and what of the “sign” promised by lilith? had it been given? no,—but el-râmi’s impatience would brook no longer delay, and he had determined to put an end to his perplexities by violent means if necessary, and take the risk of whatever consequences might ensue. he had been passing through the strangest phases of thought and self-analysis during these latter weeks,—trying, reluctantly enough, to bend his haughty spirit down to an attitude of humility and patience which ill suited him. he was essentially masculine in his complete belief in himself,—and more than all things he resented any interference with his projects, whether such interference were human or divine. when therefore the tranced lilith had bidden him “wait, watch and pray,” she had laid upon him the very injunctions he found most difficult to follow. he could wait and watch if he were certain of results,—but where there was the slightest glimmer of uncertainty, he grew very soon tired of both waiting and watching. as for “praying”—he told himself arrogantly that to ask for what he could surely obtain by the exerted strength of his own will was not only superfluous, but implied great weakness of character. it was then, in the full-armed spirit of pride and assertive dominance that he went up that night to lilith’s chamber, and dismissing zaroba with more than usual gentleness of demeanour towards her, sat down beside the couch on which his lovely and mysterious “subject” lay, to all appearances inanimate save for her quiet breathing. his eyes were sombre, yet glittered with a somewhat dangerous lustre under their drooping lids;—he was to be duped no longer, he said to himself,—he had kept faithful vigil night after night, hoping against hope, believing against belief, and not the smallest movement or hint that could be construed into the promised “sign” had been vouchsafed to him. and all his old doubts returned to chafe and fret his brain,—doubts as to whether he had not been deceiving himself all this while in spite of his boasted scepticism,—and whether lilith, when she spoke, was not merely repeating like a mechanical automaton, the stray thoughts of his own mind reflected upon hers? he had “proved” the possibility of that kind of thing occurring between human beings who were scarcely connected with each other even by a tie of ordinary friendship—how much more likely then that it should happen in such a case as that of lilith,—lilith who had been under the sole dominance of his will for six years! yet while he thus teased himself with misgivings, he knew it was impossible to account for the mystic tendency of her language, or the strange and super-sensual character of the information she gave or feigned to give. it was not from himself or his own information that he had obtained a description of the landscapes in mars,—its wondrous red fields,—its rosy foliage and flowers,—its great jagged rocks ablaze with amethystine spar,—its huge conical shells, tall and light, that rose up like fairy towers, fringed with flags and garlands of marine blossom, out of oceans the colour of jasper and pearl. certainly too, it was not from the testimony of his inner consciousness that he had evoked the faith that seemed so natural to her; her belief in a divine personality, and his utter rejection of any such idea, were two things wider asunder than the poles, and had no possible sort of connection. nevertheless what he could not account for, wearied him out and irritated him by its elusiveness and unprovable character,—and finally, his long, frequent, and profitless reflections on the matter had brought him this night up to a point of determination which but a few months back would have seemed to him impossible. he had resolved to waken lilith. what sort of a being she would seem when once awakened, he could not quite imagine. he knew she had died in his arms as a child,—and that her seeming life now, and her growth into the loveliness of womanhood was the result of artificial means evolved from the wonders of chemistry,—but he persuaded himself that though her existence was the work of science and not nature, it was better than natural, and would last as long. he determined he would break that mysterious trance of body in which the departing intelligence had been, by his skill, detained and held in connection with its earthly habitation,—he would transform the sleeping visionary into a living woman, for—he loved her. he could no longer disguise from himself that her fair face with its heavenly smile, framed in the golden hair that circled it like a halo, haunted him in every minute of time,—he could not and would not deny that his whole being ached to clasp with a lover’s embrace that exquisite beauty which had so long been passively surrendered to his experimentings,—and with the daring of a proud and unrestrained nature, he frankly avowed his feeling to himself and made no pretence of hiding it any longer. but it was a far deeper mystery than his “search for the soul of lilith,” to find out when and how this passion had first arisen in him. he could not analyse himself so thoroughly as to discover its vague beginnings. perhaps it was germinated by zaroba’s wild promptings,—perhaps by the fact that a certain unreasonable jealousy had chafed his spirit when he knew that his brother féraz had won a smile of attention and response from the tranced girl,—perhaps it was owing to the irritation he had felt at the idea that his visitor, the monk from cyprus, seemed to know more of her than he himself did,—at any rate, whatever the cause, he who had been sternly impassive once to the subtle attraction of lilith’s outward beauty, madly adored that outward beauty now. and as is usual with very self-reliant and proud dispositions, he almost began to glory in a sentiment which but a short time ago he would have repelled and scorned. what was for himself and of himself was good in his sight—his knowledge, his “proved” things, his tested discoveries, all these were excellent in his opinion, and the “ego” of his own ability was the pivot on which all his actions turned. he had laid his plans carefully for the awakening of lilith,—but in one little trifle they had been put out by the absence from town of madame irene vassilius. she, of all women he had ever met, was the one he would have trusted with his secret, because he knew that her life, though lived in the world, was as stainless as though it were lived in heaven. he had meant to place lilith in her care,—in order that with her fine perceptions, lofty ideals, and delicate sense of all things beautiful and artistic, she might accustom the girl to look upon the fairest and noblest side of life, so that she might not regret the “visions”—yes, he would call them “visions”—she had lost. but irene was among the mountains of the austrian tyrol, enjoying a holiday in the intimate society of the fairest queen in the world, margherita of italy, one of the few living sovereigns who really strive to bestow on intellectual worth its true appreciation and reward. and her house in london was shut up, and under the sole charge of the happy karl, former servant to dr. kremlin, who had now found with the fair and famous authoress a situation that suited him exactly. “wild horses would not tear him from his lady’s service” he was wont to say, and he guarded her household interests jealously, and said “not at home” to undesired visitors like roy ainsworth for example, with a gruffness that would have done credit to a russian bear. to irene vassilius, therefore, el-râmi could not turn for the help he had meant to ask, and he was sorry and disappointed, for he had particularly wished to remove his “sleeper awakened” out of the companionship of both zaroba and féraz,—and there was no other woman like irene,—at once so pure and proud, so brilliantly gifted, and so far removed from the touch and taint of modern social vulgarity. however, her aid was now unattainable, and he had to make up his mind to do without it. and so he resolutely put away the thought of the after-results of lilith’s awakening,—he, who was generally so careful to calculate consequences, instinctively avoided the consideration of them in the present instance.
the little silver timepiece ticked with an aggressive loudness as he sat now at his usual post, his black eyes fixed half tenderly, half fiercely on lilith’s white beauty,—beauty which was, as he told himself, all his own. her arms were folded across her breast,—her features were pallid as marble, and her breathing was very light and low. the golden lamp burned dimly as it swung from the purple-pavilioned ceiling—the scent of the roses that were always set fresh in their vase every day, filled the room, and though the windows were closed against the night, a dainty moonbeam strayed in through a chink where the draperies were not quite drawn, and mingled its emerald glitter with the yellow lustre shed by the lamp on the darkly-carpeted floor.
“i will risk it,”—said el-râmi in a whisper,—a whisper that sounded loud in the deep stillness—“i will risk it—why not? i have proved myself capable of arresting life, or the soul—for life is the soul—in its flight from hence into the nowhere,—i must needs also have the power to keep it indefinitely here for myself in whatever form i please. these are the rewards of science,—rewards which i am free to claim,—and what i have done, that i have a right to do again. now let me ask myself the question plainly;—do i believe in the supernatural?”
he paused, thinking earnestly,—his eyes still fixed on lilith.
“no, i do not,”—he answered himself at last—“frankly and honestly, i do not. i have no proofs. i am, it is true, puzzled by lilith’s language,—but when i know her as she is, a woman, sentient and conscious of my presence, i may find out the seeming mystery. the dreams of féraz are only dreams,—the vision i saw on that one occasion”—and a faint tremor came over him as he remembered the sweet yet solemn look of the shining one he had seen standing between him and his visitor the monk—“the vision was of course his work—the work of that mystic master of a no less mystic brotherhood. no—i have no proofs of the supernatural, and i must not deceive myself. even the promise of lilith fails. poor child!—she sleeps like the daughter of jairus, but when i, in my turn, pronounce the words ‘maiden, i say unto thee, arise’—she will obey;—she will awake and live indeed.”
“she will awake and live indeed!”
the words were repeated after him distinctly—but by whom? he started up,—looked round—there was no one in the room,—and lilith was immovable as the dead. he began to find something chill and sad in the intense silence that followed,—everything about him was a harmony of glowing light and purple colour,—yet all seemed suddenly very dull and dim and cold. he shivered where he stood, and pressed his hands to his eyes,—his temples throbbed and ached, and he felt curiously bewildered. presently, looking round the room again, he saw that the picture of “christ and his disciples” was unveiled;—he had not noticed the circumstance before. had zaroba inadvertently drawn aside the curtain which ordinarily hid it from view? slowly his eyes travelled to it and dwelt upon it—slowly they followed the letters of the inscription beneath:
“whom say ye that i am?”
the question seemed to him for the moment all-paramount, he could not shake off the sense of pertinacious demand with which it impressed him.
“a good man,”—he said aloud, staring fixedly at the divine face and figure, with its eloquent expression of exalted patience, grandeur and sweetness. “a good man, misled by noble enthusiasm and unselfish desire to benefit the poor. a man with a wise knowledge of human magnetism and the methods of healing in which it can be employed,—a man, too, somewhat skilled in the art of optical illusion. yet when all is said and done, a good man—too good and wise and pure for the peace of the rulers of the world,—too honest and clear-sighted to deserve any other reward but death. divine?—no!—save in so far as in our highest moments we are all divine. existing now?—a prince of heaven, a pleader against punishment? nay, nay!—no more existing than the soul of lilith,—that soul for which i search, but which i feel i shall never find!”
and he drew nearer to the ivory-satin couch on which lay the lovely sleeping wonder and puzzle of his ambitious dreams. leaning towards her he touched her hands,—they were cold, but as he laid his own upon them they grew warm and trembled. closer still he leaned, his eyes drinking in every detail of her beauty with eager, proud and masterful eyes.
“lilith!—my lilith!” he murmured—“after all, why should we put off happiness for the sake of everlastingness, when happiness can be had, at any rate for a few years. one can but live and die and there an end. and love comes but once, ... love!—how i have scoffed at it and made a jest of it as if it were a plaything. and even now while my whole heart craves for it, i question whether it is worth having! poor lilith!—only a woman after all,—a woman whose beauty will soon pass—whose days will soon be done,—only a woman—not an immortal soul,—there is, there can be, no such thing as an immortal soul.”
bending down over her, he resolutely unclasped the fair crossed arms, and seized the delicate small hands in a close grip.
“lilith! lilith!” he called imperiously.
a long and heavy pause ensued,—then the girl’s limbs quivered violently as though moved by a sudden convulsion, and her lips parted in the utterance of the usual formula—
“i am here.”
“here at last, but you have been absent long”—said el-râmi with some reproach, “too long. and you have forgotten your promise.”
“forgotten!” she echoed—“o doubting spirit! do such as i am, ever forget?”
her thrilling accents awed him a little, but he pursued his own way with her, undauntedly.
“then why have you not fulfilled it?” he demanded—“the strongest patience may tire. i have waited and watched, as you bade me—but now—now i am weary of waiting.”
oh, what a sigh broke from her lips!
“i am weary too”—she said—“the angels are weary. god is weary. all creation is weary—of doubt.”
for a moment he was abashed,—but only for a moment; in himself he considered doubt to be the strongest part of his nature,—a positive shield and buckler against possible error.
“you cannot wait,”—went on lilith, speaking slowly and with evident sadness—“neither can we. we have hoped,—in vain! we have watched—in vain! the strong man’s pride will not bend, nor the stubborn spirit turn in prayer to its creator. therefore what is not bent must be broken,—and what voluntarily refuses light must accept darkness. i am bidden to come to you, my beloved,—to come to you as i am, and as i ever shall be,—i will come—but how will you receive me?”
“with ecstasy, with love, with welcome beyond all words or thoughts!” cried el-râmi in passionate excitement. “o lilith, lilith! you who read the stars, cannot you read my heart? do you not see that i—i who have recoiled from the very thought of loving,—i, who have striven to make of myself a man of stone and iron rather than flesh and blood, am conquered by your spells, victorious lilith!—conquered in every fibre of my being by some subtle witchcraft known to yourself alone. am i weak!—am i false to my own beliefs? i know not,—i am only conscious of the sovereignty of beauty which has mastered many a stronger man than i. what is the fiercest fire compared with this fever in my veins? i worship you, lilith! i love you!—more than the world, life, time and hope of heaven, i love you!”
flushed with eagerness and trembling with his own emotion, he rained kisses on the hands he held, but lilith strove to withdraw them from his clasp. pale as alabaster she lay as usual with fast-closed eyes, and again a deep sigh heaved her breast.
“you love my shadow,”—she said mournfully—“not myself.”
but el-râmi’s rapture was not to be chilled by these words. he gathered up a glittering mass of the rich hair that lay scattered on the pillow and pressed it to his lips.
“oh lilith mine, is this ‘shadow’?” he asked—“all this gold in which i net my heart like a willingly-caught bird, and make an end of my boasted wisdom? are these sweet lips, these fair features, this exquisite body, all ‘shadow’? then blessed must be the light that casts so gracious a reflection! judge me not harshly, my sweet,—for if indeed you are divine, and this beauty i behold is the mere reflex of divinity, let me see the divine form of you for once, and have a guarantee for faith through love! if there is another and a fairer lilith than the one whom i now behold, deny me not the grace of so marvellous a vision! i am ready!—i fear nothing—to-night i could face god himself undismayed!”
he paused abruptly—he knew not why. something in the chill and solemn look of lilith’s face checked his speech.
“lilith—lilith!” he began again whisperingly—“do i ask too much? surely not!—not if you love me! and you do love me—i feel, i know you do!”
there was a long pause,—lilith might have been made of marble for all the movement she gave. her breathing was so light as to be scarcely perceptible, and when she answered him at last, her voice sounded strangely faint and far-removed. “yes, i love you”—she said—“i love you as i have loved you for a thousand ages, and as you have never loved me. to win your love has been my task—to repel my love has been yours.”
he listened, smitten by a vague sense of compunction and regret.
“but you have conquered, lilith”—he answered—“yours is the victory. and have i not surrendered, willingly, joyfully? o my beautiful dreamer, what would you have me do?”
“pray!” said lilith, with a sudden passionate thrill in her voice—“pray! repent!”
el-râmi drew himself backward from her couch, impatient and angered.
“repent!” he cried aloud—“and why should i repent? what have i done that calls for repentance? for what sin am i to blame? for doubting a god who, deaf to centuries upon centuries of human prayer and worship, will not declare himself? and for striving to perceive him through the cruel darkness by which we are surrounded? what crime can be discovered there? the world is most infinitely sad,—and life is most infinitely dreary,—and may i not strive to comfort those amid the struggle who fain would ‘prove’ and hold fast to the things beyond? nay!—let the heavens open and cast forth upon me their fiery thunderbolts, i will not repent! for, vast as my doubt is, so vast would be my faith, if god would speak and say to his creatures but once—‘lo! i am here!’ tortures of hell-pain would not terrify me, if in the end his being were made clearly manifest—a cross of endless woe would i endure, to feel and see him near me at the last, and more than all, to make the world feel and see him—to prove to wondering, trembling, terror-stricken, famished, heart-broken human beings that he exists,—that he is aware of their misery,—that he cares for them, that it is all well for them,—that there is eternal joy hiding itself somewhere amid the great star-thickets of this monstrous universe—that we are not desolate atoms whirled by a blind fierce force into life against our will, and out of it again without a shadow of reason or a glimmer of hope. repent for such thoughts as these? i will not! pray to a god of such inexorable silence? i will not! no, lilith—my lilith whom i snatched from greedy death—even you may fail me at the last,—you may break your promise,—the promise that i should see with mortal eyes your own immortal self—who can blame you for the promise of a dream, poor child! you may prove yourself nothing but woman; woman, poor, frail, weak, helpless woman to be loved and cherished and pitied and caressed in all the delicate limbs, and kissed in all the dainty golden threads of hair, and then—then—to be laid down like a broken flower in the tomb that has grudged me your beauty all this while,—all this may be, lilith, and yet i will not pray to an unproved god, nor repent of an unproved sin!”
he uttered his words with extraordinary force and eloquence—one would have thought he was addressing a multitude of hearers instead of that one tranced girl, who, though beautiful as a sculptured saint on a sarcophagus, appeared almost as inanimate, save for the slow parting of her lips when she spoke.
“o superb angel of the kingdom!” she murmured—“it is no marvel that you fell!”
he heard her, dimly perplexed; but strengthened in his own convictions by what he had said, he was conscious of power,—power to defy, power to endure, power to command. such a sense of exhilaration and high confidence had not possessed him for many a long day, and he was about to speak again, when lilith’s voice once more stole musically on the silence.
“you would reproach god for the world’s misery. your complaint is unjust. there is a law,—a law for the earth as for all worlds; and god cannot alter one iota of that law without destroying himself and his universe. shall all beauty, all order, all creation come to an end because wilful man is wilfully miserable? your world trespasses against the law in almost everything it does—hence its suffering. other worlds accept the law and fulfil it,—and with them, all is well.”
“who is to know this law?” demanded el-râmi impatiently. “and how can the world trespass against what is not explained?”
“it is explained;”—said lilith—“the explanation is in every soul’s inmost consciousness. you all know the law and feel it—but knowing, you ignore it. men were intended by law—god’s law—to live in brotherhood; but your world is divided into nations all opposed to each other,—the result is evil. there is a law of health, which men can scarcely be forced to follow—the majority disobey it; again, the result is evil. there is a law of ‘enough’—men grasp more than enough, and leave their brother with less than enough,—the result is evil. there is a law of love—men make it a law of lust,—the result is evil. all sin, all pain, all misery, are results of the law’s transgression,—and god cannot alter the law, he himself being part of it and its fulfilment.”
“and is death also the law?” asked el-râmi—“wise lilith!—death, which concludes all things, both in law and order?”
“there is no death,” responded lilith—“i have told you so. what you call by that name is life.”
“prove it!” exclaimed el-râmi excitedly, “prove it, lilith! show me yourself! if there is another you than this beloved beauty of your visible form, let me behold it, and then—then will i repent of doubt,—then will i pray for pardon!”
“you will repent indeed,”—said lilith sorrowfully—“and you will pray as children pray when first they learn ‘our father.’ yes, i will come to you; watch for me, o my erring belovëd!—watch!—for neither my love nor my promise can fail. but o remember that you are not ready—that your will, your passion, your love, forces me hither ere the time,—that, if i come, it is but to depart again—for ever!”
“no, no!” cried el-râmi desperately—“not to depart, but to remain!—to stay with me, my lilith, my own—body and soul,—for ever!”
the last words sounded like a defiance flung at some invisible opponent. he stopped, trembling—for a sudden and mysterious wave of sound filled the room, like a great wind among the trees, or the last grand chord of an organ-symphony. a chill fear assailed him,—he kept his eyes fixed on the beautiful form of lilith with a strained eagerness of attention that made his temples ache. she grew paler and paler,—and yet, ... absorbed in his intent scrutiny he could not move or speak. his tongue seemed tied to the roof of his mouth,—he felt as though he could scarcely breathe. all life appeared to hang on one supreme moment of time, which like a point of light wavered between earth and heaven, mortality and infinity. he,—one poor atom in the vast universe,—stood, audaciously waiting for the declaration of god’s chiefest secret. would it be revealed at last?—or still withheld?
