Produced by John Bickers; Dagny
RED EVE
by H. Rider Haggard
First Published 1911.
DEDICATION
Ditchingham, May 27, 1911. My dear Jehu:
For five long but not unhappy years, seated or journeying side by side,we have striven as Royal Commissioners to find a means whereby ourcoasts may be protected from "the outrageous flowing surges of thesea" (I quote the jurists of centuries ago), the idle swamps turned tofertility and the barren hills clothed with forest; also, with smallsuccess, how "foreshore" may be best defined!
What will result from all these labours I do not know, nor whether gravegeologists ever read romance save that which the pen of Time inscribesupon the rocks. Still, in memory of our fellowship in them I offer toyou this story, written in their intervals, of Red Eve, the dauntless,and of Murgh, Gateway of the Gods, whose dreadful galley still sailsfrom East to West and from West to East, yes, and evermore shall sail.Your friend and colleague, H. Rider Haggard. To Dr. Jehu, F.G.S., St.Andrews, N.B.
RED EVE
MURGH THE DEATH
They knew nothing of it in England or all the Western countries in thosedays before Crecy was fought, when the third Edward sat upon the throne.There was none to tell them of the doom that the East, whence come lightand life, death and the decrees of God, had loosed upon the world. Notone in a multitude in Europe had ever even heard of those vast lands offar Cathay peopled with hundreds of millions of cold-faced yellowmen, lands which had grown very old before our own familiar states andempires were carved out of mountain, of forest, and of savage-hauntedplain. Yet if their eyes had been open so that they could see, wellmight they have trembled. King, prince, priest, merchant, captain,citizen and poor labouring hind, well might they all have trembled whenthe East sent forth her gifts!
Look across the world beyond that curtain of thick darkness. Behold! Avast city of fantastic houses half buried in winter snows and reddenedby the lurid sunset breaking through a saw-toothed canopy of cloud.Everywhere upon the temple squares and open spaces great fires burning astrange fuel--the bodies of thousands of mankind. Pestilence was kingof that city, a pestilence hitherto unknown. Innumerable hordes had diedand were dying, yet innumerable hordes remained. All the patient Eastbore forth those still shapes that had been theirs to love or hate, and,their task done, turned to the banks of the mighty river and watched.
Down the broad street which ran between the fantastic houses advanced aprocession toward the brown, ice-flecked river. First marched a companyof priests clad in black robes, and carrying on poles lanterns of blackpaper, lighted, although the sun still shone. Behind marched anothercompany of priests clad in white robes, and bearing white lanterns, alsolighted. But at these none looked, nor did they listen to the dirgesthat they sang, for all eyes were fixed upon him who filled the centrespace and upon his two companions.
The first companion was a lovely woman, jewel-hung, wearing falseflowers in her streaming hair, and beneath her bared breasts a kirtle ofwhite silk. Life and love embodied in radiance and beauty, she dancedin front, looking about her with alluring eyes, and scattering petalsof dead roses from a basket which she bore. Different was the secondcompanion, who stalked behind; so thin, so sexless that none couldsay if the shape were that of man or woman. Dry, streaming locks ofiron-grey, an ashen countenance, deep-set, hollow eyes, a beetling,parchment-covered brow; lean shanks half hidden with a rotting rag,claw-like hands which clutched miserably at the air. Such was its awfulfashion, that of new death in all its terrors.
Between them, touched of neither, went a man, naked save for a redgirdle and a long red cloak that was fastened round his throat and hungdown from his broad shoulders. There was nothing strange about this man,unless it were perhaps the strength that seemed to flow from him and theglance of his icy eyes. He was just a burly yellow man, whose age nonecould tell, for the hood of the red cloak hid his hair; one who seemedto be far removed from youth, and yet untouched by time. He walked onsteadily, intently, his face immovable, taking no heed.
Only now and again he turned those long eyes of his upon one of themultitude who watched him pass crouched upon their knees in solemnsilence, always upon one, whether it were man, woman, or child, with aglance meant for that one and no other. And ever the one upon whom itfell rose from the knee, made obeisance, and departed as though filledwith some inspired purpose.
Down to the quay went the black priests, the white priests, and thered-cloaked man, preceded by rose life, followed by ashen death. Throughthe funeral fires they wended, and the lurid sunset shone upon them all.
To the pillars of this quay was fastened a strange, high-pooped shipwith crimson sails set upon her masts. The white priests and the blackpriests formed lines upon either side of the broad gangway of thatship and bowed as the red-cloaked man walked over it between them quitealone, for now she with the dead roses and she of the ashen countenancehad fallen back. As the sun sank, standing on the lofty stern, he criedaloud:
"Here the work is done. Now I, the Eating Fire, I the Messenger, get meto the West. Among you for a while I cease to burn; yet remember me, forI shall come again."
As he spoke the ropes of the ship were loosened, the wind caught hercrimson sails, and she departed into the night, one blood-red spotagainst its blackness.
The multitude watched until they could see her no longer. Then theyflamed up with mingled joy and rage. They laughed madly. They cursed himwho had departed.
"We live, we live, we live!" they cried. "Murgh is gone! Murgh is gone!Kill his priests! Make sacrifice of his Shadows. Murgh is gone bearingthe curse of the East into the bosom of the West. Look, it follows him!"and they pointed to a cloud of smoke or vapour, in which terrible shapesseemed to move dimly, that trailed after the departing, red-sailed ship.
The black priests and the white priests heard. Without struggle, withoutcomplaint, as though they were but taking part in some set ceremony,they kneeled down in lines upon the snow. Naked from the waist up,executioners with great swords appeared. They advanced upon the kneelinglines without haste, without wrath, and, letting fall the heavy swordsupon the patient, outstretched necks, did their grim office till allwere dead. Then they turned to find her of the flowers who had dancedbefore, and her of the tattered weeds who had followed after, purposingto cast them to the funeral flames. But these were gone, though nonehad seen them go. Only out of the gathering darkness from some temple orpagoda-top a voice spoke like a moaning wind.
"Fools," wailed the voice, "still with you is Murgh, the second Thingcreated; Murgh, who was made to be man's minister. Murgh the Messengershall reappear from beyond the setting sun. Ye cannot kill, ye cannotspare. Those priests you seemed to slay he had summoned to be hisofficers afar. Fools! Ye do but serve as serves Murgh, Gateway of theGods. Life and death are not in your hands or in his. They are in thehands of the Master of Murgh, Helper of man, of that Lord whom no eyehath seen, but whose behests all who are born obey--yes, even the mightyMurgh, Looser of burdens, whom in your foolishness ye fear."
So spoke this voice out of the darkness, and that night the sword of thegreat pestilence was lifted from the Eastern land, and there the funeralfires flared no more.