“Tell me a story,” said the Baroness, staring out
despairingly at the rain; it was that light, apologetic sort
of rain that looks as if it was going to leave off every
minute and goes on for the greater part of the afternoon.
“What sort of story?” asked Clovis, giving his croquet
mallet a valedictory shove into retirement.
“One just true enough to be interesting and not true
enough to be tiresome,” said the Baroness.
Clovis rearranged several cushions to his personal solace
and satisfaction; he knew that the Baroness liked her guests
to be comfortable, and he thought it right to respect her
wishes in that particular.
“Have I ever told you the story of St. Vespaluus?” he
asked.
“You've told me stories about grand-dukes and lion-tamers
and financiers' widows and a postmaster in Herzegovina,”
said the Baroness, “and about an Italian jockey and an
amateur governess who went to Warsaw, and several about your
mother, but certainly never anything about a saint.”
“This story happened a long while ago,” he said, “in
those uncomfortable piebald times when a third of the people
were Pagan, and a third Christian, and the biggest third of
all just followed whichever religion the Court happened to
profess. There was a certain king called Hkrikros, who had
a fearful temper and no immediate successor in his own
family; his married sister, however, had provided him with a
large stock of nephews from which to select his heir. And
the most eligible and royally-approved of all these nephews
was the sixteen-year-old Vespaluus. He was the best
looking, and the best horseman and javelin-thrower, and had
that priceless princely gift of being able to walk past a
supplicant with an air of not having seen him, but would
certainly have given something if he had. My mother has
that gift to a certain extent; she can go smilingly and
financially unscathed through a charity bazaar, and meet the
organizers next day with a solicitous `had I but known you
were in need of funds' air that is really rather a triumph
in audacity. Now Hkrikros was a Pagan of the first water,
and kept the worship of the sacred serpents, who lived in a
hallowed grove on a hill near the royal palace, up to a high
pitch of enthusiasm. The common people were allowed to
please themselves, within certain discreet limits, in the
matter of private religion, but any official in the service
of the Court who went over to the new cult was looked down
on, literally as well as metaphorically, the looking down
being done from the gallery that ran round the royal
bear-pit. Consequently there was considerable scandal and
consternation when the youthful Vespaluus appeared one day
at a Court function with a rosary tucked into his belt, and
announced in reply to angry questionings that he had decided
to adopt Christianity, or at any rate to give it a trial.
If it had been any of the other nephews the king would
possibly have ordered something drastic in the way of
scourging and banishment, but in the case of the favoured
Vespaluus he determined to look on the whole thing much as a
modern father might regard the announced intention of his
son to adopt the stage as a profession. He sent accordingly
for the Royal Librarian. The royal library in those days
was not a very extensive affair, and the keeper of the
king's books had a great deal of leisure on his hands.
Consequently he was in frequent demand for the settlement of
other people's affairs when these strayed beyond normal
limits and got temporarily unmanageable.
“ `You must reason with Prince Vespaluus,' said the king,
`and impress on him the error of his ways. We cannot have
the heir to the throne setting such a dangerous example.'
“ `But where shall I find the necessary arguments?' asked
the Librarian.
“ `I give you free leave to pick and choose your
arguments in the royal woods and coppices,' said the king;
`if you cannot get together some cutting observations and
stinging retorts suitable to the occasion you are a person
of very poor resource.'
“So the Librarian went into the woods and gathered a
goodly selection of highly argumentative rods and switches,
and then proceeded to reason with Vespaluus on the folly and
iniquity and above all the unseemliness of his conduct. His
reasoning left a deep impression on the young prince, an
impression which lasted for many weeks, during which time
nothing more was heard about the unfortunate lapse into
Christianity. Then a further scandal of the same nature
agitated the Court. At a time when he should have been
engaged in audibly invoking the gracious protection and
patronage of the holy serpents, Vespaluus was heard singing
a chant in honour of St. Odilo of Cluny. The king was
furious at this new outbreak, and began to take a gloomy
view of the situation; Vespaluus was evidently going to show
a dangerous obstinacy in persisting in his heresy. And yet
there was nothing in his appearance to justify such
perverseness; he had not the pale eye of the fanatic or the
mystic look of the dreamer. On the contrary, he was quite
the best-looking boy at Court; he had an elegant, well-knit
figure, a healthy complexion, eyes the colour of very ripe
mulberries, and dark hair, smooth and very well cared for.”
“It sounds like a description of what you imagine
yourself to have been like at the age of sixteen,” said the
Baroness.
“My mother has probably been showing you some of my early
photographs,” said Clovis. Having turned the sarcasm into
a compliment, he resumed his story.
“The king had Vespaluus shut up in a dark tower for three
days, with nothing but bread and water to live on, the
squealing and fluttering of bats to listen to, and drifting
clouds to watch through one little window slit. The
anti-Pagan section of the community began to talk
portentously of the boy-martyr. The martyrdom was
mitigated, as far as the food was concerned, by the
carelessness of the tower warden, who once or twice left a
portion of his own supper of broiled meat and fruit and wine
by mistake in the prince's cell. After the punishment was
over, Vespaluus was closely watched for any further symptom
of religious perversity, for the king was determined to
stand no more opposition on so important a matter, even from
a favourite nephew. If there was any more of this nonsense,
he said, the succession to the throne would have to be
altered.
“For a time all went well; the festival of summer sports
was approaching, and the young Vespaluus was too engrossed
in wrestling and foot-running and javelin-throwing
competitions to bother himself with the strife of
conflicting religious systems. Then, however, came the
great culminating feature of the summer festival, the
ceremonial dance round the grove of the sacred serpents, and
Vespaluus, as we should say, `sat it out.' The affront to
the State religion was too public and ostentatious to be
overlooked, even if the king had been so minded, and he was
not in the least so minded. For a day and a half he sat
apart and brooded, and every one thought he was debating
within himself the question of the young prince's death or
pardon; as a matter of fact he was merely thinking out the
manner of the boys death. As the thing had to be done, and
was bound to attract an enormous amount of public attention
in any case, it was as well to make it as spectacular and
impressive as possible.
“ `Apart from his unfortunate taste in religions,' said
the king, `and his obstinacy in adhering to it, he is a
sweet and pleasant youth, therefore it is meet and fitting
that he should be done to death by the winged envoys of
sweetness.'
“ `Your Majesty means---?' said the Royal Librarian.
“ `I mean,' said the king, `that he shall be stung to
death by bees. By the royal bees, of course.'
“ `A most elegant death,' said the Librarian.
“ `Elegant and spectacular, and decidedly painful,' said
the king; `it fulfills all the conditions that could be
wished for.'
“The king himself thought out all the details of the
execution ceremony. Vespaluus was to be stripped of his
clothes, his hands were to be bound behind him, and he was
then to be slung in a recumbent position immediately above
three of the largest of the royal beehives, so that the
least movement of his body would bring him in jarring
contact with them. The rest could be safely left to the
bees. The death throes, the king computed, might last
anything from fifteen to forty minutes, though there was
division of opinion and considerable wagering among the
other nephews as to whether death might not be almost
instantaneous, or, on the other hand, whether it might not
be deferred for a couple of hours. Anyway, they all agreed,
it was vastly preferable to being thrown down into an evil
smelling bear-pit and being clawed and mauled to death by
imperfectly carnivorous animals.
“It so happened, however, that the keeper of the royal
hives had leanings towards Christianity himself, and
moreover, like most of the Court officials, he was very much
attached to Vespaluus. On the eve of the execution,
therefore, he busied himself with removing the stings from
all the royal bees; it was a long and delicate operation,
but he was an expert beemaster, and by working hard nearly
all night he succeeded in disarming all, or almost all, of
the hive inmates.”
“I didn't know you could take the sting from a live
bee,” said the Baroness incredulously.
“Every profession has its secrets,” replied Clovis; “if
it hadn't it wouldn't be a profession. Well, the moment for
the execution arrived; the king and Court took their places,
and accommodation was found for as many of the populace as
wished to witness the unusual spectacle. Fortunately the
royal bee-yard was of considerable dimensions, and was
commanded, moreover, by the terraces that ran round the
royal gardens; with a little squeezing and the erection of a
few platforms room was found for everybody. Vespaluus was
carried into the open space in front of the hives, blushing
and slightly embarrassed, but not at all displeased at the
attention which was being centred on him.”
“He seems to have resembled you in more things than in
appearance,” said the Baroness.
“Don't interrupt at a critical point in the story,” said
Clovis. “As soon as he had been carefully adjusted in the
prescribed position over the hives, and almost before the
gaolers had time to retire to a safe distance, Vespaluus
gave a lusty and well-aimed kick, which sent all three hives
toppling one over another. The next moment he was wrapped
from head to foot in bees; each individual insect nursed the
dreadful and humiliating knowledge that in this supreme hour
of catastrophe it could not sting, but each felt that it
ought to pretend to. Vespaluus squealed and wriggled with
laughter, for he was being tickled nearly to death, and now
and again he gave a furious kick and used a bad word as one
of the few bees that had escaped disarmament got its protest
home. But the spectators saw with amazement that he showed
no signs of approaching death agony, and as the bees dropped
wearily away in clusters from his body his flesh was seen to
be as white and smooth as before the ordeal, with a shiny
glaze from the honey-smear of innumerable bee-feet, and here
and there a small red spot where one of the rare stings had
left its mark. It was obvious that a miracle had been
performed in his favour, and one loud murmur, of
astonishment or exultation, rose from the onlooking crowd.
The king gave orders for Vespaluus to be taken down to await
further orders, and stalked silently back to his midday
meal, at which he was careful to eat heartily and drink
copiously as though nothing unusual had happened. After
dinner he sent for the Royal Librarian.
“ `What is the meaning of this fiasco?' he demanded.
“ `Your Majesty,' said that official, `either there is
something radically wrong with the bees---'
“ `There is nothing wrong with my bees,' said the king
haughtily, `they are the best bees.'
“ `Or else,' said the Librarian, `there is something
irremediably right about Prince Vespaluus.'
“ `If Vespaluus is right I must be wrong,' said the king.
“The Librarian was silent for a moment. Hasty speech has
been the downfall of many; ill-considered silence was the
undoing of the luckless Court functionary.
“Forgetting the restraint due to his dignity, and the
golden rule which imposes repose of mind and body after a
heavy meal, the king rushed upon the keeper of the royal
books and hit him repeatedly and promiscuously over the head
with an ivory chess-board, a pewter wine-flagon, and a brass
candlestick; he knocked him violently and often against an
iron torch sconce, and kicked him thrice round the
banqueting chamber with rapid, energetic kicks. Finally, he
dragged him down a long passage by the hair of his head and
flung him out of a window into the courtyard below.”
“Was he much hurt?” asked the Baroness.
“More hurt than surprised,” said Clovis. “You see, the
king was notorious for his violent temper. However, this
was the first time he had let himself go so unrestrainedly
on the top of a heavy meal. The Librarian lingered for many
days---in fact, for all I know, he may have ultimately
recovered, but Hkrikros died that same evening. Vespaluus
had hardly finished getting the honey stains off his body
before a hurried deputation came to put the coronation oil
on his head. And what with the publicly-witnessed miracle
and the accession of a Christian sovereign, it was not
surprising that there was a general scramble of converts to
the new religion. A hastily consecrated bishop was
overworked with a rush of baptisms in the hastily improvised
Cathedral of St. Odilo. And the
boy-martyr-that-might-have-been was transposed in the
popular imagination into a royal boy-saint, whose fame
attracted throngs of curious and devout sightseers to the
capital. Vespaluus, who was busily engaged in organizing
the games and athletic contests that were to mark the
commencement of his reign, had no time to give heed to the
religious fervour which was effervescing round his
personality; the first indication he had of the existing
state of affairs was when the Court Chamberlain (a recent
and very ardent addition to the Christian community) brought
for his approval the outlines of a projected ceremonial
cutting-down of the idolatrous serpent-grove.
“ `Your Majesty will be graciously pleased to cut down
the first tree with a specially consecrated axe,' said the
obsequious official.
“ `I'll cut off your head first, with any axe that comes
handy,' said Vespaluus indignantly; `do you suppose that I'm
going to begin my reign by mortally affronting the sacred
serpents? It would be most unlucky.'
“ `But your Majesty's Christian principles?' exclaimed
the bewildered Chamberlain.
“ `I never had any,' said Vespaluus; `I used to pretend
to be a Christian convert just to annoy Hkrikros. He used
to fly into such delicious tempers. And it was rather fun
being whipped and scolded and shut up in a tower all for
nothing. But as to turning Christian in real earnest, like
you people seem to do, I couldn't think of such a thing.
And the holy and esteemed serpents have always helped me
when I've prayed to them for success in my running and
wrestling and hunting, and it was through their
distinguished intercession that the bees were not able to
hurt me with their stings. It would be black ingratitude to
turn against their worship at the very outset of my reign.
I hate you for suggesting it.'
“The Chamberlain wrung his hands despairingly.
“ `But, your Majesty,' he wailed, `the people are
reverencing you as a saint, and the nobles are being
Christianized in batches, and neighbouring potentates of
that Faith are sending special envoys to welcome you as a
brother. There is some talk of making you the patron saint
of beehives, and a certain shade of honey-yellow has been
christened Vespalussian gold at the Emperor's Court. You
can't surely go back on all this.'
“ `I don't mind being reverenced and greeted and
honoured,' said Vespaluus; `I don't even mind being sainted
in moderation, as long as I'm not expected to be saintly as
well. But I wish you clearly and finally to understand that
I will not give up the worship of the august and auspicious
serpents.'
“There was a world of unspoken bear-pit in the way he
uttered those last words, and the mulberry-dark eyes flashed
dangerously.
“ `A new reign,' said the Chamberlain to himself, `but
the same old temper.'
“Finally, as a State necessity, the matter of the
religions was compromised. At stated intervals the king
appeared before his subjects in the national cathedral in
the character of St. Vespaluus, and the idolatrous grove was
gradually pruned and lopped away till nothing remained of
it. But the sacred and esteemed serpents were removed to a
private shrubbery in the royal gardens, where Vespaluus the
Pagan and certain members of his household devoutly and
decently worshipped them. That possibly is the reason why
the boy-king's success in sports and hunting never deserted
him to the end of his days, and that is also the reason why,
in spite of the popular veneration for his sanctity, he
never received official canonization.”
“It has stopped raining,” said the Baroness.