The Puritans | Page 3

is necessary to have mastered their language. As he knew not
whether the countenance of the old man attracted or repelled him more,
and could only decide that at least it had a strange fascination.
Suddenly Ashe felt his glance called up by a familiar presence, and to

his surprise saw his friend, Maurice Wynne, come into the room,
accompanied by a stately, bright-eyed woman who was warmly greeted
by Mrs. Gore. He wondered at the chance which had brought Maurice
here as well as himself; but the calling of the meeting to order attracted
his thoughts back to the business of the moment.
The Persian was the latest ethical caprice of Boston. He had come by
the invitation of Mrs. Gore to bring across the ocean the knowledge of
the mystic truths contained in the sacred writings of his country; and
his ministrations were being received with that beautiful seriousness
which is so characteristic of the town. In Boston there are many persons
whose chief object in life seems to be the discovery of novel forms of
spiritual dissipation. The cycle of mystic hymns which the Persian was
expounding to the select circle of devotees assembled at Mrs. Gore's
was full of the most sensual images, under which the inspired Persian
psalmists had concealed the highest truth. Indeed, Ashe had been told
that on one occasion the hostess had been obliged to stop the reading
on the ground that an occidental audience not accustomed to anything
more outspoken than the Song of Solomon, and unused to the amazing
grossness of oriental symbolism, could not listen to the hymn which he
was pouring forth. Fortunately Philip had chanced upon a day when the
text was harmless, and he could hear without blushing, whether he were
spiritually edified or not.
The Persian had a voice of exquisite softness and flexibility. His every
word was like a caress. There are voices which so move and stir the
hearer that they arouse an emotion which for the moment may override
reason; voices which appeal to the senses like beguiling music, and
which conquer by a persuasive sweetness as irresistible as it is
intangible. The tones of the Persian swayed Ashe so deeply that the
young man felt as if swimming on a billow of melody. Philip regarded
as if fascinated the slender, dusky fingers of the reader as they handled
the splendidly illuminated parchment on which glowed strange
characters of gold, marvelously intertwined with leaf and flower, and
cunning devices in gleaming hues. He looked into the deep, liquid eyes
of the old man, and saw the light in them kindle as the reading
proceeded. He felt the dignity of the presence of the seer, and the

richness of his flowing garment; but all these things were only the
fitting accompaniments to that beautiful voice, flowing on like a topaz
brook in a meadow of daffodils.
The Persian spoke admirable English, only now and then by a slight
accent betraying his nationality. He made a short address upon the
antiquity of the hymn which he was that day to expound, its authorship,
and its evident inspiration. Then in his wonderful voice he read:--

THE HYMN OF ISMAT.
Yesterday, half inebriated, I passed by the quarters where the vintners
dwell, to seek the daughter of an infidel who sells wine.
At the end of the street, there advanced before me a damsel, with a
fairy's cheeks, who in the manner of a pagan wore her tresses
dishevelled over her shoulders like a sacerdotal thread. I said: "O thou,
to the arch of whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave, what quarter is
this, and where is thy mansion?"
She answered: "Cast thy rosary to the ground; bind on thy shoulder the
thread of paganism; throw stones at the glass of piety; and quaff from a
full goblet."
"After that come before me that I may whisper a word in thine ear;--
thou wilt accomplish thy journey if thou listen to my discourse."
Abandoning my heart, and rapt in ecstasy, I ran after her until I came to
a place in which religion and reason forsook me.
At a distance I beheld a company all insane and inebriated, who came
boiling and roaring with ardor from the wine of love.
Without cymbals or lutes or viols, yet all filled with mirth and melody;
without wine or goblet or flagon, yet all incessantly drinking.
When the cord of restraint slipped from my hand, I desired to ask her

one question, but she said: "Silence!"
"This is no square temple to the gate of which thou canst arrive
precipitately; this is no mosque to which thou canst come with tumult,
but without knowledge. This is the banquet-house of infidels, and
within it all are intoxicated; all from the