John Kendrick Bangs - Olympian Nights
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John Kendrick Bangs >> Olympian Nights
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[Illustration: BRANCH OFFICE OF MAMMON & CO.]
OLYMPIAN NIGHTS
by
JOHN KENDRICK BANGS
Author of "A House-Boat on the Styx"
"The Pursuit of the House-Boat"
"The Enchanted Type-writer"
Etc. Etc.
[Illustration]
New York and London
Harper & Brothers Publishers
1902
HARPER & BROTHERS.
Published June, 1902.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. I REACH MOUNT OLYMPUS 1
II. I SEEK SHELTER AND FIND IT 17
III. THE ELEVATOR BOY 33
IV. I SUMMON A VALET 53
V. THE OLYMPIAN LINKS 70
VI. IN THE DINING-ROOM 88
VII. AESCULAPIUS, M.D. 110
VIII. AT THE ZOO 131
IX. SOME ACCOUNT OF THE PALACE OF JUPITER 155
X. AN EXTRAORDINARY INTERVIEW 175
XI. A ROYAL OUTING 192
XII. I AM DISMISSED 212
ILLUSTRATIONS
BRANCH OFFICE OF MAMMON & CO. _Frontispiece_
HIPPOPOPOLIS EXPLAINS _Facing p._ 8
A DREAM OF BRIGANDAGE " 22
IN THE ELEVATOR " 30
"'THE GODDESS OF THE MOTHER-IN-LAW'" " 42
"ANYTHING COULD BE GOT FOR THE RINGING" " 60
"JUPITER HURLED A THUNDER-BOLT AT HIM" " 64
THE OLYMPIAN LINKS " 84
CARING FOR THE CALVES " 104
"'THEN YOU MUST DIE'" " 112
I VISIT AESCULAPIUS " 118
CALLISTO " 140
I MEET THE PH[OE]NIX " 150
"'THE CHAMPIONSHIP OF THE UNIVERSE'" " 166
"THE DOOR WAS LOCKED" " 180
"'WHAT?' I CRIED. 'I--THAT OLD MAN--WE'" " 190
OLYMPIAN NIGHTS
I
I Reach Mount Olympus
While travelling through the classic realms of Greece some years ago,
sincerely desirous of discovering the lurking-place of a certain war
which the newspapers of my own country were describing with some
vividness, I chanced upon the base of the far-famed Mount Olympus.
Night was coming on apace and I was tired, having been led during the
day upon a wild-goose chase by my guide, who had assured me that he
had definitely located the scene of hostilities between the Greeks
and the Turks. He had promised that for a consideration I should
witness a conflict between the contending armies which in its
sanguinary aspects should surpass anything the world had yet known.
Whether or not it so happened that the armies had been booked for a
public exhibition elsewhere, unknown to the talented bandit who was
acting as my courier, I am not aware, but, as the event transpired,
the search was futile, and another day was wasted. Most annoying, too,
was the fact that I dared not manifest the impatience which I
naturally felt. I am not remarkable as a specimen of the strong man;
quite the reverse indeed, for, while I am by no means a weakling, I am
no adept in the fistic art. Hence, when my guide, Hippopopolis by
name, as the sun sank behind the western hills, informed me that I
was again to be disappointed, the fact that he stands six feet two in
his stockings, when he wears them, and has a pleasing way of bending
crowbars as a pastime, led me to conceal the irritation which I felt.
"It's all right, Hippopopolis," I said, swallowing my wrath. "It's all
right. We've had a good bit of exercise, anyhow, and that, after all,
is the chief desideratum to a man of a sedentary occupation. How many
miles have we walked?"
"Oh, about forty-three," he said, calmly. "A short distance, your
Excellency."
"Very--very short," said I, rubbing my aching calves. "In my own
country I make a practice of walking at least a hundred every day.
It's quite a pleasing stroll from my home in New York over to
Philadelphia and back. I hope I shall be able to show it you some
day."
"It will be altogether charming, Excellency," said he. "Shall
we--ah--walk back to Athens now, or would you prefer to rest here for
the night?"
"I--I guess I'll stay here, Hippopopolis," I replied. "This seems to
be a very comfortable sort of a mountain in front of us, and the air
is soft. Suppose we rest in the soothing shade for the night? It would
be quite an adventure."
"As your Excellency wishes," he replied, tossing a bowlder into the
air and catching it with ease as it came down. "It is not often done,
but it is for you to say."
"What mountain is it, Hippopopolis?" I asked, turning and gazing at
the eminence before us.
"It is Mount Olympus," he answered.
"What?" I cried. "Not the home of the gods?"
"The very same, your Excellency," he acquiesced. "At least, that is
the report. It is commonly stated hereabouts that the god-trust has
its headquarters here. As for myself, I have explored its every nook
and cranny, but I never saw any gods on it. It's my private opinion
that they've moved away; though there be those who claim that it is
still occupied by the former rulers of destiny living incog. like
other well-born rogues who desire to avoid notoriety."
Hippopopolis is a decided democrat in his views, and has less respect
for the King than he has for the peasant.
"I shouldn't call them rogues exactly," I ventured. "Some of 'em were
a pretty respectable lot. There was Apollo and old Jupiter himself,
and--"
"Oh, you can't tell me anything about them," retorted Hippopopolis. "I
haven't been born and bred in this country for nothing, your
Excellency. They were a bad lot all through. Shall I prepare your
supper?"
"If you please, Hippopopolis," said I, throwing myself down beneath a
huge tree and giving myself up to the reveries of the moment. I did
not deem it well to interpose too strongly between Hippopopolis and
his views of the immortals just then. He had always a glitter in his
eye when any one ventured to controvert his assertions which made a
debate with him a thing to be apprehended. Still, I did not exactly
like to yield, for, to tell the truth, the Olympian folk have always
interested me hugely, and, while I would not of course endorse any one
of them for a high public trust in these days, I have admired them for
their many remarkable qualities.
"Of course," said I, reverting to the question a few moments later, as
Hippopopolis opened a box of sardines and set the bread a-toasting on
the fire he had made. "Of course, I should not venture to say that I,
a stranger, know as much about the private habits of the gods as do
you, who have been their neighbor; but that they are rogues is news to
me."
"That may be, too," said Hippopopolis. "People are often thought more
of by strangers than by their own fellow-townsmen. Even you, sir, I
might suspect, who are by these simple Greeks supposed to be a sort of
reigning sovereign in your own country, are not at home, perhaps, so
large a hill of potatoes. So with Jupiter and Apollo and Mercury, and
the ladies of the court. I haven't a doubt that in the United States
you think Jupiter a remarkably great man, and Apollo a musician, and
Mercury a gentleman of some business capacity, but we Greeks know
better. And as for the ladies--hum--well, your Excellency, they are
not received. They are too bold and pushing. They lack the
refinements, and as for their beauty and accomplishments--"
Hippopopolis here indulged in a gesture which betokened excessive
scorn of the beauty and accomplishments of the ladies of Olympus.
"You have never seen these people, Hippopopolis?" I asked.
"I have been spared that necessity," said he, "but I know all about
them, and I assert to you upon my honor as a courier and the best
guide in the Archipelago that Jupiter is the worst old _roue_ a
country ever had saddled upon it; Apollo's music would drive you mad
and make you welcome a xylophone duet; and as for Mercury's business
capacity, that is merely a capacity for getting away from his
creditors. Why shouldn't a man wax rich if, after floating a thousand
bogus corporations, selling the stock at par and putting the money
into his own pocket, he could unfold his wings and fly off into the
empyrean, leaving his stock and bond holders to mourn their loss?"
[Illustration: HIPPOPOPOLIS EXPLAINS]
"Excuse me, Hippopopolis," I put in, interrupting him fearlessly for
the moment, "pray don't try to deceive me by any such statement as
that. I don't know very much, but I know something about Mercury, and
when you say he puts other people's money into his pockets, I am in a
position to prove otherwise. From five years of age up to the present
time I have been brought up in a home where a bronze statue of
Mercury, said to be the most perfect resemblance in all the statuary
of the world, classic or otherwise, has been the most conspicuous
ornament. At ten I could reproduce on paper with my pencil every line,
every shade, every curve, every movement of the effigy in so far as
my artistic talent would permit, and I know that Mercury not only had
no pocket, but wore no garments in which even so little as a change
pocket could have been concealed. Wherefore there must be some mistake
about your charge."
Hippopopolis laughed.
"Humph!" he said. "It is very evident that you people over the sea
have very superficial notions of things here. When Mercury posed for
that statue, like most of you people who have your photographs taken,
he posed in full evening dress. That is why there is so little of it
in evidence. But in his business suit, Mercury is a very different
sort of a person. Even in Olympus he'd have been ruled off the stock
exchange if he'd ventured to appear there as scantily attired as he is
in most of his statuary appearances. You certainly are not so green as
to suppose that that suit he wears in his statues is the whole extent
of his wardrobe?"
"I had supposed so," I confessed. "It's a trifle unconventional; but,
then, he's one of the gods, and, I presumed, could dress as he
pleased. Your gods are independent, I should imagine, of the mere
decrees of fashion."
"The more exalted one's position, the greater the sartorial
obligation," retorted Hippopopolis, who, for a Greek and a guide, had,
as will be seen, a vocabulary of most remarkable range. "Just as it
happens that our King here, like H. R. H. the Prince of Wales, has to
be provided with seven hundred and sixty-eight suits of clothes so as
to be properly clad at the variety of functions he is required to
grace, so does a god have to be provided with a wardrobe of rare
quality and extent. For drawing-room tables, mantel-pieces, and
pedestals, otherwise for statuary, Mercury can go about clad in just
about half as much stuff as it would require to cover a fairly sized
sofa-cushion and not arouse drastic criticism; but when he goes to
business he is as well provided with pockets as any other speculator."
"Another idol shattered!" I cried, in mock grief. "But Apollo,
Hippopopolis--Apollo! Do not tell me he is not a virtuoso of rare
technique on the lyre!"
"His technique is more than rare," sneered Hippopopolis. "It is
excessively raw. It has been said by men who have heard both that Nero
of Hades can do more to move an audience with his fiddle with two
strings broken and his bow wrist sprained than Apollo can do with the
aid of his lyre and a special dispensation of divine inspiration from
Zeus himself."
"There are various ways of moving audiences, Hippopopolis," I
ventured. "Now Nero, I should say, could move an audience--out of the
hall--in a very few moments. In fact, I have always believed that that
is why he fiddled when Rome was burning: so that people would run out
of the city limits before they perished."
"It's a very droll view," laughed Hippopopolis, "and I dare say holds
much of the truth; but Nero's faulty execution is not proof of
Apollo's virtuosity. For a woodland musicale given by the Dryads, say,
to their friends, the squirrels and moles and wild-cats, and other
denizens of the forest, Apollo will suffice. The musical taste of a
kangaroo might find the strumming of his lyre by Apollo to its liking,
but for cultivated people who know a crescendo andante-arpeggio from
the staccato tones of a penny whistle, he is inadequate."
"You speak as if you had heard the god," said I.
"I have not," retorted Hippopopolis, "but I have heard playing by
people, generally beginners, of whom the rural press has said that
he--or more often she--has the touch of an Apollo, and, if that is
true, as are all things we read in the newspapers, particularly the
rural papers, which are not so sophisticated as to lie, then Apollo
would better not attempt to play at one of our Athenian Courier
Association Smokers. I venture to assert that if he did he would have
to be carried home with a bandage about his brow instead of a laurel,
and his cherished lyre would become but a memory."
I turned sadly to my supper. I had found the mundane things of Greece
disappointing enough, but my sorrow over Hippopopolis's expert
testimony as to the shortcoming of the gods was overwhelming. It was
to be expected that the country would fall into a decadent state
sooner or later, but that the Olympians themselves were not all that
they were cracked up to be by the mythologies had never suggested
itself to me. As a result of my courier's words, I lapsed into a moody
silence, which by eight o'clock developed into an irresistible desire
to sleep.
"I'll take a nap, Hippopopolis," said I, rolling my coat into a bundle
and placing it under my head. "You will, I trust, be good enough to
stand guard lest some of these gods you have mentioned come and pick
my pockets?" I added, satirically.
"I will see that the gods do not rob you," he returned, dryly, with a
slight emphasis on the word "gods," the significance of which I did
not at the moment take in, but which later developments made all too
clear.
Three minutes later I slept soundly.
At ten o'clock, about, I awoke with a start. The fire was out and I
was alone. Hippopopolis had disappeared and with him had gone my
watch, the contents of my pocket-book, my letter of credit, and
everything of value I had with me, with the exception of my
shirt-studs, which, I presume, would have gone also had they not been
fastened to me in such a way that, in getting them, Hippopopolis would
have had to wake me up.
To add to my plight, the rain was pouring down in torrents.
II
I Seek Shelter and Find It
"This is a fine piece of business," I said to myself, springing to my
feet. And then I called as loudly as my lungs would permit for
Hippopopolis. It was really exhilarating to do so. The name lends
itself so readily to a sonorous effect. The hills fairly echoed and
re-echoed with the name, but no answer came, and finally I gave up in
disgust, seeking meanwhile the very inadequate shelter of a tree, to
keep the rain off. A more woe-begone picture never presented itself, I
am convinced. I was chilled through, shivering in the dampness of the
night, a steady stream of water pouring upon and drenching my
clothing, void of property of an available nature, and lost in a
strange land. To make matters worse, I was familiar only with classic
Greek, which language is utterly unknown in those parts to-day, being
spoken only by the professors of the American school at Athens and the
war correspondents of the New York Sunday newspapers--a fact, by the
way, which probably accounts for the latter's unfamiliarity with
classic English. It is too much in these times to expect a man to
speak or write more than one language at a time. Even if I survived
the exposure of the night, a horrid death by starvation stared me in
the face, since I had no means of conveying to any one who might
appear the idea that I was hungry.
Still, if starvation was to be my lot, I preferred to starve dryly
and warmly; so, deserting the tree which was now rather worse as a
refuge than no refuge at all, since the limbs began to trickle forth
steady streams of water, which, by some accursed miracle of choice,
seemed to consider the back of my neck their inevitable destination, I
started in to explore as best I could in the uncanny light of the
night for some more sheltered nook. Feeling, too, that, having robbed
me, Hippopopolis would become an extremely unpleasant person to
encounter in my unarmed and exhausted state, I made my way up the
mountainside, rather than down into the valley, where my inconsiderate
guide was probably even then engaged in squandering my hard-earned
wealth, in company with the peasants of that locality, who see real
money so seldom that they ask no unpleasant questions as to whence it
has come when they do see it.
"Under the circumstances," thought I, "I sincerely hope that the paths
of Hippopopolis and myself may lie as wide as the poles apart. If so
be we do again tread the same path, I trust I shall see him in time to
be able to ignore his presence."
With this reflection I made my way with difficulty up the side of
Olympus. Several times it seemed to me that I had found the spot
wherein I might lie until the sun should rise, but quite as often an
inconsiderate leak overhead through the leaves of the trees, or an
undiscovered crack in the rocks above me, sent me travelling upon my
way. Physical endurance has its limits, however, and at the end of a
two hours' climb, wellnigh exhausted, I staggered into an opening
between two walls of rock, and fell almost fainting to the ground.
The falling rain revived me, and on my hands and knees I crawled
farther in, and, to my great delight, shortly found myself in a
high-ceiled cavern, safe from the storm, a place in which one might
starve comfortably, if so be one had to pass through that trying
ordeal.
"He might have left me my flask," I groaned as I thought over the pint
of warming liquid which Hippopopolis had taken from me. It was of a
particular sort, and I liked it whether I was thirsty or not. "If he'd
only left me that, he might have had my letter of credit, and no
questions asked. These Greeks are apparently not aware that there is
consideration even among thieves."
Huddling myself together, I tried to get warm after the fashion of the
small boy when he jumps into his cold-sheeted bed on a winter's night,
a process which makes his legs warm the upper part of his body, and
_vice versa_. It was moderately successful. If I could have wrung the
water out of my clothes, it might have been wholly so. Still, matters
began to look more cheerful, and I was about to drop off into a doze,
when at the far end of the cavern, where all had hitherto been black
as night, there suddenly burst forth a tremendous flood of light.
"Humph!" thought I, as the rays pierced through the blackness of the
cavern even to where I lay shivering. "I'm in for it now. In all
probability I have stumbled upon a bandits' cave."
Pleasing visions of the ways of bandits began to flit through my mind.
"In all likelihood," thought I, "there are seventeen of them. As I
have read my fiction, there are invariably seventeen bandits to a
band. It's like sixteen ounces to the pound, or three feet to the
yard, or fifty-three cents to the dollar. It never varies. What hope
have I to escape unharmed from seventeen bandits, even though five of
them are discontented--as is always the case in books--and are ready
to betray their chief to the enemy? I am the enemy, of course, but
I'll be hanged if I wish the chief betrayed into my hands. He could
probably thrash me single-handed. My hands are full anyhow, whether I
get the chief or not."
[Illustration: A DREAM OF BRIGANDAGE]
My heart sank into my boots; but as these were very wet, it promptly
returned to my throat, where it had rested ever since Hippopopolis had
deserted me. My heart is a very sane sort of an organ. I gazed towards
the light intently, expecting to see dark figures of murderous mould
loom up before me, but in this I was agreeably disappointed. Nothing
of the sort happened, and I grew easier in my mind, although my
curiosity was by no means appeased.
"I know what I will do," I said to myself. "I'll make friends with the
chief himself. That's the best plan. If he is responsive, my family
will be spared the necessity of receiving one of my ears by mail with
a delicate request for $20,000 ransom, accompanied by a P. S.
enclosing the other ear to emphasize the importance of the
complication."
By way of diversion, let me say here that, while slicing off the
victim's ear is a staple situation among novelists who write of
bandits, in all my experience with bandits--and I have known a
thousand, most of 'em in Wall Street--I have never known it done, and
I challenge those who write of South European highway-robbers to
produce any evidence to prove that the habit is prevalent. The idea
is, on the face of it, invalid. The ears of mankind, despite certain
differences which are acknowledged, are, after all, very much alike.
The point that differentiates one ear from another is the angle at
which it is set from the head. The angle, according to the most
scientific students of the organ of hearing, is the basis of the
estimate of the individual. Therefore, to convince the wealthy persons
at home that large sums of money are expected of them to preserve the
life of the father of the family, the truly expert bandit must send
something besides the ear itself, which, when cut off, has no angle
whatsoever. If I, who am no bandit, and who have not studied the art
of the banditti, may make a suggestion which may prove valuable to the
highwaymen of Italy and Greece, the only sure method of identifying
the individual lies in the cutting off of the head of the victim, by
which means alone the identity of the person to be ransomed may be
settled beyond all question. As one who has suffered, I will say that
I would not send a check for $20,000 to a bandit on the testimony of
one ear any more than I would lend a man ten dollars on his own
representation as to the meals he had not had, the drinks he wanted,
or the date upon which he would pay it back.
All these ideas flashed across my mind as I lay there worn in spirit
and chilled to the bone. At last, however, after a considerable
effort, I gathered myself together and resolved to investigate. I rose
up, stood uncertainly on my feet, and was about to make my way towards
the sources of the unexpected light, when a dark figure rushed past
me. I tried to speak to it.
"Hello, there!" said I, hoping to gain its attention and ask its
advice, since it came into the cavern in that breezy fashion which
betokens familiarity with surroundings. The being, whatever it really
was, and I was soon to find this out, turned a scornful and really
majestic face upon me, as much as to say, "Who are you that should
thus address a god?" The rushing thing wore a crown and flowing robes.
Likewise it had a gray beard and an air of power which made me, a mere
mortal, seem weak even in my own estimation. Furthermore, there was a
divine atmosphere following in his wake. It suggested the most
brilliant of brilliantine.
"Here," he cried as he passed. "I haven't time to listen to your
story, but here is my card. I have no change about me. Call upon me
to-morrow and I will attend to your needs."
The card fluttered to my side, and, not being a mendicant, I paid
little attention to it, preferring to watch this fast-disappearing
figure until I should see whither it was going. Arriving at the far
end of the cavern, the hurrying figure stopped and apparently pushed a
button at the side of the wall. Immediately an iron door, which I had
not before perceived, was pushed aside. The dark figure disappeared
into what seemed to be a well-lighted elevator, and was promptly
lifted out of sight. All became dark again, and I was frankly puzzled.
This was a situation beyond my ken. What it could mean I could not
surmise, and in the hope of finding a clew to the mystery I groped
about in the darkness for the card which the hurried individual had
cast at me with his words of encouragement. Ultimately I found it, but
was unable to decipher its inscription, if perchance it had one.
Nevertheless, I managed to keep my spirits up. This, I think, was a
Herculean task, considering the darkness and my extreme lonesomeness.
I can be happy under adverse circumstances, if only I have congenial
company. But to lie alone, in a black cavern, prey only to the
thoughts of my environment, thoughts suggesting all things apart from
life, thoughts which send the mind over the past a thousand centuries
removed--these are not comforting, and these were the only thoughts
vouchsafed to me.
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