SAH-LUMA SINGS.
As they left the garden the night fell, or appeared to fall, with
almost startling suddenness, and at the same time, in swift defiance of
the darkness, Sah-luma's palace was illuminated from end to end by
thousands of colored lamps, all apparently lit at once by a single
flash of electricity. A magnificent repast was spread for the Laureate
and his guest, in a lofty, richly frescoed banqueting-hall,--a repast
voluptuous enough to satisfy the most ardent votary that ever followed
the doctrines of Epicurus. Wonderful dainties and still more wonderful
wines were served in princely profusion--and while the strangely met
and sympathetically united friends ate and drank, delicious music was
played on stringed instruments by unseen performers. When, at
intervals, these pleasing sounds ceased, Sah-luma's conversation,
brilliant, witty, refined, and sparkling with light anecdote and
lighter jest, replaced with admirable sufficiency, the left-off
harmonies,--and Theos, keenly alive to the sensuous enemy of his own
emotions, felt that he had never before enjoyed such an astonishing,
delightful, and altogether fairy-like feast. Its only fault was that it
came to an end too soon, he thought, when, the last course of fruit and
sweet comfits being removed, he rose reluctantly from the glittering
board, and prepared to accompany his host, as agreed, to the presence
of the King.
In a very short time, so bewilderingly short as to seem a mere
breathing-space,--he found himself passing through the broad avenues
and crowded thoroughfares of Al-Kyris on his way to the Royal abode. He
occupied a place in Sah-luma's chariot,--a gilded car, shaped somewhat
like the curved half of a shell, deeply hollowed, and set on two high
wheels that as they rolled made scarcely any sound; there was no seat,
and both he and Sah-luma stood erect, the latter using all the force of
his slender brown hands to control the spirited prancing of the pair of
jet-black steeds which, harnessed tandem-wise to the light-vehicle,
seemed more than once disposed to break loose into furious gallop
regardless of their master's curbing rein.
The full moon was rising gradually in a sky as densely violet as purple
pansy-leaves--but her mellow lustre was almost put to shame by the
brilliancy of the streets, which were lit up on both sides by
vari-colored lamps that diffused a peculiar, intense yet soft radiance,
produced, as Sah-luma explained, from stored-up electricity. On the
twelve tall Towers of the Sacred Temple shone twelve large, revolving
stars, that as they turned emitted vivid flashes of blue, green, and
amber flame like light-house signals seen from ships veering
shorewards,--and the reflections thus cast on the mosaic pavement,
mingling with the paler beams of the moon, gave a weird and most
fantastic effect to the scene. Straight ahead, a blazing arch raised
like a bent bow against heaven, and having in its centre the word
ZEPHORANIM,
written in scintillating letters of fire, indicated to all beholders
the name and abode of the powerful Monarch under whose dominion,
according to Sah-luma, Al-Kyris had reached its present height of
wealth and prosperity.
Theos looked everywhere about him, seeing yet scarcely realizing the
wonders on which he gazed,--leaning one arm on the burnished edge of
the car, he glanced now and then up at the dusky skies growing thick
with swarming worlds, and meditated dreamily whether it might not be
within the range of possibility to be lifted with Sah-luma, chariot,
steeds and all into that beautiful, fathomless empyrean, and drive
among planets as though they were flowers, reining in at last before
some great golden gate, which unbarred should open into a lustrous
Glory-Land fairer than all fair regions ever pictured!
How like a god Sah-luma looked, he mused! ... his eyes resting tenderly
on the light, glittering form he was never weary of contemplating.
Could there be a more perfect head than that dark one crowned with
myrtle? ... could there be a more dazzling existence than that enjoyed
by this child of happy fortune, this royal Laureate of a mighty King?
How many poets starving in garrets and waiting for a hearing, would not
curse their unlucky destinies when comparing themselves with such a
Prince of Poesy, each word of whose utterance was treasured and
enshrined in the hearts of a grateful and admiring people!
This was Fame indeed, . . Fame at its utmost best,--and Theos sighed
once or twice restlessly as he inwardly reflected how poor and
unsatisfying were his own poetical powers, and how totally unfitted he
was to cope with a rival so vastly his superior. Not that he by any
means desired to cross swords with Sah-luma in a duel of song,-that was
an idea that never entered his mind; he was simply conscious of a
certain humiliated feeling,--an impression that it' he would be a poet
at all, he must go back to the very first beginning of the art and
re-learn all he had ever known, or thought he knew.
Many strange and complex emotions were at work within him, . . emotions
which he could neither control nor analyze,--and though he felt himself
fully alive,--alive to his very finger-tips, he was ever and anon aware
of a curious sensation like that experienced by a suddenly startled
somnambulist, who, just on the point of awaking, hesitates reluctantly
on the threshold of dreamland, unwilling to leave one realm of shadows
for another more seeming true, yet equally transient. Entangled in
perplexed reveries he scarcely noticed the brilliant crowds of people
that were flocking hither and thither through the streets, many of whom
recognizing Sah-luma waved their hands or shouted some gay word of
greeting,--he saw, as it were without seeing. The whirling pageant
around him was both real and unreal,--there was always a deep sense of
mystery that hung like a cloud over his mind,--a cloud that no
resolution of his could lift,--and often he caught himself dimly
speculating as to what lay BEHIND that cloud. Something, he felt
sure,--something that like the clew to an intricate problem, would
explain much that was now altogether incomprehensible,--moreover he
remorsefully realized that he had formerly known that clew and had
foolishly lost it, but how he could not tell.
His gaze wandered from the figure of Sah-luma to that of the attendant
harp-bearer who, perched on a narrow foothold on the back of the
chariot, held his master's golden instrument aloft as though it were a
flag of song,--the signal of a poet's triumph, destined to float above
the world forever!
Just then the equipage--arrived at the Kings palace. Turning the
horses' heads with a sharp jerk so that the mettlesome creatures almost
sprang erect on their haunches, Sah-luma drove them swiftly into a
spacious courtyard, lined with soldiers in full armor, and brilliantly
illuminated, where two gigantic stone Sphinxes, with lit stars ablaze
between their enormous brows, guarded a flight of steps that led up to
what seemed to be an endless avenue of white marble columns. Here
slaves in gorgeous attire rushed forward, and seizing the prancing
coursers by the bridle rein, held them fast while the Laureate and his
companion alighted. As they did so, a mighty and resounding clash of
weapons struck the tesselated pavement,--every soldier flung his drawn
sword on the ground and doffed his helmet, and the cry of
"HAIL, SAH-LUMA!"
rose in one brief, mellow, manly shout that echoed vibratingly through
the heated air. Sah-luma meanwhile ascended half-way up the steps, and
there turning round, smiled and bowed with an exquisite grace and
infinite condescension,--and again Theos gazed at him yearningly,
lovingly, and somewhat enviously too. What a picture he made standing
between the great frowning sculptured Sphinxes! ... contrasted with
those cold and solemn visages of stone he looked like a dazzling
butterfly or stray bird of paradise. His white garb glistened at every
point with gems, and from his shoulders, where it was fastened with
large sapphire elasps, depended a long mantle of cloth of gold,
bordered thickly with swansdown,--this he held up negligently in one
hand as ho remained for a moment in full view of the assembled
soldiery, graciously acknowledging their enthusiastic greetings, . .
then with easy and unhasting tread he mounted the rest of the stairway,
followed by Theos and his harp-bearer, and passed into the immense
outer entrance hall of the Royal Palace, known, as he explained to his
guest, as the Hall of the Two Thousand Columns.
Here among the massively carved pillars which looked like straight,
tall, frosted trunks of trees, were assembled hundreds of men young and
old,--evident aristocrats and nobles of high degree, to judge from the
magnificence of their costumes, while in and out their brilliant ranks
glided little pages in crimson and blue,--black slaves, semi-nude or
clothed in vivid colors,--court officials with jewelled badges and
insignias of authority,--military guards clad in steel armor and
carrying short, drawn scimetars,--all talking, laughing, gesticulating
and elbowing one another as they moved to and fro,--and so thickly were
they pressed together that at first sight it seemed impossible to
penetrate through so dense a crowd: but no sooner did Sah-luma appear,
than they all fell back in orderly rows, thus making an open
avenue-like space for his admittance.
He walked slowly, with proudly-assured mien and a confident
smile,--bowing right and left in response to the respectful salutations
he received from all assembled,--many persons glanced inquisitively at
Theos, but as he was the Laureate's companion he was saluted with
nearly equal courtesy. The old critic Zabastes, squeezing his lean,
bent body from out the throng, hobbled after Sah-luma at some little
distance behind the harp-bearer, muttering to himself as he went, and
bestowing many a side-leer and malicious grin on those among his
acquaintance whom he here and there recognized. Theos noted his
behavior with a vague sense of amusement,--the man took such evident
delight in his own ill-humor, and seemed to be so thoroughly convinced
that his opinion on all affairs was the only one worth having.
"Thou must check thy tongue today, Zabastes!" said a handsome youth in
dazzling blue and silver, who, just then detaching himself from the
crowd, laid a hand on the Critic's arm and laughed as he spoke--"I
doubt me much whether the King is in humor for thy grim fooling! His
Majesty hath been seriously discomposed since his return from the royal
tiger-hunt this morning, notwithstanding that his unerring spear slew
two goodly and most furious animals. He is wondrous sullen,-and only
the divine Sah-luma is skilled in the art of soothing his troubled
spirit. Therefore,--if thou hast aught of crabbed or cantankerous to
urge against thy master's genius, thou hadst best reserve it for
another time, lest thy withered head roll on the market-place with as
little reverence as a dried gourd flung from a fruiterer's stall!"
"I thank thee for thy warning, young jackanapes!" retorted Zabastes,
pausing in his walk and leaning on his staff while he peered with his
small, black, bad-tempered eyes at the speaker-"Thou art methinks
somewhat over well-informed for a little lacquey! What knowest thou of
His Majesty's humors? Hast been his fly-i'-the-ear or cast-off
sandal-string? I pray thee extend not thy range of learning beyond the
proper temperature of the bath, and the choice of rare unguents for thy
skin-greater knowledge than this would injure the tender texture of thy
fragile brain! Pah!"--and Zabastes sniffed the air in disgust--"Thou
hast a most vile odor of jessamine about thee! ... I would thou wert
clean of perfumes and less tawdry in attire!"
Chuckling hoarsely he ambled onward, and chancing to, catch the
wondering backward glance of Pheos, he made expressive signs with his
fingers in derision of Sah-luma's sweeping mantle, which now, allowed
to fall to its full length, trailed along the marble floor with a rich,
rustling sound, the varied light sparkling on it at every point and
making it look like a veritable shower of gold.
On through the seemingly endless colonnades they passed, till they came
to a huge double door formed of two glittering, colossed winged figures
holding enormous uplifted shields. Here stood a personage clad in a
silver coat-of-mail, so motionless that at first he appeared to be part
of the door, .. but at the approach of Sah-luma he stirred into life
and action, and touching a spring beside him, the arms of the twin
colossi moved, the great double shields were slowly lowered, and the
portals slid asunder noiselessly, thus displaying the sumptuous
splendor of the Royal Presence-Chamber.
It was a spacious and lofty saloon, completely lined with gilded
columns, between which hung numerous golden lamps having long, pointed,
amber pendants, that flashed down a million sparkles as of sunlight on
the magnificent mosaic floor beneath. On the walls were rich tapestries
storied with voluptuous scenes of love as well as ghastly glimpses of
warfare, ... and languishing beauties reposing in the arms of their
lovers, or listening to the songs of passion, were depicted side by
side with warriors dead on the field of battle, or struggling hand to
hand in grim and bleeding conflict. The corners of this wonderful
apartment were decked with all sorts of flags and weapons, and in the
middle of the painted ceiling was suspended a huge bird with the spread
wings of an eagle and the head of an owl, that held in its curved
talons a superb girandole formed of a hundred extended swords, each
bare blade having at its point a bright lamp in the shape of a star,
while the clustered hilts composed the centre.
Officers in full uniform were ranged on both sides of the room, and a
number of other men richly attired stood about, conversing with each
other in low tones, ... but though Theos took in all these details
rapidly at a glance, his gaze soon became fixed on the glittering
Pavilion that occupied the furthest end of the saloon, where on a
massive throne of ivory and silver sat the chief object of attraction,
... Zephoranim the King. The steps of the royal dais were strewn
ankle-deep with flowers, ... . on either hand a bronze lion lay
couchant, ... . and four gigantic black statues of men supported the
monarch's gold-fringed canopy, their uplifted arms being decked with
innumerable rows of large and small pearls. The King's features were
not just then visible--he was leaning back in an indolent attitude,
resting on his elbow, and half covering his face with one hand. The
individual in the silver coat-of-mail whispered something in Sah-luma's
ear either by way of warning or advice, and then advanced, prostrating
himself before the dais and touching the ground humbly with his
forehead and hands. The King stirred slightly, but did not alter his
position, ... he was evidently wrapped in a deep and seemingly
unpleasant reverie.
"Dread my lord.... !" began the Herald-in-Waiting. A movement of
decided impatience on the part of the monarch caused him to stop short.
"By my soul!" said a rich, strong voice that made itself distinctly
audible throughout the spacious hall--"Thou art ever shivering on the
edge of thy duty when thou shouldst plunge boldly into the midst
thereof! How long wilt mouth thy words? ... Canst never speak plain?"
"Most potent sovereign!" went on the stammering herald--"Sah-luma waits
thy royal pleasure!"
"Sah-luma!" and the monarch sprang erect, his eyes flashing fire--"Nay,
that HE should wait, bodes ill for thee, thou knave! How darest thou
bid him wait?--Entreat him hither with all gentleness, as befits mine
equal in the realm!"
As he thus spoke, Theos was able to observe him more attentively;
indeed it seemed as though a sudden and impressive pause had occurred
in the action of a drama in order to allow him as spectator, to
thoroughly master the meaning of one special scene. Therefore he took
the opportunity offered, and, looking full at Zephoranim, thought he
had never beheld so magnificent a man. Of stately height and herculean
build, he was most truly royal in outward bearing,--though a
physiognomist judging him from the expression of his countenance would
at once have given him all the worst vices of a reckless voluptuary and
utterly selfish sensualist. His straight, low brows indicated brute
force rather than intellect,--his eyes, full, dark, and brilliant, had
in them a suggestion of something sinister and cruel, despite their
fine clearness and lustre, while the heavy lines of his mouth, only
partly concealed by a short, thick black beard, plainly betokened that
the monarch's tendencies were by no means toward the strict and narrow
paths of virtue.
Nevertheless he was a splendid specimen of the human animal at its best
physical development, and his attire, which was a mixture of the
civilized and savage, suited him as it certainly would not have suited
any less stalwart frame. His tunic was of the deepest purple broidered
with gold,--his vest of pale amber silk was thrown open so as to
display to the greatest advantage his broad muscular chest and throat
glittering all over with gems,--and he wore, flung loosely across his
left shoulder, a superb leopard skin, just kept in place by a clasp of
diamonds. His feet were shod with gold-colored sandals,--his arms were
bare and lavishly decked with jewelled armlets,--his rough, dark hair
was tossed carelessly about his brow, whereon a circlet of gold studded
with large rubies glittered in the light,--from his belt hung a great
sheathed sword, together with all manner of hunting implements,--and
beside him, on a velvet-covered stand, lay a short sceptre, having at
its tip one huge egg-shaped pearl set in sapphires.
Noting the grand poise of his figure, and the statuesque grace of his
attitude, a strange, hazy, far-off memory began to urge itself on
Theos's mind,--a memory that with every second grew more painfully
distinct, ... HE HAD SEEN ZEPHORANIM BEFORE! Where, he could not
tell,--but he was as positive of it as that he himself lived! ... and
this inward conviction was accompanied by a certain undefinable
dread,--a vague terror and foreboding, though he knew no actual cause
for fear.
He had however no time to analyze his emotion,--for just then the
Herald-in-Waiting, having performed a backward evolution from the
throne to the threshold of the audience-chamber, beckoned impatiently
to Sah-luma, who at once stepped forward, bidding Theos keep close
behind him. The harp-bearer followed, . . and thus all three approached
the dais where the King still stood erect, awaiting them. Zabastes the
Critic glided in also, almost unnoticed, and joined a group of
courtiers at the furthest end of the long, gorgeously lighted room,
while at sight of the Laureate the assembled officers saluted, and all
conversation ceased. At the foot of the throne Sah-luma paused, but
made no obeisance,--raising his glorious eyes to the monarch's face he
smiled,--and Theos beheld with amazement, that here it was not the Poet
who reverenced the King, but the King who reverenced the Poet!
What a strange state of things! he thought,--especially when the mighty
Zephoranim actually descended three steps of his flower-strewn dais,
and grasping Sah-luma's hands raised them to his lips with all the
humility of a splendid savage paying homage to his intellectual
conqueror! It was a scene Theos was destined never to forget, and he
gazed upon it as one gazes on a magnificently painted picture, wherein
two central figures fascinate and most profoundly impress the
beholder's imagination. He heard, with a vague sense of mingled
pleasure and sadness, the deep, mellow tones of the monarch's voice
vibrating through the silence, ... .
"Welcome, my Sah-luma!--Welcome at all times, but chiefly welcome when
the heart is weighted by care! I have thought of thee all day, believe
me! ... aye, since early dawn, when on my way to the chase I heard in
the depths of the forest a happy nightingale singing, and deemed thy
voice had taken bird-shape and followed me! And that I sent for thee in
haste, blame me not!--as well blame the desert athirst for rain, or the
hungry heart agape for love to come and fill it!" Here his restless eye
flashed on Theos, who stood quietly behind Sah-luma, passive, yet
expectant of he knew not what.
"Whom hast thou there? ... A friend?" This as Sah-luma apparently
explained something in a low tone, ... "He is welcome also for thy
sake"--and he extended one hand, on which a great ruby signet burned
like a red star, to Theos, who, bending over it, kissed it with the
grave courtesy he fancied due to kings. Zephoranim appeared
good-naturedly surprised at this action, and eyed him somewhat
scrutinizingly as he said: "Thou art not of Sah-luma's divine calling
assuredly, fair sir, else thou wouldst hardly stoop to a mere crowned
head like mine! Soldiers and statesmen may bend the knee to their
chosen rulers, but to whom shall poets bend? They, who with arrowy
lines cause thrones to totter and fall,--they, who with deathless
utterance brand with infamy or hallow with honor the most potent names
of kings and emperors,--they by whom alone a nation lives in the annals
of the future,--what homage do such elect gods owe to the passing
holders of one or more earthly sceptres? Thou art too humble, methinks,
for the minstrel-vocation,--dost call thyself a Minstrel? or a student
of the art of song?"
Theos looked up, his eyes resting full on the monarch's countenance, as
he replied in low, clear tones:
"Most noble Zephoranim, I am no minstrel! ... nor do I deserve to be
called even a student of that high, sweet music-wisdom in which
Sah-luma alone excels! All I dare hope for is that I may learn of him
in some small degree the lessons he has mastered, that at some future
time I may approach as nearly to his genius as a common flower on earth
can approach to a fixed star in the furthest blue of heaven!"
Sah-luma smiled and gave him a pleased, appreciative
glance,--Zephoranim regarded him somewhat curiously.
"By my faith, thou'rt a modest and gentle disciple of Poesy!" he
said--"We receive thee gladly to our court as suits Sah-luma's pleasure
and our own! Stand thee near thy friend and master, and listen to the
melody of his matchless voice,--thou shalt hear therein the mysteries
of many things unravelled, and chiefly the mystery of love, in which
all other passions centre and have power."
Re-ascending the steps of the dais, he flung himself indolently back in
his throne,--whereupon two pages brought a magnificent chair of inlaid
ivory and placed it near the foot of the dais at his right hand. In
this Sah-luma seated himself, the pages arranging his golden mantle
around him in shining, picturesque folds,--while Theos, withdrawing
slightly into the background, stood leaning against a piece of tapestry
on which the dead figure of a man was depicted lying prone on the sward
with a great wound in his heart, and a bird of prey hovering above him
expectant of its grim repast. Kneeling on one knee close to Sah-luma,
the harp-bearer put the harp in tune, and swept his fingers lightly
over the strings,--then came a pause. A clear, small bell chimed
sweetly on the stillness, and the King, raising himself a little,
signed to a black slave who carried a tall silver wand emblematic of
some office.
"Let the women enter!" he commanded--"Speak but Sah-luma's name and
they will gather like waves rising to the moon,--but bid them be silent
as they come, lest they disturb thoughts more lasting than their
loveliness."
This with a significant glance toward the Laureate, who, sunk in his
ivory chair, seemed rapt in meditation.
His beautiful face had grown grave, . . even sad, ... he played idly
with the ornaments at his belt, ... and his eyes had a drowsy yet
ardent light within them, as they flashed now and then from under the
shade of his long curling lashes. The slave departed on his errand ...
and Zabastes edging himself out from the hushed and attentive throng of
nobles stood as it were in the foreground of the picture, his thin lips
twisted into a sneer, and his lean hands grasping his staff viciously
as though he longed to strike somebody down with it.
A moment or so passed, and then the slave returned, his silver rod
uplifted, marshalling in a lovely double procession of white-veiled
female figures that came gliding along as noiselessly as fair ghosts
from forgotten tombs, each one carrying a garland of flowers. They
floated, rather than walked, up to the royal dais, and there prostrated
themselves two by two before the King, whose fiery glance rested upon
them more carelessly than tenderly,--and as they rose, they threw back
their veils, displaying to full view such exquisite faces, such
languishing, brilliant eyes, such snow-white necks and arms, such
graceful voluptuous forms, that Theos caught at the tapestry near him
in reeling dazzlement of sight and sense, and wondered how Sah-luma
seated tranquilly in the reflective attitude he had assumed, could
maintain so unmoved and indifferent a demeanor.
Indifferent he was, however, even when the unveiled fair ones, turning
from the King to the Poet, laid all their garlands at his feet,--he
scarcely noticed the piled-up flowers, and still less the lovely
donors, who, retiring modestly backwards, took their places on low
silken divans, provided for their accommodation, in a semicircle round
the throne. Again a silence ensued,--Sah-luma was evidently centred
like a spider in a web of his own thought-weaving,--and his attendant
gently swept the strings of the harp again to recall his wandering
fancies. Suddenly he looked up, . . his eyes were sombre, and a musing
trouble shadowed the brightness of his face.
"Strange it is, O King"--he said in low, suppressed tones that had in
them a quiver of pathetic sweetness,--"Strange it is that to-night the
soul of my singing dwells on sorrow! Like a stray bird flying 'mid
falling leaves, or a ship drifting out from sunlight to storm, so does
my fancy soar among drear, flitting images evolved from the downfall of
kingdoms,--and I seem to behold in the distance the far-off shadow of
Death..."
"Talk not of death!" interrupted the King loudly and in haste,--"'Tis a
raven note that hath been croaked in mine ears too often and too
harshly already! What! ... hast thou been met by the mad Khosrul who
lately sprang on me, even as a famished wolf on prey, and grasping my
bridle-rein bade me prepare to die! 'Twas an ill jest, and one not to
be lightly forgiven! 'Prepare to die, O Zephoranim?' he cried--'For thy
time of reckoning is come!' By my soul!" and the monarch broke into a
boisterous laugh--"Had he bade me prepare live 'twould have been more
to the purpose! But yon frantic graybeard prates of naught but death,
... 'twere well he should be silenced." And as he spoke, he frowned,
his hand involuntarily playing with the jewelled hilt of his sword.
"Aye,--death is an unpleasing suggestion!" suddenly said Zabastes, who
had gradually moved up nearer and nearer till he made one of the group
immediately round Sah-luma--"'Tis a word that should never be mentioned
in the presence of Kings! Yet, . . notwithstanding the incivility of
the statement, . . it is most certain that His Most Potent Majesty as
well as His Majesty's Most Potent Laureate, MUST..DIE.. !" And he
accompanied the words "must..die..." with two decisive taps of his
staff, smacking his withered lips meanwhile as though he tasted
something peculiarly savory.
"And thou also, Zabastes!" retorted the King with a dark smile,
jestingly drawing his sword and pointing it full at him,--then, as the
old Critic shrank slightly at the gleam of the bare steel, replacing it
dashingly in its sheath,--"Thou also! ... and thine ashes shall be cast
to the four winds of heaven as suits thy vocation, while those of thy
master and thy master's King lie honorably urned in porphyry and gold!"
Zabastes bowed with a sort of mock humility.
"It may be so, most mighty Zephoranim," he returned
composedly--"Nevertheless ashes are always ashes,--and the scattering
of them is but a question of time! For urns of gold and porphyry do but
excite the cupidity of the vulgar-minded, and the ashes therein sealed,
whether of King or Poet, stand as little chance of reverent handling by
future generations as those of many lesser men. And 'tis doubtful
whether the winds will know any difference in the scent or quality of
the various pinches of human dust tossed on their sweeping
circles,--for the substance of a man reduced to earth-atoms is always
the same,--and not a grain of him can prove whether he was once a
Monarch crowned, a Minstrel pampered, or a Critic contemned!"
And he chuckled, as one having the best of the argument. The King
deigned no answer, but turned his eyes again on Sah-luma, who still sat
pensively silent.
"How long wilt thou be mute, my singing-emperor?" he demanded
gently--"Canst thou not improvise a canticle of love even in the midst
of thy soul's sudden sadness?"
At this, Sah-luma roused himself,--signing to his attendant he took the
harp from him, and resting it lightly on one knee, passed his hands
over it once or twice, half musingly, half doubtfully. A ripple of
music answered his delicate touch,--music as soft as the evening wind
murmuring among willows. Another instant and his voice thrilled on the
silence,--a voice wonderful, far-reaching, mellow, and luscious as with
suppressed tears, containing within it a passion that pierced to the
heart of the listener, and a divine fullness such as surely was never
before heard in human tones!
Theos leaned forward breathlessly, his pulses beating with unwonted
rapidity, . . what.. WHAT was it that Sah-luma sang? ... A Love-song!
in those caressing vowel-sounds which composed the language of
Al-Kyris, . . a love-song, burning as strong wine, tender as the murmur
of the sea on mellow, moon-entranced evenings,--an arrowy shaft of
rhyme tipped with fire and meant to strike home to the core of feeling
and there inflict delicious wounds! ... but, as each well-chosen word
echoed harmoniously on his ears, Theos shrank back shuddering in every
limb, . . a black, frozen numbness seemed to pervade his being, an
awful, maddening terror possessed his brain and he felt as though he
were suddenly thrown into a vast, dark chaos where no light should ever
shine! For Sah-luma's song was HIS song! ... HIS OWN, HIS VERY OWN! ...
He knew it well? He had written it long ago in the hey-day of his youth
when he had fancied all the world was waiting to be set to the music of
his inspiration, . . he recognized every fancy, . . every couplet..
every rhyme! ... The delicate glowing ballad was HIS, . . HIS ALONE!
... and Sah-luma had no right to it! He, Theos, was the Poet, . . not
this royally favored Laureate who had stolen his deas and filched his
jewels of thought...aye! and he would tell him so to his face! ... he
would speak! ... he would cry aloud his claims in the presence of the
King and demand instant justice! ... .
He strove for utterance,--his voice was gone! ... his lips were
moveless as the lips of a stone image! Stricken absolutely mute, but
with his sense of hearing quickened to an almost painful acuteness, he
stood erect and motionless,--rage and fear contending in his heart,
enduring the torture of a truly terrific mystery of mind-despair, . .
forced, in spite of himself, to listen passively to the love-thoughts
of his own dead Past revived anew in his Rival's singing!