Читать книгу COMMODUS & THE WOOING OF MALKATOON (Illustrated) - Lew Wallace - Страница 10

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"And when the spring,

The second of his love-lorn wandering,

Was pluming all the land, our Othman rose,

And with the chosen of his just-fledged Tribe,

A motley train of wild men, homeward rode,

And coming to the cave where yet the sage

And saintly Dervish dwelt, 'Is it not time,'

He said, full risen from his low salaam,

'That love like mine should have surcease of test?

Behold what it has done!'

"And from his breast

He drew a double string of eagle beaks,

Each amber-hued and set with polished gold,

And clear as honey from the comb thrice pressed

Into a crystal cup.

"'Thou didst require

Of me a bird—dost thou remember it,

Edebali? It was to be a sign

From Allah, so thou saidst. Nor that alone—

Right well I knew thy purpose by the task

To try my faith, and find if well or ill

The Prophet held me. Wherefore be thou judge.

These were the blades with which the Kings of Air

Were wont to rend the hapless feathered tribes,

And keep their blue domain. Upon their thrones

I slew the monsters. Count them if thou wilt,

And take the trophies, trinkets now to please

A maiden fair. Perhaps young Malkatoon

Will wear them; only when thou comest to put

Them in her hand—which in my dreams I kiss,

The many thousand times I dare not say—

I pray thee tell her how the gift was won,

And fairly speak my name. Then if she smile,

And ask of me, and why I dared such deeds,

And what love is—ah, more than well enough!

As singing birds in hush of summer nights,

Calling their mates through green acacia groves,

Have answer in the self-same melody

Of speech, so she will love me for my love.'

The Dervish stayed his hand. 'It was a bird

I asked of thee, my son—a living bird—

A pigeon'—

"'Nay,' said Othman, patiently,

'I have no bird.'

"'Oh, then thou hast the lamb ?'

"'Nor lamb have I. Yet, saintly though thou art,

Be not in haste, as saying, "All the ways

Are Allah's, and I know them." '

"Answering

The sign he made, a servant brought a bale

Of lion skins, and cast it on the floor,

And spread the pelts to view; and they were soft

To eye and touch as rugs of Indian silk,

Yet terrible withal, for each retained

The head with all its armature of teeth,

And bulk of yellow mane, the jaws agape

And snarling.

"'These were royal draperies,

Good Dervish, yielded to me but with life.

And when I took them, it was with the thought

That thou, for whom all things, the quick and still

Alike, have tongues, wouldst kindly hear them tell

Of Allah's love for me, and ask not more

Of sign from Him. And scarce less sweet it was

To think that when their tale was haply told,

They might find favor with young Malkatoon;

And should she hear it said the hand that won

The necklace from the eagles was the hand

That spoiled the lions thus, and all for love,

As carpets on her stony chamber floor,

Or dressing for her couch such days and nights

As chilly blow the mountain winds, they might

Well keep me in her mind, and even nurse

A wish to learn yet more of that which drove

Me to the errantry. And now thy hand?—

And graciously, I pray. A crown were reft

Of half its honor did the giver give

It grudgingly. No ? Oh, I see! It is

Because these witnesses are in their speech

Uncertain. I have better. Wilt thou go

And hear them ?—Only to the door; they wait

Us there.'

"And to the vine-clad door they went,

The old man in the leading of the young;

And looking out, lo! cumbering the road,

In the white noon, and plainly not yet used

To bonds of lawfulness, a medley blent

Of lowing cows, and camels malcontent

And overladen, hungry, wolf-like dogs,

And travel-stained sheep, else spotless black,

And horses beautiful enough for kings,

And by their owmers far more loved than were

Their youthless wives, mere handmaids of the brutes—

In the noon, lo! the Tribe.

"'Came these with thee ?'

The Dervish asked.

"And Othman, pleased to mark

His wonder, smiled, and said, 'I am their Sheik.

The Wilderness hath rendered them to me,

And they are Prophets now.'

"Then, half in quest

And half in scorn, the elder's brow and hand

Impulsive rose. But Othman meekly bowed,

And answered, patient still, 'Ah me! They were

So true thy words the day I boldly asked

The hand of Malkatoon: "For men will laugh,

And with their laughter kill." In other phrase,

The jesting critics in my father's halls

Would make a plaything of her simple soul,

And drive it weeping back to Paradise,

With none to know how lavishly of charms

And all perfections it was clothed on,

Save thou, and I, and Allah. And the thought

Went with me down into the No Man's Land,

Whither I betook myself companionless,

A question ever present, How to keep

My love the child she is, and harmless save

Her from the courtly brood? At last I had

An answer. You must know the land was wild,

Uncastled, townless, and the people dwelt

Apart as enemies, and ruthless preyed

Upon each other, making mock of love

And Allah; and when I shewed them trust

They laughed at me, and let me go in peace,

A dreaming madman. But in time there came

A hopeful change. By what 'twas wrought I leave

The necklace and yon bale of robes to tell.

Out of the farther South there one day rose

A cloud of war with grim necessities

They knew not of before; and it blew fire

Upon them, and calamities so fierce

They came to me, and in large charity

I yielded to their prayer, and ordered them,

And with them took the field. And as we charged

I shouted Allah! Allah! And they caught

The holy name, and with it swung their swords,

And aimed their lances, all so joyously.

It seemed the blood they shed had turned to wine,

And made them sudden drunk. We won the fight,

And they are Moslem now. Then as I sat

My horse the children and the women came

And kissed his bloody front, and caught my hand

And stirrups, painted with the same red drip,

Proclaiming, Live Sheik Othman ! And the men

Made answer, Live Sheik Othman ! Then a new,

Exquisite pleasure wrapt me in a glow

Of strange delight, and, looking up, I saw

The moon a crescent in the day-sky's depth,

And by it, lustrous clear, the star assigned

To wait on it, as page upon a queen.

Some childish thought—a wonder if the sun

Were not enough to show the havoc strewn

Along the field—was passing through my mind,

When suddenly the face of Malkatoon

Appeared to me, a fleck of brighter light,

Resilvering the silver of the moon.

I raised my hands as worshippers are wont;

I could not speak, for all my senses swam

In dim confusion; and before I woke

The apparition drew the coarser rays

Of star and planet round it, and was veiled

From sight. And when 'twas gone, I knew myself,

By certain intuition of the soul,

In Allah's care. I knew that Malkatoon

Would be my wife. I knew the warrior-cries

For me as Sheik was Allah making known

What He would have. Wherefore, behold my Tribe—

The Tribe of Othman ! Prophets of the State

Which I will build with them! And as thou lovest

His officers, the little and the great,

Look kindly on them, father, for they know

Right well to follow where I dare to lead.

And think'st thou they will laugh at Malkatoon?

Or wound her gentle soul with glance or speech

Unseemly? Nay, good Dervish, say the word,

And here before thy door the Tribe shall pitch

My great black tent and set the wedding - feast,

And hold it on with story, meat, and drink,

And merry joust, until the new year come,

Unless thou sooner say that never bride

Had truer welcome to a truer home.

I ask it—I, Othman—who never prayed

To other man.'

"And then the Dervish said,

Slow speaking, 'To my cave there often come

Ambassadors of kings, and yesterday

The high Sultan of ancient Samarkand

Saluted me in person royally,

And in his shower of gifts my feet were hid,

Or had I stept, it would have been on pearls

And precious stones; and yet more welcome thou,

O son of Ertoghrul, than all of them—

A messenger from Allah with the key

He keeps upon the door above the vault

Where things to come lie hidden' gainst their day—

Take thou salute, and hear, then go thy way.

The wise man reads the name of Allah writ

On everything in Nature—on the stone,

The wasting leaf, the glittering water-drop—

And comes at last to look for prophecy

In all the unaccounted trifles strewn

By chance along the blind-worn paths of life.

These trophies are not voiceless as they seem.

I listen, and they tell me of the East

By thee again restored and masterful;

I listen, and they tell how turbaned hosts

Devout shall come from every land to light

The ready torches of their faith at thine;

I listen, and from out the upper depths

I hear a voice declare thy name shall be

Forever on the lips of fighting men

A battle-cry, and that in times of peace

Even the winds, unsteady passengers

And lawless though they are, shall take and blow

It up and down the world a melody

Of bugles. Up—up to the storied plains

Of glory thine forewritten 'tis to climb;

And bending ear, and listening wistfully,

I hear the music thence of horns and drums,

And cymbals ringing, and the high acclaims

Of countless men in arms; and if I look,

It is at thee enthroned on battle-fields,

And conquered cities crowding with their keys

On golden plates, and clamorous to buy

Thy better will. And yet, alas! I dare

Not speak the word besought. In truth, it is

Thy destiny I fear. When greatness cloaks

Thee like a tabard more than courtly dight,

What then of Malkatoon ? Mayhap, 'twill be

For me, O son of Ertoghrul, to seek

A lion's den or eagle's nest for lamb

Alive or dove unharmed, and fail as thou

Hast failed. A question—one; then peace to thee,

And all of thine. Where doth that holy thing,

A trusting woman's simple love, fare worst ?

And I will tell: Tis in the heart by years

Of kingly usage into marble turned—

Thou hast my answer.'

"And with that he took

The young man's hand in both of his, and held

It tenderly, as loath to let him go

So sadly burdened; then when he had back

His voice, he said, 'The Wilderness hath- kept

Itself unlocked, and rendered thee the Tribe

In sacred trust for Allah; whence 'tis thine

To wait on it, and bend its stubborn will

To honor Him. The truest blades are those

Most frequent in the fire, and thus may He

Be chastening thee. Thy faith to this hath been

In purity like pearls in Heaven's gate.

Forget not now that all the times are His,

The morrows and the years, in which to send

The sign I ask.'

"He turned, but at the door,

The inner door of heavy camel's-hair,

He left the parting speech. 'A woman dead,

And in her grave, but with a promise had,

May hold a man when even Allah's word

Hath spent its force with him. Now, good my lord

In going ponder this: The world is old,

And there were loves and lovers ere thou earnest.'

"The daylight, gray along the cavern floor,

Went out on Othman, yet, with upraised face,

He prayed— 'O Allah ! To a moon's scant breadth

The sky is shrunk; for I am in a well,

And darkness, cold as water, covers me

Still sinking. Atnin ! Thou didst dig the deeps,

Or else there were no heights; and I will find

Thee at the bottom.'

"Then a lightning flashed

Within his mind, that he alone might see

The answer Allah made—A woman dead,

And in her grave, but oh ! so beautiful,

And so like Malkatoon ! Her hair as dark,

Her face as oval, with a brow as white,

And even in its childishness her form

The very same! And he began to shake

With mighty madnesses of word and act,

Thinking it was indeed his love he saw

There lying lost to him; but he was saved

From them; for it is as the saintly say,

They to whom Heaven kindly sends a light

Not only see but understand as well.

And he was glad, and shouted so the birds

Nest-keeping in the leafage of the door

Affrighted sprang to wing, and Darkness leaped

Into the grave and bore away the ghost—

So loud he cried, 'O Dervish, peace to thee!

And all the charmed sweetnesses of peace

To thine! Be Allah praised, for He but now

Laid bare the narrow room where, as in life,

And wanting only breath to be alive,

The woman sleeps who holds thee promise-bound;

And while I looked at her, I heard thee say

Again, The world is old, and there were loves

And lovers ere I came. And then I knew

Thy meaning. (Ah, never was selfish youth

So gently chidden !) And now, clothed all

In patience, and with my hand in the hand

Of Faith, I go.'