The Queen of Penesthelia and Firman The Brave 13
Riddles in the Garden
In the morning in the seventy-seventh of the nine hundred gardens of the Queen of Penesthelia, beneath the seventy-seven trees, there was a cloth of gold upon the lawn and a tent of silk of crimson, and there stood the Queen Arsinoe and her seventy-seven maidens each more lovely than the last, but none so lovely as she. And then came Firman the Brave and his horse and his dog and the squirrel and the child, and the child ran to the Queen and embraced her around the knees, and the Queen sat her by on a cushion.
“Are you prepared to riddle with me, Firman the Brave?”
“Are you prepared to wed me?” he countered.
“It will not be so easy as that,” she smiled.
“This only tells what you know,” he said.
She laughed merrily, and said to him,
In shadow I stand, Yet light I command. The world I sustain, In silence remain. Double-natured I be, At the core of what's free.
What am I?1
Firman pondered these words, of shadow and light, in silence sustaining, and two naturedness. And then he nodded. “Who is it that births and slays, that love and leaves, in shadow and dark? It is woman.”
Without body I remain, Yet all things I contain. I flow without motion, I am proof's notion.
What am I?2
The Queen smiled. “This is child’s play,” she said. “The game is no jest: you play for my heart. But the answer is — thought.”
I am nothing itself, Yet without me all fades. I am birth's first breath, Yet death my form raids. When you understand me, I vanish instantly.
What am I?3
Firman paced the cloth of gold, deep in thought, striving at it, almost understanding then failing—
“Ah!” said he. “Clever. The answer is being, that vanishes swiftest when we understand it most.”
I call through silence deep, I march through those who weep. The fathers I take away, The sons in chains I sway. Truth I turn to lies, Peace I choke until it dies.
What am I?4
“You will not master me with riddles, Firman the Brave. This is easy also, for it has filled our peaceful world now as the Famine filled it before. It is war.”
She drew herself up, queenly, for her last riddle.
I stand at the point Between light and shadow, Between flow and fracture, Between truth and deception. If you look at me, I cannot be seen. If you listen for me, I remain silent. In time I flow, Yet time I break. In space I run, Yet space I forget. I am the mirror Of all that exists, But when you find me The mirror remains empty. In your hands I slip Like water through fingers, But in your heart I sit Like stone in the river.
What am I?5
He walked back and forth, and he thought and thought, and he dared not fail, for one riddle left had he, and he did not think he could confuse her. The mirror remains empty … between flow and fracture …water through fingers …
He looked at her laughing eyes, as she knew he must fail, but as he opened his mouth to admit defeat, he thought I am the mirror of all that exists …
“Consciousness,” said he. She raised an eyebrow in admiration and spread her hands. “Thy last riddle, Firman the Brave.”
He pulled at his beard’s end and walked slowly, thinking, and then nodded.
“Listen well, O Queen.”
Through your eyes I see myself whole. In your sighs I breathe my soul. You think me another, But I'm your mirror clear - Your love, your illusion, Your self drawing near.
What am I?6
Now it was the turn of the Queen to be perplexed, and her perfect brow earned a wrinkle, and she tapped her foot, and she rubbed her chin, and she looked at her seven and seventy maidens who were as baffled as she.
And she looked into the branches of the trees, and at the pale shape of the moon visible by day, and at the towers of her palace, and she could not find an answer.
And at last she said, “Firman the Brave, I am baffled. What is the answer to this riddle?”
He smiled and said,
“You seek me far, in stars, in sea, but I'm the heart in your breast, you see. The moon never knows that it is you - Love never shows Itself as true.7— It is you, O Queen, the one I love.”
The Queen of Penesthelia laughed, and rose and extended her hands. “So you have won the game and won my hand and won my heart. You are indeed the Brave.”
And all of his men and all of her maids, and all of the court of Penesthelia went within the glorious palace and they were wed, and had their feast, and oh, what a feast it was! They dined on saffron-scented rice piled high like gold, and lamb so tender it melted like snow on the tongue. There were bowls of jewel-bright pomegranate, platters of honeyed dates stuffed with almonds, and delicate pastries. They ate, and they drank, and they drank, and they ate, while I stood watching with my wooden plate. They had pilaf with pistachios and barberries tart, but I got only the steam that made my stomach smart. They feasted on halva smooth as silk and white as the moon while I was sent away with nothing but a tarnished old spoon. And there they must be still, dining in that many-columned and tiled hall filled with cushions, for last I heard, the kitchen fires burned bright as ever, in Penesthelia.
"All is one, my tale is done." "Ĉio estas sama, jen la fino de la dramo.”
1 Sub ombro mi staras,
Sed lumon mi faras.
Sed lumon mi faras.
Sed mute mi venas.
Duobla mi estas,
En kerno mi restas.
Kio mi estas?2 Sen korpo mi estas,
Sed ĉio mi restas.
Mi fluas sen movo,
Mi estas la provo.
Kio mi estas?3 Mi estas nenio,
Sed sen mi ĉio svenas.
Mi estas naskio,
Sed morto min prenas.
Kiam vi min komprenas,
Mi tuj malaperas.
Kio mi estas?4 Mi vokas per silento,
Mi marŝas per lamento.
La patrojn mi forprenas,
La filojn mi katenas.
La veron mi mensogas,
La pacon mi suflogas.
Kio mi estas?5 Mi staras en punktoInter lumo kaj ombro,
Inter fluo kaj rompo,
Inter vero kaj trompo.
Se vi min rigardas,
Mi ne estas videbla.
Se vi min aŭskultas,
Mi restas silenta.
En tempo mi fluas,
Sed tempon mi rompas.
En spaco mi kuras,
Sed spacon mi forgesas.
Mi estas la spegulo
De ĉio kio estas,
Sed kiam vi min trovas
La spegulo jam restas.
En viaj manoj mi glitas
Kiel akvo tra fingroj,
Sed en via koro mi sidas
Kiel ŝtono en rivero.
Kio mi estas?6 Per viaj okuloj
Mi vidas min mem.
En viaj suspiroj
Mi spiras sen prem'.
Vi pensas min alia,
Sed mi estas via spegulo -
Via amo, via trompo,
Via propra senkalkulo.
Kio mi estas?7 Vi serĉas min for
En steloj, en mar',
Sed estas mi kor'
En via brustar'.
La luno ne scias,
Ke ĝi estas vi -
La amo ne vidas
Sin mem en spegul'.