360 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
DEC. 4 
KISMET. 
BX ART LEX H. BALDWIN. 
In the glinting of the gloaming 
With it* utrnalcH of golden red, 
With It- gathering purple curtains, 
With the evening star o’erbead,— 
Like a silver gem imstudded 
On a bank of velvet black, 
Showiog in the amber setting 
Of the dying daylight's track,— 
I met 'neath the acacias 
My chrysolite of girls, 
Sunny Marguerite the golden. 
My pretty “ pearl of pearls.” 
Her blue eyes to me are load-stars, 
Each brown ringlet is a snare 
To enslave my heart in meshes— 
O, why are women fair? 
Why do birds fall to the fowler ? 
Why do inotbH fly to the flame ? 
Why do tiny sparks fly upward ?— 
Can you give that fate a name ? 
“ It i* destiny," say women; 
“ It is kismet,” say the Turks; 
“ Magnetism." say the sages 
Yet still the soft spell works. 
And 'twill work, and work for ages. 
Till the ocean meets the sky; 
’Twill be writ on all life’s pages 
Till the ink on them grows dry. 
<Ti)f ^torp-fdlfr. 
KING ESAR’S SLAVE, 
A Tale of 13ally 1 on. 
PART 'J’HE 1‘TRST. 
A wide waste, a dry land and wilderness, a 
land wherein no man dwelleth or can dwell, a 
habitation of owls and a place ot dragons. The 
wild beasts Of the desert are here—the Jackal and 
the wolf; but, no stone llnth upon another to be 
for a corner or a foundation, for Babylon Is be¬ 
come a desolation. Her bread walls are utterly 
broken; and there remain of her temples only 
these burnt heaps scattered over an arid plain. 
This mound, where the lizards Ue In the dry 
sun, was perchance the palace ot the king. I rest 
my hand upon It, and on mbling the dust through 
my lingers, I permit my thought like a spirit to 
pass over perished peoples and mighty ruins, 
through dynasties and attics, tradition and pro¬ 
phecy ; and through all these It comes again to 
Babylon, 
What a change 1 I sec the city In her glory— 
when the nations docked to her, and the whole 
heathen world paid her tribute. Thousands 
throng her streets; hut, passing them swiftly by, 
I End my way to tUe palace of the king. I enter, 
and In corridor and hall 1 pass men of war, ellkon- 
robed courtiers, armies oi slaves, groups of sages. 
The Magi of the East are here, the Chaldean and 
the sorcerer, the soothsayer and the prophet. 
Penet rating the noiseless crowd, I come to a high 
chamber shut out from the sun—a chamber roofed 
with a fret-work of gold and gem, supported on 
jasper columns; and for windows it has arches 
of wrought cedar, filled with a trellis or carved 
Ivory. Beyond thpse arc pillars of marble, with 
silken hangings of green and crimson, amber and 
blue, whereon the fretted Ivory of the trellis 
shines white aud clear—boautirul In the marvel 
ot Its sculptures. Between the rustling curtains 
1 see the ha aging gardens borne up on plllai s, 
with fountains sparkling In the perfumed air, and 
birds and flowers gleaming In the sun. 
The couches In this chamber are of silk, worked 
In silver, and tbe cushions on the marble floor are 
broldered by the hands of queens. 
The throne Is empty ; but the crown, shining 
like a sun, rests on It., and the royal robe of pur¬ 
ple. heavy with gems, hangs across it. Both are 
here because the king sleeps, lie lies on a couch 
of gold, whose cushions of Tyrian purple arc 
wrought with mystic characters and fringed with 
pearls. The king sleeps, but a cold sweat stands 
upon Ula brow, and Ills face is ashen pale, and 
ghastly with the shadow of death. 
lie uncloses ills haggard eyes, and calls with 
dry and fevered lips for a cup of water to ease his 
palu. As he drinks and leans his fainting head 
upon the cushions, he commands the presence of 
Ids soothsayers and sorcerers. 
They come in troops and stand sHeni before 
him. Then lilting those sad eyes, so kingly yet 
so worn, he says, hall In sorrow, half In scorn: 
“ Miserable comforters are yo all! Wisdom has 
departed from your counsels; and since ye can¬ 
not heal me of this fell disease, certify how long 
1 have to live, ahd leave me la peace to die.” 
No voice answers him. Then his face changes 
towards them, and he cries sternly, 
“ Depart rrom me, men of shallow cunning and 
lying words I Neither life nor death nor knowl¬ 
edge Is in your hands. Ye cannot, tell me even 
when I shall die.” 
“ Only the gods can tell the king this,” answers 
one among them. “ There Is not a magician, a 
sorcerer, or a Chaldean that can certify such a 
matter.” 
There Is a gleam In the king’s eye. a momen¬ 
tary glance of fire, telling much—telling that, be¬ 
fore this pain and sickness came, such an answer 
would have doomed the speaker to Instant death.; 
but now he Is too weary even for cruelty. Sink- 
lng hack upon the couch, the gleam of fury dies 
from his haggard eye, changing to a smile of 
scorn, and with a wave of his hand he dismisses 
them. 
They take with them his last hope, for he clings 
to magic still, and he had thought to hear from 
their lips that a year or two of life was left him. 
But he Is a king, having a kingly courage, and 
the smile upon his face has a sort of scorn tor 
death Itself, as he turns upon his uneasy couch, 
and lifts praycrloss eyes to heaven. 
“Gods! there are no gods—mockeries are they 
all, and lies—deceivers of the multitude, scorn of 
the wise I” His eyes droop, and fall upon a shad¬ 
ow standing near—a shadow from the West, dim, 
unborn, and yet present. 
A faint smile breaks upon the king’s lips, and a 
spirit or prophecy falls upon him. 
“ Behold a nation that runneth to and fro over 
the whole earth, even to this Babylon—a nation 
curious respecting the living aud the dead—a peo¬ 
ple who will dive down Into th<j midst of the sea 
for a hone, or travel to the outer world of ice aud 
darkness for a shadow. .Stranger, wilt thou know 
my history ? Write, aud I will tell It.” 
I am Esar the king—king and magician. I have 
been a searcher Into that mystic science which 
deals with those shadowy and phantom truths 
which half seek, half elude our grasp. Becking I 
knew nor, wliaL, I have found what 1 sought not 
—strange secrets, wondrous mysteries that, when 
the time is ripe, shall change the world. I speak 
not of these. Without belief In god or goddess, 1 
have learned a better faith. 1 bow to the power 
In mutter—I worship Its attributes, Its eternity, 
Its strength. In Its boundless mutation, it reach¬ 
es in its nobler shapes of life an etheroallsin and 
beauty beyond our gross power of thought. Mat¬ 
ter in this pure form, having life, Is endowed with 
all those gins which our sages say are hidden la 
flower and gem. This much 1 knew, and I could 
see no reason wliy beings or these higher types 
should not visit at times this lower world. From 
such rare visits come stories of the gods and le¬ 
gends of love between us poor dwellers In the 
flesh and these bright inhabitants of purer 
spheres. Might there not be a sympathy, a link, 
which could draw these glorious shapes from 
their clear abodes ? Once they might have boen 
as poor, as coarse as we. 1 had learned the dia¬ 
mond was but carbon, could be that again; 
and though when diamond It has completed its 
change. It has passed through the furnace which 
purines, and wears uow the highest form Its mat¬ 
ter can take—yet It can fall. It can go back to 
dust again. Could these do the same? In those 
serene bights, where these lustrous forms of mat¬ 
ter dwelt, might some llnlc with our grosser shape 
yet reach them, and draw them down V 
In their pride, they might deem that for them 
there was no more change, which we call death, 
and no more lire, which some call gehuna. And 
truly, when the htghest point or their nature was 
reached, they must remain there fixed, Immuta¬ 
ble ror ever, unless they fell. Then they would 
go back through fading glories, from shade to 
shade of sorrow, from shape to shapo of pain, 
perchance of death and evil, till they sank— 
whither?—into what ? 
But could temptation exist tor matter in this 
ethereal shape ? and, If so, could I hope to be the 
tempter? A daring question—a mad thought; 
and yet it came to me again and again. Ah I I 
tremble oven now In telling why it came. I had 
seen a pbantom, and yet not a phantom—a face 
among the stars—pale, lustrous, beautiful—a 
vision such as 1 had deemed one of the dwellers 
on the heavenly bills might be. 
My flesh quivered with hope as I thought that 
this unveiling of her face to me was In Itself a fall 
—a looking back to things discarded. And she 
drew nearer, nearer to me every time I saw her. 
By Infinite longings, 1 drew on. I cast from out 
my heart a spell that a wizard of the East had 
taught me. I wrought, about tbe air a mighty in¬ 
cantation. O, f called her to me by a voice of an¬ 
guish—a voice or joy—a voice ot unfathomable 
yearning. My will was like iron and adamant; 
the threads of light that,streamed from my hands 
and hair wont towards her, dragging her down, 
down, ever downwards. What mattered It to me 
that she suffered ? What mattered it that I was 
tempting her into death and sin ? Tempting I no, 
It was she who was the tempter. How dared she 
unveil her face to me as I lay lonely on the moun¬ 
tain? I, a boy, and she a dweller among the 
stars! It was years ago when her eyes first met 
mine; and have I not passed through dre since 
then ? I have waded to a throne through blood, 
and reached the bights of ^maglc lore through 
pain unspeakable, all for her. Then let her come 
and die like me. 
Nearer—bring her nearer, even If every lower 
change be a torture beyond the power of flesh to 
lmagl ne. Nearer 1 She shall come to me. Ages 
ago, when the world was new, she was a woman. 
She can be a woman again. The diamond can 
change, and she shall change, even If she pass 
through Are. 
There was some flaw, some spot In her beauty 
or she would not have shown her race to me on 
the mountain. In that serene sphere, a thousand 
worlds above me, this flaw had wrought a sym¬ 
pathy between u&—this had unveiled the vision of 
her face as 1 lay lonely on the lull-top, dreaming 
like a boy. What was this hideous spot upon my 
soul, that linked me with her v A spot that In 
her a thousand (Ires had not burned out and pu¬ 
rified. All this w r as bringing her down nearer- 
nearer—ever nearer. 
In that vision on the mountain In the far East, 
where the ice lies plied, she was so far above me, 
that when I threw my longing arms upwards, 
andBtralned my eyes towards her, my very heart 
wept tor sorrow, and, gathering all my blood, It 
left my face white as the snow by which I lay. O, 
It was horrible to feel the sharp pain that, quick¬ 
ened me as I gazed, and knew that she was count¬ 
less worlds above me. And yet there wits a road 
between us. A long, long ray of light, spanned 
worlds like bridges, and went from star to star, 
till It lighted on her face. By this she could come 
to me. The light ended here, at my left, hand, no 
higher than my heart, at which It strained with 
cruel strength. IIow does she do It ? I would 
bring her down hither, and teach her in this 
lower world what it was to sufTer. She should 
not from bights sublime show me her lustrous 
face only to torture and to madden. 
O that I could And out the flaw. In her, that 
sent out this line or fire bridging all the worlds 
till it reached my heart, and linked her with me 
in unspeakable pain and passion I 
At night I outwatched the, stars, and once In 
every moon I had a vision of that pale lustrous 
face, growing sadder, unutterably sadder, yet 
nearer. O ecstasy, joy, and faintness of the heart 
—nearer I 
Star after star was crossed. I could count the 
worlds now that stood between us. I could meas¬ 
ure the line of Ore she traversed as 1 drew her on; 
paler and paler grew her face; and orice. In the 
anguish of her eyes, 1 thought 1 read a prayer, 
a cry sent out across the stars: 
“ O man, cruel and relentless, release me from 
this spell! Believe and ^strive, and thou shalt 
rise to mo. 1 n this lower world, far beneath the 
one from which thy hand hath drawn me, lo, I 
will wait for thee 1 These meadows of asphodel, 
this sky ot ringed jasper will seem to thee a para¬ 
dise ; and I will he content to linger here, till I 
can bear thee up to that bright star whence, 
through blight and pain and fiery death, thou 
hast cruelly dragged me down.” 
I smiled at her prayer. And In the Incantation 
T wrought that night I held a bird above the flame 
or my lamp till Its life was scorched away. Then 
looking from my window, I saw the dying bird 
this cruel symbol of my burning love, had drawn 
her from the star whence her prayer came, and 
her face was whiter, sadder, more human than I 
had seen her yet. 
I burst Into a wild laugh or Joy, and flung the 
fluttering bird from my hand upwards Into the 
darkness. But, alas, my Joy was premature t For 
months she moved not from that star; and when 
I saw her faintly visible across the ray, me- 
thought there gleamed upon her face a look of 
scorn. This maddened me, but 1 would not de¬ 
sist or tremble at her frown, in the days to come, 
I would be greater and nobler than she; for 
though she was worlds above me now, and I was 
only man, and she 1 knew not what, yet she had 
been a woman ; and she by all her remembrance 
of that time, by her bit terness and sorrow, by her 
slavery—for are they not all slaves, these wo¬ 
men ?—by all my lights as man and master. I 
would draw her down and bring her to my side, 
a slave again. 
I wrought tny Incantation with double power. 
I strove with sorcery and magic—names the mul¬ 
titude give to science; I plunged into the deepest 
secrets of life and death to bring her down, and 
vainly 1 Across the abyss of worlds her eyes met 
mine, proudly deflant still. Then 1 saw the flaw 
within her, by which l had hoped to bring her 
across the death and flame of these lower stars, 
was not earthly love, and I must seek a stronger 
spell than the one In my burning hoart, if I 
wished for victory. 
I journeyed to the East for counsel. The learn¬ 
ing of the West looks downwards on the earth, 
dealing with things of time; bur the wisdom of 
the East soars into bights serene, where truth, 
guarded mystically, sits enthroned, untroubled 
and unchanged for ever. 
To an aged man who held the melancholy 
secret of lengthening his days, I told my tale. 
1113 eye kindled as ho listened. 
*• If thou wilt grant my prayer, 1 will give thee 
a talisman that shall win her,” he said. 
“ Speak 1" I answered. 11 What Is thy request ?’ 
My son, there will linger with her some faint 
memory of the worlds above; let her he mine for 
a year, that 1 may learn her wisdom, aud lighten 
this earth somewhat of Its sorrow.” 
**Thine!” I cried, Indignant. ‘‘Shall I draw 
her down from the upper spheres to give her to 
the arms of a skeleton V’ 
“A touch ot earthly sorrow, a clasp from 
earthly passion,” replied the sage, “ would 
destroy any clinging memory of the spheres; 
from these I wish to save her for one little year. 
In that brief span I trust to gather from her still 
pure Ups some mighty secrets, to bless a groan¬ 
ing world. Dost thou begrudge her so short a 
time of peace, during which she shall be to me as 
mine own child?” 
I remained angry and silent. 
“ Think not,” continued the sage sadly, “ that 
this being, who Is Unked to thee by some strange 
flaw In thy soul and in hers, will remain un¬ 
changed on earth. She will sink lower and 
lower, until she pass from this planet Into 
some outer aud less happy world. Bethink thee, 
spare her; forego thy purpose, and ask naught of 
my skill.” 
“Spare her! No; she shall be mine, though 
she sink to the lowest deep, and curse me as she 
dies.” 
The cunning sage had spoken thus to try me. 
Coldly curious and cruel, he, too, would have 
killed her, to add one secret to his science. 
••For the sake of the wonders her eye hath 
seen and her ear heard,’’ he answered, “which 
her lips shall recount to me, that I may Change 
the face of the world and lighten toll and sorrow, 
1, too, am willing she should come and suffer. 
But I claim my compact, For a year she must 
bo my slave, being to me even as a cherished 
daughter.” 
I could do naught else but yield, though this 
request seemed to me harder than death. A 
year ! She was to be on earth a year, aud I was 
not to see her, not to touch her hand, not to tell 
her that I loved her! 
Still, 1 hound myself by an oath that no man 
could break and live. And then, through months 
of inyBtlc study, 1 learnt from the sage the secret 
that should win her. Yet one thing we still 
lacked, and the knowledge of this the sage gained 
from me in a sleep Into which he threw me. In 
my sleep I saw a deep cave, dark save for a 
purple light gleaming on the root. And the cave 
was filled with a sea like blood; aud wading 
through it, I drew down the light, and with it I 
clasped the hands of the far-off vision that I 
loved, quenching the light In the sen, and we 
both were left In darkness. 
“ A sad vision for thee, my son,’ said the sage. 
“Pause even now; quench not the light of 
mercy m thy heart, lest the darkness of cruelty 
and of passion cover thee as with a sea of blood.” 
I was deaf to to his voice. Then he took from 
a casket a rare gem. 
“ All starry things have their types on earth,” 
he said ; “ and I have found hers In this stone, 
which not all the fires of the burning mountains 
can cleanse.” 
He showed me a sapphire of purest blue, except 
one spot, blood-red, which shone within it. 
“ But for this flaw, it would bo the fairest In 
the world," he said; *• this blemish will one day 
split It Into atoms. Take It; It is a talisman. 
When the spot shines red, she will be drawing 
nearer; when it waxes pale, she will he escaping 
thee." 
We parted, and I went my way exulting. Soon, 
through the ring 1 wore, I should know the sin- 
spot tn her that drew her back to earth. 
Shall I tell the catalogue of evil deeds I did, 
hoping to redden the spot In the gem ? No, the 
list Is too long and ghastly. Enough, that one 
day a slave vexed me, and I cried In anger. 
“Throw him to the lions 1” 
As they tluug tbe boy—he was a pretty child- 
before the jaws of the beasts, I saw my ring flash 
and sparkle as with joy. A moment before I had 
beeu half sorry, and would have snatched the 
lad from those cruel teeth, but now 1 threw 
mercy and sorrow to the winds. 1 had found the 
spot In her—I had found the craving In myself— 
a thirst for blood—we were vampires both. And 
this was the dread link that drew her on; this 
dragged her back to earth across that ray of lire 
no eye saw but mine. 
From that day I strove no more with my sin. 
What cared 1 who bled and suffered, so she came 
to me? The captives I took In war perished, my 
prisoners groaned, my slaves trembled. And to 
see these things, she drew nearer—nearer every 
day. Not once a moon now, but nightly, the 
pale lustrous face was visible to rny sight. At 
length 1 saw across a chasm of the sky, nearer 
than the moonlight, her eyes fixed on mine, 
mournfully, with tears In them. 
Tears! I was mad with Joy. Tears! Had she 
come so near earth that she could weep? A 
Little while, and bitterer tears than these be her 
portion, for she would he a woman and a slave, 
and I, her master, would command her love. 
Looking up, 1 saw her face ugaln, her long hair 
floating among the stars, and her eyes raining 
leant gazing back In painfulness on the glory 
she bad lost. 1 was Jealous of her grief. Down 
here, 1 too would make her weep, and her tears 
should be a keener salt than now; sue should tread 
on thorns, and wear an Iron crown of anguish on 
her head. Why had she tortured me so long? 
She should never weep again among the stars 
for her lost home, l hoarded tears for her here. 
From my youth for her I had been a star-gazer, 
a madman; and for years 1 had waded la blood 
to reach her. Hhe should come, she should come, 
she should kneel at my feet and ask for mercy; 
that mercy which, for her sake, I had cast away 
for ever. 
So the moon waned, and her face drawing ever 
nearer, no longer looked deflant or proudly sad, 
but there- grew a fear upon it, which 1 rejoiced 
to see. I had Bteeled my heart in cruelty. I 
wore the sapphire ever, and the spot. In It was 
blood-red and bright as Is the heart of the sunset. 
The last night of her stay In the sky the clouds 
were black with thunder and with rain, and amid 
the lightnings her face shone so near, It seemed 
even at my window. I bent forward and would 
have kissed her, but a crashing thunderbolt rent 
the earth open at my feet, and I fell blinded by 
the flash. 
PART TUE SECOND. 
1 lay Blck a week, and when I woke to sense 
again, mere seemed to he on my brain only a 
dimmed memory ot the past. I was heavy and 
full of sorrow. They brought me danclng-glrls, 
and men and women singers, but I Looked and 
listened without pleasure. And I grew sadder, 
for the sky was empty; her face no longer shone 
on mine through the shadowy mists ot the night, 
and I knew she walked on earth. 
How should I find her? I proclaimed through¬ 
out the land that I would choose a wife, and the 
loveliest damsels were brought betore me, all 
thirsting to be queens. But her face was not 
among them, and 1 turned wearily away, not car¬ 
ing to glance twice on that long line of flashing 
eyes. 
vexed at this, the people murmured—so many 
dlsappolned maidens returning home bred dlscon- 
tent^-and my counselors pressed me to marry. 
“A caravan had entered the city,” they said, 
“ bringing merchants, who had for sale a slave of 
rare beauty—a damsel of fifteen, who spoke no 
language, and whose eyes were wondrous sad.” 
She was brought before me. And shining pale 
