Kitabı oku: «Shireen and her Friends: Pages from the Life of a Persian Cat», sayfa 4
Chapter Seven
Beebee’s Fate is Sealed
It was a day or two after, that Shireen once more met her friends, but this time it was on the sunny lawn in front of Uncle Ben’s bungalow.
They were all there except Chammy the chameleon. No one knew for the present where he was. He had eaten an extra supply of mealworms and flies the day before, and forthwith disappeared. In a fortnight’s time perhaps, he might be found in the fold of a curtain, or behind the ventilator in the Colonel’s study, or he might be brought up from the cellar in a scuttle of coals, or tumble out of a bag of flour when the cook went to make a dumpling, for no one could ever say for certain where Chammy might or might not be.
But on this particular afternoon Colonel Clarkson and Uncle Ben were drinking iced sherbet, and smoking their pipes in peace at a little wicker table under the shadow of the great chestnut tree.
Warlock and Tabby had just come back from a long ramble in the woods, and thrown themselves down beside Shireen and her foster son, Vee-Vee, the Pomeranian, Cockie, and Dick, the starling, were bandying words together on the gowany lawn. (The gowan is the mountain daisy.)
It would have been very difficult indeed for a stranger to have told whether they were quarrelling or not.
One thing is certain, they were each of them trotting out all the words in their somewhat limited vocabulary for the other’s benefit, no matter whether they were relevant or not.
Dick was much more active than Cockie, and ran round and round him on the lawn, pausing occasionally to thrust his beak into the ground, and opening it out like a pair of compasses, peep into the hole to see if a worm were at home.
I have said that Dick kept running round and round Cockie. He certainly described a circle about two yards from the cockatoo – he knew better than to come any nearer, for the big bird had a punishing beak – but seeing that Cockie in the centre went wheeling about, and always faced Dick, it becomes a question whether Dick actually did go round him. What do you think?
And all the while the two kept talking.
Not that their conversation was very edifying. I shall give you a sample.
Dick. – (After swallowing a worm six inches long.) “Tse, tse, tse, tse! Pretty Dick! Pr-r-r-etty Dick!”
Cockie. – “Pretty Cockie!”
Dick. – “Dick’s a darling starling, master’s pretty pet.”
Cockie. – “Poo-oor Cockie!”
Dick. – “Eh? Eh? What is it? What d’ye say? Tse, tse, tse! You rr-r-rascal!”
Cockie. – “Cockie wants to go to bed!”
Dick. – “You r-rascal! Sugar, snails, and sop! What is it, you r-rascal? Whew, whew, whew!” (whistling).
Cockie (singing). – “Lal de lal, de dal, de dal.”
Dick (talking very fast). – “Dick’s a darling! Dick’s a starling! Dick’s a master’s pretty pet, sugar, snails, and pretty sop; you r-r-rascal!”
Dick now hauls out an extra long worm. Cockie shrieks as if he had seen a snake. Dick, frightened out of his wits, lets go the worm, and flies off to perch on the tabby cat’s glossy back, and commences – a favourite trick of his – to go through the motions of having a bath.
“Well, Mother Shireen,” says Warlock.
“Well, children, so you’ve got back?”
“Oh, Mother Shireen, what a day we’ve been having!” says Tabby.
“Yes,” cries Warlock, “it’s been an out and outer.”
“You haven’t been naughty, I hope?”
“Oh, no, that is not particularly. But I chased Mother Maver’s old grey cat, though I didn’t mean to have done so; but what does she always want to spit at me for I want to know? And I jumped at Farmer Dobbs’ game cock, and nearly had him by the tail. Oh, didn’t he skraigh just! and didn’t the chickens fly! And then old Farmer Dobbs flew at me with the garden rake. But I don’t care, for his cock once struck me on the head with his foot and made a hole in it. Then Tab and I went to the woods. It is fine fun being in the woods. We found a wild bees’ hive. Honey is so nice, though Tab doesn’t care for it. But I soon had the combs out, and I’m afraid I killed all the bees. Twenty settled on my back, then I rolled over and over with my heels in the air, and that settled them. We went to the weasel’s nest, but the weasel must have seen us coming. Weasels are wily, you know. But Tab killed a wild pigeon, and I killed a mole. We tried to get a rabbit, but couldn’t. Then we spent a whole hour trying to catch a water rat, but they are wily like the weasels, and the door of their house is deep down under the water. Tab isn’t much good in the water, but you can’t beat her in a tree. Some day we are going to ask Cracker to come with us to the water-rat’s bank, and we’ll sink a mine, and then see if the rats can make fools of Tab and me. On our way back, we passed old Farmer Dobbs’ place again, and then we had it out.”
“Had what out?” said Vee-Vee.
“Why the game cock’s tail. He was in a field with his hens, and said something cheeky to us as we passed, and I went for him. He flew up into a tree, but Tab soon had him down out of that. Tab is simply a treat in a tree. Then I grabbed him by the tail, and, oh, didn’t the feathers fly just! You would have laughed. We left in rather a hurry, because old Farmer Dobbs went in to get his gun. We shan’t go Farmer Dobbs’ way again for a whole fortnight. But come, Shireen, tell us a little more of your story. You left yourself at Beebee’s beautiful palace in Persia.”
Yes, said Shireen, and soon after that ruby had been placed in my tooth, an event occurred that altered the whole course of my life, and of poor Beebee’s too.
I do not know how old Beebee was at this time, but I think she must have been about twelve, and she appeared to me to get more and more beautiful every day.
Now, never during all my lifetime had I seen Beebee’s father, and I was now over six months old; but one day great preparations were being made at the palace, slaves and servants were running about everywhere, and the lovely saloons were decorated with flowers, and hung round with many coloured lamps. I was not therefore surprised to be told by Beebee that her father was about to pay a visit to his home, previous to accompanying the Shah on a long journey to Europe, and over to England itself.
“Oh, how much I should like to go,” she sighed, “and if I did, you too, my sweet Shireen, should accompany me.”
Then one forenoon the father arrived in great state, with many camels and horses, and even accompanied by several elephants. With him came many other great men and dignitaries of the court, and they feasted for many days together. But all this time my poor little mistress was confined to her apartments.
One day – this was his only visit – Beebee’s father came to see her.
He was indeed a noble-looking man, and splendidly dressed in silken robes of many colours, and a cloak of camel’s hair, from under which peeped out a richly-jewelled sword-hilt. On his head was a gilded turban; on his feet were beautiful sandals.
Beebee ran to meet him, and stood before him with downcast eyes. She was prepared to rush into his arms and be embraced, but he only smiled and coldly took her hand.
Then he sank into an ottoman with graceful ease, whilst she remained standing by his side.
“My daughter grows taller, and she grows beautiful. She has a happy future before her. I have come to say farewell for a time. I have a long journey, and many long voyages before me. Beebee will see me when I return.”
Then she dropped on her knees before him, and clasping her hands as if in prayer, held them up towards him.
“My father,” she began.
He was frowning.
“My father is the most noble and handsome man in all the world. His sword is the sharpest sword in Persia. The arm that wields it is the strongest in all the wide dominions of the mighty Shah. If my father had enemies they would flee before him. But this is impossible, for all who see my father love him, and the Shah himself delights to bask in the sunshine of his smile.”
“My daughter speaks truly,” he said, relenting a little, “she speaks the white, pure truth; but what would she of me?”
“Oh, my father, you have but one little daughter, and she wants to love you dearly. She would be more in your presence. Beebee wants to see the world. Take her with you to Europe, to England. She would fain see England. She – ”
“Bah!” he interrupted. “Who hath put such foolish notions in your head? Have you not an English teacher? She can tell you all you desire to know. My daughter knows not what she asks.”
“Oh, my father!”
“Silence, child! Silence! You are intended for the court of the Shah. The touch of unbelieving fingers, nay, even the glance of a foreigner’s eye would defile my daughter’s caste. No longer then would she be fit to stand before the king of kings, our great lord and master, the Shah.”
“Father, father, I will not be bride to the Shah!”
“What! This to me?”
He sprang up as he spoke, and I trembled lest he should strike my little mistress to the earth. He towered above her, as the poplar tree towers above the linden.
But he only strode to the arched and curtained doorway. He turned round as he went out, holding the drapery in his left hand.
“Adieu!” he said. “Adieu! My daughter must obey me, or – ”
“Or what, father?”
Once more her hands were extended pleadingly, prayerfully towards him.
“She dies!”
The drapery fell. Beebee’s father had gone, and she had thrown herself on the ottoman cushions to weep.
I walked softly towards her, I sung to her; I licked her little white fingers. Then she ceased to weep.
“Oh, Shireen! Shireen!” she cried, “this is a bitter, bitter day to me. And I wanted to love father so. I could love him so. I have no mother. I – ”
She threw herself down once more, and sobbed aloud.
I felt that I could have suffered anything to comfort and solace my beautiful mistress.
But what could I do?
I was only a cat.
Poor Beebee, she fell asleep there at last, and the red sunset clouds were in the sky before she awoke once more.
Chapter Eight
Life in a Turret High. – Strange Adventure in the Forest
Beebee’s father was gone, and peace and quiet reigned once more in the palace. But the poor child fell ill. Now the house or palace where Beebee lived was a somewhat lonesome one, and many, many miles from the town, though not a great way from the village. It stood on elevated ground, surrounded by splendid gardens, in which grew the rarest of tropical fruits and flowers. Away behind it was the everlasting forest, and behind that the snow-capped mountains, raising their jagged summits into the blue ethereal sky.
But from the turrets high, away to the west, glimpses of the sea could be had, and almost every evening Beebee and I went up to see the sunset. It was glorious, Beebee said, to look upon the ocean at any time, but to behold it lit up with the reflections of the gold and the crimson clouds, was like having a glimpse of Paradise.
A physician was now sent for from the distant town, and his words to Beebee were words of wisdom.
“It is not medicine I will give my fair young patient,” he said. “It is not medicine that she needs. It is the soul that is sick, not the body. But if the body is strengthened the soul will become calm. My patient grieves for an absent father, perhaps.”
Beebee sighed, and the tears stole into her eyes.
“She must seek for surcease of sorrow every day in the forest,” continued the physician. “Let her go with armed attendants, for wild beasts are many, deep in the dark woodland recesses.”
Then Beebee smiled through her tears.
“In the turret high,” she said, “one can catch glimpses of the ever-changing sea.”
“Yes, yes, my patient may go there often.”
“I would sleep there.”
“Good. My patient shall. So now adieu! I will come again.”
“You are wise and good,” said Beebee innocently. “I shall pray for you.”
“Ah! then,” he replied, “all good fortune will attend me. If one so young and guileless prays for poor me, the gods will not forget me. Adieu!”
“Adieu!”
Miss Morgan entered softly when the physician went away. She was Beebee’s English teacher. Beebee flew to meet her, and told her all the doctor had said.
“It is what he likewise told me,” said Miss Morgan, “and your studies are to be interrupted for a time. Your teacher of Sanscrit shall come no more for months. You will have a long holiday, and I am to read you books that will amuse instead of instructing you.”
“And I am to have a chamber in the turret?”
“Yes, dear, it is already being draped.”
“Oh! now indeed I begin to feel well and happy.”
And in the exuberance of her joy Beebee hung around Miss Morgan’s neck and danced up and down like a little child.
It was very pleasant up there in that turret, high above the swaying trees.
Although so high above everything the room was by no means a small one. Like those below, too, it was beautifully draped and tapestried, and the floor was of mosaics, crimson and blue and yellow, while the cushions that surrounded the walls were soft and delightful.
And all around the broad balcony the autumn roses clustered and clung, while the sweet odour of orange blossoms was wafted up from the gardens below. It was like new life to Beebee to dwell up in this turret high. There was so much to be seen that would never have been visible in the lower rooms.
The trees in themselves were a study, and that too, a very beautiful one. Probably no country in the world has more lovely woods than those of Persia. Here they were in all shapes; some on cliff tops, looking like noble pillared temples encanopied with dark masses of foliage; some like waves of the great rolling ocean itself; some like clouds of living green; while trees near at hand were seen to be hung and festooned with wild flowers, rich and rare, with which the sward itself was patched, and painted, and parterred. And every flower seemed to have a specially coloured moth or butterfly, or swift-winged dragon fly, that flew or floated or darted in the sunshine above it. And every bush seemed to contain a bird, the music of their voices as they answered each other in love songs, being, Beebee told me, ravishing to the ear, though I fear that I, being but a cat, and a young one, did not sufficiently appreciate the melody, and viewed the songsters themselves more from an epicurean and edible point of view than any other. Some of the birds were most lovely, and brighter in wing than the rainbow, that in more gloomy weather hung over the distant woodlands.
Strange as it may seem to you, Tabby, and to you, Mr Warlock, the birds around my Persian home were very tame indeed. The reason for this is not far to seek. They were neither hunted nor worried, and even the peasantry, in the mud villages, looked upon them as sacred, and their songs as God-gifts.
“God’s poets, hid in foliage green,
Singing endless songs, themselves unseen;
May we not dream God sends them there,
Mellow angels of the air?”
No, they were not hunted and killed, nor were their nests robbed and rent in pieces by village rustics, and so they were tame, and seemed to love the people among whom they dwelt.
All night long the bulbuls sang, and at daybreak Beebee and I were awakened from our slumbers by the murmuring music of little bronze-winged pigeons that sat on our turret balcony. And at any hour of the day if Beebee went out upon the balcony and waved a dainty handkerchief towards the woods, birds of all kinds came flocking around her, sat on the balcony rail, alighted on her head, on her shapely white arms, and even fed from her open palm.
Yes, I confess that my instinct did at times whisper to me that I should seize upon one of these lovely birds and bear it away into some quiet corner and munch it and eat it, feathers and all.
But the very heinousness of such a crime used to make me shudder and draw further back into the turret chamber. Kill Beebee’s birds! How terrible! As dreadful as if Tabby yonder were to slay poor droll Dick, of whom we are each and all so fond.
But even birds of prey used to hover high above the turret at times, and wait until Beebee threw pieces of bread towards them. Then down they would swoop as swift as arrows, and the tit-bits had not time to reach the ground before they were seized and borne away to the woods.
The woods, and the birds, and the wild flowers, these alone would have rendered our turret life an ideal one. But there was the sky also, a never-ending, ever-changing source of delight to Beebee.
We were up here in the clouds almost, for so high was the turret that often we could see little fleecy cloudlets resting over the trees in the valley far beneath. The sunrises in the east, where mountain rose o’er mountain, and hills on hills, till they hid their snowy heads in the heavens, were indescribably grand and gorgeous. Long, long before the sun itself uprose, and while the shadows of night still rested in valleys and glens, those snow-covered peaks, all jagged and toothed, were lighted up with the most delicate shades of pink and crimson, with ethereal shadows of pearly blue. Downwards and downwards the light and colour would creep, till the forests seemed to swim in a purple haze; then bars and fleeces of cloud grew before our eyes from grey to bronze, and from bronze to lake and gold, and presently the sun’s red disc shimmered over the horizon and it was day; and the whole woods awakened at once into a burst of joyous bird-music and melody.
The sunsets used to be equally lovely.
Beebee would watch the sea all day long almost. It never was lacking in charm for her, whether grey under clouds of pearl, or bright blue under a cloudless sky, or dark with trailing thunderstorms, it was always the sea; and when a ship appeared, she would clap her tiny hands for very joy, and run to procure her lorgnettes, that she might even see the sailors as they walked to and fro across the decks, or leant listlessly over the bulwarks.
“Some day, some day,” she would cry, “some day, dear Shireen, you and I will be on the ocean, and then, oh! then, at last, I shall be free. I have been by its banks, Shireen, and have heard the music of its waters. But it has a secret, a secret that it tells only to those who brave its dangers.
“‘Wouldst thou, the helmsman answered,
Learn the secrets of the sea?
Only those who brave its dangers,
Comprehend its mystery.’
“But,” she added, still quoting the American bard: —
“‘Ah! what pleasant visions haunt me
As I gaze upon the sea!
All the old romantic legends,
All my dreams come back to me.
“‘Sails of silk and ropes of sendal,
Such as gleam in ancient lore;
And the singing of the sailors,
And the answers from the shore.
“‘Till my soul is filled with longing
For the secret of the sea;
And the heart of that great ocean
Sends a thrilling pulse through me.’”
Yet beautiful though the sunsets used to be they seemed ever to throw a shadow of melancholy over Beebee’s heart, and whether Miss Morgan was in the room or not, she would sit at the balcony casement in dreamy silence long after the glory of the clouds had left them, and the shades of night were falling over sea and land.
Then the stars would glimmer out, and their light appeared always to make her happy once more. The evening star was her especial favourite, not because it is the star of love, but because she called it and thought it her mother’s eye.
She would make her governess repeat to her, often over and over again, Longfellow’s beautiful lines to this star: —
“Just above yon sandy bar,
As the day grows fainter and dimmer,
Lonely and lovely a single star
Lights the air with a dusty glimmer.
“Into the ocean faint and far,
Falls the trail of its golden splendour;
And the gleam of that single star,
Is ever refulgent, soft, and tender.”
Yes, I think Beebee loved that star better even than she loved the moon that in silver radiance used to shine softly, dreamily down on the woods and wilds.
My children, continued Shireen after a pause, I dwell longer on these pleasant scenes than perhaps I ought to; for, ah! me, this was the happiest part of my existence, and now that I am old and know I must soon sleep beneath the daisies, the thought of my ideal life then cheers my heart and banishes sadness far away.
But a change came. You must know then, Warlock, that Beebee did not neglect the advice the good physician had given her, and that every day she rode out into the woods and into the forests, always with a retinue of armed servants.
Why such a retinue, did you ask, Warlock? Well, I think there were two reasons. One was that the eunuch, who was Beebee’s special guardian, had received from her father strict injunctions never to let her beyond his ken; another was that the country some distance from the palace was infested by roving banditti, and that these robbers were sometimes in the pay of dissolute nobles, and would think but little of attacking a cavalcade, if they thought themselves strong enough to overpower it, and bearing away with them a young lady as prisoner.
But Beebee had not the slightest fear for herself. Her father was bold and brave to a fault. The daughter was brave without being bold. She bore but little good-will now, however, to that fierce-eyed black guardian of hers, and when out in the forest she was mischievous enough to give him many a fright. Beebee, you must know, was a great favourite with all her father’s retainers, and she used to bribe the chief groom sometimes to saddle for her a very fleet horse, and to let Jazr the black eunuch have but a sorry one. Then she would touch her horse with her spurs of gold when far away in the forest, and laughingly calling to Jazr to follow, soon out-distance all her pursuers.
She would hide from them, and then ride home another way, and it would be eventide before Jazr abandoned the search and came back disconsolate, to be told that Beebee had been home hours and hours before.
It was during one of these wild rides that Beebee had the strange adventure I am now going to describe to you.
I myself was with her that day, and so was Miss Morgan. This lady did not love Jazr a whit more than did Beebee.
Miss Morgan had an exceedingly fleet horse that day, but somehow Jazr’s nag had gone lame, and Beebee rode on ahead, quickly followed by Miss Morgan, and both were soon far beyond the fear of any pursuit.
Instead, however, of riding homewards to-day as usual, it pleased Beebee’s fancy to turn her horse’s head towards the hills.
The poor child seemed to exult in her newly-acquired freedom. Why should she be watched and guarded as if she were a prisoner and a thief? she asked Miss Morgan.
“Why indeed?” answered that lady.
“Daughters are not so treated in Merrie England, are they, dear teacher?”
“Oh, no, Beebee, my pupil. There they have much freedom, and are looked upon as in every way the equals of man!”
“How I long to see England,” said Beebee.
Then she bent down to me and patted my head.
“Some day, Shireen,” she said, “some day. Ah! I know my freedom will come! Perhaps my prince may come. In all pretty stories and fairy-tales a prince always comes.”
She laughed lightly as she spurred on her horse, Miss Morgan following close to her heels.
But little did Beebee know that her prince had already come, and that he was at the present moment in this very forest.
“Is it not time we returned?” said Miss Morgan, after they had ridden some distance farther. “The priest’s house in the wood that we passed nearly half-an-hour ago is the last in the forest. The mountains come soon now. Behold, Beebee, the pathway is already winding upwards. Farther on we may come upon the den of a wild beast, or even worse, the haunts of some evil men!”
Beebee was accustomed to be guided by her governess in everything, so she now reined up her steed, and both stopped short, and permitted the horses to help themselves to a few mouthfuls of the long tender grass that grew abundantly all around them.
The silence in this part of the dark wild forest was a silence that the heart could feel. Except for the occasional throbbing notes of a bulbul in the distance, no sound of any kind fell upon their ears for a time.
Suddenly, however, from an adjoining thicket came a sound that caused the hearts of both young ladies to beat faster as they listened breathlessly.
Twice or thrice it was repeated.
“What can it be, Miss Morgan?” said Beebee, turning a shade paler. “It sounds like someone moaning in pain or dying agony.”
“Nay, nay, dear pupil,” answered Miss Morgan, “we must not think that. It is in all probability but the mournful croodling of some wood pigeon. Hark, there it is again.”
Once more they listened.
There could be no mistake about it now, for not only was this moaning repeated, but after it a voice was heard calling feebly for help.
“Oh, sister,” cried Beebee, now thoroughly alarmed, “it is some poor wounded man. We cannot leave him. We must fly to his assistance!”
Without adding another word Beebee pushed the branches aside and urged on her steed towards the spot from which the sounds proceeded.
Miss Morgan followed close behind.
And soon they came to a kind of green grassy glade in the forest, which, from the trampled condition of the sward, gave evidence that a fearful struggle had taken place there but very recently.
One man lay face downwards on the ground, and it was easy to see he would never need help again.
But the other, evidently an Englishman, sat half up leaning on one elbow, his other hand pressed against his side, and blood trickling over his fingers.
Beebee quickly alighted from her horse and tied the bridle to a tree.
She was a Persian, it is true, but she had a woman’s heart, and here was a fellow-creature in pain and probably dying. She did not even notice that her veil had fallen down as she quickly rushed towards the stranger and knelt pityingly at his side.
