Shifting Scenes and Other Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Scene: An Apartment in the Palace. Present, Sidh Raj, the King; Ameer, and Sivar, Conspirators, and Enemies of Jug Dev Purmar.
Sidh Raj.
He lies who says that Jug Dev is not brave!
Thrice have the breezes borne his banners home
Scorched in the breath of battle, ragged and torn,
Crimson with carnage, but victorious.
Thrice have the eager messengers rushed up
The forest avenues, with straining eyes,
Crying to all the winds the note of conquest.
Thrice has he gone down into the garden of Death,
And torn up victory by the bloody roots.
His bickering brand has beaten back the hosts
Of the on-coming fate that threatened us
Three times; and as a storm goes through the woods
Shaking their ancient empire like a leaf,
And tumbling the grim giants down in heaps
Of grey dishevelled ruin, even so
Did he go down imperial to the foe,
And they lay strewn and wasted.

Ameer.
Good, my lord
The King speaks true. No man denies the might
And valour of Purmar. They have been proven
In battles endless, both abroad and here;
In camp and palace, by the river's marge,
And in the imprisoned darkness of the forest;
In broils of his own seeking—at the court
Of him to whom his fealty is sworn.
His aim is sure; his arm is mailed in might;
His step is doom; his very look is death.
He is a very Azrael to our foes;
But, may it please the King, his wings are long,
And flap the blood of kinsmen in our face!

Sidh Raj.
Ha! The old story?

Ameer.
Not so old, my lord;
But every child in Rájput, ten years born,
Remembers, shuddering, how the brave Jug Dev
Slew the King's brother in the open day.

Sidh Raj.
He well deserved his fate:—his doom was just.

Ameer.
The King is very merciful. The world
Is less so.

Sidh Raj.
Ha! Sir Dark-face, of the thin
And shrivelled sneer, with its pale treachery
Dancing like death-lights on thy cruel lips!
I do believe the breasts that gave thee suck
Were bitter with the bite of aspics, that
Thy veins run thick with poison 'stead of blood,
So wicked are thy words, so pinched and worn
Thy looks, and such a fire of hellish hate
Glints deadly-bright through thy half-closed lids,
Like the live levin leaping through shut clouds.

Sivar.
Let not the King be angry! Ameer speaks
What thousands hold imprisoned in their breasts.
He is too bold, perchance; in the face of his king
He should seek courteous terms, and silken speech,
And keep the rude and ragged garb of truth
For plainer presences, and lighter talk.
His loyalty is greater than his wit.

Sidh Raj.

Do ye all mock me? What is't ye would say?
No fear of Ameer's prudence! He would plant
One hand upon his bosom, and with speech
All tender sleekness—Devil's milk and honey—
He would come sidling up unto his friend,
And send the hot blood hissing to his eyes,
A dagger in his heart!

Away with you,
Base time-servers! that just have courage to crawl
Behind your monarch's chair, and whisper fraud
And treachery against his bravest friend,
Who fights his battles and your own; defends
The homes which you could not defend; hurls back
The coming ruin; props your roofs;
And hunts the hungry wolf away that laps
Your very children's blood!

Slaves that ye are!
So tanned and rubicund! So free of speech!
All plump as sun-stained berries in the woods;
While he seeks famine just that you may feast,
And, with his arms, buys freedom for your sons;
And is paid back in slander.

Ameer.
It is well
The King should spurn his slaves. And yet—

Sidh Raj.
And yet?

Ameer.
The King hath friends as true, though with less thews,
Less brawn and muscle than Jug Dev Purmar:—
With less blood on their hands, of friend and foe:—
Friends who ne'er bullied the Monarch to his face,

Nor slew his brother in the open court,
Nor scored their bravery on their country's heart.

Sivar.
The tiger-cat is brave who tears our kids;
The lion is no coward, though he kills
And munches in the dark.

Sidh Raj.
What ho! Our friend
Is a poor warrior simply; not much skilled
In the sweet speech of courtiers; does not serve
Rank meat on silver platters; nor brim up
A golden goblet full of poisoned wine;
But gives you homely fare and honest speech,
And so has done with it. Your daintier selves
He cannot rival in luxuriousness:—
He knows it well;—be satisfied. He fights
That you may feast; he toils in sweat and gore
That you may dally through a summer day
With the light wenches in the laughing woods;
He wrestles in the bloody billows of war,
And grips the hard and bony hand of death
That you may mingle in the merry dance,
And lap the sweets of lips more ruddy than wine.
His deeds are rough—his speech is like his deeds—
And this hath angered you.

Several Courtiers.
If we might speak,
Not for ourselves, but for our Monarch?—

Sidh Raj.
Then
You would drop poisoned honey in his ears,
Say loyal things with most disloyal hearts,
Claim all our trust with treachery in your souls,
Speak honest-sounding words with lying lips,
And, while a falsehood festered on your tongue,
Pay eager deference, outwardly, to truth.
Bring in a robed and jewelled skeleton,
And let the royal diadem blaze up
And burn above his white and ghastly brows;
Bow down in worship; hail him as your King;
And give him sceptre o'er your rotten hearts:—
But as for him ye wot of—he is true.

Ameer.
If the King would but listen to his slaves—

Sidh Raj.
He would hear slave's-talk;—not a doubt. What more?

Ameer.
'Tis said, he whispers that a day will come

When Rájput shall bow down her haughty head,
And take him, on his own terms, as her king.

Sidh Raj.
'Tis said too, my good friend, not long ago,
A certain pampered courtier, menial-like,
Lifted his eyes up to that Queen of Love,
Hayti, the spotless wife of brave Purmar.
'Tis also said the Warrior met the Chief
Gay in his flaunting feathers and his silks,
And sadly spoiled his plumage! Nay, 'tis said
That, in that hour, the gaudy butterfly
Shook all the gold-dust from his shining wings,
Slipped off his purple down, his burning bronze,
His velvet spots, and all his ruby rings,
And was a wasp thereafter. Was it so?

Ameer.
My lord the King is pleasant.

Sidh Raj.
It is well
Ameer thinks so!

Sivar.
My lord! If I might speak—

Sidh Raj.

But to what end? Full well I know thy speech,
From its first stammer to its rounded pause.
What! is Sidh Râj so weak that he will give
His mighty war-horse to the wolves, because

The foolish dogs go baying at his heels?
Or shall he cast his trusty brand away
Because a slave has dared to breathe on it?
And have ye all forgotten who it was
That, in the hour of deadly peril, saved
Your monarch's life, while you stood white as trees
That have been barked by lightning?

Ah! that day,
That was a blush of fruits and fluttering wings—
A rich delirium of sounds and odours—
When every breath was balm, and the great cusp
Of the bright heavens gleamed with gorgeous gold,
And all the forest was a trembling thrill
Of blended music, and of odour-rain,
And we, with all our train, went out and danced
Beneath the quivering boughs, and in our sport
Flung the ripe fruit, half-bursting, at the girls;—
When in upon our merriment there broke
That grand and gleaming terror; with his eyes
Burning their sockets in the lust of blood,—
The hungry lion, flaming on his prey,—
And his mane rolling billows of stormy fire,
And ye shrank back, and whitened in the blaze
Of his fierce anger—when, as suddenly,
A flash shot through the hot and sultry gloom,
And in the midst of us, even like a god,
His great brand dripping gore, and all his soul
Hurried in crownèd crimson to his face,
Stood Jug Purmar!

Ameer.
But, my good lord and King—

Sidh Raj.
And even now, hath he not left his bride,
With all her budded beauties in rich bloom,
To battle for our kingdom?

Ameer.
Dearer than bride,
With all her jewels warming on her breast,
Is the rich prize he seeks.

Sidh Raj.
(Not heeding the interruption).
And hath exchanged
The eager clamour of his happy babes,
Who with plump fingers patted his swart cheeks,
For the shrill shriek of war, the sudden stab,
The crunching blow, the terrible death-grip,
And the fierce wrestle on the slippery sands,
Sodden with gore!

Sivar.
He fights the best
Whose stake is heaviest in the bloody fray;
And he who sees a sceptre in the mirk,
May edge his shoulders through a world of foes.

Ameer.
He who walks over slaughter to a throne—

Sidh Raj
(to Sivar).
Thou never didst love Purmar, hoary friend;
And yet, O Sivar, I have known thee lay
Great burdens of applause upon his back.

Sivar.
I might cry “mighty” to the glistening force
Of the sleeked torrent, as it glided by,
With all its hurrying waters gathered up
And marshalled for the dread and terrible plunge;
But if I saw a pale face gleaming white
Amid the snaky blackness of its folds,
And going ghastly down the ebon wall,
I should look on with horror evermore.

Sidh Raj.
Thou hast not spoken, Ali: What sayest thou?
Thy heart is gentle, and thy words are wise.

Ali.
I would say simply this, my noble King,
That, if the pillars that support our roof
Be given to shaking, why the roof may fall.

Sidh Raj.
A fool's speech truly! Is there nothing more?

Sivar.
And the same shoulders that prop up the throne
Have power to hurl it, with its pearlèd state,
And all its purple honours, to the dust!