5. V.
He fled, but the gentle voice still lingered in his
ears, and as he left the portals of the temple, its
tones of encouragement were repeated.
“Fear nothing, Ipsistos. I am she whom in thy
secret soul thou lovest; and I am powerful to protect
thee. Let the tyrant rage; he shall not prevail
against thy thought, nor against the true worship
which is already living in thy spirit. He may
cast thee into a dungeon — he may load thee with
chains — in his brute anger he may buffet thee,
and with his keen thong he may cover thee with
stripes; but of a surety shalt thou live through
all, and glorious shall be thy triumph in the end.
Fear nothing, Ipsistos — for, so long as thou keepest
my voice in thy ears, so long shalt thou live,
and so sure shall be thy great victory over thy
enemy. Thou shalt tread upon his neck, Ipsistos.”
And the youth grew bold to speak to the voice
as he hearkened to these grateful words, and he
said —
“And how, oh, sweetest whisper of the night —
thou that stealest upon mine ear like a music from
heaven, and sinkest, blessing, into my heart like a
balmy food thereof; — how am I to keep thee forever
nigh to me? Tell me, that I may not lose
thee.”
“By keeping me ever in thy heart, as thou dost
now. By seeking me as thou hast ever done!”
“How! blessed voice — have I ever sought
thee before, when, until this hour, mine ears remember
not to have heard thee.”
“Thine ear hath not heard me, Ipsistos, but day
and night, even from the hour of thy birth, have I
spoken to thy heart. Thou hast truly called me a
music from heaven, and a balmy food thereof. I
am both — for I am that principle without which
no music could be such in the ears of the good,
and no food could give nourishment.”
“What art thou!” demanded the trembling
youth.
“Truth! Doth not thy own heart teach
thee?” was the answer.
“Alas — but it did not!” replied Ipsistos.
“Of a surety it did, Ipsistos, from the first moment
when thou felt'st that thou could'st not love
the creature which thy people worship with a wild
and headlong idolatry. Thou could'st not think
her beautiful, because, in thy own heart, thou
beheld'st a yet lovelier image.”
“And shall I see thee with mine eyes, oh, thou,
whom my soul worships,” cried the youth, sinking
on his knees, and lifting his hands together, as
if the object of his adoration stood even then unveiled
before him.
“Yea, thou mayst if thou so wishest it; but I
warn thee, Ipsistos, in the hour that thou regardest
me with thy human eyes — in that hour shalt
thou surely die. Art thou ready?”
Prostrate in the dim night, the youth sunk down
in silence. But in silence he remained not long.
“Give me to behold thee,” he cried aloud to
the voice — “Give me to look upon the blessed
and beautiful features of that divine being who is
in my lifted heart, and death shall be welcome.
Gladly will I embrace it, for thy sake, sweetest and
loveliest of the dreams that have won me from
sleep, and made life, itself, a dream.”
“Thou art bold, now, Ipsistos; but when death
looks upon thee with his grim aspect, and claims
thee for his own —”
“Even then will I be bold!” cried the undaunted
youth.
“When thou feel'st his steely grasp upon thy
shoulder!”
“I will laugh upon him — I will defy him with
a song in thy praise.”
“When he drags thee to the roaring blaze, and
the burning fagots crackle and hiss around
thee! —”
“Ha! — must it, then, be so!” cried the youth,
shuddering, and covering his face with his hands.
“Perhaps!” said the voice. “Wilt thou not
then shrink from thy faith? Wilt thou not then
forswear me? Wilt thou not deny that thou
hast seen my face, and hearkened to my counsel,
as thou dost now? Death is terrible, Ipsistos!”
“I will not! Though death be terrible, I will
not shrink from the danger — I will not deny thee,
nor forget the faith which I have pledged thee, and
which I pledge thee here.”
“And yet 'twere pity, Ipsistos, that thy youth
should perish thus. Think of thy old grandsire.”
“Ah!”
“Thy brothers and thy sisters.”
“Alas! they need me not. Did they love me,
and need me more, I were less bold, perchance, in
this encounter. My grandsire hath not many days
of life, and even were I gone from him, but little
were his loss therein. The promise which thou
makest me, moves me more than these fears and
losses which thou describest unto me. Give me to
look upon thy divine presence, and see the beauties
which are there, and I am ready for the stake,
and for the cruel executioner. Tell me, shall I
not behold thee now?”
“Not yet!” cried the voice. “Thou could'st
not see me now, even if thou would'st, and I were
willing to suffer thee. There are scales upon thine
eyes, which must first fall off. There is yet a fetter
upon thy thought which must be broken; and
thou hast learned lessons in thy mind, which must
be unlearned, ere thou can'st behold me. Yet
shall I not be utterly unseen of thee. Even now,
if thou lookest keenly, thou may'st behold a faint
shadow of my person beside thee, and, as thou
strivest to behold me and hearkenest to my voice,
my features shall grow clear unto thine eyes, — thy
flesh to my touch, — thy soul shall be filled with
my spirit. But I warn thee, in that time thou
diest. Thy danger begins with thy knowledge,
and in the moment of thy greatest victory, shalt
thou perish.”
And the youth gazed as he was bidden, and a
shadowy form passed beside him, and the stars
yielded in their places, and all things swam before
his sense. When he looked again, the shadow
and the voice were gone.
