CONCLUSION
So was shaved Shagpat, the son of Shimpoor, the son of Shoolpi, the sonof Shullum, by Shibli Bagarag, of Shiraz, according to preordainment.
The chronicles relate, that no sooner had he mastered the Event, than menon the instant perceived what illusion had beguiled them, and, in thewords of the poet,--
The blush with which their folly they confess Is the first prize of his supreme success.
Even Bootlbac, the drum-beater, drummed in homage to him, and the fourKings were they that were loudest in their revilings of the spouse ofKadza, and most obsequious in praises of the Master. The King of the Citywas fain to propitiate his people by a voluntary resignation of histhrone to Shibli Bagarag, and that King took well to heart the wisdom ofthe sage, when he says:
Power, on Illusion based, o'ertoppeth all; The more disastrous is its certain fall!
Surely Shibli Bagarag returned the Sword to the Sons of Aklis, flashingit in midnight air, and they, with the others, did reverence to hisachievement. They were now released from the toil of sharpening the Sworda half-cycle of years, to wander in delight on the fair surface of theflowery earth, breathing its roses, wooing its brides; for the mastery ofan Event lasteth among men the space of one cycle of years, and afterthat a fresh Illusion springeth to befool mankind, and the Seven mustexpend the concluding half-cycle in preparing the edge of the Sword for anew mastery. As the poet declareth in his scorn:
Some doubt Eternity: from life begun, Has folly ceased within them, sire to son? So, ever fresh Illusions will arise And lord creation, until men are wise.
And he adds:
That is a distant period; so prepare To fight the false, O youths, and never spare! For who would live in chronicles renowned Must combat folly, or as fool be crowned.
Now, for the Kings of Shiraz and of Gaf, Shibli Bagarag entertained themin honour; but the King of Oolb he disgraced and stripped of his robes,to invest Baba Mustapha in those royal emblems--a punishment to thetreachery of the King of Oolb, as is said by Aboo Eznol:
When nations with opposing forces, rash, Shatter each other, thou that wouldst have stood Apart to profit by the monstrous feud, Thou art the surest victim of the crash.
Take colours of whichever side thou wilt, And stedfastly thyself in battle range; Yet, having taken, shouldst thou dare to change, Suspicion hunts thee as a thing of guilt.
Baba Mustapha, was pronounced Sovereign of Oolb, amid the acclamations ofthe guard encamped under the command of Ravaloke, without the walls.
No less did Shibli Bagarag honour the benefactor of Noorna, making himchief of his armies; and he, with his own hand, bestowed on the good oldwarrior the dress of honour presented to him by the Seven Sons,charactered with all the mysteries of Aklis, a marvel lost to men in thefailure to master the Illusion now dominating earth.
So, then, of all that had worshipped Shagpat, only Kadza clung to him,and she departed with him into the realms of Rabesqurat, who reignedthere, divided against herself by the stroke of the Sword. The Queen isno longer mighty, for the widening of her power has weakened it, shebeing now the mistress of the single-thoughted, and them that follow oneidea to the exclusion of a second. The failure in the unveiling of herlast-cherished Illusion was in the succumbing frailty of him thatundertook the task, the world and its wise men having come to the beliefthat in thwackings there was ignominy to the soul of man, and a tarnishon the lustre of heroes. On that score, hear the words of the poet, avain protest:
Ye that nourish hopes of fame! Ye who would be known in song! Ponder old history, and duly frame Your souls to meek acceptance of the thong.
Lo! of hundreds who aspire, Eighties perish-nineties tire! They who bear up, in spite of wrecks and wracks, Were season 'd by celestial hail of thwacks.
Fortune in this mortal race Builds on thwackings for its base; Thus the All-Wise doth make a flail a staff, And separates his heavenly corn from chaff.
Think ye, had he never known Noorna a belabouring crone, Shibli Bagarag would have shaved Shagpat The unthwack'd lives in chronicle a rat!
'Tis the thwacking in this den Maketh lions of true men! So are we nerved to break the clinging mesh Which tames the noblest efforts of poor flesh.
Feshnavat became the Master's Vizier, and Abarak remained at the righthand of Shibli Bagarag, his slave in great adventure. No other conditionthan bondage gave peace to Abarak. He was of the class enumerated by thesage:
Who, with the strength of giants, are but tools, The weighty hands which serve selected fools.
Now, this was how it was in the case of Baba Mustapha, and the fourKings, and Feshnavat, and Abarak, and Ravaloke, and Kadza, together withShagpat; but, in the case of Noorna bin Noorka, surely she was witheringfrom a sting of the scorpion shot against her bosom, but the Seven Sonsof Aklis gave her a pass into Aklis on the wings of Koorookh, andGulrevaz, the daughter of Aklis, tended her, she that was alone capableof restoring her, and counteracting the malice of the scorpion by thehand of purity. So Noorna, prospered; but Shibli Bagarag drooped inuncertainty of her state, and was as a reaper in a field of harvest,around whom lie the yellow sheaves, and the brown beam of autumn on hishead, the blaze of plenty; yet is he joyless and stands musing, for oneis away who should be there, and without whom the goblet of Successgiveth an unsweetened draught, and there is nothing pleasant in life, andthe flower on the summit of achievement is blighted. At last, as he waslistlessly dispensing justice in the Great Hall, seven days after themastery of the Event, lo, Noorna, in air, borne by Gulrevaz, she fair andfresh in the revival of health and beauty, and the light of constantlove. Of her entry into the Great Hall, to the embrace of her betrothed,the poet exclaims, picturing her in a rapture:
Her march is music, and my soul obeys Each motion, as a lute to cunning fingers I see the earth throb for her as she sways Wave-like in air, and like a great flower lingers Heavily over all, as loath to leave What loves her so, and for her loss would grieve.
But oh, what other hand than heaven's can paint Her eyes, and that black bow from which their lightning Pierces afar! long lustrous eyes, that faint In languor, or with stormy passion brightening: Within them world in world lights up from sleep, And gives a glimpse of the eternal deep.
Sigh round her, odorous winds; and, envious rose, So vainly envious, with such blushes gifted, Bow to her; die, strangled with jealous throes, O Bulbul! when she sings with brow uplifted; Gather her, happy youth, and for thy gain Thank Him who could such loveliness ordain.
Surely the Master of the Event advanced to her in the glory of a Sultan,and seated her beside him in majesty, and their contract of marriage wasread aloud in the Hall, and witnessed, and sealed: joyful was he! Thencommenced that festival which lasted forty days, and is termed theFestival of the honours of hospitality to the Sons of Aldis, wherein thehead-cook of the palace, Uruish, performed wonders in his science, andmenaced the renown of Zrmack, the head-cook of King Shamshureen. Even sothe confectioner, Dob, excelled himself in devices and inventions, andhis genius urged him to depict in sugars and pastes the entire adventuresof Shibli Bagarag in search of the Sword. Honour we Uruish and Do-b! asthe poet sayeth:
Divide not this fraternal twain; One are they, and one should for ever remain: As to sweet close in fine music we look, So the Confectioner follows the Cook.
And one of the Sons of Aklis, Zaragal, beholding this masterpiece of Dob,which was served to the guests in the Great Hall on the fortieth evening,was fair to exclaim in extemporaneous verse:
Have I been wafted to a rise Of banquet spread in Paradise, Dower'd with consuming powers divine;-- That I, who have not fail'd to dine, And greatly, Fall thus upon the cater and wine Sedately?
So the
re was feasting in the Hall, and in the City, and over Earth; greatpledging the Sovereign of Barbers, who had mastered an Event, and becomethe benefactor of his craft and of his kind. 'Tis certain the race of theBagarags endured for many centuries, and his seed were the rulers of men,and the seal of their empire stamped on mighty wax the Tackle of Barbers.
Now, of the promise made by the Sons of Aklis to visit Shibli Bagaragbefore their compulsory return to the labour of the Sword, and recount tohim the marvel of their antecedent adventures; and of the love and griefnourished in the souls of men by the beauty and sorrowful eyes ofGulrevaz, that was mined the Bleeding Lily, and of her engagement to tellher story, on condition of receiving the first-born of Noorna to nursefor a season in Aklis; and of Shibli Bagarag's restoration of towns andmonuments destroyed by his battle with Karaz; and of the constancy ofpassion of Shibli Bagarag for Noorna, and his esteem for her sweetness,and his reverence for her wisdom; and of the glory of his reign, and ofthe Songs and Sentences of Noorna, and of his Laws for the protection andupholding of women, in honour of Noorna, concerning which the Sage hassaid:
Were men once clad in them, we should create A race not following, but commanding, fate:
--of all these records, and of the reign of Baba Mustapha in Oolb, surelythe chronicles give them in fulness; and they that have searched say ofthem, there is matter therein for the amusement of generations.
ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS
A woman's at the core of every plot man plotteth Arm'd with Fear the Foe finds passage to the vital part Delay in thine undertaking Is disaster of thy own making Every failure is a step advanced Failures oft are but advising friends Fear nought so much as Fear itself How little a thing serves Fortune's turn If thou wouldst fix remembrance--thwack! Lest thou commence to lie--be dumb! Like an ill-reared fruit, first at the core it rotteth More culpable the sparer than the spared No runner can outstrip his fate Nought credit but what outward orbs reveal Persist, if thou wouldst truly reach thine ends Ripe with oft telling and old is the tale The curse of sorrow is comparison! The king without his crown hath a forehead like the clown The overwise themselves hoodwink 'Tis the first step that makes a path Too often hangs the house on one loose stone Vanity maketh the strongest most weak When to loquacious fools with patience rare I listen Where fools are the fathers of every miracle Who in a labyrinth wandereth without clue
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