The Substance of a Dream

by F. W. Bain

And suddenly she laughed, with laughter that exactly resembled the laughter of a child, and she said: Thou art very crafty indeed, but thy cunning plan would take a long time, with but little result. And even then, I am not sure I could rely on thy forgetting. And I exclaimed, with emphasis: Thou art absolutely right, for the moment of oblivion would never come at all. But O thou miracle of a queen, tell me at least one thing about thyself. And she said: What? And I said: How can the King thy husband be so utterly bereft of his reason as to let any other man see his star? Or is he, in very truth, actually blind? For I could understand it, if he really cannot see.

And she looked at me with surprise: and she said slowly: Dost thou actually not know, what everybody knows? And I said: I know nothing that everybody knows, being as I am a stranger. But this I know, very well, that if thou wert my pearl, I would take very good care to hide thee. For even an honest man might well turn robber, tempted by the sight of such an ocean pearl. And she said, very quietly: It needs no thief to steal the pearl, if indeed it be a pearl, which its owner cast away long ago as a thing of no value, for anyone to pick up as he passes by.

And I stared at her in stupefaction, and I struck my hands together and exclaimed: Art thou mad, or am I dreaming? And she said gently: It is true. And anybody but a stranger like thyself would have known it, without needing to be told. And she dropped her eyes, and sat for a while, fingering the string of her lute, as if on purpose to make herself into a picture for my intoxicated gaze: and suddenly she said: Why should I make a secret of a thing that another will tell thee, if I do not, adding to the truth slanders that are false? It is better for thee, and for me, to learn from my own mouth what it is impossible to hide. There is a relation of the King, whose name is Narasinha. And one day he saw me by accident, on the roof of the palace, and instantly he lost his reason, as all the men who see me always do. And not long after, the King was set upon by numbers in a battle, and within a very little of being slain; and Narasinha saved his life, very nearly losing his own. And the King said, when all was over: Now, then, O Narasinha, ask me for anything I have, no matter what: it is thine. And Narasinha saw his opportunity. And he shut his eyes, like one that leaps from a precipice to life or death. And he said: Give me thy Queen, Táráwalí: or else, slay me, here and now, with this very sword that saved thy life. And then, to his amazement, as he stood with his head bowed, expecting death, the King burst out laughing. And he said: Is that all? Aha! Narasinha, we were both frightened, thou and I: thou, of asking, and I, of what thou mightest ask. Didst thou not think, I should slay thee, for thinking of her even in a dream? But my life were worth little, if I haggled with its saviour over its price. And Táráwalí is thine, to do with as thou wilt. For I have only one life, whereas queens can be found in all directions, and I can very easily replace her, whenever I choose. Only she must not leave the palace, for after all, she is my Queen, and so she must remain, for everyone but me and thee. And so he gave me clean away to Narasinha, in secret, but it is a secret that everybody knows, and tells in secret to everybody else. And I have gained by the exchange. For Narasinha risked his life, twice, to win me, and the King would never have risked so much as his little finger to save the life of a hundred queens, and gave me away, like a straw, for the mere asking, not even stopping to consider, that in the straw he gave away his own honour lay hidden, which he gave away with me. And I could have forgiven him for giving me away, but who could forgive the King who valued his own honour less than his own life? And to the King I was never more than a necessary ornament, a thing like a sceptre and a throne, and a mere piece of royal furniture: whereas I am more than the life of Narasinha, and the apple of his eye.

IX

And as she spoke, I listened, not believing my own ears, and saying to myself: Is it all real, or can it be that I am only dreaming after all? And which is the greater wonder, this miserable King, who, leaving honour out of the account, is so utterly besotted as to give away a thing like her to the first man who asks for her, or Táráwalí herself, telling the whole story of her own depreciation with such contemptuous and yet delicious candour to such a one as me? Aye! well indeed she might despise a husband so unutterably despicable; and yet his oblivion of his own honour is easier by far to understand than his blindness to the value of the thing he gave away. And would she tell me anything at all, unless she had come to the conclusion that I was worthy of her confidence? And who knows? For why should she consent to be given like a horse to Narasinha? Why might she not prefer to give herself, and choose for herself the man who was to be her owner? And what if I could persuade her to let me be the man? And at the very thought, my head began to swim in the delirium of hope and almost unimaginable anticipation. And I said: Dear Táráwalí, is it the fault of the ocean gem, if its boorish owner flings it away, taking it for a bit of common glass, and ignoring its inestimable worth? There are other and better judges, who would give their very lives, only to be allowed to pick it up.

And she looked at me with a smile, and she leaned towards me, and she said, with gentle mischief in her eyes: Shall I tell thee thy very thoughts, and it may be, tumble down for thee the unsubstantial castles thou art even already building in the air? Thou art marvelling at the King, for giving me so carelessly away: and thou art wondering, why I am telling thee about it: and last of all, it may be, thou art counting on my independence. Is it not so? And I hung my head in silence, ashamed at being so accurately detected by the subtle penetration of this extraordinary Queen. And presently she said, as if to console me for my confusion, with unutterable sweetness in her voice: Come, do not allow delusive imagination to run away with thee, but curb him, and rein him up, and stop him, and be wise. For I belong, body and soul, to Narasinha. And yet, for all that, I am my own mistress, and act exactly as I choose. And I see anyone I please, and at my own time, and go, like a wild elephant, wherever inclination leads me. And music is my passion, and I heard of thee, and sent for thee, and now that I have seen thee, I like thee. And now, shall we be friends?

And as she ended, she put out towards me both her hands, leaning towards me, and looking at me with a smile, and eyes full of an invitation so irresistibly caressing that it swept away my self-control, consuming it like a blade of grass in a forest fire. And I started to my feet, and instantly she rose herself. And I seized her right hand in my own, with a grip that made it an unwilling prisoner beyond all hope of escape. And I exclaimed with agitation: Friends! only friends! Alas! O Táráwalí, hast thou given thyself, body and soul, so absolutely to Narasinha, as not to have left even the very smallest atom over, for me, now that I have discovered thee at last? O I have dreamed of thee, and thy sweetness, and thy eyes, so long, so long.

And as I gazed at her, forgetting everything in the world, but my incontrollable thirst for herself, she sighed, and she said with compassion: Poor boy! I did ill, to summon thee at all. Thou art only drinking poison, and yet I know not any antidote, save only to bid thee go away.

And I stood, bereft of my senses, and without knowing what I did, pulling her by the hand, that lay reluctantly in mine, endeavouring to free itself in vain. And half resisting, half consenting, against her own will, to be pulled, she came slowly towards me, leaning back, and looking at me with eyes that seemed to implore me to release her, and yet, unable to be harsh, no matter what I did. And at last, she reached me, and she closed her eyes, as I kissed her, with a shudder of delight that was almost terror, on the lips. And then instantly I let her go, and stood aghast at what I had done. And I stammered: Forgive! for I did not know what I was doing.

And she shook her head, and said very gently: Nay, it is I myself who am to blame: since I might have known that this would be the inevitable end. But now, good-bye! for thou hast been here already far too long. And then, she hesitated for an instant, looking at me as if with pity; and she said with a smile: Thou must absolutely go, and yet my heart is sorry for thee, for I understand, what going means, to thee. Come, if thou wilt, I will allow thee, to bid me good-bye.