dreamland of the nether world of sleep.
Sometimes in the evening, while arraying myself carefully as a prince of
the blood-royal before a large mirror, with a candle burning on either
side, I would see a sudden reflection of the Persian beauty by the side
of my own. A swift turn of her neck, a quick eager glance of intense
passion and pain glowing in her large dark eyes, just a suspicion of
speech on her dainty red lips, her figure, fair and slim crowned with
youth like a blossoming creeper, quickly uplifted in her graceful
tilting gait, a dazzling flash of pain and craving and ecstasy, a smile
and a glance and a blaze of jewels and silk, and she melted away. A
wild glist of wind, laden with all the fragrance of hills and woods,
would put out my light, and I would fling aside my dress and lie down on
my bed, my eyes closed and my body thrilling with delight, and there
around me in the breeze, amid all the perfume of the woods and hills,
floated through the silent gloom many a caress and many a kiss and many
a tender touch of hands, and gentle murmurs in my ears, and fragrant
breaths on my brow; or a sweetly-perfumed kerchief was wafted again and
again on my cheeks. Then slowly a mysterious serpent would twist her
stupefying coils about me; and heaving a heavy sigh, I would lapse into
insensibility, and then into a profound slumber.
One evening I decided to go out on my horse--I do not know who implored
me to stay-but I would listen to no entreaties that day. My English hat
and coat were resting on a rack, and I was about to take them down when
a sudden whirlwind, crested with the sands of the Susta and the dead
leaves of the Avalli hills, caught them up, and whirled them round and
round, while a loud peal of merry laughter rose higher and higher,
striking all the chords of mirth till it died away in the land of
sunset.
I could not go out for my ride, and the next day I gave up my queer
English coat and hat for good.
That day again at dead of night I heard the stifled heart-breaking sobs
of some one--as if below the bed, below the floor, below the stony
foundation of that gigantic palace, from the depths of a dark damp
grave, a voice piteously cried and implored me: "Oh, rescue me! Break
through these doors of hard illusion, deathlike slumber and fruitless
dreams, place by your side on the saddle, press me to your heart, and,
riding through hills and woods and across the river, take me to the warm
radiance of your sunny rooms above!"
Who am I? Oh, how can I rescue thee? What drowning beauty, what
incarnate passion shall I drag to the shore from this wild eddy of
dreams? O lovely ethereal apparition! Where didst thou flourish and
when?" By what cool spring, under the shade of what date-groves, wast
thou born--in the lap of what homeless wanderer in the desert? What
Bedouin snatched thee from thy mother's arms, an opening bud plucked
from a wild creeper, placed thee on a horse swift as lightning, crossed
the burning sands, and took thee to the slave-market of what royal city?
And there, what officer of the Badshah, seeing the glory of thy bashful
blossoming youth, paid for thee in gold, placed thee in a golden
palanquin, and offered thee as a present for the seraglio of his master?
And O, the history of that place! The music of the sareng, the jingle
of anklets, the occasional flash of daggers and the glowing wine of
Shiraz poison, and the piercing flashing glance! What infinite
grandeur, what endless servitude!