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Among them there is a special variety, called “gentry flies”; in colour and form they are quite like others, but they have a broader breast, a larger belly than the common sort; as they fly they hum loudly and buzz beyond all endurance, and they are so strong that they will break right through a spider’s web; or if one is caught, it will buzz there for three days, for it can contend with the spider in single combat.
Are ye wickedly scheming, according to your selfish fancies, an evil plot against Him Who is the Most Great Remembrance of God? By the righteousness of God, all who are in the heaven and on earth and whatsoever lieth between them are regarded in My sight even as a spider’s web, and verily God beareth witness unto all things. Indeed they will not lay plots but against themselves.
“So intoxicated were those who had quaffed from the cup of Bahá’u’lláh’s presence,” is yet another testimony from the pen of Nabíl, who was himself an eye-witness of most of these stirring episodes, “that in their eyes the palaces of kings appeared more ephemeral than a spider’s web.... The celebrations and festivities that were theirs were such as the kings of the earth had never dreamt of.” “I, myself with two others,” he relates, “lived in a room which was devoid of furniture.
Above the mass of many-coloured ears and stalks hung like a canopy a bright cloud of butterflies,50 whose four-parted wings were light as a spider’s web and transparent as glass; when they hover in the air they are hardly visible, and, though they hum, you fancy that they are motionless.
The tailor sitting with crossed legs on his table; the smith hammering the red-hot iron; the juggler who made the rounds of the city with the trained monkey; the Jewish pawnbroker, the chimney sweep, the one-legged veteran, an old woman who looked out from some cellar, a spider’s nest in the corner of a wall—around all these things and still others she wound her tale of weal or woe.
Could that calm, pale face, crossed by innumerable lines of suffering, as a spider’s web lies on a flower, blaze and pant with Sappho’s guilty love? Something of these thoughts must have appeared on my face, for turning with a smile, she asked, “You find me changed? It’s the air of my village. Here I’m myself. Everywhere else I’m different.
There was a bay-window; it was so beautiful that he felt like kneeling before it. There was a fountain; it was so snug and exotic that it seemed like a poem. There were the arches of the bridge; in them was the dim reflection of the water. There were two towers; they were as delicate as a spider’s web. He rejoiced and exclaimed: “Oh world, art thou real? Art thou my world, and am I living in thee?
Hardly did the hearers have time to recover from their amazement, when once more the music changed: at first there were once more light and gentle hummings; a few thin strings complained together, like flies striving to free themselves from the spider’s web.
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