University of Virginia Library

SIOPE.
A FABLE.
[IN THE MANNER OF THE PSYCHOLOGICAL AUTOBIOGRAPHISTS.]

“Listen to me,” said the Demon, as he placed
his hand upon my head. “There is a spot upon this
accursed earth which thou hast never yet beheld
And if by any chance thou hast beheld it, it must
have been in one of those vigorous dreams which
come like the simoon upon the brain of the sleeper
who hath lain down to sleep among the forbidden
sunbeams—among the sunbeams, I say, which slide
from off the solemn columns of the melancholy temples
in the wilderness. The region of which I speak is a
dreary region in Libya, by the borders of the river
Zaire. And there is no quiet there, nor silence.

“The waters of the river have a saffron and sickly
hue—and they flow not onwards to the sea, but
palpitate forever and forever beneath the red eye of

the sun with a tumultuous and convulsive motion.
For many miles on either side of the river's oozy bed
is a pale desert of gigantic water-lilies. They sigh
one unto the other in that solitude, and stretch
towards the heaven their long ghastly necks, and nod
to and fro their everlasting heads. And there is an
indistinct murmur which cometh out from among
them like the rushing of subterrene water. And they
sigh one unto the other.

“But there is a boundary to their realm—the
boundary of the dark, horrible, lofty forest. There,
like the waves about the Hebrides, the low underwood
is agitated continually. But there is no wind
throughout the heaven. And the tall primeval trees
rock eternally hither and thither with a crashing and
mighty sound. And from their high summits, one by
one, drop everlasting dews. And at the roots strange
poisonous flowers lie writhing in perturbed slumber.
And overhead, with a rustling and loud noise, the
gray clouds rush westwardly forever, until they roll,
a cataract, over the fiery wall of the horizon. But
there is no wind throughout the heaven. And by the
shores of the river Zaire there is neither quiet nor
silence.

“It was night, and the rain fell; and, falling, it
was rain, but, having fallen, it was blood. And I
stood in the morass among the tall lilies, and the rain
fell upon my head—and the lilies sighed one unto the
other in the solemnity of their desolation.

“And, all at once, the moon arose through the
thin ghastly mist, and was crimson in color. And

mine eyes fell upon a huge gray rock which stood
by the shore of the river, and was litten by the light
of the moon. And the rock was gray, and ghastly,
and tall,—and the rock was gray. Upon its front
were characters engraven in the stone; and I walked
through the morass of water-lilies, until I came close
unto the shore, that I might read the characters upon
the stone. But I could not decypher the characters.
And I was going back into the morass, when the
moon shone with a fuller red, and I turned and looked
again upon the rock, and upon the characters—and
the characters were DESOLATION.

“And I looked upwards, and there stood a man
upon the summit of the rock, and I hid myself among
the water-lilies that I might discover the actions of
the man. And the man was tall and stately in form,
and was wrapped up from his shoulders to his feet
in the toga of old Rome. And the outlines of his
figure were indistinct—but his features were the
features of a deity; for the mantle of the night, and
of the mist, and of the moon, and of the dew, had
left uncovered the features of his face. And his brow
was lofty with thought, and his eye wild with care;
and, in the few furrows upon his cheek I read the
fables of sorrow, and weariness, and disgust with
mankind, and a longing after solitude.

“And the man sat down upon the rock, and leaned
his head upon his hand, and looked out upon the desolation.
He looked down into the low unquiet
shrubbery, and up into the tall primeval trees, and
up higher at the rustling heaven, and into the crimson

moon. And I lay close within shelter of the lilies,
and observed the actions of the man. And the man
trembled in the solitude—but the night waned and
he sat upon the rock.

“And the man turned his attention from the heaven,
and looked out upon the dreary river Zaire, and upon
the yellow ghastly waters, and upon the pale legions
of the water-lilies. And the man listened to the
sighs of the water-lilies, and to the murmur that came
up from among them. And I lay close within my
covert and observed the actions of the man. And the
man trembled in the solitude—but the night waned
and he sat upon the rock.

“Then I went down into the recesses of the
morass, and waded afar in among the wilderness of
the lilies, and called unto the hippopotami which
dwelt among the fens in the recesses of the morass.
And the hippopotami heard my call, and came, with
the behemoth, unto the foot of the rock, and roared
loudly and fearfully beneath the moon. And I lay
close within my covert and observed the actions of
the man. And the man trembled in the solitude—
but the night waned and he sat upon the rock.

“Then I cursed the elements with the curse of
tumult; and a frightful tempest gathered in the
heaven where before there had been no wind. And
the heaven became livid with the violence of the
tempest—and the rain beat upon the head of the
man—and the floods of the river came down—and
the river was tormented into foam—and the water-lilies
shrieked within their beds—and the forest

crumbled before the wind—and the thunder rolled,
—and the lightning fell—and the rock rocked to
its foundation. And I lay close within my covert
and observed the actions of the man. And the man
trembled in the solitude—but the night waned and
he sat upon the rock.

“Then I grew angry and cursed, with the curse of
silence, the river, and the lilies, and the wind, and
the forest, and the heaven, and the thunder, and the
sighs of the water-lilies. And they became accursed
and were still. And the moon ceased to totter in its
pathway up the heaven—and the thunder died away
—and the lightning did not flash—and the clouds
hung motionless—and the waters sunk to their level
and remained—and the trees ceased to rock—and
the water-lilies sighed no more—and the murmur
was heard no longer from among them, nor any
shadow of sound throughout the vast illimitable desert.
And I looked upon the characters of the rock, and
they were changed—and the characters were
SILENCE.

“And mine eyes fell upon the countenance of the
man, and his countenance was wan with terror. And,
hurriedly, he raised his head from his hand, and stood
forth upon the rock, and listened. But there was no
voice throughout the vast illimitable desert, and the
characters upon the rock were SILENCE. And the
man shuddered, and turned his face away, and fled
afar off, and I beheld him no more.”

* * * * * * * *

Now there are fine tales in the volumes of the
Magi—in the iron-bound, melancholy volumes of the
Magi. Therein, I say, are glorious histories of the
Heaven, and of the Earth, and of the mighty Sea—
and of the Genii that over-ruled the sea, and the earth,
and the lofty heaven. There was much lore too in
the sayings which were said by the sybils; and holy,
holy things were heard of old by the dim leaves that
trembled around Dodona—but, as Allah liveth, that
fable which the Demon told me as he sat by my side
in the shadow of the tomb, I hold to be the most
wonderful of all! And as the Demon made an end
of his story, he fell back within the cavity of the
tomb and laughed. And I could not laugh with the
Demon, and he cursed me because I could not laugh.
And the lynx which dwelleth forever in the tomb,
came out therefrom, and lay down at the feet of the
Demon, and looked at him steadily in the face.