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SILENCE—A FABLE

“The mountain pinnacles slumber; valleys, crags and caves _are

silent_.”

“Listen to me,” said the Demon as he placed his hand upon my

head. “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

and 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 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 lighted 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

them. 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 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 up its pathway to 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, in haste,

so that 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.