Shapes of Clay Part 16

LAWYER.--Eh? The devil! True: My mistake--it was your brother.

But you're very like each other.

THE CYNIC'S BEQUEST

In that fair city, Ispahan, There dwelt a problematic man, Whose angel never was released, Who never once let out his beast, But kept, through all the seasons' round, Silence unbroken and profound.

No Prophecy, with ear applied To key-hole of the future, tried Successfully to catch a hint Of what he'd do nor when begin 't; As sternly did his past defy Mild Retrospection's backward eye.

Though all admired his silent ways, The women loudest were in praise: For ladies love those men the most Who never, never, never boast-- Who ne'er disclose their aims and ends To naughty, naughty, naughty friends.

Yet, sooth to say, the fame outran The merit of this doubtful man, For taciturnity in him, Though not a mere caprice or whim, Was not a virtue, such as truth, High birth, or beauty, wealth or youth.

'Twas known, indeed, throughout the span Of Ispahan, of Gulistan-- These utmost limits of the earth Knew that the man was dumb from birth.

Unto the Sun with deep salaams The Pa.r.s.ee spreads his morning palms (A beacon blazing on a height Warms o'er his piety by night.) The Moslem deprecates the deed, Cuts off the head that holds the creed, Then reverently goes to gra.s.s, Muttering thanks to Balaam's a.s.s For faith and learning to refute Idolatry so dissolute!

But should a maniac dash past, With straws in beard and hands upcast, To him (through whom, whene'er inclined To preach a bit to Madmankind, The Holy Prophet speaks his mind) Our True Believer lifts his eyes Devoutly and his prayer applies; But next to Solyman the Great Reveres the idiot's sacred state.

Small wonder then, our worthy mute Was held in popular repute.

Had he been blind as well as mum, Been lame as well as blind and dumb, No bard that ever sang or soared Could say how he had been adored.

More meagerly endowed, he drew An homage less prodigious. True, No soul his praises but did utter-- All plied him with devotion's b.u.t.ter, But none had out--'t was to their credit-- The proselyting sword to spread it.

I state these truths, exactly why The reader knows as well as I; They've nothing in the world to do With what I hope we're coming to If Pegasus be good enough To move when he has stood enough.

Egad! his ribs I would examine Had I a sharper spur than famine, Or even with that if 'twould incline To examine his instead of mine.

Where was I? Ah, that silent man Who dwelt one time in Ispahan-- He had a name--was known to all As Meerza Solyman Zingall.

There lived afar in Astrabad, A man the world agreed was mad, So wickedly he broke his joke Upon the heads of duller folk, So miserly, from day to day, He gathered up and hid away In vaults obscure and cellars haunted What many worthy people wanted, A stingy man!--the tradesmen's palms Were spread in vain: "I give no alms Without inquiry"--so he'd say, And beat the needy duns away.

The bastinado did, 'tis true, Persuade him, now and then, a few Odd tens of thousands to disburse To glut the taxman's hungry purse, But still, so rich he grew, his fear Was constant that the Shah might hear.

(The Shah had heard it long ago, And asked the taxman if 'twere so, Who promptly answered, rather airish, The man had long been on the parish.) The more he feared, the more he grew A cynic and a miser, too, Until his bitterness and pelf Made him a terror to himself; Then, with a razor's neckwise stroke, He tartly cut his final joke.

So perished, not an hour too soon, The wicked Muley Ben Maroon.

From Astrabad to Ispahan At camel speed the rumor ran That, breaking through tradition h.o.a.r, And throwing all his kinsmen o'er, The miser'd left his mighty store Of gold--his palaces and lands-- To needy and deserving hands (Except a penny here and there To pay the dervishes for prayer.) 'Twas known indeed throughout the span Of earth, and into Hindostan, That our beloved mute was the Residuary legatee.

The people said 'twas very well, And each man had a tale to tell Of how he'd had a finger in 't By dropping many a friendly hint At Astrabad, you see. But ah, They feared the news might reach the Shah!

To prove the will the lawyers bore 't Before the Kadi's awful court, Who nodded, when he heard it read, Confirmingly his drowsy head, Nor thought, his sleepiness so great, Himself to gobble the estate.

"I give," the dead had writ, "my all To Meerza Solyman Zingall Of Ispahan. With this estate I might quite easily create Ten thousand ingrates, but I shun Temptation and create but one, In whom the whole unthankful crew The rich man's air that ever drew To fat their pauper lungs I fire Vicarious with vain desire!

From foul Ingrat.i.tude's base rout I pick this hapless devil out, Bestowing on him all my lands, My treasures, camels, slaves and bands Of wives--I give him all this loot, And throw my blessing in to boot.

Behold, O man, in this bequest Philanthropy's long wrongs redressed: To speak me ill that man I dower With fiercest will who lacks the power.

Allah il Allah! now let him bloat With rancor till his heart's afloat, Unable to discharge the wave Upon his benefactor's grave!"

Forth in their wrath the people came And swore it was a sin and shame To trick their blessed mute; and each Protested, serious of speech, That though _he'd_ long foreseen the worst He'd been against it from the first.

By various means they vainly tried The testament to set aside, Each ready with his empty purse To take upon himself the curse; For _they_ had powers of invective Enough to make it ineffective.

The ingrates mustered, every man, And marched in force to Ispahan (Which had not quite accommodation) And held a camp of indignation.

The man, this while, who never spoke-- On whom had fallen this thunder-stroke Of fortune, gave no feeling vent Nor dropped a clue to his intent.

Whereas no power to him came His benefactor to defame, Some (such a length had slander gone to) Even whispered that he didn't want to!

But none his secret could divine; If suffering he made no sign, Until one night as winter neared From all his haunts he disappeared-- Evanished in a doubtful blank Like little crayfish in a bank, Their heads retracting for a spell, And pulling in their holes as well.

All through the land of Gul, the stout Young Spring is kicking Winter out.

The gra.s.s sneaks in upon the scene, Defacing it with bottle-green.

The stumbling lamb arrives to ply His restless tail in every eye, Eats nasty mint to spoil his meat And make himself unfit to eat.

Madly his throat the bulbul tears-- In every grove blasphemes and swears As the immodest rose displays Her shameless charms a dozen ways.

Lo! now, throughout the utmost span Of Ispahan--of Gulistan-- A big new book's displayed in all The shops and c.u.mbers every stall.

The price is low--the dealers say 'tis-- And the rich are treated to it gratis.

Engraven on its foremost page These t.i.tle-words the eye engage: "The Life of Muley Ben Maroon, Of Astrabad--Rogue, Thief, Buffoon And Miser--Liver by the Sweat Of Better Men: A Lamponette Composed in Rhyme and Written all By Meerza Solyman Zingall!"

CORRECTED NEWS.

'T was a maiden lady (the newspapers say) Pious and prim and a bit gone-gray.

She slept like an angel, holy and white, Till ten o' the clock in the shank o' the night (When men and other wild animals prey) And then she cried in the viewless gloom: "There's a man in the room, a man in the room!"

And this maiden lady (they make it appear) Leapt out of the window, five fathom sheer!

Alas, that lying is such a sin When newspaper men need bread and gin And none can be had for less than a lie!

For the maiden lady a bit gone-gray Saw the man in the room from across the way, And leapt, not out of the window but in-- _Ten_ fathom sheer, as I hope to die!

AN EXPLANATION.

"I never yet exactly could determine Just how it is that the judicial ermine Is kept so safely from predacious vermin."

"It is not so, my friend: though in a garret 'Tis kept in camphor, and you often air it, The vermin will get into it and wear it."

JUSTICE.

Jack Doe met d.i.c.k Roe, whose wife he loved, And said: "I will get the best of him."

So pulling a knife from his boot, he shoved It up to the hilt in the breast of him.

Then he moved that weapon forth and back, Enlarging the hole he had made with it, Till the smoking liver fell out, and Jack Merrily, merrily played with it.

Then he reached within and he seized the slack Of the lesser bowel, and, traveling Hither and thither, looked idly back On that small intestine, raveling.

The wretched Richard, with many a grin Laid on with exceeding suavity, Curled up and died, and they ran John in And charged him with sins of gravity.

The case was tried and a verdict found: The jury, with great humanity, Acquitted the prisoner on the ground Of extemporary insanity.