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."