Chapter IX

So, then, as she leaned towards him, with her head a little on one side, and her neck a little curved, and her eyes a little closed, and her lips a little parted in a caressing smile, the appeal of her soft entreating beauty struck the King so hard, that in his agitation, his tongue refused to speak. And just as if it had heard what Yogeshwara had said, his heart, drawn towards her through his eyes, deserted him, and going over to the enemy, nestled like a fugitive bird in the little hollow between the twin wave of her breast, saying as it were: Here will I dwell, close to her own, rocked to sleep on the rise and fall of this gentle sea. And he looked at her in silence, overcome with his own emotion, and at last he said with difficulty: Did I not say that I was changed? For but a little while ago, before I entered this magic arbour, my mind was made completely up, with reference to thy sex, and I could have told thee I know not how many unanswerable reasons for condemning it: but now my soul is in confusion, and as I look at thee, I cannot bring against it any arguments at all. Aye! who could bring a charge of any kind against such a thing as thee?

And as he sighed, she said, with gaiety: Ha! does the enemy surrender, before even so much as attempting an attack? And what can have been the strength of a fortress, which its garrison abandons at the very sign of danger?

But the King, for answer, leaned his chin upon his hand, that rested on his knee, and gazed at her in silence, for so long, that the smile died away upon her lips, and she dropped her eyes upon the ground. And all at once he said: As I look at thee, my weapons of arguments seem as it were to bend and become blunted, and even to crumble to pieces in my hand: and I resemble one in a dream, fighting in vain with a phantom sword, that turns to water or disappears whenever he attempts to strike a blow. For I used to think, that women were weak, and worthless in the day of battle, and so it is: and yet, looking at thee, weak as thou art, for I could crush thee in a moment, I would not have thee other than just the thing thou art, and thy very weakness seems, I know not how, to be a merit and a virtue in thee, and stronger than my strength; and in thy case, the very notion of a battle seems utterly abominable, and ludicrous, and out of place. And again, I used to think that a woman was a burden, and as I look at thee, I think that thou art a burden I would willingly carry, for as long as my strength would endure. And women's voices seemed to me made only for chattering and scolding, but thine is a music, strange, and soft, and unimaginably beautiful, that plays upon my heart, and gladly would I listen to it for ever, never so much as noting the passage of any time. And but yesterday I would have told thee, a woman was a traitor, but to-day, looking at thy soul in the colour of thine eyes, I doubt not women, but myself. For they seem to me like two great black tanks, filled with unearthly liquid drawn from some deep Pátála well, where ocean mixes with the azure of the skies. And but an hour ago, I would have told thee, a woman was an ugly little thing, a deformity of man, in every point inferior to him: but as I look at thee, remorse comes over me, and horror, as I recollect and shudder at my crime, and I see that I resemble one blaspheming a divinity that ought rather to be worshipped and adored. For I am but a clod, and a coarse and rough and rude misshapen lump, compared with thee, and every morsel of thy fairy figure, from thy masses of dark hair to the sole of thy little foot, fills me with agitation and feeling that I cannot utter, and fierce desire as it were to devour thee, and thirst to drink of thy unutterable loveliness, that increases as I watch thee till I am likely to die of its intolerable sting. For I am burning as if with fire, and I know not what to do. And but an hour ago, I thought my soul a strong tower, but as I look at thee, struck by a stroke of lightning in the form of thy little figure, it has all tumbled to pieces, and lies in black miserable ruin at thy feet.