Chapter VII: The Persecution and the Defender

In the Litzen Rinda̤, known as Moûtsen ken a̤va̤ special preparations were in progress for the approaching consecration of ten youths and as many maidens, who soon would take upon themselves such vows as would set them apart from the vanities, interests and allurements of ordinary existence.

I scarcely need say that in all Litzen Rinda̤s, during the years of preparation for the temple service, the training of novices is of a nature calculated to subdue all emotions of a disturbing character; and that this feature of their training may be constantly and thoroughly tested, these youths and maidens are brought into daily association: which certainly is a wise regulation; for, as all are aware, the temple service requires the dual ministrations of priests and priestesses, whose lives must be wholly dedicated to the observances of our holy religion and a practice of all the virtues.

I make mention of this feature of Litzen Rinda̤ training, for the reason that there are those who consider it unwise to subject untried youth to temptation; but, from such observation as I have made, I conclude that the strength of maturity is won chiefly through overcoming the temptations of youth. Hence, I find no fault with a system which for many centuries has found favor with those best fitted to form correct judgment.

As the day of consecration drew near, there were among the novices some whose hearts were filled with anguish; for, now that the sacrificial rite no longer endangered their lives, gladly would they have returned to love and freedom. But having chosen their vocation, or having had it chosen for them, only through a decision of the most high priest could they escape from it. But, as I am chiefly concerned in writing the pitiful story of Inva̤loû and Frona̤, I must refrain from writing of the sorrows of others.

Only once since the meeting of which I have already written had Frona̤ ventured to, for a few moments, meet Inva̤loû in their trysting place: but in a secret cleft of the rock their letters had found a safe repository. Thus, they had been mutually informed of daily occurrences, especially of Zeydon’s conduct towards Frona̤, which, while outwardly circumspect, was of a nature to fill the mind of the timid, sensitive girl with constant apprehension and terror, and Inva̤loû with a deadly rage.

As a preliminary to their consecration to the temple service, each novice was, as they yet are, subjected by the high priest to a private, individual examination as to their proficiency and fitness for the sacred functions of priests and priestesses. The ten youths and nine of the maidens, having successfully passed through the ordeal, but one remained; and, in a moment, she, poor trembling Frona̤, found herself in the presence of a menace she but dimly comprehended, but which she recognized and shrank from as from something that was enmeshing her in the treacherous folds of an intangible web, against which her struggles availed naught.

To assert that the high priest Zeydon was a deliberately wicked man, and faithless priest, would be a misstatement: for up to the time when Frona̤’s wonderful beauty and that nameless something, which irresistibly attracts to some men and women the devotion of all who come within their influence had enthralled him, he was utterly emotionless; and, even when the spell of her lovely budding womanhood had stolen unawares upon his senses, he was as one too intoxicated to perceive that his feet were approaching a precipice from which ere long it would be too late for him to recede.

Strange as it may appear, his infatuation for the hapless girl so blinded him to the true nature of his emotions that he began to invest her with the attributes of a goddess, and as one too pure for the ordinary uses of life, from which in some way she must be set apart. But one way was open to the self deceived, misguided man; and, impelled by a resistless passion, he resorted to the unquestionable power of his holy office to compass his purpose.

Although, as high priest, Zeydon well knew that from his decision there could be no appeal, his unquiet conscience made him cowardly; and, while seeking for a pretext for the removal of Frona̤, he perceived that, in order to appear consistent, he must also remove Inva̤loû, who was subject to the same supposedly pernicious guardianship of too indulgent parents. This decision arrived at, he soon found opportunity for consummating his reprehensible design: and now standing before him was one of his victims, Frona̤ Nyassa̤.

To adequately describe the ensuing scene is quite beyond my poor ability. So, for even my best endeavor, I must ask your kindest indulgence—you who perchance may read this story of a bygone time.

Near the centre of the audience room was a richly ornate Plitsa̤ (a sort of divan), on which Zeydon half reclined: the crimson and gold of his robes contrasting finely with the tint of his dark complexion and the waving luxuriance of his flowing, dusky hair, held away from his handsome face by the gemmed golden fillet of his priestly order. In his large, dark, luminous eyes was an expression denoting a very war of conflicting emotions, as Frona̤, with drooping head and face as pallid as Roinga̤ blooms, stood in trembling terror before him.

Suddenly, through the violence of his emotions, a deathly, faintness seized him, and he felt that he was drifting into unconsciousness,—perhaps into the embrace of death. Greatly terrified, he staggered to his feet, leaning upon a nearby table for support.

His apparently sudden illness so alarmed Frona̤ that she cried aloud for assistance, which speedily brought Zeydon to his senses, but not soon enough to prevent one who waited in the adjoining apartment for an audience with him, from rushing into the room and to his side. With much solicitude of manner, this person exclaimed, "Ah, your Sacredness is ill! What can I do for you? Shall I call for assistance?"

The embarrassment of the situation quickly aroused Zeydon's sense of self-protection, and with a smile, he murmured: "No! I shall in a moment be quite recovered. The duties of the day have somewhat exhausted my strength. Frona̤, my child, I shall until to-morrow defer your examination: so you may retire."

Glad if but for one day's respite from an ordeal which she regarded with inexpressible dread, the girl, with a low obeisance to the high priest, turned to leave the audience room. But in that moment she raised her eyes, to encounter the startled gaze of Oûman Mitsa̤, whom she instantly recognized as her kinsman, by whom, as a child, she had been petted and made much of.

The recognition was mutual, and as Oûman Mitsa̤ impetuously exclaimed, "Frona̤, Frona̤, thou image of my dead wife!" the poor girl threw herself at his feet, crying in accents that might have moved the sternest nature: "Tell me, oh tell me, dear kinsman, do my beloved parents yet live? Do the parents of my cousin Inva̤loû yet live?" Without waiting for a reply, she frantically cried: "Pity us, oh pity us, dear kinsman, and save us from taking upon ourselves vows against which we revolt, and from desecrating the sacred office of the priesthood, for which we are not fitted. Entreat, I pray you, this our high priest to release us from assuming obligations which to us are more repellant than the silence of death!"

With tears raining down her white face she clung to his knees, uttering such piteous, such heart-rending entreaties that Oûman Mitsa̤ raised her to her feet; and, despite the high priest's protestations, he said: "My poor Zyma̤ (a cooing, gray bird), my poor wounded Zyma̤! Yes! Yours and Inva̤loû's parents live and love you both more than my poor tongue can express. But they only live in the hope of sometime seeing your faces. May the just and merciful gods so order their and your days that, before going into the Silence, your mutual prayers may find answer in the fulfillment of natural and righteous desires!"

Turning to the enraged and discomfited high priest, with an air of apology and reverence, he said: "Your Sacredness will, I doubt not, be pleased to overlook this outburst of surprised recognition on the part of my young kinswoman and myself. Your Sacredness is aware that my dead wife Zoûlēne was Avānna̤ Nyassa̤'s cousin; and I may say that as a child Frona̤ was as much at home at Amâtûta̤ as at Koidassa̤. As our only child passed with its mother into the Silence, I have come to you to-day to inform you that it is my wish and intention that Frona̤ shall be the inheritress of all my possession: an act which, I feel assured, will meet with Your Sacredness's warm approval."

"As this is a matter for the private consideration of his Sacredness and myself I will no longer detain you, Frona̤," he said to the trembling creature who clung to his hands as though he were her only refuge—as indeed he was. Gently disengaging her clinging grasp with a reassuring pressure of her cold tremulous hands, and a glance of his kindly smiling eyes, she, with a profound obeisance to the high priest, left the room and the two men, who instinctively regarded each other with deadly animosity.

In Zeydon's flashing eyes was an expression of such intense anger and outraged dignity that, had Oûman Mitsa̤ been an ordinary man, he would have quailed before this incarnation of priestly power and arrogant pride of office. But Oûman Mitsa̤ was not one to quail before gods or men. With a rarely reverent nature for all that was truly sacred, righteous and just, was an innate abhorrence for all that was contrary to the teachings of our holy religion. And as he unflinchingly looked into the High Priest’s eyes, he read there the story of one who, through either weakness or wickedness, had fallen from the heights of purity to the depths of selfish desires, which, like fierce flames, were consuming the best traits of a once fine nature.

All this in a moment passed through Oûman Mitsa̤’s mind; and, like one bracing himself to meet the impact of some tremendous force, he drew himself to the full height of his majestic stature, and, with a suave smile and deferential manner, asked, “Have I Your Sacredness’ permission to speak?”

The high priest inclined his head, but spoke no word. Neither did he raise his eyes towards Oûman Mitsa̤, who, in a very composed manner proceeded to say: “Your Sacredness, I would speak of a matter which, to you, must be of slight importance, but which is, naturally, to me, quite the reverse.

As you are aware, I am possessed of considerable wealth. Prompted by both affection and a sense of duty, I desire to devise it to one whom I regard as being more fully entitled to it than are any others of my kindred.

Not being blest with close relatives of my own, naturally I turn to those of my dear, dead wife, who, though gone into the Silence, ever exists for me; and I cherish a remembrance of her expressed wishes concerning all that was dear to her. As you perceive, I have passed the noonday of life and am approaching the borderland of the Silence. The dread darkness into which, inevitably, we all must go, and my imperative duty, as well as my inclination, urge me to so arrange my affairs that after I shall have gone no one my find occasion to question either my sense of justice or my sanity.

"It may seem that this is a matter which should not have been so long deferred, and I regret that I have allowed myself to become so immersed in affairs of government as to have lost sight of duties lying nearer my heart. Now that I desire to make speedy reparation for my negligence, I have come to Your Sacredness, to request you to entreat the Deific Ones to release Inva̤loû and Frona̤ from incurring obligations for which it is evident they have no inclination. That my plea may meet with their favorable consideration, I will devote as an offering to the temple which is honored by the services of Your Sacredness one third, or even one half, of my large possessions.

"Your Sacredness, I do not appeal to your sense of justice; for, being a high priest of our holy religion, your motives are not to be questioned; but I do entreat that you may be merciful to the sorrowing parents of Inva̤loû and Frona̤, who have authorized me to say to Your Sacredness, that for the release of their children they will gladly yield all that they possess; that if they were remiss in their duties towards our holy religion, or towards their children, their remissness was wholly unintentional; and they beg that their years of bitter sorrow may have atoned for the inconsiderate conduct. To offer further entreaty, would be to reflect upon Your Sacredness's loving care for those whom Andûmana̤ has confided to your guidance and protection.

"I beg to offer my thanks for your patient hearing of my plea, which you alone can further or render futile. And may Andûmana̤, who sees and knows all that concerns his children, reward us for righteous conduct, and avenge himself upon us when we do unrighteous deeds!'

With such gravity and intensity were these closing words uttered, that for a moment Zeydon felt himself trembling in every limb. But he quickly recovered himself, and, rising slowly to his feet, he regarded his suppliant with a look of such resentful scorn that, inwardly, Oûman Mitsa̤ recoiled from it; but instantly, with head erect and defiant eyes, he confronted the high priest as might an avenging god, and, in that moment, both men realized that they were foemen and that the weakest would perish in the fight.

Summoning to his aid all his subtlest forces, with the shadow of a contemptuous smile upon his lips, Zeydon said: "You have come to me upon a strange, an unwarrantable errand. Who are you that you dare to interfere with the decrees of the mighty Gods! In removing Inva̤loû and Frona̤ from the harmful influences to which they were subjected, I but obeyed the commands of one Andûmana̤'s Messengers; and it would be more seemly were you to remember that obedience and humility are greater virtues than presumption and irreverence, which ever bring in their train degradation and disaster.

"It is not for me to act contrary to the will of the Divine Ones: and I refuse to permit the selfish views of wrong-minded persons to interfere with what alone concerns the interests of our holy religion, which by divine right takes precedence of all other interests! You have my answer and your dismissal," he said coldly, then turned to leave the audience room.

In the mind of Oûman Mitsa̤ there was a momentary indecision. Then in a voice tremulous with suppressed emotions he exclaimed: "Hearken to me, Zeydon, thou high priest of a religion that is holier than thee! Hearken to me! I am not one who is irreverent in aught concerning our holy religion; neither am I one who, under the guise of a friendly face, am in my heart a secret foe. And I tell thee, Zeydon a̤ Gamala̤, that I distrust thee and thy motives, and I vow that by the aid of the just gods that I will do my utmost to undo the wrong that thou hast done my friends and the kinsmen and kinswomen of my dead wife, Zoûlēne!"

While he spoke, Zeydon turned about as though he would curse his daring and irreverent accuser. But with an imperious wave of his hand Oûman Mitsa̤ restrained him, and, in a voice of concentrated anger and contempt, he advanced a step towards the enraged priest, saying in measured tones: "I do not fear thee, thou arrogant and cruel one: so spare thyself this expression of thy evil nature. Through Andûmana̤'s love and pity for his children, no longer is the sacrificial Rite demanded: so do thy worst. But remember that I shall hold thee accountable to me! To me! Dost thou hear? To me!"

Leaving Zeydon speechless through indignation, rage and dismay, Oûman Mitsa̤ without ceremony left the audience room and Litzen Rinda̤, but not before Frona̤ found opportunity to slip into his hand some lines addressed to him and to her parents.