trembled violently as though some inward cold convulsed her, and her answer came slowly, though clearly—
“When you are ready.”
“I am ready now!” he cried recklessly.
“No—no!” she murmured, her voice growing fainter and fainter—“Not yet ... not yet! Love is not strong enough, high enough, pure enough. Wait, watch and pray. When the hour has come, a sign will be given—but O my Belovëd, if you would know me, love Me—love Me! not my Shadow!”
A pale hue100 fell on her face, robbing it of its delicate tint,—El-Râmi knew what that pallor indicated.
“Lilith! Lilith!” he exclaimed, “why leave me thus if you love me? Stay with me yet a little!”
But Lilith—or rather the strange Spirit that made the body of Lilith speak,—was gone. And all that night not another sound, either of music or speech, stirred the silence of the room. Dawn came, misty101 and gray, and found the proud El-Râmi kneeling before the unveiled picture of the Christ,—not praying, for he could not bring himself down to the necessary humiliation102 for prayer,—but simply wondering vaguely103 as to what could be and what might be the one positive reply to that question propounded104 of old—
“Whom Say Ye That I Am?”
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1
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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2
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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3
inertia
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| adj.惰性，惯性，懒惰，迟钝 | |
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4
paralysis
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| n.麻痹(症)；瘫痪(症) | |
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5
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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6
hooting
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的现在分词 )； 倒好儿； 倒彩 | |
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7
ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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8
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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10
blatant
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| adj.厚颜无耻的；显眼的；炫耀的 | |
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11
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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12
wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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13
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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14
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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15
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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16
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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17
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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18
wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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vibration
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| n.颤动，振动；摆动 | |
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21
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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23
renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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24
tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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25
cymbals
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| pl.铙钹 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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voluptuous
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| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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28
improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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punctilious
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| adj.谨慎的，谨小慎微的 | |
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30
repression
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| n.镇压，抑制，抑压 | |
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31
niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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32
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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33
inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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34
inquisitiveness
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| 好奇，求知欲 | |
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riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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plight
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| n.困境，境况，誓约，艰难；vt.宣誓，保证，约定 | |
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civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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38
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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39
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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40
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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41
enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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42
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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43
caressed
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| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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45
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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46
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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47
quell
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| v.压制，平息，减轻 | |
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48
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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49
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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50
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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51
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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52
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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53
rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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54
vibrations
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| n.摆动( vibration的名词复数 )；震动；感受；（偏离平衡位置的）一次性往复振动 | |
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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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arrogant
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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ebbed
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| （指潮水）退( ebb的过去式和过去分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
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sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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aural
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| adj.听觉的，听力的 | |
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trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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apparitions
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| n.特异景象( apparition的名词复数 )；幽灵；鬼；（特异景象等的）出现 | |
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glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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tolling
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| [财]来料加工 | |
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irresolutely
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| adv.优柔寡断地 | |
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vagrantly
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| 流浪者； 无业游民； 乞丐； 无赖 | |
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awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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supplication
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| n.恳求，祈愿，哀求 | |
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anguished
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| adj.极其痛苦的v.使极度痛苦(anguish的过去式) | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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recoiled
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| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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engenders
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| v.产生（某形势或状况），造成，引起( engender的第三人称单数 ) | |
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expectancy
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| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
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mythology
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| n.神话，神话学，神话集 | |
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drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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clarion
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| n.尖音小号声；尖音小号 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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talisman
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| n.避邪物，护身符 | |
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hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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101
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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102
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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103
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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104
propounded
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| v.提出（问题、计划等）供考虑[讨论]，提议( propound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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