The Dedalus Book of Decadence: (Moral Ruins) (22 page)

So, in a rapture too subtle for words, we walked together, arm-enfolded, to her house.
Preparations for a banquet were going on within: the windows were ablaze, and figures passed behind them bowed with heavy dishes.
At the threshold of the hall we were met by a triumphant crash of melody.
In the musician’s gallery bald-pated veterans stood to it with flute and harp and viol-de-gamba.
In two long rows the antic retainers stood, and bowed, and cried merrily: “Joy and health to the bride and groom!”
And they kissed Marina’s hands and mine, and, with the players sending forth that half-forgotten tenderness which threads through ancient song-books, we passed to the feast, seating ourselves on the dais, whilst the servants filled the tables below.
But we made little feint of appetite.
As the last dish of confections was removing, a weird pageant swept across the further end of the banqueting-room: Oberon and Titania with Robin Goodfellow and the rest, attired in silks and satins gorgeous of hue, and bedizened with such late flowers as were still with us.
I leaned forward to commend, and saw that each face was brown and wizened and thin-haired: so that their motions and their epithalamy felt goblin and discomforting; nor could I smile till they departed by the further door.
Then the tables were cleared away, and Marina, taking my finger-tips in hers, opened a stately dance.
The servants followed, and in the second maze a shrill and joyful laughter proclaimed that the bride had sought her chamber….

Ere the dawn I wakened from a troubled sleep.
My
dream had been of despair: I had been persecuted by a host of devils, thieves of a price-less jewel.
So I leaned over the pillow for Marina’s consolation; my lips sought hers, my hand crept beneath her head.
My heart gave one mad bound – then stopped.

**********

MAGIC

by Lionel Johnson

I.

BECAUSE I work not, as logicians work,

Who but to ranked and marshalled reason yield:

But my feet hasten through a faery field,

Thither, where underneath the rainbow lurk

Spirits of youth, and life, and gold, concealed:

Because by leaps I scale the secret sky,

Upon the motion of a cunning star:

Because I hold the winds oracular,

And think on airy warnings, when men die:

Because I tread the ground, where shadows are:

Therefore my name is grown a popular scorn,

And I a children’s terror!
Only now,

For I am old!
O Mother Nature!
thou

Leavest me not; wherefore, as night turns morn,

A magian wisdom breaks beneath my brow.

These painful toilers of the bounded way,

Chaired within cloister halls: can they renew

Ashes to flame?
Can they of moonlit dew

Prepare the immortalizing draughts?
Can they

Give gold for refuse earth, or bring to view

Earth’s deepest doings?
Let them have their school,

Their science, and their safety!
I am he,

Whom Nature fills with her philosophy,

And takes for kinsman.
Let me be their fool,

And wise man in the winds’ society.

II.

THEY wrong with ignorance a royal choice,

Who cavil at my loneliness and labour:

For them, the luring wonder of a voice,

The viol’s cry for them, the harp and tabour:

  For me divine austerity.

  And voices of philosophy.

Ah!
light imaginations, that discern

No passion in the citadel of passion:

Their fancies lie on flowers; but my thoughts turn

To thoughts and things of an eternal fashion:

  The majesty and dignity

  Of everlasting verity.

Mine is the sultry sunset, when the skies

Tremble with strange, intolerable thunder:

And at the dead of an hushed night, these eyes

Draw down the soaring oracles winged with wonder:

  From the four winds they come to me,

  The Angels of Eternity.

Men pity me; poor men, who pity me!

Poor, charitable, scornful souls of pity!

I choose laborious loneliness: and ye

Lead Love in triumph through the dancing city:

  While death and darkness girdle me,

  I grope for immortality.

III.

POUR slowly out your holy balm of oil,

Within the grassy circle: let none spoil

Our favourable silence.
Only I,

Winding wet vervain round mine eyes, will cry

Upon the powerful Lord of this our toil;

Until the first lark sing, the last star die.

Proud Lord of twilight, Lord of midnight, hear!

Thou hast forgone us; and hast drowsed thine ear,

When haggard voices hail thee: thou hast turned

Blind eyes, dull nostrils, when our vows have burned

Herbs on the moonlit flame, in reverent fear:

Silence is all, our love of thee hath earned.

Master!
we call thee, calling on thy name!

Thy savoury laurel crackles: the blue flame

Gleams, leaps, devours apace the dewy leaves.

Vain!
for not breast of labouring midnight heaves,

Nor chilled stars fall: all things remain the same,

Save this new pang, that stings, and burns, and cleaves.

Despising us, knowest not!
We stand,

Bared for thine adoration, hand in hand:

Steely our eyes, our hearts to all but thee

Iron: as waves of the unresting sea,

The wind of thy least Word is our command:

And our ambition hails thy sovereignty.

Come, Sisters!
for the King of night is dead:

Come!
for the frailest star of stars hath sped:

And though we waited for the waking sun,

Our King would wake not.
Come!
our world is done:

For all the witchery of the world is fled,

And lost all wanton wisdom long since won.

THE OTHER SIDE

by Count Stanislaus Eric Stenbock

“Not that I like it, but one does feel so much better after it – oh, thank you, Mère Yvonne, yes just a little drop more.”
So the old crones fell to drinking their hot brandy and water (although of course they only took it medicinally, as a remedy for their rheumatics), all seated round the big fire and Mère Pinquèle continued her story.

“Oh, yes, then when they get to the top of the hill, there is an altar with six candles quite black and a sort of something in between, that nobody sees quite clearly, and the old black ram with the man’s face and long horns begins to say Mass in a sort of gibberish nobody understands, and two black strange things like monkeys glide about with the book and the cruets – and there’s music too, such music.
There are things the top half like black cats, and the bottom part like men only their legs are all covered with close black hair, and they play on the bag-pipes, and when they come to the elevation, then –” Amid the old crones there was lying on the hearth-rug, before the fire, a boy, whose large lovely eyes dilated and whose limbs quivered in the very ecstacy of terror.

“Is that all true, Mère Pinquèle?”
he said.
“Oh, quite true, and not only that, the best part is yet to come; for they take a child and –.”
Here Mère Pinquèle showed her fang-like teeth.

“Oh!
Mère Pinquèle, are you a witch too?”

“Silence, Gabriel,” said Mère Yvonne, “how can you say anything so wicked?
Why, bless me.
the boy
ought to have been in bed ages ago.”

Just then all shuddered, and all made the sign of the cross except Mère Pinquèle, for they heard that most dreadful of dreadful sounds – the howl of a wolf, which begins with three sharp barks and then lifts itself up in a long protracted wail of commingled cruelty and despair, and at last subsides into a whispered growl fraught with eternal malice.

There was a forest and a village and a brook, the village was on one side of the brook, none had dared to cross to the other side.
Where the village was, all was green and glad and fertile and fruitful; on the other side the trees never put forth green leaves, and a dark shadow hung over it even at noon-day, and in the nightime one could hear the wolves howling – the were-wolves and wolf-men and the men-wolves, and those very wicked men who for nine days in every year are turned into wolves; but on the green side no wolf was ever seen, and only one little running brook like a silver streak flowed between.

It was spring now and the old crones sat no longer by the fire but before their cottages sunning themselves, and everyone felt so happy that they ceased to tell stories of the “other side”.
But Gabriel wandered by the brook as he was wont to wander, drawn thither by some strange attraction mingled with intense horror.

His schoolfellows did not like Gabriel; all laughed and jeered at him, because he was less cruel and more gentle of nature than the rest, and even as a rare and beautiful bird escaped from a cage is hacked to death by the common sparrows, so was Gabriel among his fellows.
Everyone wondered how Mère Yvonne, that buxom and worthy matron, could have produced a son like this, with strange dreamy eyes, who was as they said “pas comme les autres gamins.”
His only friends were the Abbé
Félicien whose Mass he served each morning, and one little girl called Carmeille, who loved him, no one could make out why.

The sun had already set, Gabriel still wandered by the brook, filled with vague terror and irresistible fascination.
The sun set and the moon rose, the full moon, very large and very clear, and the moonlight flooded the forest both this side and “the other side,” and just on the “other side” of the brook, hanging over, Gabriel saw a large deep blue flower, whose strange intoxicating perfume reached him and fascinated him even where he stood.

“If I could only make one step across,” he thought, “nothing could harm me if I only plucked that one flower, and nobody would know I had been over at all,” for the villagers looked with hatred and suspicion on anyone who was said to have crossed to the “other side,” so summing up courage he leapt lightly to the other side of the brook.
Then the moon breaking from a cloud shone with unusual brilliance, and he saw, stretching before him, long reaches of the same strange blue flowers each one lovelier than the last, till, not being able to make up his mind which one flower to take or whether to take several, he went on and on, and the moon shone very brightly, and a strange unseen bird, somewhat like a nightingale, but louder and lovelier, sang, and his heart was filled with longing for he knew not what, and the moon shone and the nightingale sang.
But of a sudden a black cloud covered the moon entirely, and all was black, utter darkness, and through the darkness he heard wolves howling and shrieking in the hideous ardour of the chase, and there passed before him a horrible procession of wolves (black wolves with red fiery eyes), and with them men that had the heads of wolves and wolves that had the heads of men, and above them flew
owls (black owls with fiery eyes), and bats and long serpentine black things, and last of all seated on an enormous black ram with hideous human face the wolf-keeper on whose face was eternal shadow; but they continued their horrid chase and passed him by, and when they had passed the moon shone out more beautiful than ever, and the strange nightingale sang again, and the strange intense blue flowers were in long reaches in front to the right and to the left.
But one thing was there which had not been before, among the deep blue flowers walked one with long gleaming golden hair, and she turned once round and her eyes were of the same colour as the strange blue flowers, and she walked on and Gabriel could not choose but follow.
But when a cloud passed over the moon he saw no beautiful woman but a wolf, so in utter terror he turned and fled, plucking one of the strange blue flowers on the way, and leapt again over the brook and ran home.

When he got home Gabriel could not resist showing his treasure to his mother, though he knew she would not appreciate it; but when she saw the strange blue flower, Mère Yvonne turned pale and said, “Why child, where hast thou been?
sure it is the witch flower”; and so saying she snatched it from him and cast it into the corner, and immediately all its beauty and strange fragrance faded from it and it looked charred as though it had been burnt.
So Gabriel sat down silently and rather sulkily, and having eaten no supper went up to bed, but he did not sleep but waited and waited till all was quiet within the house.
Then he crept downstairs in his long white nightshirt and bare feet on the square cold stones and picked hurriedly up the charred and faded flower and put it in his warm bosom next his heart, and immediately the flower bloomed again lovelier than ever, and he fell into a deep sleep, but through his sleep he seemed to hear a
soft low voice singing underneath his window in a strange language (in which the subtle sounds melted into one another), but he could distinguish no word except his own name.

When he went forth in the morning to serve Mass, he still kept the flower with him next his heart.
Now when the priest began Mass and said “Intriobo ad altar Dei,”
¹
then said Gabriel “Qui nequiquam laetificavit juventutem meam.”
²
And the Abbé Félicien turned round on hearing this strange response, and he saw the boy’s face deadly pale, his eyes fixed and his limbs rigid, and as the priest looked on him Gabriel fell fainting to the floor, so the sacristan had to carry him home and seek another acolyte for the Abbé Félicien.

Now when the Abbé Félicien came to see after him, Gabriel felt strangely reluctant to say anything about the blue flower and for the first time he deceived the priest.

In the afternoon as sunset drew nigh he felt better and Carmeille came to see him and begged him to go out with her into the fresh air.
So they went out hand in hand, the dark haired, gazelle-eyed boy, and the fair wavy haired girl, and something, he knew not what, led his steps (half knowingly and yet not so, for he could not but walk thither) to the brook, and they sat down together on the bank.

Gabriel thought at least he might tell his secret to Carmeille, so he took out the flower from his bosom and said, “Look here, Carmeille, hast thou seen ever so lovely a flower as this?”
but Carmeille turned pale and faint and said, “Oh Gabriel what is this flower?
I but touched it and I felt something strange come over me.
No, no, I don’t like its perfume, no, there’s something not quite right about it, oh, dear Gabriel, do let me throw it away,” and before
he had time to answer, she cast it from her, and again all its beauty and fragrance went from it and it looked charred as though it had been burnt.
But suddenly where the flower had been thrown on this side of the brook, there appeared a wolf, which stood and looked at the children.

Carmeille said, “What shall we do,” and clung to Gabriel, but the wolf looked at them very steadfastly and Gabriel recognized in the eyes of the wolf the strange deep intense blue eyes of the wolf-woman he had seen on the “other side”, so he said, “Stay here, dear Carmeille, see she is looking gently at us and will not hurt us.”

“But it is a wolf,” said Carmeille, and quivered all over with fear, but again Gabriel said languidly.
“She will not hurt us.”
Then Carmeille seized Gabriel’s hand in an agony of terror and dragged him along with her till they reached the village, where she gave the alarm and all the lads of the village gathered together.
They had never seen a wolf on this side of the brook, so they excited themselves greatly and arranged a grand wolf hunt for the morrow, but Gabriel sat silently apart and said no word.

That night Gabriel could not sleep at all nor could he bring himself to say his prayers; but he sat in his little room by the window with his shirt open at the throat and the strange blue flower at his heart and again this night he heard a voice singing beneath his window in the same soft, subtle, liquid language as before –

and as he looked he could see the silvern shadows slide on the limmering light of golden hair, and the strange eyes gleaming dark blue through the night and it seemed to him that he could not but follow; so he walked half clad and bare foot as he was with eyes fixed as in a dream silently down the stairs and out into the night.

And ever and again she turned to look on him with her strange blue eyes full of tenderness and passion and sadness beyond the sadness of things human – and as he foreknew his steps led him to the brink of the brook.
Then she, taking his hand, familiarly said, “Won’t you help me over Gabriel?”

Then it seemed to him as though he had known her all his life – so he went with her to the “other side” but he saw no one by him; and looking again beside him there were
two wolves
.
In a frenzy of terror, he (who had never thought to kill any living thing before) seized a log of wood lying by and smote one of the wolves on the head.

Immediately he saw the wolf-woman at his side with blood streaming from her forehead, staining her wonderful golden hair, and with eyes looking at him with infinite reproach, she said – “Who did this?”

Then she whispered a few words to the other wolf, which leapt over the brook and made its way towards the village, and turning again towards him she said, “Oh, Gabriel, how could you strike me, who would have loved you so long and so well.”
Then it seemed to him again as though he had known her all his life but he felt dazed and said nothing – but she gathered a dark green strangely shaped leaf and holding it to her forehead, she said –
“Gabriel, kiss the place all will be well again.”
So he kissed as she has bidden him and he felt the salt taste of blood in his mouth and then he knew no more.

****

Again he saw the wolf-keeper with his horrible troupe around him, but this time not engaged in the chase but sitting in strange conclave in a circle and the black owls sat in the trees and the black bats hung downwards from the branches.
Gabriel stood alone in the middle with a hundred wicked eyes fixed on him.
They seemed to deliberate about what should be done with him, speaking in that same strange tongue which he had heard in the songs beneath his window.
Suddenly he felt a hand pressing in his and saw the mysterious wolf-woman by his side.
Then began what seemed a kind of incantation where human or half human creatures seemed to howl, and beasts to speak with human speech but in the unknown tongue.
Then the wolf-keeper whose face was ever veiled in shadow spake some words in a voice that seemed to come from afar off, but all he could distinguish was his own name Gabriel and her name Lilith.
Then he felt arms enlacing him.
–