THE QUEEN SEMIRAMIS.
“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, and love 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 beautiful woman 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 in succession, 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 more piquante and 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. Write again: ‘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 the fête arrived. 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.—“’Tis well,” 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.”
The fête was 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.
The fête was very gay. A slave having, by the force of habit, served the king first, Semiramis had 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 this fête were 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 a loud 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 sword Tyrfing, 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 sword Tyrfing; then standing in the entrance to 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 of the 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 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