The Twilight of the Gods, and Other Tales - Richard Garnett
Time wore on. Euprepia's opportunities of visiting her father were less
frequent than formerly. At last she came, looking thoroughly miserable,
distracted, and forlorn.
"What ails thee, child?" he inquired anxiously.
"Oh, father, in what a frightful position do I find myself!"
"Speak," he said, "and rely on my counsel."
"When I entered the Court," she proceeded, "I found at first but one human
creature I could love or trust, and he--let me so call him--seemed to
make up for the deficiencies of all the rest. It was the cupbearer
Helladius."
"I hope he is still thy friend," interrupted Photinius. "The good graces of
an Imperial cupbearer are always important, and I would have bought those
of Helladius with a myriad of bezants."
"They were not to be thus obtained, father," said she. "The purest
disinterestedness, the noblest integrity, the most unselfish devotion, were
the distinction of my friend. And such beauty! I cannot, I must not conceal
that my heart was soon entirely his. But--most strange it seemed to me
then--it was long impossible for me to tell whether Helladius loved me or
loved me not. The most perfect sympathy existed between us: we seemed one
heart and one soul: and yet, and yet, Helladius never gave the slightest
indication of the sentiments which a young man might be supposed to
entertain for a young girl. Vainly did I try every innocent wile that a
modest maiden may permit herself: he was ever the friend, never the lover.
At length, after long pining between despairing fondness and wounded pride,
I myself turned away, and listened to one who left me in no doubt of the
sincerity of his passion."
"Who?"
"The Emperor! And, to shorten the story of my shame, I became his
mistress."
"The saints be praised!" shouted Photinius. "O my incomparable daughter!"
"Father!" cried Euprepia, blushing and indignant. "But let me hurry on with
my wretched tale. In proportion as the Emperor's affection became more
marked, Helladius, hitherto so buoyant and serene, became a visible prey to
despondency. Some scornful beauty, I deemed, was inflicting on him the
tortures he had previously inflicted upon me, and, cured of my unhappy
attachment, and entirely devoted to my Imperial lover, I did all in my
power to encourage him. He received my comfort with gratitude, nor did it,
as I had feared might happen, seem to excite the least lover-like feeling
towards me on his own part."
"Euprepia," he said only two days ago, "never in this Court have I met one
like thee. Thou art the soul of honour and generosity. I can safely trust
thee with a secret which my bursting heart can no longer retain, but which
I dread to breathe even to myself. Know first I am not what I seem, I am a
woman!" And opening his vest--"
"We know all about that already," interrupted Photinius. "Get on!"
"If thou knowest this already, father," said the astonished Euprepia, "thou
wilt spare me the pain of entering further into Helladia's affection for
Basil. Suffice that it was impassioned beyond description, and vied with
whatever history or romance records. In her male costume she had
accompanied the conqueror of the Bulgarians in his campaigns, she had
fought in his battles; a gigantic foe, in act to strike him from behind,
had fallen by her arrow; she had warded the poison-cup from his lips, and
the assassin's dagger from his heart; she had rejected enormous wealth
offered as a bribe for treachery, and lived only for the Emperor. 'And
now,' she cried, 'his love for me is cold, and he deserts me for another.
Who she is I cannot find, else on her it were, not on him, that my
vengeance should alight. Oh, Euprepia, I would tear her eyes from her head,
were they beautiful as thine! But vengeance I must have. Basil must die. On
the third day he expires by my hand, poisoned by the cup which I alone am
trusted to offer him at the Imperial banquet where thou wilt be present.
Thou shalt see his agonies and my triumph, and rejoice that thy friend has
known how to avenge herself.'
"Thou seest now, father, in how frightful a difficulty I am placed. All my
entreaties and remonstrances have been in vain: at my threats Helladia
merely laughs. I love Basil with my whole heart. Shall I look on and see
him murdered? Shall I, having first unwittingly done my friend the most
grievous injury, proceed further to betray her, and doom her to a cruel
death? I might anticipate her fell purpose by slaying her, but for that I
have neither strength nor courage. Many a time have I felt on the point of
revealing everything to her, and offering myself as her victim, but for
this also I lack fortitude. I might convey a warning to Basil, but
Helladia's vengeance is unsleeping, and nothing but her death or mine will
screen him. Oh, father, father! what am I to do?"
"Nothing romantic or sentimental, I trust, dear child," replied Photinius.
"Torture me not, father. I came to thee for counsel."
"And counsel shalt thou have, but it must be the issue of mature
deliberation. Thou mayest observe," continued he with the air of a good man
contending with adversity, "how weak and miserable is man's estate even in
the day of good fortune, how hard it is for purblind mortals to discern the
right path, especially when two alluring routes are simultaneously
presented for their decision! The most obvious and natural course, the one
I should have adopted without hesitation half-an-hour ago, would be simply
to let Helladia alone. Should she succeed--and Heaven forbid else!--the
knot is loosed in the simplest manner. Basil dies--"
"Father!"
"I am a favourite with his sister-in-law," continued Photinius, entirely
unconscious of his daughter's horror and agitation, "who will govern in the
name of her weak husband, and is moreover thy mistress. She recalls me to
Court, and all is peace and joy. But then, Helladia may fail. In that case,
when she has been executed--"
"Father, father!"
"We are exactly where we were, save for the hold thou hast established over
the Emperor, which is of course invaluable. I cannot but feel that Heaven
is good when I reflect how easily thou mightest have thrown thyself away
upon a courtier. Now there is a much bolder game to play, which, relying on
the protection of Providence, I feel half disposed to attempt. Thou
mightest betray Helladia."
"Deliver my friend to the tormentors!"
"Then," pursued Photinius, without hearing her, "thy claim on the Emperor's
gratitude is boundless, and if he has any sense of what is seemly--and he
is what they call chivalrous--he will make thee his lawful consort. I
father-in-law of an Emperor! My brain reels to think of it. I must be cool.
I must not suffer myself to be dazzled or hurried away. Let me consider.
Thus acting, thou puttest all to the hazard of the die. For if Helladia
should deny everything, as of course she would, and the Emperor should
foolishly scruple to put her to the rack, she might probably persuade him
of her innocence, and where wouldst thou be then? It might almost be better
to be beforehand, and poison Helladia herself, but I fear there is no time
now. Thou hast no evidence but her threats, I suppose? Thou hast not caught
her tampering with poisons? There can of course be nothing in writing. I
daresay I could find something, if I had but time. Canst thou counterfeit
her signature?"
But long ere this Euprepia, dissolved in tears, her bosom torn by
convulsive sobs, had become as inattentive to her parent's discourse as he
had been to her interjections. Photinius at last remarked her distress: he
was by no means a bad father.
"Poor child," he said, "thy nerves are unstrung, and no wonder. It is a
terrible risk to run. Even if thou saidest nothing, and Helladia under the
torture accused thee of having been privy to her design, it might have a
bad effect on the Emperor's mind. If he put thee to the torture too--but
no! that's impossible. I feel faint and giddy, dear child, and unable to
decide a point of such importance. Come to me at daybreak to-morrow."
But Euprepia did not reappear, and Photinius spent the day in an agony of
expectation, fearing that she had compromised herself by some imprudence.
He gazed on the setting sun with uncontrollable impatience, knowing that it
would shine on the Imperial banquet, where so much was to happen. Basil was
in fact at that very moment seating himself among a brilliant assemblage.
By his side stood a choir of musicians, among them Euprepia. Soon the cup
was called for, and Helladia, in her masculine dress, stepped forward,
darting a glance of sinister triumph at her friend. Silently, almost
imperceptibly to the bulk of the company, Euprepia glided forward, and
hissed rather than whispered in Helladia's ear, ere she could retire from
the Emperor's side.
"Didst thou not say that if thou couldst discover her who had wronged thee,
thou wouldst wreak thy vengeance on her, and molest Basil no further?"
"I did, and I meant it."
"See that thou keepest thy word. I am she!" And snatching the cup from the
table, she quaffed it to the last drop, and instantly expired in
convulsions.
We pass over the dismay of the banqueters, the arrest and confession of
Helladia, the general amazement at the revelation of her sex, the frantic
grief of the Emperor.
Basil's sorrow was sincere and durable. On an early occasion he thus
addressed his courtiers:
"I cannot determine which of these two women loved me best: she who gave
her life for me, or she who would have taken mine. The first made the
greater sacrifice; the second did most violence to her feelings. What say
ye?"
The courtiers hesitated, feeling themselves incompetent judges in problems
of this nature. At length the youngest exclaimed:
"O Emperor, how can we tell thee, unless we know what thou thinkest
thyself?"
"What!" exclaimed Basil, "an honest man in the Court of Byzantium! Let his
mouth be filled with gold immediately!"
This operation having been performed, and the precious metal distributed in
fees among the proper officers, Basil thus addressed the object of his
favour:
"Manuel, thy name shall henceforth be Chrysostomus, in memory of what has
just taken place. In further token of my approbation of thy honesty, I will
confer upon thee the hand of the only other respectable person about the
Court, namely, of Helladia. Take her, my son, and raise up a race of
heroes! She shall be amply dowered out of what remains of the property of
Photinius."
"Gennadius," whispered a cynical courtier to his neighbour, "I hope thou
admirest the magnanimity of our sovereign, who deems he is performing a
most generous action in presenting Manuel with his cast-off mistress, who
has tried to poison him, and with whom he has been at his wits' end what to
do, and in dowering her at the expense of another."
The snarl was just; but it is just also to acknowledge that Basil, as a
prince born in the purple, had not the least idea that he was laying
himself open to any such criticism. He actually did feel the manly glow of
self-approbation which accompanies the performance of a good action: an
emotion which no one else present, except Chrysostomus, was so much as able
to conceive. It is further to be remarked that the old courtier who sneered
at Chrysostomus was devoured by envy of his good fortune, and would have
given his right eye to have been in his place.
"Chrysostomus," pursued Basil, "we must now think of the hapless Photinius.
That unfortunate father is doubtless in an agony of grief which renders the
forfeiture of the remains of his possessions indifferent to him. Thou, his
successor therein, mayest be regarded as in some sort his son-in-law. Go,
therefore, and comfort him, and report to me upon his condition."
Chrysostomus accordingly proceeded to the monastery, where he was informed
that Photinius had retired with his spiritual adviser, and could on no
account be disturbed.
"It is on my head to see the Emperor's orders obeyed," returned
Chrysostomus, and forced the door. The bereaved parent was busily engaged
in sticking pins into a wax effigy of Basil, under the direction of
Panurgiades, already honourably mentioned in this history.
"Wretched old man!" exclaimed Chrysostomus, "is this thy grief for thy
daughter?"
"My grief is great," answered Photinius, "but my time is small. If I turn
not every moment to account, I shall never be prime minister again. But all
is over now. Thou wilt denounce me, of course. I will give thee a counsel.
Say that thou didst arrive just as we were about to place the effigy of
Basil before a slow fire, and melt it into a caldron of bubbling poison."
"I shall report what I have seen," replied Chrysostomus, "neither more nor
less. But I think I can assure thee that none will suffer for this mummery
except Panurgiades, and that he will at most be whipped."
"Chrysostomus," said Basil, on receiving the report, "lust of power, a
fever in youth, is a leprosy in age. The hoary statesman out of place would
sell his daughter, his country, his soul, to regain it: yea, he would part
with his skin and his senses, were it possible to hold office without them.
I commiserate Photinius, whose faculties are clearly on the decline; the
day has been when he would not have wasted his time sticking pins into a
waxen figure. I will give him some shadow of authority to amuse his old
days and keep him out of mischief. The Abbot of Catangion is just dead.
Photinius shall succeed him."
So Photinius received the tonsure and the dignity, and made a very
tolerable Abbot. It is even recorded to his honour that he bestowed a
handsome funeral on his old enemy Eustathius.
Helladia made Chrysostomus an excellent wife, a little over-prudish, some
thought. When, nearly two centuries afterwards, the Courts of Love came to
be established in Provence, the question at issue between her and Euprepia
was referred to those tribunals, which, finding the decision difficult,
adjourned it for seven hundred years. That period having now expired, it is
submitted to the British public.
THE WISDOM OF THE INDIANS
Everybody knows that in the reign of the Emperor Elagabalus Rome was
visited by an embassy from India; whose members, on their way from the
East, had held that memorable interview with the illustrious (though
heretical) Christian philosopher Bardesanes which enabled him to formulate
his doctrine of Fate, borrowed from the Indian theory of Karma, and
therefore, until lately, grievously misunderstood by his commentators.
It may not, however, be equally notorious that the ambassadors returned by
sea as far as Berytus, and upon landing there were hospitably entertained
by the sage Euphronius, the head of the philosophical faculty of that
University.
Euphronius naturally inquired what circumstance in Rome had appeared to his
visitors most worthy of remark.
"The extreme evil of the Emperor's Karma," said they.
Euphronius requested further explanation.
"Karma," explained their interpreter, "is that congeries of circumstances
which has necessitated the birth of each individual, and of whose good or
evil he is the incarnation. Every act must needs be attended by
consequences, and as these are usually of too far-reaching a character to
be exhausted in the life of the doer of the action, they cannot but
engender another person by whom they are to be borne. This truth is
popularly expressed by the doctrine of transmigration, according to which
individuals, as the character of their deeds may determine, are re-born as
pigs or peacocks, beggars or princes. But this is a loose and unscientific
way of speaking, for in fact it is not the individual that is re-born, but
the character; which, even as the silkworm clothes itself with silk and the
caddis-worm with mud and small shingle, creates for itself a new
personality, congruous with its own nature. We are therefore led to reflect
what a prodigious multitude of sins some one must have committed ere the
Roman world could be afflicted with such an Emperor as Elagabalus."
"What have ye found so exceedingly reprehensible in the Emperor's conduct?"
demanded Euphronius.
"To speak only," said the Indians, "of such of his doings as may fitly be
recited to modest ears, we find him declaring war against Nature, and
delighting in nothing that is not the contrary of what Heaven meant it to
be. We see him bathing in perfumes, sailing ships in wine, feeding horses
on grapes and lions on parrots, peppering fish with pearls, wearing gems on
the soles of his feet, strewing his floor with gold-dust, paving the public
streets with precious marbles, driving teams of stags, scorning to eat fish
by the seaside, deploring his lot that he has never yet been able to dine
on a phoenix. Enormous must have been the folly and wickedness which has
incarnated itself in such a sovereign, and should his reign be prolonged,
discouraging is the prospect for the morals of the next generation.
"According to you, then," said Euphronius, "the fates of men are not spun
for them by Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos, but by their predecessors?"
"So it is," said they, "always remembering that man can rid himself of his
Karma by philosophic meditation, combined with religious austerities, and
that if all walked in this path, existence with all its evils would come to
an end. Insomuch that the most bloodthirsty conqueror that ever devastated
the earth hath not destroyed one thousandth part as many existences as the
Lord Buddha."
"These are abstruse matters," said Euphronius, "and I lament that your stay
in Berytus will not be long enough to instruct me adequately therein."
"Accompany us to India," said they, "and thou shalt receive instruction at
the fountain head."
"I am old and feeble," apologised Euphronius, "and adjusted by long habit
to my present environment. Nevertheless I will propound the enterprise to
my pupils, only somewhat repressing their ardour, lest the volunteers
should be inconveniently numerous."
When, however, the proposition was made not a soul responded; though
Euphronius reproached his disciples severely, and desired them to compare
their want of spirit with his own thirst for knowledge, which, when he was
a young man, had taken him as far as Alexandria to hear a celebrated
rhetorician. In the evening, however, two disciples came to him together,
and professed their readiness to undertake the expedition, if promised a
reward commensurate with its danger and difficulty.
"Ye would learn the secret of my celebrated dilemma," said he, "which no
sophist can elude? 'Tis much; 'tis immoderate; 'tis enormous; nevertheless,
bring the wisdom of India to Berytus, and the knowledge of the stratagem
shall be yours."
"No, Master," they said, "it is not thy dilemma of which we are enamoured.
It is thy daughter."
A vehement altercation ensued, but at length the old philosopher, who at
the bottom of his heart was much readier to part with his daughter than his
dilemma, was induced to promise her to whichever of the pupils should bring
home the most satisfactory exposition of Indian metaphysics: provided
always that during their absence he should not have been compelled to
bestow her hand as the price of a quibble even more subtle than his own:
but this he believed to be impossible.
Mnesitheus and Rufus accordingly travelled with the embassy to India, and
arrived in safety at the metropolis of Palimbothra. They had wisely devoted
themselves meanwhile to learning the language, and were now able to
converse with some fluency.
On reaching their destination they were placed under the superintendence of
competent instructors, who were commissioned to initiate them into the
canon of Buddhist scriptures, comprising, to mention only a few of the
principal, the Lalitavistara, the Dhammapada, the Kuddhapatha, the
Palinokkha, the Uragavagga, the Kulavagga, the Mahavagga, the Atthakavagga,
and the Upasampadakammavaca. These works, composed in dead languages, and
written in strange and unknown characters, were further provided with
commentaries more voluminous and inexplicable than the text.
"Heavens," exclaimed Mnesitheus and Rufus, "can the life of a man suffice
to study all this?"
"Assuredly not," replied the Indians. "The diligent student will resume his
investigations in a subsequent stage of existence, and, if endowed with
eminent faculties, may hope to attain the end he proposes to himself at the
fifteenth transmigration."
"The end we propose to ourselves," said the Greeks, "is to marry our
master's daughter. Will the fair Euphronia also have undergone fifteen
transmigrations, and will her charms have continued unimpaired?"
"It is difficult to pronounce," said they, "for should the maiden, through
the exercise of virtue, have merited to be born as a white elephant, her
transmigrations must in the order of nature be but few; whereas should she
have unfortunately become and remained a rat, a frog, or other shortlived
animal, they cannot but be exceedingly numerous."
"The prospect of wedding a frog at the end of fifteen transmigrations,"
said the youths, "doth not in any respect commend itself to us. Are there
no means by which the course of study may be accelerated?"
"Undoubtedly," said the Indians, "by the practice of religious
austerities."
"Of what nature are these?" inquired the young men.
"The intrepid disciple," said the sages, "may chain himself to a tree, and
gaze upon the sun until he is deprived of the faculty of vision. He may
drive an iron bar through his cheeks and tongue, thus preventing all misuse
of the gift of speech. It is open to him to bury himself in the earth up to
his waist, relying for his maintenance on the alms of pious donors. He may
recline upon a couch studded with spikes, until from the induration of his
skin he shall have merited the title of a rhinoceros among sages. As,
however, these latter practices interfere with locomotion, and thus prevent
his close attendance on his spiritual guide, it is rather recommended to
him to elevate his arms above his head, and retain them in that position
until, by the withering of the sinews, it is impossible for him to bring
them down again."
"In that case," cried Rufus, "farewell philosophy! farewell Euphronia!"
There is reason to believe that Mnesitheus would have made exactly the same
observation if Rufus had not been beforehand with him. The spirit of
contradiction and the affectation of superiority, however, led him to
reproach his rival with pusillanimity, and he went so far that at length he
found himself committed to undergo the ordeal: merely stipulating that, in
consideration of his being a foreigner, he should be permitted to elevate
the right arm only.
The king of the country most graciously came to his assistance by causing
him to be fastened to a tree, with his uplifted arm secured by iron bands
above his head, a fan being put in his other hand to protect him against
the molestations of gnats and mosquitoes. By this means, and with the
assistance of the monks who continually recited and expounded the Buddhist
scriptures in his ears, some time even before his arm had stiffened for
ever, the doctrine of the misery of existence had become perfectly clear to
him.
Released from his captivity, he hastened back to Europe to claim the
guerdon of his sufferings. History is silent respecting his adventures
until his arrival at Berytus, where the strange wild-looking man with the
uplifted arm found himself the centre of a turbulent and mischievous
rabble. As he seemed about to suffer severe ill-usage, a personage of
dignified and portly appearance hastened up, and with his staff showered
blows to right and left upon the rioters.
"Scoundrels," he exclaimed, "finely have ye profited by my precepts, thus
to misuse an innocent stranger! But I will no longer dwell among such
barbarians. I will remove my school to Tarsus!"
The mob dispersed. The victim and his deliverer stood face to face.
"Mnesitheus!"
"Rufus!"
"Call me Rufinianus," corrected the latter; "for such is the appellation
which I have felt it due to myself to assume, since the enhancement of my
dignity by becoming Euphronius's successor and son-in-law."
"Son-in-law! Am I to lose the reward of my incredible sufferings?"
"Thou forgettest," said Rufinianus, "that Euphronia's hand was not promised
as the reward of any austerities, but as the meed of the most intelligent,
that is, the most acceptable, account of the Indian philosophy, which in
the opinion of the late eminent Euphronius, has been delivered by me. But
come to my chamber, and let me minister to thy necessities."
These having been duly attended to, Rufinianus demanded Mnesitheus's
history, and then proceeded to narrate his own.
"On my journey homeward," said he, "I reflected seriously on the probable
purpose of our master in sending us forth, and saw reason to suspect that I
had hitherto misapprehended it. For I could not remember that he had ever
admitted that he could have anything to learn from other philosophers, or
that he had ever exhibited the least interest in philosophic dogmas,
excepting his own. The system of the Indians, I thought, must be either
inferior to that of Euphronius, or superior. If the former, he will not
want it: if the latter, he will want it much less. I therefore concluded
that our mission was partly a concession to public opinion, partly to
enable him to say that his name was known, and his teaching proclaimed on
the very banks of the Ganges. I formed my plan accordingly, and
disregarding certain indications that I was neither expected nor wanted,
presented myself before Euphronius with a gladsome countenance, slightly
overcast by sorrow on account of thee, whom I affirmed to have been
devoured by a tiger.