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.
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?
