ASNEHA 
 
 THE 
 
 Legend of the Opal 
 
 Illustrations and Text by 
 
 CARLO DE FORNARO 
 
 Published by MARCUS & CO. 
 Jewelers 
 
 544 Fifth Avenue 
 New York 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2017 with funding from 
 Getty Research Institute 
 
 https://archive.org/details/asnehalegendofopOOforn 
 
ASNEHA 
 
 THE 
 
 Legend of the Opal 
 
 Illustrations and Text by 
 
 CARLO DE FORNARO 
 
 Published by MARCUS & CO. 
 Jewelers 
 
 544 Fifth Avenue 
 New York 
 
Copyright, 1902, by 
 Carlo de Fornaro 
 
J ' aspire , volupte divine ! 
 
 Hymne profond , delicieux ! 
 
 'Tons les sanglots de ta poi trine , 
 
 Et crois que ton coeur s' illumine 
 Des per les que versent tes yeux ! 
 
 — C. Baudelaire . 
 
Utter a powerful song to Indra, which will 
 be as sweet as butter and honey. 
 
 — Rig Veda. 
 
 ✓E upon a time, in the 
 land of Kasi, there lived 
 a poor musician, who 
 was also a poet and a 
 most imaginative story- 
 teller. He had lost his 
 flute in a village brawl, 
 and being too poor to buy a new instrument had 
 to content himself in relating wonderful legends 
 concerning the gods, and stirring tales about the 
 jungle people. 
 
 One morning, feeling the necessity of commun- 
 ing with his spirit in quiet and solitude, he wan- 
 
 5 
 
dered into the jungle under a favorite cluster of 
 bamboos. 
 
 His soaring imagination was checked in its flight 
 by a song of so extraordinary a tune, so novel and 
 strange to his ears that he fancied he had been 
 carried up by unknown favor to Indra’s heaven. 
 The heavenly singer was only a small bird with 
 feathers like old gold, two eyes green as emeralds, 
 and the beak and legs of the same color. 
 
 And the Golden Bird spoke to him : <c Asneha ! 
 thou hast acquired great merit by thy devotion to 
 matters spiritual, by thy kindness to animals and 
 to human beings. Therefore, if thou wilt cut a 
 reed within these woods they shall repeat my songs 
 to thee.” 
 
 “ But have a care, thou must remain pure and 
 not suffer to be deluded by the love of woman, 
 and thou shalt conquer the world.” 
 
 He cut a flute in haste and pressed his lips to it 
 to utter a song from it. And verily the music 
 which flowed from its opening was divine and 
 
golden beyond description. Sometimes it sang 
 softly as the moonbeam plays on a silent lake of 
 emerald, dancing and trembling with so gentle a 
 rhythm that only the soul of a poet could hear its 
 melody ; at other times it swelled its notes to the 
 power of the roaring Maruts smiting against the 
 unmovable Himalayas, as the wrath of Kali with 
 the shiver of the cold snows from the eternal 
 summits. Again, its melody dripped sweetly as 
 the whitest of honey with the scent of a thousand 
 flowers, of innumerable forms and shadings the 
 most delicate. It wept, also, a song of despair 
 and misery, so sadly, so pitifully, that it caused 
 the tears to surge as readily as the Fountain of 
 all the Sorrows. 
 
 So he incised on his flute this motto : 
 
 “ Once upon a time the Golden Bird sang to 
 me, 
 
 Now I shall sing a golden song to the gods.” 
 
 He went from village to village, from city to 
 city, playing with the generosity of an inspired 
 
 9 
 
poet, followed by man, woman, child and beast 
 alike, whenever he put his flute to his lips. They 
 offered him their homes, their riches, their dearest 
 possessions, but he scorned all, accepting only a 
 little rice with spices, partaking of shelter with 
 the humblest when the tempest-beaten jungle for- 
 bade his sleeping out of doors. 
 
 Quickly his fame had spread, and reached the 
 ears of the Maharajah, who bade him appear at 
 the palace, to vie with the court musicians, who 
 were the most famous in the land. The court 
 musicians, in their ignorance, eyed the half-naked 
 poet with a defiant leer, as one by one they be- 
 gan playing, while nearby sat the Maharajah 
 with his daughter, the fair Mahismati, and the 
 courtiers around, all fairly laden with gems, ap- 
 pearing as enormous glistening scarabei. 
 
 They sang and drummed, they scratched their 
 fiddles and twanged their guitars, they played the 
 harps and clanked the cymbals to the admiring 
 assemblage of noblemen, who wondered how this 
 
miserable, half-starved vagabond dared to compete 
 with his wretched little instrument. 
 
 When the musicians had ended, Asneha got up, 
 announcing the Song of Songs. 
 
 It began imperceptibly, but as insinuatingly as 
 the language of a couple of loving eyes whispers 
 to another loved pair ; so indistinct to the ear that 
 it was as the incipient melody in the mind of the 
 composer. 
 
 Then it continued, soothing and muffled as the 
 patter of small naked feet dancing the nautch on 
 the marble flooring; rattled speedily as an incessant 
 cascade of rubies, diamonds, sapphires, pearls and 
 emeralds on a basin of gold. Steadily it flowed, like 
 a Song of Desire and Voluptuousness, filling the 
 hall with a scarlet inundation of light ; heavy and 
 numbing as the exhalation of soporific flowers. 
 
 But now it ascended to healthier altitudes like 
 a Song of Victory and Exultation, direct and 
 concise, in a blast of crystal trumpets, higher, 
 slowly, in the manner of the eagle. 
 
 13 
 
It rang forth agitated and sonorous as a gong, 
 yet farther, solitary, inaccessible. 
 
 Then as if it had grown in magnitude by the 
 ascent, it roared like a planet as it shoots into 
 space to restore the equilibrium of the Universe, 
 and suddenly, unexpectedly, in the fashion of the 
 shooting star, it stopped short, carrying in its wake 
 the exhausted assemblage of listeners to the floor 
 as a mass of inert flesh. 
 
 One by one, as do the reeds after the violent 
 gust of wind has blown over, they raised them- 
 selves, but not quite so erect as before. The mu- 
 sicians approached him humbly, and breaking 
 their instruments, threw them at his feet, salaam- 
 ing and promising never to play again from that 
 day on. 
 
 Then Rajah Nila spoke : “ Oh Asneha 1 Thou 
 art indeed a great musician, and thou shalt be 
 rewarded as befits a king ; my riches, my king- 
 dom, my daughter, are thine for thy choosing ! ” 
 
 “ Oh, Rajah ! ” answered Asneha, “ I am only 
 
 5 
 
a poor man and a musician by divine grace, but I 
 am not a beggar, and have no desire for thy kingly 
 gifts and thy fair daughter ! ” 
 
 The astonished Nila replied : “ Assuredly 
 
 thou art richer than am I, for thou art freed 
 of all desires! But let me be a beggar for once, 
 and entreat thee for another song!” 
 
 ❖ * ❖ & 
 
 One day Pavana, the messenger of the gods, ap- 
 peared to Asneha mounted on his white antelope, 
 a flag in one hand, in the other an arrow, with 
 a command from Indra to present himself im- 
 mediately to the gods. So he mounted the ante- 
 lope, and in less time than it takes to think it, he 
 was carried to the eastern spur of the great Mount 
 Meru, which is Swargra, in the City of Asmara- 
 vati, the heaven of Indra. All the gods had 
 assembled there. Above all towered the great 
 and mighty Indra, the Ruler of the gods and Lord 
 of the Firmament, mounted on his elephant Aira- 
 vata, at his right his dog Surana, and at his left 
 
 17 
 
his wife Indrani. Farther to the left was Surya, 
 the god of the Sun, on his winged horse Tark- 
 shya. Agni, the god of Fire, on a blue ram, 
 and Varuna, the god of Waters, on his terrible 
 Makara. 
 
 At Indra’s right was Yama, the god of Death, 
 on a blue buffalo, with his twin sisters, the Yamu- 
 nis, at their feet, the Sarameyas, their faithful 
 watchdogs. 
 
 On Yama’s right was Kuvera, the god of 
 Wealth, with his sister Kuveri, in their aerial car 
 of jeweled lapis-lazuli. 
 
 Then Soma, the god of the Moon, on a white 
 antelope, and Mangala, the god of War. 
 
 Also the goddess of Love, Radha, and all the 
 lesser gods in magnificent array, in all their splen- 
 dor, in all their beauty and power, watching 
 silently Asneha. 
 
 Indra patted Airavata, and then spoke: 
 
 “ Oh Asneha ! Thou hast conquered the world 
 with thy songs, and thou hast boasted to conquer 
 
 19 
 
''tttWW 
 
the gods too ! Now make thy boast good, or 
 thou shalt go into the keeping of Yama!” 
 
 Asneha looked around, a little dazed by this 
 gathering of Immortals; he then shook his long 
 black hair, as if to conquer timidity, and then 
 began his Golden Song. 
 
 Pure and exquisite as the breath of woman 
 with teeth like pearls, as fragrant as the rose of 
 Cashmere, it sang, now jocund, now sad, as the 
 moods of love-sick Radha; plaintively yearning 
 as an appeal to love in the stillness of the starless 
 night ; joyous and eager as the meeting of desir- 
 ous lips; languishing as the woman’s heart faint- 
 ing under the first kiss of the loved; it redoubled 
 powerful, passionate as the march of the conquer- 
 ing male who has subdued. Abruptly it altered 
 the rhythm as if awakening in readiness for battle, 
 with the clamor of an army lusting for carnage, 
 with the clank of swords, the discordant clash of 
 shields, armors and spears, the dull thud of shat- 
 tered bones and skulls, vehement imprecations, 
 
 21 
 
Yam a 
 
deep blasphemies, full of rancor, hatred and venge- 
 ance. 
 
 Then succeeded a silence, heavy, full of terrible 
 signs, as of a silent flapping of wings, of a roaming 
 of untold shadows, blacker than the night. 
 
 It repeated the death-song of the jackal and 
 the hyena, with its harassing, fiendish chorus, pur- 
 suing in a mad dance with strange rhythms, the 
 lively reel of the black scavengers on the silent 
 and pale corpses. Then it died out, purling and 
 gurgling as life ebbs out of a tortured body from 
 a deep and crimson wound. 
 
 Pity and compassion returned to the song, 
 gently, caressingly, as if nursing multiple 
 wounds, infusing sympathy and life, like the 
 wind, which laden with coolness and fragrance, 
 sweeps over an arid and desolate valley. 
 
 It broke into a chant, strong and overwhelm- 
 ing, and so irresistible that it was as a strain of 
 Perfect Joy; persevered tenfold, omnipotent, with 
 a note so true, so deep and so infinite that it 
 
 23 
 
was like a sip of the Amrita, blissful and oblivi- 
 ous. 
 
 All the gods encircled Asneha, instinctively, 
 irresistibly, as the cobras surround the snake- 
 charmer when he plays to them his captivating 
 melody. 
 
 They stared at him fixedly as if to get the 
 sound from its original source, and when he had 
 ended they stood one instant stock-still, dumb, 
 overflowing with admiration and ecstasy. Then 
 they all pressed around him, speaking and shout- 
 ing confusedly like ordinary mortals. But a hush 
 fell over the assemblage as the great Indra slowly 
 made his way to Asneha, and for a while stood 
 absorbed and pensive, looking at the musician. 
 
 He then spoke with his clear, sonorous voice : 
 “Asneha! Verily thou hast made thy daring 
 boast good, therefore thou shalt become immortal 
 too ! 
 
 “ I cannot offer thee what is earthly, for thou 
 canst acquire all earthly things with thy song. 
 
 2 5 
 
But I have created a gem which comprises all the 
 harmonies, all the melodies of music in color. It 
 is ever changing, ever beautiful and imperishable 
 as are your songs. Take it, and delight with it 
 the mortals ! ” 
 
 To the kneeling Asneha he extended his palm, 
 where scintillated, luminous and irradiating as a 
 perfect song, the Opal.