Sound
the trumpet. Clear the floor for the dance. Bring in Salome, the
graceful and accomplished princess.
The doors are opened and in bounds the dancer. Stand back and give
plenty of room for the gyrations. The lords are enchanted. They never
saw such poetry of motion. Their souls whirl in the reel, and bound
with the bounding feet. Herod forgets crown and throne,--everything
but the fascinations of Salome. The magnificence of his realm is as
nothing compared with that which now whirls before him on tiptoe. His
heart is in transport with Salome as her arms are now tossed in
the air, and now placed akimbo. He sways with every motion of the
enchantress. He thrills with the quick pulsations of her feet, and is
bewitched with the posturing and attitudes that he never saw before,
in a moment exchanged for others just as amazing. He sits in silence
before the whirling, bounding, leaping, flashing wonder. And when
the dance stops, and the tinkling cymbals pause, and the long, loud
plaudits that shook the palace with their thunders had abated, the
entranced monarch swears unto the princely performer: "Whatsoever thou
shalt ask of me I will give it to thee, to the half of my kingdom.
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