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Ayesha, the Return of She 5228.txt
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Ayesha, the Return of She 5228.txt
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Produced by David Moynihan; Dagny; John Bickers
AYESHA
THE RETURN OF SHE
By H. Rider Haggard.
"Here ends this history so far as it concerns science and the
outside world. What its end will be as regards Leo and myself is
more than I can guess. But we feel that it is not reached. . . .
Often I sit alone at night, staring with the eyes of my mind into
the blackness of unborn time, and wondering in what shape and form
the great drama will be finally developed, and where the scene of
its next act will be laid. And when, ultimately, that final
development occurs, as I have no doubt it must and will occur, in
obedience to a fate that never swerves and a purpose which cannot
be altered, what will be the part played therein by that beautiful
Egyptian Amenar-tas, the Princess of the royal house of the
Pharaohs, for the love of whom the priest Kallikrates broke his
vows to Isis, and, pursued by the vengeance of the outraged
goddess, fled down the coast of Lybia to meet his doom at Kor?"--
She, Silver Library Edition, p. 277.
DEDICATION.
My dear Lang,
The appointed years--alas! how many of them--are gone by, leaving Ayesha
lovely and loving and ourselves alive. As it was promised in the Caves
of Kor She has returned again.
To you therefore who accepted the first, I offer this further history of
one of the various incarnations of that Immortal.
My hope is that after you have read her record, notwithstanding her
subtleties and sins and the shortcomings of her chronicler (no easy
office!) you may continue to wear your chain of "loyalty to our lady
Ayesha." Such, I confess, is still the fate of your old friend
H. RIDER HAGGARD.
DITCHINGHAM, 1905.
AUTHOR'S NOTE.
Not with a view of conciliating those readers who on principle object to
sequels, but as a matter of fact, the Author wishes to say that he does
not so regard this book.
Rather does he venture to ask that it should be considered as the
conclusion of an imaginative tragedy (if he may so call it) whereof one
half has been already published.
This conclusion it was always his desire to write should he be destined
to live through those many years which, in obedience to his original
design, must be allowed to lapse between the events of the first and
second parts of the romance.
In response to many enquiries he may add that the name Ayesha, which
since the days of the prophet Mahomet, who had a wife so called, and
perhaps before them, has been common in the East, should be pronounced
Assha.
INTRODUCTION
Verily and indeed it is the unexpected that happens! Probably if there
was one person upon the earth from whom the Editor of this, and of a
certain previous history, did not expect to hear again, that person was
Ludwig Horace Holly. This, too, for a good reason; he believed him to
have taken his departure from the earth.
When Mr. Holly last wrote, many, many years ago, it was to transmit the
manuscript of She, and to announce that he and his ward, Leo Vincey,
the beloved of the divine Ayesha, were about to travel to Central Asia
in the hope, I suppose, that there she would fulfil her promise and
appear to them again.
Often I have wondered, idly enough, what happened to them there; whether
they were dead, or perhaps droning their lives away as monks in some
Thibetan Lamasery, or studying magic and practising asceticism under
the tuition of the Eastern Masters trusting that thus they would build a
bridge by which they might pass to the side of their adored Immortal.
Now at length, when I had not thought of them for months, without a
single warning sign, out of the blue as it were, comes the answer to
these wonderings!
To think--only to think--that I, the Editor aforesaid, from its
appearance suspecting something quite familiar and without interest,
pushed aside that dingy, unregistered, brown-paper parcel directed in an
unknown hand, and for two whole days let it lie forgotten. Indeed there
it might be lying now, had not another person been moved to curiosity,
and opening it, found within a bundle of manuscript badly burned upon
the back, and with this two letters addressed to myself.
Although so great a time had passed since I saw it, and it was shaky
now because of the author's age or sickness, I knew the writing at
once--nobody ever made an "H" with that peculiar twirl under it except
Mr. Holly. I tore open the sealed envelope, and sure enough the first
thing my eye fell upon was the signature, L. H. Holly. It is long
since I read anything so eagerly as I did that letter. Here it is:--
"My dear sir,--I have ascertained that you still live, and strange to
say I still live also--for a little while.
"As soon as I came into touch with civilization again I found a copy of
your book She, or rather of my book, and read it--first of all in a
Hindostani translation. My host--he was a minister of some religious
body, a man of worthy but prosaic mind--expressed surprise that a 'wild
romance' should absorb me so much. I answered that those who have wide
experience of the hard facts of life often find interest in romance. Had
he known what were the hard facts to which I alluded, I wonder what that
excellent person would have said?
"I see that you carried out your part of the business well and
faithfully. Every instruction has been obeyed, nothing has been added or
taken away. Therefore, to you, to whom some twenty years ago I entrusted
the beginning of the history, I wish to entrust its end also. You were
the first to learn of She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed, who from century to
century sat alone, clothed with unchanging loveliness in the sepulchres
of Kor, waiting till her lost love was born again, and Destiny brought
him back to her.
"It is right, therefore, that you should be the first to learn also of
Ayesha, Hesea and Spirit of the Mountain, the priestess of that Oracle
which since the time of Alexander the Great has reigned between the
flaming pillars in the Sanctuary, the last holder of the sceptre of Hes
or Isis upon the earth. It is right also that to you first among men
I should reveal the mystic consummation of the wondrous tragedy which
began at Kor, or perchance far earlier in Egypt and elsewhere.
"I am very ill; I have struggled back to this old house of mine to die,
and my end is at hand. I have asked the doctor here, after all is over,
to send you the Record, that is unless I change my mind and burn it
first. You will also receive, if you receive anything at all, a case
containing several rough sketches which may be of use to you, and a
sistrum, the instrument that has been always used in the worship of
the Nature goddesses of the old Egyptians, Isis and Hathor, which you
will see is as beautiful as it is ancient. I give it to you for two
reasons; as a token of my gratitude and regard, and as the only piece of
evidence that is left to me of the literal truth of what I have written
in the accompanying manuscript, where you will find it often mentioned.
Perhaps also you will value it as a souvenir of, I suppose, the
strangest and loveliest being who ever was, or rather, is. It was her
sceptre, the rod of her power, with which I saw her salute the Shadows
in the Sanctuary, and her gift to me.
"It has virtues also; some part of Ayesha's might yet haunts the symbol
to which even spirits bowed, but if you should discover them, beware how
they are used.
"I have neither the strength nor the will to write more. The Record must
speak for itself. Do with it what you like, and believe it or not as you
like. I care nothing who know that it is true.
"Who and what was Ayesha, nay, what is Ayesha? An incarnate essence,
a materialised spirit of Nature the unforeseeing, the lovely, the cruel
and the immortal; ensouled alone, redeemable only by Humanity and its
piteous sacrifice? Say you! I have done with speculations who depart to
solve these mysteries.
"I wish you happiness and good fortune. Farewell to you and to all.
"L. Horace Holly."
I laid the letter down, and, filled with sensations that it is useless
to attempt to analyse or describe, opened the second envelope, of which
I also print the contents, omitting only certain irrelevant portions,
and the name of the writer as, it will be noted, he requests me to do.
This epistle, that was dated from a remote place upon the shores of
Cumberland, ran as follows:--
"Dear sir,--As the doctor who attended Mr. Holly in his last illness I
am obliged, in obedience to a promise that I made to him, to become an
intermediary in a some what strange business, although in truth it is
one of which I know very little, however much it may have interested me.
Still I do so only on the strict understanding that no mention is to
be made of my name in connexion with the matter, or of the locality in
which I practise.
"About ten days ago I was called in to see Mr. Holly at an old house
upon the Cliff that for many years remained untenanted except by the
caretakers, which house was his property, and had been in his family for
generations. The housekeeper who summoned me told me that her master had
but just returned from abroad, somewhere in Asia, she said, and that
he was very ill with his heart--dying, she believed; both of which
suppositions proved to be accurate.
"I found the patient sitting up in bed (to ease his heart), and a
strange-looking old man he was. He had dark eyes, small but full of fire
and intelligence, a magnificent and snowy-white beard that covered a
chest of extraordinary breadth, and hair also white, which encroached
upon his forehead and face so much that it met the whiskers upon his
cheeks. His arms were remarkable for their length and strength, though
one of them seemed to have been much torn by some animal. He told me
that a dog had done this, but if so it must have been a dog of unusual
power. He was a very ugly man, and yet, forgive the bull, beautiful. I
cannot describe what I mean better than by saying that his face was
not like the face of any ordinary mortal whom I have met in my
limited experience. Were I an artist who wished to portray a wise and
benevolent, but rather grotesque spirit, I should take that countenance
as a model.
"Mr. Holly was somewhat vexed at my being called in, which had been done
without his knowledge. Soon we became friendly enough, however, and he
expressed gratitude for the relief that I was able to give him, though
I could not hope to do more. At different times he talked a good deal
of the various countries in which he had travelled, apparently for very
many years, upon some strange quest that he never clearly denned to
me. Twice also he became light-headed, and spoke, for the most part in
languages that I identified as Greek and Arabic; occasionally in English
also, when he appeared to be addressing himself to a being who was the
object of his veneration, I might almost say of his worship. What
he said then, however, I prefer not to repeat, for I heard it in my
professional capacity.
"One day he pointed to a rough box made of some foreign wood (the same
that I have now duly despatched to you by train), and, giving me your
name and address, said that without fail it was to be forwarded to you
after his death. Also he asked me to do up a manuscript, which, like the
box, was to be sent to you.
"He saw me looking at the last sheets, which had been burned away, and
said (I repeat his exact words)--
"'Yes, yes, that can't be helped now, it must go as it is. You see I
made up my mind to destroy it after all, and it was already on the fire
when the command came--the clear, unmistakable command--and I snatched
it off again.'
"What Mr. Holly meant by this 'command' I do not know, for he would
speak no more of the matter.
"I pass on to the last scene. One night about eleven o'clock, knowing
that my patient's end was near, I went up to see him, proposing to
inject some strychnine to keep the heart going a little longer. Before
I reached the house I met the caretaker coming to seek me in a great
fright, and asked her if her master was dead. She answered No; but he
was gone--had got out of bed and, just as he was, barefooted, left
the house, and was last seen by her grandson among the very Scotch firs
where we were talking. The lad, who was terrified out of his wits, for
he thought that he beheld a ghost, had told her so.
"The moonlight was very brilliant that night, especially as fresh snow
had fallen, which reflected its rays. I was on foot, and began to search
among the firs, till presently just outside of them I found the track of
naked feet in the snow. Of course I followed, calling to the housekeeper
to go and wake her husband, for no one else lives near by. The spoor
proved very easy to trace across the clean sheet of snow. It ran up the
slope of a hill behind the house.
"Now, on the crest of this hill is an ancient monument of upright
monoliths set there by some primeval people, known locally as the
Devil's Ring--a sort of miniature Stonehenge in fact. I had seen it
several times, and happened to have been present not long ago at a
meeting of an archaeological society when its origin and purpose were
discussed. I remember that one learned but somewhat eccentric gentleman
read a short paper upon a rude, hooded bust and head that are cut within
the chamber of a tall, flat-topped cromlech, or dolmen, which stands
alone in the centre of the ring.
"He said that it was a representation of the Egyptian goddess, Isis, and
that this place had once been sacred to some form of her worship, or at
any rate to that of a Nature goddess with like attributes, a suggestion
which the other learned gentlemen treated as absurd. They declared that
Isis had never travelled into Britain, though for my part I do not see
why the Phoenicians, or even the Romans, who adopted her cult, more
or less, should not have brought it here. But I know nothing of such
matters and will not discuss them.
"I remembered also that Mr. Holly was acquainted with this place, for
he had mentioned it to me on the previous day, asking if the stones were
still uninjured as they used to be when he was young. He added also, and
the remark struck me, that yonder was where he would wish to die. When I
answered that I feared he would never take so long a walk again, I noted
that he smiled a little.
"Well, this conversation gave me a clue, and without troubling more
about the footprints I went on as fast as I could to the Ring, half a
mile or so away. Presently I reached it, and there--yes, there--standing
by the cromlech, bareheaded, and clothed in his night-things only,
stood Mr. Holly in the snow, the strangest figure, I think, that ever I
beheld.
"Indeed never shall I forget that wild scene. The circle of rough,
single stones pointing upwards to the star-strewn sky, intensely lonely
and intensely solemn: the tall trilithon towering above them in the
centre, its shadow, thrown by the bright moon behind it, lying long
and black upon the dazzling sheet of snow, and, standing clear of this
shadow so that I could distinguish his every motion, and even the rapt
look upon his dying face, the white-draped figure of Mr. Holly. He
appeared to be uttering some invocation--in Arabic, I think--for long
before I reached him I could catch the tones of his full, sonorous
voice, and see his waving, outstretched arms. In his right hand he held
the looped sceptre which, by his express wish I send to you with the
drawings. I could see the flash of the jewels strung upon the wires, and
in the great stillness, hear the tinkling of its golden bells.
"Presently, too, I seemed to become aware of another presence, and now
you will understand why I desire and must ask that my identity should
be suppressed. Naturally enough I do not wish to be mixed up with a
superstitious tale which is, on the face of it, impossible and absurd.
Yet under all the circumstances I think it right to tell you that I saw,
or thought I saw, something gather in the shadow of the central dolmen,
or emerge from its rude chamber--I know not which for certain--something
bright and glorious which gradually took the form of a woman upon whose
forehead burned a star-like fire.
"At any rate the vision or reflection, or whatever it was, startled me
so much that I came to a halt under the lee of one of the monoliths, and
found myself unable even to call to the distraught man whom I pursued.
"Whilst I stood thus it became clear to me that Mr. Holly also saw
something. At least he turned towards the Radiance in the shadow,
uttered one cry; a wild, glad cry, and stepped forward; then seemed to
fall through it on to his face.
"When I reached the spot the light had vanished, and all I found was Mr.
Holly, his arms still outstretched, and the sceptre gripped tightly in
his hand, lying quite dead in the shadow of the trilithon."
The rest of the doctor's letter need not be quoted as it deals only with
certain very improbable explanations of the origin of this figure of
light, the details of the removal of Holly's body, and of how he managed
to satisfy the coroner that no inquest was necessary.
The box of which he speaks arrived safely. Of the drawings in it I need
say nothing, and of the sistrum or sceptre only a few words. It was
fashioned of crystal to the well-known shape of the Crux-ansata, or
the emblem of life of the Egyptians; the rod, the cross and the loop
combined in one. From side to side of this loop ran golden wires, and on
these were strung gems of three colours, glittering diamonds, sea-blue
sapphires, and blood-red rubies, while to the fourth wire, that at the
top, hung four little golden bells.
When I took hold of it first my arm shook slightly with excitement, and
those bells began to sound; a sweet, faint music like to that of chimes
heard far away at night in the silence of the sea. I thought too, but
perhaps this was fancy, that a thrill passed from the hallowed and
beautiful thing into my body.
On the mystery itself, as it is recorded in the manuscript, I make no
comment. Of it and its inner significations every reader must form his
or her own judgment. One thing alone is clear to me--on the hypothesis
that Mr. Holly tells the truth as to what he and Leo Vincey saw
and experienced, which I at least believe--that though sundry
interpretations of this mystery were advanced by Ayesha and others, none
of them are quite satisfactory.
Indeed, like Mr. Holly, I incline to the theory that She, if I may still
call her by that name although it is seldom given to her in these pages,
put forward some of them, such as the vague Isis-myth, and the wondrous
picture-story of the Mountain-fire, as mere veils to hide the truth
which it was her purpose to reveal at last in that song she never sang.
The Editor.
AYESHA
The Further History of She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed.
CHAPTER I
THE DOUBLE SIGN.
Hard on twenty years have gone by since that night of Leo's vision--the
most awful years, perhaps, which were ever endured by men--twenty years
of search and hardship ending in soul-shaking wonder and amazement.
My death is very near to me, and of this I am glad, for I desire to
pursue the quest in other realms, as it has been promised to me that I
shall do. I desire to learn the beginning and the end of the spiritual
drama of which it has been my strange lot to read some pages upon earth.
I, Ludwig Horace Holly, have been very ill; they carried me, more dead
than alive, down those mountains whose lowest slopes I can see from my
window, for I write this on the northern frontiers of India. Indeed any
other man had long since perished, but Destiny kept my breath in me,
perhaps that a record might remain. I, must bide here a month or two
till I am strong enough to travel homewards, for I have a fancy to die
in the place where I was born. So while I have strength I will put the
story down, or at least those parts of it that are most essential, for
much can, or at any rate must, be omitted. I shrink from attempting too
long a book, though my notes and memory would furnish me with sufficient
material for volumes.
I will begin with the Vision.
After Leo Vincey and I came back from Africa in 1885, desiring solitude,
which indeed we needed sorely to recover from the fearful shock we had
experienced, and to give us time and opportunity to think, we went to an
old house upon the shores of Cumberland that has belonged to my family
for many generations. This house, unless somebody has taken it believing
me to be dead, is still my property and thither I travel to die.
Those whose eyes read the words I write, if any should ever read them,
may ask--What shock?
Well, I am Horace Holly, and my companion, my beloved friend, my son in
the spirit whom I reared from infancy was--nay, is--Leo Vincey.
We are those men who, following an ancient clue, travelled to the Caves
of Kor in Central Africa, and there discovered her whom we sought,
the immortal She-who-must-be-obeyed. In Leo she found her love, that
re-born Kallikrates, the Grecian priest of Isis whom some two thousand
years before she had slain in her jealous rage, thus executing on him
the judgment of the angry goddess. In her also I found the divinity whom
I was doomed to worship from afar, not with the flesh, for that is all
lost and gone from me, but, what is sorer still, because its burden
is undying, with the will and soul which animate a man throughout the
countless eons of his being. The flesh dies, or at least it changes, and
its passions pass, but that other passion of the spirit--that longing
for oneness--is undying as itself.
What crime have I committed that this sore punishment should be laid
upon me? Yet, in truth, is it a punishment? May it not prove to be
but that black and terrible Gate which leads to the joyous palace of
Rewards? She swore that I should ever be her friend and his and dwell
with them eternally, and I believe her.
For how many winters did we wander among the icy hills and deserts!
Still, at length, the Messenger came and led us to the Mountain, and on
the Mountain we found the Shrine, and in the Shrine the Spirit. May not
these things be an allegory prepared for our instruction? I will take
comfort. I will hope that it is so. Nay, I am sure that it is so.
It will be remembered that in Kor we found the immortal woman. There
before the flashing rays and vapours of the Pillar of Life she declared
her mystic love, and then in our very sight was swept to a doom so
horrible that even now, after all which has been and gone, I shiver at
its recollection. Yet what were Ayesha's last words? "Forget me
not . . . have pity on my shame. I die not. I shall come again and shall
once more be beautiful. I swear it--it is true."
Well, I cannot set out that history afresh. Moreover it is written; the
man whom I trusted in the matter did not fail me, and the book he made
of it seems to be known throughout the world, for I have found it here
in English, yes, and read it first translated into Hindostani. To it
then I refer the curious.
In that house upon the desolate sea-shore of Cumberland, we dwelt a
year, mourning the lost, seeking an avenue by which it might be found
again and discovering none. Here our strength came back to us, and Leo's
hair, that had been whitened in the horror of the Caves, grew again from
grey to golden. His beauty returned to him also, so that his face was as
it had been, only purified and saddened.
Well I remember that night--and the hour of illumination. We were
heart-broken, we were in despair. We sought signs and could find none.
The dead remained dead to us and no answer came to all our crying.
It was a sullen August evening, and after we had dined we walked upon
the shore, listening to the slow surge of the waves and watching the
lightning flicker from the bosom of a distant cloud. In silence we
walked, till at last Leo groaned--it was more of a sob than a groan--and
clasped my arm.
"I can bear it no longer, Horace," he said--for so he called me now--"I
am in torment. The desire to see Ayesha once more saps my brain. Without
hope I shall go quite mad. And I am strong, I may live another fifty
years."
"What then can you do?" I asked.
"I can take a short road to knowledge--or to peace," he answered
solemnly, "I can die, and die I will--yes, tonight."
I turned upon him angrily, for his words filled me with fear.
"Leo, you are a coward!" I said. "Cannot you bear your part of pain
as--others do?"
"You mean as you do, Horace," he answered with a dreary laugh, "for on
you also the curse lies--with less cause. Well, you are stronger than I
am, and more tough; perhaps because you have lived longer. No, I cannot
bear it. I will die."
"It is a crime," I said, "the greatest insult you can offer to the
Power that made you, to cast back its gift of life as a thing outworn,
contemptible and despised. A crime, I say, which will bring with it
worse punishment than any you can dream; perhaps even the punishment of
everlasting separation."
"Does a man stretched in some torture-den commit a crime if he snatches
a knife and kills himself, Horace? Perhaps; but surely that sin should
find forgiveness--if torn flesh and quivering nerves may plead for
mercy. I am such a man, and I will use that knife and take my chance.
She is dead, and in death at least I shall be nearer her."
"Why so, Leo? For aught you know Ayesha may be living."
"No; for then she would have given me some sign. My mind is made up, so
talk no more, or, if talk we must, let it be of other things."
Then I pleaded with him, though with little hope, for I saw that what I
had feared for long was come to pass. Leo was mad: shock and sorrow
had destroyed his reason. Were it not so, he, in his own way a very
religious man, one who held, as I knew, strict opinions on such matters,
would never have purposed to commit the wickedness of suicide.
"Leo," I said, "are you so heartless that you would leave me here alone?
Do you pay me thus for all my love and care, and wish to drive me to my
death? Do so if you will, and my blood be on your head."
"Your blood! Why your blood, Horace?"
"Because that road is broad and two can travel it. We have lived long
years together and together endured much; I am sure that we shall not be
long parted."
Then the tables were turned and he grew afraid for me. But I only
answered, "If you die I tell you that I shall die also. It will
certainly kill me."
So Leo gave way. "Well," he exclaimed suddenly, "I promise you it shall
not be to-night. Let us give life another chance."
"Good," I answered; but I went to my bed full of fear. For I was certain
that this desire of death, having once taken hold of him, would grow
and grow, until at length it became too strong, and then--then I should
wither and die who could not live on alone. In my despair I threw out my
soul towards that of her who was departed.
"Ayesha!" I cried, "if you have any power, if in any way it is
permitted, show that you still live, and save your lover from this sin
and me from a broken heart. Have pity on his sorrow and breathe hope
into his spirit, for without hope Leo cannot live, and without him I
shall not live."
Then, worn out, I slept.
I was aroused by the voice of Leo speaking to me in low, excited tones
through the darkness.
"Horace," he said, "Horace, my friend, my father, listen!"
In an instant I was wide awake, every nerve and fibre of me, for the
tones of his voice told me that something had happened which bore upon
our destinies.
"Let me light a candle first," I said.
"Never mind the candle, Horace; I would rather speak in the dark. I went
to sleep, and I dreamed the most vivid dream that ever came to me. I
seemed to stand under the vault of heaven, it was black, black, not a
star shone in it, and a great loneliness possessed me. Then suddenly
high up in the vault, miles and miles away, I saw a little light and
thought that a planet had appeared to keep me company. The light began
to descend slowly, like a floating flake of fire. Down it sank, and down
and down, till it was but just above me, and I perceived that it was
shaped like a tongue or fan of flame. At the height of my head from the
ground it stopped and stood steady, and by its ghostly radiance I saw
that beneath was the shape of a woman and that the flame burned upon her
forehead. The radiance gathered strength and now I saw the woman.
"Horace, it was Ayesha herself, her eyes, her lovely face, her cloudy
hair, and she looked at me sadly, reproachfully, I thought, as one might
who says, 'Why did you doubt?'
"I tried to speak to her but my lips were dumb. I tried to advance and
to embrace her, my arms would not move. There was a barrier between us.
She lifted her hand and beckoned as though bidding me to follow her.
"Then she glided away, and, Horace, my spirit seemed to loose itself
from the body and to be given the power to follow. We passed swiftly
eastward, over lands and seas, and--I knew the road. At one point
she paused and I looked downwards. Beneath, shining in the moonlight,
appeared the ruined palaces of Kor, and there not far away was the gulf
we trod together.
"Onward above the marshes, and now we stood upon the Ethiopian's Head,
and gathered round, watching us earnestly, were the faces of the Arabs,
our companions who drowned in the sea beneath. Job was among them also,
and he smiled at me sadly and shook his head, as though he wished to
accompany us and could not.
"Across the sea again, across the sandy deserts, across more sea, and
the shores of India lay beneath us. Then northward, ever northward,
above the plains, till we reached a place of mountains capped with
eternal snow. We passed them and stayed for an instant above a building
set upon the brow of a plateau. It was a monastery, for old monks droned
prayers upon its terrace. I shall know it again, for it is built in the
shape of a half-moon and in front of it sits the gigantic, ruined statue
of a god who gazes everlastingly across the desert. I knew, how I cannot
say, that now we were far past the furthest borders of Thibet and that
in front of us lay untrodden lands. More mountains stretched beyond that
desert, a sea of snowy peaks, hundreds and hundreds of them.
"Near to the monastery, jutting out into the plain like some rocky
headland, rose a solitary hill, higher than all behind. We stood upon
its snowy crest and waited, till presently, above the mountains and the
desert at our feet shot a sudden beam of light that beat upon us like
some signal flashed across the sea. On we went, floating down the
beam--on over the desert and the mountains, across a great flat land
beyond, in which were many villages and a city on a mound, till we lit
upon a towering peak. Then I saw that this peak was loop-shaped like the
symbol of Life of the Egyptians--the crux-ansata--and supported by
a lava stem hundreds of feet in height. Also I saw that the fire which
shone through it rose from the crater of a volcano beyond. Upon the very
crest of this loop we rested a while, till the Shadow of Ayesha pointed
downward with its hand, smiled and vanished. Then I awoke.
"Horace, I tell you that the sign has come to us."
His voice died away in the darkness, but I sat still, brooding over what
I had heard. Leo groped his way to me and, seizing my arm, shook it.
"Are you asleep?" he asked angrily. "Speak, man, speak!"
"No," I answered, "never was I more awake. Give me time."
Then I rose, and going to the open window, drew up the blind and stood
there staring at the sky, which grew pearl-hued with the first faint
tinge of dawn. Leo came also and leant upon the window-sill, and I could
feel that his body was trembling as though with cold. Clearly he was
much moved.
"You talk of a sign," I said to him, "but in your sign I see nothing but
a wild dream."
"It was no dream," he broke in fiercely; "it was a vision."
"A vision then if you will, but there are visions true and false, and
how can we know that this is true? Listen, Leo. What is there in all
that wonderful tale which could not have been fashioned in your own
brain, distraught as it is almost to madness with your sorrow and your
longings? You dreamed that you were alone in the vast universe. Well, is
not every living creature thus alone? You dreamed that the shadowy shape
of Ayesha came to you. Has it ever left your side? You dreamed that she
led you over sea and land, past places haunted by your memory, above the
mysterious mountains of the Unknown to an undiscovered peak. Does she
not thus lead you through life to that peak which lies beyond the Gates
of Death? You dreamed----"
"Oh! no more of it," he exclaimed. "What I saw, I saw, and that I shall
follow. Think as you will, Horace, and do what you will. To-morrow I
start for India, with you if you choose to come; if not, without you."
"You speak roughly, Leo," I said. "You forget that I have had no sign,
and that the nightmare of a man so near to insanity that but a few hours
ago he was determined upon suicide, will be a poor staff to lean on when
we are perishing in the snows of Central Asia. A mixed vision, this of
yours, Leo, with its mountain peak shaped like a crux-ansata and the
rest. Do you suggest that Ayesha is re-incarnated in Central Asia--as a
female Grand Lama or something of that sort?"
"I never thought of it, but why not?" asked Leo quietly. "Do you
remember a certain scene in the Caves of Kor yonder, when the living
looked upon the dead, and dead and living were the same? And do you
remember what Ayesha swore, that she would come again--yes, to this
world; and how could that be except by re-birth, or, what is the same
thing, by the transmigration of the spirit?"
I did not answer this argument. I was struggling with myself.
"No sign has come to me," I said, "and yet I have had a part in the
play, humble enough, I admit, and I believe that I have still a part."
"No," he said, "no sign has come to you. I wish that it had. Oh! how I
wish you could be convinced as I am, Horace!"
Then we were silent for a long while, silent, with our eyes fixed upon
the sky.
It was a stormy dawn. Clouds in fantastic masses hung upon the ocean.
One of them was like a great mountain, and we watched it idly. It
changed its shape, the crest of it grew hollow like a crater. From this
crater sprang a projecting cloud, a rough pillar with a knob or lump
resting on its top. Suddenly the rays of the risen sun struck upon this
mountain and the column and they turned white like snow. Then as though
melted by those fiery arrows, the centre of the excrescence above the
pillar thinned out and vanished, leaving an enormous loop of inky cloud.
"Look," said Leo in a low, frightened voice, "that is the shape of the
mountain which I saw in my vision. There upon it is the black loop, and
there through it shines the fire. It would seem that the sign is for
both of us, Horace."
I looked and looked again till presently the vast loop vanished into the
blue of heaven. Then I turned and said--"I will come with you to Central
Asia, Leo."
CHAPTER II
THE LAMASERY.
Sixteen years had passed since that night vigil in the old Cumberland
house, and, behold! we two, Leo and I, were still travelling, still
searching for that mountain peak shaped like the Symbol of Life which
never, never could be found.
Our adventures would fill volumes, but of what use is it to record them.
Many of a similar nature are already written of in books; those that we
endured were more prolonged, that is all. Five years we spent in Thibet,
for the most part as guests of various monasteries, where we studied the
law and traditions of the Lamas. Here we were once sentenced to death in
punishment for having visited a forbidden city, but escaped through the
kindness of a Chinese official.
Leaving Thibet, we wandered east and west and north, thousands and
thousands of miles, sojourning amongst many tribes in Chinese territory
and elsewhere, learning many tongues, enduring much hardship. Thus we
would hear a legend of a place, say nine hundred miles away, and spend
two years in reaching it, to find when we came there, nothing.
And so the time went on. Yet never once did we think of giving up the
quest and returning, since, before we started, we had sworn an oath that
we would achieve or die. Indeed we ought to have died a score of times,
yet always were preserved, most mysteriously preserved.
Now we were in country where, so far as I could learn, no European had
ever set a foot. In a part of the vast land called Turkestan there is a
great lake named Balhkash, of which we visited the shores. Two hundred
miles or so to the westward is a range of mighty mountains marked on the
maps as Arkarty-Tau, on which we spent a year, and five hundred or so to
the eastward are other mountains called Cherga, whither we journeyed at
last, having explored the triple ranges of the Tau.
Here it was that at last our true adventures began. On one of the spurs
of these awful Cherga mountains--it is unmarked on any map--we well-nigh
perished of starvation. The winter was coming on and we could find no
game. The last traveller we had met, hundreds of miles south, told us
that on that range was a monastery inhabited by Lamas of surpassing
holiness. He said that they dwelt in this wild land, over which no power
claimed dominion and where no tribes lived, to acquire "merit," with no
other company than that of their own pious contemplations. We did not
believe in its existence, still we were searching for that monastery,
driven onward by the blind fatalism which was our only guide through
all these endless wanderings. As we were starving and could find no
"argals," that is fuel with which to make a fire, we walked all night by
the light of the moon, driving between us a single yak--for now we had
no attendant, the last having died a year before.
He was a noble beast, that yak, and had the best constitution of any
animal I ever knew, though now, like his masters, he was near his end.
Not that he was over-laden, for a few rifle cartridges, about a hundred
and fifty, the remnant of a store which we had fortunately been able to
buy from a caravan two years before, some money in gold and silver, a
little tea and a bundle of skin rugs and sheepskin garments were his
burden. On, on we trudged across a plateau of snow, having the great
mountains on our right, till at length the yak gave a sigh and stopped.
So we stopped also, because we must, and wrapping ourselves in the skin
rugs, sat down in the snow to wait for daylight.
"We shall have to kill him and eat his flesh raw," I said, patting the
poor yak that lay patiently at our side.
"Perhaps we may find game in the morning," answered Leo, still hopeful.
"And perhaps we may not, in which case we must die."
"Very good," he replied, "then let us die. It is the last resource of
failure. We shall have done our best."
"Certainly, Leo, we shall have done our best, if sixteen years of
tramping over mountains and through eternal snows in pursuit of a dream
of the night can be called best."
"You know what I believe," he answered stubbornly, and there was silence
between us, for here arguments did not avail. Also even then I could not
think that all our toils and sufferings would be in vain.
The dawn came, and by its light we looked at one another anxiously,
each of us desiring to see what strength was left to his companion. Wild
creatures we should have seemed to the eyes of any civilized person.
Leo was now over forty years of age, and certainly his maturity had
fulfilled the promise of his youth, for a more magnificent man I never
knew. Very tall, although he seemed spare to the eye, his girth matched
his height, and those many years of desert life had turned his muscles
to steel. His hair had grown long, like my own, for it was a protection
from sun and cold, and hung upon his neck, a curling, golden mane, as
his great beard hung upon his breast, spreading outwards almost to
the massive shoulders. The face, too--what could be seen of it--was
beautiful though burnt brown with weather; refined and full of thought,
sombre almost, and in it, clear as crystal, steady as stars, shone his
large grey eyes.
And I--I was what I have always been--ugly and hirsute, iron-grey now
also, but in spite of my sixty odd years, still wonderfully strong, for
my strength seemed to increase with time, and my health was perfect. In
fact, during all this period of rough travels, although now and again
we had met with accidents which laid us up for awhile, neither of us
had known a day of sickness. Hardship seemed to have turned our
constitutions to iron and made them impervious to every human ailment.
Or was this because we alone amongst living men had once inhaled the
breath of the Essence of Life?
Our fears relieved--for notwithstanding our foodless night, as yet
neither of us showed any signs of exhaustion--we turned to contemplate
the landscape. At our feet beyond a little belt of fertile soil, began
a great desert of the sort with which we were familiar--sandy,
salt-encrusted, treeless, waterless, and here and there streaked with
the first snows of winter. Beyond it, eighty or a hundred miles away--in
that lucent atmosphere it was impossible to say how far exactly--rose
more mountains, a veritable sea of them, of which the white peaks soared
upwards by scores.
As the golden rays of the rising sun touched their snows to splendour,
I saw Leo's eyes become troubled. Swiftly he turned and looked along the
edge of the desert.
"See there!" he said, pointing to something dim and enormous. Presently
the light reached it also. It was a mighty mountain not more than ten
miles away, that stood out by itself among the sands. Then he turned
once more, and with his back to the desert stared at the slope of the
hills, along the base of which we had been travelling. As yet they were
in gloom, for the sun was behind them, but presently light began to flow
over their crests like a flood. Down it crept, lower, and yet lower,
till it reached a little plateau not three hundred yards above us.
There, on the edge of the plateau, looking out solemnly across the
waste, sat a great ruined idol, a colossal Buddha, while to the rear of
the idol, built of yellow stone, appeared the low crescent-shaped mass
of a monastery.
"At last!" cried Leo, "oh, Heaven! at last!" and, flinging himself down,
he buried his face in the snow as though to hide it there, lest I should
read something written on it which he did not desire that even I should
see.
I let him lie a space, understanding what was passing in his heart,
and indeed in mine also. Then going to the yak that, poor brute, had
no share in these joyous emotions but only lowed and looked round with
hungry eyes, I piled the sheepskin rugs on to its back. This done, I
laid my hand on Leo's shoulder, saying, in the most matter-of-fact voice
I could command--"Come. If that place is not deserted, we may find food
and shelter there, and it is beginning to storm again."
He rose without a word, brushed the snow from his beard and garments and
came to help me to lift the yak to its feet, for the worn-out beast was
too stiff and weak to rise of itself. Glancing at him covertly, I saw
on Leo's face a very strange and happy look; a great peace appeared to
possess him.
We plunged upwards through the snow slope, dragging the yak with us, to
the terrace whereon the monastery was built. Nobody seemed to be about
there, nor could I discern any footprints. Was the place but a ruin? We
had found many such; indeed this ancient land is full of buildings that
had once served as the homes of men, learned and pious enough after
their own fashion, who lived and died hundreds, or even thousands, of
years ago, long before our Western civilization came into being.
My heart, also my stomach, which was starving, sank at the thought,
but while I gazed doubtfully, a little coil of blue smoke sprang from
a chimney, and never, I think, did I see a more joyful sight. In the
centre of the edifice was a large building, evidently the temple, but
nearer to us I saw a small door, almost above which the smoke appeared.
To this door I went and knocked, calling aloud--"Open! open, holy
Lamas. Strangers seek your charity." After awhile there was a sound of
shuffling feet and the door creaked upon its hinges, revealing an old,
old man, clad in tattered, yellow garments.
"Who is it? Who is it?" he exclaimed, blinking at me through a pair of
horn spectacles. "Who comes to disturb our solitude, the solitude of the
holy Lamas of the Mountains?"
"Travellers, Sacred One, who have had enough of solitude," I answered in
his own dialect, with which I was well acquainted. "Travellers who are
starving and who ask your charity, which," I added, "by the Rule you
cannot refuse."
He stared at us through his horn spectacles, and, able to make nothing
of our faces, let his glance fall to our garments which were as ragged
as his own, and of much the same pattern. Indeed, they were those of
Thibetan monks, including a kind of quilted petticoat and an outer
vestment not unlike an Eastern burnous. We had adopted them because we
had no others. Also they protected us from the rigours of the climate
and from remark, had there been any to remark upon them.
"Are you Lamas?" he asked doubtfully, "and if so, of what monastery?"
"Lamas sure enough," I answered, "who belong to a monastery called the
World, where, alas! one grows hungry."
The reply seemed to please him, for he chuckled a little, then shook his
head, saying--"It is against our custom to admit strangers unless they
be of our own faith, which I am sure you are not."
"And much more is it against your Rule, holy Khubilghan," for so these
abbots are entitled, "to suffer strangers to starve"; and I quoted a
well-known passage from the sayings of Buddha which fitted the point
precisely.
"I perceive that you are instructed in the Books," he exclaimed with
wonder on his yellow, wrinkled face, "and to such we cannot refuse
shelter. Come in, brethren of the monastery called the World. But stay,
there is the yak, who also has claims upon our charity," and, turning,
he struck upon a gong or bell which hung within the door.
At the sound another man appeared, more wrinkled and to all appearance
older than the first, who stared at us open-mouthed.
"Brother," said the abbot, "shut that great mouth of yours lest an evil
spirit should fly down it; take this poor yak and give it fodder with
the other cattle."
So we unstrapped our belongings from the back of the beast, and the old
fellow whose grandiloquent title was "Master of the Herds," led it away.
When it had gone, not too willingly--for our faithful friend disliked
parting from us and distrusted this new guide--the abbot, who was
named Kou-en, led us into the living room or rather the kitchen of the
monastery, for it served both purposes. Here we found the rest of the
monks, about twelve in all, gathered round the fire of which we had seen
the smoke, and engaged, one of them in preparing the morning meal, and
the rest in warming themselves.
They were all old men; the youngest could not have been less than
sixty-five. To these we were solemnly introduced as "Brethren of the
Monastery called the World, where folk grow hungry," for the abbot
Kou-en could not make up his mind to part from this little joke.
They stared at us, they rubbed their thin hands, they bowed and wished
us well and evidently were delighted at our arrival. This was not
strange, however, seeing that ours were the first new faces which they
had seen for four long years.
Nor did they stop at words, for while they made water hot for us to wash
in, two of them went to prepare a room--and others drew off our rough
hide boots and thick outer garments and brought us slippers for our
feet. Then they led us to the guest chamber, which they informed us was
a "propitious place," for once it had been slept in by a noted saint.
Here a fire was lit, and, wonder of wonders! clean garments, including
linen, all of them ancient and faded, but of good quality, were brought
for us to put on.
So we washed--yes, actually washed all over--and having arrayed
ourselves in the robes, which were somewhat small for Leo, struck the
bell that hung in the room and were conducted by a monk who answered it,
back to the kitchen, where the meal was now served. It consisted of a
kind of porridge, to which was added new milk brought in by the "Master
of the Herds," dried fish from a lake, and buttered tea, the last two
luxuries produced in our special honour. Never had food tasted more
delicious to us, and, I may add, never did we eat more. Indeed, at last
I was obliged to request Leo to stop, for I saw the monks staring at him
and heard the old abbot chuckling to himself.
"Oho! The Monastery of the World, where folk grow hungry," to which
another monk, who was called the "Master of the Provisions," replied
uneasily, that if we went on like this, their store of food would
scarcely last the winter. So we finished at length, feeling, as some
book of maxims which I can remember in my youth said all polite people
should do--that we could eat more, and much impressed our hosts by
chanting a long Buddhist grace.
"Their feet are in the Path! Their feet are in the Path!" they said,
astonished.
"Yes," replied Leo, "they have been in it for sixteen years of our
present incarnation. But we are only beginners, for you, holy Ones, know
how star-high, how ocean-wide and how desert-long is that path. Indeed
it is to be instructed as to the right way of walking therein that we
have been miraculously directed by a dream to seek you out, as the most
pious, the most saintly and the most learned of all the Lamas in these
parts."
"Yes, certainly we are that," answered the abbot Kou-en, "seeing that
there is no other monastery within five months' journey," and again he
chuckled, "though, alas!" he added with a pathetic little sigh, "our
numbers grow few."
After this we asked leave to retire to our chamber in order to rest, and
there, upon very good imitations of beds, we slept solidly for four and
twenty hours, rising at last perfectly refreshed and well.
Such was our introduction to the Monastery of the Mountains--for it had
no other name--where we were destined to spend the next six months of
our lives. Within a few days--for they were not long in giving us their
complete confidence--those good-hearted and simple old monks told us all
their history.
It seemed that of old time there was a Lamasery here, in which dwelt
several hundred brethren. This, indeed, was obviously true, for the
place was enormous, although for the most part ruined, and, as the
weather-worn statue of Buddha showed, very ancient. The story ran,
according to the old abbot, that two centuries or so before, the monks
had been killed out by some fierce tribe who lived beyond the desert and
across the distant mountains, which tribe were heretics and worshippers
of fire. Only a few of them escaped to bring the sad news to other