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diff --git a/10095-0.txt b/10095-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b5e174d --- /dev/null +++ b/10095-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9608 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10095 *** + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE TWILIGHT +OF THE GODS: +AND OTHER TALES + +by Richard Garnett + +MDCCCCIII + + + + +TO +HORACE HOWARD FURNESS +AND +GEORG BRANDES. +DABO DUOBUS TESTIBUS MEIS + + + + +CONTENTS + + The Twilight of the Gods + The Potion of Lao-Tsze + Abdallah the Adite + Ananda the Miracle Worker + The City of Philosophers + The Demon Pope + The Cupbearer + The Wisdom of the Indians + The Dumb Oracle + Duke Virgil + The Claw + Alexander the Ratcatcher + The Rewards of Industry + Madam Lucifer + The Talismans + The Elixir of Life + The Poet of Panopolis + The Purple Head + The Firefly + Pan’s Wand + A Page from the Book of Folly + The Bell of Saint Euschemon + Bishop Addo and Bishop Gaddo + The Philosopher and the Butterflies + Truth and Her Companions + The Three Palaces + New Readings in Biography + The Poison Maid + NOTES + + + + +THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS + + +Truth fails not, but her outward forms that bear +The longest date do melt like frosty rime. + +I + +The fourth Christian century was far past its meridian, when, high +above the summit of the supreme peak of Caucasus, a magnificent eagle +came sailing on broad fans into the blue, and his shadow skimmed the +glittering snow as it had done day by day for thousands of years. A +human figure—or it might be superhuman, for his mien seemed more than +mortal—lifted from the crag, to which he hung suspended by massy gyves +and rivets, eyes mournful with the presentiment of pain. The eagle’s +screech clanged on the wind, as with outstretched neck he stooped +earthward in ever narrowing circles; his huge quills already creaked in +his victim’s ears, whose flesh crept and shrank, and involuntary +convulsions agitated his hands and feet. Then happened what all these +millenniums had never witnessed. No thunderbolt had blazed forth from +that dome of cloudless blue; no marksman had approached the +inaccessible spot; yet, without vestige of hurt, the eagle dropped +lifeless, falling sheer down into the unfathomable abyss below. At the +same moment the bonds of the captive snapped asunder, and, projected by +an impetus which kept him clear of the perpendicular precipice, he +alighted at an infinite depth on a sun-flecked greensward amid young +ash and oak, where he long lay deprived of sense and motion. + +The sun fell, dew gathered on the grass, moonshine glimpsed through the +leaves, stars peeped timidly at the prostrate figure, which remained +prostrate and unconscious still. But as sunlight was born anew in the +East a thrill passed over the slumberer, and he became conscious, first +of an indescribably delicious feeling of restful ease, then of a +gnawing pang, acute as the beak of the eagle for which he at first +mistook it. But his wrists, though still encumbered with bonds and +trailing fetters, were otherwise at liberty, and eagle there was none. +Marvelling at his inward and invisible foe, he struggled to his feet, +and found himself contending with a faintness and dizziness heretofore +utterly unknown to him. He dimly felt himself in the midst of things +grown wonderful by estrangement and distance. No grass, no flower, no +leaf had met his eye for thousands of years, nothing but the +impenetrable azure, the transient cloud, sun, moon, and star, the +lightning flash, the glittering peaks of ice, and the solitary eagle. +There seemed more wonder in a blade of grass than in all these things, +but all was blotted in a dizzy swoon, and it needed his utmost effort +to understand that a light sound hard by, rapidly growing more +distinct, was indeed a footfall. With a violent effort he steadied +himself by grasping a tree, and had hardly accomplished so much when a +tall dark maiden, straight as an arrow, slim as an antelope, wildly +beautiful as a Dryad, but liker a Maenad with her aspect of mingled +disdain and dismay, and step hasty as of one pursuing or pursued, +suddenly checked her speed on perceiving him. + +“Who art thou?” he exclaimed. + +“Gods! Thou speakest Greek!” + +“What else should I speak?” + +“What else? From whom save thee, since I closed my father’s eyes, have +I heard the tongue of Homer and Plato?” + +“Who is Homer? Who is Plato?” + +The maiden regarded him with a look of the deepest astonishment. + +“Surely,” she said, “thy gift has been bestowed upon thee to little +purpose. Say not, at least, that thou usest the speech of the Gods to +blaspheme them. Thou art surely yet a votary of Zeus?” + +“I a votary of Zeus!” exclaimed the stranger. “By these fetters, no!” +And, weak as he was, the forest rang with his disdainful laughter. + +“Farewell,” said the maiden, as with dilating form and kindling eye she +gathered up her robes. “I parley with thee no more. Thou art tenfold +more detestable than the howling mob down yonder, intent on rapine and +destruction. They know no better, and can no other. But thou, apt in +speaking the sacred tongue yet brutally ignorant of its treasures, +knowing the father of the Gods only to revile him! Let me pass.” + +The stranger, if willing to hinder her, seemed little able. His eyes +closed, his limbs relaxed, and without a cry he sank senseless on the +sward. + +In an instant the maiden was kneeling by his side. Hastily undoing a +basket she carried on her arm, she drew forth a leather flask, and, +supporting the sunken head with one hand, poured a stream of wine +through the lips with the other. As the gurgling purple coursed down +his throat the sufferer opened his eyes, and thanked her silently with +a smile of exquisite sweetness. Removing the large leaves which shaded +the contents of the basket, she disclosed ripe figs and pomegranates, +honeycomb and snow-white curd, lying close to each other in tempting +array. The stranger took of each alternately, and the basket was +well-nigh emptied ere his appetite seemed assuaged. + +The observant maiden, meanwhile, felt her mood strangely altered. + +“So have I imaged Ulysses to myself,” she thought as she gazed on the +stranger’s goodly form, full of vigour, though not without traces of +age, the massive brow, the kindly mouth, the expression of far-seeing +wisdom. “Such a man ignorant of letters, and a contemner of Zeus!” + +The stranger’s eloquent thanks roused her from a reverie. The Greek +tongue fell upon her ear like the sweetest music, and she grieved when +its flow was interrupted by a question addressed directly to herself. + +“Can a God feel hunger and thirst?” + +“Surely no,” she rejoined. + +“I should have said the same yesterday,” returned the stranger. + +“Wherefore not to-day?” + +“Dear maiden,” responded he, with winning voice and manner, “we must +know each other better ere my tale can gain credence with thee. Do thou +rather unfold what thine own speech has left dark to me. Why the +language of the Gods, as should seem, is here understood by thee and me +alone; what foes Zeus has here other than myself; what is the profane +crowd of which thou didst speak; and why, alone and defenceless, thou +ascendest this mountain. Think of me, if thou wilt, as one fallen from +the clouds.” + +“Strange man,” returned the maiden, “who knowest Homer’s speech and not +Homer’s self, who renouncest Zeus and resemblest him, hear my tale ere +I require thine. Yesterday I should have called myself the last +priestess of Apollo in this fallen land, to-day I have neither shrine +nor altar. Moved by I know not what madness, my countrymen have long +ago forsaken the worship of the Gods. The temples crumbled into ruin, +prayer was no longer offered or sacrifice made as of old, the priestly +revenues were plundered; the sacred vessels carried away; the voice of +oracles became dumb; the divine tongue of Greece was forgotten, its +scrolls of wisdom mouldered unread, and the deluded people turned to +human mechanics and fishermen. One faithful servant of Apollo remained, +my father; but ’tis seven days since he closed his eyes for ever. It +was time, for yesternoon the heralds proclaimed by order of the King +that Zeus and the Olympians should be named no more in Caucasia.” + +“Ha!” interrupted the stranger, “I see it all. Said I not so?” he +shouted, gazing into the sky as if his eye could pierce and his voice +reach beyond the drifting clouds. “But to thy own tale,” he added, +turning with a gesture of command to the astonished Elenko. + +“It is soon told,” she said. “I knew that it was death to serve the +Gods any more, yet none the less in my little temple did fire burn upon +Apollo’s altar this morning. Scarcely was it kindled ere I became aware +of a ruffianly mob thronging to sack and spoil. I was ready for death, +but not at their hands. I caught up this basket, and escaped up the +mountain. On its inaccessible summit, it is reported, hangs Prometheus, +whom Zeus (let me bow in awe before his inscrutable counsels) doomed +for his benevolence to mankind. To him, as Aeschylus sings, Io of old +found her way, and from him received monition and knowledge of what +should come to pass. I will try if courage and some favouring God will +guide me to him; if not, I will die as near Heaven as I may attain. +Tell me on thy part what thou wilt, and let me depart. If thou art +indeed Zeus’s enemy, thou wilt find enough on thy side down yonder.” + +“I have been Zeus’s enemy,” returned the stranger, mildly and gravely, +“I am so no longer. Immortal hate befits not the mortal I feel myself +to have become. Nor needest thou ascend the peak further. Maiden, I am +Prometheus!” + +II + +It is a prerogative of the Gods that, when they do speak sooth, mortals +must needs believe them. Elenko hence felt no incredulity at the +revelation of Prometheus, or sought other confirmation than the bonds +and broken links of chain at his wrists and ankles. + +“Now,” he cried, or rather shouted, “is the prophecy fulfilled with +which of old I admonished the Gods in the halls of Olympus. I told them +that Zeus should beget a child mightier than himself, who should send +him and them the way he had sent his father. I knew not that this child +was already begotten, and that his name was Man. It has taken Man ages +to assert himself, nor has he yet, as it would seem, done more than +enthrone a new idol in the place of the old. But for the old, behold +the last traces of its authority in these fetters, of which the first +smith will rid me. Expect no thunderbolt, dear maiden; none will come: +nor shall I regain the immortality of which I feel myself bereaved +since yesterday.” + +“Is this no sorrow to thee?” asked Elenko. + +“Has not my immortality been one of pain?” answered Prometheus. “Now I +feel no pain, and dread one only.” + +“And that is?” + +“The pain of missing a certain fellow-mortal,” answered Prometheus, +with a look so expressive that the hitherto unawed maiden cast her eyes +to the ground. Hastening away from the conversation to which, +nevertheless, she inly purposed to return. + +“Is Man, then, the maker of Deity?” she asked. + +“Can the source of his being originate in himself?” asked Prometheus. +“To assert this were self-contradiction, and pride inflated to madness. +But of the more exalted beings who have like him emanated from the +common principle of all existence, Man, since his advent on the earth, +though not the creator, is the preserver or the destroyer. He looks up +to them, and they are; he out-grows them, and they are not. For the +barbarian and Triballian gods there is no return; but the Olympians, if +dead as deities, survive as impersonations of Man’s highest conceptions +of the beautiful. Languid and spectral indeed must be their existence +in this barbarian age; but better days are in store for them.” + +“And for thee, Prometheus?” + +“There is now no place,” replied he, “for an impeacher of the Gods. My +cause is won, my part is played. I am rewarded for my love of man by +myself becoming human. When I shall have proved myself also mortal I +may haply traverse realms which Zeus never knew, with, I would hope, +Elenko by my side.” + +Elenko’s countenance expressed her full readiness to accompany +Prometheus as far beyond the limits of the phenomenal world as he might +please to conduct her. A thought soon troubled her delicious reverie, +and she inquired: + +“Peradventure, then, the creed which I have execrated may be truer and +better than that which I have professed?” + +“If born in wiser brains and truer hearts, aye,” answered Prometheus, +“but of this I can have no knowledge. It seems from thy tale to have +begun but ill. Yet Saturn mutilated his father, and his reign was the +Golden Age.” + +While conversing, hand locked in hand, they had been strolling +aimlessly down the mountain. Turning an abrupt bend in the path, they +suddenly found themselves in presence of an assembly of early +Christians. + +These confessors were making the most of Elenko’s dilapidated temple, +whose smoking shell threw up a sable column in the background. The +effigies of Apollo and the Muses had been dragged forth, and were being +diligently broken up with mallets and hammers. Others of the +sacrilegious throng were rending scrolls, or dividing vestments, or +firing the grove of laurel that environed the shrine, or pelting the +affrighted birds as they flew forth. The sacred vessels, however, at +least those of gold and silver, appeared safe in the guardianship of an +episcopal personage of shrewd and jovial aspect, under whose inspection +they were being piled up by a troop of sturdy young ecclesiastics, the +only weapon-bearers among the rabble. Elenko stood riveted to the +ground. Prometheus, to her amazement, rushed forward to one of the +groups with a loud “By all the Gods and Goddesses!” Following his +movements, she saw that the object of his interest was an enormous dead +eagle carried by one of the mob. The multitude, startled by his cry and +his emotion, gazed eagerly at the strangers, and instantly a shout went +up: + +“The heathen woman!” + +“With a heathen man!” + +And clubs began to be brandished, and stones to be picked up from the +ground. + +Prometheus, to whom the shouts were unintelligible, looked wistfully at +Elenko. As their eyes met, Elenko’s countenance, which had hitherto +been all disdain and defiance, assumed an expression of irresolution. A +stone struck Prometheus on the temple, drawing blood; a hundred hands +went up, each weighted with a missile. + +“Do as I,” cried Elenko to him, and crossed herself. + +Prometheus imitated her, not unsuccessfully for a novice. + +The uplifted arms were stayed, some even sank down. + +By this time the Bishop had bustled to the front, and addressed a +torrent of questions to Prometheus, who merely shook his head, and +turned to inspect the eagle. + +“Brethren,” said the Bishop, “I smell a miracle!” And, turning to +Elenko, he rapidly proceeded to cross-examine her. + +“Thou wert the priestess of this temple?” + +“I was.” + +“Thou didst leave it this morning a heathen?” + +“I did.” + +“Thou returnest a Christian?” + +Elenko blushed fire, her throat swelled, her heart beat violently. All +her soul seemed concentrated in the gaze she fastened on the pale and +bleeding Prometheus. She remained silent—but she crossed herself. + +“Who then has persuaded thee to renounce Apollo?” + +Elenko pointed to Prometheus. + +“An enemy of Zeus, then?” + +“Zeus has not such another enemy in the world.” + +“I knew it, I was sure of it,” exclaimed the Bishop. “I can always tell +a Christian when I see him. Wherefore speaks he not?” + +“He is ancient, for all his vigorous mien. His martyrdom began ere our +present speech was, nor could he learn this in his captivity.” + +“Martyrdom! Captivity!” exclaimed the prelate gleefully, “I thought we +were coming thither. An early martyr, doubtless?” + +“A very early martyr.” + +“Fettered and manacled?” + +“Behold his wrists and ankles.” + +“Tortured, of course?” + +“Incredibly.” + +“Miraculously kept alive to this day?” + +“In an entirely supernatural manner.” + +“Now,” said the Bishop, “I would wager my mitre and ring that his life +was prolonged by the daily ministrations of yonder fowl that he +caresses with such singular affection?” + +“Never,” replied Elenko, “for one day did that most punctual bird omit +to visit him.” + +“Hurrah!” shouted the Bishop. “And now, its mission accomplished, the +blessed creature, as I am informed, is found dead at the foot of the +mountain. Saints and angels! this is glorious! On your knees, ye +infidels!” + +And down they all went, the Bishop setting the example. As their heads +were bowed to the earth, Elenko made a sign to Prometheus, and when the +multitude looked up, it beheld him in the act of imparting the +episcopal blessing. + +“Tell him that we are all his brethren,” said the Bishop, which +announcement became in Elenko’s mouth, “Do as I do, and cleave to thy +eagle.” + +A procession was formed. The new saint, his convert, and the eagle, +rode in a car at the head of it. The Bishop, surrounded by his +bodyguard, followed with the sacred vessels of Apollo, to which he had +never ceased to direct a vigilant eye throughout the whole proceedings. +The multitude swarmed along singing hymns, or contending for the stray +feathers of the eagle. The representatives of seven monasteries put in +their claims for the links of Prometheus’s fetters, but the Bishop +scouted them all. He found time to whisper to Elenko: + +“You seem a sensible young person. Just hint to our friend that we +don’t want to hear anything about his theology, and the less he talks +about the primitive Church the better. No doubt he is a most +intelligent man, but he cannot possibly be up to all the recent +improvements.” + +Elenko promised most fervently that Prometheus’ theological sentiments +should remain a mystery to the public. She then began to reflect very +seriously on the subject of her own morals. “This day,” she said to +herself, “I have renounced all the Gods, and told lies enough to last +me my life, and for no other reason than that I am in love. If this is +a sufficient reason, lovers must have a different code of morality from +the rest of the world, and indeed it would appear that they have. Will +you die for me? Yes. Admirable. Will you lie for me? No. Then you don’t +love me. Βαλλ εισ κορακασ εισ Ταιναρον εισ Όγγ Κογγ.” + +III + +Elenko soon found that there was no pausing upon the path to which she +had committed herself. As the sole medium of communication between +Prometheus and the religious public, her time was half spent in +instructing Prometheus in the creed in which he was supposed to have +instructed her, and half in framing the edifying sentences which passed +for the interpretation of discourses for the most part far more +interesting to herself than if they had been what they professed to be. +The rapt and impassioned attention which she was observed to bestow on +his utterances on such occasions all but gained her the reputation of a +saint, and was accepted as a sufficient set-off against the unhallowed +affection which she could not help manifesting for the memory of her +father. The judicious reluctance of the Caucasian ecclesiastics to +inquire over-anxiously into the creeds and customs of the primitive +Church was a great help to her; and another difficulty was removed by +the Bishop, who, having no idea of encouraging a rival thaumaturgist, +took an early opportunity of signifying that it was rather in the line +of Desmotes (for by this name the new saint passed) to be the subject +than the instrument of miracles, and that, at all events, no more were +to be looked for from him at his time of life. The warmth with which +Elenko espoused this view raised her greatly in his good opinion, and +he was always ready to come to her aid when she became entangled in +chronological or historical difficulties, or seasoned her versions of +Desmotes’ speeches with reminiscences of Plato or Marcus Aurelius, or +when her invention failed altogether. On such occasions, if objectors +grew troublesome, the Bishop would thunder, “Brethren, I smell a +heresy!” and no more was said. One minor trouble both to Prometheus and +Elenko was the affection they were naturally expected to manifest +towards the carcase of the wretched eagle, which many identified with +the eagle of the Evangelist John. Prometheus was of a forgiving +disposition, but Elenko wished nothing more ardently than that the +whole aquiline race might have but one neck, and that she might wring +it. It somewhat comforted her to observe that the eagle’s plumage was +growing thin, while the eagle’s custodian was growing fat. + +But she had worse troubles to endure than any that eagles could +occasion. The youth of those who resorted to her and Prometheus +attracted remark from the graver members of the community. Young ladies +found the precepts of the handsome and dignified saint indispensable to +their spiritual health; young men were charmed with their purity as +they came filtered through the lips of Elenko. Is man more conceited +than woman, or more confiding? Elenko should certainly have been at +ease; no temptress, however enterprising, could well be spreading her +nets for an Antony three hundred years old. Prometheus, on the +contrary, might have found cause for jealousy in many a noble youth’s +unconcealed admiration of Elenko. Yet he seemed magnificently +unconscious of any cause for apprehension, while Elenko’s heart swelled +till it was like to burst. She had the further satisfaction of knowing +herself the best hated woman in Caucasia, between the enmity of those +of whose admirers she had made an involuntary conquest, and of those +who found her standing between them and Prometheus. Her monopoly of +Greek, she felt sure, was her only security. Two constant attendants at +Prometheus’s receptions particularly alarmed her, the Princess Miriam, +niece of the Bishop, a handsome widow accustomed to have things as she +wished them; and a tall veiled woman who seemed unknown to all, but +whose unseen eyes, she instinctively knew, were never averted from the +unconscious Prometheus. + +It was therefore with some trepidation that she received a summons to +the private apartment of the Princess Miriam. + +“Dear friend,” the Princess began, “thou knowest the singular affection +which I have invariably entertained for thee.” + +“Right well do I know it,” responded Elenko. (“The thirty-first lie +to-day,” she added wearily to herself.) + +“It is this affection, dear friend,” continued the Princess, “which +induces me on the present occasion to transgress the limits of +conventional propriety, and make a communication distressing to thee, +but infinitely more so to myself.” + +Elenko implored the Princess to make no such sacrifice in the cause of +friendship, but the great lady was resolute. + +“People say,” she continued— + +“What say they?” + +“That thy relation to Desmotes is indiscreet. That it is equivocal. +That it is offensive. That it is sacrilegious. That, in a word, it is +improper.” + +Elenko defended herself with as much energy as her candour would allow. + +“Dear friend,” said the Princess, “thou dost not imagine that I have +part or lot in these odious imputations? Even could I deem them true, +should I not think charitably of thee, but yesterday a heathen, and +educated in impiety by a foul sorcerer? My poor lamb! But tongues must +be stopped, and I have now to advise thee how this may be +accomplished.” + +“Say on.” + +“People will always talk so long as thou art the sole medium of +communication with the holy man. Some deem him less ignorant of our +speech than he seems, but concerning this I inquire not: for, in +society, what seems, is. Enough that thy colloquies expose thee to +scandal. There is but one remedy. Thou must yield thy place to another. +It is meet that thou forthwith instruct in that barbarous dialect some +matron of unblemished repute and devout aspirations; no mere ignorant +devotee, however, but a woman of the world, whose prudence and +experience may preserve the holy man from the pitfalls set for him by +the unprincipled. Manifestly she must be a married person, else nought +were gained, yet must she not be chargeable with forsaking her duties +towards her husband and children. It follows that she must be a widow. +It were also well that she should be of kin to some influential +personage, to whose counsel she might have recourse in times of +difficulty, and whose authority might protect her against the +slanderous and evil disposed. I have not been able to meet any one +endowed with all these qualifications, excepting myself. I therefore +propose to thee that thou shouldst instruct me in the speech of +Desmotes, and when I am qualified to take thy place my uncle shall +elevate thee to the dignity of Abbess, or bestow thee upon some young +clergyman of extraordinary desert.” + +Elenko intimated, perhaps with more warmth than necessary, her aversion +to both propositions, and the extreme improbability of the Princess +ever acquiring any knowledge of Greek by her instrumentality. + +“If this is the case,” said the Princess, with perfect calmness, “I +must have recourse to my other method, which is infallible.” + +Elenko inquired what it might be. + +“I shall represent to my uncle, what indeed he very well knows, that a +saint is, properly speaking, of no value till he is dead. Not until his +decease are his relics available, or pilgrimages to his shrine +feasible. It is solely in anticipation of this event that my uncle is +keeping Desmotes at all; and the sooner it comes to pass, the sooner +will my revered relative come by his own. Only think of the capital +locked up in the new church, now so nearly completed, on the spot where +they picked up the eagle! How shall it be dedicated to Desmotes in +Desmotes’ lifetime? Were it not a most blissful and appropriate +coincidence if the day of the consecration were that of the saint’s +migration to a better world? I shall submit this view of the case to my +uncle: he is accustomed to hear reason from me, of whom, between +ourselves, he is not a little afraid. Thou mayest rely upon it that +about the time of the consecration Desmotes will ascend to heaven; +while thou, it is gravely to be feared, wilt proceed in the opposite +direction. Would’st thou avert this unpleasantness, think well of my +first proposal. I give thee credit for loving Desmotes, and suppose, +therefore, that thou wilt make some sacrifice for his sake. I am a +Kettle, thou art a Pot. Take heed how thou knockest against me!” + +Elenko sped back to bear tidings of the threatened collision to +Prometheus. As she approached his chamber she heard with astonishment +two voices in eager conversation, and discovered with still greater +amazement that their dialogue was carried on in Greek. The second +speaker, moreover, was evidently a female. A jealous pang shot through +Elenko’s breast; she looked cautiously in, and discerned the same +mysterious veiled woman whose demeanour had already been an enigma to +her. But the veil was thrown back, and the countenance went far to +allay Elenko’s disquiet. It bore indeed traces of past beauty, but was +altogether that of one who had known better days; worn and faded, weary +and repining. Elenko’s jealousy vanished, though her surprise +redoubled, when she heard Prometheus address the stranger as “Sister.” + +“A pretty brother I have got,” rejoined the lady, in high sharp tones: +“to leave me in want! Never once to inquire after me!” + +“Nay, sister, or sister-in-law,” responded Prometheus, “if it comes to +that, where were you while I was on Caucasus? The Oceanides ministered +to me, Hermes came now and then, even Hercules left a card; but I never +saw Pandora.” + +“How could I compromise Epimetheus, Prometheus?” demanded Pandora. +“Besides, my attendant Hope was always telling me that all would come +right, without any meddling of mine.” + +“Let her tell you so now,” retorted Prometheus. + +“Tell me now! Do you pretend not to know that the hussey forsook +Olympus ten years ago, and has turned Christian?” + +“I am sure I am very sorry to hear it. Somehow, she never forsook _me_. +I can’t imagine how you Gods get on without her.” + +“Get on! We are getting off. Except Eros and Plutus, who seem as usual, +and the old Fates, who go on spinning as if nothing had happened, none +of us expects to last for another ten years. The sacrifices have +dwindled down to nothing. Zeus has put down his eagle. Hera has eaten +her peacocks. Apollo’s lyre is never heard—pawned, no doubt. Bacchus +drinks water, and Venus—well, you can imagine how she gets on without +him and Ceres. And here you are, sleek and comfortable, and never +troubling yourself about your family. But you had better, or I swear I +will tell Zeus; and we shall see whether these Christians will keep you +with your ante-chamber full of starving gods. Take a day to think of +what I have been saying!” + +And away she flounced, not noticing Elenko. Long and earnestly did the +pair discuss the perils that menaced them, and at the end of their +deliberations Elenko sought the Bishop, and briefly imparted the +Princess Miriam’s ultimatum. + +“It is painful to a spiritual man,” replied the prelate, “to be +accessory to a murder. It is also repugnant to his feelings to deny a +beloved niece anything on which she has set her heart. To avoid such +grievous dilemma, I judge it well that ye both ascend to heaven without +further ceremony.” + +That night the ascent of Prometheus and Elenko was witnessed by divers +credible persons. The new church was consecrated shortly afterwards. It +was amply stored with relics from the wardrobe of Prometheus and what +remained of the eagle. The damsels of the capital regained their +admirers, and those who had become enamoured of Prometheus mostly +transferred their affections to the Bishop. Everybody was satisfied +except the Princess Miriam, who never ceased to deplore her indulgence +in giving Elenko the chance of first speech with her uncle. + +“If I had been five minutes beforehand with the minx!” she said. + +IV + +The heaven to which Prometheus and Elenko had ascended was situated in +a sequestered valley of Laconia. A single winding path led into the +glen, which was inhabited only by a few hunters and shepherds, who +still observed the rites of the ancient faith; and sometimes, deeming +but to show kindness to a mortal, refreshed or sheltered a forlorn and +hungry Deity. Saving at the entrance the vale was walled round by steep +cliffs, for the most part waving with trees, but here and there +revealing the naked crag. It was traversed by a silvery stream, in its +windings enclosing Prometheus’s and Elenko’s cottage, almost as in an +island. The cot, buried in laurel and myrtle, had a garden where fig +and mulberry, grape and almond, ripened in their season. A few goats +browsed on the long grass, and yielded their milk to the household. +Bread and wine, and flesh when needed, were easily procured from the +neighbours. Beyond necessary furniture, the cottage contained little +but precious scrolls, obtained by Elenko from Athens and the newly +founded city of Constantine. In these, under her guidance, Prometheus +read of matters that never, while he dwelt on Olympus, entered the +imagination of any God. + +It is a chief happiness of lovers that each possesses treasures wholly +their own, which they may yet make fully the possession of the other. +These treasures are of divers kinds, beauty, affection, memory, hope. +But never were such treasures of knowledge shared between lovers as +between Prometheus and Elenko. Each possessed immeasurable stores, +hitherto inaccessible to the other. How trifling seemed the mythical +lore which Elenko had gleaned as the minister of Phœbus to that now +imparted by Prometheus! The Titan had seen all, and been a part of all +that he had seen. He had bowed beneath the sceptre of Uranus, he had +witnessed his fall, and marked the ocean crimson with his blood. He +remembered hoary Saturn a brisk active Deity, pushing his way to the +throne of Heaven, and devouring in a trice the stone that now resists +his fangs for millenniums. He had heard the shields of the Corybantes +clash around the infant Zeus; he described to Elenko how one day the +sea had frothed and boiled, and undraped Aphrodite had ascended from it +in the presence of the gazing and applauding amphitheatre of +cloud-cushioned gods. He could depict the personal appearance of +Cybele, and sketch the character of Enceladus. He had instructed Zeus, +as Chiron had instructed Achilles; he remembered Poseidon afraid of the +water, and Pluto of the dark. He called to mind and expounded ancient +oracles heretofore unintelligible: he had himself been told, and had +disbelieved, that the happiest day of his own life would be that on +which he should feel himself divested of immortality. Of the younger +gods and their doings he knew but little; he inquired with interest +whether Bacchus had returned in safety from his Indian expedition, and +whether Proserpine had a family of divine imps. + +Much more, nevertheless, had Elenko to teach Prometheus than she could +learn from him. How trivial seemed the history of the gods to what he +now heard of the history of men! Were these indeed the beings he had +known “like ants in the sunless recesses of caves, dwelling +deep-burrowing in the earth, ignorant of the signs of the seasons,” to +whom he had given fire and whom he had taught memory and number, for +whom he had “brought the horse under the chariot, and invented the +sea-beaten, flaxen-winged chariot of the sailor?” And now, how poorly +showed the gods beside this once wretched brood! What Deity could die +for Olympus, as Leonidas had for Greece? Which of them could, like +Iphigenia, dwell for years beside the melancholy sea, keeping a true +heart for an absent brother? Which of them could raise his fellows +nearer to the source of all Deity, as Socrates and Plato had raised +men? Who could portray himself as Phidias had portrayed Athene? Could +the Muses speak with their own voices as they had spoken by Sappho’s? +He was especially pleased to see his own moral superiority to Zeus so +eloquently enforced by Æschylus, and delighted in criticising the +sentiments which the other poets had put into the mouths of the gods. +Homer, he thought, must have been in Olympus often, and Aristophanes +not seldom. When he read in the Cyclops of Euripides, “Stranger, I +laugh to scorn Zeus’s thunderbolts,” he grew for a moment thoughtful. +“Am I,” he questioned, “ending where Polyphemus began?” But when he +read a little further on: + +The wise man’s only Jupiter is this, +To eat and drink during his little day, +And give himself no care— + + +“No,” he said, “the Zeus that nailed me to the rock is better than this +Zeus. But well for man to be rid of both, if he does not put another in +their place; or, in dropping his idolatry, has not flung away his +religion. Heaven has not departed with Zeus.” And, taking his lyre, he +sang: + +What floods of lavish splendour + The lofty sun doth pour! +What else can Heaven render? + What room hath she for more? + +Yet shall his course be shortly done, + And after his declining +The skies that held a single Sun +With thousands shall be shining. + +V + +It was not long ere the gods began to find their way to Prometheus’s +earthly paradise, and who came once came again. The first was +Epimetheus, who had probably suffered least of all from the general +upset, having in truth little to lose since his ill-starred union with +Pandora. He had indeed reason for thankfulness in his practical divorce +from his spouse, who had settled in Caucasia, and gave Greek lessons to +the Princess Miriam. Would Prometheus lend him half a talent? a +quarter? a tenth? a hundredth? Thanks, thanks. Prometheus might rely +upon it that his residence should not be divulged on any account. +Notwithstanding which assurance, the cottage was visited next day by +eleven gods and demigods, mostly Titans. Elenko found it trying, and +was really alarmed when by and by the Furies, having made over their +functions to the Devil, strolled up to take the air, and dropped in for +a chat, bringing Cerberus. But they behaved exceedingly well, and took +back a message from Elenko to Eurydice. Ere long she was on most +intimate terms with all the dethroned divinities, celestial, infernal, +and marine. + +Beautiful and blessed beyond most things is youthful enthusiasm, +looking up to something it feels or deems above itself. Beautiful, too, +as autumn sunshine is maturity looking down with gentleness on the +ideal it has surpassed, and reverencing it still for old ideas and +associations. The thought of beholding a Deity would once have thrilled +Elenko with rapture, if this had not been checked by awe at her own +presumption. The idea that a Deity, other than some disgraced offender +like Prometheus, could be the object of her compassion, would never +have entered her mind. And now she pitied the whole Olympian cohort +most sincerely, not so much for having fallen as for having deserved to +fall. She could not conceal from herself how grievously they were one +and all behind the age. It was impossible to make Zeus comprehend how +an idea could be a match for a thunderbolt. Apollo spoke handsomely of +Homer, yet evidently esteemed the Iliad and Odyssey but lightly in +comparison with the blind bard’s hymn to himself. Ceres candidly +admitted that her mind was a complete blank on the subject of the +Eleusinian mysteries. Aphrodite’s dress was admirable for summer, but +in winter seemed obstinate conservatism; and why should Pallas make +herself a fright with her Gorgon helmet, now that it no longer +frightened anybody? Where Elenko would fain have adored she found +herself tolerating, excusing, condescending. How many Elenkos are even +now tenderly nursing ancient creeds, whose main virtue is the virtue of +their professors! + +One autumn night all the principal gods were assembled under +Prometheus’s roof, doing justice to the figs and mulberries, and wine +cooled with Taygetan snow. The guests were more than usually +despondent. Prometheus was moody and abstracted, his breast seemed +labouring with thought. “So looked my Pythoness,” whispered Apollo to +his neighbour, “when about to deliver an oracle.” + +And the oracle came—in lyric verse, not to infringe any patent of +Apollo’s— + +When o’er the towers of Constantine +An Orient Moon begins to shine, +Waning nor waxing aught, and bright +In daytide as in deep of night: +Then, though the fane be brought + To wreck, the God shall find, +Enthroned in human thought, + A temple in the mind. + + +“And what becomes of us while this prodigious moonshine is concocting?” +demanded Zeus, who had become the most sceptical of any of the gods. + +“Go to Elysium,” suggested Prometheus. + +“There’s an idea!” cried Zeus and Pallas together. + +“To Elysium! to Elysium!” exclaimed the other gods, and all rose +tumultuously, saving two. + +“I go not,” said Eros, “for where Love is, there is Elysium. And yonder +rising moon tells me that my hour is come.” And he flitted forth. + +“Neither go I,” said an old blind god, “for where Plutus is, Elysium is +not. Moreover, mankind would follow after me. But I too must away. +Strange that I should have abode so long under the roof of a pair of +perfect virtue.” And he tottered out. + +But the other gods swept forth into the moonlight, and were seen no +more. And Prometheus picked up the forsaken sandals of Hermes, and +bound them on his own feet, and grasped Elenko, and they rose up by a +dizzy flight to empty heaven. All was silent in those immense courts, +vacant of everything save here and there some rusty thunderbolt or +mouldering crumb of ambrosia. Above, around, below, beyond sight, +beyond thought, stretched the still deeps of æther, blazing with +innumerable worlds. Eye could rove nowhither without beholding a star, +nor could star be beheld from which the Gods’ hall, with all its +vastness, would not have been utterly invisible. Elenko leaned over the +battlements, and watched the racing meteors. Prometheus stood by her, +and pointed out in the immeasurable distance the little speck of +shining dust from which they had flown. + +“There? or here?” he asked. + +“There!” said Elenko. + + + + +THE POTION OF LAO-TSZE + + +And there the body lay, age after age, + Mute, breathing, beating, warm, and undecaying, +Like one asleep in a green hermitage, + With gentle sleep about its eyelids playing, +And living in its dreams beyond the rage + Of death or life; while they were still arraying +In liveries ever new the rapid, blind, +And fleeting generations of mankind. + + +In the days of the Tang dynasty China was long happy under the sceptre +of a good Emperor, named Sin-Woo. He had overcome the enemies of the +land, confirmed the friendship of its allies, augmented the wealth of +the rich, and mitigated the wretchedness of the poor. But most +especially was he admired and beloved for his persecution of the +impious sect of Lao-tsze, which he had well-nigh exterminated. + +It was but natural that such an Emperor should congratulate himself +upon his goodness and worth; yet, as no human bliss is perfect, sorrow +could not fail to enter his mind. + +“It is grievous to reflect,” said he to his courtiers, “that if, as ye +all affirm, there hath not been any Emperor of equal merit with myself +before my time, neither will any such arise after me, my subjects must +inevitably be sufferers by my death.” + +To which the courtiers unanimously responded, “O Emperor, live for +ever!” + +“Happy thought!” exclaimed the Emperor; “but wherewithal shall it be +executed?” + +The Prime Minister looked at the Chancellor, the Chancellor looked at +the Treasurer, the Treasurer looked at the Chamberlain, the Chamberlain +looked at the Principal Bonze, the Principal Bonze looked at the Second +Bonze, who, to his great surprise, looked at him in return. + +“When the turn comes to me,” murmured the inferior functionary, “I +would say somewhat.” + +“Speak!” commanded the Emperor. + +“O Uncle of the stars,” said the Bonze, “there are those in your +Majesty’s dominions who possess the power of lengthening life, who +have, in fact, discovered the Elixir of Immortality.” + +“Let them be immediately brought hither,” commanded the Emperor. + +“Unhappily,” returned the Bonze, “these persons, without exception, +belong to the abominable sect of Lao-tsze, whose members your Majesty +long ago commanded to cease from existence, with which august order +they have for the most part complied. In my own diocese, where for some +years after your Majesty’s happy accession we were accustomed to impale +twenty thousand annually, it is now difficult to find twenty, with the +utmost diligence on the part of the executioners.” + +“It has of late sometimes appeared to me,” said the Emperor, “that +there may be more good in that sect than I have been led to believe by +my counsellors.” + +“I have always thought,” said the Prime Minister, “that they were +rather misguided than wilfully wicked.” + +“They are a kind of harmless lunatics,” said the Chancellor; “they +should, I think, be made wards in Chancery.” + +“Their money does not appear different from other men’s,” said the +Treasurer. + +“I,” said the Chamberlain, “have known an old woman who had known +another old woman who belonged to this sect, and who assured her that +she had been very good when she was a little girl.” + +“If,” said the Emperor, “it appears that his Grace the Principal Bonze +hath in any respect misled us, his property will necessarily be +confiscated to the Imperial Treasury, and the Second Bonze will succeed +to his office. It is needful, however, to ascertain before all things +whether this sect does really possess the Elixir of Immortality, for on +that the entire question of its deserts obviously depends. Our +Counsellor the Second Bonze having, next to myself, the greatest +interest in the matter, I desire him to make due inquiries and report +to us at the next council, when I shall be prepared to state what fine +will be imposed upon him, should he not have succeeded.” + +That night all the members of the Lao-tsze sect inhabiting prisons +under the jurisdiction of the Principal Bonze were decapitated, and the +P.B. laid his own head upon his pillow with some approach to peace of +mind, trusting that the knowledge of the Elixir of Immortality had +perished with them. + +The Second Bonze, having a different object to attain, proceeded in a +different manner. He sent for his captives, and discoursed to them +touching the evil arts of unprincipled courtiers, and the facility with +which they mislead even the best intentioned princes. For years had he, +the Second Bonze, pleaded the cause of toleration at court; and had at +length succeeded in enlightening his Majesty to such an extent that +there was every prospect of an edict of indulgence being shortly +promulgated, provided always that the Elixir of Life was previously +forthcoming. + +The unfortunate heretics would have been only too thankful to prolong +the Emperor’s life indefinitely in consideration of securing peace for +their own, but they could only inform the Bonze of the general +tradition of their sect. This was that the knowledge of Lao-tsze’s +secret was confined to certain adepts, most of whom were plunged into +so deep a trance that any communication with them was impossible. For +the administration of the miraculous draught, it appeared, was attended +with this inconvenience, that it threw the partaker into a deep sleep, +lasting any time between ten years and eternity, according to the depth +of his potation. During its continuance the ordinary operations of +nature were suspended, and the patient awoke with precisely the same +bodily constitution, old or young, as he had possessed on falling into +his lethargy; and though still liable to wounds and accidents, he or +she continued to enjoy undiminished health and vigour for a period +equal to the duration of the trance, after which he sank back into the +ranks of mortality, unless he could repeat the potion. All the adepts +who had come to life under his present Majesty’s most clement reign had +immediately emigrated: the only persons, therefore, capable of giving +information were now buried in slumber, and of course would only speak +when they should awake. They were mostly concealed in the recesses of +caverns, those inhabited by wild beasts being usually preferred for the +sake of better security, as no tiger or bear would harm a follower of +Lao-tsze. The witnesses, therefore, advised the Bonze to ascertain the +residences of the most ferocious tigers in his diocese, and to wait +upon them personally, in the hope of thus discovering what he sought. + +This suggestion was exceedingly unpalatable to the Bonze, who felt +almost equally unwilling to venture himself into a wild beast’s den or +to give any other person the chance of making the discovery. While he +hesitated in unspeakable perplexity he was informed that an old man, +about to expire at the age of an hundred and twenty years, desired to +have speech with him. Thinking so venerable a personage likely to have +at least a glimmering of the great secret, the Bonze hurried to his +bedside. + +“Our master, Lao-tsze,” began the old man, “forbids us to leave this +world with anything undisclosed which may contribute to the advantage +of our fellow-creatures. Whether he deemed the knowledge of the cup of +immortality conducive to this end I cannot say, but the question doth +not arise, for I do not possess it. Hear my tale, nevertheless. Ninety +years ago, being a hunter, it was my hap to fall into the jaws of an +enormous tiger, who bore me off to his cavern. I there found myself in +the presence of two ladies, one youthful and of surpassing loveliness, +the other haggard and wrinkled. The younger lady expostulated with the +tiger, and he forthwith released me. My gratitude won the women’s +confidence, and I learned that they were disciples of Lao-tsze who had +repaired to the cavern to partake of the miraculous draught, which they +were just about to do. They were, it appeared, mother and daughter, and +I distinctly remember that the composition of the beverage was known to +the daughter only. This impressed me, for I should naturally have +expected the contrary. The tiger escorted me home. I forswore hunting, +and became, and have secretly continued, a disciple of Lao-tsze. I will +now indicate the position of the cavern to thee: whether the ladies +will still be found in it is beyond my power to say.” + +And having pointed out the direction of the cavern, he expired. + +The thing had to be done. The Bonze dressed himself up as much like a +votary of Lao-tsze as possible, provided himself with a body-guard of +_bona fide_ disciples, and, accompanied by a small army of huntsmen and +warriors as well, marched in quest of the den of the tiger. It was +discovered about nightfall, and having tethered a small boy near the +entrance, that his screams when being devoured might give notice of the +tiger’s issue from or return to his habitation, the Bonze and his +myrmidons took up a flank position and awaited the dawn. The distant +howls of roaming beasts of prey entirely deprived the holy man of his +rest, but nothing worse befell him, and when in the morning the small +boy, instead of providing the tiger with a breakfast, was heard crying +for his own, the besiegers mustered up courage to enter the cavern. The +glare of their torches revealed no tiger: but, to the Bonze’s +inexpressible delight, two females lay on the floor of the cave, +corresponding in all respects to the description of the old man. Their +costume was that of the preceding century. One was wrinkled and hoary; +the inexpressible loveliness of the other, who might have seen +seventeen or eighteen summers, extorted a universal cry of admiration, +followed by a hush of enraptured silence. Warm, flexible, fresh in +colour, breathing naturally as in slumber, the figures lay, the younger +woman’s arm underneath the elder woman’s neck, and her chin nestling on +the other’s shoulder. The countenance of each seemed to indicate happy +dreams. + +“Can this indeed be but a trance?” simultaneously questioned several of +the Bonze’s followers. + +“_Fiat experimentum in corpore vili!_” exclaimed the Bonze; and he +thrust his long hunting spear into the elder woman’s bosom. Blood +poured forth freely, but there was no change in the expression of the +countenance. No struggle announced dissolution; not until the body grew +chill and the limbs stiff could they be sure the old woman was indeed +dead. + +“Carry the young woman like porcelain,” ordered the priest, and like +the most fragile porcelain the exquisite young beauty was borne from +the cavern smiling in her trance and utterly unconscious, while the +corpse of her aged companion was abandoned to the hyænas. So often did +the bearers pause to look on her beauty that it was found necessary to +drape the countenance entirely, until reaching the closed sedan in +which, vigilantly watched by the Bonze, she was transported to the +Imperial palace. + +And so she was brought to the Emperor, and he worshipped her. She was +laid on a couch of cloth of gold in the Imperial apartments. Wonderful +was the contrast between her youthful beauty, so still in its repose, +and the old haggard Emperor, fevered with the lust of beauty and love +of life. + +“O Majesty,” said his wisest counsellor, “is there any sect in thy +dominions that possesses the secret of perpetual youth?” + +And the Emperor made proclamation, but no such sect could be found. And +he mourned exceedingly, and caused strong perfumes to be burned around +the sleeper, and conches to be blown and gongs beaten in her ears, +hoping that she would awake ere he was dead or wholly decrepit. But she +stirred not. And he shut himself up with her and passed his time +praying to Fo for her awakening. + +But one day the door of the chamber was beaten down, and his old wife +came in passionately upbraiding him. + +“Sin-Woo,” she cried, “thou hast not the heart of a man! Thou wouldest +be deathless, leaving me to die! I shall be laid in the grave, and thou +wilt reign with another! Wherefore have I been true to thee, if not +that our ashes might mingle at the last? Thou hoary sensualist!” + +“Su-Ti,” said the Emperor, with feeling, “thou dost grievously misjudge +me. I am no heartless sensualist, no butterfly sipper at the lips of +beauty. Is not my soul entirely possessed by this divine creature, whom +I love with an affection infinitely exceeding that which I have +entertained for thee at any period? And how knowest thou,” added he, +striving to soothe her, “that I will not give thee to drink of the +miraculous potion?” + +“And keep my grey hairs and wrinkles through all time! Nay, Sin-Woo, I +am no fool like thee, and were I so, I am not in love with any youth. +And know I not that even if I would accept the boon, thou would’st +never give it?” + +And she rushed away in fury and hanged herself by her Imperial girdle. +Whereupon all the other wives and concubines of the Emperor did +likewise, as custom and reason prescribe. All the palace was filled +with lamentation and funerals. But the Emperor lamented not, nor turned +his gaze from the sleeper, nor did the sleeper awaken. + +And his son came to him angry with exceeding wrath. + +“Thou hast murdered my mother. Thou would’st rob me of the crown that +is rightfully mine. I, born to be an Emperor, shall die a subject! Nay, +but I will save thee from thyself. I will pierce thy leman with the +sword, or burn her with fire.” + +And the Emperor, fearing he would do as he threatened, commanded him to +be slain, as also his brothers and sisters. And he paid no heed to the +affairs of State, but gave all into the hand of the Second, now the +Principal Bonze. And the laws ceased to be observed, and rebellions +broke out in the provinces, and enemies invaded the country, and there +was famine in the land. + +And now the Emperor was well-nigh ten years nearer to the gates of +death than when the Sleeping Beauty had been brought to his court. The +love of beauty was nearly quenched in him, but the longing for life +grew more intense. He became angry with the sleeper, that she awakened +not, and with his little remaining strength smote her fiercely on the +cheeks, but she gave no sign of reviving. Remembering that if he gained +the potion of immortality he would himself be plunged into a trance, he +made all preparations for the interregnum. He decreed that he was to be +seated erect on his throne, with all his imperial insignia, and it was +to be death to any one who should presume to remove any of them. His +slumbering figure was to preside at all councils, and to be consulted +in every act of state, and all ministers and officers were to do homage +daily. The revived Sleeping Beauty was to partake of the draught anew, +at the same time and in the same manner as himself, that she might +awake with him, and that he might find her charms unimpaired. All the +ministers swore solemnly to observe these regulations; firmly purposing +to burn the sleeper, if sleep he ever did, at the very first +opportunity, and scatter his ashes to the winds. Then they would fight +for the Empire among themselves; each, meanwhile, was mainly occupied +in striving to gain the rebels over to his interest, insomuch that the +people grew more miserable day by day. + +And as the aged Emperor waxed more and more feeble, he began to see +visions. Legions of little black imps surrounded him crying, “We are +thy sins, and would be punished—would’st thou by living for ever +deprive us of our due?” And fair female forms came veiled with drooping +heads, and murmured, “We are thy virtues, and would be +rewarded—would’st thou cheat us?” And other figures came, dark but +lovely, and whispered, “We are thy dead friends who have long waited +for thee—would’st thou take to thyself new friends, and forget us?” And +others said, “We are thy memories—wilt thou live on till we are all +withered in thy heart?” And others said, “We are thy strength and thy +beauty, thy memory and thy wit—canst thou live, knowing thou wilt never +see us more?” And at last came two warders, officers of the King of +Death, and one of them was laughing. And the other asked why he +laughed, and he replied: + +“I laugh at the Emperor, who thinks to escape our master, not knowing +that the moment of his decease was engraved with a pen of iron upon a +rock of adamant a million million years or ever this world was.” + +“And when comes it?” asked the other. + +“In ten minutes,” said the first. + +When the Emperor heard this he was wild with terror, and tottered to +the couch on which the Sleeping Beauty lay. “Oh, awake!” he cried, +“awake and save me ere it is too late!” And, oh wonder! the sleeper +stirred, and opened her eyes. + +If she had been so beautiful while sleeping, what was she when awake! +But the love of life had overcome the love of beauty in the Emperor’s +bosom, and he saw not the eyes like stars, and the bloom as of peaches +and lilies, or the aspect grand and smiling as daybreak. He could only +cry, “Give me the potion, lest I die, give me the potion!” + +“That cannot I,” she said. “The secret was known only to my daughter.” + +“Who is thy daughter?” + +“The hoary woman, she who slept with me in the cavern.” + +“That aged crone thy daughter, daughter to thee so youthful and so +fresh? + +“Even so,” she said, “I bore her at sixteen, and slumbered for seventy +years. When I awoke she was withered and decrepit: I youthful as when I +closed my eyes. But she had learned the secret, which I never knew.” + +“The Bonze shall be crucified!” yelled the Emperor. + +“It is too late,” said she; “he is torn in pieces already.” + +“By whom?” + +“By the multitude that are now coming to do the like unto thee.” + +And as she spoke the doors were burst open, and in rushed the people, +headed by the most pious Bonze in the Empire (after the late Principal +Bonze), who plunged a sword into the Emperor’s breast, exclaiming: + +“He who despises this life in comparison with another deserves to lose +the life which he has.” Words, saith the historian Li, which have been +thought worthy to be inscribed in letters of gold in the Hall of +Confucius. + +And the people were crying, “Kill the sorceress!” But she looked upon +them, and they cried, “Be our Empress!” + +“Remember,” said she, “that ye will have to bear with me for a hundred +years!” + +“Would,” said they, “that it might be a hundred thousand!” + +So she took the sceptre, and reigned gloriously. Among her good acts is +enumerated her toleration of the followers of Lao-tsze. Since, however, +they have ceased to be persecuted by man, it is observed that wild +beasts have lost their ancient respect for them, and devour them with +no less appetite than the members of other sects and denominations. + + + + +ABDALLAH THE ADITE + + +An aged hermit named Sergius dwelt in the wilds of Arabia, addicting +himself to the pursuit of religion and alchemy. Of his creed it could +only be said that it was so much better than that of his neighbours as +to cause him to be commonly esteemed a Yezidi, or devil worshipper. But +the better informed deemed him a Nestorian monk, who had retired into +the wilderness on account of differences with his brethren, who sought +to poison him. + +The imputation of Yezidism against Sergius was the cause that a certain +inquisitive young man resorted to him, trusting to obtain light +concerning the nature of demons. But he found that Sergius could give +him no information on that subject, but, on the contrary, discoursed so +wisely and beautifully on holy things, that his pupil’s intellect was +enlightened, and his enthusiasm was inflamed, and he longed to go forth +and instruct the ignorant people around him; the Saracens, and the +Sabaeans, and the Zoroastrians, and the Carmathians, and the +Baphometites, and the Paulicians, who are a remnant of the ancient +Manichees. + +“Nay, good youth,” said Sergius, “I have renounced the sending forth of +missionaries, having made ample trial with my spiritual son, the +Prophet Abdallah.” + +“What!” exclaimed the youth, “was Abdallah the Adite thy disciple?” + +“Even so,” said Sergius. “Hearken to his history. + +“Never have I instructed so promising a pupil as Abdallah, nor when he +was first my disciple do I deem that he was other than the most +simple-minded and well-intentioned of youths. I always called him son, +a title I have never bestowed on another. Like thee, he had compassion +on the darkness around him, and craved my leave to go forth and dispel +it. + +“‘My son,’ said I, ‘I will not restrain thee: thou art no longer a +child. Thou hast heard me discourse on the subject of persecution, and +knowest that poison was administered to me personally on account of my +inability to perceive the supernatural light emanating from the navel +of Brother Gregory. Thou art aware that thou wilt be beaten with rods +and pricked with goads, chained and starved in a dungeon, very probably +blinded, very possibly burned with fire?’ + +“‘All these things I am prepared to undergo,’ said Abdallah; and he +embraced me and bid me farewell. + +“After certain moons he returned covered with weals and scars, and his +bones protruded through his skin. + +“‘Whence are these weals and scars?’ asked I, ‘and what signifies this +protrusion of thy bones?’ + +“‘The weals and the scars,’ answered he, ‘proceed from the floggings +inflicted upon me by command of the Caliph; and my bones protrude by +reason of the omission of his officers to furnish me with either food +or drink in the dungeon wherein I was imprisoned by his orders.’ + +“‘O my son,’ exclaimed I, ‘in the eyes of faith and right reason these +scars are lovelier than the moles of beauty, and the sight of thy bones +is like the beholding of hidden treasure!’ + +“And Abdallah strove to look as though he believed me; nor did he +entirely fail therein. And I took him, and fed him, and healed him, and +sent him forth a second time into the world. + +“And after a space he returned, covered as before with wounds and +bruises, but comely and somewhat fat. + +“‘Whence this sleekness of body, my son?’ I asked. + +“‘Through the charity of the Caliph’s wives,’ he answered, ‘who have +fed me secretly, I having assured them that in remembrance of this good +work each of them in the world to come would have seven husbands.’ + +“‘How knewest thou this, my son?’ I inquired. + +“‘In truth, father,’ he said, ‘I did not know it; but I thought it +probable.’ + +“‘O my son! my son!’ exclaimed I, ‘thou art on a dangerous road. To win +over weak ignorant people by promises of what they shall receive in a +future life, whereof thou knowest no more than they do! Knowest thou +not that the inestimable blessings of religion are of an inward and +spiritual nature? Did I ever promise any disciple any recompense for +his enlightenment and good deeds, save flogging, starvation, and +burning?’ + +“‘Never, father,” said he, ‘and therefore thou hast had no follower of +thy law save one, and he hath broken it.’ + +“He left me after a shorter stay than before, and again went forth to +preach. After a long time he returned in good condition of body, yet +manifestly having something upon his mind. + +“‘Father,’ he said, ‘thy son hath preached with faithfulness and +acceptance, and turned thousands unto righteousness. But a sorcerer +hath arisen, saying, “Why follow ye Abdallah, seeing that he breathes +not fire out of his mouth and nostrils?” And the people give ear unto +the words that come from this man’s lips, when they behold the flame +that cometh from his nose. And unless thou teachest me to do as he doth +I shall assuredly perish.’ + +“And I told Abdallah that it was better to perish for the truth’s sake +than to prolong life by lies and deceit. But he wept and lamented +exceeding sore, and in the end he prevailed with me; and I taught him +to breathe flame and smoke out of a hollow nut filled with combustible +powder. And I took a certain substance called soap, but little known in +this country, and anointed his feet therewith. And when he and the +sorcerer met, both breathing flame, the people knew not which to +follow; but when Abdallah walked over nine hot ploughshares, and the +sorcerer could not touch one of them, they beat his brains out, and +became Abdallah’s disciples. + +“A long time afterward Abdallah came to me again, this time with a +joyful, and yet with somewhat of a troubled look, carrying a camel-hair +blanket, which he undid, and lo! it was full of bones. + +“‘O father,’ he said, ‘I bring thee happy tidings. We have found the +bones of the camel of the prophet Ad, upon which his revelation was +engraved by him.’ + +“‘If this be so,’ said I, ‘thou art acquainted with the precepts of the +prophet, and hast no need of mine.’ + +“‘Nay, but father,’ said he, ‘although the revelation was without +question originally engraved by the prophet on these very bones, it +hath come to pass by the injury of time that not one letter of his +writing can be distinguished. I have therefore come to ask thee to +write it over again.’ + +“‘What!’ I exclaimed, ‘I forge a revelation in the name of the prophet +Ad! Get thee behind me!’ + +“‘Thou knowest, father,’ he rejoined, ‘that if we had the original +words of the prophet Ad here they would profit us nought, as by reason +of their antiquity none would understand them. Seeing therefore that I +myself cannot write, it is meet that thou shouldst set down in his name +those things which he would have desired to deliver had he been now +among us; but if thou wilt not, I shall ask Brother Gregory.’ + +“And when I heard him speak of having recourse to that cheat and +impostor my spirit was grieved within me, and I wrote the Book of Ad +myself. And I was heedful to put in none but wholesome and profitable +precepts, and more especially did I forbid polygamy, having perceived a +certain inclination thereunto in my disciple. + +“After many days he came again, and this time he was in violent terror +and agitation, and hair was wanting to the lower part of his +countenance. + +“‘O Abdallah,’ I inquired, ‘where is thy beard?’ + +“‘In the hands of my ninth wife,’ said he. + +“‘Apostate!’ I exclaimed, ‘hast thou dared to espouse more wives than +one? Rememberest thou not what is written in the Book of the prophet +Ad?’ + +“‘O father,’ he said, ‘the revelation of Ad being, as thou knowest, so +exceedingly ancient, doth of necessity require a commentary. This hath +been supplied by one of my disciples, a young Syrian and natural son of +Gregory, as I opine. This young man can not only write, but write to my +dictation, an accomplishment in which thou hast been found lacking, O +Sergius. In this gloss it is set forth how, since woman hath the ninth +part of the soul of man, the prophet, in enjoining us Adites (as we now +call ourselves) to take but one wife, doth instruct us to take nine; to +espouse a tenth would, I grant, be damnable. It ensues, therefore, that +having become enamoured of a most charming young virgin, I am +constrained to repudiate one of the wives whom I have taken already. To +this, each thinking that it may be her turn speedily, if not now, they +will in no wise consent, and have maltreated me as thou seest, and the +dens of wild beasts are at this moment abodes of peace, compared to my +seraglio. What is even worse, they threaten to disclose to the people +the fact, of which they have unhappily become aware, that the +revelation of the blessed Ad is not written upon the bones of a camel +at all, but of a cow, and will therefore be accounted spurious, +inasmuch as the prophet is not recorded to have ridden upon this +quadruped. And seeing that thou didst inscribe the characters, O +father, I cannot but fear that the fury of the people will extend unto +thee, and that thou wilt be even in danger of thy life from them.’ + +“This argument of Abdallah’s had much weight with me, and I the more +readily consented to his request as he did not on this occasion require +any imposture at my hands, but merely the restitution of his domestic +peace. And I went with him to his wives, and discoursed with them, and +they agreed to abide by my sentence. And, willing to please him, I +directed that he should marry the beautiful virgin, and put away one of +his wives who was old and ugly, and endowed with the dispositions of +Sheitan. + +“‘O father,’ said Abdallah, ‘thou hast brought me from death unto life! +And thou, Zarah,’ he continued, ‘wilt lose nought, but gain +exceedingly, in becoming the spouse of the wise and virtuous Sergius.’ + +“‘I marry Zarah!’ I exclaimed, ‘I! a monk!’ + +“‘Surely,’ said he, ‘thou would’st not take away her husband without +giving her another in his stead?’ + +“‘If he does I will throttle him,’ cried Zarah. + +“And I wept sore, and made great intercession. And it was agreed that +there should be a delay of forty days, in which space if any one else +would marry Zarah, I should be free of her. And I promised all my +substance to any one who would do this, and no one was found. And she +was offered to thirteen criminals doomed to suffer death, and they all +chose death. And at the last I was constrained to marry her. And truly +I have now the comfort of thinking that if I have offended by +encouraging Abdallah’s deceits, or otherwise, the debt is paid, and +Eternal Justice hath now nothing against me; for verily I was an inmate +of Gehenna until it came to pass that she was herself translated +thither. And respecting the manner of her translation, inquire not thou +too curiously. It was doubtless a token of the displeasure of Heaven at +her enormities that the water of the well of Kefayat, which had been +known as the Diamond of the Desert, became about this time undrinkable, +and pernicious to man and beast. + +“As I sat in my dwelling administering to the estate of my deceased +wife, which consisted principally of wines and strong liquors, Abdallah +again appeared before me. + +“‘Hast thou come,’ said I, ‘to solicit me to abet thee in any new +imposture? Know, once for all, that I will not.’ + +“‘On the contrary,’ said he, ‘I am come to set thee at ease by proving +to thee that I shall not again require thy assistance. Follow me.’ + +“And I followed him to a great plain, where was a host of armed +horsemen and footmen, more than I could number. And they bore banners +on which the name of Abdallah was embroidered in letters of gold. And +in the midst was an ark of gold, with the bones of Ad’s camel, or cow. +And by this was a great pile of the heads of men, and warriors were +continually casting more and more upon the heap. + +“‘How many?’ asked Abdallah. + +“‘Twelve thousand, O Apostle of God,’ answered they, ‘but there are +more to come.’ + +“‘Thou monster!’ said I to Abdallah. + +“‘Nay, father,’ said he, ‘there will not be more than sixteen thousand +in all, and these men were unbelievers. Moreover we have spared such of +their women as were young and handsome, and have taken them for our +concubines, as is ordained in the eleventh supplement to the Book of +Ad, just promulgated by my authority. But come, I have other things to +manifest unto thee.’ + +“And he led me where a stake was driven into the earth, and a man was +chained unto it, and fuel was heaped all around him, and many stood by +with lighted torches in their hands. + +“‘O Abdallah,’ I exclaimed, ‘wherefore this atrocity?’ + +“‘This man,’ he replied, ‘is a blasphemer, who hath said that the Book +of Ad is written on the bones of a cow.’ + +“‘But it is written on the bones of a cow! ‘I cried. + +“‘Even so,’ said he, ‘and therefore is his heresy the more damnable, +and his punishment the more exemplary. Had it been indeed written on +the bones of a camel, he might have affirmed what pleased him.’ + +“And I shook off the dust from my feet, and hastened to my dwelling. +The rest of Abdallah’s acts thou knowest, and how he fell warring with +the Carmathians. And now I ask thee, art thou yet minded to go forth as +a missionary of the truth?” + +“O Sergius,” said the young man, “I perceive that the temptations are +greater, and the difficulties far surpassing what I had thought. Yet +will I go, and I trust by Heaven’s grace not to fail utterly.” + +“Then go,” said Sergius, “and Heaven’s blessing go with thee! Come back +in ten years, should I be living, and if thou canst declare that thou +hast forged no scriptures, and worked no miracles, and persecuted no +unbelievers, and flattered no potentate, and bribed no one with the +promise of aught in heaven or earth, I will give thee the philosopher’s +stone.” + + + + +ANANDA THE MIRACLE WORKER + + +The holy Buddha, Sakhya Muni, on dispatching his apostles to proclaim +his religion throughout the peninsula of India, failed not to provide +them with salutary precepts for their guidance. He exhorted them to +meekness, to compassion, to abstemiousness, to zeal in the promulgation +of his doctrine, and added an injunction never before or since +prescribed by the founder of any religion—namely, on no account to +perform any miracle. + +It is further related, that whereas the apostles experienced +considerable difficulty in complying with the other instructions of +their master, and sometimes actually failed therein, the prohibition to +work miracles was never once transgressed by any of them, save only the +pious Ananda, the history of whose first year’s apostolate is recorded +as follows. + +Ananda repaired to the kingdom of Magadha, and instructed the +inhabitants diligently in the law of Buddha. His doctrine being +acceptable, and his speech persuasive, the people hearkened to him +willingly, and began to forsake the Brahmins whom they had previously +revered as spiritual guides. Perceiving this, Ananda became elated in +spirit, and one day he exclaimed: + +“How blessed is the apostle who propagates truth by the efficacy of +reason and virtuous example, combined with eloquence, rather than error +by imposture and devil-mongering, like those miserable Brahmins!” + +As he uttered this vainglorious speech, the mountain of his merits was +diminished by sixteen yojanas, and virtue and efficacy departed from +him, insomuch that when he next addressed the multitude they first +mocked, then hooted, and finally pelted him. + +When matters had reached this pass, Ananda lifted his eyes and +discerned a number of Brahmins of the lower sort, busy about a boy who +lay in a fit upon the ground. They had long been applying exorcisms and +other approved methods with scant success, when the most sagacious +among them suggested: + +“Let us render the body of this patient an uncomfortable residence for +the demon; peradventure he will then cease to abide therein.” + +They were accordingly engaged in branding the sufferer with hot irons, +filling his nostrils with smoke, and otherwise to the best of their +ability disquieting the intrusive devil. Ananda’s first thought was, +“The lad is in a fit;” the second, “It were a pious deed to deliver him +from his tormentors;” the third, “By good management this may extricate +me from my present uncomfortable predicament, and redound to the glory +of the most holy Buddha.” + +Yielding to this temptation, he strode forward, chased away the +Brahmins with an air of authority, and, uplifting his countenance to +heaven, recited the appellations of seven devils. No effect ensuing, he +repeated seven more, and so continued until, the fit having passed off +in the course of nature, the patient’s paroxysms ceased, he opened his +eyes, and Ananda restored him to his relatives. But the people cried +loudly, “A miracle! a miracle!” and when Ananda resumed his +instructions, they gave heed to him, and numbers embraced the religion +of Buddha. Whereupon Ananda exulted, and applauded himself for his +dexterity and presence of mind, and said to himself: + +“Surely the end sanctifies the means,” + +As he propounded this heresy, the eminence of his merits was reduced to +the dimensions of a mole-hill, and he ceased to be of account in the +eyes of any of the saints, save only of Buddha, whose compassion is +inexhaustible. + +The fame of his achievement, nevertheless, was bruited about the whole +country, and soon reached the ears of the king, who sent for him, and +inquired if he had actually expelled the demon. + +Ananda replied in the affirmative. + +“I am indeed rejoiced,” returned the king, “as thou now wilt without +doubt proceed to heal _my_ son, who has lain in a trance for +twenty-nine days.” + +“Alas! dread sovereign,” modestly returned Ananda, “how should the +merits which barely suffice to effect the cure of a miserable Pariah +avail to restore the offspring of an Elephant among Kings?” + +“By what process are these merits acquired?” demanded the monarch. + +“By the exercise of penance,” responded Ananda, “in virtue of which the +austere devotee quells the winds, allays the waters, expostulates +convincingly with tigers, carries the moon in his sleeve, and otherwise +performs all acts and deeds appropriate to the character of a +peripatetic thaumaturgist.” + +“This being so,” answered the king, “thy inability to heal my son +manifestly arises from defect of merit, and defect of merit from defect +of penance. I will therefore consign thee to the charge of my Brahmins, +that they may aid thee to fill up the measure of that which is +lacking.” + +Ananda vainly strove to explain that the austerities to which he had +referred were entirely of a spiritual and contemplative character. The +Brahmins, enchanted to get a heretic into their clutches, immediately +seized upon him, and conveyed him to one of their temples. They +stripped him, and perceived with astonishment that not one single weal +or scar was visible anywhere on his person. “Horror!” they exclaimed; +“here is a man who expects to go to heaven in a whole skin!” To obviate +this breach of etiquette, they laid him upon his face, and flagellated +him until the obnoxious soundness of cuticle was entirely removed. They +then departed, promising to return next day and operate in a +corresponding manner upon the anterior part of his person, after which, +they jeeringly assured him, his merits would be in no respect less than +those of the saintly Bhagiratha, or of the regal Viswamitra himself. + +Ananda lay half dead upon the floor of the temple, when the sanctuary +was illuminated by the apparition of a resplendent Glendoveer, who thus +addressed him: + +“Well, backsliding disciple, art thou yet convinced of thy folly?” + +Ananda relished neither the imputation on his orthodoxy nor that on his +wisdom. He replied, notwithstanding, with all meekness: + +“Heaven forbid that I should repine at any variety of martyrdom that +tends to the propagation of my master’s faith.” + +“Wilt thou then first be healed, and moreover become the instrument of +converting the entire realm of Magadha?” + +“How shall this be accomplished?” demanded Ananda. + +“By perseverance in the path of deceit and disobedience,” returned the +Glendoveer. + +Ananda winced, but maintained silence in the expectation of more +explicit directions. + +“Know,” pursued the spirit, “that the king’s son will revive from his +trance at the expiration of the thirtieth day, which takes place at +noon to-morrow. Thou hast but to proceed at the fitting period to the +couch whereon he is deposited, and, placing thy hand upon his heart, to +command him to rise forthwith. His recovery will be ascribed to thy +supernatural powers, and the establishment of Buddha’s religion will +result. Before this it will be needful that I should perform an actual +cure upon thy back, which is within the compass of my capacity. I only +request thee to take notice, that thou wilt on this occasion be +transgressing the precepts of thy master with thine eyes open. It is +also meet to apprise thee that thy temporary extrication from thy +present difficulties will only involve thee in others still more +formidable.” + +“An incorporeal Glendoveer is no judge of the feelings of a flayed +apostle,” thought Ananda. “Heal me,” he replied, “if thou canst, and +reserve thy admonitions for a more convenient opportunity.” + +“So be it,” returned the Glendoveer; and as he extended his hand over +Ananda, the latter’s back was clothed anew with skin, and his previous +smart simultaneously allayed. The Glendoveer vanished at the same +moment, saying, “When thou hast need of me, pronounce but the +incantation, _Gnooh Imdap Inam Mua_, [*] and I will immediately be by +thy side.” + +*) The mystic formula of the Buddhists, read backwards. + + +The anger and amazement of the Brahmins may be conceived when, on +returning equipped with fresh implements of flagellation, they +discovered the salubrious condition of their victim. Their scourges +would probably have undergone conversion into halters, had they not +been accompanied by a royal officer, who took the really triumphant +martyr under his protection, and carried him off to the palace. He was +speedily conducted to the young prince’s couch, whither a vast crowd +attended him. The hour of noon not having yet arrived, Ananda +discreetly protracted the time by a seasonable discourse on the +impossibility of miracles, those only excepted which should be wrought +by the professors of the faith of Buddha. He then descended from his +pulpit, and precisely as the sun attained the zenith laid his hand upon +the bosom of the young prince, who instantly revived, and completed a +sentence touching the game of dice which had been interrupted by his +catalepsy. + +The people shouted, the courtiers went into ecstasies, the countenances +of the Brahmins assumed an exceedingly sheepish expression. Even the +king seemed impressed, and craved to be more particularly instructed in +the law of Buddha. In complying with this request, Ananda, who had made +marvellous progress in worldly wisdom during the last twenty-four +hours, deemed it needless to dilate on the cardinal doctrines of his +master, the misery of existence, the need of redemption, the path to +felicity, the prohibition to shed blood. He simply stated that the +priests of Buddha were bound to perpetual poverty, and that under the +new dispensation all ecclesiastical property would accrue to the +temporal authorities. + +“By the holy cow!” exclaimed the monarch, “this is something like a +religion!” + +The words were scarcely out of the royal lips ere the courtiers +professed themselves converts. The multitude followed their example. +The Brahminical church was promptly disestablished and disendowed, and +more injustice was committed in the name of the new and purified +religion in one day than the old corrupt one had occasioned in a +hundred years. + +Ananda had the satisfaction of feeling able to forgive his adversaries, +and of valuing himself accordingly; and to complete his felicity, he +was received in the palace, and entrusted with the education of the +king’s son, which he strove to conduct agreeably to the precepts of +Buddha. This was a task of some delicacy, as it involved interference +with the princely youth’s favourite amusement, which had previously +consisted in torturing small reptiles. + +After a short interval Ananda was again summoned to the monarch’s +presence. He found his majesty in the company of two most ferocious +ruffians, one of whom bore a huge axe, and the other an enormous pair +of pincers. + +“My chief executioner and my chief tormentor,” said the king. + +Ananda expressed his gratification at becoming acquainted with such +exalted functionaries. + +“Thou must know, most holy man,” resumed the king, “that need has again +arisen for the exercise of fortitude and self-denial on thy part. A +powerful enemy has invaded my dominions, and has impiously presumed to +discomfit my troops. Well might I feel dismayed, were it not for the +consolations of religion; but my trust is in thee, O spiritual father! +It is urgent that thou shouldst accumulate the largest amount of merit +with the least delay possible. I am unable to invoke the ministrations +of thy old friends the Brahmins to this end, they being, as thou +knowest, in disgrace, but I have summoned these trusty and experienced +counsellors in their room. I find them not wholly in accord. My chief +tormentor, being a man of mild temper and humane disposition, considers +that it might at first suffice to employ gentle measures, such, for +example, as suspending thee head downwards in the smoke of a wood fire, +and filling thy nostrils with red pepper. My chief executioner, taking, +peradventure, a too professional view of the subject, deems it best to +resort at once to crucifixion or impalement. I would gladly know thy +thoughts on the matter.” + +Ananda expressed, as well as his terror would suffer him, his entire +disapproval of both the courses recommended by the royal advisers. + +“Well,” said the king, with an air of resignation, “if we cannot agree +upon either, it follows that we must try both. We will meet for that +purpose to-morrow morning at the second hour. Go in peace!” + +Ananda went, but not in peace. His alarm would have well-nigh deprived +him of his faculties if he had not remembered the promise made him by +his former deliverer. On reaching a secluded spot he pronounced the +mystic formula, and immediately became aware of the presence, not of a +radiant Glendoveer, but of a holy man, whose head was strewn with +ashes, and his body anointed with cow-dung. + +“Thy occasion,” said the Fakir, “brooks no delay. Thou must immediately +accompany me, and assume the garb of a Jogi.” + +Ananda rebelled excessively in his heart, for he had imbibed from the +mild and sage Buddha a befitting contempt for these grotesque and +cadaverous fanatics. The emergency, however, left him no resource, and +he followed his guide to a charnel house, which the latter had selected +as his domicile. There, with many lamentations over the smoothness of +his hair and the brevity of his nails, the Jogi besprinkled and +besmeared Ananda agreeably to his own pattern, and scored him with +chalk and ochre until the peaceful apostle of the gentlest of creeds +resembled a Bengal tiger. He then hung a chaplet of infants’ skulls +about his neck, placed the skull of a malefactor in one of his hands +and the thigh-bone of a necromancer in the other, and at nightfall +conducted him into the adjacent cemetery, where, seating him on the +ashes of a recent funeral pile, he bade him drum upon the skull with +the thigh-bone, and repeat after himself the incantations which he +began to scream out towards the western part of the firmament. These +charms were apparently possessed of singular efficacy, for scarcely +were they commenced ere a hideous tempest arose, rain descended in +torrents, phosphoric flashes darted across the sky, wolves and hyænas +thronged howling from their dens, and gigantic goblins, arising from +the earth, extended their fleshless arms towards Ananda, and strove to +drag him from his seat. Urged by frantic terror, and the example and +exhortations of his companion, he battered, banged, and vociferated, +until on the very verge of exhaustion; when, as if by enchantment, the +tempest ceased, the spectres disappeared, and joyous shouts and a burst +of music announced the occurrence of something auspicious in the +adjoining city. + +“The hostile king is dead,” said the Jogi; “and his army has dispersed. +This will be attributed to thy incantations. They are coming in quest +of thee even now. Farewell until thou again hast need of me.” + +The Jogi disappeared, the tramp of a procession became audible, and +soon torches glared feebly through the damp, cheerless dawn. The +monarch descended from his state elephant, and, prostrating himself +before Ananda, exclaimed: + +“Inestimable man! why didst thou not disclose that thou wert a Jogi? +Never more shall I feel the least apprehension of any of my enemies, so +long as thou continuest an inmate of this cemetery.” + +A family of jackals were unceremoniously dislodged from a disused +sepulchre, which was allotted to Ananda for his future residence. The +king permitted no alteration in his costume, and took care that the +food doled out to him should have no tendency to impair his sanctity, +which speedily gave promise of attaining a very high pitch. His hair +had already become as matted and his nails as long as the Jogi could +have desired, when he received a visit from another royal messenger. +The Rajah, so ran the regal missive, had been suddenly and mysteriously +attacked by a dangerous malady, but confidently anticipated relief from +Ananda’s merits and incantations. + +Ananda resumed his thigh-bone and his skull, and ruefully began to +thump the latter with the former, in dismal expectation of the things +that were to come. But the spell seemed to have lost its potency. +Nothing more unearthly than a bat presented itself, and Ananda was +beginning to think that he might as well desist when his reflections +were diverted by the apparition of a tall and grave personage, wearing +a sad-coloured robe, and carrying a long wand, who stood by his side as +suddenly as though just risen from the earth. + +“The caldron is ready,” said the stranger. + +“What caldron?” demanded Ananda. + +“That wherein thou art about to be immersed.” + +“I immersed in a caldron! wherefore?” + +“Thy spells,” returned his interlocutor, “having hitherto failed to +afford his majesty the slightest relief, and his experience of their +efficacy on a former occasion forbidding him to suppose that they can +be inoperative, he is naturally led to ascribe to their pernicious +influence that aggravation of pain of which he has for some time past +unfortunately been sensible. I have confirmed him in this conjecture, +esteeming it for the interest of science that his anger should fall +upon an impudent impostor like thee rather than on a discreet and +learned physician like myself. He has consequently directed the +principal caldron to be kept boiling all night, intending to immerse +thee therein at daybreak, unless he should in the meantime derive some +benefit from thy conjurations.” + +“Heavens!” exclaimed Ananda, “whither shall I fly?” + +“Nowhere beyond this cemetery,” returned the physician, “inasmuch as it +is entirely surrounded by the royal forces.” + +“Wherein, then,” demanded the agonized apostle, “doth the path of +safety lie?” + +“In this phial,” answered the physician. “It contains a subtle poison. +Demand to be led before the king. Affirm that thou hast received a +sovereign medicine from the hands of benignant spirits. He will drink +it and perish, and thou wilt be richly rewarded by his successor.” + +“Ayaunt, tempter!” cried Ananda, hurling the phial indignantly away. “I +defy thee! and will have recourse to my old deliverer—_Gnooh Imdap Inam +Mua!”_ + +But the charm appeared to fail of its effect. No figure was visible to +his gaze, save that of the physician, who seemed to regard him with an +expression of pity as he gathered up his robes and melted rather than +glided into the encompassing darkness. + +Ananda remained, contending with himself. Countless times was he on the +point of calling after the physician and imploring him to return with a +potion of like properties to the one rejected, but something seemed +always to rise in his throat and impede his utterance, until, worn out +by agitation, he fell asleep and dreamed this dream. + +He thought he stood at the vast and gloomy entrance of Patala. [*] The +lugubrious spot wore a holiday appearance; everything seemed to denote +a diabolical gala. Swarms of demons of all shapes and sizes beset the +portal, contemplating what appeared to be preparations for an +illumination. Strings of coloured lamps were in course of disposition +in wreaths and festoons by legions of frolicsome imps, chattering, +laughing, and swinging by their tails like so many monkeys. The +operation was directed from below by superior fiends of great apparent +gravity and respectability. These bore wands of office, tipped with +yellow flames, wherewith they singed the tails of the imps when such +discipline appeared to them to be requisite. Ananda could not refrain +from asking the reason of these festive preparations. + +*) The Hindoo Pandemonium. + + +“They are in honour,” responded the demon interrogated, “of the pious +Ananda, one of the apostles of the Lord Buddha, whose advent is hourly +expected among us with much eagerness and satisfaction.” + +The horrified Ananda with much difficulty mustered resolution to +inquire on what account the apostle in question was necessitated to +take up his abode in the infernal regions. + +“On account of poisoning,” returned the fiend laconically. + +Ananda was about to seek further explanations, when his attention was +arrested by a violent altercation between two of the supervising +demons. + +“Kammuragha, evidently,” croaked one. + +“Damburanana, of course,” snarled the other. + +“May I,” inquired Ananda of the fiend he had before addressed, “presume +to ask the signification of Kammuragha and Damburanana?” + +“They are two hells,” replied the demon. “In Kammuragha the occupant is +plunged into melted pitch and fed with melted lead. In Damburanana he +is plunged into melted lead and fed with melted pitch. My colleagues +are debating which is the more appropriate to the demerits of our guest +Ananda.” + +Ere Ananda had had time to digest this announcement a youthful imp +descended from above with agility, and, making a profound reverence, +presented himself before the disputants. + +“Venerable demons,” interposed he, “might my insignificance venture to +suggest that we cannot well testify too much honour for our visitor +Ananda, seeing that he is the only apostle of Buddha with whose company +we are likely ever to be indulged? Wherefore I would propose that +neither Kammuragha nor Damburanana be assigned for his residence, but +that the amenities of all the two hundred and forty-four thousand hells +be combined in a new one, constructed especially for his reception.” + +The imp having thus spoken, the senior demons were amazed at his +precocity, and performed a _pradakshina_, exclaiming, “Truly thou art a +highly superior young devil!” They then departed to prepare the new +infernal chamber, agreeably to his recipe. + +Ananda awoke, shuddering with terror. + +“Why,” he exclaimed, “why was I ever an apostle? O Buddha! Buddha! how +hard are the paths of saintliness! How prone to error are the +well-meaning! How huge is the absurdity of spiritual pride!” + +“Thou hast discovered that, my son?” said a gentle voice in his +vicinity. + +He turned and beheld the divine Buddha, radiant with a mild and +benignant light. A cloud seemed rolled away from his vision, and he +recognised in his master the Glendoveer, the Jogi, and the Physician. + +“O holy teacher!” exclaimed he in extreme perturbation, “whither shall +I turn? My sin forbids me to approach thee.” + +“Not on account of thy sin art thou forbidden, my son,” returned +Buddha, “but on account of the ridiculous and unsavoury plight to which +thy knavery and disobedience have reduced thee. I have now appeared to +remind thee that this day all my apostles meet on Mount Vindhya to +render an account of their mission, and to inquire whether I am to +deliver thine in thy stead, or whether thou art minded to proclaim it +thyself.” + +“I will render it with my own lips,” resolutely exclaimed Ananda. “It +is meet that I should bear the humiliation of acknowledging my folly.” + +“Thou hast said well, my son,” replied Buddha, “and in return I will +permit thee to discard the attire, if such it may be termed, of a Jogi, +and to appear in our assembly wearing the yellow robe as beseems my +disciple. Nay, I will even infringe my own rule on thy behalf, and +perform a not inconsiderable miracle by immediately transporting thee +to the summit of Vindhya, where the faithful are already beginning to +assemble. Thou wouldst otherwise incur much risk of being torn to +pieces by the multitude, who, as the shouts now approaching may +instruct thee, are beginning to extirpate my religion at the +instigation of the new king, thy hopeful pupil. The old king is dead, +poisoned by the Brahmins.” + +“O master! master!” exclaimed Ananda, weeping bitterly, “and is all the +work undone, and all by my fault and folly?” + +“That which is built on fraud and imposture can by no means endure,” +returned Buddha, “be it the very truth of Heaven. Be comforted; thou +shalt proclaim my doctrine to better purpose in other lands. Thou hast +this time but a sorry account to render of thy stewardship; yet thou +mayest truly declare that thou hast obeyed my precept in the letter, if +not in the spirit, since none can assert that thou hast ever wrought +any miracle.” + + + + +THE CITY OF PHILOSOPHERS + +I + +Nature is manifold, not infinite, though the extent of the resources of +which she can dispose almost enables her to pass for such. Her cards +are so multitudinous that the pairs are easily shuffled into ages so +far asunder that their resemblance escapes remark. But sometimes her +mischievous daughter Fortune manages to thrust these duplicates into +such conspicuous places that their similarity cannot pass unobserved, +and Nature is caught plagiarising from herself. She is thus detected +dealing a king—or knave—a second time in the person of a king who has +already fallen from her pack as an emperor. Brilliant, careless, +selfish, yet good-natured _vauriens_, the Roman Emperor Gallienus and +our Charles the Second excelled in every art save the art of reigning, +and might have excelled in that also if they would have taken the +trouble. The circumstances of their reigns were in many respects as +similar as their characters. Both were the sons of grave and strict +fathers, each of whom had met with terrible misfortunes: one deprived +of his liberty by his enemies, the other of his head by his own +subjects. Each of the sons had been grievously vexed by rebels, but +Charles’s troubles from this quarter had mostly ended where those of +Gallienus began. Each saw his dominions ravaged by pestilence in a +manner beyond all former experience. The Goths destroyed the temple of +the Ephesian Diana, and the Dutch burned the English fleet at Chatham. +Charles shut up the Exchequer, and Gallienus debased the coinage. +Charles accepted a pension from Louis XIV., and Gallienus devolved the +burden of his Eastern provinces on a Syrian Emir. Their tastes and +pursuits were as similar as their histories. Charles excelled as a wit +and a critic; Gallienus as a poet and a gastronomer. Charles was +curious about chemistry, and founded the Royal Society. In the third +century the conception of the systematic investigation of nature did +not exist. Gallienus, therefore, could not patronise exact science; and +the great literary light of the age, Longinus, irradiated the court of +Palmyra. But the Emperor bestowed his favour in ample measure on the +chief contemporary philosopher, Plotinus, who strove to unite the +characters of Plato and Pythagoras, of sage and seer. Like Schelling in +time to come, he maintained the necessity of a special organ for the +apprehension of philosophy, without perceiving that he thereby +proclaimed philosophy bankrupt, and placed himself on the level of the +Oriental hierophants, with whose sublime quackeries the modest sage +could not hope to contend. So extreme was his humility, that he would +not claim to have been consciously united to the Divinity more than +four times in his life; without condemning magic and thaumaturgy, he +left their practice to more adventurous spirits, and contented himself +with the occasional visits of a familiar demon in the shape of a +serpent. He experienced, however, frequent visitations of trance or +ecstasy, sometimes lasting for a long period; and it may have been in +one of these that he was inspired by the idea of asking the Emperor for +a decayed city in Campania, there to establish a philosophic +commonwealth as nearly upon the model of Plato’s Republic as the +degeneracy of the times would allow. + +“I cannot,” said Gallienus, when the project had been explained to him, +“object in principle to aught so festive and jocose. The age is turned +upside down; its comedians are lamentable, and its sages ludicrous. It +must moreover, I apprehend, be sated with the earthquakes, famines, +pestilences, and barbarian invasions with which it hath been +exclusively regaled for so long, and must crave something enlivening, +of the nature of thy proposition. But whether, when we arrive at the +consideration of ways and means, I shall find my interview with my +treasurer enlivening, is gravely to be questioned. I have heard +homilies enough on my prodigality, which merely means that I prefer +spending my treasures on myself to saving them for my successor, whose +title will probably have been acquired by cutting my throat.” + +“I know,” said Plotinus, “that the expenses of administering an empire +must necessarily be prodigious. I am aware that the principal generals +are only kept to their allegiance by enormous bribes. I well understand +that the Empress must have pearls, and that the Roman populace must +have panthers; and that, since Egypt has revolted, the hippopotamus is +worth his weight in gold. I am further aware that the proposed colossal +statue of your Majesty in the same metal, including a staircase, with +room in the head for a child, like another Pallas in the brain of Zeus, +must alone involve very considerable outlay. But I am encouraged by +your Majesty’s wise and statesmanlike measure of debasing the currency; +since, money having become devoid of value, there can be no difficulty +in devoting any amount of it to any purpose required.” + +“Plotinus,” said Gallienus, “in this age the devil is taking the +hindmost, and we are the hindmost. There are tidings to-day of a new +earthquake in Bithynia, and three days’ darkness, also of outbreaks of +pestilence, and incursions of the barbarians, too numerous as well as +too disagreeable to mention. At this moment some revolted legion is +probably forcing the purple upon some reluctant general; and the +Persian king, a great equestrian, is doubtless mounting his horse by +the aid of my father’s back. If I had been an old Roman, I should by +this time have avenged my father, but I am a man of my age. Take the +money for thy city, and see that it yields me some amusement at any +rate. I assume, of course, that thou wilt exercise severe economy, and +that cresses and spring water will be the diet of thy philosophers. +Farewell, I go to Gaul to encounter Postumus. Willingly would I leave +him in peace in Gaul if he would leave me in peace in Italy; but I +foresee that if I do not attack him there he will attack me here. As if +the Empire were not large enough for us all! What an ass the fellow +must be!” + +And so Gallienus changed his silk for steel, and departed for his +Gallic campaign, where he bore himself more stoutly than his light talk +would have led those who judged him by it to expect. Plotinus, provided +with an Imperial rescript, undertook the regulation of his +philosophical commonwealth in Campania, where a brief experience of +architects and sophists threw him into an ecstasy, not of joy, which +endured an unusually long time. + +II + +On awakening from his long trance, Plotinus’s first sensation was one +of bodily hunger, the second of an even keener appetite for news of his +philosophical Republic. In both respects it promised well to perceive +that his chamber was occupied by his most eminent scholar, Porphyry, +though he was less gratified to observe his disciple busied, instead of +with the scrolls of the sages, with an enormous roll of accounts, which +appeared to be occasioning him much perplexity. + +“Porphyry!” cried the master, and the faithful disciple was by his +couch in a moment. + +We pass over the mutual joy, the greetings, the administration of +restoratives and creature comforts, the eager interrogations of +Porphyry respecting the things his master had heard and seen in his +trance, which proved to be unspeakable. + +“And now,” said Plotinus, who with all his mysticism was so good a man +of business that, as his biographers acquaint us, he was in special +request as a trustee, “and now, concerning this roll of thine. Is it +possible that the accounts connected with the installation of a few +abstemious lovers of wisdom can have swollen to such a prodigous bulk? +But indeed, why few? Peradventure all the philosophers of the earth +have flocked to my city.” + +“It has, indeed,” said Porphyry evasively, “been found necessary to +incur certain expenses not originally foreseen.” + +“For a library, perhaps?” inquired Plotinus. “I remember thinking, just +before my ecstasy, that the scrolls of the divine Plato, many of them +autographic, might require some special housing.” + +“I rejoice to state,” rejoined Porphyry, “that it is not these volumes +that have involved us in our present difficulties with the +superintendent of the Imperial treasury, nor can they indeed, seeing +that they are now impignorated with him.” + +“Plato’s manuscripts pawned!” exclaimed Plotinus, aghast. “Wherefore?” + +“As part collateral security for expenses incurred on behalf of objects +deemed of more importance by the majority of the philosophers.” + +“For example?” + +“Repairing bath and completing amphitheatre.” + +“Bath! Amphitheatre!” gasped Plotinus. + +“O dear master,” remonstrated Porphyry, “thou didst not deem that +philosophers could be induced to settle in a spot devoid of these +necessaries? Not a single one would have stayed if I had not yielded to +their demands, which, as regarded the bath, involved the addition of +exedrae and of a sphaeristerium.” + +“And what can they want with an amphitheatre?” groaned Plotinus. + +“They _say_ it is for lectures,” replied Porphyry; + +“I trust there is no truth in the rumour that the head of the Stoics is +three parts owner of a lion of singular ferocity.” + +“I must see to this as soon as I can get about,” said Plotinus, turning +to the accounts. “What’s this? To couch and litter for head of +Peripatetic school!” + +“Who is so enormously fat,” explained Porphyry, “that these +conveniences are really indispensable to him. The Peripatetic school is +positively at a standstill.” + +“And no great matter,” said Plotinus; “its master Aristotle was at best +a rationalist, without perception of the supersensual. What’s this? To +Maximus, for the invocation of demons.” + +“That,” said Porphyry, “is our own Platonic dirty linen, and I heartily +wish we were washing it elsewhere. Thou must know, dear master, that +during thy trance the theurgic movement has attained a singular +development, and that thou art regarded with disdain by thy younger +disciples as one wholly behind the age, unacquainted with the higher +magic, and who can produce no other outward and visible token of the +Divine favour than the occasional companionship of a serpent.” + +“I would not assert that theurgy may not be lawfully undertaken,” +replied Plotinus, “provided that the adept shall have purified himself +by a fast of forty months.” + +“It may be from neglect of this precaution,” said Porphyry, “that our +Maximus finds it so much easier to evoke the shades of Commodus and +Caracalla than those of Socrates and Marcus Aurelius; and that these +good spirits, when they do come, have no more recondite information to +convey than that virtue differs from vice, and that one’s grandmother +is a fitting object of reverence.” + +“I fear this must expose Platonic truth to the derision of Epicurean +scoffers,” remarked Plotinus. + +“O master, speak not of Epicureans, still less of Stoics! Wait till +thou hast regained thy full strength, and then take counsel of some +oracle.” + +“What meanest thou?” exclaimed Plotinus, “I insist upon knowing.” + +Porphyry was saved from replying by the hasty entrance of a bustling +portly personage of loud voice and imperious manner, in whom Plotinus +recognised Theocles, the chief of the Stoics. + +“I rejoice, Plotinus,” he began, “that thou hast at length emerged from +that condition of torpor, so unworthy of a philosopher, which I might +well designate as charlatanism were I not so firmly determined to speak +no word which can offend any man. Thou wilt now be able to reprehend +the malice or obtuseness of thy deputy, and to do me right in my +contention with these impure dogs.” + +“Which be they?” asked Plotinus. + +“Do I not sufficiently indicate the followers of Epicurus?” demanded +the Stoic. + +“O master,” explained Porphyry, “in allotting and fitting up apartments +designed for the respective sects of philosophers I naturally gave heed +to what I understood to be the principles of each. To the Epicureans, +as lovers of pleasure and luxury, I assigned the most commodious +quarters, furnished the same with soft cushions and costly hangings, +and provided a liberal table. I should have deemed it insulting to have +offered any of these things to the frugal followers of Zeno, and +nothing can surpass my astonishment at the manner in which the austere +Theocles has incessantly persecuted me for choice food and wine, +stately rooms and soft couches.” + +“O Plotinus,” replied Theocles, “let me make the grounds of my conduct +clear to thee. In the first place, the honour of my school is in my +keeping. What will the vulgar think when they see the sty of Epicurus +sumptuously adorned, and the porch of Zeno shabby and bare? Will they +not deem that the Epicureans are highly respected and the Stoics made +of little account? Furthermore, how can I and my disciples manifest our +contempt for gold, dainties, wine, fine linen, and all the other +instruments of luxury, unless we have them to despise? Shall we not +appear like foxes, vilipending the grapes that we cannot reach? Not so; +offer me delicacies that I may reject them, wine that I may pour it +into the kennel, Tyrian purple that I may trample upon it, gold that I +may fling it away; if it break an Epicurean’s head, so much the +better.” + +“Plotinus,” said Hermon, the chief of the Epicureans, who had meanwhile +entered the apartment, “let this hypocrite have what he wants, and send +him away. I and my followers are perfectly willing to remove at once +into the inferior apartments, and leave ours for his occupation with +all their furniture, and the reversion of our bill of fare. Thou +should’st know that the imputations of the vulgar against our sect are +the grossest calumnies. The Epicurean places happiness in tranquil +enjoyment, not in luxury or sensual pleasures. There is not a thing I +possess which I am not perfectly willing to resign, except the society +of my female disciple.” + +“Thy female disciple!” exclaimed the horrified Plotinus. “Thou art +worse than the Stoic!” + +“Plotinus,” said the Epicurean, “consider well ere, as is the manner of +Platonists, thou committest thyself to a proposition of a transparently +foolish nature. Thou desirest to gather all sorts of philosophers +around thee, but to what end, if they are restrained from manifesting +their characteristic tenets? Thou mightest as well seek to illustrate +the habits of animals by establishing a menagerie in which panthers +should eat grass, and antelopes be dieted on rabbits. An Epicurean +without his female companion, unless by his own choice, is no more an +Epicurean than a Cynic is a Cynic without his rags and his impudence. +Wilt thou take from me my Pannychis, an object pleasing to the eye, and +leave yonder fellow his tatters and his vermin?” + +The apartment had gradually filled with philosophers, and Hermon was +pointing to a follower of Diogenes whose robe so fully bespoke his +obedience to his master’s precepts that his skin seemed almost clean in +comparison. + +“Consider also,” continued the Epicurean, “that thou art thyself by no +means exempt from scandal.” + +“What does the man mean?” demanded Plotinus, turning to Porphyry. + +“Get them away,” whispered the disciple, “and I will tell thee.” + +Plotinus hastily conceded the point raised with reference to the +interesting Pannychis, and the philosophers went off to effect their +exchange of quarters. As soon as the room was clear, he repeated: + +“What _does_ the man mean?” + +“I suppose he is thinking of Leaena,” said Porphyry. + +“The most notorious character in Rome, who, finding her charms on the +wane, has lately betaken herself to philosophy?” + +“The same.” + +“What of her?” + +“She has followed thee here. She affects the greatest devotion to thee. +She vows that nothing shall make her budge until thou hast recovered +from thy ecstasy, and admitted her as thy disciple. She has rejected +numerous overtures from the philosopher Theocles; entirely for thy +sake, she affirms. She comes three times a day to inquire respecting +thy condition, and I fear it must be acknowledged that she has once or +twice managed to get into thy chamber.” + +“O ye immortal Gods!” groaned Plotinus. + +“Here she is!” exclaimed Porphyry, as a woman of masculine stature and +bearing, with the remains of beauty not unskilfully patched, forced an +entrance into the room. + +“Plotinus,” she exclaimed, “behold the most impassioned of thy +disciples. Let us celebrate the mystic nuptials of Wisdom and Beauty. +Let the claims of my sex to philosophic distinction be vindicated in my +person.” + +“The question of the admission of women to share the studies and +society of men,” rejoined Plotinus, “is one by no means exempt from +difficulty.” + +“How so? I deemed it had been determined long ago in favour of +Aspasia?” + +“Aspasia,” said Plotinus, “was a very exceptional woman.” + +“And am not I?” + +“I hope, that is, I conceive so,” said Plotinus. “But one may be an +exceptional woman without being an Aspasia.” + +“How so? Am I inferior to Aspasia in beauty?” + +“I should hope not,” said Plotinus ambiguously. + +“Or in the irregularity of my deportment?” + +“I should think not,” said Plotinus, with more confidence. + +“Then why does the Plato of our age hesitate to welcome his Diotima?” + +“Because,” said Plotinus, “you are not Diotima, and I am not Plato.” + +“I am sure I am as much like Diotima as you are like Plato,” retorted +the lady. “But let us come to our own time. Do I not hear that that +creature Pannychis has obtained the freedom of the philosophers’ city, +and the right to study therein?” + +“She takes private lessons from Hermon, who is responsible for her.” + +“The very thing!” exclaimed Leaena triumphantly. “I take private +lessons from thee, and thou art responsible for me. Venus! what’s +that?” + +The exclamation was prompted by the sudden appearance of an enormous +serpent, which, emerging from a chink in the wall, glided swiftly +towards the couch of Plotinus. He reached forward to greet it, uttering +a cry of pleasure. + +“My guardian, my tutelary dæmon,” he exclaimed, “visible manifestation +of Æsculapius! Then I am not forsaken by the immortal gods.” + +“Take away the monster,” cried Leaena, in violent agitation, “the nasty +thing! Plotinus, how can you? Oh, I shall faint! I shall die! Take it +away, I say. You must choose between it and me.” + +“Then, Madam,” said Plotinus, civilly but firmly, “I choose _it_.” + +“Thank Æsculapius we are rid of her,” he added, as Leaena vanished from +the apartment. + +“I wish I knew that,” said Porphyry. + +And indeed after no long time a note came up from Theocles, who was +sure that Plotinus would not refuse him that privilege of instructing a +female disciple which had been already, with such manifest advantage to +philosophical research, accorded to his colleague Hermon. No objection +could well be made, especially as Plotinus did not foresee how many +chambermaids, and pages, and cooks, and perfumers, and tiring women and +bath attendants would be required, ere Leaena could feel herself +moderately comfortable. How unlike the modest Pannychis! who wanted but +half a bed, which need not be stuffed with the down of hares or the +feathers of partridges, without which sleep refused to visit Leaena’s +eyelids. + +It was natural that Plotinus should appeal to Gallienus, now returned +from the Gallic expedition, but he could extract nothing save +mysterious intimations that the Emperor had his eye upon the +philosophers, and that they might find him among them when they least +expected it. Plotinus’s spirits drooped, and Porphyry was almost glad +when he again relapsed into an ecstasy. + +III + +When Plotinus’s eyes were at length opened, they fell not this time +upon the faithful Porphyry, but upon two youthful followers of Plato +who were beguiling the tedium of their vigil at his bedside by a game +of dice, which prevented their observing his resuscitation. After a +moment’s hesitation Plotinus resolved to lie quiet in the hopes of +hearing something that might indicate what influences were in the +ascendant in the philosophical republic. He had not long to wait. + +“Dice is dull work for long,” said one of the young men, indolently +throwing himself back, and letting his caster fall upon the floor. “To +think how much better one might be employed, but for having to watch +this old fool here! I’ve a great mind to call up a slave.” + +“All the slaves are sure to have gone to the show, unless any of them +should be Christians. Besides, Porphyry would hear you, he’s only in a +cat’s sleep,” returned his companion. + +“Well, I mean to say it’s a shame. All the town will be in the theatre +by this time.” + +“How many gladiators, said you?” + +“Forty pairs, the best show Campania has seen time out of mind.” + +“How has it all come about?” + +“Oh, news comes of the death of Postumus, killed by his own soldiers, +and this passes as a great victory for want of a better, ‘We must have +a day of thanksgiving,’ says Theocles. ‘Right,’ says Leaena, ‘I am +dying to see an exhibition of gladiators.’ Theocles demurs at first, +expecting to have to find the money—but Leaena tugs at his beard, and +he gives in. Just at the nick of time the right sort of fellow pops up +nobody knows whence, a lanista with hair like curling helichryse, as +Theocritus has it, and a small army of gladiators, whom, out of +devotion to the Emperor, he offers to exhibit for nothing. Who so +pleased as Theocles now? He takes the chair as archon with Leaena by +his side, and off goes every soul in the place, except Pannychis, who +cannot bear the sight of blood, and Porphyry, who is an outrageous +humanitarian, and us poor devils left in charge of this old dreamer.” + +“Couldn’t we leave him to mind himself? He isn’t likely to awake yet.” + +“Try him with your cloak-pin.” The student detached the implement in +question, which was about the size of a small stiletto. Feeling +uncertain what part of his person was to be the subject of experiment, +Plotinus judged it advisable to manifest his recovery in an +unmistakable fashion. + +“O dear Master, what joy!” cried both the students in a breath. +“Porphyry! Porphyry!” + +The trusty scholar appeared immediately, and under pretence of fetching +food, the two neophytes eloped to the amphitheatre. + +“What means all this, Porphyry?” demanded Plotinus sternly. “The City +of Philosophers polluted by human blood! The lovers of wisdom mingling +with the dregs of the rabble!” + +Porphyry’s account, which Plotinus could only extract by consenting to +eat while his disciple talked, corresponded in all essential +particulars with that of the two young men. + +“And I see not,” added he, “what we can do in the matter. This +abomination is supposed to be in honour of the Emperor’s victories. If +we interfere with it we shall be executed as rebels, supposing that we +are not first torn to pieces as rioters.” + +“Porphyry,” replied Plotinus, “I should esteem this disgrace to +philosophy a disgrace to myself if I did not my utmost to avert it. +Remain thou here, and perform my funeral rites if it be necessary.” + +But to this Porphyry would by no means consent, and the two +philosophers proceeded to the amphitheatre together. It was so crowded +that there was no room on the seats for another person. Theocles was +enthroned in the chair of honour, his beard manifesting evident traces +of the depilatories administered by Leaena, who nevertheless sat by his +side, her voluptuous face gloating over the anticipated banquet of +agony. The philosophic part of the spectators were ranged all around, +the remaining seats were occupied by a miscellaneous public. The master +of the gladiators, a man of distinguished appearance, whose yellow +locks gave him the aspect of a barbarian prince, stood in the arena +surrounded by his myrmidons. The entry of Plotinus and Porphyry +attracted his attention: he motioned to his followers, and in an +instant the philosophers were seized, bound, and gagged without the +excited assembly being in the least conscious of their presence. + +Two men stepped out into the arena, both fine and attractive figures. +The athletic limbs, the fair complexion, the curling yellow hair of one +proclaimed the Goth; he lightly swung his huge sword in his right hand, +and looked as if his sole arm would easily put to flight the crowd of +effeminate spectators. The other’s beauty was of another sort; young, +slender, pensive, spiritual, he looked like anything rather than a +gladiator, and held his downward pointed sword with a negligent grasp. + +“Guard thyself!” cried the Goth, placing himself in an attitude of +offence. + +“I spill not the blood of a fellow-creature,” answered the other, +casting his sword away from him. + +“Coward!” yelled well-nigh every voice in the amphitheatre. + +“No,” answered the youth with a grave smile, “Christian.” + +His shield and helmet followed his sword, he stood entirely defenceless +before his adversary. + +“Throw him to my lion,” cried Theocles. + +“Or thy lioness,” suggested Hermon. + +This allusion to Leaena provoked a burst of laughter. Suddenly the Goth +aimed a mighty blow at the head of the unresisting man. A shorn curl +fell to the ground, the consummate skill of the swordsman averted all +further contact between his blade and the Christian, who remained erect +and smiling, without having moved a muscle or an eyelash. + +“Master,” said the Goth, addressing the lanista, “I had rather fight +ten armed men than this unarmed one.” + +“Good,” returned his lord, with a gesture of approval. “Retire both of +you.” + +A roar of disapprobation broke out from the spectators, which seemed +not to produce the slightest effect on the lanista. + +“Turn out the next pair,” they cried. + +“I shall not,” said he. + +“Wherefore?” + +“Because I do not choose.” + +“Rogue! Cheat! Swindler! Cast him into prison! Throw him to the lion!” +Such epithets and recommendations rained from the spectators’ seats, +accompanied by a pelting of more substantial missiles. In an instant +the yellow hair and common dress lay on the ground, and those who knew +him not by the features could by the Imperial ornaments recognise the +Emperor Gallienus. With no less celerity his followers, the Goth and +the Christian excepted, disencumbered themselves of their exterior +vesture, and stood forward in the character of Roman soldiers. + +“Friends,” cried Gallienus, turning to the plebeian multitude, “I am +not about to balk you of your sport.” + +At a sign from him the legionaries ascended to the seats allotted to +the philosophic portion of the audience, and a torrent of wisdom in +their persons, including that of Leaena, flung forth with the energy of +a catapult, descended abruptly and violently to the earth. They were +instantly seized and dragged into an erect attitude by the remainder of +the soldiery, who, amid the most tempestuous peals of laughter and +applause from the delighted public, thrust swords into their hands, +ranged them in opposite ranks, and summoned them to begin the fight and +quit themselves like men. It was equally ludicrous and pitiable to see +the bald, mostly grey-bearded men, their garments torn in their +expulsion and their persons bruised by the fall, confronting each other +with quaking limbs, helplessly brandishing their weapons or feebly +calling their adversaries to come on, while the soldiers prodded them +from behind with spears, and urged them into the close quarters they so +anxiously desired to avoid. Plotinus, helpless with his bonds and gag, +looked on in impotent horror. Gallienus was often cruel, but could he +intend such a revolting massacre? There must be something behind. + +The honour of developing the Emperor’s purpose was reserved for +Theocles, who, with admirable presence of mind, had ever since he found +he must fight been engaged in trying to select the weakest antagonist. +After hesitating between the unwieldy chief of the Peripatetics and the +feminine Leaena he fixed on the latter, partly moved, perhaps, by the +hope of avenging his beard. With a martial cry he sprang towards her, +and upraised his weapon for a swashing blow. But he had sadly +miscalculated. Leaena was hardly less versed in the combats of Mars +than in those of Venus, having, in fact, commenced her distinguished +career as a camp-follower of the Emperor Gordian. A tremendous stroke +caught him on the hand; his blade dropped to the earth; why did not the +fingers follow? Leaena elucidated the problem by a still more violent +blow on his face; torrents of blood gushed forth indeed, but only from +the nose. The sword doubled up; it had neither point nor edge. +Encouraged by this opportune discovery the philosophers attacked each +other with infinite spirit and valour. Infuriated by the blows given +and received, by the pokings and proddings of the military, and the +hilarious derision of the public, they cast away the shivered blades +and resorted to the weapons of Nature. They kicked, they cuffed, they +scratched, they tore the garments from each other’s shoulders, they +foamed and rolled gasping in the yellow sand of the arena. At a signal +from the Emperor the portal of the amphitheatre was thrown open, and +the whole mass of clawing and cuffing philosophy was bundled +ignominiously into the street. + +By this time Gallienus was seated on his tribunal, and Plotinus, +released from his bonds, was standing by his side. + +“O Emperor,” he murmured, deeply abashed, “what can I urge? Thou wilt +surely demolish my city!” + +“No, Plotinus,” replied Gallienus, pointing to the Goth and the +Christian, “there are the men who will destroy the City of +Philosophers. Would that were all they will destroy!” + + + + +THE DEMON POPE + + +“So you won’t sell me your soul?” said the devil. + +“Thank you,” replied the student, “I had rather keep it myself, if it’s +all the same to you.” + +“But it’s not all the same to me. I want it very particularly. Come, +I’ll be liberal. I said twenty years. You can have thirty.” + +The student shook his head. + +“Forty!” + +Another shake. + +“Fifty!” + +As before. + +“Now,” said the devil, “I know I’m going to do a foolish thing, but I +cannot bear to see a clever, spirited young man throw himself away. +I’ll make you another kind of offer. We won’t have any bargain at +present, but I will push you on in the world for the next forty years. +This day forty years I come back and ask you for a boon; not your soul, +mind, or anything not perfectly in your power to grant. If you give it, +we are quits; if not, I fly away with you. What say you to this?” + +The student reflected for some minutes. “Agreed,” he said at last. + +Scarcely had the devil disappeared, which he did instantaneously, ere a +messenger reined in his smoking steed at the gate of the University of +Cordova (the judicious reader will already have remarked that Lucifer +could never have been allowed inside a Christian seat of learning), +and, inquiring for the student Gerbert, presented him with the Emperor +Otho’s nomination to the Abbacy of Bobbio, in consideration, said the +document, of his virtue and learning, well-nigh miraculous in one so +young. Such messengers were frequent visitors during Gerbert’s +prosperous career. Abbot, bishop, archbishop, cardinal, he was +ultimately enthroned Pope on April 2, 999, and assumed the appellation +of Silvester the Second. It was then a general belief that the world +would come to an end in the following year, a catastrophe which to many +seemed the more imminent from the election of a chief pastor whose +celebrity as a theologian, though not inconsiderable, by no means +equalled his reputation as a necromancer. + +The world, notwithstanding, revolved scatheless through the dreaded +twelvemonth, and early in the first year of the eleventh century +Gerbert was sitting peacefully in his study, perusing a book of magic. +Volumes of algebra, astrology, alchemy, Aristotelian philosophy, and +other such light reading filled his bookcase; and on a table stood an +improved clock of his invention, next to his introduction of the Arabic +numerals his chief legacy to posterity. Suddenly a sound of wings was +heard, and Lucifer stood by his side. + +“It is a long time,” said the fiend, “since I have had the pleasure of +seeing you. I have now called to remind you of our little contract, +concluded this day forty years.” + +“You remember,” said Silvester, “that you are not to ask anything +exceeding my power to perform.” + +“I have no such intention,” said Lucifer. “On the contrary, I am about +to solicit a favour which can be bestowed by you alone. You are Pope, I +desire that you would make me a Cardinal. + +“In the expectation, I presume,” returned Gerbert, “of becoming Pope on +the next vacancy.” + +“An expectation,” replied Lucifer, “which I may most reasonably +entertain, considering my enormous wealth, my proficiency in intrigue, +and the present condition of the Sacred College.” + +“You would doubtless,” said Gerbert, “endeavour to subvert the +foundations of the Faith, and, by a course of profligacy and +licentiousness, render the Holy See odious and contemptible.” + +“On the contrary,” said the fiend, “I would extirpate heresy, and all +learning and knowledge as inevitably tending thereunto. I would suffer +no man to read but the priest, and confine his reading to his breviary. +I would burn your books together with your bones on the first +convenient opportunity. I would observe an austere propriety of +conduct, and be especially careful not to loosen one rivet in the +tremendous yoke I was forging for the minds and consciences of +mankind.” + +“If it be so,” said Gerbert, “let’s be off!” + +“What!” exclaimed Lucifer, “you are willing to accompany me to the +infernal regions!” + +“Assuredly, rather than be accessory to the burning of Plato and +Aristotle, and give place to the darkness against which I have been +contending all my life.” + +“Gerbert,” replied the demon, “this is arrant trifling. Know you not +that no good man can enter my dominions? that, were such a thing +possible, my empire would become intolerable to me, and I should be +compelled to abdicate?” + +“I do know it,” said Gerbert, “and hence I have been able to receive +your visit with composure.” + +“Gerbert,” said the devil, with tears in his eyes, “I put it to you—is +this fair, is this honest? I undertake to promote your interests in the +world; I fulfil my promise abundantly. You obtain through my +instrumentality a position to which you could never otherwise have +aspired. Often have I had a hand in the election of a Pope, but never +before have I contributed to confer the tiara on one eminent for virtue +and learning. You profit by my assistance to the full, and now take +advantage of an adventitious circumstance to deprive me of my +reasonable guerdon. It is my constant experience that the good people +are much more slippery than the sinners, and drive much harder +bargains.” + +“Lucifer,” answered Gerbert, “I have always sought to treat you as a +gentleman, hoping that you would approve yourself such in return. I +will not inquire whether it was entirely in harmony with this character +to seek to intimidate me into compliance with your demand by +threatening me with a penalty which you well knew could not be +enforced. I will overlook this little irregularity, and concede even +more than you have requested. You have asked to be a Cardinal. I will +make you Pope—” + +“Ha!” exclaimed Lucifer, and an internal glow suffused his sooty hide, +as the light of a fading ember is revived by breathing upon it. + +“For twelve hours,” continued Gerbert. “At the expiration of that time +we will consider the matter further; and if, as I anticipate, you are +more anxious to divest yourself of the Papal dignity than you were to +assume it, I promise to bestow upon you any boon you may ask within my +power to grant, and not plainly inconsistent with religion or morals.” + +“Done!” cried the demon. Gerbert uttered some cabalistic words, and in +a moment the apartment held two Pope Silvesters, entirely +indistinguishable save by their attire, and the fact that one limped +slightly with the left foot. + +“You will find the Pontifical apparel in this cupboard,” said Gerbert, +and, taking his book of magic with him, he retreated through a masked +door to a secret chamber. As the door closed behind him he chuckled, +and muttered to himself, “Poor old Lucifer! Sold again!” + +If Lucifer was sold he did not seem to know it. He approached a large +slab of silver which did duty as a mirror, and contemplated his +personal appearance with some dissatisfaction. + +“I certainly don’t look half so well without my horns,” he +soliloquised, “and I am sure I shall miss my tail most grievously.” + +A tiara and a train, however, made fair amends for the deficient +appendages, and Lucifer now looked every inch a Pope. He was about to +call the master of the ceremonies, and summon a consistory, when the +door was burst open, and seven cardinals, brandishing poniards, rushed +into the room. + +“Down with the sorcerer!” they cried, as they seized and gagged him. + +“Death to the Saracen!” + +“Practises algebra, and other devilish arts!” + +“Knows Greek!” + +“Talks Arabic!” + +“Reads Hebrew!” + +“Burn him!” + +“Smother him!” + +“Let him be deposed by a general council,” said a young and +inexperienced Cardinal. + +“Heaven forbid!” said an old and wary one, _sotto voce_. + +Lucifer struggled frantically, but the feeble frame he was doomed to +inhabit for the next eleven hours was speedily exhausted. Bound and +helpless, he swooned away. + +“Brethren,” said one of the senior cardinals, “it hath been delivered +by the exorcists that a sorcerer or other individual in league with the +demon doth usually bear upon his person some visible token of his +infernal compact. I propose that we forthwith institute a search for +this stigma, the discovery of which may contribute to justify our +proceedings in the eyes of the world.” + +“I heartily approve of our brother Anno’s proposition,” said another, +“the rather as we cannot possibly fail to discover such a mark, if, +indeed, we desire to find it.” + +The search was accordingly instituted, and had not proceeded far ere a +simultaneous yell from all the seven cardinals indicated that their +investigation had brought more to light than they had ventured to +expect. + +The Holy Father had a cloven foot! + +For the next five minutes the Cardinals remained utterly stunned, +silent, and stupefied with amazement. As they gradually recovered their +faculties it would have become manifest to a nice observer that the +Pope had risen very considerably in their good opinion. + +“This is an affair requiring very mature deliberation,” said one. + +“I always feared that we might be proceeding too precipitately,” said +another. + +“It is written, ‘the devils believe,’” said a third: “the Holy Father, +therefore, is not a heretic at any rate.” + +“Brethren,” said Anno, “this affair, as our brother Benno well remarks, +doth indeed call for mature deliberation. I therefore propose that, +instead of smothering his Holiness with cushions, as originally +contemplated, we immure him for the present in the dungeon adjoining +hereunto, and, after spending the night in meditation and prayer, +resume the consideration of the business tomorrow morning.” + +“Informing the officials of the palace,” said Benno, “that his Holiness +has retired for his devotions, and desires on no account to be +disturbed.” + +“A pious fraud,” said Anno, “which not one of the Fathers would for a +moment have scrupled to commit.” + +The Cardinals accordingly lifted the still insensible Lucifer, and bore +him carefully, almost tenderly, to the apartment appointed for his +detention. Each would fain have lingered in hopes of his recovery, but +each felt that the eyes of his six brethren were upon him: and all, +therefore, retired simultaneously, each taking a key of the cell. + +Lucifer regained consciousness almost immediately afterwards. He had +the most confused idea of the circumstances which had involved him in +his present scrape, and could only say to himself that if they were the +usual concomitants of the Papal dignity, these were by no means to his +taste, and he wished he had been made acquainted with them sooner. The +dungeon was not only perfectly dark, but horribly cold, and the poor +devil in his present form had no latent store of infernal heat to draw +upon. His teeth chattered, he shivered in every limb, and felt devoured +with hunger and thirst. There is much probability in the assertion of +some of his biographers that it was on this occasion that he invented +ardent spirits; but, even if he did, the mere conception of a glass of +brandy could only increase his sufferings. So the long January night +wore wearily on, and Lucifer seemed likely to expire from inanition, +when a key turned in the lock, and Cardinal Anno cautiously glided in, +bearing a lamp, a loaf, half a cold roast kid, and a bottle of wine. + +“I trust,” he said, bowing courteously, “that I may be excused any +slight breach of etiquette of which I may render myself culpable from +the difficulty under which I labour of determining whether, under +present circumstances, ‘Your Holiness,’ or ‘Your Infernal Majesty’ be +the form of address most befitting me to employ.” + +“Bub-ub-bub-boo,” went Lucifer, who still had the gag in his mouth. + +“Heavens!” exclaimed the Cardinal, “I crave your Infernal Holiness’s +forgiveness. What a lamentable oversight!” + +And, relieving Lucifer from his gag and bonds, he set out the +refection, upon which the demon fell voraciously. + +“Why the devil, if I may so express myself,” pursued Anno, “did not +your Holiness inform us that you _were_ the devil? Not a hand would +then have been raised against you. I have myself been seeking all my +life for the audience now happily vouchsafed me. Whence this mistrust +of your faithful Anno, who has served you so loyally and zealously +these many years?” + +Lucifer pointed significantly to the gag and fetters. + +“I shall never forgive myself,” protested the Cardinal, “for the part I +have borne in this unfortunate transaction. Next to ministering to your +Majesty’s bodily necessities, there is nothing I have so much at heart +as to express my penitence. But I entreat your Majesty to remember that +I believed myself to be acting in your Majesty’s interest by +overthrowing a magician who was accustomed to send your Majesty upon +errands, and who might at any time enclose you in a box, and cast you +into the sea. It is deplorable that your Majesty’s most devoted +servants should have been thus misled.” + +“Reasons of State,” suggested Lucifer. + +“I trust that they no longer operate,” said the Cardinal. “However, the +Sacred College is now fully possessed of the whole matter: it is +therefore unnecessary to pursue this department of the subject further. +I would now humbly crave leave to confer with your Majesty, or rather, +perhaps, your Holiness, since I am about to speak of spiritual things, +on the important and delicate point of your Holiness’s successor. I am +ignorant how long your Holiness proposes to occupy the Apostolic chair; +but of course you are aware that public opinion will not suffer you to +hold it for a term exceeding that of the pontificate of Peter. A +vacancy, therefore, must one day occur; and I am humbly to represent +that the office could not be filled by one more congenial than myself +to the present incumbent, or on whom he could more fully rely to carry +out in every respect his views and intentions.” + +And the Cardinal proceeded to detail various circumstances of his past +life, which certainly seemed to corroborate his assertion. He had not, +however, proceeded far ere he was disturbed by the grating of another +key in the lock, and had just time to whisper impressively, “Beware of +Benno,” ere he dived under a table. + +Benno was also provided with a lamp, wine, and cold viands. Warned by +the other lamp and the remains of Lucifer’s repast that some colleague +had been beforehand with him, and not knowing how many more might be in +the field, he came briefly to the point as regarded the Papacy, and +preferred his claim in much the same manner as Anno. While he was +earnestly cautioning Lucifer against this Cardinal as one who could and +would cheat the very Devil himself, another key turned in the lock, and +Benno escaped under the table, where Anno immediately inserted his +finger into his right eye. The little squeal consequent upon this +occurrence Lucifer successfully smothered by a fit of coughing. + +Cardinal No. 3, a Frenchman, bore a Bayonne ham, and exhibited the same +disgust as Benno on seeing himself forestalled. So far as his requests +transpired they were moderate, but no one knows where he would have +stopped if he had not been scared by the advent of Cardinal No. 4. Up +to this time he had only asked for an inexhaustible purse, power to +call up the Devil _ad libitum_, and a ring of invisibility to allow him +free access to his mistress, who was unfortunately a married woman. + +Cardinal No. 4 chiefly wanted to be put into the way of poisoning +Cardinal No. 5; and Cardinal No. 5 preferred the same petition as +respected Cardinal No. 4. + +Cardinal No. 6, an Englishman, demanded the reversion of the +Archbishoprics of Canterbury and York, with the faculty of holding them +together, and of unlimited non-residence. In the course of his harangue +he made use of the phrase _non obstantibus_, of which Lucifer +immediately took a note. + +What the seventh Cardinal would have solicited is not known, for he had +hardly opened his mouth when the twelfth hour expired, and Lucifer, +regaining his vigour with his shape, sent the Prince of the Church +spinning to the other end of the room, and split the marble table with +a single stroke of his tail. The six crouched and huddling Cardinals +cowered revealed to one another, and at the same time enjoyed the +spectacle of his Holiness darting through the stone ceiling, which +yielded like a film to his passage, and closed up afterwards as if +nothing had happened. After the first shock of dismay they unanimously +rushed to the door, but found it bolted on the outside. There was no +other exit, and no means of giving an alarm. In this emergency the +demeanour of the Italian Cardinals set a bright example to their +ultramontane colleagues. “_Bisogna pazienzia_,” they said, as they +shrugged their shoulders. Nothing could exceed the mutual politeness of +Cardinals Anno and Benno, unless that of the two who had sought to +poison each other. The Frenchman was held to have gravely derogated +from good manners by alluding to this circumstance, which had reached +his ears while he was under the table: and the Englishman swore so +outrageously at the plight in which he found himself that the Italians +then and there silently registered a vow that none of his nation should +ever be Pope, a maxim which, with one exception, has been observed to +this day. + +Lucifer, meanwhile, had repaired to Silvester, whom he found arrayed in +all the insignia of his dignity; of which, as he remarked, he thought +his visitor had probably had enough. + +“I should think so indeed,” replied Lucifer. “But at the same time I +feel myself fully repaid for all I have undergone by the assurance of +the loyalty of my friends and admirers, and the conviction that it is +needless for me to devote any considerable amount of personal attention +to ecclesiastical affairs. I now claim the promised boon, which it will +be in no way inconsistent with thy functions to grant, seeing that it +is a work of mercy. I demand that the Cardinals be released, and that +their conspiracy against thee, by which I alone suffered, be buried in +oblivion.” + +“I hoped you would carry them all off,” said Gerbert, with an +expression of disappointment. + +“Thank you,” said the Devil. “It is more to my interest to leave them +where they are.” + +So the dungeon-door was unbolted, and the Cardinals came forth, +sheepish and crestfallen. If, after all, they did less mischief than +Lucifer had expected from them, the cause was their entire bewilderment +by what had passed, and their utter inability to penetrate the policy +of Gerbert, who henceforth devoted himself even with ostentation to +good works. They could never quite satisfy themselves whether they were +speaking to the Pope or to the Devil, and when under the latter +impression habitually emitted propositions which Gerbert justly +stigmatised as rash, temerarious, and scandalous. They plagued him with +allusions to certain matters mentioned in their interviews with +Lucifer, with which they naturally but erroneously supposed him to be +conversant, and worried him by continual nods and titterings as they +glanced at his nether extremities. To abolish this nuisance, and at the +same time silence sundry unpleasant rumours which had somehow got +abroad, Gerbert devised the ceremony of kissing the Pope’s feet, which, +in a grievously mutilated form, endures to this day. The stupefaction +of the Cardinals on discovering that the Holy Father had lost his hoof +surpasses all description, and they went to their graves without having +obtained the least insight into the mystery. + + + + +THE CUPBEARER + + +The minister Photinius had fallen, to the joy of Constantinople. He had +taken sanctuary in the immense monastery adjoining the Golden Gate in +the twelfth region of the city, founded for a thousand monks by the +patrician Studius, in the year 463. There he occupied himself with the +concoction of poisons, the resource of fallen statesmen. When a +defeated minister of our own day is indisposed to accept his +discomfiture, he applies himself to poison the public mind, inciting +the lower orders against the higher, and blowing up every smouldering +ember of sedition he can discover, trusting that the conflagration thus +kindled, though it consume the edifice of the State, will not fail to +roast his own egg. Photinius’s conceptions of mischief were less +refined; he perfected his toxicological knowledge in the medical +laboratory of the monastery, and sought eagerly for an opportunity of +employing it; whether in an experiment upon the Emperor, or on his own +successor, or on some other personage, circumstances must determine. + +The sanctity of Studius’s convent, and the strength of its monastic +garrison, rendered it a safe refuge for disgraced courtiers, and in +this thirtieth year of the Emperor Basil the Second (reckoning from his +nominal accession) it harboured a legion of ex-prime ministers, +patriarchs, archbishops, chief secretaries, hypati, anthypati, +silentiarii, protospatharii, and even spatharo-candidati. And this +small army was nothing to the host that, maimed or blinded or tonsured +or all three, dragged out their lives in monasteries or in dungeons or +on rocky islets; and these again were few in comparison with the +spirits of the traitors or the betrayed who wailed nightly amid the +planes and cypresses of the Aretae, or stalked through the palatial +apartments of verdantique and porphyry. But of those comparatively at +liberty, but whose liberty was circumscribed by the hallowed precincts +of Studius, every soul was plotting. And never, perhaps, in the corrupt +Byzantine Court, where true friendship had been unknown since Theodora +quarrelled with Antonia, had so near an approach to it existed as in +this asylum of villains. A sort of freemasonry came to prevail in the +sanctuary: every one longed to know how his neighbour’s plot throve, +and grudged not to buy the knowledge by disclosing a little corner of +his own. Thus rendered communicative, their colloquies would travel +back into the past, and as the veterans of intrigue fought their +battles over again, the most experienced would learn things that made +them open their eyes with amazement. “Ah!” they would hear, “that is +just where you were mistaken. You had bought Eromenus, but so had I, +and old Nicephorus had outbid us both.” “You deemed the dancer Anthusa +a sure card, and knew not of her secret infirmity, of which I had been +apprised by her waiting woman.” “Did you really know nothing of that +sliding panel? And were you ignorant that whatever one says in the blue +chamber is heard in the green?” “Yes, I thought so too, and I spent a +mint of money before finding out that the dog whose slaver that brazen +impostor Panurgiades pretended to sell me was no more mad than he was.” +After such rehearsals of future dialogues by the banks of Styx, the +fallen statesmen were observed to appear exceedingly dejected, but the +stimulus had become necessary to their existence. None gossiped so +freely or disclosed so much as Photinius and his predecessor +Eustathius, whom he had himself displaced—probably because Eustathius, +believing in nothing in heaven or earth but gold, and labouring under +an absolute privation of that metal, was regarded even by himself as an +extinct volcano. + +“Well,” observed he one day, when discoursing with Photinius is an +unusually confidential mood, “I am free to say that for my own part I +don’t think over much of poison. It has its advantages, to be sure, but +to my mind the disadvantages are even more conspicuous.” + +“For example?” inquired Photinius, who had the best reason for +confiding in the efficacy of a drug administered with dexterity and +discretion. + +“Two people must be in the secret at least, if not three,” replied +Eustathius, “and cooks, as a rule, are a class of persons entirely +unfit to be employed in affairs of State.” + +“The Court physician,” suggested Photinius. + +“Is only available,” answered Eustathius, “in case his Majesty should +send for him, which is most improbable. If he ever did, poison, praised +be the Lord! would be totally unnecessary and entirely superfluous.” + +“My dear friend,” said Photinius, venturing at this favourable moment +on a question he had been dying to ask ever since he had been an inmate +of the convent, “would you mind telling me in confidence, did you ever +administer any potion of a deleterious nature to his Sacred Majesty?” + +“Never!” protested Eustathius, with fervour. “I tried once, to be sure, +but it was no use.” + +“What was the impediment?” + +“The perverse opposition of the cupbearer. It is idle attempting +anything of the kind as long as she is about the Emperor.” + +“_She_!” exclaimed Photinius. + +“Don’t you know _that_?” responded Eustathius, with an air and manner +that plainly said, “You don’t know much.” + +Humbled and ashamed, Photinius nevertheless wisely stooped to avow his +nescience, and flattering his rival on his superior penetration, led +him to divulge the State secret that the handsome cupbearer Helladius +was but the disguise of the lovely Helladia, the object of Basil’s +tenderest affection, and whose romantic attachment to his person had +already frustrated more conspiracies than the aged plotter could reckon +up. + +This intelligence made Photinius for a season exceedingly thoughtful. +He had not deemed Basil of an amorous complexion. At length he sent for +his daughter, the beautiful and virtuous Euprepia, who from time to +time visited him in the monastery. + +“Daughter,” he said, “it appears to me that the time has now arrived +when thou mayest with propriety present a petition to the Emperor on +behalf of thy unfortunate father. Here is the document. It is, I +flatter myself, composed with no ordinary address; nevertheless I will +not conceal from thee that I place my hopes rather on thy beauty of +person than on my beauty of style. Shake down thy hair and dishevel it, +so!—that is excellent. Remember to tear thy robe some little in the +poignancy of thy woe, and to lose a sandal. Tears and sobs of course +thou hast always at command, but let not the frenzy of thy grief render +thee wholly inarticulate. Here is a slight memorandum of what is most +fitting for thee to say: thy old nurse’s instructions will do the rest. +Light a candle for St. Sergius, and watch for a favourable +opportunity.” + +Euprepia was upright, candid, and loyal; but the best of women has +something of the actress in her nature; and her histrionic talent was +stimulated by her filial affection. Basil was for a moment fairly +carried away by the consummate fact of her performance and the genuine +feeling to her appeal; but he was himself again by the time he had +finished perusing his late minister’s long-winded and mendacious +memorial. + +“What manner of woman was thy mother?” he inquired kindly + +Euprepia was eloquent in praise of her deceased parent’s perfections of +mind and person. + +“Then I can believe thee Photinius’s daughter, which I might otherwise +have doubted,” returned Basil. “As concerns him, I can only say, if he +feels himself innocent, let him come out of sanctuary, and stand his +trial. But I will give thee a place at Court.” + +This was about all that Photinius hoped to obtain, and he joyfully +consented to his daughter’s entering the Imperial court, exulting at +having got in the thin end of the wedge. She was attached to the person +of the Emperor’s sister-in-law, the “Slayer of the Bulgarians” himself +being a most determined bachelor. + +Time wore on. Euprepia’s opportunities of visiting her father were less +frequent than formerly. At last she came, looking thoroughly miserable, +distracted, and forlorn. + +“What ails thee, child?” he inquired anxiously. + +“Oh, father, in what a frightful position do I find myself!” + +“Speak,” he said, “and rely on my counsel.” + +“When I entered the Court,” she proceeded, “I found at first but one +human creature I could love or trust, and he—let me so call him—seemed +to make up for the deficiencies of all the rest. It was the cupbearer +Helladius.” + +“I hope he is still thy friend,” interrupted Photinius. “The good +graces of an Imperial cupbearer are always important, and I would have +bought those of Helladius with a myriad of bezants.” + +“They were not to be thus obtained, father,” said she. “The purest +disinterestedness, the noblest integrity, the most unselfish devotion, +were the distinction of my friend. And such beauty! I cannot, I must +not conceal that my heart was soon entirely his. But—most strange it +seemed to me then—it was long impossible for me to tell whether +Helladius loved me or loved me not. The most perfect sympathy existed +between us: we seemed one heart and one soul: and yet, and yet, +Helladius never gave the slightest indication of the sentiments which a +young man might be supposed to entertain for a young girl. Vainly did I +try every innocent wile that a modest maiden may permit herself: he was +ever the friend, never the lover. At length, after long pining between +despairing fondness and wounded pride, I myself turned away, and +listened to one who left me in no doubt of the sincerity of his +passion.” + +“Who?” + +“The Emperor! And, to shorten the story of my shame, I became his +mistress.” + +“The saints be praised!” shouted Photinius. “O my incomparable +daughter!” + +“Father!” cried Euprepia, blushing and indignant. “But let me hurry on +with my wretched tale. In proportion as the Emperor’s affection became +more marked, Helladius, hitherto so buoyant and serene, became a +visible prey to despondency. Some scornful beauty, I deemed, was +inflicting on him the tortures he had previously inflicted upon me, +and, cured of my unhappy attachment, and entirely devoted to my +Imperial lover, I did all in my power to encourage him. He received my +comfort with gratitude, nor did it, as I had feared might happen, seem +to excite the least lover-like feeling towards me on his own part.” + +“Euprepia,” he said only two days ago, “never in this Court have I met +one like thee. Thou art the soul of honour and generosity. I can safely +trust thee with a secret which my bursting heart can no longer retain, +but which I dread to breathe even to myself. Know first I am not what I +seem, I am a woman!” And opening his vest—” + +“We know all about that already,” interrupted Photinius. “Get on!” + +“If thou knowest this already, father,” said the astonished Euprepia, +“thou wilt spare me the pain of entering further into Helladia’s +affection for Basil. Suffice that it was impassioned beyond +description, and vied with whatever history or romance records. In her +male costume she had accompanied the conqueror of the Bulgarians in his +campaigns, she had fought in his battles; a gigantic foe, in act to +strike him from behind, had fallen by her arrow; she had warded the +poison-cup from his lips, and the assassin’s dagger from his heart; she +had rejected enormous wealth offered as a bribe for treachery, and +lived only for the Emperor. ‘And now,’ she cried, ‘his love for me is +cold, and he deserts me for another. Who she is I cannot find, else on +her it were, not on him, that my vengeance should alight. Oh, Euprepia, +I would tear her eyes from her head, were they beautiful as thine! But +vengeance I must have. Basil must die. On the third day he expires by +my hand, poisoned by the cup which I alone am trusted to offer him at +the Imperial banquet where thou wilt be present. Thou shalt see his +agonies and my triumph, and rejoice that thy friend has known how to +avenge herself.’ + +“Thou seest now, father, in how frightful a difficulty I am placed. All +my entreaties and remonstrances have been in vain: at my threats +Helladia merely laughs. I love Basil with my whole heart. Shall I look +on and see him murdered? Shall I, having first unwittingly done my +friend the most grievous injury, proceed further to betray her, and +doom her to a cruel death? I might anticipate her fell purpose by +slaying her, but for that I have neither strength nor courage. Many a +time have I felt on the point of revealing everything to her, and +offering myself as her victim, but for this also I lack fortitude. I +might convey a warning to Basil, but Helladia’s vengeance is +unsleeping, and nothing but her death or mine will screen him. Oh, +father, father! what am I to do?” + +“Nothing romantic or sentimental, I trust, dear child,” replied +Photinius. + +“Torture me not, father. I came to thee for counsel.” + +“And counsel shalt thou have, but it must be the issue of mature +deliberation. Thou mayest observe,” continued he with the air of a good +man contending with adversity, “how weak and miserable is man’s estate +even in the day of good fortune, how hard it is for purblind mortals to +discern the right path, especially when two alluring routes are +simultaneously presented for their decision! The most obvious and +natural course, the one I should have adopted without hesitation +half-an-hour ago, would be simply to let Helladia alone. Should she +succeed—and Heaven forbid else!—the knot is loosed in the simplest +manner. Basil dies—” + +“Father!” + +“I am a favourite with his sister-in-law,” continued Photinius, +entirely unconscious of his daughter’s horror and agitation, “who will +govern in the name of her weak husband, and is moreover thy mistress. +She recalls me to Court, and all is peace and joy. But then, Helladia +may fail. In that case, when she has been executed—” + +“Father, father!” + +“We are exactly where we were, save for the hold thou hast established +over the Emperor, which is of course invaluable. I cannot but feel that +Heaven is good when I reflect how easily thou mightest have thrown +thyself away upon a courtier. Now there is a much bolder game to play, +which, relying on the protection of Providence, I feel half disposed to +attempt. Thou mightest betray Helladia.” + +“Deliver my friend to the tormentors!” + +“Then,” pursued Photinius, without hearing her, “thy claim on the +Emperor’s gratitude is boundless, and if he has any sense of what is +seemly—and he is what they call chivalrous—he will make thee his lawful +consort. I father-in-law of an Emperor! My brain reels to think of it. +I must be cool. I must not suffer myself to be dazzled or hurried away. +Let me consider. Thus acting, thou puttest all to the hazard of the +die. For if Helladia should deny everything, as of course she would, +and the Emperor should foolishly scruple to put her to the rack, she +might probably persuade him of her innocence, and where wouldst thou be +then? It might almost be better to be beforehand, and poison Helladia +herself, but I fear there is no time now. Thou hast no evidence but her +threats, I suppose? Thou hast not caught her tampering with poisons? +There can of course be nothing in writing. I daresay I could find +something, if I had but time. Canst thou counterfeit her signature?” + +But long ere this Euprepia, dissolved in tears, her bosom torn by +convulsive sobs, had become as inattentive to her parent’s discourse as +he had been to her interjections. Photinius at last remarked her +distress: he was by no means a bad father. + +“Poor child,” he said, “thy nerves are unstrung, and no wonder. It is a +terrible risk to run. Even if thou saidest nothing, and Helladia under +the torture accused thee of having been privy to her design, it might +have a bad effect on the Emperor’s mind. If he put thee to the torture +too—but no! that’s impossible. I feel faint and giddy, dear child, and +unable to decide a point of such importance. Come to me at daybreak +to-morrow.” + +But Euprepia did not reappear, and Photinius spent the day in an agony +of expectation, fearing that she had compromised herself by some +imprudence. He gazed on the setting sun with uncontrollable impatience, +knowing that it would shine on the Imperial banquet, where so much was +to happen. Basil was in fact at that very moment seating himself among +a brilliant assemblage. By his side stood a choir of musicians, among +them Euprepia. Soon the cup was called for, and Helladia, in her +masculine dress, stepped forward, darting a glance of sinister triumph +at her friend. Silently, almost imperceptibly to the bulk of the +company, Euprepia glided forward, and hissed rather than whispered in +Helladia’s ear, ere she could retire from the Emperor’s side. + +“Didst thou not say that if thou couldst discover her who had wronged +thee, thou wouldst wreak thy vengeance on her, and molest Basil no +further?” + +“I did, and I meant it.” + +“See that thou keepest thy word. I am she!” And snatching the cup from +the table, she quaffed it to the last drop, and instantly expired in +convulsions. + +We pass over the dismay of the banqueters, the arrest and confession of +Helladia, the general amazement at the revelation of her sex, the +frantic grief of the Emperor. + +Basil’s sorrow was sincere and durable. On an early occasion he thus +addressed his courtiers: + +“I cannot determine which of these two women loved me best: she who +gave her life for me, or she who would have taken mine. The first made +the greater sacrifice; the second did most violence to her feelings. +What say ye?” + +The courtiers hesitated, feeling themselves incompetent judges in +problems of this nature. At length the youngest exclaimed: + +“O Emperor, how can we tell thee, unless we know what thou thinkest +thyself?” + +“What!” exclaimed Basil, “an honest man in the Court of Byzantium! Let +his mouth be filled with gold immediately!” + +This operation having been performed, and the precious metal +distributed in fees among the proper officers, Basil thus addressed the +object of his favour: + +“Manuel, thy name shall henceforth be Chrysostomus, in memory of what +has just taken place. In further token of my approbation of thy +honesty, I will confer upon thee the hand of the only other respectable +person about the Court, namely, of Helladia. Take her, my son, and +raise up a race of heroes! She shall be amply dowered out of what +remains of the property of Photinius.” + +“Gennadius,” whispered a cynical courtier to his neighbour, “I hope +thou admirest the magnanimity of our sovereign, who deems he is +performing a most generous action in presenting Manuel with his +cast-off mistress, who has tried to poison him, and with whom he has +been at his wits’ end what to do, and in dowering her at the expense of +another.” + +The snarl was just; but it is just also to acknowledge that Basil, as a +prince born in the purple, had not the least idea that he was laying +himself open to any such criticism. He actually did feel the manly glow +of self-approbation which accompanies the performance of a good action: +an emotion which no one else present, except Chrysostomus, was so much +as able to conceive. It is further to be remarked that the old courtier +who sneered at Chrysostomus was devoured by envy of his good fortune, +and would have given his right eye to have been in his place. + +“Chrysostomus,” pursued Basil, “we must now think of the hapless +Photinius. That unfortunate father is doubtless in an agony of grief +which renders the forfeiture of the remains of his possessions +indifferent to him. Thou, his successor therein, mayest be regarded as +in some sort his son-in-law. Go, therefore, and comfort him, and report +to me upon his condition.” + +Chrysostomus accordingly proceeded to the monastery, where he was +informed that Photinius had retired with his spiritual adviser, and +could on no account be disturbed. + +“It is on my head to see the Emperor’s orders obeyed,” returned +Chrysostomus, and forced the door. The bereaved parent was busily +engaged in sticking pins into a wax effigy of Basil, under the +direction of Panurgiades, already honourably mentioned in this history. + +“Wretched old man!” exclaimed Chrysostomus, “is this thy grief for thy +daughter?” + +“My grief is great,” answered Photinius, “but my time is small. If I +turn not every moment to account, I shall never be prime minister +again. But all is over now. Thou wilt denounce me, of course. I will +give thee a counsel. Say that thou didst arrive just as we were about +to place the effigy of Basil before a slow fire, and melt it into a +caldron of bubbling poison.” + +“I shall report what I have seen,” replied Chrysostomus, “neither more +nor less. But I think I can assure thee that none will suffer for this +mummery except Panurgiades, and that he will at most be whipped.” + +“Chrysostomus,” said Basil, on receiving the report, “lust of power, a +fever in youth, is a leprosy in age. The hoary statesman out of place +would sell his daughter, his country, his soul, to regain it: yea, he +would part with his skin and his senses, were it possible to hold +office without them. I commiserate Photinius, whose faculties are +clearly on the decline; the day has been when he would not have wasted +his time sticking pins into a waxen figure. I will give him some shadow +of authority to amuse his old days and keep him out of mischief. The +Abbot of Catangion is just dead. Photinius shall succeed him.” + +So Photinius received the tonsure and the dignity, and made a very +tolerable Abbot. It is even recorded to his honour that he bestowed a +handsome funeral on his old enemy Eustathius. + +Helladia made Chrysostomus an excellent wife, a little over-prudish, +some thought. When, nearly two centuries afterwards, the Courts of Love +came to be established in Provence, the question at issue between her +and Euprepia was referred to those tribunals, which, finding the +decision difficult, adjourned it for seven hundred years. That period +having now expired, it is submitted to the British public. + + + + +THE WISDOM OF THE INDIANS + + +Everybody knows that in the reign of the Emperor Elagabalus Rome was +visited by an embassy from India; whose members, on their way from the +East, had held that memorable interview with the illustrious (though +heretical) Christian philosopher Bardesanes which enabled him to +formulate his doctrine of Fate, borrowed from the Indian theory of +Karma, and therefore, until lately, grievously misunderstood by his +commentators. + +It may not, however, be equally notorious that the ambassadors returned +by sea as far as Berytus, and upon landing there were hospitably +entertained by the sage Euphronius, the head of the philosophical +faculty of that University. + +Euphronius naturally inquired what circumstance in Rome had appeared to +his visitors most worthy of remark. + +“The extreme evil of the Emperor’s Karma,” said they. + +Euphronius requested further explanation. + +“Karma,” explained their interpreter, “is that congeries of +circumstances which has necessitated the birth of each individual, and +of whose good or evil he is the incarnation. Every act must needs be +attended by consequences, and as these are usually of too far-reaching +a character to be exhausted in the life of the doer of the action, they +cannot but engender another person by whom they are to be borne. This +truth is popularly expressed by the doctrine of transmigration, +according to which individuals, as the character of their deeds may +determine, are re-born as pigs or peacocks, beggars or princes. But +this is a loose and unscientific way of speaking, for in fact it is not +the individual that is re-born, but the character; which, even as the +silkworm clothes itself with silk and the caddis-worm with mud and +small shingle, creates for itself a new personality, congruous with its +own nature. We are therefore led to reflect what a prodigious multitude +of sins some one must have committed ere the Roman world could be +afflicted with such an Emperor as Elagabalus.” + +“What have ye found so exceedingly reprehensible in the Emperor’s +conduct?” demanded Euphronius. + +“To speak only,” said the Indians, “of such of his doings as may fitly +be recited to modest ears, we find him declaring war against Nature, +and delighting in nothing that is not the contrary of what Heaven meant +it to be. We see him bathing in perfumes, sailing ships in wine, +feeding horses on grapes and lions on parrots, peppering fish with +pearls, wearing gems on the soles of his feet, strewing his floor with +gold-dust, paving the public streets with precious marbles, driving +teams of stags, scorning to eat fish by the seaside, deploring his lot +that he has never yet been able to dine on a phoenix. Enormous must +have been the folly and wickedness which has incarnated itself in such +a sovereign, and should his reign be prolonged, discouraging is the +prospect for the morals of the next generation. + +“According to you, then,” said Euphronius, “the fates of men are not +spun for them by Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos, but by their +predecessors?” + +“So it is,” said they, “always remembering that man can rid himself of +his Karma by philosophic meditation, combined with religious +austerities, and that if all walked in this path, existence with all +its evils would come to an end. Insomuch that the most bloodthirsty +conqueror that ever devastated the earth hath not destroyed one +thousandth part as many existences as the Lord Buddha.” + +“These are abstruse matters,” said Euphronius, “and I lament that your +stay in Berytus will not be long enough to instruct me adequately +therein.” + +“Accompany us to India,” said they, “and thou shalt receive instruction +at the fountain head.” + +“I am old and feeble,” apologised Euphronius, “and adjusted by long +habit to my present environment. Nevertheless I will propound the +enterprise to my pupils, only somewhat repressing their ardour, lest +the volunteers should be inconveniently numerous.” + +When, however, the proposition was made not a soul responded; though +Euphronius reproached his disciples severely, and desired them to +compare their want of spirit with his own thirst for knowledge, which, +when he was a young man, had taken him as far as Alexandria to hear a +celebrated rhetorician. In the evening, however, two disciples came to +him together, and professed their readiness to undertake the +expedition, if promised a reward commensurate with its danger and +difficulty. + +“Ye would learn the secret of my celebrated dilemma,” said he, “which +no sophist can elude? ’Tis much; ’tis immoderate; ’tis enormous; +nevertheless, bring the wisdom of India to Berytus, and the knowledge +of the stratagem shall be yours.” + +“No, Master,” they said, “it is not thy dilemma of which we are +enamoured. It is thy daughter.” + +A vehement altercation ensued, but at length the old philosopher, who +at the bottom of his heart was much readier to part with his daughter +than his dilemma, was induced to promise her to whichever of the pupils +should bring home the most satisfactory exposition of Indian +metaphysics: provided always that during their absence he should not +have been compelled to bestow her hand as the price of a quibble even +more subtle than his own: but this he believed to be impossible. + +Mnesitheus and Rufus accordingly travelled with the embassy to India, +and arrived in safety at the metropolis of Palimbothra. They had wisely +devoted themselves meanwhile to learning the language, and were now +able to converse with some fluency. + +On reaching their destination they were placed under the +superintendence of competent instructors, who were commissioned to +initiate them into the canon of Buddhist scriptures, comprising, to +mention only a few of the principal, the Lalitavistara, the Dhammapada, +the Kuddhapatha, the Palinokkha, the Uragavagga, the Kulavagga, the +Mahavagga, the Atthakavagga, and the Upasampadakammavaca. These works, +composed in dead languages, and written in strange and unknown +characters, were further provided with commentaries more voluminous and +inexplicable than the text. + +“Heavens,” exclaimed Mnesitheus and Rufus, “can the life of a man +suffice to study all this?” + +“Assuredly not,” replied the Indians. “The diligent student will resume +his investigations in a subsequent stage of existence, and, if endowed +with eminent faculties, may hope to attain the end he proposes to +himself at the fifteenth transmigration.” + +“The end we propose to ourselves,” said the Greeks, “is to marry our +master’s daughter. Will the fair Euphronia also have undergone fifteen +transmigrations, and will her charms have continued unimpaired?” + +“It is difficult to pronounce,” said they, “for should the maiden, +through the exercise of virtue, have merited to be born as a white +elephant, her transmigrations must in the order of nature be but few; +whereas should she have unfortunately become and remained a rat, a +frog, or other shortlived animal, they cannot but be exceedingly +numerous.” + +“The prospect of wedding a frog at the end of fifteen transmigrations,” +said the youths, “doth not in any respect commend itself to us. Are +there no means by which the course of study may be accelerated?” + +“Undoubtedly,” said the Indians, “by the practice of religious +austerities.” + +“Of what nature are these?” inquired the young men. + +“The intrepid disciple,” said the sages, “may chain himself to a tree, +and gaze upon the sun until he is deprived of the faculty of vision. He +may drive an iron bar through his cheeks and tongue, thus preventing +all misuse of the gift of speech. It is open to him to bury himself in +the earth up to his waist, relying for his maintenance on the alms of +pious donors. He may recline upon a couch studded with spikes, until +from the induration of his skin he shall have merited the title of a +rhinoceros among sages. As, however, these latter practices interfere +with locomotion, and thus prevent his close attendance on his spiritual +guide, it is rather recommended to him to elevate his arms above his +head, and retain them in that position until, by the withering of the +sinews, it is impossible for him to bring them down again.” + +“In that case,” cried Rufus, “farewell philosophy! farewell Euphronia!” + +There is reason to believe that Mnesitheus would have made exactly the +same observation if Rufus had not been beforehand with him. The spirit +of contradiction and the affectation of superiority, however, led him +to reproach his rival with pusillanimity, and he went so far that at +length he found himself committed to undergo the ordeal: merely +stipulating that, in consideration of his being a foreigner, he should +be permitted to elevate the right arm only. + +The king of the country most graciously came to his assistance by +causing him to be fastened to a tree, with his uplifted arm secured by +iron bands above his head, a fan being put in his other hand to protect +him against the molestations of gnats and mosquitoes. By this means, +and with the assistance of the monks who continually recited and +expounded the Buddhist scriptures in his ears, some time even before +his arm had stiffened for ever, the doctrine of the misery of existence +had become perfectly clear to him. + +Released from his captivity, he hastened back to Europe to claim the +guerdon of his sufferings. History is silent respecting his adventures +until his arrival at Berytus, where the strange wild-looking man with +the uplifted arm found himself the centre of a turbulent and +mischievous rabble. As he seemed about to suffer severe ill-usage, a +personage of dignified and portly appearance hastened up, and with his +staff showered blows to right and left upon the rioters. + +“Scoundrels,” he exclaimed, “finely have ye profited by my precepts, +thus to misuse an innocent stranger! But I will no longer dwell among +such barbarians. I will remove my school to Tarsus!” + +The mob dispersed. The victim and his deliverer stood face to face. + +“Mnesitheus!” + +“Rufus!” + +“Call me Rufinianus,” corrected the latter; “for such is the +appellation which I have felt it due to myself to assume, since the +enhancement of my dignity by becoming Euphronius’s successor and +son-in-law.” + +“Son-in-law! Am I to lose the reward of my incredible sufferings?” + +“Thou forgettest,” said Rufinianus, “that Euphronia’s hand was not +promised as the reward of any austerities, but as the meed of the most +intelligent, that is, the most acceptable, account of the Indian +philosophy, which in the opinion of the late eminent Euphronius, has +been delivered by me. But come to my chamber, and let me minister to +thy necessities.” + +These having been duly attended to, Rufinianus demanded Mnesitheus’s +history, and then proceeded to narrate his own. + +“On my journey homeward,” said he, “I reflected seriously on the +probable purpose of our master in sending us forth, and saw reason to +suspect that I had hitherto misapprehended it. For I could not remember +that he had ever admitted that he could have anything to learn from +other philosophers, or that he had ever exhibited the least interest in +philosophic dogmas, excepting his own. The system of the Indians, I +thought, must be either inferior to that of Euphronius, or superior. If +the former, he will not want it: if the latter, he will want it much +less. I therefore concluded that our mission was partly a concession to +public opinion, partly to enable him to say that his name was known, +and his teaching proclaimed on the very banks of the Ganges. I formed +my plan accordingly, and disregarding certain indications that I was +neither expected nor wanted, presented myself before Euphronius with a +gladsome countenance, slightly overcast by sorrow on account of thee, +whom I affirmed to have been devoured by a tiger. + +“‘Well,’ said Euphronius in a disdainful tone, ‘and what about this +vaunted wisdom of the Indians?’ + +“‘The wisdom of the Indians,’ I replied, ‘is entirely borrowed from +Pythagoras.’ + +“‘Did I not tell you so? ‘Euphronius appealed to his disciples. + +“‘Invariably,’ they replied. + +“‘As if a barbarian could teach a Greek!’ said he. + +“‘It is much if he is able to learn from one,’ said they. + +“‘Pythagoras, then,’ said Euphronius addressing me,’ did not resort to +India to be instructed by the Gymnosophists?’ + +“‘On the contrary,’ I answered, ‘he went there to teach them, and the +little knowledge of divine matters they possess is entirely derived +from him. His mission is recorded in a barbarous poem called the +Ramayana, wherein he is figuratively represented as allying himself +with monkeys. He is worshipped all over the country under the +appellations of Siva, Kamadeva, Kali, Gautama Buddha, and others too +numerous to mention.’ + +“When I further proceeded to explain that a temple had been erected to +Euphronius himself on the banks of the Ganges, and that a festival, +called Durga Popja, or the Feast of Reason, had been instituted in his +honour, his good humour knew no bounds, and he granted me his +daughter’s hand without difficulty. He died a few years ago, +bequeathing me his celebrated dilemma, and I am now head of his school +and founder of the Rufinianian philosophy. I am also the author of some +admired works, especially a life of Pythagoras, and a manual of Indian +philosophy and religion. I hope for thy own sake thou wilt forbear to +contradict me: for no one will believe thee. I trust also that thou +wilt speedily overcome thy disappointment with respect to Euphronia. I +do most honestly and truthfully assure thee that for a one-armed man +like thee to marry her would be most inexpedient, inasmuch as the +defence of one’s beard from her, when she is in a state of excitement, +requires the full use of both hands, and of the feet also. But come +with me to her chamber, and I will present thee to her. She is always +taunting me with my inferiority to thee in personal attractions, and I +promise myself much innocent amusement from her discomfiture when she +finds thee as gaunt as a wolf and as black as a cinder. Only, as I have +represented thee to have been devoured by a tiger, thou wilt kindly say +that I saved thy life, but concealed the circumstance out of modesty.” + +“I have learned in the Indian schools,” said Mnesitheus, “not to lie +for the benefit of others. I will not see Euphronia; I would not +disturb her ideal of me, nor mine of her. Farewell. May the Rufinianian +sect flourish! and may thy works on Pythagoras and India instruct +posterity to the tenth generation! I return to Palimbothra, where I am +held in honour on the self-same account that here renders me +ridiculous. It shall be my study to enlighten the natives respecting +their obligations to Pythagoras, whose name I did not happen to hear +while I abode among them.” + + + + +THE DUMB ORACLE + + +Many the Bacchi that brandish the rod: +Few that be filled with the fire of the God. + +I + +In the days of King Attalus, before oracles had lost their credit, one +of peculiar reputation, inspired, as was believed, by Apollo, existed +in the city of Dorylseum, in Phrygia. Contrary to usage, its +revelations were imparted through the medium of a male priest. It was +rarely left unthronged by devout questioners, whose inquiries were +resolved in writing, agreeably to the method delivered by the pious +Lucian, in his work “Concerning False Prophecy.” [*] Sometimes, on +extraordinary occasions, a voice, evidently that of the deity, was +heard declaring the response from the innermost recesses of the shrine. +The treasure house of the sanctuary was stored with tripods and +goblets, in general wrought from the precious metals; its coffers were +loaded with coins and ingots; the sacrifices of wealthy suppliants and +the copious offerings in kind of the country people provided +superabundantly for the daily maintenance of the temple servitors; +while a rich endowment in land maintained the dignity of its guardians, +and of the officiating priest. The latter reverend personage was no +less eminent for prudence than for piety; on which account the Gods had +rewarded him with extreme obesity. At length he died, whether of excess +in meat or in drink is not agreed among historians. + +*) _Pseudomantis_, cap. 19-21. + + +The guardians of the temple met to choose a successor, and, naturally +desirous that the sanctity of the oracle should suffer no abatement, +elected a young priest of goodly presence and ascetic life; the +humblest, purest, most fervent, and most ingenuous of the sons of men. +So rare a choice might well be expected to be accompanied by some +extraordinary manifestation, and, in fact, a prodigy took place which +filled the sacred authorities with dismay. The responses of the oracle +ceased suddenly and altogether. No revelation was vouchsafed to the +pontiff in his slumbers; no access of prophetic fury constrained him to +disclose the secrets of the future; no voice rang from the shrine; and +the unanswered epistles of the suppliants lay a hopeless encumbrance on +the great altar. As a natural consequence they speedily ceased to +arrive; the influx of offerings into the treasury terminated along with +them; the temple-courts were bare of worshippers; and the only victims +whose blood smoked within them were those slain by the priest himself, +in the hope of appeasing the displeasure of Apollo. The modest +hierophant took all the blame upon his own shoulders; he did not doubt +that he had excited the Deity’s wrath by some mysterious but heinous +pollution; and was confirmed in this opinion by the unanimous verdict +of all whom he approached. + +One day as he sat sadly in the temple, absorbed in painful meditation, +and pondering how he might best relieve himself of his sacred +functions, he was startled by the now unwonted sound of a footstep, +and, looking up, espied an ancient woman. Her appearance was rather +venerable than prepossessing. He recognised her as one of the inferior +ministers of the temple. + +“Reverend mother,” he addressed her, “doubtless thou comest to mingle +with mine thy supplications to the Deity, that it may please him to +indicate the cause, and the remedy of his wrath.” + +“No, son,” returned the venerable personage, “I propose to occasion no +such needless trouble to Apollo, or any other Divinity. I hold within +mine own hand the power of reviving the splendour of this forsaken +sanctuary, and for such consideration as thou wilt thyself pronounce +equitable, I am minded to impart the same unto thee.” And as the +astonished priest made no answer, she continued: + +“My price is one hundred pieces of gold.” + +“Wretch!” exclaimed the priest indignantly, “thy mercenary demand alone +proves the vanity of thy pretence of being initiated into the secrets +of the Gods. Depart my presence this moment!” + +The old woman retired without a syllable of remonstrance, and the +incident soon passed from the mind of the afflicted priest. But on the +following day, at the same hour, the aged woman again stood before him, +and said: + +“My price is _two_ hundred pieces of gold.” + +Again she was commanded to depart, and again obeyed without a murmur. +But the adventure now occasioned the priest much serious reflection. To +his excited fancy, the patient persistency of the crone began to assume +something of a supernatural character. He considered that the ways of +the Gods are not as our ways, and that it is rather the rule than the +exception with them to accomplish their designs in the most circuitous +manner, and by the most unlikely instruments. He also reflected upon +the history of the Sibyl and her books, and shuddered to think that +unseasonable obstinacy might in the end cost the temple the whole of +its revenues. The result of his cogitations was a resolution, if the +old woman should present herself on the following day, to receive her +in a different manner. + +Punctual to the hour she made her appearance, and croaked out, “My +price is _three_ hundred pieces of gold.” + +“Venerable ambassadress of Heaven,” said the priest, “thy boon is +granted thee. Relieve the anguish of my bosom as speedily as thou +mayest.” + +The old woman’s reply was brief and expressive. It consisted in +extending her open and hollow palm, into which the priest counted the +three hundred pieces of gold with as much expedition as was compatible +with the frequent interruptions necessitated by the crone’s depositing +each successive handful in a leather pouch; and the scrutiny, divided +between jealousy and affection, which she bestowed on each individual +coin. + +“And now,” said the priest, when the operation was at length completed, +“fulfil thy share of the compact.” + +“The cause of the oracle’s silence,” returned the old woman, “is the +unworthiness of the minister.” + +“Alas! ’tis even as I feared,” sighed the priest. “Declare now, wherein +consists my sin?” + +“It consists in this,” replied the old woman, “that the beard of thy +understanding is not yet grown; and that the egg-shell of thy +inexperience is still sticking to the head of thy simplicity; and that +thy brains bear no adequate proportion to the skull enveloping them; +and in fine, lest I seem to speak overmuch in parables, or to employ a +superfluity of epithets, that thou art an egregious nincompoop.” + +And as the amazed priest preserved silence, she pursued: + +“Can aught be more shameful in a religious man than ignorance of the +very nature of religion? Not to know that the term, being rendered into +the language of truth, doth therein signify deception practised by the +few wise upon the many foolish, for the benefit of both, but more +particularly the former? O silly as the crowds who hitherto have +brought their folly here, but now carry it elsewhere to the profit of +wiser men than thou! O fool! to deem that oracles were rendered by +Apollo! How should this be, seeing that there is no such person? Needs +there, peradventure, any greater miracle for the decipherment of these +epistles than a hot needle? [*] As for the supernatural voice, it doth +in truth proceed from a respectable, and in some sense a sacred +personage, being mine own when I am concealed within a certain recess +prepared for me by thy lamented predecessor, whose mistress I was in +youth, and whose coadjutor I have been in age. I am now ready to +minister to thee in the latter capacity. Be ruled by me; exchange thy +abject superstition for common sense; thy childish simplicity for +discreet policy; thy unbecoming spareness for a majestic portliness; +thy present ridiculous and uncomfortable situation for the repute of +sanctity, and the veneration of men. Thou wilt own that this is cheap +at three hundred pieces.” + +*) Lucian. + + +The young priest had hearkened to the crone’s discourse with an +expression of the most exquisite distress. When she had finished, he +arose, and disregarding his repulsive companion’s efforts to detain +him, departed hastily from the temple. + +II + +It was the young priest’s purpose, as soon as he became capable of +forming one, to place the greatest possible distance between himself +and the city of Dorylæum. The love of roaming insensibly grew upon him, +and ere long his active limbs had borne him over a considerable portion +of Asia. His simple wants were easily supplied by the wild productions +of the country, supplemented when needful by the proceeds of light +manual labour. By degrees the self-contempt which had originally stung +him to desperation took the form of an ironical compassion for the +folly of mankind, and the restlessness which had at first impelled him +to seek relief in a change of scene gave place to a spirit of curiosity +and observation. He learned to mix freely with all orders of men, save +one, and rejoiced to find the narrow mysticism which he had imbibed +from his previous education gradually yielding to contact with the +great world. From one class of men, indeed, he learned nothing—the +priests, whose society he eschewed with scrupulous vigilance, nor did +he ever enter the temples of the Gods. Diviners, augurs, all that made +any pretension whatever to a supernatural character, he held in utter +abhorrence, and his ultimate return in the direction of his native +country is attributed to his inability to persevere further in the path +he was following without danger of encountering Chaldean soothsayers, +or Persian magi, or Indian gymnosophists. + +He cherished, however, no intention of returning to Phrygia, and was +still at a considerable distance from that region, when one night, as +he was sitting in the inn of a small country town, his ear caught a +phrase which arrested his attention. + +“As true as the oracle of Dorylæum.” The speaker was a countryman, who +appeared to have been asseverating something regarded by the rest of +the company as greatly in need of confirmation. The sudden start and +stifled cry of the ex-priest drew all eyes to him, and he felt +constrained to ask, with the most indifferent air he could assume: + +“Is the oracle of Dorylæum, then, so exceedingly renowned for +veracity?” + +“Whence comest thou to be ignorant of that?” demanded the countryman, +with some disdain. “Hast thou never heard of the priest Eubulides?” + +“Eubulides!” exclaimed the young traveller, “that is my own name!” + +“Thou mayest well rejoice, then,” observed another of the guests, “to +bear the name of one so holy and pure, and so eminently favoured by the +happy Gods. So handsome and dignified, moreover, as I may well assert +who have often beheld him discharging his sacred functions. And truly, +now that I scan thee more closely, the resemblance is marvellous. Only +that thy namesake bears with him a certain air of divinity, not equally +conspicuous in thee.” + +“Divinity!” exclaimed another. “Aye, if Phœbus himself ministered at +his own shrine, he could wear no more majestic semblance than +Eubulides.” + +“Or predict the future more accurately,” added a priest. + +“Or deliver his oracles in more exquisite verse,” subjoined a poet. + +“Yet is it not marvellous,” remarked another speaker, “that for some +considerable time after his installation the good Eubulides was unable +to deliver a single oracle?” + +“Aye, and that the first he rendered should have foretold the death of +an aged woman, one of the ministers of the temple.” + +“Ha!” exclaimed Eubulides, “how was that?” + +“He prognosticated her decease on the following day, which accordingly +came to pass, from her being choked with a piece of gold, not lawfully +appertaining to herself, which she was endeavouring to conceal under +the root of her tongue.” + +“The Gods be praised for that!” ejaculated Eubulides, under his breath. +“Pshaw! as if there were Gods! If they existed, would they tolerate +this vile mockery? To keep up the juggle—well, I know it must be so; +but to purloin my name! to counterfeit my person! By all the Gods that +are not, I will expose the cheat, or perish in the endeavour.” + +He arose early on the following morning and took his way towards the +city of Dorylæum. The further he progressed in this direction, the +louder became the bruit of the oracle of Apollo, and the more emphatic +the testimonies to the piety, prophetic endowments, and personal +attractions of the priest Eubulides; his own resemblance to whom was +the theme of continual remark. On approaching the city, he found the +roads swarming with throngs hastening to the temple, about to take part +in a great religious ceremony to be held therein. The seriousness of +worship blended delightfully with the glee of the festival, and +Eubulides, who at first regarded the gathering with bitter scorn, found +his moroseness insensibly yielding to the poetic charm of the scene. He +could not but acknowledge that the imposture he panted to expose was at +least the source of much innocent happiness, and almost wished that the +importance of religion, considered as an engine of policy, had been +offered to his contemplation from this point of view, instead of the +sordid and revolting aspect in which it had been exhibited by the old +woman. + +In this ambiguous frame of mind he entered the temple. Before the high +altar stood the officiating priest, a young man, the image, yet not the +image, of himself. Lineament for lineament, the resemblance was exact, +but over the stranger’s whole figure was diffused an air of majesty, of +absolute serenity and infinite superiority, which excluded every idea +of deceit, and so awed the young priest that his purpose of rushing +forward to denounce the impostor and drag him from the shrine was +immediately and involuntarily relinquished. As he stood confounded and +irresolute, the melodious voice of the hierophant rang through the +temple: + +“Let the priest Eubulides stand forth.” + +This summons naturally caused the greatest astonishment in every one +but Eubulides, who emerged as swiftly as he could from the swaying and +murmuring crowd, and confronted his namesake at the altar. A cry of +amazement broke from the multitude as they beheld the pair, whose main +distinction in the eyes of most was their garb. But, as they gazed, the +form of the officiating priest assumed colossal proportions; a circle +of beams, dimming sunlight, broke forth around his head; hyacinthine +locks clustered on his shoulders, his eyes sparkled with supernatural +radiance; a quiver depended at his back; an unstrung bow occupied his +hand; the majesty and benignity of his presence alike seemed augmented +tenfold. Eubulides and the crowd sank simultaneously on their knees, +for all recognised Apollo. + +All was silence for a space. It was at length broken by Phœbus. + +“Well, Eubulides,” inquired he, with the bland raillery of an Immortal, +“has it at length occurred to thee that I may have been long enough +away from Parnassus, filling thy place here while thou hast been +disporting thyself amid heretics and barbarians?” + +The abashed Eubulides made no response. The Deity continued: + +“Deem not that thou hast in aught excited the displeasure of the Gods. +In deserting their altars for Truth’s sake, thou didst render them the +most acceptable of sacrifices, the only one, it may be, by which they +set much store. But, Eubulides, take heed how thou again sufferest the +unworthiness of men to overcome the instincts of thine own nature. Thy +holiest sentiments should not have been at the mercy of a knave. If the +oracle of Dorylæum was an imposture, hadst thou no oracle in thine own +bosom? If the voice of Religion was no longer breathed from the tripod, +were the winds and waters silent, or had aught quenched the everlasting +stars? If there was no power to impose its mandates from without, +couldst thou be unconscious of a power within? If thou hadst nothing to +reveal unto men, mightest thou not have found somewhat to propound unto +them? Know this, that thou hast never experienced a more truly +religious emotion than that which led thee to form the design of +overthrowing this my temple, the abode, as thou didst deem it, of fraud +and superstition.” + +“But now, Phœbus,” Eubulides ventured to reply, “shall I not return to +the shrine purified by thy presence, and again officiate as thy +unworthy minister?” + +“No, Eubulides,” returned Phœbus, with a smile; “silver is good, but +not for ploughshares. Thy strange experience, thy long wanderings, thy +lonely meditations, and varied intercourse with men, have spoiled thee +for a priest, while, as I would fain hope, qualifying thee for a sage. +Some worthy person may easily be found to preside over this temple; and +by the aid of such inspiration as I may from time to time see meet to +vouchsafe him, administer its affairs indifferently well. Do thou, +Eubulides, consecrate thy powers to a more august service than +Apollo’s, to one that shall endure when Delphi and Delos know _his_ no +more.” + +“To whose service, Phœbus?” inquired Eubulides. + +“To the service of Humanity, my son,” responded Apollo. + + + + +DUKE VIRGIL + +I + +The citizens of Mantua were weary of revolutions. They had acknowledged +the suzerainty of the Emperor Frederick and shaken it off. They had had +a Podestà of their own and had shaken him off. They had expelled a +Papal Legate, incurring excommunication thereby. They had tried +dictators, consuls, prætors, councils of ten, and other numbers odd and +even, and ere the middle of the thirteenth century were luxuriating in +the enjoyment of perfect anarchy. + +An assembly met daily in quest of a remedy, but its members were +forbidden to propose anything old, and were unable to invent anything +new. + +“Why not consult Manto, the alchemist’s daughter, our prophetess, our +Sibyl?” the young Benedetto asked at last. + +“Why not?” repeated Eustachio, an elderly man. + +“Why not, indeed?” interrogated Leonardo, a man of mature years. + +All the speakers were noble. Benedetto was Manto’s lover; Eustachio her +father’s friend; Leonardo his creditor. Their advice prevailed, and the +three were chosen as a deputation to wait on the prophetess. Before +proceeding formally on their embassy the three envoys managed to obtain +private interviews, the two elder with Manto’s father, the youth with +Manto herself. The creditor promised that if he became Duke by the +alchemist’s influence with his daughter he would forgive the debt; the +friend went further, and vowed that he would pay it. The old man +promised his good word to both, but when he went to confer with his +daughter he found her closeted with Benedetto, and returned without +disburdening himself of his errand. The youth had just risen from his +knees, pleading with her, and drawing glowing pictures of their +felicity when he should be Duke and she Duchess. + +She answered, “Benedetto, in all Mantua there is not one man fit to +rule another. To name any living person would be to set a tyrant over +my native city. I will repair to the shades and seek a ruler among the +dead.” + +“And why should not Mantua have a tyrant?” demanded Benedetto. “The +freedom of the mechanic is the bondage of the noble, who values no +liberty save that of making the base-born do his bidding. ’Tis hell to +a man of spirit to be contradicted by his tailor. If I could see my +heart’s desire on the knaves, little would I reck submitting to the +sway of the Emperor.” + +“I know that well, Benedetto,” said Manto, “and hence will take good +heed not to counsel Mantua to choose thee. No, the Duke I will give her +shall be one without passions to gratify or injuries to avenge, and +shall already be crowned with a crown to make the ducal cap as nothing +in his eyes, if eyes he had.” + +Benedetto departed in hot displeasure, and the alchemist came forward +to announce that the commissioners waited. + +“My projection,” he whispered, “only wants one more piece of gold to +insure success, and Eustachio proffers thirty. Oh, give him Mantua in +exchange for boundless riches!” + +“And they call thee a philosopher and me a visionary!” said Manto, +patting his cheek. + +The envoys’ commission having been unfolded, she took not a moment to +reply, “Be your Duke Virgil.” + +The deputation respectfully represented that although Virgil was no +doubt Mantua’s greatest citizen, he laboured under the disqualification +of having been dead more than twelve hundred years. Nothing further, +however, could be extorted from the prophetess, and the ambassadors +were obliged to withdraw. + +The interpretation of Manto’s oracle naturally provoked much diversity +of opinion in the council. + +“Obviously,” said a poet, “the prophetess would have us confer the +ducal dignity upon the contemporary bard who doth most nearly accede to +the vestiges of the divine Maro; and he, as I judge, is even now in the +midst of you.” + +“Virgil the poet,” said a priest, who had long laboured under the +suspicion of occult practices, “was a fool to Virgil the enchanter. The +wise woman evidently demands one competent to put the devil into a +hole—an operation which I have striven to perform all my life.” + +“Canst thou balance our city upon an egg?” inquired Eustachio. + +“Better upon an egg than upon a quack!” retorted the priest. + +But such was not the opinion of Eustachio himself, who privately +conferred with Leonardo. Eustachio had a character, but no parts; +Leonardo had parts, but no character. + +“I see not why these fools should deride the oracle of the prophetess,” +he said. “She would doubtless impress upon us that a dead master is in +divers respects preferable to a living one.” + +“Surely,” said Eustachio, “provided always that the servant is a man of +exemplary character, and that he presumes not upon his lord’s +withdrawal to another sphere, trusting thereby to commit malpractices +with impunity, but doth, on the contrary, deport himself as ever in his +great taskmaster’s eye.” + +“Eustachio,” said Leonardo, with admiration, “it is the misery of +Mantua that she hath no citizen who can act half as well as thou canst +talk. I would fain have further discourse with thee.” + +The two statesmen laid their heads together, and ere long the mob were +crying, “A Virgil! a Virgil!” + +The councillors reassembled and passed resolutions. + +“But who shall be Regent?” inquired some one when Virgil had been +elected unanimously. + +“Who but we?” asked Eustachio and Leonardo. “Are we not the heads of +the Virgilian party?” + +Thus had the enthusiastic Manto, purest of idealists, installed in +authority the two most unprincipled politicians in the republic; and +she had lost her lover besides, for Benedetto fled the city, vowing +vengeance. + +Anyhow, the dead poet was enthroned Duke of Mantua; Eustachio and +Leonardo became Regents, with the style of Consuls, and it was provided +that in doubtful cases reference should be made to the Sortes +Virgilianae. And truly, if we may believe the chronicles, the +arrangement worked for a time surprisingly well. The Mantuans, in an +irrational way, had done what it behoves all communities to do +rationally if they can. They had sought for a good and worthy citizen +to rule them; it was their misfortune that such an one could only be +found among the dead. They felt prouder of themselves for being +governed by a great man—one in comparison with whom kings and pontiffs +were the creatures of a day. They would not, if they could help it, +disgrace themselves by disgracing their hero; they would not have it +said that Mantua, which had not been too weak to bear him, had been too +weak to endure his government. The very hucksters and usurers among +them felt dimly that there was such a thing as an Ideal. A glimmering +perception dawned upon mailed, steel-fisted barons that there was such +a thing as an Idea, and they felt uneasily apprehensive, like beasts of +prey who have for the first time sniffed gunpowder. The railleries and +mockeries of Mantua’s neighbours, moreover, stimulated Mantua’s +citizens to persevere in their course, and deterred them from doing +aught to approve themselves fools. Were not Verona, Cremona, Lodi, +Pavia, Crema, cities that could never enthrone the Virgil they had +never produced, watching with undissembled expectation to see them +trip? The hollow-hearted Eustachio and the rapacious Leonardo, their +virtual rulers, might indeed be little sensible to this enthusiasm, but +they could not disregard the general drift of public opinion, which +said clearly: “Mantua is trying a great experiment. Woe to you if you +bring it to nought by your selfish quarrels!” + +The best proof that there was something in Manto’s idea was that after +a while the Emperor Frederick took alarm, and signified to the Mantuans +that they must cease their mumming and fooling and acknowledge him as +their sovereign, failing which he would besiege their city. + +II + +Mantua was girt by a zone of fire and steel. Her villas and homesteads +flamed or smoked; her orchards flared heavenward in a torrent of sparks +or stood black sapless trunks charred to their inmost pith; the promise +of her harvests lay as grey ashes over the land. But her ramparts, +though breached in places, were yet manned by her sons, and their +assailants recoiled pierced by the shafts or stunned by the catapults +of the defence. Kaiser Frederick sat in his tent, giving secret +audience to one who had stolen in disguise over from the city in the +grey of the morning. By the Emperor’s side stood a tall martial figure, +wearing a visor which he never removed. + +“Your Majesty,” Leonardo was saying, for it was he, “this madness will +soon pass away. The people will weary of sacrificing themselves for a +dead heathen.” + +“And Liberty?” asked the Emperor, “is not that a name dear to those +misguided creatures?” + +“So dear, please your Majesty, that if they have but the name they will +perfectly dispense with the thing. I do not advise that your imperial +yoke should be too palpably adjusted to their stiff necks. Leave them +in appearance the choice of their magistrate, but insure its falling +upon one of approved fidelity, certain to execute obsequiously all your +Majesty’s mandates; such an one, in short, as your faithful vassal +Leonardo. It would only be necessary to decapitate that dangerous +revolutionist, Eustachio.” + +“And the citizens are really ready for this?” + +“All the respectable citizens. All of whom your Majesty need take +account. All men of standing and substance.” + +“I rejoice to hear it,” said the Emperor, “and do the more readily +credit thee inasmuch as a most virtuous and honourable citizen hath +already been beforehand with thee, assuring me of the same thing, and +affirming that but one traitor, whose name, methinks, sounded like +thine, stands between me and the subjugation of Mantua.” + +And, withdrawing a curtain, he disclosed the figure of Eustachio. + +“I thought he was asleep,” muttered Eustachio. + +“That noodle to have been beforehand with me!” murmured Leonardo. + +“What perplexes me,” continued Frederick, after enjoying the confusion +of the pair for a few moments, “is that our masked friend here will +have it that he is the man for the Dukedom, and offers to open the +gates to me by a method of his own.” + +“By fair fighting, an’ please my liege,” observed the visored +personage, “not by these dastardly treacheries.” + +“How inhuman!” sighed Eustachio. + +“How old-fashioned!” sneered Leonardo. + +“The truth is,” continued Frederick, “he gravely doubts whether either +of you possesses the influence which you allege, and has devised a +method of putting this to the proof, which I trust will commend itself +to you.” + +Leonardo and Eustachio expressed their readiness to submit their credit +with their fellow-citizens to any reasonable trial. + +“He proposes, then,” pursued the Emperor, “that ye, disarmed and bound, +should be placed at the head of the storming column, and in that +situation should, as questionless ye would, exert your entire moral +influence with your fellow-citizens to dissuade them from shooting you. +If the column, thus shielded, enters the city without resistance, ye +will both have earned the Dukedom, and the question who shall have it +may be decided by single combat between yourselves. But should the +people, rather than submit to our clemency, impiously slay their +elected magistrates, it will be apparent that the methods of our +martial friend are the only ones corresponding to the exigency of the +case. Is the storming column ready?” + +“All but the first file, please your Majesty,” responded the man in the +visor. + +“Let it be equipped,” returned Frederick, and in half-an-hour Eustachio +and Leonardo, their hands tied behind them, were stumbling up the +breach, impelled by pikes in the rear, and confronting the catapults, +_chevaux de frise_, hidden pitfalls, Greek fire, and boiling water +provided by their own direction, and certified to them the preceding +evening as all that could be desired. They had, however, the full use +of their voices, and this they turned to the best account. Never had +Leonardo been so cogent, or Eustachio so pathetic. The Mantuans, +already disorganised by the unaccountable disappearance of the +Executive, were entirely irresolute what to do. As they hesitated the +visored chief incited his followers. All seemed lost, when a tall +female figure appeared among the defenders. It was Manto. + +“Fools and cowards!” she exclaimed, “must ye learn your duty from a +woman?” + +And, seizing a catapult, she discharged a stone which laid the masked +warrior stunned and senseless on the ground. The next instant Eustachio +and Leonardo fell dead, pierced by showers of arrows. The Mantuans +sallied forth. The dismayed Imperialists fled to their camp. The bodies +of the fallen magistrates and of the unconscious chieftain in the mask +were brought into the city. Manto herself undid the fallen man’s visor, +and uttered a fearful shriek as she recognised Benedetto. + +“What shall be done with him, mistress?” they asked. + +Manto long stood silent, torn by conflicting emotions. At length she +said, in a strange, unnatural voice: + +“Put him into the Square Tower.” + +“And now, mistress, what further? How to choose the new consuls?” + +“Ask me no more,” she said. “I shall never prophesy again. Virtue has +gone away from me.” + +The leaders departed, to intrigue for the vacant posts, and devise +tortures for Benedetto. Manto sat on the rampart, still and silent as +its stones. Anon she rose, and roved about as if distraught, reciting +verses from Virgil. + +Night had fallen. Benedetto lay wakeful in his cell. A female figure +stood before him bearing a lamp. It was Manto. + +“Benedetto,” she said, “I am a wretch, faithless to my country and to +my master. I did but even now open his sacred volume at hazard, and on +what did my eye first fall? + Trojaque nunc stares, Priamique arx alta maneres. But I can no other. + I am a woman. May Mantua never entrust her fortunes to the like of me + again! Come with me, I will release thee.” + +She unlocked his chains; she guided him through the secret passage +under the moat; they stood at the exit, in the open air. + +“Fly,” she said, “and never again draw sword against thy mother. I will +return to my house, and do that to myself which it behoved me to have +done ere I released thee.” + +“Manto,” exclaimed Benedetto “a truce to this folly! Forsake thy dead +Duke, and that cheat of Liberty more crazy and fantastic still. Wed a +living Duke in me!” + +“Never!” exclaimed Manto. “I love thee more than any man living on +earth, and I would not espouse thee if the earth held no other.” + +“Thou canst not help thyself,” he rejoined; “thou hast revealed to me +the secret of this passage. I hasten to the camp. I return in an hour +with an army, and wilt thou, wilt thou not, to-morrow’s sun shall +behold thee the partner of my throne!” + +Manto wore a poniard. She struck Benedetto to the heart, and he fell +dead. She drew the corpse back into the passage, and hurried to her +home. Opening her master’s volume again, she read: + +Tædet coeli convexa tueri. + + +A few minutes afterwards her father entered the chamber to tell her he +had at last found the philosopher’s stone, but, perceiving his daughter +hanging by her girdle, he forbore to intrude upon her, and returned to +his laboratory. + +It was time. A sentinel of the besiegers had marked Benedetto’s fall, +and the disappearance of the body into the earth. A pool of blood +revealed the entrance to the passage. Ere sunrise Mantua was full of +Frederick’s soldiers, full also of burning houses, rifled sanctuaries, +violated damsels, children playing with their dead mothers’ breasts, +especially full of citizens protesting that they had ever longed for +the restoration of the Emperor, and that this was the happiest day of +their lives. Frederick waited till everybody was killed, then entered +the city and proclaimed an amnesty. Virgil’s bust was broken, and his +writings burned with Manto’s body. The flames glowed on the dead face, +which gleamed as it were with pleasure. The old alchemist had been +slain among his crucibles; his scrolls were preserved with jealous +care. + +But Manto found another father. She sat at Virgil’s feet in Elysium; +and as he stroked the fair head, now golden with perpetual youth, +listened to his mild reproofs and his cheerful oracles. By her side +stood a bowl filled with the untasted waters of Lethe. + +“Woe,” said Virgil—but his manner contradicted his speech—“woe to the +idealist and enthusiast! Woe to them who live in the world to come! Woe +to them who live only for a hope whose fulfilment they will not behold +on earth! Drink not, therefore, of that cup, dear child, lest Duke +Virgil’s day should come, and thou shouldst not know it. For come it +will, and all the sooner for thy tragedy and thy comedy.” + + + + +THE CLAW + + +The balm and stillness of a summer’s night enveloped a spacious piazza +in the city of Shylock and Desdemona. The sky teemed with light +drifting clouds through which the beaming of the full moon broke at +intervals upon some lamp-lit palace, thronged and musical, for it was a +night of festivity, or silvered the dull creeping waters. Ever and anon +some richly attired young patrician descended the steps of one or other +of these mansions, and hurried across the wide area to the canal +stairs, where his gondola awaited him. Whoever did this could not but +observe a tall female figure, which, cloaked and masked, walked +backwards and forwards across the piazza, regarding no one, yet with an +air that seemed to invite a companion. + +More than one of the young nobles approached the presumably fair +peripatetic, and, with courtesy commonly in inverse ratio to the amount +of wine he was carrying home, proffered his escort to his gondola. +Whenever this happened the figure removed her mask and unclasped her +robe, and revealed a sight which for one moment rooted the young man to +the earth and in the next sent him scampering to his bark. For the +countenance was a death’s head, and the breast was that of a mouldering +skeleton. + +At last, however, a youth presented himself who, more courageous or +more tipsy than his fellows, or more helplessly paralysed with horror +than they, did not decline the proffered caress, and suffered himself +to be drawn within the goblin’s accursed embrace. Valiant or +pot-valiant, great was his relief at finding himself clasped, instead +of by a loathsome spectre, by a silver-haired man of noble presence, +yet with a countenance indescribably haggard and anxious. + +“Come, my son,” he cried, “hasten whither the rewards of thy +intrepidity await thee. Impouch the purse of Fortunatus! Indue the +signet of Solomon!” + +The young man hesitated. “Is there nought else?” he cautiously +demanded. “Needs it not that I should renounce my baptism? Must I not +subscribe an infernal compact?” + +“In thy own blood, my son,” cheerfully responded the old gentleman. + +“Peradventure,” hesitatingly interrogated the youth, “peradventure you +are _he_?” + +“Not so, my son, upon honour,” returned the mysterious personage. “I am +but a distressed magician, at this present in fearful straits, from +which I look to be delivered by thee.” + +The youth gazed some moments at his companion’s head, and then still +more earnestly at his feet. He then yielded his own hand to him, and +the pair crossed the piazza, almost at a run, the magician ever +ejaculating, “Speed! speed!” + +They paused at the foot of a lofty tower, doorless and windowless, with +no visible access of any kind. But the magician signed with his hand, +pronounced some cabalistical words, and instantly stone and lime fell +asunder and revealed an entrance through which they passed, and which +immediately closed behind them. The youth quaked at finding himself +alone in utter darkness with he knew not what, but the wizard whistled, +and a severed hand appeared in air bearing a lamp which illuminated a +long winding staircase. The old man motioned to the youth to precede +him, nor dared he refuse, though feeling as though he would have given +the world for the very smallest relic of the very smallest saint. The +distorted shadows of the twain, dancing on stair and wall with the +wavering lamp-shine, seemed phantoms capering in an infernal revel, and +he glanced back ever and anon weening to see himself dogged by some +frightful monster, but he saw only the silver hair and sable velvet of +the dignified old man. + +After the ascent of many steps a door opened before them, and they +found themselves in a spacious chamber, brightly, yet from its size +imperfectly illumined by a single large lamp. It was wainscoted with +ebony, and the furniture was of the same. A long table was covered with +scrolls, skulls, crucibles, crystals, star-charts, geomantic figures, +and other appurtenances of a magician’s calling. Tomes of necromantic +lore lined the walls, which were yet principally occupied with crystal +vessels, in which foul beings seemed dimly and confusedly to agitate +themselves. + +The magician signed to his visitor to be seated, sat down himself and +began: + +“Brave youth, ere entering upon the boundless power and riches that +await thee, learn who I am and why I have brought thee here. Behold in +me no vulgar wizard, no mere astrologer or alchemist, but a compeer of +Merlin and Michael Scott, with whose name it may be the nurse of thy +infancy hath oft-times quelled thy froward humours. I am Peter of +Abano, falsely believed to have lain two centuries buried in the +semblance of a dog under a heap of stones hurled by the furious +populace, but in truth walking earth to this day, in virtue of the +compact now to be revealed to thee. Hearken, my son! Vain must be the +machinations of my enemies, vain the onslaughts of the rabble, so long +as I fulfil a certain contract registered in hell’s chancery, as I have +now done these three hundred years. And the condition is this, that +every year I present unto the Demon one who hath at my persuasion +assigned his soul to him in exchange for power, riches, knowledge, +magical gifts, or whatever else his heart chiefly desireth; nor until +this present year have I perilled the fulfilment of my obligation. +Seest thou these scrolls? They are the assignments of which I have +spoken. It would amaze thee to scan the subscriptions, and perceive in +these the signatures of men exemplary in the eyes of their fellows, +clothed with high dignities in Church and State—nay sometimes redolent +of the very odour of sanctity. Never hath my sagacity deceived me until +this year, when, smitten with the fair promise of a youth of singular +impishness, I omitted to take due note of his consumptive habit, and +have but this afternoon encountered his funeral. This is the last day +of my year, and should my engagement be unredeemed when the sun attains +the cusp of that nethermost house of heaven which he is even now +traversing, I must become an inmate of the infernal kingdom. No time +has remained for nice investigation. I have therefore proved the +courage of the Venetian youth in the manner thou knowest, and thou +alone hast sustained the ordeal. Fail not at my bidding, or thou +quittest not this chamber alive. For when the Demon comes to bear me +away, he will assuredly rend thee in pieces for being found in my +company. Thou hast, therefore, everything to gain and nothing to lose +by joining the goodly fellowship of my mates and partners. Delay not, +time urges, night deepens, they that would drink thy blood are abroad. +Hearest thou not the moaning and pelting of the rising storm, and the +muttering and scraping of my imprisoned goblins? Save us, I entreat, I +command, save us both!” + +Screaming with agitation the aged sorcerer laid a scroll engrossed with +fairly written characters before the youth, stabbed the latter’s arm +with a stylus that at once evoked and collected the crimson stream, +thrust this into his hand and strove to guide it to the parchment, +chanting at the same time litanies to the infernal powers. The crystal +flagons rang like one great harmonica with shrill but spirit-stirring +music; volumes of vaporous perfumes diffused themselves through the +apartment, and an endless procession of treasure-laden figures defiled +before the bewildered youth. He seemed buried in the opulence of the +world, as he sat up to his waist in gold and jewels; all the earth’s +beauty gazed at him through eyes brilliant and countless as the stars +of heaven; courtiers beckoned him to thrones; battle-steeds neighed and +pawed for his mounting; laden tables allured every appetite; vassals +bent in homage; slaves fell prostrate at his feet. Now he seemed to +collect or disperse legions of spirits with the waving of a wand; anon, +as he pronounced a spell, golden dragons glided away from boughs laden +with golden fruits. Well for him, doubtless, that in him Nature had +kneaded from ordinary clay as unimaginative a youth as could be found +in Venice: yet even so, dazzled with glamour, intoxicated with +illusion, less and less able to resist the cunningly mingled caresses, +entreaties, and menaces of Abano, he could not refrain from tracing a +few characters with the stylus, when, catching reflected in a mirror +the old magician’s expression of wolfish glee, he dropped the +instrument from his grasp, and cast his eye upwards as if appealing to +Heaven. But every drop of blood seemed frozen in his frame as he beheld +an enormous claw thrust through the roof, member as it seemed of some +being too gigantic to be contained in the chamber or the tower itself. +Cold, poignant, glittering as steel, it rested upon a socket of the +repulsive hue of jaundiced ivory, with no vestige of a foot or anything +to relieve its naked horror as, rigid and lifeless, yet plainly with a +mighty force behind it, it pointed at the magician’s heart. As Abano, +following the youth’s eye, caught sight of the portent, his visage +assumed an expression of frantic horror, his spells died upon his lips, +and the gorgeous figures became grinning apes or blotchy toads: madly +he seized the young man’s hand, and strove to force him to complete his +signature. The robust youth felt as an infant in his grasp, but ere the +stylus could be again thrust upon him the first stroke of the midnight +hour rang through the chamber, and instantly the gigantic talon pierced +Abano from breast to back, projecting far beyond his shoulders, and +swept him upwards to the roof, through which both disappeared without +leaving a trace of their passage. + +Horror and thankfulness rushed together into the young man’s mind, and +there contended for some brief instants: but as the last stroke sounded +all the crystal vials shivered with a stunning crash, and their hellish +inmates, rejoicing in their deliverance, swarmed into the chamber. All +made for the youth, who, tugged, clawed, fondled, bitten, beslimed, +blinded, deafened, beset in every way by creatures of indescribable +loathsomeness, grasped frantically as his sole weapon, the stylus; but +it had become a writhing serpent. This was too much, sense forsook him +on the spot. + +On recovering consciousness he found himself stretched on a pallet in +the dungeons of the Inquisition. The Inquisitors sat on their +tribunals; black-robed familiars flitted about, or waited attentive +upon their orders; one expert in ecclesiastical jurisprudence proved +the edge of an axe, and another heated pincers in a chafing-dish; +dismal groans pierced the massy walls; two sturdy fellows, stripped to +the waist, adjusted the rollers of a rack. A surgeon approached the +bedside, bearing a phial and a lancet. The youth screamed and again +became insensible. + +But his affright was groundless. The Inquisitors had already taken +cognisance of Abano’s scrolls, and found that, touching these at least, +he had spoken sooth. Besides kings, princes, ministers, magistrates, +and other secular persons who had owed their success in life to +dealings with the devil under his mediation, the infernal bondsmen +included so many pillars of the Church and champions of the Faith; +prelates plenty, abbots in abundance, cardinals not a few, a (some +whispered _the_) Pope; above all, so many of the Inquisitors +themselves, that further inquiry could evidently nowise conduce to +edification. The surgeon, therefore, infused an opiate into the veins +of the unconscious youth, and he came to himself upon a galley speeding +him to the holy war in Cyprus, where he fell fighting the Turk. + + + + +ALEXANDER THE RATCATCHER + + +“Alexander Octavus mures, qui Urbem supra modum vexabant, anathemate +perculit.”—_Palatius. Fasti Cardinalium_, tom. v.p. 46. + +I + +“Rome and her rats are at the point of battle!” + +This metaphor of Menenius Agrippa’s became, history records, matter of +fact in 1689, when rats pervaded the Eternal City from garret to +cellar, and Pope Alexander the Eighth seriously apprehended the fate of +Bishop Hatto. The situation worried him sorely; he had but lately +attained the tiara at an advanced age—the twenty-fourth hour, as he +himself remarked in extenuation of his haste to enrich his nephews. The +time vouchsafed for worthier deeds was brief, and he dreaded descending +to posterity as the Rat Pope. Witty and genial, his sense of humour +teased him with a full perception of the absurdity of his position. +Peter and Pasquin concurred in forbidding him to desert his post; and +he derived but small comfort from the ingenuity of his flatterers, who +compared him to St. Paul contending with beasts at Ephesus. + +It wanted three half-hours to midnight, as Alexander sat amid traps and +ratsbane in his chamber in the Vatican, under the protection of two +enormous cats and a British terrier. A silver bell stood ready to his +hand, should the aid of the attendant chamberlains be requisite. The +walls had been divested of their tapestries, and the floor gleamed with +pounded glass. A tome of legendary lore lay open at the history of the +Piper of Hamelin. All was silence, save for the sniffing and scratching +of the dog and a sound of subterranean scraping and gnawing. + +“Why tarries Cardinal Barbadico thus?” the Pope at last asked himself +aloud. The inquiry was answered by a wild burst of squeaking and +clattering and scurrying to and fro, as who should say, “We’ve eaten +him! We’ve eaten him!” + +But this exultation was at least premature, for just as the terrified +Pope clutched his bell, the door opened to the narrowest extent +compatible with the admission of an ecclesiastical personage of +dignified presence, and Cardinal Barbadico hastily squeezed himself +through. + +“I shall hardly trust myself upon these stairs again,” he remarked, +“unless under the escort of your Holiness’s terrier.” + +“Take him, my son, and a cruse of holy water to boot,” the Pope +responded. “Now, how go things in the city?” + +“As ill as may be, your Holiness. Not a saint stirs a finger to help +us. The country-folk shun the city, the citizens seek the country. The +multitude of enemies increases hour by hour. They set at defiance the +anathemas fulminated by your Holiness, the spiritual censures placarded +in the churches, and the citation to appear before the ecclesiastical +courts, although assured that their cause shall be pleaded by the +ablest advocates in Rome. The cats, amphibious with alarm, are taking +to the Tiber. Vainly the city reeks with toasted cheese, and the +Commissary-General reports himself short of arsenic.” + +“And how are the people taking it?” demanded Alexander. “To what cause +do they attribute the public calamity?” + +“Generally speaking, to the sins of your Holiness,” replied the +Cardinal. + +“Cardinal!” exclaimed Alexander indignantly. + +“I crave pardon for my temerity,” returned Barbadico. “It is with +difficulty that I force myself to speak, but I am bound to lay the +ungrateful truth before your Holiness. The late Pope, as all men know, +was a personage of singular sanctity.” + +“Far too upright for this fallen world,” observed Alexander with +unction. + +“I will not dispute,” responded the Cardinal, “that the head of +Innocent the Eleventh might have been more fitly graced by a halo than +by a tiara. But the vulgar are incapable of placing themselves at this +point of view. They know that the rats hardly squeaked under Innocent, +and that they swarm under Alexander. What wonder if they suspect your +Holiness of familiarity with Beelzebub, the patron of vermin, and +earnestly desire that he would take you to himself? Vainly have I +represented to them the unreasonableness of imposing upon him a trouble +he may well deem superfluous, considering your Holiness’s infirm health +and advanced age. Vainly, too, have I pointed out that your anathema +has actually produced all the effect that could have been reasonably +anticipated from any similar manifesto on your predecessor’s part. They +won’t see it. And, in fact, might I humbly advise, it does appear +impolitic to hurl anathemas unless your Holiness knows that some one +will be hit. It might be opportune, for example, to excommunicate +Father Molinos, now fast in the dungeons of St. Angelo, unless, indeed, +the rats have devoured him there. But I question the expediency of +going much further.” + +“Cardinal,” said the Pope, “you think yourself prodigiously clever, but +you ought to know that the state of public opinion allowed us no +alternative. Moreover, I will give you a wrinkle, in case you should +ever come to be Pope yourself. It is unwise to allow ancient +prerogatives to fall entirely into desuetude. Far-seeing men +prognosticate a great revival of sacerdotalism in the nineteenth +century, and what is impotent in an age of sense may be formidable in +an age of nonsense. Further, we know not from one day to another +whether we may not be absolutely necessitated to excommunicate that +fautor of Gallicanism, Louis the Fourteenth, and before launching our +bolt at a king, we may think well to test its efficacy upon a rat. +_Fiat experimentum._ And now to return to our rats, from which we have +ratted. Is there indeed no hope?” + +“_Lateat scintillula forsan_,” said the Cardinal mysteriously. + +“Ha! How so?” eagerly demanded Alexander. + +“Our hopes,” answered the Cardinal, “are associated with the recent +advent to this city of an extraordinary personage.” + +“Explain,” urged the Pope. + +“I speak,” resumed the Cardinal, “of an aged man of no plebeian mien or +bearing, albeit most shabbily attired in the skins, now fabulously +cheap, of the vermin that torment us; who, professing to practise as an +herbalist, some little time ago established himself in an obscure +street of no good repute. A tortoise hangs in his needy shop, nor are +stuffed alligators lacking. Understanding that he was resorted to by +such as have need of philters and love-potions, or are incommoded by +the longevity of parents and uncles, I was about to have him arrested, +when I received a report which gave me pause. This concerned the +singular intimacy which appeared to subsist between him and our +enemies. When he left home, it was averred, he was attended by troops +of them obedient to his beck and call, and spies had observed him +banqueting them at his counter, the rats sitting erect and comporting +themselves with perfect decorum. I resolved to investigate the matter +for myself. Looking into his house through an unshuttered window, I +perceived him in truth surrounded by feasting and gambolling rats; but +when the door was opened in obedience to my attendants’ summons, he +appeared to be entirely alone. Laying down a pestle and mortar, he +greeted me by name with an easy familiarity which for the moment quite +disconcerted me, and inquired what had procured him the honour of my +visit. Recovering myself, and wishing to intimidate him: + +“‘I desire in the first place,’ I said, ‘to point out to you your grave +transgression of municipal regulations in omitting to paint your name +over your shop.’ + +“‘Call me Rattila,’ he rejoined with unconcern, ‘and state your further +business.’ + +“I felt myself on the wrong tack, and hastened to interrogate him +respecting his relations with our adversaries. He frankly admitted his +acquaintance with rattery in all its branches, and his ability to +deliver the city from this scourge, but his attitude towards your +Holiness was so deficient in respect that I question whether I ought to +report it.” + +“Proceed, son,” said the Pope; “we will not be deterred from providing +for the public weal by the ribaldry of a ratcatcher.” + +“He scoffed at what he termed your Holiness’s absurd position, and +affirmed that the world had seldom beheld, or would soon behold again, +so ridiculous a spectacle as a Pope besieged by rats. ‘I can help your +master,’ he continued, ‘and am willing; but my honour, like his, is +aspersed in the eyes of the multitude, and he must come to my aid, if I +am to come to his.’ + +“I prayed him to be more explicit, and offered to be the bearer of any +communication to your Holiness. + +“‘I will unfold myself to no one but the Pope himself,’ he replied, +‘and the interview must take place when and where I please to appoint. +Let him meet me this very midnight, and alone, in the fifth chamber of +the Appartamento Borgia.’ + +“‘The Appartamento Borgia!’ I exclaimed in consternation. ‘The saloons +which the wicked Pope Alexander the Sixth nocturnally perambulates, +mingling poisons that have long lost their potency for Cardinals who +have long lost their lives!’ + +“‘Have a care!’ he exclaimed sharply. ‘You speak to his late Holiness’s +most intimate friend.’ + +“‘Then,’ I answered, ‘you must obviously be the Devil, and I am not at +present empowered to negotiate with your Infernal Majesty. Consider, +however, the peril and inconvenience of visiting at dead of night rooms +closed for generations. Think of the chills and cobwebs. Weigh the +probability of his Holiness being devoured by rats.’ + +“‘I guarantee his Holiness absolute immunity from cold,’ he replied, +‘and that none of my subjects shall molest him either going or +returning.’ + +“‘But,’ I objected, ‘granting that you are not the Devil, how the +devil, let me ask, do you expect to gain admittance at midnight to the +Appartamento Borgia?’ + +“‘Think you I cannot pass through a stone wall?’ answered he, and +vanished in an instant. A tremendous scampering of rats immediately +ensued, then all was silence. + +“On recovering in some measure from my astounded condition, I caused +strict search to be made throughout the shop. Nothing came to light but +herbalists’ stuff and ordinary medicines. And now, Holy Father, your +Holiness’s resolution? Reflect well. This Rattila may be the King of +the Rats, or he may be Beelzebub in person.” + +Alexander the Eighth was principally considered by his contemporaries +in the light of a venerable fox, but the lion had by no means been +omitted from his composition. + +“All powers of good forbid,” he exclaimed, “that a Pope and a Prince +should shrink from peril which the safety of the State summons him to +encounter! I will confront this wizard, this goblin, in the place of +his own appointing, under his late intimate friend’s very nose. I am a +man of many transgressions, but something assures me that Heaven will +not deem this a fit occasion for calling them to remembrance. Time +presses; I lead on; follow, Cardinal Barbadico, follow! Yet stay, let +us not forget temporal and spiritual armouries.” + +And hastily providing himself with a lamp, a petronel, a bunch of keys, +a crucifix, a vial of holy water, and a manual of exorcisms, the Pope +passed through a secret door in a corner of his chamber, followed by +the Cardinal bearing another lamp and a naked sword, and preceded by +the dog and the two cats, all ardent and undaunted as champions bound +to the Holy Land for the recovery of the Holy Sepulchre. + +II + +The wizard had kept his word. Not a rat was seen or heard upon the +pilgrimage, which was exceedingly toilsome to the aged Pope, from the +number of passages to be threaded and doors to be unlocked. At length +the companions stood before the portal of the Appartamento Borgia. + +“Your Holiness must enter alone,” Cardinal Barbadico admonished, with +manifest reluctance. + +“Await my return,” enjoined the Pontiff, in a tone of more confidence +than he could actually feel, as, after much grinding and grating, the +massive door swung heavily back, and he passed on into the dim, +unexplored space beyond. The outer air, streaming in as though eager to +indemnify itself for years of exile, smote and swayed the flame of the +Pope’s lamp, whose feeble ray flitted from floor to ceiling as the +decrepit man, weary with the way he had traversed and the load he was +bearing, tottered and stumbled painfully along, ever and anon arrested +by a closed door, which he unlocked with prodigious difficulty. The +cats cowered close to the Cardinal; the dog at first accompanied the +Pope, but whined so grievously, as though he beheld a spirit, that +Alexander bade him back. + +Supreme is the spell of the _genius loci_. The chambers traversed by +the Pope were in fact adorned with fair examples of the painter’s art, +mostly scriptural in subject, but some inspired with the devout +Pantheism in which all creeds are reconciled. All were alike invisible +to the Pontiff, who, with the dim flicker of his lamp, could no more +discern Judaea wed with Egypt on the frescoed ceiling than, with the +human limitation of his faculties, he could foresee that the +ill-reputed rooms would one day harbour a portion of the Vatican +Library, so greatly enriched by himself. Nothing but sinister memories +and vague alarms presented themselves to his imagination. The +atmosphere, heavy and brooding from the long exclusion of the outer +air, seemed to weigh upon him with the density of matter, and to afford +the stuff out of which phantasmal bodies perpetually took shape and, as +he half persuaded himself, substance. Creeping and tottering between +bowl and cord, shielding himself with lamp and crucifix from +Michelotto’s spectral poniard and more fearful contact with fleshless +Vanozzas and mouldering Giulias, the Pope urged, or seemed to urge, his +course amid phantom princes and cardinals, priests and courtesans, +soldiers and serving-men, dancers, drinkers, dicers, Bacchic and +Cotyttian workers of whatsoever least beseemed the inmates of a +Pontifical household, until, arrived in the fifth chamber, close by +the, to him, invisible picture of the Resurrection, he sank exhausted +into a spacious chair that seemed placed for his reception, and for a +moment closed his eyes. Opening them immediately afterwards, he saw +with relief that the phantoms had vanished, and that he confronted what +at least seemed a fellow-mortal, in the ancient ratcatcher, habited +precisely as Cardinal Barbadico had described, yet, for all his mean +apparel, wearing the air of one wont to confer with the potentates of +the earth on other subjects than the extermination of rats. + +“This is noble of your Holiness—really,” he said, bowing with mock +reverence. “A second Leo the Great!” + +“I tell you what, my man,” responded Alexander, feeling it very +necessary to assert his dignity while any of it remained, “you are not +to imagine that, because I have humoured you so far as to grant you an +audience at an unusual place and time, I am going to stand any amount +of your nonsense and impertinence. You can catch our rats, can you? +Catch them then, and you need not fear that we shall treat you like the +Pied Piper of Hamelin. You have committed sundry rascalities, no doubt? +A pardon shall be made out for you. You want a patent or a privilege +for your ratsbane? You shall have it. So to work, in the name of St. +Muscipulus! and you may keep the tails and skins.” + +“Alexander,” said the ratcatcher composedly, “I would not commend or +dispraise you unduly, but this I may say, that of all the Popes I have +known you are the most exuberant in hypocrisy and the most deficient in +penetration. The most hypocritical, because you well know, and know +that I know that you know, that you are not conversing with an ordinary +ratcatcher: had you deemed me such, you would never have condescended +to meet me at this hour and place. The least penetrating, because you +apparently have not yet discovered to whom you are speaking. Do you +really mean to say that you do not know me?” + +“I believe I have seen your face before,” said Alexander, “and all the +more likely as I was inspector of prisons when I was Cardinal.” + +“Then look yonder,” enjoined the ratcatcher, as he pointed to the +frescoed wall, at the same time vehemently snapping his fingers. +Phosphoric sparks hissed and crackled forth, and coalesced into a blue +lambent flame, which concentrated itself upon a depicted figure, whose +precise attitude the ratcatcher assumed as he dropped upon his knees. +The Pope shrieked with amazement, for, although the splendid Pontifical +vestments had become ragged fur, in every other respect the kneeling +figure was the counterpart of the painted one, and the painted one was +Pinturicchio’s portrait of Pope Alexander the Sixth kneeling as a +witness of the Resurrection. + +Alexander the Eighth would fain have imitated his predecessor’s +attitude, but terror bound him to his chair, and the adjuration of his +patron St. Mark which struggled towards his lips never arrived there. +The book of exorcisms fell from his paralysed hand, and the vial of +holy water lay in shivers upon the floor. Ere he could collect himself, +the dead Pope had seated himself beside the Pope with one foot in the +grave, and, fondling a ferret-skin, proceeded to enter into +conversation. + +“What fear you?” he asked. “Why should I harm you? None can say that I +ever injured any one for any cause but my own advantage, and to injure +your Holiness now would be to obstruct a design which I have +particularly at heart.” + +“I crave your Holiness’s forgiveness,” rejoined the Eighth Alexander, +“but you must be aware that you left the world with a reputation which +disqualifies you for the society of any Pope in the least careful of +his character. It positively compromises me to have so much as the +ghost of a person so universally decried as your Holiness under my +roof, and you would infinitely oblige me by forthwith repairing to your +own place, which I take to be about four thousand miles below where you +are sitting. I could materially facilitate and accelerate your +Holiness’s transit thither if you would be so kind as to hand me that +little book of exorcisms.” + +“How is the fine gold become dim!” exclaimed Alexander the Sixth. +“Popes in bondage to moralists! Popes nervous about public opinion! Is +there another judge of morals than the Pope speaking _ex cathedra_, as +I always did? Is the Church to frame herself after the prescriptions of +heathen philosophers and profane jurists? How, then, shall she be +terrible as an army with banners? Did I concern myself with such +pedantry when the Kings of Spain and Portugal came to me like cats +suing for morsels, and I gave them the West and the East?” + +“It is true,” Alexander the Eighth allowed, “that the lustre of the +Church hath of late been obfuscated by the prevalence of heresy.” + +“It isn’t the heretics,” Borgia insisted. “It is the degeneracy of the +Popes. A shabby lot! You, Alexander, are about the best of them; but +the least Cardinal about my Court would have thought himself bigger +than you.” + +Alexander’s spirit rose. “I would suggest,” he said, “that this haughty +style is little in keeping with the sordid garb wherein your Holiness, +consistent after death as in your life, masquerades to the scandal and +distress of the faithful.” + +“How can I other? Has your Holiness forgotten your Rabelais?” + +“The works of that eminent Doctor and Divine,” answered Alexander the +Eighth, “are seldom long absent from my hands, yet I fail to remember +in what manner they elucidate the present topic.” + +“Let me refresh your memory,” rejoined Borgia, and, producing a volume +of the Sage of Meudon, he turned to the chapter descriptive of the +employments of various eminent inhabitants of the nether world, and +pointed to the sentence: + +“LE PAPE ALEXANDRE ESTOYT PRENEUR DE RATZ.” [*] + +*) _Pantagruel_, Book XI. ch. 30. + + +“Is this indeed sooth?” demanded his successor. + +“How else should François Rabelais have affirmed it?” responded Borgia. +“When I arrived in the subterranean kingdom, I found it in the same +condition as your Holiness’s dominions at the present moment, eaten up +by rats. The attention which, during my earthly pilgrimage, I had +devoted to the science of toxicology indicated me as a person qualified +to abate the nuisance, which commission I executed with such success, +that I received the appointment of Ratcatcher to his Infernal Majesty, +and so discharged its duties as to merit a continuance of the good +opinion which had always been entertained of me in that exalted +quarter. After a while, however, interest began to be made for me in +even more elevated spheres. I had not been able to cram Heaven with +Spaniards, as I had crammed the Sacred College—on the contrary. Truth +to speak, my nation has not largely contributed to the population of +the regions above. But some of us are people of consequence. My +great-grandson, the General of the Jesuits, who, as such, had the ear +of St. Ignatius Loyola, represented that had I adhered strictly to my +vows, he could never have come into existence, and that the Society +would thus have wanted one of its brightest ornaments. This argument +naturally had great weight with St. Ignatius, the rather as he, too, +was my countryman. Much also was said of the charity I had shown to the +exiled Jews, which St. Dominic was pleased to say made him feel ashamed +of himself when he came to think of it; for my having fed my people in +time of dearth, instead of contriving famines to enrich myself, as so +many Popes’ nephews have done since; and of the splendid order in which +I kept the College of Cardinals. Columbus said a good word for me, and +Savonarola did not oppose. Finally I was allowed to come upstairs, and +exercise my profession on earth. But mark what pitfalls line the good +man’s path! I never could resist tampering with drugs of a deleterious +nature, and was constantly betrayed by the thirst for scientific +experiment into practices incompatible with the public health. The good +nature which my detractors have not denied me was a veritable snare. I +felt for youth debarred from its enjoyments by the unnatural vitality +of age, and sympathised with the blooming damsel whose parent alone +stood between her and her lover. I thus lived in constant apprehension +of being ordered back to the Netherlands, and yearned for the wings of +a dove, that I might flee away and be out of mischief. At last I +discovered that my promotion to a higher sphere depended upon my +obtaining a testimonial from the reigning Pope. Let a solemn procession +be held in my honour, and intercession be publicly made for me, and I +should ascend forthwith. I have consequently represented my case to +many of your predecessors: but, O Alexander, you seventeenth-century +Popes are a miserable breed! No fellow-feeling, no _esprit de corps. +Heu pietas! heu prisca fides_! No one was so rude as your ascetic +antecessor. The more of a saint, the less of a gentleman. Personally +offensive, I assure you! But the others were nearly as bad. The haughty +Paul, the fanatic Gregory, the worldly Urban, the austere Innocent the +Tenth, the affable Alexander the Seventh, all concurred in assuring me +that it was deeply to be regretted that I should ever have been +emancipated from the restraints of the Stygian realm, to which I should +do well to return with all possible celerity; that it would much +conduce to the interests of the Church if my name could be forgotten; +and that as for doing anything to revive its memory, they would just as +soon think of canonising Judas Iscariot.” + +“And therefore your Holiness has brought these rats upon us, enlisted, +I nothing doubt, in the infernal regions?” + +“Precisely so: Plutonic, necyomantic, Lemurian rats, kindly lent by the +Prince of Darkness for the occasion, and come dripping from Styx to +squeak and gibber in the Capitol. But I note your Holiness’s admission +that they belong to a region exempt from your jurisdiction, and that, +therefore, your measures against them, except as regards their status +as belligerents, are for the most part illegitimate and _ultra vires_.” + +“I would argue that point,” replied Alexander the Eighth, “if my lungs +were as tough as when I pleaded before the Rota in Pope Urban’s time. +For the present I confine myself to formally protesting against your +Holiness’s unprecedented and parricidal conduct in invading your +country at the head of an army of loathsome vermin.” + +“Unprecedented!” exclaimed Borgia. “Am I not the modern Coriolanus? Did +Narses experience blacker ingratitude than I? Where would the temporal +power be but for me? Who smote the Colonna? Who squashed the Orsini? +Who gave the Popes to dwell quietly in their own house? Monsters of +unthankfulness!” + +“I am sure,” said Alexander the Eighth soothingly, “that my +predecessors’ inability to comply with your Holiness’s request must +have cost them many inward tears, not the less genuine because entirely +invisible and completely inaudible. A wise Pope will, before all +things, consider the spirit of his age. The force of public opinion, +which your Holiness lately appeared to disparage, was, in fact, as +operative upon yourself as upon any of your successors. If you achieved +great things in your lifetime, it was because the world was with you. +Did you pursue the same methods now, you would soon discover that you +had become an offensive anachronism. It will not have escaped your +Holiness’s penetration that what moralists will persist in terming the +elevation of the standard of the Church, is the result of the so-called +improvement of the world.” + +“There is a measure of truth in this,” admitted Alexander the Sixth, +“and the spirit of this age is a very poor spirit. It was my felicity +to be a Pope of the Renaissance. Blest dispensation! when men’s view of +life was large and liberal; when the fair humanities flourished; when +the earth yielded up her hoards of chiselled marble and breathing +bronze, and new-found agate urns as fresh as day; when painters and +sculptors vied with antiquity, and poets and historians followed in +their path; when every benign deity was worshipped save Diana and +Vesta; when the arts of courtship and cosmetics were expounded by +archbishops; when the beauteous Imperia was of more account than the +eleven thousand virgins; when obnoxious persons glided imperceptibly +from the world; and no one marvelled if he met the Pope arm in arm with +the Devil. How miserable, in comparison, is the present sapless age, +with its prudery and its pedantry, and its periwigs and its painted +coaches, and its urban Arcadias and the florid impotence and +ostentatious inanity of what it calls its art! Pope Alexander! I see in +the spirit the sepulchre destined for _you_, and I swear to you that my +soul shivers in my ratskins! Come, now! I do not expect you to emulate +the Popes of my time, but show that your virtues are your own, and your +faults those of your epoch. Pluck up a spirit! Take bulls by the horns! +Look facts in the face! Think upon the images of Brutus and Cassius! +Recognise that you cannot get rid of me, and that the only safe course +is to rehabilitate me. I am not a candidate for canonisation just now; +but repair past neglect and appease my injured shade in the way you wot +of. If this is done, I pledge my word that every rat shall forthwith +evacuate Rome. Is it a bargain? I see it is; you are one of the good +old sort, though fallen on evil days.” + +Renaissance or Rats, Alexander the Eighth yielded. + +“I promise,” he declared. + +“Your hand upon it!” + +Subduing his repugnance and apprehension by a strong effort, Alexander +laid his hand within the spectre’s clammy paw. An icy thrill ran +through his veins, and he sank back senseless into his chair. + +III + +When the Pope recovered consciousness he found himself in bed, with +slight symptoms of fever. His first care was to summon Cardinal +Barbadico, and confer with him respecting the surprising adventures +which had recently befallen them. To his amazement, the Cardinal’s mind +seemed an entire blank on the subject. He admitted having made his +customary report to his Holiness the preceding night, but knew nothing +of any supernatural ratcatcher, and nothing of any midnight rendezvous +at the Appartamento Borgia. Investigation seemed to justify his +nescience; no vestige of the man of rats or of his shop could be +discovered; and the Borgian apartments, opened and carefully searched +through, revealed no trace of having been visited for many years. The +Pope’s book of exorcisms was in its proper place, his vial of holy +water stood unbroken upon his table; and his chamberlains deposed that +they had consigned him to Morpheus at the usual hour. His illusion was +at first explained as the effect of a peculiarly vivid dream; but when +he declared his intention of actually holding a service and conducting +a procession for the weal of his namesake and predecessor, the +conviction became universal that the rats had effected a lodgement in +his Holiness’s upper storeys. + +Alexander, notwithstanding, was resolute, and so it came to pass that +on the same day two mighty processions encountered within the walls of +Rome. As the assembled clergy, drawn from all the churches and +monasteries in the city, the Pope in his litter in their midst, +marched, carrying candles, intoning chants, and, with many a secret +shrug and sneer, imploring Heaven for the repose of Alexander the +Sixth, they were suddenly brought to bay by another procession +precipitated athwart their track, disorderly, repulsive, but more +grateful to the sight of the citizens than all the pomps and pageants +of the palmiest days of the Papacy. Black, brown, white, grey; fat and +lean; old and young; strident or silent; the whiskered legions tore and +galloped along; thronging from every part of the city, they united in +single column into an endless host that appeared to stretch from the +rising to the setting of the sun. They seemed making for the Tiber, +which they would have speedily choked; but ere they could arrive there +a huge rift opened in the earth, down which they madly precipitated +themselves. Their descent, it is affirmed, lasted as many hours as +Vulcan occupied in falling from Heaven to Lemnos; but when the last +tail was over the brink, the gulf closed as effectually as the gulf in +the Forum closed over Marcus Curtius, not leaving the slightest +inequality by which any could detect it. + +Long ere this consummation had been attained, the Pope, looking forth +from his litter, observed a venerable personage clad in ratskins, who +appeared desirous of attracting his notice. Glances of recognition were +exchanged, and instantly in place of the ratcatcher stood a tall, +swarthy, corpulent, elderly man, with the majestic yet sensual features +of Alexander the Sixth, accoutred with the official habiliments and +insignia of a Pope, who rose slowly into the air as though he had been +inflated with hydrogen. + +“To your prayers!” cried Alexander the Eighth, and gave the example. +The priesthood resumed its chants, the multitude dropped upon their +knees. Their orisons seemed to speed the ascending figure, which was +rising rapidly, when suddenly appeared in air Luxury, Simony, and +Cruelty, contending which should receive the Holy Father into her +bosom. [*] Borgia struck at them with his crozier, and seemed to be +keeping them at bay, when a cloud wrapped the group from the sight of +men. Thunder roared, lightning glared, the rush of waters blended with +the ejaculations of the people and the yet more tempestuous rushing of +the rats. Accompanied as he was, it is not probable that Alexander +passed, like Dante’s sigh, “beyond the sphere that doth all spheres +enfold”; but, as he was never again seen on earth, it is not doubted +that he attained at least as far as the moon. + +*) Per aver riposo +Portato fu fra l’anime beate +Lo spirito di Alessandro glorioso; +Del qual seguiro le sante pedate +Tre sue familiari e care ancelle, +Lussuria, Simonia, e Crudeltate. +—MACHIAVELLI, _Decennale Primo_. + + + + +THE REWARDS OF INDUSTRY + + +In China, under the Tang dynasty, early in the seventh century of the +Christian era, lived a learned and virtuous, but poor mandarin who had +three sons, Fu-su, Tu-sin, and Wang-li. Fu-su and Tu-sin were young men +of active minds, always labouring to find out something new and useful. +Wang-li was clever too, but only in games of skill, in which he +attained great proficiency. + +Fu-su and Tu-sin continually talked to each other of the wonderful +inventions they would make when they arrived at man’s estate, and of +the wealth and renown they promised themselves thereby. Their +conversation seldom reached the ears of Wang-li, for he rarely lifted +his eyes from the chess-board on which he solved his problems. But +their father was more attentive, and one day he said: + +“I fear, my sons, that among your multifarious pursuits and studies you +must have omitted to include that of the laws of your country, or you +would have learned that fortune is not to be acquired by the means +which you have proposed to yourselves.” + +“How so, father?” asked they. + +“It hath been justly deemed by our ancestors,” said the old man, “that +the reverence due to the great men who are worshipped in our temples, +by reason of our indebtedness to them for the arts of life, could not +but become impaired if their posterity were suffered to eclipse their +fame by new discoveries, or presumptuously amend what might appear +imperfect in their productions. It is therefore, by an edict of the +Emperor Suen, forbidden to invent anything; and by a statute of the +Emperor Wu-chi it is further provided that nothing hitherto invented +shall be improved. My predecessor in the small office I hold was +deprived of it for saying that in his judgment money ought to be made +round instead of square, and I have myself run risk of my life for +seeking to combine a small file with a pair of tweezers.” + +“If this is the case,” said the young men, “our fatherland is not the +place for us.” And they embraced their father, and departed. Of their +brother Wang-li they took no farewell, inasmuch as he was absorbed in a +chess problem. Before separating, they agreed to meet on the same spot +after thirty years, with the treasure which they doubted not to have +acquired by the exercise of their inventive faculties in foreign lands. +They further covenanted that if either had missed his reward the other +should share his possessions with him. + +Fu-su repaired to the artists who cut out characters in blocks of hard +wood, to the end that books may be printed from the same. When he had +fathomed their mystery he betook himself to a brass-founder, and +learned how to cast in metal. He then sought a learned man who had +travelled much, and made himself acquainted with the Greek, Persian, +and Arabic languages. Then he cast a number of Greek characters in +type, and putting them into a bag and providing himself with some +wooden letter-tablets of his own carving, he departed to seek his +fortune. After innumerable hardships and perils he arrived in the land +of Persia, and inquired for the great king. + +“The great king is dead,” they told him, “and his head is entirely +separated from his body. There is now no king in Persia, great or +small,” + +“Where shall I find another great king?” demanded he. + +“In the city of Alexandria,” replied they, “where the Commander of the +Faithful is busy introducing the religion of the Prophet.” + +Fu-su passed to Alexandria, carrying his types and tablets. + +As he entered the gates he remarked an enormous cloud of smoke, which +seemed to darken the whole city. Before he could inquire the reason, +the guard arrested him as a stranger, and conducted him to the presence +of the Caliph Omar. + +“Know, O Caliph,” said Fu-su, “that my countrymen are at once the +wisest of mankind and the stupidest. They have invented an art for the +preservation of letters and the diffusion of knowledge, which the sages +of Greece and India never knew, but they have not learned to take, and +they refuse to be taught how to take, the one little step further +necessary to render it generally profitable to mankind.” + +And producing his tablets and types, he explained to the Caliph the +entire mystery of the art of printing. + +“Thou seemest to be ignorant,” said Omar, “that we have but yesterday +condemned and excommunicated all books, and banished the same from the +face of the earth, seeing that they contain either that which is +contrary to the Koran, in which case they are impious, or that which is +agreeable to the Koran, in which case they are superfluous. Thou art +further unaware, as it would seem, that the smoke which shrouds the +city proceeds from the library of the unbelievers, consumed by our +orders. It will be meet to burn thee along with it.” + +“O Commander of the Faithful,” said an officer, “of a surety the last +scroll of the accursed ceased to flame even as this infidel entered the +city.” + +“If it be so,” said Omar, “we will not burn him, seeing that we have +taken away from him the occasion to sin. Yet shall he swallow these +little brass amulets of his, at the rate of one a day, and then be +banished from the country.” + +The sentence was executed, and Fu-su was happy that the Court physician +condescended to accept his little property in exchange for emetics. + +He begged his way slowly and painfully back to China, and arrived at +the covenanted spot at the expiration of the thirtieth year. His +father’s modest dwelling had disappeared, and in its place stood a +magnificent mansion, around which stretched a park with pavilions, +canals, willow-trees, golden pheasants, and little bridges. + +“Tu-sin has surely made his fortune,” thought he, “and he will not +refuse to share it with me agreeably to our covenant.” + +As he thus reflected he heard a voice at his elbow, and turning round +perceived that one in a more wretched plight than himself was asking +alms of him. It was Tu-sin. + +The brothers embraced with many tears, and after Tu-sin had learned +Fu-su’s history, he proceeded to recount his own. + +“I repaired,” said he, “to those who know the secret of the grains +termed fire-dust, which Suen has not been able to prevent us from +inventing, but of which Wu-chi has taken care that we shall make no +use, save only for fireworks. Having learned their mystery I deposited +a certain portion of this fire-dust in hollow tubes which I had +constructed of iron and brass, and upon it I further laid leaden balls +of a size corresponding to the hollow of the tubes. I then found that +by applying a light to the fire-dust at one end of the tube I could +send the ball out at the other with such force that it penetrated the +cuirasses of three warriors at once. I filled a barrel with the dust, +and concealing it and the tubes under carpets which I laid upon the +backs of oxen, I set out to the city of Constantinople. I will not at +present relate my adventures on the journey. Suffice it that I arrived +at last half dead from fatigue and hardship, and destitute of +everything except my merchandise. By bribing an officer with my carpets +I was admitted to have speech with the Emperor. I found him busily +studying a problem in chess. + +“I told him that I had discovered a secret which would make him the +master of the world, and in particular would help him to drive away the +Saracens, who threatened his empire with destruction. + +“‘Thou must perceive,’ he said, ‘that I cannot possibly attend to thee +until I have solved this problem. Yet, lest any should say that the +Emperor neglects his duties, absorbed in idle amusement, I will refer +thy invention to the chief armourers of my capital. And he gave me a +letter to the armourers, and returned to his problem. And as I quitted +the palace bearing the missive, I came upon a great procession. +Horsemen and running footmen, musicians, heralds, and banner-bearers +surrounded a Chinaman who sat in the attitude of Fo under a golden +umbrella upon a richly caparisoned elephant, his pigtail plaited with +yellow roses. And the musicians blew and clashed, and the +standard-bearers waved their ensigns, and the heralds proclaimed, ‘Thus +shall it be done to the man whom the Emperor delights to honour.’ And +unless I was very greatly mistaken, the face of the Chinaman was the +face of our brother Wang-li. + +“At another time I would have striven to find what this might mean, but +my impatience was great, as also my need and hunger. I sought the chief +armourers, and with great trouble brought them all together to give me +audience, I produced my tube and fire-dust, and sent my balls with ease +through the best armour they could set before me. + +“‘Who will want breast-plates now?’ cried the chief breast-plate maker. + +“‘Or helmets?’ exclaimed one who made armour for the head. + +“‘I would not have taken fifty bezants for that shield, and what good +is it now?’ said the head of the shield trade. + +“‘My swords will be of less account,’ said a swordsmith. + +“‘My arrows of none,’ lamented an arrow-maker. + +“‘’Tis villainy,’ cried one. + +“‘’Tis magic,’ shouted another. + +“‘’Tis illusion, as I’m an honest tradesman,’ roared a third, and put +his integrity to the proof by thrusting a hot iron bar into my barrel. +All present rose up in company with the roof of the building, and all +perished, except myself, who escaped with the loss of my hair and skin. +A fire broke out on the spot, and consumed one-third of the city of +Constantinople. + +“I was lying on a prison-bed some time afterwards, partly recovered of +my hurts, dolefully listening to a dispute between two of my guards as +to whether I ought to be burned or buried alive, when the Imperial +order for my disposal came down. The gaolers received it with humility, +and read ‘Kick him out of the city.’ Marvelling at the mildness of the +punishment, they nevertheless executed it with so much zeal that I flew +into the middle of the Bosphorus, where I was picked up by a fishing +vessel, and landed on the Asiatic coast, whence I have begged my way +home. I now propose that we appeal to the pity of the owner of this +splendid mansion, who may compassionate us on hearing that we were +reared in the Cottage which has been pulled down to make room for his +palace.” + +They entered the gates, walked timidly up to the house, and prepared to +fall at the feet of the master, but did not, for ere they could do so +they recognised their brother Wang-li. + +It took Wang-li some time to recognise them, but when at length he knew +them he hastened to provide for their every want. When they had well +eaten and drunk, and had been clad in robes of honour, they imparted +their histories, and asked for his. + +“My brothers,” said Wang-li, “the noble game of chess, which was +happily invented long before the time of the Emperor Suen, was followed +by me solely for its pleasure, and I dreamed not of acquiring wealth by +its pursuit until I casually heard one day that it was entirely unknown +to the people of the West. Even then I thought not of gaining money, +but conceived so deep a compassion for those forlorn barbarians that I +felt I could know no rest until I should have enlightened them. I +accordingly proceeded to the city of Constantinople, and was received +as a messenger from Heaven. To such effect did I labour that ere long +the Emperor and his officers of state thought of nothing else but +playing chess all day and night, and the empire fell into entire +confusion, and the Saracens mightily prevailed. In consideration of +these services the Emperor was pleased to bestow those distinguished +honours upon me which thou didst witness at his palace gate, dear +brother. + +“After, however, the fire which was occasioned through thy +instrumentality, though in no respect by thy fault, the people +murmured, and taxed the Emperor with seeking to destroy his capital in +league with a foreign sorcerer, meaning thee. Ere long the chief +officers conspired and entered the Emperor’s apartment, purposing to +dethrone him, but he declared that he would in nowise abdicate until he +had finished the game of chess he was then playing with me. They looked +on, grew interested, began to dispute with one another respecting the +moves, and while they wrangled loyal officers entered and made them all +captive. This greatly augmented my credit with the Emperor, which was +even increased when shortly afterwards I played with the Saracen +admiral blockading the Hellespont, and won of him forty corn-ships, +which turned the dearth of the city into plenty. + +“The Emperor bade me choose any favour I would, but I said his +liberality had left me nothing to ask for except the life of a poor +countryman of mine who I had heard was in prison for burning the city. +The Emperor bade me write his sentence with my own hand. Had I known +that it was thou, Tu-sin, believe me I had shown more consideration for +thy person. At length I departed for my native land, loaded with +wealth, and travelling most comfortably by relays of swift dromedaries. +I returned hither, bought our father’s cottage, and on its site erected +this palace, where I dwell meditating on the problems of chessplayers +and the precepts of the sages, and persuaded that a little thing which +the world is willing to receive is better than a great thing which it +hath not yet learned to value aright. For the world is a big child, and +chooses amusement before instruction.” + +“Call you chess an amusement?” asked his brothers. + + + + +MADAM LUCIFER + + +Lucifer sat playing chess with Man for his soul. + +The game was evidently going ill for Man. He had but pawns left, few +and straggling. Lucifer had rooks, knights, and, of course, bishops. + +It was but natural under such circumstances that Man should be in no +great hurry to move. Lucifer grew impatient. + +“It is a pity,” said he at last, “that we did not fix some period +within which the player must move, or resign.” + +“Oh, Lucifer,” returned the young man, in heart-rending accents, “it is +not the impending loss of my soul that thus unmans me, but the loss of +my betrothed. When I think of the grief of the Lady Adeliza, that +paragon of terrestrial loveliness!” Tears choked his utterance; Lucifer +was touched. + +“Is the Lady Adeliza’s loveliness in sooth so transcendent?” he +inquired. + +“She is a rose, a lily, a diamond, a morning star!” + +“If that is the case,” rejoined Lucifer, “thou mayest reassure thyself. +The Lady Adeliza shall not want for consolation. I will assume thy +shape and woo her in thy stead.” + +The young man hardly seemed to receive all the comfort from this +promise which Lucifer no doubt designed. He made a desperate move. In +an instant the Devil checkmated him, and he disappeared. + +“Upon my word, if I had known what a business this was going to be, I +don’t think I should have gone in for it,” soliloquised the Devil, as, +wearing his captive’s semblance and installed in his apartments, he +surveyed the effects to which he now had to administer. They included +coats, shirts, collars, neckties, foils, cigars, and the like _ad +libitum_; and very little else except three challenges, ten writs, and +seventy-four unpaid bills, elegantly disposed around the looking-glass. +To the poor youth’s praise be it said, there were no billets-doux, +except from the Lady Adeliza herself. + +Noting the address of these carefully, the Devil sallied forth, and +nothing but his ignorance of the topography of the hotel, which made +him take the back stairs, saved him from the clutches of two bailiffs +lurking on the principal staircase. Leaping into a cab, he thus escaped +a perfumer and a bootmaker, and shortly found himself at the Lady +Adeliza’s feet. + +The truth had not been half told him. Such beauty, such wit, such +correctness of principle! Lucifer went forth from her presence a +love-sick fiend. Not Merlin’s mother had produced half the impression +upon him; and Adeliza on her part had never found her lover +one-hundredth part so interesting as he seemed that morning. + +Lucifer proceeded at once to the City, where, assuming his proper shape +for the occasion, he negotiated a loan without the smallest difficulty. +All debts were promptly discharged, and Adeliza was astonished at the +splendour and variety of the presents she was constantly receiving. + +Lucifer had all but brought her to name the day, when he was informed +that a gentleman of clerical appearance desired to wait upon him. + +“Wants money for a new church or mission, I suppose,” said he. “Show +him up.” + +But when the visitor was ushered in, Lucifer found with discomposure +that he was no earthly clergyman, but a celestial saint; a saint, too, +with whom Lucifer had never been able to get on. He had served in the +army while on earth, and his address was curt, precise, and peremptory. + +“I have called,” he said, “to notify to you my appointment as Inspector +of Devils.” + +“What!” exclaimed Lucifer, in consternation. “To the post of my old +friend Michael!” + +“Too old,” said the Saint laconically. “Millions of years older than +the world. About your age, I think?” + +Lucifer winced, remembering the particular business he was then about. +The Saint continued: + +“I am a new broom, and am expected to sweep clean. I warn you that I +mean to be strict, and there is one little matter which I must set +right immediately. You are going to marry that poor young fellow’s +betrothed, are you? Now you know you cannot take his wife, unless you +give him yours.” + +“Oh, my dear friend,” exclaimed Lucifer, “what an inexpressibly +blissful prospect you do open unto me!” + +“I don’t know that,” said the Saint. “I must remind you that the +dominion of the infernal regions is unalterably attached to the person +of the present Queen thereof. If you part with her you immediately lose +all your authority and possessions. I don’t care a brass button which +you do, but you must understand that you cannot eat your cake and have +it too. Good morning!” + +Who shall describe the conflict in Lucifer’s bosom? If any stronger +passion existed therein at that moment than attachment to Adeliza, it +was aversion to his consort, and the two combined were well-nigh +irresistible. But to disenthrone himself, to descend to the condition +of a poor devil! + +Feeling himself incapable of coming to a decision, he sent for Belial, +unfolded the matter, and requested his advice. + +“What a shame that our new inspector will not let you marry Adeliza!” +lamented his counsellor. “If you did, my private opinion is that +forty-eight hours afterwards you would care just as much for her as you +do now for Madam Lucifer, neither more nor less. Are your intentions +really honourable?” + +“Yes,” replied Lucifer, “it is to be a Lucifer match.” + +“The more fool you,” rejoined Belial. “If you tempted her to commit a +sin, she would be yours without any conditions at all.” + +“Oh, Belial,” said Lucifer, “I cannot bring myself to be a tempter of +so much innocence and loveliness.” + +And he meant what he said. + +“Well then, let me try,” proposed Belial. + +“You?” replied Lucifer contemptuously; “do you imagine that Adeliza +would look at _you_?” + +“Why not?” asked Belial, surveying himself complacently in the glass. + +He was humpbacked, squinting, and lame, and his horns stood up under +his wig. + +The discussion ended in a wager after which there was no retreat for +Lucifer. + +The infernal Iachimo was introduced to Adeliza as a distinguished +foreigner, and was soon prosecuting his suit with all the success which +Lucifer had predicted. One thing protected while it baffled him—the +entire inability of Adeliza to understand what he meant. At length he +was constrained to make the matter clear by producing an enormous +treasure, which he offered Adeliza in exchange for the abandonment of +her lover. + +The tempest of indignation which ensued would have swept away any +ordinary demon, but Belial listened unmoved. When Adeliza had exhausted +herself he smilingly rallied her upon her affection for an unworthy +lover, of whose infidelity he undertook to give her proof. Frantic with +jealousy, Adeliza consented, and in a trice found herself in the +infernal regions. + +Adeliza’s arrival in Pandemonium, as Belial had planned, occurred +immediately after the receipt of a message from Lucifer, in whose bosom +love had finally gained the victory, and who had telegraphed his +abdication and resignation of Madam Lucifer to Adeliza’s betrothed. The +poor young man had just been hauled up from the lower depths, and was +beset by legions of demons obsequiously pressing all manner of +treasures upon his acceptance. He stared, helpless and bewildered, +unable to realise his position in the smallest degree. In the +background grave and serious demons, the princes of the infernal realm, +discussed the new departure, and consulted especially how to break it +to Madam Lucifer—a commission of which no one seemed ambitious. + +“Stay where you are,” whispered Belial to Adeliza; “stir not; you shall +put his constancy to the proof within five minutes.” + +Not all the hustling, mowing, and gibbering of the fiends would under +ordinary circumstances have kept Adeliza from her lover’s side: but +what is all hell to jealousy? + +In even less time than he had promised Belial returned, accompanied by +Madam Lucifer. This lady’s black robe, dripping with blood, contrasted +agreeably with her complexion of sulphurous yellow; the absence of hair +was compensated by the exceptional length of her nails; she was a +thousand million years old, and, but for her remarkable muscular +vigour, looked every one of them. The rage into which Belial’s +communication had thrown her was something indescribable; but, as her +eye fell on the handsome youth, a different order of thoughts seemed to +take possession of her mind. + +“Let the monster go!” she exclaimed; “who cares? Come, my love, ascend +the throne with me, and share the empire and the treasures of thy fond +Luciferetta.” + +“If you don’t, back you go,” interjected Belial. + +What might have been the young man’s decision if Madam Lucifer had +borne more resemblance to Madam Vulcan, it would be wholly impertinent +to inquire, for the question never arose. + +“Take me away!” he screamed, “take me away, anywhere I anywhere out of +her reach! Oh, Adeliza!” + +With a bound Adeliza stood by his side. She was darting a triumphant +glance at the discomfited Queen of Hell, when suddenly her expression +changed, and she screamed loudly. Two adorers stood before her, alike +in every lineament and every detail of costume, utterly +indistinguishable, even by the eye of Love. + +Lucifer, in fact, hastening to throw himself at Adeliza’s feet and pray +her to defer his bliss no longer, had been thunderstruck by the tidings +of her elopement with Belial. Fearing to lose his wife and his +dominions along with his sweetheart, he had sped to the nether regions +with such expedition that he had had no time to change his costume. +Hence the equivocation which confounded Adeliza, but at the same time +preserved her from being torn to pieces by the no less mystified Madam +Lucifer. + +Perceiving the state of the case, Lucifer with true gentlemanly feeling +resumed his proper semblance, and Madam Lucifer’s talons were +immediately inserted into his whiskers. + +“My dear! my love!” he gasped, as audibly as she would let him, “is +this the way it welcomes its own Lucy-pucy?” + +“Who is that person?” demanded Madam Lucifer. + +“I don’t know her,” screamed the wretched Lucifer. “I never saw her +before. Take her away; shut her up in the deepest dungeon!” + +“Not if I know it,” sharply replied Madam Lucifer, “You can’t bear to +part with her, can’t you? You would intrigue with her under my nose, +would you? Take that! and that! Turn them both out, I say! turn them +both out!” + +“Certainly, my dearest love, most certainly,” responded Lucifer. + +“Oh, Sire,” cried Moloch and Beelzebub together, “for Heaven’s sake let +your Majesty consider what he is doing. The Inspector——” + +“Bother the Inspector!” screeched Lucifer. “D’ye think I’m not a +thousand times more afraid of your mistress than of all the saints in +the calendar? There,” addressing Adeliza and her betrothed, “be off! +You’ll find all debts paid, and a nice balance at the bank. Cut! Run!” + +They did not wait to be told twice. Earth yawned. The gates of Tartarus +stood wide. They found themselves on the side of a steep mountain, down +which they scoured madly, hand linked in hand. But fast as they ran, it +was long ere they ceased to hear the tongue of Madam Lucifer. + + + + +THE TALISMANS + + +What a wondrous creature is man! What feats the humblest among us +perform, which, if related of another order of beings, we should deem +incredible! + +By what magic could the young student escape the weary old professor, +who was prosily proving Time merely a form of thought; a proposition of +which, to judge by the little value he appeared to set on the subject +of his discourse, he must himself have been fully persuaded? Without +exciting his suspicions in the smallest degree, the student stole away +to a region inconceivably remote, and presented himself at the portal +of a magnificent palace, guarded by goblins, imps, lions, serpents, and +monsters whose uncouthness forbids description. + +A singular transformation seemed to have befallen the student. In the +professor’s class he had been noted as timid, awkward, and painfully +respectful. He now strode up with an air of alacrity and defiance, +brandishing a roll of parchments, and confronted the seven principal +goblins, by whom he was successively interrogated. + +“Hast thou undergone the seven probations?” + +“Yes,” said the student. + +“Hast thou swallowed the ninety-nine poisons?” + +“Ninety-nine times each,” said the student. + +“Hast thou wedded a Salamander, and divorced her?” + +“I have,” said the student. + +“Art thou at this present time betrothed to a Vampire?” + +“I am,” said the student. + +“Hast thou sacrificed thy mother and sister to the infernal powers?” + +“Of course,” said the student, + +“Hast thou attestations of all these circumstances under the hands and +seals of a thousand and one demons?” + +The student displayed his parchments. + +“Thou hast undergone every trial,” pronounced the seventh goblin; “thou +hast won the right to enter the treasury of the treasurer of all +things, and to choose from it any one talisman at thy liking.” + +The imps cheered, the goblins congratulated, the serpents shrank +hissing away, the lions fawned upon the student, a centaur bore him +upon his back to the treasurer’s presence, + +The treasurer, an old bent man, with a single lock of silvery hair, +received the adventurer with civility. + +“I have come,” said the student, “for the talismans in thy keeping, to +the choice among which I have entitled myself.” + +“Thou hast fairly earned them,” replied the old man, “and I may not say +thee nay. Thou canst, however, only possess any of them in the shape +which it has received at my hands during the long period for which +these have remained in my custody.” + +“I must submit to the condition,” said the student. + +“Behold, then, Aladdin’s lamp,” said the ancient personage, tendering a +tiny vase hardly bigger than a pill-box, containing some grains of a +coarse, rusty powder. + +“Aladdin’s lamp!” cried the student. + +“All of it, at least, that I have seen fit to preserve,” replied the +old man. “Thou art but just in time for this even. It is proper to +apprise thee that the virtues of the talisman having necessarily +dwindled with its bulk, it is at present incompetent to evoke any +Genie, and can at most summon an imp, of whose company thou wilt never +be able to rid thyself, inasmuch as the least friction will inevitably +destroy what little of the talisman remains.” + +“Confusion!” cried the young man, “Show me, then, Aladdin’s ring.” + +“Here,” replied the old man, producing a plain gold hoop, + +“This, at least,” asked the student, “is not devoid of virtue?” + +“Assuredly not, if placed on the finger of some fair lady. For, its +magic properties depending wholly upon certain engraved characters, +which I have gradually obliterated, it is at present unadapted to any +other use than that of a wedding-ring, which it would subserve to +admiration.” + +“Produce another talisman,” commanded the youth, + +“These,” said the ancient treasurer, holding up two shapeless pieces of +leather, “are the shoes of swiftness, incomparable until I wore them +out.” + +“This, at least, is bright and weighty,” exclaimed the student, as the +old man displayed the sword of sharpness. + +“In truth a doughty weapon,” returned the treasurer, “if wielded by a +stronger arm than thine, for it will no longer fly in the air and smite +off heads of its own accord, since the new blade hath been fitted to +the new hilt.” + +After a hasty inspection of the empty frame of a magic mirror, and a +fragment of the original setting of Solomon’s seal, the youth’s eye +lighted upon a volume full of mysterious characters. + +“Whose book is this?” he inquired. “Heavens, it is Michael Scott’s!” + +“Even so,” returned the venerable man, “and its spells have lost +nothing of their efficacy. But the last leaf, containing the formula +for dismissing spirits after they have been summoned from the nether +world, hath been removed by me. Inattention to this circumstance hath +caused several most respectable magicians to be torn in pieces, and +hath notably increased the number of demons at large.” + +“Thou old villain!” shouted the exasperated youth, “is this the way in +which the treasures in thy custody are protected by thee? Deemest thou +that I will brook being thus cheated of my dear-bought talisman? Nay, +but I will deprive thee of thine. Give me that lock of hair.” + +“O good youth,” supplicated the now terrified and humbled old man, +“bereave me not of the source of all my power. Think, only think of the +consequences!” + +“I will not think,” roared the youth. “Deliver it to me, or I’ll rend +it from thy head with my own hands.” + +With a heavy sigh, Time clipped the lock from his brow and handed it to +the youth, who quitted the place unmolested by any of the monsters. + +Entering the great city, the student made his way by narrow and winding +streets until, after a considerable delay, he emerged into a large +public square. It was crowded with people, gazing intently at the +afternoon sky, and the air was rife with a confused murmur of +altercations and exclamations. + +“It is.” “No, I tell you, it is impossible.” “It cannot be.” “I see it +move.” “No, it’s only my eyes are dazzled.” “Who could have believed +it?” “Whatever will happen next?” + +Following the gaze of the people, the youth discovered that the object +of their attention was the sun, in whose aspect, however, he could +discover nothing unusual. + +“No,” a man by him was saying, “it positively has not moved for an +hour. I have my instruments by me. I cannot possibly be mistaken.” + +“It ought to have been behind the houses long ago,” said another. + +“What’s o’clock?” asked a third. The inquiry made many turn their eyes +towards the great clock in the square. It had stopped an hour ago. The +hands were perfectly motionless. All who had watches simultaneously +drew them from their pockets. The motion of each was suspended; so +intense, in turn, was the hush of the breathless crowd, that you could +have heard a single tick, but there was none to hear. + +“Time is no more,” proclaimed a leader among the people. + +“I am a ruined man,” lamented a watchmaker. + +“And I,” ejaculated a maker of almanacks. + +“What of quarter-day?” inquired a landlord and a tenant simultaneously. + +“We shall never see the moon again,” sobbed a pair of lovers. + +“It is well this did not happen at night,” observed an optimist. + +“Indeed?” questioned the director of a gas company. + +“I told you the Last Day would come in our time,” said a preacher. + +It was still long before the people realised that the trance of Time +had paralysed his daughter Mutability as well. Every operation +depending on her silent processes was arrested. The unborn could not +come to life. The sick could not die. The human frame could not waste. +Every one in the enjoyment of health and strength felt assured of the +perpetual possession of these blessings, unless he should meet with +accident or violent death. But all growth ceased, and all dissolution +was stayed. Mothers looked with despair on infants who could never be +weaned or learn to walk. Expectant heirs gazed with dismay on immortal +fathers and uncles. The reigning beauties, the fashionable boxers and +opera dancers were in the highest feather. Nor did the intellectual +less rejoice, counting on endless life and unimpaired faculties, and +vowing to extend human knowledge beyond the conceivable. The poor and +the outcast, the sick and the maimed, the broken-hearted and the dying +made, indeed, a dismal outcry, the sincerity of which was doubted by +some persons. + +As for our student, forgetting his faithful Vampire, he made his way to +a young lady of great personal attractions, to whom he had been +attached in former days. The sight of her beauty, and the thought that +it would be everlasting, revived his passion. To convince her of the +perpetuity of her charms, and establish a claim upon her gratitude, he +cautiously revealed to her that he was the author of this blissful +state of things, and that Time’s hair was actually in his possession. + +“Oh, you dear good man!” she exclaimed, “how vastly I am obliged to +you! Ferdinand will never forsake me now.” + +“Ferdinand! Leonora, I thought you cared for _me_.” + +“Oh!” she said, “you young men of science are so conceited!” + +The discomfited lover fled from the house, and sought the treasurer’s +palace. It had vanished with all its monsters. Long did he roam the +city ere he mixed again with the crowd, which an old meteorologist was +addressing energetically. + +“I ask you one thing,” he was saying. “Will it ever rain again?” + +“Certainly not,” replied a geologist and a metaphysician together. +“Rain being an agent of Time in the production of change, there can be +no place for it under the present dispensation.” + +“Then will not the crops be burned up? Will the fruits mature? Are they +not withering already? What of wells and rivers, and the mighty sea +itself? Who will feed your cattle? And who will feed _you_?” + +“This concerns us,” said the butchers and bakers. + +“Us also,” added the fishmongers. + +“I always thought,” said a philosopher, “that this phenomenon must be +the work of some malignant wizard.” + +“Show us the wizard that we may slay him,” roared the mob. + +Leonora had been communicative, and the student was immediately +identified by twenty persons. The lock of hair was found upon him, and +was held up in sight of the multitude. + +“Kill him!” + +“Burn him!” + +“Crucify him!” + +“It moves! it moves!” cried another division of the crowd. All eyes +were bent on the hitherto stationary luminary. It was moving—no, it +wasn’t; yes, it certainly was. Dared men believe that their shadows +were actually lengthening? Was the sun’s rim really drawing nigh yonder +great edifice? That muffled sound from the vast, silent multitude was, +doubtless, the quick beating of innumerable hearts; but that sharper +note? Could it be the ticking of watches? Suddenly all the public +clocks clanged the first stroke of an hour—an absurdly wrong hour, but +it was an hour. No mortal heard the second stroke, drowned in universal +shouts of joy and gratitude. The student mingled with the mass, no man +regarding him. + +When the people had somewhat recovered from their emotion, they fell to +disputing as to the cause of the last marvel. No scientific man could +get beyond a working hypothesis. The mystery was at length solved by a +very humble citizen, a barber. + +“Why,” he said, “the old gentleman’s hair has grown again!” + +And so it had! And so it was that the unborn came to life, the dying +gave up the ghost, Leonora pulled out a grey hair, and the student told +the professor his dream. + + + + +THE ELIXIR OF LIFE + + +The aged philosopher Aboniel inhabited a lofty tower in the city of +Balkh, where he devoted himself to the study of chemistry and the +occult sciences. No one was ever admitted to his laboratory. Yet +Aboniel did not wholly shun intercourse with mankind, but, on the +contrary, had seven pupils, towardly youths belonging to the noblest +families of the city, whom he instructed at stated times in philosophy +and all lawful knowledge, reserving the forbidden lore of magic and +alchemy for himself. + +But on a certain day he summoned his seven scholars to the mysterious +apartment. They entered with awe and curiosity, but perceived nothing +save the sage standing behind a table, on which were placed seven +crystal phials, filled with a clear liquid resembling water. + +“Ye know, my sons,” he began, “with what ardour I am reputed to have +striven to penetrate the hidden secrets of Nature, and to solve the +problems which have allured and baffled the sages of all time. In this +rumour doth not err: such hath ever been my object; but, until +yesterday, my fortune hath been like unto theirs who have preceded me. +The little I could accomplish seemed as nothing in comparison with what +I was compelled to leave unachieved. Even now my success is but +partial. I have not learned to make gold; the talisman of Solomon is +not mine; nor can I recall the principle of life to the dead, or infuse +it into inanimate matter. But if I cannot create, I can preserve. I +have found the Elixir of Life.” + +The sage paused to examine the countenances of his scholars. Upon them +he read extreme surprise, undoubting belief in the veracity of their +teacher, and the dawning gleam of a timid hope that they themselves +might become participators in the transcendent discovery he proclaimed. +Addressing himself to the latter sentiment—“I am willing,” he +continued, “to communicate this secret to you, if such be your desire.” + +An unanimous exclamation assured him that there need be no uncertainty +on this point. + +“But remember,” he resumed, “that this knowledge, like all knowledge, +has its disadvantages and its drawbacks. A price must be paid, and when +ye come to learn it, it may well be that it will seem too heavy. +Understand that the stipulations I am about to propound are not of my +imposing; the secret was imparted to me by spirits not of a benevolent +order, and under conditions with which I am constrained strictly to +comply. Understand also that I am not minded to employ this knowledge +on my own behalf. My fourscore years’ acquaintance with life has +rendered me more solicitous for methods of abbreviating existence, than +of prolonging it. It may be well for you if your twenty years’ +experience has led you to the same conclusion.” + +There was not one of the young men who would not readily have admitted, +and indeed energetically maintained, the emptiness, vanity, and general +unsatisfactoriness of life; for such had ever been the doctrine of +their venerated preceptor. Their present behaviour, however, would have +convinced him, had he needed conviction, of the magnitude of the gulf +between theory and practice, and the feebleness of intellectual +persuasion in presence of innate instinct. With one voice they +protested their readiness to brave any conceivable peril, and undergo +any test which might be imposed as a condition of participation in +their master’s marvellous secret. + +“So be it,” returned the sage, “and now hearken to the conditions. + +“Each of you must select at hazard, and immediately quaff one of these +seven phials, in one of which only is contained the Elixir of Life. Far +different are the contents of the others; they are the six most deadly +poisons which the utmost subtlety of my skill has enabled me to +prepare, and science knows no antidote to any of them. The first +scorches up the entrails as with fire; the second slays by freezing +every vein, and benumbing every nerve; the third by frantic +convulsions. Happy in comparison he who drains the fourth, for he sinks +dead upon the ground immediately, smitten as it were with lightning. +Nor do I overmuch commiserate him to whose lot the fifth may fall, for +slumber descends upon him forthwith, and he passes away in painless +oblivion. But wretched he who chooses the sixth, whose hair falls from +his head, whose skin peels from his body, and who lingers long in +excruciating agonies, a living death. The seventh phial contains the +object of your desire. Stretch forth your hands, therefore, +simultaneously to this table; let each unhesitatingly grasp and +intrepidly drain the potion which fate may allot him, and be the +quality of his fortune attested by the result.” + +The seven disciples contemplated each other with visages of sevenfold +blankness. They next unanimously directed their gaze towards their +preceptor, hoping to detect some symptom of jocularity upon his +venerable features. Nothing could be descried thereon but the most +imperturbable solemnity, or, if perchance anything like an expression +of irony lurked beneath this, it was not such irony as they wished to +see. Lastly, they scanned the phials, trusting that some infinitesimal +distinction might serve to discriminate the elixir from the poisons. +But no, the vessels were indistinguishable in external appearance, and +the contents of each were equally colourless and transparent. + +“Well,” demanded Aboniel at length, with real or assumed surprise, +“wherefore tarry ye thus? I deemed to have ere this beheld six of you +in the agonies of death!” + +This utterance did not tend to encourage the seven waverers. Two of the +boldest, indeed, advanced their hands half-way to the table, but +perceiving that their example was not followed, withdrew them in some +confusion. + +“Think not, great teacher, that I personally set store by this +worthless existence,” said one of their number at last, breaking the +embarrassing silence, “but I have an aged mother, whose life is bound +up with mine.” + +“I,” said the second, “have an unmarried sister, for whom it is meet +that I should provide.” + +“I,” said the third, “have an intimate and much-injured friend, whose +cause I may in nowise forsake.” + +“And I an enemy upon whom I would fain be avenged,” said the fourth. + +“My life,” said the fifth, “is wholly devoted to science. Can I consent +to lay it down ere I have sounded the seas of the seven climates?” + +“Or I, until I have had speech of the man in the moon?” inquired the +sixth. + +“I,” said the seventh, “have neither mother nor sister, friends nor +enemies, neither doth my zeal for science equal that of my fellows. But +I have all the greater respect for my own skin; yea, the same is +exceedingly precious in my sight.” + +“The conclusion of the whole matter, then,” summed up the sage, “is +that not one of you will make a venture for the cup of immortality?” + +The young men remained silent and abashed, unwilling to acknowledge the +justice of their master’s taunt, and unable to deny it. They sought for +some middle path, which did not readily present itself. + +“May we not,” said one at last, “may we not cast lots, and each take a +phial in succession, as destiny may appoint?” + +“I have nothing against this,” replied Aboniel, “only remember that the +least endeavour to contravene the conditions by amending the chance of +any one of you, will ensure the discomfiture of all.” + +The disciples speedily procured seven quills of unequal lengths, and +proceeded to draw them in the usual manner. The shortest remained in +the hand of the holder, he who had pleaded his filial duty to his +mother. + +He approached the table with much resolution, and his hand advanced +half the distance without impediment. Then, turning to the holder of +the second quill; the man with the sister, he said abruptly: + +“The relation between mother and son is notoriously more sacred and +intimate than that which obtains between brethren. Were it not +therefore fitting that thou shouldst encounter the first risk in my +stead?” + +“The relationship between an aged mother and an adult son,” responded +the youth addressed, in a sententious tone, “albeit most holy, cannot +in the nature of things be durable, seeing that it must shortly be +dissolved by death. Whereas the relationship between brother and sister +may endure for many years, if such be the will of Allah. It is +therefore proper that thou shouldst first venture the experiment.” + +“Have I lived to hear such sophistry from a pupil of the wise Aboniel!” +exclaimed the first speaker, in generous indignation. “The maternal +relationship—” + +“A truce to this trifling,” cried the other six; “fulfil the +conditions, or abandon the task.” + +Thus urged, the scholar approached his hand to the table, and seized +one of the phials. Scarcely, however, had he done so, when he fancied +that he detected something of a sinister colour in the liquid, which +distinguished it, in his imagination, from the innocent transparency of +the rest. He hastily replaced it, and laid hold of the next. At that +moment a blaze of light burst forth upon them, and, thunderstruck, the +seven scholars were stretched senseless on the ground. + +On regaining their faculties they found themselves at the outside of +Aboniel’s dwelling, stunned by the shock, and humiliated by the part +they had played. They jointly pledged inviolable secrecy, and returned +to their homes. + +The secret of the seven was kept as well as the secret of seven can be +expected to be; that is to say, it was not, ere the expiration of seven +days, known to more than six-sevenths of the inhabitants of Balkh. The +last of these to become acquainted with it was the Sultan, who +immediately despatched his guards to apprehend the sage, and confiscate +the Elixir. Failing to obtain admission at Aboniel’s portal, they broke +it open, and, on entering his chamber, found him in a condition which +more eloquently than any profession bespoke his disdain for the +life-bestowing draught. He was dead in his chair. Before him, on the +table, stood the seven phials, six full as previously, the seventh +empty. In his hand was a scroll inscribed as follows; + +“Six times twice six years have I striven after knowledge, and I now +bequeath to the world the fruit of my toil, being six poisons. One more +deadly I might have added, but I have refrained, + +“Write upon my tomb, that here he lies who forbore to perpetuate human +affliction, and bestowed a fatal boon where alone it could be +innoxious.” + +The intruders looked at each other, striving to penetrate the sense of +Aboniel’s last words. While yet they gazed, they were startled by a +loud crash from an adjacent closet, and were even more discomposed as a +large monkey bounded forth, whose sleek coat, exuberant playfulness, +and preternatural agility convinced all that the deceased philosopher, +under an inspiration of supreme irony, had administered to the creature +every drop of the Elixir of Life. + + + + +THE POET OF PANOPOLIS + +I + +Although in a manner retired from the world during the fifth and sixth +Christian centuries, the banished Gods did not neglect to keep an eye +on human affairs, interesting themselves in any movement which might +seem to afford them a chance of regaining their lost supremacy, or in +any person whose conduct evinced regret at their dethronement. They +deeply sympathised with the efforts of their votary Pamprepius to turn +the revolt of Illus to their advantage, and excused the low magical +arts to which he stooped as a necessary concession to the spirit of a +barbarous age. They ministered invisibly to Damascius and his +companions on their flight into Persia, alleviating the hardships under +which the frames of the veteran philosophers might otherwise have sunk. +It was not, indeed, until the burning of the Alexandrian library that +they lost all heart and lapsed into the chrysalis-like condition in +which they remained until tempted forth by the young sunshine of the +Renaissance. + +Such a phenomenon for the fifth century as the Dionysiaca of Nonnus of +Panopolis could not fail to excite their most lively interest. +Forty-eight books of verse on the exploits of Bacchus in the age of +pugnacious prelates and filthy coenobites, of imbecile rulers and +rampant robbers, of the threatened dissolution of every tie, legal, +social, or political; an age of earthquake, war, and famine! Bacchus, +who is known from Aristophanes not to have excelled in criticism, +protested that his laureate was greater than Homer; and, though Homer +could not go quite so far as this, he graciously conceded that if he +had himself been an Egyptian of the fifth century, with a faint +glimmering of the poetical art, and encumbered with more learning than +he knew how to use, he might have written almost as badly as his modern +representative. More impartial critics judged Nonnus’s achievement more +favourably, and all agreed that his steadfastness in the faith deserved +some special mark of distinction. The Muses under Pallas’s direction +(being themselves a little awkward in female accomplishments) +embroidered him a robe; Hermes made a lyre, and Hephaestus forged a +plectrum. Apollo added a chaplet of laurel, and Bacchus one of ivy. +Whether from distrust of Hermes’ integrity, or wishing to make the +personal acquaintance of his follower, Phœbus volunteered to convey the +testimonial in person, and accordingly took his departure for the +Egyptian Thebaid. + +As Apollo fared through the sandy and rugged wilderness under the +blazing sun of an African summer afternoon, he observed with surprise a +vast crowd of strange figures swarming about the mouth of a cavern like +bees clustering at the entrance to a hive. On a nearer approach he +identified them as a posse of demons besetting a hermit. Words cannot +describe the enormous variety of whatever the universe holds of most +heterogeneous. Naked women of surpassing loveliness displayed their +charms to the anchorite’s gaze, sturdy porters bent beneath loads of +gold which they heaped at his feet, other shapes not alien from +humanity allured his appetite with costly dishes or cooling drinks, or +smote at him with swords, or made feints at his eyes with spears, or +burned sulphur under his nose, or displayed before him scrolls of +poetry or learning, or shrieked blasphemies in his ears, or surveyed +him from a little distance with glances of leering affection; while a +motley crowd of goblins, wearing the heads of boars or lions, or +whisking the tails of dragons, winged, or hoofed, or scaled, or +feathered, or all at once, incessantly jostled and wrangled with each +other and their betters, mopping and mowing, grunting and grinning, +snapping, snarling, constantly running away and returning like gnats +dancing over a marsh. The holy man sat doggedly at the entrance of his +cavern, with an expression of fathomless stupidity, which seemed to +defy all the fiends of the Thebaid to get an idea into his head, or +make him vary his attitude by a single inch. + +“These people did not exist in our time,” said Apollo aloud, “or at +least they knew their place, and behaved themselves.” + +“Sir,” said a comparatively grave and respectable demon, addressing the +stranger, “I should wish your peregrinity to understand that these imps +are mere schoolboys—my pupils, in fact. When their education has made +further progress they will be more mannerly, and will comprehend the +folly of pestering an unintellectual old gentleman like this worthy +Pachymius with beauty for which he has no eyes, and gold for which he +has no use, and dainties for which he has no palate, and learning for +which he has no head. But _I’ll_ wake him up!” And waving his pupils +away, the paedagogic fiend placed himself at the anchorite’s ear, and +shouted into it— + +“Nonnus is to be Bishop of Panopolis!” + +The hermit’s features were instantly animated by an expression of envy +and hatred. + +“Nonnus!” he exclaimed, “the heathen poet, to have the see of +Panopolis, of which _I_ was promised the reversion!” + +“My dear sir,” suggested Apollo, “it is all very well to enliven the +reverend eremite; but don’t you think it is rather a liberty to make +such jokes at the expense of my good friend Nonnus?” + +“There is no liberty,” said the demon, “for there is no joke. Recanted +on Monday. Baptized yesterday. Ordained to-day. To be consecrated +to-morrow.” + +The anchorite poured forth a torrent of the choicest ecclesiastical +curses, until he became speechless from exhaustion, and Apollo, +profiting by the opportunity, addressed the demon: + +“Would it be an unpardonable breach of politeness, respected sir, if I +ventured to hint that the illusions your pupils have been trying to +impose upon this venerable man have in some small measure impaired the +confidence with which I was originally inspired by your advantageous +personal appearance?” + +“Not in the least,” replied the demon, “especially as I can easily make +my words good. If you and Pachymius will mount my back I will transport +you to Panopolis, where you can verify my assertion for yourselves.” + +The Deity and the anchorite promptly consented, and seated themselves +on the demon’s shoulders. The shadow of the fiend’s expanded wings fell +black and vast on the fiery sand, but diminished and became invisible +as he soared to a prodigious height, to escape observation from below. +By-and-by the sun’s glowing ball touched earth at the extremity of the +horizon; it disappeared, the fires of sunset burned low in the west, +and the figures of the demon and his freight showed like a black dot +against a lake of green sky, growing larger as he cautiously stooped to +earth. Grazing temples, skimming pyramids, the party came to ground in +the precincts of Panopolis, just in time to avoid the rising moon that +would have betrayed them. The demon immediately disappeared. Apollo +hastened off to demand an explanation from Nonnus, while Pachymius +repaired to a neighbouring convent, peopled, as he knew, by a legion of +sturdy monks, ever ready to smite and be smitten in the cause of +orthodoxy. + +II + +Nonnus sat in his study, wrinkling his brow as he polished his verses +by the light of a small lamp. A large scroll lay open on his knees, the +contents of which seemed to afford him little satisfaction. Forty-eight +more scrolls, resplendent with silver knobs and coquettishly tied with +purple cord, reposed in an adjoining book-case; the forty-eight books, +manifestly, of the Panopolitan bard’s Dionysiaca. Homer, Euripides, and +other poets lay on the floor, having apparently been hurriedly +dislodged to make room for divers liturgies and lives of the saints. A +set of episcopal robes depended from a hook, and on a side table stood +half-a-dozen mitres, which, to all appearance, the designated prelate +had been trying on. + +“Nonnus,” said Phœbus, passing noiselessly through the unresisting +wall, “the tale of thy apostasy is then true?” + +It would be difficult to determine whether surprise, delight, or dismay +preponderated in Nonnus’s expression as he lifted up his eyes and +recognised the God of Poetry. He had just presence of mind to shuffle +his scroll under an enormous dictionary ere he fell at Apollo’s feet. + +“O Phœbus,” he exclaimed, “hadst thou come a week ago!” + +“It is true, then?” said Apollo. “Thou forsakest me and the Muses. Thou +sidest with them who have broken our statues, unroofed our temples, +desecrated our altars, and banished us from among mankind. Thou +rejectest the glory of standing alone in a barbarous age as the last +witness to culture and civilisation. Thou despisest the gifts of the +Gods and the Muses, of which I am even now the bearer. Thou preferrest +the mitre to the laurel chaplet, and the hymns of Gregory to the epics +of Homer?” + +“O Phœbus,” replied Nonnus, “were it any God but thou, I should bend +before him in silence, having nought to reply. But thou art a poet, and +thou understandest the temper of a poet. Thou knowest how beyond other +men he is devoured by the craving for sympathy. This and not vulgar +vanity is his motive of action; his shaft is launched in vain unless he +can deem it embedded in the heart of a friend. Thou mayest well judge +what scoffings and revilings my Dionysiac epic has brought upon me in +this evil age; yet, had this been all, peradventure I might have borne +it. But it was not all. The gentle, the good, the affectionate, they +who in happier times would have been my audience, came about me, +saying, Nonnus, why sing the strains against which we must shut our +ears? Sing what we may listen to, and we will love and honour thee. I +could not bear the thought of going to my grave without having awakened +an echo of sympathy, and weakly but not basely I have yielded, given +them what they craved, and suffered them, since the Muses’ garland is +not theirs to bestow, to reward me with a mitre.” + +“And what demanded they?” asked Apollo. + +“Oh, a mere romance! Something entirely fabulous.” + +“I must see it,” persisted Apollo; and Nonnus reluctantly disinterred +his scroll from under the big dictionary, and handed it up, trembling +like a schoolboy who anticipates a castigation for a bad exercise. + +“What trash have we here?” cried Phœbus— + +“Αχρονος ην, ακιχητος, εν αρρητω Λογος αρχη, +’Ισοφυης Γενετηρος όμηλικος Τιος αμητωρ, +Και Λογος αυτοφυτοιο Θεου, φως, εκ φαεος φως. + + +“If it isn’t the beginning of the Gospel of John! Thy impiety is worse +than thy poetry!” + +Apollo cast the scroll indignantly to the ground. His countenance wore +an expression so similar to that with which he is represented in act to +smite the Python, that Nonnus judged it prudent to catch up his +manuscript and hold it shield-wise before his face. + +“Thou doest well,” said Apollo, laughing bitterly; “that rampart is +indeed impenetrable to my arrows.” + +Nonnus seemed about to fall prostrate, when a sharp rap came to the +door. + +“That is the Governor’s knock,” he exclaimed. “Do not forsake me +utterly, O Phœbus!” But as he turned to open the door, Apollo vanished. +The Governor entered, a sagacious, good-humoured-looking man in middle +life. + +“Who was with thee just now?” he asked. “Methought I heard voices.” + +“Merely the Muse,” explained Nonnus, “with whom I am wont to hold +nocturnal communings.” + +“Indeed!” replied the Governor. “Then the Muse has done well to take +herself off, and will do even better not to return. Bishops must have +no flirtations with Muses, heavenly or earthly—not that I am now +altogether certain that thou _wilt_ be a bishop.” + +“How so?” asked Nonnus, not without a feeling of relief. + +“Imagine, my dear friend,” returned the Governor, “who should turn up +this evening but that sordid anchorite Pachymius, to whom the see was +promised indeed, but who was reported to have been devoured by vermin +in the desert. The rumour seemed so highly plausible that it must be +feared that sufficient pains were not taken to verify it—cannot have +been, in fact; for, as I said, here he comes, having been brought, as +he affirms, through the air by an angel. Little would it have signified +if he had come by himself, but he is accompanied by three hundred monks +carrying cudgels, who threaten an insurrection if he is not consecrated +on the spot. My friend the Archbishop and I are at our wits’ end: we +have set our hearts on having a gentleman over the diocese, but we +cannot afford to have tumults reported at Constantinople. At last, +mainly through the mediation of a sable personage whom no one seems to +know, but who approves himself most intelligent and obliging, the +matter is put off till to-morrow, when them and Pachymius are to +compete for the bishopric in public on conditions not yet settled, but +which our swarthy friend undertakes to arrange to every one’s +satisfaction. So keep up a good heart, and don’t run away in any case. +I know thou art timid, but remember that there is no safety for thee +but in victory. If thou yieldest thou wilt be beheaded by me, and if +thou art defeated thou wilt certainly be burned by Pachymius.” + +With this incentive to intrepidity the Governor withdrew, leaving the +poor poet in a pitiable state between remorse and terror. One thing +alone somewhat comforted him! the mitres had vanished, and the gifts of +the Gods lay on the table in their place, whence he concluded that a +friendly power might yet be watching over him. + +III + +Next morning all Panopolis was in an uproar. It was generally known +that the pretensions of the candidates for the episcopate would be +decided by public competition, and it was rumoured that this would +partake of the nature of an ordeal by fire and water. Nothing further +had transpired except that the arrangements had been settled by the +Governor and Archbishop in concert with two strangers, a dingy Libyan +and a handsome young Greek, neither of whom was known in the city, but +in both of whom the authorities seemed to repose entire confidence. At +the appointed time the people flocked into the theatre, and found the +stage already occupied by the parties chiefly concerned. The Governor +and the Archbishop sat in the centre on their tribunals: the +competitors stood on each side, Pachymius backed by the demon, Nonnus +by Apollo; both these supporters, of course, appearing to the assembly +in the light of ordinary mortals. Nonnus recognised Apollo perfectly, +but Pachymius’s limited powers of intelligence seemed entirely +engrossed by the discomfort visibly occasioned him by the proximity of +an enormous brass vessel of water, close to which burned a bright fire. +Nonnus was also ill at ease, and continually directed his attention to +a large package, of the contents of which he seemed instinctively +cognisant. + +All being ready, the Governor rose from his seat, and announced that, +with the sanction of his Grace the Archbishop, the invidious task of +determining between the claims of two such highly qualified competitors +had been delegated to two gentlemen in the enjoyment of his full +confidence, who would proceed to apply fitting tests to the respective +candidates. Should one fail and the other succeed, the victor would of +course be instituted; should both undergo the probation successfully, +new criterions of merit would be devised; should both fall short, both +would be set aside, and the disputed mitre would be conferred +elsewhere. He would first summon Nonnus, long their fellow-citizen, and +now their fellow-Christian, to submit himself to the test proposed. + +Apollo now rose, and proclaimed in an audible voice, “By virtue of the +authority committed to me I call upon Nonnus of Panopolis, candidate +for the bishopric of his native city, to demonstrate his fitness for +the same by consigning to the flames with his own hands the forty-eight +execrable books of heathen poetry composed by him in the days of his +darkness and blindness, but now without doubt as detestable to him as +to the universal body of the faithful.” So saying, he made a sign to an +attendant, the wrapping of the package fell away, and the forty-eight +scrolls of the Dionysiaca, silver knobs, purple cords, and all, came to +view. + +“Burn my poem!” exclaimed Nonnus. “Destroy the labours of twenty-four +years! Bereave Egypt of its Homer! Erase the name of Nonnus from the +tablet of Time!” + +“How so, while thou hast the Paraphrase of St. John?” demanded Apollo +maliciously. + +“Indeed, good youth,” said the Governor, who wished to favour Nonnus, +“methinks the condition is somewhat exorbitant. A single book might +suffice, surely!” + +“I am quite content,” replied Apollo. “If he consents to burn any of +his books he is no poet, and I wash my hands of him.” + +“Come, Nonnus,” cried the Governor, “make haste; one book will do as +well as another. Hand them up here.” + +“It must be with his own hands, please your Excellency,” said Apollo. + +“Then,” cried the Governor, pitching to the poet the first scroll +brought to him, “the thirteenth book. Who cares about the thirteenth +book? Pop it in!” + +“The thirteenth book!” exclaimed Nonnus, “containing the contest +between wine and honey, without which my epic becomes totally and +entirely unintelligible!” + +“This, then,” said the Governor, picking out another, which chanced to +be the seventeenth, + +“In my seventeenth book,” objected Nonnus, “Bacchus plants vines in +India, and the superiority of wine to milk is convincingly +demonstrated.” + +“Well,” rejoined the Governor, “what say you to the twenty-second?” + +“With my Hamadryad! I can never give up my Hamadryad!” + +“Then,” said the Governor, contemptuously hurling the whole set in the +direction of Nonnus, “burn which you will, only burn!” + +The wretched poet sat among his scrolls looking for a victim. All his +forty-eight children were equally dear to his parental heart. The cries +of applause and derision from the spectators, and the formidable +bellowings of the exasperated monks who surrounded Pachymius, did not +tend to steady his nerves, or render the task of critical +discrimination the easier, + +“I won’t! I won’t!” he exclaimed at last, starting up defiantly. “Let +the bishopric go to the devil! Any one of my similes is worth all the +bishoprics in Egypt!” + +“Out on the vanity of these poets!” exclaimed the disappointed +Governor. + +“It is not vanity,” said Apollo, “it is paternal affection; and being +myself a sufferer from the same infirmity, I rejoice to find him my +true son after all.” + +“Well,” said the Governor, turning to the demon: “it is thy man’s turn +now. Trot him out!” + +“Brethren,” said the demon to the assembly, “it is meet that he who +aspires to the office of bishop should be prepared to give evidence of +extraordinary self-denial. Ye have seen even our weak brother Nonnus +adoring what he hath burned, albeit as yet unwilling to burn what he +hath adored. How much more may be reasonably expected of our brother +Pachymius, so eminent for sanctity! I therefore call upon him to +demonstrate his humility and self-renunciation, and effectually mortify +the natural man, by washing himself in this ample vessel provided for +the purpose” + +“Wash myself!” exclaimed Pacyhmius, with a vivacity of which he had +previously shown no token. “Destroy at one splash the sanctity of +fifty-seven years! Avaunt! thou subtle enemy of my salvation! I know +thee who thou art, the demon who brought me hither on his back +yesterday.” + +“I thought it had been an angel,” said the Governor. + +“A demon in the disguise of an angel of light,” said Pachymius. + +A tumultuous discussion arose among Pachymius’s supporters, some +extolling his fortitude, others blaming his wrongheadedness. + +“What!” said he to the latter, “would ye rob me of my reputation? Shall +it be written of me, The holy Pachymius abode in the precepts of the +eremites so long as he dwelt in the desert where no water was, but as +soon as he came within sight of a bath, he stumbled and fell?” + +“Oh, father,” urged they, “savoureth not this of vaingloriousness? The +demon in the guise of an angel of light, as thou so well saidest even +now. Be strong. Quit thyself valiantly. Think of the sufferings of the +primitive confessors.” + +“St. John was cast into a caldron of boiling oil,” said one. + +“St. Apocryphus was actually drowned,” said another. + +“I have reason to believe,” said a third, “that the loathsomeness of +ablution hath been greatly exaggerated by the heretics.” + +“I know it has,” said another. “I _have_ washed myself once, though ye +might not think it, and can assert that it is by no means as +disagreeable as one supposes.” + +“That is just what I dread,” said Pachymius. “Little by little, one +might positively come to like it! We should resist the beginnings of +evil.” + +All this time the crowd of his supporters had been pressing upon the +anchorite, and had imperceptibly forced him nearer the edge of the +vessel, purposing at a convenient season to throw him in. He was now +near enough to catch a glimpse of the limpid element. Recoiling in +horror, he collected all his energies, and with head depressed towards +his chest, and hands thrust forth as if to ward off pollution—butting, +kicking, biting the air—he rushed forwards, and with a preternatural +force deserving to be enumerated among his miracles, fairly overthrew +the enormous vase, the contents streaming on the crowd in front of the +stage. + +“Take me to my hermitage!” he screamed. “I renounce the bishopric. Take +me to my hermitage!” + +“Amen,” responded the demon, and, assuming his proper shape, he took +Pachymius upon his back and flew away with him amid the cheers of the +multitude. + +Pachymius was speedily deposited at the mouth of his cavern, where he +received the visits of the neighbouring anchorites, who came to +congratulate him on the constancy with which he had sustained his +fiery, or rather watery trial. He spent most of his remaining days in +the society of the devil, on which account he was canonised at his +death. + +“O Phœbus,” said Nonnus, when they were alone, “impose upon me any +penance thou wilt, so I may but regain thy favour and that of the +Muses. But before all things let me destroy my paraphrase.” + +“Thou shalt not destroy it,” said Phœbus, “Thou shalt publish it. That +shall be thy penance.” + +And so it is that the epic on the exploits of Bacchus and the +paraphrase of St. John’s Gospel have alike come down to us as the work +of Nonnus, whose authorship of both learned men have never been able to +deny, having regard to the similarity of style, but never could explain +until the facts above narrated came to light in one of the Fayoum +papyri recently acquired by the Archduke Rainer. + + + + +THE PURPLE HEAD + + +Half ignorant, they turned an easy wheel +That set sharp racks at work to pinch and peel. + +I + +In the heyday of the Emperor Aurelian’s greatness, when his strong +right arm propped Rome up, and hewed Palmyra down, when he surrounded +his capital with walls fifty miles in circuit, and led Tetricus and +Zenobia in triumph through its streets, and distributed elephants among +the senators, and laid Etruria out in vineyards, and contemplated in +leisure moments the suppression of Christianity as a subordinate detail +of administration, a mere ripple on the broad ocean of his policy—at +this period Bahram the First, King of Persia, naturally became +disquieted in his mind. + +“This upstart soldier of fortune,” reflected he, “has an unseemly habit +of overcoming and leading captive legitimate princes; thus prejudicing +Divine right in the eyes of the vulgar. The skin of his predecessor +Valerian, curried and stuffed with straw, hangs to this hour in the +temple at Ctesiphon, a pleasing spectacle to the immortal gods. How +would my own skin appear in the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus? This +must not be. I will send an embassy to him, and impress him with my +greatness. But how?” + +He accordingly convoked his counsellors; the viziers, the warriors, the +magi, the philosophers; and addressed them thus: + +“The king deigns to consult ye touching a difficult matter. I would +flatter the pride of Rome, without lowering the pride of Persia. I +would propitiate Aurelian, and at the same time humble him. How shall +this be accomplished?” + +The viziers, the warriors, and the magi answered not a word. Unbroken +silence reigned in the assembly, until the turn came to the sage +Marcobad, who, prostrating himself, said, “O king, live for ever! In +ancient times, as hath been delivered by our ancestors, Persians were +instructed in three accomplishments—to ride, to draw the bow, and to +speak the truth. Persia still rides and shoots; truth-speaking (praised +be Ormuzd!) she hath discontinued as unbefitting an enlightened nation. +Thou needest not, therefore, scruple to circumvent Aurelian. Offer him +that which thou knowest will not be found in his treasury, seeing that +it is unique in thine own; giving him, at the same time, to understand +that it is the ordinary produce of thy dominions. So, while rejoicing +at the gift, shall he be abashed at his inferiority. I refer to the +purple robe of her majesty the queen, the like of which is not to be +found in the whole earth, neither do any know where the dye that tinges +it is produced, save that it proceeds from the uttermost parts of +India.” + +“I approve thy advice,” replied Bahram, “and in return will save thy +life by banishing thee from my dominions. When my august consort shall +learn that thou hast been the means of depriving her of her robe, she +will undoubtedly request that thou mayest be flayed, and thou knowest +that I can deny her nothing. I therefore counsel thee to depart with +all possible swiftness. Repair to the regions where the purple is +produced, and if thou returnest with an adequate supply, I undertake +that my royal sceptre shall be graciously extended to thee.” + +The philosopher forsook the royal presence with celerity, and his +office of chief examiner of court spikenard was bestowed upon another; +as also his house and his garden, his gold and his silver, his wives +and his concubines, his camels and his asses, which were numerous. + +While the solitary adventurer wended his way eastward, a gorgeous +embassy travelled westward in the direction of Rome. + +Arrived in the presence of Aurelian, and at the conclusion of his +complimentary harangue, the chief envoy produced a cedar casket, from +which he drew a purple robe of such surpassing refulgence, that, in the +words of the historian who has recorded the transaction, the purple of +the emperor and of the matrons appeared ashy grey in comparison. It was +accompanied by a letter thus conceived: + +“Bahram to Aurelian: health! Receive such purple as we have in Persia.” + +“Persia, forsooth!” exclaimed Sorianus, a young philosopher versed in +natural science, “this purple never was in Persia, except as a rarity. +Oh, the mendacity and vanity of these Orientals!” + +The ambassador was beginning an angry reply, when Aurelian quelled the +dispute with a look, and with some awkwardness delivered himself of a +brief oration in acknowledgment of the gift. He took no more notice of +the matter until nightfall, when he sent for Sorianus, and inquired +where the purple actually was produced. + +“In the uttermost parts of India,” returned the philosopher. + +“Well,” rejoined Aurelian, summing up the matter with his accustomed +rapidity and clearness of head, “either thou or the Persian king has +lied to me, it is plain, and, by the favour of the Gods, it is +immaterial which, seeing that my ground for going to war with him is +equally good in either case. If he has sought to deceive me, I am right +in punishing him; if he possesses what I lack, I am justified in taking +it away. It would, however, be convenient to know which of these +grounds to inscribe in my manifesto; moreover, I am not ready for +hostilities at present; having first to extirpate the Blemmyes, Carpi, +and other barbarian vermin. I will therefore despatch thee to India to +ascertain by personal examination the truth about the purple. Do not +return without it, or I shall cut off thy head. My treasury will charge +itself with the administration of thy property during thy absence. The +robe shall meanwhile be deposited in the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus. +May he have it and thee in his holy keeping!” + +Thus, in that age of darkness, were two most eminent philosophers +reduced to beggary, and constrained to wander in remote and +insalubrious regions; the one for advising a king, the other for +instructing an emperor. But the matter did not rest here. For Aurelian, +having continued the visible deity of half the world for one hundred +and fifty days after the departure of Sorianus, was slain by his own +generals. To him succeeded Tacitus, who sank oppressed by the weight of +rule; to him Probus, who perished in a military tumult; to him Carus, +who was killed by lightning; to him Carinus, who was assassinated by +one whom he had wronged; to him Diocletian, who, having maintained +himself for twenty years, wisely forbore to tempt Nemesis further, and +retired to plant cabbages at Salona. All these sovereigns, differing +from each other in every other respect, agreed in a common desire to +possess the purple dye, and when the philosopher returned not, +successively despatched new emissaries in quest of it. Strange was the +diversity of fate which befell these envoys. Some fell into the jaws of +lions, some were crushed by monstrous serpents, some trampled by +elephants at the command of native princes, some perished of hunger, +and some of thirst; some, encountering smooth-browed and dark-tressed +girls wreathing their hair with the champak blossom or bathing by +moonlight in lotus-mantled tanks, forsook their quest, and led +thenceforth idyllic lives in groves of banian and of palm. Some became +enamoured of the principles of the Gymnosophists, some couched +themselves for uneasy slumber upon beds of spikes, weening to wake in +the twenty-second heaven. All which romantic variety of fortune was the +work of a diminutive insect that crawled or clung heedless of the +purple it was weaving into the many-coloured web of human life. + +II + +Some thirty years after the departure of the Persian embassy to +Aurelian, two travellers met at the bottom of a dell in trans-Gangetic +India, having descended the hill-brow by opposite paths. It was early +morning; the sun had not yet surmounted the timbered and tangled sides +of the little valley, so that the bottom still lay steeped in shadow, +and glittering with large pearls of limpid dew, while the oval space of +sky circumscribed by the summit glowed with the delicate splendour of +the purest sapphire. Songs of birds resounded through the brake, and +the water lilies which veiled the rivulet trickling through the depths +of the retreat were unexpanded still. One of the wayfarers was aged, +the other a man of the latest period of middle life. Their raiment was +scanty and soiled; their frames and countenances alike bespoke fatigue +and hardship; but while the elder one moved with moderate alacrity, the +other shuffled painfully along by the help of a staff, shrinking every +time that he placed either of his feet on the ground. + +They exchanged looks and greetings as they encountered, and the more +active of the two, whose face was set in an easterly direction, +ventured a compassionate allusion to the other’s apparent distress. + +‘I but suffer from the usual effects of crucifixion,’ returned the +other; and removing his sandals, displayed two wounds, completely +penetrating each foot. + +The Cross had not yet announced victory to Constantine, and was as yet +no passport to respectable society. The first traveller drew back +hastily, and regarded his companion with surprise and suspicion. + +“I see what is passing in thy mind,” resumed the latter, with a smile; +“but be under no apprehension. I have not undergone the censure of any +judicial tribunal. My crucifixion was merely a painful but necessary +incident in my laudable enterprise of obtaining the marvellous purple +dye, to which end I was despatched unto these regions by the Emperor +Aurelian.” + +“The purple dye!” exclaimed the Persian, for it was he. “Thou hast +obtained it?” + +“I have. It is the product of insects found only in a certain valley +eastward from hence, to obtain access to which it is before all things +needful to elude the vigilance of seven dragons.” + +“Thou didst elude them? and afterwards?” inquired Marcobad, with +eagerness. + +“Afterwards,” repeated Sorianus, “I made my way into the valley, where +I descried the remains of my immediate predecessor prefixed to a +cross.” + +“Thy predecessor?” + +“He who had last made the attempt before me. Upon any one’s penetrating +the Valley of Purple, as it is termed, with the design I have +indicated, the inhabitants, observant of the precepts of their +ancestors, append him to a cross by the feet only, confining his arms +by ropes at the shoulders, and setting vessels of cooling drink within +his grasp. If, overcome with thirst, he partakes of the beverage, they +leave him to expire at leisure; if he endures for three days, he is +permitted to depart with the object of his quest. My predecessor, +belonging, as I conjecture, to the Epicurean persuasion, and +consequently unable to resist the allurements of sense, had perished in +the manner aforesaid. I, a Stoic, refrained and attained.” + +“Thou didst bear away the tincture? thou hast it now?” impetuously +interrogated the Persian. + +“Behold it!” replied the Greek, exhibiting a small flask filled with +the most gorgeous purple liquid. “What seest thou here?” demanded he +triumphantly, holding it up to the light. “To me this vial displays the +University of Athens, and throngs of fair youths hearkening to the +discourse of one who resembles myself.” + +“To my vision,” responded the Persian, peering at the vial, “it rather +reveals a palace, and a dress of honour. But suffer me to contemplate +it more closely, for my eyes have waxed dim by over application to +study.” + +So saying, he snatched the flask from Sorianus, and immediately turned +to fly. The Greek sprang after his treasure, and failing to grasp +Marcobad’s wrist, seized his beard, plucking the hair out by handfuls. +The infuriated Persian smote him on the head with the crystal flagon. +It burst into shivers, and the priceless contents gushed forth in a +torrent over the uncovered head and uplifted visage of Sorianus, +bathing every hair and feature with the most vivid purple. + +The aghast and thunderstricken philosophers remained gazing at each +other for a moment. + +“It is indelible!” cried Sorianus in distraction, rushing down, +however, to the brink of the little stream, and plunging his head +beneath the waters. They carried away a cloud of purple, but left the +purple head stained as before. + +The philosopher, as he upraised his glowing and dripping countenance +from the brook, resembled Silenus emerging from one of the rivers which +Bacchus metamorphosed into wine during his campaign in India. He +resorted to attrition and contrition, to maceration and laceration; he +tried friction with leaves, with grass, with sedge, with his garments; +he regarded himself in one crystal pool after another, a grotesque +anti-Narcissus. At last he flung himself on the earth, and gave free +course to his anguish. + +The grace of repentance is rarely denied us when our misdeeds have +proved unprofitable. Marcobad awkwardly approached. + +“Brother,” he whispered, “I will restore the tincture of which I have +deprived thee, and add thereto an antidote, if such may be found. Await +my return under this camphor tree.” + +So saying, he hastened up the path by which Sorianus had descended, and +was speedily out of sight. + +III + +Sorianus tarried long under the camphor tree, but at last, becoming +weary, resumed his travels, until emerging from the wilderness he +entered the dominions of the King of Ayodhya. His extraordinary +appearance speedily attracted the attention of the royal officers, by +whom he was apprehended and brought before his majesty. + +“It is evident,” pronounced the monarch, after bestowing his attention +on the case, “that thou art in possession of an object too rare and +precious for a private individual, of which thou must accordingly be +deprived. I lament the inconvenience thou wilt sustain. I would it had +been thy hand or thy foot.” + +Sorianus acknowledged the royal considerateness, but pleaded the +indefeasible right of property which he conceived himself to have +acquired in his own head. + +“In respect,” responded the royal logician, “that thy head is conjoined +to thy shoulders, it is thine; but in respect that it is purple, it is +mine, purple being a royal monopoly. Thy claim is founded on anatomy, +mine on jurisprudence. Shall matter prevail over mind? Shall medicine, +the most uncertain of sciences, override law, the perfection of human +reason? It is but to the vulgar observation that thou appearest to have +a head at all; in the eye of the law thou art acephalous.” + +“I would submit,” urged the philosopher, “that the corporal connection +of my head with my body is an essential property, the colour of it a +fortuitous accident.” + +“Thou mightest as well contend,” returned the king, “that the law is +bound to regard thee in thy abstract condition as a human being, and is +disabled from taking cognisance of thy acquired capacity of +smuggler—rebel, I might say, seeing that thou hast assumed the purple.” + +“But the imputation of cruelty which might attach to your majesty’s +proceedings?” + +“There can be no cruelty where there is no injustice. If any there be, +it must be on thy part, since, as I have demonstrated, so far from my +despoiling thee of thy head, it is thou who iniquitously withholdest +mine. I will labour to render this even clearer to thy apprehension. +Thou art found, as thou must needs admit, in possession of a contraband +article forfeit to the crown by operation of law. What then? Shall the +intention of the legislature be frustrated because thou hast +insidiously rendered the possession of _my_ property inseparable from +the possession of _thine_? Shall I, an innocent proprietor, be mulcted +of my right by thy fraud and covin? Justice howls, righteousness weeps, +integrity stands aghast at the bare notion. No, friend, thy head has +not a leg to stand on. Wouldst thou retain it, it behoves thee to show +that it will be more serviceable to the owner, namely, myself, upon thy +shoulders than elsewhere. This may well be. Hast thou peradventure any +subtleties in perfumery? any secrets in confectionery? any skill in the +preparation of soup?” + +“I have condescended to none of these frivolities, O king. My study +hath ever consisted in divine philosophy, whereby men are rendered +equal to the gods.” + +“And yet long most of all for purple!” retorted the monarch, “as I +conclude from perceiving thou hast after all preferred the latter. Thy +head must indeed be worth the taking.” + +“Thy taunt is merited, O king! I will importune thee no longer. Thou +wilt indeed render me a service in depriving me of this wretched head, +hideous without, and I must fear, empty within, seeing that it hath not +prevented me from wasting my life in the service of vanity and luxury. +Woe to the sage who trusts his infirm wisdom and frail integrity within +the precincts of a court! Yet can I foretell a time when philosophers +shall no longer run on the futile and selfish errands of kings, and +when kings shall be suffered to rule only so far as they obey the +bidding of philosophers. Peace, Knowledge, Liberty—” + +The King of Ayodhya possessed, beyond all princes of his age, the art +of gracefully interrupting an unseasonable discourse. He slightly +signed to a courtier in attendance, a scimitar flashed for a moment +from its scabbard, and the head of Sorianus rolled on the pavement; the +lips murmuring as though still striving to dwell with inarticulate +fondness upon the last word of hope for mankind. + +It soon appeared that the principle of life was essential to the +resplendence of the Purple Head. Within a few minutes it had assumed so +ghastly a hue that the Rajah himself was intimidated, and directed that +it should be consumed with the body. + +The same full-moon that watched the white-robed throng busied with the +rites of incremation in a grove of palms, beheld also the seven dragons +contending for the body of Marcobad. But, for many a year, the maids +and matrons of Rome were not weary of regarding, extolling, and +coveting the priceless purple tissue that glowed in the fane of Jupiter +Capitolinus. + + + + +THE FIREFLY + + +A certain Magician had retired for the sake of study to a cottage in a +forest. It was summer in a hot country. In the trees near the cottage +dwelt a most beautiful Firefly. The light she bore with her was +dazzling, yet soft and palpitating, as the evening star, and she seemed +a single flash of fire as she shot in and out suddenly from under the +screen of foliage, or like a lamp as she perched panting upon some +leaf, or hung glowing from some bough; or like a wandering meteor as +she eddied gleaming over the summits of the loftiest trees; as she +often did, for she was an ambitious Firefly. She learned to know the +Magician, and would sometimes alight and sit shining in his hair, or +trail her lustre across his book as she crept over the pages. The +Magician admired her above all things: + +“What eyes she would have if she were a woman!” thought he. + +Once he said aloud; + +“How happy you must be, you rare, beautiful, brilliant creature!” + +“I am not happy,” rejoined the Firefly; “what am I, after all, but a +flying beetle with a candle in my tail? I wish I were a star.” + +“Very well,” said the Magician, and touched her with his wand, when she +became a beautiful star in the twelfth degree of the sign Pisces. + +After some nights the Magician asked her if she was content. + +“I am not,” replied she. “When I was a Firefly I could fly whither I +would, and come and go as I pleased. Now I must rise and set at certain +times, and shine just so long and no longer. I cannot fly at all, and +only creep slowly across the sky. In the day I cannot shine, or if I do +no one sees me. I am often darkened by rain, and mist, and cloud. Even +when I shine my brightest I am less admired than when I was a Firefly, +there are so many others like me. I see, indeed, people looking up from +the earth by night towards me, but how do I know that they are looking +at me?” + +“The laws of nature will have it so,” returned the Magician. + +“Don’t talk to me of the laws of Nature,” rejoined the Firefly. “I did +not make them, and I don’t see why I should be compelled to obey them. +Make me something else.” + +“What would you be?” demanded the accommodating Magician. + +“As I creep along here,” replied the Star, “I see such a soft pure +track of light. It proceeds from the lamp in your study. It flows out +of your window like a river of molten silver, both cool and warm. Let +me be such a lamp.” + +“Be it so,” answered the Magician: and the star became a lovely +alabaster lamp, set in an alcove in his study. Her chaste radiance was +shed over his page as long as he continued to read. At a certain hour +he extinguished her and retired to rest. + +Next morning the Lamp was in a terrible humour. + +“I don’t choose to be blown out,” she said. + +“You would have gone out of your own accord else,” returned the +Magician. + +“What!” exclaimed the Lamp, “am I not shining by my own light?” + +“Certainly not: you are not now a Firefly or a Star. You must now +depend upon others. You would be dark for ever if I did not rekindle +you by the help of this oil.” + +“What!” cried the Lamp, “not shine of my own accord! Never! Make me an +everlasting lamp, or I will not be one at all.” + +“Alas, poor friend,” returned the Magician sadly, “there is but one +place where aught is everlasting. I can make thee a lamp of the +sepulchre.” + +“Content,” responded the Lamp. And the Magician made her one of those +strange occult lamps which men find ever and anon when they unseal the +tombs of ancient kings and wizards, sustaining without nutriment a +perpetual flame. And he bore her to a sepulchre where a great king was +lying embalmed and perfect in his golden raiment, and set her at the +head of the corpse. And whether the poor fitful Firefly found at last +rest in the grave, we may know when we come thither ourselves. But the +Magician closed the gates of the sepulchre behind him, and walked +thoughtfully home. And as he approached his cottage, behold another +Firefly darting and flashing in and out among the trees, as brilliantly +as ever the first had done. She was a wise Firefly, well satisfied with +the world and everything in it, more particularly her own tail. And if +the Magician would have made a pet of her no doubt she would have abode +with him. But he never looked at her. + + + + +PAN’S WAND + + +Iridion had broken her lily. A misfortune for any rustic nymph, but +especially for her, since her life depended upon it. + +From her birth the fate of Iridion had been associated with that of a +flower of unusual loveliness—a stately, candid lily, endowed with a +charmed life, like its possessor. The seasons came and went without +leaving a trace upon it; innocence and beauty seemed as enduring with +it, as evanescent with the children of men. In equal though dissimilar +loveliness its frolicsome young mistress nourished by its side. One +thing alone, the oracle had declared, could prejudice either, and this +was an accident to the flower. From such disaster it had long been +shielded by the most delicate care; yet in the inscrutable counsels of +the Gods, the dreaded calamity had at length come to pass. Broken +through the upper part of the stem, the listless flower drooped its +petals towards the earth, and seemed to mourn their chastity, already +sullied by the wan flaccidity of decay. Not one had fallen as yet, and +Iridion felt no pain or any symptom of approaching dissolution, except, +it may be, the unwonted seriousness with which, having exhausted all +her simple skill on behalf of the languishing plant, she sat down to +consider its fate in the light of its bearing upon her own. + +Meditation upon an utterly vague subject, whether of apprehension or of +hope, speedily lapses into reverie. To Iridion, Death was as +indefinable an object of thought as the twin omnipotent controller of +human destiny, Love. Love, like the immature fruit on the bough, hung +unsoliciting and unsolicited as yet, but slowly ripening to the +maiden’s hand. Death, a vague film in an illimitable sky, tempered +without obscuring the sunshine of her life. Confronted with it +suddenly, she found it, in truth, an impalpable cloud, and herself as +little competent as the gravest philosopher to answer the +self-suggested inquiry, “What shall I be when I am no longer Iridion?” +Superstition might have helped her to some definite conceptions, but +superstition did not exist in her time. Judge, reader, of its +remoteness. + +The maiden’s reverie might have terminated only with her existence, but +for the salutary law which prohibits a young girl, not in love or at +school, from sitting still more than ten minutes. As she shifted her +seat at the expiration of something like this period, she perceived +that she had been sitting on a goatskin, and with a natural association +of ideas— + +“I will ask Pan,” she exclaimed. + +Pan at that time inhabited a cavern hard by the maiden’s dwelling, +which the judicious reader will have divined could only have been +situated in Arcadia. The honest god was on excellent terms with the +simple people; his goats browsed freely along with theirs, and the most +melodious of the rustic minstrels attributed their proficiency to his +instructions. The maidens were on a more reserved footing of +intimacy—at least so they wished it to be understood, and so it was +understood, of course. Iridion, however, decided that the occasion +would warrant her incurring the risk even of a kiss, and lost no time +in setting forth upon her errand, carrying her poor broken flower in +its earthen vase. It was the time of day when the god might be supposed +to be arousing himself from his afternoon’s siesta. She did not fear +that his door would be closed against her, for he had no door. + +The sylvan deity stood, in fact, at the entrance of his cavern, about +to proceed in quest of his goats. The appearance of Iridion operated a +change in his intention, and he courteously escorted her to a seat of +turf erected for the special accommodation of his fair visitors, while +he placed for himself one of stone. + +“Pan,” she began, “I have broken my lily.” + +“That is a sad pity, child. If it had been a reed, now, you could have +made a flute of it.” + +“I should not have time, Pan,” and she recounted her story. A godlike +nature cannot confound truth with falsehood, though it may mistake +falsehood for truth. Pan therefore never doubted Iridion’s strange +narrative, and, having heard it to the end, observed, “You will find +plenty more lilies in Elysium.” + +“Common lilies, Pan; not like mine.” + +“You are wrong. The lilies of Elysium—asphodels as they call them +there—are as immortal as the Elysians themselves. I have seen them in +Proserpine’s hair at Jupiter’s entertainment; they were as fresh as she +was. There is no doubt you might gather them by handfuls—at least if +you had any hands—and wear them to your heart’s content, if you had but +a heart.” + +“That’s just what perplexes me, Pan. It is not the dying I mind, it’s +the living. How am I to live without anything alive about me? If you +take away my hands, and my heart, and my brains, and my eyes, and my +ears, and above all my tongue, what is left me to live in Elysium?” + +As the maiden spake a petal detached itself from the emaciated lily, +and she pressed her hand to her brow with a responsive cry of pain. + +“Poor child!” said Pan compassionately, “you will feel no more pain +by-and-by.” + +“I suppose not, Pan, since you say so. But if I can feel no pain, how +can I feel any pleasure? + +“In an incomprehensible manner,” said Pan. + +“How can I feel, if I have no feeling? and what am I to do without it?” + +“You can think!” replied Pan. “Thinking (not that I am greatly given to +it myself) is a much finer thing than feeling; no right-minded person +doubts that. Feeling, as I have heard Minerva say, is a property of +matter, and matter, except, of course, that appertaining to myself and +the other happy gods, is vile and perishable—quite immaterial, in fact. +Thought alone is transcendent, incorruptible, and undying!” + +“But, Pan, how can any one think thoughts without something to think +them with? I never thought of anything that I have not seen, or +touched, or smelt, or tasted, or heard about from some one else. If I +think with nothing, and about nothing, is that thinking, do you think?” + +“I think,” answered Pan evasively, “that you are a sensationalist, a +materialist, a sceptic, a revolutionist; and if you had not sought the +assistance of a god, I should have said not much better than an +atheist. I also think it is time I thought about some physic for you +instead of metaphysics, which are bad for my head, and for your soul.” +Saying this, Pan, with rough tenderness, deposited the almost fainting +maiden upon a couch of fern, and, having supported her head with a +bundle of herbs, leaned his own upon his hand, and reflected with all +his might. The declining sun was now nearly opposite the cavern’s +mouth, and his rays, straggling through the creepers that wove their +intricacies over the entrance, chequered with lustrous patches the +forms of the dying girl and the meditating god. Ever and anon, a petal +would drop from the flower; this was always succeeded by a shuddering +tremor throughout Iridion’s frame and a more forlorn expression on her +pallid countenance: while Pan’s jovial features assumed an expression +of deeper concern as he pressed his knotty hand more resolutely against +his shaggy forehead, and wrung his dexter horn with a more determined +grasp, as though he had caught a burrowing idea by the tail. + +“Aha!” he suddenly exclaimed, “I have it!” + +“What have you, Pan?” faintly lisped the expiring Iridion. + +Instead of replying, Pan grasped a wand that leaned against the wall of +his grot, and with it touched the maiden and the flower. O strange +metamorphosis! Where the latter had been pining in its vase, a lovely +girl, the image of Iridion, lay along the ground with dishevelled hair, +clammy brow, and features slightly distorted by the last struggles of +death. On the ferny couch stood an earthen vase, from which rose a +magnificent lily, stately, with unfractured stem, and with no stain or +wrinkle on its numerous petals. + +“Aha!” repeated Pan; “I think we are ready for him now.” Then, having +lifted the inanimate body to the couch, and placed the vase, with its +contents, on the floor of his cavern, he stepped to the entrance, and +shading his eyes with his hand, seemed to gaze abroad in quest of some +anticipated visitor. + +The boughs at the foot of the steep path to the cave divided, and a +figure appeared at the foot of the rock. The stranger’s mien was +majestic, but the fitness of his proportions diminished his really +colossal stature to something more nearly the measure of mortality. His +form was enveloped in a sweeping sad-coloured robe; a light, thin veil +resting on his countenance, mitigated, without concealing, the not +ungentle austerity of his marble features. His gait was remarkable; +nothing could be more remote from every indication of haste, yet such +was the actual celerity of his progression, that Pan had scarcely +beheld him ere he started to find him already at his side. + +The stranger, without disturbing his veil, seemed to comprehend the +whole interior of the grotto with a glance; then, with the slightest +gesture of recognition to Pan, he glided to the couch on which lay the +metamorphosed lily, upraised the fictitious Iridion in his arms with +indescribable gentleness, and disappeared with her as swiftly and +silently as he had come. The discreet Pan struggled with suppressed +merriment until the stranger was fairly out of hearing, then threw +himself back upon his seat and laughed till the cave rang. + +“And now,” he said, “to finish the business.” He lifted the transformed +maiden into the vase, and caressed her beauty with an exulting but +careful hand. There was a glory and a splendour in the flower such as +had never until then been beheld in any earthly lily. The stem +vibrated, the leaves shook in unison, the petals panted and suspired, +and seemed blanched with a whiteness intense as the core of sunlight, +as they throbbed in anticipation of the richer existence awaiting them. + +Impatient to complete his task, Pan was about to grasp his wand when +the motion was arrested as the sinking beam of the sun was intercepted +by a gigantic shadow, and the stranger again stood by his side. The +unbidden guest uttered no word, but his manner was sufficiently +expressive of wrath as he disdainfully cast on the ground a broken, +withered lily, the relic of what had bloomed with such loveliness in +the morning, and had since for a brief space been arrayed in the +vesture of humanity. He pointed imperiously to the gorgeous tenant of +the vase, and seemed to expect Pan to deliver it forthwith. + +“Look here,” said Pan, with more decision than dignity, “I am a poor +country god, but I know the law. If you can find on this plant one +speck, one stain, one token that you have anything to do with her, take +her, and welcome. If you cannot, take yourself off instead.” + +“Be it so,” returned the stranger, haughtily declining the proffered +inspection. “You will find it is ill joking with Death.” + +So saying, he quitted the cavern. + +Pan sat down chuckling, yet not wholly at ease, for if the charity of +Death is beautiful even to a mortal, his anger is terrible, even to a +god. Anxious to terminate the adventure, he reached towards the charmed +wand by whose wonderful instrumentality the dying maiden had already +become a living flower, and was now to undergo a yet more delightful +metamorphosis. + +Wondrous wand! But where was it? For Death, the great transfigurer of +all below this lunar sphere, had given Pan a characteristic proof of +his superior cunning. Where the wand had reposed writhed a ghastly +worm, which, as Pan’s glance fell upon it, glided towards him, +uplifting its head with an aspect of defiance. Pan’s immortal nature +sickened at the emblem of corruption; he could not for all Olympus have +touched his metamorphosed treasure. As he shrank back the creature +pursued its way towards the vase; but a marvellous change befell it as +it came under the shadow of the flower. The writhing body divided, end +from end, the sordid scales sank indiscernibly into the dust, and an +exquisite butterfly, arising from the ground, alighted on the lily, and +remained for a moment fanning its wings in the last sunbeam, ere it +unclosed them to the evening breeze. Pan, looking eagerly after the +Psyche in its flight, did not perceive what was taking place in the +cavern; but the magic wand, now for ever lost to its possessor, must +have cancelled its own spell, for when his gaze reverted from the +ineffectual pursuit, the living lily had disappeared, and Iridion lay a +corpse upon the ground, the faded flower of her destiny reposing upon +her breast. + +Death now stood for a third time upon Pan’s threshold, but Pan heeded +him not. + + + + +A PAGE FROM THE BOOK OF FOLLY + + +“That owned the virtuous ring and glass.” +—_Il Penseroso_. + +I + +“Aurelia!” + +“Otto!” + +“Must we then part?” + +They were folded in each other’s arms. There never was such kissing. + +“How shall we henceforth exchange the sweet tokens of our undying +affection, my Otto?” + +“Alas, my Aurelia, I know not! Thy Otto blushes to acquaint thee that +he cannot write.” + +“Blush not, my Otto, thou needest not reproach thyself. Even couldest +thou write, thy Aurelia could not read. Oh these dark ages!” + +They remained some minutes gazing on each other with an expression of +fond perplexity. Suddenly the damsel’s features assumed the aspect of +one who experiences the visitation of a happy thought. Gently yet +decidedly she pronounced: + +“We will exchange rings.” + +They drew off their rings simultaneously. “This, Aurelia, was my +grandfather’s.” + +“This, Otto, was my grandmother’s, which she charged me with her dying +breath never to part with save to him whom alone I loved.” + +“Mine is a brilliant, more radiant than aught save the eyes of my +Aurelia.” + +And, in fact, Aurelia’s eyes hardly sustained the comparison. A finer +stone could not easily be found. + +“Mine is a sapphire, azure as the everlasting heavens, and type of a +constancy enduring as they.” + +In truth, it was of a tint seldom to be met with in sapphires. + +The exchange made, the lady seemed less anxious to detain her lover. + +“Beware, Otto!” she cried, as he slid down the cord, which yielded him +an oscillatory transit from her casement to the moat, where he alighted +knee-deep in mud. “Beware!—if my brother should be gazing from his +chamber on the resplendent moon!” + +But that ferocious young baron was accustomed to spend his time in a +less romantic manner; and so it came to pass that Otto encountered him +not. + +II + +Days, weeks, months had passed by, and Otto, a wanderer in a foreign +land, had heard no tidings of his Aurelia. Ye who have loved may well +conceive how her ring was all in all to him. He divided his time pretty +equally between gazing into its cerulean depths, as though her lovely +image were mirrored therein, and pressing its chilly surface to his +lips, little as it recalled the warmth and balminess of hers. + +The burnished glow of gold, the chaste sheen of silver, the dance and +sparkle of light in multitudinous gems, arrested his attention as he +one evening perambulated the streets of a great city. He beheld a +jeweller’s shop. The grey-headed, spectacled lapidary sat at a bench +within, sedulously polishing a streaked pebble by the light of a small +lamp. A sudden thought struck Otto; he entered the shop, and, +presenting the ring to the jeweller, inquired in a tone of suppressed +exultation: + +“What hold you for the worth of this inestimable ring?” + +The jeweller, with no expression of surprise or curiosity, received the +ring from Otto, held it to the light, glanced slightly at the stone, +somewhat more carefully at the setting, laid the ring for a moment in a +pair of light scales, and, handing it back to Otto, remarked with a +tone and manner of the most entire indifference: + +“The worth of this inestimable ring is one shilling and sixpence.” + +“Caitiff of a huckster!” exclaimed Otto, bringing down his fist on the +bench with such vigour that the pebbles leaped up and fell rattling +down: “Sayest thou this of a gem framed by genii in the bowels of the +earth?” + +“Nay, friend,” returned the jeweller with the same imperturbable air, +“that thy gem was framed of earth I in nowise question, seeing that it +doth principally consist of sand. But when thou speakest of genii and +the bowels of the earth, thou wilt not, I hope, take it amiss if I +crave better proof than thy word that the devil has taken to +glass-making. For glass, and nothing else, credit me, thy jewel is.” + +“And the gold?” gasped Otto. + +“There is just as much gold in thy ring as sufficeth to gild handsomely +a like superficies of brass, which is not saying much.” + +And, applying a sponge dipped in some liquid to a small part of the +hoop, the jeweller disclosed the dull hue of the baser metal so +evidently that Otto could hardly doubt longer. He doubted no more when +the lapidary laid his ring in the scales against another of the same +size and make, and pointed to the inequality of the balance. + +“Thou seest,” he continued, “that in our craft a very little gold goes +a very great way. It is far otherwise in the world, as thou, albeit in +no sort eminent for sapience, hast doubtless ere this ascertained for +thyself. Thou art evidently a prodigious fool!” + +This latter disparaging observation could be safely ventured upon, as +Otto had rushed from the shop, speechless with rage. + +Was Aurelia deceiver or deceived? Should he execrate her, or her +venerable grandmother, or some unknown person? The point was too knotty +to be solved in the agitated state of his feelings. He decided it +provisionally by execrating the entire human race, not forgetting +himself. + +In a mood like Otto’s a trifling circumstance is sufficient to +determine the quality of action. The ancient city of which he was at +the time an inhabitant was traversed by a large river spanned by a +quaint and many-arched bridge, to which his frantic and aimless +wanderings had conducted him. Spires and gables and lengthy façades +were reflected in the water, blended with the shadows of boats, and +interspersed with the mirrored flames of innumerable windows on land, +or of lanterns suspended from the masts or sterns of the vessels. The +dancing ripples bickered and flickered, and seemed to say, “Come hither +to us,” while the dark reaches of still water in the shadow of the +piers promised that whatever might be entrusted to them should be +faithfully retained. Swayed by a sudden impulse, Otto drew his ring +from his finger. It gleamed an instant aloft in air; in another the +relaxation of his grasp would have consigned it to the stream. + +“Forbear!” + +Otto turned, and perceived a singular figure by his side. The stranger +was tall and thin, and attired in a dusky cloak which only partially +concealed a flame-coloured jerkin. A cock’s feather peaked up in his +cap; his eyes were piercingly brilliant; his nose was aquiline; the +expression of his features sinister and sardonic. Had Otto been more +observant, or less preoccupied, he might have noticed that the +stranger’s left shoe was of a peculiar form, and that he limped some +little with the corresponding foot. + +“Forbear, I say; thou knowest not what thou doest.” + +“And what skills what I do with a piece of common glass?” + +“Thou errest, friend; thy ring is not common glass. Had thy mistress +surmised its mystic virtues, she would have thought oftener than twice +ere exchanging it for thy diamond.” + +“What may these virtues be?” eagerly demanded Otto. + +“In the first place, it will show thee when thy mistress may chance to +think of thee, as it will then prick thy finger.” + +“Now I know thee for a lying knave,” exclaimed the youth indignantly. +“Learn, to thy confusion, that it hath not pricked me once since I +parted from Aurelia.” + +“Which proves that she has never once thought of thee.” + +“Villain!” shouted Otto, “say that again, and I will transfix thee.” + +“Thou mayest if thou canst,” rejoined the stranger, with an expression +of such cutting scorn that Otto’s spirit quailed, and he felt a secret +but overpowering conviction of his interlocutor’s veracity. Rallying, +however, in some measure, he exclaimed: + +“Aurelia is true! I will wager my soul upon it!” + +“Done!” screamed the stranger in a strident voice of triumph, while a +burst of diabolical laughter seemed to proceed from every cranny of the +eaves and piers of the old bridge, and to be taken up by goblin echoes +from the summits of the adjacent towers and steeples. + +Otto’s blood ran chill, but he mustered sufficient courage to inquire +hoarsely: + +“What of its further virtues?” + +“When it shall have pricked thee,” returned the mysterious personage, +“on turning it once completely round thy finger thou wilt see thy +mistress wherever she may be. If thou turnest it the second time, thou +wilt know what her thought of thee is; and, if the third time, thou +wilt find thyself in her presence. But I give thee fair warning that by +doing this thou wilt place thyself in a more disastrous plight than any +thou hast experienced hitherto. And now farewell.” + +The speaker disappeared. Otto stood alone upon the bridge. He saw +nothing around him but the stream, with its shadows and lights, as he +slowly and thoughtfully turned round to walk to his lodgings. + +III + +Ye who have loved, et cetera, as aforesaid, will comprehend the anxiety +with which Otto henceforth consulted his ring. He was continually +adjusting it to his finger in a manner, as he fancied, to render the +anticipated puncture more perceptible when it should come at last. He +would have worn it on all his fingers in succession had the +conformation of his robust hand admitted of its being placed on any but +the slenderest. Thousands of times he could have sworn that he felt the +admonitory sting; thousands of times he turned the trinket round and +round with desperate impatience; but Aurelia’s form remained as +invisible, her thoughts as inscrutable, as before. His great dread was +that he might be pricked in his sleep, on which account he would sit up +watching far into the morn. For, as he reasoned, not without +plausibility, when could he more rationally hope for a place in +Aurelia’s thoughts than at that witching and suggestive period? She +might surely think of him when she had nothing else to do! Had she +really nothing else to do? And Otto grew sick and livid with jealousy. +It of course frequently occurred to him to doubt and deride the virtues +of the ring, and he was several times upon the point of flinging it +away. But the more he pondered upon the appearance and manner of the +stranger, the less able he felt to resist the conviction of his +truthfulness. + +At last a most unmistakable puncture! the distinct, though slight, pang +of a miniature wound. A crimson bead of blood rose on Otto’s finger, +swelled to its due proportion, and became a trickling blot. + +“She is thinking of me!” cried he rapturously, as if this were an +instance of the most signal and unforeseen condescension. All the weary +expectancy of the last six months was forgotten. He would have railed +at himself had the bliss of the moment allowed him to remember that he +had ever railed at her. + +Otto turned his ring once, and Aurelia became visible in an instant. +She was standing before the mercer’s booth in the chief street of the +little town which adjoined her father’s castle. Her gaze was riveted on +a silk mantle, trimmed with costly furs, which depended from a hook +inside the doorway. Her lovely features wore an expression of extreme +dissatisfaction. She was replacing a purse, apparently by no means +weighty, in her embroidered girdle. + +Otto turned the ring the second time, and Aurelia’s silvery accents +immediately became audible to the following effect: + +“If that fool Otto were here, he would buy it for me.” + +She turned away, and walked down the street. Otto uttered a cry like +the shriek of an uprooted mandrake. His hand was upon the ring to turn +it for the third time; but the stranger’s warning occurred to him, and +for a moment he forbore. In that moment the entire vision vanished from +before his eyes. + +What boots it to describe Otto’s feelings upon this revelation of +Aurelia’s sentiments? For lovers, description would be needless; to +wiser people, incomprehensible. Suffice it to say, that as his lady +deemed him a fool he appeared bent on proving that she did not deem +amiss. + +A long space of time elapsed without any further admonition from the +ring. Perhaps Aurelia had no further occasion for his purse; perhaps +she had found another pursebearer. The latter view of the case appeared +the more plausible to Otto, and it hugely aggravated his torments. + +At last the moment came. It was the hour of midnight. Again Otto felt +the sharp puncture, again the ruby drop started from his finger, again +he turned the ring, and again beheld Aurelia. She was in her chamber, +but not alone. Her companion was a youth of Otto’s age. She was in the +act of placing Otto’s brilliant upon his finger. Otto turned his own +ring, and heard her utter, with singular distinctness: + +“This ring was given me by the greatest fool I ever knew. Little did he +imagine that it would one day be the means of procuring me liberty, and +bliss in the arms of my Arnold. My venerable grandmother—” + +The voice expired upon her lips, for Otto stood before her. + +Arnold precipitated himself from the window, carrying the ring with +him. Otto, glaring at his faithless mistress, stood in the middle of +the apartment with his sword unsheathed. Was he about to use it? None +can say; for at this moment the young Baron burst into the room, and, +without the slightest apology for the liberty he was taking, passed his +sword through Otto’s body. + +Otto groaned, and fell upon his face. He was dead. The young Baron +ungently reversed the position of the corpse, and scanned its features +with evident surprise and dissatisfaction. + +“It is not Arnold, after all!” he muttered. “Who would have thought +it?” + +“Thou seest, brother, how unjust were thy suspicions,” observed +Aurelia, with an air of injured but not implacable virtue. “As for this +abominable ravisher——” Her feelings forbade her to proceed. + +The brother looked mystified. There was something beyond his +comprehension in the affair; yet he could not but acknowledge that Otto +was the person who had rushed by him as he lay in wait upon the stairs. +He finally determined that it was best to say nothing about the matter: +a resolution the easier of performance as he was not wont to be lavish +of his words at any time. He wiped his sword on his sister’s curtains, +and was about to withdraw, when Aurelia again spoke: + +“Ere thou departest, brother, have the goodness to ring the bell, and +desire the menials to remove this carrion from my apartment.” + +The young Baron sulkily complied, and retreated growling to his +chamber. + +The attendants carried Otto’s body forth. To the honour of her sex be +it recorded, that before this was done Aurelia vouchsafed one glance to +the corpse of her old lover. Her eye fell on the brazen ring. “And he +has actually worn it all this time!” thought she. + +“Would have outraged my daughter, would he?” said the old Baron, when +the transaction was reported to him. “Let him be buried in a +concatenation accordingly.” + +“What the guy dickens be a concatrenation, Geoffrey?” interrogated +Giles. + +“Methinks it is Latin for a ditch,” responded Geoffrey. + +This interpretation commending itself to the general judgment of the +retainers, Otto was interred in the shelving bank of the old moat, just +under Aurelia’s window. A rough stone was laid upon the grave. The +magic ring, which no one thought worth appropriating, remained upon the +corpse’s finger. Thou mayest probably find it there, reader, if thou +searchest long enough. + +The first visitor to Otto’s humble sepulchre was, after all, Aurelia +herself, who alighted thereon on the following night after letting +herself down from her casement to fly with Arnold. Their escape was +successfully achieved upon a pair of excellent horses, the proceeds of +Otto’s diamond, which had become the property of a Jew. + +On the third night an aged monk stood by Otto’s grave, and wept +plentifully. He carried a lantern, a mallet, and a chisel. “He was my +pupil,” sobbed the good old man. “It were meet to contribute what in me +lies to the befitting perpetuation of his memory.” + +Setting down the lantern, he commenced work, and with pious toil +engraved on the stone in the Latin of the period: + +“HAC MAGNUS STULTUS JACET IN FOSSA SEPULTUS. +MULIER CUI CREDIDIT MORTUUM ILLUM REDDIDIT.” + + +Here he paused, at the end of his strength and of his Latin. + +“Beshrew my old arms and brains!” he sighed. + +“Hem!” coughed a deep voice in his vicinity. + +The monk looked up. The personage in the dusky cloak and flame-coloured +jerkin was standing over him. + +“Good monk,” said the fiend, “what dost thou here?” + +“Good fiend,” said the monk, “I am inscribing an epitaph to the memory +of a departed friend. Thou mightest kindly aid me to complete it.” + +“Truly,” rejoined the demon, “it would become me to do so, seeing that +I have his soul here in my pocket. Thou wilt not expect me to employ +the language of the Church. Nathless, I see not wherefore the +vernacular may not serve as well.” + +And, taking the mallet and chisel, he completed the monk’s inscription +with the supplementary legend: + +“SERVED HIM RIGHT.” + + + + +THE BELL OF SAINT EUSCHEMON + + +The town of Epinal, in Lorraine, possessed in the Middle Ages a peal of +three bells, respectively dedicated to St. Eulogius, St. Eucherius, and +St. Euschemon, whose tintinnabulation was found to be an effectual +safeguard against all thunderstorms. Let the heavens be ever so murky, +it was merely requisite to set the bells ringing, and no lightning +flashed and no thunder peal broke over the town, nor was the +neighbouring country within hearing of them ravaged by hail or flood. + +One day the three saints, Eulogius, Eucherius, and Euschemon, were +sitting together, exceedingly well content with themselves and +everything around them, as indeed they had every right to be, supposing +that they were in Paradise. We say supposing, not being for our own +part entirely able to reconcile this locality with the presence of +certain cans and flagons, which had been fuller than they were. + +“What a happy reflection for a Saint,” said Eulogius, who was rapidly +passing from the mellow stage of good fellowship to the maudlin, “that +even after his celestial assumption he is permitted to continue a +source of blessing and benefit to his fellow-creatures as yet dwelling +in the shade of mortality! The thought of the services of my bell, in +averting lightning and inundation from the good people of Epinal, fills +me with indescribable beatitude.” + +“_Your_ bell!” interposed Eucherius, whose path had lain through the +mellow to the quarrelsome. “_Your_ bell, quotha! You had as good clink +this cannakin” (suiting the action to the word) “as your bell. It’s my +bell that does the business.” + +“I think you might put in a word for _my_ bell,” interposed Euschemon, +a little squinting saint, very merry and friendly when not put out, as +on the present occasion. + +“Your bell!” retorted the big saints, with incredible disdain; and, +forgetting their own altercation, they fell so fiercely on their little +brother that he ran away, stopping his ears with his hands, and vowing +vengeance. + +A short time after this fracas, a personage of venerable appearance +presented himself at Epinal, and applied for the post of sacristan and +bell-ringer, at that time vacant. Though he squinted, his appearance +was far from disagreeable, and he obtained the appointment without +difficulty. His deportment in it was in all respects edifying; or if he +evinced some little remissness in the service of Saints Eulogius and +Eucherius, this was more than compensated by his devotion to the +hitherto somewhat slighted Saint Euschemon. It was indeed observed that +candles, garlands, and other offerings made at the shrines of the two +senior saints were found to be transferred in an unaccountable and +mystical manner to the junior, which induced experienced persons to +remark that a miracle was certainly brewing. Nothing, however, occurred +until, one hot summer afternoon, the indications of a storm became so +threatening that the sacristan was directed to ring the bells. Scarcely +had he begun than the sky became clear, but instead of the usual rich +volume of sound the townsmen heard with astonishment a solitary tinkle, +sounding quite ridiculous and unsatisfactory in comparison. St. +Euschemon’s bell was ringing by itself. + +In a trice priests and laymen swarmed to the belfry, and indignantly +demanded of the sacristan what he meant. + +“To enlighten you,” he responded. “To teach you to give honour where +honour is due. To unmask those canonised impostors.” + +And he called their attention to the fact that the clappers of the +bells of Eulogius and Eucherius were so fastened up that they could not +emit a sound, while that of Euschemon vibrated freely. + +“Ye see,” he continued, “that these sound not at all, yet is the +tempest stayed. Is it not thence manifest that the virtue resides +solely in the bell of the blessed Euschemon?” + +The argument seemed conclusive to the majority, but those of the clergy +who ministered at the altars of Eulogius and Eucherius stoutly +resisted, maintaining that no just decision could be arrived at until +Euschemon’s bell was subjected to the same treatment as the others. +Their view eventually prevailed, to the great dismay of Euschemon, who, +although firmly convinced of the virtue of his own bell, did not in his +heart disbelieve in the bells of his brethren. Imagine his relief and +amazed joy when, upon his bell being silenced, the storm, for the first +time in the memory of the oldest inhabitant, broke with full fury over +Epinal, and, for all the frantic pealing of the other two bells, raged +with unspeakable fierceness until his own was brought into requisition, +when, as if by enchantment, the rain ceased, the thunder-clouds +dispersed, and the sun broke out gloriously from the blue sky. + +“Carry him in procession!” shouted the crowd. + +“Amen, brethren; here I am,” rejoined Euschemon, stepping briskly into +the midst of the troop. + +“And why in the name of Zernebock should we carry _you?_” demanded +some, while others ran off to lug forth the image, the object of their +devotion. + +“Why, verily,” Euschemon began, and stopped short. How indeed was he to +prove to them that he _was_ Euschemon? His personal resemblance to his +effigy, the work of a sculptor of the idealistic school, was in no +respect remarkable; and he felt, alas! that he could no more work a +miracle than you or I. In the sight of the multitude he was only an +elderly sexton with a cast in his eye, with nothing but his office to +keep him out of the workhouse. A further and more awkward question +arose, how on earth was he to get back to Paradise? The ordinary method +was not available, for he had already been dead for several centuries; +and no other presented itself to his imagination. + +Muttering apologies, and glad to be overlooked, Euschemon shrank into a +corner, but slightly comforted by the honours his image was receiving +at the hands of the good people of Epinal. As time wore on he became +pensive and restless, and nothing pleased him so well as to ascend to +the belfry on moonlight nights, scribbling disparagement on the bells +of Eulogius and Eucherius, which had ceased to be rung, and patting and +caressing his own, which now did duty for all three. With alarm he +noticed one night an incipient crack, which threatened to become a +serious flaw. + +“If this goes on,” said a voice behind him, “I shall get a holiday.” + +Euschemon turned round, and with indescribable dismay perceived a +gigantic demon, negligently resting his hand on the top of the bell, +and looking as if it would cost him nothing to pitch it and Euschemon +together to the other side of the town. + +“Avaunt, fiend,” he stammered, with as much dignity as he could muster, +“or at least remove thy unhallowed paw from my bell.” + +“Come, Eusky,” replied the fiend, with profane familiarity, “don’t be a +fool. You are not really such an ass as to imagine that your virtue has +anything to do with the virtue of this bell?” + +“Whose virtue then?” demanded Euschemon. + +“Why truly,” said the demon, “mine! When this bell was cast I was +imprisoned in it by a potent enchanter, and so long as I am in it no +storm can come within sound of its ringing. I am not allowed to quit it +except by night, and then no further than an arm’s length: this, +however, I take the liberty of measuring by my own arm, which happens +to be a long one. This must continue, as I learn, until I receive a +kiss from some bishop of distinguished sanctity. Thou hast done some +bishoping in thy time, peradventure?” + +Euschemon energetically protested that he had been on earth but a +simple laic, which was indeed the fact, and was also the reason why +Eulogius and Eucherius despised him, but which, though he did not think +it needful to tell the demon, he found a singular relief under present +circumstances. + +“Well,” continued the fiend, “I wish he may turn up shortly, for I am +half deaf already with the banging and booming of this infernal +clapper, which seems to have grown much worse of late; and the +blessings and the crossings and the aspersions which I have to go +through are most repugnant to my tastes, and unsuitable to my position +in society. Bye-bye, Eusky; come up to-morrow night.” And the fiend +slipped back into the bell, and instantly became invisible. + +The humiliation of poor Euschemon on learning that he was indebted for +his credit to the devil is easier to imagine than to describe. He did +not, however, fail at the rendezvous next night, and found the demon +sitting outside the bell in a most affable frame of mind. It did not +take long for the devil and the saint to become very good friends, both +wanting company, and the former being apparently as much amused by the +latter’s simplicity as the latter was charmed by the former’s +knowingness. Euschemon learned numbers of things of which he had not +had the faintest notion. The demon taught him how to play cards (just +invented by the Saracens), and initiated him into divers “arts, though +unimagined, yet to be,” such as smoking tobacco, making a book on the +Derby, and inditing queer stories for Society journals. He drew the +most profane but irresistibly funny caricatures of Eulogius and +Eucherius, and the rest of the host of heaven. He had been one of the +demons who tempted St. Anthony, and retailed anecdotes of that eremite +which Euschemon had never heard mentioned in Paradise. He was versed in +all scandal respecting saints in general, and Euschemon found with +astonishment how much about his own order was known downstairs. On the +whole he had never enjoyed himself so much in his life; he became +proficient in all manner of minor devilries, and was ceasing to trouble +himself about his bell or his ecclesiastical duties, when an untoward +incident interrupted his felicity. + +It chanced that the Bishop of Metz, in whose diocese Epinal was +situated, finding himself during a visitation journey within a short +distance of the town, determined to put, up there for the night. He did +not arrive until nightfall, but word of his intention having been sent +forward by a messenger the authorities, civil and ecclesiastical, were +ready to receive him. When, escorted in state, he had arrived at the +house prepared for his reception, the Mayor ventured to express a hope +that everything had been satisfactory to his Lordship. + +“Everything,” said the bishop emphatically. “I did indeed seem to +remark one little omission, which no doubt may be easily accounted +for.” + +“What was that, my Lord?” + +“It hath,” said the bishop, “usually been the practice to receive a +bishop with the ringing of bells. It is a laudable custom, conducive to +the purification of the air and the discomfiture of the prince of the +powers thereof. I caught no sound of chimes on the present occasion, +yet I am sensible that my hearing is not what it was.” + +The civil and ecclesiastical authorities looked at each other. “That +graceless knave of a sacristan!” said the Mayor. + +“He hath indeed of late strangely neglected his charge,” said a priest. + +“Poor man, I doubt his wits are touched,” charitably added another. + +“What!” exclaimed the bishop, who was very active, very fussy, and a +great stickler for discipline. “This important church, so renowned for +its three miraculous bells, confided to the tender mercies of an +imbecile rogue who may burn it down any night! I will look to it myself +without losing a minute.” + +And in spite of all remonstrances, off he started. The keys were +brought, the doors flung open, the body of the church thoroughly +examined, but neither in nave, choir, or chancel could the slightest +trace of the sacristan be found. + +“Perhaps he is in the belfry,” suggested a chorister. + +“We’ll see,” responded the bishop, and bustling nimbly up the ladder, +he emerged into the open belfry in full moonlight. + +Heavens! what a sight met his eye! The sacristan and the devil sitting +_vis-a-vis_ close by the miraculous bell, with a smoking can of hot +spiced wine between them, finishing a close game of cribbage. + +“Seven,” declared Euschemon. + +“And eight are fifteen,” retorted the demon, marking two. + +“Twenty-three and pair,” cried Euschemon, marking in his turn. + +“And seven is thirty.” + +“Ace, thirty-one, and I’m up.” + +“It _is_ up with you, my friend,” shouted the bishop, bringing his +crook down smartly on Euschemon’s shoulders. + +“Deuce!” said the devil, and vanished into his bell. + +When poor Euschemon had been bound and gagged, which did not take very +long, the bishop briefly addressed the assembly. He said that the +accounts of the bell which had reached his ears had already excited his +apprehensions. He had greatly feared that all could not be right, and +now his anxieties were but too well justified. He trusted there was not +a man before him who would not suffer his flocks and his crops to be +destroyed by tempest fifty times over rather than purchase their safety +by unhallowed means. What had been done had doubtless been done in +ignorance, and could be made good by a mulct to the episcopal treasury. +The amount of this he would carefully consider, and the people of +Epinal might rest assured that it should not be too light to entitle +them to the benefit of a full absolution. The bell must go to his +cathedral city, there to be examined and reported on by the exorcists +and inquisitors. Meanwhile he would himself institute a slight +preliminary scrutiny. + +The bell was accordingly unhung, tilted up, and inspected by the +combined beams of the moonlight and torchlight. Very slight examination +served to place the soundness of the bishop’s opinion beyond dispute. +On the lip of the bell were engraven characters unknown to every one +else, but which seemed to affect the prelate with singular +consternation. + +“I hope,” he exclaimed, “that none of you know anything about these +characters! I earnestly trust that none can read a single one of them. +If I thought anybody could I would burn him as soon as look at him!” + +The bystanders hastened to assure him that not one of them had the +slightest conception of the meaning of the letters, which had never +been observed before. + +“I rejoice to hear it,” said the bishop. “It will be an evil day for +the church when these letters are understood.” + +And next morning he departed, carrying off the bell, with the invisible +fiend inside it; the cards, which were regarded as a book of magic; and +the luckless Euschemon, who shortly found himself in total darkness, +the inmate of a dismal dungeon. + +It was some time before Euschemon became sensible of the presence of +any partner in his captivity, by reason of the trotting of the rats. At +length, however, a deep sigh struck upon his ear. + +“Who art thou?” he exclaimed. + +“An unfortunate prisoner,” was the answer. + +“What is the occasion of thy imprisonment?” + +“Oh, a mere trifle. A ridiculous suspicion of sacrificing a child to +Beelzebub. One of the little disagreeables that must occasionally occur +in our profession.” + +“_Our_ profession!” exclaimed Euschemon. + +“Art thou not a sorcerer?” demanded the voice. + +“No,” replied Euschemon, “I am a saint.” + +The warlock received Euschemon’s statement with much incredulity, but +becoming eventually convinced of its truth— + +“I congratulate thee,” he said. “The devil has manifestly taken a fancy +to thee, and he never forgets his own. It is true that the bishop is a +great favourite with him also. But we will hope for the best. Thou hast +never practised riding a broomstick? No? ’Tis pity; thou mayest have to +mount one at a moment’s notice.” + +This consolation had scarcely been administered ere the bolts flew +back, the hinges grated, the door opened, and gaolers bearing torches +informed the sorcerer that the bishop desired his presence. + +He found the bishop in his study, which was nearly choked up by +Euschemon’s bell. The prelate received him with the greatest +affability, and expressed a sincere hope that the very particular +arrangements he had enjoined for the comfort of his distinguished +prisoner had been faithfully carried out by his subordinates. The +sorcerer, as much a man of the world as the bishop, thanked his +Lordship, and protested that he had been perfectly comfortable. + +“I have need of thy art,” said the bishop, coming to business. “I am +exceedingly bothered—flabbergasted were not too strong an expression—by +this confounded bell. All my best exorcists have been trying all they +know with it, to no purpose. They might as well have tried to exorcise +my mitre from my head by any other charm than the offer of a better +one. Magic is plainly the only remedy, and if thou canst disenchant it, +I will give thee thy freedom.” + +“It will be a tough business,” observed the sorcerer, surveying the +bell with the eye of a connoisseur. “It will require fumigations.” + +“Yes,” said the bishop, “and suffumigations.” + +“Aloes and mastic,” advised the sorcerer. + +“Aye,” assented the bishop, “and red sanders.” + +“We must call in Primeumaton,” said the warlock. + +“Clearly,” said the bishop, “and Amioram.” + +“Triangles,” said the sorcerer. + +“Pentacles,” said the bishop. + +“In the hour of Methon,” said the sorcerer. + +“I should have thought Tafrac,” suggested the bishop, “but I defer to +your better judgment.” + +“I can have the blood of a goat?” queried the wizard. + +“Yes,” said the bishop, “and of a monkey also.” + +“Does your Lordship think that one might venture to go so far as a +little unweaned child?” + +“If absolutely necessary,” said the bishop. + +“I am delighted to find such liberality of sentiment on your Lordship’s +part,” said the sorcerer. “Your Lordship is evidently of the +profession.” + +“These are things which stuck by me when I was an inquisitor,” +explained the bishop, with some little embarrassment. + +Ere long all arrangements were made. It would be impossible to +enumerate half the crosses, circles, pentagrams, naked swords, +cross-bones, chafing-dishes, and vials of incense which the sorcerer +found to be necessary. The child was fortunately deemed superfluous. +Euschemon was brought up from his dungeon, and, his teeth chattering +with fright and cold, set beside his bell to hold a candle to the +devil. The incantations commenced, and speedily gave evidence of their +efficacy. The bell trembled, swayed, split open, and a female figure of +transcendent loveliness attired in the costume of Eve stepped forth and +extended her lips towards the bishop. What could the bishop do but +salute them? With a roar of triumph the demon resumed his proper shape. +The bishop swooned. The apartment was filled with the fumes of sulphur. +The devil soared majestically out of the window, carrying the sorcerer +under one arm and Euschemon under the other. + +It is commonly believed that the devil good-naturedly dropped Euschemon +back again into Paradise, or wheresoever he might have come from. It is +even added that he fell between Eulogius and Eucherius, who had been +arguing all the time respecting the merits of their bells, and resumed +his share in the discussion as if nothing had happened. Some maintain, +indeed, that the devil, chancing to be in want of a chaplain, offered +the situation to Euschemon, by whom it was accepted. But how to +reconcile this assertion with the undoubted fact that the duties of the +post in question are at present ably discharged by the Bishop of Metz, +in truth we see not. One thing is certain: thou wilt not find +Euschemon’s name in the calendar, courteous reader. + +The mulct to be imposed upon the parish of Epinal was never exacted. +The bell, ruptured beyond repair by the demon’s violent exit, was taken +back and deposited in the museum of the town. The bells of Eulogius and +Eucherius were rung freely on occasion; but Epinal has not since +enjoyed any greater immunity from storms than the contiguous districts. +One day an aged traveller, who had spent many years in Heathenesse and +in whom some discerned a remarkable resemblance to the sorcerer, +noticed the bell, and asked permission to examine it. He soon +discovered the inscription, recognised the mysterious characters as +Greek, read them without the least difficulty— + +“Μη κινει Καμαριναν ακινητος γαρ αμεινων—” + +and favoured the townsmen with this free but substantially accurate +translation:— + +“CANp’T YOU LET WELL ALONE?” + + + + +BISHOP ADDO AND BISHOP GADDO + + +Midday, midsummer, middle of the dark ages. Fine healthy weather at the +city of Biserta in Barbary. Wind blowing strong from the sea, +roughening the dark blue waters, and fretting their indigo with foam, +as though the ocean’s coursers champed an invisible curb. On land tawny +sand whirling, green palm-fans swaying and whistling, men abroad in the +noonday blaze rejoicing in the unwonted freshness. + +“She is standing in,” they cried, “and, by the Prophet, she seemeth not +a ship of the true believers.” + +She was not, but she bore a flag of truce. Pitching and rearing, the +little bark bounded in, and soon was fast in harbour. Ere long +messengers of peace had landed, bearing presents and a letter from the +Bishop of Amalfi to the Emir of Biserta. The presents consisted of +fifty casks of Lacrima Christi, and of a captive, a tall, noble-looking +man, in soiled ecclesiastical costume, and disfigured by the loss of +his left eye, which seemed to have been violently plucked out. + +“Health to the Emir!” ran the letter. “I send thee my captive, Gaddo, +sometime Bishop of Amalfi, now an ejected intruder. For what saith the +Scripture? ‘When a strong man armed keepeth his palace, his goods are +in peace; but if one stronger than he cometh, he divideth the spoils.’ +Moreover it is written: ‘His bishopric let another take.’ Having +solemnly sworn that I would not kill or blind or maim my enemy, or +imprison him in a monastery, and the price of absolution from an oath +in this corrupt age exceeding all reason and Christian moderation, I +knew not how to take vengeance on him, until a sagacious counsellor +represented that a man cannot be said to be blinded so long as he is +deprived of only one eye. This I accordingly eradicated, and now, being +restrained from imprisoning him, and fearing to release him, I send him +to thee, to retain in captivity on my behalf; in return for which +service, receive fifty casks of the choicest Lacrima Christi, which +shall not fail to be sent thee yearly, so long as Gaddo continues in +thy custody. + +“+ Addo, by Divine permission Bishop of Amalfi.” + +“First,” said the Emir, “I would be certified whether this vintage is +indeed of such excellence as to prevail upon a faithful Mussulman to +jeopard Paradise, the same being forbidden by his law.” + +Experiments were instituted forthwith, and the problem was resolved in +the affirmative. + +“This being so,” declared the Emir, “honour and good faith towards +Bishop Addo require that Bishop Gaddo be kept captive with all possible +strictness. Yet bolts may be burst, fetters may be filed, walls may be +scaled, doors may be broken through. Better to enchain the captive’s +soul, binding him with invisible bonds, and searing out of him the very +wish to escape. Embrace the faith of the Prophet,” continued he, +addressing Gaddo; “become a Mollah.” + +“No,” said the deposed Bishop, “my inclination hath ever been towards a +military life. At present, mutilated and banished as I am, I rather +affect the crown of martyrdom.” + +“Thou shalt receive it by instalments,” said the Emir. “Thou shalt work +at the new pavilion in my garden.” + +Unceasing toil under the blazing sun, combined with the discipline of +the overseers, speedily wore down Gaddo’s strength, already impaired by +captivity and ill-treatment. Unable to drag himself away after his +fellow-workmen had ceased from their labours, he lay one evening, faint +and almost senseless, among the stones and rubbish of the unfinished +edifice. The Emir’s daughter passed by. Gaddo was handsome and +wretched, the Princess was beautiful and compassionate. Conveyed by her +fair hands, a cup of Bishop Addo’s wine saved Bishop Gaddo’s life. + +The next evening Gaddo again lingered behind, and the Princess spoke to +him out of her balcony. The third evening they encountered in an +arbour. The next meeting took place in her chamber, where her father +discovered them. + +“I will tear thee to pieces with pincers,” shouted he to Gaddo. + +“Your Highness will not be guilty of that black action,” responded +Gaddo resolutely. + +“No?” roared the Emir. “No? and what shall hinder me?” + +“The Lacrima Christi will hinder your Highness,” returned the +far-seeing Gaddo. “Deems your Highness that Bishop Addo will send +another cupful, once he is assured of my death?” + +“Thou sayest well,” rejoined the Emir. “I may not slay thee. But my +daughter is manifestly most inflammable, wherefore I will burn her.” + +“Were it not better to circumcise me?” suggested Gaddo. + +Many difficulties were raised, but Ayesha’s mother siding with Gaddo, +and promising a more amicable deportment for the future towards the +other lights of the harem, the matter was arranged, and Gaddo recited +the Mahometan profession of faith, and became the Emir’s son-in-law. +The execrable social system under which he had hitherto lived thus +vanished like a nightmare from an awakened sleeper. Wedded to one who +had saved his life by her compassion, and whose life he had in turn +saved by his change of creed, adoring her and adored by her, with the +hope of children, and active contact with multitudes of other interests +from which he had hitherto been estranged, he forgot the ecclesiastic +in the man; his intellect expanded, his ideas multiplied, he cleared +his mind of cant, and became an eminent philosopher. + +“Dear son,” said the Emir to him one day, “the Lacrima is spent, we +thirst, and the tribute of that Christian dog, the Bishop of Amalfi, +tarries to arrive. We will presently fit out certain vessels, and thou +shalt hold a visitation of thine ancient diocese.” + +“Methinks I see a ship even now,” said Gaddo; and he was right. She +anchored, the ambassadors landed and addressed the Emir: + +“Prince, we bring thee the stipulated tribute, yet not without a +trifling deduction.” + +“Deduction!” exclaimed the Emir, bending his brows ominously. + +“Highness,” they represented, “by reason of the deficiency of last +year’s vintage it hath not been possible to provide more than +forty-nine casks, which we crave to offer thee accordingly.” + +“Then,” pronounced the Emir sententiously, “the compact is broken, the +ship is confiscated, and war is declared.” + +“Not so, Highness,” said they, “for the fiftieth cask is worth all the +rest.” + +“Let it be opened,” commanded the Emir. + +It was accordingly hoisted out, deposited on the quay, and prized open; +and from its capacious interior, in a deplorable plight from hunger, +cramp, and sea-sickness, was extracted—Bishop Addo. + +“We have,” explained the deputation, “wearied of our shepherd, who, +shearing his flock somewhat too closely, hath brought the wolf to +light. We therefore desire thee to receive him at our hands in exchange +for our good Bishop Gaddo, promising one hundred casks of Lacrima +Christi as yearly tribute for the future.” + +“He stands before you,” answered the Emir; “take him, an ye can prevail +upon him to return with you.” + +The eyes of the envoys wandered hopelessly from one whiskered, +turbaned, caftaned, and yataghaned figure to another. They could not +discover that any of the Paynim present looked more or less like a +bishop than his fellows. + +“Brethren,” said Gaddo, taking compassion on their bewilderment, +“behold me! I thank you for your kindly thought of me, but how to +profit by it I see not. I have become a Saracen. I have pronounced the +Mahometan confession. I am circumcised. I am known by the name of +Mustapha.” + +“We acknowledge the weight of your Lordship’s objections,” they said, +“and do but venture to hint remotely that the times are hard, and that +the Holy Father is grievously in want of money.” + +“I have also taken a wife,” said Gaddo. + +“A wife!” exclaimed they with one consent. “If it had been a concubine! +Let us return instantly.” + +They gathered up their garments and spat upon the ground. + +“A bishop, then,” inquired Gaddo, “may be guilty of any enormity sooner +than wedlock, which money itself cannot expiate?” + +“Such,” they answered, “is the law and the prophets.” + +“Unless,” added one of benignant aspect, “he sew the abomination up in +a sack and cast her into the sea, then peradventure he may yet find +place for repentance.” + +“Miserable blasphemers!” exclaimed Gaddo. “But why,” continued he, +checking himself, “do I talk of what none will understand for five +hundred years, which to understand myself I was obliged to become a +Saracen? Addo,” he pursued, addressing his dejected competitor, “bad as +thou art, thou art good enough for the world as it is. I spare thy +life, restore thy dignity, and, to prove that the precepts of Christ +may be practised under the garb of Mahomet, will not even exact eye for +eye. Yet, as a wholesome admonition to thee that treachery and cruelty +escape not punishment even in this life, I will that thou do presently +surrender to me thy left ear. Restore my eye and I will return it +immediately. And ye,” addressing the envoys, “will for the future pay +one hundred casks tribute, unless ye would see my father-in-law’s +galleys on your coasts.” + +So Addo returned to his bishopric, leaving his ear in Gaddo’s keeping. +The Lacrima was punctually remitted, and as punctually absorbed by the +Emir and his son-in-law, with some little help from Ayesha. Gaddo’s eye +never came back, and Addo never regained his ear until, after the +ex-prelate’s death in years and honour, he ransomed it from his +representatives. It became a relic, and is shown in Addo’s cathedral to +this day in proof of his inveterate enmity to the misbelievers, and of +the sufferings he underwent at their hands. But Gaddo trumped him, the +entry after his name in the episcopal register, “Fled to the Saracens,” +having been altered into “Flayed by the Saracens” by a later bishop, +jealous of the honour of the diocese. + + + + +THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE BUTTERFLIES + + +The scene was in a garden on a fine summer morning, brilliant with +slants of sunshine, yet chequered with clouds significant of more than +a remote possibility of rain. All the animal world was astir. Birds +flitted or hopped from spray to spray; butterflies eddied around +flowers within or upon which bees were bustling; ants and earwigs ran +nimbly about on the mould; a member of the Universal Knowledge Society +perambulated the gravel path. + +The Universal Knowledge Society, be it understood, exists for the +dissemination and not for the acquisition of knowledge. Our +philosopher, therefore, did not occupy himself with considering whether +in that miniature world, with its countless varieties of animal and +vegetable being, something might not be found with which he was himself +unacquainted; but, like the honey-freighted bee, rather sought an +opportunity of disburdening himself of his stores of information than +of adding to them. But who was to profit by his communicativeness? The +noisy birds could not hear themselves speak, much less him; he shrewdly +distrusted his ability to command the attention of the busy bees; and +even a member of the Universal Knowledge Society may well be at a loss +for a suitable address to an earwig. At length he determined to accost +a Butterfly who, after sipping the juice of a flower, remained perched +indolently upon it, apparently undecided whither to direct his flight. + +“It seems likely to rain,” he said, “have you an umbrella?” + +The Butterfly looked curiously at him, but returned no answer. + +“I do not ask,” resumed the Philosopher, “as one who should imply that +the probability of even a complete saturation ought to appal a +ratiocinative being, endowed with wisdom and virtue. I rather designed +to direct your attention to the inquiry whether these attributes are, +in fact, rightly predicable of Butterflies.” + +Still no answer. + +“An impression obtains among our own species,” continued the +Philosopher, “that you Butterflies are deficient in foresight and +providence to a remarkable, I might almost say a culpable degree. +Pardon me if I add that this suspicion is to some extent confirmed by +my finding you destitute of protection against imbriferous inclemency +under atmospheric conditions whose contingent humidity should be +obvious to a being endowed with the most ordinary allotment of +meteorological prevision.” + +The Butterfly still left all the talk to the Philosopher. This was just +what the latter desired. + +“I greatly fear,” he continued, “that the omission to which I have +reluctantly adverted is to a certain extent typically characteristic of +the entire political and social economy of the lepidopterous order. It +has even been stated, though the circumstance appears scarcely +credible, that your system of life does not include the accumulation of +adequate resources against the inevitable exigencies of winter.” + +“What is winter?” asked the Butterfly, and flew off without awaiting an +answer. + +The Philosopher remained for a moment speechless, whether from +amazement at the Butterfly’s nescience or disgust at his ill-breeding. +Recovering himself immediately, he shouted after the fugitive: + +“Frivolous animal!” “It is this levity,” continued he, addressing a +group of butterflies who had gradually assembled in the air, attracted +by the conversation, “it is this fatal levity that constrains me to +despair wholly of the future of you insects. That you should +persistently remain at your present depressed level! That you should +not immediately enter upon a process of self-development! Look at the +Bee! How did she acquire her sting, think you? Why cannot you store up +honey, as she does?” + +“We cannot build cells,” suggested a Butterfly. + +“And how did the Bee learn, do you suppose, unless by imbuing her mind +with the elementary principles of mathematics? Know that time has been +when the Bee was as incapable of architectural construction as +yourselves, when you and she alike were indiscriminable particles of +primary protoplasm. (I suppose you know what that is.) One has in +process of time exalted itself to the cognition of mathematical truth, +while the other—Pshaw! Now, really, my friends, I must beg you to take +my observations in good part. I do not imply, of course, that any +endeavours of yours in the direction I have indicated could benefit any +of you personally, or any of your posterity for numberless generations. +But I really do consider that after a while its effects would be very +observable—that in twenty millions of years or so, provided no +geological cataclysm supervened, you Butterflies, with your innate +genius for mimicry, might be conformed in all respects to the +hymenopterous model, or perhaps carry out the principle of development +into novel and unheard-of directions. You should derive much +encouragement from the beginning you have made already.” + +“How a beginning?” inquired a Butterfly. + +“I am alluding to your larval constitution as Caterpillars,” returned +the Philosopher. “Your advance upon that humiliating condition is, I +admit, remarkable. I only wonder that it should not have proceeded much +further. With such capacity for development, it is incomprehensible +that you should so long have remained stationary. You ought to be all +toads by this time, at the very least.” + +“I beg your pardon,” civilly interposed the Butterfly. “To what +condition were you pleased to allude?” + +“To that of a Caterpillar,” rejoined the Philosopher. + +“Caterpillar!” echoed the Butterfly, and “Caterpillar!” tittered all +his volatile companions, till the air seemed broken into little silvery +waves of fairy laughter. “Caterpillar! he positively thinks we were +once Caterpillars! He! he! he!” + +“Do you actually mean to say you don’t know that?” responded the +Philosopher, scandalised at the irreverence of the insects, but +inwardly rejoicing at the prospect of a controversy in which he could +not be worsted. + +“We know nothing of the sort,” rejoined a Butterfly. + +“Can you possibly be plunged into such utter oblivion of your embryonic +antecedents?” + +“We do not understand you. All we know is that we have always been +Butterflies.” + +“Sir,” said a large, dull-looking Butterfly with one wing in tatters, +crawling from under a cabbage, and limping by reason of the deficiency +of several legs, “let me entreat you not to deduce our scientific +status from the inconsiderate assertions of the unthinking vulgar. I am +proud to assure you that our race comprises many philosophical +reasoners—mostly indeed such as have been disabled by accidental +injuries from joining in the amusements of the rest. The Origin of our +Species has always occupied a distinguished place in their +investigations. It has on several occasions engaged the attention of +our profoundest thinkers for not less than two consecutive minutes. +There is hardly a quadruped on the land, a bird in the air, or a fish +in the water to which it has not been ascribed by some one at some +time; but never, I am rejoiced to say, has any Butterfly ever dreamed +of attributing it to the obnoxious thing to which you have +unaccountably made reference.” + +“We should rather think not,” chorussed all the Butterflies. + +“Look here,” said the Philosopher, picking up and exhibiting a large +hairy Caterpillar of very unprepossessing appearance. “Look here, what +do you call this?” + +“An abnormal organisation,” said the scientific Butterfly. + +“A nasty beast,” said the others. + +“Heavens,” exclaimed the Philosopher, “the obtuseness and arrogance of +these creatures! No, my poor friend,” continued he, addressing the +Caterpillar, “disdain you as they may, and unpromising as your aspect +certainly is at present, the time is at hand when you will prank it +with the gayest of them all.” + +“I cry your mercy,” rejoined the Caterpillar somewhat crossly, “but I +was digesting a gooseberry leaf when you lifted me in that abrupt +manner, and I did not quite follow your remarks. Did I understand you +to mention my name in connection with those flutterers?” + +“I said the time would arrive when you would be even as they.” + +“I,” exclaimed the Caterpillar, “I retrograde to the level of a +Butterfly! Is not the ideal of creation impersonated in me already?” + +“I was not aware of that,” replied the Philosopher, “although,” he +added in a conciliatory tone, “far be it from me to deny you the +possession of many interesting qualities.” + +“You probably refer to my agility,” suggested the Caterpillar; “or +perhaps to my abstemiousness?” + +“I was not referring to either,” returned the Philosopher. + +“To my utility to mankind?” + +“Not by any manner of means.” + +“To what then?” + +“Well, if you must know, the best thing about you appears to me to be +the prospect you enjoy of ultimately becoming a Butterfly.” + +The Caterpillar erected himself upon his tail, and looked sternly at +the Philosopher. The Philosopher’s countenance fell. A thrush, darting +from an adjacent tree, seized the opportunity and the insect, and bore +the latter away in his bill. At the same moment the shower +prognosticated by the Sage burst forth, scattering the Butterflies in +all directions, drenching the Philosopher, whose foresight had not +assumed the shape of an umbrella, and spoiling his new hat. But he had +ample consolation in the superiority of his head. And the Caterpillar +was right too, for after all he never did become a Butterfly. + + + + +TRUTH AND HER COMPANIONS + + +_Jupiter._ Daughter Truth, is this a befitting manner of presenting +yourself before your divine father? You are positively dripping; the +floor of my celestial mansion would be a swamp but for your +praiseworthy economy in wearing apparel. Whence, in the name of the +Naiads, do you come? + +_Truth._ From the bottom of a well, father. + +_Jupiter._ I thought, my daughter, that you had descended upon earth in +the capacity of a benefactress of men rather than of frogs. + +_Truth._ Such, indeed, was my purpose, father, and I accordingly +repaired to the great city. + +_Jupiter._ The city of the Emperor Apollyon? + +_Truth._ The same; and I there obtained an audience of the monarch. + +_Jupiter._ What passed? + +_Truth._ I took the liberty of observing to him, father, that, having +obtained his throne by perjury, and cemented it by blood, and +maintained it by hypocrisy, he could entertain no hope of preserving it +unless the collective baseness of his subjects should be found to +exceed his own, which was not probable. + +_Jupiter._ What reply did he vouchsafe to these admonitions? + +_Truth_. He threatened to cut out my tongue. Perceiving that this would +interfere with my utility to mankind, I retired somewhat precipitately +from the Imperial presence, marvelling that I should ever have been +admitted, and resolved never to be found there for the future. I then +proceeded to the Nobles. + +_Jupiter_. What said you to them? + +_Truth_. I represented to them that they were, as a class, both +arrogant and luxurious, and would, indeed, have long ago become +insupportable, only that the fabric which their rapacity was for ever +striving to erect, their extravagance as perpetually undermined. I +further commented upon the insecurity of any institution dependent +solely upon prescription. Finding these suggestions unpalatable, I next +addressed myself to the priesthood. + +_Jupiter_. Those holy men, my daughter, must have rejoiced at the +opportunity of learning from you which portion of their traditions was +impure or fabricated, and which authentic and sublime. + + +_Truth_. The value they placed upon my instructions was such that they +wished to reserve them exclusively for themselves, and proposed that +they should be delivered within the precincts of a certain subterranean +apartment termed a dungeon, the key of which should be kept by one of +their order. Whereupon I betook myself to the philosophers. + +_Jupiter_. Your reception from these professed lovers of wisdom, my +daughter, was, no doubt, all that could be expected. + +_Truth_. It was all that could be expected, my father, from learned and +virtuous men, who had already framed their own systems of the universe +without consulting me. + +_Jupiter._ You probably next addressed yourself to the middling orders +of society? + +_Truth._ I can scarcely say that I did, father; for although I had much +to remark concerning their want of culture, and their servility, and +their greed, and the absurdity of many of their customs, and the +rottenness of most of their beliefs, and the thousand ways in which +they spoiled lives that might have been beautiful and harmonious, I +soon discovered that they were so absolutely swayed by the example of +the higher orders that it was useless to expostulate with them until I +should have persuaded the latter. + +_Jupiter._ You returned, then, to the latter with this design? + +_Truth._ On the contrary, I hastened to the poor and needy, whom I +fully acquainted with the various wrongs and oppressions which they +underwent at the hands of the powerful and the rich. And here, for the +first time, I found myself welcome. All listened with gratitude and +assent, and none made any endeavour to stone me or imprison me, as +those other unprincipled persons had done. + +_Jupiter._ That was indeed satisfactory, daughter. But when you +proceeded to point out to these plebeians how much of their misery +arose from their own idleness, and ignorance, and dissoluteness, and +abasement before those higher in station, and jealousy of the best +among themselves—what said they to that? + +_Truth._ They expressed themselves desirous of killing me, and indeed +would have done so if my capital enemies, the priests, had not been +beforehand with them. + +_Jupiter_. What did they? + +_Truth_. Burned me. + +_Jupiter_. Burned you? + +_Truth_. Burned me in the market-place. And, but for my peculiar +property of reviving from my ashes, I should not be here now. Upon +reconsolidating myself, I felt in such a heat that I was fain to repair +to the bottom of the nearest well. Finding myself more comfortable +there than I had ever yet been on earth, I have come to ask permission +to remain. + +_Jupiter_. It does not appear to me, daughter, that the mission you +have undertaken on behalf of mankind can be efficiently discharged at +the bottom of a well. + +_Truth_. No, father, nor in the middle of a fire either. + +_Jupiter_. I fear that you are too plain and downright in your dealings +with men, and deter where you ought to allure. + +_Truth_. I were not Truth, else, but Flattery. My nature is a +mirror’s—to exhibit reality with plainness and faithfulness. + +_Jupiter_. It is no less the nature of man to shatter every mirror that +does not exhibit to him what he wishes to behold. + +_Truth_. Let me, therefore, return to my well, and let him who wishes +to behold me, if such there be, repair to the brink and look down. + +_Jupiter_. No, daughter, you shall not return to your well. I have +already perceived that you are not of yourself sufficient for the +office I have assigned to you, and I am about to provide you with two +auxiliaries. You are Truth. Tell me how this one appears to you. + +_Truth_. Oh, father, the beautiful nymph! how mature, and yet how +comely! how good-humoured, yet how gentle and grave! Her robe is +closely zoned; her upraised finger approaches her lip; her foot falls +soft as snow. What is her name? + +_Jupiter_. Discretion. And this other? + +_Truth_. Oh, father! the cordial look, the blooming cheek, the bright +smile that is almost a laugh, the buoyant step, and the expansive +bosom! What name bears she? + +_Jupiter_. Good Nature. Return, my daughter, to earth; continue to +enlighten man’s ignorance and to reprove his folly; but let Discretion +suggest the occasion, and Good Nature inspire the wording of your +admonitions. I cannot engage that you may not, even with these +precautions, sometimes pay a visit to the stake; and if, when an +adventure of this sort appears imminent, Discretion should counsel a +temporary retirement to your well, I am sure Good Nature will urge +nothing to the contrary. + + + + +THE THREE PALACES + + +Three pairs of young people, each a youth with his bride, came together +along a road to the point where it divided to the right and left. On +one side was inscribed, “To the Palace of Truth,” and on the other, “To +the Palace of Illusion.” + +“This way, my beauty!” cried one of the youths, drawing his companion +in the direction of the Palace of Truth. “To the place where and where +alone thy perfections may be beheld as they are!” + +“And my imperfections!” whispered the young spouse, but her tone was +airy and confident. + +“Well,” said the second youth, “does the choice beseem you upon whom +the moon of your nuptials is beaming still. My beloved and I are riper +in Hymen’s lore by not less, I ween, than one fortnight. Prudence +impels us towards the Palace of Illusion.” + +“Thy will is mine, Alonso,” said his lady. + +“I,” said the third youth, “will seek neither; for I would not be wise +over-much, while of what I deem myself to know I would be well assured. +Happy am I, and bless my lot, yet have I beheld a red mouse in closer +contiguity to my beloved than I could bring myself to approve, albeit +it leapt not from her mouth as they do sometimes. Yet do I know it for +a red mouse and nothing worse; had I inhabited the Palace of Illusion +haply I had deemed it a rat. And, it being a red mouse as it +indubitably was, to what end fancy it a tawny-throated nightingale?” + +While, therefore, the other pairs proceeded on the paths they had +respectively chosen, this sage youth and his bride settled themselves +at the parting of the ways, built their cot, tended their garden, +tilled their field and raised fruits around them, including children. + +The preparation of a cheerful repast was one day well advanced, when, +lifting up their eyes, the pair beheld a haggard and emaciated couple +tottering along the road that led from the Palace of Illusion. + +“Heavens!” exclaimed they simultaneously, “no! yes! ’tis surely they!” +O friends! whence this forlorn semblance? whence this osseous +condition?” + +“Of them anon,” replied the attenuated youth, “but, before all things, +dinner!” + +The restorative was speedily administered, and the pilgrim commenced +his narration. + +“Guarded,” he said, “though the Palace of Illusion was by every species +of hippogriffic chimaera, my bride and I experienced no difficulty in +penetrating inside its precincts. The giants lifted us in their arms, +the dragons carried us on their backs, fairy bridges spanned the moats, +golden ladders inclined against the ramparts, we scaled the towers and +trod the courts securely, though constructed to all seeming of +dissolving cloud. Delicate fare loaded every dish; smiling companions +invited to every festivity; perfumes caressed our nostrils; music +enwrapped our ears. + +“But while all else charmed and allured, one fact intruded of which we +could not pretend unconsciousness, the intensity of our aversion for +each other. Never could I behold my Imogene without marvelling whatever +could have induced me to wed her, and she has acknowledged that she +laboured under the like perplexity. On the other hand, our good opinion +of ourselves had grown prodigiously. The other’s dislike appeared to +each an insane delusion, and we seriously questioned whether it could +be right to mate longer with a being so destitute of true aesthetic +feeling. We confided these scruples to each other, with the result of a +most tempestuous altercation. + +“As this was attaining its climax, one of the inmates of the Palace, a +pert forward boy, resembling a page out of livery, passed by, and +ironically, as I thought, congratulated us on the strength of our +mutual attachment. ‘Never,’ exclaimed he, ‘have I beheld the like here +before, and I am the oldest inhabitant.’ + +“As this felicitation was proffered at the precise moment when I was +engaged in staunching a rent in my cheek with a handful of my wife’s +hair, I was constrained to regard it as unseasonable, and expressed +myself to that effect. + +“‘What!’ exclaimed he, with equal surprise, ‘know ye not that this is +the Palace of Illusion, where everything is inverted and appears the +reverse of itself? Intense indeed must be the affection which can thus +drive you to fisticuffs! Had I beheld you billing and cooing, truly I +had counselled a judicial separation!’ + +“My wife and I looked at each other, and by a common impulse made at +our utmost speed for the gate of the Palace of Illusion. + +“Alas! it is one thing to enter and another to quit that domain of +enchantment. The golden clouds enwrapt us still, cates and dainties +tempted us as of old, the most bewitching strains detained us +spellbound. The giant and dragon warders, indeed, offered no violent +resistance, they simply turned into open portals which appeared to +yield us egress, but proved entrances to interminable labyrinthine +mazes. At last we escaped by resolutely, following the exact opposite +track to that which we observed to be taken by a poet, who was chasing +a phantom of Fame with a scroll of unintelligible and inharmonious +verse. + +“The moment that we emerged from the enchanted castle we knew ourselves +and each other for what we were, and fell weeping into each other’s +arms. So feeble were we that we could hardly move, nevertheless we have +made a shift to crawl hither, trusting to your hospitality to recruit +us from the sawdust and ditch-water which we vehemently suspect to have +been our diet during the whole of our residence.” + +“Eat and drink without stint and without ceremony,” rejoined their +host, “provided only that somewhat remain for the guests whom I see +approaching.” + +And in a few moments the fugitives from the Palace of Illusion were +reinforced by travellers from the Palace of Truth, whose backs were +most determinately turned to that august edifice. + +“My friends,” said the youth last arrived, when the first greetings +were over, “Truth’s Palace might be a not ineligible residence were not +the inmates necessitated not merely to know the truth but to speak it, +and did not all innocent embellishments of her majestic person become +entirely inefficient and absolutely nugatory. For example, the number +of my wife’s grey hairs speedily confounded me; and how should it be +otherwise, when the excellent dye she had brought with her had +completely lost its virtues? She on her part found herself continually +obliged to acquaint me with the manifold defects she was daily +discovering in my mind and person, which I was unable to deny, +frequently as I opened my mouth for that purpose. It is true that I had +the satisfaction of pointing out equal defects in herself; but this +could not be considered a great satisfaction, seeing that every such +discovery impugned my taste and judgment, and impaired the worth of my +most cherished possession. At length we resolved that Truth and we were +not made for each other, and, having verified the accuracy of this +conclusion by uttering it unrebuked in Truth’s own palace, quitted the +unblest spot with all possible expedition. No sooner were we outside +than our tenderness revived, and, the rites of reconciliation duly +performed, my wife found nothing more urgent than to try whether her +dye had recovered its natural properties, which, as ye may perceive, +proved to be the case. We are now bound for the Palace of Illusion.” + +“Nay,” said he who had escaped thence, “if my experience suffices not +to deter you, learn that they who have known Truth can never taste of +Illusion. Illusion is for life’s golden prime, its fanes and pavilions +may be reared but by the magic wand of Youth. The maturity that would +recreate them builds not for Illusion but for Deceit. Yet, lest +mortality should despair, there exists, as I have learned, yet another +palace, founded midway between that of Illusion and that of Truth, open +to those who are too soft for the one and too hard for the other. +Thither, indeed, the majority of mankind in this age resort, and there +appear to find themselves comfortable.” + +“And this palace is?” inquired Truth’s runaways simultaneously. + +“The Palace of Convention,” replied the youth. + + + + +NEW READINGS IN BIOGRAPHY + +I.—TIMON OF ATHENS + +No, it was not true that Timon was dead, and buried on the sea-shore. +So the first party discovered that hastened to his cave at the tidings, +thinking to seize his treasure, and had their heads broken for their +pains. But the second party fared better; for these were robbers, +captained by Alcibiades, who had taken to the road, as many a man of +spirit, has done before and since. They took Timon’s gold, and left him +bound in his chair. But on the way home the lesser thieves mysteriously +disappeared, and the gold became the sole property of Alcibiades. As it +is written, “The tools to him that can handle them.” + +Timon sat many hours in an uncomfortable position, and though, in a +general way, he abhorred the face of man, he was not displeased when a +gentleman of bland appearance entered the cavern, and made him a low +obeisance. And perceiving that Timon was bound, the bland man exclaimed +with horror, and severed his bonds, ere one could say Themistocles. And +in an instant the cavern was filled with Athenian senators. + +“Hail,” they cried, “to Timon the munificent! Hail to Timon the +compassionate! Hail to Timon the lover of his kind!” + +“I am none of these things,” said Timon. “I am Timon the misanthrope.” + +“This must be my Lord’s wit and playfulness,” said the bland man, “for +how else should the Senate and the people have passed a decree, indited +by myself, ordering an altar to be raised to Timon the Benefactor, and +appointing him chief archon? But come, hand over thy treasure, that thy +installation may take effect with due observance.” + +“I have been deprived of my treasure,” said Timon. + +But the ambassadors gave him no credit until they had searched every +chink and crevice in the cavern, and dug up all the earth round the +entrance. They then regarded each other with blank consternation. + +“Let us leave him as we found him,” said one. + +“Let us hang him up,” said another. + +“Let us sell him into captivity,” said a third. + +“Nay, friends,” said the bland gentleman, “such confession of error +would impeach our credit as statesmen. Moreover, should the people +learn that Timon has lost his money, they will naturally conclude that +we have taken it. Let us, therefore, keep this misfortune from their +knowledge, and trust for relief to the chapter of accidents, as usual +in State affairs.” + +They therefore robed Timon in a dress of honour, and conducted him to +Athens, where half the inhabitants were awaiting him. Two triumphal +arches spanned the principal street, and on one was inscribed “Timon +the Benefactor,” and on the other “Timon the Friend of Humanity.” And +all along, far as the eye could reach, stood those whom his bounty, as +was stated, had rescued from perdition, the poor he had relieved, the +sick he had medicined, the orphans he had fathered, the poets and +painters he had patronised, all lauding and thanking him, and +soliciting a continuance of his liberality. And the rabble cried +“Largesse, largesse!” and horsemen galloped forth, casting among them +nuts enveloped in silver-leaf and apples and comfits and trinkets and +brass farthings in incredible quantities. At which the people murmured +somewhat, and spoke amiss respecting Timon and the senators who +escorted him, and the bland gentleman strove to keep Timon between +himself and the populace. While Timon was pondering what the end of +these things should be, his mob encountered another cheering for +Alcibiades, and playing pitch and toss with drachmas and didrachmas and +tetradrachmas, yea, even with staters and darics. + +“Long live Alcibiades,” cried Timon’s followers, as they attacked +Alcibiades’s supporters to get their share. + +“Long live Timon,” cried Alcibiades’s party, as they defended +themselves. + +Timon and Alcibiades extricated themselves from the scuffle, and walked +away arm in arm. + +“My dear friend,” said Timon, “how inexpressibly beholden I am to you +for taking the burden of my wealth upon yourself! There is nothing I +would not do to evince my gratitude.” + +“Nothing?” queried Alcibiades. + +“Nothing,” persisted Timon. + +“Then,” said Alcibiades, “I will thank thee to relieve me of Timandra, +who is as tired of me as I am of her.” + +Timon winced horribly, but his word was his bond, and Timandra +accompanied him to his cavern, where at first she suffered much +inconvenience from the roughness of the accommodation. But Timon, +though a misanthrope, was not a brute; and when in process of time +Timandra’s health required special care, rugs and pillows were provided +for her, and also for Timon; for he saw that he could no longer pass +for a churl if he made his wife more comfortable than himself. And, +though he counted gold as dross, yet was he not dissatisfied that +Timandra had saved the gold he had given her formerly against a rainy +day. And when a child was born, Timon was at his wits’ end, and blessed +the old woman who came to nurse it. And she admonished him of his duty +to the Gods, which meant sacrifice, which meant merry-making. And the +child grew, and craved food and drink, and Timon possessed himself of +three acres and a cow. And not being able to doubt his child’s +affection for him, he came to believe in Timandra’s also. And when the +tax-gatherer oppressed his neighbours, he pleaded their cause, which +was also his own, in the courts of Athens, and gained it by the +interest of Alcibiades. And his neighbours made him demarch, and he +feasted them. And Apemantus came to deride him, and Timon bore with +him; but he was impertinent to Timandra, and Timon beat him. + +And in fine, Timon became very like any other Attic country gentleman, +save that he always maintained that a young man did well to be a +misanthrope until he got a loving and sensible wife, which, as he +observed, could but seldom happen. And the Gods looked down upon him +with complacency, and deferred the ruin of Athens until he should be no +more. + +II.—NAPOLEON’S SANGAREE + +Napoleon Buonaparte sat in his garden at St. Helena, in the shadow of a +fig-tree. Before him stood a little table, and upon the table stood a +glass of sangaree. The day was hot and drowsy; the sea boomed +monotonously on the rocks; the broad fig-leaves stirred not; great +flies buzzed heavily in the sultry air. Napoleon wore a loose linen +coat and a broad brimmed planter’s hat, and looked as red as the +sangaree, but nowise as comfortable. + +“To think,” he said aloud, “that I should end my life here, with +nothing to sweeten my destiny but this lump of sugar!” + +And he dropped it into the sangaree, and little ripples and beads broke +out on the surface of the liquid. + +“Thou should’st have followed me,” said a voice. + +“Me,” said another. + +And a steam from the sangaree rose high over Napoleon’s head, and from +it shaped themselves two beautiful female figures. One was fair and +very youthful, with a Phrygian cap on her head, and eager eyes beneath +it, and a slender spear in her hand. The other was somewhat older, and +graver, and darker, with serious eyes; and she carried a sword, and +wore a helmet, from underneath which her rich brown tresses escaped +over her vesture of light steel armour. + +“I am Liberty,” said the first. + +“I am Loyalty,” said the second. + +And Napoleon laid his hand in that of the first spirit, and instantly +saw himself as he had been in the days of his youthful victories, only +beset with a multitude of people who were offering him a crown, and +cheering loudly. But he thrust it aside, and they cheered ten times +more, and fell into each other’s arms, and wept and kissed each other. +And troops of young maidens robed in white danced before him, strewing +his way with flowers. And the debts of the debtor were paid, and the +prisoners were released from captivity. And the forty Academicians came +bringing Napoleon the prize of virtue. And the Abbé Sieyès stood up, +and offered Napoleon his choice of seventeen constitutions; and +Napoleon chose the worst. And he came to sit with five hundred other +men, mostly advocates. And when he said “Yea,” they said “Nay”; and +when he said “white,” they said “black.” And they suffered him to do +neither good nor evil, and when he went to war they commanded his army +for him, until he was smitten with a great slaughter. And the enemy +entered the country, and bread was scarce and wine dear; and the people +cursed Napoleon, and Liberty vanished from before him. But he roamed +on, ever looking for her, and at length he found her lying dead in the +public way, all gashed and bleeding, and trampled with the feet of men +and horses, and the wheel of a tumbril was over her neck. And Napoleon, +under compulsion of the mob, ascended the tumbril; and Abbé Sieyès and +Bishop Talleyrand rode at his side, administering spiritual +consolation. Thus they came within sight of the guillotine, whereon +stood M. de Robespierre in his sky-blue coat, and his jaw bound up in a +bloody cloth, bowing and smiling, nevertheless, and beckoning Napoleon +to ascend to him. Napoleon had never feared the face of man; but when +he saw M. de Robespierre great dread fell upon him, and he leapt out of +the tumbril, and fled amain, passing amid the people as it were mid +withered leaves, until he came where Loyalty stood awaiting him. + +She took his hand in hers, and, lo! another great host of people +proffering him a crown, save one little old man, who alone of them all +wore his hair in a queue with powder. + +“See,” said the little old man, “that thou takest not what doth not +belong to thee.” + +“To whom belongeth it then?” asked Napoleon, “for I am a plain soldier, +and have no skill in politics.” + +“To Louis the Disesteemed,” said the little old man, “for he is a +great-great-nephew of the Princess of Schwoffingen, whose ancestors +reigned here at the flood.” + +“Where dwells Louis the Disesteemed?” asked Napoleon. + +“In England,” said the little old man. + +Napoleon therefore repaired to England, and sought for Louis the +Disesteemed. But none could direct him, save that it behoved him to +seek in the obscurest places. And one day, as he was passing through a +mean street, he heard a voice of lamentation, and perceived a man whose +coat and shirt were rent and dirty; but not so his pantaloons, for he +had none. + +“Who art thou, thou pantaloonless one?” asked he, “and wherefore makest +thou this lamentation?” + +“I am Louis the Esteemed, King of France and Navarre,” replied the +distrousered personage, “and I lament for my pantaloons, which I have +been enforced to pawn, inasmuch as the broker would advance nothing +upon my coat or my shirt.” + +And Napoleon went upon his knees and divested himself of his own nether +garments, and arrayed the king therein, to the great diversion of those +who stood about. + +“Thou hast done wickedly,” said the king when he heard who Napoleon +was, “in that thou hast presumed to fight battles and win victories +without any commission from me. Go, nevertheless, and lose an arm, a +leg, and an eye in my service, then shall thy offence be forgiven +thee.” + +And Napoleon raised a great army, and gained a great battle for the +king, and lost an arm. And he gained another greater battle, and lost a +leg. And he gained the greatest battle of all; and the king sat on the +throne of his ancestors, and was called Louis the Victorious: but +Napoleon had lost an eye. And he came into the king’s presence, bearing +his eye, his arm, and his leg. + +“Thou art pardoned,” said the king, “and I will even confer a singular +honour upon thee. Thou shalt defray the expense of my coronation, which +shall be the most splendid ever seen in France.” + +So Napoleon lost all his substance, and no man pitied him. But after +certain days the keeper of the royal wardrobe rushed into the king’s +presence, crying “Treason! treason! O Majesty, whence these republican +and revolutionary pantaloons?” + +“They are those I deigned to receive from the rebel Buonaparte,” said +the king. “It were meet to return them. Where abides he now?” + +“Saving your Majesty’s presence,” they said, “he lieth upon a certain +dunghill.” + +“If this be so,” said the king, “life can be no gratification to him, +and it were humane to relieve him of it. Moreover, he is a dangerous +man. Go, therefore, and strangle him with his own pantaloons. Yet, let +a monument be raised to him, and engrave upon it, ‘Here lies Napoleon +Buonaparte, whom Louis the Victorious raised from the dunghill.’” + +They went accordingly; but behold! Napoleon already lay dead upon the +dunghill. And this was told unto the king. + +“He hath ever been envious of my glory,” said the king, “let him +therefore be buried underneath.” + +And it was so. And after no long space the king also died, and slept +with his fathers. But when there was again a revolution in France, the +people cast his bones out of the royal sepulchre, and laid Napoleon’s +there instead. And the dunghill complained grievously that it should be +disturbed for so slight a cause. + +And Napoleon withdrew his hand from the hand of Loyalty, saying, +“Pish!” And his eyes opened, and he heard the booming of the sea, and +the buzzing of the flies, and felt the heat of the sun, and saw that +the sugar he had dropped into his sangaree had not yet reached the +bottom of the tumbler. + +III.—CONCERNING DANIEL DEFOE + +Daniel Defoe, at the invitation of the judge, came forth from the +garret wherein he abode, and rode in a cart unto the Royal Exchange, +wherein he ascended the pillory, to the end that his ears might be +nailed thereunto. And much people stood before him, some few pelting, +some mocking, but the most part cheering or weeping, for they knew him +for a friend to the poor, and especially those men who were called +Dissenters. And a certain person in black stood by him, invisible to +the people, but well seen of Daniel, who knew him for one whose life he +had himself written. And the man in black reasoned with Daniel, and +said, “Thou seest this multitude of people, but which of them shall +deliver thee out of my hand? Nay, but let thy white be black, and thy +black white, and I myself will deliver thee, and make thee rich, and +heal thy hurts, save the holes in thy ears, that I may know thee for +mine own.” But Daniel gave no heed to him. So the Devil departed, +having great wrath, and entered into a certain smug-faced man standing +by. + +And now the crowd before Daniel was greatly diminished, and consisted +mainly of his enemies, for his friends had gone away to drown their +sorrow. And the smug-faced man into whom Satan had entered came forth +from among them, and said unto him, “O Daniel, inasmuch as I am a +Dissenter I am greatly beholden to thee; but inasmuch as I am an honest +tradesman I have somewhat against thee, for thou hast written +concerning short weights and measures. And a man’s shop is more to him +than his country or his religion. Wherefore I must needs be avenged of +thee. Yet shalt thou own that the tender mercies of the good man are +piteous, and that even in his wrath he thinketh upon compassion.” + +And he picked up a great stone from the ground, and wrapped it in a +piece of paper, saying, “Lest peradventure it hurt him overmuch.” And +the stone was very rough and sharp, and the paper was very thin. And he +hurled it with all his might at the middle of Daniel’s forehead, and +the blood spouted forth. And Daniel cried aloud, and called upon the +name of the Devil. And in an instant the pillory and the people were +gone, and he found himself in the Prime Minister’s cabinet, healed of +all his hurts, except the holes in his ears. And the Minister was so +like the Devil that you could not tell the difference. And he said, +“Against what wilt thou write first, Daniel?” + +“Dissenters,” said Daniel. + +And he wrote a pamphlet, and such as read it took firebrands, and +visited the Dissenters in their habitations. And many Dissenters were +put into prison, and others fined and spoiled of their goods. And he +wrote other pamphlets, and each was cleverer and wickeder than the +last. And whatsoever Daniel had of old declared to be white, lo! it was +black; and what he had said was black, behold! it was white. And he +throve and prospered exceedingly, and became a commissioner for +public-houses and hackney-coaches and the imposing of oaths and the +levying of custom, and all other such things as one does by deputy. And +he mended the holes in his ears. + +But the time came when Daniel must be judged, and he went before the +Lord. And all the court was full of Dissenters, and the Devil was there +also. And the Dissenters testified many and grievous things against +Daniel. + +“Daniel,” said the Lord, “what answerest thou?” + +“Nothing, Lord,” said Daniel. “Only I would that the Dissenter who +threw that stone at me should receive due and condign punishment, +adequate to his misdeed.” + +“That,” said the Devil, “is impossible.” + +“Thou sayest well, Satan,” said the Lord, “and therefore shall Daniel +go free. For if anything can excuse the apostasy of the noble, it is +the ingratitude of the base.” + +So the Devil went to his own place, looking very small. And Daniel +found himself in the same garret whence he had gone forth to the +pillory; and before him were bread and cheese, and a pen and ink and +paper. And he dipped the pen into the ink, and wrote _Robinson Crusoe_. + +IV.—CORNELIUS THE FERRYMAN + +Fourscore years ago there was a good ferryman named Cornelius, who +rowed people between New York and Brooklyn. He had neither wife nor +child, nor any one to think of except himself. It was, therefore, his +custom, when he had earned enough in a day for his own wants, to put +the rest aside, and bestow it upon sick or blind or maimed persons, +lest they should come to the workhouse. And the sick and the blind and +the maimed gathered around him, and waited by the water’s edge, until +Cornelius’s day’s work should be over. + +This went on until one of the little sooty imps who are always in +mischief came to hear of it, and told the principal devil in charge of +the United States, whose name is Politicianus. + +“Dear me,” said the Devil, “this will never do. I will see to it +immediately.” + +And he went off to Cornelius, and caught him in the act of giving two +dimes to a blind beggar. + +“How foolish you are!” he said; “what waste of money is this! If you +saved it up, you would by-and-by be able to build an hospital for all +the beggars in New York.” + +“It would be a long time before there was enough,” objected Cornelius. + +“Not at all,” said the Devil, “if you let me invest your money for +you.” And he showed Cornelius the plan of a most splendid hospital, and +across the front of it was inscribed in letters of gold, _Cornelius +Diabolodorus_. And Cornelius was persuaded, and that evening he gave +nothing to the poor. And the poor had come to think that Cornelius’s +money was their own, and abused him as though he had robbed them. And +Cornelius drove them away: and his heart was hardened against them from +that day forth. + +But the Devil kept his promise to Cornelius, and put him up to all the +good things in Wall Street, and he soon had enough to build ten +hospitals. But the more he had to build with, the less he wanted to +build. And by-and-by the Devil called upon him, and found him +contemplating two pictures. One of them showed the finest hospital you +can imagine, full of neat, clean rooms, in one of which sat Cornelius +himself, wearing a dress with a number and badge, and sipping +arrowroot. The other showed fine houses, and opera-boxes, and +fast-trotting horses, and dry champagne, and ladies who dance in +ballets, and paintings by the great masters. Cornelius thrust the +pictures away, and the Devil did not ask to see them, nor was it +needful that he should, for he had painted them himself. + +“O dear Mr. Devil,” said Cornelius, “I am so glad that you have called, +for I wanted to speak to you. It strikes me that there is a great +defect in the plan which you have been so good as to draw for me.” + +“What is that?” asked the Devil. + +“There is no place for black men,” said Cornelius. “And you know white +men will never let them come into the same hospital.” + +And the Devil, to do him justice, talked very reasonably to Cornelius, +and represented to him that there were very few black men in New York, +and that these had very vigorous constitutions. But Cornelius was +inflamed with enthusiasm, and frantic with philanthropy, and he vowed +that he would not give a cent to an hospital that had not a wing for +black men as big as all the rest of the building. And the Devil had to +take his plan back, and come again in a year and a day. And when he did +come back, Cornelius asked him if he did not think it would be a most +excellent thing if all the Irishmen in New York could be shut up in an +hospital or elsewhere; and he could not deny it. So he had to take his +plan back again. And next year it was the turn of the Chinese, and then +of the Red Indians, and then of the dogs and cats. And then Cornelius +thought that he ought to provide room for all the people who had been +ruined by his speculations, and the Devil thought so too, but doubted +whether Cornelius would be able to afford it. And at last Cornelius +said: + +“Methinks I have been very foolish in wishing to build an hospital at +all while I am living. Surely it would be better that I should enjoy my +money myself during my life, and leave the residue for the lawyers to +divide after my death.” + +“You are quite right,” said the Devil; “that is exactly what I should +do if I were you.” + +So Cornelius put the plans behind a shelf in his counting-house, and +the mice ate them. And he went on prospering and growing rich, until +the Devil became envious of him, and insisted on changing places with +him. So Cornelius went below, and the Devil came and dwelt in New York, +where he still is. + + + + +THE POISON MAID + + + O not for him +Blooms my dark nightshade, nor doth hemlock brew +Murder for cups within her cavernous root. + +I + +Grievous is the lot of the child, more especially of the female child, +who is doomed from the tenderest infancy to lack the blessing of a +mother’s care. + +Was it from this absence of maternal vigilance that the education of +the lovely Mithridata was conducted from her babyhood in such an +extraordinary manner? That enormous serpents infested her cradle, +licking her face and twining around her limbs? That her tiny fingers +patted scorpions? and tied knots in the tails of vipers? That her +father, the magician Locuste, ever sedulous and affectionate, fed her +with spoonsful of the honeyed froth that gathers under the tongues of +asps? That as she grew older and craved a more nutritious diet, she +partook, at first in infinitesimal doses, but in ever increasing +quantities, of arsenic, strychnine, opium, and prussic acid? That at +last having attained the flower of youth, she drank habitually from +vessels of gold, for her favourite beverages were so corrosive that no +other substance could resist their solvent properties? + +Gradually accustomed to this strange regimen, she had thriven on it +marvellously, and was without a peer for beauty, sense, and goodness. +Her father had watched over her education with care, and had instructed +her in all lawful knowledge, save only the knowledge of poisons. As no +other human being had entered the house, Mithridata was unaware that +her bringing up had differed in so material a respect from that of +other young people. + +“Father,” said she one day, bringing him a book she had been perusing, +“what strange follies learned men will pen with gravity! or is it +rather that none can set bounds to the licence of romancers? These dear +serpents, my friends and playfellows, this henbane and antimony, the +nourishment of my health and vigour—that any one should write of these +as pernicious, deadly, and fatal to existence! Is it error or +malignity? or but the wanton freak of an idle imagination?” + +“My child,” answered the magician, “it is fit that thou shouldst now +learn what hath hitherto been concealed from thee, and with this object +I left this treatise in thy way. It speaks truth. Thou hast been +nurtured from thy infancy on substances endowed with lethal properties, +commonly called poisons. Thy entire frame is impregnated thereby, and, +although thou thyself art in the fullest enjoyment of health, thy kiss +would be fatal to any one not, like thy father, fortified by a course +of antidotes. Now hear the reason. I bear a deadly grudge to the king +of this land. He indeed hath not injured me; but his father slew my +father, wherefore it is meet that I should slay that ancestor’s son’s +son. I have therefore nurtured thee from thy infancy on the deadliest +poisons, until thou art a walking vial of pestilence. The young prince +shall unseal thee, to his destruction and thy unspeakable advantage. Go +to the great city; thou art beautiful as the day; he is young, +handsome, and amorous; he will infallibly fall in love with thee. Do +thou submit to his caresses, he will perish miserably; thou (such is +the charm) ransomed by the kiss of love, wilt become wholesome and +innocuous as thy fellows, preserving only thy knowledge of poisons, +always useful, in the present state of society invaluable. Thou wilt +therefore next repair to the city of Constantinople, bearing +recommendatory letters from me to the Empress Theophano, now happily +reigning.” + +“Father,” said Mithridata, “either I shall love this young prince, or I +shall not. If I do not love him, I am nowise minded to suffer him to +caress me. If I do love him, I am as little minded to be the cause of +his death.” + +“Not even in consideration of the benefit which will accrue to thee by +this event?” + +“Not even for that consideration.” + +“O these daughters!” exclaimed the old man. “We bring them up tenderly, +we exhaust all our science for the improvement of their minds and +bodies, we set our choicest hopes upon them, and entrust them with the +fulfilment of our most cherished aspirations; and when all is done, +they will not so much as commit a murder to please us! Miserable +ingrate, receive the just requital of thy selfish disobedience!” + +“O father, do not turn me into a tadpole!” + +“I will not, but I will turn thee out of doors.” + +And he did. + +II + +Though disinherited, Mithridata was not destitute. She had secured a +particle of the philosopher’s stone—a slender outfit for a magician’s +daughter! yet ensuring her a certain portion of wealth. What should she +do now? The great object of her life must henceforth be to avoid +committing murder, especially murdering any handsome young man. It +would have seemed most natural to retire into a convent, but, not to +speak of her lack of vocation, she felt that her father would justly +consider that she had disgraced her family, and she still looked +forward to reconciliation with him. She might have taken a hermitage, +but her instinct told her that a fair solitary can only keep young men +off by strong measures; and she disliked the character of a hermitess +with a bull-dog. She therefore went straight to the great city, took a +house, and surrounded herself with attendants. In the choice of these +she was particularly careful to select those only whose personal +appearance was such as to discourage any approach to familiarity or +endearment. Never before or since was youthful beauty surrounded by +such moustached duennas, squinting chambermaids, hunchbacked pages, and +stumpy maids-of-all-work. This was a real sorrow to her, for she loved +beauty; it was a still sadder trial that she could no longer feel it +right to indulge herself in the least morsel of arsenic; she sighed for +strychnia, and pined for prussic acid. The change of diet was of course +at first most trying to her health, and in fact occasioned a serious +illness, but youth and a sound constitution pulled her through. + +Reader, hast thou known what it is to live with a heart inflamed by +love for thy fellow-creatures which thou couldst manifest neither by +word nor deed? To pine with fruitless longings for good? and to consume +with vain yearnings for usefulness? To be misjudged and haply reviled +by thy fellows for failing to do what it is not given thee to do? If +so, thou wilt pity poor Mithridata, whose nature was most ardent, +expansive, and affectionate, but who, from the necessity under which +she laboured of avoiding as much as possible all contact with human +beings, saw herself condemned to a life of solitude, and knew that she +was regarded as a monster of pride and exclusiveness. She dared bestow +no kind look, no encouraging gesture on any one, lest this small +beginning should lead to the manifestation of her fatal power. Her own +servants, whose minds were generally as deformed as their bodies, hated +her, and bitterly resented what they deemed her haughty disdain of +them. Her munificence none could deny, but bounty without tenderness +receives no more gratitude than it deserves. The young of her own sex +secretly rejoiced at her unamiability, regarding it as a providential +set-off against her beauty, while they detested and denounced her as +a—well, they would say viper in the manger, who spoiled everybody +else’s lovers and would have none of her own. For with all Mithridata’s +severity, there was no getting rid of the young men, the giddy moths +that flew around her brilliant but baleful candle. Not all the cold +water thrown upon them, literally as well as figuratively, could keep +them from her door. They filled her house with bouquets and billets +doux; they stood before the windows, they sat on the steps, they ran +beside her litter when she was carried abroad, they assembled at night +to serenade her, fighting desperately among themselves. They sought to +gain admission as tradesmen, as errand boys, even as scullions male and +female. To such lengths did they proceed, that a particularly audacious +youth actually attempted to carry her off one evening, and would have +succeeded but for the interposition of another, who flew at him with a +drawn sword, and after a fierce contest smote him bleeding to the +ground. Mithridata had fainted, of course. What was her horror on +reviving to find herself in the arms of a young man of exquisite beauty +and princely mien, sucking death from her lips with extraordinary +relish! She shrieked, she struggled; if she made any unfeminine use of +her hands, let the urgency of the case plead her apology. The youth +reproached her bitterly for her ingratitude. She listened in silent +misery, unable to defend herself. The shaft of love had penetrated her +bosom also, and it cost her almost as much for her own sake to dismiss +the young man as it did to see him move away, slowly and languidly +staggering to his doom. + +For the next few days messages came continually, urging her to haste to +a youth dying for her sake, whom her presence would revive effectually. +She steadily refused, but how much her refusal cost her! She wept, she +wrung her hands, she called for death and execrated her nurture. With +that strange appetite for self-torment which almost seems to diminish +the pangs of the wretched, she collected books on poisons, studied all +the symptoms described, and fancied her hapless lover undergoing them +all in turn. At length a message came which admitted of no evasion. The +King commanded her presence. Admonished by past experience, she +provided herself with a veil and mask, and repaired to the palace. + +The old King seemed labouring under deep affliction; under happier +circumstances he must have been joyous and debonair. He addressed her +with austerity, yet with kindness. + +“Maiden,” he began, “thy unaccountable cruelty to my son——” + +“Thy son!” she exclaimed, “The Prince! O father, thou art avenged for +my disobedience!” + +“Surpasses what history hath hitherto recorded of the most obdurate +monsters. Thou art indebted to him for thy honour, to preserve which he +has risked his life. Thou bringest him to the verge of the grave by thy +cruelty, and when a smile, a look from thee would restore him, thou +wilt not bestow it.” + +“Alas! great King,” she replied, “I know too well what your Majesty’s +opinion of me must be. I must bear it as I may. Believe me, the sight +of me could effect nothing towards the restoration of thy son.” + +“Of that I shall judge,” said the King, “when thou hast divested +thyself of that veil and mask.” + +Mithridata reluctantly complied. + +“By Heaven!” exclaimed the King, “such a sight might recall the +departing soul from Paradise. Haste to my son, and instantly; it is not +yet too late.” + +“O King,” urged Mithridata, “how could this countenance do thy son any +good? Is he not suffering from the effects of seventy-two poisons?” + +“I am not aware of that,” said the King. + +“Are not his entrails burned up with fire? Is not his flesh in a state +of deliquescence? Has not his skin already peeled off his body? Is he +not tormented by incessant gripes and vomitings?” + +“Not to my knowledge,” said the King. “The symptoms, as I understand, +are not unlike those which I remember to have experienced myself, in a +milder form, certainly. He lies in bed, eats and drinks nothing, and +incessantly calls upon thee.” + +“This is most incomprehensible,” said Mithridata. “There was no drug in +my father’s laboratory that could have produced such an effect.” + +“The sum of the matter is,” continued the King, “that either thou wilt +repair forthwith to my son’s chamber, and subsequently to church; or +else unto the scaffold.” + +“If it must be so, I choose the scaffold,” said Mithridata resolutely. +“Believe me, O King, my appearance in thy son’s chamber would but +destroy whatever feeble hope of recovery may remain. I love him beyond +everything on earth, and not for worlds would I have his blood on my +soul.” + +“Chamberlain,” cried the monarch, “bring me a strait waistcoat.” + +Driven into a corner, Mithridata flung herself at the King’s feet, +taking care, however, not to touch him, and confided to him all her +wretched history. + +The venerable monarch burst into a peal of laughter. “À bon chat bon +rat!” he exclaimed, as soon as he had recovered himself. “So thou art +the daughter of my old friend the magician Locusto! I fathomed his +craft, and, as he fed his child upon poisons, I fed mine upon +antidotes. Never did any child in the world take an equal quantity of +physic: but there is now no poison on earth can harm him. Ye are +clearly made for each other; haste to his bedside, and, as the spell +requires, rid thyself of thy venefic properties in his arms as +expeditiously as possible. Thy father shall be bidden to the wedding, +and an honoured guest he shall be, for having taught us that the kiss +of Love is the remedy for every poison.” + + + + +NOTES + + +The first edition of these Tales was published in 1888. It contained +sixteen stories, to which twelve are added in the present impression. +Many originally appeared in periodicals, as will be found indicated in +the annotations which the recondite character of some allusions has +rendered it desirable to append, and which further provide an +opportunity of tendering thanks to many friends for their assent to +republication. + +P. 5. _The divine tongue of Greece was forgotten,_—Hereby we may detect +the error of those among the learned who have identified Caucasia with +Armenia. “Hellenic letters,” says Mr. Capes, writing of Armenia in the +fourth century, “were welcomed with enthusiasm, and young men of the +slenderest means crowded to the schools of Athens” (“University Life in +Ancient Athens,” p. 73). + +P. 28. _Who have discovered the Elixir of Immortality._—The belief in +this elixir was general in China about the seventh century, A.D., and +many emperors used great exertions to discover it. This fact forms the +groundwork of Leopold Schefer’s novel, “Der Unsterblichkeitstrank,” +which has furnished the conception, though not the incidents, of “The +Potion of Lao-Tsze.” + +P. 38. _So she took the sceptre, and reigned gloriously._—In A.D. 683, +the Dowager-Empress Woo How, upon her husband’s death, caused her son +to be set aside, and ruled prosperously until her decease in 703. In +our day we have seen China virtually governed by female sovereigns. + +P. 50. _Ananda the Miracle Worker._—This story was originally published +in Fraser’s Magazine for August, 1872. A French translation appeared in +the _Revue Britannique_ for November, 1872. Buddha’s prohibition to +work miracles rests, so far as the present writer’s knowledge extends, +on the authority of Professor Max Müller (“Lectures on the Science of +Religion”). It should be needless to observe that Ananda, “the St. John +of the Buddhist group,” is not recorded to have contravened this or any +other of his master’s precepts. + +P. 66. _The City of Philosophers._—This story has been translated into +French by M. Sarrazin. + +P. 68. _There to establish a philosophic commonwealth._—The petition +was actually preferred, and would have been granted but for the +disordered condition of the empire. Gallienus, though not the man to +save a sinking state, possessed the accomplishments which would have +adorned an age of peace and culture. + +P. 82. _The sword doubled up; it had neither point nor edge._—Gallienus +was fond of such practical jocularity. “Quum quidam gemmas vitreas pro +veris vendiderat ejus uxori, atque illa, re prodita, vindicari vellet, +surripi quasi ad leonem venditorem jussit. Deinde e cavea caponem +emittit, mirantibusque cunctis rem tam ridiculam, per curionem dici +jussit, ‘Imposturam fecit et passus est’: deinde negotiatorem dimisit” +(Trebellius in Gallieno, cap. xii.). + +P. 100. _Hypati, anthypati, &c._—_Hypati_ and _anthypati_ denote +consuls and proconsuls, dignities of course merely titular at the court +of Constantinople. _Silentiarii_ were properly officers charged with +maintaining order at court; but this duty, which was perhaps performed +by deputy, seems to have been generally entrusted to persons of +distinction. The _protospatharius_ was the chief of the Imperial +body-guard, of which the _spatharocandidati_ constituted the _élite_. + +P. 114. _The Wisdom of the Indians._—Appeared in 1890 in _The Universal +Review_. The idea was suggested by an incident in Dr. Bastian’s travels +in Burma. + +P. 124. _The Dumb Oracle._—Appeared in the _University Magazine_ for +June, 1878. The legend on which it is founded, a mediaeval myth here +transferred to classical times, is also the groundwork of Browning’s +ballad, “The Boy and the Angel.” + +P. 136. _Duke Virgil._—The subject of this story is derived from +Leopold Schefer’s novel, “Die Sibylle von Mantua,” though there is but +little resemblance in the incidents. Schefer cites Friedrich von Quandt +as his authority for the Mantuans having actually elected Virgil as +their duke in the thirteenth century: but the notion seems merely +founded upon the interpretation of the insignia accompanying a mediæval +statue of the poet. + +P. 138. _To put the devil into a hole_.—“Then sayd Virgilius, ‘Shulde +ye well passe in to the hole that ye cam out of?’ ‘Yea, I shall well,’ +sayd the devyl. ‘I holde the best plegge that I have, that ye shall not +do it.’ ‘Well,’ sayd the devyll, ‘thereto I consent.’ And then the +devyll wrange himselfe into the lytyll hole ageyne, and he was therein. +Virgilius kyvered the hole ageyne with the borde close, and so was the +devyll begyled, and myght nat there come out agen, but abideth shutte +still therein” (“Romance of Virgilius”). + +_Ibid. Canst thou balance our city upon an egg?_—“Than he thought in +his mynde to founde in the middle of the sea a fayre towne, with great +landes belongynge to it, and so he did by his cunnynge, and called it +Napells. And the foundacyon of it was of eggs” (“Romance of +Virgilius”). + +P. 148. _The Claw_.—Originally published in _The English Illustrated +Magazine_. + +P. 151. _Peter of Abano_.—Pietro di Abano, who took his name from his +birthplace, a village near Padua, was a physician contemporary with +Dante, whose skill in medicine and astrology caused him to be accused +of magic. It is nevertheless untrue that he was burned by the +Inquisition or stoned by the populace; but after his death he was +burned in effigy, his remains having been secretly removed by his +friends. Honours were afterwards paid to his memory; and there seems no +doubt that he was a man of great attainments, including a knowledge of +Greek, and of unblemished character, if he had not sometimes sold his +skill at too high a rate. For his authentic history, see the article in +the _Biographie Universelle_ by Ginguené; for the legendary, Tieck’s +romantic tale, “Pietro von Abano” (1825), which has been translated +into English. + +P. 156. _Alexander the Rat-catcher_.—This story, to whose ground-work +History and Rabelais have equally contributed, was first published in +vol. xii. of _The Yellow Book_, January, 1897. + +P. 157. _Cardinal Barbadico_.—This cardinal was actually entrusted by +Alexander VIII. with the commission of suppressing the rats; an +occasion upon which the “sardonic grin” imputed to the Pope by a +detractor may be conjectured to have been particularly apparent. +Barbadico was a remarkable instance of a man “kicked upstairs.” As +Archbishop of Corfu he had had a violent dispute with the Venetian +governor, and Innocent XI., equally unwilling to disown the +representative of Papal authority or offend the Republic, recalled him +to Rome and made him a Cardinal to keep him there. + +P. 177. _The Rewards of Industry._—Appeared originally in _Atalanta for +August_, 1888. + +P. 194. _The Talismans._—First published in _Atalanta_ for September, +1890. + +P. 202. _The Elixir of Life._—Published July, 1881, in the third number +of a magazine entitled _Our Times_, which blasted the elixir’s +character by expiring immediately afterwards. + +P. 226. _The Purple Head._—Appeared originally in _Fraser’s Magazine_ +for August, 1877. + +P. 228. _The purple of the emperor and the matrons appeared ashy grey +in comparison._ “Cineris specie decolorari videbantur caeterae divini +comparatione fulgoris” (Vopiscus, in Vita Aureliani, cap. xxix.). + +P. 230. _All these sovereigns._—“Diligentissime et Aurelianus et Probus +et proxime Diocletianus missis diligentissimis confectoribus +requisiverunt tale genus purpurae, nec tamen invenire potuerunt” +(Vopiscus, _loc. cit._). + +P. 241. _Pan’s Wand._—Published originally in a Christmas number of The +_Illustrated London News_. + +P. 249. _A Page from the Book of Folly._—Appeared in _Temple Bar_ for +1871. + +P. 282. _The Philosopher and the Butterflies._—One of the contributions +by various writers to “The New Amphion,” a little book prepared for +sale at the Fancy Fair got up by the students of the University of +Edinburgh in 1886. + +P. 294. _The Three Palaces._—Published originally on a similar occasion +to the last story, in “A Volunteer Haversack,” an extensive repertory +of miscellaneous contributions in prose and verse, printed and sold at +Edinburgh for a benevolent purpose in 1902. + +P. 300. _New Readings in Biography._—Originally published in _The Scots +Observer_ in 1889. + +P. 315. _The Poison Maid._—The author wrote this tale in entire +forgetfulness of Hawthorne’s “Rapaccinip’s Daughter,” which +nevertheless he had certainly read. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10095 *** |