He looked at Sah-luma, not enviously now but all admiringly,—it seemed to him that he had never heard a sweeter, tenderer music than the story of "Nourhalma" as recited by his friend. And so to that friend he silently awarded his own wished-for glory, praise, and everlasting fame!—that glory, praise, and fame which had formerly allured his fancy as being the best of all the world could offer, but which he now entirely and willingly relinquished in favor of this more deserving and dear comrade, whose superior genius he submissively acknowledged!
There was a great quietness everywhere,—the rising and falling inflections of Sah-luma's soft, rich voice rather, deepened than disturbed the stillness,—the pen of Zabastes glided noiselessly over the slips of papyrus,—and the small sounds of the outer air, such as the monotonous hum of bees among the masses of lily-bloom that towered in white clusters between the festooned awnings, the thirsty twitterimg of birds hiding under the long palm leaves to shelter themselves from the heat, and the incessant splash of the fountains, … all seemed to be, as it were, mere appendages to enhance the breathless hush of nature. Presently Sah-luma paused,—and Zabastes, heaving a sigh of relief, looked up from his writing, and laid down his pen.
'The work is finished, most illustrious?" he demanded, a curious smile playing on his thin, satirical lips.
"Finished?" echoed Sah-luma disdainfully—"Nay,—'tis but the end of the First Canto"
The scribe gave vent to a dismal groan.
"Ye gods!" he exclaimed—"Is there more to come of this bombastic ranting and vile torturing of phrases unheard of and altogether unnatural! O Sah-luma!—marvellous Sah-luma! twaddler Sah-luma! what a brain box is thine! … How full of dislocated word-puzzles and similes gone mad! Now, as I live, expect no mercy from me this time!".. and he shook his head threateningly,—"For if the public news sheet will serve me as mine anvil, I will so pound thee in pieces with the sledge-hammer of my criticism, that, by the Ship of the Sun! … for once Al-Kyns shall be moved to laughter at thee! Mark me, good tuner-up of tinkling foolishness! … I will so choose out and handle thy feeblest lines that they shall seem but the doggerel of a street ballad monger! I will give so bald an epitome of this sickly love-tale that it shall appeal to all who read my commentary the veriest trash that ever poet penned! … Moreover, I can most admirably misquote thee, and distort thy meanings with such excellent bitter jesting, that thou thyself shall scarcely recognize thine own production! By Nagaya's Shrine! what a feast 'twill be for my delectation!"—and he rubbed his hands gleefully—"With what a weight of withering analysis I can pulverize this idol of 'Nourhalma' into the dust and ashes of a common sense contempt!"
While Zabastes thus spoke, Sah-luma had helped himself, by way of refreshment, to two ripe figs, in whose luscious crimson pulp his white teeth met, with all the enjoying zest of a child's healthy appetite. He now held up the rind and stalks of these devoured delicacies, and smiled.
'Thus wilt thou swallow up my poem in thy glib clumsiness, Zabastes!" he said lightly—"And thus wilt them hold up the most tasteless portions of the whole for the judgment of the public! 'Tis the manner of thy craft,—yet see!"—and with a dexterous movement of his arm he threw the fruit-peel through the window far out into the garden beyond—"There goes thy famous criticism!" and he laughed.. "And those that taste the fruit itself at first hand will not soon forget its flavor! Nevertheless I hope indeed that thou wilt strive to slaughter me with thy blunt paper sword! I do most mirthfully relish the one-sided combat, in which I stand in silence to receive thy blows, myself unhurt and tranquil as a marble god whom ruffians rail upon! Do I not pay thee to abuse me? … here, thou crusty soul!—drink and be content!"—And with a charming condescension he handed a full goblet of wine to his cantankerous Critic, who accepted it ungraciously, muttering in his beard the necessary words of thanks for his master's consideration,—then, turning to Theos, the Laureate continued:
"And thou, my friend, what dost thou think of 'Nourhalma' so far? Hath it not a certain exquisite smoothness of rhythm like the ripple of a woodland stream clear-winding through the reeds? … and is there not a tender witchery in the delineation of my maiden-heroine, so warmly fair, so wildly passionate? Methinks she doth resemble some rich flower of our tropic fields, blooming at sunset and dead at moonrise!"
Theos waited a moment before replying. Truth to tell, he was inwardly overcome with shame to remember how wantonly he had copied the description of this same Nourhalma! … and plaintively he wondered how he could have unconsciously committed so flagrant a theft! Summoning up all his self-possession, however, he answered bravely.