  L'espoir mÊme a des portes closes; Cette terre est pleine de choses Dont nous ne voyons qu'un cÔte. V. Hugo. Eric was wandering through the maze of gardens, grottos, and domed halls that formed the dwelling of the sorceress. It was night—but a clear night; almost as light as day because of the radiant moon that lay low in the sky; she was oppressively near the earth, intruding her wise rays, that had seen all too much, into every corner and hiding-place. Eric hated her indiscretion; he had hoped to wrap himself in the mantle of the dark so that he might steal away at last. He could stand no longer the suffocating oppression which had gradually been coming over him. To-night he had slunk away from the luxurious feast his fair jailer had been giving him. He had left her there, upon her throne of gold, amidst priceless draperies, amongst the garlands of red poppies that had been entwined round the tables at which richly clad, loud-voiced youths were gathered—youths who drank and sang, and whose eyes had a strangely tired look, always straining after some pleasure that seemed to pass them by and leave them with empty outstretched hands. All had clamoured round that golden throne, pressing near to the queenly figure who sat there in a scarlet robe, her eyes still bandaged beneath the wreath of poppies which was pressed upon her shining tresses. Her penetrating laugh had sounded clearly above all the din, and she had lifted her hands high in the air throwing the gorgeous-coloured poppy-leaves over their bowed heads; and she had drunk out of a golden goblet which she had held in turns to their thirsting lips. One of the youths was as young as Eric himself and of marvellous beauty, with eyes like flashing jewels, but which held a look of such intense suffering that Eric could not bear the sight. This boy had dragged himself on his knees to the steps of the throne, uttering incoherent prayers, the hot tears running down his cheeks; then he had hidden his face within the scarlet folds of her dress and had cried as if his heart would break, whilst the wild woman in red had laughed, laughed, mocking his sorrow with hard words, till all the others had laughed with her. It was then that Eric had fled, with a mad desire to get out into the cool night and flee as far as he could from all these revels of which his simple soul could not grasp the meaning. Yet the wonderful woman had dropped some of the poison into his veins, because, in spite of his great desire to escape, he felt a burning regret in his heart at the thought that he was leaving without having seen the woman's eyes. At the same time he almost dreaded to find the face of his dreams behind that white cloth which had become uncanny to him ... and yet?... why was this burning pain at his heart? Why had he come here? Why had he not turned back when the old bell had so persistently warned him? Suddenly he felt older, wiser, as if years had elapsed since he left the sea-shore and lost his way within this labyrinth so full of beauty and temptation. He thought he felt once more the soft touch of the woman's hands, that he saw the glowing flower of her lips, the soft yielding figure, the white arms, the rippling fair hair, the tiny feet, and he stood still clasping his hands over his burning eyes. Why had he not torn the bandage from her brow, and pressed his lips upon that tempting mouth, crushing it beneath his own? Indeed he had been a fool! And no doubt it was thus she considered him, and was now deriding his memory amongst those shameless guests who crowded around her tables; those tables that were bending under the weight of the costly dishes, and where the brilliant poppies were shedding their petals as they faded and drooped amongst hundreds of lighted candles. Eric groaned in his distress; he longed to go back before that golden throne and tell the beautiful woman that he hated her ... hated her!... But now he must escape—but why was the moon so bright? Why could he not find his way to the snow-white hall, and from there, over the deep water, past the mysterious well, out into the wide world once more? Why did his head ache and throb? Why did his throat feel dry with ill-contained sobs? What had come to him? Never had he felt thus. All the sweet peace of his soul had been replaced by waves of unknown sensations and desires; and beneath it all, that burning pain at his heart, that unsatisfied yearning for something he could not grasp. The moon flooded everything in a hard, merciless light; he ran from place to place seeking an issue, only to find everywhere blank walls to stop him. He knew that he was losing his head, the blood beat in his temples, his eyes could no more clearly see.... With a stifled cry of distress he dropped down, and all became dark around him. |
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