"he saw a beggar all in gray."

it has been said already that the beggar class in oneiria enjoyed peculiar and extensive privileges. it was a factor in the oneirian polity, that one would hardly have expected to find, and its existence would be hard to explain were it not for a passage in a memoir, which the founder left behind him, as an exposition of the motives which led him to adopt some of the more unusual provisions of the constitution. the style is no less crabbed and tortuous than it is usual to find at the time, but it is none the less interesting as giving us a glimpse into the old knight's habit of thought.

"forasmuch," it runs, "as the riches of this world have been bestowed on us, not for each man's ease and delight, which is the seedbed of sloth and gluttony, but rather for the perfecting of our natures by charity and almsgiving, whereby we are made partakers of all christian virtue; so at the first i was[pg 65] shrewdly exercised how this medicine should be furnished for men's souls in a state where none should want. the [missing word] which fears at last brought me to draw into one body all the useless and most outlandish of my people, to whom all manner of work should be forbidden, that a guild of beggars might be made, to be a receptacle for all that was imperfectable in the community, whereby, as it appeared to me, i could make such men, as were otherwise useless and noxious to the state, useful citizens in respect that they would serve as a whetstone to the virtue of the rest, and, as it were, lay up for my garden a dung-heap or midden, which though itself is stinking and full of corruption, yet being dug in in season, bringeth up a plenteous growth of most sweet flowers and wholesome herbs."

the dung-heap commenced on these philosophical lines grew amazingly, and on the whole to the general health and cleanliness. everything that had gone bad in the state drained into it by a natural process, and the resulting mass of human garbage which had collected at the time of which we are speaking thoroughly deserved the evil reputation it had earned. yet no one thought of interfering with it. a quarter of the city and a secluded valley into which it sloped away had been assigned to the guild by the founder, and as long as it did not exceed its boundaries it was allowed to go on gathering, festering and growing. a [pg 66]certain number of the beggars were permitted to exercise their profession at the palace gates, otherwise it was all kept out of sight. private people congratulated themselves on the excellent social drainage it afforded, and lived as if they did not know of its existence. they avoided the subject, gave their annual alms, and enjoyed the virtue so purchased till the time came round for laying in another stock. as for the government, it behaved in much the same way as the citizens. every year it handed its donation from the central fund to the "emperor" of the guild, as he was called, and suffered him to make and administer his own laws within the liberties without any inquiry or interference. it was whispered that some of these laws were of the most barbarous kind, and when people remembered what a conglomeration of nationalities, both savage and civilised, the guild represented, they, as a rule, changed the conversation, as if they were afraid to think what loathsome poisons might have been produced by the fermenting together of so much heterogeneous matter.

it was only natural then that kophetua should wend his way to the beggars' quarter. it had been instituted by the founder for the increase of virtue, and he determined to seek in the reeking dung-heap for the elements to make fertile the soul he felt so barren within him. moreover, as soon as the idea suggested itself, he began to see very clearly[pg 67] that the dung-heap had grown to a great wrong that was worthy of his best efforts to put right. he even confessed to himself that he had been aware of this for a long time, but either from cowardice or indolence he had refused to allow his dreaming to stiffen into a purpose. he always dismissed the idea almost before it was conceived, and fell back again into his old colourless life with its never-changing round of banalities and affectation. with each relapse his selfishness and cynicism grew more hard. it only wanted one great effort to stir his barren soul, and one brave grapple with sin and hideousness, to make all his heroism spring up in a harvest of golden grain. he knew that well enough in his better moments, yet he dreamed the dream and awoke, and was selfish and cynical and indolent still.

but now he was aroused at last. he was ashamed to think whose voice it was that had awakened him. he wished it had been any other. still, he strode on under the shadow of the houses with a lighter heart than he had known for many years. and yet it was not without misgiving that he plunged into the liberties of st. lazarus, as the beggars' quarter was called. it had an evil name, and his life had been so smooth that except in the chase he had never known what danger was. strange tales were told of what had befallen men who had unwarily entered the quarter, and it was with a [pg 68]beating heart that he passed the great "beggars' gate."

he was no sooner past the barrier, however, than he saw before him a sight which drove everything else from his mind. hurrying up the street in front of him was an ungainly, limping figure, which it was impossible to mistake. that gait could be none but turbo's. what could it mean? where could he be going? kophetua drew closer under the shadow of the houses and followed.

turn after turn the chancellor took till he seemed to be seeking the very bowels of the liberty, and kophetua began to feel it would be hard to find his way out again. every now and then they passed a beggar, but the king only drew his hat more closely down and hurried on. at last turbo stopped at a little door in what seemed the wall of a court or garden, and after looking round stealthily to see if he were followed he entered. kophetua walked quickly to the door, which the chancellor had carefully closed after him. once there, he knew he had made no mistake, and understood at last the strange interest his chancellor always took in the beggars at the palace gate.

"nay, my pretty lump of foulness, do not avoid me," he heard turbo's mocking voice say; "i have found you alone this time, and you must come perforce."

"stand back! stand back!" gasped a[pg 69] woman's voice; "i will cry out and alarm them."

"you dare not, foul sweetheart," said turbo; "you know too well the penalty when one of you is found with one of us. nay, do not struggle so. there's no escape to-night."

there was a low choking cry of horror, and kophetua burst open the door. at first he saw no one. he found himself in a little court behind a dilapidated house. across the end where he stood ran a verandah in deep shadow. the noise of his entrance had hushed every sound. he could see nothing nor hear anything but his beating heart, when suddenly he was aware that a dark shadow had glided out of the verandah and had slipped by him through the door. then in the far end he heard a low moan, and saw as he approached what seemed a heap of dirty rags lying in a corner, but he knew directly it was the lifeless form of a woman.

she did not move when he touched her, so he carried her out and laid her down in the bright moonlight to see what ailed her. very tenderly he rested her head on his knee and bent over the motionless form to feel for life in it.

it was not without disgust that he did so, for it was only a beggar-girl he could see now, and she was no cleaner than her kind. her face and hands were covered with dirt,[pg 70] her thick dark hair was matted and unkempt, and the rags that covered her were filthy beyond description. yet her face looked so pale and careworn and delicate that he forgot all her foulness in his pity, and tried his best to revive her.

at last she sighed deeply, and opened her eyes. they were large and dark and trustful, and they looked straight up into his with a strange wonder; so long and earnestly did she gaze at him with her far-off look, that he felt a sort of fascination coming over him, and began to think how every one said the beggars were half of them witches. it was a great relief to see a dreamy smile lighting up her wan face. she stretched up her hands to him, and then dropped them as though she was too weak or too happy for anything but to lie as she was.

"are you the great god?" she whispered, "or only an angel?"

"lie still, child, a little," he said tenderly; "i am only human like yourself."

"only a man!" she whispered with increasing wonder in her great dark eyes. "i thought i was dead and lay in god's lap. they say i shall, some day when my misery is done; but if you are a man, he will be too beautiful for me. let me lie here a little where i am and dream again."

she closed her eyes, but they seemed still to look at him. he could not forget them. it was like a spell. he could not think of[pg 71] anything but them, and he let her lie while he gathered his straying thoughts.

"are you better?" he asked, when she moved again. "try and sit up. i cannot stay here long."

"ah! i remember," she said, with a shudder. "it was you who came in when he seized me, and i prayed for help, and then,—then i forget. yes, you must go away and leave me."

"but i must see you in the house first."

"no, no; i cannot go in to-night. father was angry and beat me when i came in, and said i must stay on the stones all night because i had brought nothing home. i could not help it. they pushed me when trecenito scattered the alms at the gate, and i could get none. and yet if i stay here, perhaps the man will come back."

"do you know who it was?"

"yes, the ugly man that i saw at the palace window. he followed me here once before and tried to make me go with him. but father came out, and he ran away. oh, he is very wicked," she said, with another shudder. "he is not like you." she lay back again peacefully on kophetua's knee, and closed her eyes as if she would swoon again, but a noise in the house disturbed her almost directly. "it is father. fly, fly for your life!" she cried, starting up.

as she spoke, a tall beggar rushed out from the verandah with a long knife in his[pg 72] hand and made straight at kophetua. the girl with a wild cry threw herself before the man and clasped his knees, crying again, "fly, fly for your life!" and ere he well knew what he was doing, kophetua had availed himself of the respite and was running down the street. he had not gone far, however, before he began to think what a bad beginning he was making to run away just as the danger commenced. then those trusting eyes seemed to be looking at him again and calling him back. so he stopped, determined to return and rescue her from her father's fury. but now he was aware he had entirely lost his way. still he would not give up his purpose, and cursing himself for his cowardice, wandered through street after street, it seemed for hours, and was then as far as ever from finding what he sought. exhausted with his efforts, from time to time he sat down to rest and think which direction could be right. many beggars passed him, but he dared not speak to one. again and again he started up and walked on once more. his blood was up, and he was determined not to leave the girl to her fate. he knew life would be unendurable if he returned without redeeming his cowardice.

at last, at the end of a narrow lane, he emerged into a square where was a building larger than any he had seen before, and all ablaze with light. many beggars were going into it, and, hardly knowing why, he joined[pg 73] himself to one of the tattered groups and went in too.

he found himself directly in a great hall surrounded by a filthy crowd. at first he could see nothing but the smoke-blackened roof and the torches that flared all round. but presently in an eddy of the throng he was carried beside a rough wooden table on which men were standing. one of them looked down, and holding out a grimy hand invited him to get up beside him. once there, he could see all over the great chamber. all round the walls was a mass of beggars packed close on floor and forms and tables, and dressed in every tattered costume under heaven, from east to west. arab and jew, frank and berber, all were there and every hybrid between, and the lurid torchlight lit up a pile of faces as evil as sin itself.

at the further end was a raised platform, supporting a great high-backed chair which was ablaze with gilding and colour lately renewed. it formed the strangest contrast to the dirt and gloom and rottenness with which it was surrounded, but even stranger was the incongruity of its occupant. for upon it sat a little brown wizened man, so old that he hardly seemed alive, except in his restless eyes. his long white hair and beard straggled thinly over him and formed his only covering, except for a filthy waist-cloth, and a chaplet of gold-pieces which served for a crown. he was not sitting in[pg 74] the european manner, but had drawn up his skinny brown legs on to the gilded seat, and was squatting like an oriental. indeed, the whole scene savoured rather of the east than the west. the architecture was moorish, and the tawdry throne was framed in a horseshoe arch. turbans were more numerous than any other head-dress, and the front rows of the throng squatted on the dirty floor watching unmoved the scene that was being enacted before them.

yet it was moving enough. in the midst before the throne was an open grave, newly dug in the mud floor. beside it two men were stripping as though for a fight. as soon as they were ready they stood up knife in hand and salaamed to the emperor, for such kophetua knew he must be. then came a shrill sound from the throne, like the voice of a heron, and every murmur was hushed.

"know all men," it cried, "why the high court of st. lazarus sits to-night. it sits for treason to the ancient guild; it sits on one who is unchaste with the gentiles. it sits on penelophon, daughter of ramlak. to-night she was found in the arms of her lover who came from the city. it is sin worthy of death. it is worthy the worst of deaths. yet dannok her brother maintains the charge is false, and will do battle for his sister with him on whom the lot of blood has fallen, the champion of st. lazarus."

[pg 75]

kophetua's heart sank within him as the monotonous words fell slowly on his ear. something told him that penelophon must be the girl he had come to rescue; but how to do it now! with terrible anxiety he watched the combatants take their places opposite each other. behind each of them were two others, each armed, like the champions, with long knives. it was an awful scene to one who had lived the life of kophetua, where all that was ugly or painful had long been refined away. the heat and stench made him feel sick and weak, so that the open grave and the knives, and the brown old emperor crouching in the gilded throne, seemed to weigh him down like a horrible dream.

"let penelophon be brought forth to stand her trial!"

the shrill voice died away again. a door opened by the da?s, there was a movement in the throng, and breathless with dread kophetua watched to see what would come. the crowd opened, and his life seemed to freeze up with horror. he tried to cry out, but no sound came. he shut his eyes to keep out the sight; but it was useless, he could not choose but look. there, between two hideous hags, walked what seemed the corpse of the girl he had tried to save. he knew her again though she was so changed. they had washed her clean as the body that is laid out for burial; they had wrapped her[pg 76] in grave-clothes, and her luxuriant dark hair hung down, combed and silky, over the white shroud like a pall. yet he knew her. that wan face, the dark, trusting eyes he could never forget. it was she whom he had tried to befriend. it was she whom he had deserted. this was the end of his first attempt. she was to die the worst of deaths. she was to be buried alive!

and all depended on the skill of the stripling who was already sparring before the champion of st. lazarus. they were long before they closed, and kophetua watched breathlessly. suddenly they were together and there was a flash and clink of steel, and the lad sprang back. on his shoulder was a streak of blood; but before the king had well seen it, the two men behind leaped upon the wounded boy and plunged their knives into his back. such was the fierce law of combat in the liberties of st. lazarus. the first blood showed the right, and death was the portion of him who fought for the wrong.

it was over, and penelophon must die. without ceremony the seconds seized her brother's naked body and threw it into the open grave. then the two hags began to drag their charge to it in her turn. she looked round wildly, her eyes staring with terror. kophetua, in his intense anxiety, had worked himself to the front; and their eyes met. she started, and her horror[pg 77] changed to the look of wonder he had seen when first her eyes opened and gazed into his. he knew she was thinking her guardian angel was come again. it was more than he could bear. forgetting everything, he leaped down into the open space, tore her from the hags, and stood with the shroud-clad figure in his arms, bidding her fear nothing.

"it is the gentile lover," proclaimed the same monotonous cry of the shrivelled emperor. "he has come to lie in the same grave with his shameless love. seize him, and make ready!"

"you dare not!" cried kophetua, as he threw back his cloak and hat. "stand back! see! it is i, kophetua the king."

there was a murmur of "trecenito" through the throng, and the men who were come to obey the emperor's orders fell back.

"we know no king in the liberties but the emperor," droned the old man, quite undisturbed. "seize him, and prepare him for the grave!"

"stand back!" cried poor kophetua, "you dare not lay hands on me. think what your fates will be when my people hear of it."

"they will never hear of it," chanted the emperor. "no one saw you come hither."

"yes, turbo, my chancellor, saw me," cried the king, growing alarmed.

"and he wishes your death, that he may reign in your stead," the voice droned on[pg 78] without a change of note. "seize them, and put them together in limbo for a foretaste of the narrower chamber that is to come, while the grave-clothes are prepared and another grave is dug; for now the dead shall lie alone. away with them now, and fear not. the emperor is greater than the king, and sultan death than both."

he ended in a shrill scream of mocking laughter, while kophetua was seized and hurried along, powerless to resist. while the devilish merriment still rang out they thrust him in at the door whence the beggar-maid had been brought. her they pushed in after him, and the door closed with a hollow clang.

as soon as kophetua could collect his thoughts sufficiently to look about him, he found himself shut in a narrow chamber, in every way adapted for a prison. one small window, about his own height from the ground, was the only outlet to the open air, and it was heavily barred. the moonlight streamed through it and poured a flood of silvery light about a stone bench in a recess on the opposite side. there his eyes rested at last immovably; for there sat the beggar-maid swathed in her shroud, and shining so white and ghostly in the moonbeams that she seemed no living thing. she sat upright, gazing before her with her wondering eyes as though she only half understood what had happened.

[pg 79]

and kophetua wondered too—wondered to see how beautiful she was now her foulness was washed away. he knew the face well; where had he seen it? it must have been in his dreams. so he stood in the deep shadow watching and wondering and listening to the click of the spade and mattock, as the beggars dug the grave he was to share with the living corpse before him. it was indeed, as the emperor had said, a foretaste of the tomb.

presently she turned her dark gaze on him. it was terrible to see the death-like thing looking at him, and he shuddered, but her soft voice reassured him.

"i knew my angel would come down and save me again," she murmured. "when will you take me away? i am ready to go now; dannok is dead, and i have no one left."

poor child! he dared not speak and break her dream. he only watched her still, and then it flashed on him what face it was. it was in the old picture in his library he had seen it, the same wan delicate features, the same black hair waving so smooth and even over the snowy forehead. he had often wondered how a painter could have chosen such a face to fascinate a king. now he saw it in the flesh he wondered no longer, but gazed his fill, and listened to the click of the grave-diggers.

"must we wait very long?" murmured[pg 80] the beggar-maid again. "i am very weary, and crave for rest."

"my child, my child!" cried kophetua, unable any longer to restrain himself, "i cannot save you. it is i that have ruined you, and we are going to lie side by side in the same dark grave."

as he spoke he went to her, and in spite of his half-superstitious awe of the ghostly figure he took her in his arms, as though he would kiss away the new horror from her face; but he started back immediately, pale as herself. the click of spade and mattock had ceased, heavy footsteps sounded at the door, and the key rattled in the lock.