Part 8

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.

_Badoura_ had treasured to her heart a talisman,--a gem of wondrous beauty given to her by Dahnash the Efreet. Now, as you know, the Efreets are a powerful order of spirits, sometimes benign and friendly to mortals, sometimes malign and inimical. Dahnash, and another, of whom I shall presently speak, were of evil origin, but possessed enough of good in their nature to make them long for an immortal soul, and this they sought to obtain by labours of love for mankind. The talisman given to _Badoura_ had the peculiar virtue of uniting lovers destined for each other. She had, by this virtue, dreamed of one far away; and all her heart longed for him unutterably, while she still knew that a golden hour of the future would bring him to her side.

Know, O King, that the potency in a talisman is linked with its origin in the world of Efreets. Now in the far country of Khaledan, ruled by King Shazaman, dwelt Meymooneh, a female Efreet of great wisdom. It was she who had endowed this talisman with its virtues and sent it by Dahnash, an Efreet of lower degree, to the _Lady Badoura_. After this she had, by magic spells, led Prince Camaralzaman, the king's only son, to defy his father's command to marry; and, by her subtle arts, his heart and mind were so entranced by dreams of one as lovely as she was far away, that his ever-growing resistance to his father's will was at last met by the sternest anger. So it happened that just as _Badoura_ was imprisoned in the tower,--and for the same reason,--so was Camaralzaman cast into the dungeon beneath his father's palace. There in that self-same spot, in the depth of a well in a recess of the dungeon, dwelt Meymooneh the Efreet.