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STRAY LEAVES
STRANGE LITERATURE
STRAY LEAVES FROM
STRANGE LITERATURE
RECONSTRUCTED FROM THE ANVARI-SOHEILI,
BAITAL PACHISf, MAHABHARATA, PANTCHA-
TANTRA, GULISTAN, TALMUD, KALEWALA, ETC.
BY LAFCADIO HEARN
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
1899
Copyright, 1884,
BY JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY.
All rights reserved.
mg jfrfento,
PAGE M. BAKER,
EDITOR OF THE
NEW ORLEANS TIMES-DEMOCRAT.
EXPLANATORY.
WHILE engaged upon this little mosaic work of
legend and fable, I felt much like one of those
merchants told of in Sindbad's Second Voyage,
who were obliged to content themselves with
gathering the small jewels adhering to certain
meat which eagles brought up from the Valley
of Diamonds. I have had to depend altogether
upon the labor of translators for my acquisitions ;
and these seemed too small to deserve separate
literary setting. Bj r cutting my little gems ac
cording to one pattern, I have doubtless reduced
the beauty of some ; yet it seemed to me their
colors were so weird, their luminosity so elfish,
that their intrinsic value could not be wholly de
stroyed even by so clumsy an artificer as I.
In short, these fables, legends, parables, etc.,
are simply reconstructions of what impressed me
8 Explanatory.
as most fantastically beautiful in the most exotic
literature which I was able to obtain. With few
exceptions, the plans of the original narratives
have been preserved. Sometimes I have added
a little, sometimes curtailed ; but the augmenta
tions were generally made with material drawn
from the same source as the legend, while the
abbreviations were effected either with a view
to avoid repetition, or through the necessity of
suppressing incidents unsuited to the general
reading. I must call special attention to cer
tain romantic liberties or poetic licenses which
I have taken.
In the Polynesian story (" The Fountain Maid
en") I have considerably enlarged upon the
legend, which I found in Gill's "Myths and
Songs of the South Pacific," a curious but
inartistic book, in which much admirable mate
rial has been very dryly handled. In another
portion of Mr. Gill's book I found the text and
translation of the weird "Thieves' Song;" and
conceived the idea of utilizing it in the story,
with some fanciful changes. The Arabic " Le
gend of Love " is still more apocryphal, as it
consists of fragmentary Arabian stories, borrowed
from De Stendahl's " L' Amour," and welded into
one narrative.
Explanatory. 9
In the Rabbinical legends I have often united
several incidents related about one personage in
various of the Talmudic treatises ; but this sys
tem is sufficiently specified by references to the
" Gemara" in the text. By consulting" the indices
attached to Hershon's Miscellany, and Schwab's
translations of the Jerusalem Talmud, it was easy
to collect a number of singular traditions attach
ing to one distinguished Rabbi, and to unite
these into a narrative. Finally, I must confess
that the story of "Natalika" was not drawn
directly from Ferista, or Fihristah, but from
Jacolliot, a clever writer, but untrustworthy Ori
entalist, whose books have little serious value.
Whether true or false, however, the legend of
the statue seemed to me too pretty to overlook.
In one case only have I made a veritable trans
lation from the French. Leouzon Le Due's literal
version of the " Kalewala " seemed to me the
most charming specimen of poetical prose I had
met with among translations. I selected three
incidents, and translated them almost word for
word.
Nearly all of the Italic texts, although fan
cifully arranged, have been drawn from the
literatures of those peoples whose legends they
introduce. Many phrases were obtained from
10 Explanatory.
that inexhaustible treasiny of Indian wisdom, the
" Pantchatantra ; " others from various Buddhist
works. The introductorj 7 text of the piece, enti
tled "The King's Justice," was borrowed from
the Persian " Mantic Uttair," of Farid Uddin
Attar ; and the text at the commencement of the
Buddhist Parable (which was refashioned after
a narrative in Stanislas Julien's "Avadanas")
was taken from the " Dhammapada." The briefer
stories, I think, have general^ suffered less at
my hands than the lengthier ones. That won
derful Eg} T ptian romance about the Book of
Thoth is far more striking in Maspero's French
translations from the original pap}"rus ; but the
Egyptian phrases are often characterized by a
nakedness rather more startling than that of the
dancing girls in the mural paintings. . . .
Upon another page will be found a little
bibliography of nearly all the sources whence I
have drawn my material. Some volumes are
mentioned only because they gave me one or
two phrases. Thus, I borrowed expressions or
ideas from "Amarou," from Fauche's translation
of the " Ritou Sanhara," and especially from the
wealth of notes to Chezy's superb translation of
" Sacountala."
This little collection has no claim upon the
Explanatory. 11
consideration of scholars. It is simply an at
tempt to share with the public some of those
novel delights I experienced while trying to
familiarize myself with some very strange and
beautiful literatures.
During its preparation two notable works have
appeared with a partly similar purpose : Helen
Zimmern's " Epic of Kings," and Edwin Arnold's
" Rosar} 7 of Islam." In the former we have a
charming popular version of Firdusi, and upon
the latter are exquisitely strung some of the fair
est pearls of the " Mesnewi." I hope my far less
artistic contribution to the popularization of un
familiar literature may stimulate others to pro
duce something worthier than I can hope to do.
My gems were few and small : the monstrous and
splendid await the coming of Sindbad, or some
mighty lapidary by whom the}' may be wrought
into jewel bouquets exquisite as those bunches of
topaz blossoms and ruby buds laid upon the tomb
of Nourmahal.
NEW ORLEANS, 1884.
BIBLIOGRAPHY.
(There are very fine English translations of the works marked with an
asterisk. )
ALLEGORIES, RECITS, CONTES, etc., traduits de 1'Arabe, du
Persan, de 1'Hindustani, et du Turc. Par M. Garcin de
Tassy. Paris, 1876. (Includes " Bakawali.")
AMAROTJ. Anthologie Erotique. Texte Sanscrit, traduction,
notes, etc., par A. L. Apudy (Chezy). Paris, 1831.
AVADANAS (LES). Contes et Apologues Indiens. Traduits
par M. Stanislas Julien. Paris, 1859.
BUDDHA (ROMANTIC LEGEND OF). Translated by Rev.
Samuel Beal. London, 1875.
CONTES EGYPTIENS. Par G. Maspero. Paris, 1882.
DHAMMAPADA (THE). Translated from the Chinese by Rev.
Samuel Beal, B.A. Boston, 1878.
*GITA-GOVINDA (LE), ET LE RiTou-SANHARA. Traduits
par Hippolyte Fauche. Paris, 1850.
*GULISTAN (LE), DE SADI. Traduit litteralement, par N.
Semelet. Paris, 1834.
HINDOO PANTHEON (THE). By Major Edward Moor. Lon
don, 1861.
14 Bibliography.
*HITOI>ADESA (L'). Traduit par E. Lancereau. Paris,
1882.
JACOLLIOT. Voyage aux Ruines de Golconde. Paris, 1878.
JATAKA-TALES. Translated by T. W. Rhuys Davids. Vol. I.
Boston, 1881.
KALEWALA. Traduction de Leouzon Le Due. Paris, 1845.
MAHABHARATA (ONZE EPISODES DU). Traduit par Foucaux.
Paris, 1862.
*MANTIC UTTAIR. Traduit du Persan par M. Garcin de
Tassy. Paris, 1863.
MYTHOLOGIE DES ESQUIMAUX. Par 1'Abbe Morillot. Paris,
1874.
MYTHS AND SONGS OF THE SOUTH PACIFIC. By Rev. W. W.
Gill. London, 1877.
*PANTCHATANTRA ; ou, LES CINQ LIVRES. Traduit par
E. Lancereau. Paris, 1871.
STENDAHL (DE). L' Amour.
*SACOUNTALA. Texte Sanscrit, notes et traduction par
Chezy. Paris. 1830.
TALMUD. Le Talmud de Jerusalem. Traduit par Moiise
Schwab. Vols. I. -VI. Paris, 1878-83.
TALMUDIC MISCELLANY (A). By Rev. L. P. Hershon.
Boston, 1882.
VET /LAPANCHAVINSATf ( HlNDI VERSION OF THE). Baitdl
Pachisi; or, The Twenty-Jive Tales of a Demon. Trans
kted by W. B. Barker. London, 1855.
CONTENTS.
STRAY LEAVES.
PAGE
The Book of Thoth. From an Egyptian Papyrus . . 19
The Fountain Maiden. A Legend of the South Pacific . 33
The Bird Wife. An Esquimaux Tradition .... 41
TALES RETOLD FROM ' INDIAN AND BUDDHIST
LITERATURE.
The Making of Tilottama 49
The Brahman and his Brahmani , ....... 61
Bakawali 68
Natalika , . 78
The Corpse-Demon 85
The Lion 99
The Legend of the Monster Misfortune 102
A Parable Buddhistic 108
Pundari 113
Yamaraja ............... 119
The Lotos of Faith . 131
16 Contents.
BUNES FROM THE KALEWALA.
PAGE
The Magical Words 137
The First Musician 150
The Healing of Wainamoinen . 157
STOEIES OF MOSLEM LANDS.
Boutimar, the Dove 169
The Son of a Robber 175
A Legend of Love 181
The King's Justice 186
TRADITIONS RETOLD FROM THE TALMUD.
A Legend of Rabba 191
The Mockers 198
Esther's Choice 203
The Dispute in the Halacha 210
Rabbi Yochanan ben Zachai 216
A Tradition of Titus . , 220
STRAY LEAVES.
THE BOOK OF THOTH.
An Egyptian tale ofweirdncss, as told in a demotic papy
rus found in the necropolis of Deir-el-Mcdineh among the
ruins of hundred-gated Thebes. . . . Written in the thirty-
fifth year of the reign of some forgotten Ptolomceus, and in the
month of Tybi completed by a scribe famous among magi
cians. . . . Dedicated, dmibtlcss, to Thoth, Lord of all Scribes,
Grand Master of all Sorcerers ; whose grace had been rever
ently invoked upon whomsoever might speak well concerning
the same papyrus. . . .
. . . THOTIT, the divine, lord of scribes, most
excellent of workers, prince of wizards, once, it
is said, wrote with his own hand a book sur
passing all other books, and containing two magi
cal formulas only. Whosoever could recite the
first of these formulas would become forthwith
second only to the gods, for by its simple utter
ance the mountains and the valleys, the ocean
20 The Book of Thoth.
and the clouds, the heights of heaven and the
deeps of hell, would be made subject unto his
will ; while the birds of air, the reptiles of dark
ness, and the fishes of the waters, would be
thereby compelled to appear, and to make mani
fest the thoughts secreted within their hearts.
But whosoever could recite the second formula
might never know death, for even though
buried within the entrails of the earth, he would
still behold heaven through the darkness and
hear the voices of earth athwart the silence ;
even in the necropolis he would still see the
rising and setting of the sun, and the Cycle
of the Gods, and the waxing and waning of
the moon, and the eternal lights of the firma
ment.
And the god Thoth deposited his book with
in a casket of gold, and the casket of gold
within a casket of silver, and the casket of
silver within a casket of ivory and ebon} T ,
and the casket of ivory and ebon}^ within a
casket of palm-wood, and the casket of palm-
wood within a casket of bronze, and the
casket of bronze within a casket of iron.
And he buried the same in the bed of the
great river of Egypt where it flows through
the Nome of Coptos ; and immortal river mon-
The Book of Tholh. 21
sters coiled about the casket to guard it from
all magicians.
*
* *
Now, of all magicians, Noferkephtah, the son
of King Minibphtah (to whom be life, health,
and strength forevermore !), first by cunning dis
covered the place where the wondrous book was
hidden, and found courage to possess himself
thereof. For after he had well paid the wisest
of the ancient priests to direct his way, Nofer
kephtah obtained from his father Pharaoh a royal
cangia, well supplied and stoutly manned, wherein
he journeyed to Coptos in search of the hidden
treasure. Coming to Coptos after many days,
he created him a magical boat and a magical
crew b} r reciting mj-stic words ; and he and the
shadowy crew with him toiled to find the casket ;
and by the building of dams they were enabled
to find it. Then Noferkephtah prevailed also
against the immortal serpent by dint of sorcerj" ;
and he obtained the book, and read the mystic
formulas, and made himself second only to the
gods.
But the divinities, being wroth with him, caused
his sister and wife Ahouri to fall into the Nile,
and his son also. Noferkephtah indeed com
pelled the river to restore them ; but although
22 The Book of Thoth.
the power of the book maintained thdir life after
a strange fashion, they lived not as before, so
that he had to bury them in the necropolis at
Coptos. Seeing these things and fearing to return
to the king alone, he tied the book above his
heart, and also allowed himself to drown. The
power of the book, indeed, maintained his life
after a strange fashion ; but he lived not as be
fore, so that they took him back to Thebes as one
who had passed over to Amenthi, and there laid
him with his fathers, and the book also.
Yet, by the power of the book, he lived within
the darkness of the tomb, and beheld the sun
rising, and the Cycle of the Gods, and the phases
of the moon, and the stars of the night. By the
power of the book, also, he summoned to him
the shadow of his sister Ahouri, buried at Cop
tos, whom he had made his wife according to
the custom of the Egyptians ; and there was light
within their dwelling-place. Thus Noferkephtah
knew ghostly happiness in the company of the
Ka, or shadow, of his wife Ahouri, and the la
of his son Mikhonsou.
*
* *
Now, four generations had passed since the time
of King Minibphtah ; and the Pharaoh of Egypt
was Ousirmari. Ousirmari had two sons who
The Book of Thoth. 23
were learned among the Egyptians, Satni was
the name of the elder ; Anhathoreroou that of the
younger. There was not in all Egypt so wise a
scribe as Satni. He knew how to read the sacred
writings, and the inscriptions upon the amulets,
and the sentences within the tombs, and the words
graven upon the stelae, and the books of that
sacerdotal library called the "Double House of
Life." Also he knew the composition of all for
mulas of sorcery and of all sentences which spir
its obey, so that there was no enchanter like him
in all Egypt. And Satni heard of Noferkeph-
tah and the book of Thoth from a certain aged
priest, and resolved that he would obtain it. But
the aged priest warned him, saying, " Beware
thou dost not wrest the book from Noferkephtah,
else thou wilt be enchanted by him, and compelled
to bear it back to him within the tomb, and do
great penance."
Nevertheless Satni sought and obtained per
mission of the king to descend into the necropo
lis of Thebes, and to take away, if he might, the
book from thence. So he went thither with his
brother.
* *
Three days and three nights the brothers sought
for the tomb of Noferkephtah in the immeasurable
24 The Book of Thoth.
cit}' of the dead ; and after they had threaded
many miles of black corridors, and descended
into many hundred burial pits, and were weary
with the deciphering of innumerable inscriptions
b}- quivering light of lamps, they found his rest
ing-place at last. Now, when they entered the
tomb their eyes were dazzled ; for Noferkephtah
was lying there with his wife Ahouri beside him ;
and the book of Thoth, placed between them,
shed such a light around, that it seemed like the
brightness of the sun. And when Satni entered,
the Shadow of Ahouri rose against the right ; and
she asked him, " Who art thou?"
Then Satni answered: "I am Satni, son of
King Ousirmari ; and I come for the book of
Thoth which is between thee and Noferkephtah ;
and if thou wilt not give it me, I shall wrest it
away by force."
But the Shadow of the woman replied to him :
" Nay, be not unreasoning in thy words ! Do
not ask for this book. For we, in obtaining it,
were deprived of the pleasure of living upon earth
for the term naturally allotted us ; neither is this
enchanted life within the tomb like unto the life
of Egypt. Nowise can the book serve thee ; there
fore listen rather to the recital of all those sorrows
which befell us b" reason of this book. . . ."
The Book of Thoth. 25
But after hearing the story of Ahouri, the
heart of Satni remained as bronze ; and he only
repeated :
"If thou wilt not give "me the book which is
between thee and Noferkephtah, I shall wrest it
away by force."
Then Noferkephtah rose up within the tomb,
and laughed, saying: " O Satni, if thou art in
deed a true scribe, win this book from me by thy
skill ! If thou art not afraid, play against me a
game for the possession of this book, a game
of fifty-two!" Now there was a chess-board
within the tomb.
Then Satni played a game of chess with Nofer
kephtah, while the -ffas, the Shadows, the Dou
bles of Ahouri, and the large-e^yed boy looked on.
But the eyes with which they gazed upon him,
and the eyes of Noferkephtah also, strangely dis
turbed him, so that Satni's brain whirled, and the
web of his thought became entangled, and he
lost ! Noferkephtah laughed, and uttered a mag
ical word, and placed the chess-board upon Satni's
head ; and Satni sank to his knees into the floor
of the tomb.
Again they played, and the result was the same.
Then Noferkephtah uttered another magical word,
and again placed the chess-board upon Satui's
26 The Book of Thoth.
head ; and Satni sank to his hips into the floor
of the tomb.
Once more they plaj-ed, and the result was the
same. Then Noferkephtah uttered a third magi
cal word, and laid the chess-board on Satni's
head, and Satni sank up to his ears into the floor
of the tomb !
Then Satni shrieked to his brother to bring
him certain talismans quickly ; and the brother
fetched the talismans, and placed them upon
Satni's head, and by magical amulets saved him
from the power of Noferkephtah. But having
done this, Anhathoreroou fell dead within the
tomb.
And Satni put forth his hand and took the book
from Noferkephtah, and went out of the tomb
into the corridors ; while the book lighted the
way for him, so that a great brightness travelled
before him, and deep blackness went after him.
Into the darkness Ahouri followed him, lament
ing, and crying out : " Woe ! woe upon us ! The
light that gave life is taken from us ; the hideous
Nothingness will come upon us ! Now, indeed,
will annihilation enter into the tomb ! " But No
ferkephtah called Ahouri to him, and bade her
cease to weep, saying to her : " Grieve not after
the book ; for I shall make him bring it back to
The Book of Thoth. 27
me, with a fork and stick in his hand and a lighted
brazier upon his head."
*
* #
But when the king Ousirmari heard of all that
had taken place, he became very much alarmed
for his son, and said to him : " Behold ! thy folly
has already caused the death of thy brother An-
hathoreroou ; take heed, therefore, lest it bring
about thine own destruction likewise. Nofer-
kephtah dead is even a mightier magician than
thou. Take back the book forthwith, lest he
destroy thee."
And Satni replied : " Lo ! never have I owned
a sensual wish, nor done evil to living creature ;
how, then, can the dead prevail against me? It
is only the foolish scribe the scribe who hath
not learned the mastery of passions that may
be overcome by enchantment."
And he kept the book.
*
* *
Now it came to pass that a few da}'S after,
while Satni stood upon the parvise of the tem
ple of Pthah, he beheld a woman so beautiful
that from the moment his ej'es fell upon her he
ceased to act like one living, and all the world
grew like a dream about him. And while the
young woman was praying m the temple, Satni
28 The Book of T/toth.
heard that her name was Thotitboui, daughter of
a prophet. Whereupon he sent a messenger to
her, saying: "Thus declares my master: I, the
Prince Satni, son of King Ousirmari, do so love
thee that I feel as one about to die. ... If thou
wilt love me as I desire, thou shalt have kingliest
gifts ; otherwise, know that I have the power to
bury thee alive among the dead, so that none
may ever see thee again."
And Thoutboui on hearing these words appeared
not at all astonished, nor angered, nor terrified ;
but her great black eyes laughed, and she an
swered, saying: "Tell thy master, Prince Satni,
son of King Ousirmari, to visit me within my
house at Bubastes, whither I am even now go
ing." . . . Thereupon she went away with her
retinue of maidens.
*
* *
So Satni hastened forthwith to Bubastes by the
river, and to the house of Thoutboui, the proph
et's daughter. In all the place there was no house
like unto her house ; it was lofty and long, and
surrounded by a garden all encircled with a
white wall. And Satni followed Thoutboui's
serving-maid into the house, and by a coiling
stairvvaj 7 to an npper chamber wherein were
broad beds of ebon}* and ivory, and rich furni-
The Book of Thoth. 29
ture curiousby carved, and tripods with burning
perfumes, and tables of cedar with cups of gold.
And the walls were coated with lapis-lazuli inlaid
with emerald, making a strange and pleasant light.
. . . Thoutboui appeared upon the threshold, robed
in textures of white, transparent as the dresses of
those dancing women limned upon the walls of
the Pharaohs' palace ; and as she stood against
the light, Satni, beholding the litheness of her
limbs, the flexibility of her body, felt his heart
cease to beat within him, so that he could not
speak. But she served him with wine, and took
from his hands the gifts which he had brought,
and she suffered him to kiss her.
Then said Thoutboui : u Not lightly is my love
to be bought with gifts. Yet will I test thee, since
thou dost so desire. If thou wilt be loved by me,
therefore, make over to me by deed all thou hast,
thj- gold and thy silver, thy lauds and houses,
thy goods and all that belongs to thee. So that
the house wherein I dwell may become thy
house ! "
And Satni, looking into the long black jewels
of her eyes, forgot the worth of all that he pos
sessed ; and a scribe was summoned, and the
scribe drew up the deed giving to Thoutboui all
the goods of Satni.
30 The Book of Thoth.
Then said Thoutboui : "Still will I test thee,
since thou dost so desire. If thou wilt have
my love, make over to me thy children, also, as
my slaves, lest they should seek dispute with my
children concerning that which was thine. So
that the house in which I dwell may become thy
house ! "
And Satni, gazing upon the witcher}- of her
bosom, curved like ivory carving, rounded like
the eggs of the ostrich, forgot his loving chil
dren ; and the deed was written. . . . Even at
that moment a messenger came, s<oying: "O
Satni, thy children are below, and await thee."
And he said : ' ' Bid them ascend hither."
Then said Thoutboui: " Still will I test thee,
since thou dost so desire. If thou wilt have my
love, let thy children be put to death, lest at some
future time they seek to claim that which thou
hast given. So that the house in which I dwell
may be thy house ! "
And Satni, enchanted with the enchantment of
her pliant stature, of her palmy grace, of her
ivorine beaut}', forgot even his fatherhood, and
answered: "Be it so; were I ruler of heaven,
even heaven would I give thee for a kiss."
Then Thoutboui had the children of Satni slain
before his eyes ; yet he sought not to save them 1
The Book of T/ioth. 31
She bade her servant cast their bodies from the
windows to the cats and to the dogs below ; yet
Satni lifted not his hand to prevent it! And
while he drank wine with Thoutboui, he could hear
the growling of the animals that were eating the
flesh of his children. But he only moaned to her :
"Give me tlry love ! I am as one in hell for thy
sake ! " And she arose, and, entering another
chamber, turned and held out her wonderful arms
to him, and drew him to her with the sorcery of
her unutterable e}'es. . . .
But as Satni sought to clasp her and to kiss
her, lo ! her ruddy mouth opened and extended
and broadened and deepened, yawning wider,
darker, quickly, vastly, a blackness as of
necropoles, a vastness as of Amenthi ! And
Satni beheld only a gulf before him, deepening
and shadowing like night ; and from out the gulf
a burst of tempest roared up, and bore him with
it, and whirled him abroad as a leaf. And his
senses left him. . . .
*
. . . When he came again to himself, he was
lying naked at the entrance of the subterranean
sepulchres ; and a great horror and despair came
upon him, so that he purposed ending his life.
But the servants of the king found him, and bore
32 The Book of Thoth.
him safely to his father. And Ousirmari heard the
ghostly tale.
Then said Ousirmari : " O Satni, Noferkephtah
dead is a mightier magician than even thou living.
Know, nry son, first of all that thy children are
alive and well in my own care ; know, also, that
the woman by whose beauty thou wert bewitched,
and for whom thou hast in thought committed all
heinous crimes, was a phantom wrought by No-
ferkephtah's magic. Thus, by exciting thee to
passion, did he bring thy magical power to
nought. And now, nry dear son, haste with
the book to Noferkephtah, lest thou perish ut
terly, with all thy kindred."
So Satni took the book of Thoth, and, carry
ing a fork and stick in his hands and a lighted
brazier upon his head, carried it to the Theban
necropolis and into the tomb of Noferkephtah.
And Ahouri clapped her hands, and smiled to
see the light again return. And Noferkephtah
laughed, saying : "Did I not tell thee before
hand?" "Aj-e!" said Ahouri, "thou wert en
chanted, O Satni ! " But Satni, prostrating
himself before Noferkephtah, asked how he
might make atonement.
"O Satni," answered Noferkephtah, "my wife
and my son are indeed buried at Coptos ; these
The Fountain Maiden. 33
whom tliou seest here are their Doubles only,
their Shadows, their Has, maintained with me
by enchantment. Seek out their resting-place at
Coptos, therefore, and bury their bodies with me,
that we may all be thus reunited, and that thou
ma}'st do penance." . . .
So Satni went to Coptos, and there found an
ancient priest, who told him the place of Ahouri's
sepulture, saying: "The father of the father of
my father told it to my father's father, who told
it to my father." . . . Then Satni found the bod
ies, and restored to Noferkephtah his wife and
his son ; and thus did penance. After which the
tomb of Noferkephtah was sealed up forever by
Pharaoh's order ; and no man knoweth more the
place of Noferkephtah' s sepulture.
THE FOUNTAIN MAIDEN.
A legend of that pacific land where garments are worn by
none save the dead; where the beauty of youth is as the beauty
of statues of amber ; where through eternal summer even the
mountains refuse to don a girdle of cloud. . . .
" MIGHTY Omataianuku !
" Dark Avaava the Tall !
3
34 The Fountain Maiden.
" Tall Outuutu !
' ' Shadow the way for us !
' ' Tower as the cocoa-palms before us !
" Bend ye as dreams above the slumberers !
" Make deeper the sleep of the sleepers !
" Sleep, ye crickets of the threshold ! Sleep, ye
never reposing ants ! Sleep, ye shining beetles
of the night !
"Winds, cease ye from whispering! Restless
grass, pause in thy rustling ! Leaves of the
palms, be still ! Reeds of the water-ways, sway
not ! Blue river, cease thy lipping of the banks !
" Slumber, 3-6 beams of the house, ye posts,
great and small, ye rafters and ridge-poles,
thatchings of grass, woven work of reeds, win
dows bamboo-latticed, doors that squeak like
ghosts, low-glimmering fires of sandal-wood,
slumber ye all !
' ' O Omataianuku !
" Tall Outuutu !
4 Dark Avaava !
' ' Make shadowy the way for us !
" Tower as the cocoa-palms before us !
" Bend ye as dreams above the slumberers !
" Make deeper the sleep of the sleepers,
" Deeper the sleep of the winds,
" Deeper the sleep of the waters,
The Fountain Maiden. . 35
" Dimmer the dimness of night !
4 ' Veil ye the moon with your breathings !
" Make fainter the fires of the stars !
" In the name of the weird ones :
" Omataianuku !
" Outuuturoraa !
" Ovaavaroroa!
" Sleep !
" Sleep ! "
***
So, with the rising of each new moon, was
heard the magical song of the thieves, the first
night, low as the humming of the wind among
the cocoa-palms ; louder and louder each suc
ceeding night, and clearer and sweeter, until the
great white face of the full moon flooded the
woods with light, and made silver pools about
the columns of the palms. For the magic of the
full moon was mightier than the witchcraft of the
song ; and the people of Rarotonga slept not.
But of other nights the invisible thieves did carry
away many cocoanuts and taros, and plantains
and bananas, despite the snares set for them by
the people of Rarotonga. And it was observed
with terror that cocoanuts were removed from
the crests of trees so lofty that no human hand
might have reached them.
36 The Fountain Maiden.
But the chief Aki, being one night bj r the foun
tain Vaipiki, which gushes out from the place of
waters that flow below the world, beheld rising
up from the water, just as the thin moon looked
into it, a youth and a girl whiter than the moon
herself, naked as fishes, beautiful as dreams.
And they began to sing a song, at whose sound
Aki, hidden among the pandanus leaves, stopped
his ears, the wizard-song, E tira Omataia-
nuku, E tira Outuuturoroa ! And the winds
were stilled, and the waves sank to sleep, and
the palm-leaves ceased to nod, and the song of
the crickets was hushed.
*
* #
Then Aki, devising to capture them, set a
great fish-net deep within the fountain, and waited
for their return. The vast silence of the night
deepened ; the smoke of the mountain of fire,
blood-tinted from below, hung motionless in the
sky, like a giant's plume of feathers. At last the
winds of the sea began their ghost whisperings
among the palm-groves ; a cricket chirped, and a
million insect-chants responded ; the new moon
plunged one of her pale horns into the ocean ;
the east whitened and changed hue like the belly
of a shark. The spell was broken, the day was
dawning.
The Fountain Maiden. 37
And Aid beheld the White Ones returning, bear
ing with them fruits and nuts and fragrant herbs.
Rising suddenly from his hiding-place among the
leaves, he rushed upon them ; and they leaped
into the fountain, like fishes, leaving their fruits
scattered upon the brink. But, lo ! they were
caught in the net !
Then Aki strove to pull the net on shore ; and,
being a strong man, he easily moved it. But, in
turning, the male leaped through the opening of
the net, and flashed like a salmon through the
deeps down to the unknown abyss of waters be
low, so that Aki caught the girl only. Vainly
she struggled in the net ; and her moon-white
body took opalescent gleams, like the body of a
beautiful fish in the hands of the captor. Vainly
she wept and pleaded ; and Aki blocked up the
bottom of the fountain with huge blocks of coral,
lest, slipping away from him, she might disappear
again. But, looking upon the strangeness of her
beauty, he kissed her and comforted her ; and she
ceased at last to weep. Her eyes were large and
dark, like a tropical heaven flashed with stars.
*
* *
So it came to pass that Aki loved her ; more
than his own life he loved her. And the people
wondered at her beauty ; for light came from her
38 The Fountain Maiden.
as she moved, and when she swam in the river
her passage was like the path of the moon on
waters, a quivering column of brightness. Only,
it was noticed that this luminous beauty waxed
and waned contrariwise to the waxing and wan
ing of the moon : her whiteness was whitest at
the time of the new moon ; it almost ceased to
glow when the face of the moon was full. And
whensoever the new moon rose, she wept silently,
so that Aki could not comfort her, even after
having taught her the words of love in the tongue
of his own people, the tongue, many-vowelled,
that wooes the listener like the mockery of a
night-bird's song.
* *
Thus many years passed away, and Aki be
came old ; but she seemed ever the same, for the
strange race to which she belonged never grow
old. Then it was noticed that her eyes became
deeper and sweeter, weirdly sweet ; and Aki
knew that he would become a father in his age.
Yet she wept and pleaded with him, saying :
" Lo ! I am not of thy race, and at last I must
leave thee. If thou lovest me, sever this white
body of mine, and save our child ; for if it suckle
me, I must dwell ten years longer in this world to
which I do not belong. Thou canst not hurt me
The Fountain Maiden. 39
thus ; for though I seem to die, yet my body will
live on, thou mayst not wound me more than
water is wounded by axe or spear ! For I am
of the water and the light, of moonshine and
of wind ! And I may not suckle thy child.". . .
But Aki, fearing that he might lose both her
and the child, pleaded with her successfully. And
the child was beautiful as a white star, and she
nursed it for ten happy years.
But, the ten years having passed, she kissed
Aki, and said to him, " Alas ! I must now leave
thee, lest I die utterly ; take thou away, there
fore, the coral rocks from the fountain." And
kissing him once more, she vowed to come back
again, so that he complied at last with her request.
She would have had him go with her ; but he could
not, being only mortal man. Then she passed
away in the fountain deeps, like a gleam of light.
*
. * *
The child grew up very tall and beautiful, but
not like his mother, white only like strangers
from beyond the sea. In his e^yes there was, nev
ertheless, a strange light, brightest at the time of
the new moon, waning with its waxing. . . . One
night there came a great storm : the cocoa-palms
bent like reeds, and a strange voice came with
the wind, crying, calling ! At dawn the white
40 The Fountain Maiden.
youth was gone, nor did human eyes ever behold
him again.
But Aki lived beyond a hundred 3 T ears, waiting
for the return by the Vaipiki fountain, until his
hair was whiter than the summer clouds. At last
the people carried him away, and laid him in his
house on a bed of pandanus leaves ; and all the
women watched over him, lest he should die.
... It was the night of a new month, and the
rising of the new moon. Suddenly a low sweet
voice was heard, singing the old song that some
remembered after the passing of half a hundred
years. Sweeter and sweeter it grew ; higher rose
the moon ! The crickets ceased to sing ; the
cocoa-palms refused obeisance to the wind. And
a heaviness fell upon the watchers, who, with open
eyes, could move no limb, utter no voice. Then
all were aware of a White Woman, whiter than
moonlight, lithe-fashioned as a lake-fish, gliding be
tween the ranks of the watchers ; and, taking Ak'i's
graj'head upon her bright breast, she sang to him,
and kissed him, and stroked his aged face. . . .
The sun arose ; the watchers awakened. They
bent over Aki, and it seemed that Aki slept lightly.
But when they called him, he answered not ; when
they touched him, he stirred not. He slept for
ever! . . .
The Bird Wife. 41
THE BIRD WIFE.
There the Moon becometh old and again young many times,
as one that dieth often and is reanimated as often by enchant'
ment ; while the Sun moveth in a circle of pallid mists, and
setteth not. But when he setteth at last, it is still light ; for the
dead make red fires in the sky above the icebergs until after
many, many dim months he riseth again.
ALL things there are white, save the black sea
and the wan fogs ; and yet it is hard to discover
where the water ends and the land begins, for
that part of the world the gods forgot to finish.
The ice-peaks grow and diminish, and shift their
range northward and southward, and change their
aspects grotesquely. There are Faces in the ice
that lengthen and broaden ; and Forms as of van
ished creatures. When it is full moon the in
numerable multitude of dogs, that live upon dead
fish, howl all together at the roaring sea ; and the
great bears hearing huddle themselves together
on the highest heights of the glaciers, and thence
hurl down sharp white crags upon the dogs.
Above all, rising into the -Red Lights, there is
a mountain which has been a fountain of living
fire ever since the being of the world ; and all
the surface of the land about is heaped with mon-
42 The Bird Wife.
strous bones. But this is summer in that place ;
in winter there is no sound but the groaning of
the ice, the shrieking of the winds, the gnashing
of the teeth of the floes.
Now there are men in those parts, whose houses
are huts of snow, lighted by lamps fed with the
oil of sea-creatures ; and the wild dogs obey them.
But they live in fear of the Havstramb, that
monster which has the form of an armless man
and the green color of ancient ice ; they fear the
Margige, shaped like a woman, which cries un
der the ice on which their huts repose ; and the
goblin Bear whose fangs are icicles ; and the
Kajarissat, which are the spirits of the icebergs,
drawing the kayaks under the black water ; and
the ghostly ivor} T -hunter who drives his vapory
and voiceless team over ice thinner than the
scales of fish ; and the white Spectre that lies in
wait for those who lose their way by night, hav
ing power to destroy all whom he can excite to
laughter by weird devices ; and the white-eyed
deer which must not be pursued. There also
is the home of the warlocks, the wizards, the
Iliseetsut, creators of the Tupilek.
Now the Tupilek is of all awful things the
most awful, of all unutterable things the most
unutterable.
The Bird Wife. 43
For that land is full of bones, the bones of
sea monsters and of earth monsters, the skulls
and ribs of creatures that perished in eons ere
man was born ; and there are mountains, there
are islands, of these bones. Sometimes great mer
chants from far southern countries send thither
ivory-hunters with sledges and innumerable dogs
to risk their lives for those white teeth, those ter
rific tusks, which protrude from the ice and from
the sand, that is not deep enough to cover them.
And the Iliseetsut. seek out the hugest of these
bones, and wrap them in a great whale skin, to
gether with the hearts and the brains of many
sea creatures and earth animals ; and they utter
strange words over them. Then the vast mass
quivers and groans and shapes itself into a form
more hideous, more enormous, than any form
created by the gods ; it moves upon many feet ;
it sees with many eyes ; it devours with innu
merable teeth ; it obeys the will of its creator ;
it is a Tupilek !
* *
And all things change form in that place,
even as the ice shifts its shapes fantastically,
as the boundaries of the sand eternally vary,
as bone becomes earth and earth seems to be
come bone. So animals also take human like-
44 The Bird Wife.
ness, birds assume human bodies ; for there is
sorcery in all things there. Thus it came to pass,
one day, that a certain ivory-hunter beheld a
flock of sea-birds change themselves into women ;
and creeping cautiously over the white snow
himself being clad in white skins he came
suddenly upon them, and caught hold of the
nearest one with a strong hand, while the rest,
turning again to birds, flew southward with long
weird screams.
Slender was the girl, like a young moon, and as
white ; and her ej'es black and soft, like those of
the wild gulls. So the hunter finding that she
struggled not, but only wept felt pity for her,
and, taking her into his warm hut of snow, clothed
her in soft skins and fed her with the heart of a
great fish. Then, his pity Burning to love, she
became his wife.
Two years they lived thus together, and he fed
her with both fish and flesh, being skilful in the
use of the net and the bow ; but always while
absent he blocked up the door of the hut, lest she
might change into a bird again, and so take wing.
After she had borne him two children, neverthe
less, his fear passed from him, like the memory
of a dream ; and she followed him to the chase,
manaerino; the bow with wonderful skill. But she
The Bird Wife. 45
prevailed upon him that he should not smite the
wild gulls.
So they lived and so loved until the children
became strong and swift.
Then it came to pass one day, while they were
hunting all together, that many birds had been
killed; and she called to the children, "Little
ones, bring me quickly some feathers ! " And
they came to her with their hands full ; and she
laid the feathers upon their arms and upon her
own shoulders, and shrieked to them, "Fly!
ye are of the race of birds, 3 7 e are the Wind's
children ! "
Forthwith their garments fell from them ; and,
being changed into wild gulls, mother and chil
dren rose in the bright icy air, circling and cir
cling, higher and higher, against the sky. Thrice
above the weeping father they turned in spiral
flight, thrice screamed above the peaks of glim
mering ice, and, sweeping suddenly toward the far
south, whirred away forever.
TALES FROM INDIAN AND BUDDHIST
LITERATURE.
THE MAKING OF TILOTTAMA.
Which is told of in the holy MAHABHARATA, written by the
blessed Richi Krishna- Dvaipay ana, who composed it in twenty-
four thousand slokas, * and who composed six millions of sloTcas
likewise. Of the latter are three millions in the keeping of the
gods ; and one million five hundred thousand in the keeping
of the Gandharbas, who are the musicians of Indra's Heaven ;
and one millwn four hundred thousand in the keeping of the
Pitris, icho are the ghosts of the blessed dead ; and one hun
dred thousand in the keeping of men. . . . And the guiltiest of
men who shall hear the recital of the MAHABHARATA shall be
delivered from all his sins ; neitlier sickness nor misfortune
shall come nigh him.
Now I shall tell you how it happened that the
great gods once became multiple-faced and myriad-
1 According to the exordium in the Adi-Parva of the
Mahabharata, this now most gigantic of epics at first con
sisted of 24,000 slokas only. Subsequent additions swelled
the number of its distiches to the prodigious figure of
107,389. L. H.
50 The Making of Tilottama.
eyed by reason of a woman's beaut}*, as the same
is recounted in the Book of Great "Weight, in
the Mahabharata.
*
* *
In ancient years there were two Daiteyas, twin
brothers sprung from the race of the Asouras, the
race of evil genii ; and their names were Sounda
and Oupasounda. Princes they were born ; cruel
and terrible they grew up, yet were ever one in
purpose, in thought, in the pursuit of pleasure, or
in the perpetration of crime.
And in the course of time it came to pass that
the brothere resolved to obtain domination over
the Three Worlds, and to practise all those aus
terities and sacrifices by which the holiest as
cetics elevate themselves to divinity. So they
departed to the solitude of the mountain Vindhya,
and there devoted themselves to contemplations
and to prayer, until their might}* limbs became
slender as jungle-canes, and their joints like knots
of bone. And they ceased all the actions of life,
and forbore all contact with things earthly,
knowing that contact with earthly things bcget-
teth sensation, and sensation desire, and desire
corruption, and corruption existence. Thus by
dint of meditation and austerity the world became
for them as non-existent. By one effort of will
The Making of Tilottama. 51
they might have shaken the universe ; the world
trembled under the weight of their thoughts as
though laboring in earthquake. Air was their
onl} T nourishment ; they offered up their own flesh
in sacrifice ; and the Vindhya, heated by the
force of their austerities, smoked to heaven like
a mountain of fire.
Therefore the divinities, being terrified, sought
to divert them from their austerities, and to trou
ble their senses by apparitions of women and of
demons and of gods. But the Asouras ceased not
a moment to practise their mortifications, stand
ing upon their great toes only, and keeping their
eyes fixed upon the sun.
*
* *
Now, after many }-ears, it came to pass that
Brahma, Ancient of Days, Father of the Creator
of "Worlds, appeared before them as a Shape of
light, and bade them ask for whatsoever they de
sired. And they made answer, with hands joined
before their foreheads : " If the Father of the Fa
ther of "Worlds be gratified by our penances, we
desire to acquire knowledge of all arts of magic
and arts of war, to possess the gifts of beauty and
of strength, and the promise of immortality."
But the Shape of Brahma answered unto them :
" Immortality will not be given unto you, O
52 The Malting of Tilottama.
Princes of Daitej-as, inasmuch as ye practised
austerities only that ye might obtain dominion
over the Three Worlds. Yet will I grant ye the
knowledge and power and the bodily gifts ye de
sire. Also it shall be vouchsafed you that none
shall be able to destroy you ; neither among crea
tures of earth nor spirits nor gods shall an}' have
power to do j'ou hurt, save ye hurt one another."
Thus the two Daiteyas obtained the favor of
Brahma, and became unconquerable by gods or
men. And they returned to their habitation, and
departed utterly from the path of righteousness,
eating and drinking and sinning exceedingly,
more than any of their evil race had done before
them ; so that their existence might be likened to
one never-ending feast of unholy pleasures. But
no pleasures could satiate these Asouras, though
all mortals dwelling with them suffered by reason
of monstrous excesses.
By the two Daite}'as, indeed, repose and sleep
were never desired nor even needed, night and
day were as one for them ; but those mortals
about them speedily died of pleasure, and the
Daiteyas were angry with them because they died.
*
# *
Now, at last, the two Asouras resolved to
forego pleasure awhile, that they might make
The Making of Tilottama. 53
the conquest of the Three Worlds by force of
that magical knowledge imparted to them by will
of Brahma. And they warred against Indra's
Heaven ; for it had been given them to move
through air more swiftly than demons. The Sou-
ras, indeed, and the gods knowing of their com- -
ing and the nature of the powers that had been
given them, passed away to the Brahmaloka,
where dwell the spirits of the holiest dead. But
the Daiteyas, taking possession with their army of
evil genii, slew many of the Yakshas, who are the
guardians of treasures, and the Rakshas, which
are demons, and multitudes of all the beings
which fly through the airs. After these things
they slew all the Nagas, the human-visaged ser
pents living in the entrails of the world ; and they
overcame all the creatures of the sea.
Then they made resolve to extend their evil
power over the whole earth, and to destroy all
worshippers of the gods. For the prayers and the
sacrifices offered up by the Radjarchis and the
Brahmans continually augmented the power of
the gods ; and these Daiteyas therefore hated
exceedingly all holy men. Because of the power
given the wicked princes, none could oppose their
win, nor did the mighty imprecations of the her
mits and the Brahmans avail. All worshippers of
54 The Making of Tilottama.
the gods were destined ; the eternal altar-fires
were scattered and extinguished ; the holy offer
ings were cast into the waters ; the sacred ves
sels were broken ; the awful temples were cast
down ; and the face of the earth made vast with
desolation, as though ravaged b} T the god of death.
And the Asouras, changing themselves by magi
cal art into the form of tigers, of lions, of furious
elephants, sought out all those ascetics who lived
in the secret hollows of the mountains or the un
known recesses of the forest or the deep silence
of the jungles, and destroj'ed them. So that the
world became a waste strewn with human bones ;
and there were no cities, no populations, no
smoke of sacrifice, no murmur of prayer, no hu
man utterance, vast horror only, and hideous
death.
* *
Then all the holy people of air, the Sid-
dhas and the Devarchis and the Paramarchis,
aghast at the desolation of the world, and filled
with divinest compassion for the universe, flocked
to the dwelling-place of Brahma, and made plaint
to him of these things which had been done, and
besought him that he would destroy the power
of Sounda and Oupasounda. Now Brahma was
seated among the gods, surrounded by the circles
The Making of Tilottama. 55
of the Siddhas and the Bramarchis ; Mahadeva
was there, and Indra, and Agni, Prince of Fire,
and Vayou, Lord of Winds, and Aditaya, the Sun-
god,, who drives the seven-headed steeds, and
Tchandra, the lotos-loving god of the Moon. And
all the elders of heaven stood about them, the
holy Marichipas and Adjas and Avimoudhas and
Tedjogharbas ; the Vanaprasthas of the forest,
and the Siddhas of the airs, and the Vaikhanas
who live upon roots, and the sixty thousand lumi
nous Balakhilyas, not bigger than the thumb of
a man, who sprang from the hairs of Brahma.
Then from the violet deeps of the eternities
Brahma summoned unto him Viswakarman, the
Fashioner of the Universe, the Creator of Worlds,
Viswakarman, Kindler of all the Lights of
Heaven. And Viswakarman arose from the eter
nities as a star-cloud, and stood in light before
the All-Father.
And Brahma spake unto him, saying : " O
my golden son, O Viswakarman, create me a
woman fairer than the fairest, sweeter than the
sweetest, whose beautj^ might even draw the
hearts of all divinities, as the moon draweth all
the waters in her train. ... I wait ! "
*
* *
So Viswakarman, veiling himself in mists,
56 The Making of Tilottama.
wrought in obedience to the Father of Gods, in
visibly, awfully, with all manner of precious gems,
with all colors of heaven, with all perfume of
flowers, with all rays of light, with all tones of
music, with all things beautiful and precious to
the sight, to the touch, to the hearing, to the
taste, to the sense of odors. And as vapors are
wrought into leafiest lacework of frosts, as sun
beams are transmuted into gems of a hundred
colors, so, all mysteriously, were ten thousand
priceless things blended into one new substance
of life ; and the substance found shape, and was
resolved into the body of a woman. All blossom-
beauty tempted in her bosom ; all perfume lin
gered in her breath ; all jewel-fires made splendor
for her eyes ; her locks were wrought of sunlight
and of gold ; the flowers of heaven rebudcled in
her lips ; the pearl and the fairy opal blended in
her smile ; the tones of her voice were made with
the love-songs of a thousand birds. And a name
was given unto her, Tilottama, which signifies in
that ancient Indian tongue, spoken of gods and
men, "Fair-wrought of daintiest atoms." . . .
Then Viswakarman passed away as the glory of
evening fades out, and sank into the Immensities,
and mingled with the Eternities where no time or
space is.
The Making of Tilottama. 57
And Tilottama, clothed only with light as with
a garment, joining her hands before her luminous
brows in adoration, bowed down to the Father of
Gods, and spake with the sweetest voice ever
heard even within the heaven of heavens, saying :
" O thou universal Father, let me know thy will,
and the divine purpose for which I have been
created."
And the deep tones of gold made answer,
gently : "Descend, good Tilottama, into the world
of men, and display the witchcraft of thy beauty
in the sight of Sounda and Oupasounda, so that
the Daiteyas may be filled with hatred, each
against the other, because of thee."
" It shall be according to thy desire, O Mas
ter of Creatures," answered Tilottama ; and, hav
ing prostrated her beautiful body thrice before
Brahma, she glided about the circle of the gods,
saluting ah 1 as she passed.
Now the great god Siva, the blessed Mahes-
wara, was seated in the south, with face turned
toward the east ; the other gods were looking
toward the north ; and the seven orders of the
richis the Devarchis, Bramarchis, Maharchis,
Paramarchis, Eadjarchis, Kandarchis, and Sroutar-
chis sat upon every side. And while Tilottama
passed around the circle, the gods strove not to
58 The Making of Tilotlama.
gaze upon her, lest their hearts should be di-awn
irresistibly toward that magical beaut}-, created
not for joy, indeed, but verily for destruction.
So for a moment Indra and the blessed Sthanou
made their hearts strong against her. But as she
drew near to Maheswara, who kept his face to
the east, there came to Maheswara another face,
a face upon the south side, with eyes more beau
tiful than lotos-flowers. And when she turned
behind him, there came to him yet another face
upon the west side ; and even as she turned to
the north, there came to him a face upon the
north side, so that he could not choose but gaze
upon her. And even great Indra's bod}', as she
turned around him, blossomed with eyes, before,
behind, on every side, even to the number of a
thousand eyes, large and deep and ruddy-lidded.
Thus it was that Mahadeva became the Four-
faced God, and Balasoudana the God with a
Thousand E} T es. And new faces grew upon all
the divinities and all habitants of heaven as Tilot-
tama passed around them ; all became double-
faced, triple-faced, or myriad-faced, in despite of
their purpose not to look upon her, so mighty
was the magic of her loveliness ! Only Brahma,
Father of ah 1 the Gods, remained impassive as
eternity; for unto him beauty and hideousness,
The Making of Tilottama. 59
light and darkness, night and day, death and life,
the finite and the infinite, are ever one and the
same. . . .
*
* *
Now Sounda and Oupasounda were diverting
themselves with their wicked women among the
mountains, when they first perceived Tilottama
gathering flowers ; and at the sight of her their
hearts ceased to pulsate. And they forgot not
only all that the}* had done, and their riches and
their power and their pleasures, but also the di
vine provision that they could die only by each
other's hands. Each drew near unto Tilottama ;
each sought to kiss her mouth ; each repulsed his
brother ; each claimed her for himself. And the
first hatred of each other made flame in their
eyes. " Mine she shall be!" cried Oupasounda.
' ' Wrest her from me if thou canst ! " roared
Sounda in mad defiance. And passing from
words to reproaches, and from reproaches to
mighty blows, they fell upon each other with
their weapons, and strove together until both
were slain.
Then a great fear came upon all the evil com
pany, and the women fled shrieking away ; and
the Asouras, beholding the hand of Brahma in
these things, trembled, and took flight, return-
60 The Making of Tilottama.
ing unto their abode of fire and darkness, even
unto the Patala, which is the habitation of the
damned.
*
* *
But Tilottama, returning to the Brahmaloka, re
ceived the commendation of the gods, and kindly
praise from Brahma, Father of Worlds and Men,
who bade her ask for whatsoever grace she most
desired. But she asked him only that she might
dwell forever in that world of splendors and of
light, which the blessed inhabit. And the Uni
versal Father made answer, saying : ' ' Granted
is thy prayer, O most seductive among created
beings ! thou shalt dwell in the neighborhood of
the sun, yet not among the gods, lest mischief be
wrought. And the dazzle of th}* beauty shall
hinder the eyes of mortals from beholding thee,
that their hearts be not consumed because of thee.
Dwell therefore within the heaven of the sun
fore verm ore."
And Brahma, having restored to Indra the
dominion of the Three Worlds, withdrew into
the infinite light of the Brahmaloka.
The Brahman and his Brahmani. 61
THE BRAHMAN AND HIS BRAHMANI.
The wise will not attach themselves unto women ; for women
sport with the hearts of those who love them, even as with
ravens whose wing-feathers have been plucked out. . . . There
is honey in the tongues of women ; there is nought in their
heart save the venom halahala. . . . Their nature is mobile as
the eddies of the sea ; their affection endures no longer than the
glow of gold above the place of sunset : all venom within, all
fair without, women are like unto tlie fruit of the goundja.
. . . Therefore the experienced and wise do avoid women, even
as they shun the water-vessels that are placed within the ceme
teries. . . .
IN the " Pantchopakhyana," and also in that
"Ocean of the Rivers of Legend," which is
called in the ancient Indian tongue " Kathasa-
ritsagara, 1 ' may be found this story of a Brahman
and his Brahmani :
. . . Never did the light that is in the eyes
of lovers shine more tenderly than in the eyes
of the Brahman who gave his life for the life of
the woman under whose lotos-feet he laid his
heart. Yet what man lives that hath not once
in his time been a prey to the madness inspired
by woman? . . .
62 The Brahman and his Brahmani.
He alone loved her ; his family being loath to
endure her presence, for in her tongue was the
subtle poison that excites sister against brother,
friend against friend. But so much did he love her
that for her sake he abandoned father and mother,
brother and sister, and departed with his Brah-
mani to seek fortune in other parts. Happity his
guardian Deva accompanied him, for he was in
deed a holy man, having no fault but the folly of
loving too much ; and the Deva, by reason of
spiritual sight, foresaw all that would come to
pass.
As they were journeying together through the
elephant-haunted forest, the young woman said
to her husband : " O thou son of a venerable man,
thy Brahmani dies of thirst ; fetch her, she hum
bly prays thee, a little water from the nearest
spring." And the Brahman forthwith hastened
to the running brook, with the gourd in his hand ;
but when he had returned with the water, he
found his beloved lying dead upon a heap of
leaves. Now this death was indeed the unseen
work of the good Deva.
So, casting the gourd from him, the Brahman
burst into tears, and sobbed as though his soul
would pass from him, and kissed the beautiful
dead face and the slender dead feet and the
The Brahman and his Brahmani. 63
golden throat of his Brahmani, shrieking betimes
in his misery, and daring to question the gods as
to why they had so afflicted him. But even as he
lamented, a voice answered him in syllables clear
as the notes of a singing bird: "Foolish man!
wilt thou give half of thy life in order that thy
Brahmani shall live again ? "
And he, in whom love had slain all fear, an
swered untremblingly to the Invisible : " Yea,
C Narayana, half of my life will I give unto her
gladly." Then spake the Invisible : " Foolish
man ! pronounce the three mystic S3*llables."
And he pronounced them ; and the Brahmani,
as if awaking from a dream, unclosed her jewel-
eyes, and wound her round arms about her hus
band's neck, and with her fresh lips drank the
rain of his tears as the lips of a blossom drink ia,
the dews of the night.
*
* *
So, having eaten of fruits and refreshed them
selves, both proceeded upon their way ; and at
last, leaving the forest, the}^ came to a great
stretch of gardens lying without a white city,
gardens rainbow-colored with flowers of marvel
lous perfume, and made cool by fountains flow
ing from the lips of gods in stone and from the
trunks of elephants of rock. Then said the
64 The Brahman and his Brahmani.
loving husband to his Brahmani : " Remain here
a little while, thou too sweet one, that I may
hasten on to return to thee sooner with fruits
and refreshing drink.". . .
Now in that place of gardens dwelt a youth,
employed to draw up water by the turning of a
great wheel, and to cleanse the mouths of the
fountains ; and although a 3 r outh, he had been
long consumed by one of those maladies that
make men tremble with cold beneath a sky of
fire, so that there was little of his youthfulness
left to him excepting his voice. But with that
voice he charmed the hearts of women, as the
juggler charms the hooded serpent ; and, seeing
the wife of the Brahman, he sang that she might
hear.
He sang as the birds sing in the woods in pair
ing time, as the waters sing that lip the curves of
summered banks, as the Apsaras sang in other kal-
pas ; and he sang the songs of Amarou, Ama-
rou, sweetest of all singers, whose soul had passed
through a century of transmigrations in the bod
ies of a hundred fairest women, until he became
the world's master in all mysteries of love. And
as the Brahmani listened, Kama transpierced her
heart with his flower-pointed arrows, so that, ap
proaching the youth, she pressed her lips upon
The Brahman and his Brahmani. 65
his lips, and murmured, " If thou lovest me not,
I die."
*
# *
Therefore, when the Brahman returned with
fruits and drink, she coaxed him that he should
share these with the j'outh, and even prayed him
that he should bring the youth along as a travel
ling companion or as a domestic.
" Behold ! " answered the Brahman, " this j'oung
man is too feeble to bear hardship ; and if he fall
by the waj'side, I shall not be strong enough to
carry him." But the Brahmani answered, " Nay !
should he fall, then will I myself carry him in my
basket, upon my head ; " and the Brahman yielded
to her request, although marvelling exceedingly.
So they all travelled on together.
Now one day, as they were reposing by a deep
well, the Brahmani, beholding her husband asleep,
pushed him so that he fell into the well ; and she
departed, taking the } r outh with her. Soon after
this had happened, they came to a great city where
a famous and holy king lived, who loved ail Brah-
mans and had built them a temple surrounded by
rich lands, paying for the land by laying golden
elephant-feet in lines round about it. And the
cunning Brahmani, when arrested by the toll-
collectors and taken before this king, still
6
66 The Brahman and his Brahmani.
bearing the sick }"outh upon her head in a basket,
boldly spake to the king, saying : " This, most
holy of kings, is m} T dearest husband, a righteous
Brahman, who has met with affliction while per
forming the good works ordained for such as he ;
and inasmuch as heirs sought his life, I have con
cealed him in this basket and brought him hither."
Then the king, being filled with compassion, be
stowed upon the Brahmani and her pretended hus
band the revenues of two villages and the freedom
thereof, saying : ' ' Thou shalt be henceforth as my
sister, thou comeliest and truest of women."
*
* *
But the poor Brahman was not dead ; for his
good Deva had preserved his life within the well-
pit, and certain travellers passing \>y drew him
up and gave him to eat. Thus it happened that
he presently came to the same village in which
the wicked Brahmani dwelt ; and, fearing with an
exceeding great fear, she hastened to the king,
and said, " Lo ! the enemy who seeketh to kill my
husband pursueth after us."
Then said the king, ' ' Let him be trampled
under foot by the elephants ! "
But the Brahman, struggling in the grasp of
the king's men, cried out, with a bitter cry : " O
king ! art thou indeed called just, who will not
The Brahman and his Brahmani. 67
hearken to the voice of the accused ? This fair
but wicked woman is indeed my own wife ; ere
I be condemned, let her first give back to me that
which I gave her ! "
And the king bade his men stay their hands.
" Give him back," he commanded, in a voice of
tempest, " that which belongs to him ! "
But the Brahmani protested, saying, " My lord,
I have nought which belongs to him." So the
king's brow darkened with the frown of a maha-
rajah.
" Give me back," cried the Brahman, " the life
which I gave thee, my own life given to thee with
the utterance of the three nrystic syllables, the
half of rny own years." >*
Then, through exceeding fear of the king, she
murmured, " Yea, I render it up to thee, the life
thou gavest me with the utterance of the three
mystic syllables, and fell dead at the king's
feet.
Thus the truth was made manifest ; and hence
the proverb arose :
" /She for whom I game up family, home, and
even the half of my life, hath abandoned me, the
heartless one! What man may put faith in
women ! "
68 Bakawali.
BAKAWALI.
There is in the Hindustani language a marvellous tale written
by a Moslem, but treating nevertheless of the ancient gods of
India, and of the Apsaras and of the Rakshasas. " The Rose
of Bakawali" it is called. Therein also may be found many
strange histories of fountains filled with magical waters, changing
the sex of those who bathe therein ; and histories of flowers created
by witchcraft never fading whose perfumes give sight to the
blind; and, above all, this history of love human and superhuman,
for which a parallel may not be found. . . .
. . In days when the great Eajah Zain-ulmuluk
reigned over the eastern kingdoms of Hindostan,
it came to pass that Bakawali, the Apsara, fell in
love with a mortal 3'outh who was none other than
the son of the Rajah. For the lad was beautiful
as a girl, beautiful even as the god Kama, and
seemingly created for love. Now in that land all
living things are sensitive to loveliness, even the
plants themselves, like the Asoka that bursts
into odorous blossom when touched even by the
foot of a comely maiden. Yet was Bakawali fairer
than any earthly creature, being a daughter of
the immortals ; and those who had seen her, be
lieving her born of mortal woman, would answer
when interrogated concerning her, " Ask not us !
Bakawali. 69
rather ask them the nightingale to sing of her
beauty."
Never had the youth Taj-ulmuluk guessed that
his beloved was not of mortal race, having en
countered her as by hazard, and being secretly
united to her after the Gandharva fashion. But
he knew that her eyes were preternaturally large
and dark, and the odor of her hair like Tartary
musk ; and there seemed to transpire from her
when she moved such a light and such a perfume
that he remained bereft of utterance, while watch
ing her, and immobile as a figure painted upon
a wall. And the lamp of love being enkindled
in the heart of Bakawali, her wisdom, like a
golden moth, consumed itself in the flame thereof,
so that she forgot her people utterly, and her im
mortality, and even the courts of heaven wherein
she was wont to dwell.
*
* *
In the sacred books of the Hindus there is
much written concerning the eternal city Arma-
nagar, whose inhabitants are immortal. There
Indra, azure-bearded, dwells in sleepless pleas
ure, surrounded by his never-slumbering court of
celestial bayaderes, circling about him as the con
stellations of heaven circle in their golden dance
about Surya, the sun. And this was Bakawali's
70 Bakawali.
home, that she had abandoned for the love of a
man.
So it came to pass one night, a night of per
fume and of pleasure, that Indra started up from
his couch like one suddenly remembering a thing
long forgotten, and asked of those about him :
" How happens it that Bakawali, daughter of
Firoz, no more appears before us?" And one
of them made answer, saying: "O great Indra,
that pretty fish hath been caught in the net of
human love ! Like the nightingale, never does
she cease to complain because it is not possible
for her to love even more ; intoxicated is she with
the perishable youth and beauty of her mortal
lover ; and she lives only for him and in him, so
that even her own kindred are now forgotten or
have become to her objects of aversion. And it
is because of him, O Lord of Suras and Devas,
that the rosy one no longer presents herself before
thy court."
Then was Indra wroth ; and he commanded that
Bakawali be perforce brought before him, that
she might render account of her amorous foil}'.
And the Devas, awaking her, placed her in their
cloud-chariot, and brought her into the presence
of Indra, her lips still humid with mortal kisses,
and on her throat red-blossom marks left by hu-
Bakawali. 71
man lips. And she knelt before him, with fin
gers joined as in prayer ; while the Lord of the
firmament gazed at her in silent anger, with such
a frown as he was wont to wear when riding to
battle upon his elephant triple-trunked. Then
said he to the Devas about him: "Let her be
purified by fire, inasmuch as I discern about her
an odor of mortality offensive to immortal sense.
And even so often as she returns to her foil}', so
often let her be consumed in my sight." . . .
Accordingly they bound the fairest of Apsaras,
and cast her into a furnace furious as the fires of
the sun, so that within a moment her body was
changed to a white heap of ashes. But over the
ashes was magical water sprinkled ; and out of
the furnace Bakawali arose, nude as one newly
born, but more perfect in rosy beauty even than
before. And Indra commanded her to dance
before him, as she was wont to do in other
days.
So she danced all those dances known in the
courts of heaven, curving herself as flowers curve
under a perfumed breeze, as water serpentines
under the light ; and she circled before them rap
idly as a leaf-whirling wind, lightly as a bee, with
myriad variations of delirious grace, with ever-
shifting enchantment of motion, until the hearts
72 Bakawali.
of all who looked upon her were beneath those
shining feet, and all cried aloud : " O flower-
body ! O rose-body ! O marvel of the Garden
of Grace ! blossom of daintiness ! flower-
body !
* *
Thus was she each night obliged to appear be
fore Indra at Armanagar, and each night to suffer
the fiercest purification of fire, forasmuch as she
would not forsake her folly ; and each night also
did she return to her mortal lover, and take her
wonted place beside him without awaking him,
having first bathed her in the great fountain of
rosewater within the court.
But once it happened that Taj-ulmuluk awoke
in the night, and reaching out his arms found she
was not there. Only the perfume of her head
upon the pillow, and odorous garments flung in
charming formlessness upon every divan. . k .
When she returned, seemingly fairer than be
fore, the 3'outh uttered no reproach, but on the
night following he slit up the tip of his finger
with a sharp knife, and filled the wound with salt
that he might not sleep. Then, when the aerial
chariot descended all noiselessly, like som^ long
cloud moon-silvered, he arose and followed Baka
wali unperceived. Clinging underneath th.-j char-
Bakawali. 73
iot, he was borne above winds even to Armanagar,
and into the jewelled courts and into the presence
of Indra. But Indra knew not, for his senses
were dizzy with sights of beauty and the fumes
of soma-wine.
Then did Taj-ulmuluk, standing in the shadow
of a pillar, behold beauty such as he had never
befoi'e seen save in Bakawali and hear music
sweeter than mortal musician may ever learn.
Splendors bewildered his eyes ; and the crossing
of the fretted and jewelled archwork above him
seemed an intercrossing and interblending of in
numerable rainbows. But when it was given to
him, all unexpectedly, to view the awful purifica
tion of Bakawali, his heart felt like ice within
him, and he shrieked. Nor could he have re
frained from casting himself also into that burst
of white fire, had not the magical words been pro
nounced and the wizard-water sprinkled before he
was able to move a limb. Then did he behold
Bakawali rising from her snowy cinders, shin
ing like an image of the goddess Lakshmi in the
fairest of her thousand forms, more radiant than
before, like some comet returning from the em
braces of the sun with brighter curves of form and
longer glories of luminous hair. . . .
And Bakawali danced and departed, Taj-
74 Bakawali.
ulmuluk likewise returning even as he had
come. . . .
*
* *
But when he told her, in the dawn of the morn
ing, that he had accompanied her in her voyage
and had surprised her secret, Bakawali wept and
trembled for fear. "Alas! alas! what hast thou
done?" she sobbed; "thou hast become thine
own greatest enemy. Never canst thou know all
that I have suffered for th}' sake, the maledic
tions of my kindred, the insults of all belonging
to my race. Yet rather than turn away my face
from thy love, I suffered nightly the agonies of
burning ; I have died a myriad deaths rather than
lose thee. Thou hast seen it with thine own
eyes ! . . . But none of mankind may visit unbid
den the dwelling of the gods and return with im
punity. Now, alas ! the evil hath been done ;
nor can I devise any plan by which to avert thy
danger, save that of bringing thee again secretly
to Armanagar and charming Indra in such wise
that he may pardon all.". . .
*
* *
So Bakawali the Apsara suffered once more the
agony of fire, and danced before the gods, not only
as she had danced before, but so that the eyes
of all beholding her became dim in watching the
Bakawali. 75
varying curves of her limbs, the dizzy speed of
her white feet, the tossing light of her hair. And
the charm of her beauty bewitched the tongues of
all there, so that the cry, "O flower-body ! "
fainted into indistinguishable whispers, and the
fingers of the musicians were numbed with lan
guor, and the music weakened tremblingly, quiv-
eringly, dying down into an amorous swoon.
And out of the great silence broke the soft
thunder of Indra's pleased voice : " O Bakawali !
ask me for whatever thou wilt, and it shall be
accorded thee. By the Trimurti, I swear ! ". . .
But she, kneeling before him, with bosom still
fluttering from the dance, murmured: "I pray
thee, divine One, only that thou wilt allow me
to depart hence, and dwell with this mortal whom
I love during all the years of life allotted unto
him." And she gazed upon the youth Taj-
ulmuluk.
But Indra, hearing these words, and looking
also at Taj-ulmuluk, frowned so darkly that
gloom filled all the courts of heaven. And he
said : " Thou, also, son of man, wouldst doubtless
make the same pra}'er ; yet think not thou mayst
take hence an Apsara like Bakawali to make her
thy wife without grief to thyself! And as for
thee, O shameless Bakawali, thou mayst depart
76 Bakawali.
with him, indeed, since I have sworn ; but I swear
also to thee that from thy waist unto thy feet thou
shalt remain a woman of marble for the space of
twelve years. . . . Now let thy lover rejoice in
thee ! ". . .
* #
. . . And Bakawali was placed in the chamber
of a ruined pagoda, deep-buried within the forests
of Ceylon ; and there did she pass the years, sit
ting upon a seat of stone, herself stone from feet
to waist. But Taj-ulmuluk found her and minis
tered unto her as to the statue of a goddess ; and
he waited for her through the long years.
The ruined pavement, grass-disjointed, trem
bled to the passing tread of wild elephants ; often
did tigers peer through the pillared entrance, with
63~es flaming like emeralds ; but Taj-ulmuluk was
never weary nor afraid, and he waited by her
through all the weary and fearful years.
Gem-e} T ecl lizards clung and wondered ; serpents
watched with marvellous chrysolite gaze ; vast
spiders wove their silvered lace above the head
of the human statue ; sunset-feathered birds, with
huge and flesh-colored beaks, hatched their young
in peace under the eyes of Bakawali. . . . Until
it came to pass at the close of the eleventh year,
Taj-ulmuluk being in search of food, that
Bakawali. 77
the great ruin fell, burying the helpless Apsara
under a ponderous and monstrous destruction be
yond the power of any single arm to remove. . . .
Then Taj-ulmuluk wept ; but he still waited,
knowing that the immortals could not die.
And out of the shapeless mass of ruins there
soon grew a marvellous tree, graceful, dainty,
round-limbed like a woman ; and Taj-ulmuluk
watched it waxing tall under the mighty heat of
the summer, bearing flowers lovelier than that
narcissus whose blossoms have been compared
to the eyes of Oriental girls, and rosy fruit as
smooth-skinned as maiden flesh.
So the twelfth year passed. And with the
passing of its last moon, a great fruit parted
itself, and therefrom issued the body of a woman,
slender and exquisite, whose supple limbs had
been folded up within the fruit as a butterfly is
folded up within its chrysalis, comely as an In
dian dawn, deeper-eyed than ever woman of earth,
being indeed an immortal, being an Apsara,
Bakawali reincarnated for her lover, and relieved
from the malediction of the gods.
78 Natalika.
NATALIKA.
The story of a statue of sable stone among the ruins of Tirou-
vicaray, which are in the Land of Golconda that was. . . . When
the body shall have mouldered even as the trunk of a dead tree,
shall have crumbled to dust even as a clod of earth, the lovers of
the dead will turn away their faces and depart ; but Virtue, re
maining faithful, will lead the soul beyond the darknesses. . . .
THE yellow jungle-grasses are in the streets of
the city ; the hooded serpents are coiled about
the marble legs of the gods. Bats suckle their
3'oung within the ears of the granite elephants ;
and the hairy spider spins her web for rub} r -
throated humming-birds within the chambers of
kings. The pj'thons breed within the sanctuaries,
once ornate as the love-songs of Indian poets ;
the diamond e}-es of the gods have been plucked
out ; lizards nestle in the lips of Siva ; the centi
pedes writhe among the friezes ; the droppings of
birds whiten the altars. . . . But the sacred gate
way of a temple still stands, as though preserved
by the holiness of its inscriptions: "The Self-
existent is not of the universe. . . . Man may not
take with him aught of his possessions beyond the
grave ; let him increase the greatness of his good
Natalika. 79
deeds, even a.s the white ants do increase the
height of their habitation. For neither father
nor mother, neither sister nor brother, neither
son nor wife, may accompany him to the other
world ; but Virtue only may be his comrade." . . .
And these words, graven upon the stone, have
survived the wreck of a thousand years.
*
* *
Now, among the broken limbs of the gods, and
the jungle grasses, and the monstrous creeping
plants that seem striving to strangle the ele
phants of stone, a learned traveller wandering in
recent years came upon the statue of a maiden, in
black granite, marvellously wrought. Her figure
was nude and supple as those of the women of
Krishna ; on her head was the tiara of a princess,
and from her joined hands escaped a cascade of
flowers to fall upon the tablet supporting her ex
quisite feet. And on the tablet was the name
NATALIKA ; and above it a verse from the
holy Eamaj'ana, which signifies, in our tongue,
these words :
"... For I have been witness of this marvel,
that by crushing the flowers in her hands, she
made them to exhale a sweeter perfume."
*
* *
And this is the story of Natalika, as it is
80 Natalika.
told in the chronicle of the Moslem historian
Ferista :
More than a thousand years ago there was war
between the Khalif Onaled and Dir-Rajah, of the
Kingdom of Sindh. The Arab horsemen swept
over the land like a t}*phoon ; and their eagle-
visaged hordes reddened the rivers with blood,
and made the nights crimson with the burning of
cities. Brahmanabad they consumed with fire,
and Alan and Dinal, making captives of the
women, and putting all males to the edge of
the scimitar. The Rajah fought stoutly for his
people and for his gods ; but the Arabs prevailed,
fearing nothing, remembering the words of the
Prophet, that " Paradise ma3 T be found in the
shadow of the crossing of swords." And at
Brahmanabad, Kassim, the zealous lieutenant of
the Khalif, captured the daughter of the Rajah,
and slew the Rajah and all his people.
*
* *
Her name was Natalika. When Kassim saw
her, fairer than that Love-goddess born from a
lotos-flower, her 63-68 softer than dew, her figure
lithe as reeds, her blue-black tresses rippling to
the gold rings upon her ankles, he swore by the
Prophet's beard that she was the comeliest ever
born of woman, and that none should have her
Natalika. 81
save the Khalif Oualed. So he commanded that a
troop of picked horsemen should take her to Bag
dad, with much costl}' booty, jewelry delicate
and light as feathers, ivory carving miraculously
wrought (sculptured balls within sculptured balls),
emeralds and turquoises, diamonds and rubies,
woofs of cashmere, and elephants, and dromeda
ries. And whosoever might do hurt to Natalika
by the way, would have to pay for it with his
head, as surety as the words of the Koran were
the words of God's Prophet.
* *
When Natalika came into the presence of the
Khalif of Bagdad, the Commander of the Faithful
could at first scarcely believe his eyes, seeing so
beautiful a maiden ; and starting from his throne
without so much as looking at the elephants and
the jewels and the slaves and the other gifts of
Kassim, he raised the girl from her knees and
kissed her in the presence of all the people, vow
ing that it rather behooved him to kneel before
her than her to kneel before him. But she only
wept, and answered not. . . .
And before many da} T s the Khalif bade her
know that he desired to make her his favorite
wife ; for since his e} r es had first beheld her he
could neither eat nor sleep for thinking of her.
C
82 Natalika.
Therefore he prayed that she would cease her
weeping, inasmuch as he would do more to make
her happy than any other might do, save only the
Prophet in his paradise.
Then Natalika wept more bitterly than before,
and vowed herself unworthy to be the bride of
the Khalif, although herself a king's daughter ;
for Kassim had done her a grievous wrong ere
sending her to Bagdad. . . .
*
* *
Oualed heard the tale, and his mustaches curled
with wrath. He sent his swiftest messengers
to India with a sealed parchment containing or
ders that Kassim should leave the land of Sindh
forthwith and hasten to Bassora, there to await
further commands. Natalika shut herself up
alone in her chamber to weep ; and the Khalif
wondered that he could not comfort her. But
Kassim, leaving Sinrlh, wondered much more why
the Commander of the Faithful should have re
called him, notwithstanding the beauty of the
gifts, the loveliness of the captives, the splendor
of the elephants. Still marvelling, he rode into
Bassora, and sought the governor of that place.
Even while he was complaining there came forth
mutes with bow-strings, and they strangled Kassim
at the governor's feet.
Natalika. 83
Da}*s went and came ; and at last there rode
into Bagdad a troop of fierce horsemen, to the
Khalif's palace. Their leader, advancing into
Oualed's presence, saluted him, and laid at his
feet a ghastly head with blood-bedabbled beard,
the head of the great captain, Kassim.
*
# #
l 'Lo!" cried Oualed to Natalika, "I have
avenged thy wrong ; and now, I trust, thou wilt
believe that I love thee, and truly desire to set
thee over my household as my wife, my queen,
my sweetly beloved ! "
But Natalika commenced to laugh with a wild
and terrible laugh. "Know, O deluded one,"
she cried, " that Kassim was wholly innocent in
that whereof I accused him, and that I sought
only to avenge the death of my people, the mur
der of my brothers and sisters, the pillage of our
homes, the sacrilegious destruction of the holy
cit}' Brahmanabad. Never shall I, the daughter
of a Kshatrya king, ally myself with one of thy
blood and creed. I have lived so long only that
T might be avenged ; and now that I am doubly
avenged, by the death of our enemy, by thy hope
less dream of love for me, I die ! " Piercing her
bosom with a poniard, she fell at the Khalif's feet.
84 Natalika.
But Natalika's betrothed lover, Odayah-Rajah,
avenged her even more, driving the circumcised
conquerors from the land, and slaughtering all
who fell into his hands. And the cruelties the} 7
had wrought he repaid them a hundred-fold.
Yet, growing weary of life by reason of Nata
lika's death, he would not reign upon the throne
to which he had hoped to lift her in the embrace
of love ; but, retiring from the world, he be
came a holy mendicant of the temple of Tirou-
vicaray. . . .
And at last, feeling his end near, he dug him
self a little grave under the walls of the temple ;
and ordered the most skilful sculptors to make
the marble statue of his beloved, and that the
statue should be placed upon his grave. Thus
the} r wrought Natalika's statue as the statues of
goddesses are wrought, but always according to
his command, so that she seemeth to be crushing
roses in her fingers. And when Odayah-Rajah
passed away, they placed the statue of Natalika
above him, so that her feet rest upon his heart.
"Z have been icitness of this marvel, that by
crushing the flowers within her hands she made
them to exhale a sweeter perfume 1 "
"Were not those flowers the blossoming of her
The Corpse-Demon. 85
beautiful youth, made lovelier by its own sacri
fice?
The temple and its ten thousand priests are
gone. But even after the lapse of a thousand
years a perfume still exhales from those roses
of stone !
THE CORPSE-DEMON.
There is a look written in the ancient tongue of India, and
called VETALAPANTCHAVINSATI, signifying " The Twenty-Jive
Tales of a Demon.". . . And these tales are marve/lous above all
stories told by nun ; for wondrous are the words of Demons, and
everlasting. . . . Now this Demon dwelt within a corpse, and spake
with the tongue of the corpse, and gazed with the eyes of the corpse.
And the corpse ivas suspended by its feet from a tree overshadow
ing tombs. . . .
Now on the fourteenth of the moonless half of the month Bhadon,
the Kshatrya king Vikramaditi/a was commanded by a designing
Yogi that he should cut down the corpse and bring the same to
him. For the Yogi thus designed to destroy the king in the
night. . . .
And when the king cut doivn the corpse, the Demon which was
in the corpse laughed and said: " If thou shouldst speak once
upon the way, I go not with thee, but return unto my tree."
Then the Demon began to tell to the king stories so strange that
he could not but listen. And at the end of each story the De
mon would ask hard questions, threatening to devour Vikrama-
ditya should he not answer; and the king, rightly answering,
86 The Corpse-Demon.
indeed avoided destruction, yet, by speaking, perforce enabled the
Demon to return to the tree. . . . Now listen to one of those tales
which the Demon told :
O KING, there once was a city called Dharmpur,
whose rajah Dharmshil built a glorious temple to
Devi, the goddess with a thousand shapes and a
thousand names. In marble was the statue of
the goddess wrought, so that she appeared seated
cross-legged upon the cup of a monstrous lotos,
two of her four hands being joined in pra}'er, and
the other two uplifting on either side of her foun
tain basins, in each of which stood an elephant
spouting perfumed spray. And there was exceed
ing great devotion at this temple ; and the people
never wearied of presenting to the goddess sandal-
wood, unbroken rice, consecrated food, flowers,
and lamps burning odorous oil.
Kow from a certain city there came one day in
pilgrimage to Devi's temple, a washerman and a
friend with him. Even as he was ascending the
steps of the temple, he beheld a damsel descend
ing toward him, unrobed above the hips, after
the fashion of her people. Sweet as the moon
was her face ; her hair was like a beautiful dark
cloud ; her eyes were liquid and large as a wild
deer's ; her brows were arched like bows well
bent ; her delicate nose was curved like a falcon's
The Corpse-Demon. 87
beak ; her neck was cornel}- as a dove's ; her
teeth were like pomegranate seeds ; her 'lips
ruddy as the crimson gourd ; her hands and feet
soft as lotos-leaves. Golden-yellow was her skin,
like the petals of the champa-flowers ; and the
pilgrim saw that she was graceful-waisted as a
leopard. And while the tinkling of the gold rings
about her round ankles receded beyond his hear
ing, his sight became dim for love, and he prayed
his friend to discover for him who the maiden
might be. . . . Now she was the daughter of a
washerman.
Then did the pilgrim enter into the presence
of the goddess, having his mind filled wholly by
the vision of that girl ; and prostrating himself
he vowed a strange vow, saying : " O Devi, Maha-
devi, Mother of Gods and Monster-slayer,
before whom all the divinities bow down, thou
hast delivered the earth from its burdens ! thou
hast delivered those that worshipped thee from
a thousand misfortunes ! Now I pray thee, O
Mother Devi, that thou wilt be my helper also,
and fulfil the desire of nry heart. And if by thy
favor I be enabled to marry that loveliest of wo
men, O Devi, verily I will make a sacrifice of
my own head to thee." Such was the vow which
he vowed.
88 The Corpse-Demon.
But having returned unto his city and to his
home, the torment of being separated from his
beloved so wrought upon him that he became
grievously sick, knowing neither sleep nor hun
ger nor thirst, inasmuch as love causes men to
forget all these things. And it seemed that he
might shortly die. Then, indeed, his friend,
being alarmed, went to the father of the youth,
and told him all, so that the father also be
came fearful for his son. Therefore, accompa
nied by his son's friend, he went to that cit}-,
and sought out the father of the girl, and said
to him : " Lo ! I am of thy caste and calling, and
I have a favor to ask of thee. It has come to
pass that my son is so enamored of thy daughter
that unless she be wedded to him he will surely
die. Give me, therefore, the hand of thy daugh
ter for my dear son." And the other was not at
all displeased at these words ; but, sending for a
Brahman, he decided upon a day of good omen
for the marriage to be celebrated. And he said :
" Friend, bring thy son hither. I shall rub her
hands with turmeric, that all men may know she
is betrothed."
Thus was the marriage arranged ; and in due
time the father of the youth came with his son to
the city ; and after the ceremonj- had been ful-
The Corpse-Demon. 89
filled, he returned to his own people with his son
and his daughter-in-law. Now the love these
young people held each for the other waxed
greater day by day ; and there was no shadow
on the young man's happiness saving the mem
ory of his vow. But his wife so cai'essed and
fondled him that at last the recollection of the
oath faded utterly away.
After many days it happened that the husband
and wife were both invited to a feast at Dharm-
pur ; and they went thither with the friend who
had before accompanied the youth upon his pil
grimage. Even as they neared the city, they saw
from afar off the peaked and gilded summits of
Devi's temple. Then the remembrance of his
oath came back with great anguish to that young
husband. " Verily," he thought within his heart,
' ' I am most shameless and wicked among all
perjurers, having been false in my vow even to
Devi, Mother of Gods ! "
And he said to his friend: " I pray thee, re
main thou here with my wife while I go to pros
trate myself before Devi." So he departed to the
temple, and bathed himself in the sacred pool, and
bowed himself before the statue with joined hands.
And having performed the rites ordained, he struck
himself with a sword a mighty blow upon his
90 The Corpse-Demon.
neck, so that his head, being separated from his
body, rolled even to the pillared stem of the mar
ble lotos upon which Devi sat.
Now after the wife and the dead man's friend
had long waited vainly, the friend said : ' ' Surely
he hath been gone a great time ; remain thou here
while I go to bring him back ! " So he went to
the temple, and entering it beheld his friend's
body tying in blood, and the severed head be
neath the feet of Devi. And he said to his own
heart : " Verity this world is hard to live in ! ...
Should I now return, the people would sa}~ that
I had murdered this man for the sake of his wife's
exceeding beaut}*." Therefore he likewise bathed
in the sacred pool, and performed the rites pre
scribed, and smote himself upon the neck so that
his head also was severed from his bocty and rolled
in like manner unto Devi's feet.
Now, after the young wife had waited in vain
alone for a long while, she became much tor
mented by fear for her husband's sake, and went
also to the temple. And when she beheld the
corpses and the reeking swords, she wept with
unspeakable anguish, and said to her own heart :
" Surety this world is hard to live in at best ; and
what is life now worth to me without my hus
band? Moreover, people will say that I, being
The Corpse-Demon. 91
a wicked woman, murdered them both, in order
to live wickedly without restraint. Let me there
fore also make a sacrifice ! ". . .
Saying these words, she departed to the sacred
pool and bathed therein, and, having performed
the holy rites, lifted a sword to her own smooth
throat that she might slay herself. But even as
she lifted the sword a mighty hand of marble
stayed her arm ; while the deep pavement quiv
ered to the tread of Devi's feet. For the Mother
of Gods had arisen, and descended from her lotos
seat, and stood beside her. And a divine voice
issued from the grim lips of stone, saj'ing, "O
daughter ! dear hast thou made thyself to me ! ask
now a boon of Devi ! " But she answered, ail-
tremblingly, " Divinest Mother, I pray only that
these men may be restored to life." Then said the
goddess, " Put their heads upon their bodies."
And the beautiful wife sought to do according
to the divine command ; but love and hope and
the fear of Devi made dizzy her brain, so that she
placed her husband's head upon the friend's neck,
and the head of the friend upon the neck of her
husband. And the goddess sprinkled the bodies
with the nectar of immortalny, and they stood up,
alive and well, indeed, yet with heads wonderfully
exchaned.
92 The Corpse-Demon.
Then said the Demon : " King Vikramaditya ! to which of
these two was she wife ? Verily, if ihou dost not rightly answer,
I shall devour thee." And Vikramaditya answered : "Listen!
in the holy Shastra it is said that as the Ganges is chief among
rivers, and Sumeru chief among mountains, and the Tree of
Paradise chief among trees, so is the head chief among the parts
of the body. Therefore she was the wife of that one to whose
body her husband's head was joined.". . . Having answered
rightly, the king suffered no hurt ; but inasmuch as he had
spoken, it was permitted the corpse-demon to return to the tree,
and hang suspended therefrom above the tombs.
. . . And many times, in like manner, was the Demon enabled
1o return to the tree ; and even so many times did Vikramaditaya
take down and bind and bear away the Demon ; and each time
the Demon would relate to the king a story so wild, so wonderful,
that he could not choose but hear. . . . Now this is another of those
tales which the Demon told :
O king, in the city of Dharmasthal there lived
a Brahman, called Kesav ; and his daughter, who
was beautiful as an Apsara, had rightly been
named Sweet Jasmine-Flower, Madhumalati. And
so soon as she was nubile, her father and her
mother and her brothers were all greatly anxious
to find her a worthy husband.
Now one day the father and the brother and
the mother of the girl each promised her hand
to a different suitor. For the good Kesav, while
absent upon a holy visit, met a certain Brahman
youth, who so pleased him that Kesav promised
The Corpse-Demon. 93
him Madhumalati ; and even the same day, the
brother, who was a student of the Shastras, met
at the house of his spiritual teacher another stu
dent who so pleased him that he promised him
Madhumalati ; and in the mean time there visited
Kesav's home another young Brahman, who so
delighted the mother that she promised him Mad
humalati. And the three youths thus betrothed
to the girl were all equal in beaut} 7 , in strength,
in accomplishments, and even in years, so that
it would not have been possible to have preferred
any one of them above the rest. Thus, when the
father returned home, he found the three youths
there before him ; and he was greatly troubled
upon learning all that had taken place. " Verily,"
he exclaimed, "there is but one girl and three
bridegrooms, and to all of the three has our word
been pledged ; to whom shall I give Madhuma
lati ? " And he knew not what to do.
But even as he was thinking, and gazing from
one to the other of the three youths, a hooded
serpent bit the girl, so that she died.
Forthwith the father sent out for magicians and
holy men, that they might give back life to his
daughter ; and the holy men came together with
the magicians. But the enchanters said that, by
reason of the period of the moon, it was not pos-
94 The Corpse-Demon.
sible for them to do aught ; and the holy men
avowed that even Brahma himself could not re
store life to one bitten by a serpent. With sore
lamentation, accordingly, the Brahman performed
the funeral rites ; and a p} T re was built, and the
bodj* of Madhumalati consumed thereupon.
Now those three youths had beheld the girl in
her living beaut}^ and all of them had been madly
enamoured of her ; and each one, because he had
loved and lost her, resolved thenceforth to aban
don the world and forego all pleasure in this life.
All visited the funeral pyre ; and one of them
gathered up all the girl's bones while they were
yet warm from the flame, and tied them within a
bag, and then went his way to become a fakir.
Another collected the ashes of her body, and took
them with him into the recesses of a forest, where
he built a hut and began to live alone with the
memory of her. The last indeed took no relic of
Madhumalati, but, having prayed a prayer, as
sumed the garb of a Yogi, and departed to beg
his way through the world. Now his name was
Madhusudam.
Long after these things had happened, Madhu
sudam one day entered the house of a Brahman,
to beg for alms ; and the Brahman invited him to
partake of the family repast. So Madhusudam,
The Corpse-Demon. 95
having washed his hands and his feet, sate him
down to eat beside the Brahman ; and the Brah
man's wife waited upon them. Now it came to
pass, when the meal was still but half served, that
the Brahman's little boy asked for food ; and
being bidden to wait, he clung to the skirt of his
mother's dress, so that she was hindered in her
duties of hospitality. Becoming angry, therefore,
she seized her boy, and threw him into the fire
place where a great fire was ; and the boy was
burned to ashes in a moment. But the Brahman
continued to eat as if nothing had happened ; and
his wife continued to serve the repast with a
kindly smile upon her countenance.
And being horror-stricken at these sights, Mad-
husudam arose from his sitting-place, leaving his
meal unfinished, and directed his way toward the
door. Then the Brahman kindly questioned him,
saying: " friend, how comes it that thou dost
not eat? Surely both I and my wife have done
what we could to please thee ! "
And Madhusudam, astonished and wroth, an
swered : ' ' How dost thou dare ask me why I do
not eat? how might any being, excepting a Rak-
shasa, eat in the house of one by whom such a
demon-deed hath been committed?" But the
Brahman smiled, and rose up and went to another
96 The Corpse-Demon.
part of the house, and returned speedilj 1 with a
book of incantations, a book of the science of
resurrection. And he read but one incantation
therefrom, when, lo ! the boy that had been burned
came alive and unscorched from the fire, and ran
to his mother, crying and clinging to her dress as
before.
Then Madhusudam thought within himself:
" Had I that wondrous book, how readily might
I restore ray beloved to life ! " And he sat down
again, and, having finished his repast, remained
in that house as a guest. But in the middle of
the night he arose stealthily, and purloined the
magical book, and fled away to his own city.
And after many da}*s he went upon a pil
grimage of love to the place where the body of
Madhumalati had been burned (for it was the
anniversaiy of her death) , and arriving he found
that the other two who had been betrothed to her
were also there before him. And lifting up their
voices, they cried out: "O Madhusudam! thou
hast been gone man}' j-ears and hast seen much.
What hast thou learned of science ? "
But he answered: "I have learned the sci
ence that restores the dead to life." Then they
prayed him, sa}-ing, "Revive thou Madhuma
lati ! ' And he told them : "Gather ye her bones
The Corpse-Demon. 97
together, and her ashes, and I will give her
life."
And they having so done, Madhusudam pro
duced the book and read a charm therefrom ; and
the heap of ashes and cindered bones shaped
itself to the command, and changed color, and
lived, and became a beautiful woman, sweet as
a jasmine-flower, Madhumalati even as she was
before the snake had bitten her !
But the three youths, beholding her smile,
were blinded by love, so that they began to
wrangle fiercely together for the sake of
her. . . .
Then the Demon said: " Vikramaditaya f to which of these
was she wife ? Answer rightly, lest I devour thee."
And the king answered; " Truly she was the wife of him who
had collected her ashes, and taken them with him into the recesses
of the forest, where he built a hut and dwelt alone with the memory
of her."
"'Naij ! " said the Demon, " how could she have been restored
to life had not the other also preserved her bones ? and despite the
piety of those two, how could she have been resurrected but for the
third?"
But the king replied : " Even as the son's duty is to preserve
the bones of his parents, so did he who preserved the bones of
Madhumalati stand to her only in the place of a son. Even as
a father giveth life, so did he who reanimated Madhumalati stand
to her only in the place of a father. But he who collected her
ashes and took them with him into the recesses of the forest, where
1
98 The Corpse-Demon.
he built a hut and dwelt alone with the memory of her, he was
truly her lover and rightful husband."
***
. . . Many other hard questions the Demon also asked, concern
ing men who by mayic turned themselves into women, and con
cerning corpses animated by evil spirits ; but the king answered
all of them save one, which indeed admitted of no answer :
O Vikramaditaya, when Mahabal was rajah of
Dharmpur, another monarch strove against him,
and destroyed his army in a great battle, and
slew him. And the wife and daughter of the
dead king fled to the forest for safety, and wan
dered there alone. At that time the rajah Chan-
drasen was hunting in the forest, and his son
with him ; and they beheld the prints of women's
feet upon the ground. Then said Chandrasen :
" Surely the feet of those who have passed here
are delicate and beautiful, like those of women ;
3*et I marvel exceedingly that there should be
women in this desolate place. Let us pursue
after them ; and if the}" be beautiful, I shall take
to wife her whose feet have made the smallest
of these tracks, and thou shalt wed the other."
So they came up with the women, and were
much charmed with their beaut}*- ; and the rajah
Chandrasen married the daughter of the dead
Mahabel, and Chandrasen's son took Mahabel's
The Lion. 99
widow to wife. So that the father married the
daughter of the mother, and the son the mother
of the daughter. . . .
And the Demon asked : " Vikramaditaya, in what manner
were the children of Chandrasen and his son related by these mar
riages ? " But the king could not answer. And because he re
mained silent the Demon ivas pleased, and befriended him in a
strange and unexpected manner, as it is written in the VETALA-
PANTCHAVINSATI.
THE LION.
Intelligence is better than much learning ; intelligence is better
than science ; the man that hath not intelligence shall perish like
those who made unto themselves a lion. , . . And this is the story
of the lion, as related by the holy Brahman Vichnousarman in the
PANTCHOPAKHYANA.
IN days of old there were four youths of the
Brahman caste, brothers, who loved each other
with strong affection, and had resolved to travel
all together into a neighboring empire to seek
fortune and fame.
Of these four brothers three had deeply studied
all sciences, knowing magic, astronomy, alchemy,
and occult arts most difficult to learn ; while the
100 The Lion.
fourth had no knowledge whatever of science,
possessing intelligence only.
Now, as they were travelling together, one of
the learned brothers observed: "Why should a
brother without knowledge obtain profit by our
wisdom? Travelling with us he can be only a
burden upon us. Never will he be able to obtain
the respect of kings, and therefore must he remain
a disgrace to us. Rather let him return home."
But the eldest of all answered : " Nay ! let him
share our good luck ; for he is our loving brother,
and we may perhaps find some position for him
which he can fill without being a disgrace to us."
So they journej'ed along; and after a time,
while passing through a forest, they beheld the
bones of a lion scattered on the path. These
bones were white as milk and hard as flint, so
drj 7 and so bleached they were.
Then said he who had first condemned the ig
norance of his brother: "Let us now show our
brother what science ma} 7 accomplish ; let us put
his ignorance to shame by giving life to these
lion-bones, and creating another lion from them !
B} 7 a few magical words I can summon the dry
bones together, making each fit into its place."
Therewith he spake the words, so that the dry
bones came together with a clattering sound,
The Lion. 101
each fitting to its socket, and the skeleton re-
jointed itself together.
"I," quoth the second brother, " can by a few
words spread tendons over the bones, each in
its first place, and thicken them with muscle,
and redden them with blood, and create the hu
mors, the veins, the glands, the marrow, the
internal organs, and the exterior skin." There
with he spake the words ; and the body of the
lion appeared upon the ground at their feet,
perfect, shaggy, huge.
u And I," said the third brother, " can by one
word give warmth to the blood and motion to the
heart, so that the animal shall live and breathe
and devour beasts. And ye shall hear him roar."
But ere he could utter the word, the fourth
brother, who knew nothing about science, placed
his hand over his mouth. " Na}* ! " he cried, " do
not utter the word. That is a lion ! If thou
givest him life, he will devour us."
But the others laughed him to scorn, saying :
41 Go home, thou fool! what dost thou know of
science?"
Then he answered them : " At least, delay the
making of the lion until thy brother can climb up
this tree." Which they did.
But hardly had he ascended the tree when the
102 The Legend of the Monster Misfortune.
word was spoken, and the lion moved and opened
his great j-ellow eyes. Then he stretched him
self, and arose, and roared. Then he turned
upon the three wise men, and slew them, and
devoured them.
But after the lion had departed, the youth who
knew nothing of science descended from the tree
unharmed, and returned to his home.
THE LEGEND OF THE MONSTER
MISFORTUNE.
He that hath a hundred desireth a thousand ; he that hath a
thousand would have a hundred thousand ; he that hath a hun
dred thousand longeth for the kingdom ; he that hath a kingdom
doth wish to possess the heavens. And being led astray by
cupidity, even the owners of riches and wisdom do those things
which should never be done, and seek after that which ought never
to be sought after. . . . Wherefore there hath been written, for the
benefit oj those who do nourish their own evil passions, this legend
taken from the jforty -sixth book of the FA-YOUEN-TCHOU-LIN.
IN those ages when the sun shone brighter than
in these years, when the perfumes of flowers were
sweeter, when the colors of the world were fairer
to behold, and gods were wont to walk upon earth,
The Legend of the Monster Misfortune. 103
there was a certain happy kingdom wherein no
misery was. Of gems and of gold there was su
perabundance ; the harvests were inexhaustible
as ocean ; the cities more populous than ant-hills.
So many j-ears had passed without war that plants
grew upon the walls of the great towns, disjoint
ing the rampart-stones by the snak}* strength of
their roots. And through all that land there was
a murmur of music constant as the flow of the
Yellow River ; sleep alone interrupted the pur
suit of pleasure, and even the dreams of sleepers
were never darkened by imaginary .woe. For
there was no sickness and no want of any sort,
so that each man lived his century of years, and
dying laid him down painlessl}', as one seeking
repose after pleasure, the calm of slumber after
the intoxication of joy.
*
* *
One da} T the king of that country called all his
counsellors and ministers and chief mandarins
together, and questioned them, saying : " Behold !
I have read in certain ancient annals which are
kept within our chief temple, these words : 'In
days of old Misfortune visited the land.' Is
there among you one who can tell me what man
ner of creature Misfortune is ? Unto what may
Misfortune be likened ? "
104 The Legend of the Monster Misfortune.
But all the counsellors and the ministers and
the mandarins answered : " O king, we have never
beheld it, nor can we say what manner of creature
it may be."
Thereupon the king ordered one of his minis
ters to visit all the lesser kingdoms, and to in
quire what manner of creature Misfortune might
be, and to purchase it at any price, if indeed
it could be bought, though the price should be
the value of a province.
Now there was a certain god, who, seeing and
hearing these things, forthwith assumed the fig
ure of a man, and went to the greatest market of
a neighboring kingdom, taking with him Misfor
tune, chained with a chain of iron. And the form
of Misfortune was the form of a gigantic sow.
So the minister, visiting that foreign market, ob
served the creature, which was made fast to a pillar
there, and asked the god what animal it was.
"It is called the female of Misfortune," quoth
the god.
"Is it for sale?" questioned the minister.
" Assuredly," answered the god.
"And the price?"
" A million pieces of gold."
" What is its daily food ? "
" One bushel measure of needles."
The Legend of the Monster Misfortune. 105
Having paid for the beast a million pieces of
good yellow gold, the minister was perforce com
pelled to procure food for it. So he sent out
runners to all the markets, and to the shops of
tailors and of weavers, and to all the mandarins
of all districts within the kingdom, to procure
needles. This caused much tribulation in the
land, not only by reason of the scarcity of nee
dles, but also because of the affliction to which
the people were subjected. For those who had
not needles were beaten with bamboos ; and the
mandarins, desiring to obey the behest of the
king's minister, exercised much severity. The
tailors and others who lived by their needles soon
found themselves in a miserable plight ; and the
needlemakers, toil as they would, could never
make enough to satisfy the hunger of the beast,
although many died because of overwork. And
the price of a needle became as the price of
emeralds and diamonds, and the rich gave all
their substance to procure food for this beast,
whose mouth, like the mouth of hell, could not
be satisfied. Then the people in many parts,
made desperate by hunger and the severity of
the mandarins, rose in revolt, provoking a war
which caused the destruction of many tens of
thousands. The rivers ran with blood, yet the
106 The Legend of the Monster Misfortune.
minister could not bring the beast to the palace
for lack of needles wherewith to feed it.
Therefore he wrote at last to the king, saying :
" I have indeed been able to find and to buy
the female of Misfortune ; but the male I have
not been able to obtain, nor, with your Majesty's
permission, will I seek for it. Lo ! the female
hath alread} 7 devoured the substance of this land ;
and I dare not attempt to bring such a monster
to the palace. I pray j'our Majesty therefore that
your Majesty graciously accord me leave to de
stroy this hideous beast ; and I trust that your
Majest} r will bear in mind the saying of the wise
men of India : ' Even a King who will not
hearken to advice should be advised by faith
ful counsellors.' "
Then the king, being already alarmed by noise
of the famine and of the revolution, ordered that
the beast should be destroj-ed.
*
* #
Accordingly, the female of Misfortune was led
to a desolate place without the village, and chained
fast with chains of iron ; and the minister com
manded the butchers to kill it. But so impene
trable was its skin that neither axe nor knife
could wound it. Wherefore the soldiers were
commanded to destroy it. But the arrows of
The Legend of the Monster Misfortune. 107
the archers flattened their steel points upon Mis
fortune, even when directed against its eyes,
which were bright and hard as diamonds ; while
swords and spears innumerable were shattered
and broken in foolish efforts to kill it.
Then the minister commanded a great fire to
be built ; and the monster was bound within the
fire, while quantities of pitch and of oil and of resin
ous woods were poured and piled upon the flame,
until the fire became too hot for men to approach
it within the distance of ten li. But the beast,
instead of burning, first became red hot and then
white hot, shining like the moon. Its chains
melted like wax, so that it escaped at last and
ran out among the people like a dragon of fire.
Many were thus consumed ; and the beast entered
the villages and destroyed them ; and still run
ning so swiftly that its heat increased with its
course, it entered the capital city, and ran through
it and over it upon the roofs, burning up even the
king in his palace.
Thus, by the folly of that king, was the king
dom utterly wasted and destroyed, so that it
became a desert, inhabited only by lizards and
serpents and demons. . . .
NOTE. This and the following fable belong to the
curious collection translated by M. Stanislas Julien from
108 A Parable Buddhistic.
a Chinese encyclopaedia, and published at Paris in 1860, un
der the title, ' ' Les Avadanas, " or " The Similitudes, "
a Sanscrit term corresponding to the Chinese Pi-yu, and
justified by the origin of the stories, translated by the Chi
nese themselves, or at least reconstructed, from old Sanscrit
texts. I have ventured, however, to accentuate the slightly
Chinese coloring of the above grotesque parable. L. H.
A PARABLE BUDDHISTIC.
. . . Like to earthen vessels wrought in a potter's mill, so are the
lives of men ; howsoever carefully formed, all are doomed to de
struction. Nought that exists shall endure ; life is as the waters
of a river that flow away, but never return. Therefore may hap
piness only be obtained by concealing the Six Appetites, as the
tortoise withdraws its six extremities into its shell ; by guarding
the thoughts from desire and from grief, even as the city is
guarded by its ditches and its walls. . . .
So spoke in gathas Sakya-Mouni. And this
parable, doubtless by him narrated of old, and
translated from a lost Indian manuscript into the
Chinese tongue, may be found in the fifty-first
book of the " Fa-youen-tchou-lin."
... A father and his son were laboring to
gether in the field during the season of serpents,
and a hooded serpent bit the young man, so that
A Parable Buddhistic. 109
be presently died. For there is no remedy known
to man which may annul the venom of the hooded
snake, filling the eyes with sudden darkness and
stilling the motion of the heart. But the father,
seeing his son tying dead, and the ants commenc
ing to gather, returned to his work and ceased
not placidly to labor as before.
Then a Brahman passing that wa} T , seeing what
had happened, wondered that the father continued
to toil, and yet more at observing that his eyes
were tearless. Therefore he questioned him,
asking: "Whose son was that youth who is
dead?"
" He was mine own son," returned the laborer,
ceasing not to labor.
" Yet, being thy son, how do I find thee tearless
and impassive? "
" Folly ! " answered the laborer ; " even the
instant that a man is born into the world, so
soon doth he make his first step in the direction
of death ; and the ripeness of his strength is also
the beginning of its decline. For the well-doing
there is indeed a recompense ; for the wicked
there is likewise punishment. What avail, there
fore, tears and grief ? in no wise can they serve
the dead. . . . Perchance, good Brahman, thou art
on thy way to the city. If so, I pray thee to pass
110 A Parable Buddhistic.
by my house, and to tell my wife that my son is
dead, so that she may send hither my noonday
repast."
"Ah! what manner of man is this?" thought
the Brahman to himself. '" His son is dead, yet
he does not weep ; the corpse lies under the sun,
yet he ceases not to labor ; the ants gather about
it, yet he coldly demands his noonday meal !
Surely there is no compassion, no human feeling,
within his entrails ! " These things the Brahman
thought to himself; yet, being stirred by curi-
osit}^, he proceeded none the less to the house of
the laborer, and beholding the mother said unto
her: "Woman, thy son is dead, having been
stricken by a hooded snake ; and thy tearless hus
band bade me tell thee to send him his noonday
repast. . . . And now I perceive thou art also
insensible to the death of thy son, for thou dost
not weep ! "
But the mother of the dead answered him with
comparisons, saying: " Sir, that son had indeed
received only a passing life from his parents ;
therefore I called him not my son. Now he hath
passed away from me, nor was it in my feeble
power to retain him. He was only as a traveller
halting at a tavern ; the traveller rests and passes
on; shah 1 the tavern-keeper restrain him? Such
A Parable Buddhistic. Ill
is indeed the relation of mother and son. Whether
the son go or come, whether he remain or pass on,
I have no power over his being ; my son has ful
filled the destiny appointed, and from that destiny
none could save him. ' Why, therefore, lament
that which is inevitable ? "
And wondering still more, the Brahman turned
unto the eldest sister of the dead youth, a maiden
in the lotos bloom of her maidenhood, and asked
her, saying : " Thy brother is dead, and wilt thou
not weep ? "
But the maiden also answered him with com
parisons, saying: "Sometimes a strong wood
man enters the forest of trees, and hews them
down with mighty axe-strokes, and binds them
together into a great raft, and launches the raft
into the vast river. But a furious wind arises and
excites the waves to dash the raft hither and
thither, so that it breaks asunder, and the cur
rents separate the foremost logs from those be
hind, and all are whirled away never again to be
united. Even such has been the fate of my young
brother. We were bound together by destiny in
the one family ; we have been separated forever.
There is no fixed time of life or death ; whether
our existence be long or short, we are united only
for a period, to be separated forever more. My
112 A Parable Buddhistic.
brother has ended his allotted career; each of us
is following a destiny that may not be changed.
To me it was not given to protect and to save
him. Wherefore should I weep for that which
could not be prevented ? "
Then wondering still more, the Brahman ad
dressed himself to the beautiful wife of the dead
youth, saj-ing: " And thou, on whose bosom he
slept, dost thou not weep for him, thy comely
husband, cut off in the summer of his man
hood?"
But she answered him also with comparisons,
sa^ying : " Even as two birds, nVing one from the
east and one from the south, meet and look into
each other's eyes, and circle about each other,
and seek the same summit of tree or temple, and
sleep together until the dawn, so was our own
fate. When, the golden light breaks in the east,
the two birds, leaving their temple perch or their
tree, fly in opposite ways each to seek its food.
They meet again if destiny wills ; if not, they
never behold each other more. Such was the
fate of my husband and myself ; when death
sought him his destiny was accomplished, and it
was not in my power to save him. Therefore,
why should I weep ? "
Then wondering more than ever, the Brahman
Pundari. 113
questioned the slave of the dead man, asking
him: " Thy master is dead ; why dost thou not
weep ? "
But the slave also answered him with com
parisons, saying : " My master and I were united
by the will of destiny ; I was only as the little calf
which follows the great bull. The great bull is
slain : the little calf could not save him from the
axe of the butcher ; its cries and bleatings could
avail nothing. Wherefore should I weep, not
knowing how soon indeed my own hour may
come ? "
And the Brahman, silent with wonder, watched
the slender figures of the women moving swiftly
to and fro athwart the glow of golden light from
without, preparing the noonday repast for the
tearless laborer in the field.
PUNDARI.
A story of the Buddha, who filled with light the world, the soles
of whose feet were like unto the faces of two blazing suns, for that
he trod in the Perfect Paths.
... IN those days Buddha was residing upon
the summit of the mountain Gridhrakuta, over-
114 Pundari.
looking that ancient and vanished city called
Rajagriha, then a glorious vision of white
streets and fretted arcades, and milky palaces
so mightily carven that they seemed light as
woofs of Cashmere, delicate as frost ! There
was the cry of elephants heard ; there the air
quivered with amorous music ; there the flowers
of a thousand gardens exhaled incense to heaven,
and there women sweeter than the flowers moved
their braceleted ankles to the notes of harps and
flutes. . . . But, above all, the summit of the moun
tain glowed with a glory greater than day, with
a vast and rosy light signalling the presence of
the Buddha.
Now in that city dwelt a bayadere, most lovely
among women, with whom in grace no other be
ing could compare ; and she had become weary
of the dance and the jewels and the flowers,
weary of her corselets of crimson and golden silk,
and her robes light as air, diaphanous as mist,
weary, also, of the princes who rode to her
dwelling upon elephants, bearing her gifts of jew
els and perfumes and vessels sti-angely wrought
in countries distant ten years' journe}'. And her
heart whispered her to seek out Buddha, that she
might obtain knowledge and rest, becoming even
as a Bikshuni.
Pundari. 115
Therefore, bidding farewell to the beautiful city,
she began to ascend the hilly paths to where the
great and rosy glory beamed above. Fierce was
the heat of the sun, and rough the dizzy paths ; and
the thirst and weariness of deserts came upon her.
So that, having but half ascended the mountain,
she paused to drink and rest at a spring clear and
bright like diamond, that had wrought a wondrous
basin for itself in the heart of the rock.
But as the bayadere bent above the fountain to
drink, she beheld in its silver-bright mirror the
black glory of her hair, and the lotos softness of
her silky-shadowed eyes, and the rose-budding
of her honey-sweet mouth, and her complexion
golden as sunlight, and the polished suppleness
of her waist, and her slender limbs rounder than
an elephant's trunk, and the gold-engirdled grace
of her ankles. And a mist of tears gathered
before her sight. " Shall I, indeed, cast away
this beauty?" she murmured. "Shall I mask
this loveliness, that hath allured rajahs and maha-
rajahs, beneath the coarse garb of a recluse?
Shall I behold my youth and grace fade awa}- in
solitude as dreams of the past? Wherefore, then,
should I have been born so beautiful ? Na} r ! let
those without grace and without youth abandon
all to seek the Five Paths ! " And she turned
116 Pundari.
her face again toward the white-glimmering Ra-
jagriha, whence ascended the breath of flowers,
and the liquid melody of flutes, and the wanton
laughter of dancing girls. . . .
But far above, in the rosiness, omniscient Bud
dha looked into her heart, and, pitying her weak
ness, changed himself by utterance of the Word
into a girl far comelier and yet more lissome than
even Pundari the bayadere. So that Pundari,
descending, suddenly and in much astonishment
became aware of the loveliest of companions at
her side, and asked : " O thou fairest one ! whence
comest thou? Who may the kindred be of one
so lovely?"
And the sweet stranger answered, in tones
softer than of flutes of gold: "I also, lovely
one, am returning to the white city Rajagriha;
let us journey together, that we may comfort each
other b} T the waj r ."
And Pundari answered : " Yea, O fairest maid
en ! thy beauty draws me to thee as the flower the
bee, and thy heart must surely be precious as is
thy incom parable face ! "
So they journeyed on ; but the lovely stranger
became weary at last, and Pundari, sitting down,
made a pillow of her round knees for the dainty
head, and kissed her comrade to sleep, and stroked
Pundari. 117
the silk} 7 magnificence of her hair, and fondled the
ripe beauty of the golden face slumbering, and a
great love for the stranger swelled ripening in her
heart.
Yet while she gazed the face upon her smooth
knees changed, even as a golden fruit withers and
wrinkles, so wizened became the curved cheeks :
strange hollows darkened and deepened about the
eyes ; the silky lashes vanished with their shad
ows ; the splendid hair whitened like the ashes of
altar fires ; shrunken and shrivelled grew the lips ;
toothless yawned the once rosy mouth ; and the
bones of the face, made salient, fore-shaped the
gibbering outlines of a skull. The perfume of
youth was gone ; but there arose odors insuffer
able of death, and with them came the ghastly
creeping things that death fattens, and the livid
colors and blotches that his shadowy fingers leave.
And Pundari, shrieking, fled to the presence of
Buddha, and related unto him the things which
she had seen.
And the World-honored comforted her, and
spake :
" O Pundari, life is but as the fruit ; loveliness
but as the flower ! Of what use is the fairest
body that lieth rotting beside the Sowings of the
Ganges? Old age and death none of us may
118 Pundari.
escape ; jet there are worse than these, the
new births which are to this life as the echo to
the voice in the cavern, as the great footprints
to the steps of the elephant.
" From desire cometh woe ; by desire is begot
ten all evil. The body itself is a creation of the
mind only , of the foolish thirst of the heart for
pleasure. As the shadows of dreams are dissi
pated with the awakening of the sleeper, even
so shall sorrow vanish and evil pass away from
the heart of whosoever shall learn to conquer de
sire and quench the heart's thirst ; even so shall
the body itself vanish for those who tread well in
the Five Paths.
"O Pundari, there is no burning greater than
desire; no joy like unto the destruction of the
body ! Even as the white stork standing alone
beside the dried-up lily-pool, so shall those be
whose youth passes from them in the fierce heat
of foolish passion ; and when the great change
shall come, they will surely be born again unto
foolishness and tears.
' ' Those only who have found delight in the
wilderness where others behold horror ; those
who have extinguished all longings ; those self-
made passionless by meditation on life and death,
only such do attain to happiness, and, prevent-
Yamaraja. 119
ing the second birth, enter into the blessedness
of Nirvana.". . .
And the bayadere, cutting off her hair, and
casting from her all gifts of trinkets and jewels,
abandoned everything to enter the Five Paths.
And the Devas, rejoicing, . made radiant the
mountains above the white city, and filled the
air with a rain of strange flowers. And whoso
ever would know more of Buddha, let him read
the marvellous book " Fah-Kheu-King," the
Book " Dhammapada."
YAMARAJA.
The Legend Maggavago ; or, " The Way," which is in the
marvellous book of the DHAMMAPADA. . . . A story of the Buddha
at whose birth the stars stopped in their courses. ...
THE Brahman's son was dead, dead in the
blossoming of his beautiful youth, as the rose in.
whose heart a worm is born, as the lotos bud
when the waters of the pool are cut off. For
comeliness there was none like him, even among
the children of the holiest caste ; nor were there
any so deeply learned in the books of religion, in
just reasoning regarding the Scriptures, in the
120 Yamaraja.
recitation of the slokas of singers divinely in
spired. Thrice the aged priest fainted away
upon the body of his son ; and as often as they
would have led him to his home, he shrieked and
fainted again, so that, at last, even while he lay
as dead, they took the body from his arms, and,
having washed it with the waters of purification,
wrapped it in perfumed linen, and laid it upon
a bier decked with Indian flowers, and bore it
away to the place of interment. Thus, when the
unhappy father came to himself, all was accom
plished ; and the stern elders of his caste, gathering
about him, so harshly reproved him for his grief
that he was perforce compelled to reason with
himself regarding the vanity of lamentation and
the folly of human tears.
*
* *
But not ceasing to meditate upon his great loss,
a wild hope at last shaped itself within his heart.
" Lo ! " he thought, " I have heard it said that cer
tain mighty Bi'ahmans, having acquired the Five
Virtues, the Five Faculties, the Ten Forces, were
enabled to converse face to face with Yamaraja,
the Lord of Death ! To me it hath not indeed
beenflipn, by reason perchance of my feeble
AvHU'lo obtain the supreme wisdom; yet my love
and faith are of the heart, and I will seek out
Yamaraja. 121
Yamaraja, King of Death, and pray him to give
me back my son." Therefore the Brahman, in
vesting himself with sacerdotal vestments, per
formed the holy ceremonies ordained in the law ;
and having offered the sacrifice of flowers and of
incense, he departed to seek the Lord of Death,
the Maharajah of vanished kingdoms, Yama.
And he questioned all whom he met as to where
Yama might be found.
*
* *
Some, opening astounded ej'es, answered him
not at all, deeming him to be mad ; some there
were that mocked him ; some counselled that he
should return home, lest he find Yama too speed
ily ! Kshatrya princes with jewel-hilted sabres
answered him as they rode by in glittering steel
and glimmering gold: "Yama may be found in
the tempest of battles, beneath the bursting of
arrow-clouds, amidst the lightning of swords, be
fore the armored ranks of the fighting elephants."
Swarthy mariners replied, with rough laughter as
of sea winds: "Thou mayst seek Yama in the
roaring of waters and raving of typhoons ; let the
spirit of storms answer thee ! " . . . And danc
ing girls, singing the burning hymn of Ourvasi,
paused to answer with their witchery: "Seek
Yama rather in our arms, upon our lips, upon
122 Yamaraja.
our hearts ; exhale thy soul in a kiss." . . .
And they laughed shrilly as the bells of the
temple eaves laugh when the wind lips their
silver tongues.
*
* *
So he wandered on, by the banks of many
rivers, under the shadowing of man}' cit}- walls,
still seeking, until he came to the great wilderness
below the mountains of the east, where dwelt the
most hoi} 7 , who had obtained supreme wisdom.
Serpents hooded like mendicants protruded their
forked tongues ; the leopard thrust aside the jun
gle grasses to gaze at him with eyes of green
flame ; the boa moved before him, making a
waving in the deep weeds as the wake of a boat
upon water. But inasmuch as he sought Yama,
he could not fear.
Thus he came at last to where the most holy of
Brahmans dwelt, who had obtained supreme wis
dom, nourishing themselves upon the perfumes
of flowers only. The shadow of the rocks, the
shadows of the primeval trees, lengthened and
shortened and circled with the circling of the
sun ; but the shadows of the trees beneath which
they sat circled not, nor did they change with
the changing of the universal light. The eyes
of the hermits gazed unwinking upon the face
Yamaraja. 123
of the sun ; the birds of heaven nestled in the
immobility of their vast beards. All trem
blingly he asked of them where Yamaraja might
be found.
*
* *
Long he awaited in silence their answer,
hearing only the waters chanting their eternal
slokas, the trees whispering with all their flicker
ing leaf-tongues, the humming of innumerable
golden flies, the heavy movement of great beasts
in the jungle. At last the Brahmans moved their
lips, and answered, " Wherefore seekest thou
Yama?" And at their utterance the voices of
the waters and the woods were hushed ; the
golden flies ceased the music of their wings.
Then answered the pilgrim, tremblingty : " Lo !
I also am a Brahman, ye holy ones ; but to me it
hath not been given to obtain the supreme wis
dom, seeing that I am unworthy to know the
Absolute. Yet I sought diligently for the space
of sixty years to obtain holiness ; and our law
teaches that if one have not reached wisdom at,
sixty, it is his duty, returning home, to take a
wife, that he may have holy children. This I did ;
and one son was born unto me, beautiful as the
Vassika flower, learned even in his childhood.
And I did all I could to instil into him the love
124 Yamaraja.
of uttermost wisdom, teaching him myself until
it came to pass that he knew more than I, where
fore I sought him teachers from Elephanta. And
in the beauty of his youth he was taken from me,
borne away with the silk of manhood already
shadowing his lip. Wherefore I pray 3-6, holy
men, tell me in what place Yamaraja dwells, that
I may pray him to give me back my boy ! "
*
* *
Then all the holy voices answered together as
one voice, as the tone of many waters flowing in
one cadence: "Verily thou hast not been fitted
to seek the supreme wisdom, seeing that in the
winter of thine age thou dost still mourn by
reason of a delusion. For the stars die in their
courses, the heavens wither as leaves, the worlds
vanish as the smoke of incense. Lives are as
flower-petals opening to fade ; the works of
man as verses written upon water. He who
hath reached supreme wisdom mourneth exist
ence only. . . . Yet, that thou mayst be enlight
ened, we will even advise thee. The kingdom
of Yama thou mayst not visit, for no man ma}"
tread the way with mortal feet. But many hun
dred leagues toward the setting of the sun, there
is a valley, with a city shining in the midst
thereof. There no man dwells, but the gods
Yamaraja. 125
only, when they incarnate themselves to live upon
earth. And upon the eighth day of each month
Yamaraja visits them, and thou ma} - st see him.
Yet beware of failing a moment to practise the
ceremonies, to recite the Mantras, lest a strange
evil befall thee ! . . . Depart now from us, that we
may re-enter into contemplation ! "
*
* *
So, after journeying many moons, the good
Brahman stood at last upon the height above the
valley, and saw the ivory-white cit} T , a vision
of light, like the heaven Trayastrinshas. Not
Hanoumat, the messenger of Rama, beheld such
splendor, when he haunted the courts of Lanka
by night, and beheld in Havana's palace the love
liest of women interlaced in the embrace of sleep,
" the garland of women's bodies interwoven.' 1
Terraces fretted by magical chisels rose heaven
ward, tier upon tier, until their summit seemed
but the fleecincss of summer clouds ; arches tow
ered upon arches ; pink marble gates yawned like
the mouths of slumbering bayaderes ; crenellated
walls edged with embroidery of inlaid gold sur
rounded gardens deep as forests ; domes white-
rounded, like breasts, made pearly curves against
the blue ; fountains, silver-nippled, showered per
fumed spray ; and above the great gate of the
126 Yamaraja.
palace of the gods, where Devas folded their
wings on guard, flamed a vast carbuncle, upon
whose face was graven the Word comprehended
only by those who have attained supreme wisdom.
And standing before the gate, the Brahman burnt
the holy incense and recited the holy Mantras, . . .
until the Devas, pitying him, rolled back the doors
of gold, and bade him enter.
* *
Loft3 r as heaven seemed that palace hall, whose
vault of cerulean blue bung, self-sustained, above
the assembly of the gods ; and the pavement of
sable marble glimmered like a fathomless lake.
Yet, as the Brahman prostrated himself, not daring
to lift his eyes, he felt that it quavered under the
tread of mortal feet even as when earth trembles.
In its reflection he beheld the gods seated in as
sembly, not awful of image as in earthly temples,
but as beings of light, star-diademed, rosy with
immortalit}'. . . . Only Yarnaraja's brow bore no
starry flame ; and there was in his gaze a pro-
funditj'- as of deep answering unto deep. To the
ears of the worshipper his voice came like the
voice of waters pouring over the verge of an echo-
less ab3 r ss, . . . and in obedience to that voice the
Brahman uttered his prayer.
And the Lord of Death, replying in strange
Yamaraja. 127
tones, said: "Pious and just is this praj'er, O
child of Brahma ! Thy son is now in the Garden
of the East. Take him by the hand and go thy
way.". . .
* #
Joyfulty the Brahman entered that garden of
fountains that flow forever ; of fruits, eternally
ripe, that never fall ; of flowers immortal, that
never fade. And he discerned, among children
innumerable disporting, his own beloved son play
ing beside the fountains ; so that he cried out with
a great cry, and ran to him and clasped him and
wept over him, exclaiming : " O sweet son ! O my
beloved first-born ! dost thou not know me, thy
father who mourned thee so long, who hath even
entered the presence of Yamaraja, the Lord of
Death, to seek thee?". . .
But like a mist the child passed from his
embrace, and answered, with a wonder in his
eyes: "I know thee not!". . .
Then, kneeling in tears before the boy, the
Brahman cried: "O sweetest son, hast thou in
deed forgotten the father who loved thee more
than his own life, who taught thy infant lips to
utter the holy prayers, who den^d thee no wish
of th} T heart, bringing thee up as the son of a
rajah, teaching thee all the wisdom of the Brail-
128 Yamaraja.
mans ? Hast thou forgotten thy mother, also, who
weeps for thee now all alone, seeing that I have
journeyed so long to find thee ? Naj- ! look at me
with thy eyes ! look at me again, that thou mayst
know me ! Or is it because mj" grief hath so
changed me that I am no longer the same in thy
sight?" . . .
But the child ever replied : " I know thee not ! "
Then, casting himself upon the ground, the Brah
man wept as one smitten by infinite despair, and so
sobbed, until the child, touching him, spoke again :
" I know thee not ! Thou art to me a stranger !
I know, indeed, that thou art foolish, uttering
the terms father and mother, signifying condi
tions that pass awa}* like the grass of the earth.
I perceive, also, that thou art sorrowful, and
therefore a victim of delusion ; for sorrow spring-
eth from ignorance and desire, as the fungus from
corruption. Here we know not desire, we know
not sorrow, neither do we harbor illusion. Thou
art no more to me than the wind to the moon,
than the flame blown out is to the object once
illuminated. Get thee from hence, therefore, as
it will profit thee nothing to bring thy sorrow and
thy foil}* into this place.". . .
So the Brahman departed, speechless for grief.
Yamaraja. 129
Only then did he seek the Buddha, the Shah-
man Gotama, that he might obtain advice and
consolation. And the Buddha, pitj'ing him, laid
his hand upon his heart, and gave him rest, say
ing:
" O Brahman, thou hast only been punished for
thy self-delusion and folly.
" Know that the spirit of the dead receiveth a
new bodily form after its departure, so that for
mer relationship utterly ceaseth, even as one visit
ing a tavern by the wa} r side is no longer a guest,
having departed therefrom.
' ' Much thou art to be pitied for thy weakness
and this delusion of thy love, nor canst thou find
consolation but in supreme wisdom only.
" Vainly do men concern themselves regarding
wife and child ; for the end cometh to all as a
roaring torrent, sweeping awa}^ whatsoever earthly
affection clings to.
' ' Then neither father nor mother can save ;
then neither love nor strength may succor ; par
ent and kinsman become as blind men set to
guard a burning lamp.
' ' Therefore the truly wise considereth not such
things, seeking onby to save the world, to en
lighten men, to destroy sorrow by destaging
desire, to redeem himself.
9
130 Yamaraja.
" Even as the wind driveth away clouds,
so should the wise seek to banish thought, to
banish worldly consciousness, and thus escape
forever the future birth and death, attaining the
eightfold Wisdom, finding at last the eternal
peace, the eternal rest.
' ' Whatsoever is high shall be brought low ;
wheresoever is agreement will surely come divis
ion ; where there is birth there shall surely be
death also.
" Therefore cast off, O Brahman, all passion,
all affection, all regret, as the Vassika plant sheds
its withered flowers ; therefore flee the ignorant,
and seek in solitude the true wisdom, needing no
companion, rejoicing as the elephant escaped from
the herd. . . ."
And, perceiving the vanity of life, the evanes
cence of joy, the folly of grief, that Brahman
ceased to mourn, and besought permission to
follow the footsteps of the Teacher. . . .
The Lotos of Faith. 131
THE LOTOS OF FAITH;
Or, " The Furnace of Fire," which is in the JATAKAS of
Buddha. . . . At his birth the waters of the Sea became fresh,
and the deeps of the Seven Hells were illuminated. The blind
received their sight, that they might behold the bliss of the world .
the deaf their hearing, that they might know the tidings of joy;
by sevenfold lotos-flowers ike rocks were riven asunder ; the light
of glory immeasurable filled the world systems of ten thousand
IN the years when Brahmadatta reigned over
Benares, the holy city, the city of apes and
peacocks, the city possessing the seven precious
things, and resounding with the ten cries, with
the trumpeting of elephants, the neighing of
horses, the melody of instruments and voices
of singing girls, then the future Buddha-elect
was born as a son in the family of the royal
treasurer, after having passed through kotis of
births innumerable.
Now the duration of one koti is ten millions of
years.
And the Buddha-elect, the Bodisat, was
brought up in splendid luxury as a prince of
the holy city, and while yet a boy mastered all
branches of human knowledge, and becoming a
132 The Lotos of Faith.
man succeeded his father as keeper of the treas
ury. But even while exercising the duties of
his office, he gave rich gifts to holy men, and
allowed none to excel him in almsgiving.
At that time there also lived a holy Buddha,
who, striving to fulfil each and all of the Ten
Perfections, had passed seven daj-s and seven
nights without eating so much as one grain of
rice. Arousing himself at last from his holy
trance, he cleansed and robed his person, and
purified himself, and passing through the air \ty
virtue of his perfection, alighted before the door
of the treasurer's house, with his begging-bowl
in his hand.
Then the Bodisat, beholding the sacred mendi
cant awaiting in silence, bade a servant fetch to
him the Buddha's bowl, that he might fill it with
such food as those who seek supreme wisdom
may permit themselves to eat. So the servant
proceeded to fetch the bowl.
But even as be advanced, and before he might
reach out his hand, the ground rocked and heaved
like the sea beneath him ; and the earth opened
itself, and yawned to its entrails, making an ab3~ss
between the holy mendicant and the servant of
the Bodisat. And the gulf became a hell of seeth
ing flame, like the hell of Avici, like the heart of
The Lotos of Faith. 133
a volcano in which even the crags of granite melt
as wax, pass away as clouds. Also a great and
fantastic darkness grew before the sun, and black
ened all his face.
Wherefore the servant and his fellows fled
shrieking, leaving only the Bodisat standing upon
one verge of the abyss, and the Buddha, calmly
waiting, upon the other. Where the feet of the
perfect mendicant stood, the abyss widened not ;
but it widened swiftly, devouring the ground be
fore the feet of the Bodisat, as though seeking to
engulf him. For Mara, Lord of Rakshasas and
of evil ones, desiring that the Buddha might die,
sought thus to prevent the almsgiving of the Bo
disat. And the darkness before the sun was the
darkness of Mara's awful face.
And as a muttering of mountain thunder came
a voice, saying: " The Buddha shall not live by
thine alms-gift ; his hour hath come. . . . Mine is
the fire between thee and him."
And the Bodisat looked at the Buddha across
the abyss of fire ; and the Buddha's face changed
not, neither did he utter a word to dissuade nor
give one sign to encourage.
But the Bodisat cried aloud, even while the
abyss, widening, grew vaster to devour him:
"Mara, thou shalt not prevail! To thee power
134 The Lotos of Faith.
is not given against duty ! . . . My lord Buddha,
I come to thee, fearing not ; take thou this food
from the hands of thy servant."
And with the dish of rice in his hands, the Bo-
disat strode into the roaring waste of fire, utter
ing these jewel- words : '-'Better to enter willingly
into hell than neglect a duty or knowingly com
mit a wrong f". . .
Even then the Buddha smiled on the other
verge. And ere the Bodisat could fall, there
suddenly arose from the depths of the pit of
fire a vast and beautiful lotos-flower, like unto
that from whose womb of gold was Brahma born ;
and it received the feet of the Bodisat, and bore
him beyond the pit, upcasting over Mm a spray
of golden dust, like a shower of stars. So he
poured into the Buddha's bowl the holy gift of
alms.
The darkness vanished; the abyss was not;
the Buddha, rising in air, passed over a bridge
of rosy cloud to the mountain regions of Hima
laya. But the Bodisat, still standing upon the
lotos of gold, long discoursed unto the people
concerning holy things.
RUNES FROM THE KALEWALA.
THE MAGICAL WOKDS.
There is in the ancient Finnish tongue a strange book written,
called KALEWALA, a book of runes, treating about the beginning
of the world, and about the god-smiths who first wrought the
foundations of the sky, and about the witches and the enchanters
of the farthest North. Of witches Louhi was among the greatest;
and her daughter was wooed by gods and heroes, even by Wai-
namo'men the mightiest. . . . So fair was the virgin that her beauty
gave light like the moon ; so white were her bones that their white
ness glimmered through the transparency of her flesh ; so clear
was the ivory of her bones that the marrow could be seen within
them. . . . And the story of how Wainamoinen built a boat that
he might sail to woo the virgin, is thus told in the runes of the
KALEWALA :
. . . The aged and valiant Wainamoinen re
solved to build himself a boat, a swift war-boat.
He hewed the trees, he hewed the trunks of the
pines and the firs, singing songs the while, chant
ing the runes that banish evil. And as he sang
the smitten trees answered him, the fibres of the
138 The Magical Words.
oak and of the fir and of the mountain pine
yielded up their secrets in sounds that to other
men seemed echoes only, but which to Waina-
moinen's ears were syllables and words, words
wrung from the wood by enchantment.
Now only the keel remained to be wrought;
the strong keel of the war-ship had yet to be
fashioned. And Wainamoinen smote down a
great oak, that he might carve and curve its
body as keels are curved and carven. But the
dying oak uttered its words of wood, its magical
voice of warning, sa}"ing: "Never may I serve
for the keel of thy boat, for the bottom of thy
war-ship. Lo ! the worms have made their
crooked dwellings within my roots : yesterday
the raven alighted upon my head ; bloody was
his back, bloody his crest, and blood lay clotting
upon the blackness of his neck."
Therefore the ancient Wainamoinen left the
oak, and sought among the mountain firs and
the mountain pines for flawless keel-wood ; and
he found wood worthy of his war-boat, and he
wrought the same into shape by the singing of
magical songs.
For the words of enchantment by which shapes
are shaped were known to him ; by magical words
he had wrought the hull, with magical words had
The Magical Words. 139
formed the oars ; and ribs and keel were by wiz
ard song interlocked together. But to perfect*
the prow three words must be sung, three war
lock words ; and those three words Wainamoinen
did not know, and his heart was troubled because
he did not know them.
There was a shepherd dwelling among the hills,
an ancient shepherd who had beheld ten times
a hundred moons ; and him Wainamoinen ques
tioned concerning the three magical words.
But the ancient shepherd answered him dream
ily : " Surely thou mayst find a hundred words,
a thousand syllables of magical song, upon the
heads of the swallows, upon the shoulders of the
wild geese, upon the necks of the swans ! "
Then the aged and valiant Wainamoinen went
forth in search of the magical words. He slew
the flying swallows by thousands ; thousands of
white geese he slew ; thousands of snowy swans
were stricken by his arrows. Yet he found no
word written upon their heads, their shoulders,
their necks, nor even so much as the beginning
of a word. Then he thought unto himself:
" Surely I may find a hundred words, a thou
sand syllables of song, under the tongues of the
summer reindeer, within the ruddy mouth of the
white squirreL"
140 The Magical Words.
And he went his way to seek the magical
words. He strewed the vast plains with the
bodies of slaughtered reindeer ; he slew the
white squirrels by thousands and tens of thou
sands. But he found no word beneath the
tongue of the reindeer, no magical word in the
mouth of the white squirrel, not even so much as
the beginning of ,a word.
*
* *
Yet again Wainamoinen thought to himself,
saying: "Surely I may find a hundred magical
words, a thousand syllables of song, in the dwell
ing of the Queen of Death, in the land of Tuonela,
in the underground plains of Manala."
And he took his way unto the dwelling-place of
Tuonela, to the moonless land of the dead, to the
underground plains of Manala. Three da}'s he
journe}'ed thither with steps lighter than air;
three daj r s he journeyed as a shadow walking
upon shadow.
And he came at last unto the banks of the
sacred river, the sable shore of the black river,
over which the spirits of the dead must pass ; and
he cried out to the children of Death : " O daugh
ters of Tuoni, bring hither your bark ! O chil
dren of Manala, bring hither your bark, that I
may cross over the black river ! "
The Magical Words. 141
But the daughters of Death, the children of
Hell, cried out, saying: "The bark shall be
taken over to thee only when thou shalt have
told us how thou hast come to Manala, how thou
hast reached Tuonela, the abode of Death, the
domain of ghosts."
And Wainamoinen called out to them across
the waters, saying: u Surely Tuoni himself hath
conducted me hither ; surely the Queen of Death
hath driven me to Tuonela."
But the daughters of Tuonela waxed wroth ;
the virgins of Kalma were angry. And the} 7 an
swered: " We know the artifice of men ; we per
ceive the lie within thy mouth. For surely thou
livest ! no wound hath slain thee ; no woe hath
consumed thee ; no disaster hath destroyed thee ;
no grave hath been dug for thee. Who, there
fore, hath brought thee alive to Manala?"
And Wainamoinen, answering, called out to
them across the waters : ' Iron surely hath
brought me to the land of death; steel surely
hath accompanied me unto Manala."
The daughters of Tuonela waxed wroth ; the
virgins of Kalma were angry. And they an
swered : ' ' We know all artifices of men ; we
perceive the lie within thy mouth. Had iron
brought thee to Tuonela, had steel accompanied
142 The Magical Words.
thee unto Manala, thy garments would drip with
blood. . . . Who brought thee to Manala? "
And Wainamoinen called out again to them
across the waters: "Fire hath brought me unto
Manala ; flame hath accompanied me to Tuonela."
The daughters of Tuonela waxed wroth ; the
virgins of Kalma were angry. And they cried
out: "We know all artifices of men; we per
ceive the lie within thy mouth. Had fire brought
thee to Manala, had flame accompanied thee to
Tuonela, thy garments would be consumed by the
fire, the glow of the flame would be upon thee.
Who brought thee to Manala ? "
And Wainamoinen yet again called out to them
across the black river, saying : ' ' Water hath
brought me to Manala ; water hath accompanied
me to Tuonela."
The daughters of Tuonela waxed wroth ; the
virgins of Kalma were angry. And they an
swered, saying: "We know all the artifices of
men ; we perceive the lie within thy mouth. For
there is no dripping of water from thy garments.
Cease, therefore, to lie to us ; for we know thou
livest ; we perceive that no wound hath slain thee,
no woe consumed thee, no disaster hath crushed
thy bones. ' Who brought thee to Manala? who
guided thee to Tuonela ? "
The Magical Words. 143
Then Wainamoinen called out to them across
the river : " Surely I will now utter the truth. I
have made me a boat by my art ; I have wrought
me a war-boat by magical song. With a song I
shaped the hull ; with a song I formed the keel ;
with a song I fashioned the oars. Yet three words
are wanting to me, three magical words by which
I may perfect the carven prow in its place ; and I
have come to Tuonela to find these three words ;
I have come to Manala to seek these three words
of enchantment. Bring hither your bark, O
children of Tuonela! bring hither 3 7 our boat,
O virgins of Kalma ! "
So the daughters of Death came over the dark
river in their black boat, and they rowed Waina
moinen to the further shore, to the waste of wan
dering ghosts ; and they gave him to drink of
what the dead drink, and to eat of what the dead
devour. And Wainamoinen laid him down and
slept, being weary with his mighty journey.
He slept and dreamed ; but his garments slept
not, his enchanted garments kept watch for
him.
*
* *
Now the daughter of Tuoni, the iron-fingered
daughter of Death, seated herself in the darkness
upon a great stone in the midst of the waters ;
144 The Magical Words.
and with iron fingers wove a net of iron thread,
one thousand ells in length.
The sons of Tuoni, the sons of the Queen of
Death, also seated themselves in the same dark
ness upon the same great stone in the midst of
the same waters, and with their hooked fingers,
with their iron finger-nails, also wove a net of
iron thread, a thousand ells in length.
And they cast their net into the river, across
the river, that they might ensnare Wainamoinen,
that the}' might entangle the magician, that they
might prevent him from ever leaving the ab3 T ss
of Manala, ever leaving the domain of Tuonela, so
long as the golden moon should circle in heaven,
even so long as the silver sun should light the
world of men.
But the garments of Wainamoinen kept watch,
the enchanted garments of the magician slept not.
And Wainamoinen uttered a magical word, and
changed himself into a stone ; and the stone rolled
into the black river.
And the stone became a viper of iron, and
passed sinuously through the meshes of the nets,
and through the river currents, and into the black
reeds upon the black river's further bank.
So Wainamoinen passed from the kingdom of
Tuoni, from the children of Death ; but he had
The Magical Words. 145
not found the magical words, nor so much as the
part of a word.
*
* *
Then thought "Wainamoinen unto himself:
" Surely I may find a hundred words, a thou
sand syllables of song, in the mouth of the earth-
giant, in the entrails of the ancient Kalewa !
Long is the way to his resting-place ; one must
travel awhile over the points of women's needles,
and awhile upon the sharp edges of warriors'
swords, and }*et again awhile upon the sharp
steel of the battle-axes of heroes."
And Wainamoinen went to the forge of his
brother Ilmarinnen, Ilmarinnen, the Eternal
Smith, who forged the vault of heaven, leav
ing no mark of the teeth of the pincers, no dent
of the blows of the hammer, Ilmarinnen, who
forged for men during the age of darkness a
sun of silver and a moon of gold. And he cried
out: "O Ilmarinnen, might}' brother, forge me
shoes of iron, gloves of iron, a coat of iron !
forge me a staff of iron with a pith of steel,
that I may wrest the magic words from the stom
ach of Kalewa, from the dead entrails of the
earth-giant."
And Ilmarinnen forged them. Yet he said :
"O brother Wainamoinen, the ancient Kalewa
10
146 The Magical Words.
is dead ; the grave of the earth-giant is deep.
Thou mayst obtain no word from him, not
even the beginning of a word."
But Wainamoiuen departed ; Wainamoinen has
tened over the way strewn with the points of
needles and the edges of swords and axe-heads
of sharpest steel. He ran swiftly over them
with shoes of iron ; he tore them from his path
with gloves of iron, until he reached the resting-
place of Kalewa, the vast grave of the earth-
giant.
For a thousand moons and more Kalewa had
slept beneath the earth. The poplar-tree, the
haapa, had taken root upon his shoulders ; the
white birch, the Jcolvu, was growing from his
temples ; the elder tree, the leppa, was springing
from his cheeks ; and his beard had become over
grown with />aA/w-bark, with the bark of the
drooping willow. The shadowy fir, the oraviku-
usi, was rooted in his forehead ; the mountain-pine,
the havukonka, was sprouting from his teeth ; the
dark spruce, the petaja, was springing from his
feet.
But Wainamoinen tore the haapa from his
shoulders, and the koivu from his temples, and
the leppa from his cheeks, and the pahju-bark
from his beard, and the oravikuusi from his fore-
The Magical Words. 147
head, and the havukonka from his teeth, and the
petaja from his feet.
Then into the mouth of the Mountain-breaker,
into the mouth of the buried giant, Wainamoinen
mightily thrust his staff of smithied iron.
And Kalewa awoke from his slumber of ages,
awoke with groans of pain, and he closed his
jaws upon the staff; but his teeth could not crush
the core of steel, could not shatter the staff of iron.
And as Kalewa opened wider his mouth to devour
the tormentor, lo ! Wainamoinen leaped into the
j-awning throat and descended into the mon
strous entrails. And Wainamoinen kindled a
flame in the giant's bell}', built him a forge in
his entrails.
Then Kalewa, in his great agony, called on that
god who leans upon the axis of the world, and
upon the blue goddesses of the waters, and upon
the deities of the icy wildernesses, and upon the
spirits of the forest, and even upon the great
Jumala, at whose birth the brazen mountains trem
bled and lakes were changed into hills. But the
gods came not to aid him.
Then Kalewa cursed his tormentor with a thou
sand magical curses, with curses of wind and
storm and fire, with curses that change men's
faces into stone, with curses that transport the
148 The Magical Words.
accursed to the vast deserts of Laponia, where
the hoof of the horse is never heard, where the
children of the mare can find no pasturage. But
the curses harmed not Wainamoinen ; the curses
only called forth the laughter of scorn from the
lips of Wainamoinen.
And Wainamoinen cried out unto Kalewa :
"Never shall I depart from hence, O thou
mightiest singer of runes, until I have learned
from thee the three magical words which I desire,
the three words of enchantment that I have
sought throughout the world in vain. Sing to
me, O Kalewa, thy songs, thy most wondrous
songs, thy marvellous songs of enchantment."
So the giant Kalewa, the possessor of sub-
limest wisdom, the singer of marvellous runes,
opened his mouth and sang his songs for Waina
moinen, his most wondrous songs, his wizard
songs.
Words succeeded to words, verses to verses,
wizard runes to wizard runes. Ere Kalewa could
sing all that he knew, could utter all that he had
learned, the mountains would cease to be, the
waters of the rivers would dry up, the great lakes
be depopulated of their finny people, the sea have
forgotten its power to make waves.
Unceasingly he sang for many days, unceas-
The Magical Words. 149
ingly for man} 7 sleepless nights ; he sang the songs
of wizards, the songs of enchantment, the songs
that create or destroy.
He sang the songs of wisdom, the runes sung
by the gods before the beginning of the world,
the verses by whose utterance nothingness became
substance and darkness became light.
And as he sang the fair Sun paused in her
course to hear him ; the golden Moon stopped in
her path to listen ; the awful billows of the sea
stood still ; the icy rivers that devour the pines,
that swallow up the firs, ceased to rage ; the
mighty cataracts hung motionless above their
abysses ; the waves of Juortana lifted high their
heads to hear.
And Wainamoinen heard at last the three
words, the three magical words, he sought for ;
and he ceased tormenting Kalewa, and departed
from him. So Kalewa sank again into his eter
nal slumber, and the earth that loved him recov
ered him, and the forests rewove their network of
knotted roots above his place of sleep. . . .
150 The First Musician.
THE FIRST MUSICIAN.
In the ancient runes of the Finns, the runes of the KALEWALA,
is related the creation of the world from the yolk of an egg, and of
the heavens from the shell of the egg ; also the origin of Iron and
the birth of Steel and the beginning of Music. . . . Now the first
musician was no other than Wainamoinen ; and the first kan-
tele, triple-stringed, was made by him from the resonant wood of
the fir, and from the bones of a giant pike, as is told in the
Twenty-second Rune. Out of the fir-tree was formed the body of
the kantele ; out of the teeth of the pike-fish were the screws
wrought; and the strings were made of hairs from the black mane
of the steed of Hiisi the magician, from the shining mane of the
stallion of Hiisi, the herder of wolves and bears. . . .
... So the instrument was completed, the kan
tele was prepared ; and the aged and valiant
Wainamoinen bade the old men to play upon it,
and to sing the runes of old.
And they sang, but wearily, as winds in moun
tain wastes ; and their voices trembled frostily,
and the instrument rebelled against the touch of
their feeble fingers.
Then the ancient and valiant Wainamoinen
commanded the }'oung men to sing. But their
fingers became cramped upon the strings, and
the sounds called forth were sorrowful, and the
instrument rebelled against their touch. Joy
The First Musician. 151
answered not unto joy, song responded not unto
song.
Then the ancient and valiant Wainamoinen
sent the kantele to the wizard people who dwelt
in the wastes of ice, to the people of Pohjola, to
the Witch of Pohjola.
And the Witch sang, and the witch-virgins
with her ; the wizards also, and the children of
the wizards. But joy answered not unto jo}' ;
song responded not unto song. And the kan
tele shrieked beneath the touch of their fingers,
shrieked like one who, fearing greatly in the
blackness of the night, feeleth invisible hands
upon him.
Then spake an aged man who had seen more
than two hundred winters, an ancient man
aroused by the shrieking of the kantele from
his slumber within the recess of the hearth :
" Cease ! cease ! for the sounds which ye utter
make anguish in my brain, the noises which ye
make do chill the marrow within my bones.
Let the instrument be cast into the waters, or
returned forthwith unto him who wrought it."
Then from the strings of the kantele issued
sweet sounds, and the sounds shaped themselves
into words, and the kantele answered with its
voice, praying : " Cast me not into the deep, but
152 The First Musician.
return me rather unto him who wrought me ; for
in the hands of my creator I will give forth
sounds of joy, I will utter sounds of harmonious
sweetness."
So they took back the kantele unto "VVaina-
moinen, who had wrought it.
*
* *
And the ancient and valiant "Wainamoinen
washed his thumbs ; he purified his fingers ; he
seated himself by the sea upon the Stone of Joy,
upon the Hillock of Silver, even at the summit of
the Hill of Gold ; and he took the instrument
within his hands, and lifted up his voice, saj'ing :
" Let him that hath never heard the strong
joy of runes, the sweet sound of instruments,
the sound of music, come hither and hear ! "
And the ancient Wainamoinen began to sing
Limpid his voice as the voice of running water,
deep and clear, mighty and beautiful.
Lightly his fingers ran over the strings of the
kantele ; and the kantele sang in answer, sang
weirdby, sang wondrously, sang throbbingby, like
the throats of a thousand birds. And its joy
answered unto the joy of the singer; its song
responded unto Wainamoinen's song.
All the living creatures of the forest, all the
living creatures of air, drew nigh unto the rune-
The First Musician. 153
singer, gathered themselves about the mighty
chanter, that they might hear the suavity of his
voice, that they might taste the sweetness of his
song.
The gray wolves came from their lurking-places
in the vast marshes ; the bears deserted their
dwellings under the roots of the firs, within the
hollows of the giant pines ; and they clambered
over the hedges in their way, they broke down
the obstacles before them. And the wolves
mounted upon the heights, the bears upon the
trees, while Wainamoinen called Joy into the
world, while Wainamoinen sang his wondrous
song.
The lord -of the forest, also, the old man of
the black beard, Knippana, king of the joyous
woods ; . and all the followers of Tapio, god of
wild creatures, came forth to hear, and were vis
ible. Even the wife of the forest king, the god
dess of savage beasts, the mistress of Tapiola,
donned her raiment of red, and put on her azure
stockings, and ascended a hollow birch that she
might lend ear to the songs of the god.
All animals of the woods, all birds of the air,
hurried to hear the marvellous art of the musician,
hastened to taste the sweetness of his song.
The eagle descended from the clouds ; the fal-
154 The First Musician.
con clave the airs ; the white gulls rose from the
far sea-marshes, the swans from the clear deeps
of running water ; the swift lark, the quick finch,
the comely linnet, came to perch upon the shoul
ders of the god.
The Sun, bright virgin of the sky, the Sun,
rich in her splendors, and the fair-shining Moon,
had paused in their paths ; the first upon the
luminous vault of heaven, the other upon the end
of a long cloud. There were they weaving their
subtle tissues of light, weaving with shuttle of
gold, carding with carding-comb of silver. Sud
denly they heard the unknown voice of song,
the voice, mighty and sweet, of the rune-singer.
And the shuttle of gold escaped from their hands,
and the carding-comb of silver slipped from their
fingers, and the threads of their tissue were
broken.
All animals living in the waters, all the thou-
sand-finned fishes of the deep, came to hear the
voice of Wainamoinen, came to taste the sweet
ness of his song.
Swiftly came the salmon and the trout, the
pikes also and the sea-dogs ; all the great fishes
and all the little fishes swam toward the shore,
and remained as nigh as they might remain, and
lifted their heads to listen.
The First Musician. 155
And Ahto, monarch of waters, Ahto, ancient
as the ocean, and bearded with water-weeds,
arose upon his great water-lily above the waves.
The fertile wife of the sea-god was combing her
hair with a comb of gold, and she heard the voice
of the singer. And the comb fell from her hands ;
trembling of pleasure seized her, torture of desire
came upon her to hear, so that she arose from
the green abyss and approached the shore.
There, leaning with her bosom upon the rock,
she listened to the sounds of the kantele, min
gling with the voice of Wainamoinen, so tender
the sounds, so sweet the song !
All the heroes wept ; the hardest of hearts were
softened ; there were none of all having never
wept before who did not weep then.
The youths wept ; the old men wept ; the
strong men wept ; the virgins wept ; the little
infants wept ; even Wainamoinen also felt the
source of his own tears rising to overflow.
And soon his tears began to fall, outnumbering
the wild berries of the hills, the heads of the swal
lows, the eggs of the fowls.
They streamed upon his cheeks ; and from his
cheeks they fell upon his knees, and from his
knees they dropped upon his feet, and from
his feet they rolled into the dust.
156 The First Musician.
And his tear-drops passed through his six gar
ments of wool, his six girdles of gold, his seven
robes of blue, his eight tunics all thickly woven.
And the tears of Wainamoinen flowed as a river,
and became a river, and poured themselves to the
shores of the sea, and precipitated themselves
from the shores into the deeps of the abyss,
into the region of black sands.
There did they blossom ; there were they trans
formed into pearls, pearls destined for the
crowns of kings, for the eternal joy of noblest
heroes.
*
* *
And the aged Wainamoinen cried out : "O
youths, O daughters of illustrious race ! is there
none among ye who will go to gather up my tears
from the deeps of the ocean, from the region of
black sand ? "
But the youths and the elders answered, say
ing: "There is none among us willing to go to
gather up thy tears from the deeps of the ocean,
from the region of black sand."
Then a seamew, a seamew with plumage of
blue, dipped her beak into the cold waves ; and
she gathered the pearls, and she gathered the
tears, of Wainamoinen from the deeps of the ocean,
from the region of black sand.
The Healing of Wainamoinen. 157
THE HEALING OP WAINAMOINEN.
..." She is all fair, the Goddess of Veins, the Goddess
Suonetar, the beneficent Goddess of Veins. Marvellously doth
she spin the veins of men with her wondrous spindle, with her
distaff" of brass, with her spinning-wheel of iron". . .
LIKE the leaping of the mountain stream, like
the rushing of a torrent, the blood issued from
the knee of Wainamoinen, wounded by his own
axe through the craft of Hiisi the Evil, through
the malice of Lempo, the herder of wolves and
bears.
The ancient and valiant Wainamoinen had
knowledge of all wisdom, all speech that is eter
nal, all magical words save only the word by
which wizard wounds are healed. He invoked
the magical art, he uttered the awful impreca
tion ; carefully he read the Original Words, pro
nounced the runes of science.
But he had forgotten the mightiest words,
the Words of Blood, the charmed words by which
the palpitant torrent is checked, by which the
gory stream is held back, by which invincible
dikes are cast athwart the places broken by
iron, athwart the bites made by the blue teeth
of steel.
158 The Healing of Wainamoinen.
And the blood ceased not to gush bubbling
from the wound of the hero, from the knee of
Wainamoinen.
*
* *
The aged and valiant Wainamoinen harnessed
his steed to his brown sledge ; he mounted upon
the seat, smote the swift horse, and cracked his
great whip adorned with pearls.
The steed flew over the long course, drawing
the brown sledge, devouring distance. Swift as
wind was the driving of Wainamoinen, until he
neared the dwelling of the sorcerers, the first of
the habitations of the wizards. And he halted
at the threshold, and cried: "Is there in this
habitation any man learned in the knowledge of
iron, any man who can oppose a dike to this
river, who can check this torrent of blood ? "
A child, a little child, was seated in the middle
of the floor ; and the child answered, saying :
' ' There is no man here learned in the knowl
edge of iron, no man able to assuage with his
breath even the bruises of wood, nor to ease the
pain of heroes. . . . Gothou to another habitation.''
The ancient and valiant Wainamoinen made
his great whip, adorned with pearls, whistle upon
the flanks of his rapid courser. Swift as light
ning his course, until the} 7 came to the middle
The Healing of Wainamoinen. 159
dwelling ; and Wainamoinen halted at the thresh
old, and cried aloud : " Is there in this habitation
any man learned in the knowledge of iron, any
man able to oppose a dike to this river, to check
this torrent of blood ? "
An aged woman was there, lying under her
blankets, chattering, babbling, within the fur
thest end of the recess of the hearth, an aged
woman with three teeth only, the wisest woman
in all that country. And she arose and drew
nigh unto the door, and made reply, saying:
"There is no man here learned enough to com
prehend the misfortune of the hero, to ease his
pain, to stop the river of the veins, the rainfall
of blood, the torrent of blood out-rolling. Go,
seek thou such a man in some other habitation."
The aged and valiant "Wainamoinen made his
great whip, adorned with pearls, whistle upon the
flanks of his swift steed. Lightning- wise he fol
lowed the long way leading to the highest habita
tion. And he descended at the threshold, and
leaning against a pillar, cried aloud : "Is there
in this habitation any man learned in the knowl
edge of iron, any man able to oppose a dike to
this river, to check this torrent of blood?"
An aged man dwelt within the great fireplace.
His voice roared from the recess of the glowing
160 The Healing of Wainamoinen.
hollow : " We have checked mightier ones, we have
enchained swifter ones, we have overcome greater
dangers, we have broken down loftier obstacles,
even by the Three Words of the Creator, by
the utterance of the Original Words, the holy
words. By them the mouths of rivers, the courses
of lakes, the fury of cataracts, have been over
come. We have separated straits from prom
ontories ; we have conjoined isthmuses with
isthmuses."
.*.
The aged Wainamoinen descended from his
sledge, and entered beneath the old man's roof.
A cup of silver was brought to him, and a cup of
gold ; but these could not contain the least part
of the blood of Wainamoinen, the blood of the
noble god.
The old man roared from the recess of the
hearth, the long-beard cried out : " What man
ner of man art thou ? what hero ? Already have
seven cups, eight great vessels, been filled with
the blood flowing from th} r knee ! Ah ! would I
could utter other magical words, even the great
Words of Blood ! But, alas ! I have forgotten
the origin of Iron."
Then said the aged Wainamoinen : "I know the
origin of Iron ; I know the birth of Steel. There
The Healing of Wainamoinen. 161
were three children whose origin was the same :
Water, which is the eldest ; Iron, which is the
j T oungest ; Fire, to which the middle rank belongs.
And Fire soon displa} r ed its rage ; flames lifted
themselves insolently, and waxed vast with pride.
The fields were consumed, the marshes were
scorched in that great year of sterility, in that
fatal summer which devoured with inextinguish
able fire all creatures of nature. Then did
Iron seek a refuge, a place wherein to hide.". . .
The old man roared from the recess of the
hearth : " Where did Iron hide itself? Where did
it find refuge in that great year of barrenness, in
that fatal summer which devoured all creatures
of nature?"
The aged Wainamoinen, the valiant Waina
moinen, made answer: "Then Iron hid itself;
Iron found a refuge in the extremity of a long
cloud, in the summit of an oak stripped of its
branches, in the budding bosom of a young girl.
. . . There were three virgins, three affianced
maidens, who poured forth upon the ground the
milk of their breasts. The milk of the first was
black; the milk of the second, white; the milk
of the third was ruddy. Of the virgin whose milk
was black, Flexible Iron was born ; of her whose
milk was white, Fragile Iron was born ; of her
11
162 The Healing of Wainamoinen.
with the ruddy milk was born Steel. . . . Then
for two years Iron hid itself in the midst of a
vast marsh, upon the summit of a rock where the
white swans laid their eggs, where the wild duck
hatched out her little ones. And the wolf rushed
through the marsh ; and the bear rushed into the
sterile plain ; and they tore up the earth that con
cealed the Iron. But a god, passing through that
barren place, saw the black sand that the wolf had
torn up, that the bear had trampled beneath his
feet. . . . And that day the Iron was taken out
of the marsh, and purged from the slime of the
earth, and purified by drying from the humidit}^
of the waters."
The old man roared from the recess of the
hearth : " So that was the origin of Iron ? that
was the birth of Steel?"
But the valiant Wainamoinen made answer:
" Nay ! not yet has the origin of Iron been
told. For, without devouring Fire, Iron may not
be born ; without Water, it may not be hardened.
Into the workshop of the great smith it was
borne, into the forge of Ilmarinnen ; and the
mighty craftsman, the Eternal Smith, said unto
it : ' If I place thee within my fire, if I put thee
into the flame of my forge-fire, thou wilt become
arrogant, thou wilt wax strong, thou wilt spread
The Healing of Wainamoinen. . 163
terror about thee, thou wilt slay thy brother,
thou wilt kill the son of thy mother.'. . . Then
the Iron within the forge fires, under the blows
of the hammer, sware this oath : ' I have trees to
rend, hearts of stone to gnaw ; no ! never will I
slay my brother, never will I kill the son of my
mother.'. . . Then did Ilmarinnen soften the Iron
within the heart of the furnace, and shape it upon
the anvil. But ere dipping it into the water, he
tested with his tongue, he tasted with his palate,
the creative juices of Steel, the water that gives
hardness unto Iron. And he cried : ' This water
is powerless to create Steel, to harden Iron. O
Mehilainen, bird of Hiisi ! O Herlihainen, my
bird-friend ! fly hither upon thine agile wings ;
fly over the marshes, over the lands, over the
straits of the ocean ! bring me honey upon thy
feathers ; bear to me upon thy tongue the honey
of seven meadow-stalks, of six flower-pistils, for
the Steel I am going to make, for the Iron I wish
to harden.'. . . But Herlihainen, the evil bird of
Hiisi the Evil, brought the venom of blood, the
black juices of a worm that his lizard-eyes had
seen, the hidden poison of the toad ; and he gave
these to Ilmarinnen for the Steel which was being
prepared, the Iron that was to be tempered. And
suddenly the Iron quivered with rage ; it growled ;
164 The Healing of Wainamoinen.
it moved ; its oath was forgotten ; like a dog it
swallowed its own oath, and it slew its brother, it
murdered the son of its mother. Even now it
plunges into flesh, bites the knees of men, rages
so that blood flows and flows and overflows in
vast torrents."
The old man roared from the recess of the
hearth: "Now I know the origin of Iron, the
fatal destiny of Steel ! " And to his memory
came back the Original Words, the great Words
of Blood ; and he cursed the Iron with magical
curses, and quelled with caressing speech the
panic of the fleeing blood. And the hurt of the
Iron ceased, and the red torrent stayed its flowing.
Then the old man took within his fingers the
extremities of the veins, and counted them, and
uttered the magical prayer :
" All fair is she, the Goddess of Veins,-
Suonetar, the beneficent Goddess of Veins. Mar
vellously doth she spin the veins of men with her
beautiful spindle, with her distaff 1 of brass, with
her spinning-wheel of iron. . . . Come, O Goddess
of Veins ! come unto me ! I invoke thy succor^
I call thy name / . . . Bring hither in thy bosom
a roll of ruddy flesh, a blue skein of veins, that
the wound may be filled, that the ends of the
veins may be tied!" . . .
The Healing of Wainamoinen. 165
And suddenly the hurt of Wainamoinen was
healed : the flesh became firmer than before ; the
severed veins were retied, the severed muscles
rejoined, the broken bones reknit.
*
* *
And man}^ other wonderful things said and
done by the old man within the recess of the
hearth are told of in the Fourth Rune of the
ancient Kalewala.
1 />
J
STORIES OF MOSLEM LANDS.
BOUTIMAR, THE DOVE.
. . . Beyond the seas which are known roar the waters of that
Tenebrous Ocean that is unknown to mortals. There the long
breakers chant an eternal hymn, in tones unlike to the voices of
other seas. And in that ocean there is an island, and in that
island the Fountain of Youth unceasingly bubbles up from the
mystic caverns ; and it was that fountain which King Alexander
the Two-Horned, vainly sought. Only his general, the Prophet
Khader, found it, whereby he became immortal. And of other
mortals Solomon only beheld the waters of that fountain, according
to the Persian legend written in the nine hundredth year of the
Hejira, by the goldsmith, of language, Hossein ben AH, also called
El Vaez u'l Kashifi. And it may be found in the ANVARI
SOHBILI, which are " The Lights of Canopus." . . .
IN the Name of the Most Merciful God ! . . . I
have heard this tradition of Solomon, the unparal
leled among kings, for whom all Genii, and Peris,
and men, and beasts of earth, and birds of air,
and creatures of the deep begirt the loins of their
souls with the girdle of obedience, and whose
170 Boutimar, the Dove.
power was measurable only by the hoofs of the
horse of the Zephyr, " whose morning course is a
month's journey, and whose evening course is also
equal to a month's journey, upon the swiftest of
earthly steeds."
. . . Now, Solomon being once enthroned upon
the summit of the mightiest of mountains, which
yet bears his name, the mountain at once over
looking the plains of Iran and the kingdoms of
India, all the creatures of the universe gath
ered to do him honor. The birds of heaven
formed a living canopy above him, and the spirits
of air ministered unto him. And, as a mist ris
ing from the earth, a perfumed cloud shaped
itself before him ; and from out the cloud reached
a hand, fairer than moonlight, holding a diamond
cup in which a strange water made jewel-glimmer
ings, while a voice sweeter than music spake to
him from out the cloud, saying: "The Creator
of all be His nature forever glorified and His
power forever honored ! hath sent me to thee,
O Solomon, with this cup containing the waters
of youth and of life without end. And He hath
desired thee to choose freely whether thou wilt
or wilt not drink of this draught from the Foun
tain of Youth. Therefore consider well, O Solo
mon ! Wilt thou drink hereof, and live divinely
Boutimar, the Dove. 171
immortal through ages everlasting, or wilt thou
rather remain within the prison of humanity?
... I wait."
Then a deep silence brooded above the place ;
for Solomon dreamed upon these words, while
the perfumed cloud stirred not, and the white
hand motionlessly offered the jewel-cup. And so
dreaming, he said unto his own heart: " Surely
the gold of life is good wherewith to purchase
many things at the great market of the Resur
rection ; the plain of life is a rich soil wherein to
plant the spice-trees of eternal felicity ; and joy
less is the black repose of death. . . . Yet must I
ask counsel of the Genii, and the Peris, and the
wisest of men, and the beasts of earth, and the
birds of air, before I may resolve to drink."
Still the moon- white hand offered the scintillat
ing cup, and the perfumed cloud changed not.
Then the Genii, and the Peris, and the wisest of
men, and the beasts of earth, and the birds of
heaven, all speaking with one voice of agreement,
prayed him that he should drink, inasmuch as the
well-being of the world reposed upon his living
wisdom, and the happiness of all creatures was
sustained by the circle of his life as a jewel held
within the setting of a ring of gold.
So that Solomon indeed put out his hand, and
172 Boutimar, the Dove.
took the cup from the luminous fingers ; and the
fingers withdrew again into the odorous cloud.
Wondrous were the lights within the water ; and
there was a glow of rosiness unbroken all about
the cup, as of the sempiternal dawn in those isl
ands beyond the Ocean of Shadows, where the
sun rises never above the east and there is
neither night nor day. But hesitating yet once
more before he drank, he questioned again the
creatures of the universe, asking: " O ye admin
istering Genii and Peri beings, ye wisest among
wise men, ye creatures also of air and of earth,
say if there be absent from this assembly even
one representative of all over whom I hold
dominion ! "
And they replied: " Master, only Boutimar is
not here, Boutimar the wild dove, most loving
of all living creatures."
Then Solomon sent Hudh-hudh to seek the wild
dove, Hudh-hudh, the bird of gold, created by
the witchcraft of Baucis, Queen of Sheba, the sor
ceress of sorceresses ; and the golden bird brought
back with him Boutimar, the wild dove, most lov
ing of all living creatures. Then it was that Solo
mon repeated the words of the song which he had
written: " O my dove that dwellest in the clifts
of the rock, in the secret hiding-places of the
Boutimar, the Dove. 173
stairs, let me see thy face, let me hear thy voice !
... Is it meet that tlr\ r lord, Solomon, shall drink
of the waters of youth and know the bliss of
earthly immortality ? "
Then the wild dove, speaking in the tongue of
birds known to Solomon only among mortals,
asked the prophet-king, saying : ' ' How shall a
creature of air answer the source of wisdom ? how
may so feeble a mind advise thy supernal intel
ligence ? Yet, if I must counsel, let me ask thee,
O Solomon, whether the Water of Life brought
hither by this perfumed spirit be for thee alone, or
for all with whom thy heart might incline thee to
share it ? "
But Solomon answered : " It hath been sent to
only me, nor is there enough within the cup for
any other."
" prophet of God ! " answered Boutimar, in
the tongue of birds, " how couldst thou desire to
be living alone, when each of thy friends and of
thy counsellors and of thy children and of thy
servants and of all who loved thee were counted
with the dead? For all of these must surely
drink the bitter waters of death, though thou
shouldst drink the "Water of Life. Wherefore
desire everlasting youth, when the face of the
world itself shall be wrinkled with age, and the
174 Boutimar, the Dove.
eyes of the stars shall be closed by the black fin
gers of Azrael? "When the love thou hast sung
of shall have passed away like a smoke of frank
incense, when the dust of the heart that beat
against thine own shall have long been scattered
by the four winds of heaven, when the eyes that
looked for thy coming shall have become a mem
ory, when the voices grateful to thine ear shall
have been eternally stilled, when thy life shall be
one oasis in a universal waste of death, and thine
eternal existence but a recognition of eternal ab
sence, wilt thou indeed care to live, though the
wild dove perish when its mate cometh not ? "
And Solomon, without reply, silently put out
his arm and gave back the cup, so that the white
hand came forth and took it, and withdrew into
the odorous cloud, and the cloud dissolved and
passed away forever. But upon the prophet-
king's rich beard, besprinkled with powder of
gold, there appeared another glitter as of clear
dew, the diamond dew of the heart, which is
tears.
The Son of a Robber. 175
THE SON OF A BOBBER.
. . . A bud from the Hose-garden of the Gulistan, planted in
the six hundred and fifty-sixth year of the Hejira by the Magician
of Speech, the Sheikh Moslih-Eddin Sadi of Shiraz, and arranged
after eight divisions corresponding with the Eight Gates of Para
dise. . . . In the reign of the King of Kings, Abou-Bequer ben
Sad, the Most Magnificent, Viceregent of Solomon, Shadow of
the Most High God upon Earth. . . . In the Name of God the
Most Merciful.
... IN those days there were robbers who
dwelt in the mountain regions of the land, hav
ing fortresses above the eagle's nests, so that
no army might successfully assail them. Their
name weighed as a terror upon the land, and
they closed up the ways of the caravans, and
wasted the valle} r s, and overcame even the king's
troops by their strength and their fierceness,
all being mountain-born and worshippers of de
vouring fire. So the governors of the mountain
provinces held council together, and devised cun
ning plans by which to allure the robbers from
their inaccessible mountain dwelling, so as to
destroy them utterly.
Therefore it came to pass that while the rob
bers were pursuing after a caravan, the bravest
176 The Son of a Bobber.
troops of the king concealed themselves in the
defiles of the^ mountain, and there in silence
awaited the return of the band with many rich
spoils and captives of price for ransom. And
when the robbers returned at night, hard pressed
by that greatest enemy of the wary, whose name
is Sleep, the Persian soldiers set upon them, and
smote them, and bound their arms behind their
backs, and drave them as a herd of wild sheep
into the city. So they were brought into the
presence of the king.
And the king commended the wisdom of the
governors of the provinces, saying: "Had ye
not thus prevailed against them by craft, the
strength of the robbers might have waxed with
each day of immunit}*, until it would have been
beyond our power to destro3" them. The spring
may be closed at its mouth with a small cover
ing ; but when it shall have been swollen to a
river by long flowing, a man may not cross its
current even upon the back of an elephant. . . .
Let each and all of these prisoners be forthwith
put to death as robbers are put to death under
our law."
But among these robbers there was a j-outh
slender and shapely as a 3'oung palm ; and the
fruit of his adolescence was yet unripe, the ver-
The Son of a Bobber. 177
dure of the rose-garden of his cheeks had scarcely
begun to bud. And by reason of the beauty of
the boy, a kindly vizier bowed his white beard be
fore the steps of the throne, and kissed the foot
stool of the king, and prayed him with words
of intercession : " Hear the prayer of a slave,
Master of the "World, Axis of the Circle of Time,
Shadow upon Earth of the Most High God ! . . .
This child hath never eaten of the fruit of life,
never hath he enjoyed the loveliness of the flower
of j-outh. . . . O Master of Kings, thy slave hopes
that in thy universal generosity and boundless
bounty, thou wilt impose upon thy slave a fresh
obligation of gratitude, by sparing the life of
this child.". . .
Kindly was the king's heart, but his mind was
keen also and clear as edge of diamond ; and he
knitted his brows because the discourse seemed
to him unwise, and therefore pleased him not:
"O vizier, dost thou not know that the influ
ence of the good can make no impression upon
the hearts of those whose origin is evil? Hast
thou not heard it said that the willow giveth no
fruit, however fertilizing the rain of heaven?
Shall we extinguish a fire, and leave charcoal
embers alight? shall we destroy only the adult
viper, and spare her young? It is better that
12
ITS The Son of a Robber.
these people be utterly destroyed, root and
branch, race and name.". . .
But the aged vizier, bowing respectfully, again
prayed the king, justly commending the wisdom
of his words, but seeking exceptions and para
bles from the saj-ings of the wise and the tra
ditions of the prophets : ' ' The words of the
Successor of Solomon are wisdom supreme to
thy slave ; and were this boy indeed raised
up by the wicked, he would surely become as
the} r . Yet thy slave believes that were he edu
cated only by the best of men, he might be
come most virtuous. Nor would thy slave spare
aught requisite to adorn the boy's heart and
to make blossom the garden of his mind. . . .
The prophetical tradition saith : There is no
child born of woman that is not naturally born
into Islam, though his father and mother might
afterward make him a Jew, a Christian, or a
Gheber. . . . And even the dog Kitmir, that fol
lowed and guarded the Seven Holy Sleepers of
Mecca, was able to enter Paradise by seizing with
his teeth the hem of their blessed robes.". . .
Then many other ministers and rulers of prov
inces, unwisely bewitched by the beauty of the
bo}*, united themselves with the vizier in potent
intercession. The king's face moved not, and
The Son of a Robber. 179
the shadow remained upon it ; but he answered :
' ' I pardon the boy by reason of the weakness
of your hearts, yet I perceive no advantage
therein. O vizier, bear in mind that the benefi
cent rains of heaven give radiance to the splen
dors of the tulip and strength to the venom of
serpent-plants. Remember well that the vilest
enemy may not be despised, and that the stream
now too shallow for the fish may so swell as to
carry away the camel with his burthen.". . .
But the vizier, weeping with joy, took the boy
home, and clothed him and fed him, and brought
him up as his own sons and as the sons of princes.
Masters he procured for him, to make him learned
in the knowledge of tongues and of graces and
of military accomplishments, in the arts of arch
ery and sword-play and horsemanship, in singing
and in the musical measurement of speech, in
courtesy and truth, above all things, and those
high qualities desirable in the service of the King
of Kings upon earth. So strong and beautiful
he grew up that the gaze of all eyes followed
whithersoever he moved, even as the waves all
turn their heads to look upon the moon ; and
all, save only the king, smiled upon him. But
the king only frowned when he stood before
him, and paid no heed to the compliments ut-
180 The Son of a Robber.
tered concerning the j^oung man. One da} 7 , the
vizier, in the pride of his happiness, said to
the king: "Behold! by the work of thy slave,
the boy hath been reclaimed from the ways
of his fathers ; the fountain of his mind hath
been opened by wise teachers, and the garden of
his heart blossoms with the flowers of virtuous
desire."
But the king only laughed in his beard, and
said: " O vizier, the young of the wolf will al
ways be a wolf, even though he be brought up
with the children of a man."
* *
. . . And when the time of two winters had
dimmed the recollection of the king's words, it
came to pass at last that the young man, riding
out alone, met with a band of mountain robbers,
and felt his heart moved toward them. They,
also, knowing his race by the largeness and fierce
ness of his eyes, and the eagle-curve of his nos
trils, and the signs of the wild blood that made
lightnings in his veins, were attracted to him, and
spake to him in the mountain-tongue of his fa
thers. And all the fierceness of his fathers returned
upon him, with longings for the wind- voices of the
peaks, and the madness of leaping water, and the
sleeping-places above the clouds where the eagles
A Legend of Love. 181
hatched their young, and the secrets of the un
known caverns, and the altar of flickering fire. . . .
So that he made compact with them ; and, treach
erously returning, slew the aged vizier together
with his sons, and robbed the palace, and fled to
the mountains, where he took refuge in his father's
ancient fortress, and became a leader of outlaws.
And they told the tale to the king.
Then the king, wondering not at all, laughed
bitterly and said : " O ye wise fools ! how can a
good sword be wrought from bad iron ? how may
education change the hearts of the wicked ? Doth
not the same rain which nourisheth the rose also
nourish the worthless shrubs that grow in salty
marshes ? How shall a salty waste produce nard ?
Verily, to do good unto the evil is not less blame
worthy than to do evil unto the good."
A LEGEND OF LOVE.
Djemil the AZRA said : " While I live, my heart will love
thee ; and when I shall be no more, still will my Shadow follow
thy Shadow athwart the tombs". . .
THOU hast perchance beheld it, the strong
white city climbing by terraces far up the moun-
182 A Legend of Love.
tain-side, with palms swaying in the blue above
its citadel towers, and the lake- waters damas
cened by winds, reflecting, all-quiveringly, its
Arabian gates and the golden words of the
Prophet shining upon entablatures, and the
mosque-domes rounded like eggs of the Rok,
and the minarets from which the voice of the
muezzin comes to the faithful with dying red
ness of sunset: "0 ye who are about to sleep,
commend your souls to Him who never
sleeps ! "
. . . Therein also dwelt many Christians, may
their bones be ground and the names of them for
ever blotted out ! Yea ; all save one, whose name
I have indeed forgotten. (But our master the
Prophet hath written the name ; and it hath not
been forgotten by Him who never forgets,
though it be the name of a woman !) Now, hard
by the walls of the city there is a place of sepul
chre for good Moslems, in which thou mayst see
two graves, the foot of one being set against
the foot of the other ; and upon one of these
is a monument bearing a turban, while the form
of the tumulary stone upon the other hath only
flowers in relief, and some letters of an obliterated
name, wherefore thou mightst know it to be
the grave of a woman. And there are cypress-
A Legend of Love. 183
trees more ancient than Islam, making darkness
like a summer's night about the place.
*
* *
. . . Slender she was as the tulip upon its stalk,
and in walking her feet seemed kisses pressed
upon the ground. But hadst thou beheld her
face unveiled, and the whiteness of her teeth be
tween her brown lips when she smiled ! . . . He
was likewise in the summer of his youth ; and
his love was like the love of the Beni-Azra told of
by Sahid Ben-Agba. But she being a Christian
maiden and he being a good Mussulman, they could
not converse together save by stealth ; nor could
either dare to let the matter become known unto
the parents of the other. For he could not indeed
make himself one of the infidel whose posterity
may God blot out! neither could she, through
fear of her people, avow the faith of the Prophet !
. . . Only through the lattice of her window could
she betimes converse with him ; and with the love
of each other it came to pass that both fell griev
ously ill. As to the youth, indeed, his sickness
so wrought upon him that his reason departed,
and he long remained as one mad. Then at
last, recovering, he departed to another place,
even to the city of Damascus, not that he
might so forget what he could not wish to
184 A Legend of Love.
forget, but that his strength might return to
him.
Now the parents of the maiden were rich, while
the youth was poor. And when the lovers had
contrived to send letters one unto the other, she
sent to him a hundred dinars, begging him, as
he loved her, that he should seek out an artist
in that city, and have a likeness of himself painted
for her that she might kiss it. "But knowest
thou not, beloved," he wrote, " that it is contrary
unto our creed ; and in the Last Day what wilt
thou say unto God when He shall demand of
thee to give life unto the image thou hast had
wrought?" But she replied : "In the Last Day,
O my beloved, I shall answer, Thou knowest, O
Most Hoty, that Thy creature may not create ; yet
if it be Thy will to animate this image, I will for
ever bless Thy name, though Thou condemn me
for having loved more than mine own soul the
fairest of living images Thou hast made.". . .
.*
But it came to pass in time that, returning,
he fell sick again in the city which I speak of;
and lying down to die, he whispered into the
ear of his friend: "Never again in this world
shall I behold her whom my soul loveth ; and
A Legend of Love. 185
I much fear, if I die a Mussulman, lest I should
not meet her in the other. Therefore I de
sire to abjure my faith, and to become a Chris
tian." And so he died. But we buried him
among the faithful, forasmuch as his mind must
have been much disturbed when he uttered those
words.
And the friend of the youth hastened with all
speed to the place where the }'oung girl dwelt,
she being also at the point of death, so grievous
was the pain of her heart. Then said she to him :
" Never again in this world shall I behold him
that my soul loveth ; and I much fear if I die a
Christian, lest I should not meet him in the other.
Therefore I give testimony that there is no other
God but God, and that Mahomet is the prophet
of God ! "
Then the friend whispered unto her what had
happened, to her great astonishment. But she
only answered: "J3ear me to where he rests;
and bury me with my feet toward his feet, that
Imay rise face to face with him at the Day of
Judgment!"
186 The King's Justice.
THE KING'S JUSTICE.
. . . Praise to the Creator of all, the secret of whose existence is
unknown ; who hath marked all Ills creatures with an imprint'
though there be no visible imprint of Himself; who is the Soul of
the soul ; who is hidden in that which is hidden / . . . Though the
firmament open its myriad million eyes in the darkness, it may
not behold Him. Yet does the Sun nightly bow his face of flame
below the west, in worship ; monthly the Moon faints away in as
tonishment at His greatness. . . . Eternally Hie Ocean lifts its thou
sand waves to proclaim His glory ; Fire seeks to rise to Him ;
Winds whisper of His mystery. . . . And in the balance of His
justice even a sigh hath weight. . . .
IN the first recital of the First Book of the Gu-
listan, treating of the Conduct of Kings, it is said
that a Persian monarch condemned with his own
lips a prisoner of war, and commanded that he be
put to death.
And the prisoner, being still in the force of
youth and the fulness of strength, thought within
his heart of all the da} T s he might otherwise have
lived, of all the beauty he might have caressed,
of all the happiness he might have known, of
all the hopes unbudded that might have ripened
into blossom for him. Thus regretting, and see
ing before him onh r the blind and moonless night
of death, and considering that the fair sun would
The King's Justice. 187
never rise for him again, he cursed the king in
the language of malediction of his own coun
try, loudly and with mad passion. For it is a
proverb : " Whosoever washeth his hands of life,
truly saith all that is within his heart."
Now the king, hearing the vehemence of the
man, but nowise understanding the barbaric tongue
which he spoke, questioned his first vizier, ask
ing, "What saith the dog?"
But the vizier, being a kindly-hearted man, an
swered thus : " O Master, he repeateth the words
of the Holy Book, the words of the Prophet of
God concerning those who repress their anger and
pardon injury, the beloved of Allah."
And the king, hearing and believing these words,
felt his heart moved within him ; the fire of his
anger died out, and the spirit of pity entered into
him, so that he revoked his own command and
forgave the man, and ordered that he should be
set free.
But there was another vizier also with the king,
a malevolent and cunning-eyed man, knowing all
languages, and ever seeking to obtain elevation
by provoking the misfortune of others. This
vizier, assuming therefore an austere face like to
that of a praying dervish, loudly exclaimed : "111
doth it become trusted ministers of a king, men
188 The King's Justice.
of honorable place, such as we are, to utter in the
presence of our master even so much as one syl
lable of untruth. Know, therefore, O Master,
that the first vizier hath untruthfully interpreted
the prisoner's words ; for that wretch uttered no
single pious word, but evil and blasphemous lan
guage concerning thee, cursing his king in the
impotency of his rage."
But the king's brows darkened when he heard
the words ; and turning terrible eyes upon the
second vizier, he said unto him : ' ' More pleasant
to my ears was the lie uttered by my first vizier,
than the truth spoken by thy lips ; for he indeed
uttered a lie with a good and merciful purpose,
whereas thou didst speak the truth for a wicked
and malignant purpose. Better the lie told for
righteous ends than the truth which provoketh
evil ! Neither shall my pardon be revoked ; but
as for thee, let me see thy face no more ! "
TRADITIONS RETOLD FROM THE
TALMUD.
A LEGEND OF RABBA.
Which is in the Gemara of the Berachoth of Babylon. . . . Con
cerning the interpretation of dreams, it hath been said by Rabbi
Benaa : " There were in Jerusalem twenty-four interpreters of
dreams ; and I, having dreamed a dream, did ask the explana
tion thereof from each of the twenty-four ; and, notwithstanding
that each gave me a different interpretation, the words of all were
fulfilled, even in conformity with the saying: 'All dreams are
accomplished according to the interpretation thereof.' ". . . We are
Thine, King of all; Thine also are our dreams. . . .
MIGHTY was the knowledge of the great Rabba,
to whom the mysteries of the Book Yetzirah were
known in such wise, that, being desirous once to
try his brother, Rabbi Zira, he did create out of
dust a living man, and sent the man to Zira with
a message in writing. But inasmuch as the
man had not been born of woman, nor had had
breathed into him God's holy spirit of life, he
could not speak. Therefore, when Rabbi Zira
192 A Legend of Rabba.
had spoken to him and observed that he did not
reply, the Rabbi whispered into his ear: " Thou
wert begotten by witchcraft ; return to thy form
of dust ! " And the man crumbled before his
sight into shapelessness ; and the wind bore the
shapelessness away, as smoke is dissipated by a
breath of storm. But Eabbi Zira marvelled greatly
at the power of the great Rabba.
Not so wise, nevertheless, was Rabba as was
Bar-Hedia in the interpretation of dreams ; and
Bar-Hedia was consulted by the multitudes in
those parts. But he interpreted unto them good
or evil only as they paid him or did not pay him.
According to many Rabbonim, to dream of a well
signifleth peace ; to dream of a camel, the pardon
of iniquities ; to dream of goats, a year of fertil
ity ; to dream of any living creature, save only
the monkey and the elephant, is good ; and these
also are good if they appear harnessed or bound.
But Bar-Hedia interpreted such good omens in
the contrary wa} T , unless well paid by the dreamer ;
and it was thought passing strange that the evils
which he predicted never failed of accomplish
ment.
*
* *
Now one day the Rabbonim Abayi and Rabba
went to consult Bar-Hedia the interpreter, seeing
A Legend of Rabba. 193
that they had both dreamed the same dream.
Abayi paid him one zouz, but Rabba paid him
nothing.
And they asked Bar-Hedia, both together say
ing: "Interpret unto us this dream which we
have dreamed. Sleeping, it seemed to us that we
beheld a scroll unrolled under a great light, and
we did both read therein these words, which are
in the fifth book of Moses: " Thine ox shall
be slain before thine eyes, and thou shalt not eat
thereof. . . . Thy sons and thy daughters shall
be given unto another people. . . . Thou shalt
carry much seed out into the field, and shalt
gather but little in." . . .
Then Bar-Hedia, the interpreter, said to Abayi
who had paid him one zouz : "For thee this
dream bodeth good. The verse concerning the
ox signifies thou wilt prosper so wondrously that
for very joy thou shalt be unable to eat. Thy
sons and daughters shall be married in other
lands, so that thou wilt be separated from them
without grief, knowing them to be virtuous and
content.
" But for thee, Rabba, who didst pay me noth
ing, this dream portendeth evil. Thou shalt be
afflicted in such wise that for grief thou canst not
eat ; thy daughters and sons shall be led into cap-
18
194 A Legend of Rabba.
tivity. Abayi shall carry out much seed into the
field; but the second part of the verse, Thou
shalt gather but little, refers to thee."
Then they asked him again, saying: "But in
our dream we also read these verses, thus dis
posed: Thou shalt have olive trees, and thou
shalt not anoint thyself with oil. . . . All the peo
ple of the earth shall see that thou art called by
the name of the Lord, and they shall be afraid
of thee."
Then said Bar-Hedia : " For thee, Rabbi Abayi,
the words signify that thou shalt be prosperous
and much honored ; but for thee, Rabba, who
didst pay me nothing, they portend evil only.
Thou shalt have no profit in thy labor ; thou
shalt be falsely accused, and by reason of the
accusation, avoided as one guilty of crime."
Still Rabba, speaking now for himself alone,
continued: "But I dreamed also that I beheld
the exterior door of my dwelling fall down, and
that my teeth fell out of my mouth. And I
dreamed that I saw two doves fly away, and two
radishes growing at my feet."
Again Bar-Hedia answered, saying : " For thee,
Rabba, who didst pay me nothing, these things
signify evil. The falling of thine outer door au
gurs the death of thy wife ; the loss of thy teeth
A Legend of Rabba. 195
signifies that thy sons and daughters shall like
wise die in their youth. The flight of the doves
means that thou shalt be divorced from two other
wives, and the two radishes of thy dream fore
tell that thou wilt receive two blows which thou
mayest not return."
And all things thus foretold lay Bar-Hedia came
to pass. So that Rabba's wife died, and that he
was arrested upon suspicion of having robbed the
treasury of the king, and that the people shunned
him as one guilty. Also while seeking to sepa
rate two men fighting, who were blind, thcj r struck
him twice unknowingly, so that he could not re
sent it. And misfortunes came to Rabba even as
to Job ; yet he could resign himself to all save
only the death of his young wife, the daughter of
Eabbi Hisda. .
*
* *
At last Rabba paid a great sum to Bar-Hedia,
and told him of divers awful dreams which he had
had. This time Bar-Hedia predicted happiness
for him, and riches, and honors, all of which came
to pass according to the words of the interpreter,
whereat Rabba marvelled exceedingly.
Now it happened while Rabba and Bar-Hedia
were voyaging one day together, that Bar-Hedia
let fall his magical book, by whose aid he uttered
196 A Legend of Rabba.
all his interpretations of dreams ; and Rabba,
hastily picking it up, perceived these words in
the beginning : All dreams shall be fulfilled ac
cording to the interpretation of the interpreter.
So that Rabba, discovering the wicked witchcraft
of the man, cursed him, sajdng : "_Rca/ for all
else could I forgive thee, save for the death of my
beloved wife, the daughter of Rabbi Hisda ! O
thou impious magician ! take thou my maledic
tion ! " . . .
Thereupon Bar-Hedia, terrified, went into vol
untary exile among the Romans, vainly hoping
thus to expiate his sin, and flee from the consum
ing power of Rabba's malediction.
*
* *
Thus coming to Rome, he interpreted dreams
daily before the gate of the king's treasury ; and
he did much evil, as he was wont to do before.
One day the king's treasurer came to him, saying :
" I dreamed a dream in which it seemed to me
that a needle had entered my finger. Interpret
me this dream."
But Bar-Hedia said only, " Give me a zouz ! "
And because he would not give it, Bar-Hedia told
him nothing.
And another day the treasurer came, saying :
" I dreamed a dream in which it seemed that
A Legend of Rabba. 197
worms devoured two of my fingers. Interpret
me this dream."
But Bar-Hedia said only, " Give me a zouz ! '"
And because he would not give it, Bar-Hedia told
him nothing.
Yet the third time the treasurer came, saying :
" I dreamed a dream in which it seemed to me that
worms devoured my whole right hand. Interpret
me this dream."
Then Bar-Hedia mocked him, saying: "Go,
look thou at the king's stores of silk intrusted to
thy keeping ; for worms have by this time de
stroyed them utterly.". . . And it was even as
Bar-Hedia said.
Thereupon the king waxed wroth, and ordered
the decapitation of the treasurer. But he, pro
testing, said: "Wherefore slay only me, since
the Jew that was first aware of the presence of
the worms, said nothing concerning it?"
So they brought in Bar-Hedia, and questioned
him. But he mocked the treasurer, and said :
' ' It was because thou wast too avaricious to
pay me one zouz that the king's silk hath been
destroyed."
Whereupon the Romans, being filled with fury,
bent down the tops of two young cedar trees,
one toward the other, and fastened them so
198 The Mockers.
with a rope. And they bound Bar-Hedia's right
leg to one tree-top, and his left leg to the other ;
and thereafter severed the rope suddenly with a
sword. And the two cedars, as suddenly leaping
back to their natural positions, tore asunder the
body of Bar-Hedia into equal parts, so that his
entrails were spilled out, and even his skull,
splitting into halves, emptied of its brain.
For the malediction of the great Rabba was
upon him.
THE MOCKERS.
. . . A tradition of Rabbi Simon ben Yochai, which is preserved
within the Treatise Sheviith of the TALMUD YERUSHALMI. . . .
Is it not said in the Sanhedrin that there are four classes who do
not enter into the presence of the Holy One ? blessed be He !
and among these four are scorners reckoned. . . .
CONCERNING Rabbi Simon ben Yochai many
marvellous things are narrated, both in that Tal
mud which is of Babylon and in that which is of
Jerusalem. And of these things none are more
wonderful than the tradition regarding the fashion
after which he was wont to rebuke the impudence
of mockers.
It was this same Rabbi Simon ben Yochai, who
The Mockers. 199
was persecuted by the Romans, because he had
made little of their mighty works, saying that
they had constructed roads only to move their
wicked armies more rapidly, that they had builded
bridges only to collect tolls, that they had erected
aqueducts and baths for their own pleasure only,
and had established markets for no other end than
the sustenance of iniquity. For these words Rabb
Simon was condemned to die ; wherefore he, to
gether with his holy son, fled away, and they hid
themselves in a cave. Therein they dwelt for
twelve long years, so that their garments would
have crumbled into dust had they not laid them
aside saving only at the time of prayer ; and the} 71
buried themselves up to their necks in the sand
during their hours of slumber and of meditation.
But within the cave the Lord created for them a
heavenly carob-tree, which daily bore fruit for
their nourishment ; and the Holy One blessed
be He ! also created unending summer within
the cave, lest they should be afflicted by cold.
So they remained until the Prophet Elijah de
scended from heaven to tell them that the Em
peror of the Romans had died the death of the
idolatrous, and that there remained for them no
peril in the world. But during those many years
of meditation, the holiness of the Rabbi and of
200 The Mockers.
his son had become as the holiness of those who
stand with faces wing- veiled about the throne of
God ; and the world had become unfitted for their
sojourn. Coming forth from the cave, therefore,
a fierce anger filled them at the sight of men
ploughing and reaping in the fields ; and they
cried out against them, saying : " Lo ! these peo
ple think only of the things of earth, and neglect
the things of eternitj'."
Then were the lands and the people toiling
thereupon utterly consumed by the fire of their
eyes, even as Sodom and Gomorrah were blasted
from the face of the earth. But the Bath-Kol
the Voice of the Hoi}' One rebuked them from
heaven, saying : " What ! have ye come forth only
to destroy this world which I have made ? Get
ye back within the cavern ! " And they returned
into the cave for another twelve months, mak
ing in all thirteen years of sojourn therein, until
the Bath-Kol spake again, and uttered their par
don, and bade them return into the world. All
of which is written in the Treatise Shabbath of
Seder Moed of the Talmud Babli.
*
* #
Now in the Talmud Yerushalmi we are told
that after Rabbi Simon ben Yochai had departed
from the cave, he resolved to purify all the land
The Mockers. 201
of Tiberias. For while within the cave, his body
had become sore smitten with ulcers, and the
waters of Tiberias had healed them. Even as he
had found purification in Tiberias, so also, he
declared, should Tiberias find in him purification.
And these things he said within the hearing of
mockers, who feared his eyes, yet who among
themselves laughed him to scorn.
But Eabbi Simon sat down before the city of
Tiberias, and he took lupines, and cut up the
lupines into atoms, and uttered over them words
whereof no living man save himself knew the in
terpretation. (For the meaning of such words is
seldom known by men, seeing that but few are
known even by the Angels and the Demons.)
Having done these things, the Rabbi arose and
walked over the land, scattering the lupines about
him as a sower scatters seed. And wherever the
lupines fell, the bones of the dead arose from be
low and came to the surface of the ground, so
that the people could take them away and bury
them in a 'proper place. Thus was the ground
purified, not only of the bones of the idolaters
and the giants who erst dwelt in the place of
promise, but likewise of the bones of all animals
and living beings which had there died since tho
coming of Israel.
202 The Mockers.
Now there was a certain wicked doubter, a
Samaritan, who, desiring to bring confusion to
Eabbi Simon ben Yochai, secretly buried an un
clean corpse in a place already purified. And
the Samaritan came cunningly to Rabbi Simon,
saying: " Methought thou didst purify such a
spot in my field ; yet is there an unclean body
there, the body of a man. Surely thy wisdom
hath failed thee, or ma3*hap thy magic hath some
defect in it ? Come thou with me ! " So he took
with him Rabbi Simon, and dug up the ground,
and showed to him the unclean corpse, and laughed
in his beard.
But Rabbi Simon, knowing by divine inspira
tion what had been done, fixed his eyes upon the
wicked face of the man, and said : " Verily, such
a one as thou deserveth not to dwell among the
living, but rather to exchange places with the
dead ! " And no sooner had the words been ut
tered than the booty of the dead man arose, and
his flesh became pure, and the life returned to his
eyes and his heart ; while the wicked Samaritan
became a filthy corpse, so that the worms came
from his nostrils and his ears.
Yet, as he went upon his waj*, Rabbi Simon
passed an inhabited tower without the city ; and
a voice from the upper chamber of the tower
Esthers Choice. 203
mocked him, crying aloud : " Hither comcth that
Bar-Yochai, who thinketh himself able to purify
Tiberias ! " Now the mocker was himself a most
learned man.
" I swear unto thee," answered Rabbi Simon,
" I swear unto thee that Tiberias shall be made
pure in spite of such as thou, and their mock-
ings."
And even as the holy Rabbi spoke, the mocker
who stood within the chamber of the tower utterly
crumbled into a heap of bones ; and from the
bones a writhing smoke ascended, the smoke
of the wrath of the Lord, as it is written:
anger of the Lord shall smoke!". . .
ESTHER'S CHOICE.
A story of Rabbi Simon ben Ybchai, which is related in the
holy Midrash Shir-Hasirim of the holy Midrashim. . . . Hear,
Israel, the Lord our God is ONE / . . .
IN those days there lived in Sidon, the mighty
city, a certain holy Israelite possessing much
wealth, and having the esteem of all who knew
him, even among the Gentiles. In all Sidon there
was no man who had so beautiful a wife ; for the
204 Esther's Choice.
comeliness of her seemed like that of Sarah, whose
loveliness illumined all the land of Egypt.
Yet for this rich one there was no happiness :
the cry of the nursling had never been heard in
his home, the sound of a child's voice had never
made sunshine within his heart. And he heard
voices of reproach betimes, saying : " Do not the
Eabbis teach that if a man have lived ten years
with his wife and have no issue, then he should
divorce her, giving her the marriage portion pre
scribed by law ; for he may not have been found
worthy to have his race perpetuated by her ? " . . .
But there were others who spake reproach of
the wife, believing that her beauty had made her
proud, and that her reproach was but the punish
ment of vainglory.
And at last, one morning, Rabbi Simon ben
Yochai was aware of two visitors within the ante
chamber of his dwelling, the richest merchant of
Sidon and his wife, greeting the holy man with
Salem aleikoum! The Rabbi looked not upon
the woman's face, for to gaze even upon the heel
of a woman is forbidden to holy men ; yet he felt
the sweetness of her presence pervading all the
house like the incense of the flowers woven by
the hands of the Angel of Prayer. And the Rabbi
knew that she was weeping.
Esther's Choice. 205
Then the husband arose and spake : " Lo ! it is
now more than a time of ten years since I was
wedded to Esther, I being then twenty years of
age, and desirous to obey the teaching that he
who remaineth unmarried after twent} 7 transgres-
seth daily against God. Esther, thou knowest,
O Rabbi, was the sweetest maiden in Sidon ; and
to me she hath ever been a most loving and sweet
wife, so that I could find no fault with her;
neither is there an} r guile in her heart.
" I have since then become a rich Israelite ; the
men of Tyre know me, and the merchants of Car
thage swear by my name. I have many ships,
bearing me ivoiy and gold of Ophir and jewels of
great worth from the East; I have vases of onyx
and cups of emeralds curiously wrought, and
chariots and horses, even so that no prince
hath more than I. And this I owe to the bless
ing of the Holy One, blessed be He ! and to
Esther, my wife, also, who is a wise and valiant
woman, and cunning in advising.
" Yet, O Rabbi, gladly would I have given all
my riches that I might obtain one son ! that I might
be known as a father in Israel. The Holy One
blessed be He ! hath not vouchsafed me this
thing ; so that I have thought me found unworthy
to have children by so fair and good a woman.
206 Esthers Choice.
I pray thee, therefore, that thou wilt give legal
enactment to a bill of separation ; for I have re
solved to giye Esther a bill of divorcement, and a
goodly marriage portion also, that the reproach
may so depart from us in the sight of Israel."
*
And Rabbi Simon ben Yochai stroked thought
fully the dim silver of his beard. A silence as
of the Shechinah fell upon the three. Faintly,
from afar, came floating to their ears the sea-
like murmuring of Sidon's commerce. . . . Then
spake the Rabbi ; and Esther, looking at him,
thought that his eyes smiled, although this holy
man was never seen to smile with his lips. Yet
it may be that his eyes smiled, seeing into their
hearts : " My son, it would be a scandal in Israel
to do as thou dost purpose, hastily and without
becoming announcement ; for men might imagine
that Esther had not been a good wife, or thou a
too exacting husband! It is not lawful to give
cause for scorn. Therefore go to thy home, make
ready a goodly feast, and invite thither all thy
friends and the friends of thy wife, and those
who were present at thy wedding, and speak to
them as a good man to good men, and let them
understand wherefore thou dost this thing, and
that in Esther there is no fault. Then return
Esther's Choice. 207
to me on the morrow, and I will grant thee the
bill."
*
* *
So a great feast was given, and many guests
came ; among them, all who had attended the wed
ding of Esther, save, indeed, such as Azrael had
led away by the hand. There was much good
wine ; the meats smoked upon platters of gold,
and cups of onyx were placed at the elbow of each
guest. And the husband spake lovingly to his
wife in the presence of all, fea} T ing: " Esther, we
have lived together lovingly many years ; and if
we must now separate, thou knowest it is not be
cause I do not love thee, but only because it hath
not pleased the Most Holy to bless us with chil
dren. And in token that I love thee and wish
thee all good, know that I desire thee to take
away from my house whatever thou desirest,
whether it be gold or jewels beyond price."
*
* *
So the wine went round, and the night passed
in mirth and song, until the heads of the guests
grew strangely heav}^, and there came a buzzing
in their eai-s as of innumerable bees, and their
beards ceased to wag with laughter, and a deep
sleep fell upon them.
Then Esther summoned her handmaids, and
208 Esthers Choice.
said to them : ' Behold m} T husband sleeps heav
ily ! I go to the house of my father ; bear him
thither also as he sleepeth."
*
* *
And awaking in the morning the husband
found himself in a strange chamber and in a
strange house. But the sweetness of a woman's
presence, and the ivory fingers that caressed his
beard, and the softness of the knees that pillowed
his head, and the glory of the dark eyes that
looked into his own Awakening, these were not
strange ; for he knew that his head was resting
in the lap of Esther. And bewildered with the
grief-born dreams of the night, he cried out,
"Woman, what hast thou done?"
Then, sweeter than the voice of doves among
the fig-trees, came the voice of Esther: "Didst
thou not bid me, husband, that I should choose
and take away from thy house whatsoever I most
desired ? And I have chosen thee, and have brought
thee hither, to my father's home, . . . loving thee
more than all else in the world. Wilt thou drive
me from thee now ? " And he could not see her
face for tears of love ; }-et he heard her voice
speaking on, speaking the golden words of
Ruth, which are so old yet so young to the hearts
of all that love : " Whithersoever thou shalt go,l
Esther's Clioice. 209
will also go ; and whithersoever thou shalt dwell,
I also will dwell. And the Angel of Death only
may part us ; for thou art all in all to me.". . .
And in the golden sunlight at the doorway
suddenly stood, like a statue of Babylonian sil
ver, the grand gray figure of Rabbi Simon ben
Yochai, lifting his hands in benediction.
" Schmah Israel! the Lord our God, who
is One, bless ye with everlasting benediction !
May your hearts be welded by love, as gold with
gold by the cunning of goldsmiths ! May the
Lord, who coupleth and setteth the single in
families, watch over ye ! The Lord make this
valiant woman even as Rachel and as Lia, who
built up the house of Israel ! And ye shall be
hold your children and your children's children
in the House of the Lord ! "
Even so the Lord blessed them ; and Esther
became as the fruitful vine, and they saw their
children's children in Israel. Forasmuch as it
is written : ' ' He will regard the prayer of the
destitute."
14
210 The Dispute in the Halacha.
THE DISPUTE IN THE HALACHA.
. . . Told of in the Book BAVA-METZIA ; or, "The Middle Gate "
of the Holy Shas. . . . The Lord loveth the gates that are marked
with the Halacha more than the synagogues and the schools.
Now, in those days there was a dispute be
tween the Mishnic Doctors and Rabbi Eliezer
concerning the legal cleanliness of a certain
bake-oven, as is written in the Bava-Metzia of
the Talmud. For while all the others held the
oven to be unclean according to the Halacha,
Rabbi Eliezer declared that it was clean ; and
all their arguments he overthrew, and all their
objections he confuted, although they would not
suffer themselves to be convinced. Then did
Rabbi Eliezer at last summon a carob-tree to
bear witness to his interpretation of the law ; and
the carob-tree uprooted itself, and rose in air with
the clay trickling from its roots, and moved
through air to the distance of four hundred yards,
and replanted itself, trembling, in the soil.
But the Doctors of the Mishna, being used to
marvellous things, were little moved ; and they
said: "We may not admit the testimony of a
carob-tree. Shall a carob-tree discourse to us
The Dispute in the Halacha. 211
regarding the Halacha ? Will a carob-tree teach
us the law ? "
Then said Rabbi Eliezer to the brook that mut
tered its unceasing pra} T er without: "Bear me
witness, O thou running water ! " And the rivu
let changed the course of its current ; its waters
receded, and, flowing back to their fountain-head,
left naked the pebbles of their bed to dry under
the sun.
But the Disciples of the Sages still held to their
first opinion, saying : "Shall a brook prattle to
us of law ? Shall we heai-ken to the voice of run
ning water rather than to the voice of the Holy
One blessed be He ! and of His servant
Moses?"
Then Rabbi Eliezer, lifting his eyes toward the
walls above, bearing holy words written upon
them, cried out: "Yet bear me witness also,
ye consecrated walls, that I have decided aright
in this matter ! " And the walls quivered, bent
inward, curved like a bellying sail in the moment
of a changing wind, impended above the hands of
ihe Rabbis, and would have fallen had not Rabbi
Joshuah rebuked them, saying: "What is it to
you if the Rabbis do wrangle in the Halacha?
Would 3'e crush us? Be ye still ! " So the walls,
obeying Rabbi Joshuah, would not fall ; but
212 The Dispute in the Halacha.
neither would they return to their former place,
forasmuch as they obeyed Rabbi Eliezer also,
so that they remain toppling even unto this clay.
Then, seeing that their hearts were hardened
against him even more than the stones of the
building, Rabbi Eliezer cried out: "Let the Bath-
Kol decide between us!" Whereupon the college
shook to its foundation ; and a Voice from heaven
answered, saj'ing: "What have ye to do with
Rabbi Eliezer? for in all things the Halacha is
even according to his decision ! "
But Rabbi Joshuah stood upon his feet fearlessly
in the midst, and said : " It is not lawful that even
a Voice from heaven should be regarded by us.
For Thou, O God, didst long ago write down in
the law which Thou gavest upon Sinai, saying,
' Thou shalt follow the multitude.' " And they
would not hearken unto Rabbi Eliezer ; but they
did excommunicate him, and did commit all his
decisions regarding the law to be consumed with
fire.
[Now some have it that Rabbi Nathan testified
that the Prophet Elijah declared unto him that
God Himself was deceived in this matter, and ac
knowledged error in His decision, saying: " Mj r
children have vanquished me ! my children have
prevailed against me ! " But as we also know
The Dispute in the Halacha. 213
that in punishment for the excommunication of
Rabbi Eliezer a third portion of all the barley
and of the olives and of the wheat in the whole
world was smitten with blight, we may well be
lieve that Rabbi Eliezer was not in error.]
*
* *
Now, while yet under sentence of excommuni
cation, Rabbi Eliezer fell grievously ill ; and the
Rabbonim knew nothing of it. Yet such was his
learning, that Rabbi Akiva and all the disciples
of the latter came unto him to seek instruction.
. . . Then Rabbi Eliezer, rising upon his elbow,
asked them, "Wherefore came ye hither? "
" We came that we might learn the Halacha,"
answered Akiva.
' ' But wherefore came ye not sooner ? "
And they answered, "Because we had not
time."
Then Rabbi Eliezer, feeling wroth at the reply,
said to them also: "Verily, if ye die a natural
death, I shall marvel greatly. And as for thee,
Akiva, thy death shall be the worst of all ! It is
well for thee that I do not give thee my maledic
tion, seeing thou hast dared to say that one may
not have time to learn the law ! "
And Rabbi Eliezer, folding his arms upon his
breast to die, continued : " Woe ! woe is me !
214 The Dispute in the Halacha.
woe unto these two arms of mine, that they are
now even as two scrolls of the law rolled up,
whereof the contents are hidden ! Had ye waited
upon me before, } : e might have learned many
strange things ; and now my knowledge must
perish with me ! Much have I learned, and much
have I taught, yet alwa} T s without diminishing the
knowledge of my Rabbis by even so much as
the waters of the ocean might be diminished by
the lapping of a dog ! ". . .
And he continued to speak to them: "Now,
over and above all those things, I did expound
three thousand Halachoth in regard to the grow
ing of Egyptian cucumbers ; and yet none save
only Rabbi Akiva ben Joseph ever asked me so
much as one question regarding them ! . . . We
were walking on the road between the fields, when
he asked me to instruct him regarding Egyptian
cucumbers. Then I uttered but one word ; and,
behold ! the fields forthwith became full of Egyp
tian cucumbers. He asked me concerning the
gathering of them. I uttered but one word ; and,
lo ! all the cucumbers did gather themselves into
one place before me.". . .
And even as Rabbi Eliezer was thus speaking,
his soul departed from him ; and Rabbi Akiva
with all his disciples mourned bitterly for him
The Dispute in the Halacha. 215
and for themselves, seeing they had indeed come
too late to learn the law.
*
* *
But the prediction of Rabbi Eliezer was ful
filled. . . . For it came to pass, when Rabbi
Akiva had become a most holy man, and mar
vellously learned, that the Romans forbade the
teaching of the law in Israel ; and Rabbi Akiva
persisted in teaching it publicly to the people,
saying : " If we suffer so much by the will of the
Hoi}- One blessed be He ! while studying the
law, how much indeed shall we suffer while neg
lecting it ! "
So they led him out to execution, and tortured
him with tortures unspeakable. Now it was just
at that hour when the pra} r er must be said :
"Hear, Israel! the Lord our God is One"
And even while they were tearing his flesh with
combs of iron, Rabbi Akiva uttered the holy words
and died. And there came a mighty Voice from
heaven, crying: "Blessed art thou, O Rabbi
Akiva, for thy soul and the word ONE left thy
body together ! "
216 Rabbi Yochanan ben Zachai.
RABBI YOCHANAN BEN ZACHAI.
There is in Heaven a certain living creature which hath letters
upon its forehead. And by day t/iese letters, which are brighter
than the sun, form the word TRUTH, -whereby the angels know
that it is day. But when evening cometh, the letters, self-changing,
do shape themselves into the word FAITH, whereby the angels
know that the night cometh. . . .
Now Hillel the Great, who gathered together
the Sedarim of the Talmud, and who was also the
teacher of that Jesus the Gentiles worship, had
eighty other disciples who became holy men. Of
these, thirty were indeed so holy that the She-
chinah rested upon them even as upon Moses, so
that their faces gave out light ; and rays like
beams of the sun streamed from their temples.
And of thirty others it is said their holiness was
as the holiness of Joshua, the son of Nun, being
worthy that the sun should stand still at their
behest. And the remaining twenty, of whom the
greatest was Rabbi Jonathan ben Uzziel, and the
least of all Rabbi Yochanan ben Zachai, were
held to be only of middling worth. Yet there is
now not one worthy to compare with the least of
them, seeing that Rabbi Yochanan was holier
than living man to-day.
Rabbi Yochanan ben Zachai. 217
For, humble as he was, Rabbi Yochanan ben
Zachai was deeply learned in the Scriptures, in
the Mishna and the Gemara and the Midrashim,
in the Kabbalah, the rules of Gematria, of
Notricon, and of Temurah, in the five mystic
alphabets, Atbash, Atbach, Albam, Aiakbechar,
Tashrak, in legends and the lesser laws and
the niceties, in the theories of the moon, in the
language of angels and the whispering of palm-
trees and the speech of demons. And if all the
seas were ink, and all the reeds that shake by
rivers were pens, and all the men of the earth
were scribes, never could they write down all that
Rabbi Yochanan ben Zachai had learned, nor
even so much of it as he taught in his lifetime,
which endured for the period of one hundred and
twenty years. Yet he was the least of all the
disciples of Hillel.
Of the years of his life the first forty he devoted
to worldly things, especially to commerce, that he
might earn enough to enable him to devote unto
good works the remainder of the time allotted
him. And the next forty years he devoted to
study, becoming so learned that he was indeed
accused of being a magician, as were also those
Rabbis who, by combination of the letters of the
Name Ineffable, did create living animals and
218 Rabbi Yochanan ben Zachai.
fruits, as were also Rav Oshayah and Rav
Chaneanah, who by study of the Book Yetzirah
(which is the Book of Creation) did create for
themselves a calf, and did eat thereof.
And the last forty years of his most holy life
Rabbi Yochanan gave to teaching the people.
*
* *
Now, as it is related in the Book Bava Bathra,
in Seder Nezikin of the Talmud, Rabbi Yochanan
ben Zachai did upon one occasion explain before
a vain disciple the words of the Prophet Isaiah.
And so explaining he said : ' ' The Most Holy
blessed be His name forever ! shall take precious
stones and pearls, each measuring thidy cubits
by thirty cubits, and shall cut and polish them till
they measure twenty cubits by ten cubits each,
and shall set them in the gates of Jerusalem."
Then the vain and foolish disciple, the son of
Impudence, laughed loudly, and with mockery in
his voice said : ' ' What man hath ever seen an
emerald or a diamond, a ruby or a pearl, even so
large as the egg of a small bird? and wilt thou
indeed tell us that there be jewels thirty cubits
by thirty?" But Rabbi Yochanan returned no
answer ; and the disciple, mocking, departed.
Now, some days after these things happened,
that wicked disciple went upon a voyage ; for he
Rabbi Yochanan ben Zachai. 219
was in commerce and a great driver of bargains,
and known in many countries for his skill in bar
tering and his ability in finding objects of price.
Now, while in his vessel, when the sailors slum
bered, waiting to raise the anchor at dawn, it was
given to that wicked disciple to see a great light
below the waters. And looking down he saw
mighty angels in the depths of the sea, quarrying
monstrous diamonds and emeralds, and opening
prodigious shells to obtain enormous pearls. And
the eyes of the angels were fixed upon him, even
as they worked below the water in that awful
light. Then a dreadful fear came upon him, so
that his knees smote one against another, and his
teeth fell out ; and in obedience to a power that
moved his tongue against his will, he cried aloud :
" For what are those diamonds and those mighty
emeralds ? For what are those monstrous pearls ? "
And a Voice answered him from the deep, " For
the gates of Jerusalem ! "
And having returned from his voyage, the dis
ciple hastened with all speed to the place where
Rabbi Yochanan ben Zachai was teaching, and
told him that which he had seen, and vowed that
the words of Rabbi Yochanan should nevermore
be doubted by him.
But the Rabbi, seeing into his heart, and be-
220 A Tradition of Titus.
holding the blackness of the wickedness within it,
answered in a voice of thunder : ' ' Raca ! hadst
thou not seen them, thou wouldst even now mock
the words of the sages ! " And with a single
glance of his eye he consumed that wicked dis
ciple as a dry leaf is consumed by flame, reducing
the carcass of his body to a heap of smoking
ashes as though it had been smitten by the light
ning of the Lord.
And the people marvelled exceeding!}'. But
Rabbi Yochanan ben Zachai, paying no heed to
the white ashes smoking at his feet, continued to
explain unto his disciples the language of palm-
trees and of demons.
A TRADITION OF TITUS.
. . . Which is in the Book GITTIN of the Talmud. . . . Before
Titus the world was like unto the eyeball of man ; the ocean be
ing as the white, the world as the black, the pupil thereof Jeru
salem, and the image within the pvpil the Temple of the Lord. . . .
VERILY hath it been said, in Chullin of the Hol} T
Shas, that " sixty iron mines are suspended in
the sting of a gnat."
A Tradition of Titus. 221
For in those days Titus may his ears be made
into sockets for the hinges of Gehenna to turn
upon ! came from Rome with his idolaters, and
laid siege to the Holy City, and destroyed it, and
bore away the virgins into captivity. He who
had not beheld Jerusalem before that day had not
seen the glory of Israel.
There were three hundred and ninety- four syna
gogues, and three hundred and ninety-four courts
of law, and the same number of academies for the
youth. . . . When the gates of the temple were
opened, the roar of their golden hinges was heard
at the distance of eight Sabbath days' journey. . . .
The Veil of the Holy of Holies was woven by
eighty-two myriads of virgins ; three hundred
priests were needed to draw it, and three hun
dred to lave it when soiled. But Titus be his
name accursed forever ! wrapped up the sacred
vessels in it, and, putting them in a ship, set sail
for the city of Rome. . . .
Scarcely had he departed beyond sight of the
land when a great storm arose, the deeps made
visible their darkness, the waves showed their
teeth ! And an exceeding great fear came upon
the mariners, and they cried out, "It is the
Elohim ! "
But Titus, mocking, lifted his voice against
222 A Tradition of Titus.
Heaven, and the thunders, and the lightnings,
and the mutterings of the sea, exclaiming : " Lo !
this God of Jews hath no power save on water !
Pharaoh He drowned ; Sisera He drowned also ;
even now He seeketh to drown me with my le
gions ! If He be mighty, and not afraid to strive
with me on land, let Him rather await me on
solid earth, and there see whether He be strong
enough to prevail against me." (Now Sisera,
indeed, was not drowned ; but Titus, being igno
rant and an idolater, spake falsely.)
Then burst forth a splendor of white fire from
the darkness of the clouds ; and deeper than the
thunder a Voice answered unto him: "O thou
wicked one, son of a wicked man and grandson
of Esau the wicked, go thou ashore ! Lo ! I
have a creature awaiting thee, which is but little
and insignificant in my world ; go thou and fight
with it ! "
And the tempest ceased.
So Titus and his legions landed after many
days upon the shore of the land called Italy,
the shore that vibrated forever to the sound of
the mighty city of Rome, whereof the Voice was
heard unto the four ends of the earth, and the din
whereof deafened Rabbi Yehoshuah even at the
distance of a hundred and twenty miles. For in
A Tradition of Titus. 223
Rome there were three hundred and sixty-five
streets, and in each street three hundred and
sixty- five palaces, and leading up to the pillared
portico of each palace a marble flight of three
hundred and sixty-five steps.
But no sooner had the Emperor Titus placed
his foot upon the shore than there attacked him
a gnat ! And the gnat flew up his nostrils, and
entered into his wicked brain, and gnawed it, and
tortured him with unspeakable torture. And he
could obtain no cessation of his anguish ; neither
was there any physician in Rome who could do
aught to relieve him. So the gnat abode in his
brain for seven years, and the face of Titus became,
for everlasting pain, as the face of a man in hell.
*
* *
Now, after Titus had vainly sacrificed unto all
the obscene gods of the Romans, it came to pass
that he heard one day, within a blacksmith's shop,
the sound of the hammer descending upon the
anvil ; and the sound was grateful to his ears as
the harping of David unto the hearing of Saul,
and the anguish presently departed from him.
Then, thinking unto himself, he exclaimed, " Lo !
I have found relief ; " and having offered sacri
fices unto the Smith-god, he ordered the smith to
be brought to his palace, together with anvils
224 A Tradition of Titus.
and hammers. And he paid the smith four zou-
zim a day as money is reckoned in Israel to
hammer for him.
But the smith could not hammer unceasingly ;
and whenever he stopped the pain returned, and
the gnat tormented exceeding^. So other smiths
were sent for ; and at last a Jewish smith, who
was a slave. To him Titus would pay nothing,
notwithstanding he had paid the Gentiles ; for he
said, "It is enough payment for thee to behold
thy enemy suffer ! "
Yet thirty days more ; and no sound of ham
mers could lessen the agony of the gnawing of
the gnat, and Titus knew that he must die.
Then he bade his family that they should burn
his body after he was dead, and collect the ashes,
and send out seven ships to scatter the ashes
upon the waves of the Seven Seas, lest the God
of Israel should resurrect his body at the Day of
Judgment.
* *
[But it is written in Midrash Kohelet, of the
holy Midrashim, that Hadrian may his name
be blotted out ! once asked Rabbi Joshua ben
Chanania, " From what shall the body be recon
structed at the Last Day ? " And the Rabbi an
swered, "From Luz in the backbone." When
A Tradition of Titus. 225
Hadrian demanded proof, the Rabbi took Luz,
the little bone of the spine, and immersed it in
water, and it was not softened. He put it into
the fire, and it was not consumed. He put it
into a mill, and it could not be ground. He ham
mered it upon- an anvil ; but the hammer was
broken, and the anvil split asunder.
Therefore the desire of Titus shall not prevail ;
and the Lord will surely reconstruct his body for
punishment out of Luz in the backbone !]
* *
But before they burned the corpse of Titus they
opened his skull and looked into his brain, that
they might find the gnat.
Now the gnat was as big as a swallow, and
weighed two selas, as weight is reckoned in Israel.
And they found that its claws were of brass, and
the jaws of its mouth were of iron !
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