The Lady or the Tiger?
by
Frank Stockton
In the very olden time there lived a semi-barbaric
king, whose ideas, though somewhat polished and sharpened by the
progressiveness of distant Latin neighbours, were still large, florid, and untrammelled,
as became the half of him which was barbaric. He was a man of exuberant fancy,
and, withal, of an authority so irresistible that, at his will, he turned his
varied fancies into facts. He was greatly given to self-communing, and, when he
and himself agreed upon anything, the thing was done. When every member of his
domestic and political systems moved smoothly in its appointed course, his
nature was bland and genial; but, whenever there was a little hitch, and some
of his orbs got out of their orbits, he was blander and more genial still, for
nothing pleased him so much as to make the crooked straight and crush down
uneven places.
Among the borrowed notions by which his barbarism
had become semified was that of the public arena, in which, by exhibitions of
manly and beastly valour, the minds of his subjects were refined and cultured.
But even here the exuberant and barbaric fancy
asserted itself. The arena of the king was built, not to give the people an
opportunity of hearing the rhapsodies of dying gladiators, nor to enable them
to view the inevitable conclusion of a conflict between religious opinions and
hungry jaws, but for purposes far better adapted to widen and develop the
mental energies of the people. This vast amphitheatre, with its encircling
galleries, its mysterious vaults, and its unseen passages, was an agent of
poetic justice, in which crime was punished, or virtue rewarded, by the decrees
of an impartial and incorruptible chance.
When a subject was accused of a crime of sufficient
importance to interest the king, public notice was given that on an appointed
day the fate of the accused person would be decided in the king's arena, a
structure which well deserved its name, for, although its form and plan were
borrowed from afar, its purpose emanated solely from the brain of this man,
who, every barleycorn a king, knew no tradition to which he owed more
allegiance than pleased his fancy, and who ingrafted on every adopted form of
human thought and action the rich growth of his barbaric idealism.
When all the people had assembled in the galleries,
and the king, surrounded by his court, sat high up on his throne of royal state
on one side of the arena, he gave a signal, a door beneath him opened, and the
accused subject stepped out into the amphitheatre. Directly opposite him, on
the other side of the enclosed space, were two doors, exactly alike and side by
side. It was the duty and the privilege of the person on trial to walk directly
to these doors and open one of them. He could open either door he pleased; he was
subject to no guidance or influence but that of the aforementioned impartial
and incorruptible chance. If he opened the one, there came out of it a hungry
tiger, the fiercest and most cruel that could be procured, which immediately
sprang upon him and tore him to pieces as a punishment for his guilt. The
moment that the case of the criminal was thus decided, doleful iron bells were
clanged, great wails went up from the hired mourners posted on the outer rim of
the arena, and the vast audience, with bowed heads and downcast hearts, wended
slowly their homeward way, mourning greatly that one so young and fair, or so
old and respected, should have merited so dire a fate.
But, if the accused person opened the other door,
there came forth from it a lady, the most suitable to his years and station
that his majesty could select among his fair subjects, and to this lady he was
immediately married, as a reward of his innocence. It mattered not that he
might already possess a wife and family, or that his affections might be
engaged upon an object of his own selection; the king allowed no such
subordinate arrangements to interfere with his great scheme of retribution and
reward. The exercises, as in the other instance, took place immediately, and in
the arena. Another door opened beneath the king, and a priest, followed by a
band of choristers, and dancing maidens blowing joyous airs on golden horns and
treading an epithalamic measure, advanced to where the pair stood, side by
side, and the wedding was promptly and cheerily solemnized. Then the gay brass
bells rang forth their merry peals, the people shouted glad hurrahs, and the
innocent man, preceded by children strewing flowers on his path, led his bride
to his home.
This was the king's semi-barbaric method of
administering justice. Its perfect fairness is obvious. The criminal could not
know out of which door would come the lady; he opened either he pleased,
without having the slightest idea whether, in the next instant, he was to be
devoured or married. On some occasions the tiger came out of one door, and on
some out of the other. The decisions of this tribunal were not only fair, they
were positively determinate: the accused person was instantly punished if he
found himself guilty, and, if innocent, he was rewarded on the spot, whether he
liked it or not. There was no escape from the judgments of the king's arena.
The institution was a very popular one. When the
people gathered together on one of the great trial days, they never knew
whether they were to witness a bloody slaughter or a hilarious wedding. This
element of uncertainty lent an interest to the occasion which it could not
otherwise have attained. Thus, the masses were entertained and pleased, and the
thinking part of the community could bring no charge of unfairness against this
plan, for did not the accused person have the whole matter in his own hands?
This semi-barbaric king had a daughter as blooming
as his most florid fancies, and with a soul as fervent and imperious as his
own. As is usual in such cases, she was the apple of his eye, and was loved by
him above all humanity. Among his courtiers was a young man of that fineness of
blood and lowness of station common to the conventional heroes of romance who
love royal maidens. This royal maiden was well satisfied with her lover, for he
was handsome and brave to a degree unsurpassed in this entire kingdom, and she
loved him with an ardour that had enough of barbarism in it to make it
exceedingly warm and strong. This love affair moved on happily for many months,
until one day the king happened to discover its existence. He did not hesitate
nor waver in regard to his duty in the premises. The youth was immediately cast
into prison, and a day was appointed for his trial in the king's arena. This, of
course, was an especially important occasion, and his majesty, as well as all
the people, was greatly interested in the workings and development of this
trial. Never before had such a case occurred; never before had a subject dared
to love the daughter of the king. In after years such things became commonplace
enough, but then they were in no slight degree novel and startling.
The tiger-cages of the kingdom were searched for
the most savage and relentless beasts, from which the fiercest monster might be
selected for the arena; and the ranks of maiden youth and beauty throughout the
land were carefully surveyed by competent judges in order that the young man
might have a fitting bride in case fate did not determine for him a different
destiny. Of course, everybody knew that the deed with which the accused was
charged had been done. He had loved the princess, and neither he, she, nor anyone
else, thought of denying the fact; but the king would not think of allowing any
fact of this kind to interfere with the workings of the tribunal, in which he
took such great delight and satisfaction. No matter how the affair turned out,
the youth would be disposed of, and the king would take an aesthetic pleasure
in watching the course of events, which would determine whether or not the
young man had done wrong in allowing himself to love the princess.
The appointed day arrived. From far and near the
people gathered, and thronged the great galleries of the arena, and crowds,
unable to gain admittance, massed themselves against its outside walls. The
king and his court were in their places, opposite the twin doors, those fateful
portals, so terrible in their similarity.
All was ready. The signal was given. A door beneath
the royal party opened, and the lover of the princess walked into the arena.
Tall, beautiful, fair, his appearance was greeted with a low hum of admiration
and anxiety. Half the audience had not known so grand a youth had lived among
them. No wonder the princess loved him! What a terrible thing for him to be
there!
As the youth advanced into the arena he turned, as
the custom was, to bow to the king, but he did not think at all of that royal
personage. His eyes were fixed upon the princess, who sat to the right of her
father. Had it not been for the moiety of barbarism in her nature it is
probable that lady would not have been there, but her intense and fervid soul
would not allow her to be absent on an occasion in which she was so terribly
interested. From the moment that the decree had gone forth that her lover
should decide his fate in the king's arena, she had thought of nothing, night
or day, but this great event and the various subjects connected with it.
Possessed of more power, influence, and force of character than any one who had
ever before been interested in such a case, she had done what no other person
had done - she had possessed herself of the secret of the doors. She knew in
which of the two rooms, that lay behind those doors, stood the cage of the
tiger, with its open front, and in which waited the lady. Through these thick
doors, heavily curtained with skins on the inside, it was impossible that any
noise or suggestion should come from within to the person who should approach
to raise the latch of one of them. But gold and the power of a woman's will,
had brought the secret to the princess.
And not only did she know in which room stood the
lady ready to emerge, all blushing and radiant, should her door be opened, but
she knew who the lady was. It was one of the fairest and loveliest of the
damsels of the court who had been selected as the reward of the accused youth,
should he be proved innocent of the crime of aspiring to one so far above him;
and the princess hated her. Often had she seen, or imagined that she had seen,
this fair creature throwing glances of admiration upon the person of her lover,
and sometimes she thought these glances were perceived, and even returned. Now
and then she had seen them talking together; it was but for a moment or two,
but much can be said in a brief space; it may have been on most unimportant
topics, but how could she know that? The girl was lovely, but she had dared to
raise her eyes to the loved one of the princess; and, with all the intensity of
the savage blood transmitted to her through long lines of wholly barbaric
ancestors, she hated the woman who blushed and trembled behind that silent
door.
When her lover turned and looked at her, and his
eye met hers as she sat there, paler and whiter than anyone in the vast ocean
of anxious faces about her, he saw, by that power of quick perception which is
given to those whose souls are one, that she knew behind which door crouched
the tiger, and behind which stood the lady. He had expected her to know it. He understood
her nature, and his soul was assured that she would never rest until she had
made plain to herself this thing, hidden to all other lookers-on, even to the
king. The only hope for the youth in which there was any element of certainty
was based upon the success of the princess in discovering this mystery; and the
moment he looked upon her, he saw she had succeeded, as in his soul he knew she
would succeed.
Then it was that his quick and anxious glance asked
the question: "Which?" It was as plain to her as if he shouted it
from where he stood. There was not an instant to be lost. The question was
asked in a flash; it must be answered in another.
Her right arm lay on the cushioned parapet before
her. She raised her hand, and made a slight, quick movement toward the right.
No one but her lover saw her. Every eye but his was fixed on the man in the
arena.
He turned, and with a firm and rapid step he walked
across the empty space. Every heart stopped beating, every breath was held, and
every eye was fixed immovably upon that man. Without the slightest hesitation,
he went to the door on the right, and opened it.
Now, the point of the story is this: Did the tiger
come out of that door, or did the lady?
The more we reflect upon this question, the harder
it is to answer. It involves a study of the human heart which leads us through
devious mazes of passion, out of which it is difficult to find our way. Think
of it, fair reader, not as if the decision of the question depended upon
yourself, but upon that hot-blooded, semi-barbaric princess, her soul at a
white heat beneath the combined fires of despair and jealousy. She had lost
him, but who should have him?
How often, in her waking hours and in her dreams,
had she started in wild horror, and covered her face with her hands as she
thought of her lover opening the door on the other side of which waited the
cruel fangs of the tiger!
But how much oftener had she seen him at the other
door! How in her grievous reveries had she gnashed her teeth, and torn her
hair, when she saw his start of rapturous delight as he opened the door of the
lady! How her soul had burned in agony when she had seen him rush to meet that
woman, with her flushing cheek and sparkling eye of triumph; when she had seen
him lead her forth, his whole frame kindled with the joy of recovered life;
when she had heard the glad shouts from the multitude, and the wild ringing of
the happy bells; when she had seen the priest, with his joyous followers,
advance to the couple, and make them man and wife before her very eyes; and
when she had seen them walk away together upon their path of flowers, followed
by the tremendous shouts of the hilarious multitude, in which her one
despairing shriek was lost and drowned!
Would it not be better for him to die at once, and
go to wait for her in the blessed regions of semi-barbaric futurity?
And yet, that awful tiger, those shrieks, that
blood!
Her decision had been indicated in an instant, but
it had been made after days and nights of anguished deliberation. She had known
she would be asked, she had decided what she would answer, and, without the
slightest hesitation, she had moved her hand to the right.
The
question of her decision is one not to be lightly considered, and it is not for
me to presume to set myself up as the one person able to answer it. And so I
leave it with all of you: Which came out of the opened door - the lady, or the
tiger?
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