Ch. 13: Naboth

This was how it happened; and the truth is also an allegory of Empire.

I met him at the corner of my garden, an empty basket on his head, and
an unclean cloth round his loins. That was all the property to which
Naboth had the shadow of a claim when I first saw him. He opened our
acquaintance by begging. He was very thin and showed nearly as many ribs
as his basket; and he told me a long story about fever and a lawsuit,
and an iron cauldron that had been seized by the court in execution of a
decree. I put my hand into my pocket to help Naboth, as kings of the
East have helped alien adventurers to the loss of their kingdoms. A
rupee had hidden in my waistcoat lining. I never knew it was there, and
gave the trove to Naboth as a direct gift from Heaven. He replied that I
was the only legitimate Protector of the Poor he had ever known.

Next morning he reappeared, a little fatter in the round, and curled
himself into knots in the front verandah. He said I was his father and
his mother, and the direct descendant of all the gods in his Pantheon,
besides controlling the destinies of the universe. He himself was but a
sweetmeat-seller, and much less important than the dirt under my feet. I
had heard this sort of thing before, so I asked him what he wanted. My
rupee, quoth Naboth, had raised him to the ever-lasting heavens, and he
wished to prefer a request. He wished to establish a sweetmeat-pitch
near the house of his benefactor, to gaze on my revered countenance as I
went to and fro illumining the world. I was graciously pleased to give
permission, and he went away with his head between his knees.

Now at the far end of my garden, the ground slopes toward the public
road, and the slope is crowned with a thick shrubbery. There is a short
carriage-road from the house to the Mall, which passes close to the
shrubbery. Next afternoon I saw that Naboth had seated himself at the
bottom of the slope, down in the dust of the public road, and in the
full glare of the sun, with a starved basket of greasy sweets in front
of him. He had gone into trade once more on the strength of my
munificent donation, and the ground was as Paradise by my honoured
favour. Remember, there was only Naboth, his basket, the sunshine, and
the gray dust when the sap of my Empire first began.

Next day he had moved himself up the slope nearer to my shrubbery, and
waved a palm-leaf fan to keep the flies off the sweets. So I judged that
he must have done a fair trade.

Four days later I noticed that he had backed himself and his basket
under the shadow of the shrubbery, and had tied an Isabella-coloured rag
between two branches in order to make more shade. There were plenty of
sweets in his basket. I thought that trade must certainly be