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forest into a wave of flame. A hot river of light streams
through the
aisles of the ancient trees, and, falling over the
shoulder of a vast,
smooth slab of stone that rises solitary
in this wilderness of dark growth
and sombre green, pours
in a flood across an open glade and upon the
broken columns
and inchoate ruins of what in immemorial time had been
a mighty temple, the fane of a perished god, or of many
gods. As the sun
rapidly descends, the stream of red
light narrows, till, quivering and
palpitating, it rests like
a bloody sword upon a colossal statue of black
marble,
facing due westward. The statue is that of a woman,
and is as
of the Titans of old-time.
moveless yet seeing eyes, its faint inscrutable smile.
Upon the
triple-ledged pedestal, worn at the edges like
swords ground again and
again, lie masses of large white
flowers, whose heavy fragrances rise in a
faint blue
vapour drawn forth with the sudden suspiration of the
earth by the first twilight-chill.
hurled thither, or raised, none knoweth when or how-is
gathered
a dark multitude, silent, expectant. Many are
Arab tribesmen, the remnant
of a strange sect driven
southward; but most are Nubians, or that
unnamed
swarthy race to whom both Arab and Negro are as chil-
dren.
All, save the priests, of whom the elder are clad in
white robes and the
younger girt about by scarlet sashes,
are naked. Behind the men, at a
short distance apart, are
the women; each virgin with an ivory circlet
round the
neck, each mother or pregnant woman with a thin gold
band
round the left arm. Between the long double-line
of the priests and the
silent multitude stands a small
group of five youths and five maidens;
each crowned with
heavy drooping white flowers; each motionless, morose;
all with eyes fixt
on the trodden earth at their feet.
brazen cymbals, deeply chased with signs and letters
of a perished tongue.
A shrill screaming cry goes
up from the people, followed by a prolonged
silence.
Not a man moves, not a woman sighs. Only a shiver
contracts
the skin of the foremost girl in the small
central group. Then the elder
priests advance slowly,
chanting monotonously,
We are the slain
of thy spoil, O Slayer!
We are thy thoughts that are fulfilled, O
Thinker!
Have pity upon us!
Thou wast, before ever woman knew man!
Thou wast, before the
shadow of man moved athwart
Thou wast, and thou art!
Hail,
thou of many names, and immortal!
Hail, Mother of God, Sister of the
Christ, Bride of the
Thou, who lovest shadow, and fear, and sudden death!
Who art the smile
that looketh upon women and children!
Who hath the heart of man in thy
grip as in a vice;
Who hath his pride and strength in thy sigh of
yestereve;
Who hath his being in thy breath that goeth forth, and
But we
bring thee what thou loved'st of old, and for ever!
The white flowers
of our forests and the red flowers of
For we are thy
slaves, O Mother of Life,
We are the dust of thy tired feet, O Mother
of God!
the
Black Madonna, the younger tear off their scarlet
sashes, and seizing the
five maidens, bind them together,
left arm to right, and hand to hand.
Therewith the
victims move slowly forward till they pass through the
ranks of the priests, and stand upon the lowest edge of the
pedestal
of the great statue. Towards each steppeth, and
behind each standeth, a
naked priest, each holding a
narrow irregular sword of antique
fashion.
donna, and flashes this way and that for a moment from
the ten sword-knives that cut the air and plunge between
the shoulders and
to the heart of each victim. A wide
spirt of blood rains upon the white
flowers at the base of
the colossal figure; where also speedily lie, dark
amidst
welling crimson, the swarthy bodies of the slain.
The white flowers of our
forests and the red flowers of
Have pity, O
Compassionate,
Be merciful, O Queen!
hastily cover the dead with the masses of the white
flowers; and one by
one, and group by group, the mul-
titude melteth away. When all are gone
save the young
chief, Bihr, and a few of his following, the priests
pros-
trate themselves before the Black Madonna, and pray to
her to
vouchsafe a sign.
voice, sombre as the reverberation of thunder among
barren hills.
I hearken.
Wilt thou slay, O Slayer?
Yea, verily.
Wilt thou save, O Mother of God?
I save.
Can one see thee, and live?
At the Gate of Death.
dim in the darkness that seems to have crept from the
forest. The priests rise, and disappear in silent groups
under the trees.
glow from orchids and parasitic growths shimmers inter-
mittently in the
forest. A wavering beam of light falls
upon the right breast of the Black
Madonna; then
slowly downward to her feet; then upon the motionless
figure of Bihr, the warrior-chief. None saw him steal
thither: none
knoweth that he has braved the wrath of
the Slayer; for it is the sacred
time, when it is death to
enter the glade.
Speak, Spirit that dwelleth here from of old . . .
Speak, for I would
have speech with thee. I fear thee
not, O Mother of God, for the priests
of the Christ who
is thy son say that thou wert but a woman. . .
And
it may be—it may be—what say the children of
the Prophet: that there is
but one God, and he is Allah.
To the north and to the east I have seen many figures
like unto thine,
gods and goddesses: some mightier than
thee—vast sphinxes by the flood of
Nilus, gigantic faces
rising out of the sands of the desert. And none
spake,
for silence is come upon them; and none slays, for the
strength of the gods passes even as the strength of men.
For I will not be thrall to a woman, and the priests shall
not bend me to
their will as a slave unto the yoke. If
thou thyself art God, speak, and I
shall be thy slave to
do thy will . . . . Thrice have I come hither
at
the new moon, and thrice do I go hence uncomforted
. . . .What
voice was that that spoke ere the
victims died? I know not; but it hath
reached mine
ears never save when the priests are by. Nay
What would'st thou?
Have mercy upon me, O Queen!
What would'st thou?
I worship thee, Mother of God! Slayer and Saver!
What would'st thou?
Show me thyself, thyself, even for this one time, O
Strength and
Wisdom!
with a faint wailing sound. The dull roaring of lions
rises and falls in
the distance. A soft yellow light
illumes the statue, as though another
moon were rising
behind the temple.
falls prostrate at the base of the Black Madonna.
spikes of trodden grass, sere and stiff save where damp
with newly-shed
blood; and deaf are his ears, though
he waits for he knoweth not what
sound from above.
his forehead when he feels a touch on his right shoulder.
Looking slowly
round he sees beside him a woman, tall,
and of a lithe and noble body. He
seeth that her skin
is dark, yet not of the blackness of the south.
Two
spheres of wrought gold cover her breasts, and from the
serpentine zone round her waist is looped a dusky veil
spangled with
shining points. In her eyes, large as
those of the desert-antelope, is the
loveliness and the
pathos and the pain of twilight.
Art thou—Art thou—
I am she whom thou worshippest.
Thou art the Black Madonna, the Mother of God?
Thou sayest it.
Thou hast heard my prayer, O Queen!
Even so.
O Slayer and Saver, is the lightning thine and the fire
that is in the
earth? Canst thou whirl the stars as
from a sling, and light the
mountainous lands to the
south with falling meteors? O Queen, destroy me
not,
for I am thy slave, and weaker than thy breath: but
canst thou
stretch forth thine hand and say yea to the
lightning, and bid silence
unto the thunder ere it breeds
the bolts that smite? For if—
I make and I unmake. This cometh and that goeth,
and I am—
And thou art—
I was Ashtaroth of old. Men have called me many
names. All things change,
but I change not. Know
me, O Slave! I am the Mother of God. I am the
Sister
of the Christ. I am the Bride of the Prophet.
And thou art the very Prophet, and the very Christ, and
the very God! Each
speaketh in thee, who art older
than they—
I
Hail, O Lord of Deliverance!
I
Hail, O most Patient, most Merciful!
I
Hail, Giver of Life and Death!
Yet here none is; for each goeth or each cometh as I
will. I only am
eternal.
Behold, I am thy slave to do thy will: thy sword to slay:
thy spear to
follow: thy hound to track thine enemies.
I am dust beneath thy feet. Do
with me as thou wilt.
Thou shalt be my High Priest. . . . .Come back
to-morrow an hour after the
setting of the sun.
shadow she stareth steadily after him; and a deep fear
dwells in the
twilight of her eyes. Then, turning, she
standeth awhile by the slain
bodies of the victims of the
sacrifice; and having lightly brushed away
with her foot
the flowers above each face, looketh long on the
mystery
of death. And when at last she glides by the great
statue and
passes into the ruins beyond, there is no
longer any glow of light, and a
deep darkness covereth
the glade. From the deeper darkness beyond comes
the
howling of hyenas, the shrill screaming of a furious beast
of
prey, and the sudden bursting roar of lion answering
lion.
glimmers athwart the great white slab of stone that,
on the farther verge
of the forest, faces the Black
Madonna, there is nought upon the pedestal
save a ruin
of bloodied trampled flowers, though the sere yellow
grass is stained in long trails across the open. The dawn
withdraws again,
but ere long suddenly wells forth, and
it is as though the light wind were bearing over the
forest a multitude of
soft grey feathers from the breasts
of doves. Then the dim concourse of
feathers is as
though innumerable leaves of wild-roses were falling,
falling, petal by petal uncurling into a rosy flame that
wafts upward and
onward. The stars have grown sud-
denly pale, and the fires of Phosphor
burn wanly green in
the midst of a palpitating haze of pink. With a
great
rush, the sun swings through the gates of the East, tossing
aside his golden, fiery mane as he fronts the new day.
unto
noon silence, and from the silence of the afternoon
unto the silence of
the eve. Once more, towards the
setting of the sun, the multitude cometh
out of the
forest, from the east and from the west, and from the
north and from the south: once more the Priests sing the
sacred hymns:
once more the people supplicate as with
one shrill screaming voice,
pity upon us! Have pity upon
us!
victims are slain of little children who might
one day
shake the spear and slay, five; and of little children who
would one day bear and bring forth, five.
sun. There is no moon to lighten the darkness and the
silence; but a soft
glow falleth from the temple, and
upon the mall who kneels before the
Black Madonna.
But when Bihr, having no sign vouchsafed, and hearing
no sound, and seeing nought upon the carven face,
neither tremour of the
lips nor life in the lifeless eyes,
suddenly seeth the goddess, glorious
in her beauty that
is as of the night, coming towards him from out of
the
ruins, his heart leapeth within him in strange joy and
dread.
Scarce knowing what he doth, he springeth to
his feet, trembling as a reed
that leaneth
against the flank of a lioness by the water-pool.
Hail, God! . . . .Goddess, Most Beautiful!
of the deep twilight of her eyes.
What would'st thou?
Thou art no Mother of God, O Goddess, Queen, Most
Beautiful!
What would'st thou, O blind fool that is so in love with
death?
Make me like unto thyself, for I love you!
dull roaring of lions by the water-courses; from the
forest a murmurous
sound as of baffled winds snared
among the thick-branched ancient
trees.
For I love thee: I—love-thee! I—
by a snake comes from the forest. Beyond, from the
desert, a long,
desolate moaning and howling, where the
hyenas prowl.
When . .did . . thy folly . .this madness
. . come upon thee . . O Fool?
O Most Beautiful! Most Beautiful! Thou—
will I worship!
Go hence, lest I slay thee!
Slay, O Slayer, for thou art Life and Death!
. . . But I go not hence. I
love thee! I love thee! I love
thee!
I am the Mother of God.
I love thee!
God dwelleth in me. I am thy God.
I love thee!
Go hence, lest I slay thee!
Thou tremblest, O Mother of God! Thy lips twitch,
thy breasts heave, O
thou who callest thyself God!
Go hence, thou dog, lest thou look upon my face no more.
Bihr the Chief turneth and passes into the forest. And
as he fades into
the darkness, the Black Madonna stareth
a long while after him, and a deep
fear broodeth in the
twilight of her eyes. But by the bodies of the
slain
children she passes at last, and with a shudder looks
not upon
their faces, but strews the heavy white flowers
more thickly upon
them.
welling forth from spent billow on the tides of night.
On the obscure
waste of the glade nought moves, save
the gaunt shadow of a hyena that
crawls from column
to column. From the blackness beyond swells the
long
thunderous howl of a lioness, echoing the hollow blasting
roar
of a lion standing, with eyes of yellow flame, on the
summit of the great
slab of smooth rock that faces the
carven Madonna.
grey wavelets ripple in a flood athwart the black-green
sweep
of the forest, there is nought upon the pedestal
but red flowers that once
were white, rent and scattered
this way and that. The cool wind moving
against the
east ruffles the opaline flood into a flying foam of
pink,
wherefrom mists and vapours rise on wings like rosy
flames, and
as they rise their crests shine as with
blazing gold, and they fare forth
after the Morn that
leads towards the Sun.
unto
noon silence, and from the silence of the afternoon
unto the silence of
eve. Once more towards the setting
of the sun, the multitude cometh out of
the forest, from
the east and from the west, and from the north and
from
the south. Once more the priests sing the sacred
hymns: once more the people supplicate as with one
shrill screaming voice,
upon us! Have pity
upon us!
tims are slain: five chiefs of
captives taken in war, and
unto each chief two warriors in the glory of
youth.
the silence and the dark, save for the soft yellow light
that falleth from
the temple, and upon the man who,
crested with an ostrich-plume bound by a
heavy circlet
of gold, with a tiger-skin about his shoulders, and
with
a great spear in his hand, standeth beyond the statue
and nigh
unto the ruins, where no man hath ventured
and lived.
Come forth, my Bride!
the upper branches of the trees, and the panting of the
flying deer beyond
the glade.
Come forth, Glory of my eyes! Come forth, Body of
my Body.
Black Madonna stands beside Bihr the Chief. And the
man is wrought to
madness by her beauty, and lusteth
after her, and possesseth her with the
passion of his eyes.
What would'st thou?
Thou!
Young art thou, Bihr, in thy comeliness and strength
to be so in love
with death.
Who giveth life, and who death? It is not thou, nor I.
It cometh. None can stay it.
Not thou? Thou can'st not stay it, even?
Nay, Bihr; and this thing thou knowest in thy heart.
O Mother of God! O Sister of Christ! O Bride of the Prophet!
What would'st thou?
Thou!
I am the Slayer, the Terrible, the Black Madonna.
And lo, thy God laugheth at thee, even as at me, and
mine. And lo, I have
come for thee; for I am become
His Prophet, and thou art to be my
Bride!
Black Madonna and, laughing, hurls his spear against its
breast,
whence the weapon rebounds with a loud clang.
Then, ere the woman knows
what he has done, he leaps
to her and seizes her in his grasp, and kisses
her upon
the lips, and grips her with his hands till the veins sting
in her arms. And all the sovereignty of her lonely
godhood passeth from
her like the dew before the hot
breath of the sun, and her heart throbs
against his side
so that his ears ring as with the clang of the gongs
of battle. He sobs low, as a man amidst baffling waves;
and in the hunger
of his desire she sinks as one who
drowns.
together they pass into the darkness of the ruins.
From the deeper
darkness beyond cometh no sound, for
the forest is strangely still. Not a
beast of prey comes
nigh unto the slain victims of the sacrifice, not a
vulture
falleth like a cloud through the night. Only, from afar,
the
dull roaring of the lions cometh up from the water-
courses on the
desert.
rain and storm, so that when the dawn breaks it is as a
sea of sullen
waves grey with sleet. But calm cometh
out of the blood red splendour of
the east.
the Festival of the Black Madonna, the multitude of her
worshippers come forth from the forest, singing a glad
song. In front go
the warriors, the young men brandish-
ing spears, and with their knives in
their left hands slicing
the flesh upon their sides and upon their thighs:
the men
of the north clad in white garb and heavy burnous, the
tribesmen of the south naked save for their loin-girths,
but plumed as for
war.
a strange new song goeth up from their lips; and the
people tremble, for
they know that some dire thing hath
happened.
from her people awhile. For the Mother of God loveth
the
world, and would go in sacrifice. So loveth us the
Mother of God that
she passeth in sacrifice. Behold,
she perisheth, who dieth not! Behold,
she dieth, who
is immortal !
they behold smoke, whirling and fulgurant, issuing from
the mouth and
nostrils of the Black Madonna. But this
awe passeth into horror, and
horror into wild fear, when
great tongues of flame shoot forth amidst the
wreaths
of smoke, and when from forth of the Black Madonna
come
strange and horrible cries, as though a mortal
woman were perishing by the
torture of fire.
spears from them, the men dash wildly to the forest,
heedless whither they
flee.
white rock standeth solitary, facing the Black Madonna,
see for a moment,
in the glare of sunrise, a swarthy,
naked figure, with a tiger-skin about
the shoulders,
crucified against the smooth white slope. Down from
the
outspread hands of Bihr the Chief trickle two long
wavering
streamlets of blood: two long streamlets of
blood drip, drip, down the
white glaring face of the
rock, from the pierced feet.