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By Mr. Saltus HISTORIA AMORIS
THE POMPS OF SATAN
IMPERIAL PURPLE
THE ANATOMY OF NEGATION
VANITY SQUARE
THE PERFUME OF EROS
MARY MAGDALEN
A Chronicle
By
EDGAR SALTUS
NEW YORK
BRENTANO'S
MCMXIX
COPYRIGHT, 1891,
BY EDGAR SALTUS.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
Transcriber's note
MARY MAGDALEN
CHAPTER I.
I.
"Three to one on Scarlet!"
Throughout the brand new circus were the eagerness, the gesticulations,
shouts, and murmurs of an impatient throng. On a ledge above the entrance
a man stood, a strip of silk extended in his finger tips. Beneath, on
either side, were gates. About him were series of ascending tiers,
close packed, and brilliant with multicolored robes and parasols. The sand
of the track was very white: where the sunlight fell it had the glitter of
broken glass. In the centre was a low wall; at one end were pillars and
seven great balls of wood; at the other, seven dolphins, their tails in
the air. The uproar mounted in unequal vibrations, and stirred the pulse.
The air was heavy with odors, with the emanations of the crowd, the cloy
of myrrh. Through the exits whiffs of garlic filtered from the kitchens
below, and with them, from the exterior arcades, came the beat of
timbrels, the click of castanets. Overhead was a sky of troubled blue;
beyond, a lake.
"They are off!"
The strip of silk had fluttered and fallen, the gates flew open, there was
a rumble of wheels, a whirlwind of sand, a yell that deafened, and four
tornadoes burst upon the track.
They were shell shaped, and before each six horses tore abreast. Between
the horses' ears were swaying feathers; their manes had been dyed clear
pink, the forelocks puffed; and as they bounded, the drivers, standing
upright, had the skill to guide but not the strength to curb. About their
waists the reins were tied; at the side a knife hung; from the forehead
the hair was shaven; and everything they wore, the waistcoat, the short
skirt, the ribbons, was of one color, scarlet, yellow, emerald, or blue:
and this color, repeated on the car and on the harness, distinguished them
from those with whom they raced.
Already the cars had circled the hippodrome four times. There were but
three more rounds, and Scarlet, which in the beginning had trailed
applause behind it as a torch trails smoke, lagged now a little to the
rear. Green was leading. Its leadership did not seem to please; it was
cursed at and abused, threatened with naked fist; yet when for the sixth
time it turned the terminal pillar, a shout that held the thunder of Atlas
leaped abroad. Where the yellow car, pursued by the blue, had been, was
now a mass of sickening agitation twelve fallen horses kicking each other
into pulp, the drivers brained already; and down upon that barrier of
blood and death swept the scarlet car. In a second it veered and passed;
in that second a flash of steel had out the reins, and, as the car swung
round, the driver, released, was tossed to the track. What then befell him
no one cared. Stable men were busy there; the car itself, unguided,
continued vertiginously on its course. If it had lagged before, there was
no lagging now. The hoofs that beat upon the ring plunged with it through
the din down upon Emerald, and beyond it to the goal. And as the last
dolphin vanished and the seventh ball was removed, the palm was granted,
and the spectators shouted a salutation to the giver of the games Herod
Antipas, tetrarch of Galilee... Continue reading book >>
