A couple of hours after Sunset Michael Robartes returned and told me
that I would have to learn the steps of an exceedingly antique dance,
because before my initiation could be perfected I had to join three
times in a magical dance, for rhythm was the wheel of Eternity, on
which alone the transient and accidental could be broken, and the
spirit set free. I found that the steps, which were simple enough,
resembled certain antique Greek dances, and having been a good dancer
in my youth and the master of many curious Gaelic steps, I soon had
them in my memory. He then robed me and himself in a costume which
suggested by its shape both Greece and Egypt, but by its crimson
colour a more passionate life than theirs; and having put into my
hands a little chainless censer of bronze, wrought into the likeness
of a rose, by some modern craftsman, he told me to open a small door
opposite to the door by which I had entered. I put my hand to the
handle, but the moment I did so the fumes of the incense, helped
perhaps by his mysterious glamour, made me fall again into a dream,
in which I seemed to be a mask, lying on the counter of a little
Eastern shop. Many persons, with eyes so bright and still that I knew
them for more than human, came in and tried me on their faces, but at
last flung me into a corner with a little laughter; but all this
passed in a moment, for when I awoke my hand was still upon the
handle. I opened the door, and found myself in a marvellous passage,
along whose sides were many divinities wrought in a mosaic, not less
beautiful than the mosaic in the Baptistery at Ravenna, but of a less
severe beauty; the predominant colour of each divinity, which was
surely a symbolic colour, being repeated in the lamps that hung from
the ceiling, a curiously-scented lamp before every divinity. I passed
on, marvelling exceedingly how these enthusiasts could have created
all this beauty in so remote a place, and half persuaded to believe
in a material alchemy, by the sight of so much hidden wealth; the
censer filling the air, as I passed, with smoke of ever-changing
colour.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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