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King-Errant. Flora Annie Webster Steel
Читать онлайн.Название King-Errant
Год выпуска 0
isbn 4064066140687
Автор произведения Flora Annie Webster Steel
Жанр Языкознание
Издательство Bookwire
Then suddenly he clapped his hands and gave a peremptory order to the servant who appeared.
"See that I be not disturbed--that no one enters."
He waited till they were alone, then drew something from his bosom and held it before him in both hands. It was a tiny crystal bowl scarce large enough for his finger tips. But they held the glittering thing lightly. It looked like a diamond body to two fluttering ivory wings, as he said slowly, musically.
"It hath lain in my breast, ever. I found it in the hand of death," he said dreamily, "but the Riddle-of-Life ends for me, and begins for thee. So take it, when I have told thee how it came to me."
Those ivory hands of his seemed more like wings than ever as, still holding the bowl before him, he lay back and it showed clear against the shadows of the tent.
"Thou knowest," he went on, "the graveyards of the hill-folk? Set on an hill and thick with iris flowers--the flowers of immortality--the green sword leaves guarding the blossoms, guarding the quiet dead below? It was the day I saw fear in a maiden's eyes--there was such a graveyard not far from her father's dwelling--he is dead now and she awaits the release of death amongst beneficent ladies in a House-of-Rest at Herât--and I bid them carry me there; for my heart was aflame and I cursed God for this carcase, seeing she was fair. So they left me there overlooking the valley, and when they had gone I lay amid the crushed iris and writhed--but of that no more. It hath passed.
"So, suddenly, between my empty wide-spread arms and clutching fingers I saw something amid the crushed blossoms. It must have been a very old grave on which I lay, since the iris roots matted thick upon it as if to hide the dead that lay in the hollow of it; for the rams and the winds sweeping on that high exposed spot had torn the covering of soil from Mother Earth's bosom. What I saw was this crystal cup. Perchance it had been used when the dead was laid to rest, and forgotten. Perchance some sad lover had set it there with flowers and tears in the poignancy of first grief, and gone away to love another. Who knows? The iris-roots had grown to a cup around it; twisted, white, iris-roots like dead fingers; and I took it from them. Take thou it, O Zahir-ud-din Mahomed, from one close to the Adventure of Death. I burden the gift with but one condition--if ever thou comest across a frightened maid--" here his whole face became radiant with smiles--"be not afraid of her. So take it cousin-ling. It is no cup of King Jamsheed to bring thee counsel in thy need. Yet it hath its virtue to those, who, like thou hast, have eyes to see. It can bring content."
Content! was this the secret of Poverty-prince's charm? Babar, bold, young, every fibre of him keen-strung for the Life, on the brink of which he stood, cared little for content. Yet he took the cup and looked at it curiously. Quaint of a surety! Taller than it was broad. Small enough to lie in the hollow of the hand. The brim over-thick by reason of heavy bosses below the edge: five bosses like those in blown glass, but oval, like eyes. The rest faintly frosted by fine scratchings (were they without or within?--within surely) which, were they letterings, would need a magnifying glass ere they could be deciphered. But at the bottom, so disposed that one must read in drinking, these words showed clear:
"Save the cup of life, what gift canst thou bring?"
That was from Hâfiz surely?
"Aye! divine Hâfiz," replied his cousin answering his thought boldly. "Now, hold it to the light, cousin-ling, and see its virtue."
The boy did as he was bid, feeling dazed and dreamful. A seven-lamped tripod behind his cousin's cushions had been lit--at least he could not remember that it had been there when he came in--Seven little lamps …
Why! those five bosses were deftly arranged to gather the light and send it … God and His Prophet! How beautiful!
Through the clear eye before his eyes he saw his cousin's face--all glorified--splendid utterly …
That something which came to him ever with the sight of beauty, filled him with joy …
But stay! the bosses must be magnifying glasses also! He could read something.
What was it?
Ishk (love)? or Ashk (tears)?
"Thou wilt see more clearly when thou hast learnt to use the five eyes of the soul," came his cousin's voice; "then thine own thoughts will return to thee from the Mirror-of-Life. Now put it into the bosom of thy fur coat. There is room there for it and majesty likewise. And now I will sing the Song-of-the-Bowl ere thou goest."
He clapped his hands once more, and the boy sighed and rubbed his eyes dreamily. Surely the seven lamps had been lit? But now they were not; the semi-darkness of the scent-sodden tent closed in on him, and that was his cousin's every-day voice:
"Bring me my dulcimer, slave! Lo! King-ling, it suits the measure better than the cithâra and I am proud of the tune! 'Tis my own."
So, after a while, the tinkling notes began, the voice rose plaintively:
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