Though Chammy talks about having been up in those days, said Shireen,
when everybody was once more comfortably settled in his place, I don't
really believe it, you know. For I think Chammy falls asleep and dreams
things. Besides, Queen Shireen lived far longer ago than one thousand
years. More nearly thirteen hundred years ago, my dear mistress Beebee
told me. [Chosroes Parveez commenced his second reign Anno Domini 591.]
"You must know, dear Shireen," Beebee said as she smoothed my back and
brow, "that in olden times Persia was a far grander country, and far
more rich and warlike than it is now, and old King Chosroes the First,
the grandfather of Shireen's husband, reigned for fifty years in Persia,
his wonderful palace being at Ctesiphon."
"Tse, tse, tse!" interrupted Dick.
Yes, Dick, said Shireen, I daresay you find that a hard word to
remember. Well, the acts of Chosroes during the closing years of his
long life are wonderful, for he not only expelled the Turkish hordes
that had deigned to cross the Persian frontiers, but led an army against
the greatest fortress that the Romans had in the south-east, and after
tremendous fighting, that lasted for nearly six months, he captured it,
and compelled the enemy to pay an indemnity of forty thousand pieces of
gold.
I relate this story with conscious pride, my children, because,
remember, I am a soldier's cat.
Well, Warlock, I daresay there were no Scotch terriers in those days,
for while Persia was in the height of its glory, Britain was inhabited
by a race, or rather many races, who knew very little indeed of
civilisation. Don't be angry, Warlock. Well, children, the old king
was succeeded by his son, Hormazd, who celebrated his coronation by
putting all his brothers to death. This was certainly not very humane,
but it was the common practice in those days, and it probably saved the
reigning king's life, for poisoned cups and daggers were much used in
olden times as an easy way of securing accession to estates and thrones.
[The author begs to say that he believes Shireen may be wrong about the
Scotch terriers, for in a hotel in Surrey there is a beautiful engraving
of a picture by one of the old masters--he can't say which old master--
called "Noah alighting from the Ark." Well, Noah is surrounded by his
family, and accompanied by two Scotch collie dogs, good enough to win a
prize anywhere. Question: If there were Scotch collies, why not Scotch
terriers?]
Nevertheless this new king was tolerant of Christianity, and this itself
speaks in his favour. However, he committed one mistake, and this cost
him his throne; for one of his greatest generals happening to lose a
battle, as any general might once in a way, he degraded him by sending
him the dress and the distaff of an old woman. "Wear these, general,"
was the message that accompanied the gift. "Give up war now and take to
spinning."
Now this general was the hero of a hundred fights, so he now swore
revenge, and marched with an army against the king's capital. This was
the beginning of the end of Hormazd's reign. The end itself soon came,
and a terrible one it was. The army that Hormazd sent against the
general mutinied. Then the maternal uncle of Chosroes, the son of the
king, arose and threw Hormazd into prison. A prison in those days was a
vile and slimy dark dungeon, alive with vermin of every description. It
was soon darker still for poor Hormazd, because men came at night and
blinded him with red-hot wires. Death was surely a relief to him after
this. And it soon came. He was murdered, and his son reigned in his
stead.
It has been said that Chosroes the Second had had some hand in his
father's death, but Beebee, my mistress, did not believe this, neither
must we. We should be charitable. Besides, I don't think that if
Chosroes had given orders for his father's execution, that he would have
condemned his uncle to death as soon as he mounted the throne.
But Chosroes the Second became a very great king, or shah, though in the
end, very unfortunate.
For my own part, continued Shireen after a little pause, I would rather
have been a cat than a king in those days. It does seem very sad that
although Chosroes the Second was a great conqueror, and expelled the
fighting power of Rome from both Asia and Africa, that although he
elevated his own country to perhaps the highest rank it had ever held,
he should have lived to see Persia ruined. He himself was thrown into
prison. Oh! the pity of it, children; and his favourite sons and
daughters brought in and murdered before his face.
Shireen, his queen, was the one only wife he had ever loved.
And what a fearful fall was his! Remember that he was a very great
king, a very mighty conqueror, and his whole story reads like one of the
grandest of old romances. It is too long for a poor pussy cat like me
to tell, but I heard my master only yesterday say to Lizzie and Tom,
that they must read histories like that of Persia in the days of its
glory, if they would really enjoy chivalry and romance combined, and
Lizzie says she is sure she will, and Tom too, when they get a little
older.
But Chosroes was at the height of his glory after he had cowed and
conquered the proud Romans, depriving them of every foot of territory
won by their legions under Caesar and Pompey and many others.
And nothing could exceed the splendour of his court and palace at
Ctesiphon, nor the extent of his wealth and riches.
The Persians do not turn night into day. They live naturally, go to bed
early and get up while the morning is still in its pristine beauty; and
this healthful practice was in fashion even in the days of Chosroes the
Second. And it was at sunrise, in his splendid pavilion, that this king
and conqueror gave audience. From Arabia, from Egypt, from Mesopotamia,
from Armenia, yea, from east and west, and north and south, flocked
couriers to these audiences. And there the king would be to receive
them, and at his side the beautiful and virtuous Shireen; while around
him were gathered in robes of state his generals, his wise men, and his
nobles of every rank, all proud of their great lord and master, yet
trembling at every word he uttered; while each minute there sped from
the gates of the magnificent palace swift horsemen, bearing to every
nook of his vast dominions the commands of this mighty king.
But the luxury of this palace, the art displayed, the carvings, mosaics,
the draperies, the ornamentation of every summer or winter room or
saloon, and the voluptuous splendour and comfort, what tongue could
describe?
Some notion of the extent of the palace and its magical surroundings may
be gathered from the fact that three thousand ladies-in-waiting lived in
or around the vast and luxurious fort, and that these had twelve
thousand hand-maidens to wait upon them. But the stables must have been
a marvellous show. Fancy, Warlock, twelve thousand white camels, a
thousand lordly elephants, and fifty thousand horses, asses, and mules.
"Tse, tse, tse!" from Dick once more.
"You well may marvel, Dick darling."
But alas! and alas! the tide took a turn, and all the glory of Chosroes
ended in gloomy tragedy.
The fortunes of Rome were at the lowest ebb in 617 A.D. The warriors of
Persia were actually within a mile--of water--of the capital, and
Herodius, the emperor, had already sent away his family and his
treasures, and was himself preparing to fly, when, instigated by his
people and their patriarch, he took a solemn oath to do or die for Rome.
"And when can men die better,
Than in facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of their fathers,
And the country of their Gods?"
The Persians were getting ready their fleet to cross that silvery
streak. The Romans, had a fleet. That fleet was the beginning of the
salvation of Rome and the overthrow of mighty Chosroes. Herodius sailed
on Easter Monday 622 A.D. for the Gulf of Issus, with the remains of his
shattered army, and the great general and hero, Shahr Barz, made haste
to annihilate the Romans and their emperor. But these fought with all
the energy and fury of despair, and the Persians were beaten.
Down, down, down went Chosroes now. His own people at last revolted
against him, and he was thrown into a vile dungeon called the Dungeon of
Darkness. Bread and water was his only fare, and even the officers of
his guard spat upon and reviled him. He was led forth at last, suffered
every indignity, and was tortured to death.
His only consolation in his terrible imprisonment in that dark and
loathsome dungeon, was the thought that his beautiful Queen Shireen was
dead.
Nay, she was not dead, she had gone before. For Shireen was not only a
beautiful and good woman, but a Christian in every sense of the word.
But although so many hundreds of years have fled since then, far away in
the palatial homes of Persia, and in the humbler houses of her sons and
daughters, bards and minstrels sing to this day of the deeds of the
hero-king, bold Chosroes, and of the love he bore for sweet Shireen.