magnificent house as this, I would not trouble about the colour of his
beard.'
'You're right,' said another. 'Why, for half this grandeur I would
marry a man even if his beard were all the colours of the rainbow,
especially if he went away and left me the keys of the whole house.'
'The _whole_ house,' thought _Fatima_; 'nay, this little key here he
has forbidden me to use. I wonder why!'
But he had been so stern about it--and his beard got very blue when
he was angry--that _Fatima_ put her curiosity away, and continued to
entertain her guests. Still, the temptation to slip away and open
that forbidden door returned again and again; but always she said to
herself, 'Nay; I have the run of the whole house beside: is it a great
matter that I am forbidden one pokey little room at the end of a dark
corridor?' Then, having triumphed for the twentieth time, she fell
at last the more easily;--at least she fell to this extent, that she
slipped away from her guests and ran along the corridor, just to go and
take a peep at the door.
There was nothing unusual about the door. It was of plain, solid
iron, and the key-hole was very small. She wondered if the little key
would fit it. She tried, and found that it went in quite easily; yet,
remembering her promise, she would not turn it, but pulled it out
again and tore herself away. But, after all, she could not see what
possible harm there could be in opening a small room like that and just
having one look inside. Besides, if her husband had been really serious
he would have kept the key himself and not given it to her with the
others. To be sure, he was a kind, indulgent husband, and would not
be so very angry; and then, again, he need never know that she _had_
opened the door.
With thoughts like these passing quickly in her mind she hesitated,
paused, and finally turned again to the door. Her disobedient hands
trembled as she selected the key a second time, detached it from the
bunch, and inserted it in the lock. In another moment she had turned it
and pushed the heavy door open.
At first, as the shutters were closed, she could see nothing; but
gradually her eyes became accustomed to the dim light and she saw
that the floor was of porphyry,--at all events, it was red. Then, as
she shaded her eyes from the light creeping through the chinks of
the shutters, and peered more closely, she discovered to her horror
that what she had taken for porphyry was nothing of the kind--_it
was blood!_--Here it had clotted in dark crimson pools, and there it
had run in little streams along the irregular stone floor. Quickly
she traced those streams to their source by the opposite wall, where,
as she raised her eyes, she discerned seven dark forms hanging feet
downwards from seven spikes driven through their necks into the masonry.
Her first impulse was to flee from the spot;--then there came a
dreadful thought, and she stayed. Whose bodies were those hanging
in the forbidden cupboard? She took a step forward and inspected
them more closely. Yes, they were women, and they had been young and
beautiful. O horror of horrors! Could it be true? Were those the bodies
of _Blue Beard's_ wives, who had disappeared, one after another, so
mysteriously? There they hung, spiked through the neck, their feet
dangling above pools of their life's blood,--mute evidence of foul
murder.
As _Fatima_ stood gazing at the scene before her, her eyes dilated
with fear, and, her breath coming in gasps, the little key fell from
her fingers and clinked upon the floor. The sound recalled her to her
senses, and she picked the key up hastily. Then she turned and rushed
out; and, having locked the door,--no easy feat with such trembling
hands,--she ran upstairs, her face as pale as death. She thought to
escape and regain her composure in her own room, but, when she arrived
there, she found it full of her guests, who were so busy admiring its
luxurious appointments that her pallor went unnoticed. One by one,
however, perceiving that she was tired, they melted away, promising to
come again on the morrow,--unless her husband was expected to return.
It was evident they feared him; so did she, now.
At last they were all gone, and, as soon as she was left alone, she
bethought her of the key and drew it from her pocket. What was her
horror to observe the dull red stain of blood upon it, which she had
not noticed when she picked it up from the blood-smeared floor of the
dreadful chamber. Quickly she seized the nearest rag, thinking to wipe
off the stain; but, rub as she might, it would not come off. As she
scoured and polished without result, terror slowly grew on her face.
'Alas!' she cried, 'there is Blue Magic in this. Now I know my husband
has consorted with fiends: his beard for one thing, this bewitched key
for another. If I am not mistaken, nothing will remove the stain of
foul murder from this key.'
Nevertheless, she bethought herself of many things: of sand, and
pumice, and strong acid, and she tried them all upon the key; but
though she wore the metal away by hard rubbing, the bloodstain still
remained, for, being a magic key, it had absorbed the blood of _Blue
Beard's_ victims, and was saturated through and through with it.
She was just beginning to realise that the task was hopeless when she
heard the rumble of wheels, but she still went on polishing the key,
for, whatever coach was approaching, she assured herself it could not
be her husband's--thank Heaven, _he_ was not due to return yet for six
weeks, and by that time she might contrive to have a new key made,
exactly like the old one. But presently, when the coach drew up at the
gate, and the horns sounded in her husband's style and manner, she
started up with a cry of dismay, and her knees trembled with sudden
fright.
Her first care was to hide the key in her bosom; then she ran out, but,
for very fear, could get no farther than the head of the main stairway,
where she stood clutching the stair-rail, and quaking in every limb.
There, in the hall below, stood _Blue Beard_ giving some final orders
to the coachman. With a quick movement he turned, and, looking up,
perceived her standing irresolute.
'Yes, it is I, my darling,' he called up gaily as he advanced to the
foot of the stairs. 'Some letters reached me on the road, showing me
that my long journey was unnecessary. So, you see, I have returned to
your arms.'
By this time _Fatima_ was tottering down the stairs, bent on giving him
a fitting welcome; for, though she feared him more than aught else, she
must try not to show it. 'Seven of them!' she kept saying to herself,
as she gripped the balustrade, 'and seven and one are _eight_! And I
have a throat as well as they, as sure as iron spikes have points.'
There was only a dim light in the hall, so that _Blue Beard_ could not
see her trembling condition; and if, when she greeted him, he felt
that her body was quaking, he was fond enough to put it down to joy
at his unexpected return. And _Fatima_, taking cover in this, behaved
in an excited manner, like one so delighted to see her husband back
again that she did not know what she was doing. She ran hither and
thither, ordering this and that to be done, and then countermanding
the orders, doing this or that herself, and then immediately undoing
it again,--behaving, in short, like one demented with excitement,
until _Blue Beard_ smiled and stroked his beard, and thought she was a
wonderful little bundle of delight.
And so, through such artfulness long sustained, it transpired that the
question of the keys did not arise all that night, nor, indeed, until
late the following day, when, as ominous as a thunder-clap, came a
summons from _Blue Beard_ that _Fatima_ should attend him immediately
on the terrace. With a wildly beating heart she hastened to answer the
summons.
'I want my keys,' he said in the usual manner of a man. 'Where are
they?'
'The keys?--Oh yes; the keys. I--I will go and fetch them immediately.'
_Fatima_ ran off, and you can imagine her thoughts and feelings as she
went. _Blue Beard_ remained--he was always a grim figure--standing as
she had left him,--just waiting: his thoughts and feelings were in his
beard.
Presently _Fatima_ returned, purposely out of breath in order to hide
whatever confusion she might feel, and handed the bunch of keys to her
husband. He took them without a word, looked at them carefully, and
then slowly turned his eyes upon her.
'The key of the room at the end of the corridor,' he said grimly, 'it
is not here: where is it?'
'The key of the---- Oh; you mean the key of the----'
'I mean the key of the----; yes, that's what I mean. Where is it?'
'Oh! I remember now. You said I was not to use it; so, to make sure, I
took it off the bunch and put it away in a drawer of my dressing-table.
I will run and fetch it.'
'Do,' said _Blue Beard_, and, while she ran off, he stood there looking
for all the world like a blue thunder-cloud before the lightning comes.
Once out of sight _Fatima_ paused to collect her wits. Then, having
made up her mind, she ran twice up and down stairs, and finally
rejoined her husband, panting heavily.
'It is not there,' she cried in dismay. 'I put it in my jewel case,--of
that I'm sure,--but now it's gone. Who can have taken it?'
'Go look again,' replied _Blue Beard_, dangerously calm.
She ran away again, and again came running back. 'No,' she said, 'it is
not there. Who can have----?'
'Silence, madam!' broke in _Blue Beard_. 'That was no ordinary key;
and something tells me it is in your bosom now.' And, with this, he
gathered her shrinking form in his rough arm, and with a rougher hand
searched for, and found--the key!
'So!' he said. 'You lied to me. And--what is this? How came this blood
upon the key?'
Fatima was very pale, and trembling like an aspen leaf. 'I do not
know,' she replied. 'Perhaps----'
'Perhaps nothing!' roared _Blue Beard_ in a terrible voice. 'Madam!
your face tells me you are guilty. You have presumed to disobey me; to
enter that room at the end of the corridor. Yes, madam; and, since you
would sooner indulge your fancy for that room than obey my commands,
you shall go there and stay as long as you like. Seven and one are
_eight_, madam!'
'Mercy! Mercy!' cried _Fatima_, flinging herself at _Blue Beard's_
feet. 'Do what you will with me, but do not put me in that room.'
She looked up sobbing, imploring his forgiveness; and, if a woman's
beauty in despair could have melted a heart of stone, the sight of her
would have melted his. But it will not astonish you to know that his
heart was as flinty as his beard was blue, and _Fatima_ realised this
as she looked again at his terrible face.
'I have said it, madam,' he replied to her pleadings. 'None can disobey
me and live. Prepare, then, for death.'
'Then,' said she, her imploring eyes brimming with tears, 'you will
give me a little time to prepare? If I must die, I must say my prayers.'
'Ten minutes will suffice for that. Not a second more.'
_Fatima_ hurried away towards her own room, but on the way she met her
sister _Anne_, who was looking for her.
'Oh! dear _Anne_,' sobbed _Fatima_, as she embraced her sister; 'ask me
no questions; there is no time. My husband has returned, and, because I
disobeyed him, he has threatened to kill me. Oh! where are my brothers?
If they were only here!'
'They are on the way hither,' said _Anne_ quickly. 'They were delayed,
but promised to follow me very soon.'
'Then run, dear sister, if you love me; run to the top of the tower,
and, if you can see them coming, make a sign to them to hasten; for in
ten minutes I must die.'
Quickly _Anne_ ran up and up until she reached the roof of the tower;
and _Fatima_, standing at the foot, called up to her:
'Sister _Anne_! Dear sister _Anne_! Do you see any one coming?'
And _Anne_ answered her:
'_I see naught but dust a-blowing, naught but the green grass growing._'
Presently _Fatima_ called up again:
'Sister _Anne_, can you see no one coming?'
'_Nay, I see naught but dust a-blowing, naught but the green grass
growing._'
_Fatima_, in despair, continued to call again and again, but always
the same answer came down from the roof of the tower. And so the ten
minutes ran out, and _Fatima_ wrung her hands and groaned.
Meanwhile _Blue Beard_, having sharpened his sword, was trying its
edge on the greensward of the terrace below. Fully satisfied with it,
he strode into the house, and, standing at the foot of the stairs,
shouted, 'Madam, your time is up. Come down at once!'
'One moment,--just one moment,' she replied, then called softly to her
sister: '_Anne, sister Anne, do you see any one coming?_'
'_Nay, naught but dust a-blowing, naught but the green grass growing._'
'Madam,' roared _Blue Beard_, 'if you do not come down quickly, I will
come up and drag you down.'
'I am coming,' she replied; and again she called softly to _Anne_:
'_Sister Anne, do you see any one coming?_'
'Sister, I see a great cloud of dust.'
'Raised by galloping horses?'
'Alas! Nay, it is but a flock of sheep.'
'_Will_ you come down?' bellowed _Blue Beard_, 'or by----'
'I am coming in another moment.' Then to _Anne_: 'Sister _Anne_, can
you see anybody coming?'
'Yonder I see--God be praised--I see two knights in armour, riding
fast.... Yes, they are my brothers.... I am waving my kerchief to
them.... They see me.... They spur and hasten.... Sister, they will
soon be here.'
Then _Blue Beard_ stamped his foot and roared out so terribly that he
made the whole house tremble. At this his poor wife, wholly fascinated
by terror, crept down to her doom. Her face was stained with tears, her
long hair was dishevelled; she flung herself at his feet and besought
him to take pity on her.
'Pity!' he thundered; 'I have no pity. You must die!' He seized her
by the hair and twisted her head back to expose her beautiful throat;
then, flourishing his sword, he went on: 'This is my last word on
the abominable crime of curiosity as practised by women. By that
detestable vice misfortune and grief came into the world, and we
owe our present state of evil to the first woman, whose daughters
greatly resemble her in that peculiar gift of prying into matters
forbidden....' And so he continued to harangue his poor wife, grasping
her hair with one hand while he flourished his great sword with the
other.
When at length he paused for want of words to describe the horrible
crime he was about to meet with punishment, _Fatima_ wailed, 'O sir!
wilt thou punish me before I have recommended myself to Heaven? One
moment, I implore thee, while I turn my soul to God.'
'Nay, thy prayers are said.' And he raised his sword to strike. But the
sword remained in air, as _Blue Beard_, startled by a loud battering
at the gate, turned his head. Then, as the gate was burst in, and
two knights came running with drawn swords, he loosed his hold upon
_Fatima_, who sank in a huddled heap like one already dead. Turning
quickly, _Blue Beard_ fled, but the two brothers were hot upon his
heels; and, after a rapid chase through the house and garden, they came
up with him just as he reached the steps of the main porch. There they
ran their swords through and through his body, and left him dead in a
pool of blood.
When _Fatima_ opened her eyes and saw her two brothers and her sister
_Anne_ bending over her, she thanked Heaven for her deliverance. With
a sword all dripping red one brother pointed towards the porch, and
_Fatima_ gave a deep sigh of relief. She knew, and was satisfied to
know, she was a widow.
Now, as _Blue Beard_ had no children by any of his wives, his sole
surviving wife became mistress of all that had been his. All his vast
estates and treasures came into her possession, and she was young and
beautiful into the bargain. The first thing she did was to purchase
commissions for her two brothers in the army; next, she bestowed a
splendid estate and a large sum of money upon her sister _Anne_ as
a wedding present on the occasion of her marrying the young man of
her choice. Then _Fatima_ fell in love with, and married, a worthy
gentleman who adored her, and these two lived out their lives in one
continuous hour of happiness.
_His_ beard was black, and, when at length it grew grey, and then
silvery white, she only loved him all the more. Even in the first year
of her marriage she had quite forgotten the dark cloud cast upon her
early life by that terrible man, _Blue Beard_; and ever afterwards she
never had the slightest cause or reason to remember him.
[Illustration: CERBERUS. THE BLACK DOG OF HADES p. 99]
CERBERUS
CERBERUS, the triple-headed, snake-haired, black dog guarding the
gates of Hades, was a mythological monster of fierce and terrible
aspect. When the shades of the departed from the upper world were
ferried across the River Styx by old Charon the boatman, _Cerberus_
lay quiet and let them pass unchallenged. He knew them: they were
shades brought in regular order, by Charon, and, as such, they were
allowed to enter Hades. But, if they wished to retrace their steps, and
gain the upper world again--this was a labour, this was a task not so
easily accomplished, for _Cerberus_ would bar their way; his mane would
rise and his jaws would gape, and there was no passing this terrible
gatekeeper.
Yet, in the stories of antiquity, there are at least three instances
of mortals, or gods in the form of mortals, passing the grim tiler on
entering Hades, and repassing him on coming out again. These three were
Persephone, Orpheus, and Æneas.
Persephone was the daughter of Ceres (Demeter), and was carried off by
Pluto, the ruler of Hades. It was into Hades he carried her and made
her his queen. _Cerberus_ knew his master, so, although Pluto bore in
his arms a woman in mortal form, they passed in unchallenged by the
janitor. But, when Persephone's mother, Ceres, having searched with
lighted torches through all the world for her daughter, came at last
to the gates of Hades, she evaded _Cerberus_ in some way that is not
clearly recorded. And, when she found her daughter, and discovered that
Zeus and Pluto had conspired over her abduction, she was angry and
said that she would deprive the earth of cereals (a word derived from
her name _Ceres_, the goddess of corn) until a satisfactory agreement
was arrived at. Zeus and Pluto again conspired, and it was arranged
that Persephone should spend four months of the year in Hades and the
other eight with the gods. This meant that she had to pass and repass
_Cerberus_ constantly.
The second case is that of Orpheus. His wife Eurydice died of a
serpent's bite, and her shade was ferried across the Styx by Charon
and passed into Hades without challenge from _Cerberus_. But Orpheus
bewailed her loss, saying, as in Glück's wonderful opera, 'Eurydice':
'She is gone, and gone for ever';
and finally resolved to journey to Hades and bring his wife back. With
the lute to which he had sung the praises of the gods, and so passed
the Sirens in safety,--whereas Ulysses had to order his sailors to bind
him to the mast,--he charmed the fierce dog into a deep slumber, and so
entered Hades.
He found Eurydice, and Pluto agreed to let her go, provided that
Orpheus did not look back before he passed _Cerberus_. But, when he
came to the monster, Eurydice following, he looked back to reassure
her, when lo, she vanished again to her place among the shades.
Orpheus, in despair, sang again to his lute:
'She is gone, and gone for ever!'
and so, having charmed _Cerberus_ to sleep, passed to the middle world
where, like Bacchus, he was torn to pieces by his fellow-mortals.
The third case is that of Æneas, the Trojan prince, who made the
journey to Hades to find his lost love, Dido, and to consult his
father, Anchises. He repaired to a sibyl dwelling among the mountains,
and she conducted him to the gates of the lower regions.
There, over a crag that marked his den, rose the monstrous three-headed
dog, his crested snakes bristling, his eyes shooting fire, his jaws
greedy for prey. But the sibyl had provided herself with a cake steeped
in honey and tinctured with an opiate drug derived from India and now
called _Cerbera_. This she flung to the monster, who greedily devoured
it and immediately sank into a deep sleep, leaving the way to Hades
unguarded. And, ever since, the phrase 'a sop to _Cerberus_' has been
used to signify a sweet morsel flung to pave the way to some concession.
This dog of Hades was not immortal. It remained for Hercules--the type
of the perfect man--to vanquish him in the last of his twelve labours.
And by this act Hercules was said to have abolished the tyranny of
evil in the realm of Pluto, which extended from the utmost star of the
galaxy to the lowest depth of Hades.
THE LADY BADOURA
A TALE FROM THE THOUSAND AND ONE NIGHTS
_The Lady Badoura_, Princess of China, the daughter of King Gaiour,
Lord of all the Seas and of the Seven Palaces! O King! There was
none like her in all the world! Her hair was as dark as the night of
separation and exile; her face was like the dawn when lovers meet to
embrace; her cheeks were like petals of the anemone filled with wine.
When she spoke music was born again on earth; when she moved her feet
seemed to faint with delight under the burden of grace and loveliness
laid upon them. The seven palaces of the king, with gardens like the
inmost courts of Paradise, were splendid and wonderful beyond the
poet's art to describe, but, without the dazzling beauty of _Badoura's_
presence, they were as a houri's eyes without their lovelight--an empty
and lifeless shade. And this all who beheld her in that sphere were
destined to discover.
[Illustration: NAY, NAY; I WILL NOT MARRY HIM p. 103]
For, O King of the Age, it was as it were but yesterday that the _Lady
Badoura_ reclined in a palace of gold, jewel-encrusted; her couch was
of ivory, gold-inwrought; and on the air, fragrant with a thousand
perfumes, floated the silvery voice of the slave-girl, singing of love.
But to-day, O King, the _Lady Badoura_ was a prisoner in a lonely
tower, attended by ten old women long deaf to songs of love. And the
cause of this I will relate to you.
For several years the king, through his tender regard for her slightest
wish, had left her to bestow her heart and hand of her own free accord
upon some worthy suitor; but she had clung tenaciously to her freedom,
rejecting all suitors--even the most powerful princes in the land. The
king was sorely troubled at this, for _Badoura_ was his first and
only child, and it was his greatest wish that she should marry, and
raise up children for the continuance of his line. But greater trouble
was yet in store. Came one day a monarch mightier than all others who
had sought her hand in marriage. So powerful and dreaded was this
potentate that the king dared not refuse him. He came with a splendid
cortège bearing costly gifts such as are seldom found in the treasuries
of kings, and he demanded of Gaiour his one and peerless daughter.
As soon as the ceremony of welcome was over, and the king had heard
his guest's petition, he sought the _Lady Badoura_ and made the matter
known to her. But she, knowing what was toward, rose not to greet him,
as was her wont, but remained reclining, answering every stronger and
stronger persuasion of her parent with shakes of her head and 'Nay,
nay; I will not marry him.' At length, finding her will obdurate, the
king gave way to anger, and, finally taking refuge in the opinion that
she had gone from her mind, lapsed into grief, wringing his hands and
crying, 'Alas! alas! that thou, my only child, shouldst be in this
plight. I see now by thy look and manner that thy mind is affected.'
With this he ordered his eunuchs and slaves to take her and place her,
carefully guarded, where she could do no injury either to herself or
others.
'Since none can rouse her heart to love,' said he, 'she must needs be
insane.' And, had the first part of his words been true, thou wouldst
know, O King, that the second would be true also. But she was not in
this case; and now, having shown how and why she, who but yesterday
was sitting free in a golden palace, was to-day imprisoned in a lonely
tower, I will relate the causes of that love for an unknown one, which
now afflicted her.