A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, February 1950 — page 54: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

34 A. MERRITT’S FANTASY so that it seemed a tiny bit of earth, with a little sky arched over it. A bit of earth? A bit of paradise, I should have said, because I never saw such a garden. The temperature was as of mid-May, and such flowers as I never had seen were blooming around, here and there, in rows and banks and clusters— neither rose nor violet, nor marguerite, but things which looked first cousins to them crowded the garden, and in the center there was a fountain throwing up its head bravely and filling the place with music. I could see that this was a regular conservatory, where the most was made of the feeble Arctic sunlight. The flowers were all the fairer in that dim, soft glow. But flowers and fountains could not take my eye. Not for long, at least. I was too interested in the human things that I saw and heard. As for the hearing, there was the tinkling sound of an instrument like a guitar, but much more silver-pure in sound, and to that accompaniment a girl’s voice was singing—not to the tune that you have heard—Shakespeare’s lyric: Who is Sylvia, what ts she That all our swains commend her? I stood like a stone to the ending of the song, hardly hearing a whisper of it toward the finish, but filling up my eyes with the golden girl, the priestess of the nameless name, according to their own lingo. She was not the singer. No, that was done by a lass as dark as my priestess was bright, and she was dressed not in simply flowing robes, like the other, but all lace and frills and .spangles and what- nots. Her hair was combed a foot high on her head, and it was powdered over and shining with jewels, or what looked like jewels. If you like a brunette, she was pretty— she was mighty pretty. But to me, just then, she was no more than a star that has the bad luck to be standing shoulder to shoulder with the moon. «Doth it please thee?” said the dark one, as she finished. “Tt is delightful,” said the priestess. “But now wait a‘imoment, Alice, before thou singest again: The ‘stranger cometh,” The captain of the guard gave me a nudge, just then, so I marched forward, and fetched off my hat to make the best bow that I ever got out of my system, but the damned wig stuck to the hat, and when I brought it off with a great flour- ish, by thunder, the wig came along with the hat, and there was I, blinking at the roar of laughter. The girl, Alice’s, was the loudest voice. The captain of the guard was gurgling his own amusement a bit towards the back of his throat but Alice laughed fit to kill. Only the priestess kept her eyes level and gravely upon me, and there was only a faint smile on her lips, and that smile went out almost at once, and left her cold and pale and serene and shining, as al- ways, with that inward light. “Peace, Alice, peace!’’ said she gently. “T vow thou art rude.and saucy to our guest.” “T have human ribs that can be tickled, Sylvia,” said the girl, “I am not a grave and patient monster, like thee.” “Hush, Alice,” said the priestess, while I conned that name back and forth in my mind, and decided that Sylvia was the right name. It was the one that I would have picked out myself to give her! The captain picked up my fallen wig and offered it to me, but suddenly I was tired of all my splendor, as tired as a man will suddenly get of a fine-looking horse that gives him a fall. And I stuffed the wig into my pocket, and cursed it silently, and stuck out my chin and gritted my teeth, and hoped for trouble. Sylvia said to me, “Thou art content, oh my friend, with what justice the god- dess hath meted unto thee ?”’ SAID that I was content. I was more than content. I wanted to thank her in person for what she had done for me. And at this, her eyebrows climbed a little and her lovely eyes opened wide at me, and she said: ““Alas, what have I done? I have no will but that of the nameless name, and I have nothing to give, saving her gifts. In all matters that concern her sacred will, her voice possesses my throat. Give no thanks to me, but to her, the nameless one!” NESS Oh, she said it asyrttvely as you please, GOMIIGooOO S C@ iin