“Of all my wives,” said King Ninus to Semiramis, “it is you I love the best. None have charms and graces like you, and for you I would willingly resign them all.”
“Let the king consider well what he says,” replied Semiramis. “What if I were to take him at his word?”
“Do so,” returned the monarch; “whilst beloved by you, I am indifferent to all others.”
“So, then, if I asked it,” said Semiramis, “you would banish all your other wives, andlove me alone? I should be alone your consort, the partaker of your power, and queen of Assyria?”
“Queen of Assyria! Are you not so already,” said Ninus, “since you reign, by your beauty, over its king?”
“No—no,” answered his lovely mistress; “I am at present only a slave whom you love. I reign not; I merely charm. When I give an order, you are consulted before I am obeyed.”
“And to reign, then, you think so great a pleasure?”
“Yes, to one who has never experienced it.”
“And do you wish, then, to experience it? Would you like to reign a few days in my place?”
“Take care, O king! do not offer too much.”
“No, I repeat it,” said the captivated monarch. “Would you like, for one whole day, to be sovereign mistress of Assyria? If you would, I consent to it.”
“And all which I command, then, shall be executed?”
“Yes, I will resign to you, for one entire day, my power and my golden sceptre.”
“And when shall this be?”
“To-morrow if you like.”
“I do,” said Semiramis; and let her head fall upon the shoulder of the king, like a beautifulwoman asking pardon for some caprice which has been yielded to.
The next morning, Semiramis called her women, and commanded them to dress her magnificently. On her head she wore a crown of precious stones, and appeared thus before Ninus. Ninus, enchanted with her beauty, ordered the officers of the palace to assemble in the state chamber, and his golden sceptre to be brought from the treasury. He then entered the chamber, leading Semiramis by the hand. All prostrated themselves before the aspect of the king, who conducted Semiramis to the throne, and seated her upon it. Then ordering the whole assembly to rise, he announced to the court that they were to obey, during the whole day, Semiramis as himself. So saying, he took up the golden sceptre, and placing it in the hands of Semiramis—“Queen,” said he, “I commit to you the emblem of sovereign power; take it, and command with sovereign authority. All here are your slaves, and I myself am nothing more than your servant for the whole of this day. Whoever shall be remiss in executing your orders, let him be punished as if he had disobeyed the commands of the king.”
Having thus spoken, the king knelt down before Semiramis, who gave him, with a smile, her hand to kiss. The courtiers then passed insuccession, each making oath to execute blindly the orders of Semiramis. When the ceremony was finished, the king made her his compliments, and asked her how she had managed to go through it with so grave and majestical an air.
“Whilst they were promising to obey me,” said Semiramis, “I was thinking what I should command each of them to do. I have but one day of power, and I will employ it well.”
The king laughed at this reply. Semiramis appeared morepiquanteand amiable than ever. “Let us see,” said he, “how you will continue your part. By what orders will you begin?”
“Let the secretary of the king approach my throne,” said Semiramis, in a loud voice.
The secretary approached; two slaves placed a little table before him.
“Write,” said Semiramis: “‘Under penalty of death, the governor of the citadel of Babylon is ordered to yield up the command of the citadel to him who shall bear to him this order.’ Fold this order, seal it with the king’s seal, and give it to me. Write now: ‘Under penalty of death, the governor of the slaves of the palace is ordered to resign the command of the slaves into the hands of the person who shall present to him this order.’ Fold, seal it with the king’s seal, and deliver to me this decree. Writeagain: ‘Under penalty of death, the general of the army encamped under the walls of Babylon is ordered to resign the command of the army to him who shall be the bearer of this order.’ Fold, seal, and deliver to me this decree.”
She took the three orders, thus dictated, and put them in her bosom. The whole court was struck with consternation; the king himself was surprised.
“Listen,” said Semiramis. “In two hours hence let all the officers of the state come and offer me presents, as is the custom on the accession of new princes, and let a festival be prepared for this evening. Now, let all depart. Let my faithful servant Ninus alone remain. I have to consult him upon affairs of state.”
When all the rest had gone out—“You see,” said Semiramis, “that I know how to play the queen.”
Ninus laughed.
“My beautiful queen,” said he, “you play your part with astonishment. But, if your servant may dare question you, what would you do with the orders you have dictated?”
“I should be no longer queen were I obliged to give an account of my actions. Nevertheless, this was my motive. I have a vengeance to execute against the three officers whom these orders menace.”
“Vengeance—and wherefore?”
“The first, the governor of the citadel, is one-eyed, and frightens me every time I meet him; the second, the chief of the slaves, I hate, because he threatens me with rivals; the third, the general of the army, deprives me too often of your company,—you are constantly in the camp.”
This reply, in which caprice and flattery were mingled, enchanted Ninus. “Good,” said he, laughing. “Here are the three first officers of the empire dismissed for very sufficient reasons.”
The gentlemen of the court now came to present their gifts to the queen. Some gave precious stones; others, of a lower rank, flowers and fruits; and the slaves, having nothing to give, gave nothing but homage. Among these last, there were three young brothers, who had come from the Caucasus with Semiramis, and had rescued the caravan in which the women were, from an enormous tiger. When they passed before the throne—
“And you,” said she to the three brothers, “have you no present to make to your queen?”
“No other,” replied the first, Zopire, “than my life to defend her.”
“None other,” replied the second, Artaban, “than my sabre against her enemies.”
“None other,” replied the third, Assar,“than the respect and admiration which her presence inspires.”
“Slaves,” said Semiramis, “it is you who have made me the most valuable present of the whole court, and I will not be ungrateful. You who have offered me your sword against my enemies, take this order, carry it to the general of the army encamped under the walls of Babylon, give it to him, and see what he will do for you. You who have offered me your life for my defence, take this order to the governor of the citadel, and see what he will do for you; and you who offer me the respect and admiration which my presence inspires, take this order, give it to the commandant of the slaves of the palace, and see what will be the result.”
Never had Semiramis displayed so much gayety, so much folly, and so much grace, and never was Ninus so captivated. Nor were her charms lessened in his eyes, when a slave not having executed promptly an insignificant order, she commanded his head to be struck off, which was immediately done.
Without bestowing a thought on this trivial matter, Ninus continued to converse with Semiramis till the evening and thefêtearrived. When she entered the saloon which had been prepared for the occasion, a slave brought her a plate, in which was the head of the decapitated eunuch.—“’Tiswell,” said she, after having examined it. “Place it on a stake in the court of the palace, that all may see it, and be you there on the spot to proclaim to every one, that the man to whom this head belonged lived three hours ago, but that having disobeyed my will, his head was separated from his body.”
Thefêtewas magnificent; a sumptuous banquet was prepared in the gardens, and Semiramis received the homage of all with a grace and majesty perfectly regal; she continually turned to and conversed with Ninus, rendering him the most distinguished honor. “You are,” said she, “a foreign king, come to visit me in my palace. I must make your visit agreeable to you.”
Shortly after the banquet was served, Semiramis confounded and reversed all ranks. Ninus was placed at the bottom of the table. He was the first to laugh at this caprice; and the court, following his example, allowed themselves to be placed, without murmuring, according to the will of the queen. She seated near herself the three brothers from the Caucasus.
“Are my orders executed?” she demanded of them.
“Yes,” replied they.
Thefêtewas very gay. A slave having, by the force of habit, served the king first, Semiramishad him beaten with rods. His cries mingled with the laughter of the guests. Every one was inclined to merriment. It was a comedy, in which each played his part. Towards the end of the repast, when wine had added to the general gayety, Semiramis rose from her elevated seat, and said: “My lords, the treasurer of the empire has read me a list of those who this morning have brought me their gifts of congratulation on my joyful accession to the throne. One grandee alone of the court has failed to bring his gift.”
“Who is it?” cried Ninus. “He must be punished severely.”
“It is yourself, my lord—you who speak; what have you given to the queen this morning?”
Ninus rose, and came with a smiling countenance to whisper something into the ear of the queen. “The queen is insulted by her servant!” exclaimed Semiramis.
“I embrace your knees to obtain my pardon, beautiful queen,” said he; “pardon me, pardon me”; and he added in a lower tone, “I wish thisfêtewere finished.”
“You wish, then, that I should abdicate?” said Semiramis. “But no—I have still two hours to reign”; and at the same time she withdrew her hand, which the king was covering with kisses. “I pardon not,” said she, with aloud voice, “such an insult on the part of a slave. Slave, prepare thyself to die.”
“Silly child that thou art,” said Ninus, still on his knees, “yet will I give way to thy folly; but patience, thy reign will soon be over.”
“You will not then be angry,” said she, in a whisper, “at some thing I am going to order at this moment.”
“No,” said he.
“Slaves!” said she aloud, “seize this man—seize this Ninus!”
Ninus, smiling, put himself into the hands of the slaves.
“Take him out of the saloon, lead him into the court of the seraglio, prepare every thing for his death, and wait my orders.”
The slaves obeyed, and Ninus followed them, laughing, into the court of the seraglio. They passed by the head of the disobeying eunuch. Then Semiramis placed herself on a balcony. Ninus had suffered his hands to be tied.
“Hasten,” said the queen, “hasten, Zopire, to the fortress; you to the camp, Artaban; Assar, do you secure all the gates of the palace.”
The orders were given in a whisper, and executed immediately.
“Beautiful queen,” said Ninus, laughing, “this comedy wants but its conclusion; pray, let it be a prompt one.”
“I will,” said Semiramis. “Slaves, recollect the eunuch. Strike!”
They struck; Ninus had hardly time to utter a cry; when his head fell upon the pavement, the smile was still upon his lips.
“Now, I am queen of Assyria,” exclaimed Semiramis; “and perish every one, like the eunuch and Ninus, who dare disobey my orders.”
“The discovery of the sword by Sir Guido, in your tale of the Crusader,” said Herbert, “reminds me of the elfin swords so common among the Scandinavian heroes.”
“Such as the enchanted sword taken by a pirate from the tomb of a Norwegian monarch,” suggested Lathom.
“Rather, perhaps, of those manufactured by the elves under compulsion, or from gratitude to some earthly warrior; the famous swordTyrfing, the weapon of the Scandinavian monarch Suafurlami, was one of these. This is the story as given by Scott, in the second volume of his Scottish Minstrelsy: ‘The Scandinavian king, returning from hunting, bewildered himself among the mountains; about sunset he beheld a large rock, and two dwarfs sitting before the mouth of a cavern. The king drew his sword, and intercepted their retreat by springing between them and their recess, and imposed upon them the following condition of safety:—That they should make him a falchion, with a baldric and scabbard of pure gold, and a blade which would divide stones and iron as a garment, and which would render the wielder of it ever victorious in battle. The elves complied with his demand, and Suafurlami pursued his way home. Returning at the time appointed, the dwarfs delivered to him the famous swordTyrfing; then standing in the entranceto the cavern, spoke thus: “This sword, O king, shall destroy a man every time it is brandished; but it shall perform three atrocious deeds, and shall be thy bane.” The king rushed forward with the charmed sword, and buried both its edges in the rock, but the dwarfs escaped into their recesses. This enchanted sword emitted rays like the sun, dazzling all against whom it was brandished; it divided steel like water, and was never unsheathed without slaying a man.’”
“The supernatural skill in the fabrication of arms attributed to the Northern elves,” remarked Lathom, “seems to indicate some traces of historical truth. The Fins, who inhabited Scandinavia when Odin and his Asiatics invaded the country, retired to the mountains to avoid the tyranny of the new people. Far better acquainted than the invaders could have been with the mines of their country, a superior knowledge in the manufacture of arms may be fairly awarded to them. And thus, in time, the oppressed Fins would come to be the dwarfish armorers of Scandinavian mythology.”
“As theory is the fashion,” said Thompson, “what say you to a geological foundation to many of your mythological wonders? Were not the great dragons of stone suddenly released from their rocky beds—the long serpents guarding treasures in deep pits—the closely coiled snake of the cavern—were not many of these the gigantic antediluvian relics of our caves? Has not many an ichthyosaurus, in his earthly bed, been transformed into a deputy fiend, or even into the father of evil himself, keeping watch over some hoard of ill-gotten wealth; whilst the strange form of the huge pterodactyl, with its wings and claws, has been metamorphosed into the dragon of Wantley and his compeers?”
“Your theory, Thompson,” rejoined Herbert, “may not be so baseless as you regard it. The entire series ofthe heathen mythology has been of old, and still is, in Germany, regarded as a mere mystical delineation of the phenomena of nature. The elements are said to have suggested the nature of the gods and their origin; the specific phenomena of nature may have suggested the various forms under which the divine race appears and acts. It was a very common practice among the astronomers of the days of Galileo, and even to a later period, to conceal their discoveries in enigmas. May we not, with some little appearance of reason, regard the fables of our ancestors, the knights, the dragons, the giants, the magicians and their followers, as in some respect an esoteric teaching of the philosophy of physics, a mystical setting forth of natural phenomena?”
“The love of our Anglo-Saxon ancestors for philosophical enigmas, as they may be called, was undoubtedly very great,” rejoined Lathom. “I remember one given by Mr. Wright, in his introduction to Anglo-Saxon literature. It was in these words:
“‘I saw tread over the turfTen in all,Six brothersAnd their sister with them,They had a living soul:They hanged their skins,Openly and manifestly,On the wall of the hall:To any one of them allIt was none the worse,Nor his side the sorer:Although they should thus,Bereaved of covering,And awakened by the mightOf the guardian of the skies,Bite, with their mouths,The rough leaves;Clothing is renewedTo those, who, before coming forth,Left their ornaments,Lying in their track,To depart over the earth.’”
“‘I saw tread over the turfTen in all,Six brothersAnd their sister with them,They had a living soul:They hanged their skins,Openly and manifestly,On the wall of the hall:To any one of them allIt was none the worse,Nor his side the sorer:Although they should thus,Bereaved of covering,And awakened by the mightOf the guardian of the skies,Bite, with their mouths,The rough leaves;Clothing is renewedTo those, who, before coming forth,Left their ornaments,Lying in their track,To depart over the earth.’”
“‘I saw tread over the turfTen in all,Six brothersAnd their sister with them,They had a living soul:They hanged their skins,Openly and manifestly,On the wall of the hall:To any one of them allIt was none the worse,Nor his side the sorer:Although they should thus,Bereaved of covering,And awakened by the mightOf the guardian of the skies,Bite, with their mouths,The rough leaves;Clothing is renewedTo those, who, before coming forth,Left their ornaments,Lying in their track,To depart over the earth.’”
“‘I saw tread over the turf
Ten in all,
Six brothers
And their sister with them,
They had a living soul:
They hanged their skins,
Openly and manifestly,
On the wall of the hall:
To any one of them all
It was none the worse,
Nor his side the sorer:
Although they should thus,
Bereaved of covering,
And awakened by the might
Of the guardian of the skies,
Bite, with their mouths,
The rough leaves;
Clothing is renewed
To those, who, before coming forth,
Left their ornaments,
Lying in their track,
To depart over the earth.’”
“I shall not attempt to guess such an enigma,” said Thompson.
“Its solution is the butterfly; the various transformations through which it passes from the grub until it rises with its beautiful wings, are intended to be described. But come, as we are on enigmas, what say you to this: ‘We are a family of seventeen, all sisters; six others claim to belong to our race, but we account them illegitimate. We are born of iron, or of the feather that bears the bird heavenward; by iron we die. Our fathers were three brothers, our mother’s nature is uncertain. We teach him who desires to learn, and quickly and silently give words to him who requires them of us.’”
“I see the solution,” said Herbert, “but yet cannot work it out; it is, doubtless, the alphabet, in that day confined to seventeen true and six false letters; what puzzles me is the iron, and the natures of the mother and the father.”
“The iron,” said Lathom, “is the style used in writing; the sharp point for marking, and the broad end to rub out with; the uncertainty of the mother’s race arises from the pen being either of reed, or quill, or even of iron; the three brothers are the thumb and two fingers employed in writing.”
“The ‘uncertain mother’ is peculiarly applicable to these times,” said Thompson, with a smile, “when you may vary your pen from goose to swan, and from swan to crow; or choose between steel pens of every size and shape, and delicate nibs of gold tipped with rubies.”
“Come, we must leave our theories and enigmas, and return to our old story-tellers,” said Herbert. “What tale is in preparation for us?”
“A little more demonology, as we have it in the story of
“CELESTINUS AND THE MILLER’S HORSE.”
Alexander had an only son, named Celestinus, who was very dear to him; desirous of having him well instructed, he sent for a certain sage, and proffered his son to him for a pupil, promising a bountiful remuneration for his labor. The sage agreed, and took the boy home with him. Celestinus was a diligent scholar, and made great and satisfactory progress under the tuition of the philosopher.
One day, as the tutor and pupil were walking together through a meadow, their attention was directed to a horse grievously afflicted with the mange. He lay on the ground in the middle of the field, and on either side of him two sheep were feeding, tied together by a rope which chanced to hang over the horse’s back; irritated by the rubbing of the cord, the poor horse rose, and naturally drew with him the two sheep. The weight of the sheep made the rope press more and more upon his poor back, and galled him dreadfully. Unable to endure the pain, the horse ran towards his master’s home; the faster he ran, the more the sheep knocked against his flanks, and by their weight ground the cord into the sores on his back; with everystruggle of the horse and his living burdens, the cord sank deeper into the wound.
On went the horse maddened with pain; at last he reached the hut of his master, the miller, and dashed in with his burdens through the open door. No one was within, but a fire of logs burned brightly on the hearth; plunging and striking with his hoofs, the horse scattered the burning logs about the house; the flames caught the building, and soon surrounded the poor animal. Unable to move from the terror of the flames, there died the poor horse and the unlucky sheep, amid the ruins of the miller’s hut.
“My son,” said the tutor, when from afar he saw the end of the accident, “you have seen the beginning, the middle, and the end of this incident; when you return to your study, make me some verses upon it, and show me wherefore the house was burned. If you fail, beware of the punishment.”
It was all in vain that Celestinus tried to coin a verse or two on such a curious subject. He felt more than usually unpoetical; and as for assigning a cause for the fire, he so puzzled himself with his own arguments, as at last to begin to doubt whether there was any cause at all. At length he left his room, and tried what a walk would do towards making him able to poetize.
“My son,” said a venerable-looking man that met him on his solitary ramble, “what makes you so sorrowful?”
“Pray do not trouble yourself,” replied the youth; “it is quite useless to tell you of my trouble; you cannot help me.”
“Nay, but my son—how can we decide until we hear the cause?”
“Well, then, good father, I have got to make some verses on a mangy horse and two sheep, and I do not know how.”
“And to decide wherefore the hut, the horse, and the sheep were burnt.”
“Why, father, how do you know that?” exclaimed Celestinus.
“Though human to look at, I am not of this world,” replied the old man; “come, make a contract with me, henceforth to serve me, and care not for your master; and I will make you such a copy of verses as never were yet seen. Come, choose; you know the alternative—the philosopher flogs sharply.”
Celestinus hesitated a long time, but at last, through fear, he agreed to the Devil’s proposal.
“Now, then, my son,” said the Devil, “write what I tell you. Are you ready to begin?”
A mangy horse lay in a field,A sheep on either side;Across his back a rope was hung,To which the sheep were tied.Teas’d by the rope, up rose the horse,With him the sheep up swung,On either flank, thus weighted well,The rope his withers wrung.Clogg’d by his living load, he seeksYon miller’s hut to gain;The rope wears deeper, and his paceIs quicken’d with the pain.He minds not bolts, nor bars, nor logsThat on the hearthstone burn;Nor fears with ready, scattering hoof,The flaming pile to spurn.Wide flies the fire, above, around,The rafters catch the flame;Poor Dobbin, and his fleecy load,Are roasted in the same.Had but that miller deigned at home,His careful watch to keep,He had not burnt his house, or horse,Nor roasted both his sheep.
A mangy horse lay in a field,A sheep on either side;Across his back a rope was hung,To which the sheep were tied.Teas’d by the rope, up rose the horse,With him the sheep up swung,On either flank, thus weighted well,The rope his withers wrung.Clogg’d by his living load, he seeksYon miller’s hut to gain;The rope wears deeper, and his paceIs quicken’d with the pain.He minds not bolts, nor bars, nor logsThat on the hearthstone burn;Nor fears with ready, scattering hoof,The flaming pile to spurn.Wide flies the fire, above, around,The rafters catch the flame;Poor Dobbin, and his fleecy load,Are roasted in the same.Had but that miller deigned at home,His careful watch to keep,He had not burnt his house, or horse,Nor roasted both his sheep.
A mangy horse lay in a field,A sheep on either side;Across his back a rope was hung,To which the sheep were tied.
A mangy horse lay in a field,
A sheep on either side;
Across his back a rope was hung,
To which the sheep were tied.
Teas’d by the rope, up rose the horse,With him the sheep up swung,On either flank, thus weighted well,The rope his withers wrung.
Teas’d by the rope, up rose the horse,
With him the sheep up swung,
On either flank, thus weighted well,
The rope his withers wrung.
Clogg’d by his living load, he seeksYon miller’s hut to gain;The rope wears deeper, and his paceIs quicken’d with the pain.
Clogg’d by his living load, he seeks
Yon miller’s hut to gain;
The rope wears deeper, and his pace
Is quicken’d with the pain.
He minds not bolts, nor bars, nor logsThat on the hearthstone burn;Nor fears with ready, scattering hoof,The flaming pile to spurn.
He minds not bolts, nor bars, nor logs
That on the hearthstone burn;
Nor fears with ready, scattering hoof,
The flaming pile to spurn.
Wide flies the fire, above, around,The rafters catch the flame;Poor Dobbin, and his fleecy load,Are roasted in the same.
Wide flies the fire, above, around,
The rafters catch the flame;
Poor Dobbin, and his fleecy load,
Are roasted in the same.
Had but that miller deigned at home,His careful watch to keep,He had not burnt his house, or horse,Nor roasted both his sheep.
Had but that miller deigned at home,
His careful watch to keep,
He had not burnt his house, or horse,
Nor roasted both his sheep.
Delighted with the verses, Celestinus hastened to his master on his return home. The philosopher read them with astonishment.
“Boy,” said he, “whence did you steal these verses?”
“I did not steal them, sir.”
“Come, come, boy—they are clearly not your own; tell me who made them for you.”
“I dare not, master,” replied the boy.
“Dare not, why dare not? Come boy, tell me the truth, or abide a worse punishment than would have awaited you had you not brought me any verses.”
Terrified at his master’s threats, Celestinus revealed his interview with the Devil in a human form, and his contract of service with him. Deeply grieved at the occurrence, the preceptor ceased not to talk with his pupil, until he had persuaded him, humbly and heartily, on his knees, to confess to God his grievous sin in his compact with the Devil. His confederacy with the Evil One thus renounced, Celestinus became a good and holy man, and, after a well-spent life, resigned his soul to God.
“Pray, Lathom, what moral did your old monk intend to draw from this diabolical poetry?” asked Thompson.
“His application is very recondite; the preceptor is a prelate of the Church; the mangy horse, a sinner covered with sins; the two sheep represent two preachers boundby the cord of charity; the miller’s house is the world, and the fire, detraction. I must admit that the application, in this case, is far less valuable or intelligible than the story itself.”
“In an old book of moral advice,” said Herbert, “I found a description of three madmen, that reminded me much of the five kinds described by St. Peter, as related by your old writer. The first carried a fagot of wood, and because it was already too heavy for him, he added more wood to it, in the hopes of thereby making it lighter.”
“And he,” rejoined Lathom, “was a sinner, daily adding new sins to old, because unable to bear the weight of his original errors.”
“The very same. The second madman drew water from a deep well with a sieve; his labor was incessant, and his progress just as slow. Can you explain the nature of his sin?”
“I can read the explanation,” rejoined Lathom, “for I have this moment found out the source of your extract in my old monk’s book. This madman was the man who does good, but does it sinfully, and therefore it is of no benefit. The third madman was far worse: he carried a beam in his chariot; and wishing to enter his court-yard, and finding the gate so narrow that it would not admit the beam, he whipped his horse until it tumbled both itself and its master into a deep well. The beam was worldly vanities, with which their possessor sought to enter into heaven, but by which he was cast down into hell.”
“The belief in witchcraft,” began Herbert, “is very well illustrated by a late publication of the Camden Society of London.”
“Nay, nay, Reginald, no more of witches now,” rejoined Lathom; “the subject deserves far more time, attention, and illustration than we can now afford it,and must be adjourned for the present. Let me conclude this evening with the tale of