I knew that it was she because her woman's garments touched
me as she went. Another space of silence and of deep darkness, during
which I heard Papave return, breathing in short, sobbing gasps like one
who is very frightened.
Ah! I thought, Ayesha has cast herself into the pit. The tragedy is
finished!
Then it was that the wondrous music came. Of course it _may_ have been
only the sound of priests chanting beyond us, but I do not think so,
since its quality was quite different to any that I heard in the temple
before or afterwards: to any indeed that ever I heard upon the earth.
I cannot describe it, but it was awful to listen to, yet most
entrancing. From the black, smoke-veiled pit where the fire had burned
it welled and echoed--now a single heavenly voice, now a sweet chorus,
and now an air-shaking thunder as of a hundred organs played to time.
That diverse and majestic harmony seemed to include, to express
every human emotion, and I have often thought since then that in its
all-embracing scope and range, this, the song or paean of her re-birth
was symbolical of the infinite variety of Ayesha's spirit. Yet like that
spirit it had its master notes; power, passion, suffering, mystery and
loveliness. Also there could be no doubt as to the general significance
of the chant by whomsoever it was sung. It was the changeful story of a
mighty soul; it was worship, worship, worship of a queen divine!
Like slow clouds of incense fading to the bannered roof of some high
choir, the bursts of unearthly melodies grew faint; in the far distance
of the hollow pit they wailed themselves away.
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