MEHER AND MŪSHTERI—CONCLUDED.
THE WEDDING—A COUNCIL—ROYAL CAVALCADE—THE MESSENGER—RECEPTION.
A pavilion was built beneath the palm trees, and the fire-flies lit
their signals afresh in the thickets of foliage, for it was amidst the
shades of the garden that the singers were placed, whose sweetest notes
were to be poured forth at the royal wedding. Within the palace, the
courts were all ablaze with light and loveliness; lamps of graven silver
were swinging from the fretted roof, suspended by long chains, and fed
with the perfumed oils of distant lands. Their soft light fell on silken
hangings and tapestries from Eastern looms, while crystal vases gleamed
here and there, filled with branches of orange trees or sprays of
magnolia blossoms. It was here that Meher received his royal bride, and
when the ceremony was finished, the notes of music floated in through
the casement, and mingled with the breath of the flowers. Still nearer
seemed to come the dream-like harmonies, as the tones of pipe and lute
were mingled with the voices of the singers and the musical ripple of
the fountains.
Then the dancing girls floated into the bright halls, and swayed
gracefully through the soft measures, and all was motion, light and
jewels. Golden chains were woven in their dark hair, and silver bangles
gleamed upon the shapely ankles, where little bells kept time with
gliding feet. Each dancer held a dainty lute of gold and sandal wood,
which answered to the swaying of her arms and the soft beat of graceful
hands. And still the music from without floated through the lattice and
mingled with the harmonies within. But in this festal scene Love was the
honored guest. He came to rule the court and grove; his were the
symphonies that breathed a richer note than all the garden singers; his
were the harmonies that shaped the loyal lives, and led the happy feet
along the aisles of time.
Bewildered with the beauty and love of his bride, Meher lived for weeks
unheeding the lapse of time, for all the days were crowned with gold and
radiant with the blossoms of love. But there came a morning when the
picture of his grieving mother was forced upon his heart and mind with
all its power, and he remembered that not alone to his lovely wife
belonged his fealty.
They were sitting together beneath the sheltering branches of a great
magnolia tree, whose creamy flowers were bursting from the green sheath
of the bud, and the air was rich with fragrance. On the green bank
beyond them, the peacocks drew their gorgeous trains, and birds sang in
the tall trees in the distance.
The dark eyes of the prince had a look of sadness in them, and there was
a cloud, the first that Nahīd had ever seen upon his handsome brow; she
drew closer within the sheltering arm, and her soft, dark eyes looked
anxiously into his. His own heart read her pleading question, even
before her lips had framed it, and then he told her of the loving mother
who was grieving her life away amidst the splendors of another court—of
the faithful heart that looked longingly for his return and refused to
be comforted, because he came not.
“But what can we do?” questioned the princess. “Thou canst not leave the
wife to go even to the mother.”
“No,” answered the prince, “but can I not take my bride with me? Can I
not take my peerless pearl to the royal court which is my rightful
inheritance? Can I not bear to her arms the beauteous daughter that I
have given her? Surely my wife should receive my mother’s blessing! Let
me take thee there before the faithful mother-heart is cold in death.”
“But my father,” faltered Nahīd, “will he consent? Will he allow thee to
bear me away to a strange land to claim the lost inheritance?”
“The king should remember that not only filial love demands my return,
but I can never make my bride the queen that she should be—I can never
place a royal crown upon her lovely brow unless I return to the land of
my fathers,” answered the prince; and then he told her, with loving
thought, of the land where the palms grew higher by striving toward the
sun, of the marble palaces of Istakhar, standing beside the river that
came down from the heights rippling with low harmonies, as the waves
dashed on the sanded shores; told her, too, of the mountains beyond the
marble city, where the wild swans came to their nesting places,—white
voyagers on the seas of blue, calling, in soft notes, down the line,
while love was leading them homeward, to the sheltered nooks beside the
pools of the mountain stream.
Long they stayed in loving converse, and when they turned to the palace
court, the prince had won from his bride a promise that she would see
the king, and win, if possible, his consent to the long bridal trip,
that she now looked forward to with pleasure.
ROYAL CAVALCADE.
The king listened patiently to the plea of Nahīd, for though he knew
that the long journey would take her from him, perhaps forever, he also
knew that the throne of Persia might be waiting for their coming, and at
last he consented that the prince should bear his bride away to wear a
crown in the halls of the proud Sassanian kings.
But she should not go dowerless to the home of her husband. Keiwan
therefore gave orders for the fitting out of a magnificent cavalcade,
comprising a thousand camels of the purest Syrian blood, a thousand
splendid Arabian steeds and a thousand Indian slaves, besides a military
escort composed of the finest troops in the service of the king.
The morning was radiant with golden sunlight when the splendid
procession left the city of Khārizm; the streets were gorgeous with
flags, and branches of flowering trees stood by every doorway, while the
palace itself was covered with silken banners, lightly draped with
wreaths of flowers. The excited horses, with their golden caparisons,
tossed their heads in the air, and pranced with joy as the strains of
music rang out from the balconies around them, and the camels gently
shook their light-toned bells in every passing breeze. Hundreds of
banners floated above the troops and waved like the wings of birds in
the sunlight; the gleaming swords of the warriors were pointed up to
heaven, and a thousand voices rang with joyous acclamation. Keiwan and
his queen rode in the imperial chariot immediately behind the camels
bearing the luxurious cushions of the prince and his bride, for they
traveled a day’s journey with them before bidding their children
farewell, and then returned sorrowfully to their lonely palace home.
The gorgeous cavalcade moved slowly onward, over hill and plain, and
through a forest where all the branches laughed with songs of birds, and
trusses of scarlet pomegranate blossoms gleamed here and there through
the rich foliage. When night came down upon the landscape an encampment
was made beside a river, and pavilions of scarlet and gold were
furnished with costly cushions that invited repose.
THE MESSENGER.
The uneventful days passed slowly by, and still the great cavalcade was
far from its destination, when Meher ordered his especial attendant to
mount one of the swiftest Arabian horses and carry a letter to his
father asking if he wished him to return.
The Persian monarch was sitting in the council hall surrounded by his
counselors, and they were considering an important affair of state when
a messenger was announced. He was ordered into an adjoining room to wait
until King Shapur was ready to receive him, and here he could look upon
the once familiar form of his sovereign.
He was astonished to see how greatly the Shāh had changed with the
passing years; only three times had the seasons made their cycles, and
yet the stalwart form was bent as if with age, the dark hair was already
silvered and the furrows upon the weary brow told that grief and remorse
were leaving their impress upon his once serene countenance. At last the
word was brought that the messenger could now approach the king, but he
replied that his was a secret mission, he must see his majesty alone,
and after a time he was ushered into the private audience room.
He then told the king that he brought him news from Behrām, who had
obtained a magnificent caravan under the pretext of finding the prince.
The king listened eagerly while the messenger gave a graphic description
of the pursuit and capture of Mūshteri but his brow darkened with an
ominous frown as the recital continued. He had been the prey of evil
advisers who cared only to flatter him for their own gain, and in the
years that had gone he sadly missed the faithful advice and unfailing
loyalty of his old Vizir. He often reproached himself as the indirect
cause of his death, and decreed in his heart that if the banished son
could be found he should be recompensed, so far as lay in his power, for
all sufferings of the past. When, therefore, he learned of the
persistent brutality of Behrām his anger grew almost uncontrolable. He
inquired anxiously for the prince. “You bring me bad news enough;” he
cried, “can you give me no knowledge of my son?” And he answered: “Oh,
king, great and mighty ruler of the wide realm, I can bring thee news of
the prince, for I have seen him in a foreign court.” “Where didst thou
see him? What is he doing, and why does he not return to the land of his
fathers?” he rapidly questioned. “He has risen, oh, king, to great
eminence at the court of a foreign potentate, and he hath no need to
return to thee, but his heart yearns for his native land; he cares much
to spend his years near to the father whom he still loves, and he longs
to take his beloved mother into his arms again. I have brought thee a
letter from him,” and then he placed the document in the royal hand. “A
letter!” cried the Shāh, “a letter from my son!” and he ceased to be a
king, for now he was only a father, and the manly tears coursed down his
cheeks as he caught the precious missive and pressed the hand of the
messenger.
As soon as he could read the communication from Meher he called for
writing materials, and with his own hand he penned a long and loving
letter to his son, telling him that not only his home but also the
Persian crown awaited his coming, urging him to return and bring with
him the faithful friend who had suffered so much on account of his
loyalty to the prince. Then he hastened the messenger away, that he
might reach Meher at the earliest possible moment, and he himself went
to bear the glad tidings to the sorrowful queen.
The next day a proclamation was issued that the heir of the throne was
coming to the capital city, and orders were given to the Grand Vizir, to
the chamberlains and other officers of the crown that suitable
preparations be made to welcome the prince and his bride.
THE RECEPTION.
The announcement of his coming was a signal for general rejoicing; even
the children loved the young heir and knew the story of fraternal
affection between him and Mūshteri. The Shāh had been bitterly blamed in
the hearts of his subjects, although such was the force of Oriental
despotism that a man scarcely knew the thought of his neighbor. Never
were the imperial orders more willingly obeyed than when the Shāh
commanded a festal scene to be arranged for the reception of Meher, and
never was the marble city fairer than when the coming of the royal
cavalcade was announced. Silken banners waved in triumph from every wall
and battlement, while strains of martial music floated through the air,
and the streets were strewn with white lilies and the fragrant roses of
Persia. Gilded barges on the river wore their festal flags, and bore the
minstrels down the stream to the shore, where the voices of singers were
mingled with the notes of lute and psaltery.
Without the city the Persian road of palms was festooned with arches of
roses and strewn with the flowers of the valley, for all the way was
glad with blossoms and vocal with the songs of welcome.
In the early morning a swiftly-mounted courier had been stationed on an
eminence a few miles from the city, where he could see the approaching
cavalcade far down the valley, and when he rode into the city with the
message that the advance guard was already in sight there were loud
acclamations of joy. For hours the finest horses in the royal stables
had stood impatient, with tossing plumes and gorgeous trappings, waiting
for the advance, and now the Shāh, with his chosen guard, rode out in
royal state to meet the coming prince.
The white Arabian steeds, the costly armor of the troops and the rich
raiment of the Shāh, made a gorgeous picture in the sunlight, when they
swept down through the rose-covered arches and under the palms. As they
rode onward a new strain of music saluted their ears, and a long line of
camels came swinging slowly into view, their heads tufted with bright
tassels, while their light-toned bells were shaking silvery notes upon
the air, and their drivers were singing and playing on pipes. But lo!
the lines were opened for a small troop of horsemen who galloped towards
the Shāh, and Meher, swinging gracefully down from the saddle, came to
his father’s feet.
King Shapur quickly recognized the familiar face, and hastily
dismounting, he caught his son in his arms. The hardy Persian soldiers
turned away from the sacred scene with tears in their eyes, but after a
time Mūshteri came forward, and humbly kneeling at the monarch’s feet he
craved forgiveness. The Shāh laid his hand upon the head of him who, in
his childhood, had seemed almost as near as his own son, and freely gave
the royal pardon; then the lines were reformed, Meher and Mūshteri
riding on either side of the king, and the horses were turned toward
Istakhar.
The sun was sinking behind the western mountains when the cavalcade
approached the gates of the city, and the dark thickets by the roadside
were vocal with the song of the nightingale; but his voice was soon
hushed by the notes of martial music and the triumphant shouts of
welcome that greeted their first appearance to the people who had been
held back by the spears of the soldiery. Although the distant peaks
still wore the crimson crowns of sunset, the side of the mountain was
already dark with the gathering shades of twilight, and signal fires
flashed from the gray depths of the forest or blazed upon the leafless
slopes of granite beyond them. Within the city all was joyous tumult;
but Meher had little heart for the general rejoicing, and scarcely
waiting to be announced he hurried away to the apartments of his mother.
A little later the Princess Nahīd was ushered into the rooms of the
queen, and was folded closely to the warm, loving heart, so fully
prepared to receive her. Little cared the mother for the wondrous beauty
of the princess, but much she valued the loyal heart which had been
given so fully into the keeping of her son, and from that day forth she
was cherished as a loving daughter in the royal household.
The days flew by on joyous feet, but King Shapur was weary of the cares
of state—weary of a life whose very pleasures were burdened with
responsibility and embittered with the knowledge that treachery waited
only for a favorable opportunity to show her cruel fangs. He therefore
abdicated in favor of his son, and voluntarily invested Meher with the
robes of sovereignty.
All the resources of the kingdom were taxed to provide for the splendors
of the coronation ceremony. Again the royal procession swept through the
streets, and feasts were given where the richest wines of the East were
poured in jeweled cups and the tables were laden with the choicest
viands from many climes. There were plantains, golden and green, and
grapes of gold; there were apples and pomegranates from Kabūl, apricots
from the fairest gardens of Īrān, and the sunniest fruits in all the
lands of the Orient.
Again the dark face of the mountain blazed forth at night with the
signal-lights of victory, the river was covered with barges bearing
illuminations, and the night rivaled the day in the splendor of its
offerings at the feet of the new Shāh, and Mūshteri, his Grand Vizir.