Now, the VOA Special English program, AMERICAN STORIES.
We present the short story "The Lady, or the Tiger?" by Frank R. Stockton. Here is Barbara Klein with the story.
Long
ago, in the very olden time, there lived a powerful king. Some of his
ideas were progressive. But others caused people to suffer.
One
of the king's ideas was a public arena as an agent of poetic justice.
Crime was punished, or innocence was decided, by the result of chance.
When a person was accused of a crime, his future would be judged in the
public arena.
All the people would gather in this building. The
king sat high up on his ceremonial chair. He gave a sign. A door under
him opened. The accused person stepped out into the arena. Directly
opposite the king were two doors. They were side by side, exactly
alike. The person on trial had to walk directly to these doors and open
one of them. He could open whichever door he pleased.
If the
accused man opened one door, out came a hungry tiger, the fiercest in
the land. The tiger immediately jumped on him and tore him to pieces as
punishment for his guilt. The case of the suspect was thus decided.
Iron
bells rang sadly. Great cries went up from the paid mourners. And the
people, with heads hanging low and sad hearts, slowly made their way
home. They mourned greatly that one so young and fair, or so old and
respected, should have died this way.
But, if the accused opened
the other door, there came forth from it a woman, chosen especially for
the person. To this lady he was immediately married, in honor of his
innocence. It was not a problem that he might already have a wife and
family, or that he might have chosen to marry another woman. The king
permitted nothing to interfere with his great method of punishment and
reward.
Another door opened under the king, and a clergyman,
singers, dancers and musicians joined the man and the lady. The
marriage ceremony was quickly completed. Then the bells made cheerful
noises. The people shouted happily. And the innocent man led the new
wife to his home, following children who threw flowers on their path.
This
was the king's method of carrying out justice. Its fairness appeared
perfect. The accused person could not know which door was hiding the
lady. He opened either as he pleased, without knowing whether, in the
next minute, he was to be killed or married.
Sometimes the fierce animal came out of one door. Sometimes it came out of the other.
This
method was a popular one. When the people gathered together on one of
the great trial days, they never knew whether they would see a bloody
killing or a happy ending. So everyone was always interested. And the
thinking part of the community would bring no charge of unfairness
against this plan. Did not the accused person have the whole matter in
his own hands?
The king had a beautiful daughter who was like him
in many ways. He loved her above all humanity. The princess secretly
loved a young man who was the best-looking and bravest in the land. But
he was a commoner, not part of an important family.
One day, the
king discovered the relationship between his daughter and the young
man. The man was immediately put in prison. A day was set for his
trial in the king's public arena. This, of course, was an especially
important event. Never before had a common subject been brave enough to
love the daughter of the king.
The king knew that the young man
would be punished, even if he opened the right door. And the king would
take pleasure in watching the series of events, which would judge
whether or not the man had done wrong in loving the princess.
The
day of the trial arrived. From far and near the people gathered in the
arena and outside its walls. The king and his advisers were in their
places, opposite the two doors. All was ready. The sign was given.
The door under the king opened and the lover of the princess entered the
arena.
Tall, beautiful and fair, his appearance was met with a
sound of approval and tension. Half the people had not known so perfect
a young man lived among them. No wonder the princess loved him! What a
terrible thing for him to be there!
As the young man entered the
public arena, he turned to bend to the king. But he did not at all
think of the great ruler. The young man's eyes instead were fixed on
the princess, who sat to the right of her father.
From the day it
was decided that the sentence of her lover should be decided in the
arena, she had thought of nothing but this event.
The princess had
more power, influence and force of character than anyone 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 behind which door stood the tiger, and behind which waited the
lady. Gold, and the power of a woman's will, had brought the secret to
the princess.
She also knew who the lady was. The lady was one
of the loveliest in the kingdom. Now and then the princess had seen her
looking at and talking to the young man.
The princess hated the
woman behind that silent door. She hated her with all the intensity of
the blood passed to her through long lines of cruel ancestors.
Her
lover turned to look at the princess. His eye met hers as she sat
there, paler and whiter than anyone in the large ocean of tense faces
around her. He saw that she knew behind which door waited the tiger,
and behind which stood the lady. He had expected her to know it.
The
only hope for the young man was based on the success of the princess in
discovering this mystery. When he looked at her, he saw that she had
been successful, as he knew she would succeed.
Then his quick and
tense look asked the question: "Which?" It was as clear to her as if he
shouted it from where he stood. There was not time to be lost.
The
princess raised her hand, and made a short, quick movement toward the
right. No one but her lover saw it. Every eye but his was fixed on the
man in the arena.
He turned, and with a firm and quick step he
walked across the empty space. Every heart stopped beating. Every
breath was held. Every eye was fixed upon that man. 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 think about this question, the harder it is to answer. It
involves a study of the human heart. Think of it not as if the decision
of the question depended upon yourself. But as if it depended upon
that hot-blooded princess, her soul at a white heat under the fires of
sadness 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
terror, and covered her face with her hands? She thought of her lover
opening the door on the other side of which waited the sharp teeth of
the tiger!
But how much oftener had she seen him open the other
door? How had she ground her teeth, and torn her hair, when she had
seen his happy face as he opened the door of the lady! How her soul had
burned in pain when she had seen him run to meet that woman, with her
look of victory. When she had seen the two of them get married. And
when she had seen them walk away together upon their path of flowers,
followed by the happy shouts of the crowd, in which her one sad cry was
lost!
Would it not be better for him to die quickly, and go to
wait for her in that blessed place of the future? And yet, that tiger,
those cries, that blood!
Her decision had been shown quickly. But
it had been made after days and nights of thought. She had known she
would be asked. And she had decided what she would answer. And 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 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 open door – the lady, or the tiger?
You
have heard the American Story "The Lady, or the Tiger?" by Frank R.
Stockton. Your storyteller was Barbara Klein. This story was adapted
into Special English by Shelley Gollust. It was produced by Lawan
Davis. Listen again next week for another American story in VOA Special
English. I'm Bob Doughty.