CHAPTER XIX.
THE BEGINNING OF PEACE.
The next morning, the vessels began their course up the Middle Sea. And with what a difference in the hearts they carried. Truly the Pelasgian vessels were bearing feathers, the Atlantean vessels stones. Alas for these poor Atlanteans! Well did their vessels, even in their port, testify to the weighty spirits of those aboard them, for they ploughed the water unwillingly, heavily.
Later in the day, the noblest of Pelasgians appeared before his children and Electra to dazzle their eyes; whereupon, Hellen after much interchange of criticism with Æole, asseverated:
“Ah, father, we would have known thee but for the beard. That it was that hid thee.”
But Electra said nothing so engrossed was she with the beauty of each separate feature. Now were disclosed the noblest of chins, the firmest, kindest of mouths, the perfect contour, the strength and sweetness of expression, the high purpose. She could not gaze enough.
And thus felt Queen Atlana when Deucalion presented himself in this beautiful costume much like that of Prince Pelasgus, the difference being that there was less of trimming, and that the cape and coat were of one color, a rich deep blue. It was fine to see her admiration, finer to hear it expressed. Thus, Deucalion really blushed, and to steady himself, said, “Ah, dear Queen, if thou thinkest this so fine, wait until I bring before thee two noble youths of Pelasgia, which will be on the morrow, if thou art willing.”
“Who are they?” she asked absently, in her study of his grand beauty.
“The first is young Prince Pelasgus, the son of our king. The second is my Hellen. Then wilt thou behold garbs.”
“Dear Hellen! I can see him, as he will look. But when came this young Prince Pelasgus?”
“It is a year since he first saw Atlantis.”
“What sayest thou?”
“It is a year since he went with me to Atlantis—a year since he began to serve in the temple—but a few months since thou didst see fit to praise him. Call to mind his tall shape, his garb of dust color, his shining eyes, his tender tones, his smile, the grace of his swaying body.”
It was most evident that Atlana called all this to mind, so overwhelmed did she show herself. She could only implore him by a gesture to continue.
“Yea, dear Queen, young Prince Pelasgus came upon the island with me as Sensel. Well had he served with me in war; and fond did we grow of each other. When I would come after my children, he would come with me in the shape of Sensel. And, as thou shouldst know, well did he aid me. Though little canst thou, or any other, know what he hath been to me. But for him I could not have mastered.”
“I believe it, Sir Deucalion.”
She pondered awhile; and then said, “I would see the Pelasgian youths now.”
“Dear Queen, on the morrow. It is enough for this day.”
She acquiesced, bending her head; and lay back in a sweet quiet, shortly whispering, “On the morrow.”
And on the morrow, did these youths of Pelasgia kneel before her.
First entered the prince in his brightness, elegance, grace, and beauty. Charmingly he knelt to kiss her hand, his courtesy so affecting her that a faint smile came into her face as she gave him greeting.
Then Hellen followed, kneeling and taking her other hand. Thus, the smile blended with glad tears. Here was her handsome, brave, impulsive, fiery Hellen, clad in blue and buff, and looking a young demi-god in his rebound to freedom and happiness. His face was transfigured; and hers grew in brightness as she greeted him. And she thought, as she pressed the two hands, “Am I, in truth, to smile again?”
Then in her gracious way she spoke. “Noble youths of Pelasgia, with fond pride is my greeting. But rise that I may look with even more pride upon you, that I may feast my eyes upon your brave, free port.—Ah, what garments!”
Gleeful was their laughter. Whereupon, she smiled back quite in her olden way.
“What thrills of joy ye cause me. Ah, Hellen—Hellen!”
“Fine is it to be thus looked upon,” burst from him naively. “All day could I hearken to thy praises. And to think I am that Hellen,”—he paused, fearing to bring sad thought to her forgetting self, and changed, “that Hellen, who, but yesterday, was lamenting his old garments, who feared to put them on so worn were they, who was lost in wondering where others would come from. When behold, this morning, did my father bring me these.”
“It was not that his garments were so old,” interposed Deucalion, “but that he was rent with envy upon beholding me in my change of garb, yesterday.”
“Have it thus, if thou wilt, father. It is rising high to envy thee in any state, or garb.”
“That is well said, Hellen,” spoke the queen. “But I know thine envy hath for meaning the wish to be like him.”
“He will never reach to his wish,” said Prince Pelasgus, solemnly. “That is for me. For I hold Deucalion more dear even than doth he.”
At this calumny, Hellen made as if he would dart upon him; whereupon, he took to his old posturing and evading. Then the two burst into laughter. It was plain they were the best of friends. This so pleased the queen that she declared:
“Now is my spirit cheered to the full. Or will be when I have looked upon Æole and Electra. Where are they?”
Immediately two glad voices cried from without the door, “Here!” “Here!”
In a trice, their arms—the arms of these two young girls she had so befriended and suffered for—were about her, their fervent kisses on brow, lip, and cheek.
“Dear Queen!” “Dear Queen!” they cried.
She embraced one, and then the other. Speak she could not. Then she lay back to marvel at the change that happiness had effected—even in them. In their white, flowing robes and golden girdles, with long waving hair crowned with chaplets of flowers—flowers brought from beside the Great Rock in the early morning by Hellen and Sensel—with eyes lustrous from rest, happiness, and young love, they were beauteous as Aurora when she early treads her golden days!
And these lovely flowers they were pressing into her hands but completed the spell. Supreme became her satisfaction, her delight. Surely now had come compensation. Here were these four youthful ones, here were Deucalion and Pyrrha, here were flowers that of themselves brought peaceful rapture. No, her suffering had not been for naught. A tide of thanksgiving surged in her heart; and she closed her eyes to allow it full sway.
They waited, mute, until she should again look at them. When she did, new light, new life was in her face. Here before her were these motionless ones, statues of sweet solicitude. In answering their gaze, she thought only of them, for the moment. Thus joyous was her tone. “Sir Deucalion, thou wert right. Much is there yet to live for. My life cannot be void, barren. It hath its bright, its fertile spots. I see them. They cheer me.”
She held out her hand to him. On his knees, he kissed it, the others, thereupon, emulating him: then, at his sign, the young people turned to withdraw with him. And Atlana and Pyrrha were left together.
Not many days after, Queen Atlana was able to show herself to her Atlanteans, the while allowing the delighted Azu to bear her train. Rapturously was she greeted, so that she wept for joy. In these tears had gladness no place. For, gladness comes of the body, joy of the spirit. The queen’s spirit was moved to its depths, for ever, as now, had the Atlanteans shown her love and fealty. Never had they been lacking. Always might she be sure of them.
Well did Deucalion speak her words. Her Atlanteans with her were to weep no more, with her were to hope, with her were to begin a new life in the country of their refuge, Pelasgia.
To which were returned assurances the most comforting. For, like herself, her subjects were trying to look upon the side least dark. Thus they declared their homage: that they would rally about her with no fear and all zeal, and make a new Atlantis for her and themselves.
She, standing stately, signified her satisfaction. And, thereafter, retired to weep her last, and find the beginning of peace.