"Any one,—even without magnetic influence being brought to bear upon him, might have visions such as mine! Take an opium-eater, for instance, whose life is one long confused vista of visions,—suppose he were to accept all the wild suggestions offered to his drugged brain, and persist in following them out to some sort of definite conclusion,—the only place for that man would be a lunatic asylum. Even the most ordinary persons, whose minds are never excited in any abnormal way, are subject to very curious and inexplicable dreams,—but for all that, they are not such fools as to believe in them. True, there is my poem,—I don't know how I wrote it, yet written it is, and complete from beginning to end—an actual tangible result of my vision, and strange enough in its way, to say the least of it. But what is stranger still is that I LOVE the radiant phantom that I saw … yes, actually love her with a love no mere woman, were she fair as Troy's Helen, could ever arouse in me! Of course,—in spite of the contrary assertions made by that remarkably interesting Chaldean monk Heliobas,—I feel I am the victim of a brain-delusion,—therefore it is just as well I should see this 'field of Ardath' and satisfy myself that nothing comes of it—in which case I shall be cured of my craze."
He walked on for some time, and presently stopped a moment to examine his map by the light of the moon. As he did so, he became aware of the extraordinary, almost terrible, stillness surrounding him. He had thought the "Hermitage" silent as a closed tomb—but it was nothing to the silence here. He felt it inclosing him like a thick wall on all sides,—he heard the regular pulsations of his own heart—even the rushing of his own blood—but no other sound was audible. Earth and the air seemed breathless, as though with some pent-up mysterious excitement,—the stars were like so many large living eyes eagerly gazing down on the solitary human being who thus wandered at night in the land of the prophets of old—the moon itself appeared to stare at him in open wonderment. He grew uncomfortably conscious of this speechless watchfulness of nature,—he strained his ears to listen, as it were to the deepening dumbness of all existing things,—and to conquer the strange sensations that were overcoming him, he proceeded at a more rapid pace,—but in two or three minutes came again to an abrupt halt. For there in front of him, right across his path, lay the fallen pillar which, according to Heliobas, marked the boundary to the field he sought! Another glance at his map decided the position … he had reached his journey's end at last! What was the time? He looked—it was just twenty minutes past eleven.
A curious, unnatural calmness suddenly possessed him, … he surveyed with a quiet, almost cold, unconcern the prospect before him,—a wide level square of land covered with tufts of coarse grass and clumps of wild tamarisk, … nothing more. This was the Field of Ardath … this bare, unlovely wilderness without so much as a tree to grace its outline! From where he stood he could view its whole extent,—and as he beheld its complete desolation he smiled,—a faint, half-bitter smile. He thought of the words in the ancient book of "Esdras:" "And the Angel bade me enter a waste field, and the field was barren and dry save of herbs, and the name of the field was Ardath. And I wandered therein through the hours of the long night, and the silver eyes of the field did open before me and therein I saw signs and wonders."
"Yes,—the field is 'barren and dry' enough in all conscience!" he murmured listlessly—"But as for the 'silver eyes' and the 'signs and wonders,' they must have existed only in the venerable Prophet's imagination, just as my flower-crowned Angel-maiden exists in mine. Well! … now, Theos Alwyn" … he continued, apostrophizing himself aloud,—"Are you contented? Are you quite convinced of your folly? … and do you acknowledge that a fair Dream is as much of a lie and a cheat as all the other fair-seeming things that puzzle and torture poor human nature? Return to your former condition of reasoning and reasonable skepticism,—aye, even atheism if you will, for the materialists are right, … you cannot prove a God or the possibility of any purely spiritual life. Why thus hanker after a phantom loveliness? Fame—fame! Win fame! … that is enough for you in this world, … and as for a next world, who believes in it?—and who, believing, cares?"
Soliloquizing in this fashion, he set his foot on Ardath itself, determining to walk across and around it from end to end. The grass was long and dry, yet it made no rustle beneath his tread … he seemed to be shod with the magic shoes of silence. He walked on till he reached about the middle of the field, where perceiving a broad flat stone near him, he sat down to rest. There was a light mist rising,—a thin moonlit-colored vapor that crept slowly upward from the ground and remained hovering like a wide, suddenly-spun gossamer web, some two or three inches above it, thus giving a cool, luminous, watery effect to the hot and arid soil.
"According to the Apocrypha, Esdras 'sat among the flowers,'" he idly mused—"Well! … perhaps there were flowers in those days,—but it is very evident there are none now. A more dreary, utterly desolate place than this famous 'Ardath' I have never seen!"
At that moment a subtle fragrance scented the still air, … a fragrance deliciously sweet, as of violets mingled with myrtle. He inhaled the delicate odor, surprised and confounded.
"Flowers after all!" he exclaimed…. "Or maybe some aromatic herb…" and he bent down to examine the turf at his feet. To his amazement he perceived a thick cluster of white blossoms, star-shaped and glossy-leaved, with deep golden centres, wherein bright drops of dew sparkled like brilliants, and from whence puffs of perfume rose like incense swung at unseen altars! He looked at them in doubt that was almost dread, … were they real? … were these the "silver eyes" in which Esdras had seen "signs and wonders"? … or was he hopelessly brain-sick with delusions, and dreaming again?
He touched them hesitatingly … they were actual living things, with creamy petals soft as velvet,—he was about to gather one of them,—when all at once his attention was caught and riveted by something like a faint shadow gliding across the plain. A smothered cry escaped his lips, … he sprang erect and gazed eagerly forward, half in hope,—half in fear. What slight Figure was that, pacing slowly, serenely, and all alone in the moonlight? … Without another instant's pause he rushed impetuously toward it,—heedless that as he went, he trod on thousands of those strange starry blossoms, which now, with sudden growth, covered and whitened every inch of the ground, thus marvellously fulfilling the words spoken of old: . . "Behold the field thou thoughest barren; how great a glory hath the moon unveiled!"