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The Quest of Iranon By H. P. Lovecraft  |
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Into the granite city of Teloth wandered the youth, vine-crowned, his yellow hair glistening
with myrrh and his purple robe torn with briers of the mountain Sidrak that lies across the
antique bridge of stone. The men of Teloth are dark and stern, and dwell in square houses, and
with frowns they asked the stranger whence he had come and what were his name and fortune. So
the youth answered:  “I am Iranon, and come from Aira, a far city that I recall only dimly
but seek to find again. I am a singer of songs that I learned in the far city, and my calling
is to make beauty with the things remembered of childhood. My wealth is in little memories and
dreams, and in hopes that I sing in gardens when the moon is tender and the west wind stirs
the lotos-buds.”When the men of Teloth heard these things they whispered to one another; for
though in the granite city there is no laughter or song, the stern men sometimes look to the
Karthian hills in the spring and think of the lutes of distant Oonai whereof travellers have
told. And thinking thus, they bade the stranger stay and sing in the square before the Tower
of Mlin, though they liked not the colour of his tattered robe, nor the myrrh in his hair, nor
his chaplet of vine-leaves, nor the youth in his golden voice. At evening Iranon sang, and while
he sang an old man prayed and a blind man said he saw a nimbus over the singer’s head.
But most of the men of Teloth yawned, and some laughed and some went away to sleep; for Iranon
told nothing useful, singing only his memories, his dreams, and his hopes.“I remember the twilight, the moon, and soft songs, and the window where
I was rocked to sleep. And through the window was the street where the golden lights came, and
where the shadows danced on houses of marble. I remember the square of moonlight on the floor,
that was not like any other light, and the visions that danced in the moonbeams when my mother
sang to me. And too, I remember the sun of morning bright above the many-coloured hills in summer,
and the sweetness of flowers borne on the south wind that made the trees sing.“O Aira, city of marble and beryl, how many are thy beauties! How loved
I the warm and fragrant groves across the hyaline Nithra, and the falls of the tiny Kra that
flowed through the verdant valley! In those groves and in that vale the children wove wreaths
for one another, and at dusk I dreamed strange dreams under the yath-trees on the mountain as
I saw below me the lights of the city, and the curving Nithra reflecting a ribbon of stars.“And in the city were palaces of veined and tinted marble, with golden
domes and painted walls, and green gardens with cerulean pools and crystal fountains. Often
I played in the gardens and waded in the pools, and lay and dreamed among the pale flowers under
the trees. And sometimes at sunset I would climb the long hilly street to the citadel and the
open place, and look down upon Aira, the magic city of marble and beryl, splendid in a robe
of golden flame.“Long have I missed thee, Aira, for I was but young when we went into
exile; but my father was thy King and I shall come again to thee, for it is so decreed of Fate.
All through seven lands have I sought thee, and some day shall I reign over thy groves and gardens,
thy streets and palaces, and sing to men who shall know whereof I sing, and laugh not nor turn
away. For I am Iranon, who was a Prince in Aira.”That night the men of Teloth lodged the stranger in a stable, and in the morning
an archon came to him and told him to go to the shop of Athok the cobbler, and be apprenticed
to him.“But I am Iranon, a singer of songs,” he said, “and have
no heart for the cobbler’s trade.”“All in Teloth must toil,” replied the archon, “for that
is the law.” Then said Iranon,“Wherefore do ye toil; is it not that ye may live and be happy? And if
ye toil only that ye may toil more, when shall happiness find you? Ye toil to live, but is not
life made of beauty and song? And if ye suffer no singers among you, where shall be the fruits
of your toil? Toil without song is like a weary journey without an end. Were not death more
pleasing?” But the archon was sullen and did not understand, and rebuked the stranger.“Thou art a strange youth, and I like not thy face nor thy voice. The
words thou speakest are blasphemy, for the gods of Teloth have said that toil is good. Our gods
have promised us a haven of light beyond death, where there shall be rest without end, and crystal
coldness amidst which none shall vex his mind with thought or his eyes with beauty. Go thou
then to Athok the cobbler or be gone out of the city by sunset. All here must serve, and song
is folly.”So Iranon went out of the stable and walked over the narrow stone streets between
the gloomy square houses of granite, seeking something green in the air of spring. But in Teloth
was nothing green, for all was of stone. On the faces of men were frowns, but by the stone embankment
along the sluggish river Zuro sate a young boy with sad eyes gazing into the waters to spy green
budding branches washed down from the hills by the freshets. And the boy said to him:“Art thou not indeed he of whom the archons tell, who seekest a far city
in a fair land? I am Romnod, and born of the blood of Teloth, but am not old in the ways of
the granite city, and yearn daily for the warm groves and the distant lands of beauty and song.
Beyond the Karthian hills lieth Oonai, the city of lutes and dancing, which men whisper of and
say is both lovely and terrible. Thither would I go were I old enough to find the way, and thither
shouldst thou go an thou wouldst sing and have men listen to thee. Let us leave the city Teloth
and fare together among the hills of spring. Thou shalt shew me the ways of travel and I will
attend thy songs at evening when the stars one by one bring dreams to the minds of dreamers.
And peradventure it may be that Oonai the city of lutes and dancing is even the fair Aira thou
seekest, for it is told that thou hast not known Aira since old days, and a name often changeth.
Let us go to Oonai, O Iranon of the golden head, where men shall know our longings and welcome
us as brothers, nor ever laugh or frown at what we say.” And Iranon answered:“Be it so, small one; if any in this stone place yearn for beauty he
must seek the mountains and beyond, and I would not leave thee to pine by the sluggish Zuro.
But think not that delight and understanding dwell just across the Karthian hills, or in any
spot thou canst find in a day’s, or a year’s, or a lustrum’s journey. Behold,
when I was small like thee I dwelt in the valley of Narthos by the frigid Xari, where none would
listen to my dreams; and I told myself that when older I would go to Sinara on the southern
slope, and sing to smiling dromedary-men in the market-place. But when I went to Sinara I found
the dromedary-men all drunken and ribald, and saw that their songs were not as mine, so I travelled
in a barge down the Xari to onyx-walled Jaren. And the soldiers at Jaren laughed at me and drave
me out, so that I wandered to many other cities. I have seen Stethelos that is below the great
cataract, and have gazed on the marsh where Sarnath once stood. I have been to Thraa, Ilarnek,
and Kadatheron on the winding river Ai, and have dwelt long in Olathoë in the land of Lomar.
But though I have had listeners sometimes, they have ever been few, and I know that welcome
shall await me only in Aira, the city of marble and beryl where my father once ruled as King.
So for Aira shall we seek, though it were well to visit distant and lute-blessed Oonai across
the Karthian hills, which may indeed be Aira, though I think not. Aira’s beauty is past
imagining, and none can tell of it without rapture, whilst of Oonai the camel-drivers whisper
leeringly.”At the sunset Iranon and small Romnod went forth from Teloth, and for long
wandered amidst the green hills and cool forests. The way was rough and obscure, and never did
they seem nearer to Oonai the city of lutes and dancing; but in the dusk as the stars came out
Iranon would sing of Aira and its beauties and Romnod would listen, so that they were both happy
after a fashion. They ate plentifully of fruit and red berries, and marked not the passing of
time, but many years must have slipped away. Small Romnod was now not so small, and spoke deeply
instead of shrilly, though Iranon was always the same, and decked his golden hair with vines
and fragrant resins found in the woods. So it came to pass one day that Romnod seemed older
than Iranon, though he had been very small when Iranon had found him watching for green budding
branches in Teloth beside the sluggish stone-banked Zuro.Then one night when the moon was full the travellers came to a mountain crest
and looked down upon the myriad lights of Oonai. Peasants had told them they were near, and
Iranon knew that this was not his native city of Aira. The lights of Oonai were not like those
of Aira; for they were harsh and glaring, while the lights of Aira shine as softly and magically
as shone the moonlight on the floor by the window where Iranon’s mother once rocked him
to sleep with song. But Oonai was a city of lutes and dancing, so Iranon and Romnod went down
the steep slope that they might find men to whom songs and dreams would bring pleasure. And
when they were come into the town they found rose-wreathed revellers bound from house to house
and leaning from windows and balconies, who listened to the songs of Iranon and tossed him flowers
and applauded when he was done. Then for a moment did Iranon believe he had found those who
thought and felt even as he, though the town was not an hundredth as fair as Aira.When dawn came Iranon looked about with dismay, for the domes of Oonai were
not golden in the sun, but grey and dismal. And the men of Oonai were pale with revelling and
dull with wine, and unlike the radiant men of Aira. But because the people had thrown him blossoms
and acclaimed his songs Iranon stayed on, and with him Romnod, who liked the revelry of the
town and wore in his dark hair roses and myrtle. Often at night Iranon sang to the revellers,
but he was always as before, crowned only with the vine of the mountains and remembering the
marble streets of Aira and the hyaline Nithra. In the frescoed halls of the Monarch did he sing,
upon a crystal dais raised over a floor that was a mirror, and as he sang he brought pictures
to his hearers till the floor seemed to reflect old, beautiful, and half-remembered things instead
of the wine-reddened feasters who pelted him with roses. And the King bade him put away his
tattered purple, and clothed him in satin and cloth-of-gold, with rings of green jade and bracelets
of tinted ivory, and lodged him in a gilded and tapestried chamber on a bed of sweet carven
wood with canopies and coverlets of flower-embroidered silk. Thus dwelt Iranon in Oonai, the
city of lutes and dancing.It is not known how long Iranon tarried in Oonai, but one day the King brought
to the palace some wild whirling dancers from the Liranian desert, and dusky flute-players from
Drinen in the East, and after that the revellers threw their roses not so much at Iranon as
at the dancers and the flute-players. And day by day that Romnod who had been a small boy in
granite Teloth grew coarser and redder with wine, till he dreamed less and less, and listened
with less delight to the songs of Iranon. But though Iranon was sad he ceased not to sing, and
at evening told again his dreams of Aira, the city of marble and beryl. Then one night the red
and fattened Romnod snorted heavily amidst the poppied silks of his banquet-couch and died writhing,
whilst Iranon, pale and slender, sang to himself in a far corner. And when Iranon had wept over
the grave of Romnod and strown it with green budding branches, such as Romnod used to love,
he put aside his silks and gauds and went forgotten out of Oonai the city of lutes and dancing
clad only in the ragged purple in which he had come, and garlanded with fresh vines from the
mountains.Into the sunset wandered Iranon, seeking still for his native land and for
men who would understand and cherish his songs and dreams. In all the cities of Cydathria and
in the lands beyond the Bnazic desert gay-faced children laughed at his olden songs and tattered
robe of purple; but Iranon stayed ever young, and wore wreaths upon his golden head whilst he
sang of Aira, delight of the past and hope of the future.So came he one night to the squalid cot of an antique shepherd, bent and dirty,
who kept lean flocks on a stony slope above a quicksand marsh. To this man Iranon spoke, as
to so many others:“Canst thou tell me where I may find Aira, the city of marble and beryl,
where flows the hyaline Nithra and where the falls of the tiny Kra sing to verdant valleys and
hills forested with yath trees?” And the shepherd, hearing, looked long and strangely
at Iranon, as if recalling something very far away in time, and noted each line of the stranger’s
face, and his golden hair, and his crown of vine-leaves. But he was old, and shook his head
as he replied:“O stranger, I have indeed heard the name of Aira, and the other names
thou hast spoken, but they come to me from afar down the waste of long years. I heard them in
my youth from the lips of a playmate, a beggar’s boy given to strange dreams, who would
weave long tales about the moon and the flowers and the west wind. We used to laugh at him,
for we knew him from his birth though he thought himself a King’s son. He was comely,
even as thou, but full of folly and strangeness; and he ran away when small to find those who
would listen gladly to his songs and dreams. How often hath he sung to me of lands that never
were, and things that never can be! Of Aira did he speak much; of Aira and the river Nithra,
and the falls of the tiny Kra. There would he ever say he once dwelt as a Prince, though here
we knew him from his birth. Nor was there ever a marble city of Aira, nor those who could delight
in strange songs, save in the dreams of mine old playmate Iranon who is gone.”And in the twilight, as the stars came out one by one and the moon cast on
the marsh a radiance like that which a child sees quivering on the floor as he is rocked to
sleep at evening, there walked into the lethal quicksands a very old man in tattered purple,
crowned with withered vine-leaves and gazing ahead as if upon the golden domes of a fair city
where dreams are understood. That night something of youth and beauty died in the elder world. | |||||||||||||
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