In the very olden time there lived a
semi-barbaric king, whose ideas, though somewhat polished and sharpened
by the progressiveness of distant Latin neighbors, were still large,
florid, and untrammeled, as became the half of him which was barbaric.
He was a man of exuberant fancy, and, withal, of an authority so
irresistible that, at his will, he turned his varied fancies into facts.
He was greatly given to self-communing, and, when he and himself agreed
upon anything, the thing was done. When every member of his domestic
and political systems moved smoothly in its appointed course, his nature
was bland and genial; but, whenever there was a little hitch, and some
of his orbs got out of their orbits, he was blander and more genial
still, for nothing pleased him so much as to make the crooked straight
and crush down uneven places.
Among the borrowed
notions by which his barbarism had become semified was that of the
public arena, in which, by exhibitions of manly and beastly valor, the
minds of his subjects were refined and cultured.
But
even here the exuberant and barbaric fancy asserted itself. The arena
of the king was built, not to give the people an opportunity of hearing
the rhapsodies of dying gladiators, nor to enable them to view the
inevitable conclusion of a conflict between religious opinions and
hungry jaws, but for purposes far better adapted to widen and develop
the mental energies of the people. This vast amphitheater, with its
encircling galleries, its mysterious vaults, and its unseen passages,
was an agent of poetic justice, in which crime was punished, or virtue
rewarded, by the decrees of an impartial and incorruptible chance.
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When a subject was accused of a crime of sufficient importance
to interest the king, public notice was given that on an appointed day
the fate of the accused person would be decided in the king's arena, a
structure which well deserved its name, for, although its form and plan
were borrowed from afar, its purpose emanated solely from the brain of
this man, who, every barleycorn a king, knew no tradition to which he
owed more allegiance than pleased his fancy, and who ingrafted on every
adopted form of human thought and action the rich growth of his barbaric
idealism.
When all the people had assembled in the
galleries, and the king, surrounded by his court, sat high up on his
throne of royal state on one side of the arena, he gave a signal, a door
beneath him opened, and the accused subject stepped out into the
amphitheater. Directly opposite him, on the other side of the enclosed
space, were two doors, exactly alike and side by side. It was the duty
and the privilege of the person on trial to walk directly to these doors
and open one of them. He could open either door he pleased; he was
subject to no guidance or influence but that of the aforementioned
impartial and incorruptible chance. If he opened the one, there came out
of it a hungry tiger, the fiercest and most cruel that could be
procured, which immediately sprang upon him and tore him to pieces as a
punishment for his guilt. The moment that the case of the criminal was
thus decided, doleful iron bells were clanged, great wails went up from
the hired mourners posted on the outer rim of the arena, and the vast
audience, with bowed heads and downcast hearts, wended slowly their
homeward way, mourning greatly that one so young and fair, or so old and
respected, should have merited so dire a fate.
But,
if the accused person opened the other door, there came forth from it a
lady, the most suitable to his years and station that his majesty could
select among his fair subjects, and to this lady he was immediately
married, as a reward of his innocence. It mattered not that he might
already possess a wife and family, or that his affections might be
engaged upon an object of his own selection; the king allowed no such
subordinate arrangements to interfere with his great scheme of
retribution and reward. The exercises, as in the other instance, took
place immediately, and in the arena. Another door opened beneath the
king, and a priest, followed by a band of choristers, and dancing
maidens blowing joyous airs on golden horns and treading an epithalamic
measure, advanced to where the pair stood, side by side, and the wedding
was promptly and cheerily solemnized. Then the gay brass bells rang
forth their merry peals, the people shouted glad hurrahs, and the
innocent man, preceded by children strewing flowers on his path, led his
bride to his home.
This was the king's
semi-barbaric method of administering justice. Its perfect fairness is
obvious. The criminal could not know out of which door would come the
lady; he opened either he pleased, without having the slightest idea
whether, in the next instant, he was to be devoured or married. On some
occasions the tiger came out of one door, and on some out of the other.
The decisions of this tribunal were not only fair, they were positively
determinate: the accused person was instantly punished if he found
himself guilty, and, if innocent, he was rewarded on the spot, whether
he liked it or not. There was no escape from the judgments of the king's
arena.
The institution was a very popular one. When
the people gathered together on one of the great trial days, they never
knew whether they were to witness a bloody slaughter or a hilarious
wedding. This element of uncertainty lent an interest to the occasion
which it could not otherwise have attained. Thus, the masses were
entertained and pleased, and the thinking part of the community could
bring no charge of unfairness against this plan, for did not the accused
person have the whole matter in his own hands?
This
semi-barbaric king had a daughter as blooming as his most florid
fancies, and with a soul as fervent and imperious as his own. As is
usual in such cases, she was the apple of his eye, and was loved by him
above all humanity. Among his courtiers was a young man of that fineness
of blood and lowness of station common to the conventional heroes of
romance who love royal maidens. This royal maiden was well satisfied
with her lover, for he was handsome and brave to a degree unsurpassed in
all this kingdom, and she loved him with an ardor that had enough of
barbarism in it to make it exceedingly warm and strong. This love affair
moved on happily for many months, until one day the king happened to
discover its existence. He did not hesitate nor waver in regard to his
duty in the premises. The youth was immediately cast into prison, and a
day was appointed for his trial in the king's arena. This, of course,
was an especially important occasion, and his majesty, as well as all
the people, was greatly interested in the workings and development of
this trial. Never before had such a case occurred; never before had a
subject dared to love the daughter of the king. In after years such
things became commonplace enough, but then they were in no slight degree
novel and startling.
The tiger-cages of the kingdom
were searched for the most savage and relentless beasts, from which the
fiercest monster might be selected for the arena; and the ranks of
maiden youth and beauty throughout the land were carefully surveyed by
competent judges in order that the young man might have a fitting bride
in case fate did not determine for him a different destiny. Of course,
everybody knew that the deed with which the accused was charged had been
done. He had loved the princess, and neither he, she, nor any one else,
thought of denying the fact; but the king would not think of allowing
any fact of this kind to interfere with the workings of the tribunal, in
which he took such great delight and satisfaction. No matter how the
affair turned out, the youth would be disposed of, and the king would
take an aesthetic pleasure in watching the course of events, which would
determine whether or not the young man had done wrong in allowing
himself to love the princess.
The appointed day
arrived. From far and near the people gathered, and thronged the great
galleries of the arena, and crowds, unable to gain admittance, massed
themselves against its outside walls. The king and his court were in
their places, opposite the twin doors, those fateful portals, so
terrible in their similarity.
All was ready. The
signal was given. A door beneath the royal party opened, and the lover
of the princess walked into the arena. Tall, beautiful, fair, his
appearance was greeted with a low hum of admiration and anxiety. Half
the audience had not known so grand a youth had lived among them. No
wonder the princess loved him! What a terrible thing for him to be
there!
As the youth advanced into the arena he
turned, as the custom was, to bow to the king, but he did not think at
all of that royal personage. His eyes were fixed upon the princess, who
sat to the right of her father. Had it not been for the moiety of
barbarism in her nature it is probable that lady would not have been
there, but her intense and fervid soul would not allow her to be absent
on an occasion in which she was so terribly interested. From the moment
that the decree had gone forth that her lover should decide his fate in
the king's arena, she had thought of nothing, night or day, but this
great event and the various subjects connected with it. Possessed of
more power, influence, and force of character than any one who had ever
before been interested in such a case, she had done what no other person
had done - she had possessed herself of the secret of the doors. She
knew in which of the two rooms, that lay behind those doors, stood the
cage of the tiger, with its open front, and in which waited the lady.
Through these thick doors, heavily curtained with skins on the inside,
it was impossible that any noise or suggestion should come from within
to the person who should approach to raise the latch of one of them. But
gold, and the power of a woman's will, had brought the secret to the
princess.
And not only did she know in which room
stood the lady ready to emerge, all blushing and radiant, should her
door be opened, but she knew who the lady was. It was one of the fairest
and loveliest of the damsels of the court who had been selected as the
reward of the accused youth, should he be proved innocent of the crime
of aspiring to one so far above him; and the princess hated her. Often
had she seen, or imagined that she had seen, this fair creature throwing
glances of admiration upon the person of her lover, and sometimes she
thought these glances were perceived, and even returned. Now and then
she had seen them talking together; it was but for a moment or two, but
much can be said in a brief space; it may have been on most unimportant
topics, but how could she know that? The girl was lovely, but she had
dared to raise her eyes to the loved one of the princess; and, with all
the intensity of the savage blood transmitted to her through long lines
of wholly barbaric ancestors, she hated the woman who blushed and
trembled behind that silent door.
When her lover
turned and looked at her, and his eye met hers as she sat there, paler
and whiter than any one in the vast ocean of anxious faces about her, he
saw, by that power of quick perception which is given to those whose
souls are one, that she knew behind which door crouched the tiger, and
behind which stood the lady. He had expected her to know it. He
understood her nature, and his soul was assured that she would never
rest until she had made plain to herself this thing, hidden to all other
lookers-on, even to the king. The only hope for the youth in which
there was any element of certainty was based upon the success of the
princess in discovering this mystery; and the moment he looked upon her,
he saw she had succeeded, as in his soul he knew she would succeed.
Then it was that his quick and anxious glance asked the
question: "Which?" It was as plain to her as if he shouted it from where
he stood. There was not an instant to be lost. The question was asked
in a flash; it must be answered in another.
Her
right arm lay on the cushioned parapet before her. She raised her hand,
and made a slight, quick movement toward the right. No one but her lover
saw her. Every eye but his was fixed on the man in the arena.
He turned, and with a firm and rapid step he walked across the
empty space. Every heart stopped beating, every breath was held, every
eye was fixed immovably upon that man. Without the slightest hesitation,
he went to the door on the right, and opened it.
Now, the point of the story is this: Did the tiger come out of that door, or did the lady ?
The more we reflect upon this question, the harder it is to
answer. It involves a study of the human heart which leads us through
devious mazes of passion, out of which it is difficult to find our way.
Think of it, fair reader, not as if the decision of the question
depended upon yourself, but upon that hot-blooded, semi-barbaric
princess, her soul at a white heat beneath the combined fires of despair
and jealousy. She had lost him, but who should have him?
How often, in her waking hours and in her dreams, had she started
in wild horror, and covered her face with her hands as she thought of
her lover opening the door on the other side of which waited the cruel
fangs of the tiger!
But how much oftener had she
seen him at the other door! How in her grievous reveries had she gnashed
her teeth, and torn her hair, when she saw his start of rapturous
delight as he opened the door of the lady! How her soul had burned in
agony when she had seen him rush to meet that woman, with her flushing
cheek and sparkling eye of triumph; when she had seen him lead her
forth, his whole frame kindled with the joy of recovered life; when she
had heard the glad shouts from the multitude, and the wild ringing of
the happy bells; when she had seen the priest, with his joyous
followers, advance to the couple, and make them man and wife before her
very eyes; and when she had seen them walk away together upon their path
of flowers, followed by the tremendous shouts of the hilarious
multitude, in which her one despairing shriek was lost and drowned!
Would it not be better for him to die at once, and go to wait
for her in the blessed regions of semi-barbaric futurity?
And yet, that awful tiger, those shrieks, that blood!
Her decision had been indicated in an instant, but it had been
made after days and nights of anguished deliberation. She had known she
would be asked, she had decided what she would answer, and, without the
slightest hesitation, she had moved her hand to the right.
The question of her decision is one not to be lightly considered,
and it is not for me to presume to set myself up as the one person able
to answer it. And so I leave it with all of you: Which came out of the
opened door - the lady, or the tiger?
