“The magical skiff bore him swiftly down the stream and disappeared as he stepped from it to his palace.  And tradition has it that his heaviness of heart was gone from that night, and that his soul increased in excellence and beauty, but that of its hidden life he was ever averse to tell.”

CHAPTER XVI.

When the Nawab had concluded his tale, much discourse ensued regarding the unusual occurrences he had related and their significance.

“And,” said the Rajah, who was a lover of verse, “how true it is that poetry lends an illusive charm to conceptions ordinary in themselves, like a lovely screen which bestows a grace on the scantiness it only half conceals.  Poetry hath an advantage over prose.”

“But an advantage compensated on the other hand by the elusiveness of its lightsome spirit, its grace so easily lost,” said a poet who wrote songs for the pleasure of the Court.  “The charm of poetry,” he said sadly, “is too ethereal to live in sordid company, and perishes oft in the handling that had only proved the vigour of prose.”

* * * * *

It is a primary characteristic of poetry that it cannot be translated.  The most that a translator can do is to express in another tongue the main thought embodied, and enshrine it in a new poem.  I have in changing some dainty wind-blossom of song from one dialect to another of the same language witnessed its instant transition into the realms of prose, and regarded the metamorphosis with the guilty awe of one who deals unwittingly in baleful magic.

* * * * *

And now they spoke of the marvellous properties of precious stones, a topic suggested, no doubt, by the story-teller’s mention of a gleaming jewel, and probably still more by the unspoken anxiety with which many noted the non-return of the party who had gone in quest of the Sapphire.

“The diamond is possessed of many occult powers,” said a courtier.

“Ay,” replied another, “among gems the diamond has greater subtlety than all others.”

“I would like,” said one, “to wear a circlet of well-chosen stones to serve as oracle and counsellor.  The opal should assure me of my friend’s fealty, the invisible slaves of the diamond should guard my fortunes, the serpent that cast its harmful eye on me would be blinded by my emerald, for, in fine, I believe that vassal genii attend each gem, and obey the behests of him who holds it.”

“The diamond,” said the poet, “guards the destinies of lovers.”

“Love,” said Atma smiling, “is its own security, for it makes no unwilling captive.”

The look of hatred and rage which Lal Singh darted at him startled the onlookers.

“The worst of sorcerers,” said he, “are those who disclaim the use of enchantment.  Success in love, Atma Singh, means sometimes to die like a dog.”