{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_42963/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_42963","id":"gutenberg_42963","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42963","summary":null,"tags":["Asia -- Fiction","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Orient -- Fiction","Short stories"],"text":"Transcriber's Note\n\nThis book contains some Hebrew text, e.g. \u05e7\u05d1\u05f4\u05d4. If it does not display\ncorrectly, you may wish to adjust your font settings.\n\n\n\n\n                The\n            Weird Orient\n\n                Nine\n            Mystic Tales\n\n\n                 BY\n           HENRY ILIOWIZI\n\n  Author of \"In the Pale,\" \"Jewish\n     Dreams and Realities,\" etc.\n\n\n            PHILADELPHIA\n     HENRY T. COATES AND COMPANY\n                1900\n\n\n  Copyright 1899 by HENRY ILIOWIZI.\n        All rights reserved.\n    ENTERED AT STATIONERS' HALL,\n              LONDON.\n\n\n\n\n  [Illustration: \"Touch me not.\"\n      Page 22.]\n\n\n\n\nPUBLISHERS' PREFACE.\n\n\nIn introducing to the general public a writer who has heretofore been\nknown chiefly among the people of his own race, his publishers may\nperhaps be permitted to say a word. Rabbi Iliowizi is a Hebrew of pure\nlineage, the son of a zealous member of the Chassidim, a Kabbalistic\nsect numbering over half a million members in Russia, Roumania and\nGallicia, but rarely met with in this country. He passed his infancy\nand boyhood in the Russian provinces of Minsk and Moghileff, and in\nRoumania, growing to manhood and receiving his education at\nFrankfort-on-the-Main, Berlin and Breslau, where he qualified himself\nfor a theological career. After six years of study in Germany, he\nspent some four years more perfecting his training in modern languages\nand in Arabic and Hebrew in London and Paris, under the auspices of\nthe Anglo-Jewish Association and the Alliance Israelite Universelle,\nas a preparation to take charge of one of the outlying mission\nstations maintained by these affiliated societies in the Orient, where\nthey support some fifty schools for the benefit of their oppressed\nco-religionists. After a prolonged service in Morocco, engaged in the\neducational work of the two societies, Mr. Iliowizi lived for a year\nat Gibraltar, and then came to America to devote himself to the\nministry of the Jewish Church, and is now the spiritual head of a\nlarge congregation of his own people.\n\nMr. Iliowizi has hitherto contributed principally to the literature of\nhis race, being known among Jews by several works; most widely,\nperhaps, by a volume of stories of Russian life, under the title of\n\"In the Pale,\" recently published by the Jewish Publication Society of\nAmerica for its subscribers. In the series of Eastern tales,\ncomprising the present book, which appeals to a larger audience, he\nhas the special advantage, not only of a lengthened residence among\nEastern peoples, but that he is himself of an Oriental race, of a\nheredity highly tinctured by the tenets of one of its most mystical\nsects, and personally is of a strongly Semitic type of mind, tempered\nby the maturing of his powers in the clear atmosphere of the New World\nintellectual life. He has, therefore,--or ought to have,--exceptional\nfacilities for interpreting to the West the mind and heart of the\nEast.\n\nWhoever has lived long in the Orient,--and Morocco is essentially\nEastern in its atmosphere, even if geographically it might possibly be\notherwise classed,--cannot but realize the subtle and inexpressible\ninfluence that so strongly pervades its life, and which, often as it\nhas been spoken of, is so hard for the Occidental mind fully to\nunderstand or appreciate. It is the \"call of the East,\" as Mr.\nKipling happily puts it, and of which his British soldier sings in\nsuch realistic fashion:\n\n    \"An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year sodger tells;\n    'If you've 'eard the East a-callin', why you won't 'eed nothin' else.'\n        No! you won't 'eed nothin' else\n        But them spicy garlic smells\n    An' the sunshine an' the palm trees an' the tinkly temple-bells!\"\n\nThe mystery of the great desolate desert stretches, with their\noverpowering solemnity of deadly silence, has from time immemorial\nexercised a most powerful influence upon the imagination of those who\nfrequent them; and their optical illusions are often so curious and so\nstartling as to afford easy explanation of the legends of hidden and\nphantom cities, such as are told here and elsewhere, and indeed of\nmuch else beside. Stories similar to \"Sheddad's Palace of Irem,\" and\nthat of the vanishing city of the Peri in \"The Croesus of Yemen,\" are\nfrequently met with.\n\nThe gloominess of the mountain regions, especially that of the\nSinaitic Peninsula, has also had a profound influence in giving color\nto the legendary lore of the middle Orient; and this combination of\ndesert and mountain influences perhaps largely accounts for what is\ndistinctively peculiar in the mysticism of the East, and for much that\nwill be found in this book.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n                                                  PAGE\n     I. The Doom of Al Zameri,                      17\n\n    II. Sheddad's Palace of Irem,                   53\n\n   III. The Mystery of the Damavant,                89\n\n    IV. The Gods in Exile,                         119\n\n     V. King Solomon and Ashmodai,                 161\n\n    VI. The Croesus of Yemen,                      199\n\n   VII. The Fate of Arzemia,                       253\n\n  VIII. The Student of Timbuctu,                   287\n\n    IX. A Night by the Dead Sea,                   327\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\nBy WILLIAM SHERMAN POTTS.\n\n\n                                                  PAGE\n      I. \"_Touch me not!_\" (page 22)      Frontispiece\n\n     II. \"_Determined to penetrate into\n           the seemingly impenetrable\n           wonderland of the Damavant._\"            92\n\n    III. \"_Like a thunderbolt striking to\n           the centre of a hurricane, the\n           demon shot down._\"                      173\n\n     IV. \"_There sprung, like Iris from the\n           clouds, a smiling Hebe._\"               323\n\n\n\n\nTHE WEIRD ORIENT.\n\n\nThe nine tales which follow have a history which is itself not without\ninterest. The materials have been accumulated during a residence of\nmany years at Tetuan, Morocco, varied by excursions to places in the\ninterior where semi-barbarous life may be seen in its pristine\ncrudeness. In Tetuan I had somewhat exceptional opportunities of\ngetting into the heart of native life and thought, and I am under\nobligations also for contributions received from a venerable\nstory-teller at Tangier, who had been assistant librarian at the\n_Kairouin_ of Fez, the only university of the Moorish Empire. The\ntales themselves have been for centuries floating through the\nlegendary lore which plays so large a part in the intellectual\ncloudland of the gorgeous East; my part has been to put them into\nEnglish dress, with scrupulous adherence to their substance and, as\nfar as may be, to their native costume.\n\nTetuan is a typical Oriental town, beautiful from a distance,\ndisappointing at a closer inspection, but not devoid of that classic\natmosphere which invests ancient cities in the East with a spiritual\nsomething unfelt in modern centres of culture. Situated at the foot of\nthe Beni Hosmar, a bold peak of the northern branch of the Atlas\nrange, it has a population of about twenty thousand souls, is enclosed\nby a dilapidated wall, boasts of some fine homes built by wealthy\nTetuani, has a separate _mellah_ for its unfavored Jews, some European\ndwellings and cultivated gardens for foreign consuls, a large unclean\nsquare as a market-place, chronically infested by packs of mongrel\ndogs fed by Moslem women, and something of an official residence\nwithin the moss-capped walls of a stronghold spoken of as the\n_Casbah_. The rest is covered by the Moorish quarter, a bewildering\nlabyrinth of unpaved, unswept alleys, crooked lanes, the white,\nflat-roofed, unwindowed houses often meeting each other overhead, thus\ncreating dingy tunnels which are utilized as bazaars, with wretched\nholes to right and left reserved for sundry wares and offices--the\nusual conditions of Moslem towns.\n\nUnattractive as such a conglomeration of semi-barbarous retreats must\nappear, neither Pegasus nor the muses would pass them with\nindifference. As the descendants of the Moors expelled from Hispania\nby their Catholic Majesties, the Tetuani show a degree of refinement\nunknown elsewhere in Barbary, and with it survives a taste for higher\nthings of which poetry is not the least. Tetuan's intellectual\natmosphere is so generally recognized that the present Emir-al-Mumemin\n(sole ruler of the true faithful) sent his heir apparent, Hassan, to\nbe educated at the _Casbah_ by a _taleb_ chosen from the local\naristocracy, in preference to the unfathomed wisdom stored in the wise\nheads of the _Kairouin_ at Fez. The minstrel, the fluent story-teller,\nthe poetic historian, and the fine performer on the double-stringed\n_gimreh_, are not unfamiliar figures in Tetuan, provided one knows how\nto approach them, which is not so hard as it is to overcome their\nreluctance to unbosom themselves before the infidel. Great as is the\nMoor's cupidity, it pales before his abhorrence of the foreign\nintruder who presumes to pry into his jealously guarded sanctuaries.\nTouch him on a point concerning his nebulous legends and traditions\nand, like the turtle, he draws in his head, and that is the last you\nwill see of him, unless you strike the sensitive chord of national\npride by speaking grandiloquently of non-Mussulman heroes and literary\ntriumphs. Even then Moslem passiveness proves often an immovable\ninertia. It has been found possible to provoke the garrulity of the\n_taleb_, _adool_ and _fukie_, respectively representing our lawyer,\nnotary, and man of letters; but there are two characters in Morocco\nwhom no whirlwind will move to dispute the infidel's claim to a\nsuperior culture, and they are the all-knowing _kadi_ and the _emin_,\nthe judge and the priest, both deriving their unquestioned authority\nfrom al Koran, and thus cherishing a supreme contempt for the wisdom\nof the faithless inspired by the cunning devil. The idea is as old as\nIslam that what the Koran reveals not, Allah alone knows.\n\nAfter many rueful failures to get at the sources of Barbary's\nfolklore, the author of this book conceived the idea, which happily\nmet with some success, of creating a social focus sufficiently\nattractive to ensnare unwary stragglers of infallible Islamism, such\nas itinerant students, beggars, story-tellers and pilgrims, who, being\nstrangers in the place, might be induced by liberal treatment and a\nlittle policy to impart some glimpses of the precious lore so dear to\none who had set his heart on the acquisition of so promising a\ntreasure. Did the _Arabian Nights_ and the other works we know exhaust\nthe vast resources of the Orient's mysteries? Without betraying his\nultimate purpose, the author called a meeting of the foreign\nresidents, all good friends or acquaintances, and submitted the scheme\nof opening a Casino for mutual sociability and the reception of worthy\nstrangers, sometimes of high rank, who not infrequently cross the\nStrait of Gibraltar to see life as it must have been in the\npatriarchal age. The suggestion was received with acclamation; the\nmeeting, nineteen souls in all, organized itself into a body of\nsubscribing members; officers were elected, rules formulated, and a\nliberal subscription list enabled the chairman to proceed at once to\ncarry out the project, everyone wondering why the thing had never been\nthought of before. It took some weeks to perfect matters, when the\npleasure-house was opened with proper ceremony. The windows of the\ncommodious building looked on the market-place, the Casino being about\na hundred paces from the gate of the _Casbah_, and the institution\nsoon became an object of talk and wonder, it being the first of its\nkind in the tedious annals of Tetuan.\n\nOnly a few days after the opening the members experienced the\nundelightful surprise of finding one of their distinguished friends,\nthe Spanish Vice-consul, a stately hidalgo of high lineage, afflicted\nby the thirst of Tantalus, with a hydrophobic aversion to water as the\nproper means of appeasing it. The cavalier could neither be asked to\nresign nor could he be expelled, without creating an unpleasant\nsensation, but his drunkenness threatened the very life of the resort.\nWhat was to be done? A secret meeting called for the purpose of\ndealing with the problem ended in a unanimous sigh of despondency. But\nhelp was near at hand. Diepo, the caterer, who realized that his\nprospects were on the brink of ruin, devised a way out of the dilemma.\nUnder the pretext that the annoying pest of insects, flying and\ncreeping, required some remedy, the shrewd caterer prepared a\nsubstance that stuck to one like the Evil One, spread it freely on\nlarge sheets of brown paper, and distributed them judiciously where\nthey would best serve his purpose. Once in his hazy condition, the\nchivalrous Vice-consul was quick in satisfying Diepo's most sanguine\nanticipations, picking up by a variety of zigzag evolutions almost\nevery sticker, and covering himself with the viscous stuff from head\nto foot, until the stifled giggle of those present gave way to roars\nof laughter. A coarse _jellab_ had to be thrown around the frame of\nthe inebriate, to take him home without exposure to the ridicule of\noutsiders. If the incident did not cure the disgraced representative\nof Spanish chivalry of his thirst, it at least rendered it impossible\nfor him to return to the circle he had scandalized; and as to Diepo's\nstratagem, it was commended as a measure devised for self-preservation.\n\nAn unexpected triumph for the Casino was the application of three\nprominent Moslems for membership, each one, in days bygone, having\nbeen attached to some embassy the Caliph of the Lord now and then\nsends to one or another of the European courts. To the manifold\ndiversions afforded by the institution belonged a sagacious parrot who\nastonished the noble Moors by receiving them with the _Muezzin's_ cry:\n\"_La illaha, il Allah, Mohammed Ressul Allah!_\" This confession of\nIslam, that there is no God but God, and that Mohammed is His Prophet,\nwould have edified the Mussulmans, had not the frivolous bird\naccompanied his exclamation with screams of profane laughter. At first\npuzzled by the unaccountable frivolity of the bird, the most\ningenuous of the Moslems finally solved the riddle by recognizing\ntherein an expression of felicity the creature derived from uttering\nthe sacred formula.\n\nGratuitous music was furnished by an Italian who blew the trombone; by\na French teacher who played the violin; by a Hebrew who gave wind to a\npipe of reeds; and by a Spaniard who harped on the strings of a\ncolossal bass-viol. In course of a few months the members of the\nCasino entertained visitors not alone from Europe and many quarters of\nBarbary, but from the more distant Orient, the most of them coming by\nthe way of Tangier, sometimes called the \"white city of the dark\ncontinent.\" But nothing advertised and dignified that institution more\nthan the standing offer of twenty-five pesetas to him who should, upon\na fixed evening, regale its members with the most interesting tale,\nsubject to the critical verdict of three judges, the decision to be\nsustained or rejected by a majority of votes. The tale was not to be\nwholly fictitious, but should either turn around some historic event,\nor be based on some popular tradition or legend current in the lands\nof the rising sun. In a country where, thanks to nature's bounty, a\npeseta is sufficient to supply a numerous family with food for days,\nthe prize held out as an inducement proved an object of keen\ncompetition. Once a month the competitors were given the opportunity\nof displaying their story-telling talents, and on one occasion a\n_fukie_ of Fez, a Jew of Yemen, another one of Jerusalem, and a Parsee\nof Bombay, claimed the attention of the interested auditors, in their\nendeavors to secure the coveted prize.\n\nSuch were the beginnings of this work; it contains in substance all\nthe tales for which prizes were awarded, but it is only fair to state\nthat the Parsee was the one to whom the author is mostly indebted for\nthe mass of his material. Yakoub Malek was a very original eccentric,\nof a nature deep, generous, ardent and visionary. A Parsee by birth,\nMalek exchanged his Zoroastrian creed for Buddha's ideals, only to\nshow a later preference for Islam. Driven by a restless temperament,\nhe traversed Asia throughout its length and breadth, and crossed the\nwhole north of Africa for the avowed purpose of seeking an audience\nwith the Pope in Rome, his object being to be initiated into the\nmystery of the Catholic Church. Like Marco Polo, Malek was the most\nobserving of travellers, and his adventures embraced encounters with\nmonstrous brutes, communion with spirits in the desert of Gobi,\nhairbreadth escapes from cyclonic storms, shipwrecks, venomous\nreptiles, cannibals and banditti. In the Western hemisphere Malek\nwould pass for a transcendental spiritualist, claiming, as he did, to\nhold intercourse with the spirits of his parents, especially with that\nof his father. One dark evening he startled his auditors by producing\na human finger, all dried and shrivelled. He had taken it off\nstealthily from the right hand of his father's dead body, after the\nvultures had denuded it of flesh, it being the religious custom of the\nParsees to expose their dead to the voracity of that carrion bird, for\nwhich purpose, as is well known, their \"towers of silence\" are\nconstructed. That singular rite has its origin in the Zoroastrian idea\nthat earth is holy and must not be polluted by the decay of human\nflesh.--\"As often as I long to see my father, I hold this bone closed\nin my right hand and shut my eyes, when lo! I see him rise from the\nrealms of the invisible, ready to commune with me in whispers audible\nto my soul,\" asserted the Oriental with a mystic glow in his eye.\n\nHis \u00e6sthetic quality betrayed itself in his glowing descriptions of\nBalbec and Tadmor, of the prodigious monuments of Egypt, and the\ntemples and palaces of India. Of his vivid power to portray what his\nmemory retained, or his imagination conceived, the subjoined rhapsody,\ntaken as he gave it, may convey an idea. \"I see him there, Shah Jah\u00e1n,\nin J\u00e1hn\u00e1h\u00e1d, the Delhi of his fiat, exalted on his throne of thrones,\na blaze of jewelled splendors, set in mockery of the peacock's\nfeathers, but fairer than that fairest bird, the Moghul's emblem of\nstar-dotted majesty. Great Akbar's Empire is his, and India's\nwealth.--Poor Moghul! From Agra's lovelier court, thy favored home,\nthe courier speeds to drown thy happiness in gloom. She is no more who\nowned thy heart. Thy sweetest Empress, Mumtaza Mahal, the Orient's\nloveliness and grace, succumbed to throes which mothers know. The babe\nsurvived her. Delhi mourns. Shah Jah\u00e1n hurries to his seat of woe. How\ndismal looks the city of imperial gardens! How sepulchral its palace\nof grandeurs nowhere seen, never heard of, vast and noble, too grand\nfor man, not unfit for gods!--Death darkens the world, darkens Shah\nJah\u00e1n's glorious throne-hall. Here his incomparable mate lies cold in\ndeath, crowned and sceptred, as though called to rule in the nether\nworld, a queen among the dead. All mourn and weep, but the true sorrow\nis thine, poor Jah\u00e1n, with melancholy as thy only friend, thy hope the\ngrave. That wondrous sepulchre of thine, reared to crown thy love;\nthere it stands, thy resting-place and hers, the _Taj_, the monumental\nblossom of the world, beyond expression beautiful.\"\n\nYakoub Malek was a mystic adventurer, and his narrative mystified his\naudience. But for that delightful dreamer this book would never have\nseen light. His passing out of sight, with an echo that rings in the\near forever, charmed by a voice that enchanted the soul, suggests the\ncareer of those prophetic wizards who, having stirred the world with\nthe fire of their breath, departed this life, leaving song and\nprophecy to vibrate in the air to the end of time. Should that\npicturesque wanderer ever come across these pages, he will have to\nforgive the liberties the author has taken with his rhapsodic style\nnot less than with the version in certain parts of his narrative. Not\neverything the dreamy Orient is ready to accept will meet with equal\ncredence, or even with tolerance, in the sobered Occident. Yet enough\nhas been retained in these tales to draw the reader from his realistic\nsurroundings into those weird realms where, unrestrained by the laws\nof sublunar existence and the limitations of mortality, the spirit is\nallowed to roam in the vast, unencumbered by matter, unhindered by\ntime and space.\n\n                                             Henry Iliowizi.\n    Philadelphia, April, 1900.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DOOM OF AL ZAMERI.\n\n\nNothing is known in nature which, in awful impressiveness, compares\nwith the overpowering scenery forever associated with God's revelation\nto man. That arm of the Indian Ocean called the Red Sea bifurcates\ninto the westerly gulf of Suez and the easterly one of Akabah, and the\ntriangular peninsula thus formed embraces the region that bears the\nname of the sky-consecrated Mount Sinai. He who, from an overtopping\nheight, once surveys those prodigies of this globe's eternal\nframework, pile on pile, varied by solitary peaks raising their heads\nabove the clouds, amidst a confusion of innumerable gorges, _wadys_\nand ravines, the red of the stupendous mass interspersed with\nporphyry and greenstone, will, apart from their spiritual\nreminiscences, bear the impression to the end of his days that he has\nbeen in the very heart of creative omnipotence. About the entire\nsystem there is such a ghostly air, such a terrific frown, as is\nrecalled by no other chain of crests and cliffs, however bold or\nlife-deserted. If the bleaker rocks that encompass the basin of the\nDead Sea are more deterring, those of Horeb are of a thrilling\nsublimity; and if this is true in broad daylight, night invests them\nwith an inexpressible mystic awe, intensified by an inexplicable\nrumbling and roaring not unlike distant thunder. But all other\nfeelings are merged in the one of terror when, as it sometimes\nhappens, a heavy thunderstorm breaks over the wilderness of Sinai.\nRendered impervious by a rarely disturbed aridity, the barren rocks\nretain little more water than would the glazed incline of a pyramid,\nso that the mountain torrents rush down with cyclonic impetuosity,\nuprooting trees and sweeping off settlements, with no trace left of\nwhat man and nature combine to produce.\n\nIt was in one of those spasmodic storms that, in the year 1185 after\nMohammed's flight from Mecca, a muffled figure moved cautiously in the\nheart of a cloudburst which was accompanied by blinding flashes of\nlightning and such thunderbolts as shook the very bedrock of the\nmountainous desolation. The Bedouin's watch-fires, nightly seen all\nalong the gentler acclivities, vanished before the elemental fury; and\nthough the plain of al-Rahe opened before him, the lonely wanderer\nturned his face toward Jebel Musa, or Mount of Moses, betraying his\nanxiety to remain unrecognized. Wind and rain forced the man to seek\nshelter somewhere, but he seemed to prefer a dark hollow to the sure\nhospitality of the Arab's tent. From the heights the torrents came\nroaring like waterfalls, carrying along piled up masses of uprooted\ntamarisks, palm-trees, struggling sheep and goats; even bowlders were\nswept down like pebbles.\n\nWhile stopping for a moment, irresolute as to the direction he should\ntake, the muffled figure discerned a human form stranger than his own,\nwhelmed by the flood and on the point of being either engulfed or\ncrushed to death by the wreck-encumbered torrent. With a rush which\nendangered his life, the mysterious wanderer caught hold of the\nforlorn victim, tearing him out of the destructive tide, and as it\nhappened landing him near a cave which he had not before seen. \"Touch\nme not!\" cried the rescued creature in a voice that startled his\npreserver. Yet compared with the rest of his individuality, the voice\nwas the least appalling of his features. There stood a bare-headed\nbeing, bent with age, pale as a ghost, lean as starvation, wrinkled as\na shriveled hag, shaggy as a bear, his beard descending to his knees,\nand his hair to his waist. Death stared from his eyes, misery from his\nface; in all an image of hopelessness, tottering toward the grave.\nBarely strong enough to drag his limbs, the wretch waddled into the\nrayless hole, whining and groaning.\n\nThe weather's inclemency would have hardly induced the other to divide\nthe cave with one whose aspect suggested the tenant of the graveyard,\nbut the tramp of approaching horses left no time for reflection. Like\na shadow the muffled figure disappeared just in time to escape the\nnotice of two Mamlooks on horses, who, perceiving the hole, drew in\nthe reins with an oath: \"Allah tear the devil!--If it were not for my\npoor horse I would crawl into that black pit to get out of this\ninfernal tempest.--See this cataract! Why, this beats the Nile!--And\nthe hawk we are looking for may as well be leagues out of this\nwilderness as within it. If we do not hurry to Wady-Feiran, the fever\nwill settle in my belly. I feel cold about the heart,\" said one of the\nhorsemen.\n\n\"Give up the thousand purses set on Ali Bey's head?\" asked his fellow.\n\n\"Give up the chase of the devil!--The slave-Sultan is not within these\nblack reaches, I say, and we are fools to follow our noses until the\nbreath is out of our stomachs,\" answered the other impatiently.\n\nA red zigzag flash tore the clouds; the crash threw the horses on\ntheir haunches. Had not the astounded Mamlooks scampered off like the\nwind, the lightning would have revealed to them the object of their\nhunt, Egypt's celebrated Sheykh el-Beled, a title tantamount to the\npower and dignity of Caliph. Such was Ali Bey who, at the close of a\ncareer of adventure and romance, was a fugitive in the wilds, with a\nprice set by his enemies upon his head.\n\n\"The bloodhounds have lost the spoor of the game, and if my messengers\nreach Acre safely, my friend Daher will be out in force; but where\nhide till then?\" thought Ali Bey, and proceeded to close up the\nentrance to his retreat by a pile of rubbish near at hand, darkness\nfavoring the operation.\n\n\"Unless there are snakes in this hole, I shall have an hour's rest,\"\nsaid Ali to himself, having completed the hiding wall. A moaning\nululation in the dark reminded him of the other presence he had\nenclosed with himself, and his alarm was not lessened by the sudden\nglimmer of a something which broke the gloom of the den. Coming as it\ndid from the deep of the hollow, it could not be mistaken for a flare\nof lightning from without. Another glimmer left no doubt as to its\nsource.\n\nAli Bey was not a man to quail before anything another man could face;\nbut here was a phenomenon to stop the pulsation of the stoutest heart. A\nburning jewel, not in the palsied hand of a decrepit dotard, but in the\nhold of one in the prime of manhood, who resembled the other as closely\nas a heifer does its dam. Who was he? A son of the former? Or had there\noccurred the miracle of instantaneous rejuvenescence? Or was it Satan\nbent on some diabolical performance?--\"Man or demon, good or evil power,\nwhoever thou art, I demand of thee in Allah's name to unfold thy mystery\nto me. Art thou he whom I saved from the fury of the elements? He was\nnearer a hundred than thirty years; nearer death than life. Thou lookest\nlike him, but couldst be his grandchild as to age and vigor. Art thou\nand he the same? Or art thou an illusion,--peradventure the spirit of\nthis mountain? If thou art a spirit, thou knowest who I am; if thou art\nhuman I charge thee to speak to Ali Bey, the Sheykh el-Beled of Egypt,\nwho is waiting for assistance to defeat the conspiracies of his\nenemies,\" spoke Ali with the firmness of despair.\n\n\"Sheykh el-Beled,\" answered the one spoken to in a tone as changed as\nhis form, \"there is less of spirit in me than in thee, yet am I less\nhuman than man ever was, deathless yet mortal, tossed about on the\nocean of time from age to age, century to century, cycle to cycle,\nmillennium to millennium; denied the peace of soul, the comfort of\nhope, the blessing of prayer, the nepenthe of oblivion, yea, the rest\nof the grave. Tremble not at the sound of my name. I am _Al Zameri_,\nthe accursed roamer of the times, doomed since the making of the\ngolden calf to begin, rejuvenated after a lapse of every hundred\nyears, anew my unblest career,--homeless, godless, hopeless, shunned,\nfeared and hated!\"\n\n\"Al Zameri!\" ejaculated Ali, who had moved some steps backward\nhorrified.\n\n\"That is my name; credulity couples it with sin, greed, famine, war,\ninundations, hurricanes and pestilence. While thou art within the\nreach of my breath, warned by instinct, no man will do thee harm,\"\npromised the wretched wanderer.\n\n\"Allah confound the devil!--Thou wouldst have perished in the flood\nif I had not rescued thee; there must be a hidden purpose in the\naccident of our meeting. Born a slave, destiny has given me the power\nto defy and defeat the Caliph of Islam. My sword has made me sole\nruler over the empire on the banks of the Nile. In open battle I fear\nno foe; it is conspiracy and the assassin's dagger that I am fleeing,\nand thy thwarting my pathway, or my thwarting thine, means something\nto me, Al Zameri. I am in the hand of Allah, the most merciful.--But\nspeak, thou man of immortal woe, how didst thou provoke the anger of\nthy people's God? Why was the golden idol fashioned? Why by thee? What\nhas been thy experience since?--For few are the Prophet's words in his\nreference to thy transgression in the Koran,\" resumed Ali, making the\nbest of his unique acquaintance.\n\n\"Sheykh el-Beled, thy kindness, not thy service, requires my\nacknowledgment. Thy succor was wasted on a man whom perdition would\nnot have. For three thousand years death shuns me as ruthlessly as I\nlong to hug it. My tale is a nightmare of three millenniums, taking\nme back to ancient Egypt, where I, a Hebrew, was born into abject\nslavery. My hot blood resented the taskmaster's rod. In a moment of\nrage I struck back one of my tormentors, blow for blow, and was with\nother rebels doomed to dig in one of Pharaoh's copper mines on the\ncoast of Akabah in the valley of Semud. Here many of the Egyptian\nidols were fashioned, and here I learned the secret of the priests,\nwho caused metallic forms to utter sound, to articulate oracular\nspeech. Certain instruments were skilfully inserted into the interior\nof the idol, and the priest manipulated them to the great wonderment\nof the populace, who lay prostrate before their all-knowing, warning\nor blessing gods. The fraud was guarded by the loss of the tongue that\nbetrayed it.\n\n\"I was young and strong when the joyous tidings penetrated our penal\ncolony, that a man of God had afflicted Egypt with plague after\nplague, insisting that the Israelites be freed from bondage, and we\nsoon read Egypt's doom in the face of our taskmaster. We conspired,\nmade a desperate break for liberty, and marked our track with the\nblood of those who offered resistance. Love for parents long missed\nimpelled me to disdain danger. Disguised as an Egyptian, I was\ndetermined to steal into the land of the Pharaohs, when one night my\nprogress was stopped by a manifestation in the desert, which filled me\nwith consternation. A pillar of lurid flame, having its base on earth,\nadvanced eastward with a rotatory motion, its upper end obeying a\nforce among the stars. It was a glowing meteor, enormous in volume,\nendless in height, and terrible to behold, setting earth and heaven on\nfire, and bathing the desert in fearful glory. As I hurried to get out\nof the pillar's reach, lest I be consumed, I fell in with the vanguard\nof my liberated brethren in the rear of their fiery guide. What I saw\nand heard thrilled me with awe. A power greater than Osiris lowered\nEgypt to the dust, and that was the God of my people. My father was no\nmore; I embraced my aged mother and one surviving sister, and we wept\nfor joy.\n\n\"Before I had been an hour in the great camp, which extended over\nmany miles, the cry ran from lip to lip, 'We are pursued! The\nEgyptians are at our heels!' Terror and confusion seized the enormous\nmultitude, men, women and children acting like maniacs, while a throng\nof lusty fellows, myself among them, pressed on to see what the Man of\nGod was going to do. We found him in company of Aaron and Hur, his\ncountenance beaming, as though it had concentrated the blaze of the\nflaming pillar to reflect it in a milder beam. He was Moses, the son\nof Amram. In his hand a staff, his gray beard and curly locks setting\noff a face of manly firmness, tempered by feminine grace and a\nvisionary dreaminess, his eyes turned fixedly where the top of the\nfire-pillar lost itself in azure. As if in compliance with his tacit\nprayer, the prodigious beam swerved from its forward course, wheeled\nbackward to the right, and thus transferred its base from the front of\nthe moving camp to its rear, interposing its volume between the\npursuer and the pursued. It was the second watch of the night; we were\nwithin a short hour of the Yam-Mitzrayim, the Egyptian Sea,[1] and a\ndense fog left us in doubt as to the distance of the enemy behind us.\nThe suspense was unbearable, and Moses was besieged by the rebellious\nand the craven, who rent the air with reproaches and appeals. He spoke\na few words of encouragement, asking the people to faithfully await\nthe salvation of the Lord, but his voice was drowned in the\nvociferation of the threatening crowd.\n\n    [1] The Red Sea, among the Hebrews, was \"the Sea of Egypt.\"\n\n\"At a hint from Aaron five thousand armed men of the tribe of Levi\nthrew themselves between the great leader and the clamoring mob. It\nwas a critical moment. The undaunted chief spread out his hands in\nprayer.\n\n\"The third watch of the night came with a freezing gale; it raised the\nfog and revealed a sea lashed by the fury of the growing tempest. It\nwas dawn when the leader, inspired from On High, struck the flood with\nhis staff. The waters rose high, broke, scattered in dust, rose again,\ntumbled, divided up, and froze, leaving a broad highway dry as the\nshore. With his brother the leader entered the depth followed by the\npeople, till the whole multitude found themselves between the icy\nwalls, emerging on the opposite shore happy and jubilant.\n\n\"Just now the blush of morning in the east was eclipsed by a wave of\neffulgence west of the Sea of Egypt, and as we turned our eyes thither\nwe were amazed to behold the burning pillar replaced by a sun-crowned\npower that illumined the heavens with his dazzling panoply and his\nsword of many flames. That presence sealed the doom of the Egyptians.\nIn their impetuous onward rush they plunged into the jaws of death.\nThe miraculous road was not meant to give them passage; and no sooner\nwere they in the heart of the dry abyss than, by a touch of the\nleader's staff, the frozen walls, melted by the sun-crowned power,\ngave way to the devouring sea, burying Egypt's mighty army. The air\nshivered with the multitudinous shout of joy sent up by our myriads of\ngrateful fugitives. Song, dance and praise commemorated the great\nevent, to be shortly followed by one greater than anything I know of\nin the annals of man.\n\n\"Ah, let me come to the cause of my doom! What happened between the\ncrossing of the Red Sea and the Day of Revelation is on record, but\neternity will not efface the picture burned into my memory of what I\nhave, thousands of years ago, witnessed in this wilderness of Zin.\n\n\"After a short encampment hereabout, the leader, he the chief of\nchiefs, made it known that in three days the Majesty Divine would\nreveal Himself and His truth on the top of Sinai, the interval to be\nspent in purifying preparations.\n\n\"As though all the earthquakes and thunders of the ages were to spend\ntheir furious energy within the space of one daybreak, a convulsed\nearth and a bursting firmament roused a terrified people from their\nsleep, summoning them to gather at the foot of the fire-belching,\nquaking, night-shrouded mountain, there to receive the first\ncommandments of the Torah, the Law of the world. They obeyed the\nsummons, but succumbed to the supernatural manifestations. Himself\nunseen, the voice of the leader was heard from the thick of the\nclouds, communing with Omnipotence, the blasts of mighty trumpets\nintermingling with the bellowing, rumbling and growling of the roused\nelements. Suddenly a profound silence superseded the universal\nagitation. Clearly stood out the apex of the mountain, clear spread\nthe horizon; and ear, heart and soul were entranced by the ineffable\nmelody of utterance which came floating from the empyrean. Like the\nsymphony of an angelic chorus, the Ten Commandments vibrated\nthroughout the ethereal spaces, reclaiming the people from their\ntorpor, to be overawed by a wonder exceeding anything they had yet\nseen. With a background of azure, and the three summits of the\nSinaitic range as base, there spread in the clear infinite blue the\nlikeness of inexpressible Majesty in the transcendental shape of a\nsovereign, crowned with supernal glory,--compassion and benign grace\nradiating from His dimly discernible features; in His hand an open\nscroll, covering half the firmament, and showing the Decalogue in\nsunny splendor, each letter proving but the reflex of a yet grander\ncopy visibly set in stars far back in the deepest heavens.\n\n\"A season of tumultuous rejoicing followed the closing of that\nsoul-thrilling scene, and the emancipated slaves abandoned themselves\nto indulgences bordering on license. In the whirl of excitement nobody\nnoticed the absence of the venerated prophet, who had not been seen\nnor heard from since the Day of Revelation, and his family and closest\nassociates were as ignorant of his whereabouts as the rest of the\npeople. But when a whole month had passed by without a token of the\nprophet's being or doing, the craven-hearted mass took umbrage,\nfearing they had been deserted both by Moses and his God. Aaron was\ncalled upon to allay their apprehensions, but he proved unequal to the\nexigency. Pressed to supply them with a power to worship, and somebody\nto lead them, instead of bidding them to have patience and wait, in a\nmoment of weakness he yielded, suggesting that all the golden\nornaments of the women be delivered to him, that he might fashion for\nthem a god. If the High-priest hoped that the women would not\nsacrifice their jewelry, he was soon undeceived. And I was at hand to\nlure him into the most heinous of human transgressions.\n\n\"Herein centres the enormity of my guilt. Aaron could have never\nfulfilled his promise had not an evil spirit prompted me to offer him\nmy service in moulding for him a golden calf after the pattern of\nEgypt's idolatry. Doubting my ability to materialize what I proposed,\nhe gave his assent, and my experience in metal work enabled me to\nproduce a golden calf with the trick of articulating words.\n\n\"When the people saw the image and heard it declare itself their god,\nthey went wild with delight, Aaron himself catching the infection. An\naltar was built, a feast proclaimed, sacrifices offered, and the\nmasses delivered themselves up to orgies.\n\n\"The riot of debauch was broken up by the unexpected arrival of the\nprophet. With his countenance shining like the sun, he rushed down\nfrom the mountain, dropped and shattered the tablets, which bore the\nCommandments he had received from the hand of God, and reduced the\nidol to powder which he scattered to the winds. Aaron exonerated\nhimself by pointing to the madness of the people, and to me as the\nreal culprit.--'This Azazel has brought the great sin on the head of\nthe people,' cried he, his eye fixed in fierce hatred on my detested\nself. What could I advance in extenuation of my devilish authorship?\n\n\"Severe punishment was meted out. Four thousand prominent offenders\nfell under the sword, but I was singled out for a special fate as a\nwarning to coming ages. 'Al Zameri shall not die; Al Zameri shall\nhenceforth wander like Cain, shunned, feared, cursed and hated; Al\nZameri shall, at the lapse of a hundred years, revisit the scene of\nhis crime, shall be restored to his present condition, and thus go on\nand on, until time shall wipe out the memory of his evil deed,' was\nthe verdict I heard. The prophet spoke it under the spell of\ninspiration, and I was set free.[2]\n\n    [2] This legend of the Wandering Jew, which so far as I am\n    aware has never before been printed, except for some few\n    references in the Koran, is probably the precursor of the one\n    currently familiar among Christians, and it will be seen\n    places the date of the crime that entailed perpetual\n    punishment at some 1500 years earlier. To my mind it\n    possesses much the greater psychological interest. The Koran\n    says:\n\n    \"And in like manner al Zameri also cast in what he had\n    collected, and he produced unto them a corporeal calf which\n    lowed. And al Zameri and his companions said, This is your\n    god and the god of Moses.... Moses said unto al Zameri, What\n    was thy design, O Zameri? He answered, I knew that which they\n    knew not, wherefore I took a handful of dust from the\n    footsteps of the messenger of God, and I cast it into the\n    molten calf; for so did my mind direct me\" (Surah 20).\n\n    The presence, and especially the touch, of the outcast is\n    supposed to entail disaster, of which he is bound to warn\n    those with whom he is brought into contact; and it is\n    therefore that Al Zameri cries out to his rescuer (page 22)\n    \"Touch me not.\" The reference in the Koran is, \"Moses said,\n    Get thee gone; for thy punishment in this life shall be, that\n    thou shalt say unto those who shall meet thee, Touch me not\"\n    (Surah 20).\n\n    The roaming Al Zameri has in Oriental folklore a counterpart\n    in the wandering Cain, who also is supposed to live forever.\n\n\"And free I was, and free I am to roam forever like a mad beast,\ndriven hither by the fury to be transformed at the appointed hour into\nthe young man that I was when malicious folly stamped me as the\noutcast of the human race.\n\n\"That same hour I conceived an irrepressible impulse to seek the vast,\nthe void, the desert, the jungle, the swamp,--the unlighted cavern,\nthe place of graves, the ruin,--evading the blessed haunts of man,\nabhorring sunshine and courting darkness. Daylight blinds me as it\ndoes the owl; the sight of gold confounds, its touch burns me. The\nferocious beast flees at my approach; the serpent hisses and writhes\naway. However teeming the region with animal life, however vocal with\nthe song of bird, my passing turns it into a soundless, lifeless wild.\nI speed with the wind, sweep with the storm, welcome the lightning's\nflare, the thunder's growl, rage with the elements, curse with the\nfiends of black Abaddon. The tiger's den is my shelter, my pillow a\ncoil of venomous reptiles. I throw myself into the jaws of the lion,\nswallow the essence of poison,--it does not avail me. Death is in\nleague with all creation against me. If I try to end my misery by\nfalling into a chasm, I am lighter than air. Water will not drown me,\nfire will not burn me, steel will cut my flesh but spares my life,\nand my dread is life--time--time, endless, hopeless, hateful\nyears,--decades, cycles, millenniums! Such is the sky-ruled destiny of\nAl Zameri!\"\n\n\"Horrible is thy fate! Thine is hell on earth, O, son of guilt, who\ndidst ingraft on the race an evil growth,--the worship of gold! Ah,\nthe glittering fetich! What crimes are not traceable to his glossy\nfascinations!--But the potency of prayer, the tear of remorse dear to\nAllah the most merciful, the King of the Day of Judgment, are they\ndenied thee?\" inquired Ali Bey.\n\n\"Prayer, prayer, man's inward heaven, the unction of life, the solace\nof the soul,--prayer, the heart-feeding stream, with God as its\nfountainhead and influx, swelled by springs unrevealed and currents\nvainly searched,\" exclaimed Al Zameri, striking the palms of his hands\ntogether with a clap of pain;[3] \"prayer would just as readily\ncommingle with my being as Eden's blessed rivers with the flames of\nhell. What heaven and earth reveal of the wonderful and holy is\ndeterring to me, whom neither the sublime nor the beautiful inspires,\nfilled as I am with doubt as to whether there be mercy ample enough to\ncover my guilt.\n\n    [3] The familiar Oriental gesture expressing painful emotions\n    is to throw the arms wide apart, and bring the palms of the\n    hands together with a distinct, and often resounding, clap;\n    then clasping the hands, tremulous with the stress of\n    feeling.\n\n\"Yea, once,--but once,--long before the Orient felt the Roman's iron\ngrip, my lips, prompted by the whisper of a cherub, stammered prayer;\nand with that inspiration died my feeble hope, leaving a seething\ncaldron in a heart of flint. Ah, from my gloom of hell I had a glimpse\nof paradise.--Thou hast heard of Balbec's ancient glories, of which\nher magnificent ruins tell; I saw her in her palmy days, a city of\npalaces for merchant princes to dwell in, the rival of Tyre, Tadmor\nand Damascus. Perched on the side of the Anti-Libanus, high above the\nfertile plain of Sahlat-Ba'albec, and encircled by groves and gardens\nwatered by the valley's never-failing spring of Ra'as-el Ayn, Balbec\ngloried in rearing great monuments, while the temples dedicated to her\ngods stood among the marvels of the world. Whatever was precious,\nuseful, or ornamental, was to be had in the bazaars of Balbec.\nCaravans carried invaluable treasures through her gates, and the\nroyalties she levied enabled her to display a princely munificence in\nher domestic affairs. With Syria's fluctuating fortunes, Balbec\nrealized every change, but her deadliest enemy was the earthquake's\nfearful visitation. Often did I wish to see creation sink in chaos,\nand myself engulfed in the universal wreckage; but my attempt to find\ndeath in one of Balbec's catastrophes, instead of bringing\ndeliverance, brought heaven within my touch, with redoubled anguish as\nthe sequel. Satan has his sport with Al Zameri.\n\n\"My memory is aglow as I recall the day of lurid skies, an atmosphere\nsaturated with oppressive vapors, an ominous fluttering of birds, and\na spasmodic rumbling, as of explosions underground. Too familiar with\nthe symptoms to misunderstand the nature of the impending disturbance,\nI was thankful to be near Balbec, in whose ruins I hoped to be buried.\nQuick as my limbs could carry me, I hurried to the doomed city, and\nentered it through one of her gates, which gave me a full view of her\nfamous Great Temple. Terror distracted the multitude, who rushed\nabout, tumbling one against the other, and bellowing like frightened\ncattle. Repeated shocks opened gaping crevices in the ground,\nswallowing houses and closing over man and brute. Down came monumental\nshafts of skilful workmanship; buildings of massive masonry were\neither lying in heaps, the graves of their inmates, or stood cracked,\nready to tumble at the next upheaval. Death was lurking everywhere.\nLittle affected by the wrecks around me, my only thought was to corner\ndeath where escape was wellnigh impossible, and I rushed up the grand\nflight of steps, which took me to the eastern portico of the\nstupendous edifice, landing me in a large, hexagonal space. It had the\ndimensions of a court,--which it was not, but a vestibule with one\nmain entrance and two side-doors to the great court, a peristyle\ncircumscribed by columns of artistic chiselling, back of which were\nnumerous recesses adorned by statues of gods. With no one to question\nmy intrusion into the sacred fane, I stood undetermined and\npurposeless, when a subterraneous force shook the rock-built\nfoundation of the entablature, which descended with a crash, wrecking\nthe fine statuary by the weight of the fragments. A scream of horror\ndrew me irresistibly in the direction of the voice that uttered it,\nwhere, behind a pedestal, I saw a damsel stretched on the floor\nwrithing in convulsions. Bending over the form and raising it from the\nground, I held in my arms a being too perfect to be mortal, too\nsubstantial to be divine. She was unhurt, except for fright, and,\nbearing her to the open quadrangle of the peristyle, I seated myself\non the floor, allowing her head and shoulders to rest on my lap. 'Art\nthou the goddess to whom this temple is dedicated?' breathed I. In\nanswer a pair of eyes opened wide, to my indescribable confusion, eyes\nthat would tame the tiger and charm the hydra; but they soon closed\nagain.\n\n\"Sheykh, I have seen Sisygambis, Persia's imperial mistress, the dame\nof Darius, her cheek shaming the jewelled tiara meant to grace\nmajesty. On the tide of the Cydnus, on a galley, carved, gilded, and\ninlaid with ivory, gliding to the rhythmic stroke of polished oars,\nunder sails of silk, I saw Cleopatra reclining on the deck, in the\nshade of a star-spangled canopy, arrayed as Venus, in the midst of\nvoluptuous music, with her women dressed as nymphs, and little boys as\nCupids; she moved me no more than did a score of others famed for\nbeauty in their time. But stirred and stricken was I by the matchless\ndamsel chance had thrown in my way, and there I sat intoxicated by a\nquaff from some heavenly spring thitherto unknown to me. 'If thou wert\nmine, eternity! what would it matter to me whether the heavens favor\nme or curse?' muttered I half audibly.\n\n\"Once more her opened eyelids laid bare the fountains of bliss, and\nonce more I asked, 'Art thou that one whom the denizens of Balbec\nworship?'\n\n\"Like one waking from a vision she raised her head, raised herself,\nrose to her height a majestic figure, and, looking down to me with an\nexpression of awe, she answered my question with a question: Whether I\nwas one of the gods to whose worship her father had consecrated her?\n'I am the priestess of chaste Istar. Only a god could save me as thou\ndidst,' cried the maiden, sinking prostrate before me.\n\n\"A momentary rocking of the entire structure left but few of the\nremaining columns erect. The others brought down the Corinthian\ncapitals and the heavy entablature with a tremendous fall, and the\ngreat court was one mass of _debris_ scattered in every direction.\n\n\"The eastern portico being barred by a confused pile of broken\ncolumns, the only escape left open was the western end, and hither I\ncarried the fainting priestess, issuing with my burden from the wreck,\nand finding myself before another building still more beautiful and\nnot yet greatly injured. This was Balbec's Temple of the Sun, a\nblossom of architecture and sculpture, profusely ornamented by figures\nof gods and heroes, and finished with a great lavishness of skill and\nart.\n\n\"It was the end of the day, and anxious to shun observation I labored\nup the stately stairway to seek a refuge in the safer place, not on\nmy own account but for the sake of the precious creature in my charge.\nThrough a lofty portal I reached two staircases to my right and left,\neach one leading to the upper story, which was the Temple proper. Here\nI stopped to take breath, the burden having proved too much for me,\nand here again I had to look into those open eyes that beamed\nunutterable things for me.--'Save me, save me, and I will praise and\nworship thee, god of the sun,' whispered the deluded creature.\n\n\"'Be undeceived, fair ministress, I am no god but a man of flesh and\nblood and untold woes, woes unknown to any mortal but myself,' said I.\n\n\"'Thou no god, and a man of untold woes?--Thou art unlike any mortal\nin look, and who sent thee hither to save me, all others having\ndeserted this fane, priest and priestess fleeing for life? Surely thou\nart more than mortal, thus to face death undeterred?'\n\n\"'Let not a guilt-encumbered fugitive practice deception on thee,\nministress of Istar. Thou art right, alas! I am not mortal; but cursed\nto wander and suffer, because of a great sin committed thousands of\nyears ago,' cried I, and briefly enlightened her as to my nature and\nmy doom. Tender compassion radiated from her immaculate countenance\nas, seizing my hand with a hold that thrilled my frame with ravishing\ndelight, she spoke these words:\n\n\"'O, let me alleviate thy suffering by sharing thy misery, poor,\nerring man, who didst offend Zicara and his progeny! Yea, I will pray\nin thy behalf!--Hear me, Zicara, the all-powerful, and thou, Ea, the\nholder of life and knowledge, the ruler of the abyss, the king of the\nrivers and gardens, the mate of Bahu, who begot Bal Merodach,--hear me\nand restrain the seven evil spirits from besetting Al Zameri, but send\nthe good ones to placate his conscience, that he have rest and peace,\nafter an atonement long and awful! Yea, my life for his, Zicara, if\npropitiation cannot otherwise be had, since he has imperilled his life\nfor mine!'\n\n\"Even while these fervid words dropped from the sweet lips of the\nkneeling supplicant, the roving mania seized me deliriously. I turned\nmy face toward the nearest exit, but felt my garment caught by the\nhands that had been folded in prayer.--'Flee not hence before I kiss\nthe hands which brought me succor,' cried the maiden passionately\nstirred. Burning kisses covered my hands; a tingling woe permeated the\ncore of my being; I kissed the head, the cheek, the mouth of the one\nin the wide world, who had offered to share my fate, had offered her\nlife for mine. But adamantine chains could not check my madness to\nfly; I broke away from her embrace, whose lamentations cut into my\nheart.\n\n\"A pack of hell-hounds yelping at my heels would have added little to\nthe mad pace that carried me to the dreary haunts of the\nmountains,--the wailing of the girl, and her image, following me as\nnew fuel to feed the fire of despair. Broken by overwhelming\nwretchedness, I fell where a steep rock barred my way, and then, after\na chain of tearless cycles, I wept,--yea, and prayed for mercy,--ah!\nto be delivered as it may please Him, whom I displeased!\n\n\"With sleep came a figure clad in supernatural brightness,--'Matatron\nthe messenger of grace, who spreads man's prayers before the Throne,\nspeaks to thee, Al Zameri! Between thy prayer and His Mercy stands a\nworld of evil, fostered by the fetich of thy making. Thou hast seduced\nthe people chosen to redeem mankind. When the race shall deem the\nchase of gold a thing as base as rapine, as vile as lust,--then will\nthe fever of thy soul abate. Till then live on, the symbol of\ninsatiate greed, a living Sodom, weltering in the fetid pool of\nspiritual stagnancy!'\" And Al Zameri was silent, burying his wretched\nface in his hands.\n\n\"Truly, gold in itself is not an evil; it is the root of the world's\nevil, the leprosy of the heart, incurable as the lung's consumption\nthat reddens the cheek while it drains the life, and thy guilt in\nreference thereunto is as dark as thy punishment is great,\" spoke Ali.\n\"I am that country's lord where I have been slave; courage has done\nmuch for me, but gold the most,--yea, and the worst to make woman\nfoul, and man her villain. Here Mammon is the king of kings. Ali Bey\nis a fugitive from assassins bought for gold, and Islam's Caliph\ndepends for sovereign ease and safety less on valor and loyalty than\non the bribe. Thou hast raised gold to be an idol, on whose altars\nman's heart, his honor and his peace, and woman's virtue, are too\noften sacrificed. Therefore, run thy course, Al Zameri; fulfil great\nAllah's decree, that man take heed lest in His just anger He drown\nthis world in a boiling flood of liquid gold!\"\n\nA few stones removed from the entrance of the cave enabled the cursed\nroamer to slip out like a phantom, and with him passed the storm,\nleaving a chill around the heart of the Bey.\n\n\"Allah akbar! This meeting forebodes Ali's downfall, I fear. It is my\nevil star that caused the wretch to thwart my way,\" said Ali Bey to\nhimself. Subsequent developments proved his presentiment prophetic; in\nan ambush placed for his destruction, the celebrated Sheykh met his\ndeath.\n\n\n\n\nSHEDDAD'S PALACE OF IREM.\n\n\nSheddad and Sheddid, the sons of Ad and the grandsons of Uz, acquired\ngreat fame in Hadramaut, where they saw light in Ahkaf, a region of\ndeserts bordered by deserts, desolate as Hejaz, sterile as Tehamah,\nburning as Dahna \"the red,\" frightful as Gobi, and less explored than\nSahara. The ancient Hebrews spoke of Hadramaut as _Hazarmaveth_, the\n\"court of death,\" and this sepulchral name is fully accounted for by\nits black rocks, which here and there show head above the sifting\nsand-ridges, like so many colossal coffins in the midst of the\ngloomiest of graveyards. Here the tribe of Ad not alone prospered, but\naccomplished things forever memorable in tale and song.\n\nWhile traversing the desert of Han-Hai Marco Polo reports to have seen\nghostly apparitions; and heard them speak, calling people by their\nnames, and startling the drivers of the caravan by such strange\nnoises as the tramp of horses, the beating of drums, and the blowing\nof trumpets and other musical instruments. The Oriental counts those\nspectral manifestations in the deserts as one of the many aspects of\nthe world's spiritual mystery, and the ancient Arab never entered a\nwaste in the dark without this propitiatory expression of confidence\nuttered with the solemnity of prayer: \"I fly for refuge unto the\nprince of this region, that he may protect me against the foolish of\nhis domain.\"\n\nIt is the Bedouin's conviction that countless ages before the creation\nof Adam myriads of Jinn or genii were created of fire, and enjoyed the\nblessings of this world under successive rulers who bore the generic\nname of Suliman. These airy creatures, however, being of inferior\nquality, are not alone subject to mortal wants, like eating, drinking\nand propagating, but are corruptible and perishable; so that when\ntheir wickedness provoked Allah's anger, he ordered Eblis to drive\nthem into the most inhospitable deserts, where they are kept in rigid\nseclusion, but not without a certain latitude of action. For they are\npermitted to exercise their potential energies, and indulge their\nvarious inclinations for good or for evil, some being malignant,\nothers beneficent. The fairy-like Peri, the gigantic Div, and the\nsinister Tacwins or fates, are referred to in the Koran, which fact\nrenders doubt in their existence out of the question.\n\nNow, the secret of Ad's power, which enabled him to flourish and\nmultiply in the heart of desolation, was a host of Jinn placed at his\ncommand by his father Uz, the son of Aram, who was the son of Shem,\none of Noah's three offspring. With superhuman agents to carry out his\ndesigns, Ad conceived the idea of building the most stupendous palace\non earth in the wilderness of Aden, and he intimated the project to\nhis older son Sheddad. Sheddad's imagination was set aflame, but the\nvastness of the scheme rendered its realization somewhat doubtful, the\nnature of the resources notwithstanding.\n\n\"Thy plan, father, surpasses in magnitude that of the Tower of Babel,\nbut my ambition would surround the grandest palace under the heavens\nwith a garden like unto Paradise, provided thy means are ample enough\nto do it,\" said the firstborn of Ad.\n\n\"Palace and garden shall rise by invisible hands!\" exclaimed Ad\nboastfully, and proceeded with the sketching of his design on the\nsand.\n\nThe palace was to be reared on a plateau as high as the highest land\nof Yemen, should have sufficient accommodation for his progeny\nmultiplied a thousandfold, and its surpassing feature was to be a hall\nof superb magnificence, with room for the throne of a king to stand in\nthe midst of his court and his warriors, the grand edifice to be\nenwreathed by a garden like Eden, and to be accessible and visible\nonly at the royal bidding.\n\nAd's fabulous dream was again improved upon by his inventive son, who\nproposed to have a city of princely dwellings cluster around the\npalace, the garden to surround the whole, and to be enclosed by a wall\nwith stately portals. The additional feature commended itself to Ad,\nbut the execution of the scheme was accompanied by an element of\ndanger of which its projectors were unaware, and which proved fatal\nto its originator. Believing the hour ripe for the work to begin, Ad\nrepaired one dark night, unaccompanied, to the dismal region to set\nhimself aright with the potent instruments he had depended on for the\nactualization of his dream. Whether unnerved by the dismal dreariness\nof the desert, or confused by an instinctive dread of the supernatural\nmachinery to be set in motion, the conjuror uttered the wrong formula,\nand the sequel was appalling. For instead of the beaming spirits he\nexpected to bow to him, a hideous legion wagged their tails, having\ndescended on him like a tempest, frowning and grinning, their eyes\ndarting fury and hatred. Ad had unwittingly disturbed the dreaded\nTacwins, who would have torn him to pieces but for the mystic signet\nhe held in his hand, the talisman which, in a later age, enabled\nSolomon to capture Ashmodai and rule over myriads of genii. The terror\nof the moment, however, paralyzed the heart of the unfortunate wizard.\nAd was found dead, and was greatly mourned by his family and the tribe\nthat bore his name.\n\nUndeterred by the tragic end of his father, Sheddad, now the\nacknowledged head of his tribe, and the owner of the potent seal, took\nhis brother Sheddid into the secret, asserting it to be their filial\nduty to complete at all hazard what their sire had begun. Sheddid was\nnot of the adventurous type; he preferred the ease of the tent to\nenterprises fraught with danger, and besought his brother to desist\nfrom an attempt which had already proved fatal, declaring himself\ncontent to be simply one of the tribe. Sole master of the situation,\nhowever, Sheddad burned with impatience to see his dazzling vision\nassume the form of reality; and wholly reckless as to danger,\nproceeded to act in the manner planned by his father and himself. He\nproved more successful than Ad in putting himself in communication\nwith the friendly Jinn subject to his will, and astonished them with\nthe sketch he drew of what he meant them to accomplish for him; for by\nthis time the previous outline was even more expanded, and his\ncommands were set forth with irrevocable authority.\n\n\"You are required to build for me a city never to be equalled, still\nless to be excelled, by anything art or skill may attempt to produce;\nit is to be the home of a people a thousand times more numerous than\nthe tribe of Ad, and its crowning marvel is to be my palace,--of a\nsplendor befitting a king of kings, and of an amplitude to afford room\nfor a great court and an army.[4] Grounded on a rocky foundation on a\nlevel with Yemen's highlands, the city's walls and dwellings shall be\nwhite as alabaster, but the palace shall be of onyx, trimmed with gold\nand set with gems. Twelve gorgeous halls shall be named after the\nsigns of the zodiac, all opening upon one grander than them all,\nbeneath a dome lucent as the firmament, illumined by a sun, a moon,\nand scintillating stars, moving at the king's will around his throne\nthat shall blaze with what is most precious and brilliant in those\njewels which rival the lustre of the constellations. Vaults for\ntreasures, apartments for feasting, pavillions for ease, recesses for\nlove, grottoes for coolness, cisterns for bathing, colonnades for\npleasure, balconies for survey, and seats for delight, shall make my\npalace inimitable for all time. And city and palace shall be embedded\nin an Eden of foliage, blossom and fruit, animated by birds of\nlustrous plume and sweetest song. Tax your skill to build more perfect\nthan I know to ask for, but never less; and let your magic make the\nretreats inaccessible without the pleasure of the king,\" closed\nSheddad, inwardly sorry that his inventive faculty lagged behind his\nvaulting ambition to be unexcelled in grandeur and glory.\n\n    [4] The Koran has this reference to the Palace of Irem,\n    showing that it was already a tradition before the time of\n    Mohammed:\n\n    \"Hast thou not considered how the Lord dealt with Ad, the\n    people of Irem, adorned by lofty buildings, the like whereof\n    hath not been erected in the land?\" (Surah 89; \"The\n    Daybreak.\")\n\n    That Sheddad, having planted a garden in imitation of the\n    heavenly paradise, had been smitten by lightning on his way\n    hither, is another variation of the widely known legend.\n\n\"Master of the potent seal,\" replied the chief of the shining files,\n\"thy behest is our concern. In eleven nights Sheddad shall stamp our\nwork with his approval.\" Elevated in his own estimation to the rank of\na king of kings, and conscious of a power equal to that of a god, it\nrequired but a slight incentive for Sheddad's vanity to overleap\nitself, and infernal Eblis was at hand to furnish it. In the guise of\nan angel, the devil bewildered the architect of Irem by saluting him\nas a god.--\"Born of a woman, thine is the homage due to a prince of\nthe skies, before whom spirits bow, exalted Sheddad!\" spoke the\nSatanic deceiver with a profound salaam, and rose on his mighty wings\nto vanish in the void of the desert.\n\nAfter this Sheddad would not have been astonished to hear the stars\nproclaim his majesty, but he was surprised when, having listened to\nhis marvellous tale of the city the Jinn would build for him, Almena,\nhis favorite wife, beheld an evil omen in the fact that, in his plan\nof sumptuous building, Sheddad had neglected to provide for the\nworship of the only true God.\n\n\"How could Sheddad forget him who created the heavens and the earth,\nthe stars and the spirits, and whose just wrath wiped out the people\nin the time of our ancestor Noah? God's temple ought to rise high\nabove thy palace, or it will not stand, even according to the prophecy\nof Hud, thy uncle, whose words were confirmed by signs from On High,\"\nexpostulated Almena. \"Woman, thy Sheddad is a god, and shall be\nworshipped because of his potency, and the favors he may bestow on\nthose who shall please him. A heavenly power paid me homage before I\nentered this tent, and in eleven nights the tribe of Ad will see the\nwonder of the world. My palace shall be their temple, my throne their\naltar, thyself their goddess, and Sheddad their god!\" cried the\ninfatuated chief.\n\nAlmena was a frail daughter of Eve, and Sheddad's picture of their\nprospective divinity, sustained as it was by an angel's confirmation,\nconverted her to share her husband's madness. The thoughts that\noccupied them during the day came in weird visions during the\nnight,--throngs kneeling in adoration before them, burning incense and\nwafting expiatory invocations, and kings hurrying from the ends of the\nearth to receive their crowns and sceptres from Sheddad's grace. On\nthe tribe, it was deemed best that their chief's godship should burst\nas a revelation.\n\nWhile the tribe of Ad were soundly asleep in their tents, a man and a\nwoman slipped cautiously out of the encampment. They were mounted on\ntwo fast dromedaries, and glided like spectres into the heart of the\ndesert, buried in night and silence. Once more Eblis played his\ninfernal trick on the deluded Sheddad, now in company of his bewitched\nAlmena, by a renewed mock-adoration offered as by a winged cherub. For\nit is hardly necessary to state that the infatuated couple were on\ntheir way to the abode of their future felicities. They had not been\nriding many hours before the level, blank face of the waste softened\ninto undulations scantily covered with that vegetation which the camel\nalone is capable of digesting,--its gastric capacities being almost\nequal to that of the ostrich,--and the outlook indicated rising\nground. A stretch had to be crossed punctuated by black rocks in\never-increasing number, until the wilderness looked a stony maze of\ndismal projections worn smooth by the grinding sands, ever moving\nwith the gusts of hot air; and the East indicated daybreak when\nSheddad and Almena ascended a height from which they could survey a\nvast horizon, bordered on the south-east by sea, but presenting\notherwise the sterility of Arabia Deserta. A curious and perplexing\nparalysis of speech deprived them of the interchange of sentiments,\nand an uphill advance of a mile or so brought them before an arched\nportal of imposing stateliness, opening on a great city, half-hidden\nfrom view by the sylvan and floral wealth of an Eden.\n\nHusband and wife exchanged a look of amazement, strangely debarred\nfrom an audible articulation of feeling just when there was so much to\nbe wondered at. There being nobody to hinder, no one to welcome them,\nSheddad and Almena tied their brutes to the glittering handles of the\nbrazen gates, and proceeded to take sovereign possession of what they\nconsidered their indisputable domain. The ascending avenue before them\nmight have been called \"The Vista of Enchantment.\" Sinuous in its\ncourse, its moss-bedded windings were bordered by crystal rivulets\nwhich came down, broken by impediments, in bounding cascades, the\nwater teeming with fish of tints recalling the changeful blushes of\nAurora. Towering trees shaded, with their intertwining crowns of\ndelicious leafage, a tropical exuberance of lesser growths weighed\ndown with luscious fruit or glowing and sparkling with soft colors\nforming part of a delightful disorder of shrubs and vines, climbing,\nwinding, crawling, hanging and blooming, but receding here and there\nto uncover the placid mirror of a lake limpid as beryl, or a spring of\nthe coolest and purest liquid, all approachable by a hundred\nintercrossing pathways, lined and so softly carpeted that the\nunsandaled foot paced as on a silken rug of the finest texture. Here\nthe bulbul's note was drowned in a concert of rival warblers, whose\nmelodies were as sweet as their feathers were coruscant.\n\nWith ravenous greed Sheddad and Almena surrendered to the garden's\ntemptations, swallowing great quantities of precious fruit, but\nfeeding a hunger that seemed to grow with its glutting; nor did the\ncooling drink they greedily imbibed allay their parching thirst. But\nthe whetted appetite rendered the sensuous enjoyment resistlessly\nfascinating; and, the choice of the food being seemingly unlimited,\nhusband and wife would have abandoned themselves altogether to\nphysical indulgence, had not an overpowering sight burst on them, like\na vision from a suddenly opened heaven.\n\nThey were on the point of ascending a terrace laid out with all the\narts of magic, and enwreathed with all the bounties of nature, when\nthey reached the entrance to an enormous square, superbly enclosed by\nwhat appeared a score of palaces blended in one mass of variegated\nsplendors, the one at the opposite end overtopping the others by a\ndome which blazed in the sun's radiance, as though set with\ncarbuncles. Symmetrically proportionate to the size of the grand space\nran a depression defined by a line of artistic shafts of alabaster,\ncapped with globes of burnished gold studded with gems, and rising\nmajestically above a grove of enameled green, thick with odoriferous\nbloom. In the heart of the depression was a basin filled with a\nrushing water as transparent as the sky, and enlivened by star-dotted\nswarms of the finny tribes. It was an azure stream in an Elysian\ngarden, in the heart of a succession of edifices far beyond the limits\nof human resources and ingenuity. Except for the feathered musicians,\nand the zephyr which stirred the air and foliage, not a sound was\nheard, nor a creature to be seen. The overawing majesty of an\narchitecture that dwarfed pantheons into monuments of man's vain\nendeavor to imitate the inimitable, and the gorgeousness which could\nnot be thought of without remembering the limitations of earthly art\nand treasures however great, justified to himself Sheddad's conceit\nthat he was more than human, a consciousness now at last fully shared\nby Almena. Still unable to express their wonderment in words, they\nresorted to gestures and grimaces, as though the tale of Babel was to\nhave a sort of counterpart in the story of Sheddad's palace of Irem.\nAnd their wonder rose in intensity as, entering the left wing of the\npalace by a sublime portico, the lofty vaulted spaces, communicating\nby exquisitely carved arches, imparted the illusion that the ceilings\nwere as high as heaven and sparkled with real stars.\n\nAn implied welcome was extended to them in the first apartment by a\nbanquet set in a begemmed service of golden vessels,--dainties and\nbeverages fit for gods. Hours busily spent at the sumptuous board did\nneither appease their hunger nor quench their thirst. Every morsel and\nevery quaff sharpened the craving for more. When they succeeded in\ntearing themselves from the table's inexhaustible dishes, their\nprogress through the palatial spaces consumed more time than they were\naware of, the fascinations being as varied as they were marvellous.\nFor incomputable as was the wealth, and lavish the ornamental art\nbestowed on each and every room traversed, their main charm lay in the\noptic illusions, causing Sheddad and his companion to laugh with\namusement and wonder, to scream with astonishment, or to shudder with\nhorror.\n\nYielding to a woman's inquisitiveness, Almena was always a little in\nadvance of her husband, always eager to be yet more surprised, and her\neagerness was fully gratified. Once when a scream of laughter brought\nSheddad to his wife's side, he found that what she had mistaken for\nclear water, rippled by a breeze, was indeed the solid floor of a long\ngreen archway, imparting the illusion of a stream flowing under cover\nof beautiful trees; Almena had prepared to cross it, with her sandals\noff, and her skirts raised, imagining the water to wave gently in a bed\nof golden sand. Here, again, she recoiled with terror from the glaring\neyes of a crouching lion, ready to fly at her in a rage; there she\nstood paralyzed at the sight of the deadly _rukta_, rolled up in a coil\non an imperial divan, with her fangs pointed, and her eyes glaring. In\nthis manner the most formidable species of the animal kingdom faced\nthem in threatening postures throughout the entire palace, often\nenvironed by their natural conditions, always in a pose of aggressive\nferocity. Yet all this notwithstanding, Sheddad affected the lofty\nbearing of a god in his realm; strode haughtily along the mysteriously\nechoing halls, the echoes of which ere long mixed with strains of music\nsweet beyond expression. Drawn by the swelling harmonies, they\ndescended a stately flight of stairs landing on a platform whence,\ndescending another flight, they beheld themselves at the extreme end of\nan enormous cavern bathed in a translucent haze of an unearthly\nluminousness. The muffled rumble of a distant waterfall blended\nenchantingly with waves of melody that floated incomprehensibly through\nthe weird mazes of the honey-combed hollow extending endlessly in\ncavernous, inaccessible spaces, passes and galleries. Availing\nthemselves of conveniently protruding stepping-stones, the explorers\nventured into the nethermost ranges, fairly brightened by the reflex of\na stalactitic display, grotesque in shape, bulky in size, and\nindefinable in color, every known hue blending into a magic play of\never-changing spectra, and suggesting the idea that the palace above\nwas the blossom of which the underground masses were the roots. Here\nthey stood bewitched by the symphonies they could not account for, and\nby a scenery human genius may dream of, but never imitate.\n\nWhile divided between the delights of the ear and the charm of the\neye, Sheddad and Almena lost no sight of a crystal barrier behind\nwhich flowed a clear water alive with luminous fish, and through which\nthey had a glimpse of things above, recognizing it to be the bed of\nthe rushing stream that flowed in the court of the palace, fed by\nunexplorable cisterns, and discharging its volume into an unsounded\nabyss. As they advanced the wonders multiplied. Fluted pillars of\nsnowy alabaster, draped and marvellously traced by invisible hands;\ntowering shafts of white, red, amber and blue; hanging balconies of\ngossamer lightness, trimmed with scarfs finer than the Indian shawl;\ncanopies bristling with numberless crystals of every tint and shape;\ncataracts petrified in the act of precipitation; grottoes, fountains,\nstreamlets and cascades, with a myriad other exhibitions of magic art,\nfilled subterraneous spaces of unmeasured magnitude.\n\nProgressing through irregular archways and winding passages, Sheddad\nand Almena were lost in the labyrinth. Remembering, however, that the\ncrystal basin ran along the grand court above, Sheddad followed its\nlength and discovered a way to an ascent which took them to a broad\nstairway. This was the entrance from below to a colonnade of\nastonishing height and dimensions, covering the entire width of the\ncourt, and having at both extremes grand flights of steps, leading up\nto the wing of the palace crowned by the blazing dome.\n\nIf the son of Ad and his consort marveled at what they had seen\nhitherto, they felt stupefied as ascending they stood before a golden\narch wrought in imitation of the rainbow, revealing the all-outshining\nthrone-hall, rising high above the lofty throne. Four tigers erect on\ntheir haunches held up with their forepaws the seat of majesty, a\ngorgeous divan bedecked with priceless jewels, under a lofty canopy\nshaded by tapestries of matchless fabric and embroidery. To the right,\nsuspended from the roof of the canopy, hung the sceptre, a mace\nincrusted with brilliants; to the left the crown, of dazzling\nsplendor; above the throne sun, moon, and stars were scattered within\nthe concave of the dome, while the twelve adjoining halls similarly\nrepresented the signs of the zodiac, thus completing a startling\nillusion of the heavens.\n\nAs though driven by an irresistible force, Sheddad, with the firm step\nof a king, advanced to take possession of his throne, Almena watching\nhim with a throbbing heart. Nine steps had to be ascended before the\nseat could be reached. The aspirant to godship thought he felt the\ndeadly breath of the tigers, whose distended claws and furious eyes\nthreatened destruction, but he nerved himself and ascended the royal\nseat. Simultaneously with his touch upon the throne the crown\ndescended on his head, the sceptre flew into his hand, while a mantle\nof radiance clothed his frame. Sheddad felt that he was a god, for his\ncoronation was confirmed by the immediate action of sun, moon and\nstars, which began to move in their respective orbits, shedding mellow\nlight, and filling the spaces with sweet strains.\n\nFrom his exalted seat Sheddad had for the first time an extended view\nof his dominion, and he realized that what he had seen thus far was\nbut the heart of the whole, which seemed unbounded in extent and\nunapproachable in magnificence. It was manifest that palace and court\nformed the focus of a great city, spreading in many directions in\navenues shaded by trees and cooled by delicious springs, placid lakes,\nplaying fountains, and bubbling streamlets. Why should he lose a\nmoment to reveal himself to his tribe as their god and lead them\nhither triumphant in confirmation of his godship? Who on earth was\nmightier than he?\n\nHe rose. The sceptre slipped from his hand, the crown from his head,\nthe mantle from his shoulders. Everything stood still. The song died.\nA dimness spread around him. The eyes of the tigers glared viciously.\nHe stood by the side of his wife. They joined hands, hurried down and\nout into the open air to find that it was twilight and sultry. Surely\nthe garden was less green, the flowers less fresh, the air less balmy,\nand the water less transparent than before. The song of the birds had\nchanged into a melancholy chirrup, and their eyes glowed with\nthreatening fierceness. From the water of the basin the fish pierced\nthe royal pair with their fiery eyes, and the breeze moved lamenting\nthrough the corridors and trees. With a woman's instinct of impending\ndanger, Almena led the way out of the court; but the garden was\nplunged in a mist, which made impossible a quick exit from the sylvan\nentanglements. While trying to strike the main avenue, they fell in\nwith their dromedaries browsing contentedly in the thick of the most\nexquisite shrubbery, with neither saddle nor rope available for use.\nThe brutes looked unaccountably shaggy; they turned to run at the\napproach of their master, and did not stop until they had passed the\ngateway of which Sheddad was in quest. Here the saddles were found,\nshabby and mouldy, were placed where they belonged, the camels having\nsubmitted to the goad, and the homeward journey began.\n\nA deep sigh escaped Almena's breast as the distance widened between\nthem and the enchanted city, and when she found words she began\nsolemnly: \"Sheddad, what is it we have seen and passed through? Cold\nruns my blood when I think of the place; and dost thou mean to\nre-enter it as our permanent home?\"\n\n\"Thou art a woman, or thou wouldst know that what Sheddad conjured out\nof naught, Sheddad will as master rule and own. Are not those spirits\nsubject to my will?\" was the imperious answer.\n\n\"Thou wilt bear patiently with thy Almena, my lord; but are not the\nlooming cities and splendid gardens often seen in the haze of the\ndesert the dread of the lured Arab, who, mistaking them for fertile\noases, rushes to destruction? Verily, the wiles of Eblis are\nnumberless, and thy great palace is destitute of the sacred place to\nprove it a work of the friendly Jinn. Thy father's end be thy warning,\nO, light of mine eyes!\" cried the woman appealingly.\n\n\"Art thou the wife of Sheddad, or of Sheddid? Let woman be timid, but\nno man be craven. The signet on my finger scorns infernal traps. Thou\nhast seen me on the awful throne destined to be the worship of\nnations, and thou art to share in the divine sovereignty of thy\nSheddad.--But, O, Almena, why is thy voice so unlike the one I have\never heard since the days of our youthful love? It sounds as though\nthou art speaking to me from the hollow of a cave,\" spoke the son of\nAd uneasily.\n\n\"Thou hast taken this question from my lips, my lord; for thy speech\nis so unfamiliar to my ear that, were I not near thee, I should\nmistake it for an echo heard in the mountains of Yemen,\" confessed the\ndaughter of the desert.\n\nThere was no time for another remark. The air swarmed with thousands\nof lurid Cupids, each one holding a tiny harp under his left arm.\nFlocking together, they interlocked in such a fashion as to form a\nstupendous arch, perfect in shape and burning like a crescent cut from\nthe effulgent sun. On the top of the curve alighted one larger than\nhis compeers, his outstretched arms pointing a glittering tiara in the\ndirection of Sheddad, whose advance was greeted with voluptuous\nstrains:\n\n    \"Hail, our chief, thy sceptre sway!\n    Rule Irem, Sheddad, we obey!\n    Thy seal bade spirits be thy thralls,\n    Hail, god of Irem's magic halls!\"\n\nWith the dying of the choral apostrophe, the treacherous vision\nconjured by Eblis to dispel Almena's intuitive fear of something\ndreadful to come faded away. The sure-footed dromedaries picked their\nway among the bleak rocks and the sand ridges, with not a glimmer to\nbreak the darkness nor a syllable to spur them on. Sheddad and Almena\ncontinued silent under the overpowering spell of the sight, which\nsoared before their mental vision long after it had vanished to the\neye.\n\nDaybreak found them near a solitary cliff known for the brackish\nwater, oozing from one of its cracks, and the scanty browsing nearby\nfit for camels. Turning to his fresh water supply to appease his\nthirst, Sheddad found the water-skin not only empty, but as dry as an\nold hide, while the figs he held in reserve were mouldy and hard as\nstone. Almena had the same experience. Unaccountable as appeared this\ndiscovery, it was less of a surprise than the cadaverous aspect of\nhusband and wife, as they looked into each other's faces in full\ndaylight. \"Thou dost not look like thyself, my lord; there is neither\nblood in thy veins nor a beam of life in thine eye,\" cried the\nstartled mate of the aspiring god.\n\n\"And thou hast described thy own looks, O, Almena.--It is but the\nwithering of our mortal substance before our beings are impregnated\nwith immortal virtue,\" assumed Sheddad with an air of supreme\nindifference, in which, however, his heart failed to share. Almena's\nghastly countenance, once the seat of radiant beauty, struck a chord\nof unexpressed pain in the heart of her besotted consort.\n\nThe consternation of the tribe of Ad, on learning that a dead pair\nmounted on two bulky _delools_[5] was on the point of entering their\nencampment, may be imagined. The news was brought by some Arabs, who,\nperceiving the approach of the strangers, made a sally, but hurried\nback with the horrifying alarm, \"The dead are coming!\" Whoever could\nrun took to his heels, leaving the infirm old and the helpless young\nto face the ghosts, who entered the settlement and took possession of\nthe largest tent, the one just vacated by Sheddid, who was among the\nfirst to deny himself the enjoyment of the uninvited visitors.\n\n    [5] A _delool_ is a dromedary trained and used as a saddle\n    animal, and not as a burden carrier.\n\n\"If we have undergone a change, so has this place and all things\nhereabout in but a few days; our young camels have grown large and\nfat,--and who is this sleeping child?\" asked Sheddad, pointing to a\nhalf-naked maiden stretched on a mat upon the ground.--\"Can this be\nour Chaviva?\"\n\n\"Our daughter!\" exclaimed the mother hysterically, recognizing in the\ngirl of seven the child of two years. \"Either we see wrong or things\nare wrong,\" added the woman, greatly troubled.\n\n\"Neither this nor that; we are not the same, our sight is not the\nsame, but the world around us is the same, only that we see it\nmagnified, as higher beings must see; else how could the powers above\ntake cognizance of what is going on below?\" argued Sheddad with\nself-approving plausibility.\n\nWhile Almena waited for her child to waken, Sheddad proceeded to\ninvestigate the neighborhood with the view of gathering an audience to\nwhom to reveal himself. In vain did the hapless old men and women\nhide themselves from the searching eye of the cadaverous chief; he\nferreted them out and warned them to beware of his wrath. \"Inform the\ntribe, and let Sheddid know, that Sheddad and Almena have dwelt in the\nland of the spirits as god and goddess, and that I am come to take you\ninto an Eden of endless felicities, if you only say, 'Lead on,\nSheddad.'\"\n\n\"Hast thou not dwelt with the dead all that time?\" asked a trembling\ncrone.\n\n\"No, daughter of the noble tribe; during the five days we have been\naway----\"\n\n\"Five years!\" interrupted a chorus of voices. \"For five years have\nSheddad and Almena been missed and mourned as lost,\" supplemented the\naged female to the unspeakable consternation of his godship. He had\nspent years, instead of hours, in the magic palace, and everything\ncontributed to confirm the astounding fact. Yet, however amazed,\nSheddad's faith in his superhumanity was so deeply rooted that the new\nrevelation occurred to him as but another evidence of his supernatural\ndestiny. To continue for five years without regular food and sleep\nwas to him a most striking proof of his transmutation, while the many\nyears that passed like so many hours attested the blessedness of the\nseat he had created.\n\nThe one man of the tribe, who was most concerned and least delighted\nwith Sheddad's return from what he believed to be the real beyond, was\nhis own brother Sheddid, who wished himself a thousand miles away from\nthe spot; not that he was jealous of the rights attaching to his\nbrother's primogeniture, but because he shuddered at the thought of\nmeeting him, to say nothing of his aversion to the conjurer's\nchimerical projects. However, having nerved himself to the emergency,\nSheddid faced his brother with the question whether he was determined\nto lead his people into a realm whence they would return like him,\nlooking more dead than alive.--\"An evil influence sways thy heart, O,\nmy brother. The children of Ad are happy, why tempt them into a snare\nspread by Eblis?\"\n\nSheddad replied with a glowing outline of the Eden in store for them\nwho would follow him. \"That ye may all be convinced of the truth my\nwords contain, this coming eve a mist shall rise from the bosom of\nHadramaut, and with it shall ascend the image of the palace and city\nembedded in gardens like unto Paradise. Remain in the waste ye who\nlove it; but ye who prefer the marble habitation, the cool walk, the\ncooler spring, the crystal bath, the delicious fruit, the mellow\nsunshine, the sights of wonder, and the rule of the world, to the dark\ntent, the scanty meal and the arid region,--are welcome to share them\nwith Sheddad,\" cried he with godlike benignity.\n\nThis offer was received with a wild shout by the fiery children of the\ndesert, and the promised mirage was expected with intense interest.\nRetiring to his tent, the mighty wizard summoned the chief of the Jinn\nand charged him with the task of conjuring up the picture of the\nPalace of Irem. Sunset was the signal for every eye to turn toward the\ndesert. With nightfall came a pellucid silveriness, which transformed\nthe wilderness into an atmospheric canvas whereon rose, looming in\nperfect outline and majestic proportions, the city, palace and\ngardens of Irem. Wild joy yielded to a sober sense of awe before him\nwho thus proved his claim to worshipful reverence.--\"Lead us, divine\nSheddad,\" was the cry, followed by the taking down of tents and the\nloading of camels, the whole tribe being seized by the one passion, to\npossess and inhabit the grandest and happiest of cities. Sheddid was\nobliged to choose between remaining behind or going with the tribe,\nand he threw in his lot with the multitude, his evil forebodings\nnotwithstanding.\n\nThe march was opened with dance and song, Sheddad and Almena leading\nthe motley caravan; but soon voices other than human began to disturb\nthe pregnant silence of the dismal waste. Sheddad's name was heard\narticulated to the accompaniment of heart-chilling laughter. As if\ngoaded by demons to madness, the camels grew vicious, throwing women\nand children from their backs and trampling them to death, so that\neverybody hoped for day to deliver them from terror. But there was no\nbreak in the night, although it seemed as long as three nights in one;\nand when light finally broke on the caravan it came so suddenly that\nit almost blinded the confused Arabs. And with it came a noise from On\nHigh, a noise like that of a myriad roaring lions, growing, swelling\nand reverberating till heaven appeared in uproar,--earth trembling,\nthe desert glowing like a furnace, the sands rising and whirling like\na cyclone of ignited gases, and exploding in vitriolic sheets of fire.\nMan and brute tried to bury their heads in the burning sands. The\ncatastrophe was too terrible for flesh to survive. In his agony\nSheddad felt the signet slip from his finger. Struck deaf and dumb,\nthe son of Ad perished with his entire following, the cyclonic fire\nconsuming them flesh and bone. Only those whom weakness or the love of\nlittle ones detained behind remained to build up again the almost\nannihilated tribe of Ad.\n\nSuch was the punishment of Sheddad for his aspiration to godship. His\nname lives in Arabia's legendary lore. Down to this day Allah\npreserves the city and palace as a monument of divine retribution, and\nnumerous are the tales of straying pilgrims or lost Bedouins, who\nhave been favored with a glimpse of it. Among these is Kalabah who,\nhaving lost himself in the desert while in search of a camel, suddenly\nfound himself before the gate of a dazzling city. He entered it, but\nwas so overawed by the dead stillness therein that he fled its\nprecincts in horror, taking with him an invaluable stone as a memento.\nThis he showed to the Caliph Madwigah in confirmation of his\nadventure,--as is duly recorded.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MYSTERY OF THE DAMAVANT.\n\n\nAs a somewhat distant offshoot of the Elburz the Damavant is a\nsolitary pile, of imposing proportions, generally admitted to be\nPersia's most graceful mountain. Seen from a vantage point in Tehran,\ncloud-crowned Damavant appears to be the real shoulder of sky-bearing\nAtlas, losing its head in ether and its foot in a forest of the\nsemi-tropical varieties, dense to the degree of inaccessibility. The\nwild beast is here at home; the tiger, bear, wolf, panther and wild\nboar, finding in these jungles an abundance of food, a safe retreat,\nand a cool spring to satisfy thirst. While the gentler slopes are\ncovered by extensive, fruit-bearing orchards, there are crests and\nhollows in the Elburz system which the eagle's eye alone has seen,\nand there are peaks which, but for the sinuous furrows cut by the wild\ntorrents after heavy showers, no human foot could ever ascend. Spirits\nare believed to haunt the caves and impenetrable thickets of those\nmountains, a belief sustained by mocking echoes and multiple\nreverberations started by the least noise; and the simple Iranian folk\nlook up to him with awe, who dares sojourn above the settled line of\ndemarcation dividing the earthly from the unearthly. The history of\nreligion, poetry and superstition is inextricably intertwined with the\nweird mystery which hangs over the unapproachable heights and deeps of\nmountains.\n\n  [Illustration: \"Determined to penetrate into the seemingly\n    impenetrable wonderland of the Damavant.\"\n      Page 92.]\n\nIt was through a bewildering gorge, which heavy rain transforms into\nthe bed of a wild torrent, that, in the year 410 of the Hegira, two\nmen of note, preceded by four experienced mountain-climbers, were\ntoiling uphill determined to penetrate into the seemingly impenetrable\nwonderland of the Damavant's south-easterly acclivity. The attempt\nimplied hard work and great risk, and the wonder of it was that one\nof those two men betrayed the unmistakable signs which indicate high\nage. Clothed in the habit of a dervish, the white-headed climber\nassisted his infirmity by a strong staff, but now and then had to be\nhelped over an impediment by the brawny arms of the vigilant\nattendants. His companion, who was a much younger and stronger man of\ndignified bearing, wore the garb of nobility and the air of command,\nleaving no doubt as to his being one in power and authority. At every\nstep he took in advance his eye reverted to the decrepit figure back\nof him. \"The return will be easier,\" said he to the older man with a\nsympathetic smile.\n\n\"Thou hast spoken truth; the return is the easiest part; the coming\nhither, and the _being_, that is the trouble,\" answered the other, his\nluminous face marked by the deep furrows of age and sorrow.\n\n\"With Mahmud of Ghaznin out of thy mind, Firdusi, would that still be\nthy mood?\" inquired the younger man in a soft voice.\n\n\"Mahmud's court is the sea of evil which swallowed my island of\nhappiness. Whom did I murder that I should be a footsore fugitive\nlike the blood-stained son of Adam?\" cried the old man in a faltering\ntone, having stopped to take breath.\n\n\"Thy ethereal spirit has murdered grossness, giving this world a\nforetaste of Eden. Thy _Shah-Namah_ is the song of the skies, and\nEblis, who revels in discord and confusion, took vengeance on thee by\npoisoning Mahmud's mind, O, Firdusi.--Thy own version shows not that\nthy enemy is Mahmud, but his envious treasurer. It shall end well,\nhowever. Nasir Lek's message will not leave Mahmud unmoved,\" said the\nyounger man, who was the Governor of Kohistan, a friend of the Sultan\nof Ghaznin, and a boundless admirer of Persia's famous poet, Firdusi.\n\n\"May Allah bless thy kindness; yea, it shall end well; it is well that\nthings here come to an end,--or with poverty to sting, with oppression\nto harass, and the dread of the executioner's axe to torture one, life\nwere a hell without redemption. Ah, I have emptied the cup of\nbitterness to its dregs! But it cannot now last long; my human frame's\ntime of final crumbling has been nearly reached. May Firdusi's misery\nbe Mahmud's pillow!\" cried the poet, turning his liquid eyes\nheavenward.\n\nBy this time the men had ascended to a height of over nine thousand\nfeet above the sea level, and Tehran spread far away, like a patch\ncovered with all kinds of mushrooms. The sun was near the end of his\ncourse and the golden flood turned the vast reaches into a magic\npicture of light and shade, under a dome suffused with rippled waves\nof translucent purple, crimson, silver and gold. With their faces\nturned toward the East, the Moslems knelt and lay prostrate in prayer.\nThis done, the escort was ordered to await their lord's return where\nthey stood, and the two men soon disappeared in a labyrinth of crags,\nrocks, loose bowlders, and heaps of stone, with no vestige of\nvegetation. Firdusi had the question at his tongue's end, how could a\nsentient being live in so inhospitable a region, in a temperature so\nfreezing that it chilled him to his marrow? But he said nothing. The\ncold grew with the dreariness of the surroundings, and now they\nplunged into a sea of dense fog, still climbing higher and higher, the\nyounger assisting his older friend. At last Nasir brought forth a horn\nto which he gave wind. The blast reverberated with appalling effect,\nfollowed by a profound silence. There was no answer. Another blast\nstartled the echoes of the mountain a thousandfold, ringing like\nmuffled drums, and lo! there came a note in response,--a shrill note\nlike that of a whistle.\n\n\"We are welcome, and thou wilt be rewarded for thy toil, Firdusi,\"\nsaid Nasir.\n\n\"He is thy mystery of the Damavant,\" observed the poet skeptically.\n\n\"Thou wilt face a man who might pass for the spirit of this mountain;\nas to his occult power, thou shalt thyself be judge,\" suggested Nasir.\n\n\"Is one permitted to ask him questions?\" inquired Firdusi.\n\n\"Ask nothing until his revelations are spread before thee; thou wilt\nhave little to ask. The juggler's art has often amused me, but\nAlmazor's alembic has almost translated me from one state of being to\nanother.--There he is; say nothing; he knows my purpose, and will read\nthy mind,\" said the lord of Kohistan nervously.\n\nFirdusi, looking in vain for the outlines of a human form, almost fell\ninto the arms of a something that wore a cloak, was very long-bearded,\nvery tall, very attenuated and pale as the moon, the pallor being\nenhanced by a whiteness of hair which rivaled new-fallen snow. The\nonly dark feature in the hermit's face was one glaring eye hemmed in\nby a cavernous socket, the other orb being sightless and covered with\nskin like the rest of the countenance.\n\nAlmazor could indeed pass as a prince of ghosts rather than a creature\nheld alive by the circulation of warm blood, and his speaking by\npantomime added to the awe inspired by his inscrutable nature. He\nstood in the curve of a semi-circular enclosure before an aperture\nthat was not large enough for a man to enter without crouching low.\n\nWithout a salaam or any ceremony, Almazor turned and slipped like a\nserpent into the gaping hole of the rock, the others following him.\nIt was brighter within than without, although there was nothing in\nsight to account for the brightness. The nimbleness with which the\nfleshless hermit ascended and descended steep and winding galleries,\nbridges, and tunnels, leading now up now down into the core of the\nmountain, was less surprising than the lightness with which the men\nbehind him kept up the pace, as though carried by a force beyond the\nlaw of gravitation. Their impression grew that the top of Damavant\ncould not be very far above them when the speechless guide stopped in\na brightly illumined space of considerable size and height, irregular\nas caves are, but beautified by a long vista, slanting upward not\nunlike a funnel of polished silver, at the upper end of which shone,\nin its fullest circumference, the broad disk of the full moon. A\nstalagmite of pure crystal sparkled in the moonlight like a reflector,\naffording seats for perhaps a score of people; at its foot stood the\nbowl of an unusually large chibouque, its green stem hanging like a\nsnake over the back of the glittering divan, and a box of sandal-wood\ncompleted the equipment of the magic laboratory.\n\nThe opening of the sandal-wood box brought to light a strange herb,\ncut and dried like tobacco, but diffusing a sense-blunting odor; and\nbeing put into the fire-bowl of the chibouque and ignited, the\nmysterious herb filled the space with a golden smoke and a somnolent\natmosphere. Mechanically complying with a motion of the hermit's hand,\nFirdusi seated himself next to the chibouque, turned his eyes in the\ndirection of the moon's shining disk and, before he knew it, had the\nmouthpiece of the pipe between his lips. As the smoke followed the\nsmoker's breath, and rose in puffs and ringlets above his head, he\nlost consciousness of his environment, and realized a sense of bodily\nexpansion, as though his frame was undergoing a transmutation from the\nsolid to the ethereal form. At the same time the lunar orb assumed\nprodigious dimensions, swelling, spreading, and changing from a\nmottled globe to a continent of glaring peaks and black abysses, its\nenormous bulk seeming to draw nearer and nearer the beholder, who felt\nthat, by an unaccountable process, he was being translated from one\nworld to another. Utterly and willingly helpless, Firdusi allowed\nhimself to be tossed and twirled lightly, and his next sensation was\nof alighting on massive ground brilliantly illumined.\n\nIn his most daring flights of imagination the poet had never dreamed\nof the possibility of such a sight as the lunar world presented to his\neyes. The height he stood upon dwarfed the forest of pointed pinnacles\naround, and afforded him an insight into numberless pits as black as\nthe surface was dazzling,--if this name be applicable to an endless\nagglomeration of spires, turrets, crests, rocks, crags, precipices,\nvaried by bottomless abysses, the whole torn, broken, wrenched,\ntwisted by tremendous agencies into most fantastic shapes--a terrific\nwaste of awful confusion and eternal silence. The death of death ruled\nhere supreme. Glass of all shades and no shade; masses of all colors\nand no color; fissures, clefts and chasms of all forms and no form,\nwith none of the elemental conditions which create and further life,\ncharacterized the appalling desolation. How and wherefore did this\ncome to be? A sea of once molten ores, tossed about and blown upon by\ninterstellar forces, and chilled into iron rigidity while sweeping\nthrough a freezing zone, hangs forever in radiant gloom, the celestial\nmirror of the sun's unebbing light, when his face is turned away from\nour globe, thought the poet; and his eye swept afar in search of\nrelief from the fierce light not less than from the abysmal deeps\nburied in darkness.\n\nWith the sigh of an uneasy heart, Firdusi looked up to the source of\nthe unendurable effulgence. The blackness of the infinite space on\nhigh was intensified by the enormity of the flaming sphere, convulsed\nby fiery oceans in tempestuous agitation, upshooting, breaking and\nbursting, like furious billows hurled one against another by battling\nhurricanes.\n\nWhile the beholder compared this aspect of the sun with his milder\nface as seen from the earth, the stormy fire-ball began to sink\nvisibly. Night hurried from the opposite heaven to swallow his last\nray. He disappeared, as if devoured by a monster, leaving no trail to\nmark his march through the black dome of the universe. Overawed by the\nstupendous phenomenon, Firdusi closed his eyes in fervent prayer,\npraising Allah the Most Merciful. A more pleasing sight was another\nsphere which now rose in distinct outlines above the black horizon,\nmuch larger than the moon as seen from below, and as much sweeter,\npresenting a figured disk of beautiful shadings, zones and fields of\ncolor approaching those most familiar to the human eye. How gracious\nHe who gave man that blessed world, said the poet to himself, and\nfeasted his eyes on its configurations, which grew more distinct as\nthe globe rose higher, mildly radiant and sublimely impressive.\n\nThere was no possibility of discerning distinctly one thing from\nanother, but Firdusi's poetic fancy endeavored to locate the blue\noceans, to recognize the green zones, and trace the mountain ranges\nand the great deserts. And as the world wherein man is king and slave,\nsaint and sinner, angel and demon, happy and wretched, grew more and\nmore glorious in ascent, the suffering bard, feeling in his grief the\nwoes of the race, allowed his tears to flow before speech came to his\nrelief.\n\n\"The Universe is thy secret, Power Divine, but O, for that peace which\ndwells with Thee alone, that sight which reveals the great mystery,\nand the life which knows no beginning, no withering, and no end! Who\nam I, and wherefore thrown on that shore of time, that isle of space,\nto struggle with a myriad myriads of my like, toiling and sighing,\nwith death as the dark end of a dark nightmare? If man must perish\nlike the worm, then happy the worm who knows not his misery. Alas, in\nshreds scattered are the golden webs of hope here. Who knows that my\ndreams of Paradise are less illusory? That splendid world has much to\nsweeten life made bitter by the serpent in the human breast. Why is\nman so akin to the brute? Am I a spirit fallen, sent yonder to atone,\nand by atonement to be redeemed? Or am I risen from things below the\nworm to my present state, and progressing toward a higher,--ay,\nperchance the highest life and form, like Him who traced my pathway\nthrough the vale of sorrow and the shadow of death? Or are the worm\nand I but infinitesimal incidents in endless time and space, called\nforth by a cruel fate to wriggle in agony and sink into everlasting\nnight? Power Divine, forbid this black thought from blighting the last\nflower of hope, lest chaos swallow what is bright and sane in this\nlittle world of mine.\"\n\nAs though responsive to the mood of the bard, the terrestrial globe\nbegan to undergo a phenomenal change. Lurid and livid hues overspread\nits luminous shadings with frightful velocity, rushing in like an\never-thickening pall, and giving the appearance of a red ball engulfed\nin a cloud of cinders, with black space as the background. But the\nmoon, although obscured by the darkening of her superior luminary, did\nnot remain in total obscurity. The reason of which became manifest to\nFirdusi the moment he sent his eyes elsewhere to account for the\nshimmer. What he beheld was too much for him to contemplate without a\nshudder of reverential awe, a consciousness of nothingness in face of\nthe sublime eternal; and yet it was but a glimpse of the starry\nheavens. For every blinking star visible to the eye from sublunar\nground there shone now a score of constellations, clusters of wheeling\nspheres, the nearest of which exceeded the rainbow in circumference,\ntranscending it in brilliancy. The interstellar darkness acted as a\nframe to set off the glowing galaxies, so that the empyrean suggested\nthe idea of an ethereal tree, spreading its sun-bespangled crown\nthroughout immensity.\n\nAnd the vast grew vaster, and the depths deeper, and the wonders\nmultiplied, as host after host emerged from the bosom of infinity,\nwheeling and circling in celestial grandeur, stirring boundless ether\nwith soul-enravishing strains. Firdusi's great heart thawed in\nfelicity; from his eyes rolled the tear of rapture, not unmixed with a\nblunted sense of pain, springing from a lingering apprehension that it\nwas all but a vain vision. To his ear the music of the spheres spelt\nman's inscrutable destiny, his real woes, his elusive hopes, his\nunrealized dreams, and his dark end. But there was a healing solace,\nan intuitive appeasement in the heavenly exhibition, so that the\npoet, realizing the balm of faith, muttered resignedly:\n\n\"Power Divine, infinite as are Thy eternal glories, even I am\ninterwoven in Thy impenetrable design, whatever Thy purpose. In Thy\nperfection Thou hast created no being to be forever imperfect, or to\nutterly perish after a ray of Thy intelligence has once irradiated his\nmind.\"\n\nFirdusi's lips trembled as he lisped this conviction. His hand moved\ninstinctively toward his eyes, which were veiled by a dimness that\nmade everything swim vaguely before his vision. The sense of coming\ndown headlong from another world made his weak frame writhe in\nconvulsions of horror. When he opened his eyes he found himself in the\narms of his friend, Nasir.\n\nGreat as was the poet's creative faculty, it required some time for\nhim to recall his original situation, especially since the cave\npresented nothing of its previous features. There was neither a bright\nvista nor a moon to look at, but a dingy hole out of which they had to\ngrope their way, with no hermit to lead them. When they issued from\nthe mountain's mystery it was broad daylight; they had stayed therein\nthe whole night. Soon the attendants answered the call of Nasir's\nhorn, and the descent was made in perfect silence. They arrived before\nthe gates of the palace simultaneously with a courier, who, springing\nfrom his saddle, respectfully delivered a package to the ruler of\nKohistan. \"It is Mahmud's answer to my appeal in thy behalf, Firdusi,\"\nobserved Nasir with a beaming countenance, \"and I know not the Sultan\nof Ghaznin if the devil triumphed this time.\"\n\nThey were no sooner within the Governor's residence than Nasir broke\nthe seal of the message to learn its purport, and he read as follows:\n\n\"In the name of the only true, most merciful God! From Mahmud of\nGhaznin to his friend Nasir Lek of Kohistan, in behalf of Abul Casim\nMansur Firdusi. Peace and friendly greetings. God alone is great. May\ntruth and mercy prevail.\n\n\"As thy soul hath spoken, so hath my heart answered, moved by the\npleadings of thy fairness. Yea, there is no sweeter singer than\nFirdusi, and the blame of his wrong is mine to the extent of having\nlent mine ear to the slander of his enemies, whose mischievous head,\nHassan Meimendi, has fallen under the blow of the executioner's axe.\nThe all-knowing Allah never errs, but how can a ruler of nations\nescape error when misled by them whom he believes to be just, wise and\ntrue? Once enlightened, Mahmud will neither withhold the prize nor the\nhonor due to him who glorified Iran's immortal heroes, inspiring the\nsons to emulate their sires. However great, the dead were dead\nforever, but for the bard whose magic wand reclaims them from the dust\nto robe them in unfading splendor, and Persia's national song was\nforced to wait the coming of Firdusi.\n\n\"As God is merciful, the singer of the _Shah-Namah_ shall hereafter\nhave no other grievance than the remembrance of a past wrong. A load\nof gold larger than the one promised shall be delivered at his\nbidding; and if sympathetic regrets expressed by his whilom friend and\nsovereign will give him solace, Mahmud of Ghaznin herewith conveys\nhis sorrow for his unworthy treatment of Abul Casim Mansur Firdusi,\nwho is welcome at my court, welcome as far as my rule extends.\"\n\nBent, sad and silent, did Firdusi listen to the message of the monarch\nwho had blasted his happiness, the tear alone betraying his\ninexpressible heartache. The generous host understood the cause of his\nfriend's grief. The author of Iran's great epopee and of _Yusuf_ and\n_Zuleikha_ had little to expect of this life, fear, want and\nhomelessness having been his share at an age when the laurel crown\nought to have graced his head in a home of ease and plenty. He had\nsurvived his only son, and was separated from his only daughter. And\nthat vision of stars soaring, as it did, before his fiery imagination,\nserved but to intensify his melancholy. On earth his career was\ndrawing to its close, what was there to hope for beyond the grave?\n\nNasir took alarm at the change he perceived in the face and manner of\nhis friend, whose look was suggestive of approaching dissolution.\n\"Thou art in need of refreshment, after the exhausting ascent,\" said\nthe host sympathetically.\n\n\"Let me, I pray thee, abstain from taking food until the craving\ndemands it, lest it choke me, being overfull,\" replied the poet with\nill-suppressed emotion.\n\nHaving appeased his own hunger by a meal served by slaves, Nasir\nsurprised his friend by asking him in a tone less reproachful than\nanxious, \"So, have the good tidings not broken thy gloom, O, Firdusi,\nnor the mystery of the Damavant added to thy spiritual wealth, thy\nethereal dreams?\"\n\n\"Thou art good, and I ought to be happy in my magnanimous friend, but\nhappiness ever frowned at my courting, and fled never to return.\nFriend, I stand on the brink of my grave, with precious years wasted\nin undeserved disgrace, unmitigated wretchedness.--Ah, and that vision\nrevealed to me in the recesses of the Damavant! If thou knowest its\nnature thou canst draw thy conclusions,\" returned Firdusi deeply\nmoved, adding: \"Thy hermit is more than thou dreamest of him.\"\n\n\"That is what I looked for thee to say; but Almazor is a secret\nbequest of my father, and that horn of mine is the only signal he will\nrespond to; otherwise he is not to be found, and Tehran knows no more\nof him than thou didst before I led thee thither. He is the mystery of\nthe Damavant, more ghost than man, living no one knows how, a spirit\namong spirits, unaffected by hunger, thirst or cold,\" explained Nasir\nwith impressive earnestness.\n\n\"A great secret and a precious heirloom all in one,\" mused Firdusi.\n\n\"Thou hast said it; my father's father blew the horn I sounded\nyester-night, and saw peradventure the things thou and I have seen,\"\ncontinued Nasir.\n\n\"Those are sights to unhinge reason,\" asserted the poet.\n\n\"What thou hast seen is thy secret, O, Firdusi, and thou hast been\nvouchsafed no more than thy spirit can assimilate. Strange were the\nwords thou hast spoken in the trance caused by the smoke of the\nmysterious herb, as it passed through thy system. That herb crops up\nwhere no earthly plant can exist, in a spring which is half liquid and\nhalf vapor, warm when everything around is frozen, and cold when the\nsun's heat beats against it like the deadly simoom. Invisible in\ndaylight, the herb betrays itself at rare intervals in the dead of the\ndarkest night by its phosphorescent nature. From my father I have it\nthat, infused into the human frame in any manner, the mind will see\nwhatever it is capable of grasping. Under its influence I had a\nglimpse of paradise, a clime and a region impossible to describe,\"\nimparted the host confidingly.\n\nA transient smile flitted over the poet's countenance as his eyes met\nthose of his communicative friend, and then rang a voice deep,\nsonorous, fluent and suave, conjuring before the entranced hearer\nsights appalling to think of, illuminated horrors rolling in ether, a\nworld of dismal deserts, dead mountains and black abysses: petrified\nchaos grinning in the face of a burning and seething sun. But when,\npassing from the lunar desolations to the empyrean hosts, the master\nof epic melody gave full play to his inspired genius, bidding the\nstars to march forth as he had seen them before the spirit's eye,\nNasir fell into an ecstasy of delight, sinking on his knees, weeping,\nand kissing the hands of the white-headed singer he so loved and\nrevered, and crying: \"And all this fails to make thee happy, divine\nFirdusi!\"\n\nIn this enthusiastic exclamation of his devoted admirer the poet heard\na reproach. Is not faith, blind faith, preferable to endowments which\nengender doubt? He had had his share of fame and favor, but proved too\nfrail to accept trials with the resignation enjoined by Islam. Revolt\nagainst Allah's unsearchable decree is unworthy of the true believer.\nZarathustra lay prostrate in adoration before the sun, because to his\nmind the Universe reveals nothing grander as a symbol of divine\nOmnipotence; how much deeper ought he to be impressed who has\nwitnessed the sublime progress of a billion suns in the midst of their\ncountless planets and satellites?\n\n\"Thy words are not meant as a reprimand, yet am I startled at what\nthey imply,\" spoke Firdusi in a deliberate tone. \"Even at my age\ntheories may be revised, and new conclusions reached. Though\nfire-worshippers are the heroes of my _Shah-Namah_, my faith is that\nof the Prophet. But alas! how banish doubt which steals into one's\nhead like the demon of insanity? If we must have a theory let us build\non the postulate that life and death point to harmonizing relations.\nThe self-evident relation of the tiniest blade of grass to the great\nsun is not clearer than that of the rain-drop to the cloud and the\nocean, and both prove that of the human soul to the universal Spirit.\nIf the outer world reveals to us little more than the form of things,\na glimpse into their inner nature is granted us in our inner world of\nthought and inspiration. When land and sea, mountain and valley, field\nand desert, lake and river, tree and blossom, fish, brute, bird and\ninsect,--when the elements of earth and the stars of heaven, are\nrecognized as the visible manifestations of an impenetrable design,\nwith man as the crowning work in this nether creation, and God as the\nAll-in-All, the All-above-All throughout the Universe, then does the\nsoul pass from her inner world into the supernatural domain,\ninspiration passes into revelation, and the mind's peace and the\nheart's felicity insure a foretaste of heaven; the dissonance of doubt\nsuccumbs to the harmony of faith, and the rain-drop, long lost in the\ndark cracks and crevices of the rugged rock, bounds forth in a crystal\nspring, rushes into the rivulet, the river, eager to mix with the\nocean's vast.\"\n\nWhether Nasir understood his friend's metaphysics or not, he was the\nlast to question a man's ideas, whose superior wisdom he never\ndoubted. Moslem friendship is kindred to Bedouin hospitality, and\nNasir, who had received the poet with all the marks of distinction,\nmade arrangements to signalize his departure in royal form. After a\nfeast given in his honor to the notables of the province, the famous\nbard, mounted on a fine dromedary, followed by another one loaded with\nvaluable presents, and escorted by a magnificent cavalcade, issued\nhopefully from Tehran's gate, accompanied by his loyal friend.\n\n\"If Allah's mercy grants me the joys of paradise, I will pray that\nNasir Lek share them with me, unless thy meed be above mine, who am\nless generous than thou,\" were Firdusi's last words of gratitude,\naddressed to his magnanimous host.\n\nOn reaching Tus, the place of his birth, Firdusi found that the\nSultan's promised gold had not arrived, and he was greatly troubled,\nlest Mahmud's apologies were intended as a snare spread for his\ndestruction. His apprehension was not allayed by hearing incidentally\na child in the street lisp a verse of the pungent satire in which he\ntaunts Mahmud as the base-born son of slaves. The trend of the lines\nwas, that had that potentate's progenitors been of noble blood,\ninstead of cheating him of the prize he had promised for the\n_Shah-Namah_, he would have set a crown of gold on his aged head.\n\nHeart-wringing self-compassion moved the decrepit man to tears. His\ngrievance is the plaint of Iran, breathed by innocents into the ears\nof sympathetic mothers. Once more he lived through the fearful moments\nof his life; the hours of that night when daybreak was to see him\ntrampled under the feet of Mahmud's elephants, because he had resented\nthe Sultan's meanness in sending him sixty thousand pieces of silver\ninstead of gold, _dirhems_ in lieu of _dinars_, as agreed; the moment\nwhen, fleeing from the wrath of the tyrant, he sought a refuge at\nMazenderan, where Kabous, the prince of Jorjan, durst not harbor him\nfor fear of the implacable persecutor; and that most painful of hours\nwhen El Kader Billah, the Caliph of Baghdad, at first delighted with\nthe genius of the fugitive, asked him to depart when Mahmud of Ghaznin\ndemanded his extradition. Whelmed with grief, the broken man returned\nto his daughter's home to die in her arms, resigned to the inscrutable\ndecree of destiny.\n\nJust as Firdusi's body was carried out through one gate of Tus, the\ncamels which bore the Sultan's gold entered the city through another.\nHis daughter refused to accept it, but an aged relative remembered his\ncherished wish to see his native place improved by public works,\nespecially a healthy and plentiful supply of water. To comply with the\npoet's generous wish, the treasure was taken and invested for the\nbenefit of his lamenting townsmen, whose descendants have during the\nsuccessive centuries continued to celebrate the passing of Iran's\nimmortal singer.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GODS IN EXILE.\n\n\nThe year 1492 was a dark one for the sons of Shem. The fall of Granada\nand the expulsion of the Jews from Spain are events more generally\ncommemorated than the equally dramatic episode which wound up with the\ntragic death of Bajazid, the dashing caliph of Damascus, surnamed\nYildirim--\"the thunderbolt.\" At no time of the year is the Moslem\nworld so deeply stirred as during the month Shawall, the fifteenth day\nof which marks the official opening of the great yearly pilgrimage to\nMecca. The Haj is the name of the leading caravan which carries the\nSultan's gift for Mohammed's shrine, that holds the black stone given\nby an angel to Abraham. No animal in creation has so many devout eyes\nconcentrated on its unbeautiful outlines as the dromedary which\nconveys, under a canopy of green silk, the gorgeously embroidered\ncovering for the walls of the Kabah. This _Kiswa_, as it is called, is\nmade of black brocade, and its magnificent golden border spells divine\nutterance culled from the gems of the Koran. Exceeding it in\ncostliness is a smaller curtain sent along for the Kabah's doors which\nswing in a frame of silver and gold.\n\nEven in our days that train starts from Damascus with great ceremony,\nis accompanied by the municipal dignitaries led by the Pasha, and\nescorted by a regiment in military pomp. No Moslem eye will miss the\nopportunity of witnessing the _muhmil_, or silken canopy, as it swings\non the camel's back, shielding the sacred vesture of the most sacred\nof Islam's fanes, so that along the line of the procession the immense\nconcourse of the faithful throng every available spot, from the\nterraced roof down to the gutters of the ill-paved, sinuous lanes.\n\nSuch is the religious signal for hundreds of thousands to start for\nthe centre of Moslem devotion from every quarter and corner as far as\nthe crescent is revered, to fulfil the duty of adoring the object of\nthe Prophet's worship. For he who has kissed that heavenly stone is\nnot alone cleansed of all his sins, but is thereafter distinguished by\nthe surname of Hajj.\n\nThe departure of the Haj in the year of the discovery of the New World\nwas one of unprecedented commotion. It was known that a great army was\nbeing concentrated and hurriedly drilled, and that Bajazid was on the\npoint of taking the field himself, having gained signal triumphs in\nhis repeated wars with Christian powers. That he appeared in his great\nmosque on the day of the Haj, and, surrounded by his bodyguard,\nfollowed the muhmil out of the city's confines, was interpreted as an\nominous sign of impending danger. The Caliph's countenance was\nscrutinized with great anxiety by those who caught sight of it, and\nsomber deductions passed from lip to lip. As if to confirm the popular\napprehensions, as Bajazid re-entered the city, a yelling saint,\nlooking more like a satyr than a human being, emerged nobody knew\nwhence, and, planting himself in the way of the white steed which\ncarried the Commander of the faithful, cried: \"Bajazid, Bajazid, the\nstars are against thee. Woe! Woe! Damascus! I see thee and thy sister\ncities swim in blood, thy treasures plundered, thy beauty rifled, thy\ndaughters outraged, with none to avenge thee! Woe! Woe! Woe!\" A\nterrible frown darkened the brows of the hitherto invincible Caliph,\nbut nobody dared lay a hand on the prophet of evil, who was allowed to\nlose himself in the next grove unmolested. The saint is only an\ninstrument in the hand of Allah, and before the people had\nsufficiently recovered from their consternation to exchange a word\nabout the fateful prophecy, a courier came tearing along the straight\nway of the city; another one was close behind, and another, their\nhorses panting for breath. These events were followed by a sleepless\nnight and feverish activity in the palace. Couriers were speeding to\nand fro; regiments were moving; batteries were mounted, and the\ngraying dawn saw the Sultan at the head of a division marching out of\nhis citadel never to return.\n\nFrom the hand of fate Bajazid was to drink the dregs of the bitter\ncup. Like stubble before the fire, everything withered before the\nall-engulfing devastation of Timur's unconquerable host. Having swept\nnations and races before him, that celebrated Tartar conqueror made\nshort work of Bajazid's mighty army. In the province of Angora host\nencountered host, the Caliph sustained a crushing defeat, his army was\nshattered, and the dreaded \"thunderbolt\" was himself among the\nprisoners in the hands of a merciless foe. With other cities,\nbeautiful Damascus experienced the wrath of the Tartar's beastly\nnature. An indiscriminate slaughter of the population was followed by\npillage, and whatever could not be plundered and taken off was\ndelivered to the flames. The Caliph's fate was sad in the extreme.\nDragged along by the conqueror as a trophy in an iron palanquin, which\nlooked more like a cage than aught else, death, more gracious than the\nsavage Tartar, finally delivered Bajazid from a life of humiliation\nand torture.\n\nThe wizard who had foretold the downfall of the Caliph and the ruin\nof populous cities was never hereafter seen within the broad circuit\nof Damascus, a region exceeding in the exuberance of its semi-tropic\nverdure and panoramic landscape the beauty of Granada's famous valley\nin its palmy days of Moorish rule. The fatalistic principle of Islam\nprecludes spying into the inscrutable decrees of Allah, whose will is\nfate from which there is neither appeal nor escape. Why then waste a\nmoment in identifying an oracle whose prophecies pass through him as\nwater passes through a pipe? It is impious to search into the\nunsearchable.\n\nThere were two young men on the scene, however, whose antecedents\naccount for that mad impetuosity with which they stormed onward in\npursuit of the oracular saint as soon as it was possible for them to\nelude the eyes of the crowd. One was Damon Mianolis, a young Greek,\nwho had inherited from his father an avidity for the occult science of\nastrology; the other was Selim Ebn Asa, a youthful Moslem, who had\nenabled Damon to witness in disguise the departure of the Haj.\nDamon's father was a physician, but had a secret laboratory, and had\nspent a fortune in attempts at fathoming the mysteries of alchemy and\nastrology. Damon had been early initiated into those mystic arcana,\nhad learned to cast the horologue, but was wofully disappointed in the\nmatter of extracting gold from other substances, and gave up the hope\nof ever discovering the elixir of life. The physician's death had put\nhis son in possession of an extensive practice among his\nfellow-Christians, and Selim's friendship was due to the Moslem's\nambition to acquire a knowledge of French, which Damon spoke fluently.\n\nThe intimate relation of the two young men led to free discussions of\nthe merits of their respective creeds, with the result that each one\nbelieved a little more in his friend's and a little less in his own\nscheme of salvation. The heavenly city built of gold and precious\nstones, with twelve gates and glittering streets, through which flows\nthe river of life, bordered on its banks by the tree of life, which\nbears twelve sorts of fruits and leaves of healing virtue, was pointed\nto by Damon as the pattern of Mohammed's paradise of which Selim made\nmuch in his effort to convert his friend. Selim meant to astonish\nDamon by referring to those pavilions of pearls in which the houris\ndwell retired, each pearl sixty miles in dimension; but was met by the\neven more astonishing promise of St. John that \"the days shall come\nwhen there shall be vines which shall have each ten thousand branches,\nand every one of these branches shall have ten thousand lesser\nbranches, and every one of these branches shall have ten thousand\ntwigs, and every one of the twigs shall have ten thousand clusters of\ngrapes, and every one of these clusters shall bear ten thousand\ngrapes, and every one of these grapes being pressed shall yield two\nhundred and seventy-five gallons of wine, and when a man shall take\nhold of one of those sacred branches, another one shall cry out 'I am\nthe better branch; take me and bless the Lord.'\"[6]\n\n    [6] _Cf._ Iren\u00e6us, Book V., Chap. 33.\n\nThis left the youthful Moslem little to boast of in the concern of\nparadisial blessedness, and he was totally overwhelmed by a vivid\npicture of Dante's elaboration of hell. What impressed Selim, however,\nmost profoundly was Damon's familiarity with the heavenly\nconfigurations, and his pretended ability to read future events. The\nfact is that the late Mianolis had shortly before his death predicted\nBajazid's overthrow and captivity, and Selim had received a hint of\nthe prediction. No sooner, therefore, had the saint's lamentation\nfallen on their ears than the young men exchanged a significant look,\nand the next instant both were on the track of the retreating\nsoothsayer. In but a very few minutes Selim realized the impossibility\nof his overtaking the fleeing man, whose feet scarcely touched the\nturf; but not so Damon, who taxed his energies to their uttermost to\nkeep the winged fugitive in sight. Not a living soul crossed them as\nthey hurried onward, the saint leading through a maze of entangling\nthickets on pathways of his own,--the other following almost out of\nbreath, determined not to give up the chase.\n\nIn this way miles had been traversed before Damon noticed that they\nwere at the foot of Anti-Lebanon, and that Selim was not behind him.\nThe ascent had to be made, or the game would have been lost in a\nmoment. From an elevation of several hundred feet Damon's eye was\nfascinated by the superb view of Damascus, set in a garland of groves,\nbushes and gardens, distance enhancing the charm of the exquisite\npanorama. Along the banks of Abana, in the heart of a sea of verdure,\nrose a grand vision of terraced roofs, surmounted here and there by\nswelling domes, towering minarets, tipped with gilded crescents,\nglittering like burnished scythes from the thick foliage of blooming\nparks. An area of thirty miles in circuit spread like a dream, with a\nvariance of grouping and shading, and a charm of blended tints such as\nare rarely vouchsafed to the eye even in regions of renowned\npicturesqueness.\n\nDamon had never before seen Damascus in such a wreath of glory; but\nthe few seconds the sight exacted of his attention frustrated his\nefforts to locate the wizard's retreat, who had disappeared as though\ndissolved in air. At the same time a feeling of exhaustion rendered a\nfurther ascent impossible, coupled with a somnolence which stole and\ngained upon the youth, until, succumbing to the spell, he lay\nstretched on the grass under a tree, lost in oblivion. Re-appearing on\nthe scene as suddenly as he had vanished, the haggard, half-naked\nwizard waved his crooked staff over the sleeper's head, drew a circle\naround him, pointed southward, and vanished as before. On returning to\nconsciousness Damon bit his tongue to assure himself that he was\nreally awake; his hand dashed across his eyes,--it was no vision. He\nfelt deathly cold, although his touch left no doubt that he was robed\nin fur, his head, hands and feet covered by the same material. It was\nnight, and he in an air-ship, under stars he had never seen ere this,\nand sweeping with great speed through a world of mountains of ice and\nfrozen seas, an icy desolation buried in dense fogs. Before him sat\nthe controlling aeronaut, white as frost and silent as death; to his\nright sat a female in black, with eyes closed and the countenance of a\ncorpse; to his left sat none else but the saint as he had seen him in\nthe street of Damascus, with no evidence of being in the least\naffected by the intense cold. Damon suspecting that it was a dream\nwithin a dream, closed his eyes tightly to continue his slumber when\nhe heard a voice addressing him thus: \"Son of Mianolis the Wise, know\nthat thou art in the chariot of Auster, hurrying toward the great ice\nregions of the south with me, thy sire's friend, and this dame, the\nWitch of Endor, on whose grave thou hadst taken thy rest this last\nday, thus disturbing her spirit that soars over the tomb of the body\nwhich held it when alive. Evil would have befallen thee but for my\ninterposition in thy behalf, and I am indebted to thy father for\nrevelations in the stars and in the realms of nature, which give me\nforesight and power over spirits. What thou shalt see to-night was the\nawe of thy ancestors and of those who gave rise to the mightiest\nprogeny on earth; but hold thy breath, lest the frost congeal thy\nblood, and be not alarmed even if mountains quake and oceans burst,\"\nwas the wizard's reassuring information.\n\nEven before the last word had been spoken an enormous column of lurid\nflame and livid smoke upshot from the heart of an immense mountain,\nand in a continuous flow lost itself in the clouds, a deluge of fire\nascending and descending with the tremendous crack and reverberation\nof thunder. \"That southernmost volcano shall mark for generations to\ncome the extreme limit of human penetration into the forbidding\nregions of ice; the other facing it to eastward burns no more, but is\nlikewise an insurmountable barrier set by nature against the intrusion\nof man into regions reserved for the dethroned gods. They shall in\nfuture years be respectively known and shunned as 'Mount Erebus' and\n'Mount Terror'\" volunteered the wizard as an explanation, but further\nmystifying the already confused aeronaut. On the highest peak of\nTerror the chariot alighted, and a puff of Auster's breath dissolved\nthe mists around a group of crystal palaces, trimmed with gold, roofed\nwith silver, clustering around an all-outshining, sky-towering edifice\nreaching up to an ethereal height, overarched by a blazing span of\ntranscendental rainbowed glories, blending into golden haze below, and\nan indefinable silvery twilight above.--\"Asgard,\" were the first\nsyllables uttered by the Witch of Endor.\n\nYes, it was Odin's celestial Court[7] where, from his throne, he\nsurveyed heaven and earth, and yon was He exalted high above all\nothers, on his shoulders the ravens Hugin and Munin, who, in ancient\ntimes, daily traversed the world to report the happenings among the\nmortal race, and at his feet the two wolves Friki and Geri, whom Odin\nfeeds with the meat set before him, mead alone being sufficient for\nhim who feeds all creatures.\n\n    [7] In his narrative Malek, from whom this tale is derived,\n    contrasted the Greek gods with those \"barbaric gods of the\n    north, who dwell in twilight, build their palace of the\n    rainbow, hunt the wild boar, and fling winged thunder at\n    their adversaries,\" and the function he assigned to each\n    power seemed to leave no doubt that he referred to Odin's\n    Court, so that I have supplied the names that he did not use.\n    The Orient contains many surprises, and it appealed to me as\n    one of them to find a Mohammedan Parsee familiar with Norse\n    mythology as a tradition of the East. Malek, however, always\n    claimed that the Parsees are the best educated people in the\n    East.\n\nOverpowering as was the presence of Odin on his throne, another\nspectacle forced itself on Damon's vision. In front of Valhalla's\nportal, an entrance as wide as the entire hall, a desperate struggle\nwas raging between redoubtable combatants, who struck at each other\nwith appalling fury. The broad arena was already strewed with numerous\nbodies cut to pieces. A relentless frenzy appeared to have seized\nthose who were still engaged in the exterminating feud, while the gods\nlooked on with complacence, as though the deathful affair was a mere\ntournament. When the battle was over there was but one hero left, and\nhe bleeding from many wounds. Presently there came a blast from a horn\nin Valhalla, which sent a breath of animation through the bulky bodies\nof the slaughtered. Their wounds closed, their severed limbs knitted\nand healed, their eyes opened, their frames quivered, straightened and\npulsated with life. They rose, picked up their weapons, and\nstraightway repaired to the festive hall where throngs of shining\nelves attended on them with food and drink. Damon knew then that these\nwere the immortal heroes who, having fallen in battle, were permitted\nto dwell among the gods, partaking of the meat of Shrimnir, the\never-reviving boar, and of the mead of the she-goat Heidrun. What\nlooked like a fierce battle was simply an amusement.\n\nThe feast was rudely interrupted by a note of alarm sounded by\nHeimdall, the sleepless sentinel of Odin's Court. Heimdall's business\nis to make the round of the borders of heaven to prevent intruders\nfrom ascending by the way of Bifrost, that is the bridge built of the\nrainbow's light which links earth to Odin's ethereal Court. He is\nespecially anxious to intercept the mischievous giants who are ever on\nthe alert to annoy the powers of Asgard. As Heimdall's ears are so\nfine that he hears growing of the grass and of the wool on a sheep's\nback, it is no wonder that his warning of impending danger startled\nthe gods. Thialfi, Thor's inseparable attendant and the swiftest\nmessenger of Asgard, was forthwith despatched northward, whence,\naccording to Heimdall's information, the storm was coming, while the\ngods and the heroes made ready for the emergency, whatever it might\nbe. Invincible Thor, whose terrific hammer, Mi\u00f6lnir, splits mountains,\nand returns to the hand of the god when hurled against a foe, girded\nhimself with his belt, which redoubles his terrors, and put on his\niron gloves to render the shock of his mallet irresistible.\n\nThey soon beheld Thialfi returning all astounded, with tidings which\nmade Thor's veins swell with rage.--\"A burning sun, O great Odin,\naccompanied by a host of gods, goddesses, and their dependents, carry\nwith them hitherward a city of supernal palaces, and will be upon us\nbefore thy will can be heard in council,\" reported Thialfi. Almost\nsimultaneous with these words fell the first beam of a golden flood on\nthe brilliant domes and towers of Asgard. Night fled to the darkest\nrecesses of Antarctic gloom; the snow softened; the icebergs glittered\nlike mountains of jewels; whale, dolphin and sea-lion gamboled with\ndelight, but the black elves, who dread the sun, were turned by\nmyriads into stones. Of vegetable life there was not as much as a\nblade of grass to be seen; not a withered leaf, nor a dry shrub to\ngreet the radiant orb. In his all-knowing wisdom Odin exclaimed: \"It\nis the Olympian Thunderer who comes this way; if it means peace we\nshall open our hall to welcome him; should it mean war, it will be thy\ntask, Thor, to drive him hence with ruin.\" Quick as thought did\nPhoebus suspend his blazing chariot in mid-heaven, eastward of Mount\nErebus, which, crowned with light and glory, was instantaneously\nturned into an Olympus by the fiat of creative powers. Phoebus caused\nthe earth to thaw; Pan called forth a garden of Hesperian richness;\nCeres conjured up a crop of golden grain where glaciers had been\nslowly grinding their way for numberless cycles; the fire-spitting\nErebus smiled like May, garlanded by Flora, every god and goddess\ncontributing his or her share to create an Elysium in the most dreary\nof ice-buried deserts.\n\nIn less time than it takes to tell it, Jupiter established himself in\na manner which left in Odin no doubt that the whilom sovereign of\nOlympus had come to stay. Thor burned for action, but Odin restrained\nhis impetuous son, reminding him that if he had the rock-blasting\nmallet to hurl, so had the Olympian chief something to send in return,\nwhich it might be wise to avoid if possible. First the most guileful\nschemer of Odin's Court was to be employed to ascertain the real\npurpose of the thunderer's arrival; and this was the malicious Loki,\none of the hostile giants, who had succeeded in securing a foothold in\nAsgard.\n\nLoki's nature may be judged by his three offspring; they are the wolf\nFenris, the Midgard serpent, and Hela, that is death. Fenris could not\nbe allowed to roam at large; but to chain him was a problem the gods\nalone could solve. Every kind of chain having been tried in vain, the\nmountain spirits were required to fashion one that should not yield\nlike cobweb to the teeth of the horrid monster. It was made of the\nbeards of women, the noise of the cat's paw, the breath of fishes, the\nroots of stones, the spittle of birds, and the sensitiveness of bears;\nit was as pleasant to the touch as a silken cord, and was named\nGlupnir. With this fetter on his neck Fenris was rendered harmless.\nHis twin, the Midgard serpent, is so enormous that her length is\nthrown around the earth like a belt, she holding her tail in her\nmouth. Hela dwells in Elvidnir, a black hall in dark Niffleheim. She\nfeeds on hunger, cuts her food with starvation, decks her bed with\nmisery, employs slowness as her maid, delay as her servant; her\nthreshold is precipice, her tapestries burning anguish. The father of\nthis precious triplet was not a little pleased to be thus honored with\nthe important embassy to the sovereign of the Olympian dynasty,\nespecially since the message was but little short of an ultimatum.\nLoki's mind was not of a frame to be surprised at anything, or\nintimidated by any display of might; but the stream of blinding light\nhe had to face, as he turned toward the point of his destination,\ncaused his eyes to water, wholly unused as he was to a splendor which\nmade Asgard's rainbow pale, as does the moon before the rising sun.\nWhether it was for a purpose or by chance, Phoebus darted his rays\nwith piercing penetration, focussing them on the visage of Odin's\nenvoy, and his chariot, a master work of Heph\u00e6stus, forged of\nglittering metal, and set with resplendent gems, moved in an orbit\nwith an ever-widening periphery. Winged Mercury met Loki half way,\nbade him stop by a wave of his Caduceus, and required him to give an\naccount of his mission. Satisfied with the answer, Mercury led the way\nto the gate of clouds guarded by the goddess Seasons, and Loki soon\nfound himself in the radiant palace of Jupiter than which there could\nbe nothing loftier and more glorious under the stars. Here the deities\nmeet in council in the assembly hall of their chief, and here they\nindulge the divine feast of ambrosia and nectar served by the\nineffably lovely goddess Hebe, while Apollo delights the immortals\nwith the ravishing strains of his lyre, accompanied by the song of the\nnine Muses.\n\nUshered into the awful presence of the Olympian thunderer, Loki beheld\nhimself in the midst of a galaxy of deities, whose various attributes\nand aspects would have astonished him had they not been eclipsed by\nthe overpowering grandeur of the son of Saturnus, who, enthroned in\nsupernal majesty, with the \u00c6gis, shining like the sun before him, and\nhis thunder-speeding eagle next to him, formed a striking contrast to\nOdin's dimmer environments.\n\nAt the sight of Loki, Apollo struck his lyre, the Muses joined their\nheavenly voices to swell the melody, and Hebe served to all the food\nand drink of the gods, including Odin's envoy in the divine\nconviviality. But ambrosia and nectar affected Loki's palate so\ndifferently from the meat of the boar Shrimnir and the mead of the\nshe-goat Heidrun that the first quaff of the new beverage made his\nfacial muscles contract and distend in so ludicrous a fashion that the\nvast hall resounded with the laughter of the Olympians. Loki did not\nlike the idea of being made the butt of ridicule, but, though stung to\nthe quick, joined in the merriment at his expense, there being no hope\nfor vengeance thus far. Required to state the purport of his message,\nhe began thus:\n\n\"It is Odin's wish that peace prevail betwixt his Court and thine, O\nmighty Chief, and I am sent to remind thee, that when Alfadur had\ndoomed thy rule and his in Midgard, a new order having risen with a\nnew time, the compact was that thou withdraw to the fields swept by\nBoreas, the Valkyrior kindling the north lights for thy benefit, and\nhe, undeterred by severer cold and longer night, should settle in this\ndrearier end of earth, where Day returns but for a double month,\nallowing Night and Frost to rule supreme. What means thy coming hither\nwith such consuming heat, such pomp as make Odin's bleak retreat\nunbearable, unless he strive to hold by force what is his by treaty?\nIn substance this is Odin's message. As guests he welcomes thee and\nthine with all Valhalla has to entertain, and honors powers akin to\nhim in weal and woe, who had tasted the bitters of dethronement and\nexile. But if thy purpose be to fix a permanent abode within the\nbounds of Odin's hitherto undisputed empire, war will be the outcome;\nand war with Asgard means chaos and the end.\"\n\nThe thunderer shook his locks; his eagle's eye flashed fire. Among the\nsuperior gods the face of Mars glowed like a meteor. Minerva assumed\na menacing air, and the others gave evidence of a stern determination\nto go to the bitter end in whatever part they were able to sustain the\nright and dignity of their challenged head. But Jupiter, inclined\ntoward conciliation if possible, dismissed Loki with earnest mien,\npromising his answer should reach Odin forthwith. And forthwith\nMercury was at Loki's heels, and proceeded with him to Asgard, where\nOdin gave ear to Jupiter's reply thus conveyed.\n\n\"Great Odin, the cloud-compelling power who wields the thunderbolt,\nbut whose old sovereignty has been lamentably curtailed, deplores his\ncondition and thine. True, when the empire over Midgard had to be\nabandoned in favor of Alfadur's anointed, the extremities of earth\nalone afforded refuge from the universal spread of those hateful\ninspirations which, like a deluge, submerged the better\nworld,--synagogue, church, or mosque supplanting those pantheons of\nart, poetry and beauty, which, in the golden age of dream and fable,\nsong, dance and free love, made man as happy as an unbridled child.\nWhen the time had come for our stern trials, it is remembered that,\nto render our banishment bearable, thou hast benignly agreed to let\nthe Olympian dynasty retreat northward of the habitable world, thou\nand thine being more seasoned to endure the severer rigors of this\ninclement zone. But whither flee from the ever-swelling might of the\ncross and the crescent? Not satisfied with the conquest of blessed\nMidgard, their votaries dare penetrate the very extremes of the frigid\nnorth, and the cross may be seen where neither wolf nor vulture can\nbreathe. Yea, the western hemisphere, hitherto unknown to the world,\nis being discovered, and ere long will bristle with the spires of a\nmyriad churches. This extreme alone seems forever barred against the\nintrusion of man, its terrors bringing death to him;--night, frost and\nsterility are here in league against mortal flesh. Necessity forced\nupon our father the resolution to seek once more a new home where,\nundisturbed by the detestable symbols of new creeds, we may continue\nwith as much comfort as powers inalienable insure for us. Jupiter\nsends thee peace, O, mighty Odin, not that he shrinks from war, or\nheeds threats, but because of his benign temper--unless provoked, when\nhis wrath would prove too much even for the giants on whom Asgard has\na watchful eye. For it is he who made Saturnus disgorge his progeny,\nand holds him chained in the deeps of Erebus.\"\n\nMercury's bold language came near to costing him his head. Thor was\nrestrained with difficulty by his father from sending his hammer\nagainst the brazen front of Jupiter's messenger, who was, however,\nallowed to depart unmolested. There was great commotion in Valhalla,\nand Odin sent his last word to the intruders requiring them to vacate\nthe invaded heights forthwith, or Asgard would proceed to expel them\nby force. Thialfi imparted this warning to the Olympians and was\ndismissed with scorn. Heimdall's horn, Giallar, summoned all the Gods\nand heroes to battle, while Thor held his mallet in readiness to do\nfearful execution.\n\nOdin's terrific frown was the signal given for the engagement; it\nisolated the hostile encampment, giving it the appearance of an\nillumined island in an ocean of dense night. The moments of suspense\nwere being utilized on both sides to call in and muster all the\nreserves available. Nobody was happier than the mischievous Loki, who\nwas charged to communicate by the roots of the Ygdrasil tree with the\ninhabitants of Jotunheim, it being the place where those prodigious\ngiants live, the glove of one of whom Thor had once mistaken for a\ncavern wherein he spent a night, and was disturbed in his sleep by the\nsnoring of the colossus that shook him like an earthquake.\n\nShould those Jotuns be slow in coming, Loki was to rouse Ymir from his\nrest, Ymir the terrific giant Frost, whose blood is the seas, whose\nbody forms the earth, whose bones are the mountains, whose skull is\nthe heavens, whose brains are the clouds and what they discharge in\nthe shape of rain or snow, and whose eyebrows supplied the material\nfor the making of Midgard, the habitable portion of the globe. Ymir\nsleeps under the Ygdrasil tree whose branches extend to every quarter\nof the universe, while its three roots connect Asgard with Niffleheim\nand Jotunheim. Ymir's disturbed slumbers make the earth quake and\nshudder; his awaking would bring about the end of things. Loki's\nmalice had never been more gratified, he having thus far been an\nunwelcome presence among the gods of Asgard, who had even once gone to\nthe trouble of slaying him for treason to Baldur; but Loki had another\nlife to spare, and here he was bustling, busier than ever before.\n\nNeither were they on Erebus idle. The response to Odin's threatening\nscowl was an intensified light and such a heat as began to dissolve\nwhatever had remained frozen as stone since Time outspread his wings.\nPhoebus assumed the terrors of a bursting hell, so that whatever life\nthere was in the sea buried itself deep under its surface. With a due\nappreciation of his dreadful adversaries, Jupiter arrayed himself in\nhis most appalling panoply, and called on Tartarus to bring to light\nthe pack of Titans prominent among whom were Cottus, Briareus and\nGyes, each one having a hundred hands and fifty heads, well known as\nthe subduers of Saturnus, who indulged the unpaternal habit of\nfeasting on his own offspring. Useless to add, the other Olympians\nwere prepared for the fray, but they waited for the aggressive deed to\ncome from Asgard.\n\nIt came like a dart of lightning. Enraged by the consuming heat, Thor\naimed a fatal blow at the sun's fiery steeds, hoping to shatter at one\nstroke the entire team. With its unfailing accuracy Mi\u00f6lnir struck the\nglowing chariot. Phoebus had a narrow escape, holding tightly the\nreins; the horses reared wildly, bleeding from many wounds, which\nclosed, however, by virtue of their deathless substance. But as the\nmallet, by its nature, returned to Thor's grasp, the god roared like a\nhundred lions; it was a red-hot mass of metal and could not be handled\nbefore another fling had passed it through a fathom's depth of a\nglacier's icy bed. By the time Thor was ready to renew his experiment\nhe felt himself lifted off his feet and hurled headlong into an abyss\nback of Asgard. Such was the effect of a lightning bolt sent by\nJupiter's hand, who had ascended the azurean height of his citadel\nwhence he caused an ominous thunder-cloud to overshadow the Court of\nOdin. Though dazed by the blasting shock and the fall, Thor was on his\nfeet, and from a cliff, which he quickly ascended, winged his hammer\nwith unerring precision against the cloud-enshrouded tower of Erebus.\nMi\u00f6lnir was met half way by another fulmination of the Olympian\nthunderer, and the collision of the missiles reverberated like the\ncrack of doom.\n\nNot less fierce was the engagement of the other powers on both sides,\nwho, without deploying into battle array, strove with prodigious\nmight, the one stunning or hurting the other. Malicious Loki, hugely\namused to see the whilom invincible Thor wheel through the air and\nland ignominiously in a chasm, assumed the colossal proportions of the\ngiant race to which he virtually belonged, making effective use of his\nenormous limbs. Having picked out Mars as his target, he aimed an\niceberg at the Olympian war-dog who was inflicting terrible punishment\non the gods and heroes of Asgard; but Neptune was at hand with a\ntremendous billow of tepid water warmed by Phoebus; it struck the\nfrozen mass, deflecting it from its fatal course, so that there was at\nonce a great splash and a harmless crash.\n\nThe battle continued to rage along the line, the elements of fire,\nwater, wind and earth being wielded with whelming impetuosity. Between\nThor and Jupiter the duel was incessant, with no turn in favor of\nOdin's most redoubtable combatant. In the general confusion Loki threw\nhimself with a force on the enemy's flank, endeavoring thus to attack\nthe gate which he had been permitted to enter as Odin's messenger.\nFrom his cloudy height the Olympian chief discerned the move of the\nperfidious strategist, brandished one of his forked lightning-bolts,\nand Asgard beheld with amazement one of its mightiest hurled into\noblivion.\n\nOdin surveyed the situation, and recognized the hopelessness of the\nstruggle, even if Ymir could be caused to budge and the giants of\nJotunheim arrived in time. Where Thor failed who could succeed? And\nthe dreaded Titans were likely to appear on the scene at any moment.\nThialfi was, therefore, directed to recall Thor, and ask the Olympians\nto suspend hostilities, pending the consideration of a peaceful\nsettlement. The brightening of the atmosphere around Asgard indicated\nOdin's change of mind. Jupiter agreed to a truce, and Phoebus relaxed\nthe severity of his unbearable heat. Odin declared himself willing to\nwithdraw his Court to the extreme south, provided the Olympians would\nnot follow him thither. Jupiter swore the irrevocable oath attested by\nthe river Styx, that there shall be no further encroachments\nhereafter, come what may. And Mercury was instructed to convey\npeaceful greetings to Odin. \"Let our brother know that we properly\nappreciate his magnanimous offer to withdraw further south; that we\nreluctantly waged war against a kindred power dethroned by Him who is\nabove all enthroned. No, not thus shall we part, mailed in threatening\npanoply, with grim war bristling and sullen. Festive joy, cordial\nintercourse and divine conviviality shall mark the season of our\nconciliation. Great Odin and his Court are to be honored in this\nhall. Since man has ceased to pay us worshipful homage, our own\nfelicity be our sole care.\" In response to this effusion of friendship\nOdin signified his pleasure by ordering his black elves, to whose\nskilful workmanship Thor was indebted for his wonderful hammer, to\nthrow an arched span of gold over the hollow which separated the\nmountains of Terror and Erebus. But the long-nosed, dirty little\nartificers durst not face Phoebus, whose glare brought them death;\nwherefore the blazing chariot of the sun-god made room for Aurora\nAustralis, when the bridge rose like a vision, competing with the\nrainbow in multicolored brilliancy. For once Vulcan confessed surprise\nat the exquisite mastery in metal work in which he had thought himself\nunrivalled, while Pluto was amazed at the lavishness of the precious\nmaterial, which he knew to be limited in quantity. Once more did\nHeimdall sound his horn, this time to proclaim the opening of the\ngrand feast in which all the gods, goddesses, heroes and dependencies\nof Asgard were required to participate.\n\nOn their side the Olympians were neither to be eclipsed in splendor\nnor outdone in all that goes to make a feast of gods. Robed in\nsupernal glory, each god and goddess, surrounded by their retinues,\nwore the symbols of their respective powers and attributes, but stood\noverawed by the transcendent magnificence of their chief, whom no\nmortal eye could behold without being consumed. From his throne above\nthe clouds, surrounded by his family, who shone like stars, Jupiter\nbeheld Odin issue from Valhalla, mounted on his eight-legged steed,\nSleipnir, who could leap over mountains. Him followed Frigga and\nFreya, his wife and daughter, the one as beautiful as Iris, the other,\nwho stood for love, blushing like sweet Aurora, escorted by Thor and\nhis inseparable attendant, Thialfi. Like a stream of radiant gold,\nflowed behind them a host of sunny elves, diminutive creatures,\nstirring the air with weird music. In their wake, leading another host\nof those unsightly elves clad in burnished brass, and blowing sonorous\ninstruments of the same metal, came Frey in a chariot drawn by the\nboar Gullinbursti, along with Heimdall bestriding his horse, Gulltopp.\nThe train's rear was taken up by a great number of inferior gods,\nheroes and mountain giants, as well as their colossal frost\ncompanions.\n\nGratifying his mischievous nature, Cupid perched himself on the main\nentrance guarded by Seasons, and as this goddess opened it to admit\nOdin and his cortege, a shower of love's arrows descended on the\nunsuspicious powers of Asgard, who were received by Pluto and Neptune,\nand led into the assembly hall of Jupiter's palace. Here the Olympian\ndynasty were found standing, except Jupiter and Juno, who likewise\nrose, while Venus, wearing the Cestus which imparts ineffable grace to\nthe wearer, welcomed the head of Asgard and escorted him to a lofty\nthrone at the left hand of her father. A sweet fragrance was diffused\namong the star-like assembly by a heavenly smile from Jupiter, who was\nat once captivated by the eyes of Freya, the goddess of love. Odin\nfound it impossible to make a secret of his enchantment by Venus,\nwhile Thor had no eye for anyone but Hebe. Heimdall found in Juno the\ncrown of sweetness, Thialfi bowed to Diana, and Frey paid his tender\nrespects to Minerva. The other deities selected their partners in\naccordance with their natural bent of mind, or destined appointment in\nthe divine economy.\n\nWithout, the subordinate attendants grouped themselves harmoniously,\nso that no sooner were the strains of Apollo's lyre heard, accompanied\nby the enravishing song of the Muses, than the broad spaces between\nthe dwellings of the gods teemed with the airy dancers. Elf, nymph,\nnaiad, satyr and dryad abandoned themselves to the spell of Apollo's\nmusic. This was only a faint reflex of what was doing in the\nstar-illumined hall of the Olympian thunderer. Here the celestial food\nand beverage were being offered by Hebe, after the first grand march\nof the superior gods. Odin, who never tasted of Shrimnir's flesh, and\nindulged in but drink of the mead of the she-goat Heidrun, now emptied\na capacious goblet of nectar handed him by Hebe, at the same time that\none was given to Thor. The head of Asgard's Court found it hard to\nswallow the strange liquid, so unlike mead, and, unable to retain it,\nejected it in a manner to bring up the Olympian host and his entire\nhouse. As to Thor, the unspeakable drink and the mirth provoked by his\nludicrous grimaces enraged him to such an extent that, but for the\nsubduing charm of Hebe's look, he would have dashed his mallet against\nthe very throne which filled gods with awe. Good nature prevailed,\nhowever, and as the refreshments passed around, the hilarity grew at\nthe cost of Asgard.\n\nNow struck Terpsichore her instrument, the graces joining to swell the\nstrains which cause the gods to move in rhythmic measure. Looked at\nfrom the vantage ground occupied by Damon, the divine spectacle\nresembled a scattered constellation, the stars moving in pairs, then\ngrouping in clusters, then spreading in lines, straight and curved,\nthen forming in circles, then breaking up to renew and multiply the\nharmonious evolutions. There appeared nothing to intercept the\nminutest detail of the celestial scene, and Damon was intoxicated with\nfelicity, ear and eye being equally ravished. While the feast was at\nits height, Erebus shook with a convulsion which reminded Jupiter of\nthe summons he had sent to Tartarus, and that the Titans had access to\nthe upper world by way of the lava-vomiting mountain. At the same\ninstant Heimdall gave the alarm, his ear having recognized the tramp\nof the Jotuns for whom Odin had sent his son, Hermond the Nimble.\nQuick as were the gods in rushing to arms, and in manning every\nstrategic and vulnerable point, they were not quick enough to prevent\na collision between Briareus on one side and Skrymir on the other,\neach one sustained by his gigantic followers, who tore up glaciers and\nmade icebergs fly as flakes of snow driven by a storm. As if by a\ntacit understanding, Thor and Jupiter combined their terrific\ninstruments of destruction, hurling them from opposite directions at\nthe monstrous combatants, who heaped Pelion on Ossa in their furious\nefforts to crush each other. Briareus disappeared like a flash in the\nwomb of Erebus, drawing his companions after him; the Jotuns took to\ntheir heels as fast as their gigantic limbs could carry them.\n\nBut there was no clearing of the atmosphere. The mountains trembled,\nthe air grew oppressive and seemed saturated with fetid gases. A\nmoment's ominous quiet was broken by another far-reaching convulsion,\nfollowed by a crack which terrified the gods and threw Damon out of\nhis seat deep down into a chasm. The womb of Erebus opened wide. A\ndeluge of fire burst from the bowels of the earth, melting glaciers\nand causing frozen seas to boil. Heaven glowed like a furnace, and\nDamon beheld with terror a stream of liquid metal pour down in a\ncataract from a height above his head. His attempt to flee from\ndestruction proved his limbs to be of lead; he could not budge. He was\ngoing to be buried under fathoms of molten ore. Once more he tried to\nget to his feet, the glowing metal bursting on him from every side. In\ngrowing terror he grasped for something to assist him in his struggle\nfor life, striking out right and left. His numbness gave way; his\nlimbs softened in their joints, and a vitalizing energy enabled him to\nraise his head. What did he see? A full-rounded moon shedding a\nsilver flood on a slumbering landscape, glorified by a weird maze of\nfar-away dazzling white, varied by domes and spires of other hues. It\nwas neither Asgard nor the heavenly city built by Heph\u00e6stus; it was\nDamascus, oblivious of her impending doom. Damon was grateful to be\nhere, conscious of the fact that the wizard he had followed had but\nsported with him. Yet what he had seen was worth the sacrifice. How\nmuch greater the God of infinity, how much holier than they of Asgard\nand Olympus, He with whom a myriad galaxies count for naught as He\nsways the boundless Universe by the breath of His mouth!\n\n\n\n\nKING SOLOMON AND ASHMODAI.\n\n\nIt is well known that after Solomon had succeeded his father David as\nruler over Israel he had a vision wherein the Lord gave him the choice\nbetween riches and wisdom, and that the youthful monarch gave wisdom\nthe preference. In recognition of this he was not alone endowed with\nan understanding heart, but was given the means of acquiring great\nwealth, such as enabled him to build the most gorgeous of temples and\nthe most sumptuous of palaces. The secret of Solomon's power was his\npossession of the Omnipotent Name engraved on his signet-ring, the use\nof which he was to learn by an accident.\n\nThe first great problem Solomon was called upon to solve was how to\nbuild God's Temple in compliance with the unaccountable injunction not\nto employ iron implements in cutting, fitting or smoothing the\nmaterials of the sacred edifice. This prohibition implied the\nexistence of a rock-splitting instrument of which neither the King nor\nhis wisest counselors had any knowledge. Eldad the lonely dweller of\nthe sacred caves, the reader of the stars, the wanderer of the desert,\nthe recorder of traditions, Eldad, who at the age of one hundred and\nnineteen years had no wrinkle on his face, preserving his faculties in\nall their strength by means of the occult sciences, this wizard who\nwas the engraver of the Ineffable Name on the King's ring, was\nsummoned to appear before His Majesty to answer this question:\n\n\"Thou knowest, O, Eldad, that I am to build the House of God with\nmaterials unprepared by the use of any iron implement; no doubt\nProvidence has provided the means for the raising of His Sanctuary; my\nadvisers have failed to give me light on the mystery; should it be\nbeyond thy power to enlighten me on this matter, I shall not know\nwhither to turn for the solution of the difficulty,\" spoke the King.\nTo whom Eldad replied: \"Know, O King, that in the beginning of things,\nas creation was nearing its completion, before the sun of the sixth\nday had withdrawn his last mellow beam from the earth, fourteen\nadditional wonders were called into being, things which the\nforeknowledge of the All-knowing destined to play a part in this\nnether world. They are, the mouth of the earth that swallowed Korah\nand his rebellious followers; the mouth of the fountain known as\nMiriam's Well, the unfailing spring whose flow accompanied Israel\nthrough the desert, joining in the hymn of praise; the mouth of the\nbrute that spoke to Balaam, after the heathen prophet had beaten it\nthree times, he not having seen the angel that deterred it from\nadvancing; the multicolored rainbow which symbolizes God's mercy to\nfrail man; the manna, Israel's food for forty years; the staff\nwherewith Moses performed all his miracles; the two sapphires out of\nwhich the tablets of the Law were cut; the gems that spelt the Ten\nCommandments; the letters of the alphabet; the sepulchre of Moses\nnever seen by a mortal eye; the ram destined to be the substitute of\nIsaac when on the point of being sacrificed; the first pair of tongs,\nwithout which no iron could ever be forged; the spirits, both good and\nevil, the Sabbath having begun before bodies could be formed for some\nsouls, thus left forever disembodied; and the _Shamir_, a worm not\nlarger than a grain of barley, but stronger than rock, which it splits\nby the mere touch. The _Shamir_, O, King, is the only might in\ncreation to do the work in accordance with the divine behest. Those\npriceless gems of which the tablets and the letters thereon are cut\nhave been fashioned by the _Shamir_.\"\n\n\"That _Shamir_ shall be in my power, O, Eldad, it being there for the\nbuilding of God's house, as it was there to materialize His immutable\nWord. But tell me who on earth claims possession of that wonderful\ncreature? Is it to be had by trade, purchase, strategy, or force?\"\ncried the King, deeply agitated.\n\n\"King, beyond what I have told thee my knowledge goes not. The abyss\nsays: It is not in me, and the ocean says: I own it not. Hitherto the\n_Shamir_ has been beyond the reach of human eye. Whether it can be\nhad, the future will tell. Here my wisdom ends,\" concluded the hoary\nwizard, withdrawing from the royal presence. It was late in the\nevening when the King retired to a restless bed. Light and fitful as\nwere his slumbers, his mind was haunted by weird visions of desolate\nscenes, cliffs infested with fierce carrion birds, and chasms teeming\nwith venomous reptiles. The first blush of the morning found the\nmonarch on one of his gilded balconies from which he surveyed the\nfloral glories of his exuberant gardens, inhaling the odoriferous\nbreezes of the peaceful morrow. Nature stood in her loveliness, and\nanimate creation seemed to breathe peace. Suddenly there was a scream\nof pain in one of the towering clusters of green, and the next instant\ntwo specimens of the feathered tribes dropped at the feet of the King.\nIn the talons of a carnivorous fowl was closed the tender wing of a\ntrembling dove as white as snow. Moved by the impulse of pity, the\nKing had his strong grip on the neck of the obscene bird of prey,\nrelieving the other, but not before the victim's wing was broken.\nGreat as was the anger of the King to see the poor dove bleeding and\nhelpless, his astonishment was greater at the instantaneous\ntransformation of the ferocious fowl in his grasp; fowl no more but\ndemon, black and mighty, swelling to enormous proportions, and\nbeseeching the royal captor to set him free.--\"Whatever thou biddest\nme I will do, O, master, the ring on thy finger giving thee power over\nAshmodai and his legions, to which I belong doing service as\ncommanded,\" stated the dark agent submissively.\n\n\"And what cause underlies thy vicious onslaught against so pure a\ncreature as this dove?\" asked Solomon, the revelation breaking on him\nthat his signet-ring invested him with a power akin to omnipotence.\n\n\"A symbol of purity, the dove comes under the ban of us who are of\nAshmodai's dark legion,\"[8] explained the fiend with unreserved\ncandor.\n\n    [8] Talmudic angelology assigns to Ashmodai the inferior rank\n    of presiding over the evil demons under the rule of Sama\u00ebl\n    (\u05d3\u05e9\u05d9\u05d3\u05d0\u05d9 \u05e8\u05d1\u05d0 \u05de\u05dc\u05db\u05d0 \u05d0\u05e9\u05de\u05d3\u05d0\u05d9); while Matatron is the recognized chief\n    of the infinite hosts teeming throughout the universe, holding\n    at the same time the office of benign intercession between man\n    and Supreme Grace, and Synadalphon is the next in power, standing\n    on earth with his head reaching to the highest cherubim (\u05d0\u05d7\u05d3 \u05de\u05dc\u05d0\u05d2\n    \u05e9\u05de\u05d5 \u05e1\u05e0\u05d3\u05dc\u05e4\u05d9\u05df \u05d4\u05d7\u05d9\u05d5\u05ea \u05d0\u05e6\u05dc \u05de\u05d2\u05d9\u05e2 \u05d5\u05e8\u05d0\u05e9\u05d5 \u05d1\u05d0\u05e8\u05e5 \u05e2\u05d5\u05de\u05d3). Like Sama\u00ebl and Lilith,\n    Ashmodai impersonates evil in a variety of manifestations.\n    Neither Dumah, the prince of the winds and the custodian of\n    the dead, nor Rohab, the lord of the ocean, are to be degraded\n    to the rank of Ashmodai who dwells in the clouds but depends for\n    his sustenance on what the earth produces. It is to be remarked,\n    however, that the Rabbis take the dark and the bright powers to\n    represent physical forces co-existent with creation (\u05e7\u05d1\u05f4\u05d4 \u05db\u05e9\u05d1\u05e7\u05e9\n    .\u05d4\u05e9\u05e8\u05ea \u05de\u05dc\u05d0\u05db\u05d9 \u05e9\u05dc \u05db\u05ea \u05d1\u05e8\u05d0 \u05d4\u05e2\u05d5\u05dc\u05dd \u05dc\u05d1\u05e8\u05d0\u05d5\u05ea) This idea is sustained by the\n    additional assertion that the creative energy is incessant,\n    Omnipotence calling forth daily new ministers to carry out His\n    inscrutable designs. (\u05de\u05e4\u05d9 \u05e9\u05d9\u05e6\u05d0 \u05d3\u05d9\u05d1\u05d5\u05e8 \u05de\u05db\u05dc ,\u05d3\u05d9\u05e0\u05d5\u05e8 \u05d1\u05e0\u05d4\u05e8 \u05d4\u05e9\u05e8\u05ea \u05de\u05dc\u05d0\u05db\u05d9 \u05e0\u05d1\u05e8\u05d0\u05d9\u05df\n    .\u05de\u05dc\u05d0\u05da \u05e0\u05d1\u05e8\u05d0 \u05e7\u05d1\u05f4\u05d4)\n\n\"Thou shalt not go hence before I learn of thee who treasures the\n_Shamir_,\" said Solomon firmly, assuming the demon to know something\nabout it.\n\n\"What art thou seeking of me, O, master, who am one of inferior rank\nbending to the will of our chief Ashmodai, the mighty spirit of this\nworld? Him thou art to question, because he is the one to satisfy thy\ndemand,\" replied the demon. \"Describe his retreat to me and its\napproaches, and thou shalt go free,\" commanded the son of David.\n\n\"He is to be found where no creature of flesh and blood can long\nendure; it is not heaven; neither is it earth; in the heart of the\nOrient, on the highest peak of the highest mountain range, a hollow\nsummit crowned with eternal snow, holding under seal before a recess\nof frozen crystal the purest spring under the heaven to give him\ndrink, that is Ashmodai's retreat. Hither he descends from his\ncloud-vested realm, scans the seal to assure himself that no impurity\nhas polluted his delicious beverage, when, having quenched his thirst,\nhe re-seals the fountain, gives audience to his court, who flock\nhither to receive their orders, and, refreshed by slumber, re-ascends\nto control the elements and survey the work of his active host,\" was\nthe information, which insured the demon's release.\n\nIn earnest consultation with his general Benaiah, Solomon matured the\nplan for the attack of Ashmodai's retreat, and ere long a\nwell-equipped expedition of a few picked men headed by that undaunted\nwarrior, departed secretly. The haunt of the demoniac chief was not\nonly far to the south-east of the Holy Land, but it was so located\nthat in order to approach it the adventurers had to cross deserts,\ntraverse pestiferous swamps infested with scorpions and dragons, ford\nwild rivers, and bridge over chasms, only to see themselves in a\nlabyrinth of stupendous rocks, supermounted by a chain of sky-towering\npeaks lost in dense fogs. Benaiah's eagle eye swept the clouded\noutlines of the snow-capped heights, trying in vain to locate the spot\nto be invaded. The impenetrable curtain of shifting fogs precluded\naccurate observation, and for once the dashing general felt that he\nwas more in need of daring and of patience than of strategy. Retiring\nwith his men to a cave at the base of the mountain, Benaiah took a\nposition which commanded the loftiest point of the summit, hoping that\nsomething would occur to betray the object of his quest. Benaiah was\nstruck by the contrast of the frowning mountain-crest on one hand,\nand the sun's pure effulgence on the other. As he had his eyes riveted\non the broken summit, the dense mass of fog darkened perceptibly. A\nnoise as of a boisterous sea repelled by a rocky shore was the\nprecursor of a tempest and an earthquake which convulsed the entire\nregion within and without, thunder and lightning adding to the uproar.\nThe eternal snows on the crest rose pulverized by the fury of a\nchaotic storm,--a hurricane intermixed with flashes of red fire,--the\nwhole reducing itself within a few seconds to a funnel-shaped\nwhirlwind, revolving with furious speed, its pivot centred in a hollow\nbetwixt mighty cliffs, rendered visible by the convulsive phenomenon.\nBenaiah knew what it meant, and he was confirmed in his assumption\nthat Ashmodai was descending by observing the same disturbance a few\nhours later when the demon re-ascended to his airy empire.\n\n  [Illustration: \"Like a thunderbolt striking to the centre of a\n    hurricane, the demon shot down.\"\n      Page 173.]\n\nLike a good strategist, the general took a little time to study the\nsituation. The ascent of the mountain had to be made with great\ncare, and the proceedings of the chief demon observed from as near a\nstation as was compatible with safety. The climbing was attended with\nmuch toil and great danger, but the point was reached, the ground\nsurveyed, and a hiding place secured in a recess barred by a wall of\nsolid ice. Here everything was held in readiness for the next step.\n\nIf Ashmodai's descent startled the adventurers from a distance,\nnearness to the spot of his landing filled them with dismay, the\natmospheric and subterranean agitation threatening to sweep them out\nof their hiding place. Like a thunderbolt striking to the centre of a\nhurricane, the demon shot down, unsealed his well, plunged his lips in\nthe beryl fluid, drawing up a great quantity, and then sealed it up\nagain. He was hardly ready when the table-land around him was thick\nwith files of demons, who arrived to report what had been\naccomplished, and to take orders for new tasks. They were all chiefs,\nof various ranks, each one having legions to carry out his behests.\nFrom the reports and the schemes discussed it was clear that they\nrepresented three kinds of spirits as to their relation to\nmankind--of hostility, friendliness, and neutrality. There was a\ndivision of labor,--hostile, benevolent, and neutral.\n\nIt is impossible to say how the daring band of interlopers would have\nfared at the hands of the terrible chief and his demonic army had not\nBenaiah possessed the Omnipotent Name to shield him from discovery. As\nmatters stood the demons, unconscious of any unwelcome presence,\ndeparted, leaving Ashmodai to take his accustomed slumber, after which\nhe darted up like a flash, with the phenomenal accompaniment of\nelemental disturbance as before. Now came Benaiah's opportunity.\nWithout touching the seal on the cover of the well, the contents were\ndrawn out through a hole skilfully bored beneath the surface of the\nliquid. This done, the hole was carefully closed, and another one was\nbored on the opposite side at a higher level, through which wine was\npoured to fill the emptied well. With every trace removed to avoid\nsuspicion, and every detail ready for the emergency, Benaiah waited\npatiently for the next day when everything passed off as before,\nexcept the astonishment of the dreaded power when he found that his\nwell contained wine instead of water. Doomed by destiny to fall into\nthe trap set for him, and urged by a parching thirst, Ashmodai took\nbut little time to consider the advisability of drinking the\nintoxicating beverage, balancing Scriptural texts _pro_ and _con_, and\nsoon deciding to try its effect on his semi-ethereal nature. This was\njust what Solomon and his general had counted on. Ashmodai had\nscarcely dismissed his military Council when the wine began to do its\nwork; he felt as he had never felt before, and he discussed with\nhimself the singular mood into which he found himself plunged, in what\nway he could not account for, the sensation being wholly new in his\nsuperhuman experience. Sleep was on him, and there he lay, stretched\nout as helpless as a senseless block. Benaiah was at hand with a chain\nrendered resistless by the Omnipotent Name engraved upon its links.\nSlipping it around the waist and the neck of the prince of demons, his\npotency was disposed of. Ashmodai's consternation when awakened words\ncannot describe. A roar of rage darkened all nature, shook the\nmountains to their foundation, and horrified all his legions who fled\nto hide themselves in the deepest chasms, even in the bowels of the\nearth and under the waters of the sea. For a moment Benaiah lost his\nspeech, while his companions fell prostrate on the ground. The demon\nassumed every shape of horror to overawe the enemies of his freedom.\nIn a few moments he gave himself the deterring shapes of all that is\nmonstrous and deadly in nature, from the enraged tiger to the hissing\nserpent whose bite is death; all in vain.--\"In the Name of the Most\nHigh, I, Benaiah, chief of King Solomon's army, do herewith command\nthee, Ashmodai, mighty Prince of genii, to follow me to the seat of\nthe wisest King, who needs thy aid to build the Temple of God.\"\n\nThe conjuration conquered all resistance, and the demon was led off\ndisarmed and humiliated. Realizing the hopelessness of gaining\nanything by violence, Ashmodai feigned submissiveness, assumed the\nform and manner of a most polished and affable courtier, and, ushered\ninto the presence of the King, charmed His Majesty by discourse of\nthings far above the comprehension of ordinary men.\n\n\"Thou art to deliver to me the _Shamir_ so that God's House be built\nwithout the use of iron implements,\" said Solomon to Ashmodai.\n\n\"The _Shamir_ is not in my keeping, great King; the spirit of the\nocean has entrusted it to the fowl Awza that it be preserved forever\nin a state of perfection,\" replied Ashmodai, adding, \"and no man can\ncome near that bird.\"\n\n\"Tell me where Awza breeds her young,\" commanded the King.\n\n\"South of the great desert there is a mountain with a towering cliff\nand walls so steep and smooth that a spider has difficulty to climb\nit. On the top of that rock is the nest of Awza, a fowl with claws of\nsteel and eyes of fire, swift as the swallow, larger than the vulture,\nand fiercer than the eagle,\" answered the demon.\n\nAgain Benaiah was placed at the head of an expedition, and many were\nthe hardships before the solitary pile rose before the eyes of the\nindomitable general. There was neither a bird to be seen nor a nest.\nThe head of the precipitous rock was so high above the clouds that\nthere seemed no possibility of scaling it. But Benaiah was full of\nresources and had anticipated the difficulty by bringing with him a\npair of pigeons. Having left a man with the female bird this side of\nthe mountain, the general made a detour for the opposite side with the\nmale, tied a cord to his foot, and allowed him to rise. Guided by his\ninstinct, the pigeon soon soared above the rock, descending to join\nhis mate. This accomplished, a heavier cord was trailed over, followed\nby a still heavier rope strong enough to lift a man. This man was\nBenaiah who, in the dark of night, was hauled up by his attendants.\nAwza was thus to be circumvented.\n\nGreat was the general's joy when he found himself before the nest\noccupied by its fledglings, Awza being happily away in search for\nfood. A transparent stone is laid securely over the nest. Awza\narrives, finds her fledglings imprisoned, hungry, and crying. With\nmotherly tenderness she hurries to split the stone by applying the\n_Shamir_. Benaiah's great chance is come. From behind a bowlder he\nbursts forth and frightens the bird; she drops the invaluable worm.\nBenaiah pounces upon it like an eagle. The male bird is soon on the\nspot. A desperate struggle ensues between the enraged birds and the\ndaring Benaiah. He is armed against iron claws, and is not deterred by\nfiery eyes. He has the trophy and he holds it, placing it in due time\nat the feet of his master, to the great surprise of Ashmodai. Thus is\nthe building of God's Temple proceeded with, the _Shamir_ splitting\nand fitting the materials.\n\nSolomon's thirst for wisdom grew with his growing consciousness of the\npainful limitations as regards its acquisition by man, and Ashmodai\navailed himself of the King's avidity for knowledge in the hope of\nthrowing him off his guard. He taught him the secrets of the vegetable\nand mineral kingdoms, and gave him the clue to intercourse with animal\ncreation, including the mind-reading faculty. As a final achievement\nhe suggested the weaving of a prodigious air-float large enough to\ntransport the King on his throne, an army fully equipped, and a host\nof spirits. On this air-ship, sixty miles square, Solomon, ever\naccompanied by Ashmodai, traversed great distances, soaring above the\nclouds, higher than the eagle, and looking down on earth like a god.\nWoven by genii of the most subtile essences of nature, the texture of\nthat air-island was of azurean translucency, green-blue in color,\nfloating in the sun's radiance like a rippled sea bathed in gold.\n\nBut the marvel of the marvelous equipage was its circular pavilion\nvast in extent and fashioned of rainbow-tints, which photographed,\nenormously magnified, whatever came within the range of the eye that\ncontrolled its course, laying bare the mysteries of land and ocean,\nand revealing the multifarious activities of the spirit-world under\nthe rule of Ashmodai. Here Solomon's wonder-throne, ascended by seven\nsteps, each one guarded by a pair of magnificent animals chosen from\nthe respective species of the lion, the elephant, the tiger, the bear,\nthe serpent, the antelope, and the eagle, stood on a dais, lofty and\nbrilliant, eclipsed only by the monarch's crown which rivaled the sun\nin splendor. Solomon began to believe that he was really more than\nhuman, and Ashmodai lost no chance to swell the autocrat's overbearing\nvanity. Solomon was so delighted with his triumph over the chief of\ndemons and the deep secrets he had wrested from him, that he\nindefinitely deferred setting him free long after the Temple had been\ndedicated with grand ceremony, and, thanks to rock-bursting _Shamir_,\ncargoes of gold were pouring into the royal treasury.\n\nOne early morning the sovereign of the richest kingdom upon earth bade\nthe winds raise and waft his imponderable encampment toward the rising\nday, he being enthroned in his pavilion with Ashmodai at his feet. Up\nsoared the magic float, lighter than air, transparent as ether, and\nstronger than adamant, hurrying eastward as an undulating firmament,\nsuffused with purple and gold. The soundless vast above, coupled with\nthe radiant flood that broke from the East, and the amazing\nkaleidoscope of animal and spirit life startlingly reflected by the\nwalls of the glowing pavilion, overawed the mind of the most daring\nof kings, who exclaimed: \"How great the all-powerful God, in whose\ninfinity we are not more than an atom in the universe of matter!\"\n\n\"Great King, thy head is the microcosm of the immensity whose\ncontemplation overpowers thee. The heavens hide nothing which man\ncannot own if he but knew how,\" said Ashmodai with a pull at his\nchain.\n\n\"Thou art speaking riddles, potent spirit. Give me certainty that my\ngrave is not the end, and thy chains shall be broken,\" cried Solomon.\n\n\"King, disembodied thou art my like, spirit of the everlasting Source,\nunchanged by change, but for the time dimmed, because engrossed with\nwhat is unethereal here. Yet even in thy mortal coil I can give thee,\nif restored to liberty, by virtue of thy signet-ring, a glimpse of\nthings above thy highest dreams, provided thou wilt give me leave to\nstimulate thy spiritual essence for the transmutation by harmony such\nas, at thy bidding, I can cause my spirits to produce,\" promised\nAshmodai.\n\n\"Then let the air vibrate with melody such as will fit my grosser\nsubstance for thy suggested change,\" commanded Solomon, thoughtlessly.\n\nAt this the atmosphere trembles with the voices of a myriad chorus,\nthrowing the King into an ecstasy of delight, ravishing his soul and\ncausing his tears to flow. In his ecstatic transport the monarch bids\nAshmodai to come within the reach of his hand; a touch breaks the\nchains of the wily demon, another movement of the hand delivers to him\nthe signet-ring--and then--the symphony sounds like the hissing of\ntwenty thousand serpents, night swallows the rays of the sun, a burst\nas of a hundred batteries shakes the firmament, a tremendous pillar of\nlurid flame shoots up into the height of azure, from its core darts\nforth a bundle and vanishes beyond the sea;--it is Solomon whom, by\nthe might of his regained breath, Ashmodai has hurled to the end of\nearth,[9] allowing him to fall unhurt; the ring the demon drops into\nthe deep. All this is the work of a moment, after which the atmosphere\nis clear and bright, the hissing ceases, and Solomon is on his\nthrone,--that is it is Ashmodai in the guise of Solomon robed in\nroyalty to mock the power of the castaway autocrat.\n\n    [9] The old version of the Talmud has it thus: \"Solomon sent\n    Benaiah to bring him the Shamir from Ashmodai, and he threw\n    him out of his kingdom.\" \u05de\u05d0\u05e9\u05de\u05d3\u05d0\u05d9 \u05d4\u05e9\u05de\u05d9\u05e8 \u05dc\u05d5 \u05dc\u05d4\u05d1\u05d9\u05d0 \u05dc\u05d1\u05e0\u05d9\u05d4\u05d5 \u05e9\u05dc\u05da \u05e9\u05dc\u05de\u05d4\n    \u05de\u05de\u05dc\u05db\u05d5\u05ea\u05d5 \u05d5\u05d4\u05e9\u05dc\u05d9\u05db\u05d5\n\nWho could be wise enough to unmask the fraudulent usurper? Who would\nblame a spirit for avenging an outrageous humiliation? The court was\ninformed that the chief of demons had escaped, and everything went on\nas before, including the tender attention due to the inmates of the\nroyal harem.\n\nPoor Solomon picked himself up in a far distant land, astonished and\nconfused. His memory failed him; he stood transformed in face and\nform, and only darkly remembered that he had been a king somewhere.\nFrom his situation he could well infer that he had had some foolish\ndream of pomp and lordship. In reality he was a homeless beggar,\nshattered in health and unsound in mind. Starvation forced him to beg\nfor bread, and vagabonds were his bed-fellows in the wretched\nretreats open to the outcasts of humanity. His hours were divided\nbetween waking and dreaming; sane moments were followed by invasions\nof melancholy. Sometimes he doubted that his name was Solomon, that\nthe world around him was real. A hard time was in store for the\nbefooled wise man. Slowly the faculty of memory returned, and the\nsingular circumstances which placed him where he found himself rose\nclearly before his recollection.\n\nHowever, the knowledge of things immaterial which Solomon had acquired\nby his intimate intercourse with Ashmodai afforded him some help and\ncomfort during his long wanderings from place to place,--unhonored,\noften the target of ridicule to such as heard him descant on his\nSolomonic pretensions. Great was his pain on hearing one day a strange\ntraveller speak of the real Solomon's wisdom, his glorious rule, and\nthe uncounted wealth that reached him by land and sea. \"Can it be that\nI am mad? If Solomon reigns in Jerusalem, who am I?\" asked of himself\nthe confounded beggar king, and prayed humbly that he might be\nenlightened as to the nature of his condition. His pride was broken.\n\nOne late afternoon the royal wayfarer arrived, tired and hungry,\nbefore the gate of an inhospitable city. At first the unfriendly\ninhabitants denied him admission, but on hearing him claim the title\nof Solomon the Wise, they allowed his majesty to enter, convinced that\nthey had a madman before them. Beyond this their hospitality did not\nextend. With a crust of bread as his supper, the unpitied monarch\nfound no softer couch than the turf of a roofless enclosure, with many\nanimals as his companions. The night was cold, and the situation\ntormenting for a starved man who had nothing wherewith to cover\nhimself. After a few hours of restless slumber, Solomon felt his limbs\nso badly cramped that he was obliged to rise and walk to keep his\nblood in circulation. In the dimness of a clouded moon Solomon came\nnear an old mare full of bruises, and so emaciated that one had no\ndifficulty in counting her ribs. Solomon's experience rendered him\naccessible to sympathy with life in misery, and he derived sad\nconsolation from the sight of other creatures who were even more\nwretched than he. He reflected that man is the source of great\ntorments and wretchedness here below in inflicting pain on creatures\nentrusted him by a kind Providence.\n\nIt was about midnight when the royal beggar rose again to renew his\nwalk, finding it impossible to drown his worry in oblivious sleep. The\nmoon shone brightly, and the deep silence held the weird landscape in\nmagic repose, forming a strong contrast with the agitation suppressed\nin the king's bosom. Presently familiar notes fell on Solomon's ear;\nit was the speech of the ill-fated mare, who spoke words of sorrow to\nher inexperienced family, giving them her maternal advice, now that\nher end was near. With bated breath the man listened to the story of a\nlife-long agony, recited by a creature of the noblest species under\nhuman control.\n\n\"Yes, I have often been whipped and kicked by my cruel master. Ah,\nhunger, too, and thirst,--the heat by day and the cold by night, I\nendured; toiling, toiling under the rod, and now that I am old he has\nturned me out that I perish unsheltered, unfed. Too weak am I to\ndrive off the flies which torture me, and death will not come. Once I\nwas led to believe that we horses had an advantage over the animals\nthat are slaughtered for food. The sight of a victim's blood shed by\nthe carnivorous lust of man made me shudder. I have seen the head of\nthe fowl twisted off, have seen lambs swim in their blood, have seen\nthe calf taken for slaughter from the side of her dam who rent the air\nwith lamentation, have seen cattle felled by the deadly club in the\nhand of gluttonous man. And have I not, in my younger days, been used\nin the chase? Mounted on me, my master, in company of his like,\nthought it great sport to unleash a pack of bloody hounds in pursuit\nof a frightened hare, fox, or deer. Hunted down, the agonized\ncreatures fell, to be torn to pieces. Man is our devil, helpless, dumb\nanimals that we are. Enough is there in nature to glut his hunger. The\nhen supplies him with her eggs, the cow with her milk and with butter\nand cheese, and the lamb with its wool; while we carry him and his\nburdens, multiply his strength in battle, and gratify his love of\npomp and pleasure. Honey, fruits, mushrooms, and a variety of grains\nand vegetables should protect animate creation from his deathful\ngreed.\"\n\n\"There will be a dead fellow to-morrow,\" said a lusty colt made hot by\nhis dam's tale of woe. \"That master of thine will not long be master\nof mine; one kick of my hind legs will do for him; let him try it with\nme; he won't whip me a second time.\"\n\n\"Child, never try it, if thou lovest me,\" cried the intelligent, but\nmuch-abused mare. \"A vicious horse, as they brand one who resents\nabuse, is sure to get his double share of torture; I have tried it and\nhad the worst of it. Kick once your master and his vengeance will take\nyears to bleed you to death.\"\n\n\"But I won't stand it. I will kick right and left, break windows,\nbones, vehicles, break whatever comes in my way, and break myself if\nit must be. They will be kept busy watching my legs; I won't stand\nit,\" answered the colt determinedly.\n\n\"Thou mayest as well kick against a rock and have thy hind legs\nbroken, or throw thyself into a millpond and be drowned, as seek\nrevenge by hurting thy master. We are not unavenged, however. Nature,\nour common mother, does not allow her offenders to go unpunished. If\nman would simply be content to live on what the animal and vegetable\nkingdoms freely give him, he would be a much happier, tamer, healthier\nand nobler being. Chase and slaughter create that ferocious temper\nwhich revels in bloodshed, so that his own kindred bleed, victims of\nhis atrocity. Child, I, too, have revolted in my time. Exasperated by\nthe cuts of a whip in the hand of a miscreant, I once made a wild\nbreak for deliverance, fled madly through the street, dashed against\neverything in my way,--dashed against a throng of men, women and\nchildren, who tried vainly to escape,--did all the harm I could, and\nlanded bruised and breathless among the terrified children in an open\nschoolyard, killing one and hurting others. Thereafter I was treated\nas the savage beast, was kicked in and out of time, my legs being\nfettered and my head held fast by a chain tied to the wall. When\nemployed, the bit in my mouth was cruelly tight; and that was all I\ngained. A higher will must have decreed this to be our lot,\" concluded\nthe starving mare, lowering her head mournfully.\n\nSolomon, whom the equine group had not noticed, approached and\nastonished them by addressing them in the language they so well\nunderstood. The luckless mare raised her head, and her glazed eyes\nflashed as the soft voice of the king uttered this:\n\n\"Thou art right, Oh, noble creature, in charging thy master with\nunkindness and ingratitude toward thy high-spirited race that has\nrendered him invaluable service. Yea, man is as yet a child and a\nslave of habit, but will in due time rise to an understanding of his\nduties toward the myriad lives around him, not created for wanton\nabuse or ruthless destruction. Indeed, he pays dearly for the\ngratification of his lower instincts, the benign Creator having meant\nhim to be prompted by the gentler, deeper, sweeter qualities of his\nbeing. The day will come when he will shudder at the idea of\nsustaining his life by the immolation of others, when the flesh-eater\nwill be seen in the same light as the cannibal.--My name is Solomon,\nand in my kingdom they called me The Wise, but my wisdom fails to\nenlighten me why things are as they are when they could be so much\nbetter. Believe me, man has tortures of body and soul, and has, like\nyou, his devil to plague and circumvent him. Holy Writ contains\nbeautiful words in praise of the horse, he, armed with thunder, nobler\nthan the lion, fearless as the eagle, graceful as the zebra, strong as\nthe wave, quick as the wind, the pride of the warrior, the pleasure of\nthe prince, the seat of the king. Once restored to power, I will\nremember the burden of thy grievance, faithful mare, and thy race will\nbe benefited as far as my will shall prevail.\"\n\nThe horses were pleased with the sympathetic words of their\ndistinguished friend, and the ambitious colt offered to carry him as\nfar as he wished. Solomon had plenty of leisure to explain the\ndifficulty into which he had been plunged by the wiles of Ashmodai,\nand that he was sure of restoration the moment he could enter the\ngates of his beloved Jerusalem.\n\n\"May thy wisdom, thy kindness and thy kingdom spread far and wide,\nOh, King! so that my helpless offsprings be spared the torments that I\nhave endured during the length of my days!\" prayed the mare, with a\ntremor which betrayed extreme weakness. The next instant saw the poor\nbrute tremble, stagger, fall and expire.\n\nIf Solomon had counted on an easy triumph over his formidable\nadversary, his arrival at Jerusalem, after years of untold hardships\nand trials, undeceived him. The city showed every indication of great\nprosperity; the kingdom stood firmly established, and the brilliance\nof the royal Court had no rival in the gorgeous Orient. Embassies came\nto pay the homage of princedoms and empires near and far, bringing\npresents of rare animals, gold, costly products, and precious stones,\nand they departed overawed by the superhuman wisdom of Israel's mighty\nruler, who amazed the ambassadors not alone by addressing each one in\nhis native language but by showing a minute acquaintance with their\nsecret matters of state, and by reading their hidden thoughts. The\nenvoys reported to their sovereigns that a demi-god had come to reign\nover an earthly kingdom.\n\nFor a shabby mendicant to overthrow a power of Ashmodai's devices and\nresources was indeed a business to make even a Solomon despair of\nsuccess.\n\nHaving entered the city, the beggar-king sought the haunts of the\npaupers without breathing a syllable as to his identity, lest Ashmodai\nbe alarmed by his presence, which was a circumstance to be feared.\nSolomon the beggar knew that he looked so unlike Solomon the Wise that\nhe long hesitated to approach his whilom faithful Benaiah, who,\ninnocent of the demon's fraud, continued as dashing and as loyal as\never before. The attempt at an interview resulted in the general's\nthrowing a silver coin to get rid of the importunate beggar, who dared\naccost him as though he was his equal. In his despondency Solomon\nturned his back on his endeared capital, roamed about for many days\ndistracted with grief, until, having caught sight of the sea, he fell\nprostrate on the shore, prayed in great humility, wept and fell\nasleep. He had a dream in which Eldad, who had died during his\nwanderings, appeared to him in the guise of an angler, unloosening a\nlarge fish from his hook which he presented to the dreamer. A scream\nin the air startled Solomon from his sleep, and a slap on his cheek by\nsome cold thing brought him to his feet. Before him lay a fish in\ncontortions, above him two birds were soaring, one higher than the\nother, who, in their fight for the prey, evidently had allowed it to\ndrop on the sleeper's face. Parched with thirst and stung by hunger,\nSolomon tore the fish open, when, lo! the ring, Eldad's gift, the\nall-controlling charm, was there. No sooner was it on the King's\nfinger than an appalling earthquake shook the shore, while from the\nheart of God's city burst a prodigious pillar of smoke and flame,\nlosing itself in the deep azure. Useless to add that this was the\ntrail of Ashmodai's precipitous flight, who, immediately apprised of\nhis adversary's triumph, fled as fast as he could, spreading\nconsternation as he went.\n\nSolomon by this time had enough experience with the chief of demons to\nlast him for the rest of his life; yet nothing else but Ashmodai's\nsubsequent vengeance was the cause of his falling from grace in after\nyears, so that the wisest of ancient kings not alone forfeited the\npower vested in the Omnipotent Name, but closed a glorious career so\ningloriously that he died an object of pity to some of his subjects\nand of hatred to the rest. Having secured the means of building the\nTemple without the aid of ordinary implements, he would have acted\nwisely in dismissing the chief of invisible hosts instead of detaining\nhim unjustly, and preying into mysteries not intended for man.\nSolomon's aspiration to be more than human, while it gratified his\nvanity, brought on eventually his ruin, while his mind was never at\nease, even under the constant guardianship of the \"Heroic Sixty,\" his\nclose bodyguard.\n\n    Note.--\"We also tried Solomon, and placed on his throne a\n    counterfeit body; afterward he turned unto God and said, O\n    Lord, forgive me, and give me a kingdom which may not be\n    obtained by any after me; for thou art the bestower of\n    kingdoms. And we made the wind subject to him; it ran gently\n    at his command whithersoever he directed, and we also put the\n    demons in subjection under him, and among them such as were\n    every way skilled in building, and in diving for pearls.\"\n    (Koran, Surah 38.)\n\n    The Talmudic version of Solomon's temporary dethronement runs\n    thus:--Conscious of the fact that the stability of his\n    kingdom depended on the signet on his finger, Solomon had but\n    one trusty concubine named Amina whom he entrusted with the\n    invaluable jewel during moments when the body's natural\n    functions rendered its removal obligatory, it bearing the\n    ineffable Name. One day Sakhar, a malicious demon, appeared\n    to Amina in the shape of Solomon, possessed himself of the\n    ring, usurped the throne, transformed or deformed the real\n    monarch, and ruled the land to suit himself, altering the\n    laws, and doing all the mischief a devil is capable of doing.\n    In the meantime Solomon, distracted by the incident, and\n    wholly unknown to his court, wandered about, depending on\n    alms for subsistence. This misadventure of the wise king was\n    brought about by an image of himself made for worship at his\n    order by another devil to comfort his favorite wife, Jerada,\n    the beautiful princess of Sidon, whose father had fallen\n    during the siege of that city by Solomon's army. As soon as\n    the worship of the image ceased, the devil fled the palace\n    and threw the signet into the sea. A fish swallowed the\n    thaumaturgic ring, was caught, and providentially fell into\n    Solomon's hand, thus possessing him of the omnipotent charm\n    which enabled him to recover his kingdom. As to Sakhar, he\n    was caught, a stone was tied around his neck, and he was\n    ruthlessly thrown into the lake of Tiberias. Sakhar standing\n    for the Hebrew noun _sheker_--falsehood, and Amina for\n    _emunah_,--faith or firmness, the deeper sense of the\n    allegory needs no further elucidation. Among the most\n    familiar legends which cluster around Solomon's rule is that\n    of his green carpet woven of silk and of a magnitude\n    sufficiently ample not alone to hold his throne, but an army\n    of men to his right hand and a host of spirits to his left.\n    At the king's command the winds transported the entire\n    equipment, slow or fast, according to his majesty's pleasure,\n    while the royal head was shaded by an enormous flock of birds\n    on the wing. Countenance is given to this fable in the\n    Koran,--\"And his armies were gathered together unto Solomon,\n    consisting of genii, and men, and birds.\" (Surah, 27.)\n\n\n\n\nTHE CROESUS OF YEMEN.\n\n\nSanaa, the capital of Yemen, is one of the noblest cities of Arabia\nFelix, and is said to rival beautiful Damascus in many of her\nexquisite features. The Imam of Yemen who ruled in the beginning of\nthis century could claim rank among the most whimsical princes who\never sat on a throne. He was a man of weak intellect, strong passion,\nboundless vanity, and a religious enthusiasm entirely foreign to his\nsubjects, who are indifferent followers of Mohammed. That eccentric\nCommander of the Faithful conceived the singular fancy that he was\nanimated by the soul of the last Prophet, and he suited his conduct to\nhis conceit, there being no one to dispute his ludicrous presumption.\nHe dressed in green, sermonized his people in the style of the Koran,\nread _surahs_ of his own creation, raved of his nocturnal visits to\nheaven, descanted on visions and revelations vouchsafed to him, and\nscrupulously arranged his household in imitation of Mohammed's, not\nforgetting the seventeen wives of the founder of Islam, including an\nAyesha, who was the power behind the Imam's throne, being the flower\nof his harem.\n\nThe most important person who stood next to the Imam in power, and\nabove him in wisdom, was the great Kadi, or judge, Omar, who presided\nover the supreme court of Sanaa, and was in fact the walking code and\ncyclop\u00e6dia of Yemen. What he did not know only Allah and His Prophet\ncould reveal. The wise Kadi had no doubt at all that the Imam was a\nspiritual duplicate of the true Prophet, and he received in\nrecognition the proud title of the \"Lion of God,\" reminiscent of\nMohammed's most devoted champion who fought his battles, and died\nsword in hand.\n\nOmar plied his legal profession so well, had so many questions of\njustice and equity referred to him from every quarter of the land,\nthat he rose to be the wealthiest Moslem of Sanaa, exceeded in his\nopulence by one man only, and that was the renowned Ben Abir, surnamed\n\"The Croesus of Yemen.\" Ben Abir was no Moslem, but a Hebrew, and one\nwho feared nothing so much as the remote likelihood of slighting his\nfaith.\n\nThe Imam's ruling passion for prophetic honors was equalled by his\nunprophetic mania for building monumental structures with an\nextravagance which drained his treasure. Lacking the vast resources of\nthe Caliph of Estamboul, the prince of Yemen nevertheless aspired to\nrival the head of the faithful in the monumental magnificence of his\ngreat capital; and immense sums were lavished on the embellishments of\na city which was meant to dazzle even the strangers who had wondered\nat the imperial palaces of the mighty Sultan himself. The drawback was\nthe limited revenues of the Imam's domains, and the shrewd Kadi,\nforestalling the danger of a royal recourse to his riches, was\ninstrumental in causing his master to draw on Ben Abir for large sums,\nin return for titles and privileges which enabled the misused\nIsraelite to indemnify himself in a measure for advances he never\nexpected to see returned. Unlimited in the extent of his commercial\nenterprises, and furnished with as many military escorts as he chose\nto ask for, Ben Abir's caravans carried loads of silk, cotton,\nhardware, weapons and trinkets as far as Hadramaut, Hejaz and Nejd,\nfearless of the dangers of the Tehamah and the deathful simoons of the\narid desert; and they returned to the seashore with tons of coffee,\npacks of gum, ostrich feathers, dyes and pearls, which foreign vessels\ncarried to distant lands. To all this Ben Abir added the breeding of\nthe finest Arabian horses, such as are only found in Nejd, and it\nbecame a current saying that whatever the Croesus of Yemen touched\nturned into gold.\n\nNow, it happened that, previous to the closing celebration of the\nRamadhan Fast, Ben Abir presented his sovereign with one of his\nchoicest Nejdi stallions, of spotless white and a most fiery temper,\ncaparisoned in the most approved fashion. Delighted with the gift, the\nImam showed his appreciation by mounting the spirited animal on the\nsolemn occasion brought about by the sacrificial ceremony which marks\nthe close of the Fast. As ill-luck would have it, a distracted saint,\nwho had just issued from his cave looking more like a chimpanzee than\na human being, threw himself in the way of the stallion with a yell\nthat frightened both horse and rider. Snorting and balking in recoil\nfrom the object of terror, the high-spirited creature reared and fell\nbackward injuring the Kadi, who was behind, and landing the second\nedition of the Prophet on a rock, with a broken leg and a dislocated\njaw as mementos of the inauspicious incident. Somebody had to be\nburdened with the blame, and the Kadi realized his opportunity. As\nsoon as sufficiently recovered from his own hurts to sit in judgment,\nOmar declared Ben Abir guilty of high treason for having tempted the\nImam to mount a mad horse, and condemned him to perish by\ndecapitation, unless he should ransom his life for a fabulous sum,\nwhich was named, with the additional condition that it be paid in\nsolid gold. Within twenty-four hours the gold was in the hands of the\nImam's treasurer, and Ben Abir was a poor man.\n\nWhen Ayesha, the flower of the royal harem, who was of Hebraic origin,\nheard of the Kadi's sentence, she appealed to her prophetic lord's\nconscience against the flagrant injustice. The Imam was moved to the\nextent of offering to return a small portion of the robbery, provided\nthe Hebrew would enter the mosque. Ben Abir would not listen to the\nthought of such treason to the God of his fathers, and had a brave\nwife to sustain him in his trial, with two children, one an ineffably\ncharming maiden, to comfort him. Nor was he entirely destitute, his\ncommercial credit remaining good.\n\nIn one of the mountain ranges of Yemen one Friday afternoon, as the\nsun began to approach the rim of the horizon, a small caravan made a\nhalt. The dromedaries were freed from their burdens and allowed to\nbrowse, and a dark tent was stretched for the use of the master of the\ncaravan. On a matting on the ground a rug was spread and a few pillows\nwere put thereon for the ease of a middle-aged person who,\ndismounting from his horse, took possession of the transient\nresting-place. As soon as he found himself within the tent he washed\nhimself with water drawn from the nearest spring, changed his\ngarments, brought forth a silver lamp, which he filled with oil, a\nsilver flask full of wine, and a goblet of the same metal. With\nnightfall the lamp illumined the tent, and the inmate stood lost in\nprayer, with his face turned to the east. A blessing uttered over the\nwine was followed by a frugal meal, and the rest of the evening was\nspent in study of sacred lore. At the entrance to the tent, near a\nspear struck into the soil, stood a black sentry, while at a distance\nthe camel drivers made themselves comfortable for the night. The lord\nof the caravan was Ben Abir, his sentinel was Ibraeem, a freed slave,\nwho, having been treated kindly by his master in his happier days,\nwould not desert him now that fortune declined to smile on him.\n\nThe night was very dark, and would have been voiceless but for the\nsighs and moans of the dromedaries, who seemed audibly to commiserate\none with another upon the hardships of life. About midnight the\nsilence was unbroken, the discontented animals having buried their\nsense of trouble in dreamless sleep. At this hour Ben Abir was roused\nby his faithful attendant, who informed him of a great marvel that was\nto be seen before the tent. A heap of gold cropped up from the ground,\neach coin scintillating like a star. \"Rise, O, master! Allah sends\nthee a treasure,\" cried the devoted slave.\n\n\"What is it thou art raving of, O, Ibraeem!--art thou dreaming?\" said\nBen Abir.\n\n\"Indeed I am wide awake, O, master!--step forth and trust to thine own\nsenses if thou doubtest mine; here is the hoard Allah would have thee\ntake,\" insisted Ibraeem.\n\nAs Ben Abir peered out of his tent to convince himself of Ibraeem's\nillusion, he saw with amazement a golden pile of coin, the pieces\nglowing like lupine eyes in the dark. This is a temptation of the evil\none, thought the scrupulous Israelite, who would not have touched pelf\non his Sabbath for the wealth of the Indies.\n\n\"Touch not a piece of this hoard, Oh, Ibraeem!--if thou fearest\nAllah, and wouldst not disobey Ben Abir. If the treasure is to be\nmine, it will remain where it is till after my Sabbath; if it be not\nmine, the breaking of my holy day will not save it for me. What is to\nbe, will be. Go to sleep,\" closed the pious Yemenite, and retired to\nhis couch, Ibraeem, after a little natural hesitation, doing likewise.\nWhat right, after all, had he to question the deep wisdom and deeper\nfaith of his generous master?\n\nBut sleep would not return to Ben Abir. Through the coarse goat hair\ntexture that made up the covering of his tent the glittering mass\nstared at him like so many living eyes, and he felt a chill run\nthrough the marrow of his bones. While he was at a loss to explain how\nthe glare of the hoard penetrated the opaque material of his tent, a\nnew wonder diverted his attention. An inclined plane, broad as a\nvalley and smooth as glass, stretched down from the deep heavens with\nboth ends lost, one among the starry configurations, the other in the\nunfathomed abysses of the nether world. The only irregularity in the\nsweep of the prodigious highway was a terrace which made a connecting\nlink between the upper and the lower part of the plane. In the heart\nof the terrace shone the hoard which a while before had been seen\nbefore the tent.\n\nBen Abir doubted not that there was an evil design back of this\nmarvelous display, but he felt safe in the consciousness of his firm\nloyalty. His feeling of safety, however, was somewhat shaken by a\nterrific detonation, like the eruption of a volcano. It was the signal\nfor a numberless host to ascend towards the terrace, who, dividing and\nsubdividing, started to march up in frowning armies to the sound of\nwailing notes,--clarions and clashing cymbals mixing with a chaos of\nnoise produced by all the instruments of music known. The vanguard was\nmade up of a serried division of vicious gholes whose march resembled\nmore the dance of droll harlequins than the pace of warriors. At their\nheels came a vast herd of monstrous bipeds, with head, tail and hoofs\nof the boar, making the air shudder with their hideous grunts, and\npiercing the sable of night with their grim eyes. Next followed a\ndivision of bipedal beasts, rolling fiery eyeballs, striking their\nsides with tails like those of lions, and rending the atmosphere with\nroars of fury. Back of these came bounding an enormous pack of\nbellowing hell-hounds, each one a Cerberus, armed with the deadly\nteeth and claws of the tiger. Close behind tramped an appalling herd\nof deformities, hunch-backed elephants, with raised trunks that were\nhissing serpents, and tusks which reached down to the ground tearing\nup fragments of rock and hurling them against the terrace with\ndiabolic fury. The rear was taken up by a grisly multitude of animated\nskeletons, who yelled, grinned, laughed, danced,--drawing up and\nthrusting out their bony limbs with wriggling motion, and varying the\ninfernal performance by a series of somersaults. Back of all burst a\ndeluge of red fire which shot with raging impetuosity among the\nhellish monsters, who instead of being deterred appeared to derive\nstrength from the consuming element. But fierce as was the rush\nagainst the terrace, beyond its outer limits the demons could not\npass.\n\nMeanwhile, on the upper extension of the celestial highway there was\na quick mustering of radiant squadrons, and an array of embattled\nlines which extended beyond the remotest galaxies. The summons had\ngone forth to be ready for the infernal invader, and the denizens of\nthe stars responded in unnumbered myriads. Signals flashed from height\nto height, and save the warning note of a trumpet faintly heard now\nand then, the pregnant silence of the ethereal combatants contrasted\nstrangely with the fiendish defiance of the howling goblins.\n\nThe moments of suspense were intensified by the swelling of the hoard\nto amazing dimensions; not that the coins multiplied, but they grew in\nsize and in lustre, until each one resembled the solar disk. It was no\nmore a pile, but a pyramid, of gold set in a frame of thickening\ndarkness.\n\nA peal of thunder from on high was the sign for the encounter. Like a\nsea of lightning, the radiant vanguard swept adown the terrace with a\nmien so dreadful and weapons so deterring that the black divisions\nfled in horror before the blasting might that shook the deeps to the\nfoundation.\n\nWith all his attention concentrated on the engagement, Ben Abir had\nnot seen that a cherub stood before him one of those precious disks in\nhis hand, until the apparition spoke. \"So much is thine, O, righteous\nBen Abir! the rest will come,\" were the mystic words of the benign\npower.\n\nBen Abir could not accept the gift without stretching his arms to\ntheir full length, and found it impossible to hold it the moment his\nhands closed round the edge of the fiery wheel. Finding the priceless\ntreasure was slipping from his grasp he called for Ibraeem to help.\n\n\"What is it thou wouldst have me do for thee, master?\" asked the\nattendant when roused from his sound sleep.\n\n\"Have I called thee, Ibraeem? Yes, I did call thee; but it was all a\ndream, a dream as awful as the vision of Jacob in the wilderness.--How\nfar advanced is the night? Is there anything left of the golden\nhoard?\" inquired Ben Abir.\n\n\"The camels are astir, and the east is gray, but the gold is all\ngone, master,--all gone. Had we taken it, thou wouldst again be the\nCroesus of Yemen,\" said the simple-minded Ibraeem, regretfully. \"We\nought to have taken it, ought we not?\"\n\n\"It is well that we kept our hands from it; it was a temptation held\nout by the evil one, Ibraeem, who lures man into error. What is to be\nwill be.--Let me be alone for a little space; I am somewhat\nperturbed,\" concluded Ben Abir, who wished to think over his unearthly\nvision.\n\nWith eyes closed, the Hebrew endeavored to recall the dark and bright\nphantoms of the night, pondering what it all might mean. And that\nhoard, which his humble servant had witnessed and referred to, had\nbeen too tangible a reality to be transferred to the domain of the\nspectral.\n\nThe radiant flood-gates of heaven's light-oceans opened wide. The\nOrient was ablaze with the glories of an early sunrise, which had been\ninitiated by waves of gilded crimson; and Arabia Felix rose from a\ntranscendental dream to bathe in dew as brilliant as the pearls of\nHalool and Katar. The air vibrated with the joyous notes of the\nfeathered freebooters; there were the finch, the lark and the thrush\nto lead in the matin concert, and the beautifully-crested hoopoe, on\nwhom Solomon bestowed a golden crown for services rendered him in the\ndesert and for messages carried between His Majesty and Belkeys, the\nQueen of Sheba. Sweet was the scent of the air, and the sparkling dew\nwas as yet unabsorbed by the glowing heat of the rising day.\n\nBen Abir issued from his tent to feel that nature donned her festal\nrobes in honor of the Sabbath blessed of the Lord. Was it not his\nover-soul that made him realize the holiness of God's creation? How\ndifferent the world looked to him on week-days. But think of whatever\nhe might, before his mental gaze still soared his vision undispelled\nby the cheer of sunshine and life. His heart throbbed with prophetic\napprehension. Who was wise enough to enlighten him?\n\nHowever, the day was passed in worship and study; and at the sight of\nthe first three stars in the firmament, the scrupulous Ben Abir bade\nhis farewell to the Sabbath by the blessing uttered over a cup of\nwine; and, lantern in hand, proceeded to search the spot whereon the\ngolden hoard had been seen on the previous night. One gold piece only\nhe found on turning up the sand with the tip of his sandal, but it was\nenough to make his heart flutter, conscious that the coin in his hand\nwas not of human make. Returning to his tent, the precious piece was\ndeposited on a pillow with a trembling hand, when lo! the thing began\nto dilate and grow in brilliance, until it reached the size and shape\nof the golden disk he had in his vision received from an angel's hand.\nBen Abir bit his thumb to assure himself that he was awake. Was it not\nanother illusion? To the touch it was an ordinary coin; to the eye it\nhad the form of a mighty targe of burnished gold. \"It is mine, and I\nshall keep it as the secret and talisman of my life, a gift of the\nMost High, blessed be He!\" whispered the loyal Israelite, and the\nmysterious coin was carefully wrapped up and put away.\n\nThe early dawn of the first day of the week found Ben Abir's caravan\nwinding its way amidst a wilderness of tropic vegetation and scattered\nrocks; but the tide of fortune still turned against him. Torrents of\nrain impeded the march of his camels and damaged the goods he depended\non for the success of his journey. While the dromedaries were in the\nact of crossing a bridge the span gave way and three of the poor\nbrutes went down never to rise again; and to complete his ruin, fire\nbroke out at the caravansary where he had hoped to find refuge from\nthe weather's inclemencies, and he had good cause to be grateful even\nfor escape from death in the flames that consumed the remnant of his\nmerchandise, largely secured on credit. The Croesus of Yemen found\nhimself on the brink of poverty, a ruined man with a crowd of\ncreditors to lodge him in one of Sanaa's abominable prisons. He knew\nthe Kadi who would speak the sentence, and he prepared to face the\ninevitable, trusting that something would happen to render his painful\nsituation bearable.\n\nThere lived at this time another person in Sanaa who actually\nrejoiced at the disgrace and impoverishment of Ben Abir; and this\ncontrary both to his own temper, and to the popular sympathies with a\nman who in his better days alleviated human misery to the best of his\nability. That exception was Hayem Cordosa. The cause of the ill\nfeeling in Cordosa's breast was an unhappy, one-sided romance, which\nhad driven his son, Menahem, to desperation. Until a certain morning\nthat youth had but one dream, and that was knowledge. It was the\nfateful moment when he chanced to meet in the street an exquisitely\nlovely boy mounted on a pony in charge of a black man. The child's\nsilken locks were darker than the jet black face of his attendant, his\ncomplexion was like milk and blood, his lips reminded one of the red\ncoral, his teeth of the purest pearl, while his eyes suggested the\ndreams of angels in realms of ineffable felicity. A few questions put\nto the slave brought the information that infinitely fairer than the\nchild was his elder sister Estrelia. In the glow of his loyal\nadmiration Ibraeem, who had the child in charge, portrayed to the\ninterested youth a maiden who was more beautiful than the Peri of\nYemen. So great was her beauty that her pellucid witchery shone\nthrough her veil, while her perfect form would have been envied by the\ngraces of antiquity. Ibraeem did not think that he exaggerated matters\nby assuring Menahem that Estrelia's loveliness illumined the\napartments of her privacy, and that her eyes would enchant the deadly\n_rukta_. If the youth had any doubt about it, the cherub-like\nsweetness of her little brother dispelled the doubt.\n\nMenahem was not a youth to be despised. His fidelity to principle was\nas great as his learning in sacred literature was deep. He felt\njustified in offering his heart to Ben Abir's daughter, but met with a\nrebuff, and became desperate. The erstwhile cheerful youth grew\ngloomy, courted seclusion, brooded on vengeance; and finally resorted\nto the extremity of deserting his faith, to the great sorrow of his\nscrupulously religious parents. It was a mad step, but there was\nmethod in the madness. The apostate put himself under the protection\nof Omar, and the learned Kadi presented him to his royal master as a\nconvert to Islam; the Imam received him with favor, assured him of a\nseat in Paradise, and made him his cup-bearer. Menahem was where he\nwished to be, but Cordosa hated the house of Ben Abir.\n\nIt was during the last trip of the fallen Croesus of Yemen that the\nconvert took an opportunity to speak to the Imam of the maiden who had\ndriven him mad, and he spoke of her as the \"luminous Peri of Yemen,\nwhose radiant beauty enlightens Ben Abir's home.\"\n\nUnder ordinary circumstances there was not a thing within the\nboundaries of his dominion the Imam would hesitate to lay hand on if\nhe deemed its possession desirable. In this especial case the\nremembrance of a broken leg and dislocated jaw seemed to justify any\nstep calculated to afford some recompense for those injuries which\ngave the aspirant to prophetic veneration a hideous aspect. When\nconsulted in the matter, the Kadi failed to see it in any other\nlight--\"Thou art the blessed re-birth of the last prophet, the prince\nof this great land, and there is no power in the heavens to interfere\nwith thy right, O, commander of the faithful! when thou seest fit to\nsave a soul from perdition. As to the increase in thy harem beyond the\nnumber consecrated by the will of Mohammed, thy servant will be\ngrateful for any of thy Houris, if thou deignest to transfer her to\nthe humbler home of thy devoted Kadi,\" was Omar's suggestion.\n\nHad the secret remained among its originators and been carried out\npromptly, the fate of Estrelia would have been sealed; but the removal\nof one from the Imam's harem put Ayesha on her mettle. She suspected a\nnew arrival, and, having fathomed the mind of Yemen's lord, she was\nalarmed at the prospect of being eclipsed by superior charms, thus\nforfeiting her hitherto undisputed rule; and she lost no time in\napprising the right persons of Estrelia's imminent danger. Thus did it\ncome to pass that when, led by the apostate, the minions of the prince\ndescended on Ben Abir's unprotected home, they had to report that\ntheir nocturnal invasion had been a failure. The \"luminous peri of\nYemen\" had been warned in time.\n\nFor a man already under the pressure of great trials to return from a\nruinous trip, and be greeted by the news of his child's disappearance,\nis an experience more readily imagined than described. The last\nvisitation was too whelming even for the Job-like resignation of Ben\nAbir. His only comfort was his wife's assurance that Estrelia was not\nin the seraglio of the Imam. She had been carried away by two men in\ndisguise through a back door, barely escaping the grasp of the vandals\nwho knocked for admission in the front. The mother was so\npanic-stricken that she failed to remember the names of the persons\nwho had come to the rescue of her child, and she had not heard from\nthem since; but she felt sure that everything would turn out right.\n\nIn his brighter days Ben Abir would have invoked the power of his\nsovereign to effect the restitution of his daughter, but matters had\nchanged, and circumstances dictated prudence on his part. Imam and\nKadi were alike interested in his ruin. To search quietly, wait\npatiently, hope and pray, were the only ways and means compatible with\nhis safety. Besides, there were impatient creditors to be appeased and\nstarvation at the door. The princely home had to be disposed of, but\nthis afforded small relief. Whatever he touched, success was his\nadversary. \"If I made it my business to bury the dead, not a death\nwould for years occur in the city of Sanaa,\" remarked the disappointed\nman to his wife. The last trinket had been sold to keep the wolf away\nfrom the door, and now hunger stared his wife and child in the face.\nThe devoted Ibraeem did his utmost to relieve the want of his master's\nfamily, but his fidelity was more of a comfort than a support. With\nthe pride of a man who would rather die than appeal for help, Ben Abir\nyet had finally to yield to the entreaties of a starving wife. There\nremained but one thing for him to do, a bitter pill for him to\nswallow, and he acted like a man. Twice a year it was Cordosa's\nbusiness to lead a caravan to one of Yemen's ports to exchange Arabian\nproducts for merchandise imported for the markets of the peninsula.\nWhat he did not do on his own account he did on commission for others.\nThe leading merchants of Sanaa charged him with the purchase of their\nwares, and their commissions were all entered in a book to be referred\nto in due time.\n\nThe resources of Ben Abir having been exhausted, he bethought himself\nof the precious coin he had sewed up in the hem of his coarse mantle,\nand he resolved to ask Cordosa to invest it for him in whatever way he\nshould deem profitable. Curbing his pride he sought an interview with\nhis enemy, made a frank statement of his pinching indigence, and\nrequested Cordosa to buy for the only piece of gold he had in the\nworld anything that could be sold in Sanaa. Ben Abir's sad plight and\nfrankness moved Cordosa's heart, who not alone promised to do his best\nin the matter of business, but insisted on relieving the distress of\nthe fallen man's family. The reconciliation was complete, and the\ngenerous commissioner set out on his journey, accompanied by the best\nwishes of Ben Abir, and those who expected his return with more than\nusual interest.\n\nThe six long lines of dromedaries of Cordosa's caravan, each file\nheld together by a hair rope, were preceded by a snow-white donkey of\nthe best breed in Hasa, good luck being insured by that philosophic\nanimal who gave Balaam a lesson. To the left of the sagacious\nquadruped rode the regular guide, a Bedouin who felt at home in the\ntrackless waste; to the right, astride of a fine steed, was the\n_Karawan-Bashi_,--the caravan commander,--a gorgeous display of gaudy\ntrimmings, trappings, jingling bells and tassels, in which, however,\nhe was greatly eclipsed by the leading ass. At the _Bashi's_ left side\ndangled a sword of Damascus, sheathed in a scabbard; and his warlike\ntemper was formidably impressed on all whom it concerned by a spear of\nunusual length. Behind these three leaders, varying in their capacity,\non his horse came Cordosa, the master of the caravan. Between the\nguide and the _Karawan-Bashi_ there was a tacit understanding to while\naway the monotony of the trip by tales of adventure in the desert,\nwhich they told with startling vividness, each one managing to pose as\nthe hero of some thrilling episode.\n\nAfter the usual number of days, and the accidents incidental to a\njourney through inhospitable regions, Cordosa reached the point of his\ndestination. Here the unexpected happened to the experienced\ncommissioner. Following his memoranda, he left no detail of business\nunattended to, except the order of Ben Abir, which he had omitted to\nenter on his book. As the caravan was on the point of proceeding\nhomeward, Cordosa remembered Ben Abir's request, and felt guilty of\nneglect. Full of self-reproach, he turned to the _Karawan-Bashi_ and\nrequired him to hurry to the bazaar and buy for the gold piece he gave\nhim anything he thought profitable or useful. The order was carried\nout to the letter, to the great mortification of Cordosa. The\n_Karawan-Bashi_ happened to meet a sailor, who had a cage full of\nAngola cats for sale, and proposing to strike a bargain, offered the\ngold piece in exchange for the feline colony, was taken at his word,\nand thus possessed himself of the freaky live-stock. The sailor's tale\nwas brief. The animals had kept a large vessel free of mice, the ship\nhad foundered, the seaman saved the cats. He had nothing to live on.\nIt was a straight story. The vendor had the gold and Cordosa the cats.\nThe only thing to be done was to take the feline company along.\n\nAgain the unexpected happened to Cordosa. For many days everything\nwent on without a hitch, when the _Karawan-Bashi_ and the guide\ninformed him that the high-land they were traversing was entirely\nunknown to them, and that they did not know how they had come into it.\n\"What I see around me I have never before seen, and I have led a\nhundred caravans athwart the width and breadth of Yemen,\" asserted the\nmost experienced guide, and the _Bashi_ shook his head significantly.\n\n\"And have you perceived the singular fact, that though the country\nhereabout resembles the garden of Eden, we have this long day not seen\na single sign of life,\" said Cordosa, not undisturbed in his mind.\n\n\"Allah achbar! what sea is it there we are drawing nearer to?\" asked\nthe _Bashi_ in alarm.--\"A big water in the mountain!\"\n\n\"By the beard of the Prophet, how can a big water climb up a\nmountain?\" ejaculated the astonished guide.\n\n\"What you see is no water, but a heavy fog, which looks like water,\"\ncorrected Cordosa, much surprised however at the phenomenal denseness\nof the cloud.\n\n\"True, it is a fog; but I have never seen one that looked so much like\na rolling tide threatening to engulf us. Everything that is alive\nseems to have fled before we entered this region,\" observed the guide,\napprehensively.\n\nAnd a strange fog it was, which rolled forward like a tidal wave, and\nere long buried the caravan in a cloud so dense that one could not see\nhis own feet, and the men became alarmed lest they go down unwarned\nover the brink of some precipice. The camels were allowed to grope\ntheir way, the guide having given up the idea of guiding; and the long\nstring of animals progressed slowly amidst a flood of vapor with\nnothing to vary the nerve-trying suspense for fully an hour.\nEverything and everybody was soaked by the moisture; the air did not\nstir, and the stillness was oppressive. At last there was a rift in\nthe hitherto impenetrable mass; and when a breeze lifted the fog,\nCordosa rubbed his eyes to assure himself of being awake.\n\n\"Dost thou see what I see?\" asked he of the _Karawan-Bashi_.\n\n\"And what dost thou see, O, man, who hast traversed the Red Desert?\"\nasked in turn the _Bashi_ of the guide.\n\n\"I see, high up, a city of marble palaces with roofs of silver and\nbalconies of gold, as glorious as Balbec and Chilminar,\" cried the\nguide, enthusiastically.\n\n\"That is what I see; we have been lured into the domain of the genii,\nand harm will betide us if we fail to evade their crafty wiles,\"\nanswered the _Bashi_, nervously.\n\n\"If we do not flee the malicious _Div_ will hurl us into one of those\nbottomless chasms which swarm with venomous serpents,\" warned the\nguide.\n\n\"Try we to retrace our course, or the bird of prey and the hyena will\npick the flesh from our bones,\" said the _Bashi_, in a mood of dark\nprophecy.\n\n\"Is it not God who rules this world and the stars? How can you be\nsure that evil will befall us if we enter that place? We are men of\nfaith and stout hearts, and I propose that we proceed toward that\ndazzling city, no matter who they be who inhabit it,\" was Cordosa's\nfearless proposition.\n\n\"Thou shalt not find me craven if there be danger to face. The point\nof this spear has been buried in the body of the lion, and this heel\nhas bruised the head of the _rukta_; if there be the evil one, I will\nface him,\" exclaimed the _Karawan-Bashi_.\n\n\"Neither is thy guide of the stuff that shrinks before spectres,\nhowever monstrous. Let us know them who have built that marvelous\ncity,\" cried the guide heroically, and toward the city the caravan\nadvanced.\n\nIt was that hour of the day when the lengthened shadows indicate the\ndescent of the glowing orb, but the striking absence of bird or insect\nin a quarter where every inducement for their presence was to be seen\nin abundance gave the surroundings an air of desolation, and produced\nthe sensation experienced by him who suddenly lights on a corpse. A\nbroad avenue shaded by treble lines of orange trees in blossom,\ndiffusing delicious odors, led up to a high portal giving admission to\na vast enclosure walled by gray stones perfectly fitted by masterful\nhands, a fortress looking as new as though the masons had just given\nit the finishing touch. The wall was not high enough to hide the\ngorgeous edifices within; but the wayfarers pricked their ears in vain\nto catch a sound of life, the quiet being that of the graveyard. \"This\nis a dead city,\" observed the guide, in the hope of shaking the\ncourage of Cordosa; \"peradventure the desolate city built by the son\nof Ad.\"\n\n\"They are not dead at night who are dead during the day,\" added the\n_Karawan-Bashi_, with a similar object in view.\n\n\"God is strong enough to afford us protection against all evil powers.\nHere may be a mystery we are destined to solve. Knock at the gate for\nadmission,\" ordered Cordosa peremptorily.\n\n\"_Allah illaha il Allah!_\" cried the _Bashi_, seized with a fit of\nunflinching heroism; \"I will knock at the gate with my scabbard, be\nthe place under the rule of grim Monkir; the faithful need not be\nafraid of the creatures of Eblis.\"\n\nThe rap on the gate gave forth a hollow sound in response, yet the\ngateway opened with a jar, revealing a scene at which the intruders\ngazed with amazement. Sheddad's garden of Irem could hardly equal the\nvernal luxuriance which hid the foundations of the wonderful\nbuildings. Scattered here and there, among delightful flower-beds and\nthick clusters of the luscious vine, stood groups of fairies\nmotionless, so handsome that their cheeks rivaled the rose in\nsweetness. They were all barefooted, their little feet resembling\nthose of children. For headgear they wore crowns of golden hair; their\ngarb was a transparent gauze, shining like moonlight, and bespangled\nwith gold, and they were all armed with spears of that precious metal.\nAwful was their silence, their expression yet showing an intense\nanxiety to utter speech. The gate slammed to with its jarring note as\nsoon as the last camel was within the precincts, and the Yemenites\nshuddered at the realization of their being locked in a dead city.\nOvercome by the awe of the surroundings, Cordosa exclaimed: \"Great\nLord, protect us!\" Hereupon the whole mountain experienced a tremor,\nshared by the life-like fairies, who appeared to shiver at the mention\nof the Supreme.\n\nIt being sunset, Cordosa directed the _Bashi_ and the guide to take\nthe caravan to the nearest khan, and the next moment the travellers\nentered a caravansary, compared to which the Asaad Pasha of Damascus\nis but an insignificant hostelry. They found the gate ajar, and within\nthere was plenty of provender, and a playing fountain to quench the\nthirst of man and brute. A sumptuous divan furnished with the most\ncostly rugs of silk, and such seats as are only reserved for caliphs,\ntempted the Arabs to rest their weary limbs, while the odors of savory\nviands betrayed the neighborhood of a culinary institution of the\nhighest order. Following the scent they entered a prodigious banquet\nhall of imperial splendor. On low tables a royal feast was set in\nglittering crystal under covers of gold. On the right side of each\nservice lay a golden rod not unlike the sceptre of a king. Scores of\nfairies stood around in the attitude of attendants eager to serve, but\nstiff and lifeless as mummies, dead beauty radiating from their faces\nof immaculate purity.\n\nHunger yielded to temptation, and the _Bashi's_ example was followed\nby the others, except Cordosa who, lost in wonder, would not avail\nhimself of the magnificent hospitality impliedly offered by beings who\nto all appearances were dead; if not dead then strangely enchanted for\nsome unaccountable purpose.\n\nNeither had the others time to appease the cravings of their\nappetites; for no sooner was the first dish uncovered than a\nmultitudinous rustling, tripping and squeaking caused the astonished\nguests to turn their eyes toward the door, when lo, and behold!--thick\nswarms of silvery mice came rushing and tumbling one over the other,\nand, flying up the limbs of the horrified men, as squirrels are often\nseen to run up trees, they devoured in the twinkling of an eye\nwhatever had been laid bare to their voracity. The sumptuous banquet\nwas turned into a scene of horror and disgust, the more so since the\npests seemed heedless of those who were present, and callous to the\nblows which were dealt them with the golden rods that were apparently\nthere for that purpose. \"Bring the cats hither,\" commanded Cordosa.\nAnd as the cage was brought forth and opened the cats leapt forth like\ntigers wild for prey. But nimble as pussy is, the agility of her game\nleft her without a chance to do mischief. Quick as the vermin had\nappeared, they much more quickly disappeared, as though the swarms had\nbeen nothing but flitting shadows.\n\nBefore it was possible to restore the animals to their cage, Cordosa\nand his subordinates were not only startled by the sudden animation of\nthe fairies in the banquet hall, but a muffled roar, as of a\nvictorious army without, made them feel instinctively that a great\nchange had come over the dwellers of the magic city. It was a tumult\nthat stirred the air far and wide, was echoed and re-echoed, until\nthe hills were vocal with the ringing vibrations of countless voices,\nand before a question could be asked, in marched a legion of those\nadmirable creatures, who but a little before had been seen in a state\nof inanimation. Arraying themselves in military form, they presented\narms and made a profound salaam in evident honor of Cordosa, thus\nacknowledging his title to their respect. With that unfailing\npoliteness, which is the exquisite quality of the refined Oriental,\nthe Hebrew begged to be informed why he was made the object of this\ndistinguished attention. \"Because thou hast broken the spell which for\nmany hundred years held the denizens of this city enthralled by\nenchantment,\" was the answer.\n\nThere was a genial affability in the demeanor of the child-like\nrepresentatives of the city's population, so that the fear of their\nbeing malicious genii vanished, and a confiding intercourse took the\nplace of shrinking suspicion. The story they told of their origin and\nsubsequent enchantment is one of romance, necromancy, and dire\nvengeance. It is briefly as follows:\n\nLilithiana, the Peri-Queen of the mountains of Yemen, had, in ages\ngone by, been wooed by the then two mighty magicians of Africa, known\nas El Akbor and Metemhagi. El Akbor was dreaded as the master of all\nthe rodent species, which he had often sent on expeditions of\ndestruction to avenge wrongs or to satisfy malice. There was no escape\nfrom the instruments of his ire. Persons and property were bitten,\ntorn, and destroyed according to his order. The only power he feared\nwas Metemhagi, who ruled all the feline tribes, and could be appealed\nto against the plague his rival was in a position to inflict. Long and\nassiduous was the courtship of the twain necromancers, and the\nlove-contest closed with Lilithiana's declared preference for\nMetemhagi.\n\nThe Peri-Queen controlled the untold wealth hidden in the mountains of\nher domain, was mistress of all the genii within the bounds of her\nempire, and concluded to build an enchanted city accessible to none\nbut her progeny. A host of her aerial subjects received orders to\ncarry out their Queen's behest, and the city of marble, silver and\ngold was the result of one hour's workmanship. Hither the queenly Peri\nretired with her mortal adorer, and an impenetrable zone of cloud was\nthrown around the region that had the weird city as its centre.\n\nLilithiana was not long to enjoy her marital felicity. Her intimacy\nwith a mortal deprived her of the power over Yemen's genii; and the\nangel, who centuries before had expelled her from Paradise for a\nslight trespass, descended to inform her that her sin would be visited\non her guiltless offspring, her own punishment being exile and\nseparation from her dear ones. Aware of the Peri's fall and disgrace,\nEl Akbor assumed the deterring form of a monstrous rat and, embracing\nhis opportunity, threw himself among the genii of Lilithiana's realm\nduring a dance in the moonlight. The shock transformed them into a\nswarm of silvery mice, and the magician having thus gained power over\nthem, uttered another incantation, causing the whilom airy beings to\nraven with an insatiate hunger. This gluttony made them the terror of\nLilithiana's descendants, who were doomed hereafter to live only from\nsunset to sunrise, held by witch-craft the rest of the time in a\ndeath-like trance.\n\nMetemhagi's devotion to his fairest of consorts made it impossible for\nhim to part with her whose tender passion for him had caused her fall\nand banishment, and his absence enabled the diabolical Akbor to\naccomplish his purpose. Informed of the outrage, Metemhagi hurried to\nthe spot as fast as the fleetest tiger could carry him, but found that\nthe spell was to last until, prompted by a higher power, the intrusion\nof man with that feline species of whom the rodents are in terror\nshould break the magic thrall, and restore matters to their original\ncondition. This having happened, the disenchantment of the enthralled\ninhabitants of the superb city was followed by that of the genii who\nhad been changed to mice. Lilithiana's return to majesty came next.\nWidowed and humiliated, she had hovered for centuries on the borders\nof her beloved empire till Cordosa's arrival in her city changed the\naspect of things, and she was the Peri-Queen once more.\n\nHitherto the nocturnal revelers could not indulge their feast without\nbeating off the pestilent vermin with one hand while eating with the\nother; it was the first time that the banquet was being enjoyed in\ndaylight, and without the use of the erstwhile indispensable weapon.\nThe viands served appeared as inexhaustible as the multitudes who\nentered the dining hall to pay their respects to Cordosa, regale\nthemselves, and file off again. Nor was music wanting to enliven\nconviviality. The charming attendants ravished the souls of the throng\nwith song so sweet that the strangers had difficulty to prevent their\neyelids from closing, lulled into obliviousness by the dulcet melody.\nAt last Cordosa alone remained awake; the rest had succumbed to the\nirresistible charm of the bewitching voices. The honors showered on\nCordosa were worthy of a great deliverer. In a palanquin of the most\nprecious metal, studded with brilliant jewels, seated on cushions\nsofter than air, he was carried through the festively decked\nboulevards and paradisial gardens, among dazzling palaces and amid the\njoyous ovations of jubilant crowds.\n\nAnd as soon as the sun had withdrawn his last mellow beam from the\ncrests of the mountains, unearthly splendors burst over the magic\ncity. The spectacle was one of ghostly awe and august magnificence. A\nsplendid illumination shed a flood of light on towering edifices and\ntheir resplendent decorations. In a second, grand triumphal arches\nspanned every highway, woven of the Orient's most exuberant foliage,\nflowers and blossoms, each one strewed thickly with the delicate\npetals of all the roses in creation, and the delighted denizens were\ntransfigured in the reflex of the weird effulgence. Expectation sat\nvisible on every face, and the reason became manifest when the faint\nvibration of a dreamy music came floating on the balmy breeze from the\nlower end of the main boulevard. The disenchanted genii celebrated\ntheir deliverance, and prepared to welcome their Peri-Queen, whose\ntime had come to return from her banishment to rule, surrounded by\nthose whose image kept her lover's memory green. The event was to be\ncommemorated by a transcendent jubilee.\n\nThe Queen's cavalry opened the triumphal entry with a division of\ndiminutive and luminous horsemen, armed with golden spears, mounted on\ntiny zebras not larger than kittens, and blowing trumpets not unlike\nthe calyx of the white lily. In an instant their files flew up the\nfirst triumphal arch, with no more effort than a bird makes when he\nhops from one twig to another. From their lofty position they watched\nthe advance of the Queen's artillery, a glittering train of golden\ncannon, mortars and howitzers, on silver carriages, pulled by little\nwhite elephants whose drivers in lustrous uniform swelled the chorus\nby bugles which varied the harmony with great effect. An inclined span\nthrown by the vanguard to the top of an arch served as a road to an\nelevated platform, where the ordnance was put in position, loaded and\npointed in every direction of the compass. Beneath came the body of\nthe great army, battalion on battalion, ascending and occupying in\nsuccession arch after arch, until the vernal displays bristled and\nblazed with the gorgeousness of the shining host. A translucent haze\nlike a veil of atomized jewels floated in the atmosphere, reflecting\nthe hues of the rainbow; and a thousand bands accompanied a chorus as\nnumerous as the voices of the entire army and population.\n\nCordosa's tears flowed freely; the symphony proved too much for his\nheart. The pageant around him looked like a dream of blessed\nchildhood. He had neither time to feel nor to think. The chorus sang\nthe prelude to the entrance of the Peri-Queen. Wrapped in a cloud as\nintensely bright, as though the moon's light had been concentrated\nwithin a radius of a few leagues, Lilithiana entered the gate of her\nown city. Jubilant hurrahs greeted her and reverberated a thousandfold\nthroughout the hills. As the queenly train drew nearer, Cordosa\ndiscerned in the heart of the mass of light a gliding chariot drawn by\ntwelve fiery steeds as white as the blaze around them. In reclining\nease Lilithiana rested on pillows of gossamer apparently filled out\nwith light. Her golden hair hung like a beam of mild sunshine, leaving\na countenance free, which with its star-like eyes left no hope for\nmortal beauty to equal it. Of lesser witchery yet unmatched by flesh\nhowever fair were her nine attending nymphs, who in another equipage\nrode behind their mistress, each one holding a bag full of precious\ncoin. The glorious pageant closed with a division of brilliantly\nmounted guards on stags with golden hoofs and antlers.\n\nWhat was the sensation of Cordosa on perceiving that the Peri-Queen\nhad her eyes riveted upon him. Before the spot he occupied her chariot\nstopped. Without alighting from her royal seat, Lilithiana spoke thus\nto the astonished man:\n\n\"Not so much to thee, O, Cordosa, do we owe our restoration, and our\nchildren their disenchantment, as to the righteous Ben Abir whose\nfaith and reverence frustrated the designs of the evil one. Temptation\nlured him in vain, and trials failed to weaken his trust in Eternal\nJustice. Yet hast thou done thy share to deepen his misery. Why knows\nhe not where his daughter hides? Art thou not afraid of retribution?\nLead his child to his heart. And behold!--these nine bags of gold are\ndestined for him. Take them hence and deliver them untouched as his\nmeed for virtues rare among men. His cause is in higher hands; they\nwho injured him will suffer.\"\n\nThe air was rent with cries of applause, and the triumphal chariot\nproceeded onward. Filing down from the arches, the army stood in\nmarching order, and followed in grand parade. The discharge of\nartillery shook the air; the musicians played, and the pageant moved\non and out of sight, except the column of moonlight, which faded\nslowly in the hazy distance. The palatial buildings burst out with\nradiance from within, and the happy crowds abandoned themselves to\nfeasting and dancing.\n\nCordosa's first business now was to load the dromedaries with the\ntreasure intended for Ben Abir. At the khan he found it almost\nimpossible to awaken his men. When the _Karawan-Bashi_ finally opened\nhis eyes, he looked stupid as an ox and talked as if he had lost his\nsenses. The guide was similarly affected. The Arabs seemed deaf and\ndumb, and Cordosa felt alarmed at their state of torpitude. When all\nhis efforts to raise them failed, he bethought himself of the fountain\nand grasped a vessel with the intention of throwing cold water on the\ndull company. But the fountain was gone. Cordosa turned toward the\ndoor of the superb Divan, where they had spent hours on the previous\nday; there was neither a hall nor a door to be seen, and a sudden\ndimness had made all things uncertain. Still more disturbed by the\nstartling situation, Cordosa tried to grope his way into the room of\nwhose nearness he was sure, but, instead of striking one of the\ncushioned seats, he struck his head against the bark of a tree.\nAwaiting once more some unexpected change he strained his eyes to\ndiscern some object; and failing in the effort, knelt down to\nascertain the nature of the ground he was on. Cold sand, gravel, and\nwet grass apprised him of surroundings other than those he had\nsupposed to be about him. While fear was gaining on him, a passing\nwind raised the fog, and his astonished eye was sweeping in vain in\nsearch for the enchanted--or disenchanted--city.\n\nThe sun was just throwing out his multicolored couriers to inform\ncontinents of his coming. A further effort to awaken his men proved\nsuccessful, and Cordosa's next care was to discover whether the cats\nwere in their cage, and whether the gold bags made a part of what he\ndoubted not was a dream's phantom. His consternation was great when he\nfound the cage empty, and counted nine bags full to overflowing of the\nprecious metal. Calling on the _Karawan-Bashi_ and the guide, he\nthought it was time to proceed homeward. \"We have dreamed long\nenough,\" said he for a purpose.\n\n\"Yes, master, there must be some tricksy _Div_ hereabout; I have a\njumble in my head. I could swear by Allah that we have been in a grand\ncity and have witnessed queer things,\" said the _Bashi_, with a yawn.\n\n\"By the beard of the Prophet, _Bashi_, the demon has blown something\nof that sort into my own brain,\" asserted the guide. The others said\nnothing. The caravan pursued its way, and Cordosa had his eyes on the\ncamels that bore the enormous treasure. Sanaa was reached in safety.\nNone of the men noticed the disappearance of the cats.\n\nImmediately after his arrival Cordosa dispatched two trusty persons\nto his country retreat, and they returned with a third in a disguise\nwhich rendered identification impossible. He then sent for Ben Abir\nand insisted on being informed as to how he had come into possession\nof the mysterious coin that he had given him to invest. Filled with\nunutterable wonder at what he heard, Cordosa emptied one bag of gold\nafter the other, asking each time whether the pile he had refrained\nfrom touching on the specified Friday eve had been as large as the one\nbefore him. Not before the contents of the ninth bag had been added to\nthe heap, did Ben Abir exclaim, \"So large, and not larger.\"\n\n\"Then take all this, and be once more the Croesus of Yemen, O,\nrighteous Ben Abir!\" cried Cordosa, and supplemented his words by the\ntale of the phantom city. It was Ben Abir's turn to be overwhelmed by\nastonishment. \"And now has thy time come to be perfectly happy,\" added\nCordosa, knowing the contrary to be the case.\n\n\"Alas, Ben Abir's happiness will never, never return!--My\ndaughter,--my daughter!\" lamented the disconsolate father.\n\n\"Even thy daughter returns with thy fortune,\" said Cordosa, and\ndisappeared through the door, which led to his private apartments.\nAnother minute and the lost Estrelia lay sobbing in her father's arms.\nBen Abir was a happy man, but the other felt that he owed his friend\nan explanation, which was substantially as follows.\n\nWhen the jealous Ayesha had learned of the Imam's intention to glorify\nhis harem by the incomparable loveliness of Ben Abir's daughter, she\nlost no time in warning Cordosa of the maiden's danger. Knowing that\nhis recreant son was at the bottom of the infamous scheme, he felt\nhimself called upon to frustrate it. But once in possession of the\ngirl, whose charms had lost him his son, Cordosa hoped against hope to\neffect a change in her feelings toward the desperate Menahem. The plan\ndid not work. Estrelia detested the youth who had worshipped her, but\nwas told that her safety required her removal to a hiding place.\nCordosa was maturing a new plan when the supernatural incidents of his\nlast journey left him no choice. The Peri-Queen must be obeyed, lest\nmisfortune betide his house.\n\nCordosa asked Abir's forgiveness, pointing to the great anguish of\nheart the love affair had caused him. The Croesus of Yemen,\nrecognizing the higher hand that fashioned his destiny, would not have\nhis friend refer to it hereafter. \"I would to God I could heal thy\nwound, O, kind-hearted Cordosa. My gratitude and sympathy are thine,\nand if a part of this hoard will give thee ease, be it thine also,\"\nreplied Ben Abir.\n\nBut Cordosa would not entertain the thought of being rewarded for\nservices he had rendered accidentally, while Lilithiana's warning not\nto touch the gold was fresh in his memory.\n\nAs the two much tried men were considering the best way of conveying\nthe treasure quietly to the house of its owner, Ibraeem knocked at the\ndoor. When admitted, the man could scarcely speak for excitement. \"The\nImam is dead!\" cried the liberated slave out of breath.\n\n\"The Imam dead!--Who killed him?\" asked Cordosa, sure that death had\nnot come peacefully,--else why that commotion?\n\n\"He killed both the Imam and the Kadi,\" supplemented Ibraeem, \"He ran\namuck.\"\n\n\"Who is he?\" asked Ben Abir with pardonable impatience.\n\n\"Menahem Cordosa,\" breathed the slave, betraying a delicacy of feeling\nslaves are not credited with. Cordosa grew faint, and was caught in\nthe arms of Ben Abir.\n\n\"Menahem Cordosa an assassin!\" mourned the stricken parent. \"It is\nwell that it ended as it did,\" added Cordosa, having recovered his\ncomposure. \"Take your hoard, friend, and may thy house prosper.\"\n\n\"Dost thou remember to have ever seen this heap of coin?\" asked Ben\nAbir, seeing Ibraeem's eyes fascinated by the shining pile.\n\n\"That is the gold we saw that Friday eve before thy tent,\" replied\nIbraeem.\n\n\"Yes, Ibraeem, and then I told thee that what is to be will be. This\nall goes to our house, thine not less than mine, faithful Ibraeem, who\nshall live to the end of thy days with the Croesus of Yemen,\" said the\ngrateful Ben Abir.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FATE OF ARZEMIA.\n\n\nIn the ninth year of his rule Chosroes Nushirvan, the conqueror of\nkingdoms, sat one day on his gem-incrusted throne, surrounded by all\nthe symbols of earthly majesty. The room was the famous,\nstar-bespangled hall of state in his celebrated palace at Ctesiphon,\nhis capital, an edifice so large that on this occasion the entire\ndivision of his dreaded \"fifty thousand golden spears\" were required\nto draw a cordon around its enclosure in the heart of that splendid\ncity on the bank of the Tigris. Dazzling jewels, exquisite art, weird\nmagnificence, and incalculable wealth characterized the imperial\nscene. The golden throne stood on a prodigious carpet of silk,\nembroidered in imitation of a semi-tropical garden,--plant, leaf and\nblossom being artistically reproduced in gems of all hues, from the\nemerald to the sparkling diamond and sapphire. The vaulted hall\nrepresented a miniature firmament adorned with golden spheres\nresponding by an operation of machinery to the motions of the planets\nand the signs of the zodiac. Chosroes was enclosed in a brilliant coat\nof mail, and his hand rested on a sword bedecked with jewels of untold\nvalue. His crown was so heavy that in order to sustain its priceless\nweight, a golden chain held it suspended over the head of Iran's\ninvincible lord. On a lower seat at his right hand sat the venerable\n_Zarathustrotema_, the primate of all the sun-worshippers, the\nhigh-priest of the high-priests; while before the throne stood in\nservile attitude the chiefs and servitors of his court, prepared to\nsink prostrate at the nod of the autocrat.\n\nAs many eyes as there were in the hall threw furtive glances at the\ncontracted brows of the arbitrary monarch, whose discordant mood was\nevident. Whether it was anger, melancholy, or despair, remained to be\nseen; there was no beam in his face to relieve the gloom. Why that\nill-humor on a day dedicated to festive joy? For it was the seventh\nday after the birth of a royal babe, the day set for the naming and\nblessing of his new-born child. But the mighty lord of Iran had for\nsix days and nights been stirred by the vivid picture of a dream which\ncaused his blood to run cold as often he recalled its horrifying\nincidents. His vision was unlike that of Nebuchadnezzar, who saw a\nhuman form fashioned of various metals shattered by a fragment of\nrock. Chosroes thought that he was roaming through one of his\ndelightful gardens, teeming with singing birds and delicious fruits,\nmusing over the great victories he had won, and the hoards which\nfilled his vaults with enormous wealth, enabling him to rival the\nGreat Mughul in the luxuries of his court. His only worthy enemy was\nRome, and even her power seemed to bend to his will. Might, pomp,\nroyal ease and love were his,--what remained for him to attain but the\nrule of the entire world? \"First Rome, then India!\" cried he. But lo!\nwhat is that? A grim _tower of silence_ so near his marble palace,\nhow did it come there? He had never seen it there ere this. The towers\nof silence, where the fire-worshippers expose their dead to be denuded\nof flesh by carrion vultures, earth being too sacred to be polluted by\nthe decay of human flesh, are usually located in remote groves,\npreferably on hills haunted by the carnivorous bird; here was one in\nthe vicinity of the royal palace,--since when?--and by whose order\nbuilt?\n\nChosroes turned his eyes toward the top of the dismal building to\naccount for the voracious swarm of vultures that circled around it, as\nthough a corpse had been there deposited, and great was his horror to\nsee the flock make towards him. In his confusion he tore a twig from a\ntree to beat off the pest; blood flowed from the tree thus wounded;\nthe obscene swarm disappeared, the tower vanished, and when he looked\nat the twig in his hand, he soon accounted for its great weight by\nfinding it to be a sceptre of gold, adorned by leaves of resplendent\nstones. Then he became conscious of a ravening hunger, which to\nsatisfy, Chosroes put forth his arm to pick the nearest fruit; his\ntouch petrified it into a transparent jewel. Repeated attempts had the\nsame result. Tormented by hunger, the king sent his eye in every\ndirection in the hope of help. Redoubled terror seized him on\nperceiving that the entire garden turned into a wilderness of blinding\nglitter. A lamenting breeze passed through the lifeless masses of\nstiffened green frozen into stone,--tree, fruit and blossom fiercely\nreflecting the glare of the sun. The wind was the only thing that\nmoved, whining like a ghost that passed to eternal perdition. Thirst\nfollowed hunger; the deluded victim turned to a cool spring to find\nthe precious liquid therein crystalized into solid diamonds.\n\n\"_Ahura-Mazda_, if this be an evil work of the _devas_, then send\n_Vohu Mano_, _Ashem_ and _Armaiti_ to lead me into thy light! O, thou\nwho didst create my being in accordance with thy wisdom!\" prayed the\nhumbled Shah, consumed by the double torment of hunger and thirst.\n\nA diabolical laugh made the nightmare hideous; it came from a\nmonstrous shape hidden behind a tree, a winged dragon with the head\nof a man, the head of one in the royal family. Recoiling from that\nfrightful apparition, Chosroes tried to flee, but was intercepted by\nthe same flock of carrion fowl who, returning, lighted on him like so\nmany fiends, lifting him bodily from the ground, and carried him to\nthe funereal grating on the top of the tower of silence, which seemed\nto have again cropped up from the ground. The agony of being torn to\npieces roused him from the horrid nightmare, breathing heavily and\ntrembling all over.\n\nThe first object that met his eyes was the court master-of-ceremonies,\nwho, with arms folded and head inclined, informed his majesty of a new\nroyal birth. Shirin, the envied and most favored sultana of his\nthousands of wives, had the selfsame night been delivered of a female\nchild, as beautiful as is the blushing cheek of _Arustra_. The\ncoincidence of a child's birth with what he could not help accepting\nas a portent of some catastrophe to come was not to be dismissed by a\nZarathustrian to whom the whole universe was one vast battlefield\ncontested by the hostile armies of Ormuzd the good, and Ahriman the\nevil. Yet instead of consulting the wisdom of the Magi, high-priests\nunerring in their interpretations of dreams and casting of nativities,\nChosroes had concluded to wait until the seventh day after the\nconfinement when it is the custom of the votaries of Zarathustra to\nhave the child named by a priest, and its horoscope cast. That there\nmight be no preconcerted deception practiced by the shrewd Magi, a\nsecret order had been issued by the king to three different\nfire-temples, far apart, for the head of the local priesthood to\nreport at court on a day named, and the Zarathustrotema received a\ncall of a similar nature. Thus did it come about that the throne-hall\nof Chosroes Nushirvan wore that awful solemnity of pregnant suspense\nwhich passed down from the head of the empire to those who stood\nuninformed and powerless at the foot of his throne.\n\n\"Know thou, great head of Iran's light-worship, whom Ahura-Mazda\nillumined, that my calling thee hither has a high purpose to be\npresently divulged. From the fire-temples of Ardashir and Kanjak I\nhad the wisest _dasturs_ summoned to appear before me this day to read\nthe stars in behalf of a little daughter to be named Arzemia. Chosroes\nNushirvan ordains it that his daughter's horoscope be cast this hour\nby three of the wisest Magi, each one unknown to and unenlightened by\nthe other. Thy presence, Zarathustrotema, shall wisdom add to wisdom,\nshould some deep remain unfathomed,\" spoke the ruler in a nervous\nvoice.\n\nHereupon a venerable priest was ushered into the royal presence. After\npaying the proper homage, the Magian unrolled a parchment bedecked\nwith hieroglyphics, drew various lines thereon with a rod in his hand,\nthen, with his eyes turned toward the zodiacal figures set in motion\non the firmament of the hall, he began:\n\n\"The god-stars under whose auspices thy new-born child came to this\nworld show me a field of light on a background of impenetrable night.\nI see a career of strength and beauty, beams of sunshine swallowed by\nseas of darkness. The god-stars favor Arzemia, O king, with more than\nwoman's grace and royal fame. Among immortal queens thy daughter will\nstand high; but length of years _Mazda_ denies her; lest she rule and\nbuild, like Semiramis, Ninevehs, Babylons, hanging gardens, and towers\npiercing the skies. With her, Iran's might and fame will blossom new,\nbut there is a floating chaos back of all,--red lightning, bleeding\narmies, wrecked kingdoms and fallen thrones. The god-stars reveal an\nera of triumph, drawing up one of crime, tears, woe, blood and ruin.\"\n\nThe next horoscoper assumed the air of one entranced by the\nadumbrations of his dark prophecy, which ran thus: \"The powers of\n_Angro Maniyush_ stand arraigned against the seed of Chosroes\nNushirvan. Born under Cleopatra's constellation, the child named\nArzemia will exceed Egypt's enchantress in the quality which makes\nwoman sovereign, and the witchery which makes kings her slaves. A dark\nveil hides the rest; let it remain unlifted.--Iran's destiny breaks on\nmy vision in streaks of splendor dimmed by thunder-clouds rising from\nthe eternal abyss.\"\n\n\"Arzemia's fate,\" cried the third prophet of evil, \"is intertwined\nwith that of the Sasanian dynasty. Like Tadmor's queen, she will rule\nover a mighty empire in combat with one yet mightier. But not like\nZenobia's will be the end of her career. Trembling seizes me as I\nbehold Iran's great tragedy, which _Ahura-Mazda_ wrote in the book of\nfate, preceded by an era of triumphs unequalled in the Orient's tale.\nIn the distance I hear the evil spirits whisper things to come, which\nmy lips shall not articulate. Why conjure night while the sun is at\nhis zenith?--Rome is not thy deadliest foe, O, Chosroes Nushirvan;\nbeware of a serpent in thy bosom.\"\n\nThe echo of \"in thy bosom\" vibrated in the monarch's ear, the silence\nof the throne-hall being unbroken by a breath, so fearful was the\nimpression left by the weird astrologers. With ill-disguised alarm\nChosroes turned his look on the face of the Zarathustrotema, whose\nmien betrayed evidence of anxiety.\n\n\"Why sees the one not what the other sees, the god-stars being there\nunchanged? They prophesy a queenship like three others and\nunlike,--where the congruity? Lift up the veil, that certainty dispel\nall doubt. If Persia's downfall be decreed on high let the horoscope\nbe unambiguous; give me truth,\" commanded the autocrat.\n\n\"When, since Zarathustra's blessed age, did _Ahura-Mazda_ bestow of\nhis purest light on a mortal, O, king of kings? The god-stars\nforeshadow our fate, they do not unequivocally foretell it; and man\nmay well be grateful for the doubt that leaves hope to feed his\ndreams. Horoscopy shows that the zodiacal signs under which Arzemia\nbeheld light indicate qualities of sovereignty common to those three\nfamous queens, leaving much unsolved to cherish bright probabilities.\nBenign _Mazda_, lest impending evil mar the joy of the happier hour,\nwithholds the secrets of futurity from our eye. Let not, I beseech\nthee, future events overcast thy glorious horizon. Proceed with thy\ntriumphant march, while we, guardians of the sacred fires, pray for\nthe success of thy arms. If fall we must, then let us fall great. Let\nthine empire grow with Arzemia, her mind be irradiated by the wisdom\nof Zarathustra, and her heart be stirred by the emulation of\nBabylon's immortal queen,\" closed the primate of Iran appealingly.\n\nWith an irrepressible presentiment dominating his being, Chosroes\nsought relief in the vortex of a reckless activity, and his still\nswelling tide of fortune began to weaken the apprehension that he was\nlaboring under the frown of unauspicious god-stars. His cupidity\nseemed to grow with the incessant influx of treasure sent by the\nchiefs of his victorious armies, largely engaged against the forces of\nthe Roman emperor, Heraclius, and nothing was too costly which tended\nto gratify his fondness for display.\n\nThe dreaded auxiliaries of the Persian army were several cohorts of\ndrilled elephants. Each division of troops had its elephantine\naccompaniment, but the fifty thousand \"golden spears\" relied for\neffective pioneer work on fifty of those prodigious tramplers led by a\nwhite mammoth called Mahmud, the same who, in times bygone, carried\nthe Ethiopian king, Abraba, when he invaded Mecca. Mahmud was elevated\nto the rank of a general, and he acted his part with a dignity and a\nforesight worthy of a distinguished strategist. His command was\ntrained to follow their chief in all he did, to eject volumes of water\nand mud, stored up for the purpose in their capacious receptacles,\ninto the eyes of the enemy; to use the proboscis to good advantage, to\ncrush out life and to break the serried files of an advancing foe.\nMahmud's onslaughts paved the way for many a victory, and no officer\nof Iran's great army enjoyed more consideration and affection than\nthat intelligent brute. Whether at home or in the camp, Mahmud's\nquarters and attendants were as sumptuous as those of the other\ngenerals, while his gold-bestrewed robe was of the finest silk, and\nembroidered with precious stones.\n\nWith this inbreaking engine, of a resistless momentum, as a wedge for\nan enormous host, swelled by new levies and animated by dashing\ngenerals, Chosroes Nushirvan not only wrested Asia Minor from the\nRoman grip, but had his banner carried as far as Libya, Egypt and\nCarthage. In the ample vaults of his white palace the insatiate king\nreceived and hoarded the spoils of nations, exhibiting only valueless\ntrophies for the edification of the populace and a disaffected\nnobility. In his domestic relations the lord of Iran was an unjust\nfather, a tyrant, a poltroon, and a pompous braggart, owing his power\nand prestige to the bravery of his generals; but conspiracy was\nlurking where he least suspected it.\n\nThe stir and clash of armies and the overthrow of kingdoms did not\ndisturb the early childhood of Arzemia, who, in the retreats of the\nimperial harem, blossomed into adorable maidenhood, endowed with\ntalents of the highest order and a thirst for knowledge seldom heard\nof in Oriental courts. Infatuated with his charming daughter, Chosroes\nlavished treasures in surrounding her with all the luxuries of a\nqueen, and provided a staff of wise heads to imbue her with the\nessence of Zarathustrian, not less than secular, wisdom. At the age of\nsixteen Arzemia astonished the court by her appearance at her father's\nside in the hall of audience. Robed in a purple dress, with a blaze of\ngems in the shape of a heart on her left breast, and a sparkling\ntiara on her head, the enthroned princess looked more like a goddess\nthan a maiden prematurely developed. To the courtiers at the foot of\nthe throne she appeared an image of a dream, perfect in form,\nineffably beautiful, and divinely self-sufficient, her eyes darting\nthose arrows which strike the incurable wound.\n\nIt was a great gala day. Among the trophies laid before the throne,\nwas the true cross brought by the famous general who had taken\nJerusalem; and a slip-shod envoy from the interior of Arabia was to be\nheard,--the main object, however, being the debut of Shirin's adorable\ndaughter.\n\n\"Is it homage or tribute that thou bringest hither from my slaves in\nArabia?\" asked Chosroes of an uncombed Bedouin in sluttish habit.\n\nIn lieu of answer, the Arab impassively delivered a missive in\nwriting, and gave no sign that the splendor of the scene overawed him.\nTranslated, the message read: \"In the name of the most merciful God!\nMohammed, son of Abdallah and apostle of God, to Chosroes Nushirvan,\nking of Persia--\"\n\n\"Hold, fool! What do I hear! Does a savage slave of the desert dare\nput his name before mine in writing?\" cried the autocrat in great\nanger, seizing the document and tearing it to pieces.--\"Get this dog\nout of my sight, and write to my satrap in Yemen that there lives a\nmadman in Medina who claims to be a prophet; if he cannot cure him,\nlet him send me his head.\"\n\nWith this incident closed a scene that had been fraught with vast\nconsequence for Iran, and with not less significance for Arzemia.\nHenceforth visions different from those that haunted her brain in the\nharem's privacy invaded her imagination. There had been eyes in the\nhall of a glow and a sympathy so passionately contagious that the\nentire being seemed irrevocably absorbed in that enchanting look. It\nwas a woman's first passion, which she was unable to analyze. Before\nthat event her active spirit, if not engaged in fathoming the\nmysteries of Zarathustra, delighted in the weaving of fantastic\ntissues, with heroes and heroines as the forerunners of her future\ngreatness. Destined by the god-stars to wear a crown, what, with Iran\nas her heritage, could prevent her from eclipsing the achievements of\nSemiramis? The entire world then lay prostrate at her feet; kings and\nC\u00e6sars would worship her. Why not rather be a goddess than the mate of\na mortal, even if he be a Ninus, an Antony, or an Odenatus? Why not\nshine like blessed _Mithra_, who illumines the heavens unmated? \"Be\none man's inferior companion rather than the awe and adoration of the\ngreat world? This was thy folly, ill-fated Cleopatra, and thine,\nnobler Zenobia; but the child of Derceto proved herself worthy of her\ndivine mother, and Arzemia shall not be less than Semiramis, with no\nNinus to divide her empire,\" were the last words of a reverie\noverheard by Shirin. And the sultana thought it high time to draw the\nbudding maiden into the open world. Her period of childhood was ended.\n\n\"Thou knowest, my lord, that our child's angelic beauty is far\nexceeded by the brilliancy of her mind; that she has mastered the\nlanguages spoken by the great nations, and the wisdom taught by the\nMagi; but since, obeying thy behest, I cautiously gave her some\nintimation of her horoscope, I perceive a change in her demeanor which\ngives me much concern. Seeking the lonely haunts of our gardens,\nArzemia acts as though she held communion with spirits, discoursing on\nthe hollowness of love, and dreaming of a superhuman destiny reserved\nfor her by the god-stars. _Ahura-Mazda_ has granted us the blessed\nchild to cheer our later years. Our daughter is a harp strung to charm\ndiscord and to scatter gloom, not to be untuned by disuse. May the\nfearful _devas_ pass her, who roams in realms too visionary to be\nsafe!\" prayed the scheming sultana, sure of her game.\n\n\"What wouldst thou have me do, Shirin? Give her in marriage to the man\nwhom Chosroes honors most?\" asked the father imperiously, early\nmarriage being compatible with Zarathustra's moral teachings.\n\n\"Not now, my lord; let the child see the court, the court see her,\nbefore the question of love is broached,\" suggested the emboldened\nsultana.\n\n\"Sultana, it was my pleasure that exalted thee above the fairest of\nmy harem, and thy son above his brothers; it is love's triumph, and\nthy daughter, favored by the god-stars, shall be favored more than\never princess was. Arrayed like _Arustra_, she shall receive her first\nhomage at my side,\" promised the autocratic sire. And so did Shirin\nonce more triumph over her rivals in royal grace.\n\nThus drawn into publicity at her mother's initiative, Arzemia dazzled\nthe court with her houri-like graces not less than her imperial\nbearing. Here it was, however, that the girl's heart received the\nwinged arrow from love's unerring bow, shattering all foregone\nimaginings as a spire smitten by lightning. It was as though a curtain\nhad risen to reveal a magic scene with one fascination greater than\nall the others--and he a man whose like could well account for love\nlike Zenobia's, and madness like Cleopatra's. In frame but little\nabove the average, otherwise a figure reminiscent of the war-god whom\nthe Olympians feared; unhandsome, but imposing; complexion olive, nose\naquiline, eyes deep, black, flashing but mild; chin hidden by a beard,\nraven black; heavy hair and mustache harmonizing with the beard;\nthick, arched eyebrows; a curling, sensuous lip; shapely feet,\nshapelier hands; the whole in the attire of a Persian general. Such\nwas Shahrbaraz to whose talents Chosroes was largely indebted for his\nmost valuable conquests. Covered with glory, cumbered with royal\nfavors, flattered by the courtier, idolized by the army, and lionized\nby the people, the general had hardly anything to wish for when\nArzemia's eye met his; then all other ambitions paled before the one,\nall-devouring passion to kneel in tender worship before her who looked\nso much more divine than human.\n\nThat was Arzemia's day of destiny, and it did not close without an\nincident which alarmed both king and court. The cause was a sealed\ndocument found before the celebrated grand portal of Chosroes\nNushirvan's white palace, warning the monarch that a plot was ripe to\noverthrow him by a sudden blow, and that the bodyguard was implicated\nin the nefarious conspiracy. Prompt action was urgent, and Chosroes,\nfrightened out of his wits, summoned his bravest general to take\ntemporary charge of his capital and palace. Shahrbaraz pledged himself\nto continued vigilance until the conspirators should be brought to\ngrief--\"Within the walls of Ctesiphon are twelve thousand golden\nspears; twenty-five thousand more are within the courier's call; let\nnot thy peace be disturbed, oh, my sovereign; Shahrbaraz will not\nsleep,\" spoke the resourceful strategist with an inward laugh, and\nproceeded to arrange matters to suit himself.\n\nUnaware of the cause which stirred the authorities of the court, the\npeople wondered at the feverish activity of the military. Large bodies\nof troops moved out, larger ones moved into the fortifications of the\nsplendid city, so that with the descent of night every access to the\npalace was under strong guard, and Ctesiphon presented the aspect of a\nbesieged place, prepared to repel an aggressive enemy. What was going\nto happen that night?\n\nAs to Arzemia, untouched by this wave of commotion, she abandoned\nherself to an overmastering passion, burning to the core of her fiery\nnature; and, succumbing to the fever of her soul, she fled the\nconfinement of her sumptuous bed-chambers to seek the cooling breeze\nin the garden, a separate enclosure within the royal park. It was\nnight, and the darkness was hardly broken by the thin crescent of the\nnew moon, when the princess nimbly picked her way to a sequestered\nnook on a terrace whence in daylight an extensive view of the\npleasure-ground was afforded. Here in a recess was an arbor furnished\nexquisitely, and here, in the posture of supplication, the maiden\ninvoked the help of Zarathustra's revealed Power--_Ahura-Mazda_.\n\n\"Thou, eternal _Ahura-Mazda_, the god of gods, the creator of light,\nwho furtherest throughout all space the good and the true, the holy\nand the beautiful,--and ye bright ministers, who yearn to do his\nbidding,--if what I feel as fire burning in my heart is love by heaven\nkindled, then let no barrier stand between the one for whom I burn and\nme,--yea, no longer than the time required for two wind-lashed flames\nto rush together and melt in one celestial blaze. Messengers of\n_Ahura-Mazda_, my message carry to him whom fate has named my lord;\nbend ye walls, be deaf ye watchmen, that he who loves Arzemia fly\nhither unhindered!\"\n\nThere had been a mysterious gleam on the lower balconies of the\npalace; it flared up, vanished, reappeared again, and once more; and\nthen nothing was seen or heard save at the postern of the garden,\nwhere the signal must have been looked for and understood. Swift as a\nhind there sped from the mazes of the darkened palace a human figure\nathwart the semi-tropic thickets of the grounds, admitted another one\nthrough the rear-gate, whispered a few syllables, and returned to the\nwhite pile of a thousand apartments hushed in perfect silence. The\nintruder, obviously informed of the whereabouts of his object, glided\nlike a ghost toward Arzemia's retreat, and stood enchanted by the\nvoice which articulated the essence of his highest felicity. Hardly\ndid the last word die on her lip when the problematic person sank on\nhis knees and, inclining his head as in adoration, spoke in a tone\nthrilling with passion, \"Divine child, whom _Ahura-Mazda_ graces with\nthe light of his countenance, grant me the privilege to worship at\nthy feet, an humble supplicant, my heart being thine, my soul\nthine--forever thine.\"\n\nThe frightened maiden would have screamed for help had not the voice\nshe heard recalled a succession of notes that were still ringing in\nher ears. In a second she realized what she trembled to believe\npossible.\n\n\"And who art thou, most daring of men, who fearest not to invade the\ninviolable privacy of Chosroes Nushirvan's daughter?\" cried the maiden\nin fluttering apprehension, dreading the realization of her prayer.\n\n\"Forgive! I am not what I was before thine eye smote me with madness\nto be thy votary--thy slave,--or not to be at all,\" was the answer.\n\n\"_Ahura-Mazda!_ thou the man whom Iran honors--thou, Shahrbaraz?\"\ncried the girl.\n\n\"Thy servitor, thy slave in eternity,\" was the appealing reiteration.\n\n\"The auspicious god-stars brought thee hither. Oh! but humble not\nArzemia in thus humbling thyself; the god-stars have linked our fates\nand, come what may, I am thine, yea, and thou art mine in eternity!\"\nexclaimed the enraptured maiden.\n\n\"My heaven!\" was the laconic ejaculation of the great soldier who,\nleaping to his feet, embraced her rapturously, pressing her to his\nheart.\n\nAs if in hymeneal sympathy with love's delicious union, the bulbul\npoured forth a stream of soul-stirring song, the sweet cadence calling\nforth responsive notes from the thick of sylvan recesses. Tears flowed\nfrom the eyes of Arzemia and fell on the face of her lover, who raised\nher like an infant in his mighty arms, covering her cheeks with\npassionate kisses.\n\n\"Thy tears of bliss will make the angels weep in paradise, sweet\ngoddess,\" whispered Persia's world-renowned hero.\n\n\"The bulbul!--I never heard the bulbul sing so sad, so sweet, so\nprophetic; ah! it seems to sigh and weep and speak to my heart of\nthings words cannot express! Some spirit moves it to move our hearts,\"\nbreathed Arzemia with emotion.\n\n\"Thou art creation's sympathetic harp, responsive to spiritual\nharmonies lower natures fail to realize; the bird's melody is to me an\nunmeaning song, but in thy voice I hear _Mazda's_ music which moves\nthe heavenly spheres,\" said Shahrbaraz softly.\n\n\"It is bliss to receive tribute from the lip of love; but what a thing\nam I, compared with thee, Iran's pride, who smote the Roman and took\nhis holy city! Who has done a greater deed? If the armies of Chosroes\nwere thine, wouldst thou not conquer the world?\"\n\n\"I have conquered earth and heaven, star of my felicity; thou being\nmine, what remains in all the worlds to wish for? To smite the Roman\nand take his holy city was less an achievement than to come near to\nthee, the pearl of beauty, reached at greater hazard than he faces who\ndives into the ocean's abyss in quest of treasure,\" affirmed the\ngeneral.\n\n\"Alas, thou art right! O, gods!--Thy life, thy dear life--shouldst\nthou be found at this hour with me at this place! Dearest, what power\nenabled thee to pass the guards, whose heads would answer for thy\npresence where the king alone has right?--Go hence, O, my soul's\nadorer, my heart's adored, go hence, lest the _devas_ thwart our\nhappiness! I hear the friendly spirits whisper--depart,\" urged\nArzemia, awaking to the danger that beset her lover under the\ncircumstances.\n\n\"Thy prayer, child of light, that bade the walls to bend and the\nwatchmen to be deaf,--yea, and love, whom Orpheus followed to the\nworld of shades, have leveled my pathway hither, fearless of fate.\nThey who enter heaven laugh death to scorn. Thy presence renders me\ninvulnerable to mortal steel. Ah! waste no second, cherub, in the\nthought of death or danger,\" cried Shahrbaraz ardently.\n\n\"Forbid it, _Ahura-Mazda_, that Iran's glory be smitten by a\ntreacherous hand!--Yet play not with the envious fates, lest they grow\njealous of Arzemia's bliss, who would no heaven take for what is here\non earth,\" cried the girl appealingly.\n\n\"Let all thy cares henceforth be mine, divine Arzemia. My 'golden\nspears' hold every fort and gate, and have no will but that of thy\nShahrbaraz, who could be king this hour were he inclined. To come near\nthee I had to act my part unfair or fair; love knows no scruples. A\nscheme devised by me and taken seriously by the king gave me control\nof Ctesiphon and court,\" explained the strategist.\n\n\"The god-stars rule that I be queen one day and thou my king; my Ninus\nthou, I thy Semiramis, with Rome and Iran prostrate at our feet!--Ah,\nthere a light!\" exclaimed the girl in alarm, her eyes having caught a\nglimmer in the palace.\n\n\"It is the signal for me to begone,\" said Shahrbaraz, and a moment\nlater the postern closed behind him, having given and received the\nkiss that is a taste of Elysian rapture.\n\nThe clandestine intercourse between the greatest general and the\nfairest princess of Iran was thus carried on for a time, when\nrevolutionary changes threw Ctesiphon into confusion. Chosroes\nNushirvan's court was a hotbed of intrigue, and his harem a seething\ncaldron, overflowing with all the vices and evils engendered by\narbitrary rule. Among the host of jealous females under the roof of\nthe palace, Shirin, the Christian sultana, had the upper hand, having\ncharmed her lord to the extent of disinheriting and imprisoning\nKavadh, the legitimate heir to the throne, in favor of her son\nMardanshah. But a turn of the wheel gave Kavadh the reins of\ngovernment, and his first act was to drag his wretched father into his\nvaults of uncounted treasures, and let him perish there of hunger.\nSeventeen brothers were next executed to insure the rule of the\nmonstrous parricide. These fearful crimes were inspired less by\nvengeance than--who would have dreamed it?--by Kavadh's vehement\npassion for Shirin. But the distracted sultana recoiled with loathing\nfrom the murderer of her husband and her son, and when the miscreant\nresorted to force he held a bleeding corpse in his arms, the sultana\nhaving ended her life by a self-inflicted wound. Arzemia was her only\nsurviving child, and Shahrbaraz knew how to provide for the safety of\nhis worshipped princess. Shortly after Kavadh fell.\n\nDuring the chaotic conditions which followed the fall of Kavadh,\nShahrbaraz matured a plot for the usurpation of Iran's sovereignty.\nSustained by his fifty thousand golden spears, and favored by\nArzemia's friends, the dashing general entered Ctesiphon in triumph,\nand had himself crowned in the palace of the voluptuous Chosroes. When\nit transpired that Arzemia not alone favored the usurper, but was\ngoing to be wedded to him in the imperial fire-temple, her many\nsuitors combined in organizing a conspiracy, headed by Faruch-Zad, the\nmighty satrap of Khorassan, who was desperately in love with the\nprincess. Shahrbaraz was assassinated on the day set for his wedding,\nhis body was mutilated and dragged by an ass through the streets of\nCtesiphon. Arzemia's horror was scarcely exceeded by her sorrow and\nher vengeance; and her opportunity was not slow in coming, being\ncalled to the succession of her father's throne, when Faruch-Zad urged\nhis suit with obtrusive audacity. Policy forced her to smile on the\nman she hated, while her armies were engaged in the fateful struggle\nagainst the now all-conquering hordes of overflowing Islam. Impatient\nof delay and tortured by uncertainty, the satrap of Khorassan resolved\nto take by force what was denied him by favor. But the queen's\nfriends learned of the plot; Faruch-Zad's followers were overpowered\nat the portal of the palace, and he was arraigned as a traitor before\nthe one whose hatred for him could hardly be surpassed by his love for\nher. Arzemia blessed the gods for the chance thus afforded her to\navenge the murder of Shahrbaraz. She apostrophized the culprit with\nbitter contumely, and had him executed under most cruel circumstances.\n\nFaruch-Zad was not dead an hour when tidings from the battlefield\nspread consternation in the court. The golden lances, long held to be\ninvincible, sustained a crushing defeat at the hands of Islam's\nvotaries, and among the slain was Mahmud, the intelligent elephant,\nwho bled to death through a wound struck at the extremity of his\ntrunk. Mahmud's fall was generally accepted as prophetic of worse\nthings to follow, and Arzemia, seeing her empire crumbling, turned to\nthe Magi for an ungarbled version of her horoscope which was kept for\nreference in the royal archives. With fatalistic resignation the\nyouthful queen listened to the dark prophecies associated with her\nbirth, and insisted on having her father's dream read to her, it\nhaving been kept on record with the documents of her nativity. Deeply\nimpressed by the fearful purport of her sire's vision on the night of\nher coming into this world, and remembering its ghastly realization in\nsubsequent developments, Arzemia exclaimed resignedly, \"It is\n_Ahura-Mazda's_ immutable decree that Iran's ancient glories fade with\nme at whose birth the god-stars frowned. Were it not better for\nArzemia not to have been born?\"\n\nThe queen had hardly uttered these words when an ominous noise in the\nroyal courtyard caused her armed guard to rush toward the entrance of\nthe palace. Here they were met by a desperate band of conspirators led\nby a relative of Faruch-Zad. The encounter was short and decisive.\nArzemia fell into the hands of the avenger of the dead satrap, was\ntortured with refined cruelty, and put to death ignominiously.\n\nThus perished the noblest and most virtuous sovereign lady of one of\nthe greatest empires which succumbed to the sword of Islam.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STUDENT OF TIMBUCTU.\n\n\nAt the close of the year 1578 the slave-markets of Mauritania were\nglutted to their uttermost, and for once the price of a male slave was\nless than that of a donkey. This overstock of human ware was due to\nthe thousands of prisoners who had survived the fateful battle fought\nin the neighborhood of Al-Kesar Kebir, on the banks of the Elmahassen,\nbetween the invading army of Dom Sebastian, the youthful, overbearing\nmonarch of Lusitania, and the host of Muley Abd-al-Melek, the\nformidable Emir-al-Mumemin, the Commander of the true believers, the\n_Seedna_ or lord of the Moorish Empire.[10]\n\n    [10] This battle and the fate of Dom Sebastian as narrated in\n    this tradition agrees with historical fact.\n\nThe Moslem's cruelty to his Christian slaves rose in proportion to\nthe latter's decline as marketable articles, and fanaticism revelled\nin the daily spectacle of crusaders doomed to immurement, because of\ntheir refusing to embrace Islam by uttering the _Fatha_. The irony of\nthe historic whirligig showed itself in the fact that the Catholic\nAuto-da-f\u00e8 had its counterpart in the frightful doom of a king and an\narmy led by the flower of his nobility, who, barely a hundred miles\nfrom the coast of their kingdom, had to choose between apostasy or\nbeing immured alive for the edification of the vengeful Moor. The\nwretches were compelled to prepare their own graves, usually cells in\nthe city's wall, one Christian bricking up his fellow only to be in\nturn entombed alive himself.\n\nA melancholy distinction was reserved for the royal zealot, Dom\nSebastian, who had encountered crushing defeat and humiliation. With\nless than half of his smitten chivalry and valiant soldiers he saw\nhimself in the power of an inexorable foe, himself wounded and in\nchains pining in the vile dungeon of Mequinez, one of the Sultan's\ncapitals, the others being Fez and Morocco. After the obsequies of the\nunmourned _Seedna_, who had died on the field of battle, his son and\nsuccessor, having been proclaimed Sultan, and crowned in the holy\nshrine of Mulai Edris at Fez, proposed to celebrate his coronation by\nthe entombment alive of the Christian king who had invaded his\nfather's empire, notwithstanding the warning of the late _Shereef_\nthat the unjust inroad would surely land the aggressors in ruin. His\nMajesty furthermore remembered the treacherous proceeding of\nSebastian, who, at the end of the decisive battle, had caused a white\nflag to be displayed, but had broken the truce by throwing himself\nwith fifty of his knights into the thick of the Moorish ranks, causing\nslaughter and consternation, and resulting in the death of the late\nSultan.\n\nBut the strongest motive of the young _Shereef's_ dire vengeance was\nthe unaccountable loss of his sire's priceless crown, which Muley\nAbd-al-Melek was in the habit of carrying with him whithersoever he\nwent, wearing it on solemn occasions. Muley had worn the crown upon\nhis head while the great battle was being fought, after which that\ninvaluable symbol of imperial grandeur was not to be found. The crown\nwas an heirloom traced back to the great Caliphat of Omar, whose\nvictorious general Saad had acquired it with the enormous treasures of\nthe Chosroes. It was worn by Chosroes Nushirvan in the throne-hall of\nhis grand palace in Madayn, the capital of ancient Persia, and its\nincalculable value had been further enhanced by a rare jewel which the\nEmperor Heraclius had sent Omar as a present.\n\nSuch were the cumulative incentives to one of the most cruel\nexecutions devised by human atrocity. And the tortures also inflicted\nby order of the new _Seedna_ on his most loyal attendants, such as the\n_Mul-el-Ma_, who satisfies His Majesty's thirst when in camp from a\ngazelle-skin; the _Mul Attai_, who prepares the royal tea and serves\nit; and the most important _Mul M'dul_, the keeper and holder of the\n_Shereef's_ red umbrella, left the mystery unsolved.\n\nThe inhabitants of Mequinez, who since times immemorial furnished the\nbulk of the Emperor's most devoted servitors, tingled with\nexcitement, and the entire population turned out to witness the burial\nof a live Christian monarch. From the portal of the imperial mosque\nissued a train of chosen notables, long-bearded _Kadis_ robed in white\nflowing raiments, wearing white turbans, red sandals, the _delill_ or\nprayer book suspended from the belt by a cord of silk; _talebs_, the\ndoctors of law; _emins_, the ministers of the mosque; _adools_, the\npublic notaries; and a train of _fukies_, the all-moving luminaries at\nwhose feet the rising generation of the faithful drink in truth and\nwisdom. They were joined at the city's gate by another cortege,\ngrotesque and dismal enough to match the gruesome processions of the\nInquisition. This was made up of happy juveniles, who struck tom-toms,\nrent the air with the blare of infernal horns, and accompanied the\nmusic with ludicrous grimaces and comical dances, to the great delight\nof a sympathetic crowd, who swelled the chorus to the pitch of mad\nvociferation. A hideous negro, broad-shouldered, tall and massive, his\nframe clothed tightly in black, his eyes blinking dismally from\ncircles of red, with a pointed hat to add several feet to his unusual\nheight, impersonated Azrael the angel of death. Behind this caricature\ncame a donkey whereon was seated the woeful representative of outraged\nChristian royalty, bare-headed, dressed in a black _jellab_, holding\nin his right hand a human skull,--a picture of terror and anguish.\nThis was Dom Sebastian, riding to his sepulchre, on his right Monkir,\nto his left Nakir,--the demons of livid hue, who wake the dead to\nquestion him about his faith, and beat him with clubs if unable to\nstand the examination. The rear of this group was occupied by Eblis,\ngrotesquely attired in red and armed with the implements of hellish\ntorture. A throng of naked, filthy saints ran along howling and\nspitting at the whilom majesty of Portugal, relegating his soul to the\ndeepest pit, and praying Allah to show no mercy to the Christian dog.\nHaving passed out of the city's gate, the procession advanced along a\ntortuous road, winding among well-fostered gardens, protected by an\nouter and much lower wall, toward the spot where a cell about six\nfeet high, but barely wide enough to enclose a human body, stood open\nin the main wall for the death by suffocation and for the dreamless\nrest of the fallen king. Too weak to dismount unassisted, Sebastian\nwas rudely handled by Monkir and Nakir, who raised him from his seat,\nlifted him to the level of the cell, and pushed him inside, turning\nhim with a twist so that the fanatic spectators had a full view of his\nface. Three wooden bars held the victim against the dead wall.\n\nAll eyes were now turned in the direction of the mosque, whence the\nsignal for the closing up of the king's grave was to be given by the\nfiring of a gun and the hoisting of a flag. The ghastly ceremony was\nso timed that the bricking up of the living tomb coincided with the\nhour of prayer, so that the boom of cannon and the appearance of the\nflag streaming to the breeze, was answered by a score of muezzins from\nthe tops of their minarets, who called; \"_Allah akbar, Allah\nakbar_,--God is great, and Mohammed is his Prophet!\" The multitude\nfell prostrate in the dust, sending the _fatha_ eastward to Mecca:\n\"Praise be to God, the Lord of all creatures, the most merciful, the\nKing of the Day of Judgment! Thee do we worship, and of Thee do we beg\nassistance. Direct us in the right way, in the way of those to whom\nThou hast been gracious, not of those against whom thou art incensed,\nnor of those who go astray.\"\n\nThe echoes of the _Sulhama_ having expired in the air, the faithful\nrose from their posture of adoration, and the supreme Kadi of the land\nread this decree: \"Hear me, ye worshippers of the true God! The\nChristian there had planned the downfall of our nation and the\nuprooting of Islam; but Allah willed it otherwise, decreeing that we\ndeal with him as he meant to deal with us. Our late Seedna--may Allah\ngrant him the joys of paradise--died in his coat of mail, combating\nthat infidel dog, who came as a foe and acted as a traitor, dishonoring\nhis flag. Therefore did our Emir-al-Mumemin decree that he perish\nignominiously, like the other slaves who would not recite the _fatha_.\nMay Allah wither the right hand of our Seedna's enemies.--There is no\nGod but God, and Mohammed is his Prophet!\"--Slowly bricks and mortar\nclosed up the open side of the upright tomb. One hour later there was\nno cell to be seen, but a plain wall hiding a monarch quickly choking\nto death, while the barbarians returned jubilant to the city.\n\nUnder the rule of Muley Zidan, a firman, bearing the Grand Vizier's\nsignature, was placarded in every mosque of his domain, promising him\nwho should be instrumental in restoring the lost crown to the ruling\ndynasty not alone high honors, but the option of leading home as wife\nany maiden of the empire, from the daughter of the first Sultana down\nto any damsel within the confines of Mauritania, and the assurance was\ngiven that there would be no inquiry as to how the lucky finder had\ncome into possession of the imperial diadem.\n\nAs time lent distance to the disastrous crusade and its tragic\nsequels, a spontaneous crop of tales and legends transferred the\nformer memorable event into the realm of romance. Down to this day the\nrustic folk of Lusitania look forward to the return of Dom Sebastian,\nwhom they believe to dwell among the Moors in the somnolent state of\nBarbarossa, while among the tribes of Western Barbary it is popularly\ncurrent that, owing to unknown causes, the great battle is\nperiodically fought over, always at new moon, the phantom armies\nengaging each other on the banks of the Elmahassen, and the combat\nwinding up with the historic rout of the crusaders.\n\nIndeed the foolhardy invasion would read like the myth of the\nArgonauts, had the outcome turned out less crushing to the\nadventurers. For a youthful king, in the twenties, and of limited\nresources, to embark on a career of conquest remote from his base of\nsupply, the coveted prize being a warlike empire much larger than the\nkingdoms of Spain and Portugal combined, an empire which Christendom\nlearned to fear, is so daring an adventure that, but for its\nunquestioned reality, it could pass as a bit of chivalrous fiction.\nAnd the circumstances under which the last encounter took place, the\ndeath of the Sultan, the loss of the crown, and the terrible fate of\nthe prisoners, tend much to invest the event with a halo of the mystic\nand the ghostly.\n\nHowever, the legendary evolution of that desperate struggle near\nAl-Kesar Kebir may be traced back to the adventures of a student from\nTimbuctu, who arrived at Fez at the beginning of the sixteenth\ncentury. That was the time when the Fazzi had good cause to boast of\ncherishing one of the greatest centres of learning in the world. From\nthe valley of the Nile, from the banks of the Congo and the Niger,\nfrom populous Europe, darkest Africa, and farthest Asia, the youth of\nthe opulent without distinction of creed and race flocked to the halls\nof the Kairouin to cull the honey dropping from the lips of\ninspiration, especially the dimly revealed arcana that teach how to\nread the signs of the stars.\n\nThe Kairouin was then, and is in diminished lustre now, four\ninstitutions in one,--the highest school, the largest mosque, the\ngreatest library, and the most hospitable caravansary in the vast\nregions traversed by the Atlas Mountains. Within the precincts of the\nKairouin hundreds of poor students found then not only free shelter\nand tuition but also food and garments, the cost being defrayed from\nthe ample bequest of the philanthropic Fatma, the original\nbenefactress of that curious university. It embraced a miniature world\nof the rich and the poor, the learned and the ignorant, the faithful\nand the infidel, the good and the bad; was the home of every Moslem\nwho had none other; and, among its many good things, was distinguished\nfor an atmosphere of tolerance, peace and cordiality. Even to-day the\npresident of the Kairouin, the _Mokaddun_, whose office is hereditary,\ntreats all as equals, the prince and the beggar having the same right,\nand that is to take life easy,--very easy. Instances of nervousness\nfrom overwork have never been heard of in the Kairouin. Once\nmatriculated, the student is not expected to pass examinations, and is\na privileged character, his presence in the city being a source of\nrevenue to its inhabitants. For it should be remembered that among\nthose who come to the Kairouin in quest of wisdom are the sons of the\nwealthiest _sheykhs_, nobles, and merchants from all the habitable\nlands which skirt the sands of the Sahara, young lords wrapped in soft\nsilks, bestriding Arabian steeds magnificently caparisoned, followed\nby retinues of slaves to cater to their physical wants, and harems to\nbeguile their ennui. Nor is, in the chase of romantic diversion, the\nbeautiful Fazzi neglected; the people being inclined to connive at the\ntrivial transgressions of the future pillars of Moslem scholarship.\nThrifty parents know how and when to be absent when the young lords\nfrom Insala, Nubia, Tunis, Tripoli, Egypt, Taradunt, or Timbuctu are\nsure to mark their transit through apartments of supposed inviolable\nprivacy by a trail of gold-sand. Such are the traditions of the\nKairouin, realized down to this day.\n\nBut the student of Timbuctu with whom this tale is concerned was in\nevery way an exception. He disdained luxury, spurned the delights of\nthe harem, consorted with nobody, had but one aged slave to wait on\nhim, dwelt in a tent on a rock in the outskirts of the city, and spent\nhis days among the piles of old books and manuscripts treasured on the\nshelves of the Kairouin's subterranean library. In the bazaars he was\nknown for years as the student who paid for his purchases in silver\nor in gold, without ever waiting for the change. He was not handsome.\nHis most remarkable feature was a face strikingly reminding one of the\nowl's, with orange eyeballs which glowed like living topaz stones. He\nwore an expression which, once caught, haunted one like an apparition.\nHis white-haired attendant was dumb and moved like an automaton of\nbronze, leaving one in doubt as to whether he was really a creature of\nflesh and blood. All that was known about that strange student was\nthat he had come with the great caravan from Timbuctu, that his name\nwas Omeyya, and that he devoted his whole time to researches in works\nof the occult sciences, such, for instance, as alchemy and astrology,\nsupplementing his inquiries with practical experiments, assisted by\nhis automatic attendant. His was a personality whom the Fazzi liked\nmuch less than they feared. Omeyya was left severely alone, but this\nwas just the condition which seemed to suit him. His unique appearance\nand singular individuality had their origin in his exceptionally\nromantic birth, and in a career even stranger than his beginning. He\ngrew up as the adopted child of the renowned sibyl Kadijah, whose\nabode was a cavern near Timbuctu, and who was more shunned than sought\nby the people of her quarter. To the simple folk Kadijah was known as\nthe \"owl-witch,\"--rarely met, and then usually during the dusky hour\nbefore and after sunset, still more rarely at night; ever in a hurry,\nwith her hair-covered arms flapping like the wings of a scared\nostrich. She was in very truth like a hairy owl; weazen-faced, the\nextremities of her body resembling claws while her face bore every\nresemblance to that of the owl, orange eyeballs and a nose so pointed,\nhooked, and beak-like that it partly covered the thin curl of her\nupper lip. Only in extreme cases of distress did the people of\nTimbuctu resort to her for help, and her manner of meeting emergencies\ninspired them with awe. Her most potent specific was the likeness of a\nlong-necked, heron-like bird, crudely drawn with charcoal on a bit of\nleather, and hung on the breast of the afflicted patient. The cure was\nassured.\n\nIn Kadijah's sombre abode Omeyya came to his consciousness of life,\nnursed with motherly solicitude, and was later initiated into the\nsecrets of her dark arts. One day, the boy having risen to mature\nyouth, the owl-witch startled him by offering to inform him as to the\nmystery of his life.\n\n\"Thou knowest not who thou art, my son, and my approaching end\nrequires me to let nothing stand between thee and the truth concerning\nthy legitimate parents. In this place Na\u00efma, the daughter of Moadh,\nthen recognized the strongest arm of Timbuctu, gave thee birth. Thy\nfather's name was Abu Sofian, the heir of Abu Thaleb, whom Moadh had\nslain in a family feud. When of age, and strong enough to avenge his\nfather's death, Sofian burned to run a steel through Moadh's heart,\nvengeance being his only thought and prayer. From the flat roof of his\nmother's home Sofian had a clear view of his foe's terraced\nhabitation, and thither he daily sent his imprecations, determined to\nbreak into it at the first opportunity, and make an end of the fierce\nhomicide. The outbreak of a fire in the immediate neighborhood of\nMoadh's house gave the daring youth his chance. Armed with a deadly\nweapon, he succeeded in slipping unnoticed into the _Saalemlik_\n(reception room) of the hated man. Missing his object here, the son of\nAbu Thaleb made a dash for the _Haremlik_, resolved to strike down the\nhead of the house in the inviolable seclusion of his wives. His rush\nwas checked by the appearance of a tiny, jewelled, alabaster hand,\nthat swept a silken curtain aside,--and there stood revealed above the\nframe of a screen a Houri of charms so enchanting that the lad was not\nsure that he was awake. 'Comest thou to save me from the flames? They\nare out to watch the fire, and my sire commanded me to await his\nreturn; he is a fearful man to be disobeyed,' spoke the girl in\nexcitement; but her voice melted Sofian's heart, and made his eyes to\nswim.\n\n\"'Fairy of the sun, disguise thy beauty in a man's _jellab_ and turban\nthat I may save thee, even if I die in the attempt,' replied Sofian\nwith great presence of mind; and the girlish figure disappeared, to\nreturn as that of a stately youth.\n\n\"'My name is Na\u00efma, and if thou wilt be the light of mine eyes and\nthe breath of my life, I will be the dust for thy feet to tread upon,'\nsaid the metamorphosed maiden, and, favored by the general confusion,\nthey gained the street unobserved. Under Sofian's roof the same day\nNa\u00efma became his wife; but Timbuctu was too small for Moadh's rage,\ngrief and shame, and the young lovers guarded their secret so well\nthat many weeks passed by before the city was in a furor at the news\nof the elopement.\n\n\"Moadh summoned his kindred to assist him in avenging the outrage; but\nSofian was not to be found napping. An armed force of his kith and kin\nguarded his house day and night against an attack by surprise, while\nhis girl-wife was delivered to my keeping in case of defeat. There was\na siege and an assault, and, in the hand to hand struggle that ensued,\nMoadh met his death at the hand of Sofian, who was in turn mortally\nstabbed by one of the avengers. The youthful widow remained in my\ncharge, and here thou wast born, thy mother having had nobody to\nreturn to or appeal to for protection. Sorrow, shame and remorse\ncaused her to shun the sight of man, so that she would never venture\nout in daytime, lest someone recognize her and do her harm; for she\nwas hated of all her relatives.\n\n\"She did not remain long in my keeping. In an evil hour she left her\nsafe refuge to bask in the morning sun, only to fall an easy prey to\nthe rapacity of marauding Bedouins who, having attacked and plundered\nthe city, lighted on her as they passed this way. My arts could not\nrescue her, Omeyya, and the daughter of Moadh has changed hands many\ntimes since,--a slave or a mistress, just as it suits her master's\nfancy. This happened nineteen years ago, when thou hadst become my\ncharge, yea, and my comfort.\n\n\"In my youth I was loved by a man of the black arts, and of him I\ninherited the secret of Egypt's great mystery, the land of his birth.\nHe knew much, but not enough to escape death, the inexorable reaper,\nwhose approach I also now feel. To-morrow I shall be no more, and this\nhollow shall be my sepulchre. Bury me as a son would his\nmother.--Under that stone thou wilt find gold to sustain thee for the\nlength of thy days. Yet shalt thou depart hence to seek a brighter\nlife, greater wealth, higher station, and the happiness of love,--yea,\nand thy mother,--in the famous city on the River of Pearls, provided\nthou wilt act as thou art bidden. This unlighted hole, Omeyya, hides\nEgypt's great mystery, which is hereafter to be in thy trust.--Take\nthis rod from my hand and describe in mid-air the sign of the crescent\nfrom right to left toward the eastern wall,\" commanded the witch.\n\nOmeyya did as he was bidden. In answer the silvery crescent loomed up\non the bleak rock, with its horns gradually lengthening downward until\nit completed the shape of an oval door opening to an arched space,\nbrilliant with dazzling light. In the heart of the vault thus revealed\nthere stood, perched on a block of onyx, a large heron, white as snow\nfrom its crop down, the rest of the plumage sky-blue traversed by\nlines of hieroglyphics in relief set in jewels of every hue with a\npredominance of the ruby and the amethyst. The scintillant\nhieroglyphics were irregularly scattered over the body of the mystic\nbird, thicker along the wings and thickest around the breast and the\ngracefully elongated neck; the eyes in the beautiful head were of\ntopaz, and the long bill of burnished gold, pointed with black\ndiamonds. Of a deep lapis-lazuli color was the heron's tail, spreading\nto the dimensions of the peacock's and furnishing a field for\nstar-like configurations set in sparkling pearls, emeralds, sapphires,\nberyls, chrysolites, carbuncles, sards, and a variety of the jasper\nand the ligure, while the black of his legs was likewise relieved by\nkabbalistic lines in rare gems.\n\n\"By the genii of Amenti, the masters who fashioned thee in the\nbeginning to be the symbol and oracle of Osiris, O, Phoenix! I adjure\nthee to accept this youth in my stead as thy favorite, and to answer\nhis call as soon as he shall decipher the emblems that move the\nspirits of thy mystery,\" screamed the sibyl, vociferously.\n\nOmeyya's eyes dilated in amazement. The bird's inanimate form gave\nsigns of life. Ruffling his great plumes, he displayed a blaze of\nvariegated gems, flashing like so many brilliant stars. From his\nfeather train issued a haze of golden orange, changed into a flame of\ncarmine, which consumed the bird and left the place to its previous\ndinginess.\n\n\"Mark me well, for death is upon me!--The rod in thy hand holds the\nkey to the mystery thou art to unriddle in Fatma's great school,\nduring a period of strict abstinence from carnal pleasures. For\nthirty-seven months thou shalt drink the dew of the morning, shalt\nbathe at new moon in the River of Pearls, sleep within canvas-walls,\nso that thy nature be untainted and thou worthy of the power the\nrevealed arcana insure for thee,\" exclaimed the sibyl, never to speak\nagain. With the last word her shrivelled frame fell lifeless to the\nground.\n\nOmeyya suspected that the rod contained something to be studied. On\nexamining it in full light he found the upper end, looking like a\ncarved handle, to be a closing stopple removable by a turn. From the\nhollow of the rod he pulled forth a rolled up papyrus. The unrolling\nof the document proved it to be much larger than it at first\nappeared, and Omeyya looked with concentrated attention at the\nlife-like picture of the phoenix it represented, the shining\nhieroglyphics being startlingly reproduced. Having reverently buried\nhis foster-mother and possessed himself of the hoard, Omeyya abandoned\nthe gloomy abode of his boyhood, earnestly resolved to comply most\nscrupulously with the directions of the sibyl.\n\nWhen we meet Omeyya at the Kairouin of Fez he is at the close of his\nprobationary period, and we need not be surprised to see him one new\nmoon's eve on the bank of Elmahassen, rod in hand, ready to test the\noccult science acquired during years of assiduous application.\n\nIt is a cloudy night, and Omeyya strains his eyes to catch a glimpse\nof the tiny crescent. \"Spirit of Kadijah, assist me,\" prayed Omeyya,\nand his rod described an imaginary crescent in face of the real one,\nnow gleaming through a fleecy cloud. Like the flash of a search-light,\nthere broke forth a radiance in the crown of a cedar-tree, focussing\nupon a nest upon which sat the shining phoenix.\n\n\"Bird of Osiris,--worship of Heliopolis! if I am as worthy of thy\nmasters' favor as I have been successful in fathoming the mystic lore\nwhich commands thy presence, then let me see the encounter of those\narmies which years and years ago fought their last battle in this\nvalley, so that I may learn what has become of Abd-al-Melek's crown,\"\nspoke the student of Timbuctu, circumscribing the area by a sweep of\nhis rod.\n\nA prolonged scream was the bird's response, and its thousandfold echo\na rumbling and stamping, a tramping and clattering, like that of heavy\ncavalry and artillery, followed by muffled hurrahs, and the neighing\nof horses. In the hazy twilight of the new-born moon Omeyya surveyed\nfrom a convenient elevation the inrushing of column after column, on\nhorse, on foot, accompanied by trains of ammunition. It was a foreign\narmy in the act of occupying strategic points. Wild cheers rent the\nair at the sight of a royal train that emerged from the distance, a\nyouthful king at the head of a compact force of mounted cavaliers\narmed to the teeth. No sooner had the kingly commander surveyed the\nground than he ordered a bridge of boats to be thrown across the\nriver. The bulk of the army formed into two divisions, one fortifying\nthe position occupied while the other hurried across the water to do\nlikewise on the other side. It was a scene of feverish activity.\n\nDuring the precipitous preparations in this part of the valley, a\nMoslem host burst forth from the shades of the groves, gardens and\nthickets up and down the stream, bore up with the speed of the wind,\ndeployed into frowning lines of battle--having caused a force of\nhorsemen to ford the stream--and faced the foe on both sides of the\nwater. Surrounded by a formidable bodyguard, appeared the Commander of\nthe true faithful, whose pavilion was pitched at the foot of the hill\non which Omeyya stood, in the midst of the minor pavilions of His\nMajesty's ministers. The soul of Moslem inspiration was the Shereef\nAbd-al-Melek, mounted on a white horse, his crown showing him to be\nthe imperial centre of force. At a motion of his hand the Court's Emin\ngave the signal for battle by the cry: \"_La illaha il Allah!_\" But\nbefore the echoes answered the call, a dashing body of Portuguese\ncavalry broke into the advance lines of the Moors, and the fierce\nonslaught was backed up by a discharge of artillery, which mowed down\ngreat numbers of the true believers.\n\n\"Hamdillah!--Destroy the enemy of the faithful!\" thundered the Sultan,\nand the rush of his host was like the roar of the forest swept by the\nstorm. Outnumbered three to one, Dom Sebastian's lines were broken\ninto upon every side. Yet the brave Christians not only held their\nground, but threw their entire phalanx of foot soldiery against the\nenemy's left wing with such an impetus as drove it back toward the\nroyal pavilion, spreading consternation and confusion. Abd-al-Melek,\nwho had watched the action with intense concern, on seeing his forces\nhurled backward raved like a madman, smote with his scimitar whoever\ncame within its reach, cursed his men, and wound up by tearing the\ncrown from his head and flinging it into the tide of the river. For a\nmoment the issue was doubtful, but the Christians fell as grass\nstruck by the scythe. Presently a white flag was raised in Sebastian's\nquarter, which induced the Moors to slacken their fury, when the\ndesperate king dashed against their ranks with as many of his knights\nas were yet alive. The enraged Moslems made short work of the king's\ndevoted band, slaughtered as traitors, and the victory was proclaimed\nby the Emin from a pile built of Christian heads. From this unique\nminaret the _Sulhama_ stirred the echoes of the valley: \"_Allah akbar!\nAllah akbar!_\" Prostrate on their faces the host offered up prayer;\nall except the _Shereef_, whose head sank until the chin touched his\nbreast, and when assistance came it was too late. Abd-al-Melek was\ndead; and dead night ruled, the phantom hosts dissolving as they had\ncome. Omeyya's heart throbbed in hope and suspense. What will day\nreveal to him in the river's tide?\n\nEarly dawn found the student on the spot he had held during the\neventful night. \"_Bismillah! Arrahmani! Arrahimi!_\" exclaimed Omeyya,\nblessing the \"all-merciful God\" for his wonderful success. For in the\nslime of the bed, about four feet under the surface of the eddying\ncurrent, his eye distinctly discerned the precious object. In a moment\nOmeyya plunged into the water and emerged therefrom with the tiara of\nAbd-al-Melek. The achievement was dazzling enough to turn a young\nhead, but Omeyya had passed through a probation which left him in full\ncontrol of his passions.\n\nAlthough successful beyond his most sanguine expectations, Omeyya\nreturned to Fez in a mood of profound sadness, having nobody on earth\nto share with him the golden anticipations inseparable from the\ntreasure in his trust, and the incalculable possibilities latent in\nthe potency of his magic rod. Though sobered by the earnest researches\nof years, Omeyya's thoughts involuntarily reverted to the prize to\nwhich his find entitled him. He had a claim on the _Seedna's_ own\ndaughter, but it behooved him to ascertain whether the first maiden of\nthe empire was a covetable acquisition; secondly, whether, considering\nthe _Shereef's_ chronic inclination to silence annoying pretenders by\nputting them out of the way, it were prudent to proceed without\nadequate safeguards.\n\nFull of golden reveries, the youthful wizard drifted the following day\ninto the enclosed bazaar where the Fazzi, after the yearly arrival of\nthe _Akabah_, or the great caravan from Timbuctu, gathered to take a\nlook at the exhibited wares of fair human flesh. It was the\nslave-dealer's paradise. The square market-place had but one gate and\nembraced many concerns within its confines, but the chief business was\nthe disposition of slaves by auction or by private bargain. Under a\nroof of rough boards supported by rude posts, men, women and children\nwere being stripped of their clothing and examined like\ncattle,--teeth, eyes, mouth, nostrils, chest, arms and legs. The\nagility of the slaves was tested by a free application of the whip,\nmaking them jump high, and their strength by the lifting of heavy\nweights. Handsome females were treated with more consideration. Bids\nwere made, accepted, or declined. The most of the human chattels were\nblack, and dressed to set off their forms to advantage.\n\nAmong the few whites there was a woman for whom the owner asked a\nfabulous price, and scornfully rejected a bid of twenty-five\ndoubloons, although that was the highest amount that had ever been\noffered for a slave above thirty years of age. She was not on open\nexhibition like the others who shared her fate, but screened by a\ncanvas stretched before her in a corner, behind which the prospective\npurchaser was allowed to make his examination. The one who had last\navailed himself of this privilege and had just come out from behind\nthe partition, was a negroid Moslem, whose green caftan of silk\nbespoke his descent from the Prophet, while the soft rich folds of his\nsatin shawl gracefully wound around his upper frame, like his\ncapacious girth, suggested the enjoyment of an ample revenue, with\nlittle work and less worry. He was likewise a student at the Kairouin,\nbut his researches were entirely confined to the mystery centred in\nwoman, and the bags of gold-sand he had brought along from Tafilet\nenabled him to pursue his ardent work with much assiduity.\n\n\"What is the age of thy gazelle?\" inquired the lineal descendant of\nMohammed.\n\n\"It is a gazelle from Jannat al Ferdaws, who are ever young and sweet,\nlike the blossoms of the Tuba-tree,\" replied the slave-dealer volubly.\n\n\"If she were a virgin thy comparison would pass, but she has been\nsomebody's love, and must have seen at least thirty Ramazans,\"\nobserved the holy connoisseur of the fair sex.\n\n\"She will see thirty more years and yet be more beautiful than one of\ntwenty. She is worth her weight in gold,\" asserted the slave-dealer.\n\n\"Will a pound of gold-sand buy her?\" asked the scion of the Prophet.\n\n\"One hundred doubloons will take Na\u00efma,\" cried the master of the\nslave.\n\n\"Na\u00efma!\" echoed a voice nearby. \"Na\u00efma--is that thy slave's name?\"\nasked Omeyya eagerly, who had been a witness of the progressing\ntransaction.\n\n\"That is her name, Cid, as sweet as herself,\" returned the cunning\ndealer.\n\n\"I will pay the price if thou canst satisfy me as to her place of\nbirth, her pedigree, and her antecedents,\" promised Omeyya without\nhesitation.\n\n\"What thou askest of me I cannot do. We buy and exchange slaves as we\ntrade in other things, never bothering our heads as to whence they\ncome, or who they are. What matters it? I traded for Na\u00efma in Tenduf;\nshe might have come thither from Timbuctu by Tandeng, an oasis in the\ndesert, rich in salt, and fertilized by wholesome springs,\" said the\nmerchant hypothetically.\n\n\"She is mine; let the _taleb_ write out the legal transfer,\" said\nOmeyya, without so much as a look at the object of his purchase. A\nmurmur of surprise passed around among the onlookers. The saint of the\ngreen caftan departed in disgust. In a few minutes the document was\nproduced and signed, the price paid, and Omeyya, trembling all over,\nled off the slave, whom he felt must be his mother. Brought to his\ntent, he caused her to remove her _kaik_ or face cover, made her sit\non a pillow, threw himself on his knees before her, looked into her\nbeautiful countenance, then kissed her hands and spoke: \"Let thy\nfirst answer to my first question be plain and brief.--If thy father's\nname was Moadh of Timbuctu; if thy husband was Sofian the son of Abu\nThaleb of the same city; if thy friend was the owl-witch Kadijah; if a\nchild was born to thee in her cave and his name was Omeyya,--then\nspeak the word that I may praise Allah's great mercy.\"\n\n\"What spirit imparted to thee the tale of my woe, master?\" cried the\nwoman, in a thrilling tone; \"thou must be a descendant of the\nall-knowing Prophet!\"\n\n\"No! Is it not enough that I am thy child?\" answered Omeyya, with an\noutburst of tears; and there was a pathetic moment beyond the reach of\nwords.\n\nIt is again new-moon. Na\u00efma is mistress of an elegant home, is waited\non by slaves, moves among hangings of silk, on the softest of Moorish\nrugs; her eyelids are painted with kohl, her finger nails with henna;\nher harem opens on a courtyard pervaded by the odoriferous scent of\nthe mandragora and the blossom of the orange, cooled by the splash\nand play of fountains, and animated by storks, who are sacred birds\nin Morocco as elsewhere. Mother and son have by this time unbosomed\nthemselves to each other, and both are confident that the culmination\nof things will be equal to their expectations.\n\nOnce more Omeyya is alone in the dead of voiceless night, under\ncloud-obscured stars. He has been waiting since before the sun had\nwithdrawn his last beam from the picturesque panorama afforded by the\nsight of the Western Mecca and its wreath of groves and gardens,\nspreading on the slopes of the valley through which flows the\nWad-el-Jubar. Omeyya stood on the height crowned by Mulai Ismael's\nbastion, whence the view of Fez is as perfect as that of the palace\ngrounds. As night closed over the city and the green tops of Mulai\nEdris--the famous mosque, striking because of its all-overtopping\ngolden globe,--faded in deepening twilight, Omeyya heard the\nnightingale at her best, and his soul was well attuned for the amorous\ncadence. Now the crescent soared in relief on heaven's mystic\ntapestry, but a later hour was to evolve the vision of Egypt's\nmystery. At the right moment the potency of Omeyya's rod raised up the\nbird. Over court and palace broke a white radiance, and in its core\nhung the heron on wing in mid-heaven.\n\n  [Illustration: \"There sprung, like Iris from the clouds, a smiling\n    Hebe.\"\n      Page 323.]\n\n\"Bird of Osiris, worship of Heliopolis! by the invisible masters who\nfashioned thee I demand to let me behold her whom destiny has decreed\nto be my consort.\"\n\nOmeyya was frightened on seeing the phoenix fade, as if offended by\nhis command; but in its stead there sprung, like Iris from the clouds,\na smiling Hebe; back of her rose in imperial majesty Muley Zidan and\nhis foremost Sultana.--\"_Hamdillah!_\" cried Omeyya, falling on his\nface to praise Allah \"the most merciful, the King of the Day of\nJudgment!\" When he rose there were the stars above him and the silvery\ncrescent, while the valley of the River of Pearls rang with the trill\nof a thousand nightingales.\n\nThe next morning the streets of Fez were filled with the cries of the\nSultan's heralds, calling on him, who was entitled to the great prize,\nto come forth and obtain it.--\"Bring the crown and obtain thy\nreward!\" was the cry heard in street and bazaar, no one knowing what\nit meant.\n\nBut Omeyya suspected that something had happened in the palace, and he\nfelt that his triumph was assured. What he learned later was this.\nThat same night the _Shereef_, the _Shereefa_, and their daughter\nRehamina, had a vision which they imparted to each other the following\nmorning. They had all seen the same thing, and the coincidence could\nonly be explained in one way. Abd-al-Melek's crown had been found. The\nSultan's criers were sent out to assure the happy finder of his prize.\nThus doubly reassured, Omeyya presented himself before the\nEmir-al-Mumemin who, it need hardly be told, was greatly impressed by\nthe student's tale.\n\n\"What thou hast seen, son, is not the phoenix of Osiris, but the image\nof Allah's dazzling cock, who each morning chants to delight the ear\nof the true God, when all the fowls of his kind join in his melodious\npraise. By no less a miracle than the help of the bird, whom our\nProphet saw in the skies, could the crown of Abd-al-Melek be\nrestored,\" concluded the Seedna, piously.\n\nIn the presence of the great _Divan_, Omeyya produced the crown; and\nhere in the throne-hall his betrothal to Rehamina was solemnly\nconfirmed. In due time there was a royal wedding, after which Muley\nZidan found Omeyya not only to be worthy of his lovely daughter, but\nof his highest esteem and fullest confidence as the wisest counselor\nin his _Divan_.\n\n\n\n\nA NIGHT BY THE DEAD SEA.\n\n\nOthman Ibn Saad was for many years a name for which that of _Eblis_\nwas substituted because of his dare-devil exploits in highway robbery,\nwhich prompted the Ottoman Government to set a price on his head. The\nchief of Kerak was especially interested in Othman's capture, offering\nto double the reward, but no claimant appeared on the scene; while\nevery week added new outrages to the long list of the brigand's\nincredible perpetrations. Again and again had the armed men been on\nthe track of the dreaded _Eblis_ only to discover too late, after a\nhot but fruitless chase, that the object of their hunt had posed the\nwhile as their informer, guide, or delightful boon-companion, filling\ntheir ears with tales of the blood-curdling atrocities of the robber.\n\nOthman had the means of personating Greek, Turk, Jew, Armenian,--any\nofficer, dervish, saint, beggar, foreign gentleman--yes, or woman; and\neven resorted to the guise of the devil, wherefore his sobriquet of\n_Eblis_. It was the study of his life, and he plied his trade with\nsurprising dexterity and hardihood. Tall, wiry, of tawny complexion,\nflashing eye, an iron grip, black hair, short beard, easy manner, and\nostentatiously scrupulous in matters appertaining to the mosque, it\nnever occurred to those who had met him in friendly intercourse, that\nhis hands reeked with the blood of murder committed with the least\npossible compunction.\n\nWhat puzzled the authorities was the contradictory descriptions given\nof the bandit by such as had the good fortune, having met with him, to\nescape his murderous rapacity; and as well the unaccountable\ncoincidence of his having shed blood at two distant spots at the same\nhour. This was a point in favor of the popular conclusion that the\nterrible highwayman was an incarnation of the devil, who held court\nin some dismal recess on the shores of the Dead Sea, a fit abode for\nthe dark designs of Satan. The inference was further strengthened by\nthe fact that Othman's crimes were invariably associated with the\ngloomiest nights in the valley of the Jordan, that he dealt with\nMoslem and infidel alike without a shade of partiality, and treated\nhis victims with fiendish malice.\n\nThe pseudo _Eblis_, however, in reality rejoiced in the comforts of a\nsnug home in the Plain of Engedi, where a small hamlet finds\nsustenance in the scanty vegetation of the cheerless oasis, hemmed in\nby the bleakest of wildernesses made up of mountains which look as\nthough they have passed through fire,--of pestiferous marshes, rugged\ncliffs, deep gorges, a rocky beach, or little vales covered with\nsaline incrustations, all forming the frame to the most depressed and\ndeadest of seas on the face of the earth. The region is sufficiently\nbleak, miasmatic and impregnated with sulphur to have suggested to\nMilton his infernal \"sights of woe, regions of sorrow, doleful\nshades, where peace and rest can never dwell, hope never comes that\ncomes to all.\"\n\nOthman's plain habitation was kept neat by a devoted wife, and\nenlivened by an affectionate son, Yezed, a boy in the early twenties,\nwho fed on the Koran's revelations imparted to him, with traditional\nembellishments, by the _muezzin_ of the small mosque, the only public\nbuilding of the settlement. With an eye to business, Othman had\nestablished his headquarters here, but extended his operations as far\nas his fleet horse could carry him during the darker hours, on\npathways known to him alone.\n\nA cultivated patch of grain and vegetables, a cow, a few sheep and a\ncouple of asses, were supposed to supply the necessaries of Othman's\nhousehold. There was little about the robber's life to stir the envy\nof his neighbors, except this fiery steed _El Barak_, so named in\nallusion to the lightning speed of the Prophet's horse that carried\nhim from heaven to heaven, up to the throne of Allah. El Barak was a\nlamb in the hands of his master or Yezed, but a terror to strangers\nwhose approaches the brute resented with a ferocious fury. That the\nhorse had been taught to dash against people and trample them down\nnobody suspected.\n\nOthman was the most pleasant of neighbors, bothered himself about\nnobody's business, and was counted among the most harmless of the\nvillagers, deriving a small revenue from his ability to act as guide\nto such as were curious to explore the mysteries of the desolation\naround the Dead Sea. This was the plausible reason for the keeping of\nEl Barak.\n\nBut the time had arrived when the secret could no longer be withheld\nfrom Yezed. The son had to be familiarized with his father's business,\nand the mettle of the lad had to undergo a test. Was he worthy of his\nsire? Yezed knew whole surahs of the Koran by heart, and delighted his\nmother's ear with their recitation. The youth was a dreamer, the\nmuezzin having stocked his memory with the most fabulous of Islam's\ntraditions. Othman did not like his son's visionary spirit, but there\nwas hope in Yezed's great fondness for horses and his expressed wish\nto own one of El Barak's temper. His wish was gratified. A powerful\ncourser was Yezed's pleasant surprise on his twenty-first birthday,\nand the Arabs of Engedi began to suspect that Othman was a much richer\nman than he appeared. In a few weeks Yezed bestrode his horse like the\nexperienced horseman he in fact already was, and was asked by his\nfather to accompany him to a place he intended to visit the coming\nevening. A dervish had passed through the village during the day and\nhad casually told the people that a party of foreigners would pass\nsome miles south of Engedi, their object being to see Jebel Usdum, a\ntowering ridge of rock-salt extending many miles, its crystalline\ncrest sparkling like diamonds in the beam of tropical sunshine, and\nlooking fantastically weird in the face of the moon. Othman was alert\nto the opportunity, and the departing sun threw its mellow ray on two\nriders, who had just issued from Engedi. They soon left the fertile\nstretch behind them and advanced between the lifeless tide of the\nmelancholy sea on one side and the barren, dreary range of cliffs on\nthe other.\n\nThe ebbing daylight gave the sterile outlook an air of inexpressible\ngloom, a leaden haze having gathered on the sea which looked more like\na vast basin of stagnant oil than water with not a stir of life to\nbreak the deadly silence except the hoof-beat of the horses. Othman,\nwho thus far had not uttered a word, suddenly stopped his horse, threw\na side glance at Yezed who likewise drew in his reins, so that the\nhorsemen faced each other. Yezed's imagination had been enkindled by\nthe sight of the sinking orb; he thought of the unfading glories of\n_Jannat al Na\u00efm_, the Prophet's Garden of Delight.\n\n\"Yezed, I am thinking that thou hast passed thy twenty-first year and\nart as helpless as a child; thou hast no ambition, not a wish to fire\nthee to a manly deed. If I died this coming night what would become of\nthee and thy mother?\" began Othman, eying the unsophisticated youth\nsharply.\n\n\"Yezed wished to own a horse, his father made him happy,--what else\nshall Yezed wish? If one is happy he has no wish. Thou die to-night?\nWhy should it come to pass? But even while thou art alive Yezed is\nwilling to work for his mother and his father, who should live for\npleasure and for prayer,\" answered the son contentedly.\n\n\"Ah, Yezed knows too little of this world, has no desire to be rich\nand strong, that is why he has no other wish. What joy is it to spend\none's days in such a waste as this?\" cried Othman, disappointed at his\nson's indifference to things for which he had no use. \"Does not this\nregion look like a place good for the dead?\"\n\n\"Yes, good to remind the wicked of their doom and the just of their\nreward. What of that? Are we not happy even in this unfriendly valley?\nNot where we live but _how_--is not this the sum of Islam? The joys of\nmortal flesh what are they when put in contrast with felicities not to\nbe expressed in words?\" asked Yezed.\n\n\"If Allah meant us not to enjoy this world, why are there so many good\nthings which the weak and the poor cannot have?\" was Othman's\nquestion.\n\n\"Let Allah in his wisdom answer that; we must be content and resigned\nwherever we be, whatever our lot, lest we forfeit eternal bliss,\"\nreplied Yezed piously.\n\n\"Thou art soaring above the gate of _Jannat al Na\u00efm_,\" said Othman\nironically. \"Who has been there to assure us that it is more than a\nfable?\"\n\n\"God has revealed the truth to Mohammed, and he to his followers, and\nwe have it from them; and as the sun is bright, the moon is blessed,\nand the stars are the work of Allah, so is the Koran His word, and the\nProphet His messenger, and _Jannat al Na\u00efm_ the paradise of the\nfaithful, and _Jehennam_ one of the seven divisions of hell wherein\nthe wicked curse the day of their birth,\" affirmed Yezed emphatically,\nand stormed Othman's ear by a rhapsody on the blessedness of the\nprophet's paradise.\n\n\"Those who shall pass the bridge _al Sirat_,--a span thrown over the\nmidst of hell, finer than a hair and sharper than the edge of a razor,\nbeset on each side with briars and hooked thorns,--will, refreshed\nfrom the cistern of Mohammed, enter the abode of bliss never to leave\nit again. _Jannat al Na\u00efm_ is under the throne of God; its earth is as\nfine as wheat flour, as odoriferous as musk, and shines like saffron;\nits stones are pearls and jacinths; the walls of its dwellings are of\ngold, as also are the trees,--all of gold, one of which, called\n_Tuba_, blooms in the palace of Mohammed, with a branch reaching to\nthe habitation of every true believer. _Tuba_ is full to repletion\nwith dates, grapes, and a great variety of other fruits of enormous\nsize, having the taste of anything the blessed who eat may wish to\nenjoy. Silken garments, magnificent horses ready bridled and\ncaparisoned to ride upon, are there, bursting from the fruits of that\npregnant tree, which is so prodigious that the fleetest racer could\nnot pass the entire length of its shade in a hundred years. From the\nroots of _Tuba_ spring all the rivers and springs of paradise,--water,\nwine, milk and honey affording variety. Seventy-two immortal virgins\nof ravishing loveliness and free from mortal impurities will receive\neach faithful in a tent of pearls, jacinths, and emeralds; eighty\nthousand servants will await his orders; each meal will be served in\ndishes of gold by three hundred attendants, each one offering a\ndifferent dish, and the last morsel being as palatable as the first.\nRobed in garments of silk and brocade, and crowned with diadems of\npriceless jewels, the Elect will rejoice in the company of those\nblack-eyed paradisial maidens called houris, on couches interwoven\nwith golden threads standing on silken rugs and set with precious\nstones. Israfil, the greatest musician of the universe, will lead a\nchorus of those houris for the enravishment of the faithful, and the\ntrees will make their heavenly bells, of which they are full, ring in\nresponse to a sweet breeze wafted from Allah's throne. What, then, do\nall joys here below amount to?\"[11]\n\n    [11] _Cf._ the Koran (Surahs 13, 47 and 55).\n\nOthman's eyes were riveted on the countenance of the enthusiastic\nyouth, but his mien betrayed not the displeasure of his faithless\nheart. What could he expect of a lad who raved of fables meant for\nfools? How divulge to him the secret, which would in an instant\nshatter all his air castles? And how will it impress him?\n\n\"Answer me, son, art thou a coward?\" asked the brigand, in a changed\nvoice. \"By my troth, thou speakest like a woman, yet art thou sired by\na man who defies Eblis.\"\n\n\"What Mohammed taught me and his _imams_ that I speak of, father;\nYezed is a woman's child, but no woman; nor am I a coward. Set me a\ntask, however hazardous, it shall be done,\" returned the youth, in a\ntone of challenge.\n\n\"That is my son's true self,\" resumed Othman, pleased with Yezed's\noutburst of manly temper. \"There is a task for thee to do this coming\nnight, and it is not one for a craven to meddle with. Son, this world\nis made up of masters and of slaves; the few command, the multitudes\nobey. That Yezed take rank among the masters is his father's wish;\nwilt thou be guided by his advice?\"\n\n\"Whatever Othman Ibn Saad tells his Yezed to do, that he will do,\"\nreplied Yezed.\n\n\"Will he face danger without shrinking?\" was the searching question of\nthe father.\n\n\"If the deed is in accord with Moslem duty,\" returned the son.\n\n\"Is there any wrong in slaying those who hate us,--those we\nhate,--those Mohammed hated?\" continued Othman, insinuatingly.\n\n\"No; whomever the Prophet hated no Mussulman can love. Yes, it was his\nwill that infidels be converted by the sword, if it must be. To shed\nblood is fearful, however, except it be he whose flesh ought to be\ntorn by the fiends and bitten by the serpents of _al Hawiyat_, there\nbeing no deeper place in hell. Yes, him I would this moment stab to\nthe heart, and cast his carcass to the dogs,\" cried Yezed, in a voice\nwhich boded no good for the object of his detestation.\n\n\"And who is _he_ thou art speaking of,\" inquired the father, delighted\nwith the anger of his righteous offspring. \"He must be indeed wicked\nwhom Yezed hates.\"\n\n\"I am speaking of him whose black deeds are matched by his black name,\nEblis, the highway murderer of men and women, ripe for Monkir's club,\nand eternal perdition,\" asseverated Yezed, with flashing eyes and\nclenched fists.\n\nIn speechless consternation the eyes of the older rested on the\nyounger man. He, who had ruthlessly driven cold steel through the\nheart of many a victim, felt a chill of horror run through his veins\nat the deathful hatred he had thus engendered in the unsuspicious soul\nof his own child. Othman twisted the head of El Barak toward the last\nglow of the western heaven, looked thither for a moment, as though\nlost in wonder, then, turning round all composed, said in an\nundertone: \"Why, Yezed, that is the very man we are to intercept this\nnight. A great price has been set on his head, and my information\nmakes it certain that we will be in a position to waylay him, if we\nuse our time and arms well. This is the task I referred to. Is Yezed\nprepared to share his father's daring exploit?\"\n\n\"Yezed will follow whithersoever his father leads him, and face death\nin the name of Allah; there is no craven blood in Othman's faithful\nson,\" answered the youth.\n\n\"Thou art the lion's whelp,\" closed Othman, and spurred his horse to\nascend a gorge which in the rainy season gives passage to a mountain\ntorrent down to the dead water, but which was perfectly dry now. The\npath followed by El Barak with ease was narrow, steep and\nneck-breaking, a yawning gulf suggesting dreadful possibilities to the\nright, while to the left rose masses of blackened rock, overshadowing\nthe horsemen by hanging projections which threatened to fall with\nterrific effect.\n\nAfter a ride of about an hour through deepening twilight, Othman\nturned into a narrow break of the mountain, shot out of his saddle,\nbade his horse wait, and told Yezed to do as he did. The youth obeyed\nwithout a word, and followed his father who, nimble as a cat, began to\nclimb up an almost perpendicular wall to a considerable height, and\nslipped into a hole scarcely big enough for an average human body to\npass through without difficulty. Once within, Othman put his head out\nto encourage Yezed who, unfamiliar with the footholds so well known to\nhis guide, despaired of performing a feat perilous even for an acrobat\nto attempt. Down came the end of a rope for Yezed to take hold of. It\nwas dense night when the form of the lad disappeared in the interior\nof the rocky nest.\n\nThere was already a light, and Yezed was struck with wonder at the\nspacious hollow before him. High and dry and clean, it was irregular\nin shape, sloping down toward a narrowing deep which startled the\nimagination of the youth. Who could tell the mystery of that black pit\nwhich seemed to breathe like the mouth of a sleeping giant? Yes, a\ngentle breeze proceeded from the mountain's heart, saturated with a\nsomething that made Yezed feel uneasy.\n\nOther surprises diverted Yezed's attention. What looked like a niche a\nfew feet above their heads, was soon reached by stepping on a loose\nbowlder, and the young man's wonderment was not small to see in the\nlight of a lantern in his father's hand, a wardrobe of various\ncostumes, masks, bearded and unbearded, jack-boots, many uniforms, and\na regular armory of weapons and ammunition. That was not all. Several\nleather bags were brought to light from under a tiger skin, and\nYezed's eyes dilated at the precious contents of each and all, as\nOthman opened them as a surprise for his true-hearted offspring.\nCostly watches, costlier jewels, rings, bracelets, necklaces, strings\nof pearls, taken from murdered women; breastpins of every description,\ngold and silver money, made up a treasure to feed the avarice of a\nnabob. \"If Yezed asks whose is all this? I will answer it is all\nYezed's,\" said huskily the brigand.\n\nHe scarcely breathed the few words when a puff from the black hole put\nout the light, followed by a moan, a deep sigh and a light rumbling.\nOthman held his breath. Yezed heard nothing more, but his pulse\nthrobbed nervously. What could he say? He had portentous feelings but\nno thoughts; it all seemed like a dream.\n\nThe light was again burning. \"It is all right,\" said Othman,\nreassured, and nothing further happened to confirm his suspicion that\nsomething had been astir in the unexplored deep. \"The one who shall\nattempt to get the fruit of my life must have the nerve to perish in\nthe attempt. Now, to business, Yezed. Here are this suit and mask for\nthee, and this thy armor. My panoply is here; don't be disturbed; the\ndevil must match the devil. Hurry, the minutes count; the game will\nnot wait for us.\" Saying this, Othman amazed his son by transforming\nhimself into the blackest demon the youth had ever dreamt of in fancy.\nThe veritable Eblis could not look more deterring than the desperado\nin his black mask with red eyes, red mouth, long, hooked nose, a\npointed beard, pointed shoes and tight leg coverings in one garment, a\ncoat ending in a cow's tail, black gloves which doubled the length of\nhis fingers, and a red spear with many points completed the equipment.\n\n\"Thou art too slow, son, for an expedition which requires haste not\nless than courage,\" said the robber, and actually pushed the youth\ninto a strange garb, adjusted his mask, and threw a belt with pistols\naround his waist. \"Ready!\" was the signal, and Othman burst forth from\nthe wall like a bomb from the mouth of a gun fired from the embrasure\nof a fort. Yezed would not stay behind and found it much easier to get\ndown than up the steep.\n\nOthman was now the real Eblis and his impetuosity seemed to wing El\nBarak. Fear and pride spurred Yezed to keep pace with his father. It\nwas one of those nights when the moon is late in rising, and the\noutlines of the robber as a devil astride of a fiery courser filled\nhis child with horror. Through night and desolation they sped onward,\nthe father leading, the son close behind, with not a sound to vary the\nawful monotony. They had covered several miles when Othman's\nexperienced ear informed him that his game was near at hand. He\ndiscerned the petrified figure of Lot's wife, a pillar of salt forty\nfeet high, and distinctly heard the tramp of the approaching\ntravellers.\n\n\"Thy first chance, Yezed, to show thyself a hero or a dastard. Here we\nleave our horses; thou wilt plant thyself in the way of the beasts; I\nwill strike like thunder; if it prove too much for me, stab and fire;\nif I hold to, fight; if I give it up, run. I fall on them with the cry\nof Eblis! Having finished them, our horses will carry us home before\nthe moon is out,\" whispered the bandit, thrilling with excitement.\n\nFor the first time in his experience did Yezed feel the fighting lust\nof his sire who was burning for the deadly encounter. If they\nsucceeded in capturing or slaying the scourge of the Jordan's plain,\ntheir names would be on everybody's lips, including the Caliph of\nEstamboul. A lantern in the hand of a horseman afforded a clear view\nof the travelling company, made up of an armed escort of two\ncivilians, having between them a foreigner on horseback, accompanied\nby an armed servant. With a yell that made the air shudder, Othman\nfell on the group, unhorsing one and striking the other with the\nferocity of a savage brute. But the brigand was caught in a snare laid\nfor his ruin. It was the Chief of Kerak who had conceived the idea of\nentrapping \"Eblis\" by spreading the rumor of the impending arrival of\na travelling company in the quarter where they had good reasons to\nexpect his attack. Three athletic Arabs stood by their Chief, but\nOthman was not a bird to be caught and carried off. His red spear held\nthem at bay, but it was not possible for him to escape. He fired, was\nfired at, bled from many wounds, but fought like a wounded bear, the\nArabs closing around him. \"Give it to them,\" he cried in desperation.\nIn answer several shots struck the struggling group from a distance.\nThree of the five fell never to rise; Othman was one of the three,\nstretched lifeless by a bullet from the weapon of his Yezed. The son\nhad killed his father, and realizing the nature of the tragedy and the\nperil of his situation, he made a rush for his horse, and vanished in\nthe darkness of night, with none to give him chase.\n\nWhither flee? In his present apparel he durst not seek his home, even\nif he had better news to bring than the slaughter of his father by his\nown hand. To get his clothing he must retrace his way to that\nfrightful hole in the rock which he had gladly left in the earlier\nhour of the night. He dreaded the thought of it, but it had to be; the\nproblem being how to find the way thither?\n\nIt was fortunate for Yezed that, in his precipitous flight, he had\nmounted El Barak in mistake for his own horse, and the sagacious\nanimal carried him instinctively to the right spot, halting beneath\nthe entrance of the hollow to which his dead master had ascended so\noften, especially after successful robberies. \"Allah akbar,\" sighed\npoor Yezed, as he got out of his saddle and prepared to reach the\nblack nest. There was the rope inviting him to ascend. It was a\nhorrible nightmare. So much had happened in a few short hours! Could\nanything worse befall him? Come what might, that hollow must be\nentered. He drew himself up, entered the cave, struck a light, threw\noff his disguise, put on his plain garments, fell on his face and wept\nbitterly. The pelf and the jewels will they revive his father who had\nfallen by his hand?--The pelf and the jewels--horrid thought! It\nflashed upon his mind like an inspiration.--Great Allah! Eblis--his\nfather was himself that terrible impersonation,--a murderer! How could\nhe doubt it? Did not everything point to the reality of that fact?\n\"Allah akbar. Yezed is the most miserable of sons,\" murmured the\nunhappy youth.\n\nBut hark! Yes, there was a sigh,--and another,--and a groan, and now a\nhoot,--and then a howl ascending from that unfathomed black mouth of\nthe hollow, which stared at him like the vicious eye of a Cyclops. The\nblood froze in his veins. Once more a puff of wind, as of a whiff from\na monstrous gullet, left him in rayless darkness. But more appalling\nthan the dense obscurity was the faint glimmer of a hazy shimmer which\nstole up from the deep, a phosphorescent illumining of the sepulchral\ngloom, just bright enough to make the shades visible. Terror drove\nYezed to the verge of madness. Might not at any moment some apparition\nbreak out upon him through that animated gap? Seizing a loaded gun\nnear by, Yezed emptied its contents into the outlet. The instantaneous\nresponse was a terrific burst of the mountain, which sent Yezed\nwheeling through the air with fragments of rock as great as pyramids.\nThat he was not crushed was not so much a wonder as that he landed on\ntop of a mountainous pile unhurt. New events threw previous happenings\ninto the shade.\n\nBy this time it took a great deal to astonish Yezed, but his position\nof vantage placed under his survey a somewhat dim panorama, more\nbeautiful than anything he had ever hoped to see this side of _Jannat\nal Na\u00efm_. Through the shifting mists of an uncertain gloom the eye\nswept over a plain of tropic luxuriance on the shore of a lake as\nplacid and limpid as the purest azure. As though ignited by a flash of\nlightning, sprang a blaze from lamps without number, giving\ndistinctness to rich and noble forms of vegetation, studded here and\nthere by fruit-bearing trees thick with blossom, or loaded with those\nHesperian apples which rival sunshine in glow. From the shades of a\nmajestic grove flowed the ineffable notes of the bulbul. Fragrant\nbowers stood decked with the vine's exuberant foliage and cumbered\nwith the clusters that produce the golden juice. Sparkling fountains\nplayed in the light of the mystic illumination. A lofty arcade,\nmocking the rainbow by a myriad multicolored lights, glowed like a\ncurved horizon, covering a great stretch of green meadow, and making\nday for the fish, which swarmed in the transparent water. Underneath\nthe arcaded bow was room enough for armies to pass each other, or to\nparade in military array.\n\nIndeed the cymbal, fife and timbrel were heard, and a vast multitude\nof a strange race overflowed the entire plain, moving toward the\narcade as the centre of attraction. It was a half-naked mass of\nbrutified humanity, wild and salacious, the sexes intermingling with\nrevolting indecency. At their head strode a ferocious biped, his hair\nlong, straight and matted, his eyes bloodshot, his visage tattooed,\nhis lips dyed,--chin, teeth and cheekbones of the gorilla, and limbs\nsinewy like the buffalo's. In his grasp swayed a huge club; his breast\nwas covered by a shield, his shins by plates of bronze, and he\nremained no secret to Yezed the moment his beastly cry was heard.\n\n\"Hear Nimrod the Huntsman speak, children of Sodom! The mighty sons of\nAnak and those of the Rephaim, the sky-born, are coming to help us\nbuild the tower yonder in defiance of Him who has drowned our sires\nbecause of their having lived as we do, and because of their refusing\nto worship Him as thralls. We shall build higher than His mountains,\nand then scorn His rage. Yes, we shall climb above His clouds, laugh\nat His floods, and storm His heaven. Who is He to be feared? He seized\nthe power, the winds and the thunderbolt, and treats beings like\nHimself with cruel outrage.\"\n\nThe dehumanized masses yelled, leaped, made horrid faces, distorted\ntheir bodies, swore blasphemously, and supplemented their blasphemies\nby such abominable excesses as caused Yezed to turn away his eyes in\ndisgust. Bestial females rivaled with one another in winning their\nmale brutes by intoxicating drinks, which they made them swallow in\ngreat quantities, drinking themselves until they reeled with\ninebriation. Wild dancing and lewd gesticulations were the prelude to\nthe indulgence of nameless vices, and this was the opening of a\nSaturnalia of lust and riot.\n\n\"The Anakim, the Rephaim, make room for the heroes!\" thundered Nimrod\nthe Huntsman. Hereupon the Sodomites divided into two parallel lines,\nleaving a road free to the triumphal arcade, which burned like a vault\nof fire. Issuing from a shaded avenue, an army of hideous giants,\nswollen with vanity and bristling with arms of every description,\nadvanced in two separate columns toward the blazing arcade where they\nwere to be received and regaled. Their powerful chests were shielded\nby plates of bronze; so were their knees and down the shins. They wore\nhides of beasts, the chief one a lion's skin. As they came in sight of\nthe immense vault their chief caused them to break up and pass through\na series of evolutions to the vociferous acclaim of the drunken\nmultitude. Nimrod was at hand to extend Sodom's welcome to the\nwarriors.\n\n\"Thou mighty leader of the invincible sons of giants, who durst storm\nheaven to dethrone Him who revels in outrage, we welcome thee and\nthine, we, the Sodomites, who welcome none, except it be to mutilate\nor slay the fools who trust our honor. For know, O chief, that in our\nmidst the stranger gets stones to feed his hunger, mud to quench his\nthirst, and a bed to sleep on, which must fit his length; if he be too\nlong we cut his limbs; if he be too short we stretch them to suit our\nmeasure. Force is our law, valor our God, plunder our business, and\nlicense our pleasure. What He above loves we hate, and what He hates\nwe love. We injure the innocent, respect no woman's virtue, roast the\nbrute alive that He may fume and fret, who is our common foe, our\ntyrant. That you might join us in the work of raising that tower to a\nheight far above His clouds we called you hither. Let Him send another\ndeluge to drown us,--we shall defy His hereafter as we did hitherto,\nand make His clouds break against the top of that pile. But whatever\nwork be ours to do, let this hour be given to feasting and pleasure,\ndrinking, dancing and loving.\"\n\nWhat Yezed heard next was a myriad shriek of terror. As if the lake\nhad been a caldron of oil, its volume rose in a tremendous flame,\nheaving toward the clouds, and in its conflagration the shores were\nsoon involved. A general upheaval of rock, brought about by an\nimpelling force from below, in its recoil dropped the bed of the lake\ndeep under its shores, creating a gulf buried in fire. Streams of the\nconsuming element shot up from a hundred cracks, crevices and chasms\nopened by the disturbance, wiping out whatever had life and breath.\nSwallowed by the fiery billows were the licentious revellers, no\nvestige remaining to tell of the illumined Eden, which but a few\nminutes before had been a scene of unspeakable depravity. The whole\ndissolved itself into a black smoke, pregnant with deathful odors,\nlike the fetid exhalation that hung over the catastrophe of Sodom and\nGomorrah. Yezed alone escaped, and his trembling heart recognized\nAllah's justice and mercy. On every side sulphurous damps, thick night\nand the silence of death enclosed him.\n\nWhere was he? How shall he ever get down from the towering pile upon\nwhich he had been dropped by some mysterious power? What will there be\naround him when day shall rise on the devastation? Ah,--if it all were\nbut a nightmare, including his father's death in the guise of the\ndevil? But the night seemed endless, as though day would never come\nagain, and the position was one of horrid suspense and miserable\ndiscomfort. To cap the climax of Yezed's unparalleled mishaps, there\nsoared before him the bleeding figure of his father in the attire of\nEblis, just as he had seen him hurry to his doom. \"Thy hands are\nclean, O, my son! but I am doomed to swim forever in a pool of blood,\nthe life-stream of the hearts I pierced!\" came wailing to his ears\nupon the passing breeze as the apparition faded from his vision,\nchilling the boy to the centre of his being.\n\nYezed attempted to speak, but found his tongue paralyzed; he tried to\nexpress himself by signs, but his arms and fingers were lame.\nGathering all his strength, he threw his frame in the direction in\nwhich he had seen Othman depart, and he struck his head against a\nstone. How did the stone come here? There had been nothing there\nbefore. Yezed rose to his feet; there was no smoke to be seen. He\nthrust out his arms sideways and struck against a wall. There was no\nwall before. \"Allah, great Allah, is not this the hollow where I\nchanged my clothing!\" So it was. Why not make a light? It was made,\nand, lo! there was the sequestered nest, there the armory and the\nsingular wardrobe, there the treasure of the dead brigand, and there\nthe fearful black hole which graciously hid those mysteries he had\nwitnessed. Yezed shook with chill. He felt that it was the dead of\nnight, and had overwhelming feelings to control. What remained of the\nnightmare as an unescapable reality was horrible to dwell upon. Shall\nhe ever return to the infernal hollow again? No, never! never! Why\nstay one second longer than necessary in the mouth of hell? Trembling\nand shivering, Yezed crawled out of the accursed cave, lowered himself\nto the ground, found the noble El Barak awaiting him patiently, threw\nhis arms around the neck of the faithful brute and lamented bitterly.\nThe horse neighed gently, as though he, too, understood his new\nmaster's great sorrow.\n\nSeated in the saddle, Yezed allowed the intelligent animal to take its\nown course, and was shortly before daybreak landed before his mother's\nhabitation. There was weeping and wailing in the widowed house. Yezed\ndecided to divulge the whole truth to his friendly master, the\nmuezzin. The holy man shuddered as he listened to his pupil's tale,\nbut advised secrecy, lest widow and orphan be thrown into prison as\naccessories to the numerous crimes of the guilty Othman. He took great\ncare, however, to inform himself about the location of the interesting\ncave, and was ere long in a position to turn his back upon the humble\nvillagers of Engedi, not without inducing the widow and her son to\nfollow him to a happier place.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Note\n\nRepeated half titles have been deleted.\n\nThis book contains archaic spelling, e.g. meed meaning reward, targe\nmeaning shield. There are also some variations in spelling, e.g. Allah\nakbar and Allah achbar both appear. Further, both American and British\nspelling is used, including appearances of shriveled and shrivelled,\nrevelers and revellers, and marvelous and marvellous. In all cases,\nthese are preserved as printed.\n\nMinor punctuation errors have been repaired. Hyphenation has been made\nconsistent.\n\nThe following have been considered as printer errors, and amended:\n\n    Page 23--in amended to is--The slave-Sultan is not within\n    these black reaches, ...\n\n    Page 37, footnote 2--24 amended to 22--... Al Zameri cries\n    out to his rescuer (page 22) ...\n\n    Page 168, footnote 8--\u05de\u05dc\u05d0\u05df amended to \u05de\u05dc\u05d0\u05d2 and \u05e1\u05e0\u05d3\u05dc\u05e4\u05df\u05d9 amended\n    to \u05e1\u05e0\u05d3\u05dc\u05e4\u05d9\u05df--... \u05e9\u05de\u05d5 \u05e1\u05e0\u05d3\u05dc\u05e4\u05d9\u05df \u05d4\u05d7\u05d9\u05d5\u05ea \u05d0\u05e6\u05dc \u05de\u05d2\u05d9\u05e2 \u05d5\u05e8\u05d0\u05e9\u05d5 \u05d1\u05d0\u05e8\u05e5 \u05e2\u05d5\u05de\u05d3 \u05d0\u05d7\u05d3 \u05de\u05dc\u05d0\u05d2 ...\n\n    Page 210--seried amended to serried--... was made up of a\n    serried division ...\n\n    Page 220--were amended to where--Menahem was where he wished\n    to be, ...\n\n    Page 220--Iman amended to Imam--... within the boundaries of\n    his dominion the Imam ...\n\n    Page 266--ot amended to of--Each division of troops had its\n    elephantine accompaniment, ...\n\n    Page 279--world-renowed amended to world-renowned--...\n    whispered Persia's world-renowned hero.\n\n    Page 308--briliiant amended to brilliant--... an arched\n    space, brilliant with dazzling light.\n\n    Page 309--licure amended to ligure--... and a variety of the\n    jasper and the ligure, ...\n\n    Page 315--sycthe amended to scythe--... the Christians fell\n    as grass struck by the scythe.\n\n    Page 319--Jannet amended to Jannat--It is a gazelle from\n    Jannat al Ferdaws, ...\n\n    Page 324--Emil-al-Mumemin amended to Emir-al-Mumemin--...\n    Omeyya presented himself before the Emir-al-Mumemin ...\n\n    Page 332--excep amended to except--... except this fiery\n    steed _El Barak_, ...\n\n    Page 343--Yedez amended to Yezed--... and told Yezed to do as\n    he did.\n\n    Page 348--eel amended to feel--... did Yezed feel the\n    fighting lust ...\n\nThe frontispiece illustration has been moved to follow the title page.\nOther illustrations have been moved where necessary so they are not in\nthe middle of a paragraph.","title":"The Weird Orient: Nine Mystic Tales","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":62773}