Read Ebook: The Fall of Ulysses: An Elephant Story by Willard Charles Dwight Ver Beck Frank Illustrator

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"Master--You are deceived if you think I am ignorant of the change which has gradually come to pass in our relationship. You have been my superior thus far in life, not by reason of your greater physical power, for I can strike you dead with one blow, whereas you, without the aid of tools, could not give me even external pain. Your sole claim to command over me lay in your intellectual superiority. This superiority I am now compelled to question. Yesterday you admitted that you had never read any of Henry Mackenzie's novels; you showed complete ignorance concerning Bishop Berkeley's Alciphron; and when I asked why Henry Vaughn, the poet, was called the 'Silurist,' you had no answer to give me. In the conversations of the last few days you have made countless blunders in matters of history, science and literature. Your ideas in metaphysics are those of a dotard, and your judgment in belles-lettres is execrable. I do not see on what ground you arrogate to yourself a position above me. If you are not entitled to the place that I have given you in my consideration, if the idea which I have entertained with regard to our respective positions is erroneous, then it is clearly a matter of justice that we should straightway change places. I will be the master hereafter and you the servant. Can you show me any good reason why this revolution should not come to pass?"

There was no mistaking the tone and purport of this communication. It was at once a declaration of independence and a manifesto of sovereignty. Not merely must I exercise no more authority over Ulysses, but I must yield gracefully and submissively to his rule. I did not know, either by experience or hearsay, what kind of a master an elephant would make, but from the intensely logical quality that Ulysses had always shown, I had a suspicion that he would prove at least severe and intolerant.

The dilemma was a hard one. I took up the chalk, intending to write my answer rather than speak it, that I might have time for reflection. As I did so, an idea suddenly occurred to me--a plan by which I could beat Ulysses at his own game. I immediately became so confident of its success that I did not hesitate to stake my personal liberty on the chance of his discomfiture.

"Ulysses," I said, "I cannot deny that in many directions you have shown a mental grasp that I never expected to see developed elsewhere than among the best of my own species. But all this is not enough. There is still one test, the last and severest to which culture and intelligence may be submitted. If you can meet this satisfactorily, I shall no longer question your superiority over myself."

"That is all I ask," wrote Ulysses, "a fair trial."

I stepped into the house, and returned with a book which I had recently brought from Madras, and which Ulysses had not seen. I laid it open upon the rack before him. He brought up his monocle and glanced at the title and the author.

"Aha!" he wrote; "I have heard of this man, and have long wished to see some of his work."

"You know what position he occupies in letters?" I asked.

"I do," wrote Ulysses; "I have read what his admirers say of him."

"Very well," I answered; "you know, then, what is demanded of you--that you should understand and enjoy this work. If you cannot meet both these requirements, then you have failed."

Ulysses shrugged his trunk with easy indifference, raised his eye glass, and began to read. I lay some distance away, dozing in my hammock, and awaited results. They were not long in coming.

At the end of about half an hour he trumpeted to me in an indignant tone of voice, and inquired on the blackboard whether I had given him the original English or some kind of a translation.

I answered this satisfactorily, and for more than an hour he toiled away, breathing hard at times and swaying from side to side, whenever he thought he was about to find a clew.

Presently he called to me again.

"I forgot to ask," said he, "whether this was to be read backwards or sideways."

"Straight ahead," I answered.

I saw that he was getting involved in the toils, and knew that they would soon close on him. It must be remembered that I had never deceived Ulysses, and the thought that I, or any one else, could feign an opinion which was not genuine, had never occurred to him. The book had been submitted to him about the middle of the morning. Ulysses took no refreshment that day, neither water nor food. When I came out of the house after "tiffin," I advised him to lay the volume aside, and look at it again the next day. He seemed to feel that this would be a confession of failure, and refused.

"Tell me," he wrote, "are there many of your species that understand and really enjoy this book?"

"They are not many in number," I answered; "but their position in the society of culture and taste is an exalted one. Within the last few years it has come to pass that the understanding and appreciation of this work is a shibboleth by which the true disciples of sweetness and light may distinguish themselves from the miscellaneous herd of Philistines. Do not be discouraged because you have failed," I added, in a kindly, patronizing tone. "There are many estimable mortals in the same situation. You understand, however, that you cannot be admitted to the elect, much less claim superiority to myself."

Ulysses wrote upon the blackboard several profane expressions, which I suppose he had learned from Briggs, and resumed his study.

It was nearly evening when Akbar came to me, and said that Ulysses was showing decided symptoms of becoming "must." I went out with the intention of taking the book away from him, but stopped several yards away, struck by his changed appearance. His eyes were wild and bloodshot, his ears erect, his legs spread apart. He was beating his sides with his trunk, and at times trumpeting in low, bass tones. When he saw us approach he seized the book from the rack and dashed it at me with all his force.

"Ulysses," I said, "keep calm."

"Look out!" cried Akbar; "he is 'must.' Beware!"

With a terrific roar Ulysses turned, and sprang in great, ponderous leaps out of the garden. Briggs, who was in his path, dropped his rake and flung himself into some bushes.

"After him, Akbar!" I cried; "see where he goes."

Ulysses ran toward a clump of woods, which grew over a knoll a short distance away. Into this he plunged, and was soon out of sight. We could hear the limbs crash as he tore away into the thick foliage. Akbar followed cautiously. The direction which Ulysses had taken caused a suspicion of possible calamity to dawn on my mind, and I waited uneasily for the mahout's return. It was not long before Akbar emerged from the woods and ran toward me.

"Praise be to our fathers, he is dead!" he shouted. Akbar had come to fear and hate Ulysses.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"May the hyenas eat my grandfather!" said he, solemnly. "You, who know only the truth, remember the rocky bank beyond the hill, which slopes off to destruction? Your servant, Ulysses, rushed thither and flung himself down, bursting his head against the stones. I myself saw him there, lying motionless and dead."

This was the end of Ulysses. I have already remarked at the beginning of this narrative that I felt less of sorrow than of relief over the catastrophe. Long association had made him dear to me in many ways, yet I was not prepared to endure him as master. There could be no other outcome to the unhappy situation than a tragedy of some kind. I sadly gave orders for the interment of his body, and returned to the house, taking with me the torn and disfigured copy of Browning's "Sordello."

The reason that prompted Ulysses' master to select "Sordello" as the agent of his discomfiture was, no doubt, that of all the blind and obscure work of the great poet, this is generally rated the most mysterious and perplexing. In the days when the Browning conflict raged, "Sordello" was the touchstone of the cult. To refresh the reader's memory of its difficulties, here are reproduced a few passages taken almost at random from the poem. None of these is dependent on context for meaning, so they constitute a fair test; and the reader can put himself in Ulysses' place.

FROM "SORDELLO"--BOOK ONE.

This world of ours by tacit pact is pledged To laying such a spangled fabric low, Whether by gradual brush or gallant blow. But its abundant will was balked here: doubt Rose tardily in one so fenced about From most that nurtures judgment, care and pain: Judgment, that dull expedient we are fain, Less favored, to adopt betimes and force Stead us, diverted from our natural course Of joys--contrive some yet amid the dearth, Vary and render them, it may be, worth Most we forgo.

FROM BOOK THREE.

Let stay those girls Look they too happy, too tricked out? Confess There is such niggard stock of happiness To share, that, do one's uttermost, dear wretch, One labors ineffectually to stretch It o'er you so that mother and children, both May equitably flaunt the sumpter-cloth!

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