Delphi collected works o.., p.149
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli, page 149
part #22 of Delphi Series Series
“A Poet!” and his fingers played idly with the dagger at his belt
— “Nay, not so! There is but one Poet in Al-Kyris, and I am he!”
Theos looked at him steadily, — a subtle sympathy attracted him toward this charming boaster, — involuntarily he smiled, and bent his head courteously.
“I do not seek to figure as your rival …” he began.
“Rival!” echoed Sah-luma— “I have no rivals!”
A burst of applause from those nearest to them in the throng declared the popular approval of this assertion, and the boy bearing the harp, who had loitered to listen to the conversation, swept the strings of his instrument with a triumphant force and fervor that showed how thoroughly his feelings were in harmony with the expression of his master’s sentiments. Sah-luma conquered, with an effort, his momentary irritation, and resumed coldly:
“From whence do you come, fair sir? We should know your name, — POETS are not so common!” This with an accent of irony.
Taken aback by the question, Theos stood irresolute, and uncertain what to say. For he was afflicted with a strange and terrible malady such as he dimly remembered having heard of, but never expected to suffer from, — a malady in which his memory had become almost a blank as regarded the past events of his life — though every now and then shadowy images of by-gone things flitted across his brain, like the transient reflections of wind-swept clouds on still, translucent water. Presently in the midst of his painful indecision, an answer suggested itself like a whispered hint from some invisible prompter:
“Poets like Sah-luma are no doubt as rare as nightingales in snow!” he said with a soft deference, and an increasing sense of tenderness for his haughty, handsome interlocutor— “As for me, I am a singer of sad songs that are not worth the hearing! My name is Theos, — I come from far beyond the seas, and am a stranger in Al-Kyris, — therefore if I have erred in aught, I must be blamed for ignorance, not malice!”
As he spoke Sah-luma regarded him intently, — Theos met his gaze frankly and unflinchingly. Surely there was some singular power of attraction between the two! … for as their flashing eyes again dwelt earnestly on one another, they both smiled, and Sah-luma, advancing, proffered his hand. Theos at once accepted it, a curious sensation of pleasure tingling through his frame, as he pressed those slender blown fingers in his own cordial clasp.
“A stranger in Al-Kyris? — and from beyond the seas? Then by my life and honor, I insure thy safety and bid thee welcome! A singer of sad songs? … Sad or merry, that thou are a singer at all makes thee the guest of the King’s Laureate!” A look of conscious vanity illumined his face as he thus announced with proud emphasis his own title and claim to distinction. “The brotherhood of poets,” he continued laughingly— “is a mystic and doubtful tie that hath oft been questioned, — but provided they do not, like ill-conditioned wolves, fight each other out of the arena, there should be joy in the relationship”. Here, turning full upon the crowd, he lifted his rich, melodious voice to higher and more ringing tones:
“It is like you, O hasty and misjudging Kyrisians, that finding a harmless wanderer from far off lands, present at the pageant of the Midsummer Benediction, ye should pounce upon him, even as kites on a straying sea-bird, and maul him with your ruthless talons! Has he broken the law of worship! Ye have broken the law of hospitality! Has he failed to kneel to the passing Ship of the Sun? So have ye failed to handle him with due courtesy! What report shall he bear hence of your gentleness and culture to those dim and unjoyous shores beyond the gray green wall of ocean-billows, where the very name of Al-Kyris serves as a symbol for all that is great and wise and wondrous in the whole round circle of the world? Moreover ye know full well that foreigners and sojourners in the city are exempt from worship, — and the King’s command is that all such should be well and nobly entertained, to the end that when they depart they may carry with them a full store of pleasant memories. Hence, scatterbrains, to your homes! — No festival can ye enjoy without a gust of contention! — ye are ill-made instruments all, whose jarring strings even I, crowned Minstrel of the King, can scarce keep one day in happy tune! Look you now! … this stranger is my guest! — . Is there a man in Al-Kyris who will treat as an enemy one whom Sah-luma calls friend?”
A storm of applause followed this little extempore speech, — applause accompanied by an odorous rain of flowers. There were many women in the crowd, and these had pressed eagerly forward to catch every word that dropped from the Poet-Laureate’s mellifluous lips, — now, moved by one common impulse, they hastily snatched off their posies and garlands, and flung them in lavish abundance at his feet. Some of the blossoms chancing to fall on Theos and cling to his garments, he quickly shook them off, and gathering them together, presented them to the personage for whom they were intended. He, however, gayly rejected them, moving his small sandalled foot playfully among the thick wealth of red and white roses that lay waiting to be crushed beneath his tread.
“Keep thy share!” he said, with an amused flash of his glorious eyes. “Such offerings are my daily lot! … I can spare thee one handful from the overflowing harvest of my song!”
It was impossible to be offended with such charming self-complacency, — the naive conceit of the man was as harmless as the delight of a fair girl who has made her first conquest, and Theos smiling, kept the flowers. By this time the surrounding throng had broken up into little knots and groups, — all ill-humor on the part of the populace had completely vanished, — and large numbers were now leaving the embankment and dispersing in different directions to their several homes. All those who had been within hearing distance of Sah-luma’s voice appeared highly elated, as though they had enjoyed some special privilege and pleasure, … to be reproved by the Laureate was evidently considered better than being praised by any one else. Many persons pressed up to Theos, and shaking hands with him, offered their eager excuses and apologies for the misunderstanding that had lately taken place, explaining with much animation both of look and gesture, that the fact of his wearing the same style of dress as themselves had induced them to take it for granted that he must be one of their fellow-citizens, and therefore subject to the laws of the realm. Theos was just beginning to feel somewhat embarrassed by the excessive politeness and cordiality, of his recent antagonists, when Sah-luma, again interposing, cut all explanations short.
“Come, come! cease this useless prating!” he said imperatively yet good-naturedly— “In everything ye showed your dullard ignorance and lack of discernment. For, concerning the matter of attire, are not the fashions of Al-Kyris copied more or less badly in every quarter of the habitable globe? — even as our language and literature form the chief study and delight of all scholars and educated gentlemen? A truce to your discussions! — Let us get hence and home;” here he turned to Theos with a graceful salutation— “You, my good friend, will doubtless be glad to rest and recover from my countrymen’s ungentle treatment of your person.”
Thus saying, he made a slight commanding sign, — the clustering people drew back on either side, — and he, taking Theos by the arm, passed through their ranks, talking, laughing, and nodding graciously here and there as he went, with the half-kindly, half-indifferent ease of an affable monarch who occasionally bows to some of his poorest subjects. As he trod over the flowers that lay heaped about his path, several girls rushed impetuously forward, struggling with each other for possession of those particularly favored blossoms that had received the pressure of his foot, and kissing them, they tied them in little knots, and pinned them proudly on the bosoms of their white gowns.
One or two, more daring, stretched out their hands to touch the golden frame of the harp as it was carried past them by the youth in crimson, — a pretty fellow enough, who looked extremely haughty, and almost indignant at this effrontery on the part of the fair poet-worshippers, but he made no remonstrance, and merely held his head a little higher and walked with a more consequential air, as he followed his master at a respectful distance. Another long ecstatic shout of “Hail Sah-luma!” arose on all sides, rippling away, — away, — down, as it seemed, to the very furthest edge of echoing resonance, — and then the remainder of the crowd quickly scattered right and left, leaving the spacious embankment almost deserted, save for the presence of several copper-colored, blue-shirted individuals who were commencing the work of taking down and rolling up the silken awnings, accompanying their labors by a sort of monotonous chant that, mingling with the slow, gliding plash of the river, sounded as weird and mournful as the sough of the wind through leafless trees.
Meanwhile Theos, in the company of his new friend, began to express his thanks for the timely rescue he had received, — but Sah-luma waived all such acknowledgments aside.
“Nay, I have only served thee as a crowned Laureate should ever serve a lesser minstrel,” — he said, with that indescribably delicious air of self-flattery which was so whimsical, and yet so winning,— “And I tell thee in all good faith that, for a newly arrived visitor in Al-Kyris, thy first venture was a reckless one! To omit to kneel in the presence of the High Priestess during her Benediction, was a violation of our customs and ceremonies dangerous to life and limb! A religiously excited mob is merciless, — and if I had not chanced upon the scene of action, . .”
“I should have been no longer the man I am!” smiled Theos, looking down on his companion’s light, lithe, elegant form as it moved gracefully by his side— “But that I failed in homage to the High Priestess was a most unintentional lack of wit on my part, — for if THAT was the High Priestess, — that dazzling wonder of beauty who lately passed in a glittering ship, on her triumphant way down the river, like a priceless pearl in a cup of gold…”
“Aye, aye!” and Sah-luma’s dark brows contracted in a slight frown— “Not so many fine words, I pray thee! Thou couldst not well mistake her, — there is only one Lysia!”
“Lysia!” murmured Theos dreamily, and the musical name slid off his lips with a soft, sibilant sound,— “Lysia! And I forgot to kneel to that enchanting, that adorable being! Oh unwise, benighted fool! — where were my thoughts? Next time I see her I will atone! . — no matter what creed she represents, — I will kiss the dust at her feet, and so make reparation for my sin!”
Sah-luma glanced at him with a somewhat dubious expression.
“What! — art thou already persuaded?” he queried lightly, “and wilt thou also be one of us? Well, thou wilt need to kiss the dust in very truth, if thou servest Lysia, . . no half-measures will suit where she, the Untouched and Immaculate, is concerned,” — and here there was a faint inflection of mingled mockery and sadness in his tone— “To love her is, for many men, an absolute necessity, — but the Virgin Priestess of the Sun and the Serpent receives love, as statues may receive it, — moving all others to frenzy, she is herself unmoved!”
Theos listened, scarcely hearing. He was studying every line in Sah-luma’s face and figure with fixed and wistful attention. Almost unconsciously he pressed the arm he held, and Sah-luma looked up at him with a half-smile.
“I fancy we shall like each other!” he said— “Thou art a western singing bird-of-passage, and I a nested nightingale amid the roses of the East, — our ways of making melody are different, — we shall not quarrel!”
“Quarrel!” echoed Theos amazedly— “Nay! … I might quarrel with my nearest and dearest, but never with thee, Sah-luma! For I know thee for a very prince of poets! … and would as soon profane the sanctity of the Muse herself, as violate thy proffered friendship!”
“Why, so!” returned Sah-luma, his brilliant eyes flashing with undisguised pleasure,— “An’ thou thinkest thus of me we shall be firm and fast companions! Thou hast spoken well and not without good instruction — I perceive my fame hath reached thee in thine own ocean-girdled lands, where music is as rare as sunshine. Right glad am I that chance has thrown us together, for now thou wilt be better able to judge of my unrivalled master-skill in sweet word-weaving! Thou must abide with me for all the days of thy sojourn here…. Art willing?”
“Willing? … Aye! more than willing!” exclaimed Theos enthusiastically— “But, — if I burden hospitality..”
“Burden!” and Sah-luma laughed— “Talk not of burdens to me! — I, who have feasted kings, and made light of their entertaining! Here,” he added as he led the way through a broad alley, lined with magnificent palms— “here is the entrance to my poor dwelling!” and a sparkling, mischievous smile brightened his features.— “There is room enough in it, methinks to hold thee, even if thou hadst brought a retinue of slaves!”
He pointed before him as he spoke, and Theos stood for a moment stock-still and overcome with astonishment, at the size and splendor of the palace whose gates they were just approaching. It was a dome-shaped building of the purest white marble, surrounded on all sides by long, fluted colonnades, and fronted by spacious court paved with mosaics, where eight flower-bordered fountains dashed up to the hot, blue sky, incessant showers of refreshing spray.
Into this court and across it, Sah-luma led his wondering guest, . . ascending a wide flight of steps, they entered a vast open hall, where the light poured in through rose-colored and pale blue glass, that gave a strange yet lovely effect of mingled sunset and moonlight to the scene. Here — reclining about on cushions of silk and velvet — were several beautiful girls in various attitudes of indolence and ease, — one laughing, black-haired houri was amusing herself with a tame bird which flew to and from her uplifted finger, — another in a half-sitting posture, played cup-and-ball with much active and graceful dexterity, — some were working at gold and silver embroidery, — others, clustered in a semicircle round a large osier basket filled with myrtle, were busy weaving garlands of the fragrant leaves, — and one maiden, seemingly younger than the rest, and of lighter and more delicate complexion, leaned somewhat pensively against an ebony-framed harp, as though she were considering what sad or suggestive chords she should next awaken from its responsive strings. As Sah-luma and Theos appeared, these nymphs all rose from their different occupations and amusements, and stood with bent heads and folded hands in statuesque silence and humility.
“These are my human rosebuds!” said Sah-luma softly and gayly, as holding the dazzled Theos by the arm he escorted him past these radiant and exquisite forms— “They bloom, and fade, and die, like the flowers thrown by the populace, — proud and happy to feel that their perishable loveliness has, even, for a brief while, been made more lasting by contact with my deathless poet-fame! Ah, Niphrata!” and he paused at the side of the girl standing by the harp— “Hast thou sung many of my songs to-day? … or is thy voice too weak for such impassioned cadence? Thou art pale, . . I miss thy soft blush and dimpling smile, — what ails thee, my honey-throated oriole?”
“Nothing, my lord” — answered Niphrata in a low tone, raising a pair of lovely, dusky, violet eyes, fringed with long black lashes,— “Nothing, — save that my heart is always sad in thine absence!”
Sah-luma smiled, well pleased.
“Let it be sad no longer then!” he said, caressing her cheek with his hand, — and Theos saw a wave of rich color mounting swiftly to her fair brows at his touch, as though she were a white poppy warming to crimson in the ardent heat of the sun— “I love to see thee merry, — mirth suits a young and beauteous face like thine! Look you, Sweet! — I bring with me here a stranger from far-off lands, — one to whom Sah-luma’s name is as a star in the desert! — I must needs have thy voice in all its full lusciousness of tune to warble for his pleasure those heart-entangling ditties of mine which thou hast learned to render with such matchless tenderness! … Thanks, Gisenya,” … this as another maiden advanced, and, gently removing the myrtle-wreath he wore, placed one just freshly woven on his clustering curls, . . then, turning to Theos, he inquired— “Wilt thou also wear a minstrel-garland, my friend? Niphrata or Gisenya will crown thee!”
“I am not worthy” — answered Theos, bending his head in low salutation to the two lovely girls, who stood eying him with a certain wistful wonder— “One spray from Sah-luma’s discarded wreath will best suffice me!”
Sah-luma broke into a laugh of absolute delight.
“I swear thou speakest well and like a true man!” he said joyously. “Unfamous as thou art, thou deservest honor for the frank confession of thy lack of merit! Believe me, there are some boastful rhymers in Al-Kyris who would benefit much by a share of thy becoming modesty! Give him his wish, Gisenya—” and Gisenya, obediently detaching a sprig of myrtle from the wreath Sah-luma had worn all day, handed it to Theos with a graceful obeisance— “For who knows but the leaves may contain a certain witchery we wot not of, that shall endow him with a touch of the divine inspiration!”
At that moment, a curious figure came shuffling across the splendid hall, — that of a little old man somewhat shabbily attired, upon whose wrinkled countenance there seemed to be a fixed, malign smile, like the smile of a mocking Greek mask. He had small, bright, beady black eyes placed very near the bridge of his large hooked nose, — his thin, wispy gray locks streamed scantily over his bent shoulders, and he carried a tall staff to support his awkward steps, — a staff with which he made a most disagreeable tapping noise on the marble pavement as he came along.
“Ah, Sir Gad-about!” he exclaimed in a harsh, squeaky voice as he perceived Sah-luma— “Back again from your self-advertising in the city! Is there any poor soul left in Al-Kyris whose ears have not been deafened by the parrot-cry of the name of Sah-luma? — If there is, — at him, at him, my dainty warbler of tiresome trills! — at him, and storm his senses with a rhodomontade of rhymes without reason! — at him, Immortal of the Immortals! — Bard of Bards! — stuff him with quatrains and sextains! — beat him with blank verse, blank of all meaning! — lash him with ballad and sonnet-scourges, till the tortured wretch, howling for mercy, shall swear that no poet save Sah-luma, ever lived before, or will ever live again, on the face of the shuddering and astonished earth!”
