And while Amyntas lost his soul in the eyes of his beloved, the three
sisters went sadly away. They ascended the stately barge which awaited
them, and the water bore them down the long avenue of columns into the
darkness. After a long time they reached the entrance of the cavern, and
having placed a great stone against it, that none might enter more, they
separated, wandering in different directions.
The Lady of War passed through Spain, finding none there worthy of her.
She crossed the mountains, and presently she fell in love with a little
artillery officer, and raised him to dignity and power; and together
they ran through the lands, wasting and burning, making women widows and
children orphans, ruthless, unsparing, caring for naught but the
voluptuousness of blood. But she sickened of the man at last and left
him; then the blood he had spilt rose up against him, and he was cast
down and died an exile on a lonely isle. And now they say she dwells in
the palaces of a youth with a withered hand; together they rule a
mighty empire, and their people cry out at the oppression, but the ruler
heeds nothing but the burning kisses of his love.
The Lady of Riches, too, passed out of Spain. But she was not content
with one love, nor with a hundred. She gave her favours to the first
comer, and everyone was welcome; she wandered carelessly through the
world, but chiefly she loved an island in the north; and in its capital
she has her palace, and the inhabitants of the isle have given
themselves over, body and soul, to her domination; they pander and lie
and cheat, and forswear themselves; to gain her smile they will shrink
from no base deed, no meanness; and she, too, makes women widows and
children orphans.... But her subjects care not; they are fat and
well-content; the goddess smiles on them, and they are the richest in
the world.
The Lady of Art has not found an emperor nor a mighty people to be her
lovers. She wanders lonely through the world; now and then a youthful
dreamer sees her in his sleep and devotes his life to her pursuit; but
the way is hard, very hard; so he turns aside to worship at the throne
of her sister of Riches, and she repays him for the neglect he has
suffered; she showers gold upon him and makes him one of her knights.
But sometimes the youth remains faithful, and goes through his life in
the endless search; and at last, when his end has come, she comes down
to the garret in which he lies cold and dead, and stooping down, kisses
him gently--and lo! he is immortal.
But as for Amyntas, when the sisters had retired, he again took his
bride in his arms, and covered her lips with kisses; and she, putting
her arms round his neck, said with a smile,--
'I have waited for you so long, my love, so long!'
And here it is fit that we should follow the example of the three
sisters, and retire also.
The moral of this story is, that if your godfathers and godmothers at
your baptism give you a pretty name, you will probably marry the most
beautiful woman in the world and live happily ever afterwards.... And
the platitudinous philosopher may marvel at the tremendous effects of
the most insignificant causes, for if Amyntas had been called Peter or
John, as his mother wished, William II. might be eating sauerkraut as
peacefully as his ancestors, the Lord Mayor of London might not drive
about in a gilded carriage, and possibly even--Mr Alfred Austin might
not be Poet Laureate....