children_stories.txt
“the article in the newspaper put it at fifty!” cried colia.
“i beg your pardon,” said the prince, going up to burdovsky. “i have done you a great wrong, but i did not send you that money as a charity, believe me. and now i am again to blame. i offended you just now.” (the prince was much distressed; he seemed worn out with fatigue, and spoke almost incoherently.) “i spoke of swindling... but i did not apply that to you. i was deceived .... i said you were... afflicted... like me...
but you are not like me... you give lessons... you support your mother.
i said you had dishonoured your mother, but you love her. she says so herself... i did not know... gavrila ardalionovitch did not tell me that... forgive me! i dared to offer you ten thousand roubles, but i was wrong. i ought to have done it differently, and now... there is no way of doing it, for you despise me...”
“i declare, this is a lunatic asylum!” cried lizabetha prokofievna.
“of course it is a lunatic asylum!” repeated aglaya sharply, but her words were overpowered by other voices. everybody was talking loudly, making remarks and comments; some discussed the affair gravely, others laughed. ivan fedorovitch epanchin was extremely indignant. he stood waiting for his wife with an air of offended dignity. lebedeff’s nephew took up the word again.
“well, prince, to do you justice, you certainly know how to make the most of your let us call it infirmity, for the sake of politeness; you have set about offering your money and friendship in such a way that no self-respecting man could possibly accept them. this is an excess of ingenuousness or of malice you ought to know better than anyone which word best fits the case.”
“allow me, gentlemen,” said gavrila ardalionovitch, who had just examined the contents of the envelope, “there are only a hundred roubles here, not two hundred and fifty. i point this out, prince, to prevent misunderstanding.”
“never mind, never mind,” said the prince, signing to him to keep quiet.
“but we do mind,” said lebedeff’s nephew vehemently. “prince, your ‘never mind’ is an insult to us. we have nothing to hide; our actions can bear daylight. it is true that there are only a hundred roubles instead of two hundred and fifty, but it is all the same.”
“why, no, it is hardly the same,” remarked gavrila ardalionovitch, with an air of ingenuous surprise.
“don’t interrupt, we are not such fools as you think, mr. lawyer,” cried lebedeff’s nephew angrily. “of course there is a difference between a hundred roubles and two hundred and fifty, but in this case the principle is the main point, and that a hundred and fifty roubles are missing is only a side issue. the point to be emphasized is that burdovsky will not accept your highness’s charity; he flings it back in your face, and it scarcely matters if there are a hundred roubles or two hundred and fifty. burdovsky has refused ten thousand roubles; you heard him. he would not have returned even a hundred roubles if he was dishonest! the hundred and fifty roubles were paid to tchebaroff for his travelling expenses. you may jeer at our stupidity and at our inexperience in business matters; you have done all you could already to make us look ridiculous; but do not dare to call us dishonest. the four of us will club together every day to repay the hundred and fifty roubles to the prince, if we have to pay it in instalments of a rouble at a time, but we will repay it, with interest. burdovsky is poor, he has no millions. after his journey to see the prince tchebaroff sent in his bill. we counted on winning... who would not have done the same in such a case?”
“who indeed?” exclaimed prince s.
“i shall certainly go mad, if i stay here!” cried lizabetha prokofievna.
“it reminds me,” said evgenie pavlovitch, laughing, “of the famous plea of a certain lawyer who lately defended a man for murdering six people in order to rob them. he excused his client on the score of poverty.
‘it is quite natural,’ he said in conclusion, ‘considering the state of misery he was in, that he should have thought of murdering these six people; which of you, gentlemen, would not have done the same in his place?’”
“enough,” cried lizabetha prokofievna abruptly, trembling with anger, “we have had enough of this balderdash!”
in a state of terrible excitement she threw back her head, with flaming eyes, casting looks of contempt and defiance upon the whole company, in which she could no longer distinguish friend from foe. she had restrained herself so long that she felt forced to vent her rage on somebody. those who knew lizabetha prokofievna saw at once how it was with her. “she flies into these rages sometimes,” said ivan fedorovitch to prince s. the next day, “but she is not often so violent as she was yesterday; it does not happen more than once in three years.”
“be quiet, ivan fedorovitch! leave me alone!” cried mrs. epanchin. “why do you offer me your arm now? you had not sense enough to take me away before. you are my husband, you are a father, it was your duty to drag me away by force, if in my folly i refused to obey you and go quietly.
you might at least have thought of your daughters. we can find our way out now without your help. here is shame enough for a year! wait a moment ‘till i thank the prince! thank you, prince, for the entertainment you have given us! it was most amusing to hear these young men... it is vile, vile! a chaos, a scandal, worse than a nightmare!
is it possible that there can be many such people on earth? be quiet, aglaya! be quiet, alexandra! it is none of your business! don’t fuss round me like that, evgenie pavlovitch; you exasperate me! so, my dear,”
she cried, addressing the prince, “you go so far as to beg their pardon! he says, ‘forgive me for offering you a fortune.’ and you, you mountebank, what are you laughing at?” she cried, turning suddenly on lebedeff’s nephew. “‘we refuse ten thousand roubles; we do not beseech, we demand!’ as if he did not know that this idiot will call on them tomorrow to renew his offers of money and friendship. you will, won’t you? you will? come, will you, or won’t you?”
“i shall,” said the prince, with gentle humility.
“you hear him! you count upon it, too,” she continued, turning upon doktorenko. “you are as sure of him now as if you had the money in your pocket. and there you are playing the swaggerer to throw dust in our eyes! no, my dear sir, you may take other people in! i can see through all your airs and graces, i see your game!”
“lizabetha prokofievna!” exclaimed the prince.
“come, lizabetha prokofievna, it is quite time for us to be going, we will take the prince with us,” said prince s. with a smile, in the coolest possible way.
the girls stood apart, almost frightened; their father was positively horrified. mrs. epanchin’s language astonished everybody. some who stood a little way off smiled furtively, and talked in whispers. lebedeff wore an expression of utmost ecstasy.
“chaos and scandal are to be found everywhere, madame,” remarked doktorenko, who was considerably put out of countenance.
“not like this! nothing like the spectacle you have just given us, sir,”
answered lizabetha prokofievna, with a sort of hysterical rage. “leave me alone, will you?” she cried violently to those around her, who were trying to keep her quiet. “no, evgenie pavlovitch, if, as you said yourself just now, a lawyer said in open court that he found it quite natural that a man should murder six people because he was in misery, the world must be coming to an end. i had not heard of it before. now i understand everything. and this stutterer, won’t he turn out a murderer?” she cried, pointing to burdovsky, who was staring at her with stupefaction. “i bet he will! he will have none of your money, possibly, he will refuse it because his conscience will not allow him to accept it, but he will go murdering you by night and walking off with your cashbox, with a clear conscience! he does not call it a dishonest action but ‘the impulse of a noble despair’; ‘a negation’; or the devil knows what! bah! everything is upside down, everyone walks head downwards. a young girl, brought up at home, suddenly jumps into a cab in the middle of the street, saying: ‘good-bye, mother, i married karlitch, or ivanitch, the other day!’ and you think it quite right? you call such conduct estimable and natural? the ‘woman question’? look here,” she continued, pointing to colia, “the other day that whippersnapper told me that this was the whole meaning of the ‘woman question.’ but even supposing that your mother is a fool, you are none the less, bound to treat her with humanity. why did you come here tonight so insolently?
‘give us our rights, but don’t dare to speak in our presence. show us every mark of deepest respect, while we treat you like the scum of the earth.’ the miscreants have written a tissue of calumny in their article, and these are the men who seek for truth, and do battle for the right! ‘we do not beseech, we demand, you will get no thanks from us, because you will be acting to satisfy your own conscience!’
what morality! but, good heavens! if you declare that the prince’s generosity will, excite no gratitude in you, he might answer that he is not, bound to be grateful to pavlicheff, who also was only satisfying his own conscience. but you counted on the prince’s, gratitude towards pavlicheff; you never lent him any money; he owes you nothing; then what were you counting upon if not on his gratitude? and if you appeal to that sentiment in others, why should you expect to be exempted from it? they are mad! they say society is savage and inhuman because it despises a young girl who has been seduced. but if you call society inhuman you imply that the young girl is made to suffer by its censure.
how then, can you hold her up to the scorn of society in the newspapers without realizing that you are making her suffering, still greater?
madmen! vain fools! they don’t believe in god, they don’t believe in christ! but you are so eaten up by pride and vanity, that you will end by devouring each other that is my prophecy! is not this absurd? is it not monstrous chaos? and after all this, that shameless creature will go and beg their pardon! are there many people like you? what are you smiling at? because i am not ashamed to disgrace myself before you? yes, i am disgraced it can’t be helped now! but don’t you jeer at me, you scum!” (this was aimed at hippolyte). “he is almost at his last gasp, yet he corrupts others. you have got hold of this lad ” (she pointed to colia); “you, have turned his head, you have taught him to be an atheist, you don’t believe in god, and you are not too old to be whipped, sir! a plague upon you! and so, prince lef nicolaievitch, you will call on them tomorrow, will you?” she asked the prince breathlessly, for the second time.
“yes.”
“then i will never speak to you again.” she made a sudden movement to go, and then turned quickly back. “and you will call on that atheist?”
she continued, pointing to hippolyte. “how dare you grin at me like that?” she shouted furiously, rushing at the invalid, whose mocking smile drove her to distraction.
exclamations arose on all sides.
“lizabetha prokofievna! lizabetha prokofievna! lizabetha prokofievna!”
“mother, this is disgraceful!” cried aglaya.
mrs. epanchin had approached hippolyte and seized him firmly by the arm, while her eyes, blazing with fury, were fixed upon his face.
“do not distress yourself, aglaya ivanovitch,” he answered calmly; “your mother knows that one cannot strike a dying man. i am ready to explain why i was laughing. i shall be delighted if you will let me ”
a violent fit of coughing, which lasted a full minute, prevented him from finishing his sentence.
“he is dying, yet he will not stop holding forth!” cried lizabetha prokofievna. she loosed her hold on his arm, almost terrified, as she saw him wiping the blood from his lips. “why do you talk? you ought to go home to bed.”
“so i will,” he whispered hoarsely. “as soon as i get home i will go to bed at once; and i know i shall be dead in a fortnight; botkine told me so himself last week. that is why i should like to say a few farewell words, if you will let me.”
“but you must be mad! it is ridiculous! you should take care of yourself; what is the use of holding a conversation now? go home to bed, do!” cried mrs. epanchin in horror.
“when i do go to bed i shall never get up again,” said hippolyte, with a smile. “i meant to take to my bed yesterday and stay there till i died, but as my legs can still carry me, i put it off for two days, so as to come here with them to-day but i am very tired.”
“oh, sit down, sit down, why are you standing?”
lizabetha prokofievna placed a chair for him with her own hands.
“thank you,” he said gently. “sit opposite to me, and let us talk. we must have a talk now, lizabetha prokofievna; i am very anxious for it.”
he smiled at her once more. “remember that today, for the last time, i am out in the air, and in the company of my fellow-men, and that in a fortnight i shall certainly be no longer in this world. so, in a way, this is my farewell to nature and to men. i am not very sentimental, but do you know, i am quite glad that all this has happened at pavlofsk, where at least one can see a green tree.”
“but why talk now?” replied lizabetha prokofievna, more and more alarmed; “you are quite feverish. just now you would not stop shouting, and now you can hardly breathe. you are gasping.”
“i shall have time to rest. why will you not grant my last wish? do you know, lizabetha prokofievna, that i have dreamed of meeting you for a long while? i had often heard of you from colia; he is almost the only person who still comes to see me. you are an original and eccentric woman; i have seen that for myself do you know, i have even been rather fond of you?”
“good heavens! and i very nearly struck him!”
“you were prevented by aglaya ivanovna. i think i am not mistaken? that is your daughter, aglaya ivanovna? she is so beautiful that i recognized her directly, although i had never seen her before. let me, at least, look on beauty for the last time in my life,” he said with a wry smile.
“you are here with the prince, and your husband, and a large company.
why should you refuse to gratify my last wish?”
“give me a chair!” cried lizabetha prokofievna, but she seized one for herself and sat down opposite to hippolyte. “colia, you must go home with him,” she commanded, “and tomorrow i will come my self.”
“will you let me ask the prince for a cup of tea?... i am exhausted. do you know what you might do, lizabetha prokofievna? i think you wanted to take the prince home with you for tea. stay here, and let us spend the evening together. i am sure the prince will give us all some tea.
forgive me for being so free and easy but i know you are kind, and the prince is kind, too. in fact, we are all good-natured people it is really quite comical.”
the prince bestirred himself to give orders. lebedeff hurried out, followed by vera.
“it is quite true,” said mrs. epanchin decisively. “talk, but not too loud, and don’t excite yourself. you have made me sorry for you. prince, you don’t deserve that i should stay and have tea with you, yet i will, all the same, but i won’t apologize. i apologize to nobody! nobody! it is absurd! however, forgive me, prince, if i blew you up that is, if you like, of course. but please don’t let me keep anyone,” she added suddenly to her husband and daughters, in a tone of resentment, as though they had grievously offended her. “i can come home alone quite well.”
but they did not let her finish, and gathered round her eagerly. the prince immediately invited everyone to stay for tea, and apologized for not having thought of it before. the general murmured a few polite words, and asked lizabetha prokofievna if she did not feel cold on the terrace. he very nearly asked hippolyte how long he had been at the university, but stopped himself in time. evgenie pavlovitch and prince s. suddenly grew extremely gay and amiable. adelaida and alexandra had not recovered from their surprise, but it was now mingled with satisfaction; in short, everyone seemed very much relieved that lizabetha prokofievna had got over her paroxysm. aglaya alone still frowned, and sat apart in silence. all the other guests stayed on as well; no one wanted to go, not even general ivolgin, but lebedeff said something to him in passing which did not seem to please him, for he immediately went and sulked in a corner. the prince took care to offer tea to burdovsky and his friends as well as the rest. the invitation made them rather uncomfortable. they muttered that they would wait for hippolyte, and went and sat by themselves in a distant corner of the verandah. tea was served at once; lebedeff had no doubt ordered it for himself and his family before the others arrived. it was striking eleven.
x.
after moistening his lips with the tea which vera lebedeff brought him, hippolyte set the cup down on the table, and glanced round. he seemed confused and almost at a loss.
“just look, lizabetha prokofievna,” he began, with a kind of feverish haste; “these china cups are supposed to be extremely valuable. lebedeff always keeps them locked up in his china-cupboard; they were part of his wife’s dowry. yet he has brought them out tonight in your honour, of course! he is so pleased ” he was about to add something else, but could not find the words.
“there, he is feeling embarrassed; i expected as much,” whispered evgenie pavlovitch suddenly in the prince’s ear. “it is a bad sign; what do you think? now, out of spite, he will come out with something so outrageous that even lizabetha prokofievna will not be able to stand it.”
muishkin looked at him inquiringly.
“you do not care if he does?” added evgenie pavlovitch. “neither do i; in fact, i should be glad, merely as a proper punishment for our dear lizabetha prokofievna. i am very anxious that she should get it, without delay, and i shall stay till she does. you seem feverish.”
“never mind; by-and-by; yes, i am not feeling well,” said the prince impatiently, hardly listening. he had just heard hippolyte mention his own name.
“you don’t believe it?” said the invalid, with a nervous laugh. “i don’t wonder, but the prince will have no difficulty in believing it; he will not be at all surprised.”
“do you hear, prince do you hear that?” said lizabetha prokofievna, turning towards him.
there was laughter in the group around her, and lebedeff stood before her gesticulating wildly.
“he declares that your humbug of a landlord revised this gentleman’s article the article that was read aloud just now in which you got such a charming dressing-down.”
the prince regarded lebedeff with astonishment.
“why don’t you say something?” cried lizabetha prokofievna, stamping her foot.
“well,” murmured the prince, with his eyes still fixed on lebedeff, “i can see now that he did.”
“is it true?” she asked eagerly.
“absolutely, your excellency,” said lebedeff, without the least hesitation.
mrs. epanchin almost sprang up in amazement at his answer, and at the assurance of his tone.
“he actually seems to boast of it!” she cried.
“i am base base!” muttered lebedeff, beating his breast, and hanging his head.
“what do i care if you are base or not? he thinks he has only to say, ‘i am base,’ and there is an end of it. as to you, prince, are you not ashamed? i repeat, are you not ashamed, to mix with such riff-raff? i will never forgive you!”
“the prince will forgive me!” said lebedeff with emotional conviction.
keller suddenly left his seat, and approached lizabetha prokofievna.
“it was only out of generosity, madame,” he said in a resonant voice, “and because i would not betray a friend in an awkward position, that i did not mention this revision before; though you heard him yourself threatening to kick us down the steps. to clear the matter up, i declare now that i did have recourse to his assistance, and that i paid him six roubles for it. but i did not ask him to correct my style; i simply went to him for information concerning the facts, of which i was ignorant to a great extent, and which he was competent to give. the story of the gaiters, the appetite in the swiss professor’s house, the substitution of fifty roubles for two hundred and fifty all such details, in fact, were got from him. i paid him six roubles for them; but he did not correct the style.”
“i must state that i only revised the first part of the article,”
interposed lebedeff with feverish impatience, while laughter rose from all around him; “but we fell out in the middle over one idea, so i never corrected the second part. therefore i cannot be held responsible for the numerous grammatical blunders in it.”
“that is all he thinks of!” cried lizabetha prokofievna.
“may i ask when this article was revised?” said evgenie pavlovitch to keller.
“yesterday morning,” he replied, “we had an interview which we all gave our word of honour to keep secret.”
“the very time when he was cringing before you and making protestations of devotion! oh, the mean wretches! i will have nothing to do with your pushkin, and your daughter shall not set foot in my house!”
lizabetha prokofievna was about to rise, when she saw hippolyte laughing, and turned upon him with irritation.
“well, sir, i suppose you wanted to make me look ridiculous?”
“heaven forbid!” he answered, with a forced smile. “but i am more than ever struck by your eccentricity, lizabetha prokofievna. i admit that i told you of lebedeff’s duplicity, on purpose. i knew the effect it would have on you, on you alone, for the prince will forgive him. he has probably forgiven him already, and is racking his brains to find some excuse for him is not that the truth, prince?”
he gasped as he spoke, and his strange agitation seemed to increase.
“well?” said mrs. epanchin angrily, surprised at his tone; “well, what more?”
“i have heard many things of the kind about you...they delighted me... i have learned to hold you in the highest esteem,” continued hippolyte.
his words seemed tinged with a kind of sarcastic mockery, yet he was extremely agitated, casting suspicious glances around him, growing confused, and constantly losing the thread of his ideas. all this, together with his consumptive appearance, and the frenzied expression of his blazing eyes, naturally attracted the attention of everyone present.
“i might have been surprised (though i admit i know nothing of the world), not only that you should have stayed on just now in the company of such people as myself and my friends, who are not of your class, but that you should let these... young ladies listen to such a scandalous affair, though no doubt novel-reading has taught them all there is to know. i may be mistaken; i hardly know what i am saying; but surely no one but you would have stayed to please a whippersnapper (yes, a whippersnapper; i admit it) to spend the evening and take part in everything only to be ashamed of it tomorrow. (i know i express myself badly.) i admire and appreciate it all extremely, though the expression on the face of his excellency, your husband, shows that he thinks it very improper. he-he!” he burst out laughing, and was seized with a fit of coughing which lasted for two minutes and prevented him from speaking.
“he has lost his breath now!” said lizabetha prokofievna coldly, looking at him with more curiosity than pity: “come, my dear boy, that is quite enough let us make an end of this.”
ivan fedorovitch, now quite out of patience, interrupted suddenly. “let me remark in my turn, sir,” he said in tones of deep annoyance, “that my wife is here as the guest of prince lef nicolaievitch, our friend and neighbour, and that in any case, young man, it is not for you to pass judgment on the conduct of lizabetha prokofievna, or to make remarks aloud in my presence concerning what feelings you think may be read in my face. yes, my wife stayed here,” continued the general, with increasing irritation, “more out of amazement than anything else.
everyone can understand that a collection of such strange young men would attract the attention of a person interested in contemporary life.
i stayed myself, just as i sometimes stop to look on in the street when i see something that may be regarded as-as-as-”
“as a curiosity,” suggested evgenie pavlovitch, seeing his excellency involved in a comparison which he could not complete.
“that is exactly the word i wanted,” said the general with satisfaction “a curiosity. however, the most astonishing and, if i may so express myself, the most painful, thing in this matter, is that you cannot even understand, young man, that lizabetha prokofievna, only stayed with you because you are ill, if you really are dying moved by the pity awakened by your plaintive appeal, and that her name, character, and social position place her above all risk of contamination. lizabetha prokofievna!” he continued, now crimson with rage, “if you are coming, we will say goodnight to the prince, and ”
“thank you for the lesson, general,” said hippolyte, with unexpected gravity, regarding him thoughtfully.
“two minutes more, if you please, dear ivan fedorovitch,” said lizabetha prokofievna to her husband; “it seems to me that he is in a fever and delirious; you can see by his eyes what a state he is in; it is impossible to let him go back to petersburg tonight. can you put him up, lef nicolaievitch? i hope you are not bored, dear prince,” she added suddenly to prince s. “alexandra, my dear, come here! your hair is coming down.”
she arranged her daughter’s hair, which was not in the least disordered, and gave her a kiss. this was all that she had called her for.
“i thought you were capable of development,” said hippolyte, coming out of his fit of abstraction. “yes, that is what i meant to say,” he added, with the satisfaction of one who suddenly remembers something he had forgotten. “here is burdovsky, sincerely anxious to protect his mother; is not that so? and he himself is the cause of her disgrace. the prince is anxious to help burdovsky and offers him friendship and a large sum of money, in the sincerity of his heart. and here they stand like two sworn enemies ha, ha, ha! you all hate burdovsky because his behaviour with regard to his mother is shocking and repugnant to you; do you not?
is not that true? is it not true? you all have a passion for beauty and distinction in outward forms; that is all you care for, isn’t it? i have suspected for a long time that you cared for nothing else! well, let me tell you that perhaps there is not one of you who loved your mother as burdovsky loved his. as to you, prince, i know that you have sent money secretly to burdovsky’s mother through gania. well, i bet now,” he continued with an hysterical laugh, “that burdovsky will accuse you of indelicacy, and reproach you with a want of respect for his mother! yes, that is quite certain! ha, ha, ha!”
he caught his breath, and began to cough once more.
“come, that is enough! that is all now; you have no more to say? now go to bed; you are burning with fever,” said lizabetha prokofievna impatiently. her anxious eyes had never left the invalid. “good heavens, he is going to begin again!”
“you are laughing, i think? why do you keep laughing at me?” said hippolyte irritably to evgenie pavlovitch, who certainly was laughing.
“i only want to know, mr. hippolyte excuse me, i forget your surname.”
“mr. terentieff,” said the prince.
“oh yes, mr. terentieff. thank you prince. i heard it just now, but had forgotten it. i want to know, mr. terentieff, if what i have heard about you is true. it seems you are convinced that if you could speak to the people from a window for a quarter of an hour, you could make them all adopt your views and follow you?”
“i may have said so,” answered hippolyte, as if trying to remember.
“yes, i certainly said so,” he continued with sudden animation, fixing an unflinching glance on his questioner. “what of it?”
“nothing. i was only seeking further information, to put the finishing touch.”
evgenie pavlovitch was silent, but hippolyte kept his eyes fixed upon him, waiting impatiently for more.
“well, have you finished?” said lizabetha prokofievna to evgenie. “make haste, sir; it is time he went to bed. have you more to say?” she was very angry.
“yes, i have a little more,” said evgenie pavlovitch, with a smile. “it seems to me that all you and your friends have said, mr. terentieff, and all you have just put forward with such undeniable talent, may be summed up in the triumph of right above all, independent of everything else, to the exclusion of everything else; perhaps even before having discovered what constitutes the right. i may be mistaken?”
“you are certainly mistaken; i do not even understand you. what else?”
murmurs arose in the neighbourhood of burdovsky and his companions; lebedeff’s nephew protested under his breath.
“i have nearly finished,” replied evgenie pavlovitch.
“i will only remark that from these premises one could conclude that might is right i mean the right of the clenched fist, and of personal inclination. indeed, the world has often come to that conclusion.
prudhon upheld that might is right. in the american war some of the most advanced liberals took sides with the planters on the score that the blacks were an inferior race to the whites, and that might was the right of the white race.”
“well?”
“you mean, no doubt, that you do not deny that might is right?”
“what then?”
“you are at least logical. i would only point out that from the right of might, to the right of tigers and crocodiles, or even daniloff and gorsky, is but a step.”
“i know nothing about that; what else?”
hippolyte was scarcely listening. he kept saying “well?” and “what else?”
mechanically, without the least curiosity, and by mere force of habit.
“why, nothing else; that is all.”
“however, i bear you no grudge,” said hippolyte suddenly, and, hardly conscious of what he was doing, he held out his hand with a smile. the gesture took evgenie pavlovitch by surprise, but with the utmost gravity he touched the hand that was offered him in token of forgiveness.
“i can but thank you,” he said, in a tone too respectful to be sincere, “for your kindness in letting me speak, for i have often noticed that our liberals never allow other people to have an opinion of their own, and immediately answer their opponents with abuse, if they do not have recourse to arguments of a still more unpleasant nature.”
“what you say is quite true,” observed general epanchin; then, clasping his hands behind his back, he returned to his place on the terrace steps, where he yawned with an air of boredom.
“come, sir, that will do; you weary me,” said lizabetha prokofievna suddenly to evgenie pavlovitch.
hippolyte rose all at once, looking troubled and almost frightened.
“it is time for me to go,” he said, glancing round in perplexity. “i have detained you... i wanted to tell you everything... i thought you all... for the last time... it was a whim...”
he evidently had sudden fits of returning animation, when he awoke from his semi-delirium; then, recovering full self-possession for a few moments, he would speak, in disconnected phrases which had perhaps haunted him for a long while on his bed of suffering, during weary, sleepless nights.
“well, good-bye,” he said abruptly. “you think it is easy for me to say good-bye to you? ha, ha!”
feeling that his question was somewhat gauche, he smiled angrily. then as if vexed that he could not ever express what he really meant, he said irritably, in a loud voice:
“excellency, i have the honour of inviting you to my funeral; that is, if you will deign to honour it with your presence. i invite you all, gentlemen, as well as the general.”
he burst out laughing again, but it was the laughter of a madman.
lizabetha prokofievna approached him anxiously and seized his arm.
he stared at her for a moment, still laughing, but soon his face grew serious.
“do you know that i came here to see those trees?” pointing to the trees in the park. “it is not ridiculous, is it? say that it is not ridiculous!” he demanded urgently of lizabetha prokofievna. then he seemed to be plunged in thought. a moment later he raised his head, and his eyes sought for someone. he was looking for evgenie pavlovitch, who was close by on his right as before, but he had forgotten this, and his eyes ranged over the assembled company. “ah! you have not gone!” he said, when he caught sight of him at last. “you kept on laughing just now, because i thought of speaking to the people from the window for a quarter of an hour. but i am not eighteen, you know; lying on that bed, and looking out of that window, i have thought of all sorts of things for such a long time that... a dead man has no age, you know. i was saying that to myself only last week, when i was awake in the night. do you know what you fear most? you fear our sincerity more than anything, although you despise us! the idea crossed my mind that night... you thought i was making fun of you just now, lizabetha prokofievna? no, the idea of mockery was far from me; i only meant to praise you. colia told me the prince called you a child very well but let me see, i had something else to say...” he covered his face with his hands and tried to collect his thoughts.
“ah, yes you were going away just now, and i thought to myself: ‘i shall never see these people again never again! this is the last time i shall see the trees, too. i shall see nothing after this but the red brick wall of meyer’s house opposite my window. tell them about it try to tell them,’ i thought. ‘here is a beautiful young girl you are a dead man; make them understand that. tell them that a dead man may say anything and mrs. grundy will not be angry ha-ha! you are not laughing?” he looked anxiously around. “but you know i get so many queer ideas, lying there in bed. i have grown convinced that nature is full of mockery you called me an atheist just now, but you know this nature...
why are you laughing again? you are very cruel!” he added suddenly, regarding them all with mournful reproach. “i have not corrupted colia,”
he concluded in a different and very serious tone, as if remembering something again.
“nobody here is laughing at you. calm yourself,” said lizabetha prokofievna, much moved. “you shall see a new doctor tomorrow; the other was mistaken; but sit down, do not stand like that! you are delirious ” oh, what shall we do with him she cried in anguish, as she made him sit down again in the arm-chair.
a tear glistened on her cheek. at the sight of it hippolyte seemed amazed. he lifted his hand timidly and, touched the tear with his finger, smiling like a child.
“i... you,” he began joyfully. “you cannot tell how i... he always spoke so enthusiastically of you, colia here; i liked his enthusiasm. i was not corrupting him! but i must leave him, too i wanted to leave them all there was not one of them not one! i wanted to be a man of action i had a right to be. oh! what a lot of things i wanted! now i want nothing; i renounce all my wants; i swore to myself that i would want nothing; let them seek the truth without me! yes, nature is full of mockery! why” he continued with sudden warmth “does she create the choicest beings only to mock at them? the only human being who is recognized as perfect, when nature showed him to mankind, was given the mission to say things which have caused the shedding of so much blood that it would have drowned mankind if it had all been shed at once! oh!
it is better for me to die! i should tell some dreadful lie too; nature would so contrive it! i have corrupted nobody. i wanted to live for the happiness of all men, to find and spread the truth. i used to look out of my window at the wall of meyer’s house, and say to myself that if i could speak for a quarter of an hour i would convince the whole world, and now for once in my life i have come into contact with... you if not with the others! and what is the result? nothing! the sole result is that you despise me! therefore i must be a fool, i am useless, it is time i disappeared! and i shall leave not even a memory! not a sound, not a trace, not a single deed! i have not spread a single truth!... do not laugh at the fool! forget him! forget him forever! i beseech you, do not be so cruel as to remember! do you know that if i were not consumptive, i would kill myself?”
though he seemed to wish to say much more, he became silent. he fell back into his chair, and, covering his face with his hands, began to sob like a little child.
“oh! what on earth are we to do with him?” cried lizabetha prokofievna.
she hastened to him and pressed his head against her bosom, while he sobbed convulsively.
“come, come, come! there, you must not cry, that will do. you are a good child! god will forgive you, because you knew no better. come now, be a man! you know presently you will be ashamed.”
hippolyte raised his head with an effort, saying:
“i have little brothers and sisters, over there, poor avid innocent. she will corrupt them! you are a saint! you are a child yourself save them!
snatch them from that... she is... it is shameful! oh! help them! god will repay you a hundredfold. for the love of god, for the love of christ!”
“speak, ivan fedorovitch! what are we to do?” cried lizabetha prokofievna, irritably. “please break your majestic silence! i tell you, if you cannot come to some decision, i will stay here all night myself.
you have tyrannized over me enough, you autocrat!”
she spoke angrily, and in great excitement, and expected an immediate reply. but in such a case, no matter how many are present, all prefer to keep silence: no one will take the initiative, but all reserve their comments till afterwards. there were some present varvara ardalionovna, for instance who would have willingly sat there till morning without saying a word. varvara had sat apart all the evening without opening her lips, but she listened to everything with the closest attention; perhaps she had her reasons for so doing.
“my dear,” said the general, “it seems to me that a sick-nurse would be of more use here than an excitable person like you. perhaps it would be as well to get some sober, reliable man for the night. in any case we must consult the prince, and leave the patient to rest at once. tomorrow we can see what can be done for him.”
“it is nearly midnight; we are going. will he come with us, or is he to stay here?” doktorenko asked crossly of the prince.
“you can stay with him if you like,” said muishkin.
“there is plenty of room here.”
suddenly, to the astonishment of all, keller went quickly up to the general.
“excellency,” he said, impulsively, “if you want a reliable man for the night, i am ready to sacrifice myself for my friend such a soul as he has! i have long thought him a great man, excellency! my article showed my lack of education, but when he criticizes he scatters pearls!”
ivan fedorovitch turned from the boxer with a gesture of despair.
“i shall be delighted if he will stay; it would certainly be difficult for him to get back to petersburg,” said the prince, in answer to the eager questions of lizabetha prokofievna.
“but you are half asleep, are you not? if you don’t want him, i will take him back to my house! why, good gracious! he can hardly stand up himself! what is it? are you ill?”
not finding the prince on his death-bed, lizabetha prokofievna had been misled by his appearance to think him much better than he was. but his recent illness, the painful memories attached to it, the fatigue of this evening, the incident with “pavlicheff’s son,” and now this scene with hippolyte, had all so worked on his oversensitive nature that he was now almost in a fever. moreover, a new trouble, almost a fear, showed itself in his eyes; he watched hippolyte anxiously as if expecting something further.
suddenly hippolyte arose. his face, shockingly pale, was that of a man overwhelmed with shame and despair. this was shown chiefly in the look of fear and hatred which he cast upon the assembled company, and in the wild smile upon his trembling lips. then he cast down his eyes, and with the same smile, staggered towards burdovsky and doktorenko, who stood at the entrance to the verandah. he had decided to go with them.
“there! that is what i feared!” cried the prince. “it was inevitable!”
hippolyte turned upon him, a prey to maniacal rage, which set all the muscles of his face quivering.
“ah! that is what you feared! it was inevitable, you say! well, let me tell you that if i hate anyone here i hate you all,” he cried, in a hoarse, strained voice “but you, you, with your jesuitical soul, your soul of sickly sweetness, idiot, beneficent millionaire i hate you worse than anything or anyone on earth! i saw through you and hated you long ago; from the day i first heard of you. i hated you with my whole heart. you have contrived all this! you have driven me into this state!
you have made a dying man disgrace himself. you, you, you are the cause of my abject cowardice! i would kill you if i remained alive! i do not want your benefits; i will accept none from anyone; do you hear? not from any one! i want nothing! i was delirious, do not dare to triumph! i curse every one of you, once for all!”
breath failed him here, and he was obliged to stop.
“he is ashamed of his tears!” whispered lebedeff to lizabetha prokofievna. “it was inevitable. ah! what a wonderful man the prince is!
he read his very soul.”
but mrs. epanchin would not deign to look at lebedeff. drawn up haughtily, with her head held high, she gazed at the “riff-raff,”
with scornful curiosity. when hippolyte had finished, ivan fedorovitch shrugged his shoulders, and his wife looked him angrily up and down, as if to demand the meaning of his movement. then she turned to the prince.
“thanks, prince, many thanks, eccentric friend of the family, for the pleasant evening you have provided for us. i am sure you are quite pleased that you have managed to mix us up with your extraordinary affairs. it is quite enough, dear family friend; thank you for giving us an opportunity of getting to know you so well.”
she arranged her cloak with hands that trembled with anger as she waited for the “riff-raff” to go. the cab which lebedeff’s son had gone to fetch a quarter of an hour ago, by doktorenko’s order, arrived at that moment. the general thought fit to put in a word after his wife.
“really, prince, i hardly expected after after all our friendly intercourse and you see, lizabetha prokofievna ”
“papa, how can you?” cried adelaida, walking quickly up to the prince and holding out her hand.
he smiled absently at her; then suddenly he felt a burning sensation in his ear as an angry voice whispered:
“if you do not turn those dreadful people out of the house this very instant, i shall hate you all my life all my life!” it was aglaya. she seemed almost in a frenzy, but she turned away before the prince could look at her. however, there was no one left to turn out of the house, for they had managed meanwhile to get hippolyte into the cab, and it had driven off.
“well, how much longer is this going to last, ivan fedorovitch? what do you think? shall i soon be delivered from these odious youths?”
“my dear, i am quite ready; naturally... the prince.”
ivan fedorovitch held out his hand to muishkin, but ran after his wife, who was leaving with every sign of violent indignation, before he had time to shake it. adelaida, her fiance, and alexandra, said good-bye to their host with sincere friendliness. evgenie pavlovitch did the same, and he alone seemed in good spirits.
“what i expected has happened! but i am sorry, you poor fellow, that you should have had to suffer for it,” he murmured, with a most charming smile.
aglaya left without saying good-bye. but the evening was not to end without a last adventure. an unexpected meeting was yet in store for lizabetha prokofievna.
she had scarcely descended the terrace steps leading to the high road that skirts the park at pavlofsk, when suddenly there dashed by a smart open carriage, drawn by a pair of beautiful white horses. having passed some ten yards beyond the house, the carriage suddenly drew up, and one of the two ladies seated in it turned sharp round as though she had just caught sight of some acquaintance whom she particularly wished to see.
“evgenie pavlovitch! is that you?” cried a clear, sweet voice, which caused the prince, and perhaps someone else, to tremble. “well, i am glad i’ve found you at last! i’ve sent to town for you twice today myself! my messengers have been searching for you everywhere!”
evgenie pavlovitch stood on the steps like one struck by lightning.
mrs. epanchin stood still too, but not with the petrified expression of evgenie. she gazed haughtily at the audacious person who had addressed her companion, and then turned a look of astonishment upon evgenie himself.
“there’s news!” continued the clear voice. “you need not be anxious about kupferof’s iou’s rogojin has bought them up. i persuaded him to! i dare say we shall settle biscup too, so it’s all right, you see! au revoir, tomorrow! and don’t worry!” the carriage moved on, and disappeared.
“the woman’s mad!” cried evgenie, at last, crimson with anger, and looking confusedly around. “i don’t know what she’s talking about! what iou’s? who is she?” mrs. epanchin continued to watch his face for a couple of seconds; then she marched briskly and haughtily away towards her own house, the rest following her.
a minute afterwards, evgenie pavlovitch reappeared on the terrace, in great agitation.
“prince,” he said, “tell me the truth; do you know what all this means?”
“i know nothing whatever about it!” replied the latter, who was, himself, in a state of nervous excitement.
“no?”
“no!”
“well, nor do i!” said evgenie pavlovitch, laughing suddenly. “i haven’t the slightest knowledge of any such iou’s as she mentioned, i swear i haven’t what’s the matter, are you fainting?”
“oh, no no i’m all right, i assure you!”
xi.
the anger of the epanchin family was unappeased for three days. as usual the prince reproached himself, and had expected punishment, but he was inwardly convinced that lizabetha prokofievna could not be seriously angry with him, and that she probably was more angry with herself. he was painfully surprised, therefore, when three days passed with no word from her. other things also troubled and perplexed him, and one of these grew more important in his eyes as the days went by. he had begun to blame himself for two opposite tendencies on the one hand to extreme, almost “senseless,” confidence in his fellows, on the other to a “vile, gloomy suspiciousness.”
by the end of the third day the incident of the eccentric lady and evgenie pavlovitch had attained enormous and mysterious proportions in his mind. he sorrowfully asked himself whether he had been the cause of this new “monstrosity,” or was it... but he refrained from saying who else might be in fault. as for the letters n.p.b., he looked on that as a harmless joke, a mere childish piece of mischief so childish that he felt it would be shameful, almost dishonourable, to attach any importance to it.
the day after these scandalous events, however, the prince had the honour of receiving a visit from adelaida and her fiance, prince s. they came, ostensibly, to inquire after his health. they had wandered out for a walk, and called in “by accident,” and talked for almost the whole of the time they were with him about a certain most lovely tree in the park, which adelaida had set her heart upon for a picture. this, and a little amiable conversation on prince s.’s part, occupied the time, and not a word was said about last evening’s episodes. at length adelaida burst out laughing, apologized, and explained that they had come incognito; from which, and from the circumstance that they said nothing about the prince’s either walking back with them or coming to see them later on, the latter inferred that he was in mrs. epanchin’s black books. adelaida mentioned a watercolour that she would much like to show him, and explained that she would either send it by colia, or bring it herself the next day which to the prince seemed very suggestive.
at length, however, just as the visitors were on the point of departing, prince s. seemed suddenly to recollect himself. “oh yes, by-the-by,” he said, “do you happen to know, my dear lef nicolaievitch, who that lady was who called out to evgenie pavlovitch last night, from the carriage?”
“it was nastasia philipovna,” said the prince; “didn’t you know that? i cannot tell you who her companion was.”
“but what on earth did she mean? i assure you it is a real riddle to me to me, and to others, too!” prince s. seemed to be under the influence of sincere astonishment.
“she spoke of some bills of evgenie pavlovitch’s,” said the prince, simply, “which rogojin had bought up from someone; and implied that rogojin would not press him.”
“oh, i heard that much, my dear fellow! but the thing is so impossibly absurd! a man of property like evgenie to give iou’s to a money-lender, and to be worried about them! it is ridiculous. besides, he cannot possibly be on such intimate terms with nastasia philipovna as she gave us to understand; that’s the principal part of the mystery! he has given me his word that he knows nothing whatever about the matter, and of course i believe him. well, the question is, my dear prince, do you know anything about it? has any sort of suspicion of the meaning of it come across you?”
“no, i know nothing whatever about it. i assure you i had nothing at all to do with it.”
“oh, prince, how strange you have become! i assure you, i hardly know you for your old self. how can you suppose that i ever suggested you could have had a finger in such a business? but you are not quite yourself today, i can see.” he embraced the prince, and kissed him.
“what do you mean, though,” asked muishkin, “‘by such a business’? i don’t see any particular ‘business’ about it at all!”
“oh, undoubtedly, this person wished somehow, and for some reason, to do evgenie pavlovitch a bad turn, by attributing to him before witnesses qualities which he neither has nor can have,” replied prince s. drily enough.
muiskhin looked disturbed, but continued to gaze intently and questioningly into prince s.’s face. the latter, however, remained silent.
“then it was not simply a matter of bills?” muishkin said at last, with some impatience. “it was not as she said?”
“but i ask you, my dear sir, how can there be anything in common between evgenie pavlovitch, and her, and again rogojin? i tell you he is a man of immense wealth as i know for a fact; and he has further expectations from his uncle. simply nastasia philipovna ”
prince s. paused, as though unwilling to continue talking about nastasia philipovna.
“then at all events he knows her!” remarked the prince, after a moment’s silence.
“oh, that may be. he may have known her some time ago two or three years, at least. he used to know totski. but it is impossible that there should be any intimacy between them. she has not even been in the place many people don’t even know that she has returned from moscow! i have only observed her carriage about for the last three days or so.”
“it’s a lovely carriage,” said adelaida.
“yes, it was a beautiful turn-out, certainly!”
the visitors left the house, however, on no less friendly terms than before. but the visit was of the greatest importance to the prince, from his own point of view. admitting that he had his suspicions, from the moment of the occurrence of last night, perhaps even before, that nastasia had some mysterious end in view, yet this visit confirmed his suspicions and justified his fears. it was all clear to him; prince s.
was wrong, perhaps, in his view of the matter, but he was somewhere near the truth, and was right in so far as that he understood there to be an intrigue of some sort going on. perhaps prince s. saw it all more clearly than he had allowed his hearers to understand. at all events, nothing could be plainer than that he and adelaida had come for the express purpose of obtaining explanations, and that they suspected him of being concerned in the affair. and if all this were so, then she must have some terrible object in view! what was it? there was no stopping her, as muishkin knew from experience, in the performance of anything she had set her mind on! “oh, she is mad, mad!” thought the poor prince.
but there were many other puzzling occurrences that day, which required immediate explanation, and the prince felt very sad. a visit from vera lebedeff distracted him a little. she brought the infant lubotchka with her as usual, and talked cheerfully for some time. then came her younger sister, and later the brother, who attended a school close by. he informed muishkin that his father had lately found a new interpretation of the star called “wormwood,” which fell upon the water-springs, as described in the apocalypse. he had decided that it meant the network of railroads spread over the face of europe at the present time. the prince refused to believe that lebedeff could have given such an interpretation, and they decided to ask him about it at the earliest opportunity. vera related how keller had taken up his abode with them on the previous evening. she thought he would remain for some time, as he was greatly pleased with the society of general ivolgin and of the whole family. but he declared that he had only come to them in order to complete his education! the prince always enjoyed the company of lebedeff’s children, and today it was especially welcome, for colia did not appear all day. early that morning he had started for petersburg.
lebedeff also was away on business. but gavrila ardalionovitch had promised to visit muishkin, who eagerly awaited his coming.
about seven in the evening, soon after dinner, he arrived. at the first glance it struck the prince that he, at any rate, must know all the details of last night’s affair. indeed, it would have been impossible for him to remain in ignorance considering the intimate relationship between him, varvara ardalionovna, and ptitsin. but although he and the prince were intimate, in a sense, and although the latter had placed the burdovsky affair in his hands and this was not the only mark of confidence he had received it seemed curious how many matters there were that were tacitly avoided in their conversations. muishkin thought that gania at times appeared to desire more cordiality and frankness.
it was apparent now, when he entered, that he was convinced that the moment for breaking the ice between them had come at last.
but all the same gania was in haste, for his sister was waiting at lebedeff’s to consult him on an urgent matter of business. if he had anticipated impatient questions, or impulsive confidences, he was soon undeceived. the prince was thoughtful, reserved, even a little absent-minded, and asked none of the questions one in particular that gania had expected. so he imitated the prince’s demeanour, and talked fast and brilliantly upon all subjects but the one on which their thoughts were engaged. among other things gania told his host that nastasia philipovna had been only four days in pavlofsk, and that everyone was talking about her already. she was staying with daria alexeyevna, in an ugly little house in mattrossky street, but drove about in the smartest carriage in the place. a crowd of followers had pursued her from the first, young and old. some escorted her on horse-back when she took the air in her carriage.
she was as capricious as ever in the choice of her acquaintances, and admitted few into her narrow circle. yet she already had a numerous following and many champions on whom she could depend in time of need.
one gentleman on his holiday had broken off his engagement on her account, and an old general had quarrelled with his only son for the same reason.
she was accompanied sometimes in her carriage by a girl of sixteen, a distant relative of her hostess. this young lady sang very well; in fact, her music had given a kind of notoriety to their little house.
nastasia, however, was behaving with great discretion on the whole. she dressed quietly, though with such taste as to drive all the ladies in pavlofsk mad with envy, of that, as well as of her beauty and her carriage and horses.
“as for yesterday’s episode,” continued gania, “of course it was pre-arranged.” here he paused, as though expecting to be asked how he knew that. but the prince did not inquire. concerning evgenie pavlovitch, gania stated, without being asked, that he believed the former had not known nastasia philipovna in past years, but that he had probably been introduced to her by somebody in the park during these four days. as to the question of the iou’s she had spoken of, there might easily be something in that; for though evgenie was undoubtedly a man of wealth, yet certain of his affairs were equally undoubtedly in disorder. arrived at this interesting point, gania suddenly broke off, and said no more about nastasia’s prank of the previous evening.
at last varvara ardalionovna came in search of her brother, and remained for a few minutes. without muishkin’s asking her, she informed him that evgenie pavlovitch was spending the day in petersburg, and perhaps would remain there over tomorrow; and that her husband had also gone to town, probably in connection with evgenie pavlovitch’s affairs.
“lizabetha prokofievna is in a really fiendish temper today,” she added, as she went out, “but the most curious thing is that aglaya has quarrelled with her whole family; not only with her father and mother, but with her sisters also. it is not a good sign.” she said all this quite casually, though it was extremely important in the eyes of the prince, and went off with her brother. regarding the episode of “pavlicheff’s son,” gania had been absolutely silent, partly from a kind of false modesty, partly, perhaps, to “spare the prince’s feelings.” the latter, however, thanked him again for the trouble he had taken in the affair.
muishkin was glad enough to be left alone. he went out of the garden, crossed the road, and entered the park. he wished to reflect, and to make up his mind as to a certain “step.” this step was one of those things, however, which are not thought out, as a rule, but decided for or against hastily, and without much reflection. the fact is, he felt a longing to leave all this and go away go anywhere, if only it were far enough, and at once, without bidding farewell to anyone. he felt a presentiment that if he remained but a few days more in this place, and among these people, he would be fixed there irrevocably and permanently.
however, in a very few minutes he decided that to run away was impossible; that it would be cowardly; that great problems lay before him, and that he had no right to leave them unsolved, or at least to refuse to give all his energy and strength to the attempt to solve them.
having come to this determination, he turned and went home, his walk having lasted less than a quarter of an hour. at that moment he was thoroughly unhappy.
lebedeff had not returned, so towards evening keller managed to penetrate into the prince’s apartments. he was not drunk, but in a confidential and talkative mood. he announced that he had come to tell the story of his life to muishkin, and had only remained at pavlofsk for that purpose. there was no means of turning him out; nothing short of an earthquake would have removed him.
in the manner of one with long hours before him, he began his history; but after a few incoherent words he jumped to the conclusion, which was that “having ceased to believe in god almighty, he had lost every vestige of morality, and had gone so far as to commit a theft.” “could you imagine such a thing?” said he.
“listen to me, keller,” returned the prince. “if i were in your place, i should not acknowledge that unless it were absolutely necessary for some reason. but perhaps you are making yourself out to be worse than you are, purposely?”
“i should tell it to no one but yourself, prince, and i only name it now as a help to my soul’s evolution. when i die, that secret will die with me! but, excellency, if you knew, if you only had the least idea, how difficult it is to get money nowadays! where to find it is the question.
ask for a loan, the answer is always the same: ‘give us gold, jewels, or diamonds, and it will be quite easy.’ exactly what one has not got! can you picture that to yourself? i got angry at last, and said, ‘i suppose you would accept emeralds?’ ‘certainly, we accept emeralds with pleasure. yes!’ ‘well, that’s all right,’ said i. ‘go to the devil, you den of thieves!’ and with that i seized my hat, and walked out.”
“had you any emeralds?” asked the prince.
“what? i have emeralds? oh, prince! with what simplicity, with what almost pastoral simplicity, you look upon life!”
could not something be made of this man under good influences? asked the prince of himself, for he began to feel a kind of pity for his visitor.
he thought little of the value of his own personal influence, not from a sense of humility, but from his peculiar way of looking at things in general. imperceptibly the conversation grew more animated and more interesting, so that neither of the two felt anxious to bring it to a close. keller confessed, with apparent sincerity, to having been guilty of many acts of such a nature that it astonished the prince that he could mention them, even to him. at every fresh avowal he professed the deepest repentance, and described himself as being “bathed in tears”; but this did not prevent him from putting on a boastful air at times, and some of his stories were so absurdly comical that both he and the prince laughed like madmen.
“one point in your favour is that you seem to have a child-like mind, and extreme truthfulness,” said the prince at last. “do you know that that atones for much?”
“i am assuredly noble-minded, and chivalrous to a degree!” said keller, much softened. “but, do you know, this nobility of mind exists in a dream, if one may put it so? it never appears in practice or deed. now, why is that? i can never understand.”
“do not despair. i think we may say without fear of deceiving ourselves, that you have now given a fairly exact account of your life. i, at least, think it would be impossible to add much to what you have just told me.”
“impossible?” cried keller, almost pityingly. “oh prince, how little you really seem to understand human nature!”
“is there really much more to be added?” asked the prince, with mild surprise. “well, what is it you really want of me? speak out; tell me why you came to make your confession to me?”
“what did i want? well, to begin with, it is good to meet a man like you. it is a pleasure to talk over my faults with you. i know you for one of the best of men... and then... then...”
he hesitated, and appeared so much embarrassed that the prince helped him out.
“then you wanted me to lend you money?”
the words were spoken in a grave tone, and even somewhat shyly.
keller started, gave an astonished look at the speaker, and thumped the table with his fist.
“well, prince, that’s enough to knock me down! it astounds me! here you are, as simple and innocent as a knight of the golden age, and yet...
yet... you read a man’s soul like a psychologist! now, do explain it to me, prince, because i... i really do not understand!... of course, my aim was to borrow money all along, and you... you asked the question as if there was nothing blameable in it as if you thought it quite natural.”
“yes... from you it is quite natural.”
“and you are not offended?”
“why should i be offended?”
“well, just listen, prince. i remained here last evening, partly because i have a great admiration for the french archbishop bourdaloue. i enjoyed a discussion over him till three o’clock in the morning, with lebedeff; and then... then i swear by all i hold sacred that i am telling you the truth then i wished to develop my soul in this frank and heartfelt confession to you. this was my thought as i was sobbing myself to sleep at dawn. just as i was losing consciousness, tears in my soul, tears on my face (i remember how i lay there sobbing), an idea from hell struck me. ‘why not, after confessing, borrow money from him?’
you see, this confession was a kind of masterstroke; i intended to use it as a means to your good grace and favour and then then i meant to walk off with a hundred and fifty roubles. now, do you not call that base?”
“it is hardly an exact statement of the case,” said the prince in reply.
“you have confused your motives and ideas, as i need scarcely say too often happens to myself. i can assure you, keller, i reproach myself bitterly for it sometimes. when you were talking just now i seemed to be listening to something about myself. at times i have imagined that all men were the same,” he continued earnestly, for he appeared to be much interested in the conversation, “and that consoled me in a certain degree, for a double motive is a thing most difficult to fight against.
i have tried, and i know. god knows whence they arise, these ideas that you speak of as base. i fear these double motives more than ever just now, but i am not your judge, and in my opinion it is going too far to give the name of baseness to it what do you think? you were going to employ your tears as a ruse in order to borrow money, but you also say in fact, you have sworn to the fact that independently of this your confession was made with an honourable motive. as for the money, you want it for drink, do you not? after your confession, that is weakness, of course; but, after all, how can anyone give up a bad habit at a moment’s notice? it is impossible. what can we do? it is best, i think, to leave the matter to your own conscience. how does it seem to you?” as he concluded the prince looked curiously at keller; evidently this problem of double motives had often been considered by him before.
“well, how anybody can call you an idiot after that, is more than i can understand!” cried the boxer.
the prince reddened slightly.
“bourdaloue, the archbishop, would not have spared a man like me,”
keller continued, “but you, you have judged me with humanity. to show how grateful i am, and as a punishment, i will not accept a hundred and fifty roubles. give me twenty-five that will be enough; it is all i really need, for a fortnight at least. i will not ask you for more for a fortnight. i should like to have given agatha a present, but she does not really deserve it. oh, my dear prince, god bless you!”
at this moment lebedeff appeared, having just arrived from petersburg.
he frowned when he saw the twenty-five rouble note in keller’s hand, but the latter, having got the money, went away at once. lebedeff began to abuse him.
“you are unjust; i found him sincerely repentant,” observed the prince, after listening for a time.
“what is the good of repentance like that? it is the same exactly as mine yesterday, when i said, ‘i am base, i am base,’ words, and nothing more!”
“then they were only words on your part? i thought, on the contrary...”
“well, i don’t mind telling you the truth you only! because you see through a man somehow. words and actions, truth and falsehood, are all jumbled up together in me, and yet i am perfectly sincere. i feel the deepest repentance, believe it or not, as you choose; but words and lies come out in the infernal craving to get the better of other people.
it is always there the notion of cheating people, and of using my repentant tears to my own advantage! i assure you this is the truth, prince! i would not tell any other man for the world! he would laugh and jeer at me but you, you judge a man humanely.”
“why, keller said the same thing to me nearly word for word a few minutes ago!” cried muishkin. “and you both seem inclined to boast about it! you astonish me, but i think he is more sincere than you, for you make a regular trade of it. oh, don’t put on that pathetic expression, and don’t put your hand on your heart! have you anything to say to me?
you have not come for nothing...”
lebedeff grinned and wriggled.
“i have been waiting all day for you, because i want to ask you a question; and, for once in your life, please tell me the truth at once.
had you anything to do with that affair of the carriage yesterday?”
lebedeff began to grin again, rubbed his hands, sneezed, but spoke not a word in reply.
“i see you had something to do with it.”
“indirectly, quite indirectly! i am speaking the truth i am indeed!
i merely told a certain person that i had people in my house, and that such and such personages might be found among them.”
“i am aware that you sent your son to that house he told me so himself just now, but what is this intrigue?” said the prince, impatiently.
“it is not my intrigue!” cried lebedeff, waving his hand.
“it was engineered by other people, and is, properly speaking, rather a fantasy than an intrigue!”
“but what is it all about? tell me, for heaven’s sake! cannot you understand how nearly it touches me? why are they blackening evgenie pavlovitch’s reputation?”
lebedeff grimaced and wriggled again.
“prince!” said he. “excellency! you won’t let me tell you the whole truth; i have tried to explain; more than once i have begun, but you have not allowed me to go on...”
the prince gave no answer, and sat deep in thought. evidently he was struggling to decide.
“very well! tell me the truth,” he said, dejectedly.
“aglaya ivanovna...” began lebedeff, promptly.
“be silent! at once!” interrupted the prince, red with indignation, and perhaps with shame, too. “it is impossible and absurd! all that has been invented by you, or fools like you! let me never hear you say a word again on that subject!”
late in the evening colia came in with a whole budget of petersburg and pavlofsk news. he did not dwell much on the petersburg part of it, which consisted chiefly of intelligence about his friend hippolyte, but passed quickly to the pavlofsk tidings. he had gone straight to the epanchins’
from the station.
“there’s the deuce and all going on there!” he said. “first of all about the row last night, and i think there must be something new as well, though i didn’t like to ask. not a word about you, prince, the whole time! the most interesting fact was that aglaya had been quarrelling with her people about gania. colia did not know any details, except that it had been a terrible quarrel! also evgenie pavlovitch had called, and met with an excellent reception all round. and another curious thing:
mrs. epanchin was so angry that she called varia to her varia was talking to the girls and turned her out of the house ‘once for all’ she said. i heard it from varia herself mrs. epanchin was quite polite, but firm; and when varia said good-bye to the girls, she told them nothing about it, and they didn’t know they were saying goodbye for the last time. i’m sorry for varia, and for gania too; he isn’t half a bad fellow, in spite of his faults, and i shall never forgive myself for not liking him before! i don’t know whether i ought to continue to go to the epanchins’ now,” concluded colia “i like to be quite independent of others, and of other people’s quarrels if i can; but i must think over it.”
“i don’t think you need break your heart over gania,” said the prince; “for if what you say is true, he must be considered dangerous in the epanchin household, and if so, certain hopes of his must have been encouraged.”
“what? what hopes?” cried colia; “you surely don’t mean aglaya? oh, no! ”
“you’re a dreadful sceptic, prince,” he continued, after a moment’s silence. “i have observed of late that you have grown sceptical about everything. you don’t seem to believe in people as you did, and are always attributing motives and so on am i using the word ‘sceptic’ in its proper sense?”
“i believe so; but i’m not sure.”
“well, i’ll change it, right or wrong; i’ll say that you are not sceptical, but jealous. there! you are deadly jealous of gania, over a certain proud damsel! come!” colia jumped up, with these words, and burst out laughing. he laughed as he had perhaps never laughed before, and still more when he saw the prince flushing up to his temples. he was delighted that the prince should be jealous about aglaya. however, he stopped immediately on seeing that the other was really hurt, and the conversation continued, very earnestly, for an hour or more.
next day the prince had to go to town, on business. returning in the afternoon, he happened upon general epanchin at the station. the latter seized his hand, glancing around nervously, as if he were afraid of being caught in wrong-doing, and dragged him into a first-class compartment. he was burning to speak about something of importance.
“in the first place, my dear prince, don’t be angry with me. i would have come to see you yesterday, but i didn’t know how lizabetha prokofievna would take it. my dear fellow, my house is simply a hell just now, a sort of sphinx has taken up its abode there. we live in an atmosphere of riddles; i can’t make head or tail of anything. as for you, i feel sure you are the least to blame of any of us, though you certainly have been the cause of a good deal of trouble. you see, it’s all very pleasant to be a philanthropist; but it can be carried too far.
of course i admire kind-heartedness, and i esteem my wife, but ”
the general wandered on in this disconnected way for a long time; it was clear that he was much disturbed by some circumstance which he could make nothing of.
“it is plain to me, that you are not in it at all,” he continued, at last, a little less vaguely, “but perhaps you had better not come to our house for a little while. i ask you in the friendliest manner, mind; just till the wind changes again. as for evgenie pavlovitch,” he continued with some excitement, “the whole thing is a calumny, a dirty calumny. it is simply a plot, an intrigue, to upset our plans and to stir up a quarrel. you see, prince, i’ll tell you privately, evgenie and ourselves have not said a word yet, we have no formal understanding, we are in no way bound on either side, but the word may be said very soon, don’t you see, very soon, and all this is most injurious, and is meant to be so. why? i’m sure i can’t tell you. she’s an extraordinary woman, you see, an eccentric woman; i tell you i am so frightened of that woman that i can’t sleep. what a carriage that was, and where did it come from, eh? i declare, i was base enough to suspect evgenie at first; but it seems certain that that cannot be the case, and if so, why is she interfering here? that’s the riddle, what does she want? is it to keep evgenie to herself? but, my dear fellow, i swear to you, i swear he doesn’t even know her, and as for those bills, why, the whole thing is an invention! and the familiarity of the woman! it’s quite clear we must treat the impudent creature’s attempt with disdain, and redouble our courtesy towards evgenie. i told my wife so.
“now i’ll tell you my secret conviction. i’m certain that she’s doing this to revenge herself on me, on account of the past, though i assure you that all the time i was blameless. i blush at the very idea. and now she turns up again like this, when i thought she had finally disappeared! where’s rogojin all this time? i thought she was mrs.
rogojin, long ago.”
the old man was in a state of great mental perturbation. the whole of the journey, which occupied nearly an hour, he continued in this strain, putting questions and answering them himself, shrugging his shoulders, pressing the prince’s hand, and assuring the latter that, at all events, he had no suspicion whatever of him. this last assurance was satisfactory, at all events. the general finished by informing him that evgenie’s uncle was head of one of the civil service departments, and rich, very rich, and a gourmand. “and, well, heaven preserve him, of course but evgenie gets his money, don’t you see? but, for all this, i’m uncomfortable, i don’t know why. there’s something in the air, i feel there’s something nasty in the air, like a bat, and i’m by no means comfortable.”
and it was not until the third day that the formal reconciliation between the prince and the epanchins took place, as said before.
xii.
it was seven in the evening, and the prince was just preparing to go out for a walk in the park, when suddenly mrs. epanchin appeared on the terrace.
“in the first place, don’t dare to suppose,” she began, “that i am going to apologize. nonsense! you were entirely to blame.”
the prince remained silent.
“were you to blame, or not?”
“no, certainly not, no more than yourself, though at first i thought i was.”
“oh, very well, let’s sit down, at all events, for i don’t intend to stand up all day. and remember, if you say, one word about ‘mischievous urchins,’ i shall go away and break with you altogether. now then, did you, or did you not, send a letter to aglaya, a couple of months or so ago, about easter-tide?”
“yes!”
“what for? what was your object? show me the letter.” mrs. epanchin’s eyes flashed; she was almost trembling with impatience.
“i have not got the letter,” said the prince, timidly, extremely surprised at the turn the conversation had taken. “if anyone has it, if it still exists, aglaya ivanovna must have it.”
“no finessing, please. what did you write about?”
“i am not finessing, and i am not in the least afraid of telling you; but i don’t see the slightest reason why i should not have written.”
“be quiet, you can talk afterwards! what was the letter about? why are you blushing?”
the prince was silent. at last he spoke.
“i don’t understand your thoughts, lizabetha prokofievna; but i can see that the fact of my having written is for some reason repugnant to you.
you must admit that i have a perfect right to refuse to answer your questions; but, in order to show you that i am neither ashamed of the letter, nor sorry that i wrote it, and that i am not in the least inclined to blush about it” (here the prince’s blushes redoubled), “i will repeat the substance of my letter, for i think i know it almost by heart.”
so saying, the prince repeated the letter almost word for word, as he had written it.
“my goodness, what utter twaddle, and what may all this nonsense have signified, pray? if it had any meaning at all!” said mrs. epanchin, cuttingly, after having listened with great attention.
“i really don’t absolutely know myself; i know my feeling was very sincere. i had moments at that time full of life and hope.”
“what sort of hope?”
“it is difficult to explain, but certainly not the hopes you have in your mind. hopes well, in a word, hopes for the future, and a feeling of joy that there, at all events, i was not entirely a stranger and a foreigner. i felt an ecstasy in being in my native land once more; and one sunny morning i took up a pen and wrote her that letter, but why to her, i don’t quite know. sometimes one longs to have a friend near, and i evidently felt the need of one then,” added the prince, and paused.
“are you in love with her?”
“n-no! i wrote to her as to a sister; i signed myself her brother.”
“oh yes, of course, on purpose! i quite understand.”
“it is very painful to me to answer these questions, lizabetha prokofievna.”
“i dare say it is; but that’s no affair of mine. now then, assure me truly as before heaven, are you lying to me or not?”
“no, i am not lying.”
“are you telling the truth when you say you are not in love?”
“i believe it is the absolute truth.”
“‘i believe,’ indeed! did that mischievous urchin give it to her?”
“i asked nicolai ardalionovitch...”
“the urchin! the urchin!” interrupted lizabetha prokofievna in an angry voice. “i do not want to know if it were nicolai ardalionovitch! the urchin!”
“nicolai ardalionovitch...”
“the urchin, i tell you!”
“no, it was not the urchin: it was nicolai ardalionovitch,” said the prince very firmly, but without raising his voice.
“well, all right! all right, my dear! i shall put that down to your account.”
she was silent a moment to get breath, and to recover her composure.
“well! and what’s the meaning of the ‘poor knight,’ eh?”
“i don’t know in the least; i wasn’t present when the joke was made. it is a joke. i suppose, and that’s all.”
“well, that’s a comfort, at all events. you don’t suppose she could take any interest in you, do you? why, she called you an ‘idiot’ herself.”
“i think you might have spared me that,” murmured the prince reproachfully, almost in a whisper.
“don’t be angry; she is a wilful, mad, spoilt girl. if she likes a person she will pitch into him, and chaff him. i used to be just such another. but for all that you needn’t flatter yourself, my boy; she is not for you. i don’t believe it, and it is not to be. i tell you so at once, so that you may take proper precautions. now, i want to hear you swear that you are not married to that woman?”
“lizabetha prokofievna, what are you thinking of?” cried the prince, almost leaping to his feet in amazement.
“why? you very nearly were, anyhow.”
“yes i nearly was,” whispered the prince, hanging his head.
“well then, have you come here for her? are you in love with her? with that creature?”
“i did not come to marry at all,” replied the prince.
“is there anything you hold sacred?”
“there is.”
“then swear by it that you did not come here to marry her!”
“i’ll swear it by whatever you please.”
“i believe you. you may kiss me; i breathe freely at last. but you must know, my dear friend, aglaya does not love you, and she shall never be your wife while i am out of my grave. so be warned in time. do you hear me?”
“yes, i hear.”
the prince flushed up so much that he could not look her in the face.
“i have waited for you with the greatest impatience (not that you were worth it). every night i have drenched my pillow with tears, not for you, my friend, not for you, don’t flatter yourself! i have my own grief, always the same, always the same. but i’ll tell you why i have been awaiting you so impatiently, because i believe that providence itself sent you to be a friend and a brother to me. i haven’t a friend in the world except princess bielokonski, and she is growing as stupid as a sheep from old age. now then, tell me, yes or no? do you know why she called out from her carriage the other night?”
“i give you my word of honour that i had nothing to do with the matter and know nothing about it.”
“very well, i believe you. i have my own ideas about it. up to yesterday morning i thought it was really evgenie pavlovitch who was to blame; now i cannot help agreeing with the others. but why he was made such a fool of i cannot understand. however, he is not going to marry aglaya, i can tell you that. he may be a very excellent fellow, but so it shall be.
i was not at all sure of accepting him before, but now i have quite made up my mind that i won’t have him. ‘put me in my coffin first and then into my grave, and then you may marry my daughter to whomsoever you please,’ so i said to the general this very morning. you see how i trust you, my boy.”
“yes, i see and understand.”
mrs. epanchin gazed keenly into the prince’s eyes. she was anxious to see what impression the news as to evgenie pavlovitch had made upon him.
“do you know anything about gavrila ardalionovitch?” she asked at last.
“oh yes, i know a good deal.”
“did you know he had communications with aglaya?”
“no, i didn’t,” said the prince, trembling a little, and in great agitation. “you say gavrila ardalionovitch has private communications with aglaya? impossible!”
“only quite lately. his sister has been working like a rat to clear the way for him all the winter.”
“i don’t believe it!” said the prince abruptly, after a short pause.
“had it been so i should have known long ago.”
“oh, of course, yes; he would have come and wept out his secret on your bosom. oh, you simpleton you simpleton! anyone can deceive you and take you in like a like a, aren’t you ashamed to trust him? can’t you see that he humbugs you just as much as ever he pleases?”
“i know very well that he does deceive me occasionally, and he knows that i know it, but ” the prince did not finish his sentence.
“and that’s why you trust him, eh? so i should have supposed. good lord, was there ever such a man as you? tfu! and are you aware, sir, that this gania, or his sister varia, have brought her into correspondence with nastasia philipovna?”
“brought whom?” cried muishkin.
“aglaya.”
“i don’t believe it! it’s impossible! what object could they have?” he jumped up from his chair in his excitement.
“nor do i believe it, in spite of the proofs. the girl is self-willed and fantastic, and insane! she’s wicked, wicked! i’ll repeat it for a thousand years that she’s wicked; they all are, just now, all my daughters, even that ‘wet hen’ alexandra. and yet i don’t believe it.
because i don’t choose to believe it, perhaps; but i don’t. why haven’t you been?” she turned on the prince suddenly. “why didn’t you come near us all these three days, eh?”
the prince began to give his reasons, but she interrupted him again.
“everybody takes you in and deceives you; you went to town yesterday. i dare swear you went down on your knees to that rogue, and begged him to accept your ten thousand roubles!”
“i never thought of doing any such thing. i have not seen him, and he is not a rogue, in my opinion. i have had a letter from him.”
“show it me!”
the prince took a paper from his pocket-book, and handed it to lizabetha prokofievna. it ran as follows:
“sir,
“in the eyes of the world i am sure that i have no cause for pride or self-esteem. i am much too insignificant for that. but what may be so to other men’s eyes is not so to yours. i am convinced that you are better than other people. doktorenko disagrees with me, but i am content to differ from him on this point. i will never accept one single copeck from you, but you have helped my mother, and i am bound to be grateful to you for that, however weak it may seem. at any rate, i have changed my opinion about you, and i think right to inform you of the fact; but i also suppose that there can be no further intercourse between us.
“antip burdovsky.
“p.s. the two hundred roubles i owe you shall certainly be repaid in time.”
“how extremely stupid!” cried mrs. epanchin, giving back the letter abruptly. “it was not worth the trouble of reading. why are you smiling?”
“confess that you are pleased to have read it.”
“what! pleased with all that nonsense! why, cannot you see that they are all infatuated with pride and vanity?”
“he has acknowledged himself to be in the wrong. don’t you see that the greater his vanity, the more difficult this admission must have been on his part? oh, what a little child you are, lizabetha prokofievna!”
“are you tempting me to box your ears for you, or what?”
“not at all. i am only proving that you are glad about the letter. why conceal your real feelings? you always like to do it.”
“never come near my house again!” cried mrs. epanchin, pale with rage.
“don’t let me see as much as a shadow of you about the place! do you hear?”
“oh yes, and in three days you’ll come and invite me yourself. aren’t you ashamed now? these are your best feelings; you are only tormenting yourself.”
“i’ll die before i invite you! i shall forget your very name! i’ve forgotten it already!”
she marched towards the door.
“but i’m forbidden your house as it is, without your added threats!”
cried the prince after her.
“what? who forbade you?”
she turned round so suddenly that one might have supposed a needle had been stuck into her.
the prince hesitated. he perceived that he had said too much now.
“who forbade you?” cried mrs. epanchin once more.
“aglaya ivanovna told me ”
“when? speak quick!”
“she sent to say, yesterday morning, that i was never to dare to come near the house again.”
lizabetha prokofievna stood like a stone.
“what did she send? whom? was it that boy? was it a message? quick!”
“i had a note,” said the prince.
“where is it? give it here, at once.”
the prince thought a moment. then he pulled out of his waistcoat pocket an untidy slip of paper, on which was scrawled:
“prince lef nicolaievitch, if you think fit, after all that has passed, to honour our house with a visit, i can assure you you will not find me among the number of those who are in any way delighted to see you.
“aglaya epanchin.”
mrs. epanchin reflected a moment. the next minute she flew at the prince, seized his hand, and dragged him after her to the door.
“quick come along!” she cried, breathless with agitation and impatience. “come along with me this moment!”
“but you declared i wasn’t ”
“don’t be a simpleton. you behave just as though you weren’t a man at all. come on! i shall see, now, with my own eyes. i shall see all.”
“well, let me get my hat, at least.”
“here’s your miserable hat. he couldn’t even choose a respectable shape for his hat! come on! she did that because i took your part and said you ought to have come little vixen! else she would never have sent you that silly note. it’s a most improper note, i call it; most improper for such an intelligent, well-brought-up girl to write. h’m! i dare say she was annoyed that you didn’t come; but she ought to have known that one can’t write like that to an idiot like you, for you’d be sure to take it literally.” mrs. epanchin was dragging the prince along with her all the time, and never let go of his hand for an instant. “what are you listening for?” she added, seeing that she had committed herself a little. “she wants a clown like you she hasn’t seen one for some time to play with. that’s why she is anxious for you to come to the house. and right glad i am that she’ll make a thorough good fool of you.
you deserve it; and she can do it oh! she can, indeed! as well as most people.”
part iii
i.
the epanchin family, or at least the more serious members of it, were sometimes grieved because they seemed so unlike the rest of the world.
they were not quite certain, but had at times a strong suspicion that things did not happen to them as they did to other people. others led a quiet, uneventful life, while they were subject to continual upheavals.
others kept on the rails without difficulty; they ran off at the slightest obstacle. other houses were governed by a timid routine; theirs was somehow different. perhaps lizabetha prokofievna was alone in making these fretful observations; the girls, though not wanting in intelligence, were still young; the general was intelligent, too, but narrow, and in any difficulty he was content to say, “h’m!” and leave the matter to his wife. consequently, on her fell the responsibility. it was not that they distinguished themselves as a family by any particular originality, or that their excursions off the track led to any breach of the proprieties. oh no.
there was nothing premeditated, there was not even any conscious purpose in it all, and yet, in spite of everything, the family, although highly respected, was not quite what every highly respected family ought to be.
for a long time now lizabetha prokofievna had had it in her mind that all the trouble was owing to her “unfortunate character,” and this added to her distress. she blamed her own stupid unconventional “eccentricity.” always restless, always on the go, she constantly seemed to lose her way, and to get into trouble over the simplest and more ordinary affairs of life.
we said at the beginning of our story, that the epanchins were liked and esteemed by their neighbours. in spite of his humble origin, ivan fedorovitch himself was received everywhere with respect. he deserved this, partly on account of his wealth and position, partly because, though limited, he was really a very good fellow. but a certain limitation of mind seems to be an indispensable asset, if not to all public personages, at least to all serious financiers. added to this, his manner was modest and unassuming; he knew when to be silent, yet never allowed himself to be trampled upon. also and this was more important than all he had the advantage of being under exalted patronage.
as to lizabetha prokofievna, she, as the reader knows, belonged to an aristocratic family. true, russians think more of influential friends than of birth, but she had both. she was esteemed and even loved by people of consequence in society, whose example in receiving her was therefore followed by others. it seems hardly necessary to remark that her family worries and anxieties had little or no foundation, or that her imagination increased them to an absurd degree; but if you have a wart on your forehead or nose, you imagine that all the world is looking at it, and that people would make fun of you because of it, even if you had discovered america! doubtless lizabetha prokofievna was considered “eccentric” in society, but she was none the less esteemed: the pity was that she was ceasing to believe in that esteem. when she thought of her daughters, she said to herself sorrowfully that she was a hindrance rather than a help to their future, that her character and temper were absurd, ridiculous, insupportable. naturally, she put the blame on her surroundings, and from morning to night was quarrelling with her husband and children, whom she really loved to the point of self-sacrifice, even, one might say, of passion.
she was, above all distressed by the idea that her daughters might grow up “eccentric,” like herself; she believed that no other society girls were like them. “they are growing into nihilists!” she repeated over and over again. for years she had tormented herself with this idea, and with the question: “why don’t they get married?”
“it is to annoy their mother; that is their one aim in life; it can be nothing else. the fact is it is all of a piece with these modern ideas, that wretched woman’s question! six months ago aglaya took a fancy to cut off her magnificent hair. why, even i, when i was young, had nothing like it! the scissors were in her hand, and i had to go down on my knees and implore her... she did it, i know, from sheer mischief, to spite her mother, for she is a naughty, capricious girl, a real spoiled child spiteful and mischievous to a degree! and then alexandra wanted to shave her head, not from caprice or mischief, but, like a little fool, simply because aglaya persuaded her she would sleep better without her hair, and not suffer from headache! and how many suitors have they not had during the last five years! excellent offers, too! what more do they want? why don’t they get married? for no other reason than to vex their mother none none!”
but lizabetha prokofievna felt somewhat consoled when she could say that one of her girls, adelaida, was settled at last. “it will be one off our hands!” she declared aloud, though in private she expressed herself with greater tenderness. the engagement was both happy and suitable, and was therefore approved in society. prince s. was a distinguished man, he had money, and his future wife was devoted to him; what more could be desired? lizabetha prokofievna had felt less anxious about this daughter, however, although she considered her artistic tastes suspicious. but to make up for them she was, as her mother expressed it, “merry,” and had plenty of “common-sense.” it was aglaya’s future which disturbed her most. with regard to her eldest daughter, alexandra, the mother never quite knew whether there was cause for anxiety or not.
sometimes she felt as if there was nothing to be expected from her. she was twenty-five now, and must be fated to be an old maid, and “with such beauty, too!” the mother spent whole nights in weeping and lamenting, while all the time the cause of her grief slumbered peacefully. “what is the matter with her? is she a nihilist, or simply a fool?”
but lizabetha prokofievna knew perfectly well how unnecessary was the last question. she set a high value on alexandra ivanovna’s judgment, and often consulted her in difficulties; but that she was a ‘wet hen’ she never for a moment doubted. “she is so calm; nothing rouses her though wet hens are not always calm! oh! i can’t understand it!” her eldest daughter inspired lizabetha with a kind of puzzled compassion. she did not feel this in aglaya’s case, though the latter was her idol. it may be said that these outbursts and epithets, such as “wet hen” (in which the maternal solicitude usually showed itself), only made alexandra laugh. sometimes the most trivial thing annoyed mrs.
epanchin, and drove her into a frenzy. for instance, alexandra ivanovna liked to sleep late, and was always dreaming, though her dreams had the peculiarity of being as innocent and naive as those of a child of seven; and the very innocence of her dreams annoyed her mother. once she dreamt of nine hens, and this was the cause of quite a serious quarrel no one knew why. another time she had it was most unusual a dream with a spark of originality in it. she dreamt of a monk in a dark room, into which she was too frightened to go. adelaida and aglaya rushed off with shrieks of laughter to relate this to their mother, but she was quite angry, and said her daughters were all fools.
“h’m! she is as stupid as a fool! a veritable ‘wet hen’! nothing excites her; and yet she is not happy; some days it makes one miserable only to look at her! why is she unhappy, i wonder?” at times lizabetha prokofievna put this question to her husband, and as usual she spoke in the threatening tone of one who demands an immediate answer. ivan fedorovitch would frown, shrug his shoulders, and at last give his opinion: “she needs a husband!”
“god forbid that he should share your ideas, ivan fedorovitch!” his wife flashed back. “or that he should be as gross and churlish as you!”
the general promptly made his escape, and lizabetha prokofievna after a while grew calm again. that evening, of course, she would be unusually attentive, gentle, and respectful to her “gross and churlish” husband, her “dear, kind ivan fedorovitch,” for she had never left off loving him. she was even still “in love” with him. he knew it well, and for his part held her in the greatest esteem.
but the mother’s great and continual anxiety was aglaya. “she is exactly like me my image in everything,” said mrs. epanchin to herself. “a tyrant! a real little demon! a nihilist! eccentric, senseless and mischievous! good lord, how unhappy she will be!”
but as we said before, the fact of adelaida’s approaching marriage was balm to the mother. for a whole month she forgot her fears and worries.
adelaida’s fate was settled; and with her name that of aglaya’s was linked, in society gossip. people whispered that aglaya, too, was “as good as engaged;” and aglaya always looked so sweet and behaved so well (during this period), that the mother’s heart was full of joy. of course, evgenie pavlovitch must be thoroughly studied first, before the final step should be taken; but, really, how lovely dear aglaya had become she actually grew more beautiful every day! and then yes, and then this abominable prince showed his face again, and everything went topsy-turvy at once, and everyone seemed as mad as march hares.
what had really happened?
if it had been any other family than the epanchins’, nothing particular would have happened. but, thanks to mrs. epanchin’s invariable fussiness and anxiety, there could not be the slightest hitch in the simplest matters of everyday life, but she immediately foresaw the most dreadful and alarming consequences, and suffered accordingly.
what then must have been her condition, when, among all the imaginary anxieties and calamities which so constantly beset her, she now saw looming ahead a serious cause for annoyance something really likely to arouse doubts and suspicions!
“how dared they, how dared they write that hateful anonymous letter informing me that aglaya is in communication with nastasia philipovna?”
she thought, as she dragged the prince along towards her own house, and again when she sat him down at the round table where the family was already assembled. “how dared they so much as think of such a thing? i should die with shame if i thought there was a particle of truth in it, or if i were to show the letter to aglaya herself! who dares play these jokes upon us, the epanchins? why didn’t we go to the yelagin instead of coming down here? i told you we had better go to the yelagin this summer, ivan fedorovitch. it’s all your fault. i dare say it was that varia who sent the letter. it’s all ivan fedorovitch. that woman is doing it all for him, i know she is, to show she can make a fool of him now just as she did when he used to give her pearls.
“but after all is said, we are mixed up in it. your daughters are mixed up in it, ivan fedorovitch; young ladies in society, young ladies at an age to be married; they were present, they heard everything there was to hear. they were mixed up with that other scene, too, with those dreadful youths. you must be pleased to remember they heard it all. i cannot forgive that wretched prince. i never shall forgive him! and why, if you please, has aglaya had an attack of nerves for these last three days? why has she all but quarrelled with her sisters, even with alexandra whom she respects so much that she always kisses her hands as though she were her mother? what are all these riddles of hers that we have to guess? what has gavrila ardalionovitch to do with it? why did she take upon herself to champion him this morning, and burst into tears over it? why is there an allusion to that cursed ‘poor knight’ in the anonymous letter? and why did i rush off to him just now like a lunatic, and drag him back here? i do believe i’ve gone mad at last. what on earth have i done now? to talk to a young man about my daughter’s secrets and secrets having to do with himself, too! thank goodness, he’s an idiot, and a friend of the house! surely aglaya hasn’t fallen in love with such a gaby! what an idea! pfu! we ought all to be put under glass cases myself first of all and be shown off as curiosities, at ten copecks a peep!”
“i shall never forgive you for all this, ivan fedorovitch never! look at her now. why doesn’t she make fun of him? she said she would, and she doesn’t. look there! she stares at him with all her eyes, and doesn’t move; and yet she told him not to come. he looks pale enough; and that abominable chatterbox, evgenie pavlovitch, monopolizes the whole of the conversation. nobody else can get a word in. i could soon find out all about everything if i could only change the subject.”
the prince certainly was very pale. he sat at the table and seemed to be feeling, by turns, sensations of alarm and rapture.
oh, how frightened he was of looking to one side one particular corner whence he knew very well that a pair of dark eyes were watching him intently, and how happy he was to think that he was once more among them, and occasionally hearing that well-known voice, although she had written and forbidden him to come again!
“what on earth will she say to me, i wonder?” he thought to himself.
he had not said a word yet; he sat silent and listened to evgenie pavlovitch’s eloquence. the latter had never appeared so happy and excited as on this evening. the prince listened to him, but for a long time did not take in a word he said.
excepting ivan fedorovitch, who had not as yet returned from town, the whole family was present. prince s. was there; and they all intended to go out to hear the band very soon.
colia arrived presently and joined the circle. “so he is received as usual, after all,” thought the prince.
the epanchins’ country-house was a charming building, built after the model of a swiss chalet, and covered with creepers. it was surrounded on all sides by a flower garden, and the family sat, as a rule, on the open verandah as at the prince’s house.
the subject under discussion did not appear to be very popular with the assembly, and some would have been delighted to change it; but evgenie would not stop holding forth, and the prince’s arrival seemed to spur him on to still further oratorical efforts.
lizabetha prokofievna frowned, but had not as yet grasped the subject, which seemed to have arisen out of a heated argument. aglaya sat apart, almost in the corner, listening in stubborn silence.
“excuse me,” continued evgenie pavlovitch hotly, “i don’t say a word against liberalism. liberalism is not a sin, it is a necessary part of a great whole, which whole would collapse and fall to pieces without it. liberalism has just as much right to exist as has the most moral conservatism; but i am attacking russian liberalism; and i attack it for the simple reason that a russian liberal is not a russian liberal, he is a non-russian liberal. show me a real russian liberal, and i’ll kiss him before you all, with pleasure.”
“if he cared to kiss you, that is,” said alexandra, whose cheeks were red with irritation and excitement.
“look at that, now,” thought the mother to herself, “she does nothing but sleep and eat for a year at a time, and then suddenly flies out in the most incomprehensible way!”
the prince observed that alexandra appeared to be angry with evgenie, because he spoke on a serious subject in a frivolous manner, pretending to be in earnest, but with an under-current of irony.
“i was saying just now, before you came in, prince, that there has been nothing national up to now, about our liberalism, and nothing the liberals do, or have done, is in the least degree national. they are drawn from two classes only, the old landowning class, and clerical families ”
“how, nothing that they have done is russian?” asked prince s.
“it may be russian, but it is not national. our liberals are not russian, nor are our conservatives, and you may be sure that the nation does not recognize anything that has been done by the landed gentry, or by the seminarists, or what is to be done either.”
“come, that’s good! how can you maintain such a paradox? if you are serious, that is. i cannot allow such a statement about the landed proprietors to pass unchallenged. why, you are a landed proprietor yourself!” cried prince s. hotly.
“i suppose you’ll say there is nothing national about our literature either?” said alexandra.
“well, i am not a great authority on literary questions, but i certainly do hold that russian literature is not russian, except perhaps lomonosoff, pouschkin and gogol.”
“in the first place, that is a considerable admission, and in the second place, one of the above was a peasant, and the other two were both landed proprietors!”
“quite so, but don’t be in such a hurry! for since it has been the part of these three men, and only these three, to say something absolutely their own, not borrowed, so by this very fact these three men become really national. if any russian shall have done or said anything really and absolutely original, he is to be called national from that moment, though he may not be able to talk the russian language; still he is a national russian. i consider that an axiom. but we were not speaking of literature; we began by discussing the socialists. very well then, i insist that there does not exist one single russian socialist. there does not, and there has never existed such a one, because all socialists are derived from the two classes the landed proprietors, and the seminarists. all our eminent socialists are merely old liberals of the class of landed proprietors, men who were liberals in the days of serfdom. why do you laugh? give me their books, give me their studies, their memoirs, and though i am not a literary critic, yet i will prove as clear as day that every chapter and every word of their writings has been the work of a former landed proprietor of the old school. you’ll find that all their raptures, all their generous transports are proprietary, all their woes and their tears, proprietary; all proprietary or seminarist! you are laughing again, and you, prince, are smiling too. don’t you agree with me?”
it was true enough that everybody was laughing, the prince among them.
“i cannot tell you on the instant whether i agree with you or not,”
said the latter, suddenly stopping his laughter, and starting like a schoolboy caught at mischief. “but, i assure you, i am listening to you with extreme gratification.”
so saying, he almost panted with agitation, and a cold sweat stood upon his forehead. these were his first words since he had entered the house; he tried to lift his eyes, and look around, but dared not; evgenie pavlovitch noticed his confusion, and smiled.
“i’ll just tell you one fact, ladies and gentlemen,” continued the latter, with apparent seriousness and even exaltation of manner, but with a suggestion of “chaff” behind every word, as though he were laughing in his sleeve at his own nonsense “a fact, the discovery of which, i believe, i may claim to have made by myself alone. at all events, no other has ever said or written a word about it; and in this fact is expressed the whole essence of russian liberalism of the sort which i am now considering.
“in the first place, what is liberalism, speaking generally, but an attack (whether mistaken or reasonable, is quite another question) upon the existing order of things? is this so? yes. very well. then my ‘fact’
consists in this, that russian liberalism is not an attack upon the existing order of things, but an attack upon the very essence of things themselves indeed, on the things themselves; not an attack on the russian order of things, but on russia itself. my russian liberal goes so far as to reject russia; that is, he hates and strikes his own mother. every misfortune and mishap of the mother-country fills him with mirth, and even with ecstasy. he hates the national customs, russian history, and everything. if he has a justification, it is that he does not know what he is doing, and believes that his hatred of russia is the grandest and most profitable kind of liberalism. (you will often find a liberal who is applauded and esteemed by his fellows, but who is in reality the dreariest, blindest, dullest of conservatives, and is not aware of the fact.) this hatred for russia has been mistaken by some of our ‘russian liberals’ for sincere love of their country, and they boast that they see better than their neighbours what real love of one’s country should consist in. but of late they have grown, more candid and are ashamed of the expression ‘love of country,’ and have annihilated the very spirit of the words as something injurious and petty and undignified. this is the truth, and i hold by it; but at the same time it is a phenomenon which has not been repeated at any other time or place; and therefore, though i hold to it as a fact, yet i recognize that it is an accidental phenomenon, and may likely enough pass away.
there can be no such thing anywhere else as a liberal who really hates his country; and how is this fact to be explained among us? by my original statement that a russian liberal is not a russian liberal that’s the only explanation that i can see.”
“i take all that you have said as a joke,” said prince s. seriously.
“i have not seen all kinds of liberals, and cannot, therefore, set myself up as a judge,” said alexandra, “but i have heard all you have said with indignation. you have taken some accidental case and twisted it into a universal law, which is unjust.”
“accidental case!” said evgenie pavlovitch. “do you consider it an accidental case, prince?”
“i must also admit,” said the prince, “that i have not seen much, or been very far into the question; but i cannot help thinking that you are more or less right, and that russian liberalism that phase of it which you are considering, at least really is sometimes inclined to hate russia itself, and not only its existing order of things in general. of course this is only partially the truth; you cannot lay down the law for all...”
the prince blushed and broke off, without finishing what he meant to say.
in spite of his shyness and agitation, he could not help being greatly interested in the conversation. a special characteristic of his was the naive candour with which he always listened to arguments which interested him, and with which he answered any questions put to him on the subject at issue. in the very expression of his face this naivete was unmistakably evident, this disbelief in the insincerity of others, and unsuspecting disregard of irony or humour in their words.
but though evgenie pavlovitch had put his questions to the prince with no other purpose but to enjoy the joke of his simple-minded seriousness, yet now, at his answer, he was surprised into some seriousness himself, and looked gravely at muishkin as though he had not expected that sort of answer at all.
“why, how strange!” he ejaculated. “you didn’t answer me seriously, surely, did you?”
“did not you ask me the question seriously” inquired the prince, in amazement.
everybody laughed.
“oh, trust him for that!” said adelaida. “evgenie pavlovitch turns everything and everybody he can lay hold of to ridicule. you should hear the things he says sometimes, apparently in perfect seriousness.”
“in my opinion the conversation has been a painful one throughout, and we ought never to have begun it,” said alexandra. “we were all going for a walk ”
“come along then,” said evgenie; “it’s a glorious evening. but, to prove that this time i was speaking absolutely seriously, and especially to prove this to the prince (for you, prince, have interested me exceedingly, and i swear to you that i am not quite such an ass as i like to appear sometimes, although i am rather an ass, i admit), and well, ladies and gentlemen, will you allow me to put just one more question to the prince, out of pure curiosity? it shall be the last.
this question came into my mind a couple of hours since (you see, prince, i do think seriously at times), and i made my own decision upon it; now i wish to hear what the prince will say to it.”
“we have just used the expression ‘accidental case.’ this is a significant phrase; we often hear it. well, not long since everyone was talking and reading about that terrible murder of six people on the part of a young fellow, and of the extraordinary speech of the counsel for the defence, who observed that in the poverty-stricken condition of the criminal it must have come naturally into his head to kill these six people. i do not quote his words, but that is the sense of them, or something very like it. now, in my opinion, the barrister who put forward this extraordinary plea was probably absolutely convinced that he was stating the most liberal, the most humane, the most enlightened view of the case that could possibly be brought forward in these days.
now, was this distortion, this capacity for a perverted way of viewing things, a special or accidental case, or is such a general rule?”
everyone laughed at this.
“a special case accidental, of course!” cried alexandra and adelaida.
“let me remind you once more, evgenie,” said prince s., “that your joke is getting a little threadbare.”
“what do you think about it, prince?” asked evgenie, taking no notice of the last remark, and observing muishkin’s serious eyes fixed upon his face. “what do you think was it a special or a usual case the rule, or an exception? i confess i put the question especially for you.”
“no, i don’t think it was a special case,” said the prince, quietly, but firmly.
“my dear fellow!” cried prince s., with some annoyance, “don’t you see that he is chaffing you? he is simply laughing at you, and wants to make game of you.”
“i thought evgenie pavlovitch was talking seriously,” said the prince, blushing and dropping his eyes.
“my dear prince,” continued prince s. “remember what you and i were saying two or three months ago. we spoke of the fact that in our newly opened law courts one could already lay one’s finger upon so many talented and remarkable young barristers. how pleased you were with the state of things as we found it, and how glad i was to observe your delight! we both said it was a matter to be proud of; but this clumsy defence that evgenie mentions, this strange argument can, of course, only be an accidental case one in a thousand!”
the prince reflected a little, but very soon he replied, with absolute conviction in his tone, though he still spoke somewhat shyly and timidly:
“i only wished to say that this ‘distortion,’ as evgenie pavlovitch expressed it, is met with very often, and is far more the general rule than the exception, unfortunately for russia. so much so, that if this distortion were not the general rule, perhaps these dreadful crimes would be less frequent.”
“dreadful crimes? but i can assure you that crimes just as dreadful, and probably more horrible, have occurred before our times, and at all times, and not only here in russia, but everywhere else as well. and in my opinion it is not at all likely that such murders will cease to occur for a very long time to come. the only difference is that in former times there was less publicity, while now everyone talks and writes freely about such things which fact gives the impression that such crimes have only now sprung into existence. that is where your mistake lies an extremely natural mistake, i assure you, my dear fellow!” said prince s.
“i know that there were just as many, and just as terrible, crimes before our times. not long since i visited a convict prison and made acquaintance with some of the criminals. there were some even more dreadful criminals than this one we have been speaking of men who have murdered a dozen of their fellow-creatures, and feel no remorse whatever. but what i especially noticed was this, that the very most hopeless and remorseless murderer however hardened a criminal he may be still knows that he is a criminal; that is, he is conscious that he has acted wickedly, though he may feel no remorse whatever. and they were all like this. those of whom evgenie pavlovitch has spoken, do not admit that they are criminals at all; they think they had a right to do what they did, and that they were even doing a good deed, perhaps.
i consider there is the greatest difference between the two cases.
and recollect it was a youth, at the particular age which is most helplessly susceptible to the distortion of ideas!”
prince s. was now no longer smiling; he gazed at the prince in bewilderment.
alexandra, who had seemed to wish to put in her word when the prince began, now sat silent, as though some sudden thought had caused her to change her mind about speaking.
evgenie pavlovitch gazed at him in real surprise, and this time his expression of face had no mockery in it whatever.
“what are you looking so surprised about, my friend?” asked mrs.
epanchin, suddenly. “did you suppose he was stupider than yourself, and was incapable of forming his own opinions, or what?”
“no! oh no! not at all!” said evgenie. “but how is it, prince, that you (excuse the question, will you?) if you are capable of observing and seeing things as you evidently do, how is it that you saw nothing distorted or perverted in that claim upon your property, which you acknowledged a day or two since; and which was full of arguments founded upon the most distorted views of right and wrong?”
“i’ll tell you what, my friend,” cried mrs. epanchin, of a sudden, “here are we all sitting here and imagining we are very clever, and perhaps laughing at the prince, some of us, and meanwhile he has received a letter this very day in which that same claimant renounces his claim, and begs the prince’s pardon. there! we don’t often get that sort of letter; and yet we are not ashamed to walk with our noses in the air before him.”
“and hippolyte has come down here to stay,” said colia, suddenly.
“what! has he arrived?” said the prince, starting up.
“yes, i brought him down from town just after you had left the house.”
“there now! it’s just like him,” cried lizabetha prokofievna, boiling over once more, and entirely oblivious of the fact that she had just taken the prince’s part. “i dare swear that you went up to town yesterday on purpose to get the little wretch to do you the great honour of coming to stay at your house. you did go up to town, you know you did you said so yourself! now then, did you, or did you not, go down on your knees and beg him to come, confess!”
“no, he didn’t, for i saw it all myself,” said colia. “on the contrary, hippolyte kissed his hand twice and thanked him; and all the prince said was that he thought hippolyte might feel better here in the country!”
“don’t, colia, what is the use of saying all that?” cried the prince, rising and taking his hat.
“where are you going to now?” cried mrs. epanchin.
“never mind about him now, prince,” said colia. “he is all right and taking a nap after the journey. he is very happy to be here; but i think perhaps it would be better if you let him alone for today, he is very sensitive now that he is so ill and he might be embarrassed if you show him too much attention at first. he is decidedly better today, and says he has not felt so well for the last six months, and has coughed much less, too.”
the prince observed that aglaya came out of her corner and approached the table at this point.
he did not dare look at her, but he was conscious, to the very tips of his fingers, that she was gazing at him, perhaps angrily; and that she had probably flushed up with a look of fiery indignation in her black eyes.
“it seems to me, mr. colia, that you were very foolish to bring your young friend down if he is the same consumptive boy who wept so profusely, and invited us all to his own funeral,” remarked evgenie pavlovitch. “he talked so eloquently about the blank wall outside his bedroom window, that i’m sure he will never support life here without it.”
“i think so too,” said mrs. epanchin; “he will quarrel with you, and be off,” and she drew her workbox towards her with an air of dignity, quite oblivious of the fact that the family was about to start for a walk in the park.
“yes, i remember he boasted about the blank wall in an extraordinary way,” continued evgenie, “and i feel that without that blank wall he will never be able to die eloquently; and he does so long to die eloquently!”
“oh, you must forgive him the blank wall,” said the prince, quietly. “he has come down to see a few trees now, poor fellow.”
“oh, i forgive him with all my heart; you may tell him so if you like,”
laughed evgenie.
“i don’t think you should take it quite like that,” said the prince, quietly, and without removing his eyes from the carpet. “i think it is more a case of his forgiving you.”
“forgiving me! why so? what have i done to need his forgiveness?”
“if you don’t understand, then but of course, you do understand.
he wished he wished to bless you all round and to have your blessing before he died that’s all.”
“my dear prince,” began prince s., hurriedly, exchanging glances with some of those present, “you will not easily find heaven on earth, and yet you seem to expect to. heaven is a difficult thing to find anywhere, prince; far more difficult than appears to that good heart of yours.
better stop this conversation, or we shall all be growing quite disturbed in our minds, and ”
“let’s go and hear the band, then,” said lizabetha prokofievna, angrily rising from her place.
the rest of the company followed her example.
ii.
the prince suddenly approached evgenie pavlovitch.
“evgenie pavlovitch,” he said, with strange excitement and seizing the latter’s hand in his own, “be assured that i esteem you as a generous and honourable man, in spite of everything. be assured of that.”
evgenie pavlovitch fell back a step in astonishment. for one moment it was all he could do to restrain himself from bursting out laughing; but, looking closer, he observed that the prince did not seem to be quite himself; at all events, he was in a very curious state.
“i wouldn’t mind betting, prince,” he cried, “that you did not in the least mean to say that, and very likely you meant to address someone else altogether. what is it? are you feeling unwell or anything?”
“very likely, extremely likely, and you must be a very close observer to detect the fact that perhaps i did not intend to come up to you at all.”
so saying he smiled strangely; but suddenly and excitedly he began again:
“don’t remind me of what i have done or said. don’t! i am very much ashamed of myself, i ”
“why, what have you done? i don’t understand you.”
“i see you are ashamed of me, evgenie pavlovitch; you are blushing for me; that’s a sign of a good heart. don’t be afraid; i shall go away directly.”
“what’s the matter with him? do his fits begin like that?” said lizabetha prokofievna, in a high state of alarm, addressing colia.
“no, no, lizabetha prokofievna, take no notice of me. i am not going to have a fit. i will go away directly; but i know i am afflicted. i was twenty-four years an invalid, you see the first twenty-four years of my life so take all i do and say as the sayings and actions of an invalid. i’m going away directly, i really am don’t be afraid. i am not blushing, for i don’t think i need blush about it, need i? but i see that i am out of place in society society is better without me. it’s not vanity, i assure you. i have thought over it all these last three days, and i have made up my mind that i ought to unbosom myself candidly before you at the first opportunity. there are certain things, certain great ideas, which i must not so much as approach, as prince s. has just reminded me, or i shall make you all laugh. i have no sense of proportion, i know; my words and gestures do not express my ideas they are a humiliation and abasement of the ideas, and therefore, i have no right and i am too sensitive. still, i believe i am beloved in this household, and esteemed far more than i deserve. but i can’t help knowing that after twenty-four years of illness there must be some trace left, so that it is impossible for people to refrain from laughing at me sometimes; don’t you think so?”
he seemed to pause for a reply, for some verdict, as it were, and looked humbly around him.
all present stood rooted to the earth with amazement at this unexpected and apparently uncalled-for outbreak; but the poor prince’s painful and rambling speech gave rise to a strange episode.
“why do you say all this here?” cried aglaya, suddenly. “why do you talk like this to them?”
she appeared to be in the last stages of wrath and irritation; her eyes flashed. the prince stood dumbly and blindly before her, and suddenly grew pale.
“there is not one of them all who is worthy of these words of yours,”
continued aglaya. “not one of them is worth your little finger, not one of them has heart or head to compare with yours! you are more honest than all, and better, nobler, kinder, wiser than all. there are some here who are unworthy to bend and pick up the handkerchief you have just dropped. why do you humiliate yourself like this, and place yourself lower than these people? why do you debase yourself before them? why have you no pride?”
“my god! who would ever have believed this?” cried mrs. epanchin, wringing her hands.
“hurrah for the ‘poor knight’!” cried colia.
“be quiet! how dare they laugh at me in your house?” said aglaya, turning sharply on her mother in that hysterical frame of mind that rides recklessly over every obstacle and plunges blindly through proprieties. “why does everyone, everyone worry and torment me? why have they all been bullying me these three days about you, prince? i will not marry you never, and under no circumstances! know that once and for all; as if anyone could marry an absurd creature like you! just look in the glass and see what you look like, this very moment! why, why do they torment me and say i am going to marry you? you must know it; you are in the plot with them!”
“no one ever tormented you on the subject,” murmured adelaida, aghast.
“no one ever thought of such a thing! there has never been a word said about it!” cried alexandra.
“who has been annoying her? who has been tormenting the child? who could have said such a thing to her? is she raving?” cried lizabetha prokofievna, trembling with rage, to the company in general.
“every one of them has been saying it every one of them all these three days! and i will never, never marry him!”
so saying, aglaya burst into bitter tears, and, hiding her face in her handkerchief, sank back into a chair.
“but he has never even ”
“i have never asked you to marry me, aglaya ivanovna!” said the prince, of a sudden.
“what?” cried mrs. epanchin, raising her hands in horror. “what’s that?”
she could not believe her ears.
“i meant to say i only meant to say,” said the prince, faltering, “i merely meant to explain to aglaya ivanovna to have the honour to explain, as it were that i had no intention never had to ask the honour of her hand. i assure you i am not guilty, aglaya ivanovna, i am not, indeed. i never did wish to i never thought of it at all and never shall you’ll see it yourself you may be quite assured of it.
some wicked person has been maligning me to you; but it’s all right.
don’t worry about it.”
so saying, the prince approached aglaya.
she took the handkerchief from her face, glanced keenly at him, took in what he had said, and burst out laughing such a merry, unrestrained laugh, so hearty and gay, that adelaida could not contain herself. she, too, glanced at the prince’s panic-stricken countenance, then rushed at her sister, threw her arms round her neck, and burst into as merry a fit of laughter as aglaya’s own. they laughed together like a couple of school-girls. hearing and seeing this, the prince smiled happily, and in accents of relief and joy, he exclaimed “well, thank god thank god!”
alexandra now joined in, and it looked as though the three sisters were going to laugh on for ever.
“they are insane,” muttered lizabetha prokofievna. “either they frighten one out of one’s wits, or else ”
but prince s. was laughing now, too, so was evgenie pavlovitch, so was colia, and so was the prince himself, who caught the infection as he looked round radiantly upon the others.
“come along, let’s go out for a walk!” cried adelaida. “we’ll all go together, and the prince must absolutely go with us. you needn’t go away, you dear good fellow! isn’t he a dear, aglaya? isn’t he, mother? i must really give him a kiss for for his explanation to aglaya just now.
mother, dear, i may kiss him, mayn’t i? aglaya, may i kiss your prince?”
cried the young rogue, and sure enough she skipped up to the prince and kissed his forehead.
he seized her hands, and pressed them so hard that adelaida nearly cried out; he then gazed with delight into her eyes, and raising her right hand to his lips with enthusiasm, kissed it three times.
“come along,” said aglaya. “prince, you must walk with me. may he, mother? this young cavalier, who won’t have me? you said you would never have me, didn’t you, prince? no no, not like that; that’s not the way to give your arm. don’t you know how to give your arm to a lady yet?
there so. now, come along, you and i will lead the way. would you like to lead the way with me alone, tête-à-tête?”
she went on talking and chatting without a pause, with occasional little bursts of laughter between.
“thank god thank god!” said lizabetha prokofievna to herself, without quite knowing why she felt so relieved.
“what extraordinary people they are!” thought prince s., for perhaps the hundredth time since he had entered into intimate relations with the family; but he liked these “extraordinary people,” all the same. as for prince lef nicolaievitch himself, prince s. did not seem quite to like him, somehow. he was decidedly preoccupied and a little disturbed as they all started off.
evgenie pavlovitch seemed to be in a lively humour. he made adelaida and alexandra laugh all the way to the vauxhall; but they both laughed so very readily and promptly that the worthy evgenie began at last to suspect that they were not listening to him at all.
at this idea, he burst out laughing all at once, in quite unaffected mirth, and without giving any explanation.
the sisters, who also appeared to be in high spirits, never tired of glancing at aglaya and the prince, who were walking in front. it was evident that their younger sister was a thorough puzzle to them both.
prince s. tried hard to get up a conversation with mrs. epanchin upon outside subjects, probably with the good intention of distracting and amusing her; but he bored her dreadfully. she was absent-minded to a degree, and answered at cross purposes, and sometimes not at all.
but the puzzle and mystery of aglaya was not yet over for the evening.
the last exhibition fell to the lot of the prince alone. when they had proceeded some hundred paces or so from the house, aglaya said to her obstinately silent cavalier in a quick half-whisper:
“look to the right!”
the prince glanced in the direction indicated.
“look closer. do you see that bench, in the park there, just by those three big trees that green bench?”
the prince replied that he saw it.
“do you like the position of it? sometimes of a morning early, at seven o’clock, when all the rest are still asleep, i come out and sit there alone.”
the prince muttered that the spot was a lovely one.
“now, go away, i don’t wish to have your arm any longer; or perhaps, better, continue to give me your arm, and walk along beside me, but don’t speak a word to me. i wish to think by myself.”
the warning was certainly unnecessary; for the prince would not have said a word all the rest of the time whether forbidden to speak or not.
his heart beat loud and painfully when aglaya spoke of the bench; could she but no! he banished the thought, after an instant’s deliberation.
at pavlofsk, on weekdays, the public is more select than it is on sundays and saturdays, when the townsfolk come down to walk about and enjoy the park.
the ladies dress elegantly, on these days, and it is the fashion to gather round the band, which is probably the best of our pleasure-garden bands, and plays the newest pieces. the behaviour of the public is most correct and proper, and there is an appearance of friendly intimacy among the usual frequenters. many come for nothing but to look at their acquaintances, but there are others who come for the sake of the music.
it is very seldom that anything happens to break the harmony of the proceedings, though, of course, accidents will happen everywhere.
on this particular evening the weather was lovely, and there were a large number of people present. all the places anywhere near the orchestra were occupied.
our friends took chairs near the side exit. the crowd and the music cheered mrs. epanchin a little, and amused the girls; they bowed and shook hands with some of their friends and nodded at a distance to others; they examined the ladies’ dresses, noticed comicalities and eccentricities among the people, and laughed and talked among themselves. evgenie pavlovitch, too, found plenty of friends to bow to.
several people noticed aglaya and the prince, who were still together.
before very long two or three young men had come up, and one or two remained to talk; all of these young men appeared to be on intimate terms with evgenie pavlovitch. among them was a young officer, a remarkably handsome fellow very good-natured and a great chatterbox. he tried to get up a conversation with aglaya, and did his best to secure her attention. aglaya behaved very graciously to him, and chatted and laughed merrily. evgenie pavlovitch begged the prince’s leave to introduce their friend to him. the prince hardly realized what was wanted of him, but the introduction came off; the two men bowed and shook hands.
evgenie pavlovitch’s friend asked the prince some question, but the latter did not reply, or if he did, he muttered something so strangely indistinct that there was nothing to be made of it. the officer stared intently at him, then glanced at evgenie, divined why the latter had introduced him, and gave his undivided attention to aglaya again. only evgenie pavlovitch observed that aglaya flushed up for a moment at this.
the prince did not notice that others were talking and making themselves agreeable to aglaya; in fact, at moments, he almost forgot that he was sitting by her himself. at other moments he felt a longing to go away somewhere and be alone with his thoughts, and to feel that no one knew where he was.
or if that were impossible he would like to be alone at home, on the terrace without either lebedeff or his children, or anyone else about him, and to lie there and think a day and night and another day again!
he thought of the mountains and especially of a certain spot which he used to frequent, whence he would look down upon the distant valleys and fields, and see the waterfall, far off, like a little silver thread, and the old ruined castle in the distance. oh! how he longed to be there now alone with his thoughts to think of one thing all his life one thing! a thousand years would not be too much time! and let everyone here forget him forget him utterly! how much better it would have been if they had never known him if all this could but prove to be a dream.
perhaps it was a dream!
now and then he looked at aglaya for five minutes at a time, without taking his eyes off her face; but his expression was very strange; he would gaze at her as though she were an object a couple of miles distant, or as though he were looking at her portrait and not at herself at all.
“why do you look at me like that, prince?” she asked suddenly, breaking off her merry conversation and laughter with those about her. “i’m afraid of you! you look as though you were just going to put out your hand and touch my face to see if it’s real! doesn’t he, evgenie pavlovitch doesn’t he look like that?”
the prince seemed surprised that he should have been addressed at all; he reflected a moment, but did not seem to take in what had been said to him; at all events, he did not answer. but observing that she and the others had begun to laugh, he too opened his mouth and laughed with them.
the laughter became general, and the young officer, who seemed a particularly lively sort of person, simply shook with mirth.
aglaya suddenly whispered angrily to herself the word
“idiot!”
“my goodness surely she is not in love with such a surely she isn’t mad!” groaned mrs. epanchin, under her breath.
“it’s all a joke, mamma; it’s just a joke like the ‘poor knight’ nothing more whatever, i assure you!” alexandra whispered in her ear. “she is chaffing him making a fool of him, after her own private fashion, that’s all! but she carries it just a little too far she is a regular little actress. how she frightened us just now didn’t she? and all for a lark!”
“well, it’s lucky she has happened upon an idiot, then, that’s all i can say!” whispered lizabetha prokofievna, who was somewhat comforted, however, by her daughter’s remark.
the prince had heard himself referred to as “idiot,” and had shuddered at the moment; but his shudder, it so happened, was not caused by the word applied to him. the fact was that in the crowd, not far from where he was sitting, a pale familiar face, with curly black hair, and a well-known smile and expression, had flashed across his vision for a moment, and disappeared again. very likely he had imagined it! there only remained to him the impression of a strange smile, two eyes, and a bright green tie. whether the man had disappeared among the crowd, or whether he had turned towards the vauxhall, the prince could not say.
but a moment or two afterwards he began to glance keenly about him. that first vision might only too likely be the forerunner of a second; it was almost certain to be so. surely he had not forgotten the possibility of such a meeting when he came to the vauxhall? true enough, he had not remarked where he was coming to when he set out with aglaya; he had not been in a condition to remark anything at all.
had he been more careful to observe his companion, he would have seen that for the last quarter of an hour aglaya had also been glancing around in apparent anxiety, as though she expected to see someone, or something particular, among the crowd of people. now, at the moment when his own anxiety became so marked, her excitement also increased visibly, and when he looked about him, she did the same.
the reason for their anxiety soon became apparent. from that very side entrance to the vauxhall, near which the prince and all the epanchin party were seated, there suddenly appeared quite a large knot of persons, at least a dozen.
heading this little band walked three ladies, two of whom were remarkably lovely; and there was nothing surprising in the fact that they should have had a large troop of admirers following in their wake.
but there was something in the appearance of both the ladies and their admirers which was peculiar, quite different for that of the rest of the public assembled around the orchestra.
nearly everyone observed the little band advancing, and all pretended not to see or notice them, except a few young fellows who exchanged glances and smiled, saying something to one another in whispers.
it was impossible to avoid noticing them, however, in reality, for they made their presence only too conspicuous by laughing and talking loudly.
it was to be supposed that some of them were more than half drunk, although they were well enough dressed, some even particularly well.
there were one or two, however, who were very strange-looking creatures, with flushed faces and extraordinary clothes; some were military men; not all were quite young; one or two were middle-aged gentlemen of decidedly disagreeable appearance, men who are avoided in society like the plague, decked out in large gold studs and rings, and magnificently “got up,” generally.
among our suburban resorts there are some which enjoy a specially high reputation for respectability and fashion; but the most careful individual is not absolutely exempt from the danger of a tile falling suddenly upon his head from his neighbour’s roof.
such a tile was about to descend upon the elegant and decorous public now assembled to hear the music.
in order to pass from the vauxhall to the band-stand, the visitor has to descend two or three steps. just at these steps the group paused, as though it feared to proceed further; but very quickly one of the three ladies, who formed its apex, stepped forward into the charmed circle, followed by two members of her suite.
one of these was a middle-aged man of very respectable appearance, but with the stamp of parvenu upon him, a man whom nobody knew, and who evidently knew nobody. the other follower was younger and far less respectable-looking.
no one else followed the eccentric lady; but as she descended the steps she did not even look behind her, as though it were absolutely the same to her whether anyone were following or not. she laughed and talked loudly, however, just as before. she was dressed with great taste, but with rather more magnificence than was needed for the occasion, perhaps.
she walked past the orchestra, to where an open carriage was waiting, near the road.
the prince had not seen her for more than three months. all these days since his arrival from petersburg he had intended to pay her a visit, but some mysterious presentiment had restrained him. he could not picture to himself what impression this meeting with her would make upon him, though he had often tried to imagine it, with fear and trembling.
one fact was quite certain, and that was that the meeting would be painful.
several times during the last six months he had recalled the effect which the first sight of this face had had upon him, when he only saw its portrait. he recollected well that even the portrait face had left but too painful an impression.
that month in the provinces, when he had seen this woman nearly every day, had affected him so deeply that he could not now look back upon it calmly. in the very look of this woman there was something which tortured him. in conversation with rogojin he had attributed this sensation to pity immeasurable pity, and this was the truth. the sight of the portrait face alone had filled his heart full of the agony of real sympathy; and this feeling of sympathy, nay, of actual suffering, for her, had never left his heart since that hour, and was still in full force. oh yes, and more powerful than ever!
but the prince was not satisfied with what he had said to rogojin. only at this moment, when she suddenly made her appearance before him, did he realize to the full the exact emotion which she called up in him, and which he had not described correctly to rogojin.
and, indeed, there were no words in which he could have expressed his horror, yes, horror, for he was now fully convinced from his own private knowledge of her, that the woman was mad.
if, loving a woman above everything in the world, or at least having a foretaste of the possibility of such love for her, one were suddenly to behold her on a chain, behind bars and under the lash of a keeper, one would feel something like what the poor prince now felt.
“what’s the matter?” asked aglaya, in a whisper, giving his sleeve a little tug.
he turned his head towards her and glanced at her black and (for some reason) flashing eyes, tried to smile, and then, apparently forgetting her in an instant, turned to the right once more, and continued to watch the startling apparition before him.
nastasia philipovna was at this moment passing the young ladies’ chairs.
evgenie pavlovitch continued some apparently extremely funny and interesting anecdote to alexandra, speaking quickly and with much animation. the prince remembered that at this moment aglaya remarked in a half-whisper:
“what a ”
she did not finish her indefinite sentence; she restrained herself in a moment; but it was enough.
nastasia philipovna, who up to now had been walking along as though she had not noticed the epanchin party, suddenly turned her head in their direction, as though she had just observed evgenie pavlovitch sitting there for the first time.
“why, i declare, here he is!” she cried, stopping suddenly. “the man one can’t find with all one’s messengers sent about the place, sitting just under one’s nose, exactly where one never thought of looking! i thought you were sure to be at your uncle’s by this time.”
evgenie pavlovitch flushed up and looked angrily at nastasia philipovna, then turned his back on her.
“what! don’t you know about it yet? he doesn’t know imagine that! why, he’s shot himself. your uncle shot himself this very morning. i was told at two this afternoon. half the town must know it by now. they say there are three hundred and fifty thousand roubles, government money, missing; some say five hundred thousand. and i was under the impression that he would leave you a fortune! he’s whistled it all away. a most depraved old gentleman, really! well, ta, ta! bonne chance! surely you intend to be off there, don’t you? ha, ha! you’ve retired from the army in good time, i see! plain clothes! well done, sly rogue! nonsense! i see you knew it all before i dare say you knew all about it yesterday-”
although the impudence of this attack, this public proclamation of intimacy, as it were, was doubtless premeditated, and had its special object, yet evgenie pavlovitch at first seemed to intend to make no show of observing either his tormentor or her words. but nastasia’s communication struck him with the force of a thunderclap. on hearing of his uncle’s death he suddenly grew as white as a sheet, and turned towards his informant.
at this moment, lizabetha prokofievna rose swiftly from her seat, beckoned her companions, and left the place almost at a run.
only the prince stopped behind for a moment, as though in indecision; and evgenie pavlovitch lingered too, for he had not collected his scattered wits. but the epanchins had not had time to get more than twenty paces away when a scandalous episode occurred. the young officer, evgenie pavlovitch’s friend who had been conversing with aglaya, said aloud in a great state of indignation:
“she ought to be whipped that’s the only way to deal with creatures like that she ought to be whipped!”
this gentleman was a confidant of evgenie’s, and had doubtless heard of the carriage episode.
nastasia turned to him. her eyes flashed; she rushed up to a young man standing near, whom she did not know in the least, but who happened to have in his hand a thin cane. seizing this from him, she brought it with all her force across the face of her insulter.
all this occurred, of course, in one instant of time.
the young officer, forgetting himself, sprang towards her. nastasia’s followers were not by her at the moment (the elderly gentleman having disappeared altogether, and the younger man simply standing aside and roaring with laughter).
in another moment, of course, the police would have been on the spot, and it would have gone hard with nastasia philipovna had not unexpected aid appeared.
muishkin, who was but a couple of steps away, had time to spring forward and seize the officer’s arms from behind.
the officer, tearing himself from the prince’s grasp, pushed him so violently backwards that he staggered a few steps and then subsided into a chair.
but there were other defenders for nastasia on the spot by this time.
the gentleman known as the “boxer” now confronted the enraged officer.
“keller is my name, sir; ex-lieutenant,” he said, very loud. “if you will accept me as champion of the fair sex, i am at your disposal.
english boxing has no secrets from me. i sympathize with you for the insult you have received, but i can’t permit you to raise your hand against a woman in public. if you prefer to meet me as would be more fitting to your rank in some other manner, of course you understand me, captain.”
but the young officer had recovered himself, and was no longer listening. at this moment rogojin appeared, elbowing through the crowd; he took nastasia’s hand, drew it through his arm, and quickly led her away. he appeared to be terribly excited; he was trembling all over, and was as pale as a corpse. as he carried nastasia off, he turned and grinned horribly in the officer’s face, and with low malice observed:
“tfu! look what the fellow got! look at the blood on his cheek! ha, ha!”
recollecting himself, however, and seeing at a glance the sort of people he had to deal with, the officer turned his back on both his opponents, and courteously, but concealing his face with his handkerchief, approached the prince, who was now rising from the chair into which he had fallen.
“prince muishkin, i believe? the gentleman to whom i had the honour of being introduced?”
“she is mad, insane i assure you, she is mad,” replied the prince in trembling tones, holding out both his hands mechanically towards the officer.
“i cannot boast of any such knowledge, of course, but i wished to know your name.”
he bowed and retired without waiting for an answer.
five seconds after the disappearance of the last actor in this scene, the police arrived. the whole episode had not lasted more than a couple of minutes. some of the spectators had risen from their places, and departed altogether; some merely exchanged their seats for others a little further off; some were delighted with the occurrence, and talked and laughed over it for a long time.
in a word, the incident closed as such incidents do, and the band began to play again. the prince walked away after the epanchin party. had he thought of looking round to the left after he had been pushed so unceremoniously into the chair, he would have observed aglaya standing some twenty yards away. she had stayed to watch the scandalous scene in spite of her mother’s and sisters’ anxious cries to her to come away.
prince s. ran up to her and persuaded her, at last, to come home with them.
lizabetha prokofievna saw that she returned in such a state of agitation that it was doubtful whether she had even heard their calls. but only a couple of minutes later, when they had reached the park, aglaya suddenly remarked, in her usual calm, indifferent voice:
“i wanted to see how the farce would end.”
iii.
the occurrence at the vauxhall had filled both mother and daughters with something like horror. in their excitement lizabetha prokofievna and the girls were nearly running all the way home.
in her opinion there was so much disclosed and laid bare by the episode, that, in spite of the chaotic condition of her mind, she was able to feel more or less decided on certain points which, up to now, had been in a cloudy condition.
however, one and all of the party realized that something important had happened, and that, perhaps fortunately enough, something which had hitherto been enveloped in the obscurity of guess-work had now begun to come forth a little from the mists. in spite of prince s.’s assurances and explanations, evgenie pavlovitch’s real character and position were at last coming to light. he was publicly convicted of intimacy with “that creature.” so thought lizabetha prokofievna and her two elder daughters.
but the real upshot of the business was that the number of riddles to be solved was augmented. the two girls, though rather irritated at their mother’s exaggerated alarm and haste to depart from the scene, had been unwilling to worry her at first with questions.
besides, they could not help thinking that their sister aglaya probably knew more about the whole matter than both they and their mother put together.
prince s. looked as black as night, and was silent and moody. mrs.
epanchin did not say a word to him all the way home, and he did not seem to observe the fact. adelaida tried to pump him a little by asking, “who was the uncle they were talking about, and what was it that had happened in petersburg?” but he had merely muttered something disconnected about “making inquiries,” and that “of course it was all nonsense.” “oh, of course,” replied adelaida, and asked no more questions. aglaya, too, was very quiet; and the only remark she made on the way home was that they were “walking much too fast to be pleasant.”
once she turned and observed the prince hurrying after them. noticing his anxiety to catch them up, she smiled ironically, and then looked back no more. at length, just as they neared the house, general epanchin came out and met them; he had only just arrived from town.
his first word was to inquire after evgenie pavlovitch. but lizabetha stalked past him, and neither looked at him nor answered his question.
he immediately judged from the faces of his daughters and prince s. that there was a thunderstorm brewing, and he himself already bore evidences of unusual perturbation of mind.
he immediately button-holed prince s., and standing at the front door, engaged in a whispered conversation with him. by the troubled aspect of both of them, when they entered the house, and approached mrs. epanchin, it was evident that they had been discussing very disturbing news.
little by little the family gathered together upstairs in lizabetha prokofievna’s apartments, and prince muishkin found himself alone on the verandah when he arrived. he settled himself in a corner and sat waiting, though he knew not what he expected. it never struck him that he had better go away, with all this disturbance in the house. he seemed to have forgotten all the world, and to be ready to sit on where he was for years on end. from upstairs he caught sounds of excited conversation every now and then.
he could not say how long he sat there. it grew late and became quite dark.
suddenly aglaya entered the verandah. she seemed to be quite calm, though a little pale.
observing the prince, whom she evidently did not expect to see there, alone in the corner, she smiled, and approached him:
“what are you doing there?” she asked.
the prince muttered something, blushed, and jumped up; but aglaya immediately sat down beside him; so he reseated himself.
she looked suddenly, but attentively into his face, then at the window, as though thinking of something else, and then again at him.
“perhaps she wants to laugh at me,” thought the prince, “but no; for if she did she certainly would do so.”
“would you like some tea? i’ll order some,” she said, after a minute or two of silence.
“n-no thanks, i don’t know ”
“don’t know! how can you not know? by-the-by, look here if someone were to challenge you to a duel, what should you do? i wished to ask you this some time ago ”
“why? nobody would ever challenge me to a duel!”
“but if they were to, would you be dreadfully frightened?”
“i dare say i should be much alarmed!”
“seriously? then are you a coward?”
“n-no! i don’t think so. a coward is a man who is afraid and runs away; the man who is frightened but does not run away, is not quite a coward,”
said the prince with a smile, after a moment’s thought.
“and you wouldn’t run away?”
“no i don’t think i should run away,” replied the prince, laughing outright at last at aglaya’s questions.
“though i am a woman, i should certainly not run away for anything,”
said aglaya, in a slightly pained voice. “however, i see you are laughing at me and twisting your face up as usual in order to make yourself look more interesting. now tell me, they generally shoot at twenty paces, don’t they? at ten, sometimes? i suppose if at ten they must be either wounded or killed, mustn’t they?”
“i don’t think they often kill each other at duels.”
“they killed pushkin that way.”
“that may have been an accident.”
“not a bit of it; it was a duel to the death, and he was killed.”
“the bullet struck so low down that probably his antagonist would never have aimed at that part of him people never do; he would have aimed at his chest or head; so that probably the bullet hit him accidentally. i have been told this by competent authorities.”
“well, a soldier once told me that they were always ordered to aim at the middle of the body. so you see they don’t aim at the chest or head; they aim lower on purpose. i asked some officer about this afterwards, and he said it was perfectly true.”
“that is probably when they fire from a long distance.”
“can you shoot at all?”
“no, i have never shot in my life.”
“can’t you even load a pistol?”
“no! that is, i understand how it’s done, of course, but i have never done it.”
“then, you don’t know how, for it is a matter that needs practice. now listen and learn; in the first place buy good powder, not damp (they say it mustn’t be at all damp, but very dry), some fine kind it is you must ask for pistol powder, not the stuff they load cannons with. they say one makes the bullets oneself, somehow or other. have you got a pistol?”
“no and i don’t want one,” said the prince, laughing.
“oh, what nonsense! you must buy one. french or english are the best, they say. then take a little powder, about a thimbleful, or perhaps two, and pour it into the barrel. better put plenty. then push in a bit of felt (it must be felt, for some reason or other); you can easily get a bit off some old mattress, or off a door; it’s used to keep the cold out. well, when you have pushed the felt down, put the bullet in; do you hear now? the bullet last and the powder first, not the other way, or the pistol won’t shoot. what are you laughing at? i wish you to buy a pistol and practise every day, and you must learn to hit a mark for certain; will you?”
the prince only laughed. aglaya stamped her foot with annoyance.
her serious air, however, during this conversation had surprised him considerably. he had a feeling that he ought to be asking her something, that there was something he wanted to find out far more important than how to load a pistol; but his thoughts had all scattered, and he was only aware that she was sitting by him, and talking to him, and that he was looking at her; as to what she happened to be saying to him, that did not matter in the least.
the general now appeared on the verandah, coming from upstairs. he was on his way out, with an expression of determination on his face, and of preoccupation and worry also.
“ah! lef nicolaievitch, it’s you, is it? where are you off to now?” he asked, oblivious of the fact that the prince had not showed the least sign of moving. “come along with me; i want to say a word or two to you.”
“au revoir, then!” said aglaya, holding out her hand to the prince.
it was quite dark now, and muishkin could not see her face clearly, but a minute or two later, when he and the general had left the villa, he suddenly flushed up, and squeezed his right hand tightly.
it appeared that he and the general were going in the same direction. in spite of the lateness of the hour, the general was hurrying away to talk to someone upon some important subject. meanwhile he talked incessantly but disconnectedly to the prince, and continually brought in the name of lizabetha prokofievna.
if the prince had been in a condition to pay more attention to what the general was saying, he would have discovered that the latter was desirous of drawing some information out of him, or indeed of asking him some question outright; but that he could not make up his mind to come to the point.
muishkin was so absent, that from the very first he could not attend to a word the other was saying; and when the general suddenly stopped before him with some excited question, he was obliged to confess, ignominiously, that he did not know in the least what he had been talking about.
the general shrugged his shoulders.
“how strange everyone, yourself included, has become of late,” said he. “i was telling you that i cannot in the least understand lizabetha prokofievna’s ideas and agitations. she is in hysterics up there, and moans and says that we have been ‘shamed and disgraced.’ how? why? when?
by whom? i confess that i am very much to blame myself; i do not conceal the fact; but the conduct, the outrageous behaviour of this woman, must really be kept within limits, by the police if necessary, and i am just on my way now to talk the question over and make some arrangements.
it can all be managed quietly and gently, even kindly, and without the slightest fuss or scandal. i foresee that the future is pregnant with events, and that there is much that needs explanation. there is intrigue in the wind; but if on one side nothing is known, on the other side nothing will be explained. if i have heard nothing about it, nor have you, nor he, nor she who has heard about it, i should like to know? how can all this be explained except by the fact that half of it is mirage or moonshine, or some hallucination of that sort?”
“she is insane,” muttered the prince, suddenly recollecting all that had passed, with a spasm of pain at his heart.
“i too had that idea, and i slept in peace. but now i see that their opinion is more correct. i do not believe in the theory of madness! the woman has no common sense; but she is not only not insane, she is artful to a degree. her outburst of this evening about evgenie’s uncle proves that conclusively. it was villainous, simply jesuitical, and it was all for some special purpose.”
“what about evgenie’s uncle?”
“my goodness, lef nicolaievitch, why, you can’t have heard a single word i said! look at me, i’m still trembling all over with the dreadful shock! it is that that kept me in town so late. evgenie pavlovitch’s uncle ”
“well?” cried the prince.
“shot himself this morning, at seven o’clock. a respected, eminent old man of seventy; and exactly point for point as she described it; a sum of money, a considerable sum of government money, missing!”
“why, how could she ”
“what, know of it? ha, ha, ha! why, there was a whole crowd round her the moment she appeared on the scenes here. you know what sort of people surround her nowadays, and solicit the honour of her ‘acquaintance.’
of course she might easily have heard the news from someone coming from town. all petersburg, if not all pavlofsk, knows it by now. look at the slyness of her observation about evgenie’s uniform! i mean, her remark that he had retired just in time! there’s a venomous hint for you, if you like! no, no! there’s no insanity there! of course i refuse to believe that evgenie pavlovitch could have known beforehand of the catastrophe; that is, that at such and such a day at seven o’clock, and all that; but he might well have had a presentiment of the truth. and i all of us prince s. and everybody, believed that he was to inherit a large fortune from this uncle. it’s dreadful, horrible! mind, i don’t suspect evgenie of anything, be quite clear on that point; but the thing is a little suspicious, nevertheless. prince s. can’t get over it.
altogether it is a very extraordinary combination of circumstances.”
“what suspicion attaches to evgenie pavlovitch?”
“oh, none at all! he has behaved very well indeed. i didn’t mean to drop any sort of hint. his own fortune is intact, i believe. lizabetha prokofievna, of course, refuses to listen to anything. that’s the worst of it all, these family catastrophes or quarrels, or whatever you like to call them. you know, prince, you are a friend of the family, so i don’t mind telling you; it now appears that evgenie pavlovitch proposed to aglaya a month ago, and was refused.”
“impossible!” cried the prince.
“why? do you know anything about it? look here,” continued the general, more agitated than ever, and trembling with excitement, “maybe i have been letting the cat out of the bag too freely with you, if so, it is because you are that sort of man, you know! perhaps you have some special information?”
“i know nothing about evgenie pavlovitch!” said the prince.
“nor do i! they always try to bury me underground when there’s anything going on; they don’t seem to reflect that it is unpleasant to a man to be treated so! i won’t stand it! we have just had a terrible scene! mind, i speak to you as i would to my own son! aglaya laughs at her mother. her sisters guessed about evgenie having proposed and been rejected, and told lizabetha.
“i tell you, my dear fellow, aglaya is such an extraordinary, such a self-willed, fantastical little creature, you wouldn’t believe it! every high quality, every brilliant trait of heart and mind, are to be found in her, and, with it all, so much caprice and mockery, such wild fancies indeed, a little devil! she has just been laughing at her mother to her very face, and at her sisters, and at prince s., and everybody and of course she always laughs at me! you know i love the child i love her even when she laughs at me, and i believe the wild little creature has a special fondness for me for that very reason. she is fonder of me than any of the others. i dare swear she has had a good laugh at you before now! you were having a quiet talk just now, i observed, after all the thunder and lightning upstairs. she was sitting with you just as though there had been no row at all.”
the prince blushed painfully in the darkness, and closed his right hand tightly, but he said nothing.
“my dear good prince lef nicolaievitch,” began the general again, suddenly, “both i and lizabetha prokofievna (who has begun to respect you once more, and me through you, goodness knows why!) we both love you very sincerely, and esteem you, in spite of any appearances to the contrary. but you’ll admit what a riddle it must have been for us when that calm, cold, little spitfire, aglaya (for she stood up to her mother and answered her questions with inexpressible contempt, and mine still more so, because, like a fool, i thought it my duty to assert myself as head of the family) when aglaya stood up of a sudden and informed us that ‘that madwoman’ (strangely enough, she used exactly the same expression as you did) ‘has taken it into her head to marry me to prince lef nicolaievitch, and therefore is doing her best to choke evgenie pavlovitch off, and rid the house of him.’ that’s what she said.
she would not give the slightest explanation; she burst out laughing, banged the door, and went away. we all stood there with our mouths open.
well, i was told afterwards of your little passage with aglaya this afternoon, and and dear prince you are a good, sensible fellow, don’t be angry if i speak out she is laughing at you, my boy! she is enjoying herself like a child, at your expense, and therefore, since she is a child, don’t be angry with her, and don’t think anything of it. i assure you, she is simply making a fool of you, just as she does with one and all of us out of pure lack of something better to do. well good-bye!
you know our feelings, don’t you our sincere feelings for yourself?
they are unalterable, you know, dear boy, under all circumstances, but well, here we part; i must go down to the right. rarely have i sat so uncomfortably in my saddle, as they say, as i now sit. and people talk of the charms of a country holiday!”
left to himself at the cross-roads, the prince glanced around him, quickly crossed the road towards the lighted window of a neighbouring house, and unfolded a tiny scrap of paper which he had held clasped in his right hand during the whole of his conversation with the general.
he read the note in the uncertain rays that fell from the window. it was as follows:
“tomorrow morning, i shall be at the green bench in the park at seven, and shall wait there for you. i have made up my mind to speak to you about a most important matter which closely concerns yourself.
“p.s. i trust that you will not show this note to anyone. though i am ashamed of giving you such instructions, i feel that i must do so, considering what you are. i therefore write the words, and blush for your simple character.
“p.p.s. it is the same green bench that i showed you before. there!
aren’t you ashamed of yourself? i felt that it was necessary to repeat even that information.”
the note was written and folded anyhow, evidently in a great hurry, and probably just before aglaya had come down to the verandah.
in inexpressible agitation, amounting almost to fear, the prince slipped quickly away from the window, away from the light, like a frightened thief, but as he did so he collided violently with some gentleman who seemed to spring from the earth at his feet.
“i was watching for you, prince,” said the individual.
“is that you, keller?” said the prince, in surprise.
“yes, i’ve been looking for you. i waited for you at the epanchins’
house, but of course i could not come in. i dogged you from behind as you walked along with the general. well, prince, here is keller, absolutely at your service command him! ready to sacrifice himself even to die in case of need.”
“but why?”
“oh, why? of course you’ll be challenged! that was young lieutenant moloftsoff. i know him, or rather of him; he won’t pass an insult. he will take no notice of rogojin and myself, and, therefore, you are the only one left to account for. you’ll have to pay the piper, prince. he has been asking about you, and undoubtedly his friend will call on you tomorrow perhaps he is at your house already. if you would do me the honour to have me for a second, prince, i should be happy. that’s why i have been looking for you now.”
“duel! you’ve come to talk about a duel, too!” the prince burst out laughing, to the great astonishment of keller. he laughed unrestrainedly, and keller, who had been on pins and needles, and in a fever of excitement to offer himself as “second,” was very near being offended.
“you caught him by the arms, you know, prince. no man of proper pride can stand that sort of treatment in public.”
“yes, and he gave me a fearful dig in the chest,” cried the prince, still laughing. “what are we to fight about? i shall beg his pardon, that’s all. but if we must fight we’ll fight! let him have a shot at me, by all means; i should rather like it. ha, ha, ha! i know how to load a pistol now; do you know how to load a pistol, keller? first, you have to buy the powder, you know; it mustn’t be wet, and it mustn’t be that coarse stuff that they load cannons with it must be pistol powder.
then you pour the powder in, and get hold of a bit of felt from some door, and then shove the bullet in. but don’t shove the bullet in before the powder, because the thing wouldn’t go off do you hear, keller, the thing wouldn’t go off! ha, ha, ha! isn’t that a grand reason, keller, my friend, eh? do you know, my dear fellow, i really must kiss you, and embrace you, this very moment. ha, ha! how was it you so suddenly popped up in front of me as you did? come to my house as soon as you can, and we’ll have some champagne. we’ll all get drunk! do you know i have a dozen of champagne in lebedeff’s cellar? lebedeff sold them to me the day after i arrived. i took the lot. we’ll invite everybody! are you going to do any sleeping tonight?”
“as much as usual, prince why?”
“pleasant dreams then ha, ha!”
the prince crossed the road, and disappeared into the park, leaving the astonished keller in a state of ludicrous wonder. he had never before seen the prince in such a strange condition of mind, and could not have imagined the possibility of it.
“fever, probably,” he said to himself, “for the man is all nerves, and this business has been a little too much for him. he is not afraid, that’s clear; that sort never funks! h’m! champagne! that was an interesting item of news, at all events! twelve bottles! dear me, that’s a very respectable little stock indeed! i bet anything lebedeff lent somebody money on deposit of this dozen of champagne. hum! he’s a nice fellow, is this prince! i like this sort of man. well, i needn’t be wasting time here, and if it’s a case of champagne, why there’s no time like the present!”
that the prince was almost in a fever was no more than the truth. he wandered about the park for a long while, and at last came to himself in a lonely avenue. he was vaguely conscious that he had already paced this particular walk from that large, dark tree to the bench at the other end about a hundred yards altogether at least thirty times backwards and forwards.
as to recollecting what he had been thinking of all that time, he could not. he caught himself, however, indulging in one thought which made him roar with laughter, though there was nothing really to laugh at in it; but he felt that he must laugh, and go on laughing.
it struck him that the idea of the duel might not have occurred to keller alone, but that his lesson in the art of pistol-loading might have been not altogether accidental! “pooh! nonsense!” he said to himself, struck by another thought, of a sudden. “why, she was immensely surprised to find me there on the verandah, and laughed and talked about tea! and yet she had this little note in her hand, therefore she must have known that i was sitting there. so why was she surprised? ha, ha, ha!”
he pulled the note out and kissed it; then paused and reflected. “how strange it all is! how strange!” he muttered, melancholy enough now. in moments of great joy, he invariably felt a sensation of melancholy come over him he could not tell why.
he looked intently around him, and wondered why he had come here; he was very tired, so he approached the bench and sat down on it. around him was profound silence; the music in the vauxhall was over. the park seemed quite empty, though it was not, in reality, later than half-past eleven. it was a quiet, warm, clear night a real petersburg night of early june; but in the dense avenue, where he was sitting, it was almost pitch dark.
if anyone had come up at this moment and told him that he was in love, passionately in love, he would have rejected the idea with astonishment, and, perhaps, with irritation. and if anyone had added that aglaya’s note was a love-letter, and that it contained an appointment to a lover’s rendezvous, he would have blushed with shame for the speaker, and, probably, have challenged him to a duel.
all this would have been perfectly sincere on his part. he had never for a moment entertained the idea of the possibility of this girl loving him, or even of such a thing as himself falling in love with her. the possibility of being loved himself, “a man like me,” as he put it, he ranked among ridiculous suppositions. it appeared to him that it was simply a joke on aglaya’s part, if there really were anything in it at all; but that seemed to him quite natural. his preoccupation was caused by something different.
as to the few words which the general had let slip about aglaya laughing at everybody, and at himself most of all he entirely believed them. he did not feel the slightest sensation of offence; on the contrary, he was quite certain that it was as it should be.
his whole thoughts were now as to next morning early; he would see her; he would sit by her on that little green bench, and listen to how pistols were loaded, and look at her. he wanted nothing more.
the question as to what she might have to say of special interest to himself occurred to him once or twice. he did not doubt, for a moment, that she really had some such subject of conversation in store, but so very little interested in the matter was he that it did not strike him to wonder what it could be. the crunch of gravel on the path suddenly caused him to raise his head.
a man, whose face it was difficult to see in the gloom, approached the bench, and sat down beside him. the prince peered into his face, and recognized the livid features of rogojin.
“i knew you’d be wandering about somewhere here. i didn’t have to look for you very long,” muttered the latter between his teeth.
it was the first time they had met since the encounter on the staircase at the hotel.
painfully surprised as he was at this sudden apparition of rogojin, the prince, for some little while, was unable to collect his thoughts.
rogojin, evidently, saw and understood the impression he had made; and though he seemed more or less confused at first, yet he began talking with what looked like assumed ease and freedom. however, the prince soon changed his mind on this score, and thought that there was not only no affectation of indifference, but that rogojin was not even particularly agitated. if there were a little apparent awkwardness, it was only in his words and gestures. the man could not change his heart.
“how did you find me here?” asked the prince for the sake of saying something.
“keller told me (i found him at your place) that you were in the park.
‘of course he is!’ i thought.”
“why so?” asked the prince uneasily.
rogojin smiled, but did not explain.
“i received your letter, lef nicolaievitch what’s the good of all that? it’s no use, you know. i’ve come to you from her, she bade me tell you that she must see you, she has something to say to you. she told me to find you today.”
“i’ll come tomorrow. now i’m going home are you coming to my house?”
“why should i? i’ve given you the message. goodbye!”
“won’t you come?” asked the prince in a gentle voice.
“what an extraordinary man you are! i wonder at you!” rogojin laughed sarcastically.
“why do you hate me so?” asked the prince, sadly. “you know yourself that all you suspected is quite unfounded. i felt you were still angry with me, though. do you know why? because you tried to kill me that’s why you can’t shake off your wrath against me. i tell you that i only remember the parfen rogojin with whom i exchanged crosses, and vowed brotherhood. i wrote you this in yesterday’s letter, in order that you might forget all that madness on your part, and that you might not feel called to talk about it when we met. why do you avoid me? why do you hold your hand back from me? i tell you again, i consider all that has passed a delirium, an insane dream. i can understand all you did, and all you felt that day, as if it were myself. what you were then imagining was not the case, and could never be the case. why, then, should there be anger between us?”
“you don’t know what anger is!” laughed rogojin, in reply to the prince’s heated words.
he had moved a pace or two away, and was hiding his hands behind him.
“no, it is impossible for me to come to your house again,” he added slowly.
“why? do you hate me so much as all that?”
“i don’t love you, lef nicolaievitch, and, therefore, what would be the use of my coming to see you? you are just like a child you want a plaything, and it must be taken out and given you and then you don’t know how to work it. you are simply repeating all you said in your letter, and what’s the use? of course i believe every word you say, and i know perfectly well that you neither did or ever can deceive me in any way, and yet, i don’t love you. you write that you’ve forgotten everything, and only remember your brother parfen, with whom you exchanged crosses, and that you don’t remember anything about the rogojin who aimed a knife at your throat. what do you know about my feelings, eh?” (rogojin laughed disagreeably.) “here you are holding out your brotherly forgiveness to me for a thing that i have perhaps never repented of in the slightest degree. i did not think of it again all that evening; all my thoughts were centred on something else ”
“not think of it again? of course you didn’t!” cried the prince. “and i dare swear that you came straight away down here to pavlofsk to listen to the music and dog her about in the crowd, and stare at her, just as you did today. there’s nothing surprising in that! if you hadn’t been in that condition of mind that you could think of nothing but one subject, you would, probably, never have raised your knife against me. i had a presentiment of what you would do, that day, ever since i saw you first in the morning. do you know yourself what you looked like? i knew you would try to murder me even at the very moment when we exchanged crosses. what did you take me to your mother for? did you think to stay your hand by doing so? perhaps you did not put your thoughts into words, but you and i were thinking the same thing, or feeling the same thing looming over us, at the same moment. what should you think of me now if you had not raised your knife to me the knife which god averted from my throat? i would have been guilty of suspecting you all the same and you would have intended the murder all the same; therefore we should have been mutually guilty in any case. come, don’t frown; you needn’t laugh at me, either. you say you haven’t ‘repented.’ repented! you probably couldn’t, if you were to try; you dislike me too much for that. why, if i were an angel of light, and as innocent before you as a babe, you would still loathe me if you believed that she loved me, instead of loving yourself. that’s jealousy that is the real jealousy.
“but do you know what i have been thinking out during this last week, parfen? i’ll tell you. what if she loves you now better than anyone? and what if she torments you because she loves you, and in proportion to her love for you, so she torments you the more? she won’t tell you this, of course; you must have eyes to see. why do you suppose she consents to marry you? she must have a reason, and that reason she will tell you some day. some women desire the kind of love you give her, and she is probably one of these. your love and your wild nature impress her. do you know that a woman is capable of driving a man crazy almost, with her cruelties and mockeries, and feels not one single pang of regret, because she looks at him and says to herself, ‘there! i’ll torment this man nearly into his grave, and then, oh! how i’ll compensate him for it all with my love!’”
rogojin listened to the end, and then burst out laughing:
“why, prince, i declare you must have had a taste of this sort of thing yourself haven’t you? i have heard tell of something of the kind, you know; is it true?”
“what? what can you have heard?” said the prince, stammering.
rogojin continued to laugh loudly. he had listened to the prince’s speech with curiosity and some satisfaction. the speaker’s impulsive warmth had surprised and even comforted him.
“why, i’ve not only heard of it; i see it for myself,” he said. “when have you ever spoken like that before? it wasn’t like yourself, prince.
why, if i hadn’t heard this report about you, i should never have come all this way into the park at midnight, too!”
“i don’t understand you in the least, parfen.”
“oh, she told me all about it long ago, and tonight i saw for myself.
i saw you at the music, you know, and whom you were sitting with. she swore to me yesterday, and again today, that you are madly in love with aglaya ivanovna. but that’s all the same to me, prince, and it’s not my affair at all; for if you have ceased to love her, she has not ceased to love you. you know, of course, that she wants to marry you to that girl? she’s sworn to it! ha, ha! she says to me, ‘until then i won’t marry you. when they go to church, we’ll go too and not before.’ what on earth does she mean by it? i don’t know, and i never did. either she loves you without limits or yet, if she loves you, why does she wish to marry you to another girl? she says, ‘i want to see him happy,’ which is to say she loves you.”
“i wrote, and i say to you once more, that she is not in her right mind,” said the prince, who had listened with anguish to what rogojin said.
“goodness knows you may be wrong there! at all events, she named the day this evening, as we left the gardens. ‘in three weeks,’ says she, ‘and perhaps sooner, we shall be married.’ she swore to it, took off her cross and kissed it. so it all depends upon you now, prince, you see!
ha, ha!”
“that’s all madness. what you say about me, parfen, never can and never will be. tomorrow, i shall come and see you ”
“how can she be mad,” rogojin interrupted, “when she is sane enough for other people and only mad for you? how can she write letters to her, if she’s mad? if she were insane they would observe it in her letters.”
“what letters?” said the prince, alarmed.
“she writes to her and the girl reads the letters. haven’t you heard? you are sure to hear; she’s sure to show you the letters herself.”
“i won’t believe this!” cried the prince.
“why, prince, you’ve only gone a few steps along this road, i perceive.
you are evidently a mere beginner. wait a bit! before long, you’ll have your own detectives, you’ll watch day and night, and you’ll know every little thing that goes on there that is, if ”
“drop that subject, rogojin, and never mention it again. and listen:
as i have sat here, and talked, and listened, it has suddenly struck me that tomorrow is my birthday. it must be about twelve o’clock, now; come home with me do, and we’ll see the day in! we’ll have some wine, and you shall wish me i don’t know what but you, especially you, must wish me a good wish, and i shall wish you full happiness in return.
otherwise, hand me my cross back again. you didn’t return it to me next day. haven’t you got it on now?”
“yes, i have,” said rogojin.
“come along, then. i don’t wish to meet my new year without you my new life, i should say, for a new life is beginning for me. did you know, parfen, that a new life had begun for me?”
“i see for myself that it is so and i shall tell her. but you are not quite yourself, lef nicolaievitch.”
iv.
the prince observed with great surprise, as he approached his villa, accompanied by rogojin, that a large number of people were assembled on his verandah, which was brilliantly lighted up. the company seemed merry and were noisily laughing and talking even quarrelling, to judge from the sounds. at all events they were clearly enjoying themselves, and the prince observed further on closer investigation that all had been drinking champagne. to judge from the lively condition of some of the party, it was to be supposed that a considerable quantity of champagne had been consumed already.
all the guests were known to the prince; but the curious part of the matter was that they had all arrived on the same evening, as though with one accord, although he had only himself recollected the fact that it was his birthday a few moments since.
“you must have told somebody you were going to trot out the champagne, and that’s why they are all come!” muttered rogojin, as the two entered the verandah. “we know all about that! you’ve only to whistle and they come up in shoals!” he continued, almost angrily. he was doubtless thinking of his own late experiences with his boon companions.
all surrounded the prince with exclamations of welcome, and, on hearing that it was his birthday, with cries of congratulation and delight; many of them were very noisy.
the presence of certain of those in the room surprised the prince vastly, but the guest whose advent filled him with the greatest wonder almost amounting to alarm was evgenie pavlovitch. the prince could not believe his eyes when he beheld the latter, and could not help thinking that something was wrong.
lebedeff ran up promptly to explain the arrival of all these gentlemen.
he was himself somewhat intoxicated, but the prince gathered from his long-winded periods that the party had assembled quite naturally, and accidentally.
first of all hippolyte had arrived, early in the evening, and feeling decidedly better, had determined to await the prince on the verandah.
there lebedeff had joined him, and his household had followed that is, his daughters and general ivolgin. burdovsky had brought hippolyte, and stayed on with him. gania and ptitsin had dropped in accidentally later on; then came keller, and he and colia insisted on having champagne.
evgenie pavlovitch had only dropped in half an hour or so ago. lebedeff had served the champagne readily.
“my own though, prince, my own, mind,” he said, “and there’ll be some supper later on; my daughter is getting it ready now. come and sit down, prince, we are all waiting for you, we want you with us. fancy what we have been discussing! you know the question, ‘to be or not to be,’ out of hamlet! a contemporary theme! quite up-to-date! mr. hippolyte has been eloquent to a degree. he won’t go to bed, but he has only drunk a little champagne, and that can’t do him any harm. come along, prince, and settle the question. everyone is waiting for you, sighing for the light of your luminous intelligence...”
the prince noticed the sweet, welcoming look on vera lebedeff’s face, as she made her way towards him through the crowd. he held out his hand to her. she took it, blushing with delight, and wished him “a happy life from that day forward.” then she ran off to the kitchen, where her presence was necessary to help in the preparations for supper. before the prince’s arrival she had spent some time on the terrace, listening eagerly to the conversation, though the visitors, mostly under the influence of wine, were discussing abstract subjects far beyond her comprehension. in the next room her younger sister lay on a wooden chest, sound asleep, with her mouth wide open; but the boy, lebedeff’s son, had taken up his position close beside colia and hippolyte, his face lit up with interest in the conversation of his father and the rest, to which he would willingly have listened for ten hours at a stretch.
“i have waited for you on purpose, and am very glad to see you arrive so happy,” said hippolyte, when the prince came forward to press his hand, immediately after greeting vera.
“and how do you know that i am ‘so happy’?”
“i can see it by your face! say ‘how do you do’ to the others, and come and sit down here, quick i’ve been waiting for you!” he added, accentuating the fact that he had waited. on the prince’s asking, “will it not be injurious to you to sit out so late?” he replied that he could not believe that he had thought himself dying three days or so ago, for he never had felt better than this evening.
burdovsky next jumped up and explained that he had come in by accident, having escorted hippolyte from town. he murmured that he was glad he had “written nonsense” in his letter, and then pressed the prince’s hand warmly and sat down again.
the prince approached evgenie pavlovitch last of all. the latter immediately took his arm.
“i have a couple of words to say to you,” he began, “and those on a very important matter; let’s go aside for a minute or two.”
“just a couple of words!” whispered another voice in the prince’s other ear, and another hand took his other arm. muishkin turned, and to his great surprise observed a red, flushed face and a droll-looking figure which he recognized at once as that of ferdishenko. goodness knows where he had turned up from!
“do you remember ferdishenko?” he asked.
“where have you dropped from?” cried the prince.
“he is sorry for his sins now, prince,” cried keller. “he did not want to let you know he was here; he was hidden over there in the corner, but he repents now, he feels his guilt.”
“why, what has he done?”
“i met him outside and brought him in he’s a gentleman who doesn’t often allow his friends to see him, of late but he’s sorry now.”
“delighted, i’m sure! i’ll come back directly, gentlemen, sit down there with the others, please, excuse me one moment,” said the host, getting away with difficulty in order to follow evgenie.
“you are very gay here,” began the latter, “and i have had quite a pleasant half-hour while i waited for you. now then, my dear lef nicolaievitch, this is what’s the matter. i’ve arranged it all with moloftsoff, and have just come in to relieve your mind on that score.
you need be under no apprehensions. he was very sensible, as he should be, of course, for i think he was entirely to blame himself.”
“what moloftsoff?”
“the young fellow whose arms you held, don’t you know? he was so wild with you that he was going to send a friend to you tomorrow morning.”
“what nonsense!”
“of course it is nonsense, and in nonsense it would have ended, doubtless; but you know these fellows, they ”
“excuse me, but i think you must have something else that you wished to speak about, evgenie pavlovitch?”
“of course, i have!” said the other, laughing. “you see, my dear fellow, tomorrow, very early in the morning, i must be off to town about this unfortunate business (my uncle, you know!). just imagine, my dear sir, it is all true word for word and, of course, everybody knew it excepting myself. all this has been such a blow to me that i have not managed to call in at the epanchins’. tomorrow i shall not see them either, because i shall be in town. i may not be here for three days or more; in a word, my affairs are a little out of gear. but though my town business is, of course, most pressing, still i determined not to go away until i had seen you, and had a clear understanding with you upon certain points; and that without loss of time. i will wait now, if you will allow me, until the company departs; i may just as well, for i have nowhere else to go to, and i shall certainly not do any sleeping tonight; i’m far too excited. and finally, i must confess that, though i know it is bad form to pursue a man in this way, i have come to beg your friendship, my dear prince. you are an unusual sort of a person; you don’t lie at every step, as some men do; in fact, you don’t lie at all, and there is a matter in which i need a true and sincere friend, for i really may claim to be among the number of bona fide unfortunates just now.”
he laughed again.
“but the trouble is,” said the prince, after a slight pause for reflection, “that goodness only knows when this party will break up.
hadn’t we better stroll into the park? i’ll excuse myself, there’s no danger of their going away.”
“no, no! i have my reasons for wishing them not to suspect us of being engaged in any specially important conversation. there are gentry present who are a little too much interested in us. you are not aware of that perhaps, prince? it will be a great deal better if they see that we are friendly just in an ordinary way. they’ll all go in a couple of hours, and then i’ll ask you to give me twenty minutes half an hour at most.”
“by all means! i assure you i am delighted you need not have entered into all these explanations. as for your remarks about friendship with me thanks, very much indeed. you must excuse my being a little absent this evening. do you know, i cannot somehow be attentive to anything just now?”
“i see, i see,” said evgenie, smiling gently. his mirth seemed very near the surface this evening.
“what do you see?” said the prince, startled.
“i don’t want you to suspect that i have simply come here to deceive you and pump information out of you!” said evgenie, still smiling, and without making any direct reply to the question.
“oh, but i haven’t the slightest doubt that you did come to pump me,”
said the prince, laughing himself, at last; “and i dare say you are quite prepared to deceive me too, so far as that goes. but what of that?
i’m not afraid of you; besides, you’ll hardly believe it, i feel as though i really didn’t care a scrap one way or the other, just now! and and and as you are a capital fellow, i am convinced of that, i dare say we really shall end by being good friends. i like you very much evgenie pavlovitch; i consider you a very good fellow indeed.”
“well, in any case, you are a most delightful man to have to deal with, be the business what it may,” concluded evgenie. “come along now, i’ll drink a glass to your health. i’m charmed to have entered into alliance with you. by-the-by,” he added suddenly, “has this young hippolyte come down to stay with you?”
“yes.”
“he’s not going to die at once, i should think, is he?”
“why?”
“oh, i don’t know. i’ve been half an hour here with him, and he ”
hippolyte had been waiting for the prince all this time, and had never ceased looking at him and evgenie pavlovitch as they conversed in the corner. he became much excited when they approached the table once more.
he was disturbed in his mind, it seemed; perspiration stood in large drops on his forehead; in his gleaming eyes it was easy to read impatience and agitation; his gaze wandered from face to face of those present, and from object to object in the room, apparently without aim.
he had taken a part, and an animated one, in the noisy conversation of the company; but his animation was clearly the outcome of fever. his talk was almost incoherent; he would break off in the middle of a sentence which he had begun with great interest, and forget what he had been saying. the prince discovered to his dismay that hippolyte had been allowed to drink two large glasses of champagne; the one now standing by him being the third. all this he found out afterwards; at the moment he did not notice anything, very particularly.
“do you know i am specially glad that today is your birthday!” cried hippolyte.
“why?”
“you’ll soon see. d’you know i had a feeling that there would be a lot of people here tonight? it’s not the first time that my presentiments have been fulfilled. i wish i had known it was your birthday, i’d have brought you a present perhaps i have got a present for you! who knows?
ha, ha! how long is it now before daylight?”
“not a couple of hours,” said ptitsin, looking at his watch. “what’s the good of daylight now? one can read all night in the open air without it,” said someone.
“the good of it! well, i want just to see a ray of the sun,” said hippolyte. “can one drink to the sun’s health, do you think, prince?”
“oh, i dare say one can; but you had better be calm and lie down, hippolyte that’s much more important.”
“you are always preaching about resting; you are a regular nurse to me, prince. as soon as the sun begins to ‘resound’ in the sky what poet said that? ‘the sun resounded in the sky.’ it is beautiful, though there’s no sense in it! then we will go to bed. lebedeff, tell me, is the sun the source of life? what does the source, or ‘spring,’ of life really mean in the apocalypse? you have heard of the ‘star that is called wormwood,’ prince?”
“i have heard that lebedeff explains it as the railroads that cover europe like a net.”
everybody laughed, and lebedeff got up abruptly.
“no! allow me, that is not what we are discussing!” he cried, waving his hand to impose silence. “allow me! with these gentlemen... all these gentlemen,” he added, suddenly addressing the prince, “on certain points... that is...” he thumped the table repeatedly, and the laughter increased. lebedeff was in his usual evening condition, and had just ended a long and scientific argument, which had left him excited and irritable. on such occasions he was apt to evince a supreme contempt for his opponents.
“it is not right! half an hour ago, prince, it was agreed among us that no one should interrupt, no one should laugh, that each person was to express his thoughts freely; and then at the end, when everyone had spoken, objections might be made, even by the atheists. we chose the general as president. now without some such rule and order, anyone might be shouted down, even in the loftiest and most profound thought....”
“go on! go on! nobody is going to interrupt you!” cried several voices.
“speak, but keep to the point!”
“what is this ‘star’?” asked another.
“i have no idea,” replied general ivolgin, who presided with much gravity.
“i love these arguments, prince,” said keller, also more than half intoxicated, moving restlessly in his chair. “scientific and political.”
then, turning suddenly towards evgenie pavlovitch, who was seated near him: “do you know, i simply adore reading the accounts of the debates in the english parliament. not that the discussions themselves interest me; i am not a politician, you know; but it delights me to see how they address each other ‘the noble lord who agrees with me,’ ‘my honourable opponent who astonished europe with his proposal,’ ‘the noble viscount sitting opposite’ all these expressions, all this parliamentarism of a free people, has an enormous attraction for me. it fascinates me, prince. i have always been an artist in the depths of my soul, i assure you, evgenie pavlovitch.”
“do you mean to say,” cried gania, from the other corner, “do you mean to say that railways are accursed inventions, that they are a source of ruin to humanity, a poison poured upon the earth to corrupt the springs of life?”
gavrila ardalionovitch was in high spirits that evening, and it seemed to the prince that his gaiety was mingled with triumph. of course he was only joking with lebedeff, meaning to egg him on, but he grew excited himself at the same time.
“not the railways, oh dear, no!” replied lebedeff, with a mixture of violent anger and extreme enjoyment. “considered alone, the railways will not pollute the springs of life, but as a whole they are accursed.
the whole tendency of our latest centuries, in its scientific and materialistic aspect, is most probably accursed.”
“is it certainly accursed?... or do you only mean it might be? that is an important point,” said evgenie pavlovitch.
“it is accursed, certainly accursed!” replied the clerk, vehemently.
“don’t go so fast, lebedeff; you are much milder in the morning,” said ptitsin, smiling.
“but, on the other hand, more frank in the evening! in the evening sincere and frank,” repeated lebedeff, earnestly. “more candid, more exact, more honest, more honourable, and... although i may show you my weak side, i challenge you all; you atheists, for instance! how are you going to save the world? how find a straight road of progress, you men of science, of industry, of cooperation, of trades unions, and all the rest? how are you going to save it, i say? by what? by credit? what is credit? to what will credit lead you?”
“you are too inquisitive,” remarked evgenie pavlovitch.
“well, anyone who does not interest himself in questions such as this is, in my opinion, a mere fashionable dummy.”
“but it will lead at least to solidarity, and balance of interests,”
said ptitsin.
“you will reach that with nothing to help you but credit? without recourse to any moral principle, having for your foundation only individual selfishness, and the satisfaction of material desires?
universal peace, and the happiness of mankind as a whole, being the result! is it really so that i may understand you, sir?”
“but the universal necessity of living, of drinking, of eating in short, the whole scientific conviction that this necessity can only be satisfied by universal co-operation and the solidarity of interests is, it seems to me, a strong enough idea to serve as a basis, so to speak, and a ‘spring of life,’ for humanity in future centuries,” said gavrila ardalionovitch, now thoroughly roused.
“the necessity of eating and drinking, that is to say, solely the instinct of self-preservation...”
“is not that enough? the instinct of self-preservation is the normal law of humanity...”
“who told you that?” broke in evgenie pavlovitch.
“it is a law, doubtless, but a law neither more nor less normal than that of destruction, even self-destruction. is it possible that the whole normal law of humanity is contained in this sentiment of self-preservation?”
“ah!” cried hippolyte, turning towards evgenie pavlovitch, and looking at him with a queer sort of curiosity.
then seeing that radomski was laughing, he began to laugh himself, nudged colia, who was sitting beside him, with his elbow, and again asked what time it was. he even pulled colia’s silver watch out of his hand, and looked at it eagerly. then, as if he had forgotten everything, he stretched himself out on the sofa, put his hands behind his head, and looked up at the sky. after a minute or two he got up and came back to the table to listen to lebedeff’s outpourings, as the latter passionately commentated on evgenie pavlovitch’s paradox.
“that is an artful and traitorous idea. a smart notion,” vociferated the clerk, “thrown out as an apple of discord. but it is just. you are a scoffer, a man of the world, a cavalry officer, and, though not without brains, you do not realize how profound is your thought, nor how true.
yes, the laws of self-preservation and of self-destruction are equally powerful in this world. the devil will hold his empire over humanity until a limit of time which is still unknown. you laugh? you do not believe in the devil? scepticism as to the devil is a french idea, and it is also a frivolous idea. do you know who the devil is? do you know his name? although you don’t know his name you make a mockery of his form, following the example of voltaire. you sneer at his hoofs, at his tail, at his horns all of them the produce of your imagination! in reality the devil is a great and terrible spirit, with neither hoofs, nor tail, nor horns; it is you who have endowed him with these attributes! but... he is not the question just now!”
“how do you know he is not the question now?” cried hippolyte, laughing hysterically.
“another excellent idea, and worth considering!” replied lebedeff. “but, again, that is not the question. the question at this moment is whether we have not weakened ‘the springs of life’ by the extension...”
“of railways?” put in colia eagerly.
“not railways, properly speaking, presumptuous youth, but the general tendency of which railways may be considered as the outward expression and symbol. we hurry and push and hustle, for the good of humanity!
‘the world is becoming too noisy, too commercial!’ groans some solitary thinker. ‘undoubtedly it is, but the noise of waggons bearing bread to starving humanity is of more value than tranquillity of soul,’ replies another triumphantly, and passes on with an air of pride. as for me, i don’t believe in these waggons bringing bread to humanity. for, founded on no moral principle, these may well, even in the act of carrying bread to humanity, coldly exclude a considerable portion of humanity from enjoying it; that has been seen more than once.”
“what, these waggons may coldly exclude?” repeated someone.
“that has been seen already,” continued lebedeff, not deigning to notice the interruption. “malthus was a friend of humanity, but, with ill-founded moral principles, the friend of humanity is the devourer of humanity, without mentioning his pride; for, touch the vanity of one of these numberless philanthropists, and to avenge his self-esteem, he will be ready at once to set fire to the whole globe; and to tell the truth, we are all more or less like that. i, perhaps, might be the first to set a light to the fuel, and then run away. but, again, i must repeat, that is not the question.”
“what is it then, for goodness’ sake?”
“he is boring us!”
“the question is connected with the following anecdote of past times; for i am obliged to relate a story. in our times, and in our country, which i hope you love as much as i do, for as far as i am concerned, i am ready to shed the last drop of my blood...
“go on! go on!”
“in our dear country, as indeed in the whole of europe, a famine visits humanity about four times a century, as far as i can remember; once in every twenty-five years. i won’t swear to this being the exact figure, but anyhow they have become comparatively rare.”
“comparatively to what?”
“to the twelfth century, and those immediately preceding and following it. we are told by historians that widespread famines occurred in those days every two or three years, and such was the condition of things that men actually had recourse to cannibalism, in secret, of course. one of these cannibals, who had reached a good age, declared of his own free will that during the course of his long and miserable life he had personally killed and eaten, in the most profound secrecy, sixty monks, not to mention several children; the number of the latter he thought was about six, an insignificant total when compared with the enormous mass of ecclesiastics consumed by him. as to adults, laymen that is to say, he had never touched them.”
the president joined in the general outcry.
“that’s impossible!” said he in an aggrieved tone. “i am often discussing subjects of this nature with him, gentlemen, but for the most part he talks nonsense enough to make one deaf: this story has no pretence of being true.”
“general, remember the siege of kars! and you, gentlemen, i assure you my anecdote is the naked truth. i may remark that reality, although it is governed by invariable law, has at times a resemblance to falsehood.
in fact, the truer a thing is the less true it sounds.”
“but could anyone possibly eat sixty monks?” objected the scoffing listeners.
“it is quite clear that he did not eat them all at once, but in a space of fifteen or twenty years: from that point of view the thing is comprehensible and natural...”
“natural?”
“and natural,” repeated lebedeff with pedantic obstinacy. “besides, a catholic monk is by nature excessively curious; it would be quite easy therefore to entice him into a wood, or some secret place, on false pretences, and there to deal with him as said. but i do not dispute in the least that the number of persons consumed appears to denote a spice of greediness.”
“it is perhaps true, gentlemen,” said the prince, quietly. he had been listening in silence up to that moment without taking part in the conversation, but laughing heartily with the others from time to time.
evidently he was delighted to see that everybody was amused, that everybody was talking at once, and even that everybody was drinking.
it seemed as if he were not intending to speak at all, when suddenly he intervened in such a serious voice that everyone looked at him with interest.
“it is true that there were frequent famines at that time, gentlemen.
i have often heard of them, though i do not know much history. but it seems to me that it must have been so. when i was in switzerland i used to look with astonishment at the many ruins of feudal castles perched on the top of steep and rocky heights, half a mile at least above sea-level, so that to reach them one had to climb many miles of stony tracks. a castle, as you know, is, a kind of mountain of stones a dreadful, almost an impossible, labour! doubtless the builders were all poor men, vassals, and had to pay heavy taxes, and to keep up the priesthood. how, then, could they provide for themselves, and when had they time to plough and sow their fields? the greater number must, literally, have died of starvation. i have sometimes asked myself how it was that these communities were not utterly swept off the face of the earth, and how they could possibly survive. lebedeff is not mistaken, in my opinion, when he says that there were cannibals in those days, perhaps in considerable numbers; but i do not understand why he should have dragged in the monks, nor what he means by that.”
“it is undoubtedly because, in the twelfth century, monks were the only people one could eat; they were the fat, among many lean,” said gavrila ardalionovitch.
“a brilliant idea, and most true!” cried lebedeff, “for he never even touched the laity. sixty monks, and not a single layman! it is a terrible idea, but it is historic, it is statistic; it is indeed one of those facts which enables an intelligent historian to reconstruct the physiognomy of a special epoch, for it brings out this further point with mathematical accuracy, that the clergy were in those days sixty times richer and more flourishing than the rest of humanity and perhaps sixty times fatter also...”
“you are exaggerating, you are exaggerating, lebedeff!” cried his hearers, amid laughter.
“i admit that it is an historic thought, but what is your conclusion?”
asked the prince.
he spoke so seriously in addressing lebedeff, that his tone contrasted quite comically with that of the others. they were very nearly laughing at him, too, but he did not notice it.
“don’t you see he is a lunatic, prince?” whispered evgenie pavlovitch in his ear. “someone told me just now that he is a bit touched on the subject of lawyers, that he has a mania for making speeches and intends to pass the examinations. i am expecting a splendid burlesque now.”
“my conclusion is vast,” replied lebedeff, in a voice like thunder. “let us examine first the psychological and legal position of the criminal.
we see that in spite of the difficulty of finding other food, the accused, or, as we may say, my client, has often during his peculiar life exhibited signs of repentance, and of wishing to give up this clerical diet. incontrovertible facts prove this assertion. he has eaten five or six children, a relatively insignificant number, no doubt, but remarkable enough from another point of view. it is manifest that, pricked by remorse for my client is religious, in his way, and has a conscience, as i shall prove later and desiring to extenuate his sin as far as possible, he has tried six times at least to substitute lay nourishment for clerical. that this was merely an experiment we can hardly doubt: for if it had been only a question of gastronomic variety, six would have been too few; why only six? why not thirty? but if we regard it as an experiment, inspired by the fear of committing new sacrilege, then this number six becomes intelligible. six attempts to calm his remorse, and the pricking of his conscience, would amply suffice, for these attempts could scarcely have been happy ones. in my humble opinion, a child is too small; i should say, not sufficient; which would result in four or five times more lay children than monks being required in a given time. the sin, lessened on the one hand, would therefore be increased on the other, in quantity, not in quality. please understand, gentlemen, that in reasoning thus, i am taking the point of view which might have been taken by a criminal of the middle ages. as for myself, a man of the late nineteenth century, i, of course, should reason differently; i say so plainly, and therefore you need not jeer at me nor mock me, gentlemen. as for you, general, it is still more unbecoming on your part. in the second place, and giving my own personal opinion, a child’s flesh is not a satisfying diet; it is too insipid, too sweet; and the criminal, in making these experiments, could have satisfied neither his conscience nor his appetite. i am about to conclude, gentlemen; and my conclusion contains a reply to one of the most important questions of that day and of our own! this criminal ended at last by denouncing himself to the clergy, and giving himself up to justice. we cannot but ask, remembering the penal system of that day, and the tortures that awaited him the wheel, the stake, the fire! we cannot but ask, i repeat, what induced him to accuse himself of this crime? why did he not simply stop short at the number sixty, and keep his secret until his last breath? why could he not simply leave the monks alone, and go into the desert to repent? or why not become a monk himself? that is where the puzzle comes in! there must have been something stronger than the stake or the fire, or even than the habits of twenty years! there must have been an idea more powerful than all the calamities and sorrows of this world, famine or torture, leprosy or plague an idea which entered into the heart, directed and enlarged the springs of life, and made even that hell supportable to humanity!
show me a force, a power like that, in this our century of vices and railways! i might say, perhaps, in our century of steamboats and railways, but i repeat in our century of vices and railways, because i am drunk but truthful! show me a single idea which unites men nowadays with half the strength that it had in those centuries, and dare to maintain that the ‘springs of life’ have not been polluted and weakened beneath this ‘star,’ beneath this network in which men are entangled!
don’t talk to me about your prosperity, your riches, the rarity of famine, the rapidity of the means of transport! there is more of riches, but less of force. the idea uniting heart and soul to heart and soul exists no more. all is loose, soft, limp we are all of us limp....
enough, gentlemen! i have done. that is not the question. no, the question is now, excellency, i believe, to sit down to the banquet you are about to provide for us!”
lebedeff had roused great indignation in some of his auditors (it should be remarked that the bottles were constantly uncorked during his speech); but this unexpected conclusion calmed even the most turbulent spirits. “that’s how a clever barrister makes a good point!” said he, when speaking of his peroration later on. the visitors began to laugh and chatter once again; the committee left their seats, and stretched their legs on the terrace. keller alone was still disgusted with lebedeff and his speech; he turned from one to another, saying in a loud voice:
“he attacks education, he boasts of the fanaticism of the twelfth century, he makes absurd grimaces, and added to that he is by no means the innocent he makes himself out to be. how did he get the money to buy this house, allow me to ask?”
in another corner was the general, holding forth to a group of hearers, among them ptitsin, whom he had buttonholed. “i have known,” said he, “a real interpreter of the apocalypse, the late gregory semeonovitch burmistroff, and he he pierced the heart like a fiery flash! he began by putting on his spectacles, then he opened a large black book; his white beard, and his two medals on his breast, recalling acts of charity, all added to his impressiveness. he began in a stern voice, and before him generals, hard men of the world, bowed down, and ladies fell to the ground fainting. but this one here he ends by announcing a banquet! that is not the real thing!”
ptitsin listened and smiled, then turned as if to get his hat; but if he had intended to leave, he changed his mind. before the others had risen from the table, gania had suddenly left off drinking, and pushed away his glass, a dark shadow seemed to come over his face. when they all rose, he went and sat down by rogojin. it might have been believed that quite friendly relations existed between them. rogojin, who had also seemed on the point of going away now sat motionless, his head bent, seeming to have forgotten his intention. he had drunk no wine, and appeared absorbed in reflection. from time to time he raised his eyes, and examined everyone present; one might have imagined that he was expecting something very important to himself, and that he had decided to wait for it. the prince had taken two or three glasses of champagne, and seemed cheerful. as he rose he noticed evgenie pavlovitch, and, remembering the appointment he had made with him, smiled pleasantly.
evgenie pavlovitch made a sign with his head towards hippolyte, whom he was attentively watching. the invalid was fast asleep, stretched out on the sofa.
“tell me, prince, why on earth did this boy intrude himself upon you?”
he asked, with such annoyance and irritation in his voice that the prince was quite surprised. “i wouldn’t mind laying odds that he is up to some mischief.”
“i have observed,” said the prince, “that he seems to be an object of very singular interest to you, evgenie pavlovitch. why is it?”
“you may add that i have surely enough to think of, on my own account, without him; and therefore it is all the more surprising that i cannot tear my eyes and thoughts away from his detestable physiognomy.”
“oh, come! he has a handsome face.”
“why, look at him look at him now!”
the prince glanced again at evgenie pavlovitch with considerable surprise.
v.
hippolyte, who had fallen asleep during lebedeff’s discourse, now suddenly woke up, just as though someone had jogged him in the side. he shuddered, raised himself on his arm, gazed around, and grew very pale.
a look almost of terror crossed his face as he recollected.
“what! are they all off? is it all over? is the sun up?” he trembled, and caught at the prince’s hand. “what time is it? tell me, quick, for goodness’ sake! how long have i slept?” he added, almost in despair, just as though he had overslept something upon which his whole fate depended.
“you have slept seven or perhaps eight minutes,” said evgenie pavlovitch.
hippolyte gazed eagerly at the latter, and mused for a few moments.
“oh, is that all?” he said at last. “then i ”
he drew a long, deep breath of relief, as it seemed. he realized that all was not over as yet, that the sun had not risen, and that the guests had merely gone to supper. he smiled, and two hectic spots appeared on his cheeks.
“so you counted the minutes while i slept, did you, evgenie pavlovitch?”
he said, ironically. “you have not taken your eyes off me all the evening i have noticed that much, you see! ah, rogojin! i’ve just been dreaming about him, prince,” he added, frowning. “yes, by the by,”
starting up, “where’s the orator? where’s lebedeff? has he finished?
what did he talk about? is it true, prince, that you once declared that ‘beauty would save the world’? great heaven! the prince says that beauty saves the world! and i declare that he only has such playful ideas because he’s in love! gentlemen, the prince is in love. i guessed it the moment he came in. don’t blush, prince; you make me sorry for you. what beauty saves the world? colia told me that you are a zealous christian; is it so? colia says you call yourself a christian.”
the prince regarded him attentively, but said nothing.
“you don’t answer me; perhaps you think i am very fond of you?” added hippolyte, as though the words had been drawn from him.
“no, i don’t think that. i know you don’t love me.”
“what, after yesterday? wasn’t i honest with you?”
“i knew yesterday that you didn’t love me.”
“why so? why so? because i envy you, eh? you always think that, i know.
but do you know why i am saying all this? look here! i must have some more champagne pour me out some, keller, will you?”
“no, you’re not to drink any more, hippolyte. i won’t let you.” the prince moved the glass away.
“well perhaps you’re right,” said hippolyte, musing. “they might say yet, devil take them! what does it matter? prince, what can it matter what people will say of us then, eh? i believe i’m half asleep.
i’ve had such a dreadful dream i’ve only just remembered it. prince, i don’t wish you such dreams as that, though sure enough, perhaps, i don’t love you. why wish a man evil, though you do not love him, eh? give me your hand let me press it sincerely. there you’ve given me your hand you must feel that i do press it sincerely, don’t you? i don’t think i shall drink any more. what time is it? never mind, i know the time. the time has come, at all events. what! they are laying supper over there, are they? then this table is free? capital, gentlemen!
i hem! these gentlemen are not listening. prince, i will just read over an article i have here. supper is more interesting, of course, but ”
here hippolyte suddenly, and most unexpectedly, pulled out of his breast-pocket a large sealed paper. this imposing-looking document he placed upon the table before him.
the effect of this sudden action upon the company was instantaneous.
evgenie pavlovitch almost bounded off his chair in excitement. rogojin drew nearer to the table with a look on his face as if he knew what was coming. gania came nearer too; so did lebedeff and the others the paper seemed to be an object of great interest to the company in general.
“what have you got there?” asked the prince, with some anxiety.
“at the first glimpse of the rising sun, prince, i will go to bed. i told you i would, word of honour! you shall see!” cried hippolyte.
“you think i’m not capable of opening this packet, do you?” he glared defiantly round at the audience in general.
the prince observed that he was trembling all over.
“none of us ever thought such a thing!” muishkin replied for all. “why should you suppose it of us? and what are you going to read, hippolyte?
what is it?”
“yes, what is it?” asked others. the packet sealed with red wax seemed to attract everyone, as though it were a magnet.
“i wrote this yesterday, myself, just after i saw you, prince, and told you i would come down here. i wrote all day and all night, and finished it this morning early. afterwards i had a dream.”
“hadn’t we better hear it tomorrow?” asked the prince timidly.
“tomorrow ‘there will be no more time!’” laughed hippolyte, hysterically. “you needn’t be afraid; i shall get through the whole thing in forty minutes, at most an hour! look how interested everybody is! everybody has drawn near. look! look at them all staring at my sealed packet! if i hadn’t sealed it up it wouldn’t have been half so effective! ha, ha! that’s mystery, that is! now then, gentlemen, shall i break the seal or not? say the word; it’s a mystery, i tell you a secret! prince, you know who said there would be ‘no more time’? it was the great and powerful angel in the apocalypse.”
“better not read it now,” said the prince, putting his hand on the packet.
“no, don’t read it!” cried evgenie suddenly. he appeared so strangely disturbed that many of those present could not help wondering.
“reading? none of your reading now!” said somebody; “it’s supper-time.”
“what sort of an article is it? for a paper? probably it’s very dull,” said another. but the prince’s timid gesture had impressed even hippolyte.
“then i’m not to read it?” he whispered, nervously. “am i not to read it?” he repeated, gazing around at each face in turn. “what are you afraid of, prince?” he turned and asked the latter suddenly.
“what should i be afraid of?”
“has anyone a coin about them? give me a twenty-copeck piece, somebody!”
and hippolyte leapt from his chair.
“here you are,” said lebedeff, handing him one; he thought the boy had gone mad.
“vera lukianovna,” said hippolyte, “toss it, will you? heads, i read, tails, i don’t.”
vera lebedeff tossed the coin into the air and let it fall on the table.
it was “heads.”
“then i read it,” said hippolyte, in the tone of one bowing to the fiat of destiny. he could not have grown paler if a verdict of death had suddenly been presented to him.
“but after all, what is it? is it possible that i should have just risked my fate by tossing up?” he went on, shuddering; and looked round him again. his eyes had a curious expression of sincerity. “that is an astonishing psychological fact,” he cried, suddenly addressing the prince, in a tone of the most intense surprise. “it is... it is something quite inconceivable, prince,” he repeated with growing animation, like a man regaining consciousness. “take note of it, prince, remember it; you collect, i am told, facts concerning capital punishment... they told me so. ha, ha! my god, how absurd!” he sat down on the sofa, put his elbows on the table, and laid his head on his hands. “it is shameful though what does it matter to me if it is shameful?
“gentlemen, gentlemen! i am about to break the seal,” he continued, with determination. “i i of course i don’t insist upon anyone listening if they do not wish to.”
with trembling fingers he broke the seal and drew out several sheets of paper, smoothed them out before him, and began sorting them.
“what on earth does all this mean? what’s he going to read?” muttered several voices. others said nothing; but one and all sat down and watched with curiosity. they began to think something strange might really be about to happen. vera stood and trembled behind her father’s chair, almost in tears with fright; colia was nearly as much alarmed as she was. lebedeff jumped up and put a couple of candles nearer to hippolyte, so that he might see better.
“gentlemen, this you’ll soon see what this is,” began hippolyte, and suddenly commenced his reading.
“it’s headed, ‘a necessary explanation,’ with the motto, ‘après moi le déluge!’ oh, deuce take it all! surely i can never have seriously written such a silly motto as that? look here, gentlemen, i beg to give notice that all this is very likely terrible nonsense. it is only a few ideas of mine. if you think that there is anything mysterious coming or in a word ”
“better read on without any more beating about the bush,” said gania.
“affectation!” remarked someone else.
“too much talk,” said rogojin, breaking the silence for the first time.
hippolyte glanced at him suddenly, and when their eyes met rogojin showed his teeth in a disagreeable smile, and said the following strange words: “that’s not the way to settle this business, my friend; that’s not the way at all.”
of course nobody knew what rogojin meant by this; but his words made a deep impression upon all. everyone seemed to see in a flash the same idea.
as for hippolyte, their effect upon him was astounding. he trembled so that the prince was obliged to support him, and would certainly have cried out, but that his voice seemed to have entirely left him for the moment. for a minute or two he could not speak at all, but panted and stared at rogojin. at last he managed to ejaculate:
“then it was you who came you you?”
“came where? what do you mean?” asked rogojin, amazed. but hippolyte, panting and choking with excitement, interrupted him violently.
“you came to me last week, in the night, at two o’clock, the day i was with you in the morning! confess it was you!”
“last week? in the night? have you gone cracked, my good friend?”
hippolyte paused and considered a moment. then a smile of cunning almost triumph crossed his lips.
“it was you,” he murmured, almost in a whisper, but with absolute conviction. “yes, it was you who came to my room and sat silently on a chair at my window for a whole hour more! it was between one and two at night; you rose and went out at about three. it was you, you! why you should have frightened me so, why you should have wished to torment me like that, i cannot tell but you it was.”
there was absolute hatred in his eyes as he said this, but his look of fear and his trembling had not left him.
“you shall hear all this directly, gentlemen. i i listen!”
he seized his paper in a desperate hurry; he fidgeted with it, and tried to sort it, but for a long while his trembling hands could not collect the sheets together. “he’s either mad or delirious,” murmured rogojin.
at last he began.
for the first five minutes the reader’s voice continued to tremble, and he read disconnectedly and unevenly; but gradually his voice strengthened. occasionally a violent fit of coughing stopped him, but his animation grew with the progress of the reading as did also the disagreeable impression which it made upon his audience, until it reached the highest pitch of excitement.
here is the article.
my necessary explanation.
“après moi le déluge.
“yesterday morning the prince came to see me. among other things he asked me to come down to his villa. i knew he would come and persuade me to this step, and that he would adduce the argument that it would be easier for me to die ‘among people and green trees,’ as he expressed it. but today he did not say ‘die,’ he said ‘live.’ it is pretty much the same to me, in my position, which he says. when i asked him why he made such a point of his ‘green trees,’ he told me, to my astonishment, that he had heard that last time i was in pavlofsk i had said that i had come ‘to have a last look at the trees.’
“when i observed that it was all the same whether one died among trees or in front of a blank brick wall, as here, and that it was not worth making any fuss over a fortnight, he agreed at once. but he insisted that the good air at pavlofsk and the greenness would certainly cause a physical change for the better, and that my excitement, and my dreams, would be perhaps relieved. i remarked to him, with a smile, that he spoke like a materialist, and he answered that he had always been one.
as he never tells a lie, there must be something in his words. his smile is a pleasant one. i have had a good look at him. i don’t know whether i like him or not; and i have no time to waste over the question. the hatred which i felt for him for five months has become considerably modified, i may say, during the last month. who knows, perhaps i am going to pavlofsk on purpose to see him! but why do i leave my chamber?
those who are sentenced to death should not leave their cells. if i had not formed a final resolve, but had decided to wait until the last minute, i should not leave my room, or accept his invitation to come and die at pavlofsk. i must be quick and finish this explanation before tomorrow. i shall have no time to read it over and correct it, for i must read it tomorrow to the prince and two or three witnesses whom i shall probably find there.
“as it will be absolutely true, without a touch of falsehood, i am curious to see what impression it will make upon me myself at the moment when i read it out. this is my ‘last and solemn’ but why need i call it that? there is no question about the truth of it, for it is not worthwhile lying for a fortnight; a fortnight of life is not itself worth having, which is a proof that i write nothing here but pure truth.
(“n.b. let me remember to consider; am i mad at this moment, or not? or rather at these moments? i have been told that consumptives sometimes do go out of their minds for a while in the last stages of the malady.
i can prove this tomorrow when i read it out, by the impression it makes upon the audience. i must settle this question once and for all, otherwise i can’t go on with anything.)
“i believe i have just written dreadful nonsense; but there’s no time for correcting, as i said before. besides that, i have made myself a promise not to alter a single word of what i write in this paper, even though i find that i am contradicting myself every five lines. i wish to verify the working of the natural logic of my ideas tomorrow during the reading whether i am capable of detecting logical errors, and whether all that i have meditated over during the last six months be true, or nothing but delirium.
“if two months since i had been called upon to leave my room and the view of meyer’s wall opposite, i verily believe i should have been sorry. but now i have no such feeling, and yet i am leaving this room and meyer’s brick wall for ever. so that my conclusion, that it is not worth while indulging in grief, or any other emotion, for a fortnight, has proved stronger than my very nature, and has taken over the direction of my feelings. but is it so? is it the case that my nature is conquered entirely? if i were to be put on the rack now, i should certainly cry out. i should not say that it is not worth while to yell and feel pain because i have but a fortnight to live.
“but is it true that i have but a fortnight of life left to me? i know i told some of my friends that doctor b. had informed me that this was the case; but i now confess that i lied; b. has not even seen me. however, a week ago, i called in a medical student, kislorodoff, who is a nationalist, an atheist, and a nihilist, by conviction, and that is why i had him. i needed a man who would tell me the bare truth without any humbug or ceremony and so he did indeed, almost with pleasure (which i thought was going a little too far).
“well, he plumped out that i had about a month left me; it might be a little more, he said, under favourable circumstances, but it might also be considerably less. according to his opinion i might die quite suddenly tomorrow, for instance there had been such cases. only a day or two since a young lady at colomna who suffered from consumption, and was about on a par with myself in the march of the disease, was going out to market to buy provisions, when she suddenly felt faint, lay down on the sofa, gasped once, and died.
“kislorodoff told me all this with a sort of exaggerated devil-may-care negligence, and as though he did me great honour by talking to me so, because it showed that he considered me the same sort of exalted nihilistic being as himself, to whom death was a matter of no consequence whatever, either way.
“at all events, the fact remained a month of life and no more! that he is right in his estimation i am absolutely persuaded.
“it puzzles me much to think how on earth the prince guessed yesterday that i have had bad dreams. he said to me, ‘your excitement and dreams will find relief at pavlofsk.’ why did he say ‘dreams’? either he is a doctor, or else he is a man of exceptional intelligence and wonderful powers of observation. (but that he is an ‘idiot,’ at bottom there can be no doubt whatever.) it so happened that just before he arrived i had a delightful little dream; one of a kind that i have hundreds of just now. i had fallen asleep about an hour before he came in, and dreamed that i was in some room, not my own. it was a large room, well furnished, with a cupboard, chest of drawers, sofa, and my bed, a fine wide bed covered with a silken counterpane. but i observed in the room a dreadful-looking creature, a sort of monster. it was a little like a scorpion, but was not a scorpion, but far more horrible, and especially so, because there are no creatures anything like it in nature, and because it had appeared to me for a purpose, and bore some mysterious signification. i looked at the beast well; it was brown in colour and had a shell; it was a crawling kind of reptile, about eight inches long, and narrowed down from the head, which was about a couple of fingers in width, to the end of the tail, which came to a fine point. out of its trunk, about a couple of inches below its head, came two legs at an angle of forty-five degrees, each about three inches long, so that the beast looked like a trident from above. it had eight hard needle-like whiskers coming out from different parts of its body; it went along like a snake, bending its body about in spite of the shell it wore, and its motion was very quick and very horrible to look at. i was dreadfully afraid it would sting me; somebody had told me, i thought, that it was venomous; but what tormented me most of all was the wondering and wondering as to who had sent it into my room, and what was the mystery which i felt it contained.
“it hid itself under the cupboard and under the chest of drawers, and crawled into the corners. i sat on a chair and kept my legs tucked under me. then the beast crawled quietly across the room and disappeared somewhere near my chair. i looked about for it in terror, but i still hoped that as my feet were safely tucked away it would not be able to touch me.
“suddenly i heard behind me, and about on a level with my head, a sort of rattling sound. i turned sharp round and saw that the brute had crawled up the wall as high as the level of my face, and that its horrible tail, which was moving incredibly fast from side to side, was actually touching my hair! i jumped up and it disappeared. i did not dare lie down on my bed for fear it should creep under my pillow. my mother came into the room, and some friends of hers. they began to hunt for the reptile and were more composed than i was; they did not seem to be afraid of it. but they did not understand as i did.
“suddenly the monster reappeared; it crawled slowly across the room and made for the door, as though with some fixed intention, and with a slow movement that was more horrible than ever.
“then my mother opened the door and called my dog, norma. norma was a great newfoundland, and died five years ago.
“she sprang forward and stood still in front of the reptile as if she had been turned to stone. the beast stopped too, but its tail and claws still moved about. i believe animals are incapable of feeling supernatural fright if i have been rightly informed, but at this moment there appeared to me to be something more than ordinary about norma’s terror, as though it must be supernatural; and as though she felt, just as i did myself, that this reptile was connected with some mysterious secret, some fatal omen.
“norma backed slowly and carefully away from the brute, which followed her, creeping deliberately after her as though it intended to make a sudden dart and sting her.
“in spite of norma’s terror she looked furious, though she trembled in all her limbs. at length she slowly bared her terrible teeth, opened her great red jaws, hesitated took courage, and seized the beast in her mouth. it seemed to try to dart out of her jaws twice, but norma caught at it and half swallowed it as it was escaping. the shell cracked in her teeth; and the tail and legs stuck out of her mouth and shook about in a horrible manner. suddenly norma gave a piteous whine; the reptile had bitten her tongue. she opened her mouth wide with the pain, and i saw the beast lying across her tongue, and out of its body, which was almost bitten in two, came a hideous white-looking substance, oozing out into norma’s mouth; it was of the consistency of a crushed black-beetle. just then i awoke and the prince entered the room.”
“gentlemen!” said hippolyte, breaking off here, “i have not done yet, but it seems to me that i have written down a great deal here that is unnecessary, this dream ”
“you have indeed!” said gania.
“there is too much about myself, i know, but ” as hippolyte said this his face wore a tired, pained look, and he wiped the sweat off his brow.
“yes,” said lebedeff, “you certainly think a great deal too much about yourself.”
“well gentlemen i do not force anyone to listen! if any of you are unwilling to sit it out, please go away, by all means!”
“he turns people out of a house that isn’t his own,” muttered rogojin.
“suppose we all go away?” said ferdishenko suddenly.
hippolyte clutched his manuscript, and gazing at the last speaker with glittering eyes, said: “you don’t like me at all!” a few laughed at this, but not all.
“hippolyte,” said the prince, “give me the papers, and go to bed like a sensible fellow. we’ll have a good talk tomorrow, but you really mustn’t go on with this reading; it is not good for you!”
“how can i? how can i?” cried hippolyte, looking at him in amazement.
“gentlemen! i was a fool! i won’t break off again. listen, everyone who wants to!”
he gulped down some water out of a glass standing near, bent over the table, in order to hide his face from the audience, and recommenced.
“the idea that it is not worth while living for a few weeks took possession of me a month ago, when i was told that i had four weeks to live, but only partially so at that time. the idea quite overmastered me three days since, that evening at pavlofsk. the first time that i felt really impressed with this thought was on the terrace at the prince’s, at the very moment when i had taken it into my head to make a last trial of life. i wanted to see people and trees (i believe i said so myself), i got excited, i maintained burdovsky’s rights, ‘my neighbour!’ i dreamt that one and all would open their arms, and embrace me, that there would be an indescribable exchange of forgiveness between us all!
in a word, i behaved like a fool, and then, at that very same instant, i felt my ‘last conviction.’ i ask myself now how i could have waited six months for that conviction! i knew that i had a disease that spares no one, and i really had no illusions; but the more i realized my condition, the more i clung to life; i wanted to live at any price. i confess i might well have resented that blind, deaf fate, which, with no apparent reason, seemed to have decided to crush me like a fly; but why did i not stop at resentment? why did i begin to live, knowing that it was not worthwhile to begin? why did i attempt to do what i knew to be an impossibility? and yet i could not even read a book to the end; i had given up reading. what is the good of reading, what is the good of learning anything, for just six months? that thought has made me throw aside a book more than once.
“yes, that wall of meyer’s could tell a tale if it liked. there was no spot on its dirty surface that i did not know by heart. accursed wall!
and yet it is dearer to me than all the pavlofsk trees! that is it would be dearer if it were not all the same to me, now!
“i remember now with what hungry interest i began to watch the lives of other people interest that i had never felt before! i used to wait for colia’s arrival impatiently, for i was so ill myself, then, that i could not leave the house. i so threw myself into every little detail of news, and took so much interest in every report and rumour, that i believe i became a regular gossip! i could not understand, among other things, how all these people with so much life in and before them do not become rich and i don’t understand it now. i remember being told of a poor wretch i once knew, who had died of hunger. i was almost beside myself with rage! i believe if i could have resuscitated him i would have done so for the sole purpose of murdering him!
“occasionally i was so much better that i could go out; but the streets used to put me in such a rage that i would lock myself up for days rather than go out, even if i were well enough to do so! i could not bear to see all those preoccupied, anxious-looking creatures continuously surging along the streets past me! why are they always anxious? what is the meaning of their eternal care and worry? it is their wickedness, their perpetual detestable malice that’s what it is they are all full of malice, malice!
“whose fault is it that they are all miserable, that they don’t know how to live, though they have fifty or sixty years of life before them? why did that fool allow himself to die of hunger with sixty years of unlived life before him?
“and everyone of them shows his rags, his toil-worn hands, and yells in his wrath: ‘here are we, working like cattle all our lives, and always as hungry as dogs, and there are others who do not work, and are fat and rich!’ the eternal refrain! and side by side with them trots along some wretched fellow who has known better days, doing light porter’s work from morn to night for a living, always blubbering and saying that ‘his wife died because he had no money to buy medicine with,’ and his children dying of cold and hunger, and his eldest daughter gone to the bad, and so on. oh! i have no pity and no patience for these fools of people. why can’t they be rothschilds? whose fault is it that a man has not got millions of money like rothschild? if he has life, all this must be in his power! whose fault is it that he does not know how to live his life?
“oh! it’s all the same to me now now! but at that time i would soak my pillow at night with tears of mortification, and tear at my blanket in my rage and fury. oh, how i longed at that time to be turned out me, eighteen years old, poor, half-clothed, turned out into the street, quite alone, without lodging, without work, without a crust of bread, without relations, without a single acquaintance, in some large town hungry, beaten (if you like), but in good health and then i would show them
“what would i show them?
“oh, don’t think that i have no sense of my own humiliation! i have suffered already in reading so far. which of you all does not think me a fool at this moment a young fool who knows nothing of life forgetting that to live as i have lived these last six months is to live longer than grey-haired old men. well, let them laugh, and say it is all nonsense, if they please. they may say it is all fairy-tales, if they like; and i have spent whole nights telling myself fairy-tales. i remember them all. but how can i tell fairy-tales now? the time for them is over. they amused me when i found that there was not even time for me to learn the greek grammar, as i wanted to do. ‘i shall die before i get to the syntax,’ i thought at the first page and threw the book under the table. it is there still, for i forbade anyone to pick it up.
“if this ‘explanation’ gets into anybody’s hands, and they have patience to read it through, they may consider me a madman, or a schoolboy, or, more likely, a man condemned to die, who thought it only natural to conclude that all men, excepting himself, esteem life far too lightly, live it far too carelessly and lazily, and are, therefore, one and all, unworthy of it. well, i affirm that my reader is wrong again, for my convictions have nothing to do with my sentence of death. ask them, ask any one of them, or all of them, what they mean by happiness! oh, you may be perfectly sure that if columbus was happy, it was not after he had discovered america, but when he was discovering it! you may be quite sure that he reached the culminating point of his happiness three days before he saw the new world with his actual eyes, when his mutinous sailors wanted to tack about, and return to europe! what did the new world matter after all? columbus had hardly seen it when he died, and in reality he was entirely ignorant of what he had discovered. the important thing is life life and nothing else! what is any ‘discovery’
whatever compared with the incessant, eternal discovery of life?
“but what is the use of talking? i’m afraid all this is so commonplace that my confession will be taken for a schoolboy exercise the work of some ambitious lad writing in the hope of his work ‘seeing the light’; or perhaps my readers will say that ‘i had perhaps something to say, but did not know how to express it.’
“let me add to this that in every idea emanating from genius, or even in every serious human idea born in the human brain there always remains something some sediment which cannot be expressed to others, though one wrote volumes and lectured upon it for five-and-thirty years. there is always a something, a remnant, which will never come out from your brain, but will remain there with you, and you alone, for ever and ever, and you will die, perhaps, without having imparted what may be the very essence of your idea to a single living soul.
“so that if i cannot now impart all that has tormented me for the last six months, at all events you will understand that, having reached my ‘last convictions,’ i must have paid a very dear price for them. that is what i wished, for reasons of my own, to make a point of in this my ‘explanation.’
“but let me resume.”
vi.
“i will not deceive you. ‘reality’ got me so entrapped in its meshes now and again during the past six months, that i forgot my ‘sentence’ (or perhaps i did not wish to think of it), and actually busied myself with affairs.
“a word as to my circumstances. when, eight months since, i became very ill, i threw up all my old connections and dropped all my old companions. as i was always a gloomy, morose sort of individual, my friends easily forgot me; of course, they would have forgotten me all the same, without that excuse. my position at home was solitary enough.
five months ago i separated myself entirely from the family, and no one dared enter my room except at stated times, to clean and tidy it, and so on, and to bring me my meals. my mother dared not disobey me; she kept the children quiet, for my sake, and beat them if they dared to make any noise and disturb me. i so often complained of them that i should think they must be very fond, indeed, of me by this time. i think i must have tormented ‘my faithful colia’ (as i called him) a good deal too. he tormented me of late; i could see that he always bore my tempers as though he had determined to ‘spare the poor invalid.’ this annoyed me, naturally. he seemed to have taken it into his head to imitate the prince in christian meekness! surikoff, who lived above us, annoyed me, too. he was so miserably poor, and i used to prove to him that he had no one to blame but himself for his poverty. i used to be so angry that i think i frightened him eventually, for he stopped coming to see me. he was a most meek and humble fellow, was surikoff. (n.b. they say that meekness is a great power. i must ask the prince about this, for the expression is his.) but i remember one day in march, when i went up to his lodgings to see whether it was true that one of his children had been starved and frozen to death, i began to hold forth to him about his poverty being his own fault, and, in the course of my remarks, i accidentally smiled at the corpse of his child. well, the poor wretch’s lips began to tremble, and he caught me by the shoulder, and pushed me to the door. ‘go out,’ he said, in a whisper. i went out, of course, and i declare i liked it. i liked it at the very moment when i was turned out. but his words filled me with a strange sort of feeling of disdainful pity for him whenever i thought of them a feeling which i did not in the least desire to entertain. at the very moment of the insult (for i admit that i did insult him, though i did not mean to), this man could not lose his temper. his lips had trembled, but i swear it was not with rage. he had taken me by the arm, and said, ‘go out,’
without the least anger. there was dignity, a great deal of dignity, about him, and it was so inconsistent with the look of him that, i assure you, it was quite comical. but there was no anger. perhaps he merely began to despise me at that moment.
“since that time he has always taken off his hat to me on the stairs, whenever i met him, which is a thing he never did before; but he always gets away from me as quickly as he can, as though he felt confused. if he did despise me, he despised me ‘meekly,’ after his own fashion.
“i dare say he only took his hat off out of fear, as it were, to the son of his creditor; for he always owed my mother money. i thought of having an explanation with him, but i knew that if i did, he would begin to apologize in a minute or two, so i decided to let him alone.
“just about that time, that is, the middle of march, i suddenly felt very much better; this continued for a couple of weeks. i used to go out at dusk. i like the dusk, especially in march, when the night frost begins to harden the day’s puddles, and the gas is burning.
“well, one night in the shestilavochnaya, a man passed me with a paper parcel under his arm. i did not take stock of him very carefully, but he seemed to be dressed in some shabby summer dust-coat, much too light for the season. when he was opposite the lamp-post, some ten yards away, i observed something fall out of his pocket. i hurried forward to pick it up, just in time, for an old wretch in a long kaftan rushed up too.
he did not dispute the matter, but glanced at what was in my hand and disappeared.
“it was a large old-fashioned pocket-book, stuffed full; but i guessed, at a glance, that it had anything in the world inside it, except money.
“the owner was now some forty yards ahead of me, and was very soon lost in the crowd. i ran after him, and began calling out; but as i knew nothing to say excepting ‘hey!’ he did not turn round. suddenly he turned into the gate of a house to the left; and when i darted in after him, the gateway was so dark that i could see nothing whatever. it was one of those large houses built in small tenements, of which there must have been at least a hundred.
“when i entered the yard i thought i saw a man going along on the far side of it; but it was so dark i could not make out his figure.
“i crossed to that corner and found a dirty dark staircase. i heard a man mounting up above me, some way higher than i was, and thinking i should catch him before his door would be opened to him, i rushed after him. i heard a door open and shut on the fifth storey, as i panted along; the stairs were narrow, and the steps innumerable, but at last i reached the door i thought the right one. some moments passed before i found the bell and got it to ring.
“an old peasant woman opened the door; she was busy lighting the ‘samovar’ in a tiny kitchen. she listened silently to my questions, did not understand a word, of course, and opened another door leading into a little bit of a room, low and scarcely furnished at all, but with a large, wide bed in it, hung with curtains. on this bed lay one terentich, as the woman called him, drunk, it appeared to me. on the table was an end of candle in an iron candlestick, and a half-bottle of vodka, nearly finished. terentich muttered something to me, and signed towards the next room. the old woman had disappeared, so there was nothing for me to do but to open the door indicated. i did so, and entered the next room.
“this was still smaller than the other, so cramped that i could scarcely turn round; a narrow single bed at one side took up nearly all the room.
besides the bed there were only three common chairs, and a wretched old kitchen-table standing before a small sofa. one could hardly squeeze through between the table and the bed.
“on the table, as in the other room, burned a tallow candle-end in an iron candlestick; and on the bed there whined a baby of scarcely three weeks old. a pale-looking woman was dressing the child, probably the mother; she looked as though she had not as yet got over the trouble of childbirth, she seemed so weak and was so carelessly dressed. another child, a little girl of about three years old, lay on the sofa, covered over with what looked like a man’s old dress-coat.
“at the table stood a man in his shirt sleeves; he had thrown off his coat; it lay upon the bed; and he was unfolding a blue paper parcel in which were a couple of pounds of bread, and some little sausages.
“on the table along with these things were a few old bits of black bread, and some tea in a pot. from under the bed there protruded an open portmanteau full of bundles of rags. in a word, the confusion and untidiness of the room were indescribable.
“it appeared to me, at the first glance, that both the man and the woman were respectable people, but brought to that pitch of poverty where untidiness seems to get the better of every effort to cope with it, till at last they take a sort of bitter satisfaction in it. when i entered the room, the man, who had entered but a moment before me, and was still unpacking his parcels, was saying something to his wife in an excited manner. the news was apparently bad, as usual, for the woman began whimpering. the man’s face seemed to me to be refined and even pleasant.
he was dark-complexioned, and about twenty-eight years of age; he wore black whiskers, and his lip and chin were shaved. he looked morose, but with a sort of pride of expression. a curious scene followed.
“there are people who find satisfaction in their own touchy feelings, especially when they have just taken the deepest offence; at such moments they feel that they would rather be offended than not. these easily-ignited natures, if they are wise, are always full of remorse afterwards, when they reflect that they have been ten times as angry as they need have been.
“the gentleman before me gazed at me for some seconds in amazement, and his wife in terror; as though there was something alarmingly extraordinary in the fact that anyone could come to see them. but suddenly he fell upon me almost with fury; i had had no time to mutter more than a couple of words; but he had doubtless observed that i was decently dressed and, therefore, took deep offence because i had dared enter his den so unceremoniously, and spy out the squalor and untidiness of it.
“of course he was delighted to get hold of someone upon whom to vent his rage against things in general.
“for a moment i thought he would assault me; he grew so pale that he looked like a woman about to have hysterics; his wife was dreadfully alarmed.
“‘how dare you come in so? be off!’ he shouted, trembling all over with rage and scarcely able to articulate the words. suddenly, however, he observed his pocketbook in my hand.
“‘i think you dropped this,’ i remarked, as quietly and drily as i could. (i thought it best to treat him so.) for some while he stood before me in downright terror, and seemed unable to understand. he then suddenly grabbed at his side-pocket, opened his mouth in alarm, and beat his forehead with his hand.
“‘my god!’ he cried, ‘where did you find it? how?’ i explained in as few words as i could, and as drily as possible, how i had seen it and picked it up; how i had run after him, and called out to him, and how i had followed him upstairs and groped my way to his door.
“‘gracious heaven!’ he cried, ‘all our papers are in it! my dear sir, you little know what you have done for us. i should have been lost lost!’
“i had taken hold of the door-handle meanwhile, intending to leave the room without reply; but i was panting with my run upstairs, and my exhaustion came to a climax in a violent fit of coughing, so bad that i could hardly stand.
“i saw how the man dashed about the room to find me an empty chair, how he kicked the rags off a chair which was covered up by them, brought it to me, and helped me to sit down; but my cough went on for another three minutes or so. when i came to myself he was sitting by me on another chair, which he had also cleared of the rubbish by throwing it all over the floor, and was watching me intently.
“‘i’m afraid you are ill?’ he remarked, in the tone which doctors use when they address a patient. ‘i am myself a medical man’ (he did not say ‘doctor’), with which words he waved his hands towards the room and its contents as though in protest at his present condition. ‘i see that you ’
“‘i’m in consumption,’ i said laconically, rising from my seat.
“he jumped up, too.
“‘perhaps you are exaggerating if you were to take proper measures perhaps ”
“he was terribly confused and did not seem able to collect his scattered senses; the pocket-book was still in his left hand.
“‘oh, don’t mind me,’ i said. ‘dr. b saw me last week’ (i lugged him in again), ‘and my hash is quite settled; pardon me ’ i took hold of the door-handle again. i was on the point of opening the door and leaving my grateful but confused medical friend to himself and his shame, when my damnable cough got hold of me again.
“my doctor insisted on my sitting down again to get my breath. he now said something to his wife who, without leaving her place, addressed a few words of gratitude and courtesy to me. she seemed very shy over it, and her sickly face flushed up with confusion. i remained, but with the air of a man who knows he is intruding and is anxious to get away. the doctor’s remorse at last seemed to need a vent, i could see.
“‘if i ’ he began, breaking off abruptly every other moment, and starting another sentence. ‘i i am so very grateful to you, and i am so much to blame in your eyes, i feel sure, i you see ’ (he pointed to the room again) ‘at this moment i am in such a position ’
“‘oh!’ i said, ‘there’s nothing to see; it’s quite a clear case you’ve lost your post and have come up to make explanations and get another, if you can!’
“‘how do you know that?’ he asked in amazement.
“‘oh, it was evident at the first glance,’ i said ironically, but not intentionally so. ‘there are lots of people who come up from the provinces full of hope, and run about town, and have to live as best they can.’
“he began to talk at once excitedly and with trembling lips; he began complaining and telling me his story. he interested me, i confess; i sat there nearly an hour. his story was a very ordinary one. he had been a provincial doctor; he had a civil appointment, and had no sooner taken it up than intrigues began. even his wife was dragged into these. he was proud, and flew into a passion; there was a change of local government which acted in favour of his opponents; his position was undermined, complaints were made against him; he lost his post and came up to petersburg with his last remaining money, in order to appeal to higher authorities. of course nobody would listen to him for a long time; he would come and tell his story one day and be refused promptly; another day he would be fed on false promises; again he would be treated harshly; then he would be told to sign some documents; then he would sign the paper and hand it in, and they would refuse to receive it, and tell him to file a formal petition. in a word he had been driven about from office to office for five months and had spent every farthing he had; his wife’s last rags had just been pawned; and meanwhile a child had been born to them and and today i have a final refusal to my petition, and i have hardly a crumb of bread left i have nothing left; my wife has had a baby lately and i i ’
“he sprang up from his chair and turned away. his wife was crying in the corner; the child had begun to moan again. i pulled out my note-book and began writing in it. when i had finished and rose from my chair he was standing before me with an expression of alarmed curiosity.
“‘i have jotted down your name,’ i told him, ‘and all the rest of it the place you served at, the district, the date, and all. i have a friend, bachmatoff, whose uncle is a councillor of state and has to do with these matters, one peter matveyevitch bachmatoff.’
“‘peter matveyevitch bachmatoff!’ he cried, trembling all over with excitement. ‘why, nearly everything depends on that very man!’
“it is very curious, this story of the medical man, and my visit, and the happy termination to which i contributed by accident! everything fitted in, as in a novel. i told the poor people not to put much hope in me, because i was but a poor schoolboy myself (i am not really, but i humiliated myself as much as possible in order to make them less hopeful) but that i would go at once to the vassili ostroff and see my friend; and that as i knew for certain that his uncle adored him, and was absolutely devoted to him as the last hope and branch of the family, perhaps the old man might do something to oblige his nephew.
“‘if only they would allow me to explain all to his excellency! if i could but be permitted to tell my tale to him!” he cried, trembling with feverish agitation, and his eyes flashing with excitement. i repeated once more that i could not hold out much hope that it would probably end in smoke, and if i did not turn up next morning they must make up their minds that there was no more to be done in the matter.
“they showed me out with bows and every kind of respect; they seemed quite beside themselves. i shall never forget the expression of their faces!
“i took a droshky and drove over to the vassili ostroff at once. for some years i had been at enmity with this young bachmatoff, at school.
we considered him an aristocrat; at all events i called him one. he used to dress smartly, and always drove to school in a private trap. he was a good companion, and was always merry and jolly, sometimes even witty, though he was not very intellectual, in spite of the fact that he was always top of the class; i myself was never top in anything! all his companions were very fond of him, excepting myself. he had several times during those years come up to me and tried to make friends; but i had always turned sulkily away and refused to have anything to do with him.
i had not seen him for a whole year now; he was at the university. when, at nine o’clock, or so, this evening, i arrived and was shown up to him with great ceremony, he first received me with astonishment, and not too affably, but he soon cheered up, and suddenly gazed intently at me and burst out laughing.
“‘why, what on earth can have possessed you to come and see me, terentieff?’ he cried, with his usual pleasant, sometimes audacious, but never offensive familiarity, which i liked in reality, but for which i also detested him. ‘why what’s the matter?’ he cried in alarm. ‘are you ill?’
“that confounded cough of mine had come on again; i fell into a chair, and with difficulty recovered my breath. ‘it’s all right, it’s only consumption’ i said. ‘i have come to you with a petition!’
“he sat down in amazement, and i lost no time in telling him the medical man’s history; and explained that he, with the influence which he possessed over his uncle, might do some good to the poor fellow.
“‘i’ll do it i’ll do it, of course!’ he said. ‘i shall attack my uncle about it tomorrow morning, and i’m very glad you told me the story. but how was it that you thought of coming to me about it, terentieff?’
“‘so much depends upon your uncle,’ i said. ‘and besides we have always been enemies, bachmatoff; and as you are a generous sort of fellow, i thought you would not refuse my request because i was your enemy!’ i added with irony.
“‘like napoleon going to england, eh?’ cried he, laughing. ‘i’ll do it though of course, and at once, if i can!’ he added, seeing that i rose seriously from my chair at this point.
“and sure enough the matter ended as satisfactorily as possible. a month or so later my medical friend was appointed to another post. he got his travelling expenses paid, and something to help him to start life with once more. i think bachmatoff must have persuaded the doctor to accept a loan from himself. i saw bachmatoff two or three times, about this period, the third time being when he gave a farewell dinner to the doctor and his wife before their departure, a champagne dinner.
“bachmatoff saw me home after the dinner and we crossed the nicolai bridge. we were both a little drunk. he told me of his joy, the joyful feeling of having done a good action; he said that it was all thanks to myself that he could feel this satisfaction; and held forth about the foolishness of the theory that individual charity is useless.
“i, too, was burning to have my say!
“‘in moscow,’ i said, ‘there was an old state counsellor, a civil general, who, all his life, had been in the habit of visiting the prisons and speaking to criminals. every party of convicts on its way to siberia knew beforehand that on the vorobeef hills the “old general”
would pay them a visit. he did all he undertook seriously and devotedly.
he would walk down the rows of the unfortunate prisoners, stop before each individual and ask after his needs he never sermonized them; he spoke kindly to them he gave them money; he brought them all sorts of necessaries for the journey, and gave them devotional books, choosing those who could read, under the firm conviction that they would read to those who could not, as they went along.
“‘he scarcely ever talked about the particular crimes of any of them, but listened if any volunteered information on that point. all the convicts were equal for him, and he made no distinction. he spoke to all as to brothers, and every one of them looked upon him as a father. when he observed among the exiles some poor woman with a child, he would always come forward and fondle the little one, and make it laugh. he continued these acts of mercy up to his very death; and by that time all the criminals, all over russia and siberia, knew him!
“‘a man i knew who had been to siberia and returned, told me that he himself had been a witness of how the very most hardened criminals remembered the old general, though, in point of fact, he could never, of course, have distributed more than a few pence to each member of a party. their recollection of him was not sentimental or particularly devoted. some wretch, for instance, who had been a murderer cutting the throat of a dozen fellow-creatures, for instance; or stabbing six little children for his own amusement (there have been such men!) would perhaps, without rhyme or reason, suddenly give a sigh and say, “i wonder whether that old general is alive still!” although perhaps he had not thought of mentioning him for a dozen years before! how can one say what seed of good may have been dropped into his soul, never to die?’
“i continued in that strain for a long while, pointing out to bachmatoff how impossible it is to follow up the effects of any isolated good deed one may do, in all its influences and subtle workings upon the heart and after-actions of others.
“‘and to think that you are to be cut off from life!’ remarked bachmatoff, in a tone of reproach, as though he would like to find someone to pitch into on my account.
“we were leaning over the balustrade of the bridge, looking into the neva at this moment.
“‘do you know what has suddenly come into my head?’ said i, suddenly leaning further and further over the rail.
“‘surely not to throw yourself into the river?’ cried bachmatoff in alarm. perhaps he read my thought in my face.
“‘no, not yet. at present nothing but the following consideration. you see i have some two or three months left me to live perhaps four; well, supposing that when i have but a month or two more, i take a fancy for some “good deed” that needs both trouble and time, like this business of our doctor friend, for instance: why, i shall have to give up the idea of it and take to something else some little good deed, more within my means, eh? isn’t that an amusing idea!’
“poor bachmatoff was much impressed painfully so. he took me all the way home; not attempting to console me, but behaving with the greatest delicacy. on taking leave he pressed my hand warmly and asked permission to come and see me. i replied that if he came to me as a ‘comforter,’ so to speak (for he would be in that capacity whether he spoke to me in a soothing manner or only kept silence, as i pointed out to him), he would but remind me each time of my approaching death! he shrugged his shoulders, but quite agreed with me; and we parted better friends than i had expected.
“but that evening and that night were sown the first seeds of my ‘last conviction.’ i seized greedily on my new idea; i thirstily drank in all its different aspects (i did not sleep a wink that night!), and the deeper i went into it the more my being seemed to merge itself in it, and the more alarmed i became. a dreadful terror came over me at last, and did not leave me all next day.
“sometimes, thinking over this, i became quite numb with the terror of it; and i might well have deduced from this fact, that my ‘last conviction’ was eating into my being too fast and too seriously, and would undoubtedly come to its climax before long. and for the climax i needed greater determination than i yet possessed.
“however, within three weeks my determination was taken, owing to a very strange circumstance.
“here on my paper, i make a note of all the figures and dates that come into my explanation. of course, it is all the same to me, but just now and perhaps only at this moment i desire that all those who are to judge of my action should see clearly out of how logical a sequence of deductions has at length proceeded my ‘last conviction.’
“i have said above that the determination needed by me for the accomplishment of my final resolve, came to hand not through any sequence of causes, but thanks to a certain strange circumstance which had perhaps no connection whatever with the matter at issue. ten days ago rogojin called upon me about certain business of his own with which i have nothing to do at present. i had never seen rogojin before, but had often heard about him.
“i gave him all the information he needed, and he very soon took his departure; so that, since he only came for the purpose of gaining the information, the matter might have been expected to end there.
“but he interested me too much, and all that day i was under the influence of strange thoughts connected with him, and i determined to return his visit the next day.
“rogojin was evidently by no means pleased to see me, and hinted, delicately, that he saw no reason why our acquaintance should continue.
for all that, however, i spent a very interesting hour, and so, i dare say, did he. there was so great a contrast between us that i am sure we must both have felt it; anyhow, i felt it acutely. here was i, with my days numbered, and he, a man in the full vigour of life, living in the present, without the slightest thought for ‘final convictions,’ or numbers, or days, or, in fact, for anything but that which-which well, which he was mad about, if he will excuse me the expression as a feeble author who cannot express his ideas properly.
“in spite of his lack of amiability, i could not help seeing, in rogojin a man of intellect and sense; and although, perhaps, there was little in the outside world which was of interest to him, still he was clearly a man with eyes to see.
“i hinted nothing to him about my ‘final conviction,’ but it appeared to me that he had guessed it from my words. he remained silent he is a terribly silent man. i remarked to him, as i rose to depart, that, in spite of the contrast and the wide differences between us two, les extremites se touchent [‘extremes meet,’ as i explained to him in russian); so that maybe he was not so far from my final conviction as appeared.
“his only reply to this was a sour grimace. he rose and looked for my cap, and placed it in my hand, and led me out of the house that dreadful gloomy house of his to all appearances, of course, as though i were leaving of my own accord, and he were simply seeing me to the door out of politeness. his house impressed me much; it is like a burial-ground, he seems to like it, which is, however, quite natural.
such a full life as he leads is so overflowing with absorbing interests that he has little need of assistance from his surroundings.
“the visit to rogojin exhausted me terribly. besides, i had felt ill since the morning; and by evening i was so weak that i took to my bed, and was in high fever at intervals, and even delirious. colia sat with me until eleven o’clock.
“yet i remember all he talked about, and every word we said, though whenever my eyes closed for a moment i could picture nothing but the image of surikoff just in the act of finding a million roubles. he could not make up his mind what to do with the money, and tore his hair over it. he trembled with fear that somebody would rob him, and at last he decided to bury it in the ground. i persuaded him that, instead of putting it all away uselessly underground, he had better melt it down and make a golden coffin out of it for his starved child, and then dig up the little one and put her into the golden coffin. surikoff accepted this suggestion, i thought, with tears of gratitude, and immediately commenced to carry out my design.
“i thought i spat on the ground and left him in disgust. colia told me, when i quite recovered my senses, that i had not been asleep for a moment, but that i had spoken to him about surikoff the whole while.
“at moments i was in a state of dreadful weakness and misery, so that colia was greatly disturbed when he left me.
“when i arose to lock the door after him, i suddenly called to mind a picture i had noticed at rogojin’s in one of his gloomiest rooms, over the door. he had pointed it out to me himself as we walked past it, and i believe i must have stood a good five minutes in front of it. there was nothing artistic about it, but the picture made me feel strangely uncomfortable. it represented christ just taken down from the cross. it seems to me that painters as a rule represent the saviour, both on the cross and taken down from it, with great beauty still upon his face.
this marvellous beauty they strive to preserve even in his moments of deepest agony and passion. but there was no such beauty in rogojin’s picture. this was the presentment of a poor mangled body which had evidently suffered unbearable anguish even before its crucifixion, full of wounds and bruises, marks of the violence of soldiers and people, and of the bitterness of the moment when he had fallen with the cross all this combined with the anguish of the actual crucifixion.
“the face was depicted as though still suffering; as though the body, only just dead, was still almost quivering with agony. the picture was one of pure nature, for the face was not beautified by the artist, but was left as it would naturally be, whosoever the sufferer, after such anguish.
“i know that the earliest christian faith taught that the saviour suffered actually and not figuratively, and that nature was allowed her own way even while his body was on the cross.
“it is strange to look on this dreadful picture of the mangled corpse of the saviour, and to put this question to oneself: ‘supposing that the disciples, the future apostles, the women who had followed him and stood by the cross, all of whom believed in and worshipped him supposing that they saw this tortured body, this face so mangled and bleeding and bruised (and they must have so seen it) how could they have gazed upon the dreadful sight and yet have believed that he would rise again?’
“the thought steps in, whether one likes it or no, that death is so terrible and so powerful, that even he who conquered it in his miracles during life was unable to triumph over it at the last. he who called to lazarus, ‘lazarus, come forth!’ and the dead man lived he was now himself a prey to nature and death. nature appears to one, looking at this picture, as some huge, implacable, dumb monster; or still better a stranger simile some enormous mechanical engine of modern days which has seized and crushed and swallowed up a great and invaluable being, a being worth nature and all her laws, worth the whole earth, which was perhaps created merely for the sake of the advent of that being.
“this blind, dumb, implacable, eternal, unreasoning force is well shown in the picture, and the absolute subordination of all men and things to it is so well expressed that the idea unconsciously arises in the mind of anyone who looks at it. all those faithful people who were gazing at the cross and its mutilated occupant must have suffered agony of mind that evening; for they must have felt that all their hopes and almost all their faith had been shattered at a blow. they must have separated in terror and dread that night, though each perhaps carried away with him one great thought which was never eradicated from his mind for ever afterwards. if this great teacher of theirs could have seen himself after the crucifixion, how could he have consented to mount the cross and to die as he did? this thought also comes into the mind of the man who gazes at this picture. i thought of all this by snatches probably between my attacks of delirium for an hour and a half or so before colia’s departure.
“can there be an appearance of that which has no form? and yet it seemed to me, at certain moments, that i beheld in some strange and impossible form, that dark, dumb, irresistibly powerful, eternal force.
“i thought someone led me by the hand and showed me, by the light of a candle, a huge, loathsome insect, which he assured me was that very force, that very almighty, dumb, irresistible power, and laughed at the indignation with which i received this information. in my room they always light the little lamp before my icon for the night; it gives a feeble flicker of light, but it is strong enough to see by dimly, and if you sit just under it you can even read by it. i think it was about twelve or a little past that night. i had not slept a wink, and was lying with my eyes wide open, when suddenly the door opened, and in came rogojin.
“he entered, and shut the door behind him. then he silently gazed at me and went quickly to the corner of the room where the lamp was burning and sat down underneath it.
“i was much surprised, and looked at him expectantly.
“rogojin only leaned his elbow on the table and silently stared at me.
so passed two or three minutes, and i recollect that his silence hurt and offended me very much. why did he not speak?
“that his arrival at this time of night struck me as more or less strange may possibly be the case; but i remember i was by no means amazed at it. on the contrary, though i had not actually told him my thought in the morning, yet i know he understood it; and this thought was of such a character that it would not be anything very remarkable, if one were to come for further talk about it at any hour of night, however late.
“i thought he must have come for this purpose.
“in the morning we had parted not the best of friends; i remember he looked at me with disagreeable sarcasm once or twice; and this same look i observed in his eyes now which was the cause of the annoyance i felt.
“i did not for a moment suspect that i was delirious and that this rogojin was but the result of fever and excitement. i had not the slightest idea of such a theory at first.
“meanwhile he continued to sit and stare jeeringly at me.
“i angrily turned round in bed and made up my mind that i would not say a word unless he did; so i rested silently on my pillow determined to remain dumb, if it were to last till morning. i felt resolved that he should speak first. probably twenty minutes or so passed in this way.
suddenly the idea struck me what if this is an apparition and not rogojin himself?
“neither during my illness nor at any previous time had i ever seen an apparition; but i had always thought, both when i was a little boy, and even now, that if i were to see one i should die on the spot though i don’t believe in ghosts. and yet now, when the idea struck me that this was a ghost and not rogojin at all, i was not in the least alarmed.
nay the thought actually irritated me. strangely enough, the decision of the question as to whether this were a ghost or rogojin did not, for some reason or other, interest me nearly so much as it ought to have done; i think i began to muse about something altogether different. for instance, i began to wonder why rogojin, who had been in dressing-gown and slippers when i saw him at home, had now put on a dress-coat and white waistcoat and tie? i also thought to myself, i remember ‘if this is a ghost, and i am not afraid of it, why don’t i approach it and verify my suspicions? perhaps i am afraid ’ and no sooner did this last idea enter my head than an icy blast blew over me; i felt a chill down my backbone and my knees shook.
“at this very moment, as though divining my thoughts, rogojin raised his head from his arm and began to part his lips as though he were going to laugh but he continued to stare at me as persistently as before.
“i felt so furious with him at this moment that i longed to rush at him; but as i had sworn that he should speak first, i continued to lie still and the more willingly, as i was still by no means satisfied as to whether it really was rogojin or not.
“i cannot remember how long this lasted; i cannot recollect, either, whether consciousness forsook me at intervals, or not. but at last rogojin rose, staring at me as intently as ever, but not smiling any longer, and walking very softly, almost on tip-toes, to the door, he opened it, went out, and shut it behind him.
“i did not rise from my bed, and i don’t know how long i lay with my eyes open, thinking. i don’t know what i thought about, nor how i fell asleep or became insensible; but i awoke next morning after nine o’clock when they knocked at my door. my general orders are that if i don’t open the door and call, by nine o’clock, matreona is to come and bring my tea. when i now opened the door to her, the thought suddenly struck me how could he have come in, since the door was locked? i made inquiries and found that rogojin himself could not possibly have come in, because all our doors were locked for the night.
“well, this strange circumstance which i have described with so much detail was the ultimate cause which led me to taking my final determination. so that no logic, or logical deductions, had anything to do with my resolve; it was simply a matter of disgust.
“it was impossible for me to go on living when life was full of such detestable, strange, tormenting forms. this ghost had humiliated me; nor could i bear to be subordinate to that dark, horrible force which was embodied in the form of the loathsome insect. it was only towards evening, when i had quite made up my mind on this point, that i began to feel easier.”
vii.
“i had a small pocket pistol. i had procured it while still a boy, at that droll age when the stories of duels and highwaymen begin to delight one, and when one imagines oneself nobly standing fire at some future day, in a duel.
“there were a couple of old bullets in the bag which contained the pistol, and powder enough in an old flask for two or three charges.
“the pistol was a wretched thing, very crooked and wouldn’t carry farther than fifteen paces at the most. however, it would send your skull flying well enough if you pressed the muzzle of it against your temple.
“i determined to die at pavlofsk at sunrise, in the park so as to make no commotion in the house.
“this ‘explanation’ will make the matter clear enough to the police.
students of psychology, and anyone else who likes, may make what they please of it. i should not like this paper, however, to be made public.
i request the prince to keep a copy himself, and to give a copy to aglaya ivanovna epanchin. this is my last will and testament. as for my skeleton, i bequeath it to the medical academy for the benefit of science.
“i recognize no jurisdiction over myself, and i know that i am now beyond the power of laws and judges.
“a little while ago a very amusing idea struck me. what if i were now to commit some terrible crime murder ten fellow-creatures, for instance, or anything else that is thought most shocking and dreadful in this world what a dilemma my judges would be in, with a criminal who only has a fortnight to live in any case, now that the rack and other forms of torture are abolished! why, i should die comfortably in their own hospital in a warm, clean room, with an attentive doctor probably much more comfortably than i should at home.
“i don’t understand why people in my position do not oftener indulge in such ideas if only for a joke! perhaps they do! who knows! there are plenty of merry souls among us!
“but though i do not recognize any jurisdiction over myself, still i know that i shall be judged, when i am nothing but a voiceless lump of clay; therefore i do not wish to go before i have left a word of reply the reply of a free man not one forced to justify himself oh no! i have no need to ask forgiveness of anyone. i wish to say a word merely because i happen to desire it of my own free will.
“here, in the first place, comes a strange thought!
“who, in the name of what law, would think of disputing my full personal right over the fortnight of life left to me? what jurisdiction can be brought to bear upon the case? who would wish me, not only to be sentenced, but to endure the sentence to the end? surely there exists no man who would wish such a thing why should anyone desire it? for the sake of morality? well, i can understand that if i were to make an attempt upon my own life while in the enjoyment of full health and vigour my life which might have been ‘useful,’ etc., etc. morality might reproach me, according to the old routine, for disposing of my life without permission or whatever its tenet may be. but now, now, when my sentence is out and my days numbered! how can morality have need of my last breaths, and why should i die listening to the consolations offered by the prince, who, without doubt, would not omit to demonstrate that death is actually a benefactor to me? (christians like him always end up with that it is their pet theory.) and what do they want with their ridiculous ‘pavlofsk trees’? to sweeten my last hours? cannot they understand that the more i forget myself, the more i let myself become attached to these last illusions of life and love, by means of which they try to hide from me meyer’s wall, and all that is so plainly written on it the more unhappy they make me? what is the use of all your nature to me all your parks and trees, your sunsets and sunrises, your blue skies and your self-satisfied faces when all this wealth of beauty and happiness begins with the fact that it accounts me only me one too many! what is the good of all this beauty and glory to me, when every second, every moment, i cannot but be aware that this little fly which buzzes around my head in the sun’s rays even this little fly is a sharer and participator in all the glory of the universe, and knows its place and is happy in it; while i only i, am an outcast, and have been blind to the fact hitherto, thanks to my simplicity! oh! i know well how the prince and others would like me, instead of indulging in all these wicked words of my own, to sing, to the glory and triumph of morality, that well-known verse of gilbert’s:
“‘o, puissent voir longtemps votre beauté sacrée tant d’amis, sourds à mes adieux!
qu’ils meurent pleins de jours, que leur mort soit pleurée, qu’un ami leur ferme les yeux!’
“but believe me, believe me, my simple-hearted friends, that in this highly moral verse, in this academical blessing to the world in general in the french language, is hidden the intensest gall and bitterness; but so well concealed is the venom, that i dare say the poet actually persuaded himself that his words were full of the tears of pardon and peace, instead of the bitterness of disappointment and malice, and so died in the delusion.
“do you know there is a limit of ignominy, beyond which man’s consciousness of shame cannot go, and after which begins satisfaction in shame? well, of course humility is a great force in that sense, i admit that though not in the sense in which religion accounts humility to be strength!
“religion! i admit eternal life and perhaps i always did admit it.
“admitted that consciousness is called into existence by the will of a higher power; admitted that this consciousness looks out upon the world and says ‘i am;’ and admitted that the higher power wills that the consciousness so called into existence, be suddenly extinguished (for so for some unexplained reason it is and must be) still there comes the eternal question why must i be humble through all this? is it not enough that i am devoured, without my being expected to bless the power that devours me? surely surely i need not suppose that somebody there will be offended because i do not wish to live out the fortnight allowed me? i don’t believe it.
“it is much simpler, and far more likely, to believe that my death is needed the death of an insignificant atom in order to fulfil the general harmony of the universe in order to make even some plus or minus in the sum of existence. just as every day the death of numbers of beings is necessary because without their annihilation the rest cannot live on (although we must admit that the idea is not a particularly grand one in itself!)
“however admit the fact! admit that without such perpetual devouring of one another the world cannot continue to exist, or could never have been organized i am ever ready to confess that i cannot understand why this is so but i’ll tell you what i do know, for certain. if i have once been given to understand and realize that i am what does it matter to me that the world is organized on a system full of errors and that otherwise it cannot be organized at all? who will or can judge me after this? say what you like the thing is impossible and unjust!
“and meanwhile i have never been able, in spite of my great desire to do so, to persuade myself that there is no future existence, and no providence.
“the fact of the matter is that all this does exist, but that we know absolutely nothing about the future life and its laws!
“but it is so difficult, and even impossible to understand, that surely i am not to be blamed because i could not fathom the incomprehensible?
“of course i know they say that one must be obedient, and of course, too, the prince is one of those who say so: that one must be obedient without questions, out of pure goodness of heart, and that for my worthy conduct in this matter i shall meet with reward in another world. we degrade god when we attribute our own ideas to him, out of annoyance that we cannot fathom his ways.
“again, i repeat, i cannot be blamed because i am unable to understand that which it is not given to mankind to fathom. why am i to be judged because i could not comprehend the will and laws of providence? no, we had better drop religion.
“and enough of this. by the time i have got so far in the reading of my document the sun will be up and the huge force of his rays will be acting upon the living world. so be it. i shall die gazing straight at the great fountain of life and power; i do not want this life!
“if i had had the power to prevent my own birth i should certainly never have consented to accept existence under such ridiculous conditions.
however, i have the power to end my existence, although i do but give back days that are already numbered. it is an insignificant gift, and my revolt is equally insignificant.
“final explanation: i die, not in the least because i am unable to support these next three weeks. oh no, i should find strength enough, and if i wished it i could obtain consolation from the thought of the injury that is done me. but i am not a french poet, and i do not desire such consolation. and finally, nature has so limited my capacity for work or activity of any kind, in allotting me but three weeks of time, that suicide is about the only thing left that i can begin and end in the time of my own free will.
“perhaps then i am anxious to take advantage of my last chance of doing something for myself. a protest is sometimes no small thing.”
the explanation was finished; hippolyte paused at last.
there is, in extreme cases, a final stage of cynical candour when a nervous man, excited, and beside himself with emotion, will be afraid of nothing and ready for any sort of scandal, nay, glad of it. the extraordinary, almost unnatural, tension of the nerves which upheld hippolyte up to this point, had now arrived at this final stage. this poor feeble boy of eighteen exhausted by disease looked for all the world as weak and frail as a leaflet torn from its parent tree and trembling in the breeze; but no sooner had his eye swept over his audience, for the first time during the whole of the last hour, than the most contemptuous, the most haughty expression of repugnance lighted up his face. he defied them all, as it were. but his hearers were indignant, too; they rose to their feet with annoyance. fatigue, the wine consumed, the strain of listening so long, all added to the disagreeable impression which the reading had made upon them.
suddenly hippolyte jumped up as though he had been shot.
“the sun is rising,” he cried, seeing the gilded tops of the trees, and pointing to them as to a miracle. “see, it is rising now!”
“well, what then? did you suppose it wasn’t going to rise?” asked ferdishenko.
“it’s going to be atrociously hot again all day,” said gania, with an air of annoyance, taking his hat. “a month of this... are you coming home, ptitsin?” hippolyte listened to this in amazement, almost amounting to stupefaction. suddenly he became deadly pale and shuddered.
“you manage your composure too awkwardly. i see you wish to insult me,”
he cried to gania. “you you are a cur!” he looked at gania with an expression of malice.
“what on earth is the matter with the boy? what phenomenal feeble-mindedness!” exclaimed ferdishenko.
“oh, he’s simply a fool,” said gania.
hippolyte braced himself up a little.
“i understand, gentlemen,” he began, trembling as before, and stumbling over every word, “that i have deserved your resentment, and and am sorry that i should have troubled you with this raving nonsense”
(pointing to his article), “or rather, i am sorry that i have not troubled you enough.” he smiled feebly. “have i troubled you, evgenie pavlovitch?” he suddenly turned on evgenie with this question. “tell me now, have i troubled you or not?”
“well, it was a little drawn out, perhaps; but ”
“come, speak out! don’t lie, for once in your life speak out!”
continued hippolyte, quivering with agitation.
“oh, my good sir, i assure you it’s entirely the same to me. please leave me in peace,” said evgenie, angrily, turning his back on him.
“good-night, prince,” said ptitsin, approaching his host.
“what are you thinking of? don’t go, he’ll blow his brains out in a minute!” cried vera lebedeff, rushing up to hippolyte and catching hold of his hands in a torment of alarm. “what are you thinking of? he said he would blow his brains out at sunrise.”
“oh, he won’t shoot himself!” cried several voices, sarcastically.
“gentlemen, you’d better look out,” cried colia, also seizing hippolyte by the hand. “just look at him! prince, what are you thinking of?” vera and colia, and keller, and burdovsky were all crowding round hippolyte now and holding him down.
“he has the right the right ” murmured burdovsky. “excuse me, prince, but what are your arrangements?” asked lebedeff, tipsy and exasperated, going up to muishkin.
“what do you mean by ‘arrangements’?”
“no, no, excuse me! i’m master of this house, though i do not wish to lack respect towards you. you are master of the house too, in a way; but i can’t allow this sort of thing ”
“he won’t shoot himself; the boy is only playing the fool,” said general ivolgin, suddenly and unexpectedly, with indignation.
“i know he won’t, i know he won’t, general; but i i’m master here!”
“listen, mr. terentieff,” said ptitsin, who had bidden the prince good-night, and was now holding out his hand to hippolyte; “i think you remark in that manuscript of yours, that you bequeath your skeleton to the academy. are you referring to your own skeleton i mean, your very bones?”
“yes, my bones, i ”
“quite so, i see; because, you know, little mistakes have occurred now and then. there was a case ”
“why do you tease him?” cried the prince, suddenly.
“you’ve moved him to tears,” added ferdishenko. but hippolyte was by no means weeping. he was about to move from his place, when his four guards rushed at him and seized him once more. there was a laugh at this.
“he led up to this on purpose. he took the trouble of writing all that so that people should come and grab him by the arm,” observed rogojin.
“good-night, prince. what a time we’ve sat here, my very bones ache!”
“if you really intended to shoot yourself, terentieff,” said evgenie pavlovitch, laughing, “if i were you, after all these compliments, i should just not shoot myself in order to vex them all.”
“they are very anxious to see me blow my brains out,” said hippolyte, bitterly.
“yes, they’ll be awfully annoyed if they don’t see it.”
“then you think they won’t see it?”
“i am not trying to egg you on. on the contrary, i think it very likely that you may shoot yourself; but the principal thing is to keep cool,”
said evgenie with a drawl, and with great condescension.
“i only now perceive what a terrible mistake i made in reading this article to them,” said hippolyte, suddenly, addressing evgenie, and looking at him with an expression of trust and confidence, as though he were applying to a friend for counsel.
“yes, it’s a droll situation; i really don’t know what advice to give you,” replied evgenie, laughing. hippolyte gazed steadfastly at him, but said nothing. to look at him one might have supposed that he was unconscious at intervals.
“excuse me,” said lebedeff, “but did you observe the young gentleman’s style? ‘i’ll go and blow my brains out in the park,’ says he, ‘so as not to disturb anyone.’ he thinks he won’t disturb anybody if he goes three yards away, into the park, and blows his brains out there.”
“gentlemen ” began the prince.
“no, no, excuse me, most revered prince,” lebedeff interrupted, excitedly. “since you must have observed yourself that this is no joke, and since at least half your guests must also have concluded that after all that has been said this youth must blow his brains out for honour’s sake i as master of this house, and before these witnesses, now call upon you to take steps.”
“yes, but what am i to do, lebedeff? what steps am i to take? i am ready.”
“i’ll tell you. in the first place he must immediately deliver up the pistol which he boasted of, with all its appurtenances. if he does this i shall consent to his being allowed to spend the night in this house considering his feeble state of health, and of course conditionally upon his being under proper supervision. but tomorrow he must go elsewhere. excuse me, prince! should he refuse to deliver up his weapon, then i shall instantly seize one of his arms and general ivolgin the other, and we shall hold him until the police arrive and take the matter into their own hands. mr. ferdishenko will kindly fetch them.”
at this there was a dreadful noise; lebedeff danced about in his excitement; ferdishenko prepared to go for the police; gania frantically insisted that it was all nonsense, “for nobody was going to shoot themselves.” evgenie pavlovitch said nothing.
“prince,” whispered hippolyte, suddenly, his eyes all ablaze, “you don’t suppose that i did not foresee all this hatred?” he looked at the prince as though he expected him to reply, for a moment. “enough!” he added at length, and addressing the whole company, he cried: “it’s all my fault, gentlemen! lebedeff, here’s the key,” (he took out a small bunch of keys); “this one, the last but one colia will show you colia, where’s colia?” he cried, looking straight at colia and not seeing him. “yes, he’ll show you; he packed the bag with me this morning. take him up, colia; my bag is upstairs in the prince’s study, under the table. here’s the key, and in the little case you’ll find my pistol and the powder, and all. colia packed it himself, mr. lebedeff; he’ll show you; but it’s on condition that tomorrow morning, when i leave for petersburg, you will give me back my pistol, do you hear? i do this for the prince’s sake, not yours.”
“capital, that’s much better!” cried lebedeff, and seizing the key he made off in haste.
colia stopped a moment as though he wished to say something; but lebedeff dragged him away.
hippolyte looked around at the laughing guests. the prince observed that his teeth were chattering as though in a violent attack of ague.
“what brutes they all are!” he whispered to the prince. whenever he addressed him he lowered his voice.
“let them alone, you’re too weak now ”
“yes, directly; i’ll go away directly. i’ll ”
suddenly he embraced muishkin.
“perhaps you think i am mad, eh?” he asked him, laughing very strangely.
“no, but you ”
“directly, directly! stand still a moment, i wish to look in your eyes; don’t speak stand so let me look at you! i am bidding farewell to mankind.”
he stood so for ten seconds, gazing at the prince, motionless, deadly pale, his temples wet with perspiration; he held the prince’s hand in a strange grip, as though afraid to let him go.
“hippolyte, hippolyte, what is the matter with you?” cried muishkin.
“directly! there, that’s enough. i’ll lie down directly. i must drink to the sun’s health. i wish to i insist upon it! let go!”
he seized a glass from the table, broke away from the prince, and in a moment had reached the terrace steps.
the prince made after him, but it so happened that at this moment evgenie pavlovitch stretched out his hand to say good-night. the next instant there was a general outcry, and then followed a few moments of indescribable excitement.
reaching the steps, hippolyte had paused, holding the glass in his left hand while he put his right hand into his coat pocket.
keller insisted afterwards that he had held his right hand in his pocket all the while, when he was speaking to the prince, and that he had held the latter’s shoulder with his left hand only. this circumstance, keller affirmed, had led him to feel some suspicion from the first. however this may be, keller ran after hippolyte, but he was too late.
he caught sight of something flashing in hippolyte’s right hand, and saw that it was a pistol. he rushed at him, but at that very instant hippolyte raised the pistol to his temple and pulled the trigger. there followed a sharp metallic click, but no report.
when keller seized the would-be suicide, the latter fell forward into his arms, probably actually believing that he was shot. keller had hold of the pistol now. hippolyte was immediately placed in a chair, while the whole company thronged around excitedly, talking and asking each other questions. every one of them had heard the snap of the trigger, and yet they saw a live and apparently unharmed man before them.
hippolyte himself sat quite unconscious of what was going on, and gazed around with a senseless expression.
lebedeff and colia came rushing up at this moment.
“what is it?” someone asked, breathlessly “a misfire?”
“perhaps it wasn’t loaded,” said several voices.
“it’s loaded all right,” said keller, examining the pistol, “but ”
“what! did it miss fire?”
“there was no cap in it,” keller announced.
it would be difficult to describe the pitiable scene that now followed.
the first sensation of alarm soon gave place to amusement; some burst out laughing loud and heartily, and seemed to find a malicious satisfaction in the joke. poor hippolyte sobbed hysterically; he wrung his hands; he approached everyone in turn even ferdishenko and took them by both hands, and swore solemnly that he had forgotten absolutely forgotten “accidentally, and not on purpose,” to put a cap in that he “had ten of them, at least, in his pocket.” he pulled them out and showed them to everyone; he protested that he had not liked to put one in beforehand for fear of an accidental explosion in his pocket. that he had thought he would have lots of time to put it in afterwards when required and, that, in the heat of the moment, he had forgotten all about it. he threw himself upon the prince, then on evgenie pavlovitch.
he entreated keller to give him back the pistol, and he’d soon show them all that “his honour his honour,” but he was “dishonoured, now, for ever!”
he fell senseless at last and was carried into the prince’s study.
lebedeff, now quite sobered down, sent for a doctor; and he and his daughter, with burdovsky and general ivolgin, remained by the sick man’s couch.
when he was carried away unconscious, keller stood in the middle of the room, and made the following declaration to the company in general, in a loud tone of voice, with emphasis upon each word.
“gentlemen, if any one of you casts any doubt again, before me, upon hippolyte’s good faith, or hints that the cap was forgotten intentionally, or suggests that this unhappy boy was acting a part before us, i beg to announce that the person so speaking shall account to me for his words.”
no one replied.
the company departed very quickly, in a mass. ptitsin, gania, and rogojin went away together.
the prince was much astonished that evgenie pavlovitch changed his mind, and took his departure without the conversation he had requested.
“why, you wished to have a talk with me when the others left?” he said.
“quite so,” said evgenie, sitting down suddenly beside him, “but i have changed my mind for the time being. i confess, i am too disturbed, and so, i think, are you; and the matter as to which i wished to consult you is too serious to tackle with one’s mind even a little disturbed; too serious both for myself and for you. you see, prince, for once in my life i wish to perform an absolutely honest action, that is, an action with no ulterior motive; and i think i am hardly in a condition to talk of it just at this moment, and and well, we’ll discuss it another time. perhaps the matter may gain in clearness if we wait for two or three days just the two or three days which i must spend in petersburg.”
here he rose again from his chair, so that it seemed strange that he should have thought it worth while to sit down at all.
the prince thought, too, that he looked vexed and annoyed, and not nearly so friendly towards himself as he had been earlier in the night.
“i suppose you will go to the sufferer’s bedside now?” he added.
“yes, i am afraid...” began the prince.
“oh, you needn’t fear! he’ll live another six weeks all right. very likely he will recover altogether; but i strongly advise you to pack him off tomorrow.”
“i think i may have offended him by saying nothing just now. i am afraid he may suspect that i doubted his good faith, about shooting himself, you know. what do you think, evgenie pavlovitch?”
“not a bit of it! you are much too good to him; you shouldn’t care a hang about what he thinks. i have heard of such things before, but never came across, till tonight, a man who would actually shoot himself in order to gain a vulgar notoriety, or blow out his brains for spite, if he finds that people don’t care to pat him on the back for his sanguinary intentions. but what astonishes me more than anything is the fellow’s candid confession of weakness. you’d better get rid of him tomorrow, in any case.”
“do you think he will make another attempt?”
“oh no, not he, not now! but you have to be very careful with this sort of gentleman. crime is too often the last resource of these petty nonentities. this young fellow is quite capable of cutting the throats of ten people, simply for a lark, as he told us in his ‘explanation.’ i assure you those confounded words of his will not let me sleep.”
“i think you disturb yourself too much.”
“what an extraordinary person you are, prince! do you mean to say that you doubt the fact that he is capable of murdering ten men?”
“i daren’t say, one way or the other; all this is very strange but ”
“well, as you like, just as you like,” said evgenie pavlovitch, irritably. “only you are such a plucky fellow, take care you don’t get included among the ten victims!”
“oh, he is much more likely not to kill anyone at all,” said the prince, gazing thoughtfully at evgenie. the latter laughed disagreeably.
“well, au revoir! did you observe that he ‘willed’ a copy of his confession to aglaya ivanovna?”
“yes, i did; i am thinking of it.”
“in connection with ‘the ten,’ eh?” laughed evgenie, as he left the room.
an hour later, towards four o’clock, the prince went into the park.
he had endeavoured to fall asleep, but could not, owing to the painful beating of his heart.
he had left things quiet and peaceful; the invalid was fast asleep, and the doctor, who had been called in, had stated that there was no special danger. lebedeff, colia, and burdovsky were lying down in the sick-room, ready to take it in turns to watch. there was nothing to fear, therefore, at home.
but the prince’s mental perturbation increased every moment. he wandered about the park, looking absently around him, and paused in astonishment when he suddenly found himself in the empty space with the rows of chairs round it, near the vauxhall. the look of the place struck him as dreadful now: so he turned round and went by the path which he had followed with the epanchins on the way to the band, until he reached the green bench which aglaya had pointed out for their rendezvous. he sat down on it and suddenly burst into a loud fit of laughter, immediately followed by a feeling of irritation. his disturbance of mind continued; he felt that he must go away somewhere, anywhere.
above his head some little bird sang out, of a sudden; he began to peer about for it among the leaves. suddenly the bird darted out of the tree and away, and instantly he thought of the “fly buzzing about in the sun’s rays” that hippolyte had talked of; how that it knew its place and was a participator in the universal life, while he alone was an “outcast.” this picture had impressed him at the time, and he meditated upon it now. an old, forgotten memory awoke in his brain, and suddenly burst into clearness and light. it was a recollection of switzerland, during the first year of his cure, the very first months. at that time he had been pretty nearly an idiot still; he could not speak properly, and had difficulty in understanding when others spoke to him. he climbed the mountain-side, one sunny morning, and wandered long and aimlessly with a certain thought in his brain, which would not become clear. above him was the blazing sky, below, the lake; all around was the horizon, clear and infinite. he looked out upon this, long and anxiously. he remembered how he had stretched out his arms towards the beautiful, boundless blue of the horizon, and wept, and wept. what had so tormented him was the idea that he was a stranger to all this, that he was outside this glorious festival.
what was this universe? what was this grand, eternal pageant to which he had yearned from his childhood up, and in which he could never take part? every morning the same magnificent sun; every morning the same rainbow in the waterfall; every evening the same glow on the snow-mountains.
every little fly that buzzed in the sun’s rays was a singer in the universal chorus, “knew its place, and was happy in it.” every blade of grass grew and was happy. everything knew its path and loved it, went forth with a song and returned with a song; only he knew nothing, understood nothing, neither men nor words, nor any of nature’s voices; he was a stranger and an outcast.
oh, he could not then speak these words, or express all he felt! he had been tormented dumbly; but now it appeared to him that he must have said these very words even then and that hippolyte must have taken his picture of the little fly from his tears and words of that time.
he was sure of it, and his heart beat excitedly at the thought, he knew not why.
he fell asleep on the bench; but his mental disquiet continued through his slumbers.
just before he dozed off, the idea of hippolyte murdering ten men flitted through his brain, and he smiled at the absurdity of such a thought.
around him all was quiet; only the flutter and whisper of the leaves broke the silence, but broke it only to cause it to appear yet more deep and still.
he dreamed many dreams as he sat there, and all were full of disquiet, so that he shuddered every moment.
at length a woman seemed to approach him. he knew her, oh! he knew her only too well. he could always name her and recognize her anywhere; but, strange, she seemed to have quite a different face from hers, as he had known it, and he felt a tormenting desire to be able to say she was not the same woman. in the face before him there was such dreadful remorse and horror that he thought she must be a criminal, that she must have just committed some awful crime.
tears were trembling on her white cheek. she beckoned him, but placed her finger on her lip as though to warn him that he must follow her very quietly. his heart froze within him. he wouldn’t, he couldn’t confess her to be a criminal, and yet he felt that something dreadful would happen the next moment, something which would blast his whole life.
she seemed to wish to show him something, not far off, in the park.
he rose from his seat in order to follow her, when a bright, clear peal of laughter rang out by his side. he felt somebody’s hand suddenly in his own, seized it, pressed it hard, and awoke. before him stood aglaya, laughing aloud.
viii.
she laughed, but she was rather angry too.
“he’s asleep! you were asleep,” she said, with contemptuous surprise.
“is it really you?” muttered the prince, not quite himself as yet, and recognizing her with a start of amazement. “oh yes, of course,” he added, “this is our rendezvous. i fell asleep here.”
“so i saw.”
“did no one awake me besides yourself? was there no one else here? i thought there was another woman.”
“there was another woman here?”
at last he was wide awake.
“it was a dream, of course,” he said, musingly. “strange that i should have a dream like that at such a moment. sit down ”
he took her hand and seated her on the bench; then sat down beside her and reflected.
aglaya did not begin the conversation, but contented herself with watching her companion intently.
he looked back at her, but at times it was clear that he did not see her and was not thinking of her.
aglaya began to flush up.
“oh yes!” cried the prince, starting. “hippolyte’s suicide ”
“what? at your house?” she asked, but without much surprise. “he was alive yesterday evening, wasn’t he? how could you sleep here after that?” she cried, growing suddenly animated.
“oh, but he didn’t kill himself; the pistol didn’t go off.” aglaya insisted on hearing the whole story. she hurried the prince along, but interrupted him with all sorts of questions, nearly all of which were irrelevant. among other things, she seemed greatly interested in every word that evgenie pavlovitch had said, and made the prince repeat that part of the story over and over again.
“well, that’ll do; we must be quick,” she concluded, after hearing all.
“we have only an hour here, till eight; i must be home by then without fail, so that they may not find out that i came and sat here with you; but i’ve come on business. i have a great deal to say to you. but you have bowled me over considerably with your news. as to hippolyte, i think his pistol was bound not to go off; it was more consistent with the whole affair. are you sure he really wished to blow his brains out, and that there was no humbug about the matter?”
“no humbug at all.”
“very likely. so he wrote that you were to bring me a copy of his confession, did he? why didn’t you bring it?”
“why, he didn’t die! i’ll ask him for it, if you like.”
“bring it by all means; you needn’t ask him. he will be delighted, you may be sure; for, in all probability, he shot at himself simply in order that i might read his confession. don’t laugh at what i say, please, lef nicolaievitch, because it may very well be the case.”
“i’m not laughing. i am convinced, myself, that that may have been partly the reason.”
“you are convinced? you don’t really mean to say you think that honestly?” asked aglaya, extremely surprised.
she put her questions very quickly and talked fast, every now and then forgetting what she had begun to say, and not finishing her sentence.
she seemed to be impatient to warn the prince about something or other.
she was in a state of unusual excitement, and though she put on a brave and even defiant air, she seemed to be rather alarmed. she was dressed very simply, but this suited her well. she continually trembled and blushed, and she sat on the very edge of the seat.
the fact that the prince confirmed her idea, about hippolyte shooting himself that she might read his confession, surprised her greatly.
“of course,” added the prince, “he wished us all to applaud his conduct besides yourself.”
“how do you mean applaud?”
“well how am i to explain? he was very anxious that we should all come around him, and say we were so sorry for him, and that we loved him very much, and all that; and that we hoped he wouldn’t kill himself, but remain alive. very likely he thought more of you than the rest of us, because he mentioned you at such a moment, though perhaps he did not know himself that he had you in his mind’s eye.”
“i don’t understand you. how could he have me in view, and not be aware of it himself? and yet, i don’t know perhaps i do. do you know i have intended to poison myself at least thirty times ever since i was thirteen or so and to write to my parents before i did it? i used to think how nice it would be to lie in my coffin, and have them all weeping over me and saying it was all their fault for being so cruel, and all that what are you smiling at?” she added, knitting her brow.
“what do you think of when you go mooning about alone? i suppose you imagine yourself a field-marshal, and think you have conquered napoleon?”
“well, i really have thought something of the sort now and then, especially when just dozing off,” laughed the prince. “only it is the austrians whom i conquer not napoleon.”
“i don’t wish to joke with you, lef nicolaievitch. i shall see hippolyte myself. tell him so. as for you, i think you are behaving very badly, because it is not right to judge a man’s soul as you are judging hippolyte’s. you have no gentleness, but only justice so you are unjust.”
the prince reflected.
“i think you are unfair towards me,” he said. “there is nothing wrong in the thoughts i ascribe to hippolyte; they are only natural. but of course i don’t know for certain what he thought. perhaps he thought nothing, but simply longed to see human faces once more, and to hear human praise and feel human affection. who knows? only it all came out wrong, somehow. some people have luck, and everything comes out right with them; others have none, and never a thing turns out fortunately.”
“i suppose you have felt that in your own case,” said aglaya.
“yes, i have,” replied the prince, quite unsuspicious of any irony in the remark.
“h’m well, at all events, i shouldn’t have fallen asleep here, in your place. it wasn’t nice of you, that. i suppose you fall asleep wherever you sit down?”
“but i didn’t sleep a wink all night. i walked and walked about, and went to where the music was ”
“what music?”
“where they played last night. then i found this bench and sat down, and thought and thought and at last i fell fast asleep.”
“oh, is that it? that makes a difference, perhaps. what did you go to the bandstand for?”
“i don’t know; i ”
“very well afterwards. you are always interrupting me. what woman was it you were dreaming about?”
“it was about you saw her ”
“quite so; i understand. i understand quite well. you are very well, how did she appear to you? what did she look like? no, i don’t want to know anything about her,” said aglaya, angrily; “don’t interrupt me ”
she paused a moment as though getting breath, or trying to master her feeling of annoyance.
“look here; this is what i called you here for. i wish to make you a to ask you to be my friend. what do you stare at me like that for?” she added, almost angrily.
the prince certainly had darted a rather piercing look at her, and now observed that she had begun to blush violently. at such moments, the more aglaya blushed, the angrier she grew with herself; and this was clearly expressed in her eyes, which flashed like fire. as a rule, she vented her wrath on her unfortunate companion, be it who it might. she was very conscious of her own shyness, and was not nearly so talkative as her sisters for this reason in fact, at times she was much too quiet. when, therefore, she was bound to talk, especially at such delicate moments as this, she invariably did so with an air of haughty defiance. she always knew beforehand when she was going to blush, long before the blush came.
“perhaps you do not wish to accept my proposition?” she asked, gazing haughtily at the prince.
“oh yes, i do; but it is so unnecessary. i mean, i did not think you need make such a proposition,” said the prince, looking confused.
“what did you suppose, then? why did you think i invited you out here? i suppose you think me a ‘little fool,’ as they all call me at home?”
“i didn’t know they called you a fool. i certainly don’t think you one.”
“you don’t think me one! oh, dear me! that’s very clever of you; you put it so neatly, too.”
“in my opinion, you are far from a fool sometimes in fact, you are very intelligent. you said a very clever thing just now about my being unjust because i had only justice. i shall remember that, and think about it.”
aglaya blushed with pleasure. all these changes in her expression came about so naturally and so rapidly they delighted the prince; he watched her, and laughed.
“listen,” she began again; “i have long waited to tell you all this, ever since the time when you sent me that letter even before that.
half of what i have to say you heard yesterday. i consider you the most honest and upright of men more honest and upright than any other man; and if anybody says that your mind is is sometimes affected, you know it is unfair. i always say so and uphold it, because even if your surface mind be a little affected (of course you will not feel angry with me for talking so i am speaking from a higher point of view) yet your real mind is far better than all theirs put together. such a mind as they have never even dreamed of; because really, there are two minds the kind that matters, and the kind that doesn’t matter.
isn’t it so?”
“may be! may be so!” said the prince, faintly; his heart was beating painfully.
“i knew you would not misunderstand me,” she said, triumphantly. “prince s. and evgenie pavlovitch and alexandra don’t understand anything about these two kinds of mind, but, just fancy, mamma does!”
“you are very like lizabetha prokofievna.”
“what! surely not?” said aglaya.
“yes, you are, indeed.”
“thank you; i am glad to be like mamma,” she said, thoughtfully. “you respect her very much, don’t you?” she added, quite unconscious of the naiveness of the question.
“very much; and i am so glad that you have realized the fact.”
“i am very glad, too, because she is often laughed at by people. but listen to the chief point. i have long thought over the matter, and at last i have chosen you. i don’t wish people to laugh at me; i don’t wish people to think me a ‘little fool.’ i don’t want to be chaffed. i felt all this of a sudden, and i refused evgenie pavlovitch flatly, because i am not going to be forever thrown at people’s heads to be married. i want i want well, i’ll tell you, i wish to run away from home, and i have chosen you to help me.”
“run away from home?” cried the prince.
“yes yes yes! run away from home!” she repeated, in a transport of rage. “i won’t, i won’t be made to blush every minute by them all! i don’t want to blush before prince s. or evgenie pavlovitch, or anyone, and therefore i have chosen you. i shall tell you everything, everything, even the most important things of all, whenever i like, and you are to hide nothing from me on your side. i want to speak to at least one person, as i would to myself. they have suddenly begun to say that i am waiting for you, and in love with you. they began this before you arrived here, and so i didn’t show them the letter, and now they all say it, every one of them. i want to be brave, and be afraid of nobody.
i don’t want to go to their balls and things i want to do good. i have long desired to run away, for i have been kept shut up for twenty years, and they are always trying to marry me off. i wanted to run away when i was fourteen years old i was a little fool then, i know but now i have worked it all out, and i have waited for you to tell me about foreign countries. i have never seen a single gothic cathedral. i must go to rome; i must see all the museums; i must study in paris. all this last year i have been preparing and reading forbidden books. alexandra and adelaida are allowed to read anything they like, but i mayn’t. i don’t want to quarrel with my sisters, but i told my parents long ago that i wish to change my social position. i have decided to take up teaching, and i count on you because you said you loved children. can we go in for education together if not at once, then afterwards? we could do good together. i won’t be a general’s daughter any more! tell me, are you a very learned man?”
“oh no; not at all.”
“oh-h-h! i’m sorry for that. i thought you were. i wonder why i always thought so but at all events you’ll help me, won’t you? because i’ve chosen you, you know.”
“aglaya ivanovna, it’s absurd.”
“but i will, i will run away!” she cried and her eyes flashed again with anger “and if you don’t agree i shall go and marry gavrila ardalionovitch! i won’t be considered a horrible girl, and accused of goodness knows what.”
“are you out of your mind?” cried the prince, almost starting from his seat. “what do they accuse you of? who accuses you?”
“at home, everybody, mother, my sisters, prince s., even that detestable colia! if they don’t say it, they think it. i told them all so to their faces. i told mother and father and everybody. mamma was ill all the day after it, and next day father and alexandra told me that i didn’t understand what nonsense i was talking. i informed them that they little knew me i was not a small child i understood every word in the language that i had read a couple of paul de kok’s novels two years since on purpose, so as to know all about everything. no sooner did mamma hear me say this than she nearly fainted!”
a strange thought passed through the prince’s brain; he gazed intently at aglaya and smiled.
he could not believe that this was the same haughty young girl who had once so proudly shown him gania’s letter. he could not understand how that proud and austere beauty could show herself to be such an utter child a child who probably did not even now understand some words.
“have you always lived at home, aglaya ivanovna?” he asked. “i mean, have you never been to school, or college, or anything?”
“no never nowhere! i’ve been at home all my life, corked up in a bottle; and they expect me to be married straight out of it. what are you laughing at again? i observe that you, too, have taken to laughing at me, and range yourself on their side against me,” she added, frowning angrily. “don’t irritate me i’m bad enough without that i don’t know what i am doing sometimes. i am persuaded that you came here today in the full belief that i am in love with you, and that i arranged this meeting because of that,” she cried, with annoyance.
“i admit i was afraid that that was the case, yesterday,” blundered the prince (he was rather confused), “but today i am quite convinced that ”
“how?” cried aglaya and her lower lip trembled violently. “you were afraid that i you dared to think that i good gracious! you suspected, perhaps, that i sent for you to come here in order to catch you in a trap, so that they should find us here together, and make you marry me ”
“aglaya ivanovna, aren’t you ashamed of saying such a thing? how could such a horrible idea enter your sweet, innocent heart? i am certain you don’t believe a word of what you say, and probably you don’t even know what you are talking about.”
aglaya sat with her eyes on the ground; she seemed to have alarmed even herself by what she had said.
“no, i’m not; i’m not a bit ashamed!” she murmured. “and how do you know my heart is innocent? and how dared you send me a love-letter that time?”
“love-letter? my letter a love-letter? that letter was the most respectful of letters; it went straight from my heart, at what was perhaps the most painful moment of my life! i thought of you at the time as a kind of light. i ”
“well, very well, very well!” she said, but quite in a different tone.
she was remorseful now, and bent forward to touch his shoulder, though still trying not to look him in the face, as if the more persuasively to beg him not to be angry with her. “very well,” she continued, looking thoroughly ashamed of herself, “i feel that i said a very foolish thing.
i only did it just to try you. take it as unsaid, and if i offended you, forgive me. don’t look straight at me like that, please; turn your head away. you called it a ‘horrible idea’; i only said it to shock you.
very often i am myself afraid of saying what i intend to say, and out it comes all the same. you have just told me that you wrote that letter at the most painful moment of your life. i know what moment that was!” she added softly, looking at the ground again.
“oh, if you could know all!”
“i do know all!” she cried, with another burst of indignation. “you were living in the same house as that horrible woman with whom you ran away.”
she did not blush as she said this; on the contrary, she grew pale, and started from her seat, apparently oblivious of what she did, and immediately sat down again. her lip continued to tremble for a long time.
there was silence for a moment. the prince was taken aback by the suddenness of this last reply, and did not know to what he should attribute it.
“i don’t love you a bit!” she said suddenly, just as though the words had exploded from her mouth.
the prince did not answer, and there was silence again. “i love gavrila ardalionovitch,” she said, quickly; but hardly audibly, and with her head bent lower than ever.
“that is not true,” said the prince, in an equally low voice.
“what! i tell stories, do i? it is true! i gave him my promise a couple of days ago on this very seat.”
the prince was startled, and reflected for a moment.
“it is not true,” he repeated, decidedly; “you have just invented it!”
“you are wonderfully polite. you know he is greatly improved. he loves me better than his life. he let his hand burn before my very eyes in order to prove to me that he loved me better than his life!”
“he burned his hand!”
“yes, believe it or not! it’s all the same to me!”
the prince sat silent once more. aglaya did not seem to be joking; she was too angry for that.
“what! he brought a candle with him to this place? that is, if the episode happened here; otherwise i can’t.”
“yes, a candle! what’s there improbable about that?”
“a whole one, and in a candlestick?”
“yes no half a candle an end, you know no, it was a whole candle; it’s all the same. be quiet, can’t you! he brought a box of matches too, if you like, and then lighted the candle and held his finger in it for half an hour and more! there! can’t that be?”
“i saw him yesterday, and his fingers were all right!”
aglaya suddenly burst out laughing, as simply as a child.
“do you know why i have just told you these lies?” she appealed to the prince, of a sudden, with the most childlike candour, and with the laugh still trembling on her lips. “because when one tells a lie, if one insists on something unusual and eccentric something too ‘out of the way’ for anything, you know the more impossible the thing is, the more plausible does the lie sound. i’ve noticed this. but i managed it badly; i didn’t know how to work it.” she suddenly frowned again at this point as though at some sudden unpleasant recollection.
“if” she began, looking seriously and even sadly at him “if when i read you all that about the ‘poor knight,’ i wished to-to praise you for one thing i also wished to show you that i knew all and did not approve of your conduct.”
“you are very unfair to me, and to that unfortunate woman of whom you spoke just now in such dreadful terms, aglaya.”
“because i know all, all and that is why i speak so. i know very well how you half a year since offered her your hand before everybody.
don’t interrupt me. you see, i am merely stating facts without any comment upon them. after that she ran away with rogojin. then you lived with her at some village or town, and she ran away from you.” (aglaya blushed dreadfully.) “then she returned to rogojin again, who loves her like a madman. then you like a wise man as you are came back here after her as soon as ever you heard that she had returned to petersburg.
yesterday evening you sprang forward to protect her, and just now you dreamed about her. you see, i know all. you did come back here for her, for her now didn’t you?”
“yes for her!” said the prince softly and sadly, and bending his head down, quite unconscious of the fact that aglaya was gazing at him with eyes which burned like live coals. “i came to find out something i don’t believe in her future happiness as rogojin’s wife, although in a word, i did not know how to help her or what to do for her but i came, on the chance.”
he glanced at aglaya, who was listening with a look of hatred on her face.
“if you came without knowing why, i suppose you love her very much indeed!” she said at last.
“no,” said the prince, “no, i do not love her. oh! if you only knew with what horror i recall the time i spent with her!”
a shudder seemed to sweep over his whole body at the recollection.
“tell me about it,” said aglaya.
“there is nothing which you might not hear. why i should wish to tell you, and only you, this experience of mine, i really cannot say; perhaps it really is because i love you very much. this unhappy woman is persuaded that she is the most hopeless, fallen creature in the world.
oh, do not condemn her! do not cast stones at her! she has suffered too much already in the consciousness of her own undeserved shame.
“and she is not guilty oh god! every moment she bemoans and bewails herself, and cries out that she does not admit any guilt, that she is the victim of circumstances the victim of a wicked libertine.
“but whatever she may say, remember that she does not believe it herself, remember that she will believe nothing but that she is a guilty creature.
“when i tried to rid her soul of this gloomy fallacy, she suffered so terribly that my heart will never be quite at peace so long as i can remember that dreadful time! do you know why she left me? simply to prove to me what is not true that she is base. but the worst of it is, she did not realize herself that that was all she wanted to prove by her departure! she went away in response to some inner prompting to do something disgraceful, in order that she might say to herself ‘there you’ve done a new act of shame you degraded creature!’
“oh, aglaya perhaps you cannot understand all this. try to realize that in the perpetual admission of guilt she probably finds some dreadful unnatural satisfaction as though she were revenging herself upon someone.
“now and then i was able to persuade her almost to see light around her again; but she would soon fall, once more, into her old tormenting delusions, and would go so far as to reproach me for placing myself on a pedestal above her (i never had an idea of such a thing!), and informed me, in reply to my proposal of marriage, that she ‘did not want condescending sympathy or help from anybody.’ you saw her last night.
you don’t suppose she can be happy among such people as those you cannot suppose that such society is fit for her? you have no idea how well-educated she is, and what an intellect she has! she astonished me sometimes.”
“and you preached her sermons there, did you?”
“oh no,” continued the prince thoughtfully, not noticing aglaya’s mocking tone, “i was almost always silent there. i often wished to speak, but i really did not know what to say. in some cases it is best to say nothing, i think. i loved her, yes, i loved her very much indeed; but afterwards afterwards she guessed all.”
“what did she guess?”
“that i only pitied her and and loved her no longer!”
“how do you know that? how do you know that she is not really in love with that that rich cad the man she eloped with?”
“oh no! i know she only laughs at him; she has made a fool of him all along.”
“has she never laughed at you?”
“no in anger, perhaps. oh yes! she reproached me dreadfully in anger; and suffered herself, too! but afterwards oh! don’t remind me don’t remind me of that!”
he hid his face in his hands.
“are you aware that she writes to me almost every day?”
“so that is true, is it?” cried the prince, greatly agitated. “i had heard a report of it, but would not believe it.”
“whom did you hear it from?” asked aglaya, alarmed. “rogojin said something about it yesterday, but nothing definite.”
“yesterday! morning or evening? before the music or after?”
“after it was about twelve o’clock.”
“ah! well, if it was rogojin but do you know what she writes to me about?”
“i should not be surprised by anything. she is mad!”
“there are the letters.” (aglaya took three letters out of her pocket and threw them down before the prince.) “for a whole week she has been entreating and worrying and persuading me to marry you. she well, she is clever, though she may be mad much cleverer than i am, as you say.
well, she writes that she is in love with me herself, and tries to see me every day, if only from a distance. she writes that you love me, and that she has long known it and seen it, and that you and she talked about me there. she wishes to see you happy, and she says that she is certain only i can ensure you the happiness you deserve. she writes such strange, wild letters i haven’t shown them to anyone. now, do you know what all this means? can you guess anything?”
“it is madness it is merely another proof of her insanity!” said the prince, and his lips trembled.
“you are crying, aren’t you?”
“no, aglaya. no, i’m not crying.” the prince looked at her.
“well, what am i to do? what do you advise me? i cannot go on receiving these letters, you know.”
“oh, let her alone, i entreat you!” cried the prince. “what can you do in this dark, gloomy mystery? let her alone, and i’ll use all my power to prevent her writing you any more letters.”
“if so, you are a heartless man!” cried aglaya. “as if you can’t see that it is not myself she loves, but you, you, and only you! surely you have not remarked everything else in her, and only not this? do you know what these letters mean? they mean jealousy, sir nothing but pure jealousy!
she do you think she will ever really marry this rogojin, as she says here she will? she would take her own life the day after you and i were married.”
the prince shuddered; his heart seemed to freeze within him. he gazed at aglaya in wonderment; it was difficult for him to realize that this child was also a woman.
“god knows, aglaya, that to restore her peace of mind and make her happy i would willingly give up my life. but i cannot love her, and she knows that.”
“oh, make a sacrifice of yourself! that sort of thing becomes you well, you know. why not do it? and don’t call me ‘aglaya’; you have done it several times lately. you are bound, it is your duty to ‘raise’ her; you must go off somewhere again to soothe and pacify her. why, you love her, you know!”
“i cannot sacrifice myself so, though i admit i did wish to do so once.
who knows, perhaps i still wish to! but i know for certain, that if she married me it would be her ruin; i know this and therefore i leave her alone. i ought to go to see her today; now i shall probably not go. she is proud, she would never forgive me the nature of the love i bear her, and we should both be ruined. this may be unnatural, i don’t know; but everything seems unnatural. you say she loves me, as if this were love! as if she could love me, after what i have been through! no, no, it is not love.”
“how pale you have grown!” cried aglaya in alarm.
“oh, it’s nothing. i haven’t slept, that’s all, and i’m rather tired.
i we certainly did talk about you, aglaya.”
“oh, indeed, it is true then! you could actually talk about me with her; and and how could you have been fond of me when you had only seen me once?”
“i don’t know. perhaps it was that i seemed to come upon light in the midst of my gloom. i told you the truth when i said i did not know why i thought of you before all others. of course it was all a sort of dream, a dream amidst the horrors of reality. afterwards i began to work. i did not intend to come back here for two or three years ”
“then you came for her sake?” aglaya’s voice trembled.
“yes, i came for her sake.”
there was a moment or two of gloomy silence. aglaya rose from her seat.
“if you say,” she began in shaky tones, “if you say that this woman of yours is mad at all events i have nothing to do with her insane fancies. kindly take these three letters, lef nicolaievitch, and throw them back to her, from me. and if she dares,” cried aglaya suddenly, much louder than before, “if she dares so much as write me one word again, tell her i shall tell my father, and that she shall be taken to a lunatic asylum.”
the prince jumped up in alarm at aglaya’s sudden wrath, and a mist seemed to come before his eyes.
“you cannot really feel like that! you don’t mean what you say. it is not true,” he murmured.
“it is true, it is true,” cried aglaya, almost beside herself with rage.
“what’s true? what’s all this? what’s true?” said an alarmed voice just beside them.
before them stood lizabetha prokofievna.
“why, it’s true that i am going to marry gavrila ardalionovitch, that i love him and intend to elope with him tomorrow,” cried aglaya, turning upon her mother. “do you hear? is your curiosity satisfied? are you pleased with what you have heard?”
aglaya rushed away homewards with these words.
“h’m! well, you are not going away just yet, my friend, at all events,”
said lizabetha, stopping the prince. “kindly step home with me, and let me have a little explanation of the mystery. nice goings on, these! i haven’t slept a wink all night as it is.”
the prince followed her.
ix.
arrived at her house, lizabetha prokofievna paused in the first room.
she could go no farther, and subsided on to a couch quite exhausted; too feeble to remember so much as to ask the prince to take a seat. this was a large reception-room, full of flowers, and with a glass door leading into the garden.
alexandra and adelaida came in almost immediately, and looked inquiringly at the prince and their mother.
the girls generally rose at about nine in the morning in the country; aglaya, of late, had been in the habit of getting up rather earlier and having a walk in the garden, but not at seven o’clock; about eight or a little later was her usual time.
lizabetha prokofievna, who really had not slept all night, rose at about eight on purpose to meet aglaya in the garden and walk with her; but she could not find her either in the garden or in her own room.
this agitated the old lady considerably; and she awoke her other daughters. next, she learned from the maid that aglaya had gone into the park before seven o’clock. the sisters made a joke of aglaya’s last freak, and told their mother that if she went into the park to look for her, aglaya would probably be very angry with her, and that she was pretty sure to be sitting reading on the green bench that she had talked of two or three days since, and about which she had nearly quarrelled with prince s., who did not see anything particularly lovely in it.
arrived at the rendezvous of the prince and her daughter, and hearing the strange words of the latter, lizabetha prokofievna had been dreadfully alarmed, for many reasons. however, now that she had dragged the prince home with her, she began to feel a little frightened at what she had undertaken. why should not aglaya meet the prince in the park and have a talk with him, even if such a meeting should be by appointment?
“don’t suppose, prince,” she began, bracing herself up for the effort, “don’t suppose that i have brought you here to ask questions. after last night, i assure you, i am not so exceedingly anxious to see you at all; i could have postponed the pleasure for a long while.” she paused.
“but at the same time you would be very glad to know how i happened to meet aglaya ivanovna this morning?” the prince finished her speech for her with the utmost composure.
“well, what then? supposing i should like to know?” cried lizabetha prokofievna, blushing. “i’m sure i am not afraid of plain speaking. i’m not offending anyone, and i never wish to, and ”
“pardon me, it is no offence to wish to know this; you are her mother. we met at the green bench this morning, punctually at seven o’clock, according to an agreement made by aglaya ivanovna with myself yesterday. she said that she wished to see me and speak to me about something important. we met and conversed for an hour about matters concerning aglaya ivanovna herself, and that’s all.”
“of course it is all, my friend. i don’t doubt you for a moment,” said lizabetha prokofievna with dignity.
“well done, prince, capital!” cried aglaya, who entered the room at this moment. “thank you for assuming that i would not demean myself with lies. come, is that enough, mamma, or do you intend to put any more questions?”
“you know i have never needed to blush before you, up to this day, though perhaps you would have been glad enough to make me,” said lizabetha prokofievna, with majesty. “good-bye, prince; forgive me for bothering you. i trust you will rest assured of my unalterable esteem for you.”
the prince made his bows and retired at once. alexandra and adelaida smiled and whispered to each other, while lizabetha prokofievna glared severely at them. “we are only laughing at the prince’s beautiful bows, mamma,” said adelaida. “sometimes he bows just like a meal-sack, but to-day he was like like evgenie pavlovitch!”
“it is the heart which is the best teacher of refinement and dignity, not the dancing-master,” said her mother, sententiously, and departed upstairs to her own room, not so much as glancing at aglaya.
when the prince reached home, about nine o’clock, he found vera lebedeff and the maid on the verandah. they were both busy trying to tidy up the place after last night’s disorderly party.
“thank goodness, we’ve just managed to finish it before you came in!”
said vera, joyfully.
“good-morning! my head whirls so; i didn’t sleep all night. i should like to have a nap now.”
“here, on the verandah? very well, i’ll tell them all not to come and wake you. papa has gone out somewhere.”
the servant left the room. vera was about to follow her, but returned and approached the prince with a preoccupied air.
“prince!” she said, “have pity on that poor boy; don’t turn him out today.”
“not for the world; he shall do just as he likes.”
“he won’t do any harm now; and and don’t be too severe with him.”
“oh dear no! why ”
“and and you won’t laugh at him? that’s the chief thing.”
“oh no! never.”
“how foolish i am to speak of such things to a man like you,” said vera, blushing. “though you do look tired,” she added, half turning away, “your eyes are so splendid at this moment so full of happiness.”
“really?” asked the prince, gleefully, and he laughed in delight.
but vera, simple-minded little girl that she was (just like a boy, in fact), here became dreadfully confused, of a sudden, and ran hastily out of the room, laughing and blushing.
“what a dear little thing she is,” thought the prince, and immediately forgot all about her.
he walked to the far end of the verandah, where the sofa stood, with a table in front of it. here he sat down and covered his face with his hands, and so remained for ten minutes. suddenly he put his hand in his coat-pocket and hurriedly produced three letters.
but the door opened again, and out came colia.
the prince actually felt glad that he had been interrupted, and might return the letters to his pocket. he was glad of the respite.
“well,” said colia, plunging in medias res, as he always did, “here’s a go! what do you think of hippolyte now? don’t respect him any longer, eh?”
“why not? but look here, colia, i’m tired; besides, the subject is too melancholy to begin upon again. how is he, though?”
“asleep he’ll sleep for a couple of hours yet. i quite understand you haven’t slept you walked about the park, i know.
agitation excitement all that sort of thing quite natural, too!”
“how do you know i walked in the park and didn’t sleep at home?”
“vera just told me. she tried to persuade me not to come, but i couldn’t help myself, just for one minute. i have been having my turn at the bedside for the last two hours; kostia lebedeff is there now. burdovsky has gone. now, lie down, prince, make yourself comfortable, and sleep well! i’m awfully impressed, you know.”
“naturally, all this ”
“no, no, i mean with the ‘explanation,’ especially that part of it where he talks about providence and a future life. there is a gigantic thought there.”
the prince gazed affectionately at colia, who, of course, had come in solely for the purpose of talking about this “gigantic thought.”
“but it is not any one particular thought, only; it is the general circumstances of the case. if voltaire had written this now, or rousseau, i should have just read it and thought it remarkable, but should not have been so impressed by it. but a man who knows for certain that he has but ten minutes to live and can talk like that why it’s it’s pride, that is! it is really a most extraordinary, exalted assertion of personal dignity, it’s it’s defiant! what a gigantic strength of will, eh? and to accuse a fellow like that of not putting in the cap on purpose; it’s base and mean! you know he deceived us last night, the cunning rascal. i never packed his bag for him, and i never saw his pistol. he packed it himself. but he put me off my guard like that, you see. vera says you are going to let him stay on; i swear there’s no danger, especially as we are always with him.”
“who was by him at night?”
“i, and burdovsky, and kostia lebedeff. keller stayed a little while, and then went over to lebedeff’s to sleep. ferdishenko slept at lebedeff’s, too; but he went away at seven o’clock. my father is always at lebedeff’s; but he has gone out just now. i dare say lebedeff will be coming in here directly; he has been looking for you; i don’t know what he wants. shall we let him in or not, if you are asleep? i’m going to have a nap, too. by-the-by, such a curious thing happened. burdovsky woke me at seven, and i met my father just outside the room, so drunk, he didn’t even know me. he stood before me like a log, and when he recovered himself, asked hurriedly how hippolyte was. ‘yes,’ he said, when i told him, ‘that’s all very well, but i really came to warn you that you must be very careful what you say before ferdishenko.’ do you follow me, prince?”
“yes. is it really so? however, it’s all the same to us, of course.”
“of course it is; we are not a secret society; and that being the case, it is all the more curious that the general should have been on his way to wake me up in order to tell me this.”
“ferdishenko has gone, you say?”
“yes, he went at seven o’clock. he came into the room on his way out; i was watching just then. he said he was going to spend ‘the rest of the night’ at wilkin’s; there’s a tipsy fellow, a friend of his, of that name. well, i’m off. oh, here’s lebedeff himself! the prince wants to go to sleep, lukian timofeyovitch, so you may just go away again.”
“one moment, my dear prince, just one. i must absolutely speak to you about something which is most grave,” said lebedeff, mysteriously and solemnly, entering the room with a bow and looking extremely important.
he had but just returned, and carried his hat in his hand. he looked preoccupied and most unusually dignified.
the prince begged him to take a chair.
“i hear you have called twice; i suppose you are still worried about yesterday’s affair.”
“what, about that boy, you mean? oh dear no, yesterday my ideas were a little well mixed. today, i assure you, i shall not oppose in the slightest degree any suggestions it may please you to make.”
“what’s up with you this morning, lebedeff? you look so important and dignified, and you choose your words so carefully,” said the prince, smiling.
“nicolai ardalionovitch!” said lebedeff, in a most amiable tone of voice, addressing the boy. “as i have a communication to make to the prince which concerns only myself ”
“of course, of course, not my affair. all right,” said colia, and away he went.
“i love that boy for his perception,” said lebedeff, looking after him. “my dear prince,” he continued, “i have had a terrible misfortune, either last night or early this morning. i cannot tell the exact time.”
“what is it?”
“i have lost four hundred roubles out of my side pocket! they’re gone!”
said lebedeff, with a sour smile.
“you’ve lost four hundred roubles? oh! i’m sorry for that.”
“yes, it is serious for a poor man who lives by his toil.”
“of course, of course! how was it?”
“oh, the wine is to blame, of course. i confess to you, prince, as i would to providence itself. yesterday i received four hundred roubles from a debtor at about five in the afternoon, and came down here by train. i had my purse in my pocket. when i changed, i put the money into the pocket of my plain clothes, intending to keep it by me, as i expected to have an applicant for it in the evening.”
“it’s true then, lebedeff, that you advertise to lend money on gold or silver articles?”
“yes, through an agent. my own name doesn’t appear. i have a large family, you see, and at a small percentage ”
“quite so, quite so. i only asked for information excuse the question.
go on.”
“well, meanwhile that sick boy was brought here, and those guests came in, and we had tea, and well, we made merry to my ruin! hearing of your birthday afterwards, and excited with the circumstances of the evening, i ran upstairs and changed my plain clothes once more for my uniform [civil service clerks in russia wear uniform.] you must have noticed i had my uniform on all the evening? well, i forgot the money in the pocket of my old coat you know when god will ruin a man he first of all bereaves him of his senses and it was only this morning at half-past seven that i woke up and grabbed at my coat pocket, first thing. the pocket was empty the purse gone, and not a trace to be found!”
“dear me! this is very unpleasant!”
“unpleasant! indeed it is. you have found a very appropriate expression,” said lebedeff, politely, but with sarcasm.
“but what’s to be done? it’s a serious matter,” said the prince, thoughtfully. “don’t you think you may have dropped it out of your pocket whilst intoxicated?”
“certainly. anything is possible when one is intoxicated, as you neatly express it, prince. but consider if i, intoxicated or not, dropped an object out of my pocket on to the ground, that object ought to remain on the ground. where is the object, then?”
“didn’t you put it away in some drawer, perhaps?”
“i’ve looked everywhere, and turned out everything.”
“i confess this disturbs me a good deal. someone must have picked it up, then.”
“or taken it out of my pocket two alternatives.”
“it is very distressing, because who ? that’s the question!”
“most undoubtedly, excellent prince, you have hit it that is the very question. how wonderfully you express the exact situation in a few words!”
“come, come, lebedeff, no sarcasm! it’s a serious ”
“sarcasm!” cried lebedeff, wringing his hands. “all right, all right, i’m not angry. i’m only put out about this. whom do you suspect?”
“that is a very difficult and complicated question. i cannot suspect the servant, for she was in the kitchen the whole evening, nor do i suspect any of my children.”
“i should think not. go on.”
“then it must be one of the guests.”
“is such a thing possible?”
“absolutely and utterly impossible and yet, so it must be. but one thing i am sure of, if it be a theft, it was committed, not in the evening when we were all together, but either at night or early in the morning; therefore, by one of those who slept here. burdovsky and colia i except, of course. they did not even come into my room.”
“yes, or even if they had! but who did sleep with you?”
“four of us, including myself, in two rooms. the general, myself, keller, and ferdishenko. one of us four it must have been. i don’t suspect myself, though such cases have been known.”
“oh! do go on, lebedeff! don’t drag it out so.”
“well, there are three left, then keller firstly. he is a drunkard to begin with, and a liberal (in the sense of other people’s pockets), otherwise with more of the ancient knight about him than of the modern liberal. he was with the sick man at first, but came over afterwards because there was no place to lie down in the room and the floor was so hard.”
“you suspect him?”
“i did suspect him. when i woke up at half-past seven and tore my hair in despair for my loss and carelessness, i awoke the general, who was sleeping the sleep of innocence near me. taking into consideration the sudden disappearance of ferdishenko, which was suspicious in itself, we decided to search keller, who was lying there sleeping like a top. well, we searched his clothes thoroughly, and not a farthing did we find; in fact, his pockets all had holes in them. we found a dirty handkerchief, and a love-letter from some scullery-maid. the general decided that he was innocent. we awoke him for further inquiries, and had the greatest difficulty in making him understand what was up. he opened his mouth and stared he looked so stupid and so absurdly innocent. it wasn’t keller.”
“oh, i’m so glad!” said the prince, joyfully. “i was so afraid.”
“afraid! then you had some grounds for supposing he might be the culprit?” said lebedeff, frowning.
“oh no not a bit! it was foolish of me to say i was afraid! don’t repeat it please, lebedeff, don’t tell anyone i said that!”
“my dear prince! your words lie in the lowest depth of my heart it is their tomb!” said lebedeff, solemnly, pressing his hat to the region of his heart.
“thanks; very well. then i suppose it’s ferdishenko; that is, i mean, you suspect ferdishenko?”
“whom else?” said lebedeff, softly, gazing intently into the prince s face.
“of course quite so, whom else? but what are the proofs?”
“we have evidence. in the first place, his mysterious disappearance at seven o’clock, or even earlier.”
“i know, colia told me that he had said he was off to i forget the name, some friend of his, to finish the night.”
“h’m! then colia has spoken to you already?”
“not about the theft.”
“he does not know of it; i have kept it a secret. very well, ferdishenko went off to wilkin’s. that is not so curious in itself, but here the evidence opens out further. he left his address, you see, when he went.
now prince, consider, why did he leave his address? why do you suppose he went out of his way to tell colia that he had gone to wilkin’s? who cared to know that he was going to wilkin’s? no, no! prince, this is finesse, thieves’ finesse! this is as good as saying, ‘there, how can i be a thief when i leave my address? i’m not concealing my movements as a thief would.’ do you understand, prince?”
“oh yes, but that is not enough.”
“second proof. the scent turns out to be false, and the address given is a sham. an hour after that is at about eight, i went to wilkin’s myself, and there was no trace of ferdishenko. the maid did tell me, certainly, that an hour or so since someone had been hammering at the door, and had smashed the bell; she said she would not open the door because she didn’t want to wake her master; probably she was too lazy to get up herself. such phenomena are met with occasionally!”
“but is that all your evidence? it is not enough!”
“well, prince, whom are we to suspect, then? consider!” said lebedeff with almost servile amiability, smiling at the prince. there was a look of cunning in his eyes, however.
“you should search your room and all the cupboards again,” said the prince, after a moment or two of silent reflection.
“but i have done so, my dear prince!” said lebedeff, more sweetly than ever.
“h’m! why must you needs go up and change your coat like that?” asked the prince, banging the table with his fist, in annoyance.
“oh, don’t be so worried on my account, prince! i assure you i am not worth it! at least, not i alone. but i see you are suffering on behalf of the criminal too, for wretched ferdishenko, in fact!”
“of course you have given me a disagreeable enough thing to think about,” said the prince, irritably, “but what are you going to do, since you are so sure it was ferdishenko?”
“but who else could it be, my very dear prince?” repeated lebedeff, as sweet as sugar again. “if you don’t wish me to suspect mr. burdovsky?”
“of course not.”
“nor the general? ha, ha, ha!”
“nonsense!” said the prince, angrily, turning round upon him.
“quite so, nonsense! ha, ha, ha! dear me! he did amuse me, did the general! we went off on the hot scent to wilkin’s together, you know; but i must first observe that the general was even more thunderstruck than i myself this morning, when i awoke him after discovering the theft; so much so that his very face changed he grew red and then pale, and at length flew into a paroxysm of such noble wrath that i assure you i was quite surprised! he is a most generous-hearted man! he tells lies by the thousands, i know, but it is merely a weakness; he is a man of the highest feelings; a simple-minded man too, and a man who carries the conviction of innocence in his very appearance. i love that man, sir; i may have told you so before; it is a weakness of mine. well he suddenly stopped in the middle of the road, opened out his coat and bared his breast. ‘search me,’ he says, ‘you searched keller; why don’t you search me too? it is only fair!’ says he. and all the while his legs and hands were trembling with anger, and he as white as a sheet all over! so i said to him, ‘nonsense, general; if anybody but yourself had said that to me, i’d have taken my head, my own head, and put it on a large dish and carried it round to anyone who suspected you; and i should have said: “there, you see that head? it’s my head, and i’ll go bail with that head for him! yes, and walk through the fire for him, too.” there,’
says i, ‘that’s how i’d answer for you, general!’ then he embraced me, in the middle of the street, and hugged me so tight (crying over me all the while) that i coughed fit to choke! ‘you are the one friend left to me amid all my misfortunes,’ says he. oh, he’s a man of sentiment, that!
he went on to tell me a story of how he had been accused, or suspected, of stealing five hundred thousand roubles once, as a young man; and how, the very next day, he had rushed into a burning, blazing house and saved the very count who suspected him, and nina alexandrovna (who was then a young girl), from a fiery death. the count embraced him, and that was how he came to marry nina alexandrovna, he said. as for the money, it was found among the ruins next day in an english iron box with a secret lock; it had got under the floor somehow, and if it had not been for the fire it would never have been found! the whole thing is, of course, an absolute fabrication, though when he spoke of nina alexandrovna he wept!
she’s a grand woman, is nina alexandrovna, though she is very angry with me!”
“are you acquainted with her?”
“well, hardly at all. i wish i were, if only for the sake of justifying myself in her eyes. nina alexandrovna has a grudge against me for, as she thinks, encouraging her husband in drinking; whereas in reality i not only do not encourage him, but i actually keep him out of harm’s way, and out of bad company. besides, he’s my friend, prince, so that i shall not lose sight of him, again. where he goes, i go. he’s quite given up visiting the captain’s widow, though sometimes he thinks sadly of her, especially in the morning, when he’s putting on his boots. i don’t know why it’s at that time. but he has no money, and it’s no use his going to see her without. has he borrowed any money from you, prince?”
“no, he has not.”
“ah, he’s ashamed to! he meant to ask you, i know, for he said so. i suppose he thinks that as you gave him some once (you remember), you would probably refuse if he asked you again.”
“do you ever give him money?”
“prince! money! why i would give that man not only my money, but my very life, if he wanted it. well, perhaps that’s exaggeration; not life, we’ll say, but some illness, a boil or a bad cough, or anything of that sort, i would stand with pleasure, for his sake; for i consider him a great man fallen money, indeed!”
“h’m, then you do give him money?”
“n-no, i have never given him money, and he knows well that i will never give him any; because i am anxious to keep him out of intemperate ways. he is going to town with me now; for you must know i am off to petersburg after ferdishenko, while the scent is hot; i’m certain he is there. i shall let the general go one way, while i go the other; we have so arranged matters in order to pop out upon ferdishenko, you see, from different sides. but i am going to follow that naughty old general and catch him, i know where, at a certain widow’s house; for i think it will be a good lesson, to put him to shame by catching him with the widow.”
“oh, lebedeff, don’t, don’t make any scandal about it!” said the prince, much agitated, and speaking in a low voice.
“not for the world, not for the world! i merely wish to make him ashamed of himself. oh, prince, great though this misfortune be to myself, i cannot help thinking of his morals! i have a great favour to ask of you, esteemed prince; i confess that it is the chief object of my visit. you know the ivolgins, you have even lived in their house; so if you would lend me your help, honoured prince, in the general’s own interest and for his good.”
lebedeff clasped his hands in supplication.
“what help do you want from me? you may be certain that i am most anxious to understand you, lebedeff.”
“i felt sure of that, or i should not have come to you. we might manage it with the help of nina alexandrovna, so that he might be closely watched in his own house. unfortunately i am not on terms...
otherwise... but nicolai ardalionovitch, who adores you with all his youthful soul, might help, too.”
“no, no! heaven forbid that we should bring nina alexandrovna into this business! or colia, either. but perhaps i have not yet quite understood you, lebedeff?”
lebedeff made an impatient movement.
“but there is nothing to understand! sympathy and tenderness, that is all that is all our poor invalid requires! you will permit me to consider him an invalid?”
“yes, it shows delicacy and intelligence on your part.”
“i will explain my idea by a practical example, to make it clearer. you know the sort of man he is. at present his only failing is that he is crazy about that captain’s widow, and he cannot go to her without money, and i mean to catch him at her house today for his own good; but supposing it was not only the widow, but that he had committed a real crime, or at least some very dishonourable action (of which he is, of course, incapable), i repeat that even in that case, if he were treated with what i may call generous tenderness, one could get at the whole truth, for he is very soft-hearted! believe me, he would betray himself before five days were out; he would burst into tears, and make a clean breast of the matter; especially if managed with tact, and if you and his family watched his every step, so to speak. oh, my dear prince,”
lebedeff added most emphatically, “i do not positively assert that he has... i am ready, as the saying is, to shed my last drop of blood for him this instant; but you will admit that debauchery, drunkenness, and the captain’s widow, all these together may lead him very far.”
“i am, of course, quite ready to add my efforts to yours in such a case,” said the prince, rising; “but i confess, lebedeff, that i am terribly perplexed. tell me, do you still think... plainly, you say yourself that you suspect mr. ferdishenko?”
lebedeff clasped his hands once more.
“why, who else could i possibly suspect? who else, most outspoken prince?” he replied, with an unctuous smile.
muishkin frowned, and rose from his seat.
“you see, lebedeff, a mistake here would be a dreadful thing. this ferdishenko, i would not say a word against him, of course; but, who knows? perhaps it really was he? i mean he really does seem to be a more likely man than... than any other.”
lebedeff strained his eyes and ears to take in what the prince was saying. the latter was frowning more and more, and walking excitedly up and down, trying not to look at lebedeff.
“you see,” he said, “i was given to understand that ferdishenko was that sort of man, that one can’t say everything before him. one has to take care not to say too much, you understand? i say this to prove that he really is, so to speak, more likely to have done this than anyone else, eh? you understand? the important thing is, not to make a mistake.”
“and who told you this about ferdishenko?”
“oh, i was told. of course i don’t altogether believe it. i am very sorry that i should have had to say this, because i assure you i don’t believe it myself; it is all nonsense, of course. it was stupid of me to say anything about it.”
“you see, it is very important, it is most important to know where you got this report from,” said lebedeff, excitedly. he had risen from his seat, and was trying to keep step with the prince, running after him, up and down. “because look here, prince, i don’t mind telling you now that as we were going along to wilkin’s this morning, after telling me what you know about the fire, and saving the count and all that, the general was pleased to drop certain hints to the same effect about ferdishenko, but so vaguely and clumsily that i thought better to put a few questions to him on the matter, with the result that i found the whole thing was an invention of his excellency’s own mind. of course, he only lies with the best intentions; still, he lies. but, such being the case, where could you have heard the same report? it was the inspiration of the moment with him, you understand, so who could have told you? it is an important question, you see!”
“it was colia told me, and his father told him at about six this morning. they met at the threshold, when colia was leaving the room for something or other.” the prince told lebedeff all that colia had made known to himself, in detail.
“there now, that’s what we may call scent!” said lebedeff, rubbing his hands and laughing silently. “i thought it must be so, you see. the general interrupted his innocent slumbers, at six o’clock, in order to go and wake his beloved son, and warn him of the dreadful danger of companionship with ferdishenko. dear me! what a dreadfully dangerous man ferdishenko must be, and what touching paternal solicitude, on the part of his excellency, ha! ha! ha!”
“listen, lebedeff,” began the prince, quite overwhelmed; “do act quietly don’t make a scandal, lebedeff, i ask you i entreat you! no one must know no one, mind! in that case only, i will help you.”
“be assured, most honourable, most worthy of princes be assured that the whole matter shall be buried within my heart!” cried lebedeff, in a paroxysm of exaltation. “i’d give every drop of my blood... illustrious prince, i am a poor wretch in soul and spirit, but ask the veriest scoundrel whether he would prefer to deal with one like himself, or with a noble-hearted man like you, and there is no doubt as to his choice!
he’ll answer that he prefers the noble-hearted man and there you have the triumph of virtue! au revoir, honoured prince! you and i together softly! softly!”
x.
the prince understood at last why he shivered with dread every time he thought of the three letters in his pocket, and why he had put off reading them until the evening.
when he fell into a heavy sleep on the sofa on the verandah, without having had the courage to open a single one of the three envelopes, he again dreamed a painful dream, and once more that poor, “sinful” woman appeared to him. again she gazed at him with tears sparkling on her long lashes, and beckoned him after her; and again he awoke, as before, with the picture of her face haunting him.
he longed to get up and go to her at once but he could not. at length, almost in despair, he unfolded the letters, and began to read them.
these letters, too, were like a dream. we sometimes have strange, impossible dreams, contrary to all the laws of nature. when we awake we remember them and wonder at their strangeness. you remember, perhaps, that you were in full possession of your reason during this succession of fantastic images; even that you acted with extraordinary logic and cunning while surrounded by murderers who hid their intentions and made great demonstrations of friendship, while waiting for an opportunity to cut your throat. you remember how you escaped them by some ingenious stratagem; then you doubted if they were really deceived, or whether they were only pretending not to know your hiding-place; then you thought of another plan and hoodwinked them once again. you remember all this quite clearly, but how is it that your reason calmly accepted all the manifest absurdities and impossibilities that crowded into your dream? one of the murderers suddenly changed into a woman before your very eyes; then the woman was transformed into a hideous, cunning little dwarf; and you believed it, and accepted it all almost as a matter of course while at the same time your intelligence seemed unusually keen, and accomplished miracles of cunning, sagacity, and logic! why is it that when you awake to the world of realities you nearly always feel, sometimes very vividly, that the vanished dream has carried with it some enigma which you have failed to solve? you smile at the extravagance of your dream, and yet you feel that this tissue of absurdity contained some real idea, something that belongs to your true life, something that exists, and has always existed, in your heart. you search your dream for some prophecy that you were expecting. it has left a deep impression upon you, joyful or cruel, but what it means, or what has been predicted to you in it, you can neither understand nor remember.
the reading of these letters produced some such effect upon the prince.
he felt, before he even opened the envelopes, that the very fact of their existence was like a nightmare. how could she ever have made up her mind to write to her? he asked himself. how could she write about that at all? and how could such a wild idea have entered her head?
and yet, the strangest part of the matter was, that while he read the letters, he himself almost believed in the possibility, and even in the justification, of the idea he had thought so wild. of course it was a mad dream, a nightmare, and yet there was something cruelly real about it. for hours he was haunted by what he had read. several passages returned again and again to his mind, and as he brooded over them, he felt inclined to say to himself that he had foreseen and known all that was written here; it even seemed to him that he had read the whole of this some time or other, long, long ago; and all that had tormented and grieved him up to now was to be found in these old, long since read, letters.
“when you open this letter” (so the first began), “look first at the signature. the signature will tell you all, so that i need explain nothing, nor attempt to justify myself. were i in any way on a footing with you, you might be offended at my audacity; but who am i, and who are you? we are at such extremes, and i am so far removed from you, that i could not offend you if i wished to do so.”
farther on, in another place, she wrote: “do not consider my words as the sickly ecstasies of a diseased mind, but you are, in my opinion perfection! i have seen you i see you every day. i do not judge you; i have not weighed you in the scales of reason and found you perfection it is simply an article of faith. but i must confess one sin against you i love you. one should not love perfection. one should only look on it as perfection yet i am in love with you. though love equalizes, do not fear. i have not lowered you to my level, even in my most secret thoughts. i have written ‘do not fear,’ as if you could fear. i would kiss your footprints if i could; but, oh! i am not putting myself on a level with you! look at the signature quick, look at the signature!”
“however, observe” (she wrote in another of the letters), “that although i couple you with him, yet i have not once asked you whether you love him. he fell in love with you, though he saw you but once. he spoke of you as of ‘the light.’ these are his own words i heard him use them.
but i understood without his saying it that you were all that light is to him. i lived near him for a whole month, and i understood then that you, too, must love him. i think of you and him as one.”
“what was the matter yesterday?” (she wrote on another sheet). “i passed by you, and you seemed to me to blush. perhaps it was only my fancy.
if i were to bring you to the most loathsome den, and show you the revelation of undisguised vice you should not blush. you can never feel the sense of personal affront. you may hate all who are mean, or base, or unworthy but not for yourself only for those whom they wrong. no one can wrong you. do you know, i think you ought to love me for you are the same in my eyes as in his you are as light. an angel cannot hate, perhaps cannot love, either. i often ask myself is it possible to love everybody? indeed it is not; it is not in nature. abstract love of humanity is nearly always love of self. but you are different. you cannot help loving all, since you can compare with none, and are above all personal offence or anger. oh! how bitter it would be to me to know that you felt anger or shame on my account, for that would be your fall you would become comparable at once with such as me.
“yesterday, after seeing you, i went home and thought out a picture.
“artists always draw the saviour as an actor in one of the gospel stories. i should do differently. i should represent christ alone the disciples did leave him alone occasionally. i should paint one little child left with him. this child has been playing about near him, and had probably just been telling the saviour something in its pretty baby prattle. christ had listened to it, but was now musing one hand reposing on the child’s bright head. his eyes have a far-away expression. thought, great as the universe, is in them his face is sad.
the little one leans its elbow upon christ’s knee, and with its cheek resting on its hand, gazes up at him, pondering as children sometimes do ponder. the sun is setting. there you have my picture.
“you are innocent and in your innocence lies all your perfection oh, remember that! what is my passion to you? you are mine now; i shall be near you all my life i shall not live long!”
at length, in the last letter of all, he found:
“for heaven’s sake, don’t misunderstand me! do not think that i humiliate myself by writing thus to you, or that i belong to that class of people who take a satisfaction in humiliating themselves from pride.
i have my consolation, though it would be difficult to explain it but i do not humiliate myself.
“why do i wish to unite you two? for your sakes or my own? for my own sake, naturally. all the problems of my life would thus be solved; i have thought so for a long time. i know that once when your sister adelaida saw my portrait she said that such beauty could overthrow the world. but i have renounced the world. you think it strange that i should say so, for you saw me decked with lace and diamonds, in the company of drunkards and wastrels. take no notice of that; i know that i have almost ceased to exist. god knows what it is dwelling within me now it is not myself. i can see it every day in two dreadful eyes which are always looking at me, even when not present. these eyes are silent now, they say nothing; but i know their secret. his house is gloomy, and there is a secret in it. i am convinced that in some box he has a razor hidden, tied round with silk, just like the one that moscow murderer had. this man also lived with his mother, and had a razor hidden away, tied round with white silk, and with this razor he intended to cut a throat.
“all the while i was in their house i felt sure that somewhere beneath the floor there was hidden away some dreadful corpse, wrapped in oil-cloth, perhaps buried there by his father, who knows? just as in the moscow case. i could have shown you the very spot!
“he is always silent, but i know well that he loves me so much that he must hate me. my wedding and yours are to be on the same day; so i have arranged with him. i have no secrets from him. i would kill him from very fright, but he will kill me first. he has just burst out laughing, and says that i am raving. he knows i am writing to you.”
there was much more of this delirious wandering in the letters one of them was very long.
at last the prince came out of the dark, gloomy park, in which he had wandered about for hours just as yesterday. the bright night seemed to him to be lighter than ever. “it must be quite early,” he thought. (he had forgotten his watch.) there was a sound of distant music somewhere.
“ah,” he thought, “the vauxhall! they won’t be there today, of course!”
at this moment he noticed that he was close to their house; he had felt that he must gravitate to this spot eventually, and, with a beating heart, he mounted the verandah steps.
no one met him; the verandah was empty, and nearly pitch dark. he opened the door into the room, but it, too, was dark and empty. he stood in the middle of the room in perplexity. suddenly the door opened, and in came alexandra, candle in hand. seeing the prince she stopped before him in surprise, looking at him questioningly.
it was clear that she had been merely passing through the room from door to door, and had not had the remotest notion that she would meet anyone.
“how did you come here?” she asked, at last.
“i i came in ”
“mamma is not very well, nor is aglaya. adelaida has gone to bed, and i am just going. we were alone the whole evening. father and prince s.
have gone to town.”
“i have come to you now to ”
“do you know what time it is?”
“n no!”
“half-past twelve. we are always in bed by one.”
“i i thought it was half-past nine!”
“never mind!” she laughed, “but why didn’t you come earlier? perhaps you were expected!”
“i thought” he stammered, making for the door.
“au revoir! i shall amuse them all with this story tomorrow!”
he walked along the road towards his own house. his heart was beating, his thoughts were confused, everything around seemed to be part of a dream.
and suddenly, just as twice already he had awaked from sleep with the same vision, that very apparition now seemed to rise up before him. the woman appeared to step out from the park, and stand in the path in front of him, as though she had been waiting for him there.
he shuddered and stopped; she seized his hand and pressed it frenziedly.
no, this was no apparition!
there she stood at last, face to face with him, for the first time since their parting.
she said something, but he looked silently back at her. his heart ached with anguish. oh! never would he banish the recollection of this meeting with her, and he never remembered it but with the same pain and agony of mind.
she went on her knees before him there in the open road like a madwoman. he retreated a step, but she caught his hand and kissed it, and, just as in his dream, the tears were sparkling on her long, beautiful lashes.
“get up!” he said, in a frightened whisper, raising her. “get up at once!”
“are you happy are you happy?” she asked. “say this one word. are you happy now? today, this moment? have you just been with her? what did she say?”
she did not rise from her knees; she would not listen to him; she put her questions hurriedly, as though she were pursued.
“i am going away tomorrow, as you bade me i won’t write so that this is the last time i shall see you, the last time! this is really the last time!”
“oh, be calm be calm! get up!” he entreated, in despair.
she gazed thirstily at him and clutched his hands.
“good-bye!” she said at last, and rose and left him, very quickly.
the prince noticed that rogojin had suddenly appeared at her side, and had taken her arm and was leading her away.
“wait a minute, prince,” shouted the latter, as he went. “i shall be back in five minutes.”
he reappeared in five minutes as he had said. the prince was waiting for him.
“i’ve put her in the carriage,” he said; “it has been waiting round the corner there since ten o’clock. she expected that you would be with them all the evening. i told her exactly what you wrote me. she won’t write to the girl any more, she promises; and tomorrow she will be off, as you wish. she desired to see you for the last time, although you refused, so we’ve been sitting and waiting on that bench till you should pass on your way home.”
“did she bring you with her of her own accord?”
“of course she did!” said rogojin, showing his teeth; “and i saw for myself what i knew before. you’ve read her letters, i suppose?”
“did you read them?” asked the prince, struck by the thought.
“of course she showed them to me herself. you are thinking of the razor, eh? ha, ha, ha!”
“oh, she is mad!” cried the prince, wringing his hands.
“who knows? perhaps she is not so mad after all,” said rogojin, softly, as though thinking aloud.
the prince made no reply.
“well, good-bye,” said rogojin. “i’m off tomorrow too, you know.
remember me kindly! by-the-by,” he added, turning round sharply again, “did you answer her question just now? are you happy, or not?”
“no, no, no!” cried the prince, with unspeakable sadness.
“ha, ha! i never supposed you would say ‘yes,’” cried rogojin, laughing sardonically.
and he disappeared, without looking round again.
part iv
i.
a week had elapsed since the rendezvous of our two friends on the green bench in the park, when, one fine morning at about half-past ten o’clock, varvara ardalionovna, otherwise mrs. ptitsin, who had been out to visit a friend, returned home in a state of considerable mental depression.
there are certain people of whom it is difficult to say anything which will at once throw them into relief in other words, describe them graphically in their typical characteristics. these are they who are generally known as “commonplace people,” and this class comprises, of course, the immense majority of mankind. authors, as a rule, attempt to select and portray types rarely met with in their entirety, but these types are nevertheless more real than real life itself.
“podkoleosin” [a character in gogol’s comedy, the wedding.] was perhaps an exaggeration, but he was by no means a non-existent character; on the contrary, how many intelligent people, after hearing of this podkoleosin from gogol, immediately began to find that scores of their friends were exactly like him! they knew, perhaps, before gogol told them, that their friends were like podkoleosin, but they did not know what name to give them. in real life, young fellows seldom jump out of the window just before their weddings, because such a feat, not to speak of its other aspects, must be a decidedly unpleasant mode of escape; and yet there are plenty of bridegrooms, intelligent fellows too, who would be ready to confess themselves podkoleosins in the depths of their consciousness, just before marriage. nor does every husband feel bound to repeat at every step, “tu l’as voulu, georges dandin!” like another typical personage; and yet how many millions and billions of georges dandins there are in real life who feel inclined to utter this soul-drawn cry after their honeymoon, if not the day after the wedding! therefore, without entering into any more serious examination of the question, i will content myself with remarking that in real life typical characters are “watered down,” so to speak; and all these dandins and podkoleosins actually exist among us every day, but in a diluted form. i will just add, however, that georges dandin might have existed exactly as molière presented him, and probably does exist now and then, though rarely; and so i will end this scientific examination, which is beginning to look like a newspaper criticism. but for all this, the question remains, what are the novelists to do with commonplace people, and how are they to be presented to the reader in such a form as to be in the least degree interesting? they cannot be left out altogether, for commonplace people meet one at every turn of life, and to leave them out would be to destroy the whole reality and probability of the story. to fill a novel with typical characters only, or with merely strange and uncommon people, would render the book unreal and improbable, and would very likely destroy the interest. in my opinion, the duty of the novelist is to seek out points of interest and instruction even in the characters of commonplace people.
for instance, when the whole essence of an ordinary person’s nature lies in his perpetual and unchangeable commonplaceness; and when in spite of all his endeavours to do something out of the common, this person ends, eventually, by remaining in his unbroken line of routine . i think such an individual really does become a type of his own a type of commonplaceness which will not for the world, if it can help it, be contented, but strains and yearns to be something original and independent, without the slightest possibility of being so. to this class of commonplace people belong several characters in this novel; characters which i admit i have not drawn very vividly up to now for my reader’s benefit.
such were, for instance, varvara ardalionovna ptitsin, her husband, and her brother, gania.
there is nothing so annoying as to be fairly rich, of a fairly good family, pleasing presence, average education, to be “not stupid,”
kind-hearted, and yet to have no talent at all, no originality, not a single idea of one’s own to be, in fact, “just like everyone else.”
of such people there are countless numbers in this world far more even than appear. they can be divided into two classes as all men can that is, those of limited intellect, and those who are much cleverer. the former of these classes is the happier.
to a commonplace man of limited intellect, for instance, nothing is simpler than to imagine himself an original character, and to revel in that belief without the slightest misgiving.
many of our young women have thought fit to cut their hair short, put on blue spectacles, and call themselves nihilists. by doing this they have been able to persuade themselves, without further trouble, that they have acquired new convictions of their own. some men have but felt some little qualm of kindness towards their fellow-men, and the fact has been quite enough to persuade them that they stand alone in the van of enlightenment and that no one has such humanitarian feelings as they.
others have but to read an idea of somebody else’s, and they can immediately assimilate it and believe that it was a child of their own brain. the “impudence of ignorance,” if i may use the expression, is developed to a wonderful extent in such cases; unlikely as it appears, it is met with at every turn.
this confidence of a stupid man in his own talents has been wonderfully depicted by gogol in the amazing character of pirogoff. pirogoff has not the slightest doubt of his own genius, nay, of his superiority of genius, so certain is he of it that he never questions it. how many pirogoffs have there not been among our writers scholars, propagandists? i say “have been,” but indeed there are plenty of them at this very day.
our friend, gania, belonged to the other class to the “much cleverer”
persons, though he was from head to foot permeated and saturated with the longing to be original. this class, as i have said above, is far less happy. for the “clever commonplace” person, though he may possibly imagine himself a man of genius and originality, none the less has within his heart the deathless worm of suspicion and doubt; and this doubt sometimes brings a clever man to despair. (as a rule, however, nothing tragic happens; his liver becomes a little damaged in the course of time, nothing more serious. such men do not give up their aspirations after originality without a severe struggle, and there have been men who, though good fellows in themselves, and even benefactors to humanity, have sunk to the level of base criminals for the sake of originality).
gania was a beginner, as it were, upon this road. a deep and unchangeable consciousness of his own lack of talent, combined with a vast longing to be able to persuade himself that he was original, had rankled in his heart, even from childhood.
he seemed to have been born with overwrought nerves, and in his passionate desire to excel, he was often led to the brink of some rash step; and yet, having resolved upon such a step, when the moment arrived, he invariably proved too sensible to take it. he was ready, in the same way, to do a base action in order to obtain his wished-for object; and yet, when the moment came to do it, he found that he was too honest for any great baseness. (not that he objected to acts of petty meanness he was always ready for them.) he looked with hate and loathing on the poverty and downfall of his family, and treated his mother with haughty contempt, although he knew that his whole future depended on her character and reputation.
aglaya had simply frightened him; yet he did not give up all thoughts of her though he never seriously hoped that she would condescend to him.
at the time of his “adventure” with nastasia philipovna he had come to the conclusion that money was his only hope money should do all for him.
at the moment when he lost aglaya, and after the scene with nastasia, he had felt so low in his own eyes that he actually brought the money back to the prince. of this returning of the money given to him by a madwoman who had received it from a madman, he had often repented since though he never ceased to be proud of his action. during the short time that muishkin remained in petersburg gania had had time to come to hate him for his sympathy, though the prince told him that it was “not everyone who would have acted so nobly” as to return the money. he had long pondered, too, over his relations with aglaya, and had persuaded himself that with such a strange, childish, innocent character as hers, things might have ended very differently. remorse then seized him; he threw up his post, and buried himself in self-torment and reproach.
he lived at ptitsin’s, and openly showed contempt for the latter, though he always listened to his advice, and was sensible enough to ask for it when he wanted it. gavrila ardalionovitch was angry with ptitsin because the latter did not care to become a rothschild. “if you are to be a jew,” he said, “do it properly squeeze people right and left, show some character; be the king of the jews while you are about it.”
ptitsin was quiet and not easily offended he only laughed. but on one occasion he explained seriously to gania that he was no jew, that he did nothing dishonest, that he could not help the market price of money, that, thanks to his accurate habits, he had already a good footing and was respected, and that his business was flourishing.
“i shan’t ever be a rothschild, and there is no reason why i should,” he added, smiling; “but i shall have a house in the liteynaya, perhaps two, and that will be enough for me.” “who knows but what i may have three!”
he concluded to himself; but this dream, cherished inwardly, he never confided to a soul.
nature loves and favours such people. ptitsin will certainly have his reward, not three houses, but four, precisely because from childhood up he had realized that he would never be a rothschild. that will be the limit of ptitsin’s fortune, and, come what may, he will never have more than four houses.
varvara ardalionovna was not like her brother. she too, had passionate desires, but they were persistent rather than impetuous. her plans were as wise as her methods of carrying them out. no doubt she also belonged to the category of ordinary people who dream of being original, but she soon discovered that she had not a grain of true originality, and she did not let it trouble her too much. perhaps a certain kind of pride came to her help. she made her first concession to the demands of practical life with great resolution when she consented to marry ptitsin. however, when she married she did not say to herself, “never mind a mean action if it leads to the end in view,” as her brother would certainly have said in such a case; it is quite probable that he may have said it when he expressed his elder-brotherly satisfaction at her decision. far from this; varvara ardalionovna did not marry until she felt convinced that her future husband was unassuming, agreeable, almost cultured, and that nothing on earth would tempt him to a really dishonourable deed. as to small meannesses, such trifles did not trouble her. indeed, who is free from them? it is absurd to expect the ideal!
besides, she knew that her marriage would provide a refuge for all her family. seeing gania unhappy, she was anxious to help him, in spite of their former disputes and misunderstandings. ptitsin, in a friendly way, would press his brother-in-law to enter the army. “you know,” he said sometimes, jokingly, “you despise generals and generaldom, but you will see that ‘they’ will all end by being generals in their turn. you will see it if you live long enough!”
“but why should they suppose that i despise generals?” gania thought sarcastically to himself.
to serve her brother’s interests, varvara ardalionovna was constantly at the epanchins’ house, helped by the fact that in childhood she and gania had played with general ivan fedorovitch’s daughters. it would have been inconsistent with her character if in these visits she had been pursuing a chimera; her project was not chimerical at all; she was building on a firm basis on her knowledge of the character of the epanchin family, especially aglaya, whom she studied closely. all varvara’s efforts were directed towards bringing aglaya and gania together. perhaps she achieved some result; perhaps, also, she made the mistake of depending too much upon her brother, and expecting more from him than he would ever be capable of giving. however this may be, her manoeuvres were skilful enough. for weeks at a time she would never mention gania. her attitude was modest but dignified, and she was always extremely truthful and sincere. examining the depths of her conscience, she found nothing to reproach herself with, and this still further strengthened her in her designs. but varvara ardalionovna sometimes remarked that she felt spiteful; that there was a good deal of vanity in her, perhaps even of wounded vanity. she noticed this at certain times more than at others, and especially after her visits to the epanchins.
today, as i have said, she returned from their house with a heavy feeling of dejection. there was a sensation of bitterness, a sort of mocking contempt, mingled with it.
arrived at her own house, varia heard a considerable commotion going on in the upper storey, and distinguished the voices of her father and brother. on entering the salon she found gania pacing up and down at frantic speed, pale with rage and almost tearing his hair. she frowned, and subsided on to the sofa with a tired air, and without taking the trouble to remove her hat. she very well knew that if she kept quiet and asked her brother nothing about his reason for tearing up and down the room, his wrath would fall upon her head. so she hastened to put the question:
“the old story, eh?”
“old story? no! heaven knows what’s up now i don’t! father has simply gone mad; mother’s in floods of tears. upon my word, varia, i must kick him out of the house; or else go myself,” he added, probably remembering that he could not well turn people out of a house which was not his own.
“you must make allowances,” murmured varia.
“make allowances? for whom? him the old blackguard? no, no, varia that won’t do! it won’t do, i tell you! and look at the swagger of the man!
he’s all to blame himself, and yet he puts on so much ‘side’ that you’d think my word! ‘it’s too much trouble to go through the gate, you must break the fence for me!’ that’s the sort of air he puts on; but what’s the matter with you, varia? what a curious expression you have!”
“i’m all right,” said varia, in a tone that sounded as though she were all wrong.
gania looked more intently at her.
“you’ve been there?” he asked, suddenly.
“yes.”
“did you find out anything?”
“nothing unexpected. i discovered that it’s all true. my husband was wiser than either of us. just as he suspected from the beginning, so it has fallen out. where is he?”
“out. well what has happened? go on.”
“the prince is formally engaged to her that’s settled. the elder sisters told me about it. aglaya has agreed. they don’t attempt to conceal it any longer; you know how mysterious and secret they have all been up to now. adelaida’s wedding is put off again, so that both can be married on one day. isn’t that delightfully romantic? somebody ought to write a poem on it. sit down and write an ode instead of tearing up and down like that. this evening princess bielokonski is to arrive; she comes just in time they have a party tonight. he is to be presented to old bielokonski, though i believe he knows her already; probably the engagement will be openly announced. they are only afraid that he may knock something down, or trip over something when he comes into the room. it would be just like him.”
gania listened attentively, but to his sister’s astonishment he was by no means so impressed by this news (which should, she thought, have been so important to him) as she had expected.
“well, it was clear enough all along,” he said, after a moment’s reflection. “so that’s the end,” he added, with a disagreeable smile, continuing to walk up and down the room, but much slower than before, and glancing slyly into his sister’s face.
“it’s a good thing that you take it philosophically, at all events,”
said varia. “i’m really very glad of it.”
“yes, it’s off our hands off yours, i should say.”
“i think i have served you faithfully. i never even asked you what happiness you expected to find with aglaya.”
“did i ever expect to find happiness with aglaya?”
“come, come, don’t overdo your philosophy. of course you did. now it’s all over, and a good thing, too; pair of fools that we have been! i confess i have never been able to look at it seriously. i busied myself in it for your sake, thinking that there was no knowing what might happen with a funny girl like that to deal with. there were ninety to one chances against it. to this moment i can’t make out why you wished for it.”
“h’m! now, i suppose, you and your husband will never weary of egging me on to work again. you’ll begin your lectures about perseverance and strength of will, and all that. i know it all by heart,” said gania, laughing.
“he’s got some new idea in his head,” thought varia. “are they pleased over there the parents?” asked gania, suddenly.
“n-no, i don’t think they are. you can judge for yourself. i think the general is pleased enough; her mother is a little uneasy. she always loathed the idea of the prince as a husband; everybody knows that.”
“of course, naturally. the bridegroom is an impossible and ridiculous one. i mean, has she given her formal consent?”
“she has not said ‘no,’ up to now, and that’s all. it was sure to be so with her. you know what she is like. you know how absurdly shy she is.
you remember how she used to hide in a cupboard as a child, so as to avoid seeing visitors, for hours at a time. she is just the same now; but, do you know, i think there is something serious in the matter, even from her side; i feel it, somehow. she laughs at the prince, they say, from morn to night in order to hide her real feelings; but you may be sure she finds occasion to say something or other to him on the sly, for he himself is in a state of radiant happiness. he walks in the clouds; they say he is extremely funny just now; i heard it from themselves.
they seemed to be laughing at me in their sleeves those elder girls i don’t know why.”
gania had begun to frown, and probably varia added this last sentence in order to probe his thought. however, at this moment, the noise began again upstairs.
“i’ll turn him out!” shouted gania, glad of the opportunity of venting his vexation. “i shall just turn him out we can’t have this.”
“yes, and then he’ll go about the place and disgrace us as he did yesterday.”
“how ‘as he did yesterday’? what do you mean? what did he do yesterday?”
asked gania, in alarm.
“why, goodness me, don’t you know?” varia stopped short.
“what? you don’t mean to say that he went there yesterday!” cried gania, flushing red with shame and anger. “good heavens, varia! speak! you have just been there. was he there or not, quick?” and gania rushed for the door. varia followed and caught him by both hands.
“what are you doing? where are you going to? you can’t let him go now; if you do he’ll go and do something worse.”
“what did he do there? what did he say?” “they couldn’t tell me themselves; they couldn’t make head or tail of it; but he frightened them all. he came to see the general, who was not at home; so he asked for lizabetha prokofievna. first of all, he begged her for some place, or situation, for work of some kind, and then he began to complain about us, about me and my husband, and you, especially you; he said a lot of things.”
“oh! couldn’t you find out?” muttered gania, trembling hysterically.
“no nothing more than that. why, they couldn’t understand him themselves; and very likely didn’t tell me all.”
gania seized his head with both hands and tottered to the window; varia sat down at the other window.
“funny girl, aglaya,” she observed, after a pause. “when she left me she said, ‘give my special and personal respects to your parents; i shall certainly find an opportunity to see your father one day,’ and so serious over it. she’s a strange creature.”
“wasn’t she joking? she was speaking sarcastically!”
“not a bit of it; that’s just the strange part of it.”
“does she know about father, do you think or not?”
“that they do not know about it in the house is quite certain, the rest of them, i mean; but you have given me an idea. aglaya perhaps knows.
she alone, though, if anyone; for the sisters were as astonished as i was to hear her speak so seriously. if she knows, the prince must have told her.”
“oh! it’s not a great matter to guess who told her. a thief! a thief in our family, and the head of the family, too!”
“oh! nonsense!” cried varia, angrily. “that was nothing but a drunkard’s tale. nonsense! why, who invented the whole thing lebedeff and the prince a pretty pair! both were probably drunk.”
“father is a drunkard and a thief; i am a beggar, and the husband of my sister is a usurer,” continued gania, bitterly. “there was a pretty list of advantages with which to enchant the heart of aglaya.”
“that same husband of your sister, the usurer ”
“feeds me? go on. don’t stand on ceremony, pray.”
“don’t lose your temper. you are just like a schoolboy. you think that all this sort of thing would harm you in aglaya’s eyes, do you? you little know her character. she is capable of refusing the most brilliant party, and running away and starving in a garret with some wretched student; that’s the sort of girl she is. you never could or did understand how interesting you would have seen in her eyes if you had come firmly and proudly through our misfortunes. the prince has simply caught her with hook and line; firstly, because he never thought of fishing for her, and secondly, because he is an idiot in the eyes of most people. it’s quite enough for her that by accepting him she puts her family out and annoys them all round that’s what she likes. you don’t understand these things.”
“we shall see whether i understand or no!” said gania, enigmatically.
“but i shouldn’t like her to know all about father, all the same. i thought the prince would manage to hold his tongue about this, at least.
he prevented lebedeff spreading the news he wouldn’t even tell me all when i asked him ”
“then you must see that he is not responsible. what does it matter to you now, in any case? what are you hoping for still? if you have a hope left, it is that your suffering air may soften her heart towards you.”
“oh, she would funk a scandal like anyone else. you are all tarred with one brush!”
“what! aglaya would have funked? you are a chicken-hearted fellow, gania!” said varia, looking at her brother with contempt. “not one of us is worth much. aglaya may be a wild sort of a girl, but she is far nobler than any of us, a thousand times nobler!”
“well come! there’s nothing to get cross about,” said gania.
“all i’m afraid of is mother. i’m afraid this scandal about father may come to her ears; perhaps it has already. i am dreadfully afraid.”
“it undoubtedly has already!” observed gania.
varia had risen from her place and had started to go upstairs to her mother; but at this observation of gania’s she turned and gazed at him attentively.
“who could have told her?”
“hippolyte, probably. he would think it the most delightful amusement in the world to tell her of it the instant he moved over here; i haven’t a doubt of it.”
“but how could he know anything of it? tell me that. lebedeff and the prince determined to tell no one even colia knows nothing.”
“what, hippolyte? he found it out himself, of course. why, you have no idea what a cunning little animal he is; dirty little gossip! he has the most extraordinary nose for smelling out other people’s secrets, or anything approaching to scandal. believe it or not, but i’m pretty sure he has got round aglaya. if he hasn’t, he soon will. rogojin is intimate with him, too. how the prince doesn’t notice it, i can’t understand. the little wretch considers me his enemy now and does his best to catch me tripping. what on earth does it matter to him, when he’s dying? however, you’ll see; i shall catch him tripping yet, and not he me.”
“why did you get him over here, if you hate him so? and is it really worth your while to try to score off him?”
“why, it was yourself who advised me to bring him over!”
“i thought he might be useful. you know he is in love with aglaya himself, now, and has written to her; he has even written to lizabetha prokofievna!”
“oh! he’s not dangerous there!” cried gania, laughing angrily. “however, i believe there is something of that sort in the air; he is very likely to be in love, for he is a mere boy. but he won’t write anonymous letters to the old lady; that would be too audacious a thing for him to attempt; but i dare swear the very first thing he did was to show me up to aglaya as a base deceiver and intriguer. i confess i was fool enough to attempt something through him at first. i thought he would throw himself into my service out of revengeful feelings towards the prince, the sly little beast! but i know him better now. as for the theft, he may have heard of it from the widow in petersburg, for if the old man committed himself to such an act, he can have done it for no other object but to give the money to her. hippolyte said to me, without any prelude, that the general had promised the widow four hundred roubles.
of course i understood, and the little wretch looked at me with a nasty sort of satisfaction. i know him; you may depend upon it he went and told mother too, for the pleasure of wounding her. and why doesn’t he die, i should like to know? he undertook to die within three weeks, and here he is getting fatter. his cough is better, too. it was only yesterday that he said that was the second day he hadn’t coughed blood.”
“well, turn him out!”
“i don’t hate, i despise him,” said gania, grandly. “well, i do hate him, if you like!” he added, with a sudden access of rage, “and i’ll tell him so to his face, even when he’s dying! if you had but read his confession good lord! what refinement of impudence! oh, but i’d have liked to whip him then and there, like a schoolboy, just to see how surprised he would have been! now he hates everybody because he oh, i say, what on earth are they doing there! listen to that noise! i really can’t stand this any longer. ptitsin!” he cried, as the latter entered the room, “what in the name of goodness are we coming to? listen to that ”
but the noise came rapidly nearer, the door burst open, and old general ivolgin, raging, furious, purple-faced, and trembling with anger, rushed in. he was followed by nina alexandrovna, colia, and behind the rest, hippolyte.
ii.
hippolyte had now been five days at the ptitsins’. his flitting from the prince’s to these new quarters had been brought about quite naturally and without many words. he did not quarrel with the prince in fact, they seemed to part as friends. gania, who had been hostile enough on that eventful evening, had himself come to see him a couple of days later, probably in obedience to some sudden impulse. for some reason or other, rogojin too had begun to visit the sick boy. the prince thought it might be better for him to move away from his (the prince’s) house.
hippolyte informed him, as he took his leave, that ptitsin “had been kind enough to offer him a corner,” and did not say a word about gania, though gania had procured his invitation, and himself came to fetch him away. gania noticed this at the time, and put it to hippolyte’s debit on account.
gania was right when he told his sister that hippolyte was getting better; that he was better was clear at the first glance. he entered the room now last of all, deliberately, and with a disagreeable smile on his lips.
nina alexandrovna came in, looking frightened. she had changed much since we last saw her, half a year ago, and had grown thin and pale.
colia looked worried and perplexed. he could not understand the vagaries of the general, and knew nothing of the last achievement of that worthy, which had caused so much commotion in the house. but he could see that his father had of late changed very much, and that he had begun to behave in so extraordinary a fashion both at home and abroad that he was not like the same man. what perplexed and disturbed him as much as anything was that his father had entirely given up drinking during the last few days. colia knew that he had quarrelled with both lebedeff and the prince, and had just bought a small bottle of vodka and brought it home for his father.
“really, mother,” he had assured nina alexandrovna upstairs, “really you had better let him drink. he has not had a drop for three days; he must be suffering agonies ” the general now entered the room, threw the door wide open, and stood on the threshold trembling with indignation.
“look here, my dear sir,” he began, addressing ptitsin in a very loud tone of voice; “if you have really made up your mind to sacrifice an old man your father too or at all events father of your wife an old man who has served his emperor to a wretched little atheist like this, all i can say is, sir, my foot shall cease to tread your floors. make your choice, sir; make your choice quickly, if you please! me or this screw!
yes, screw, sir; i said it accidentally, but let the word stand this screw, for he screws and drills himself into my soul ”
“hadn’t you better say corkscrew?” said hippolyte.
“no, sir, not corkscrew. i am a general, not a bottle, sir. make your choice, sir me or him.”
here colia handed him a chair, and he subsided into it, breathless with rage.
“hadn’t you better better take a nap?” murmured the stupefied ptitsin.
“a nap?” shrieked the general. “i am not drunk, sir; you insult me!
i see,” he continued, rising, “i see that all are against me here.
enough i go; but know, sirs know that ”
he was not allowed to finish his sentence. somebody pushed him back into his chair, and begged him to be calm. nina alexandrovna trembled, and cried quietly. gania retired to the window in disgust.
“but what have i done? what is his grievance?” asked hippolyte, grinning.
“what have you done, indeed?” put in nina alexandrovna. “you ought to be ashamed of yourself, teasing an old man like that and in your position, too.”
“and pray what is my position, madame? i have the greatest respect for you, personally; but ”
“he’s a little screw,” cried the general; “he drills holes in my heart and soul. he wishes me to be a pervert to atheism. know, you young greenhorn, that i was covered with honours before ever you were born; and you are nothing better than a wretched little worm, torn in two with coughing, and dying slowly of your own malice and unbelief. what did gavrila bring you over here for? they’re all against me, even to my own son all against me.”
“oh, come nonsense!” cried gania; “if you did not go shaming us all over the town, things might be better for all parties.”
“what shame you? i? what do you mean, you young calf? i shame you? i can only do you honour, sir; i cannot shame you.”
he jumped up from his chair in a fit of uncontrollable rage. gania was very angry too.
“honour, indeed!” said the latter, with contempt.
“what do you say, sir?” growled the general, taking a step towards him.
“i say that i have but to open my mouth, and you ”
gania began, but did not finish. the two father and son stood before one another, both unspeakably agitated, especially gania.
“gania, gania, reflect!” cried his mother, hurriedly.
“it’s all nonsense on both sides,” snapped out varia. “let them alone, mother.”
“it’s only for mother’s sake that i spare him,” said gania, tragically.
“speak!” said the general, beside himself with rage and excitement; “speak under the penalty of a father’s curse!”
“oh, father’s curse be hanged you don’t frighten me that way!” said gania. “whose fault is it that you have been as mad as a march hare all this week? it is just a week you see, i count the days. take care now; don’t provoke me too much, or i’ll tell all. why did you go to the epanchins’ yesterday tell me that? and you call yourself an old man, too, with grey hair, and father of a family! h’m nice sort of a father.”
“be quiet, gania,” cried colia. “shut up, you fool!”
“yes, but how have i offended him?” repeated hippolyte, still in the same jeering voice. “why does he call me a screw? you all heard it. he came to me himself and began telling me about some captain eropegoff.
i don’t wish for your company, general. i always avoided you you know that. what have i to do with captain eropegoff? all i did was to express my opinion that probably captain eropegoff never existed at all!”
“of course he never existed!” gania interrupted.
but the general only stood stupefied and gazed around in a dazed way.
gania’s speech had impressed him, with its terrible candour. for the first moment or two he could find no words to answer him, and it was only when hippolyte burst out laughing, and said:
“there, you see! even your own son supports my statement that there never was such a person as captain eropegoff!” that the old fellow muttered confusedly:
“kapiton eropegoff not captain eropegoff! kapiton major retired eropegoff kapiton.”
“kapiton didn’t exist either!” persisted gania, maliciously.
“what? didn’t exist?” cried the poor general, and a deep blush suffused his face.
“that’ll do, gania!” cried varia and ptitsin.
“shut up, gania!” said colia.
but this intercession seemed to rekindle the general.
“what did you mean, sir, that he didn’t exist? explain yourself,” he repeated, angrily.
“because he didn’t exist never could and never did there! you’d better drop the subject, i warn you!”
“and this is my son my own son whom i oh, gracious heaven!
eropegoff eroshka eropegoff didn’t exist!”
“ha, ha! it’s eroshka now,” laughed hippolyte.
“no, sir, kapitoshka not eroshka. i mean, kapiton alexeyevitch retired major married maria petrovna lu lu he was my friend and companion lutugoff from our earliest beginnings. i closed his eyes for him he was killed. kapiton eropegoff never existed! tfu!”
the general shouted in his fury; but it was to be concluded that his wrath was not kindled by the expressed doubt as to kapiton’s existence.
this was his scapegoat; but his excitement was caused by something quite different. as a rule he would have merely shouted down the doubt as to kapiton, told a long yarn about his friend, and eventually retired upstairs to his room. but today, in the strange uncertainty of human nature, it seemed to require but so small an offence as this to make his cup to overflow. the old man grew purple in the face, he raised his hands. “enough of this!” he yelled. “my curse away, out of the house i go! colia, bring my bag away!” he left the room hastily and in a paroxysm of rage.
his wife, colia, and ptitsin ran out after him.
“what have you done now?” said varia to gania. “he’ll probably be making off there again! what a disgrace it all is!”
“well, he shouldn’t steal,” cried gania, panting with fury. and just at this moment his eye met hippolyte’s.
“as for you, sir,” he cried, “you should at least remember that you are in a strange house and receiving hospitality; you should not take the opportunity of tormenting an old man, sir, who is too evidently out of his mind.”
hippolyte looked furious, but he restrained himself.
“i don’t quite agree with you that your father is out of his mind,” he observed, quietly. “on the contrary, i cannot help thinking he has been less demented of late. don’t you think so? he has grown so cunning and careful, and weighs his words so deliberately; he spoke to me about that kapiton fellow with an object, you know! just fancy he wanted me to ”
“oh, devil take what he wanted you to do! don’t try to be too cunning with me, young man!” shouted gania. “if you are aware of the real reason for my father’s present condition (and you have kept such an excellent spying watch during these last few days that you are sure to be aware of it) you had no right whatever to torment the unfortunate man, and to worry my mother by your exaggerations of the affair; because the whole business is nonsense simply a drunken freak, and nothing more, quite unproved by any evidence, and i don’t believe that much of it!” (he snapped his fingers). “but you must needs spy and watch over us all, because you are a a ”
“screw!” laughed hippolyte.
“because you are a humbug, sir; and thought fit to worry people for half an hour, and tried to frighten them into believing that you would shoot yourself with your little empty pistol, pirouetting about and playing at suicide! i gave you hospitality, you have fattened on it, your cough has left you, and you repay all this ”
“excuse me two words! i am varvara ardalionovna’s guest, not yours; you have extended no hospitality to me. on the contrary, if i am not mistaken, i believe you are yourself indebted to mr. ptitsin’s hospitality. four days ago i begged my mother to come down here and find lodgings, because i certainly do feel better here, though i am not fat, nor have i ceased to cough. i am today informed that my room is ready for me; therefore, having thanked your sister and mother for their kindness to me, i intend to leave the house this evening. i beg your pardon i interrupted you i think you were about to add something?”
“oh if that is the state of affairs ” began gania.
“excuse me i will take a seat,” interrupted hippolyte once more, sitting down deliberately; “for i am not strong yet. now then, i am ready to hear you. especially as this is the last chance we shall have of a talk, and very likely the last meeting we shall ever have at all.”
gania felt a little guilty.
“i assure you i did not mean to reckon up debits and credits,” he began, “and if you ”
“i don’t understand your condescension,” said hippolyte. “as for me, i promised myself, on the first day of my arrival in this house, that i would have the satisfaction of settling accounts with you in a very thorough manner before i said good-bye to you. i intend to perform this operation now, if you like; after you, though, of course.”
“may i ask you to be so good as to leave this room?”
“you’d better speak out. you’ll be sorry afterwards if you don’t.”
“on board of the packet-ship just now referred to, sir, and on the same occasion.”
“you are the young lady just now referred to?”
“o! most unhappily, i am!”
the plaintive tone of her compassion merged into the less musical voice of the judge, as he said something fiercely: “answer the questions put to you, and make no remark upon them.”
“miss manette, had you any conversation with the prisoner on that passage across the channel?”
“yes, sir.”
“recall it.”
in the midst of a profound stillness, she faintly began: “when the gentleman came on board ”
“do you mean the prisoner?” inquired the judge, knitting his brows.
“yes, my lord.”
“then say the prisoner.”
“when the prisoner came on board, he noticed that my father,” turning her eyes lovingly to him as he stood beside her, “was much fatigued and in a very weak state of health. my father was so reduced that i was afraid to take him out of the air, and i had made a bed for him on the deck near the cabin steps, and i sat on the deck at his side to take care of him. there were no other passengers that night, but we four.
the prisoner was so good as to beg permission to advise me how i could shelter my father from the wind and weather, better than i had done. i had not known how to do it well, not understanding how the wind would set when we were out of the harbour. he did it for me. he expressed great gentleness and kindness for my father's state, and i am sure he felt it. that was the manner of our beginning to speak together.”
“let me interrupt you for a moment. had he come on board alone?”
“no.”
“how many were with him?”
“two french gentlemen.”
“had they conferred together?”
“they had conferred together until the last moment, when it was necessary for the french gentlemen to be landed in their boat.”
“had any papers been handed about among them, similar to these lists?”
“some papers had been handed about among them, but i don't know what papers.”
“like these in shape and size?”
“possibly, but indeed i don't know, although they stood whispering very near to me: because they stood at the top of the cabin steps to have the light of the lamp that was hanging there; it was a dull lamp, and they spoke very low, and i did not hear what they said, and saw only that they looked at papers.”
“now, to the prisoner's conversation, miss manette.”
“the prisoner was as open in his confidence with me which arose out of my helpless situation as he was kind, and good, and useful to my father. i hope,” bursting into tears, “i may not repay him by doing him harm to-day.”
buzzing from the blue-flies.
“miss manette, if the prisoner does not perfectly understand that you give the evidence which it is your duty to give which you must give and which you cannot escape from giving with great unwillingness, he is the only person present in that condition. please to go on.”
“he told me that he was travelling on business of a delicate and difficult nature, which might get people into trouble, and that he was therefore travelling under an assumed name. he said that this business had, within a few days, taken him to france, and might, at intervals, take him backwards and forwards between france and england for a long time to come.”
“did he say anything about america, miss manette? be particular.”
“he tried to explain to me how that quarrel had arisen, and he said that, so far as he could judge, it was a wrong and foolish one on england's part. he added, in a jesting way, that perhaps george washington might gain almost as great a name in history as george the third. but there was no harm in his way of saying this: it was said laughingly, and to beguile the time.”
any strongly marked expression of face on the part of a chief actor in a scene of great interest to whom many eyes are directed, will be unconsciously imitated by the spectators. her forehead was painfully anxious and intent as she gave this evidence, and, in the pauses when she stopped for the judge to write it down, watched its effect upon the counsel for and against. among the lookers-on there was the same expression in all quarters of the court; insomuch, that a great majority of the foreheads there, might have been mirrors reflecting the witness, when the judge looked up from his notes to glare at that tremendous heresy about george washington.
mr. attorney-general now signified to my lord, that he deemed it necessary, as a matter of precaution and form, to call the young lady's father, doctor manette. who was called accordingly.
“doctor manette, look upon the prisoner. have you ever seen him before?”
“once. when he called at my lodgings in london. some three years, or three years and a half ago.”
“can you identify him as your fellow-passenger on board the packet, or speak to his conversation with your daughter?”
“sir, i can do neither.”
“is there any particular and special reason for your being unable to do either?”
he answered, in a low voice, “there is.”
“has it been your misfortune to undergo a long imprisonment, without trial, or even accusation, in your native country, doctor manette?”
he answered, in a tone that went to every heart, “a long imprisonment.”
“were you newly released on the occasion in question?”
“they tell me so.”
“have you no remembrance of the occasion?”
“none. my mind is a blank, from some time i cannot even say what time when i employed myself, in my captivity, in making shoes, to the time when i found myself living in london with my dear daughter here. she had become familiar to me, when a gracious god restored my faculties; but, i am quite unable even to say how she had become familiar. i have no remembrance of the process.”
mr. attorney-general sat down, and the father and daughter sat down together.
a singular circumstance then arose in the case. the object in hand being to show that the prisoner went down, with some fellow-plotter untracked, in the dover mail on that friday night in november five years ago, and got out of the mail in the night, as a blind, at a place where he did not remain, but from which he travelled back some dozen miles or more, to a garrison and dockyard, and there collected information; a witness was called to identify him as having been at the precise time required, in the coffee-room of an hotel in that garrison-and-dockyard town, waiting for another person. the prisoner's counsel was cross-examining this witness with no result, except that he had never seen the prisoner on any other occasion, when the wigged gentleman who had all this time been looking at the ceiling of the court, wrote a word or two on a little piece of paper, screwed it up, and tossed it to him. opening this piece of paper in the next pause, the counsel looked with great attention and curiosity at the prisoner.
“you say again you are quite sure that it was the prisoner?”
the witness was quite sure.
“did you ever see anybody very like the prisoner?”
not so like (the witness said) as that he could be mistaken.
“look well upon that gentleman, my learned friend there,” pointing to him who had tossed the paper over, “and then look well upon the prisoner. how say you? are they very like each other?”
allowing for my learned friend's appearance being careless and slovenly if not debauched, they were sufficiently like each other to surprise, not only the witness, but everybody present, when they were thus brought into comparison. my lord being prayed to bid my learned friend lay aside his wig, and giving no very gracious consent, the likeness became much more remarkable. my lord inquired of mr. stryver (the prisoner's counsel), whether they were next to try mr. carton (name of my learned friend) for treason? but, mr. stryver replied to my lord, no; but he would ask the witness to tell him whether what happened once, might happen twice; whether he would have been so confident if he had seen this illustration of his rashness sooner, whether he would be so confident, having seen it; and more. the upshot of which, was, to smash this witness like a crockery vessel, and shiver his part of the case to useless lumber.
mr. cruncher had by this time taken quite a lunch of rust off his fingers in his following of the evidence. he had now to attend while mr.
stryver fitted the prisoner's case on the jury, like a compact suit of clothes; showing them how the patriot, barsad, was a hired spy and traitor, an unblushing trafficker in blood, and one of the greatest scoundrels upon earth since accursed judas which he certainly did look rather like. how the virtuous servant, cly, was his friend and partner, and was worthy to be; how the watchful eyes of those forgers and false swearers had rested on the prisoner as a victim, because some family affairs in france, he being of french extraction, did require his making those passages across the channel though what those affairs were, a consideration for others who were near and dear to him, forbade him, even for his life, to disclose. how the evidence that had been warped and wrested from the young lady, whose anguish in giving it they had witnessed, came to nothing, involving the mere little innocent gallantries and politenesses likely to pass between any young gentleman and young lady so thrown together; with the exception of that reference to george washington, which was altogether too extravagant and impossible to be regarded in any other light than as a monstrous joke.
how it would be a weakness in the government to break down in this attempt to practise for popularity on the lowest national antipathies and fears, and therefore mr. attorney-general had made the most of it; how, nevertheless, it rested upon nothing, save that vile and infamous character of evidence too often disfiguring such cases, and of which the state trials of this country were full. but, there my lord interposed (with as grave a face as if it had not been true), saying that he could not sit upon that bench and suffer those allusions.
mr. stryver then called his few witnesses, and mr. cruncher had next to attend while mr. attorney-general turned the whole suit of clothes mr.
stryver had fitted on the jury, inside out; showing how barsad and cly were even a hundred times better than he had thought them, and the prisoner a hundred times worse. lastly, came my lord himself, turning the suit of clothes, now inside out, now outside in, but on the whole decidedly trimming and shaping them into grave-clothes for the prisoner.
and now, the jury turned to consider, and the great flies swarmed again.
mr. carton, who had so long sat looking at the ceiling of the court, changed neither his place nor his attitude, even in this excitement.
while his learned friend, mr. stryver, massing his papers before him, whispered with those who sat near, and from time to time glanced anxiously at the jury; while all the spectators moved more or less, and grouped themselves anew; while even my lord himself arose from his seat, and slowly paced up and down his platform, not unattended by a suspicion in the minds of the audience that his state was feverish; this one man sat leaning back, with his torn gown half off him, his untidy wig put on just as it had happened to light on his head after its removal, his hands in his pockets, and his eyes on the ceiling as they had been all day. something especially reckless in his demeanour, not only gave him a disreputable look, but so diminished the strong resemblance he undoubtedly bore to the prisoner (which his momentary earnestness, when they were compared together, had strengthened), that many of the lookers-on, taking note of him now, said to one another they would hardly have thought the two were so alike. mr. cruncher made the observation to his next neighbour, and added, “i'd hold half a guinea that he don't get no law-work to do. don't look like the sort of one to get any, do he?”
yet, this mr. carton took in more of the details of the scene than he appeared to take in; for now, when miss manette's head dropped upon her father's breast, he was the first to see it, and to say audibly:
“officer! look to that young lady. help the gentleman to take her out.
don't you see she will fall!”
there was much commiseration for her as she was removed, and much sympathy with her father. it had evidently been a great distress to him, to have the days of his imprisonment recalled. he had shown strong internal agitation when he was questioned, and that pondering or brooding look which made him old, had been upon him, like a heavy cloud, ever since. as he passed out, the jury, who had turned back and paused a moment, spoke, through their foreman.
they were not agreed, and wished to retire. my lord (perhaps with george washington on his mind) showed some surprise that they were not agreed, but signified his pleasure that they should retire under watch and ward, and retired himself. the trial had lasted all day, and the lamps in the court were now being lighted. it began to be rumoured that the jury would be out a long while. the spectators dropped off to get refreshment, and the prisoner withdrew to the back of the dock, and sat down.
mr. lorry, who had gone out when the young lady and her father went out, now reappeared, and beckoned to jerry: who, in the slackened interest, could easily get near him.
“jerry, if you wish to take something to eat, you can. but, keep in the way. you will be sure to hear when the jury come in. don't be a moment behind them, for i want you to take the verdict back to the bank. you are the quickest messenger i know, and will get to temple bar long before i can.”
jerry had just enough forehead to knuckle, and he knuckled it in acknowledgment of this communication and a shilling. mr. carton came up at the moment, and touched mr. lorry on the arm.
“how is the young lady?”
“she is greatly distressed; but her father is comforting her, and she feels the better for being out of court.”
“i'll tell the prisoner so. it won't do for a respectable bank gentleman like you, to be seen speaking to him publicly, you know.”
mr. lorry reddened as if he were conscious of having debated the point in his mind, and mr. carton made his way to the outside of the bar.
the way out of court lay in that direction, and jerry followed him, all eyes, ears, and spikes.
“mr. darnay!”
the prisoner came forward directly.
“you will naturally be anxious to hear of the witness, miss manette. she will do very well. you have seen the worst of her agitation.”
“i am deeply sorry to have been the cause of it. could you tell her so for me, with my fervent acknowledgments?”
“yes, i could. i will, if you ask it.”
mr. carton's manner was so careless as to be almost insolent. he stood, half turned from the prisoner, lounging with his elbow against the bar.
“i do ask it. accept my cordial thanks.”
“what,” said carton, still only half turned towards him, “do you expect, mr. darnay?”
“the worst.”
“it's the wisest thing to expect, and the likeliest. but i think their withdrawing is in your favour.”
loitering on the way out of court not being allowed, jerry heard no more: but left them so like each other in feature, so unlike each other in manner standing side by side, both reflected in the glass above them.
an hour and a half limped heavily away in the thief-and-rascal crowded passages below, even though assisted off with mutton pies and ale.
the hoarse messenger, uncomfortably seated on a form after taking that refection, had dropped into a doze, when a loud murmur and a rapid tide of people setting up the stairs that led to the court, carried him along with them.
“jerry! jerry!” mr. lorry was already calling at the door when he got there.
“here, sir! it's a fight to get back again. here i am, sir!”
mr. lorry handed him a paper through the throng. “quick! have you got it?”
“yes, sir.”
hastily written on the paper was the word “acquitted.”
“if you had sent the message, 'recalled to life,' again,” muttered jerry, as he turned, “i should have known what you meant, this time.”
he had no opportunity of saying, or so much as thinking, anything else, until he was clear of the old bailey; for, the crowd came pouring out with a vehemence that nearly took him off his legs, and a loud buzz swept into the street as if the baffled blue-flies were dispersing in search of other carrion.
iv. congratulatory
from the dimly-lighted passages of the court, the last sediment of the human stew that had been boiling there all day, was straining off, when doctor manette, lucie manette, his daughter, mr. lorry, the solicitor for the defence, and its counsel, mr. stryver, stood gathered round mr.
charles darnay just released congratulating him on his escape from death.
it would have been difficult by a far brighter light, to recognise in doctor manette, intellectual of face and upright of bearing, the shoemaker of the garret in paris. yet, no one could have looked at him twice, without looking again: even though the opportunity of observation had not extended to the mournful cadence of his low grave voice, and to the abstraction that overclouded him fitfully, without any apparent reason. while one external cause, and that a reference to his long lingering agony, would always as on the trial evoke this condition from the depths of his soul, it was also in its nature to arise of itself, and to draw a gloom over him, as incomprehensible to those unacquainted with his story as if they had seen the shadow of the actual bastille thrown upon him by a summer sun, when the substance was three hundred miles away.
only his daughter had the power of charming this black brooding from his mind. she was the golden thread that united him to a past beyond his misery, and to a present beyond his misery: and the sound of her voice, the light of her face, the touch of her hand, had a strong beneficial influence with him almost always. not absolutely always, for she could recall some occasions on which her power had failed; but they were few and slight, and she believed them over.
mr. darnay had kissed her hand fervently and gratefully, and had turned to mr. stryver, whom he warmly thanked. mr. stryver, a man of little more than thirty, but looking twenty years older than he was, stout, loud, red, bluff, and free from any drawback of delicacy, had a pushing way of shouldering himself (morally and physically) into companies and conversations, that argued well for his shouldering his way up in life.
he still had his wig and gown on, and he said, squaring himself at his late client to that degree that he squeezed the innocent mr. lorry clean out of the group: “i am glad to have brought you off with honour, mr.
darnay. it was an infamous prosecution, grossly infamous; but not the less likely to succeed on that account.”
“you have laid me under an obligation to you for life in two senses,”
said his late client, taking his hand.
“i have done my best for you, mr. darnay; and my best is as good as another man's, i believe.”
it clearly being incumbent on some one to say, “much better,” mr. lorry said it; perhaps not quite disinterestedly, but with the interested object of squeezing himself back again.
“you think so?” said mr. stryver. “well! you have been present all day, and you ought to know. you are a man of business, too.”
“and as such,” quoth mr. lorry, whom the counsel learned in the law had now shouldered back into the group, just as he had previously shouldered him out of it “as such i will appeal to doctor manette, to break up this conference and order us all to our homes. miss lucie looks ill, mr.
darnay has had a terrible day, we are worn out.”
“speak for yourself, mr. lorry,” said stryver; “i have a night's work to do yet. speak for yourself.”
“i speak for myself,” answered mr. lorry, “and for mr. darnay, and for miss lucie, and miss lucie, do you not think i may speak for us all?”
he asked her the question pointedly, and with a glance at her father.
his face had become frozen, as it were, in a very curious look at darnay: an intent look, deepening into a frown of dislike and distrust, not even unmixed with fear. with this strange expression on him his thoughts had wandered away.
“my father,” said lucie, softly laying her hand on his.
he slowly shook the shadow off, and turned to her.
“shall we go home, my father?”
with a long breath, he answered “yes.”
the friends of the acquitted prisoner had dispersed, under the impression which he himself had originated that he would not be released that night. the lights were nearly all extinguished in the passages, the iron gates were being closed with a jar and a rattle, and the dismal place was deserted until to-morrow morning's interest of gallows, pillory, whipping-post, and branding-iron, should repeople it.
walking between her father and mr. darnay, lucie manette passed into the open air. a hackney-coach was called, and the father and daughter departed in it.
mr. stryver had left them in the passages, to shoulder his way back to the robing-room. another person, who had not joined the group, or interchanged a word with any one of them, but who had been leaning against the wall where its shadow was darkest, had silently strolled out after the rest, and had looked on until the coach drove away. he now stepped up to where mr. lorry and mr. darnay stood upon the pavement.
“so, mr. lorry! men of business may speak to mr. darnay now?”
nobody had made any acknowledgment of mr. carton's part in the day's proceedings; nobody had known of it. he was unrobed, and was none the better for it in appearance.
“if you knew what a conflict goes on in the business mind, when the business mind is divided between good-natured impulse and business appearances, you would be amused, mr. darnay.”
mr. lorry reddened, and said, warmly, “you have mentioned that before, sir. we men of business, who serve a house, are not our own masters. we have to think of the house more than ourselves.”
“i know, i know,” rejoined mr. carton, carelessly. “don't be nettled, mr. lorry. you are as good as another, i have no doubt: better, i dare say.”
“and indeed, sir,” pursued mr. lorry, not minding him, “i really don't know what you have to do with the matter. if you'll excuse me, as very much your elder, for saying so, i really don't know that it is your business.”
“business! bless you, i have no business,” said mr. carton.
“it is a pity you have not, sir.”
“i think so, too.”
“if you had,” pursued mr. lorry, “perhaps you would attend to it.”
“lord love you, no! i shouldn't,” said mr. carton.
“well, sir!” cried mr. lorry, thoroughly heated by his indifference, “business is a very good thing, and a very respectable thing. and, sir, if business imposes its restraints and its silences and impediments, mr.
darnay as a young gentleman of generosity knows how to make allowance for that circumstance. mr. darnay, good night, god bless you, sir!
i hope you have been this day preserved for a prosperous and happy life. chair there!”
perhaps a little angry with himself, as well as with the barrister, mr.
lorry bustled into the chair, and was carried off to tellson's. carton, who smelt of port wine, and did not appear to be quite sober, laughed then, and turned to darnay:
“this is a strange chance that throws you and me together. this must be a strange night to you, standing alone here with your counterpart on these street stones?”
“i hardly seem yet,” returned charles darnay, “to belong to this world again.”
“i don't wonder at it; it's not so long since you were pretty far advanced on your way to another. you speak faintly.”
“i begin to think i am faint.”
“then why the devil don't you dine? i dined, myself, while those numskulls were deliberating which world you should belong to this, or some other. let me show you the nearest tavern to dine well at.”
drawing his arm through his own, he took him down ludgate-hill to fleet-street, and so, up a covered way, into a tavern. here, they were shown into a little room, where charles darnay was soon recruiting his strength with a good plain dinner and good wine: while carton sat opposite to him at the same table, with his separate bottle of port before him, and his fully half-insolent manner upon him.
“do you feel, yet, that you belong to this terrestrial scheme again, mr.
darnay?”
“i am frightfully confused regarding time and place; but i am so far mended as to feel that.”
“it must be an immense satisfaction!”
he said it bitterly, and filled up his glass again: which was a large one.
“as to me, the greatest desire i have, is to forget that i belong to it.
it has no good in it for me except wine like this nor i for it. so we are not much alike in that particular. indeed, i begin to think we are not much alike in any particular, you and i.”
confused by the emotion of the day, and feeling his being there with this double of coarse deportment, to be like a dream, charles darnay was at a loss how to answer; finally, answered not at all.
“now your dinner is done,” carton presently said, “why don't you call a health, mr. darnay; why don't you give your toast?”
“what health? what toast?”
“why, it's on the tip of your tongue. it ought to be, it must be, i'll swear it's there.”
“miss manette, then!”
“miss manette, then!”
looking his companion full in the face while he drank the toast, carton flung his glass over his shoulder against the wall, where it shivered to pieces; then, rang the bell, and ordered in another.
“that's a fair young lady to hand to a coach in the dark, mr. darnay!”
he said, filling his new goblet.
a slight frown and a laconic “yes,” were the answer.
“that's a fair young lady to be pitied by and wept for by! how does it feel? is it worth being tried for one's life, to be the object of such sympathy and compassion, mr. darnay?”
again darnay answered not a word.
“she was mightily pleased to have your message, when i gave it her. not that she showed she was pleased, but i suppose she was.”
the allusion served as a timely reminder to darnay that this disagreeable companion had, of his own free will, assisted him in the strait of the day. he turned the dialogue to that point, and thanked him for it.
“i neither want any thanks, nor merit any,” was the careless rejoinder.
“it was nothing to do, in the first place; and i don't know why i did it, in the second. mr. darnay, let me ask you a question.”
“willingly, and a small return for your good offices.”
“do you think i particularly like you?”
“really, mr. carton,” returned the other, oddly disconcerted, “i have not asked myself the question.”
“but ask yourself the question now.”
“you have acted as if you do; but i don't think you do.”
“i don't think i do,” said carton. “i begin to have a very good opinion of your understanding.”
“nevertheless,” pursued darnay, rising to ring the bell, “there is nothing in that, i hope, to prevent my calling the reckoning, and our parting without ill-blood on either side.”
carton rejoining, “nothing in life!” darnay rang. “do you call the whole reckoning?” said carton. on his answering in the affirmative, “then bring me another pint of this same wine, drawer, and come and wake me at ten.”
the bill being paid, charles darnay rose and wished him good night.
without returning the wish, carton rose too, with something of a threat of defiance in his manner, and said, “a last word, mr. darnay: you think i am drunk?”
“i think you have been drinking, mr. carton.”
“think? you know i have been drinking.”
“since i must say so, i know it.”
“then you shall likewise know why. i am a disappointed drudge, sir. i care for no man on earth, and no man on earth cares for me.”
“much to be regretted. you might have used your talents better.”
“may be so, mr. darnay; may be not. don't let your sober face elate you, however; you don't know what it may come to. good night!”
when he was left alone, this strange being took up a candle, went to a glass that hung against the wall, and surveyed himself minutely in it.
“do you particularly like the man?” he muttered, at his own image; “why should you particularly like a man who resembles you? there is nothing in you to like; you know that. ah, confound you! what a change you have made in yourself! a good reason for taking to a man, that he shows you what you have fallen away from, and what you might have been! change places with him, and would you have been looked at by those blue eyes as he was, and commiserated by that agitated face as he was? come on, and have it out in plain words! you hate the fellow.”
he resorted to his pint of wine for consolation, drank it all in a few minutes, and fell asleep on his arms, with his hair straggling over the table, and a long winding-sheet in the candle dripping down upon him.
v. the jackal
those were drinking days, and most men drank hard. so very great is the improvement time has brought about in such habits, that a moderate statement of the quantity of wine and punch which one man would swallow in the course of a night, without any detriment to his reputation as a perfect gentleman, would seem, in these days, a ridiculous exaggeration.
the learned profession of the law was certainly not behind any other learned profession in its bacchanalian propensities; neither was mr.
stryver, already fast shouldering his way to a large and lucrative practice, behind his compeers in this particular, any more than in the drier parts of the legal race.
a favourite at the old bailey, and eke at the sessions, mr. stryver had begun cautiously to hew away the lower staves of the ladder on which he mounted. sessions and old bailey had now to summon their favourite, specially, to their longing arms; and shouldering itself towards the visage of the lord chief justice in the court of king's bench, the florid countenance of mr. stryver might be daily seen, bursting out of the bed of wigs, like a great sunflower pushing its way at the sun from among a rank garden-full of flaring companions.
it had once been noted at the bar, that while mr. stryver was a glib man, and an unscrupulous, and a ready, and a bold, he had not that faculty of extracting the essence from a heap of statements, which is among the most striking and necessary of the advocate's accomplishments.
but, a remarkable improvement came upon him as to this. the more business he got, the greater his power seemed to grow of getting at its pith and marrow; and however late at night he sat carousing with sydney carton, he always had his points at his fingers' ends in the morning.
sydney carton, idlest and most unpromising of men, was stryver's great ally. what the two drank together, between hilary term and michaelmas, might have floated a king's ship. stryver never had a case in hand, anywhere, but carton was there, with his hands in his pockets, staring at the ceiling of the court; they went the same circuit, and even there they prolonged their usual orgies late into the night, and carton was rumoured to be seen at broad day, going home stealthily and unsteadily to his lodgings, like a dissipated cat. at last, it began to get about, among such as were interested in the matter, that although sydney carton would never be a lion, he was an amazingly good jackal, and that he rendered suit and service to stryver in that humble capacity.
“ten o'clock, sir,” said the man at the tavern, whom he had charged to wake him “ten o'clock, sir.”
“what's the matter?”
“ten o'clock, sir.”
“what do you mean? ten o'clock at night?”
“yes, sir. your honour told me to call you.”
“oh! i remember. very well, very well.”
after a few dull efforts to get to sleep again, which the man dexterously combated by stirring the fire continuously for five minutes, he got up, tossed his hat on, and walked out. he turned into the temple, and, having revived himself by twice pacing the pavements of king's bench-walk and paper-buildings, turned into the stryver chambers.
the stryver clerk, who never assisted at these conferences, had gone home, and the stryver principal opened the door. he had his slippers on, and a loose bed-gown, and his throat was bare for his greater ease. he had that rather wild, strained, seared marking about the eyes, which may be observed in all free livers of his class, from the portrait of jeffries downward, and which can be traced, under various disguises of art, through the portraits of every drinking age.
“you are a little late, memory,” said stryver.
“about the usual time; it may be a quarter of an hour later.”
they went into a dingy room lined with books and littered with papers, where there was a blazing fire. a kettle steamed upon the hob, and in the midst of the wreck of papers a table shone, with plenty of wine upon it, and brandy, and rum, and sugar, and lemons.
“you have had your bottle, i perceive, sydney.”
“two to-night, i think. i have been dining with the day's client; or seeing him dine it's all one!”
“that was a rare point, sydney, that you brought to bear upon the identification. how did you come by it? when did it strike you?”
“i thought he was rather a handsome fellow, and i thought i should have been much the same sort of fellow, if i had had any luck.”
mr. stryver laughed till he shook his precocious paunch.
“you and your luck, sydney! get to work, get to work.”
sullenly enough, the jackal loosened his dress, went into an adjoining room, and came back with a large jug of cold water, a basin, and a towel or two. steeping the towels in the water, and partially wringing them out, he folded them on his head in a manner hideous to behold, sat down at the table, and said, “now i am ready!”
“not much boiling down to be done to-night, memory,” said mr. stryver, gaily, as he looked among his papers.
“how much?”
“only two sets of them.”
“give me the worst first.”
“there they are, sydney. fire away!”
the lion then composed himself on his back on a sofa on one side of the drinking-table, while the jackal sat at his own paper-bestrewn table proper, on the other side of it, with the bottles and glasses ready to his hand. both resorted to the drinking-table without stint, but each in a different way; the lion for the most part reclining with his hands in his waistband, looking at the fire, or occasionally flirting with some lighter document; the jackal, with knitted brows and intent face, so deep in his task, that his eyes did not even follow the hand he stretched out for his glass which often groped about, for a minute or more, before it found the glass for his lips. two or three times, the matter in hand became so knotty, that the jackal found it imperative on him to get up, and steep his towels anew. from these pilgrimages to the jug and basin, he returned with such eccentricities of damp headgear as no words can describe; which were made the more ludicrous by his anxious gravity.
at length the jackal had got together a compact repast for the lion, and proceeded to offer it to him. the lion took it with care and caution, made his selections from it, and his remarks upon it, and the jackal assisted both. when the repast was fully discussed, the lion put his hands in his waistband again, and lay down to meditate. the jackal then invigorated himself with a bumper for his throttle, and a fresh application to his head, and applied himself to the collection of a second meal; this was administered to the lion in the same manner, and was not disposed of until the clocks struck three in the morning.
“and now we have done, sydney, fill a bumper of punch,” said mr.
stryver.
the jackal removed the towels from his head, which had been steaming again, shook himself, yawned, shivered, and complied.
“you were very sound, sydney, in the matter of those crown witnesses to-day. every question told.”
“i always am sound; am i not?”
“i don't gainsay it. what has roughened your temper? put some punch to it and smooth it again.”
with a deprecatory grunt, the jackal again complied.
“the old sydney carton of old shrewsbury school,” said stryver, nodding his head over him as he reviewed him in the present and the past, “the old seesaw sydney. up one minute and down the next; now in spirits and now in despondency!”
“ah!” returned the other, sighing: “yes! the same sydney, with the same luck. even then, i did exercises for other boys, and seldom did my own.”
“and why not?”
“god knows. it was my way, i suppose.”
he sat, with his hands in his pockets and his legs stretched out before him, looking at the fire.
“carton,” said his friend, squaring himself at him with a bullying air, as if the fire-grate had been the furnace in which sustained endeavour was forged, and the one delicate thing to be done for the old sydney carton of old shrewsbury school was to shoulder him into it, “your way is, and always was, a lame way. you summon no energy and purpose. look at me.”
“oh, botheration!” returned sydney, with a lighter and more good-humoured laugh, “don't you be moral!”
“how have i done what i have done?” said stryver; “how do i do what i do?”
“partly through paying me to help you, i suppose. but it's not worth your while to apostrophise me, or the air, about it; what you want to do, you do. you were always in the front rank, and i was always behind.”
“i had to get into the front rank; i was not born there, was i?”
“i was not present at the ceremony; but my opinion is you were,” said carton. at this, he laughed again, and they both laughed.
“before shrewsbury, and at shrewsbury, and ever since shrewsbury,”
pursued carton, “you have fallen into your rank, and i have fallen into mine. even when we were fellow-students in the student-quarter of paris, picking up french, and french law, and other french crumbs that we didn't get much good of, you were always somewhere, and i was always nowhere.”
“and whose fault was that?”
“upon my soul, i am not sure that it was not yours. you were always driving and riving and shouldering and passing, to that restless degree that i had no chance for my life but in rust and repose. it's a gloomy thing, however, to talk about one's own past, with the day breaking.
turn me in some other direction before i go.”
“well then! pledge me to the pretty witness,” said stryver, holding up his glass. “are you turned in a pleasant direction?”
apparently not, for he became gloomy again.
“pretty witness,” he muttered, looking down into his glass. “i have had enough of witnesses to-day and to-night; who's your pretty witness?”
“the picturesque doctor's daughter, miss manette.”
“she pretty?”
“is she not?”
“no.”
“why, man alive, she was the admiration of the whole court!”
“rot the admiration of the whole court! who made the old bailey a judge of beauty? she was a golden-haired doll!”
“do you know, sydney,” said mr. stryver, looking at him with sharp eyes, and slowly drawing a hand across his florid face: “do you know, i rather thought, at the time, that you sympathised with the golden-haired doll, and were quick to see what happened to the golden-haired doll?”
“quick to see what happened! if a girl, doll or no doll, swoons within a yard or two of a man's nose, he can see it without a perspective-glass.
i pledge you, but i deny the beauty. and now i'll have no more drink; i'll get to bed.”
when his host followed him out on the staircase with a candle, to light him down the stairs, the day was coldly looking in through its grimy windows. when he got out of the house, the air was cold and sad, the dull sky overcast, the river dark and dim, the whole scene like a lifeless desert. and wreaths of dust were spinning round and round before the morning blast, as if the desert-sand had risen far away, and the first spray of it in its advance had begun to overwhelm the city.
waste forces within him, and a desert all around, this man stood still on his way across a silent terrace, and saw for a moment, lying in the wilderness before him, a mirage of honourable ambition, self-denial, and perseverance. in the fair city of this vision, there were airy galleries from which the loves and graces looked upon him, gardens in which the fruits of life hung ripening, waters of hope that sparkled in his sight.
a moment, and it was gone. climbing to a high chamber in a well of houses, he threw himself down in his clothes on a neglected bed, and its pillow was wet with wasted tears.
sadly, sadly, the sun rose; it rose upon no sadder sight than the man of good abilities and good emotions, incapable of their directed exercise, incapable of his own help and his own happiness, sensible of the blight on him, and resigning himself to let it eat him away.
vi. hundreds of people
the quiet lodgings of doctor manette were in a quiet street-corner not far from soho-square. on the afternoon of a certain fine sunday when the waves of four months had rolled over the trial for treason, and carried it, as to the public interest and memory, far out to sea, mr. jarvis lorry walked along the sunny streets from clerkenwell where he lived, on his way to dine with the doctor. after several relapses into business-absorption, mr. lorry had become the doctor's friend, and the quiet street-corner was the sunny part of his life.
on this certain fine sunday, mr. lorry walked towards soho, early in the afternoon, for three reasons of habit. firstly, because, on fine sundays, he often walked out, before dinner, with the doctor and lucie; secondly, because, on unfavourable sundays, he was accustomed to be with them as the family friend, talking, reading, looking out of window, and generally getting through the day; thirdly, because he happened to have his own little shrewd doubts to solve, and knew how the ways of the doctor's household pointed to that time as a likely time for solving them.
a quainter corner than the corner where the doctor lived, was not to be found in london. there was no way through it, and the front windows of the doctor's lodgings commanded a pleasant little vista of street that had a congenial air of retirement on it. there were few buildings then, north of the oxford-road, and forest-trees flourished, and wild flowers grew, and the hawthorn blossomed, in the now vanished fields. as a consequence, country airs circulated in soho with vigorous freedom, instead of languishing into the parish like stray paupers without a settlement; and there was many a good south wall, not far off, on which the peaches ripened in their season.
the summer light struck into the corner brilliantly in the earlier part of the day; but, when the streets grew hot, the corner was in shadow, though not in shadow so remote but that you could see beyond it into a glare of brightness. it was a cool spot, staid but cheerful, a wonderful place for echoes, and a very harbour from the raging streets.
there ought to have been a tranquil bark in such an anchorage, and there was. the doctor occupied two floors of a large stiff house, where several callings purported to be pursued by day, but whereof little was audible any day, and which was shunned by all of them at night. in a building at the back, attainable by a courtyard where a plane-tree rustled its green leaves, church-organs claimed to be made, and silver to be chased, and likewise gold to be beaten by some mysterious giant who had a golden arm starting out of the wall of the front hall as if he had beaten himself precious, and menaced a similar conversion of all visitors. very little of these trades, or of a lonely lodger rumoured to live up-stairs, or of a dim coach-trimming maker asserted to have a counting-house below, was ever heard or seen. occasionally, a stray workman putting his coat on, traversed the hall, or a stranger peered about there, or a distant clink was heard across the courtyard, or a thump from the golden giant. these, however, were only the exceptions required to prove the rule that the sparrows in the plane-tree behind the house, and the echoes in the corner before it, had their own way from sunday morning unto saturday night.
doctor manette received such patients here as his old reputation, and its revival in the floating whispers of his story, brought him.
his scientific knowledge, and his vigilance and skill in conducting ingenious experiments, brought him otherwise into moderate request, and he earned as much as he wanted.
these things were within mr. jarvis lorry's knowledge, thoughts, and notice, when he rang the door-bell of the tranquil house in the corner, on the fine sunday afternoon.
“doctor manette at home?”
expected home.
“miss lucie at home?”
expected home.
“miss pross at home?”
possibly at home, but of a certainty impossible for handmaid to anticipate intentions of miss pross, as to admission or denial of the fact.
“as i am at home myself,” said mr. lorry, “i'll go upstairs.”
although the doctor's daughter had known nothing of the country of her birth, she appeared to have innately derived from it that ability to make much of little means, which is one of its most useful and most agreeable characteristics. simple as the furniture was, it was set off by so many little adornments, of no value but for their taste and fancy, that its effect was delightful. the disposition of everything in the rooms, from the largest object to the least; the arrangement of colours, the elegant variety and contrast obtained by thrift in trifles, by delicate hands, clear eyes, and good sense; were at once so pleasant in themselves, and so expressive of their originator, that, as mr. lorry stood looking about him, the very chairs and tables seemed to ask him, with something of that peculiar expression which he knew so well by this time, whether he approved?
there were three rooms on a floor, and, the doors by which they communicated being put open that the air might pass freely through them all, mr. lorry, smilingly observant of that fanciful resemblance which he detected all around him, walked from one to another. the first was the best room, and in it were lucie's birds, and flowers, and books, and desk, and work-table, and box of water-colours; the second was the doctor's consulting-room, used also as the dining-room; the third, changingly speckled by the rustle of the plane-tree in the yard, was the doctor's bedroom, and there, in a corner, stood the disused shoemaker's bench and tray of tools, much as it had stood on the fifth floor of the dismal house by the wine-shop, in the suburb of saint antoine in paris.
“i wonder,” said mr. lorry, pausing in his looking about, “that he keeps that reminder of his sufferings about him!”
“and why wonder at that?” was the abrupt inquiry that made him start.
it proceeded from miss pross, the wild red woman, strong of hand, whose acquaintance he had first made at the royal george hotel at dover, and had since improved.
“i should have thought ” mr. lorry began.
“pooh! you'd have thought!” said miss pross; and mr. lorry left off.
“how do you do?” inquired that lady then sharply, and yet as if to express that she bore him no malice.
“i am pretty well, i thank you,” answered mr. lorry, with meekness; “how are you?”
“nothing to boast of,” said miss pross.
“indeed?”
“ah! indeed!” said miss pross. “i am very much put out about my ladybird.”
“indeed?”
“for gracious sake say something else besides 'indeed,' or you'll fidget me to death,” said miss pross: whose character (dissociated from stature) was shortness.
“really, then?” said mr. lorry, as an amendment.
“really, is bad enough,” returned miss pross, “but better. yes, i am very much put out.”
“may i ask the cause?”
“i don't want dozens of people who are not at all worthy of ladybird, to come here looking after her,” said miss pross.
“do dozens come for that purpose?”
“hundreds,” said miss pross.
it was characteristic of this lady (as of some other people before her time and since) that whenever her original proposition was questioned, she exaggerated it.
“dear me!” said mr. lorry, as the safest remark he could think of.
“i have lived with the darling or the darling has lived with me, and paid me for it; which she certainly should never have done, you may take your affidavit, if i could have afforded to keep either myself or her for nothing since she was ten years old. and it's really very hard,”
said miss pross.
not seeing with precision what was very hard, mr. lorry shook his head; using that important part of himself as a sort of fairy cloak that would fit anything.
“all sorts of people who are not in the least degree worthy of the pet, are always turning up,” said miss pross. “when you began it ”
“i began it, miss pross?”
“didn't you? who brought her father to life?”
“oh! if that was beginning it ” said mr. lorry.
“it wasn't ending it, i suppose? i say, when you began it, it was hard enough; not that i have any fault to find with doctor manette, except that he is not worthy of such a daughter, which is no imputation on him, for it was not to be expected that anybody should be, under any circumstances. but it really is doubly and trebly hard to have crowds and multitudes of people turning up after him (i could have forgiven him), to take ladybird's affections away from me.”
mr. lorry knew miss pross to be very jealous, but he also knew her by this time to be, beneath the service of her eccentricity, one of those unselfish creatures found only among women who will, for pure love and admiration, bind themselves willing slaves, to youth when they have lost it, to beauty that they never had, to accomplishments that they were never fortunate enough to gain, to bright hopes that never shone upon their own sombre lives. he knew enough of the world to know that there is nothing in it better than the faithful service of the heart; so rendered and so free from any mercenary taint, he had such an exalted respect for it, that in the retributive arrangements made by his own mind we all make such arrangements, more or less he stationed miss pross much nearer to the lower angels than many ladies immeasurably better got up both by nature and art, who had balances at tellson's.
“there never was, nor will be, but one man worthy of ladybird,” said miss pross; “and that was my brother solomon, if he hadn't made a mistake in life.”
here again: mr. lorry's inquiries into miss pross's personal history had established the fact that her brother solomon was a heartless scoundrel who had stripped her of everything she possessed, as a stake to speculate with, and had abandoned her in her poverty for evermore, with no touch of compunction. miss pross's fidelity of belief in solomon (deducting a mere trifle for this slight mistake) was quite a serious matter with mr. lorry, and had its weight in his good opinion of her.
“as we happen to be alone for the moment, and are both people of business,” he said, when they had got back to the drawing-room and had sat down there in friendly relations, “let me ask you does the doctor, in talking with lucie, never refer to the shoemaking time, yet?”
“never.”
“and yet keeps that bench and those tools beside him?”
“ah!” returned miss pross, shaking her head. “but i don't say he don't refer to it within himself.”
“do you believe that he thinks of it much?”
“i do,” said miss pross.
“do you imagine ” mr. lorry had begun, when miss pross took him up short with:
“never imagine anything. have no imagination at all.”
“i stand corrected; do you suppose you go so far as to suppose, sometimes?”
“now and then,” said miss pross.
“do you suppose,” mr. lorry went on, with a laughing twinkle in his bright eye, as it looked kindly at her, “that doctor manette has any theory of his own, preserved through all those years, relative to the cause of his being so oppressed; perhaps, even to the name of his oppressor?”
“i don't suppose anything about it but what ladybird tells me.”
“and that is ?”
“that she thinks he has.”
“now don't be angry at my asking all these questions; because i am a mere dull man of business, and you are a woman of business.”
“dull?” miss pross inquired, with placidity.
rather wishing his modest adjective away, mr. lorry replied, “no, no, no. surely not. to return to business: is it not remarkable that doctor manette, unquestionably innocent of any crime as we are all well assured he is, should never touch upon that question? i will not say with me, though he had business relations with me many years ago, and we are now intimate; i will say with the fair daughter to whom he is so devotedly attached, and who is so devotedly attached to him? believe me, miss pross, i don't approach the topic with you, out of curiosity, but out of zealous interest.”
“well! to the best of my understanding, and bad's the best, you'll tell me,” said miss pross, softened by the tone of the apology, “he is afraid of the whole subject.”
“afraid?”
“it's plain enough, i should think, why he may be. it's a dreadful remembrance. besides that, his loss of himself grew out of it. not knowing how he lost himself, or how he recovered himself, he may never feel certain of not losing himself again. that alone wouldn't make the subject pleasant, i should think.”
it was a profounder remark than mr. lorry had looked for. “true,” said he, “and fearful to reflect upon. yet, a doubt lurks in my mind, miss pross, whether it is good for doctor manette to have that suppression always shut up within him. indeed, it is this doubt and the uneasiness it sometimes causes me that has led me to our present confidence.”
“can't be helped,” said miss pross, shaking her head. “touch that string, and he instantly changes for the worse. better leave it alone.
in short, must leave it alone, like or no like. sometimes, he gets up in the dead of the night, and will be heard, by us overhead there, walking up and down, walking up and down, in his room. ladybird has learnt to know then that his mind is walking up and down, walking up and down, in his old prison. she hurries to him, and they go on together, walking up and down, walking up and down, until he is composed. but he never says a word of the true reason of his restlessness, to her, and she finds it best not to hint at it to him. in silence they go walking up and down together, walking up and down together, till her love and company have brought him to himself.”
notwithstanding miss pross's denial of her own imagination, there was a perception of the pain of being monotonously haunted by one sad idea, in her repetition of the phrase, walking up and down, which testified to her possessing such a thing.
the corner has been mentioned as a wonderful corner for echoes; it had begun to echo so resoundingly to the tread of coming feet, that it seemed as though the very mention of that weary pacing to and fro had set it going.
“here they are!” said miss pross, rising to break up the conference; “and now we shall have hundreds of people pretty soon!”
it was such a curious corner in its acoustical properties, such a peculiar ear of a place, that as mr. lorry stood at the open window, looking for the father and daughter whose steps he heard, he fancied they would never approach. not only would the echoes die away, as though the steps had gone; but, echoes of other steps that never came would be heard in their stead, and would die away for good when they seemed close at hand. however, father and daughter did at last appear, and miss pross was ready at the street door to receive them.
miss pross was a pleasant sight, albeit wild, and red, and grim, taking off her darling's bonnet when she came up-stairs, and touching it up with the ends of her handkerchief, and blowing the dust off it, and folding her mantle ready for laying by, and smoothing her rich hair with as much pride as she could possibly have taken in her own hair if she had been the vainest and handsomest of women. her darling was a pleasant sight too, embracing her and thanking her, and protesting against her taking so much trouble for her which last she only dared to do playfully, or miss pross, sorely hurt, would have retired to her own chamber and cried. the doctor was a pleasant sight too, looking on at them, and telling miss pross how she spoilt lucie, in accents and with eyes that had as much spoiling in them as miss pross had, and would have had more if it were possible. mr. lorry was a pleasant sight too, beaming at all this in his little wig, and thanking his bachelor stars for having lighted him in his declining years to a home. but, no hundreds of people came to see the sights, and mr. lorry looked in vain for the fulfilment of miss pross's prediction.
dinner-time, and still no hundreds of people. in the arrangements of the little household, miss pross took charge of the lower regions, and always acquitted herself marvellously. her dinners, of a very modest quality, were so well cooked and so well served, and so neat in their contrivances, half english and half french, that nothing could be better. miss pross's friendship being of the thoroughly practical kind, she had ravaged soho and the adjacent provinces, in search of impoverished french, who, tempted by shillings and half-crowns, would impart culinary mysteries to her. from these decayed sons and daughters of gaul, she had acquired such wonderful arts, that the woman and girl who formed the staff of domestics regarded her as quite a sorceress, or cinderella's godmother: who would send out for a fowl, a rabbit, a vegetable or two from the garden, and change them into anything she pleased.
on sundays, miss pross dined at the doctor's table, but on other days persisted in taking her meals at unknown periods, either in the lower regions, or in her own room on the second floor a blue chamber, to which no one but her ladybird ever gained admittance. on this occasion, miss pross, responding to ladybird's pleasant face and pleasant efforts to please her, unbent exceedingly; so the dinner was very pleasant, too.
it was an oppressive day, and, after dinner, lucie proposed that the wine should be carried out under the plane-tree, and they should sit there in the air. as everything turned upon her, and revolved about her, they went out under the plane-tree, and she carried the wine down for the special benefit of mr. lorry. she had installed herself, some time before, as mr. lorry's cup-bearer; and while they sat under the plane-tree, talking, she kept his glass replenished. mysterious backs and ends of houses peeped at them as they talked, and the plane-tree whispered to them in its own way above their heads.
still, the hundreds of people did not present themselves. mr. darnay presented himself while they were sitting under the plane-tree, but he was only one.
doctor manette received him kindly, and so did lucie. but, miss pross suddenly became afflicted with a twitching in the head and body, and retired into the house. she was not unfrequently the victim of this disorder, and she called it, in familiar conversation, “a fit of the jerks.”
the doctor was in his best condition, and looked specially young. the resemblance between him and lucie was very strong at such times, and as they sat side by side, she leaning on his shoulder, and he resting his arm on the back of her chair, it was very agreeable to trace the likeness.
he had been talking all day, on many subjects, and with unusual vivacity. “pray, doctor manette,” said mr. darnay, as they sat under the plane-tree and he said it in the natural pursuit of the topic in hand, which happened to be the old buildings of london “have you seen much of the tower?”
“lucie and i have been there; but only casually. we have seen enough of it, to know that it teems with interest; little more.”
“i have been there, as you remember,” said darnay, with a smile, though reddening a little angrily, “in another character, and not in a character that gives facilities for seeing much of it. they told me a curious thing when i was there.”
“what was that?” lucie asked.
“in making some alterations, the workmen came upon an old dungeon, which had been, for many years, built up and forgotten. every stone of its inner wall was covered by inscriptions which had been carved by prisoners dates, names, complaints, and prayers. upon a corner stone in an angle of the wall, one prisoner, who seemed to have gone to execution, had cut as his last work, three letters. they were done with some very poor instrument, and hurriedly, with an unsteady hand.
at first, they were read as d. i. c.; but, on being more carefully examined, the last letter was found to be g. there was no record or legend of any prisoner with those initials, and many fruitless guesses were made what the name could have been. at length, it was suggested that the letters were not initials, but the complete word, dig. the floor was examined very carefully under the inscription, and, in the earth beneath a stone, or tile, or some fragment of paving, were found the ashes of a paper, mingled with the ashes of a small leathern case or bag. what the unknown prisoner had written will never be read, but he had written something, and hidden it away to keep it from the gaoler.”
“my father,” exclaimed lucie, “you are ill!”
he had suddenly started up, with his hand to his head. his manner and his look quite terrified them all.
“no, my dear, not ill. there are large drops of rain falling, and they made me start. we had better go in.”
he recovered himself almost instantly. rain was really falling in large drops, and he showed the back of his hand with rain-drops on it. but, he said not a single word in reference to the discovery that had been told of, and, as they went into the house, the business eye of mr. lorry either detected, or fancied it detected, on his face, as it turned towards charles darnay, the same singular look that had been upon it when it turned towards him in the passages of the court house.
he recovered himself so quickly, however, that mr. lorry had doubts of his business eye. the arm of the golden giant in the hall was not more steady than he was, when he stopped under it to remark to them that he was not yet proof against slight surprises (if he ever would be), and that the rain had startled him.
tea-time, and miss pross making tea, with another fit of the jerks upon her, and yet no hundreds of people. mr. carton had lounged in, but he made only two.
the night was so very sultry, that although they sat with doors and windows open, they were overpowered by heat. when the tea-table was done with, they all moved to one of the windows, and looked out into the heavy twilight. lucie sat by her father; darnay sat beside her; carton leaned against a window. the curtains were long and white, and some of the thunder-gusts that whirled into the corner, caught them up to the ceiling, and waved them like spectral wings.
“the rain-drops are still falling, large, heavy, and few,” said doctor manette. “it comes slowly.”
“it comes surely,” said carton.
they spoke low, as people watching and waiting mostly do; as people in a dark room, watching and waiting for lightning, always do.
there was a great hurry in the streets of people speeding away to get shelter before the storm broke; the wonderful corner for echoes resounded with the echoes of footsteps coming and going, yet not a footstep was there.
“a multitude of people, and yet a solitude!” said darnay, when they had listened for a while.
“is it not impressive, mr. darnay?” asked lucie. “sometimes, i have sat here of an evening, until i have fancied but even the shade of a foolish fancy makes me shudder to-night, when all is so black and solemn ”
“let us shudder too. we may know what it is.”
“it will seem nothing to you. such whims are only impressive as we originate them, i think; they are not to be communicated. i have sometimes sat alone here of an evening, listening, until i have made the echoes out to be the echoes of all the footsteps that are coming by-and-bye into our lives.”
“there is a great crowd coming one day into our lives, if that be so,”
sydney carton struck in, in his moody way.
the footsteps were incessant, and the hurry of them became more and more rapid. the corner echoed and re-echoed with the tread of feet; some, as it seemed, under the windows; some, as it seemed, in the room; some coming, some going, some breaking off, some stopping altogether; all in the distant streets, and not one within sight.
“are all these footsteps destined to come to all of us, miss manette, or are we to divide them among us?”
“i don't know, mr. darnay; i told you it was a foolish fancy, but you asked for it. when i have yielded myself to it, i have been alone, and then i have imagined them the footsteps of the people who are to come into my life, and my father's.”
“i take them into mine!” said carton. “i ask no questions and make no stipulations. there is a great crowd bearing down upon us, miss manette, and i see them by the lightning.” he added the last words, after there had been a vivid flash which had shown him lounging in the window.
“and i hear them!” he added again, after a peal of thunder. “here they come, fast, fierce, and furious!”
it was the rush and roar of rain that he typified, and it stopped him, for no voice could be heard in it. a memorable storm of thunder and lightning broke with that sweep of water, and there was not a moment's interval in crash, and fire, and rain, until after the moon rose at midnight.
the great bell of saint paul's was striking one in the cleared air, when mr. lorry, escorted by jerry, high-booted and bearing a lantern, set forth on his return-passage to clerkenwell. there were solitary patches of road on the way between soho and clerkenwell, and mr. lorry, mindful of foot-pads, always retained jerry for this service: though it was usually performed a good two hours earlier.
“what a night it has been! almost a night, jerry,” said mr. lorry, “to bring the dead out of their graves.”
“i never see the night myself, master nor yet i don't expect to what would do that,” answered jerry.
“good night, mr. carton,” said the man of business. “good night, mr.
darnay. shall we ever see such a night again, together!”
perhaps. perhaps, see the great crowd of people with its rush and roar, bearing down upon them, too.
vii. monseigneur in town
monseigneur, one of the great lords in power at the court, held his fortnightly reception in his grand hotel in paris. monseigneur was in his inner room, his sanctuary of sanctuaries, the holiest of holiests to the crowd of worshippers in the suite of rooms without. monseigneur was about to take his chocolate. monseigneur could swallow a great many things with ease, and was by some few sullen minds supposed to be rather rapidly swallowing france; but, his morning's chocolate could not so much as get into the throat of monseigneur, without the aid of four strong men besides the cook.
yes. it took four men, all four ablaze with gorgeous decoration, and the chief of them unable to exist with fewer than two gold watches in his pocket, emulative of the noble and chaste fashion set by monseigneur, to conduct the happy chocolate to monseigneur's lips. one lacquey carried the chocolate-pot into the sacred presence; a second, milled and frothed the chocolate with the little instrument he bore for that function; a third, presented the favoured napkin; a fourth (he of the two gold watches), poured the chocolate out. it was impossible for monseigneur to dispense with one of these attendants on the chocolate and hold his high place under the admiring heavens. deep would have been the blot upon his escutcheon if his chocolate had been ignobly waited on by only three men; he must have died of two.
monseigneur had been out at a little supper last night, where the comedy and the grand opera were charmingly represented. monseigneur was out at a little supper most nights, with fascinating company. so polite and so impressible was monseigneur, that the comedy and the grand opera had far more influence with him in the tiresome articles of state affairs and state secrets, than the needs of all france. a happy circumstance for france, as the like always is for all countries similarly favoured! always was for england (by way of example), in the regretted days of the merry stuart who sold it.
monseigneur had one truly noble idea of general public business, which was, to let everything go on in its own way; of particular public business, monseigneur had the other truly noble idea that it must all go his way tend to his own power and pocket. of his pleasures, general and particular, monseigneur had the other truly noble idea, that the world was made for them. the text of his order (altered from the original by only a pronoun, which is not much) ran: “the earth and the fulness thereof are mine, saith monseigneur.”
yet, monseigneur had slowly found that vulgar embarrassments crept into his affairs, both private and public; and he had, as to both classes of affairs, allied himself perforce with a farmer-general. as to finances public, because monseigneur could not make anything at all of them, and must consequently let them out to somebody who could; as to finances private, because farmer-generals were rich, and monseigneur, after generations of great luxury and expense, was growing poor. hence monseigneur had taken his sister from a convent, while there was yet time to ward off the impending veil, the cheapest garment she could wear, and had bestowed her as a prize upon a very rich farmer-general, poor in family. which farmer-general, carrying an appropriate cane with a golden apple on the top of it, was now among the company in the outer rooms, much prostrated before by mankind always excepting superior mankind of the blood of monseigneur, who, his own wife included, looked down upon him with the loftiest contempt.
a sumptuous man was the farmer-general. thirty horses stood in his stables, twenty-four male domestics sat in his halls, six body-women waited on his wife. as one who pretended to do nothing but plunder and forage where he could, the farmer-general howsoever his matrimonial relations conduced to social morality was at least the greatest reality among the personages who attended at the hotel of monseigneur that day.
for, the rooms, though a beautiful scene to look at, and adorned with every device of decoration that the taste and skill of the time could achieve, were, in truth, not a sound business; considered with any reference to the scarecrows in the rags and nightcaps elsewhere (and not so far off, either, but that the watching towers of notre dame, almost equidistant from the two extremes, could see them both), they would have been an exceedingly uncomfortable business if that could have been anybody's business, at the house of monseigneur. military officers destitute of military knowledge; naval officers with no idea of a ship; civil officers without a notion of affairs; brazen ecclesiastics, of the worst world worldly, with sensual eyes, loose tongues, and looser lives; all totally unfit for their several callings, all lying horribly in pretending to belong to them, but all nearly or remotely of the order of monseigneur, and therefore foisted on all public employments from which anything was to be got; these were to be told off by the score and the score. people not immediately connected with monseigneur or the state, yet equally unconnected with anything that was real, or with lives passed in travelling by any straight road to any true earthly end, were no less abundant. doctors who made great fortunes out of dainty remedies for imaginary disorders that never existed, smiled upon their courtly patients in the ante-chambers of monseigneur. projectors who had discovered every kind of remedy for the little evils with which the state was touched, except the remedy of setting to work in earnest to root out a single sin, poured their distracting babble into any ears they could lay hold of, at the reception of monseigneur. unbelieving philosophers who were remodelling the world with words, and making card-towers of babel to scale the skies with, talked with unbelieving chemists who had an eye on the transmutation of metals, at this wonderful gathering accumulated by monseigneur. exquisite gentlemen of the finest breeding, which was at that remarkable time and has been since to be known by its fruits of indifference to every natural subject of human interest, were in the most exemplary state of exhaustion, at the hotel of monseigneur. such homes had these various notabilities left behind them in the fine world of paris, that the spies among the assembled devotees of monseigneur forming a goodly half of the polite company would have found it hard to discover among the angels of that sphere one solitary wife, who, in her manners and appearance, owned to being a mother. indeed, except for the mere act of bringing a troublesome creature into this world which does not go far towards the realisation of the name of mother there was no such thing known to the fashion. peasant women kept the unfashionable babies close, and brought them up, and charming grandmammas of sixty dressed and supped as at twenty.
the leprosy of unreality disfigured every human creature in attendance upon monseigneur. in the outermost room were half a dozen exceptional people who had had, for a few years, some vague misgiving in them that things in general were going rather wrong. as a promising way of setting them right, half of the half-dozen had become members of a fantastic sect of convulsionists, and were even then considering within themselves whether they should foam, rage, roar, and turn cataleptic on the spot thereby setting up a highly intelligible finger-post to the future, for monseigneur's guidance. besides these dervishes, were other three who had rushed into another sect, which mended matters with a jargon about “the centre of truth:” holding that man had got out of the centre of truth which did not need much demonstration but had not got out of the circumference, and that he was to be kept from flying out of the circumference, and was even to be shoved back into the centre, by fasting and seeing of spirits. among these, accordingly, much discoursing with spirits went on and it did a world of good which never became manifest.
but, the comfort was, that all the company at the grand hotel of monseigneur were perfectly dressed. if the day of judgment had only been ascertained to be a dress day, everybody there would have been eternally correct. such frizzling and powdering and sticking up of hair, such delicate complexions artificially preserved and mended, such gallant swords to look at, and such delicate honour to the sense of smell, would surely keep anything going, for ever and ever. the exquisite gentlemen of the finest breeding wore little pendent trinkets that chinked as they languidly moved; these golden fetters rang like precious little bells; and what with that ringing, and with the rustle of silk and brocade and fine linen, there was a flutter in the air that fanned saint antoine and his devouring hunger far away.
dress was the one unfailing talisman and charm used for keeping all things in their places. everybody was dressed for a fancy ball that was never to leave off. from the palace of the tuileries, through monseigneur and the whole court, through the chambers, the tribunals of justice, and all society (except the scarecrows), the fancy ball descended to the common executioner: who, in pursuance of the charm, was required to officiate “frizzled, powdered, in a gold-laced coat, pumps, and white silk stockings.” at the gallows and the wheel the axe was a rarity monsieur paris, as it was the episcopal mode among his brother professors of the provinces, monsieur orleans, and the rest, to call him, presided in this dainty dress. and who among the company at monseigneur's reception in that seventeen hundred and eightieth year of our lord, could possibly doubt, that a system rooted in a frizzled hangman, powdered, gold-laced, pumped, and white-silk stockinged, would see the very stars out!
monseigneur having eased his four men of their burdens and taken his chocolate, caused the doors of the holiest of holiests to be thrown open, and issued forth. then, what submission, what cringing and fawning, what servility, what abject humiliation! as to bowing down in body and spirit, nothing in that way was left for heaven which may have been one among other reasons why the worshippers of monseigneur never troubled it.
bestowing a word of promise here and a smile there, a whisper on one happy slave and a wave of the hand on another, monseigneur affably passed through his rooms to the remote region of the circumference of truth. there, monseigneur turned, and came back again, and so in due course of time got himself shut up in his sanctuary by the chocolate sprites, and was seen no more.
the show being over, the flutter in the air became quite a little storm, and the precious little bells went ringing downstairs. there was soon but one person left of all the crowd, and he, with his hat under his arm and his snuff-box in his hand, slowly passed among the mirrors on his way out.
“i devote you,” said this person, stopping at the last door on his way, and turning in the direction of the sanctuary, “to the devil!”
with that, he shook the snuff from his fingers as if he had shaken the dust from his feet, and quietly walked downstairs.
he was a man of about sixty, handsomely dressed, haughty in manner, and with a face like a fine mask. a face of a transparent paleness; every feature in it clearly defined; one set expression on it. the nose, beautifully formed otherwise, was very slightly pinched at the top of each nostril. in those two compressions, or dints, the only little change that the face ever showed, resided. they persisted in changing colour sometimes, and they would be occasionally dilated and contracted by something like a faint pulsation; then, they gave a look of treachery, and cruelty, to the whole countenance. examined with attention, its capacity of helping such a look was to be found in the line of the mouth, and the lines of the orbits of the eyes, being much too horizontal and thin; still, in the effect of the face made, it was a handsome face, and a remarkable one.
its owner went downstairs into the courtyard, got into his carriage, and drove away. not many people had talked with him at the reception; he had stood in a little space apart, and monseigneur might have been warmer in his manner. it appeared, under the circumstances, rather agreeable to him to see the common people dispersed before his horses, and often barely escaping from being run down. his man drove as if he were charging an enemy, and the furious recklessness of the man brought no check into the face, or to the lips, of the master. the complaint had sometimes made itself audible, even in that deaf city and dumb age, that, in the narrow streets without footways, the fierce patrician custom of hard driving endangered and maimed the mere vulgar in a barbarous manner. but, few cared enough for that to think of it a second time, and, in this matter, as in all others, the common wretches were left to get out of their difficulties as they could.
with a wild rattle and clatter, and an inhuman abandonment of consideration not easy to be understood in these days, the carriage dashed through streets and swept round corners, with women screaming before it, and men clutching each other and clutching children out of its way. at last, swooping at a street corner by a fountain, one of its wheels came to a sickening little jolt, and there was a loud cry from a number of voices, and the horses reared and plunged.
but for the latter inconvenience, the carriage probably would not have stopped; carriages were often known to drive on, and leave their wounded behind, and why not? but the frightened valet had got down in a hurry, and there were twenty hands at the horses' bridles.
“what has gone wrong?” said monsieur, calmly looking out.
a tall man in a nightcap had caught up a bundle from among the feet of the horses, and had laid it on the basement of the fountain, and was down in the mud and wet, howling over it like a wild animal.
“pardon, monsieur the marquis!” said a ragged and submissive man, “it is a child.”
“why does he make that abominable noise? is it his child?”
“excuse me, monsieur the marquis it is a pity yes.”
the fountain was a little removed; for the street opened, where it was, into a space some ten or twelve yards square. as the tall man suddenly got up from the ground, and came running at the carriage, monsieur the marquis clapped his hand for an instant on his sword-hilt.
“killed!” shrieked the man, in wild desperation, extending both arms at their length above his head, and staring at him. “dead!”
the people closed round, and looked at monsieur the marquis. there was nothing revealed by the many eyes that looked at him but watchfulness and eagerness; there was no visible menacing or anger. neither did the people say anything; after the first cry, they had been silent, and they remained so. the voice of the submissive man who had spoken, was flat and tame in its extreme submission. monsieur the marquis ran his eyes over them all, as if they had been mere rats come out of their holes.
he took out his purse.
“it is extraordinary to me,” said he, “that you people cannot take care of yourselves and your children. one or the other of you is for ever in the way. how do i know what injury you have done my horses. see! give him that.”
he threw out a gold coin for the valet to pick up, and all the heads craned forward that all the eyes might look down at it as it fell. the tall man called out again with a most unearthly cry, “dead!”
he was arrested by the quick arrival of another man, for whom the rest made way. on seeing him, the miserable creature fell upon his shoulder, sobbing and crying, and pointing to the fountain, where some women were stooping over the motionless bundle, and moving gently about it. they were as silent, however, as the men.
“i know all, i know all,” said the last comer. “be a brave man, my gaspard! it is better for the poor little plaything to die so, than to live. it has died in a moment without pain. could it have lived an hour as happily?”
“you are a philosopher, you there,” said the marquis, smiling. “how do they call you?”
“they call me defarge.”
“of what trade?”
“monsieur the marquis, vendor of wine.”
“pick up that, philosopher and vendor of wine,” said the marquis, throwing him another gold coin, “and spend it as you will. the horses there; are they right?”
without deigning to look at the assemblage a second time, monsieur the marquis leaned back in his seat, and was just being driven away with the air of a gentleman who had accidentally broke some common thing, and had paid for it, and could afford to pay for it; when his ease was suddenly disturbed by a coin flying into his carriage, and ringing on its floor.
“hold!” said monsieur the marquis. “hold the horses! who threw that?”
he looked to the spot where defarge the vendor of wine had stood, a moment before; but the wretched father was grovelling on his face on the pavement in that spot, and the figure that stood beside him was the figure of a dark stout woman, knitting.
“you dogs!” said the marquis, but smoothly, and with an unchanged front, except as to the spots on his nose: “i would ride over any of you very willingly, and exterminate you from the earth. if i knew which rascal threw at the carriage, and if that brigand were sufficiently near it, he should be crushed under the wheels.”
so cowed was their condition, and so long and hard their experience of what such a man could do to them, within the law and beyond it, that not a voice, or a hand, or even an eye was raised. among the men, not one.
but the woman who stood knitting looked up steadily, and looked the marquis in the face. it was not for his dignity to notice it; his contemptuous eyes passed over her, and over all the other rats; and he leaned back in his seat again, and gave the word “go on!”
he was driven on, and other carriages came whirling by in quick succession; the minister, the state-projector, the farmer-general, the doctor, the lawyer, the ecclesiastic, the grand opera, the comedy, the whole fancy ball in a bright continuous flow, came whirling by. the rats had crept out of their holes to look on, and they remained looking on for hours; soldiers and police often passing between them and the spectacle, and making a barrier behind which they slunk, and through which they peeped. the father had long ago taken up his bundle and bidden himself away with it, when the women who had tended the bundle while it lay on the base of the fountain, sat there watching the running of the water and the rolling of the fancy ball when the one woman who had stood conspicuous, knitting, still knitted on with the steadfastness of fate. the water of the fountain ran, the swift river ran, the day ran into evening, so much life in the city ran into death according to rule, time and tide waited for no man, the rats were sleeping close together in their dark holes again, the fancy ball was lighted up at supper, all things ran their course.
viii. monseigneur in the country
a beautiful landscape, with the corn bright in it, but not abundant.
patches of poor rye where corn should have been, patches of poor peas and beans, patches of most coarse vegetable substitutes for wheat. on inanimate nature, as on the men and women who cultivated it, a prevalent tendency towards an appearance of vegetating unwillingly a dejected disposition to give up, and wither away.
monsieur the marquis in his travelling carriage (which might have been lighter), conducted by four post-horses and two postilions, fagged up a steep hill. a blush on the countenance of monsieur the marquis was no impeachment of his high breeding; it was not from within; it was occasioned by an external circumstance beyond his control the setting sun.
the sunset struck so brilliantly into the travelling carriage when it gained the hill-top, that its occupant was steeped in crimson. “it will die out,” said monsieur the marquis, glancing at his hands, “directly.”
in effect, the sun was so low that it dipped at the moment. when the heavy drag had been adjusted to the wheel, and the carriage slid down hill, with a cinderous smell, in a cloud of dust, the red glow departed quickly; the sun and the marquis going down together, there was no glow left when the drag was taken off.
but, there remained a broken country, bold and open, a little village at the bottom of the hill, a broad sweep and rise beyond it, a church-tower, a windmill, a forest for the chase, and a crag with a fortress on it used as a prison. round upon all these darkening objects as the night drew on, the marquis looked, with the air of one who was coming near home.
the village had its one poor street, with its poor brewery, poor tannery, poor tavern, poor stable-yard for relays of post-horses, poor fountain, all usual poor appointments. it had its poor people too. all its people were poor, and many of them were sitting at their doors, shredding spare onions and the like for supper, while many were at the fountain, washing leaves, and grasses, and any such small yieldings of the earth that could be eaten. expressive signs of what made them poor, were not wanting; the tax for the state, the tax for the church, the tax for the lord, tax local and tax general, were to be paid here and to be paid there, according to solemn inscription in the little village, until the wonder was, that there was any village left unswallowed.
few children were to be seen, and no dogs. as to the men and women, their choice on earth was stated in the prospect life on the lowest terms that could sustain it, down in the little village under the mill; or captivity and death in the dominant prison on the crag.
heralded by a courier in advance, and by the cracking of his postilions'
whips, which twined snake-like about their heads in the evening air, as if he came attended by the furies, monsieur the marquis drew up in his travelling carriage at the posting-house gate. it was hard by the fountain, and the peasants suspended their operations to look at him.
he looked at them, and saw in them, without knowing it, the slow sure filing down of misery-worn face and figure, that was to make the meagreness of frenchmen an english superstition which should survive the truth through the best part of a hundred years.
monsieur the marquis cast his eyes over the submissive faces that drooped before him, as the like of himself had drooped before monseigneur of the court only the difference was, that these faces drooped merely to suffer and not to propitiate when a grizzled mender of the roads joined the group.
“bring me hither that fellow!” said the marquis to the courier.
the fellow was brought, cap in hand, and the other fellows closed round to look and listen, in the manner of the people at the paris fountain.
“i passed you on the road?”
“monseigneur, it is true. i had the honour of being passed on the road.”
“coming up the hill, and at the top of the hill, both?”
“monseigneur, it is true.”
“what did you look at, so fixedly?”
“monseigneur, i looked at the man.”
he stooped a little, and with his tattered blue cap pointed under the carriage. all his fellows stooped to look under the carriage.
“what man, pig? and why look there?”
“pardon, monseigneur; he swung by the chain of the shoe the drag.”
“who?” demanded the traveller.
“monseigneur, the man.”
“may the devil carry away these idiots! how do you call the man? you know all the men of this part of the country. who was he?”
“your clemency, monseigneur! he was not of this part of the country. of all the days of my life, i never saw him.”
“swinging by the chain? to be suffocated?”
“with your gracious permission, that was the wonder of it, monseigneur.
his head hanging over like this!”
he turned himself sideways to the carriage, and leaned back, with his face thrown up to the sky, and his head hanging down; then recovered himself, fumbled with his cap, and made a bow.
“what was he like?”
“monseigneur, he was whiter than the miller. all covered with dust, white as a spectre, tall as a spectre!”
the picture produced an immense sensation in the little crowd; but all eyes, without comparing notes with other eyes, looked at monsieur the marquis. perhaps, to observe whether he had any spectre on his conscience.
“truly, you did well,” said the marquis, felicitously sensible that such vermin were not to ruffle him, “to see a thief accompanying my carriage, and not open that great mouth of yours. bah! put him aside, monsieur gabelle!”
monsieur gabelle was the postmaster, and some other taxing functionary united; he had come out with great obsequiousness to assist at this examination, and had held the examined by the drapery of his arm in an official manner.
“bah! go aside!” said monsieur gabelle.
“lay hands on this stranger if he seeks to lodge in your village to-night, and be sure that his business is honest, gabelle.”
“monseigneur, i am flattered to devote myself to your orders.”
“did he run away, fellow? where is that accursed?”
the accursed was already under the carriage with some half-dozen particular friends, pointing out the chain with his blue cap. some half-dozen other particular friends promptly hauled him out, and presented him breathless to monsieur the marquis.
“did the man run away, dolt, when we stopped for the drag?”
“monseigneur, he precipitated himself over the hill-side, head first, as a person plunges into the river.”
“see to it, gabelle. go on!”
the half-dozen who were peering at the chain were still among the wheels, like sheep; the wheels turned so suddenly that they were lucky to save their skins and bones; they had very little else to save, or they might not have been so fortunate.
the burst with which the carriage started out of the village and up the rise beyond, was soon checked by the steepness of the hill. gradually, it subsided to a foot pace, swinging and lumbering upward among the many sweet scents of a summer night. the postilions, with a thousand gossamer gnats circling about them in lieu of the furies, quietly mended the points to the lashes of their whips; the valet walked by the horses; the courier was audible, trotting on ahead into the dull distance.
at the steepest point of the hill there was a little burial-ground, with a cross and a new large figure of our saviour on it; it was a poor figure in wood, done by some inexperienced rustic carver, but he had studied the figure from the life his own life, maybe for it was dreadfully spare and thin.
to this distressful emblem of a great distress that had long been growing worse, and was not at its worst, a woman was kneeling. she turned her head as the carriage came up to her, rose quickly, and presented herself at the carriage-door.
“it is you, monseigneur! monseigneur, a petition.”
with an exclamation of impatience, but with his unchangeable face, monseigneur looked out.
“how, then! what is it? always petitions!”
“monseigneur. for the love of the great god! my husband, the forester.”
“what of your husband, the forester? always the same with you people. he cannot pay something?”
“he has paid all, monseigneur. he is dead.”
“well! he is quiet. can i restore him to you?”
“alas, no, monseigneur! but he lies yonder, under a little heap of poor grass.”
“well?”
“monseigneur, there are so many little heaps of poor grass?”
“again, well?”
she looked an old woman, but was young. her manner was one of passionate grief; by turns she clasped her veinous and knotted hands together with wild energy, and laid one of them on the carriage-door tenderly, caressingly, as if it had been a human breast, and could be expected to feel the appealing touch.
“monseigneur, hear me! monseigneur, hear my petition! my husband died of want; so many die of want; so many more will die of want.”
“again, well? can i feed them?”
“monseigneur, the good god knows; but i don't ask it. my petition is, that a morsel of stone or wood, with my husband's name, may be placed over him to show where he lies. otherwise, the place will be quickly forgotten, it will never be found when i am dead of the same malady, i shall be laid under some other heap of poor grass. monseigneur, they are so many, they increase so fast, there is so much want. monseigneur!
monseigneur!”
the valet had put her away from the door, the carriage had broken into a brisk trot, the postilions had quickened the pace, she was left far behind, and monseigneur, again escorted by the furies, was rapidly diminishing the league or two of distance that remained between him and his chateau.
the sweet scents of the summer night rose all around him, and rose, as the rain falls, impartially, on the dusty, ragged, and toil-worn group at the fountain not far away; to whom the mender of roads, with the aid of the blue cap without which he was nothing, still enlarged upon his man like a spectre, as long as they could bear it. by degrees, as they could bear no more, they dropped off one by one, and lights twinkled in little casements; which lights, as the casements darkened, and more stars came out, seemed to have shot up into the sky instead of having been extinguished.
the shadow of a large high-roofed house, and of many over-hanging trees, was upon monsieur the marquis by that time; and the shadow was exchanged for the light of a flambeau, as his carriage stopped, and the great door of his chateau was opened to him.
“monsieur charles, whom i expect; is he arrived from england?”
“monseigneur, not yet.”
ix. the gorgon's head
it was a heavy mass of building, that chateau of monsieur the marquis, with a large stone courtyard before it, and two stone sweeps of staircase meeting in a stone terrace before the principal door. a stony business altogether, with heavy stone balustrades, and stone urns, and stone flowers, and stone faces of men, and stone heads of lions, in all directions. as if the gorgon's head had surveyed it, when it was finished, two centuries ago.
up the broad flight of shallow steps, monsieur the marquis, flambeau preceded, went from his carriage, sufficiently disturbing the darkness to elicit loud remonstrance from an owl in the roof of the great pile of stable building away among the trees. all else was so quiet, that the flambeau carried up the steps, and the other flambeau held at the great door, burnt as if they were in a close room of state, instead of being in the open night-air. other sound than the owl's voice there was none, save the falling of a fountain into its stone basin; for, it was one of those dark nights that hold their breath by the hour together, and then heave a long low sigh, and hold their breath again.
the great door clanged behind him, and monsieur the marquis crossed a hall grim with certain old boar-spears, swords, and knives of the chase; grimmer with certain heavy riding-rods and riding-whips, of which many a peasant, gone to his benefactor death, had felt the weight when his lord was angry.
avoiding the larger rooms, which were dark and made fast for the night, monsieur the marquis, with his flambeau-bearer going on before, went up the staircase to a door in a corridor. this thrown open, admitted him to his own private apartment of three rooms: his bed-chamber and two others. high vaulted rooms with cool uncarpeted floors, great dogs upon the hearths for the burning of wood in winter time, and all luxuries befitting the state of a marquis in a luxurious age and country.
the fashion of the last louis but one, of the line that was never to break the fourteenth louis was conspicuous in their rich furniture; but, it was diversified by many objects that were illustrations of old pages in the history of france.
a supper-table was laid for two, in the third of the rooms; a round room, in one of the chateau's four extinguisher-topped towers. a small lofty room, with its window wide open, and the wooden jalousie-blinds closed, so that the dark night only showed in slight horizontal lines of black, alternating with their broad lines of stone colour.
“my nephew,” said the marquis, glancing at the supper preparation; “they said he was not arrived.”
nor was he; but, he had been expected with monseigneur.
“ah! it is not probable he will arrive to-night; nevertheless, leave the table as it is. i shall be ready in a quarter of an hour.”
in a quarter of an hour monseigneur was ready, and sat down alone to his sumptuous and choice supper. his chair was opposite to the window, and he had taken his soup, and was raising his glass of bordeaux to his lips, when he put it down.
“what is that?” he calmly asked, looking with attention at the horizontal lines of black and stone colour.
“monseigneur? that?”
“outside the blinds. open the blinds.”
it was done.
“well?”
“monseigneur, it is nothing. the trees and the night are all that are here.”
the servant who spoke, had thrown the blinds wide, had looked out into the vacant darkness, and stood with that blank behind him, looking round for instructions.
“good,” said the imperturbable master. “close them again.”
that was done too, and the marquis went on with his supper. he was half way through it, when he again stopped with his glass in his hand, hearing the sound of wheels. it came on briskly, and came up to the front of the chateau.
“ask who is arrived.”
it was the nephew of monseigneur. he had been some few leagues behind monseigneur, early in the afternoon. he had diminished the distance rapidly, but not so rapidly as to come up with monseigneur on the road.
he had heard of monseigneur, at the posting-houses, as being before him.
he was to be told (said monseigneur) that supper awaited him then and there, and that he was prayed to come to it. in a little while he came.
he had been known in england as charles darnay.
monseigneur received him in a courtly manner, but they did not shake hands.
“you left paris yesterday, sir?” he said to monseigneur, as he took his seat at table.
“yesterday. and you?”
“i come direct.”
“from london?”
“yes.”
“you have been a long time coming,” said the marquis, with a smile.
“on the contrary; i come direct.”
“pardon me! i mean, not a long time on the journey; a long time intending the journey.”
“i have been detained by” the nephew stopped a moment in his answer “various business.”
“without doubt,” said the polished uncle.
so long as a servant was present, no other words passed between them.
when coffee had been served and they were alone together, the nephew, looking at the uncle and meeting the eyes of the face that was like a fine mask, opened a conversation.
“i have come back, sir, as you anticipate, pursuing the object that took me away. it carried me into great and unexpected peril; but it is a sacred object, and if it had carried me to death i hope it would have sustained me.”
“not to death,” said the uncle; “it is not necessary to say, to death.”
“i doubt, sir,” returned the nephew, “whether, if it had carried me to the utmost brink of death, you would have cared to stop me there.”
the deepened marks in the nose, and the lengthening of the fine straight lines in the cruel face, looked ominous as to that; the uncle made a graceful gesture of protest, which was so clearly a slight form of good breeding that it was not reassuring.
“indeed, sir,” pursued the nephew, “for anything i know, you may have expressly worked to give a more suspicious appearance to the suspicious circumstances that surrounded me.”
“no, no, no,” said the uncle, pleasantly.
“but, however that may be,” resumed the nephew, glancing at him with deep distrust, “i know that your diplomacy would stop me by any means, and would know no scruple as to means.”
“my friend, i told you so,” said the uncle, with a fine pulsation in the two marks. “do me the favour to recall that i told you so, long ago.”
“i recall it.”
“thank you,” said the marquis very sweetly indeed.
his tone lingered in the air, almost like the tone of a musical instrument.
“in effect, sir,” pursued the nephew, “i believe it to be at once your bad fortune, and my good fortune, that has kept me out of a prison in france here.”
“i do not quite understand,” returned the uncle, sipping his coffee.
“dare i ask you to explain?”
“i believe that if you were not in disgrace with the court, and had not been overshadowed by that cloud for years past, a letter de cachet would have sent me to some fortress indefinitely.”
“it is possible,” said the uncle, with great calmness. “for the honour of the family, i could even resolve to incommode you to that extent.
pray excuse me!”
“i perceive that, happily for me, the reception of the day before yesterday was, as usual, a cold one,” observed the nephew.
“i would not say happily, my friend,” returned the uncle, with refined politeness; “i would not be sure of that. a good opportunity for consideration, surrounded by the advantages of solitude, might influence your destiny to far greater advantage than you influence it for yourself. but it is useless to discuss the question. i am, as you say, at a disadvantage. these little instruments of correction, these gentle aids to the power and honour of families, these slight favours that might so incommode you, are only to be obtained now by interest and importunity. they are sought by so many, and they are granted (comparatively) to so few! it used not to be so, but france in all such things is changed for the worse. our not remote ancestors held the right of life and death over the surrounding vulgar. from this room, many such dogs have been taken out to be hanged; in the next room (my bedroom), one fellow, to our knowledge, was poniarded on the spot for professing some insolent delicacy respecting his daughter his daughter? we have lost many privileges; a new philosophy has become the mode; and the assertion of our station, in these days, might (i do not go so far as to say would, but might) cause us real inconvenience. all very bad, very bad!”
the marquis took a gentle little pinch of snuff, and shook his head; as elegantly despondent as he could becomingly be of a country still containing himself, that great means of regeneration.
“we have so asserted our station, both in the old time and in the modern time also,” said the nephew, gloomily, “that i believe our name to be more detested than any name in france.”
“let us hope so,” said the uncle. “detestation of the high is the involuntary homage of the low.”
“there is not,” pursued the nephew, in his former tone, “a face i can look at, in all this country round about us, which looks at me with any deference on it but the dark deference of fear and slavery.”
“a compliment,” said the marquis, “to the grandeur of the family, merited by the manner in which the family has sustained its grandeur.
hah!” and he took another gentle little pinch of snuff, and lightly crossed his legs.
but, when his nephew, leaning an elbow on the table, covered his eyes thoughtfully and dejectedly with his hand, the fine mask looked at him sideways with a stronger concentration of keenness, closeness, and dislike, than was comportable with its wearer's assumption of indifference.
“repression is the only lasting philosophy. the dark deference of fear and slavery, my friend,” observed the marquis, “will keep the dogs obedient to the whip, as long as this roof,” looking up to it, “shuts out the sky.”
that might not be so long as the marquis supposed. if a picture of the chateau as it was to be a very few years hence, and of fifty like it as they too were to be a very few years hence, could have been shown to him that night, he might have been at a loss to claim his own from the ghastly, fire-charred, plunder-wrecked rains. as for the roof he vaunted, he might have found that shutting out the sky in a new way to wit, for ever, from the eyes of the bodies into which its lead was fired, out of the barrels of a hundred thousand muskets.
“meanwhile,” said the marquis, “i will preserve the honour and repose of the family, if you will not. but you must be fatigued. shall we terminate our conference for the night?”
“a moment more.”
“an hour, if you please.”
“sir,” said the nephew, “we have done wrong, and are reaping the fruits of wrong.”
“we have done wrong?” repeated the marquis, with an inquiring smile, and delicately pointing, first to his nephew, then to himself.
“our family; our honourable family, whose honour is of so much account to both of us, in such different ways. even in my father's time, we did a world of wrong, injuring every human creature who came between us and our pleasure, whatever it was. why need i speak of my father's time, when it is equally yours? can i separate my father's twin-brother, joint inheritor, and next successor, from himself?”
“death has done that!” said the marquis.
“and has left me,” answered the nephew, “bound to a system that is frightful to me, responsible for it, but powerless in it; seeking to execute the last request of my dear mother's lips, and obey the last look of my dear mother's eyes, which implored me to have mercy and to redress; and tortured by seeking assistance and power in vain.”
“seeking them from me, my nephew,” said the marquis, touching him on the breast with his forefinger they were now standing by the hearth “you will for ever seek them in vain, be assured.”
every fine straight line in the clear whiteness of his face, was cruelly, craftily, and closely compressed, while he stood looking quietly at his nephew, with his snuff-box in his hand. once again he touched him on the breast, as though his finger were the fine point of a small sword, with which, in delicate finesse, he ran him through the body, and said,
“my friend, i will die, perpetuating the system under which i have lived.”
when he had said it, he took a culminating pinch of snuff, and put his box in his pocket.
“better to be a rational creature,” he added then, after ringing a small bell on the table, “and accept your natural destiny. but you are lost, monsieur charles, i see.”
“this property and france are lost to me,” said the nephew, sadly; “i renounce them.”
“are they both yours to renounce? france may be, but is the property? it is scarcely worth mentioning; but, is it yet?”
“i had no intention, in the words i used, to claim it yet. if it passed to me from you, to-morrow ”
“which i have the vanity to hope is not probable.”
“ or twenty years hence ”
“you do me too much honour,” said the marquis; “still, i prefer that supposition.”
“ i would abandon it, and live otherwise and elsewhere. it is little to relinquish. what is it but a wilderness of misery and ruin!”
“hah!” said the marquis, glancing round the luxurious room.
“to the eye it is fair enough, here; but seen in its integrity, under the sky, and by the daylight, it is a crumbling tower of waste, mismanagement, extortion, debt, mortgage, oppression, hunger, nakedness, and suffering.”
“hah!” said the marquis again, in a well-satisfied manner.
“if it ever becomes mine, it shall be put into some hands better qualified to free it slowly (if such a thing is possible) from the weight that drags it down, so that the miserable people who cannot leave it and who have been long wrung to the last point of endurance, may, in another generation, suffer less; but it is not for me. there is a curse on it, and on all this land.”
“and you?” said the uncle. “forgive my curiosity; do you, under your new philosophy, graciously intend to live?”
“i must do, to live, what others of my countrymen, even with nobility at their backs, may have to do some day work.”
“in england, for example?”
“yes. the family honour, sir, is safe from me in this country. the family name can suffer from me in no other, for i bear it in no other.”
the ringing of the bell had caused the adjoining bed-chamber to be lighted. it now shone brightly, through the door of communication. the marquis looked that way, and listened for the retreating step of his valet.
“england is very attractive to you, seeing how indifferently you have prospered there,” he observed then, turning his calm face to his nephew with a smile.
“i have already said, that for my prospering there, i am sensible i may be indebted to you, sir. for the rest, it is my refuge.”
“they say, those boastful english, that it is the refuge of many. you know a compatriot who has found a refuge there? a doctor?”
“yes.”
“with a daughter?”
“yes.”
“yes,” said the marquis. “you are fatigued. good night!”
as he bent his head in his most courtly manner, there was a secrecy in his smiling face, and he conveyed an air of mystery to those words, which struck the eyes and ears of his nephew forcibly. at the same time, the thin straight lines of the setting of the eyes, and the thin straight lips, and the markings in the nose, curved with a sarcasm that looked handsomely diabolic.
“yes,” repeated the marquis. “a doctor with a daughter. yes. so commences the new philosophy! you are fatigued. good night!”
it would have been of as much avail to interrogate any stone face outside the chateau as to interrogate that face of his. the nephew looked at him, in vain, in passing on to the door.
“good night!” said the uncle. “i look to the pleasure of seeing you again in the morning. good repose! light monsieur my nephew to his chamber there! and burn monsieur my nephew in his bed, if you will,” he added to himself, before he rang his little bell again, and summoned his valet to his own bedroom.
the valet come and gone, monsieur the marquis walked to and fro in his loose chamber-robe, to prepare himself gently for sleep, that hot still night. rustling about the room, his softly-slippered feet making no noise on the floor, he moved like a refined tiger: looked like some enchanted marquis of the impenitently wicked sort, in story, whose periodical change into tiger form was either just going off, or just coming on.
he moved from end to end of his voluptuous bedroom, looking again at the scraps of the day's journey that came unbidden into his mind; the slow toil up the hill at sunset, the setting sun, the descent, the mill, the prison on the crag, the little village in the hollow, the peasants at the fountain, and the mender of roads with his blue cap pointing out the chain under the carriage. that fountain suggested the paris fountain, the little bundle lying on the step, the women bending over it, and the tall man with his arms up, crying, “dead!”
“i am cool now,” said monsieur the marquis, “and may go to bed.”
so, leaving only one light burning on the large hearth, he let his thin gauze curtains fall around him, and heard the night break its silence with a long sigh as he composed himself to sleep.
the stone faces on the outer walls stared blindly at the black night for three heavy hours; for three heavy hours, the horses in the stables rattled at their racks, the dogs barked, and the owl made a noise with very little resemblance in it to the noise conventionally assigned to the owl by men-poets. but it is the obstinate custom of such creatures hardly ever to say what is set down for them.
for three heavy hours, the stone faces of the chateau, lion and human, stared blindly at the night. dead darkness lay on all the landscape, dead darkness added its own hush to the hushing dust on all the roads.
the burial-place had got to the pass that its little heaps of poor grass were undistinguishable from one another; the figure on the cross might have come down, for anything that could be seen of it. in the village, taxers and taxed were fast asleep. dreaming, perhaps, of banquets, as the starved usually do, and of ease and rest, as the driven slave and the yoked ox may, its lean inhabitants slept soundly, and were fed and freed.
the fountain in the village flowed unseen and unheard, and the fountain at the chateau dropped unseen and unheard both melting away, like the minutes that were falling from the spring of time through three dark hours. then, the grey water of both began to be ghostly in the light, and the eyes of the stone faces of the chateau were opened.
lighter and lighter, until at last the sun touched the tops of the still trees, and poured its radiance over the hill. in the glow, the water of the chateau fountain seemed to turn to blood, and the stone faces crimsoned. the carol of the birds was loud and high, and, on the weather-beaten sill of the great window of the bed-chamber of monsieur the marquis, one little bird sang its sweetest song with all its might.
at this, the nearest stone face seemed to stare amazed, and, with open mouth and dropped under-jaw, looked awe-stricken.
now, the sun was full up, and movement began in the village. casement windows opened, crazy doors were unbarred, and people came forth shivering chilled, as yet, by the new sweet air. then began the rarely lightened toil of the day among the village population. some, to the fountain; some, to the fields; men and women here, to dig and delve; men and women there, to see to the poor live stock, and lead the bony cows out, to such pasture as could be found by the roadside. in the church and at the cross, a kneeling figure or two; attendant on the latter prayers, the led cow, trying for a breakfast among the weeds at its foot.
the chateau awoke later, as became its quality, but awoke gradually and surely. first, the lonely boar-spears and knives of the chase had been reddened as of old; then, had gleamed trenchant in the morning sunshine; now, doors and windows were thrown open, horses in their stables looked round over their shoulders at the light and freshness pouring in at doorways, leaves sparkled and rustled at iron-grated windows, dogs pulled hard at their chains, and reared impatient to be loosed.
all these trivial incidents belonged to the routine of life, and the return of morning. surely, not so the ringing of the great bell of the chateau, nor the running up and down the stairs; nor the hurried figures on the terrace; nor the booting and tramping here and there and everywhere, nor the quick saddling of horses and riding away?
what winds conveyed this hurry to the grizzled mender of roads, already at work on the hill-top beyond the village, with his day's dinner (not much to carry) lying in a bundle that it was worth no crow's while to peck at, on a heap of stones? had the birds, carrying some grains of it to a distance, dropped one over him as they sow chance seeds? whether or no, the mender of roads ran, on the sultry morning, as if for his life, down the hill, knee-high in dust, and never stopped till he got to the fountain.
all the people of the village were at the fountain, standing about in their depressed manner, and whispering low, but showing no other emotions than grim curiosity and surprise. the led cows, hastily brought in and tethered to anything that would hold them, were looking stupidly on, or lying down chewing the cud of nothing particularly repaying their trouble, which they had picked up in their interrupted saunter. some of the people of the chateau, and some of those of the posting-house, and all the taxing authorities, were armed more or less, and were crowded on the other side of the little street in a purposeless way, that was highly fraught with nothing. already, the mender of roads had penetrated into the midst of a group of fifty particular friends, and was smiting himself in the breast with his blue cap. what did all this portend, and what portended the swift hoisting-up of monsieur gabelle behind a servant on horseback, and the conveying away of the said gabelle (double-laden though the horse was), at a gallop, like a new version of the german ballad of leonora?
it portended that there was one stone face too many, up at the chateau.
the gorgon had surveyed the building again in the night, and had added the one stone face wanting; the stone face for which it had waited through about two hundred years.
it lay back on the pillow of monsieur the marquis. it was like a fine mask, suddenly startled, made angry, and petrified. driven home into the heart of the stone figure attached to it, was a knife. round its hilt was a frill of paper, on which was scrawled:
“drive him fast to his tomb. this, from jacques.”
x. two promises
more months, to the number of twelve, had come and gone, and mr. charles darnay was established in england as a higher teacher of the french language who was conversant with french literature. in this age, he would have been a professor; in that age, he was a tutor. he read with young men who could find any leisure and interest for the study of a living tongue spoken all over the world, and he cultivated a taste for its stores of knowledge and fancy. he could write of them, besides, in sound english, and render them into sound english. such masters were not at that time easily found; princes that had been, and kings that were to be, were not yet of the teacher class, and no ruined nobility had dropped out of tellson's ledgers, to turn cooks and carpenters. as a tutor, whose attainments made the student's way unusually pleasant and profitable, and as an elegant translator who brought something to his work besides mere dictionary knowledge, young mr. darnay soon became known and encouraged. he was well acquainted, more-over, with the circumstances of his country, and those were of ever-growing interest.
so, with great perseverance and untiring industry, he prospered.
in london, he had expected neither to walk on pavements of gold, nor to lie on beds of roses; if he had had any such exalted expectation, he would not have prospered. he had expected labour, and he found it, and did it and made the best of it. in this, his prosperity consisted.
a certain portion of his time was passed at cambridge, where he read with undergraduates as a sort of tolerated smuggler who drove a contraband trade in european languages, instead of conveying greek and latin through the custom-house. the rest of his time he passed in london.
now, from the days when it was always summer in eden, to these days when it is mostly winter in fallen latitudes, the world of a man has invariably gone one way charles darnay's way the way of the love of a woman.
he had loved lucie manette from the hour of his danger. he had never heard a sound so sweet and dear as the sound of her compassionate voice; he had never seen a face so tenderly beautiful, as hers when it was confronted with his own on the edge of the grave that had been dug for him. but, he had not yet spoken to her on the subject; the assassination at the deserted chateau far away beyond the heaving water and the long, long, dusty roads the solid stone chateau which had itself become the mere mist of a dream had been done a year, and he had never yet, by so much as a single spoken word, disclosed to her the state of his heart.
that he had his reasons for this, he knew full well. it was again a summer day when, lately arrived in london from his college occupation, he turned into the quiet corner in soho, bent on seeking an opportunity of opening his mind to doctor manette. it was the close of the summer day, and he knew lucie to be out with miss pross.
he found the doctor reading in his arm-chair at a window. the energy which had at once supported him under his old sufferings and aggravated their sharpness, had been gradually restored to him. he was now a very energetic man indeed, with great firmness of purpose, strength of resolution, and vigour of action. in his recovered energy he was sometimes a little fitful and sudden, as he had at first been in the exercise of his other recovered faculties; but, this had never been frequently observable, and had grown more and more rare.
he studied much, slept little, sustained a great deal of fatigue with ease, and was equably cheerful. to him, now entered charles darnay, at sight of whom he laid aside his book and held out his hand.
“charles darnay! i rejoice to see you. we have been counting on your return these three or four days past. mr. stryver and sydney carton were both here yesterday, and both made you out to be more than due.”
“i am obliged to them for their interest in the matter,” he answered, a little coldly as to them, though very warmly as to the doctor. “miss manette ”
“is well,” said the doctor, as he stopped short, “and your return will delight us all. she has gone out on some household matters, but will soon be home.”
“doctor manette, i knew she was from home. i took the opportunity of her being from home, to beg to speak to you.”
there was a blank silence.
“yes?” said the doctor, with evident constraint. “bring your chair here, and speak on.”
he complied as to the chair, but appeared to find the speaking on less easy.
“i have had the happiness, doctor manette, of being so intimate here,”
so he at length began, “for some year and a half, that i hope the topic on which i am about to touch may not ”
he was stayed by the doctor's putting out his hand to stop him. when he had kept it so a little while, he said, drawing it back:
“is lucie the topic?”
“she is.”
“it is hard for me to speak of her at any time. it is very hard for me to hear her spoken of in that tone of yours, charles darnay.”
“it is a tone of fervent admiration, true homage, and deep love, doctor manette!” he said deferentially.
there was another blank silence before her father rejoined:
“i believe it. i do you justice; i believe it.”
his constraint was so manifest, and it was so manifest, too, that it originated in an unwillingness to approach the subject, that charles darnay hesitated.
“shall i go on, sir?”
another blank.
“yes, go on.”
“you anticipate what i would say, though you cannot know how earnestly i say it, how earnestly i feel it, without knowing my secret heart, and the hopes and fears and anxieties with which it has long been laden. dear doctor manette, i love your daughter fondly, dearly, disinterestedly, devotedly. if ever there were love in the world, i love her. you have loved yourself; let your old love speak for me!”
the doctor sat with his face turned away, and his eyes bent on the ground. at the last words, he stretched out his hand again, hurriedly, and cried:
“not that, sir! let that be! i adjure you, do not recall that!”
his cry was so like a cry of actual pain, that it rang in charles darnay's ears long after he had ceased. he motioned with the hand he had extended, and it seemed to be an appeal to darnay to pause. the latter so received it, and remained silent.
“i ask your pardon,” said the doctor, in a subdued tone, after some moments. “i do not doubt your loving lucie; you may be satisfied of it.”
he turned towards him in his chair, but did not look at him, or raise his eyes. his chin dropped upon his hand, and his white hair overshadowed his face:
“have you spoken to lucie?”
“no.”
“nor written?”
“never.”
“it would be ungenerous to affect not to know that your self-denial is to be referred to your consideration for her father. her father thanks you.”
he offered his hand; but his eyes did not go with it.
“i know,” said darnay, respectfully, “how can i fail to know, doctor manette, i who have seen you together from day to day, that between you and miss manette there is an affection so unusual, so touching, so belonging to the circumstances in which it has been nurtured, that it can have few parallels, even in the tenderness between a father and child. i know, doctor manette how can i fail to know that, mingled with the affection and duty of a daughter who has become a woman, there is, in her heart, towards you, all the love and reliance of infancy itself. i know that, as in her childhood she had no parent, so she is now devoted to you with all the constancy and fervour of her present years and character, united to the trustfulness and attachment of the early days in which you were lost to her. i know perfectly well that if you had been restored to her from the world beyond this life, you could hardly be invested, in her sight, with a more sacred character than that in which you are always with her. i know that when she is clinging to you, the hands of baby, girl, and woman, all in one, are round your neck. i know that in loving you she sees and loves her mother at her own age, sees and loves you at my age, loves her mother broken-hearted, loves you through your dreadful trial and in your blessed restoration. i have known this, night and day, since i have known you in your home.”
her father sat silent, with his face bent down. his breathing was a little quickened; but he repressed all other signs of agitation.
“dear doctor manette, always knowing this, always seeing her and you with this hallowed light about you, i have forborne, and forborne, as long as it was in the nature of man to do it. i have felt, and do even now feel, that to bring my love even mine between you, is to touch your history with something not quite so good as itself. but i love her.
heaven is my witness that i love her!”
“i believe it,” answered her father, mournfully. “i have thought so before now. i believe it.”
“but, do not believe,” said darnay, upon whose ear the mournful voice struck with a reproachful sound, “that if my fortune were so cast as that, being one day so happy as to make her my wife, i must at any time put any separation between her and you, i could or would breathe a word of what i now say. besides that i should know it to be hopeless, i should know it to be a baseness. if i had any such possibility, even at a remote distance of years, harboured in my thoughts, and hidden in my heart if it ever had been there if it ever could be there i could not now touch this honoured hand.”
he laid his own upon it as he spoke.
“no, dear doctor manette. like you, a voluntary exile from france; like you, driven from it by its distractions, oppressions, and miseries; like you, striving to live away from it by my own exertions, and trusting in a happier future; i look only to sharing your fortunes, sharing your life and home, and being faithful to you to the death. not to divide with lucie her privilege as your child, companion, and friend; but to come in aid of it, and bind her closer to you, if such a thing can be.”
his touch still lingered on her father's hand. answering the touch for a moment, but not coldly, her father rested his hands upon the arms of his chair, and looked up for the first time since the beginning of the conference. a struggle was evidently in his face; a struggle with that occasional look which had a tendency in it to dark doubt and dread.
“you speak so feelingly and so manfully, charles darnay, that i thank you with all my heart, and will open all my heart or nearly so. have you any reason to believe that lucie loves you?”
“none. as yet, none.”
“is it the immediate object of this confidence, that you may at once ascertain that, with my knowledge?”
“not even so. i might not have the hopefulness to do it for weeks; i might (mistaken or not mistaken) have that hopefulness to-morrow.”
“do you seek any guidance from me?”
“i ask none, sir. but i have thought it possible that you might have it in your power, if you should deem it right, to give me some.”
“do you seek any promise from me?”
“i do seek that.”
“what is it?”
“i well understand that, without you, i could have no hope. i well understand that, even if miss manette held me at this moment in her innocent heart do not think i have the presumption to assume so much i could retain no place in it against her love for her father.”
“if that be so, do you see what, on the other hand, is involved in it?”
“i understand equally well, that a word from her father in any suitor's favour, would outweigh herself and all the world. for which reason, doctor manette,” said darnay, modestly but firmly, “i would not ask that word, to save my life.”
“i am sure of it. charles darnay, mysteries arise out of close love, as well as out of wide division; in the former case, they are subtle and delicate, and difficult to penetrate. my daughter lucie is, in this one respect, such a mystery to me; i can make no guess at the state of her heart.”
“may i ask, sir, if you think she is ” as he hesitated, her father supplied the rest.
“is sought by any other suitor?”
“it is what i meant to say.”
her father considered a little before he answered:
“you have seen mr. carton here, yourself. mr. stryver is here too, occasionally. if it be at all, it can only be by one of these.”
“or both,” said darnay.
“i had not thought of both; i should not think either, likely. you want a promise from me. tell me what it is.”
“it is, that if miss manette should bring to you at any time, on her own part, such a confidence as i have ventured to lay before you, you will bear testimony to what i have said, and to your belief in it. i hope you may be able to think so well of me, as to urge no influence against me. i say nothing more of my stake in this; this is what i ask. the condition on which i ask it, and which you have an undoubted right to require, i will observe immediately.”
“i give the promise,” said the doctor, “without any condition. i believe your object to be, purely and truthfully, as you have stated it. i believe your intention is to perpetuate, and not to weaken, the ties between me and my other and far dearer self. if she should ever tell me that you are essential to her perfect happiness, i will give her to you.
if there were charles darnay, if there were ”
the young man had taken his hand gratefully; their hands were joined as the doctor spoke:
“ any fancies, any reasons, any apprehensions, anything whatsoever, new or old, against the man she really loved the direct responsibility thereof not lying on his head they should all be obliterated for her sake. she is everything to me; more to me than suffering, more to me than wrong, more to me well! this is idle talk.”
so strange was the way in which he faded into silence, and so strange his fixed look when he had ceased to speak, that darnay felt his own hand turn cold in the hand that slowly released and dropped it.
“you said something to me,” said doctor manette, breaking into a smile.
“what was it you said to me?”
he was at a loss how to answer, until he remembered having spoken of a condition. relieved as his mind reverted to that, he answered:
“your confidence in me ought to be returned with full confidence on my part. my present name, though but slightly changed from my mother's, is not, as you will remember, my own. i wish to tell you what that is, and why i am in england.”
“stop!” said the doctor of beauvais.
“i wish it, that i may the better deserve your confidence, and have no secret from you.”
“stop!”
for an instant, the doctor even had his two hands at his ears; for another instant, even had his two hands laid on darnay's lips.
“tell me when i ask you, not now. if your suit should prosper, if lucie should love you, you shall tell me on your marriage morning. do you promise?”
“willingly.
“give me your hand. she will be home directly, and it is better she should not see us together to-night. go! god bless you!”
it was dark when charles darnay left him, and it was an hour later and darker when lucie came home; she hurried into the room alone for miss pross had gone straight up-stairs and was surprised to find his reading-chair empty.
“my father!” she called to him. “father dear!”
nothing was said in answer, but she heard a low hammering sound in his bedroom. passing lightly across the intermediate room, she looked in at his door and came running back frightened, crying to herself, with her blood all chilled, “what shall i do! what shall i do!”
her uncertainty lasted but a moment; she hurried back, and tapped at his door, and softly called to him. the noise ceased at the sound of her voice, and he presently came out to her, and they walked up and down together for a long time.
she came down from her bed, to look at him in his sleep that night. he slept heavily, and his tray of shoemaking tools, and his old unfinished work, were all as usual.
xi. a companion picture
“sydney,” said mr. stryver, on that self-same night, or morning, to his jackal; “mix another bowl of punch; i have something to say to you.”
sydney had been working double tides that night, and the night before, and the night before that, and a good many nights in succession, making a grand clearance among mr. stryver's papers before the setting in of the long vacation. the clearance was effected at last; the stryver arrears were handsomely fetched up; everything was got rid of until november should come with its fogs atmospheric, and fogs legal, and bring grist to the mill again.
sydney was none the livelier and none the soberer for so much application. it had taken a deal of extra wet-towelling to pull him through the night; a correspondingly extra quantity of wine had preceded the towelling; and he was in a very damaged condition, as he now pulled his turban off and threw it into the basin in which he had steeped it at intervals for the last six hours.
“are you mixing that other bowl of punch?” said stryver the portly, with his hands in his waistband, glancing round from the sofa where he lay on his back.
“i am.”
“now, look here! i am going to tell you something that will rather surprise you, and that perhaps will make you think me not quite as shrewd as you usually do think me. i intend to marry.”
“do you?”
“yes. and not for money. what do you say now?”
“i don't feel disposed to say much. who is she?”
“guess.”
“do i know her?”
“guess.”
“i am not going to guess, at five o'clock in the morning, with my brains frying and sputtering in my head. if you want me to guess, you must ask me to dinner.”
“well then, i'll tell you,” said stryver, coming slowly into a sitting posture. “sydney, i rather despair of making myself intelligible to you, because you are such an insensible dog.”
“and you,” returned sydney, busy concocting the punch, “are such a sensitive and poetical spirit ”
“come!” rejoined stryver, laughing boastfully, “though i don't prefer any claim to being the soul of romance (for i hope i know better), still i am a tenderer sort of fellow than you.”
“you are a luckier, if you mean that.”
“i don't mean that. i mean i am a man of more more ”
“say gallantry, while you are about it,” suggested carton.
“well! i'll say gallantry. my meaning is that i am a man,” said stryver, inflating himself at his friend as he made the punch, “who cares more to be agreeable, who takes more pains to be agreeable, who knows better how to be agreeable, in a woman's society, than you do.”
“go on,” said sydney carton.
“no; but before i go on,” said stryver, shaking his head in his bullying way, “i'll have this out with you. you've been at doctor manette's house as much as i have, or more than i have. why, i have been ashamed of your moroseness there! your manners have been of that silent and sullen and hangdog kind, that, upon my life and soul, i have been ashamed of you, sydney!”
“it should be very beneficial to a man in your practice at the bar, to be ashamed of anything,” returned sydney; “you ought to be much obliged to me.”
“you shall not get off in that way,” rejoined stryver, shouldering the rejoinder at him; “no, sydney, it's my duty to tell you and i tell you to your face to do you good that you are a devilish ill-conditioned fellow in that sort of society. you are a disagreeable fellow.”
sydney drank a bumper of the punch he had made, and laughed.
“look at me!” said stryver, squaring himself; “i have less need to make myself agreeable than you have, being more independent in circumstances.
why do i do it?”
“i never saw you do it yet,” muttered carton.
“i do it because it's politic; i do it on principle. and look at me! i get on.”
“you don't get on with your account of your matrimonial intentions,”
answered carton, with a careless air; “i wish you would keep to that. as to me will you never understand that i am incorrigible?”
he asked the question with some appearance of scorn.
“you have no business to be incorrigible,” was his friend's answer, delivered in no very soothing tone.
“i have no business to be, at all, that i know of,” said sydney carton.
“who is the lady?”
“now, don't let my announcement of the name make you uncomfortable, sydney,” said mr. stryver, preparing him with ostentatious friendliness for the disclosure he was about to make, “because i know you don't mean half you say; and if you meant it all, it would be of no importance. i make this little preface, because you once mentioned the young lady to me in slighting terms.”
“i did?”
“certainly; and in these chambers.”
sydney carton looked at his punch and looked at his complacent friend; drank his punch and looked at his complacent friend.
“you made mention of the young lady as a golden-haired doll. the young lady is miss manette. if you had been a fellow of any sensitiveness or delicacy of feeling in that kind of way, sydney, i might have been a little resentful of your employing such a designation; but you are not.
you want that sense altogether; therefore i am no more annoyed when i think of the expression, than i should be annoyed by a man's opinion of a picture of mine, who had no eye for pictures: or of a piece of music of mine, who had no ear for music.”
sydney carton drank the punch at a great rate; drank it by bumpers, looking at his friend.
“now you know all about it, syd,” said mr. stryver. “i don't care about fortune: she is a charming creature, and i have made up my mind to please myself: on the whole, i think i can afford to please myself. she will have in me a man already pretty well off, and a rapidly rising man, and a man of some distinction: it is a piece of good fortune for her, but she is worthy of good fortune. are you astonished?”
carton, still drinking the punch, rejoined, “why should i be astonished?”
“you approve?”
carton, still drinking the punch, rejoined, “why should i not approve?”
“well!” said his friend stryver, “you take it more easily than i fancied you would, and are less mercenary on my behalf than i thought you would be; though, to be sure, you know well enough by this time that your ancient chum is a man of a pretty strong will. yes, sydney, i have had enough of this style of life, with no other as a change from it; i feel that it is a pleasant thing for a man to have a home when he feels inclined to go to it (when he doesn't, he can stay away), and i feel that miss manette will tell well in any station, and will always do me credit. so i have made up my mind. and now, sydney, old boy, i want to say a word to you about your prospects. you are in a bad way, you know; you really are in a bad way. you don't know the value of money, you live hard, you'll knock up one of these days, and be ill and poor; you really ought to think about a nurse.”
the prosperous patronage with which he said it, made him look twice as big as he was, and four times as offensive.
“now, let me recommend you,” pursued stryver, “to look it in the face.
i have looked it in the face, in my different way; look it in the face, you, in your different way. marry. provide somebody to take care of you. never mind your having no enjoyment of women's society, nor understanding of it, nor tact for it. find out somebody. find out some respectable woman with a little property somebody in the landlady way, or lodging-letting way and marry her, against a rainy day. that's the kind of thing for you. now think of it, sydney.”
“i'll think of it,” said sydney.
xii. the fellow of delicacy
mr. stryver having made up his mind to that magnanimous bestowal of good fortune on the doctor's daughter, resolved to make her happiness known to her before he left town for the long vacation. after some mental debating of the point, he came to the conclusion that it would be as well to get all the preliminaries done with, and they could then arrange at their leisure whether he should give her his hand a week or two before michaelmas term, or in the little christmas vacation between it and hilary.
as to the strength of his case, he had not a doubt about it, but clearly saw his way to the verdict. argued with the jury on substantial worldly grounds the only grounds ever worth taking into account it was a plain case, and had not a weak spot in it. he called himself for the plaintiff, there was no getting over his evidence, the counsel for the defendant threw up his brief, and the jury did not even turn to consider. after trying it, stryver, c. j., was satisfied that no plainer case could be.
accordingly, mr. stryver inaugurated the long vacation with a formal proposal to take miss manette to vauxhall gardens; that failing, to ranelagh; that unaccountably failing too, it behoved him to present himself in soho, and there declare his noble mind.
towards soho, therefore, mr. stryver shouldered his way from the temple, while the bloom of the long vacation's infancy was still upon it.
anybody who had seen him projecting himself into soho while he was yet on saint dunstan's side of temple bar, bursting in his full-blown way along the pavement, to the jostlement of all weaker people, might have seen how safe and strong he was.
his way taking him past tellson's, and he both banking at tellson's and knowing mr. lorry as the intimate friend of the manettes, it entered mr.
stryver's mind to enter the bank, and reveal to mr. lorry the brightness of the soho horizon. so, he pushed open the door with the weak rattle in its throat, stumbled down the two steps, got past the two ancient cashiers, and shouldered himself into the musty back closet where mr.
lorry sat at great books ruled for figures, with perpendicular iron bars to his window as if that were ruled for figures too, and everything under the clouds were a sum.
“halloa!” said mr. stryver. “how do you do? i hope you are well!”
it was stryver's grand peculiarity that he always seemed too big for any place, or space. he was so much too big for tellson's, that old clerks in distant corners looked up with looks of remonstrance, as though he squeezed them against the wall. the house itself, magnificently reading the paper quite in the far-off perspective, lowered displeased, as if the stryver head had been butted into its responsible waistcoat.
the discreet mr. lorry said, in a sample tone of the voice he would recommend under the circumstances, “how do you do, mr. stryver? how do you do, sir?” and shook hands. there was a peculiarity in his manner of shaking hands, always to be seen in any clerk at tellson's who shook hands with a customer when the house pervaded the air. he shook in a self-abnegating way, as one who shook for tellson and co.
“can i do anything for you, mr. stryver?” asked mr. lorry, in his business character.
“why, no, thank you; this is a private visit to yourself, mr. lorry; i have come for a private word.”
“oh indeed!” said mr. lorry, bending down his ear, while his eye strayed to the house afar off.
“i am going,” said mr. stryver, leaning his arms confidentially on the desk: whereupon, although it was a large double one, there appeared to be not half desk enough for him: “i am going to make an offer of myself in marriage to your agreeable little friend, miss manette, mr. lorry.”
“oh dear me!” cried mr. lorry, rubbing his chin, and looking at his visitor dubiously.
“oh dear me, sir?” repeated stryver, drawing back. “oh dear you, sir?
what may your meaning be, mr. lorry?”
“my meaning,” answered the man of business, “is, of course, friendly and appreciative, and that it does you the greatest credit, and in short, my meaning is everything you could desire. but really, you know, mr.
stryver ” mr. lorry paused, and shook his head at him in the oddest manner, as if he were compelled against his will to add, internally, “you know there really is so much too much of you!”
“well!” said stryver, slapping the desk with his contentious hand, opening his eyes wider, and taking a long breath, “if i understand you, mr. lorry, i'll be hanged!”
mr. lorry adjusted his little wig at both ears as a means towards that end, and bit the feather of a pen.
“d n it all, sir!” said stryver, staring at him, “am i not eligible?”
“oh dear yes! yes. oh yes, you're eligible!” said mr. lorry. “if you say eligible, you are eligible.”
“am i not prosperous?” asked stryver.
“oh! if you come to prosperous, you are prosperous,” said mr. lorry.
“and advancing?”
“if you come to advancing you know,” said mr. lorry, delighted to be able to make another admission, “nobody can doubt that.”
“then what on earth is your meaning, mr. lorry?” demanded stryver, perceptibly crestfallen.
“well! i were you going there now?” asked mr. lorry.
“straight!” said stryver, with a plump of his fist on the desk.
“then i think i wouldn't, if i was you.”
“why?” said stryver. “now, i'll put you in a corner,” forensically shaking a forefinger at him. “you are a man of business and bound to have a reason. state your reason. why wouldn't you go?”
“because,” said mr. lorry, “i wouldn't go on such an object without having some cause to believe that i should succeed.”
“d n me!” cried stryver, “but this beats everything.”
mr. lorry glanced at the distant house, and glanced at the angry stryver.
“here's a man of business a man of years a man of experience in a bank,” said stryver; “and having summed up three leading reasons for complete success, he says there's no reason at all! says it with his head on!” mr. stryver remarked upon the peculiarity as if it would have been infinitely less remarkable if he had said it with his head off.
“when i speak of success, i speak of success with the young lady; and when i speak of causes and reasons to make success probable, i speak of causes and reasons that will tell as such with the young lady. the young lady, my good sir,” said mr. lorry, mildly tapping the stryver arm, “the young lady. the young lady goes before all.”
“then you mean to tell me, mr. lorry,” said stryver, squaring his elbows, “that it is your deliberate opinion that the young lady at present in question is a mincing fool?”
“not exactly so. i mean to tell you, mr. stryver,” said mr. lorry, reddening, “that i will hear no disrespectful word of that young lady from any lips; and that if i knew any man which i hope i do not whose taste was so coarse, and whose temper was so overbearing, that he could not restrain himself from speaking disrespectfully of that young lady at this desk, not even tellson's should prevent my giving him a piece of my mind.”
the necessity of being angry in a suppressed tone had put mr. stryver's blood-vessels into a dangerous state when it was his turn to be angry; mr. lorry's veins, methodical as their courses could usually be, were in no better state now it was his turn.
“that is what i mean to tell you, sir,” said mr. lorry. “pray let there be no mistake about it.”
mr. stryver sucked the end of a ruler for a little while, and then stood hitting a tune out of his teeth with it, which probably gave him the toothache. he broke the awkward silence by saying:
“this is something new to me, mr. lorry. you deliberately advise me not to go up to soho and offer myself myself, stryver of the king's bench bar?”
“do you ask me for my advice, mr. stryver?”
“yes, i do.”
“very good. then i give it, and you have repeated it correctly.”
“and all i can say of it is,” laughed stryver with a vexed laugh, “that this ha, ha! beats everything past, present, and to come.”
“now understand me,” pursued mr. lorry. “as a man of business, i am not justified in saying anything about this matter, for, as a man of business, i know nothing of it. but, as an old fellow, who has carried miss manette in his arms, who is the trusted friend of miss manette and of her father too, and who has a great affection for them both, i have spoken. the confidence is not of my seeking, recollect. now, you think i may not be right?”
“not i!” said stryver, whistling. “i can't undertake to find third parties in common sense; i can only find it for myself. i suppose sense in certain quarters; you suppose mincing bread-and-butter nonsense. it's new to me, but you are right, i dare say.”
“what i suppose, mr. stryver, i claim to characterise for myself and understand me, sir,” said mr. lorry, quickly flushing again, “i will not not even at tellson's have it characterised for me by any gentleman breathing.”
“there! i beg your pardon!” said stryver.
“granted. thank you. well, mr. stryver, i was about to say: it might be painful to you to find yourself mistaken, it might be painful to doctor manette to have the task of being explicit with you, it might be very painful to miss manette to have the task of being explicit with you. you know the terms upon which i have the honour and happiness to stand with the family. if you please, committing you in no way, representing you in no way, i will undertake to correct my advice by the exercise of a little new observation and judgment expressly brought to bear upon it. if you should then be dissatisfied with it, you can but test its soundness for yourself; if, on the other hand, you should be satisfied with it, and it should be what it now is, it may spare all sides what is best spared. what do you say?”
“how long would you keep me in town?”
“oh! it is only a question of a few hours. i could go to soho in the evening, and come to your chambers afterwards.”
“then i say yes,” said stryver: “i won't go up there now, i am not so hot upon it as that comes to; i say yes, and i shall expect you to look in to-night. good morning.”
then mr. stryver turned and burst out of the bank, causing such a concussion of air on his passage through, that to stand up against it bowing behind the two counters, required the utmost remaining strength of the two ancient clerks. those venerable and feeble persons were always seen by the public in the act of bowing, and were popularly believed, when they had bowed a customer out, still to keep on bowing in the empty office until they bowed another customer in.
the barrister was keen enough to divine that the banker would not have gone so far in his expression of opinion on any less solid ground than moral certainty. unprepared as he was for the large pill he had to swallow, he got it down. “and now,” said mr. stryver, shaking his forensic forefinger at the temple in general, when it was down, “my way out of this, is, to put you all in the wrong.”
it was a bit of the art of an old bailey tactician, in which he found great relief. “you shall not put me in the wrong, young lady,” said mr.
stryver; “i'll do that for you.”
accordingly, when mr. lorry called that night as late as ten o'clock, mr. stryver, among a quantity of books and papers littered out for the purpose, seemed to have nothing less on his mind than the subject of the morning. he even showed surprise when he saw mr. lorry, and was altogether in an absent and preoccupied state.
“well!” said that good-natured emissary, after a full half-hour of bootless attempts to bring him round to the question. “i have been to soho.”
“to soho?” repeated mr. stryver, coldly. “oh, to be sure! what am i thinking of!”
“and i have no doubt,” said mr. lorry, “that i was right in the conversation we had. my opinion is confirmed, and i reiterate my advice.”
“i assure you,” returned mr. stryver, in the friendliest way, “that i am sorry for it on your account, and sorry for it on the poor father's account. i know this must always be a sore subject with the family; let us say no more about it.”
“i don't understand you,” said mr. lorry.
“i dare say not,” rejoined stryver, nodding his head in a smoothing and final way; “no matter, no matter.”
“but it does matter,” mr. lorry urged.
“no it doesn't; i assure you it doesn't. having supposed that there was sense where there is no sense, and a laudable ambition where there is not a laudable ambition, i am well out of my mistake, and no harm is done. young women have committed similar follies often before, and have repented them in poverty and obscurity often before. in an unselfish aspect, i am sorry that the thing is dropped, because it would have been a bad thing for me in a worldly point of view; in a selfish aspect, i am glad that the thing has dropped, because it would have been a bad thing for me in a worldly point of view it is hardly necessary to say i could have gained nothing by it. there is no harm at all done. i have not proposed to the young lady, and, between ourselves, i am by no means certain, on reflection, that i ever should have committed myself to that extent. mr. lorry, you cannot control the mincing vanities and giddinesses of empty-headed girls; you must not expect to do it, or you will always be disappointed. now, pray say no more about it. i tell you, i regret it on account of others, but i am satisfied on my own account.
and i am really very much obliged to you for allowing me to sound you, and for giving me your advice; you know the young lady better than i do; you were right, it never would have done.”
mr. lorry was so taken aback, that he looked quite stupidly at mr.
stryver shouldering him towards the door, with an appearance of showering generosity, forbearance, and goodwill, on his erring head.
“make the best of it, my dear sir,” said stryver; “say no more about it; thank you again for allowing me to sound you; good night!”
mr. lorry was out in the night, before he knew where he was. mr. stryver was lying back on his sofa, winking at his ceiling.
xiii. the fellow of no delicacy
if sydney carton ever shone anywhere, he certainly never shone in the house of doctor manette. he had been there often, during a whole year, and had always been the same moody and morose lounger there. when he cared to talk, he talked well; but, the cloud of caring for nothing, which overshadowed him with such a fatal darkness, was very rarely pierced by the light within him.
and yet he did care something for the streets that environed that house, and for the senseless stones that made their pavements. many a night he vaguely and unhappily wandered there, when wine had brought no transitory gladness to him; many a dreary daybreak revealed his solitary figure lingering there, and still lingering there when the first beams of the sun brought into strong relief, removed beauties of architecture in spires of churches and lofty buildings, as perhaps the quiet time brought some sense of better things, else forgotten and unattainable, into his mind. of late, the neglected bed in the temple court had known him more scantily than ever; and often when he had thrown himself upon it no longer than a few minutes, he had got up again, and haunted that neighbourhood.
on a day in august, when mr. stryver (after notifying to his jackal that “he had thought better of that marrying matter”) had carried his delicacy into devonshire, and when the sight and scent of flowers in the city streets had some waifs of goodness in them for the worst, of health for the sickliest, and of youth for the oldest, sydney's feet still trod those stones. from being irresolute and purposeless, his feet became animated by an intention, and, in the working out of that intention, they took him to the doctor's door.
he was shown up-stairs, and found lucie at her work, alone. she had never been quite at her ease with him, and received him with some little embarrassment as he seated himself near her table. but, looking up at his face in the interchange of the first few common-places, she observed a change in it.
“i fear you are not well, mr. carton!”
“no. but the life i lead, miss manette, is not conducive to health. what is to be expected of, or by, such profligates?”
“is it not forgive me; i have begun the question on my lips a pity to live no better life?”
“god knows it is a shame!”
“then why not change it?”
looking gently at him again, she was surprised and saddened to see that there were tears in his eyes. there were tears in his voice too, as he answered:
“it is too late for that. i shall never be better than i am. i shall sink lower, and be worse.”
he leaned an elbow on her table, and covered his eyes with his hand. the table trembled in the silence that followed.
she had never seen him softened, and was much distressed. he knew her to be so, without looking at her, and said:
“pray forgive me, miss manette. i break down before the knowledge of what i want to say to you. will you hear me?”
“if it will do you any good, mr. carton, if it would make you happier, it would make me very glad!”
“god bless you for your sweet compassion!”
he unshaded his face after a little while, and spoke steadily.
“don't be afraid to hear me. don't shrink from anything i say. i am like one who died young. all my life might have been.”
“no, mr. carton. i am sure that the best part of it might still be; i am sure that you might be much, much worthier of yourself.”
“say of you, miss manette, and although i know better although in the mystery of my own wretched heart i know better i shall never forget it!”
she was pale and trembling. he came to her relief with a fixed despair of himself which made the interview unlike any other that could have been holden.
“if it had been possible, miss manette, that you could have returned the love of the man you see before yourself flung away, wasted, drunken, poor creature of misuse as you know him to be he would have been conscious this day and hour, in spite of his happiness, that he would bring you to misery, bring you to sorrow and repentance, blight you, disgrace you, pull you down with him. i know very well that you can have no tenderness for me; i ask for none; i am even thankful that it cannot be.”
“without it, can i not save you, mr. carton? can i not recall you forgive me again! to a better course? can i in no way repay your confidence? i know this is a confidence,” she modestly said, after a little hesitation, and in earnest tears, “i know you would say this to no one else. can i turn it to no good account for yourself, mr. carton?”
he shook his head.
“to none. no, miss manette, to none. if you will hear me through a very little more, all you can ever do for me is done. i wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul. in my degradation i have not been so degraded but that the sight of you with your father, and of this home made such a home by you, has stirred old shadows that i thought had died out of me. since i knew you, i have been troubled by a remorse that i thought would never reproach me again, and have heard whispers from old voices impelling me upward, that i thought were silent for ever. i have had unformed ideas of striving afresh, beginning anew, shaking off sloth and sensuality, and fighting out the abandoned fight. a dream, all a dream, that ends in nothing, and leaves the sleeper where he lay down, but i wish you to know that you inspired it.”
“will nothing of it remain? o mr. carton, think again! try again!”
“no, miss manette; all through it, i have known myself to be quite undeserving. and yet i have had the weakness, and have still the weakness, to wish you to know with what a sudden mastery you kindled me, heap of ashes that i am, into fire a fire, however, inseparable in its nature from myself, quickening nothing, lighting nothing, doing no service, idly burning away.”
“since it is my misfortune, mr. carton, to have made you more unhappy than you were before you knew me ”
“don't say that, miss manette, for you would have reclaimed me, if anything could. you will not be the cause of my becoming worse.”
“since the state of your mind that you describe, is, at all events, attributable to some influence of mine this is what i mean, if i can make it plain can i use no influence to serve you? have i no power for good, with you, at all?”
“the utmost good that i am capable of now, miss manette, i have come here to realise. let me carry through the rest of my misdirected life, the remembrance that i opened my heart to you, last of all the world; and that there was something left in me at this time which you could deplore and pity.”
“which i entreated you to believe, again and again, most fervently, with all my heart, was capable of better things, mr. carton!”
“entreat me to believe it no more, miss manette. i have proved myself, and i know better. i distress you; i draw fast to an end. will you let me believe, when i recall this day, that the last confidence of my life was reposed in your pure and innocent breast, and that it lies there alone, and will be shared by no one?”
“if that will be a consolation to you, yes.”
“not even by the dearest one ever to be known to you?”
“mr. carton,” she answered, after an agitated pause, “the secret is yours, not mine; and i promise to respect it.”
“thank you. and again, god bless you.”
he put her hand to his lips, and moved towards the door.
“be under no apprehension, miss manette, of my ever resuming this conversation by so much as a passing word. i will never refer to it again. if i were dead, that could not be surer than it is henceforth. in the hour of my death, i shall hold sacred the one good remembrance and shall thank and bless you for it that my last avowal of myself was made to you, and that my name, and faults, and miseries were gently carried in your heart. may it otherwise be light and happy!”
he was so unlike what he had ever shown himself to be, and it was so sad to think how much he had thrown away, and how much he every day kept down and perverted, that lucie manette wept mournfully for him as he stood looking back at her.
“be comforted!” he said, “i am not worth such feeling, miss manette. an hour or two hence, and the low companions and low habits that i scorn but yield to, will render me less worth such tears as those, than any wretch who creeps along the streets. be comforted! but, within myself, i shall always be, towards you, what i am now, though outwardly i shall be what you have heretofore seen me. the last supplication but one i make to you, is, that you will believe this of me.”
“i will, mr. carton.”
“my last supplication of all, is this; and with it, i will relieve you of a visitor with whom i well know you have nothing in unison, and between whom and you there is an impassable space. it is useless to say it, i know, but it rises out of my soul. for you, and for any dear to you, i would do anything. if my career were of that better kind that there was any opportunity or capacity of sacrifice in it, i would embrace any sacrifice for you and for those dear to you. try to hold me in your mind, at some quiet times, as ardent and sincere in this one thing. the time will come, the time will not be long in coming, when new ties will be formed about you ties that will bind you yet more tenderly and strongly to the home you so adorn the dearest ties that will ever grace and gladden you. o miss manette, when the little picture of a happy father's face looks up in yours, when you see your own bright beauty springing up anew at your feet, think now and then that there is a man who would give his life, to keep a life you love beside you!”
he said, “farewell!” said a last “god bless you!” and left her.
xiv. the honest tradesman
to the eyes of mr. jeremiah cruncher, sitting on his stool in fleet-street with his grisly urchin beside him, a vast number and variety of objects in movement were every day presented. who could sit upon anything in fleet-street during the busy hours of the day, and not be dazed and deafened by two immense processions, one ever tending westward with the sun, the other ever tending eastward from the sun, both ever tending to the plains beyond the range of red and purple where the sun goes down!
with his straw in his mouth, mr. cruncher sat watching the two streams, like the heathen rustic who has for several centuries been on duty watching one stream saving that jerry had no expectation of their ever running dry. nor would it have been an expectation of a hopeful kind, since a small part of his income was derived from the pilotage of timid women (mostly of a full habit and past the middle term of life) from tellson's side of the tides to the opposite shore. brief as such companionship was in every separate instance, mr. cruncher never failed to become so interested in the lady as to express a strong desire to have the honour of drinking her very good health. and it was from the gifts bestowed upon him towards the execution of this benevolent purpose, that he recruited his finances, as just now observed.
time was, when a poet sat upon a stool in a public place, and mused in the sight of men. mr. cruncher, sitting on a stool in a public place, but not being a poet, mused as little as possible, and looked about him.
it fell out that he was thus engaged in a season when crowds were few, and belated women few, and when his affairs in general were so unprosperous as to awaken a strong suspicion in his breast that mrs.
cruncher must have been “flopping” in some pointed manner, when an unusual concourse pouring down fleet-street westward, attracted his attention. looking that way, mr. cruncher made out that some kind of funeral was coming along, and that there was popular objection to this funeral, which engendered uproar.
“young jerry,” said mr. cruncher, turning to his offspring, “it's a buryin'.”
“hooroar, father!” cried young jerry.
the young gentleman uttered this exultant sound with mysterious significance. the elder gentleman took the cry so ill, that he watched his opportunity, and smote the young gentleman on the ear.
“what d'ye mean? what are you hooroaring at? what do you want to conwey to your own father, you young rip? this boy is a getting too many for me!” said mr. cruncher, surveying him. “him and his hooroars! don't let me hear no more of you, or you shall feel some more of me. d'ye hear?”
“i warn't doing no harm,” young jerry protested, rubbing his cheek.
“drop it then,” said mr. cruncher; “i won't have none of your no harms. get a top of that there seat, and look at the crowd.”
his son obeyed, and the crowd approached; they were bawling and hissing round a dingy hearse and dingy mourning coach, in which mourning coach there was only one mourner, dressed in the dingy trappings that were considered essential to the dignity of the position. the position appeared by no means to please him, however, with an increasing rabble surrounding the coach, deriding him, making grimaces at him, and incessantly groaning and calling out: “yah! spies! tst! yaha! spies!”
with many compliments too numerous and forcible to repeat.
funerals had at all times a remarkable attraction for mr. cruncher; he always pricked up his senses, and became excited, when a funeral passed tellson's. naturally, therefore, a funeral with this uncommon attendance excited him greatly, and he asked of the first man who ran against him:
“what is it, brother? what's it about?”
“i don't know,” said the man. “spies! yaha! tst! spies!”
he asked another man. “who is it?”
“i don't know,” returned the man, clapping his hands to his mouth nevertheless, and vociferating in a surprising heat and with the greatest ardour, “spies! yaha! tst, tst! spi ies!”
at length, a person better informed on the merits of the case, tumbled against him, and from this person he learned that the funeral was the funeral of one roger cly.
“was he a spy?” asked mr. cruncher.
“old bailey spy,” returned his informant. “yaha! tst! yah! old bailey spi i ies!”
“why, to be sure!” exclaimed jerry, recalling the trial at which he had assisted. “i've seen him. dead, is he?”
“dead as mutton,” returned the other, “and can't be too dead. have 'em out, there! spies! pull 'em out, there! spies!”
the idea was so acceptable in the prevalent absence of any idea, that the crowd caught it up with eagerness, and loudly repeating the suggestion to have 'em out, and to pull 'em out, mobbed the two vehicles so closely that they came to a stop. on the crowd's opening the coach doors, the one mourner scuffled out by himself and was in their hands for a moment; but he was so alert, and made such good use of his time, that in another moment he was scouring away up a bye-street, after shedding his cloak, hat, long hatband, white pocket-handkerchief, and other symbolical tears.
these, the people tore to pieces and scattered far and wide with great enjoyment, while the tradesmen hurriedly shut up their shops; for a crowd in those times stopped at nothing, and was a monster much dreaded.
they had already got the length of opening the hearse to take the coffin out, when some brighter genius proposed instead, its being escorted to its destination amidst general rejoicing. practical suggestions being much needed, this suggestion, too, was received with acclamation, and the coach was immediately filled with eight inside and a dozen out, while as many people got on the roof of the hearse as could by any exercise of ingenuity stick upon it. among the first of these volunteers was jerry cruncher himself, who modestly concealed his spiky head from the observation of tellson's, in the further corner of the mourning coach.
the officiating undertakers made some protest against these changes in the ceremonies; but, the river being alarmingly near, and several voices remarking on the efficacy of cold immersion in bringing refractory members of the profession to reason, the protest was faint and brief.
the remodelled procession started, with a chimney-sweep driving the hearse advised by the regular driver, who was perched beside him, under close inspection, for the purpose and with a pieman, also attended by his cabinet minister, driving the mourning coach. a bear-leader, a popular street character of the time, was impressed as an additional ornament, before the cavalcade had gone far down the strand; and his bear, who was black and very mangy, gave quite an undertaking air to that part of the procession in which he walked.
thus, with beer-drinking, pipe-smoking, song-roaring, and infinite caricaturing of woe, the disorderly procession went its way, recruiting at every step, and all the shops shutting up before it. its destination was the old church of saint pancras, far off in the fields. it got there in course of time; insisted on pouring into the burial-ground; finally, accomplished the interment of the deceased roger cly in its own way, and highly to its own satisfaction.
the dead man disposed of, and the crowd being under the necessity of providing some other entertainment for itself, another brighter genius (or perhaps the same) conceived the humour of impeaching casual passers-by, as old bailey spies, and wreaking vengeance on them. chase was given to some scores of inoffensive persons who had never been near the old bailey in their lives, in the realisation of this fancy, and they were roughly hustled and maltreated. the transition to the sport of window-breaking, and thence to the plundering of public-houses, was easy and natural. at last, after several hours, when sundry summer-houses had been pulled down, and some area-railings had been torn up, to arm the more belligerent spirits, a rumour got about that the guards were coming. before this rumour, the crowd gradually melted away, and perhaps the guards came, and perhaps they never came, and this was the usual progress of a mob.
mr. cruncher did not assist at the closing sports, but had remained behind in the churchyard, to confer and condole with the undertakers.
the place had a soothing influence on him. he procured a pipe from a neighbouring public-house, and smoked it, looking in at the railings and maturely considering the spot.
“jerry,” said mr. cruncher, apostrophising himself in his usual way, “you see that there cly that day, and you see with your own eyes that he was a young 'un and a straight made 'un.”
having smoked his pipe out, and ruminated a little longer, he turned himself about, that he might appear, before the hour of closing, on his station at tellson's. whether his meditations on mortality had touched his liver, or whether his general health had been previously at all amiss, or whether he desired to show a little attention to an eminent man, is not so much to the purpose, as that he made a short call upon his medical adviser a distinguished surgeon on his way back.
young jerry relieved his father with dutiful interest, and reported no job in his absence. the bank closed, the ancient clerks came out, the usual watch was set, and mr. cruncher and his son went home to tea.
“now, i tell you where it is!” said mr. cruncher to his wife, on entering. “if, as a honest tradesman, my wenturs goes wrong to-night, i shall make sure that you've been praying again me, and i shall work you for it just the same as if i seen you do it.”
the dejected mrs. cruncher shook her head.
“why, you're at it afore my face!” said mr. cruncher, with signs of angry apprehension.
“i am saying nothing.”
“well, then; don't meditate nothing. you might as well flop as meditate.
you may as well go again me one way as another. drop it altogether.”
“yes, jerry.”
“yes, jerry,” repeated mr. cruncher sitting down to tea. “ah! it is yes, jerry. that's about it. you may say yes, jerry.”
mr. cruncher had no particular meaning in these sulky corroborations, but made use of them, as people not unfrequently do, to express general ironical dissatisfaction.
“you and your yes, jerry,” said mr. cruncher, taking a bite out of his bread-and-butter, and seeming to help it down with a large invisible oyster out of his saucer. “ah! i think so. i believe you.”
“you are going out to-night?” asked his decent wife, when he took another bite.
“yes, i am.”
“may i go with you, father?” asked his son, briskly.
“no, you mayn't. i'm a going as your mother knows a fishing. that's where i'm going to. going a fishing.”
“your fishing-rod gets rayther rusty; don't it, father?”
“never you mind.”
“shall you bring any fish home, father?”
“if i don't, you'll have short commons, to-morrow,” returned that gentleman, shaking his head; “that's questions enough for you; i ain't a going out, till you've been long abed.”
he devoted himself during the remainder of the evening to keeping a most vigilant watch on mrs. cruncher, and sullenly holding her in conversation that she might be prevented from meditating any petitions to his disadvantage. with this view, he urged his son to hold her in conversation also, and led the unfortunate woman a hard life by dwelling on any causes of complaint he could bring against her, rather than he would leave her for a moment to her own reflections. the devoutest person could have rendered no greater homage to the efficacy of an honest prayer than he did in this distrust of his wife. it was as if a professed unbeliever in ghosts should be frightened by a ghost story.
“and mind you!” said mr. cruncher. “no games to-morrow! if i, as a honest tradesman, succeed in providing a jinte of meat or two, none of your not touching of it, and sticking to bread. if i, as a honest tradesman, am able to provide a little beer, none of your declaring on water. when you go to rome, do as rome does. rome will be a ugly customer to you, if you don't. i'm your rome, you know.”
then he began grumbling again:
“with your flying into the face of your own wittles and drink! i don't know how scarce you mayn't make the wittles and drink here, by your flopping tricks and your unfeeling conduct. look at your boy: he is your'n, ain't he? he's as thin as a lath. do you call yourself a mother, and not know that a mother's first duty is to blow her boy out?”
this touched young jerry on a tender place; who adjured his mother to perform her first duty, and, whatever else she did or neglected, above all things to lay especial stress on the discharge of that maternal function so affectingly and delicately indicated by his other parent.
thus the evening wore away with the cruncher family, until young jerry was ordered to bed, and his mother, laid under similar injunctions, obeyed them. mr. cruncher beguiled the earlier watches of the night with solitary pipes, and did not start upon his excursion until nearly one o'clock. towards that small and ghostly hour, he rose up from his chair, took a key out of his pocket, opened a locked cupboard, and brought forth a sack, a crowbar of convenient size, a rope and chain, and other fishing tackle of that nature. disposing these articles about him in skilful manner, he bestowed a parting defiance on mrs. cruncher, extinguished the light, and went out.
young jerry, who had only made a feint of undressing when he went to bed, was not long after his father. under cover of the darkness he followed out of the room, followed down the stairs, followed down the court, followed out into the streets. he was in no uneasiness concerning his getting into the house again, for it was full of lodgers, and the door stood ajar all night.
impelled by a laudable ambition to study the art and mystery of his father's honest calling, young jerry, keeping as close to house fronts, walls, and doorways, as his eyes were close to one another, held his honoured parent in view. the honoured parent steering northward, had not gone far, when he was joined by another disciple of izaak walton, and the two trudged on together.
within half an hour from the first starting, they were beyond the winking lamps, and the more than winking watchmen, and were out upon a lonely road. another fisherman was picked up here and that so silently, that if young jerry had been superstitious, he might have supposed the second follower of the gentle craft to have, all of a sudden, split himself into two.
the three went on, and young jerry went on, until the three stopped under a bank overhanging the road. upon the top of the bank was a low brick wall, surmounted by an iron railing. in the shadow of bank and wall the three turned out of the road, and up a blind lane, of which the wall there, risen to some eight or ten feet high formed one side.
crouching down in a corner, peeping up the lane, the next object that young jerry saw, was the form of his honoured parent, pretty well defined against a watery and clouded moon, nimbly scaling an iron gate.
he was soon over, and then the second fisherman got over, and then the third. they all dropped softly on the ground within the gate, and lay there a little listening perhaps. then, they moved away on their hands and knees.
it was now young jerry's turn to approach the gate: which he did, holding his breath. crouching down again in a corner there, and looking in, he made out the three fishermen creeping through some rank grass!
and all the gravestones in the churchyard it was a large churchyard that they were in looking on like ghosts in white, while the church tower itself looked on like the ghost of a monstrous giant. they did not creep far, before they stopped and stood upright. and then they began to fish.
they fished with a spade, at first. presently the honoured parent appeared to be adjusting some instrument like a great corkscrew.
whatever tools they worked with, they worked hard, until the awful striking of the church clock so terrified young jerry, that he made off, with his hair as stiff as his father's.
but, his long-cherished desire to know more about these matters, not only stopped him in his running away, but lured him back again. they were still fishing perseveringly, when he peeped in at the gate for the second time; but, now they seemed to have got a bite. there was a screwing and complaining sound down below, and their bent figures were strained, as if by a weight. by slow degrees the weight broke away the earth upon it, and came to the surface. young jerry very well knew what it would be; but, when he saw it, and saw his honoured parent about to wrench it open, he was so frightened, being new to the sight, that he made off again, and never stopped until he had run a mile or more.
he would not have stopped then, for anything less necessary than breath, it being a spectral sort of race that he ran, and one highly desirable to get to the end of. he had a strong idea that the coffin he had seen was running after him; and, pictured as hopping on behind him, bolt upright, upon its narrow end, always on the point of overtaking him and hopping on at his side perhaps taking his arm it was a pursuer to shun. it was an inconsistent and ubiquitous fiend too, for, while it was making the whole night behind him dreadful, he darted out into the roadway to avoid dark alleys, fearful of its coming hopping out of them like a dropsical boy's kite without tail and wings. it hid in doorways too, rubbing its horrible shoulders against doors, and drawing them up to its ears, as if it were laughing. it got into shadows on the road, and lay cunningly on its back to trip him up. all this time it was incessantly hopping on behind and gaining on him, so that when the boy got to his own door he had reason for being half dead. and even then it would not leave him, but followed him upstairs with a bump on every stair, scrambled into bed with him, and bumped down, dead and heavy, on his breast when he fell asleep.
from his oppressed slumber, young jerry in his closet was awakened after daybreak and before sunrise, by the presence of his father in the family room. something had gone wrong with him; at least, so young jerry inferred, from the circumstance of his holding mrs. cruncher by the ears, and knocking the back of her head against the head-board of the bed.
“i told you i would,” said mr. cruncher, “and i did.”
“jerry, jerry, jerry!” his wife implored.
“you oppose yourself to the profit of the business,” said jerry, “and me and my partners suffer. you was to honour and obey; why the devil don't you?”
“i try to be a good wife, jerry,” the poor woman protested, with tears.
“is it being a good wife to oppose your husband's business? is it honouring your husband to dishonour his business? is it obeying your husband to disobey him on the wital subject of his business?”
“you hadn't taken to the dreadful business then, jerry.”
“it's enough for you,” retorted mr. cruncher, “to be the wife of a honest tradesman, and not to occupy your female mind with calculations when he took to his trade or when he didn't. a honouring and obeying wife would let his trade alone altogether. call yourself a religious woman? if you're a religious woman, give me a irreligious one! you have no more nat'ral sense of duty than the bed of this here thames river has of a pile, and similarly it must be knocked into you.”
the altercation was conducted in a low tone of voice, and terminated in the honest tradesman's kicking off his clay-soiled boots, and lying down at his length on the floor. after taking a timid peep at him lying on his back, with his rusty hands under his head for a pillow, his son lay down too, and fell asleep again.
there was no fish for breakfast, and not much of anything else. mr.
cruncher was out of spirits, and out of temper, and kept an iron pot-lid by him as a projectile for the correction of mrs. cruncher, in case he should observe any symptoms of her saying grace. he was brushed and washed at the usual hour, and set off with his son to pursue his ostensible calling.
young jerry, walking with the stool under his arm at his father's side along sunny and crowded fleet-street, was a very different young jerry from him of the previous night, running home through darkness and solitude from his grim pursuer. his cunning was fresh with the day, and his qualms were gone with the night in which particulars it is not improbable that he had compeers in fleet-street and the city of london, that fine morning.
“father,” said young jerry, as they walked along: taking care to keep at arm's length and to have the stool well between them: “what's a resurrection-man?”
mr. cruncher came to a stop on the pavement before he answered, “how should i know?”
“i thought you knowed everything, father,” said the artless boy.
“hem! well,” returned mr. cruncher, going on again, and lifting off his hat to give his spikes free play, “he's a tradesman.”
“what's his goods, father?” asked the brisk young jerry.
“his goods,” said mr. cruncher, after turning it over in his mind, “is a branch of scientific goods.”
“persons' bodies, ain't it, father?” asked the lively boy.
“i believe it is something of that sort,” said mr. cruncher.
“oh, father, i should so like to be a resurrection-man when i'm quite growed up!”
mr. cruncher was soothed, but shook his head in a dubious and moral way.
“it depends upon how you dewelop your talents. be careful to dewelop your talents, and never to say no more than you can help to nobody, and there's no telling at the present time what you may not come to be fit for.” as young jerry, thus encouraged, went on a few yards in advance, to plant the stool in the shadow of the bar, mr. cruncher added to himself: “jerry, you honest tradesman, there's hopes wot that boy will yet be a blessing to you, and a recompense to you for his mother!”
xv. knitting
there had been earlier drinking than usual in the wine-shop of monsieur defarge. as early as six o'clock in the morning, sallow faces peeping through its barred windows had descried other faces within, bending over measures of wine. monsieur defarge sold a very thin wine at the best of times, but it would seem to have been an unusually thin wine that he sold at this time. a sour wine, moreover, or a souring, for its influence on the mood of those who drank it was to make them gloomy. no vivacious bacchanalian flame leaped out of the pressed grape of monsieur defarge: but, a smouldering fire that burnt in the dark, lay hidden in the dregs of it.
this had been the third morning in succession, on which there had been early drinking at the wine-shop of monsieur defarge. it had begun on monday, and here was wednesday come. there had been more of early brooding than drinking; for, many men had listened and whispered and slunk about there from the time of the opening of the door, who could not have laid a piece of money on the counter to save their souls. these were to the full as interested in the place, however, as if they could have commanded whole barrels of wine; and they glided from seat to seat, and from corner to corner, swallowing talk in lieu of drink, with greedy looks.
notwithstanding an unusual flow of company, the master of the wine-shop was not visible. he was not missed; for, nobody who crossed the threshold looked for him, nobody asked for him, nobody wondered to see only madame defarge in her seat, presiding over the distribution of wine, with a bowl of battered small coins before her, as much defaced and beaten out of their original impress as the small coinage of humanity from whose ragged pockets they had come.
a suspended interest and a prevalent absence of mind, were perhaps observed by the spies who looked in at the wine-shop, as they looked in at every place, high and low, from the king's palace to the criminal's gaol. games at cards languished, players at dominoes musingly built towers with them, drinkers drew figures on the tables with spilt drops of wine, madame defarge herself picked out the pattern on her sleeve with her toothpick, and saw and heard something inaudible and invisible a long way off.
thus, saint antoine in this vinous feature of his, until midday. it was high noontide, when two dusty men passed through his streets and under his swinging lamps: of whom, one was monsieur defarge: the other a mender of roads in a blue cap. all adust and athirst, the two entered the wine-shop. their arrival had lighted a kind of fire in the breast of saint antoine, fast spreading as they came along, which stirred and flickered in flames of faces at most doors and windows. yet, no one had followed them, and no man spoke when they entered the wine-shop, though the eyes of every man there were turned upon them.
“good day, gentlemen!” said monsieur defarge.
it may have been a signal for loosening the general tongue. it elicited an answering chorus of “good day!”
“it is bad weather, gentlemen,” said defarge, shaking his head.
upon which, every man looked at his neighbour, and then all cast down their eyes and sat silent. except one man, who got up and went out.
“my wife,” said defarge aloud, addressing madame defarge: “i have travelled certain leagues with this good mender of roads, called jacques. i met him by accident a day and half's journey out of paris.
he is a good child, this mender of roads, called jacques. give him to drink, my wife!”
a second man got up and went out. madame defarge set wine before the mender of roads called jacques, who doffed his blue cap to the company, and drank. in the breast of his blouse he carried some coarse dark bread; he ate of this between whiles, and sat munching and drinking near madame defarge's counter. a third man got up and went out.
defarge refreshed himself with a draught of wine but, he took less than was given to the stranger, as being himself a man to whom it was no rarity and stood waiting until the countryman had made his breakfast.
he looked at no one present, and no one now looked at him; not even madame defarge, who had taken up her knitting, and was at work.
“have you finished your repast, friend?” he asked, in due season.
“yes, thank you.”
“come, then! you shall see the apartment that i told you you could occupy. it will suit you to a marvel.”
out of the wine-shop into the street, out of the street into a courtyard, out of the courtyard up a steep staircase, out of the staircase into a garret formerly the garret where a white-haired man sat on a low bench, stooping forward and very busy, making shoes.
no white-haired man was there now; but, the three men were there who had gone out of the wine-shop singly. and between them and the white-haired man afar off, was the one small link, that they had once looked in at him through the chinks in the wall.
defarge closed the door carefully, and spoke in a subdued voice:
“jacques one, jacques two, jacques three! this is the witness encountered by appointment, by me, jacques four. he will tell you all.
speak, jacques five!”
the mender of roads, blue cap in hand, wiped his swarthy forehead with it, and said, “where shall i commence, monsieur?”
“commence,” was monsieur defarge's not unreasonable reply, “at the commencement.”
“i saw him then, messieurs,” began the mender of roads, “a year ago this running summer, underneath the carriage of the marquis, hanging by the chain. behold the manner of it. i leaving my work on the road, the sun going to bed, the carriage of the marquis slowly ascending the hill, he hanging by the chain like this.”
again the mender of roads went through the whole performance; in which he ought to have been perfect by that time, seeing that it had been the infallible resource and indispensable entertainment of his village during a whole year.
jacques one struck in, and asked if he had ever seen the man before?
“never,” answered the mender of roads, recovering his perpendicular.
jacques three demanded how he afterwards recognised him then?
“by his tall figure,” said the mender of roads, softly, and with his finger at his nose. “when monsieur the marquis demands that evening, 'say, what is he like?' i make response, 'tall as a spectre.'”
“you should have said, short as a dwarf,” returned jacques two.
“but what did i know? the deed was not then accomplished, neither did he confide in me. observe! under those circumstances even, i do not offer my testimony. monsieur the marquis indicates me with his finger, standing near our little fountain, and says, 'to me! bring that rascal!'
my faith, messieurs, i offer nothing.”
“he is right there, jacques,” murmured defarge, to him who had interrupted. “go on!”
“good!” said the mender of roads, with an air of mystery. “the tall man is lost, and he is sought how many months? nine, ten, eleven?”
“no matter, the number,” said defarge. “he is well hidden, but at last he is unluckily found. go on!”
“i am again at work upon the hill-side, and the sun is again about to go to bed. i am collecting my tools to descend to my cottage down in the village below, where it is already dark, when i raise my eyes, and see coming over the hill six soldiers. in the midst of them is a tall man with his arms bound tied to his sides like this!”
with the aid of his indispensable cap, he represented a man with his elbows bound fast at his hips, with cords that were knotted behind him.
“i stand aside, messieurs, by my heap of stones, to see the soldiers and their prisoner pass (for it is a solitary road, that, where any spectacle is well worth looking at), and at first, as they approach, i see no more than that they are six soldiers with a tall man bound, and that they are almost black to my sight except on the side of the sun going to bed, where they have a red edge, messieurs. also, i see that their long shadows are on the hollow ridge on the opposite side of the road, and are on the hill above it, and are like the shadows of giants.
also, i see that they are covered with dust, and that the dust moves with them as they come, tramp, tramp! but when they advance quite near to me, i recognise the tall man, and he recognises me. ah, but he would be well content to precipitate himself over the hill-side once again, as on the evening when he and i first encountered, close to the same spot!”
he described it as if he were there, and it was evident that he saw it vividly; perhaps he had not seen much in his life.
“i do not show the soldiers that i recognise the tall man; he does not show the soldiers that he recognises me; we do it, and we know it, with our eyes. 'come on!' says the chief of that company, pointing to the village, 'bring him fast to his tomb!' and they bring him faster. i follow. his arms are swelled because of being bound so tight, his wooden shoes are large and clumsy, and he is lame. because he is lame, and consequently slow, they drive him with their guns like this!”
he imitated the action of a man's being impelled forward by the butt-ends of muskets.
“as they descend the hill like madmen running a race, he falls. they laugh and pick him up again. his face is bleeding and covered with dust, but he cannot touch it; thereupon they laugh again. they bring him into the village; all the village runs to look; they take him past the mill, and up to the prison; all the village sees the prison gate open in the darkness of the night, and swallow him like this!”
he opened his mouth as wide as he could, and shut it with a sounding snap of his teeth. observant of his unwillingness to mar the effect by opening it again, defarge said, “go on, jacques.”
“all the village,” pursued the mender of roads, on tiptoe and in a low voice, “withdraws; all the village whispers by the fountain; all the village sleeps; all the village dreams of that unhappy one, within the locks and bars of the prison on the crag, and never to come out of it, except to perish. in the morning, with my tools upon my shoulder, eating my morsel of black bread as i go, i make a circuit by the prison, on my way to my work. there i see him, high up, behind the bars of a lofty iron cage, bloody and dusty as last night, looking through. he has no hand free, to wave to me; i dare not call to him; he regards me like a dead man.”
defarge and the three glanced darkly at one another. the looks of all of them were dark, repressed, and revengeful, as they listened to the countryman's story; the manner of all of them, while it was secret, was authoritative too. they had the air of a rough tribunal; jacques one and two sitting on the old pallet-bed, each with his chin resting on his hand, and his eyes intent on the road-mender; jacques three, equally intent, on one knee behind them, with his agitated hand always gliding over the network of fine nerves about his mouth and nose; defarge standing between them and the narrator, whom he had stationed in the light of the window, by turns looking from him to them, and from them to him.
“go on, jacques,” said defarge.
“he remains up there in his iron cage some days. the village looks at him by stealth, for it is afraid. but it always looks up, from a distance, at the prison on the crag; and in the evening, when the work of the day is achieved and it assembles to gossip at the fountain, all faces are turned towards the prison. formerly, they were turned towards the posting-house; now, they are turned towards the prison. they whisper at the fountain, that although condemned to death he will not be executed; they say that petitions have been presented in paris, showing that he was enraged and made mad by the death of his child; they say that a petition has been presented to the king himself. what do i know?
it is possible. perhaps yes, perhaps no.”
“listen then, jacques,” number one of that name sternly interposed.
“know that a petition was presented to the king and queen. all here, yourself excepted, saw the king take it, in his carriage in the street, sitting beside the queen. it is defarge whom you see here, who, at the hazard of his life, darted out before the horses, with the petition in his hand.”
“and once again listen, jacques!” said the kneeling number three:
his fingers ever wandering over and over those fine nerves, with a strikingly greedy air, as if he hungered for something that was neither food nor drink; “the guard, horse and foot, surrounded the petitioner, and struck him blows. you hear?”
“i hear, messieurs.”
“go on then,” said defarge.
“again; on the other hand, they whisper at the fountain,” resumed the countryman, “that he is brought down into our country to be executed on the spot, and that he will very certainly be executed. they even whisper that because he has slain monseigneur, and because monseigneur was the father of his tenants serfs what you will he will be executed as a parricide. one old man says at the fountain, that his right hand, armed with the knife, will be burnt off before his face; that, into wounds which will be made in his arms, his breast, and his legs, there will be poured boiling oil, melted lead, hot resin, wax, and sulphur; finally, that he will be torn limb from limb by four strong horses. that old man says, all this was actually done to a prisoner who made an attempt on the life of the late king, louis fifteen. but how do i know if he lies?
i am not a scholar.”
“listen once again then, jacques!” said the man with the restless hand and the craving air. “the name of that prisoner was damiens, and it was all done in open day, in the open streets of this city of paris; and nothing was more noticed in the vast concourse that saw it done, than the crowd of ladies of quality and fashion, who were full of eager attention to the last to the last, jacques, prolonged until nightfall, when he had lost two legs and an arm, and still breathed! and it was done why, how old are you?”
“thirty-five,” said the mender of roads, who looked sixty.
“it was done when you were more than ten years old; you might have seen it.”
“enough!” said defarge, with grim impatience. “long live the devil! go on.”
“well! some whisper this, some whisper that; they speak of nothing else; even the fountain appears to fall to that tune. at length, on sunday night when all the village is asleep, come soldiers, winding down from the prison, and their guns ring on the stones of the little street.
workmen dig, workmen hammer, soldiers laugh and sing; in the morning, by the fountain, there is raised a gallows forty feet high, poisoning the water.”
the mender of roads looked through rather than at the low ceiling, and pointed as if he saw the gallows somewhere in the sky.
“all work is stopped, all assemble there, nobody leads the cows out, the cows are there with the rest. at midday, the roll of drums. soldiers have marched into the prison in the night, and he is in the midst of many soldiers. he is bound as before, and in his mouth there is a gag tied so, with a tight string, making him look almost as if he laughed.” he suggested it, by creasing his face with his two thumbs, from the corners of his mouth to his ears. “on the top of the gallows is fixed the knife, blade upwards, with its point in the air. he is hanged there forty feet high and is left hanging, poisoning the water.”
they looked at one another, as he used his blue cap to wipe his face, on which the perspiration had started afresh while he recalled the spectacle.
“it is frightful, messieurs. how can the women and the children draw water! who can gossip of an evening, under that shadow! under it, have i said? when i left the village, monday evening as the sun was going to bed, and looked back from the hill, the shadow struck across the church, across the mill, across the prison seemed to strike across the earth, messieurs, to where the sky rests upon it!”
the hungry man gnawed one of his fingers as he looked at the other three, and his finger quivered with the craving that was on him.
“that's all, messieurs. i left at sunset (as i had been warned to do), and i walked on, that night and half next day, until i met (as i was warned i should) this comrade. with him, i came on, now riding and now walking, through the rest of yesterday and through last night. and here you see me!”
after a gloomy silence, the first jacques said, “good! you have acted and recounted faithfully. will you wait for us a little, outside the door?”
“very willingly,” said the mender of roads. whom defarge escorted to the top of the stairs, and, leaving seated there, returned.
the three had risen, and their heads were together when he came back to the garret.
“how say you, jacques?” demanded number one. “to be registered?”
“to be registered, as doomed to destruction,” returned defarge.
“magnificent!” croaked the man with the craving.
“the chateau, and all the race?” inquired the first.
“the chateau and all the race,” returned defarge. “extermination.”
the hungry man repeated, in a rapturous croak, “magnificent!” and began gnawing another finger.
“are you sure,” asked jacques two, of defarge, “that no embarrassment can arise from our manner of keeping the register? without doubt it is safe, for no one beyond ourselves can decipher it; but shall we always be able to decipher it or, i ought to say, will she?”
“jacques,” returned defarge, drawing himself up, “if madame my wife undertook to keep the register in her memory alone, she would not lose a word of it not a syllable of it. knitted, in her own stitches and her own symbols, it will always be as plain to her as the sun. confide in madame defarge. it would be easier for the weakest poltroon that lives, to erase himself from existence, than to erase one letter of his name or crimes from the knitted register of madame defarge.”
there was a murmur of confidence and approval, and then the man who hungered, asked: “is this rustic to be sent back soon? i hope so. he is very simple; is he not a little dangerous?”
“he knows nothing,” said defarge; “at least nothing more than would easily elevate himself to a gallows of the same height. i charge myself with him; let him remain with me; i will take care of him, and set him on his road. he wishes to see the fine world the king, the queen, and court; let him see them on sunday.”
“what?” exclaimed the hungry man, staring. “is it a good sign, that he wishes to see royalty and nobility?”
“jacques,” said defarge; “judiciously show a cat milk, if you wish her to thirst for it. judiciously show a dog his natural prey, if you wish him to bring it down one day.”
nothing more was said, and the mender of roads, being found already dozing on the topmost stair, was advised to lay himself down on the pallet-bed and take some rest. he needed no persuasion, and was soon asleep.
worse quarters than defarge's wine-shop, could easily have been found in paris for a provincial slave of that degree. saving for a mysterious dread of madame by which he was constantly haunted, his life was very new and agreeable. but, madame sat all day at her counter, so expressly unconscious of him, and so particularly determined not to perceive that his being there had any connection with anything below the surface, that he shook in his wooden shoes whenever his eye lighted on her. for, he contended with himself that it was impossible to foresee what that lady might pretend next; and he felt assured that if she should take it into her brightly ornamented head to pretend that she had seen him do a murder and afterwards flay the victim, she would infallibly go through with it until the play was played out.
therefore, when sunday came, the mender of roads was not enchanted (though he said he was) to find that madame was to accompany monsieur and himself to versailles. it was additionally disconcerting to have madame knitting all the way there, in a public conveyance; it was additionally disconcerting yet, to have madame in the crowd in the afternoon, still with her knitting in her hands as the crowd waited to see the carriage of the king and queen.
“you work hard, madame,” said a man near her.
“yes,” answered madame defarge; “i have a good deal to do.”
“what do you make, madame?”
“many things.”
“for instance ”
“for instance,” returned madame defarge, composedly, “shrouds.”
the man moved a little further away, as soon as he could, and the mender of roads fanned himself with his blue cap: feeling it mightily close and oppressive. if he needed a king and queen to restore him, he was fortunate in having his remedy at hand; for, soon the large-faced king and the fair-faced queen came in their golden coach, attended by the shining bull's eye of their court, a glittering multitude of laughing ladies and fine lords; and in jewels and silks and powder and splendour and elegantly spurning figures and handsomely disdainful faces of both sexes, the mender of roads bathed himself, so much to his temporary intoxication, that he cried long live the king, long live the queen, long live everybody and everything! as if he had never heard of ubiquitous jacques in his time. then, there were gardens, courtyards, terraces, fountains, green banks, more king and queen, more bull's eye, more lords and ladies, more long live they all! until he absolutely wept with sentiment. during the whole of this scene, which lasted some three hours, he had plenty of shouting and weeping and sentimental company, and throughout defarge held him by the collar, as if to restrain him from flying at the objects of his brief devotion and tearing them to pieces.
“bravo!” said defarge, clapping him on the back when it was over, like a patron; “you are a good boy!”
the mender of roads was now coming to himself, and was mistrustful of having made a mistake in his late demonstrations; but no.
“you are the fellow we want,” said defarge, in his ear; “you make these fools believe that it will last for ever. then, they are the more insolent, and it is the nearer ended.”
“hey!” cried the mender of roads, reflectively; “that's true.”
“these fools know nothing. while they despise your breath, and would stop it for ever and ever, in you or in a hundred like you rather than in one of their own horses or dogs, they only know what your breath tells them. let it deceive them, then, a little longer; it cannot deceive them too much.”
madame defarge looked superciliously at the client, and nodded in confirmation.
“as to you,” said she, “you would shout and shed tears for anything, if it made a show and a noise. say! would you not?”
“truly, madame, i think so. for the moment.”
“if you were shown a great heap of dolls, and were set upon them to pluck them to pieces and despoil them for your own advantage, you would pick out the richest and gayest. say! would you not?”
“truly yes, madame.”
“yes. and if you were shown a flock of birds, unable to fly, and were set upon them to strip them of their feathers for your own advantage, you would set upon the birds of the finest feathers; would you not?”
“it is true, madame.”
“you have seen both dolls and birds to-day,” said madame defarge, with a wave of her hand towards the place where they had last been apparent; “now, go home!”
xvi. still knitting
madame defarge and monsieur her husband returned amicably to the bosom of saint antoine, while a speck in a blue cap toiled through the darkness, and through the dust, and down the weary miles of avenue by the wayside, slowly tending towards that point of the compass where the chateau of monsieur the marquis, now in his grave, listened to the whispering trees. such ample leisure had the stone faces, now, for listening to the trees and to the fountain, that the few village scarecrows who, in their quest for herbs to eat and fragments of dead stick to burn, strayed within sight of the great stone courtyard and terrace staircase, had it borne in upon their starved fancy that the expression of the faces was altered. a rumour just lived in the village had a faint and bare existence there, as its people had that when the knife struck home, the faces changed, from faces of pride to faces of anger and pain; also, that when that dangling figure was hauled up forty feet above the fountain, they changed again, and bore a cruel look of being avenged, which they would henceforth bear for ever. in the stone face over the great window of the bed-chamber where the murder was done, two fine dints were pointed out in the sculptured nose, which everybody recognised, and which nobody had seen of old; and on the scarce occasions when two or three ragged peasants emerged from the crowd to take a hurried peep at monsieur the marquis petrified, a skinny finger would not have pointed to it for a minute, before they all started away among the moss and leaves, like the more fortunate hares who could find a living there.
chateau and hut, stone face and dangling figure, the red stain on the stone floor, and the pure water in the village well thousands of acres of land a whole province of france all france itself lay under the night sky, concentrated into a faint hair-breadth line. so does a whole world, with all its greatnesses and littlenesses, lie in a twinkling star. and as mere human knowledge can split a ray of light and analyse the manner of its composition, so, sublimer intelligences may read in the feeble shining of this earth of ours, every thought and act, every vice and virtue, of every responsible creature on it.
the defarges, husband and wife, came lumbering under the starlight, in their public vehicle, to that gate of paris whereunto their journey naturally tended. there was the usual stoppage at the barrier guardhouse, and the usual lanterns came glancing forth for the usual examination and inquiry. monsieur defarge alighted; knowing one or two of the soldiery there, and one of the police. the latter he was intimate with, and affectionately embraced.
when saint antoine had again enfolded the defarges in his dusky wings, and they, having finally alighted near the saint's boundaries, were picking their way on foot through the black mud and offal of his streets, madame defarge spoke to her husband:
“say then, my friend; what did jacques of the police tell thee?”
“very little to-night, but all he knows. there is another spy commissioned for our quarter. there may be many more, for all that he can say, but he knows of one.”
“eh well!” said madame defarge, raising her eyebrows with a cool business air. “it is necessary to register him. how do they call that man?”
“he is english.”
“so much the better. his name?”
“barsad,” said defarge, making it french by pronunciation. but, he had been so careful to get it accurately, that he then spelt it with perfect correctness.
“barsad,” repeated madame. “good. christian name?”
“john.”
“john barsad,” repeated madame, after murmuring it once to herself.
“good. his appearance; is it known?”
“age, about forty years; height, about five feet nine; black hair; complexion dark; generally, rather handsome visage; eyes dark, face thin, long, and sallow; nose aquiline, but not straight, having a peculiar inclination towards the left cheek; expression, therefore, sinister.”
“eh my faith. it is a portrait!” said madame, laughing. “he shall be registered to-morrow.”
they turned into the wine-shop, which was closed (for it was midnight), and where madame defarge immediately took her post at her desk, counted the small moneys that had been taken during her absence, examined the stock, went through the entries in the book, made other entries of her own, checked the serving man in every possible way, and finally dismissed him to bed. then she turned out the contents of the bowl of money for the second time, and began knotting them up in her handkerchief, in a chain of separate knots, for safe keeping through the night. all this while, defarge, with his pipe in his mouth, walked up and down, complacently admiring, but never interfering; in which condition, indeed, as to the business and his domestic affairs, he walked up and down through life.
the night was hot, and the shop, close shut and surrounded by so foul a neighbourhood, was ill-smelling. monsieur defarge's olfactory sense was by no means delicate, but the stock of wine smelt much stronger than it ever tasted, and so did the stock of rum and brandy and aniseed. he whiffed the compound of scents away, as he put down his smoked-out pipe.
“you are fatigued,” said madame, raising her glance as she knotted the money. “there are only the usual odours.”
“i am a little tired,” her husband acknowledged.
“you are a little depressed, too,” said madame, whose quick eyes had never been so intent on the accounts, but they had had a ray or two for him. “oh, the men, the men!”
“but my dear!” began defarge.
“but my dear!” repeated madame, nodding firmly; “but my dear! you are faint of heart to-night, my dear!”
“well, then,” said defarge, as if a thought were wrung out of his breast, “it is a long time.”
“it is a long time,” repeated his wife; “and when is it not a long time?
vengeance and retribution require a long time; it is the rule.”
“it does not take a long time to strike a man with lightning,” said defarge.
“how long,” demanded madame, composedly, “does it take to make and store the lightning? tell me.”
defarge raised his head thoughtfully, as if there were something in that too.
“it does not take a long time,” said madame, “for an earthquake to swallow a town. eh well! tell me how long it takes to prepare the earthquake?”
“a long time, i suppose,” said defarge.
“but when it is ready, it takes place, and grinds to pieces everything before it. in the meantime, it is always preparing, though it is not seen or heard. that is your consolation. keep it.”
she tied a knot with flashing eyes, as if it throttled a foe.
“i tell thee,” said madame, extending her right hand, for emphasis, “that although it is a long time on the road, it is on the road and coming. i tell thee it never retreats, and never stops. i tell thee it is always advancing. look around and consider the lives of all the world that we know, consider the faces of all the world that we know, consider the rage and discontent to which the jacquerie addresses itself with more and more of certainty every hour. can such things last? bah! i mock you.”
“my brave wife,” returned defarge, standing before her with his head a little bent, and his hands clasped at his back, like a docile and attentive pupil before his catechist, “i do not question all this. but it has lasted a long time, and it is possible you know well, my wife, it is possible that it may not come, during our lives.”
“eh well! how then?” demanded madame, tying another knot, as if there were another enemy strangled.
“well!” said defarge, with a half complaining and half apologetic shrug.
“we shall not see the triumph.”
“we shall have helped it,” returned madame, with her extended hand in strong action. “nothing that we do, is done in vain. i believe, with all my soul, that we shall see the triumph. but even if not, even if i knew certainly not, show me the neck of an aristocrat and tyrant, and still i would ”
then madame, with her teeth set, tied a very terrible knot indeed.
“hold!” cried defarge, reddening a little as if he felt charged with cowardice; “i too, my dear, will stop at nothing.”
“yes! but it is your weakness that you sometimes need to see your victim and your opportunity, to sustain you. sustain yourself without that.
when the time comes, let loose a tiger and a devil; but wait for the time with the tiger and the devil chained not shown yet always ready.”
madame enforced the conclusion of this piece of advice by striking her little counter with her chain of money as if she knocked its brains out, and then gathering the heavy handkerchief under her arm in a serene manner, and observing that it was time to go to bed.
next noontide saw the admirable woman in her usual place in the wine-shop, knitting away assiduously. a rose lay beside her, and if she now and then glanced at the flower, it was with no infraction of her usual preoccupied air. there were a few customers, drinking or not drinking, standing or seated, sprinkled about. the day was very hot, and heaps of flies, who were extending their inquisitive and adventurous perquisitions into all the glutinous little glasses near madame, fell dead at the bottom. their decease made no impression on the other flies out promenading, who looked at them in the coolest manner (as if they themselves were elephants, or something as far removed), until they met the same fate. curious to consider how heedless flies are! perhaps they thought as much at court that sunny summer day.
a figure entering at the door threw a shadow on madame defarge which she felt to be a new one. she laid down her knitting, and began to pin her rose in her head-dress, before she looked at the figure.
it was curious. the moment madame defarge took up the rose, the customers ceased talking, and began gradually to drop out of the wine-shop.
“good day, madame,” said the new-comer.
“good day, monsieur.”
she said it aloud, but added to herself, as she resumed her knitting:
“hah! good day, age about forty, height about five feet nine, black hair, generally rather handsome visage, complexion dark, eyes dark, thin, long and sallow face, aquiline nose but not straight, having a peculiar inclination towards the left cheek which imparts a sinister expression! good day, one and all!”
“have the goodness to give me a little glass of old cognac, and a mouthful of cool fresh water, madame.”
madame complied with a polite air.
“marvellous cognac this, madame!”
it was the first time it had ever been so complimented, and madame defarge knew enough of its antecedents to know better. she said, however, that the cognac was flattered, and took up her knitting. the visitor watched her fingers for a few moments, and took the opportunity of observing the place in general.
“you knit with great skill, madame.”
“i am accustomed to it.”
“a pretty pattern too!”
“you think so?” said madame, looking at him with a smile.
“decidedly. may one ask what it is for?”
“pastime,” said madame, still looking at him with a smile while her fingers moved nimbly.
“not for use?”
“that depends. i may find a use for it one day. if i do well,” said madame, drawing a breath and nodding her head with a stern kind of coquetry, “i'll use it!”
it was remarkable; but, the taste of saint antoine seemed to be decidedly opposed to a rose on the head-dress of madame defarge. two men had entered separately, and had been about to order drink, when, catching sight of that novelty, they faltered, made a pretence of looking about as if for some friend who was not there, and went away.
nor, of those who had been there when this visitor entered, was there one left. they had all dropped off. the spy had kept his eyes open, but had been able to detect no sign. they had lounged away in a poverty-stricken, purposeless, accidental manner, quite natural and unimpeachable.
“john,” thought madame, checking off her work as her fingers knitted, and her eyes looked at the stranger. “stay long enough, and i shall knit 'barsad' before you go.”
“you have a husband, madame?”
“i have.”
“children?”
“no children.”
“business seems bad?”
“business is very bad; the people are so poor.”
“ah, the unfortunate, miserable people! so oppressed, too as you say.”
“as you say,” madame retorted, correcting him, and deftly knitting an extra something into his name that boded him no good.
“pardon me; certainly it was i who said so, but you naturally think so.
of course.”
“i think?” returned madame, in a high voice. “i and my husband have enough to do to keep this wine-shop open, without thinking. all we think, here, is how to live. that is the subject we think of, and it gives us, from morning to night, enough to think about, without embarrassing our heads concerning others. i think for others? no, no.”
the spy, who was there to pick up any crumbs he could find or make, did not allow his baffled state to express itself in his sinister face; but, stood with an air of gossiping gallantry, leaning his elbow on madame defarge's little counter, and occasionally sipping his cognac.
“a bad business this, madame, of gaspard's execution. ah! the poor gaspard!” with a sigh of great compassion.
“my faith!” returned madame, coolly and lightly, “if people use knives for such purposes, they have to pay for it. he knew beforehand what the price of his luxury was; he has paid the price.”
“i believe,” said the spy, dropping his soft voice to a tone that invited confidence, and expressing an injured revolutionary susceptibility in every muscle of his wicked face: “i believe there is much compassion and anger in this neighbourhood, touching the poor fellow? between ourselves.”
“is there?” asked madame, vacantly.
“is there not?”
“ here is my husband!” said madame defarge.
as the keeper of the wine-shop entered at the door, the spy saluted him by touching his hat, and saying, with an engaging smile, “good day, jacques!” defarge stopped short, and stared at him.
“good day, jacques!” the spy repeated; with not quite so much confidence, or quite so easy a smile under the stare.
“you deceive yourself, monsieur,” returned the keeper of the wine-shop.
“you mistake me for another. that is not my name. i am ernest defarge.”
“it is all the same,” said the spy, airily, but discomfited too: “good day!”
“good day!” answered defarge, drily.
“i was saying to madame, with whom i had the pleasure of chatting when you entered, that they tell me there is and no wonder! much sympathy and anger in saint antoine, touching the unhappy fate of poor gaspard.”
“no one has told me so,” said defarge, shaking his head. “i know nothing of it.”
having said it, he passed behind the little counter, and stood with his hand on the back of his wife's chair, looking over that barrier at the person to whom they were both opposed, and whom either of them would have shot with the greatest satisfaction.
the spy, well used to his business, did not change his unconscious attitude, but drained his little glass of cognac, took a sip of fresh water, and asked for another glass of cognac. madame defarge poured it out for him, took to her knitting again, and hummed a little song over it.
“you seem to know this quarter well; that is to say, better than i do?”
observed defarge.
“not at all, but i hope to know it better. i am so profoundly interested in its miserable inhabitants.”
“hah!” muttered defarge.
“the pleasure of conversing with you, monsieur defarge, recalls to me,”
pursued the spy, “that i have the honour of cherishing some interesting associations with your name.”
“indeed!” said defarge, with much indifference.
“yes, indeed. when doctor manette was released, you, his old domestic, had the charge of him, i know. he was delivered to you. you see i am informed of the circumstances?”
“such is the fact, certainly,” said defarge. he had had it conveyed to him, in an accidental touch of his wife's elbow as she knitted and warbled, that he would do best to answer, but always with brevity.
“it was to you,” said the spy, “that his daughter came; and it was from your care that his daughter took him, accompanied by a neat brown monsieur; how is he called? in a little wig lorry of the bank of tellson and company over to england.”
“such is the fact,” repeated defarge.
“very interesting remembrances!” said the spy. “i have known doctor manette and his daughter, in england.”
“yes?” said defarge.
“you don't hear much about them now?” said the spy.
“no,” said defarge.
“in effect,” madame struck in, looking up from her work and her little song, “we never hear about them. we received the news of their safe arrival, and perhaps another letter, or perhaps two; but, since then, they have gradually taken their road in life we, ours and we have held no correspondence.”
“perfectly so, madame,” replied the spy. “she is going to be married.”
“going?” echoed madame. “she was pretty enough to have been married long ago. you english are cold, it seems to me.”
“oh! you know i am english.”
“i perceive your tongue is,” returned madame; “and what the tongue is, i suppose the man is.”
he did not take the identification as a compliment; but he made the best of it, and turned it off with a laugh. after sipping his cognac to the end, he added:
“yes, miss manette is going to be married. but not to an englishman; to one who, like herself, is french by birth. and speaking of gaspard (ah, poor gaspard! it was cruel, cruel!), it is a curious thing that she is going to marry the nephew of monsieur the marquis, for whom gaspard was exalted to that height of so many feet; in other words, the present marquis. but he lives unknown in england, he is no marquis there; he is mr. charles darnay. d'aulnais is the name of his mother's family.”
madame defarge knitted steadily, but the intelligence had a palpable effect upon her husband. do what he would, behind the little counter, as to the striking of a light and the lighting of his pipe, he was troubled, and his hand was not trustworthy. the spy would have been no spy if he had failed to see it, or to record it in his mind.
having made, at least, this one hit, whatever it might prove to be worth, and no customers coming in to help him to any other, mr. barsad paid for what he had drunk, and took his leave: taking occasion to say, in a genteel manner, before he departed, that he looked forward to the pleasure of seeing monsieur and madame defarge again. for some minutes after he had emerged into the outer presence of saint antoine, the husband and wife remained exactly as he had left them, lest he should come back.
“can it be true,” said defarge, in a low voice, looking down at his wife as he stood smoking with his hand on the back of her chair: “what he has said of ma'amselle manette?”
“as he has said it,” returned madame, lifting her eyebrows a little, “it is probably false. but it may be true.”
“if it is ” defarge began, and stopped.
“if it is?” repeated his wife.
“ and if it does come, while we live to see it triumph i hope, for her sake, destiny will keep her husband out of france.”
“her husband's destiny,” said madame defarge, with her usual composure, “will take him where he is to go, and will lead him to the end that is to end him. that is all i know.”
“but it is very strange now, at least, is it not very strange” said defarge, rather pleading with his wife to induce her to admit it, “that, after all our sympathy for monsieur her father, and herself, her husband's name should be proscribed under your hand at this moment, by the side of that infernal dog's who has just left us?”
“stranger things than that will happen when it does come,” answered madame. “i have them both here, of a certainty; and they are both here for their merits; that is enough.”
she rolled up her knitting when she had said those words, and presently took the rose out of the handkerchief that was wound about her head.
either saint antoine had an instinctive sense that the objectionable decoration was gone, or saint antoine was on the watch for its disappearance; howbeit, the saint took courage to lounge in, very shortly afterwards, and the wine-shop recovered its habitual aspect.
in the evening, at which season of all others saint antoine turned himself inside out, and sat on door-steps and window-ledges, and came to the corners of vile streets and courts, for a breath of air, madame defarge with her work in her hand was accustomed to pass from place to place and from group to group: a missionary there were many like her such as the world will do well never to breed again. all the women knitted. they knitted worthless things; but, the mechanical work was a mechanical substitute for eating and drinking; the hands moved for the jaws and the digestive apparatus: if the bony fingers had been still, the stomachs would have been more famine-pinched.
but, as the fingers went, the eyes went, and the thoughts. and as madame defarge moved on from group to group, all three went quicker and fiercer among every little knot of women that she had spoken with, and left behind.
her husband smoked at his door, looking after her with admiration. “a great woman,” said he, “a strong woman, a grand woman, a frightfully grand woman!”
darkness closed around, and then came the ringing of church bells and the distant beating of the military drums in the palace courtyard, as the women sat knitting, knitting. darkness encompassed them. another darkness was closing in as surely, when the church bells, then ringing pleasantly in many an airy steeple over france, should be melted into thundering cannon; when the military drums should be beating to drown a wretched voice, that night all potent as the voice of power and plenty, freedom and life. so much was closing in about the women who sat knitting, knitting, that they their very selves were closing in around a structure yet unbuilt, where they were to sit knitting, knitting, counting dropping heads.
xvii. one night
never did the sun go down with a brighter glory on the quiet corner in soho, than one memorable evening when the doctor and his daughter sat under the plane-tree together. never did the moon rise with a milder radiance over great london, than on that night when it found them still seated under the tree, and shone upon their faces through its leaves.
lucie was to be married to-morrow. she had reserved this last evening for her father, and they sat alone under the plane-tree.
“you are happy, my dear father?”
“quite, my child.”
they had said little, though they had been there a long time. when it was yet light enough to work and read, she had neither engaged herself in her usual work, nor had she read to him. she had employed herself in both ways, at his side under the tree, many and many a time; but, this time was not quite like any other, and nothing could make it so.
“and i am very happy to-night, dear father. i am deeply happy in the love that heaven has so blessed my love for charles, and charles's love for me. but, if my life were not to be still consecrated to you, or if my marriage were so arranged as that it would part us, even by the length of a few of these streets, i should be more unhappy and self-reproachful now than i can tell you. even as it is ”
even as it was, she could not command her voice.
in the sad moonlight, she clasped him by the neck, and laid her face upon his breast. in the moonlight which is always sad, as the light of the sun itself is as the light called human life is at its coming and its going.
“dearest dear! can you tell me, this last time, that you feel quite, quite sure, no new affections of mine, and no new duties of mine, will ever interpose between us? i know it well, but do you know it? in your own heart, do you feel quite certain?”
her father answered, with a cheerful firmness of conviction he could scarcely have assumed, “quite sure, my darling! more than that,” he added, as he tenderly kissed her: “my future is far brighter, lucie, seen through your marriage, than it could have been nay, than it ever was without it.”
“if i could hope that, my father! ”
“believe it, love! indeed it is so. consider how natural and how plain it is, my dear, that it should be so. you, devoted and young, cannot fully appreciate the anxiety i have felt that your life should not be wasted ”
she moved her hand towards his lips, but he took it in his, and repeated the word.
“ wasted, my child should not be wasted, struck aside from the natural order of things for my sake. your unselfishness cannot entirely comprehend how much my mind has gone on this; but, only ask yourself, how could my happiness be perfect, while yours was incomplete?”
“if i had never seen charles, my father, i should have been quite happy with you.”
he smiled at her unconscious admission that she would have been unhappy without charles, having seen him; and replied:
“my child, you did see him, and it is charles. if it had not been charles, it would have been another. or, if it had been no other, i should have been the cause, and then the dark part of my life would have cast its shadow beyond myself, and would have fallen on you.”
it was the first time, except at the trial, of her ever hearing him refer to the period of his suffering. it gave her a strange and new sensation while his words were in her ears; and she remembered it long afterwards.
“see!” said the doctor of beauvais, raising his hand towards the moon.
“i have looked at her from my prison-window, when i could not bear her light. i have looked at her when it has been such torture to me to think of her shining upon what i had lost, that i have beaten my head against my prison-walls. i have looked at her, in a state so dull and lethargic, that i have thought of nothing but the number of horizontal lines i could draw across her at the full, and the number of perpendicular lines with which i could intersect them.” he added in his inward and pondering manner, as he looked at the moon, “it was twenty either way, i remember, and the twentieth was difficult to squeeze in.”
the strange thrill with which she heard him go back to that time, deepened as he dwelt upon it; but, there was nothing to shock her in the manner of his reference. he only seemed to contrast his present cheerfulness and felicity with the dire endurance that was over.
“i have looked at her, speculating thousands of times upon the unborn child from whom i had been rent. whether it was alive. whether it had been born alive, or the poor mother's shock had killed it. whether it was a son who would some day avenge his father. (there was a time in my imprisonment, when my desire for vengeance was unbearable.) whether it was a son who would never know his father's story; who might even live to weigh the possibility of his father's having disappeared of his own will and act. whether it was a daughter who would grow to be a woman.”
she drew closer to him, and kissed his cheek and his hand.
“i have pictured my daughter, to myself, as perfectly forgetful of me rather, altogether ignorant of me, and unconscious of me. i have cast up the years of her age, year after year. i have seen her married to a man who knew nothing of my fate. i have altogether perished from the remembrance of the living, and in the next generation my place was a blank.”
“my father! even to hear that you had such thoughts of a daughter who never existed, strikes to my heart as if i had been that child.”
“you, lucie? it is out of the consolation and restoration you have brought to me, that these remembrances arise, and pass between us and the moon on this last night. what did i say just now?”
“she knew nothing of you. she cared nothing for you.”
“so! but on other moonlight nights, when the sadness and the silence have touched me in a different way have affected me with something as like a sorrowful sense of peace, as any emotion that had pain for its foundations could i have imagined her as coming to me in my cell, and leading me out into the freedom beyond the fortress. i have seen her image in the moonlight often, as i now see you; except that i never held her in my arms; it stood between the little grated window and the door.
but, you understand that that was not the child i am speaking of?”
“the figure was not; the the image; the fancy?”
“no. that was another thing. it stood before my disturbed sense of sight, but it never moved. the phantom that my mind pursued, was another and more real child. of her outward appearance i know no more than that she was like her mother. the other had that likeness too as you have but was not the same. can you follow me, lucie? hardly, i think?
i doubt you must have been a solitary prisoner to understand these perplexed distinctions.”
his collected and calm manner could not prevent her blood from running cold, as he thus tried to anatomise his old condition.
“in that more peaceful state, i have imagined her, in the moonlight, coming to me and taking me out to show me that the home of her married life was full of her loving remembrance of her lost father. my picture was in her room, and i was in her prayers. her life was active, cheerful, useful; but my poor history pervaded it all.”
“i was that child, my father, i was not half so good, but in my love that was i.”
“and she showed me her children,” said the doctor of beauvais, “and they had heard of me, and had been taught to pity me. when they passed a prison of the state, they kept far from its frowning walls, and looked up at its bars, and spoke in whispers. she could never deliver me; i imagined that she always brought me back after showing me such things.
but then, blessed with the relief of tears, i fell upon my knees, and blessed her.”
“i am that child, i hope, my father. o my dear, my dear, will you bless me as fervently to-morrow?”
“lucie, i recall these old troubles in the reason that i have to-night for loving you better than words can tell, and thanking god for my great happiness. my thoughts, when they were wildest, never rose near the happiness that i have known with you, and that we have before us.”
he embraced her, solemnly commended her to heaven, and humbly thanked heaven for having bestowed her on him. by-and-bye, they went into the house.
there was no one bidden to the marriage but mr. lorry; there was even to be no bridesmaid but the gaunt miss pross. the marriage was to make no change in their place of residence; they had been able to extend it, by taking to themselves the upper rooms formerly belonging to the apocryphal invisible lodger, and they desired nothing more.
doctor manette was very cheerful at the little supper. they were only three at table, and miss pross made the third. he regretted that charles was not there; was more than half disposed to object to the loving little plot that kept him away; and drank to him affectionately.
so, the time came for him to bid lucie good night, and they separated.
but, in the stillness of the third hour of the morning, lucie came downstairs again, and stole into his room; not free from unshaped fears, beforehand.
all things, however, were in their places; all was quiet; and he lay asleep, his white hair picturesque on the untroubled pillow, and his hands lying quiet on the coverlet. she put her needless candle in the shadow at a distance, crept up to his bed, and put her lips to his; then, leaned over him, and looked at him.
into his handsome face, the bitter waters of captivity had worn; but, he covered up their tracks with a determination so strong, that he held the mastery of them even in his sleep. a more remarkable face in its quiet, resolute, and guarded struggle with an unseen assailant, was not to be beheld in all the wide dominions of sleep, that night.
she timidly laid her hand on his dear breast, and put up a prayer that she might ever be as true to him as her love aspired to be, and as his sorrows deserved. then, she withdrew her hand, and kissed his lips once more, and went away. so, the sunrise came, and the shadows of the leaves of the plane-tree moved upon his face, as softly as her lips had moved in praying for him.
xviii. nine days
the marriage-day was shining brightly, and they were ready outside the closed door of the doctor's room, where he was speaking with charles darnay. they were ready to go to church; the beautiful bride, mr.
lorry, and miss pross to whom the event, through a gradual process of reconcilement to the inevitable, would have been one of absolute bliss, but for the yet lingering consideration that her brother solomon should have been the bridegroom.
“and so,” said mr. lorry, who could not sufficiently admire the bride, and who had been moving round her to take in every point of her quiet, pretty dress; “and so it was for this, my sweet lucie, that i brought you across the channel, such a baby! lord bless me! how little i thought what i was doing! how lightly i valued the obligation i was conferring on my friend mr. charles!”
“you didn't mean it,” remarked the matter-of-fact miss pross, “and therefore how could you know it? nonsense!”
“really? well; but don't cry,” said the gentle mr. lorry.
“i am not crying,” said miss pross; “you are.”
“i, my pross?” (by this time, mr. lorry dared to be pleasant with her, on occasion.)
“you were, just now; i saw you do it, and i don't wonder at it. such a present of plate as you have made 'em, is enough to bring tears into anybody's eyes. there's not a fork or a spoon in the collection,” said miss pross, “that i didn't cry over, last night after the box came, till i couldn't see it.”
“i am highly gratified,” said mr. lorry, “though, upon my honour, i had no intention of rendering those trifling articles of remembrance invisible to any one. dear me! this is an occasion that makes a man speculate on all he has lost. dear, dear, dear! to think that there might have been a mrs. lorry, any time these fifty years almost!”
“not at all!” from miss pross.
“you think there never might have been a mrs. lorry?” asked the gentleman of that name.
“pooh!” rejoined miss pross; “you were a bachelor in your cradle.”
“well!” observed mr. lorry, beamingly adjusting his little wig, “that seems probable, too.”
“and you were cut out for a bachelor,” pursued miss pross, “before you were put in your cradle.”
“then, i think,” said mr. lorry, “that i was very unhandsomely dealt with, and that i ought to have had a voice in the selection of my pattern. enough! now, my dear lucie,” drawing his arm soothingly round her waist, “i hear them moving in the next room, and miss pross and i, as two formal folks of business, are anxious not to lose the final opportunity of saying something to you that you wish to hear. you leave your good father, my dear, in hands as earnest and as loving as your own; he shall be taken every conceivable care of; during the next fortnight, while you are in warwickshire and thereabouts, even tellson's shall go to the wall (comparatively speaking) before him. and when, at the fortnight's end, he comes to join you and your beloved husband, on your other fortnight's trip in wales, you shall say that we have sent him to you in the best health and in the happiest frame. now, i hear somebody's step coming to the door. let me kiss my dear girl with an old-fashioned bachelor blessing, before somebody comes to claim his own.”
for a moment, he held the fair face from him to look at the well-remembered expression on the forehead, and then laid the bright golden hair against his little brown wig, with a genuine tenderness and delicacy which, if such things be old-fashioned, were as old as adam.
the door of the doctor's room opened, and he came out with charles darnay. he was so deadly pale which had not been the case when they went in together that no vestige of colour was to be seen in his face.
but, in the composure of his manner he was unaltered, except that to the shrewd glance of mr. lorry it disclosed some shadowy indication that the old air of avoidance and dread had lately passed over him, like a cold wind.
he gave his arm to his daughter, and took her down-stairs to the chariot which mr. lorry had hired in honour of the day. the rest followed in another carriage, and soon, in a neighbouring church, where no strange eyes looked on, charles darnay and lucie manette were happily married.
besides the glancing tears that shone among the smiles of the little group when it was done, some diamonds, very bright and sparkling, glanced on the bride's hand, which were newly released from the dark obscurity of one of mr. lorry's pockets. they returned home to breakfast, and all went well, and in due course the golden hair that had mingled with the poor shoemaker's white locks in the paris garret, were mingled with them again in the morning sunlight, on the threshold of the door at parting.
it was a hard parting, though it was not for long. but her father cheered her, and said at last, gently disengaging himself from her enfolding arms, “take her, charles! she is yours!”
and her agitated hand waved to them from a chaise window, and she was gone.
the corner being out of the way of the idle and curious, and the preparations having been very simple and few, the doctor, mr. lorry, and miss pross, were left quite alone. it was when they turned into the welcome shade of the cool old hall, that mr. lorry observed a great change to have come over the doctor; as if the golden arm uplifted there, had struck him a poisoned blow.
he had naturally repressed much, and some revulsion might have been expected in him when the occasion for repression was gone. but, it was the old scared lost look that troubled mr. lorry; and through his absent manner of clasping his head and drearily wandering away into his own room when they got up-stairs, mr. lorry was reminded of defarge the wine-shop keeper, and the starlight ride.
“i think,” he whispered to miss pross, after anxious consideration, “i think we had best not speak to him just now, or at all disturb him.
i must look in at tellson's; so i will go there at once and come back presently. then, we will take him a ride into the country, and dine there, and all will be well.”
it was easier for mr. lorry to look in at tellson's, than to look out of tellson's. he was detained two hours. when he came back, he ascended the old staircase alone, having asked no question of the servant; going thus into the doctor's rooms, he was stopped by a low sound of knocking.
“good god!” he said, with a start. “what's that?”
miss pross, with a terrified face, was at his ear. “o me, o me! all is lost!” cried she, wringing her hands. “what is to be told to ladybird?
he doesn't know me, and is making shoes!”
mr. lorry said what he could to calm her, and went himself into the doctor's room. the bench was turned towards the light, as it had been when he had seen the shoemaker at his work before, and his head was bent down, and he was very busy.
“doctor manette. my dear friend, doctor manette!”
the doctor looked at him for a moment half inquiringly, half as if he were angry at being spoken to and bent over his work again.
he had laid aside his coat and waistcoat; his shirt was open at the throat, as it used to be when he did that work; and even the old haggard, faded surface of face had come back to him. he worked hard impatiently as if in some sense of having been interrupted.
mr. lorry glanced at the work in his hand, and observed that it was a shoe of the old size and shape. he took up another that was lying by him, and asked what it was.
“a young lady's walking shoe,” he muttered, without looking up. “it ought to have been finished long ago. let it be.”
“but, doctor manette. look at me!”
he obeyed, in the old mechanically submissive manner, without pausing in his work.
“you know me, my dear friend? think again. this is not your proper occupation. think, dear friend!”
nothing would induce him to speak more. he looked up, for an instant at a time, when he was requested to do so; but, no persuasion would extract a word from him. he worked, and worked, and worked, in silence, and words fell on him as they would have fallen on an echoless wall, or on the air. the only ray of hope that mr. lorry could discover, was, that he sometimes furtively looked up without being asked. in that, there seemed a faint expression of curiosity or perplexity as though he were trying to reconcile some doubts in his mind.
two things at once impressed themselves on mr. lorry, as important above all others; the first, that this must be kept secret from lucie; the second, that it must be kept secret from all who knew him. in conjunction with miss pross, he took immediate steps towards the latter precaution, by giving out that the doctor was not well, and required a few days of complete rest. in aid of the kind deception to be practised on his daughter, miss pross was to write, describing his having been called away professionally, and referring to an imaginary letter of two or three hurried lines in his own hand, represented to have been addressed to her by the same post.
these measures, advisable to be taken in any case, mr. lorry took in the hope of his coming to himself. if that should happen soon, he kept another course in reserve; which was, to have a certain opinion that he thought the best, on the doctor's case.
in the hope of his recovery, and of resort to this third course being thereby rendered practicable, mr. lorry resolved to watch him attentively, with as little appearance as possible of doing so. he therefore made arrangements to absent himself from tellson's for the first time in his life, and took his post by the window in the same room.
he was not long in discovering that it was worse than useless to speak to him, since, on being pressed, he became worried. he abandoned that attempt on the first day, and resolved merely to keep himself always before him, as a silent protest against the delusion into which he had fallen, or was falling. he remained, therefore, in his seat near the window, reading and writing, and expressing in as many pleasant and natural ways as he could think of, that it was a free place.
doctor manette took what was given him to eat and drink, and worked on, that first day, until it was too dark to see worked on, half an hour after mr. lorry could not have seen, for his life, to read or write.
when he put his tools aside as useless, until morning, mr. lorry rose and said to him:
“will you go out?”
he looked down at the floor on either side of him in the old manner, looked up in the old manner, and repeated in the old low voice:
“out?”
“yes; for a walk with me. why not?”
he made no effort to say why not, and said not a word more. but, mr.
lorry thought he saw, as he leaned forward on his bench in the dusk, with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, that he was in some misty way asking himself, “why not?” the sagacity of the man of business perceived an advantage here, and determined to hold it.
miss pross and he divided the night into two watches, and observed him at intervals from the adjoining room. he paced up and down for a long time before he lay down; but, when he did finally lay himself down, he fell asleep. in the morning, he was up betimes, and went straight to his bench and to work.
on this second day, mr. lorry saluted him cheerfully by his name, and spoke to him on topics that had been of late familiar to them. he returned no reply, but it was evident that he heard what was said, and that he thought about it, however confusedly. this encouraged mr. lorry to have miss pross in with her work, several times during the day; at those times, they quietly spoke of lucie, and of her father then present, precisely in the usual manner, and as if there were nothing amiss. this was done without any demonstrative accompaniment, not long enough, or often enough to harass him; and it lightened mr. lorry's friendly heart to believe that he looked up oftener, and that he appeared to be stirred by some perception of inconsistencies surrounding him.
when it fell dark again, mr. lorry asked him as before:
“dear doctor, will you go out?”
as before, he repeated, “out?”
“yes; for a walk with me. why not?”
this time, mr. lorry feigned to go out when he could extract no answer from him, and, after remaining absent for an hour, returned. in the meanwhile, the doctor had removed to the seat in the window, and had sat there looking down at the plane-tree; but, on mr. lorry's return, he slipped away to his bench.
the time went very slowly on, and mr. lorry's hope darkened, and his heart grew heavier again, and grew yet heavier and heavier every day.
the third day came and went, the fourth, the fifth. five days, six days, seven days, eight days, nine days.
with a hope ever darkening, and with a heart always growing heavier and heavier, mr. lorry passed through this anxious time. the secret was well kept, and lucie was unconscious and happy; but he could not fail to observe that the shoemaker, whose hand had been a little out at first, was growing dreadfully skilful, and that he had never been so intent on his work, and that his hands had never been so nimble and expert, as in the dusk of the ninth evening.
xix. an opinion
worn out by anxious watching, mr. lorry fell asleep at his post. on the tenth morning of his suspense, he was startled by the shining of the sun into the room where a heavy slumber had overtaken him when it was dark night.
he rubbed his eyes and roused himself; but he doubted, when he had done so, whether he was not still asleep. for, going to the door of the doctor's room and looking in, he perceived that the shoemaker's bench and tools were put aside again, and that the doctor himself sat reading at the window. he was in his usual morning dress, and his face (which mr. lorry could distinctly see), though still very pale, was calmly studious and attentive.
even when he had satisfied himself that he was awake, mr. lorry felt giddily uncertain for some few moments whether the late shoemaking might not be a disturbed dream of his own; for, did not his eyes show him his friend before him in his accustomed clothing and aspect, and employed as usual; and was there any sign within their range, that the change of which he had so strong an impression had actually happened?
it was but the inquiry of his first confusion and astonishment, the answer being obvious. if the impression were not produced by a real corresponding and sufficient cause, how came he, jarvis lorry, there?
how came he to have fallen asleep, in his clothes, on the sofa in doctor manette's consulting-room, and to be debating these points outside the doctor's bedroom door in the early morning?
within a few minutes, miss pross stood whispering at his side. if he had had any particle of doubt left, her talk would of necessity have resolved it; but he was by that time clear-headed, and had none.
he advised that they should let the time go by until the regular breakfast-hour, and should then meet the doctor as if nothing unusual had occurred. if he appeared to be in his customary state of mind, mr.
lorry would then cautiously proceed to seek direction and guidance from the opinion he had been, in his anxiety, so anxious to obtain.
miss pross, submitting herself to his judgment, the scheme was worked out with care. having abundance of time for his usual methodical toilette, mr. lorry presented himself at the breakfast-hour in his usual white linen, and with his usual neat leg. the doctor was summoned in the usual way, and came to breakfast.
so far as it was possible to comprehend him without overstepping those delicate and gradual approaches which mr. lorry felt to be the only safe advance, he at first supposed that his daughter's marriage had taken place yesterday. an incidental allusion, purposely thrown out, to the day of the week, and the day of the month, set him thinking and counting, and evidently made him uneasy. in all other respects, however, he was so composedly himself, that mr. lorry determined to have the aid he sought. and that aid was his own.
therefore, when the breakfast was done and cleared away, and he and the doctor were left together, mr. lorry said, feelingly:
“my dear manette, i am anxious to have your opinion, in confidence, on a very curious case in which i am deeply interested; that is to say, it is very curious to me; perhaps, to your better information it may be less so.”
glancing at his hands, which were discoloured by his late work, the doctor looked troubled, and listened attentively. he had already glanced at his hands more than once.
“doctor manette,” said mr. lorry, touching him affectionately on the arm, “the case is the case of a particularly dear friend of mine. pray give your mind to it, and advise me well for his sake and above all, for his daughter's his daughter's, my dear manette.”
“if i understand,” said the doctor, in a subdued tone, “some mental shock ?”
“yes!”
“be explicit,” said the doctor. “spare no detail.”
mr. lorry saw that they understood one another, and proceeded.
“my dear manette, it is the case of an old and a prolonged shock, of great acuteness and severity to the affections, the feelings, the the as you express it the mind. the mind. it is the case of a shock under which the sufferer was borne down, one cannot say for how long, because i believe he cannot calculate the time himself, and there are no other means of getting at it. it is the case of a shock from which the sufferer recovered, by a process that he cannot trace himself as i once heard him publicly relate in a striking manner. it is the case of a shock from which he has recovered, so completely, as to be a highly intelligent man, capable of close application of mind, and great exertion of body, and of constantly making fresh additions to his stock of knowledge, which was already very large. but, unfortunately, there has been,” he paused and took a deep breath “a slight relapse.”
the doctor, in a low voice, asked, “of how long duration?”
“nine days and nights.”
“how did it show itself? i infer,” glancing at his hands again, “in the resumption of some old pursuit connected with the shock?”
“that is the fact.”
“now, did you ever see him,” asked the doctor, distinctly and collectedly, though in the same low voice, “engaged in that pursuit originally?”
“once.”
“and when the relapse fell on him, was he in most respects or in all respects as he was then?”
“i think in all respects.”
“you spoke of his daughter. does his daughter know of the relapse?”
“no. it has been kept from her, and i hope will always be kept from her.
it is known only to myself, and to one other who may be trusted.”
the doctor grasped his hand, and murmured, “that was very kind. that was very thoughtful!” mr. lorry grasped his hand in return, and neither of the two spoke for a little while.
“now, my dear manette,” said mr. lorry, at length, in his most considerate and most affectionate way, “i am a mere man of business, and unfit to cope with such intricate and difficult matters. i do not possess the kind of information necessary; i do not possess the kind of intelligence; i want guiding. there is no man in this world on whom i could so rely for right guidance, as on you. tell me, how does this relapse come about? is there danger of another? could a repetition of it be prevented? how should a repetition of it be treated? how does it come about at all? what can i do for my friend? no man ever can have been more desirous in his heart to serve a friend, than i am to serve mine, if i knew how.
“but i don't know how to originate, in such a case. if your sagacity, knowledge, and experience, could put me on the right track, i might be able to do so much; unenlightened and undirected, i can do so little.
pray discuss it with me; pray enable me to see it a little more clearly, and teach me how to be a little more useful.”
doctor manette sat meditating after these earnest words were spoken, and mr. lorry did not press him.
“i think it probable,” said the doctor, breaking silence with an effort, “that the relapse you have described, my dear friend, was not quite unforeseen by its subject.”
“was it dreaded by him?” mr. lorry ventured to ask.
“very much.” he said it with an involuntary shudder.
“you have no idea how such an apprehension weighs on the sufferer's mind, and how difficult how almost impossible it is, for him to force himself to utter a word upon the topic that oppresses him.”
“would he,” asked mr. lorry, “be sensibly relieved if he could prevail upon himself to impart that secret brooding to any one, when it is on him?”
“i think so. but it is, as i have told you, next to impossible. i even believe it in some cases to be quite impossible.”
“now,” said mr. lorry, gently laying his hand on the doctor's arm again, after a short silence on both sides, “to what would you refer this attack?”
“i believe,” returned doctor manette, “that there had been a strong and extraordinary revival of the train of thought and remembrance that was the first cause of the malady. some intense associations of a most distressing nature were vividly recalled, i think. it is probable that there had long been a dread lurking in his mind, that those associations would be recalled say, under certain circumstances say, on a particular occasion. he tried to prepare himself in vain; perhaps the effort to prepare himself made him less able to bear it.”
“would he remember what took place in the relapse?” asked mr. lorry, with natural hesitation.
the doctor looked desolately round the room, shook his head, and answered, in a low voice, “not at all.”
“now, as to the future,” hinted mr. lorry.
“as to the future,” said the doctor, recovering firmness, “i should have great hope. as it pleased heaven in its mercy to restore him so soon, i should have great hope. he, yielding under the pressure of a complicated something, long dreaded and long vaguely foreseen and contended against, and recovering after the cloud had burst and passed, i should hope that the worst was over.”
“well, well! that's good comfort. i am thankful!” said mr. lorry.
“i am thankful!” repeated the doctor, bending his head with reverence.
“there are two other points,” said mr. lorry, “on which i am anxious to be instructed. i may go on?”
“you cannot do your friend a better service.” the doctor gave him his hand.
“to the first, then. he is of a studious habit, and unusually energetic; he applies himself with great ardour to the acquisition of professional knowledge, to the conducting of experiments, to many things. now, does he do too much?”
“i think not. it may be the character of his mind, to be always in singular need of occupation. that may be, in part, natural to it; in part, the result of affliction. the less it was occupied with healthy things, the more it would be in danger of turning in the unhealthy direction. he may have observed himself, and made the discovery.”
“you are sure that he is not under too great a strain?”
“i think i am quite sure of it.”
“my dear manette, if he were overworked now ”
“my dear lorry, i doubt if that could easily be. there has been a violent stress in one direction, and it needs a counterweight.”
“excuse me, as a persistent man of business. assuming for a moment, that he was overworked; it would show itself in some renewal of this disorder?”
“i do not think so. i do not think,” said doctor manette with the firmness of self-conviction, “that anything but the one train of association would renew it. i think that, henceforth, nothing but some extraordinary jarring of that chord could renew it. after what has happened, and after his recovery, i find it difficult to imagine any such violent sounding of that string again. i trust, and i almost believe, that the circumstances likely to renew it are exhausted.”
he spoke with the diffidence of a man who knew how slight a thing would overset the delicate organisation of the mind, and yet with the confidence of a man who had slowly won his assurance out of personal endurance and distress. it was not for his friend to abate that confidence. he professed himself more relieved and encouraged than he really was, and approached his second and last point. he felt it to be the most difficult of all; but, remembering his old sunday morning conversation with miss pross, and remembering what he had seen in the last nine days, he knew that he must face it.
“the occupation resumed under the influence of this passing affliction so happily recovered from,” said mr. lorry, clearing his throat, “we will call blacksmith's work, blacksmith's work. we will say, to put a case and for the sake of illustration, that he had been used, in his bad time, to work at a little forge. we will say that he was unexpectedly found at his forge again. is it not a pity that he should keep it by him?”
the doctor shaded his forehead with his hand, and beat his foot nervously on the ground.
“he has always kept it by him,” said mr. lorry, with an anxious look at his friend. “now, would it not be better that he should let it go?”
still, the doctor, with shaded forehead, beat his foot nervously on the ground.
“you do not find it easy to advise me?” said mr. lorry. “i quite understand it to be a nice question. and yet i think ” and there he shook his head, and stopped.
“you see,” said doctor manette, turning to him after an uneasy pause, “it is very hard to explain, consistently, the innermost workings of this poor man's mind. he once yearned so frightfully for that occupation, and it was so welcome when it came; no doubt it relieved his pain so much, by substituting the perplexity of the fingers for the perplexity of the brain, and by substituting, as he became more practised, the ingenuity of the hands, for the ingenuity of the mental torture; that he has never been able to bear the thought of putting it quite out of his reach. even now, when i believe he is more hopeful of himself than he has ever been, and even speaks of himself with a kind of confidence, the idea that he might need that old employment, and not find it, gives him a sudden sense of terror, like that which one may fancy strikes to the heart of a lost child.”
he looked like his illustration, as he raised his eyes to mr. lorry's face.
“but may not mind! i ask for information, as a plodding man of business who only deals with such material objects as guineas, shillings, and bank-notes may not the retention of the thing involve the retention of the idea? if the thing were gone, my dear manette, might not the fear go with it? in short, is it not a concession to the misgiving, to keep the forge?”
there was another silence.
“you see, too,” said the doctor, tremulously, “it is such an old companion.”
“i would not keep it,” said mr. lorry, shaking his head; for he gained in firmness as he saw the doctor disquieted. “i would recommend him to sacrifice it. i only want your authority. i am sure it does no good.
come! give me your authority, like a dear good man. for his daughter's sake, my dear manette!”
very strange to see what a struggle there was within him!
“in her name, then, let it be done; i sanction it. but, i would not take it away while he was present. let it be removed when he is not there; let him miss his old companion after an absence.”
mr. lorry readily engaged for that, and the conference was ended. they passed the day in the country, and the doctor was quite restored. on the three following days he remained perfectly well, and on the fourteenth day he went away to join lucie and her husband. the precaution that had been taken to account for his silence, mr. lorry had previously explained to him, and he had written to lucie in accordance with it, and she had no suspicions.
on the night of the day on which he left the house, mr. lorry went into his room with a chopper, saw, chisel, and hammer, attended by miss pross carrying a light. there, with closed doors, and in a mysterious and guilty manner, mr. lorry hacked the shoemaker's bench to pieces, while miss pross held the candle as if she were assisting at a murder for which, indeed, in her grimness, she was no unsuitable figure. the burning of the body (previously reduced to pieces convenient for the purpose) was commenced without delay in the kitchen fire; and the tools, shoes, and leather, were buried in the garden. so wicked do destruction and secrecy appear to honest minds, that mr. lorry and miss pross, while engaged in the commission of their deed and in the removal of its traces, almost felt, and almost looked, like accomplices in a horrible crime.
xx. a plea
when the newly-married pair came home, the first person who appeared, to offer his congratulations, was sydney carton. they had not been at home many hours, when he presented himself. he was not improved in habits, or in looks, or in manner; but there was a certain rugged air of fidelity about him, which was new to the observation of charles darnay.
he watched his opportunity of taking darnay aside into a window, and of speaking to him when no one overheard.
“mr. darnay,” said carton, “i wish we might be friends.”
“we are already friends, i hope.”
“you are good enough to say so, as a fashion of speech; but, i don't mean any fashion of speech. indeed, when i say i wish we might be friends, i scarcely mean quite that, either.”
charles darnay as was natural asked him, in all good-humour and good-fellowship, what he did mean?
“upon my life,” said carton, smiling, “i find that easier to comprehend in my own mind, than to convey to yours. however, let me try. you remember a certain famous occasion when i was more drunk than than usual?”
“i remember a certain famous occasion when you forced me to confess that you had been drinking.”
“i remember it too. the curse of those occasions is heavy upon me, for i always remember them. i hope it may be taken into account one day, when all days are at an end for me! don't be alarmed; i am not going to preach.”
“i am not at all alarmed. earnestness in you, is anything but alarming to me.”
“ah!” said carton, with a careless wave of his hand, as if he waved that away. “on the drunken occasion in question (one of a large number, as you know), i was insufferable about liking you, and not liking you. i wish you would forget it.”
“i forgot it long ago.”
“fashion of speech again! but, mr. darnay, oblivion is not so easy to me, as you represent it to be to you. i have by no means forgotten it, and a light answer does not help me to forget it.”
“if it was a light answer,” returned darnay, “i beg your forgiveness for it. i had no other object than to turn a slight thing, which, to my surprise, seems to trouble you too much, aside. i declare to you, on the faith of a gentleman, that i have long dismissed it from my mind. good heaven, what was there to dismiss! have i had nothing more important to remember, in the great service you rendered me that day?”
“as to the great service,” said carton, “i am bound to avow to you, when you speak of it in that way, that it was mere professional claptrap, i don't know that i cared what became of you, when i rendered it. mind! i say when i rendered it; i am speaking of the past.”
“you make light of the obligation,” returned darnay, “but i will not quarrel with your light answer.”
“genuine truth, mr. darnay, trust me! i have gone aside from my purpose; i was speaking about our being friends. now, you know me; you know i am incapable of all the higher and better flights of men. if you doubt it, ask stryver, and he'll tell you so.”
“i prefer to form my own opinion, without the aid of his.”
“well! at any rate you know me as a dissolute dog, who has never done any good, and never will.”
“i don't know that you 'never will.'”
“but i do, and you must take my word for it. well! if you could endure to have such a worthless fellow, and a fellow of such indifferent reputation, coming and going at odd times, i should ask that i might be permitted to come and go as a privileged person here; that i might be regarded as an useless (and i would add, if it were not for the resemblance i detected between you and me, an unornamental) piece of furniture, tolerated for its old service, and taken no notice of. i doubt if i should abuse the permission. it is a hundred to one if i should avail myself of it four times in a year. it would satisfy me, i dare say, to know that i had it.”
“will you try?”
“that is another way of saying that i am placed on the footing i have indicated. i thank you, darnay. i may use that freedom with your name?”
“i think so, carton, by this time.”
they shook hands upon it, and sydney turned away. within a minute afterwards, he was, to all outward appearance, as unsubstantial as ever.
when he was gone, and in the course of an evening passed with miss pross, the doctor, and mr. lorry, charles darnay made some mention of this conversation in general terms, and spoke of sydney carton as a problem of carelessness and recklessness. he spoke of him, in short, not bitterly or meaning to bear hard upon him, but as anybody might who saw him as he showed himself.
he had no idea that this could dwell in the thoughts of his fair young wife; but, when he afterwards joined her in their own rooms, he found her waiting for him with the old pretty lifting of the forehead strongly marked.
“we are thoughtful to-night!” said darnay, drawing his arm about her.
“yes, dearest charles,” with her hands on his breast, and the inquiring and attentive expression fixed upon him; “we are rather thoughtful to-night, for we have something on our mind to-night.”
“what is it, my lucie?”
“will you promise not to press one question on me, if i beg you not to ask it?”
“will i promise? what will i not promise to my love?”
what, indeed, with his hand putting aside the golden hair from the cheek, and his other hand against the heart that beat for him!
“i think, charles, poor mr. carton deserves more consideration and respect than you expressed for him to-night.”
“indeed, my own? why so?”
“that is what you are not to ask me. but i think i know he does.”
“if you know it, it is enough. what would you have me do, my life?”
“i would ask you, dearest, to be very generous with him always, and very lenient on his faults when he is not by. i would ask you to believe that he has a heart he very, very seldom reveals, and that there are deep wounds in it. my dear, i have seen it bleeding.”
“it is a painful reflection to me,” said charles darnay, quite astounded, “that i should have done him any wrong. i never thought this of him.”
“my husband, it is so. i fear he is not to be reclaimed; there is scarcely a hope that anything in his character or fortunes is reparable now. but, i am sure that he is capable of good things, gentle things, even magnanimous things.”
she looked so beautiful in the purity of her faith in this lost man, that her husband could have looked at her as she was for hours.
“and, o my dearest love!” she urged, clinging nearer to him, laying her head upon his breast, and raising her eyes to his, “remember how strong we are in our happiness, and how weak he is in his misery!”
the supplication touched him home. “i will always remember it, dear heart! i will remember it as long as i live.”
he bent over the golden head, and put the rosy lips to his, and folded her in his arms. if one forlorn wanderer then pacing the dark streets, could have heard her innocent disclosure, and could have seen the drops of pity kissed away by her husband from the soft blue eyes so loving of that husband, he might have cried to the night and the words would not have parted from his lips for the first time
“god bless her for her sweet compassion!”
xxi. echoing footsteps
a wonderful corner for echoes, it has been remarked, that corner where the doctor lived. ever busily winding the golden thread which bound her husband, and her father, and herself, and her old directress and companion, in a life of quiet bliss, lucie sat in the still house in the tranquilly resounding corner, listening to the echoing footsteps of years.
at first, there were times, though she was a perfectly happy young wife, when her work would slowly fall from her hands, and her eyes would be dimmed. for, there was something coming in the echoes, something light, afar off, and scarcely audible yet, that stirred her heart too much.
fluttering hopes and doubts hopes, of a love as yet unknown to her:
doubts, of her remaining upon earth, to enjoy that new delight divided her breast. among the echoes then, there would arise the sound of footsteps at her own early grave; and thoughts of the husband who would be left so desolate, and who would mourn for her so much, swelled to her eyes, and broke like waves.
that time passed, and her little lucie lay on her bosom. then, among the advancing echoes, there was the tread of her tiny feet and the sound of her prattling words. let greater echoes resound as they would, the young mother at the cradle side could always hear those coming. they came, and the shady house was sunny with a child's laugh, and the divine friend of children, to whom in her trouble she had confided hers, seemed to take her child in his arms, as he took the child of old, and made it a sacred joy to her.
ever busily winding the golden thread that bound them all together, weaving the service of her happy influence through the tissue of all their lives, and making it predominate nowhere, lucie heard in the echoes of years none but friendly and soothing sounds. her husband's step was strong and prosperous among them; her father's firm and equal.
lo, miss pross, in harness of string, awakening the echoes, as an unruly charger, whip-corrected, snorting and pawing the earth under the plane-tree in the garden!
even when there were sounds of sorrow among the rest, they were not harsh nor cruel. even when golden hair, like her own, lay in a halo on a pillow round the worn face of a little boy, and he said, with a radiant smile, “dear papa and mamma, i am very sorry to leave you both, and to leave my pretty sister; but i am called, and i must go!” those were not tears all of agony that wetted his young mother's cheek, as the spirit departed from her embrace that had been entrusted to it. suffer them and forbid them not. they see my father's face. o father, blessed words!
thus, the rustling of an angel's wings got blended with the other echoes, and they were not wholly of earth, but had in them that breath of heaven. sighs of the winds that blew over a little garden-tomb were mingled with them also, and both were audible to lucie, in a hushed murmur like the breathing of a summer sea asleep upon a sandy shore as the little lucie, comically studious at the task of the morning, or dressing a doll at her mother's footstool, chattered in the tongues of the two cities that were blended in her life.
the echoes rarely answered to the actual tread of sydney carton. some half-dozen times a year, at most, he claimed his privilege of coming in uninvited, and would sit among them through the evening, as he had once done often. he never came there heated with wine. and one other thing regarding him was whispered in the echoes, which has been whispered by all true echoes for ages and ages.
no man ever really loved a woman, lost her, and knew her with a blameless though an unchanged mind, when she was a wife and a mother, but her children had a strange sympathy with him an instinctive delicacy of pity for him. what fine hidden sensibilities are touched in such a case, no echoes tell; but it is so, and it was so here. carton was the first stranger to whom little lucie held out her chubby arms, and he kept his place with her as she grew. the little boy had spoken of him, almost at the last. “poor carton! kiss him for me!”
mr. stryver shouldered his way through the law, like some great engine forcing itself through turbid water, and dragged his useful friend in his wake, like a boat towed astern. as the boat so favoured is usually in a rough plight, and mostly under water, so, sydney had a swamped life of it. but, easy and strong custom, unhappily so much easier and stronger in him than any stimulating sense of desert or disgrace, made it the life he was to lead; and he no more thought of emerging from his state of lion's jackal, than any real jackal may be supposed to think of rising to be a lion. stryver was rich; had married a florid widow with property and three boys, who had nothing particularly shining about them but the straight hair of their dumpling heads.
these three young gentlemen, mr. stryver, exuding patronage of the most offensive quality from every pore, had walked before him like three sheep to the quiet corner in soho, and had offered as pupils to lucie's husband: delicately saying “halloa! here are three lumps of bread-and-cheese towards your matrimonial picnic, darnay!” the polite rejection of the three lumps of bread-and-cheese had quite bloated mr.
stryver with indignation, which he afterwards turned to account in the training of the young gentlemen, by directing them to beware of the pride of beggars, like that tutor-fellow. he was also in the habit of declaiming to mrs. stryver, over his full-bodied wine, on the arts mrs. darnay had once put in practice to “catch” him, and on the diamond-cut-diamond arts in himself, madam, which had rendered him “not to be caught.” some of his king's bench familiars, who were occasionally parties to the full-bodied wine and the lie, excused him for the latter by saying that he had told it so often, that he believed it himself which is surely such an incorrigible aggravation of an originally bad offence, as to justify any such offender's being carried off to some suitably retired spot, and there hanged out of the way.
these were among the echoes to which lucie, sometimes pensive, sometimes amused and laughing, listened in the echoing corner, until her little daughter was six years old. how near to her heart the echoes of her child's tread came, and those of her own dear father's, always active and self-possessed, and those of her dear husband's, need not be told.
nor, how the lightest echo of their united home, directed by herself with such a wise and elegant thrift that it was more abundant than any waste, was music to her. nor, how there were echoes all about her, sweet in her ears, of the many times her father had told her that he found her more devoted to him married (if that could be) than single, and of the many times her husband had said to her that no cares and duties seemed to divide her love for him or her help to him, and asked her “what is the magic secret, my darling, of your being everything to all of us, as if there were only one of us, yet never seeming to be hurried, or to have too much to do?”
but, there were other echoes, from a distance, that rumbled menacingly in the corner all through this space of time. and it was now, about little lucie's sixth birthday, that they began to have an awful sound, as of a great storm in france with a dreadful sea rising.
on a night in mid-july, one thousand seven hundred and eighty-nine, mr.
lorry came in late, from tellson's, and sat himself down by lucie and her husband in the dark window. it was a hot, wild night, and they were all three reminded of the old sunday night when they had looked at the lightning from the same place.
“i began to think,” said mr. lorry, pushing his brown wig back, “that i should have to pass the night at tellson's. we have been so full of business all day, that we have not known what to do first, or which way to turn. there is such an uneasiness in paris, that we have actually a run of confidence upon us! our customers over there, seem not to be able to confide their property to us fast enough. there is positively a mania among some of them for sending it to england.”
“that has a bad look,” said darnay
“a bad look, you say, my dear darnay? yes, but we don't know what reason there is in it. people are so unreasonable! some of us at tellson's are getting old, and we really can't be troubled out of the ordinary course without due occasion.”
“still,” said darnay, “you know how gloomy and threatening the sky is.”
“i know that, to be sure,” assented mr. lorry, trying to persuade himself that his sweet temper was soured, and that he grumbled, “but i am determined to be peevish after my long day's botheration. where is manette?”
“here he is,” said the doctor, entering the dark room at the moment.
“i am quite glad you are at home; for these hurries and forebodings by which i have been surrounded all day long, have made me nervous without reason. you are not going out, i hope?”
“no; i am going to play backgammon with you, if you like,” said the doctor.
“i don't think i do like, if i may speak my mind. i am not fit to be pitted against you to-night. is the teaboard still there, lucie? i can't see.”
“of course, it has been kept for you.”
“thank ye, my dear. the precious child is safe in bed?”
“and sleeping soundly.”
“that's right; all safe and well! i don't know why anything should be otherwise than safe and well here, thank god; but i have been so put out all day, and i am not as young as i was! my tea, my dear! thank ye. now, come and take your place in the circle, and let us sit quiet, and hear the echoes about which you have your theory.”
“not a theory; it was a fancy.”
“a fancy, then, my wise pet,” said mr. lorry, patting her hand. “they are very numerous and very loud, though, are they not? only hear them!”
headlong, mad, and dangerous footsteps to force their way into anybody's life, footsteps not easily made clean again if once stained red, the footsteps raging in saint antoine afar off, as the little circle sat in the dark london window.
saint antoine had been, that morning, a vast dusky mass of scarecrows heaving to and fro, with frequent gleams of light above the billowy heads, where steel blades and bayonets shone in the sun. a tremendous roar arose from the throat of saint antoine, and a forest of naked arms struggled in the air like shrivelled branches of trees in a winter wind:
all the fingers convulsively clutching at every weapon or semblance of a weapon that was thrown up from the depths below, no matter how far off.
who gave them out, whence they last came, where they began, through what agency they crookedly quivered and jerked, scores at a time, over the heads of the crowd, like a kind of lightning, no eye in the throng could have told; but, muskets were being distributed so were cartridges, powder, and ball, bars of iron and wood, knives, axes, pikes, every weapon that distracted ingenuity could discover or devise. people who could lay hold of nothing else, set themselves with bleeding hands to force stones and bricks out of their places in walls. every pulse and heart in saint antoine was on high-fever strain and at high-fever heat.
every living creature there held life as of no account, and was demented with a passionate readiness to sacrifice it.
as a whirlpool of boiling waters has a centre point, so, all this raging circled round defarge's wine-shop, and every human drop in the caldron had a tendency to be sucked towards the vortex where defarge himself, already begrimed with gunpowder and sweat, issued orders, issued arms, thrust this man back, dragged this man forward, disarmed one to arm another, laboured and strove in the thickest of the uproar.
“keep near to me, jacques three,” cried defarge; “and do you, jacques one and two, separate and put yourselves at the head of as many of these patriots as you can. where is my wife?”
“eh, well! here you see me!” said madame, composed as ever, but not knitting to-day. madame's resolute right hand was occupied with an axe, in place of the usual softer implements, and in her girdle were a pistol and a cruel knife.
“where do you go, my wife?”
“i go,” said madame, “with you at present. you shall see me at the head of women, by-and-bye.”
“come, then!” cried defarge, in a resounding voice. “patriots and friends, we are ready! the bastille!”
with a roar that sounded as if all the breath in france had been shaped into the detested word, the living sea rose, wave on wave, depth on depth, and overflowed the city to that point. alarm-bells ringing, drums beating, the sea raging and thundering on its new beach, the attack began.
deep ditches, double drawbridge, massive stone walls, eight great towers, cannon, muskets, fire and smoke. through the fire and through the smoke in the fire and in the smoke, for the sea cast him up against a cannon, and on the instant he became a cannonier defarge of the wine-shop worked like a manful soldier, two fierce hours.
deep ditch, single drawbridge, massive stone walls, eight great towers, cannon, muskets, fire and smoke. one drawbridge down! “work, comrades all, work! work, jacques one, jacques two, jacques one thousand, jacques two thousand, jacques five-and-twenty thousand; in the name of all the angels or the devils which you prefer work!” thus defarge of the wine-shop, still at his gun, which had long grown hot.
“to me, women!” cried madame his wife. “what! we can kill as well as the men when the place is taken!” and to her, with a shrill thirsty cry, trooping women variously armed, but all armed alike in hunger and revenge.
cannon, muskets, fire and smoke; but, still the deep ditch, the single drawbridge, the massive stone walls, and the eight great towers. slight displacements of the raging sea, made by the falling wounded. flashing weapons, blazing torches, smoking waggonloads of wet straw, hard work at neighbouring barricades in all directions, shrieks, volleys, execrations, bravery without stint, boom smash and rattle, and the furious sounding of the living sea; but, still the deep ditch, and the single drawbridge, and the massive stone walls, and the eight great towers, and still defarge of the wine-shop at his gun, grown doubly hot by the service of four fierce hours.
a white flag from within the fortress, and a parley this dimly perceptible through the raging storm, nothing audible in it suddenly the sea rose immeasurably wider and higher, and swept defarge of the wine-shop over the lowered drawbridge, past the massive stone outer walls, in among the eight great towers surrendered!
so resistless was the force of the ocean bearing him on, that even to draw his breath or turn his head was as impracticable as if he had been struggling in the surf at the south sea, until he was landed in the outer courtyard of the bastille. there, against an angle of a wall, he made a struggle to look about him. jacques three was nearly at his side; madame defarge, still heading some of her women, was visible in the inner distance, and her knife was in her hand. everywhere was tumult, exultation, deafening and maniacal bewilderment, astounding noise, yet furious dumb-show.
“the prisoners!”
“the records!”
“the secret cells!”
“the instruments of torture!”
“the prisoners!”
of all these cries, and ten thousand incoherences, “the prisoners!” was the cry most taken up by the sea that rushed in, as if there were an eternity of people, as well as of time and space. when the foremost billows rolled past, bearing the prison officers with them, and threatening them all with instant death if any secret nook remained undisclosed, defarge laid his strong hand on the breast of one of these men a man with a grey head, who had a lighted torch in his hand separated him from the rest, and got him between himself and the wall.
“show me the north tower!” said defarge. “quick!”
“i will faithfully,” replied the man, “if you will come with me. but there is no one there.”
“what is the meaning of one hundred and five, north tower?” asked defarge. “quick!”
“the meaning, monsieur?”
“does it mean a captive, or a place of captivity? or do you mean that i shall strike you dead?”
“kill him!” croaked jacques three, who had come close up.
“monsieur, it is a cell.”
“show it me!”
“pass this way, then.”
jacques three, with his usual craving on him, and evidently disappointed by the dialogue taking a turn that did not seem to promise bloodshed, held by defarge's arm as he held by the turnkey's. their three heads had been close together during this brief discourse, and it had been as much as they could do to hear one another, even then: so tremendous was the noise of the living ocean, in its irruption into the fortress, and its inundation of the courts and passages and staircases. all around outside, too, it beat the walls with a deep, hoarse roar, from which, occasionally, some partial shouts of tumult broke and leaped into the air like spray.
through gloomy vaults where the light of day had never shone, past hideous doors of dark dens and cages, down cavernous flights of steps, and again up steep rugged ascents of stone and brick, more like dry waterfalls than staircases, defarge, the turnkey, and jacques three, linked hand and arm, went with all the speed they could make. here and there, especially at first, the inundation started on them and swept by; but when they had done descending, and were winding and climbing up a tower, they were alone. hemmed in here by the massive thickness of walls and arches, the storm within the fortress and without was only audible to them in a dull, subdued way, as if the noise out of which they had come had almost destroyed their sense of hearing.
the turnkey stopped at a low door, put a key in a clashing lock, swung the door slowly open, and said, as they all bent their heads and passed in:
“one hundred and five, north tower!”
there was a small, heavily-grated, unglazed window high in the wall, with a stone screen before it, so that the sky could be only seen by stooping low and looking up. there was a small chimney, heavily barred across, a few feet within. there was a heap of old feathery wood-ashes on the hearth. there was a stool, and table, and a straw bed. there were the four blackened walls, and a rusted iron ring in one of them.
“pass that torch slowly along these walls, that i may see them,” said defarge to the turnkey.
the man obeyed, and defarge followed the light closely with his eyes.
“stop! look here, jacques!”
“a. m.!” croaked jacques three, as he read greedily.
“alexandre manette,” said defarge in his ear, following the letters with his swart forefinger, deeply engrained with gunpowder. “and here he wrote 'a poor physician.' and it was he, without doubt, who scratched a calendar on this stone. what is that in your hand? a crowbar? give it me!”
he had still the linstock of his gun in his own hand. he made a sudden exchange of the two instruments, and turning on the worm-eaten stool and table, beat them to pieces in a few blows.
“hold the light higher!” he said, wrathfully, to the turnkey. “look among those fragments with care, jacques. and see! here is my knife,”
throwing it to him; “rip open that bed, and search the straw. hold the light higher, you!”
with a menacing look at the turnkey he crawled upon the hearth, and, peering up the chimney, struck and prised at its sides with the crowbar, and worked at the iron grating across it. in a few minutes, some mortar and dust came dropping down, which he averted his face to avoid; and in it, and in the old wood-ashes, and in a crevice in the chimney into which his weapon had slipped or wrought itself, he groped with a cautious touch.
“nothing in the wood, and nothing in the straw, jacques?”
“nothing.”
“let us collect them together, in the middle of the cell. so! light them, you!”
the turnkey fired the little pile, which blazed high and hot. stooping again to come out at the low-arched door, they left it burning, and retraced their way to the courtyard; seeming to recover their sense of hearing as they came down, until they were in the raging flood once more.
they found it surging and tossing, in quest of defarge himself. saint antoine was clamorous to have its wine-shop keeper foremost in the guard upon the governor who had defended the bastille and shot the people.
otherwise, the governor would not be marched to the hotel de ville for judgment. otherwise, the governor would escape, and the people's blood (suddenly of some value, after many years of worthlessness) be unavenged.
in the howling universe of passion and contention that seemed to encompass this grim old officer conspicuous in his grey coat and red decoration, there was but one quite steady figure, and that was a woman's. “see, there is my husband!” she cried, pointing him out.
“see defarge!” she stood immovable close to the grim old officer, and remained immovable close to him; remained immovable close to him through the streets, as defarge and the rest bore him along; remained immovable close to him when he was got near his destination, and began to be struck at from behind; remained immovable close to him when the long-gathering rain of stabs and blows fell heavy; was so close to him when he dropped dead under it, that, suddenly animated, she put her foot upon his neck, and with her cruel knife long ready hewed off his head.
the hour was come, when saint antoine was to execute his horrible idea of hoisting up men for lamps to show what he could be and do. saint antoine's blood was up, and the blood of tyranny and domination by the iron hand was down down on the steps of the hotel de ville where the governor's body lay down on the sole of the shoe of madame defarge where she had trodden on the body to steady it for mutilation. “lower the lamp yonder!” cried saint antoine, after glaring round for a new means of death; “here is one of his soldiers to be left on guard!” the swinging sentinel was posted, and the sea rushed on.
the sea of black and threatening waters, and of destructive upheaving of wave against wave, whose depths were yet unfathomed and whose forces were yet unknown. the remorseless sea of turbulently swaying shapes, voices of vengeance, and faces hardened in the furnaces of suffering until the touch of pity could make no mark on them.
but, in the ocean of faces where every fierce and furious expression was in vivid life, there were two groups of faces each seven in number so fixedly contrasting with the rest, that never did sea roll which bore more memorable wrecks with it. seven faces of prisoners, suddenly released by the storm that had burst their tomb, were carried high overhead: all scared, all lost, all wondering and amazed, as if the last day were come, and those who rejoiced around them were lost spirits.
other seven faces there were, carried higher, seven dead faces, whose drooping eyelids and half-seen eyes awaited the last day. impassive faces, yet with a suspended not an abolished expression on them; faces, rather, in a fearful pause, as having yet to raise the dropped lids of the eyes, and bear witness with the bloodless lips, “thou didst it!”
seven prisoners released, seven gory heads on pikes, the keys of the accursed fortress of the eight strong towers, some discovered letters and other memorials of prisoners of old time, long dead of broken hearts, such, and such like, the loudly echoing footsteps of saint antoine escort through the paris streets in mid-july, one thousand seven hundred and eighty-nine. now, heaven defeat the fancy of lucie darnay, and keep these feet far out of her life! for, they are headlong, mad, and dangerous; and in the years so long after the breaking of the cask at defarge's wine-shop door, they are not easily purified when once stained red.
xxii. the sea still rises
haggard saint antoine had had only one exultant week, in which to soften his modicum of hard and bitter bread to such extent as he could, with the relish of fraternal embraces and congratulations, when madame defarge sat at her counter, as usual, presiding over the customers.
madame defarge wore no rose in her head, for the great brotherhood of spies had become, even in one short week, extremely chary of trusting themselves to the saint's mercies. the lamps across his streets had a portentously elastic swing with them.
madame defarge, with her arms folded, sat in the morning light and heat, contemplating the wine-shop and the street. in both, there were several knots of loungers, squalid and miserable, but now with a manifest sense of power enthroned on their distress. the raggedest nightcap, awry on the wretchedest head, had this crooked significance in it: “i know how hard it has grown for me, the wearer of this, to support life in myself; but do you know how easy it has grown for me, the wearer of this, to destroy life in you?” every lean bare arm, that had been without work before, had this work always ready for it now, that it could strike.
the fingers of the knitting women were vicious, with the experience that they could tear. there was a change in the appearance of saint antoine; the image had been hammering into this for hundreds of years, and the last finishing blows had told mightily on the expression.
madame defarge sat observing it, with such suppressed approval as was to be desired in the leader of the saint antoine women. one of her sisterhood knitted beside her. the short, rather plump wife of a starved grocer, and the mother of two children withal, this lieutenant had already earned the complimentary name of the vengeance.
“hark!” said the vengeance. “listen, then! who comes?”
as if a train of powder laid from the outermost bound of saint antoine quarter to the wine-shop door, had been suddenly fired, a fast-spreading murmur came rushing along.
“it is defarge,” said madame. “silence, patriots!”
defarge came in breathless, pulled off a red cap he wore, and looked around him! “listen, everywhere!” said madame again. “listen to him!”
defarge stood, panting, against a background of eager eyes and open mouths, formed outside the door; all those within the wine-shop had sprung to their feet.
“say then, my husband. what is it?”
“news from the other world!”
“how, then?” cried madame, contemptuously. “the other world?”
“does everybody here recall old foulon, who told the famished people that they might eat grass, and who died, and went to hell?”
“everybody!” from all throats.
“the news is of him. he is among us!”
“among us!” from the universal throat again. “and dead?”
“not dead! he feared us so much and with reason that he caused himself to be represented as dead, and had a grand mock-funeral. but they have found him alive, hiding in the country, and have brought him in. i have seen him but now, on his way to the hotel de ville, a prisoner. i have said that he had reason to fear us. say all! had he reason?”
wretched old sinner of more than threescore years and ten, if he had never known it yet, he would have known it in his heart of hearts if he could have heard the answering cry.
a moment of profound silence followed. defarge and his wife looked steadfastly at one another. the vengeance stooped, and the jar of a drum was heard as she moved it at her feet behind the counter.
“patriots!” said defarge, in a determined voice, “are we ready?”
instantly madame defarge's knife was in her girdle; the drum was beating in the streets, as if it and a drummer had flown together by magic; and the vengeance, uttering terrific shrieks, and flinging her arms about her head like all the forty furies at once, was tearing from house to house, rousing the women.
the men were terrible, in the bloody-minded anger with which they looked from windows, caught up what arms they had, and came pouring down into the streets; but, the women were a sight to chill the boldest. from such household occupations as their bare poverty yielded, from their children, from their aged and their sick crouching on the bare ground famished and naked, they ran out with streaming hair, urging one another, and themselves, to madness with the wildest cries and actions.
villain foulon taken, my sister! old foulon taken, my mother! miscreant foulon taken, my daughter! then, a score of others ran into the midst of these, beating their breasts, tearing their hair, and screaming, foulon alive! foulon who told the starving people they might eat grass! foulon who told my old father that he might eat grass, when i had no bread to give him! foulon who told my baby it might suck grass, when these breasts were dry with want! o mother of god, this foulon! o heaven our suffering! hear me, my dead baby and my withered father: i swear on my knees, on these stones, to avenge you on foulon! husbands, and brothers, and young men, give us the blood of foulon, give us the head of foulon, give us the heart of foulon, give us the body and soul of foulon, rend foulon to pieces, and dig him into the ground, that grass may grow from him! with these cries, numbers of the women, lashed into blind frenzy, whirled about, striking and tearing at their own friends until they dropped into a passionate swoon, and were only saved by the men belonging to them from being trampled under foot.
nevertheless, not a moment was lost; not a moment! this foulon was at the hotel de ville, and might be loosed. never, if saint antoine knew his own sufferings, insults, and wrongs! armed men and women flocked out of the quarter so fast, and drew even these last dregs after them with such a force of suction, that within a quarter of an hour there was not a human creature in saint antoine's bosom but a few old crones and the wailing children.
no. they were all by that time choking the hall of examination where this old man, ugly and wicked, was, and overflowing into the adjacent open space and streets. the defarges, husband and wife, the vengeance, and jacques three, were in the first press, and at no great distance from him in the hall.
“see!” cried madame, pointing with her knife. “see the old villain bound with ropes. that was well done to tie a bunch of grass upon his back.
ha, ha! that was well done. let him eat it now!” madame put her knife under her arm, and clapped her hands as at a play.
the people immediately behind madame defarge, explaining the cause of her satisfaction to those behind them, and those again explaining to others, and those to others, the neighbouring streets resounded with the clapping of hands. similarly, during two or three hours of drawl, and the winnowing of many bushels of words, madame defarge's frequent expressions of impatience were taken up, with marvellous quickness, at a distance: the more readily, because certain men who had by some wonderful exercise of agility climbed up the external architecture to look in from the windows, knew madame defarge well, and acted as a telegraph between her and the crowd outside the building.
at length the sun rose so high that it struck a kindly ray as of hope or protection, directly down upon the old prisoner's head. the favour was too much to bear; in an instant the barrier of dust and chaff that had stood surprisingly long, went to the winds, and saint antoine had got him!
it was known directly, to the furthest confines of the crowd. defarge had but sprung over a railing and a table, and folded the miserable wretch in a deadly embrace madame defarge had but followed and turned her hand in one of the ropes with which he was tied the vengeance and jacques three were not yet up with them, and the men at the windows had not yet swooped into the hall, like birds of prey from their high perches when the cry seemed to go up, all over the city, “bring him out! bring him to the lamp!”
down, and up, and head foremost on the steps of the building; now, on his knees; now, on his feet; now, on his back; dragged, and struck at, and stifled by the bunches of grass and straw that were thrust into his face by hundreds of hands; torn, bruised, panting, bleeding, yet always entreating and beseeching for mercy; now full of vehement agony of action, with a small clear space about him as the people drew one another back that they might see; now, a log of dead wood drawn through a forest of legs; he was hauled to the nearest street corner where one of the fatal lamps swung, and there madame defarge let him go as a cat might have done to a mouse and silently and composedly looked at him while they made ready, and while he besought her: the women passionately screeching at him all the time, and the men sternly calling out to have him killed with grass in his mouth. once, he went aloft, and the rope broke, and they caught him shrieking; twice, he went aloft, and the rope broke, and they caught him shrieking; then, the rope was merciful, and held him, and his head was soon upon a pike, with grass enough in the mouth for all saint antoine to dance at the sight of.
nor was this the end of the day's bad work, for saint antoine so shouted and danced his angry blood up, that it boiled again, on hearing when the day closed in that the son-in-law of the despatched, another of the people's enemies and insulters, was coming into paris under a guard five hundred strong, in cavalry alone. saint antoine wrote his crimes on flaring sheets of paper, seized him would have torn him out of the breast of an army to bear foulon company set his head and heart on pikes, and carried the three spoils of the day, in wolf-procession through the streets.
not before dark night did the men and women come back to the children, wailing and breadless. then, the miserable bakers' shops were beset by long files of them, patiently waiting to buy bad bread; and while they waited with stomachs faint and empty, they beguiled the time by embracing one another on the triumphs of the day, and achieving them again in gossip. gradually, these strings of ragged people shortened and frayed away; and then poor lights began to shine in high windows, and slender fires were made in the streets, at which neighbours cooked in common, afterwards supping at their doors.
scanty and insufficient suppers those, and innocent of meat, as of most other sauce to wretched bread. yet, human fellowship infused some nourishment into the flinty viands, and struck some sparks of cheerfulness out of them. fathers and mothers who had had their full share in the worst of the day, played gently with their meagre children; and lovers, with such a world around them and before them, loved and hoped.
it was almost morning, when defarge's wine-shop parted with its last knot of customers, and monsieur defarge said to madame his wife, in husky tones, while fastening the door:
“at last it is come, my dear!”
“eh well!” returned madame. “almost.”
saint antoine slept, the defarges slept: even the vengeance slept with her starved grocer, and the drum was at rest. the drum's was the only voice in saint antoine that blood and hurry had not changed. the vengeance, as custodian of the drum, could have wakened him up and had the same speech out of him as before the bastille fell, or old foulon was seized; not so with the hoarse tones of the men and women in saint antoine's bosom.
xxiii. fire rises
there was a change on the village where the fountain fell, and where the mender of roads went forth daily to hammer out of the stones on the highway such morsels of bread as might serve for patches to hold his poor ignorant soul and his poor reduced body together. the prison on the crag was not so dominant as of yore; there were soldiers to guard it, but not many; there were officers to guard the soldiers, but not one of them knew what his men would do beyond this: that it would probably not be what he was ordered.
far and wide lay a ruined country, yielding nothing but desolation.
every green leaf, every blade of grass and blade of grain, was as shrivelled and poor as the miserable people. everything was bowed down, dejected, oppressed, and broken. habitations, fences, domesticated animals, men, women, children, and the soil that bore them all worn out.
monseigneur (often a most worthy individual gentleman) was a national blessing, gave a chivalrous tone to things, was a polite example of luxurious and shining life, and a great deal more to equal purpose; nevertheless, monseigneur as a class had, somehow or other, brought things to this. strange that creation, designed expressly for monseigneur, should be so soon wrung dry and squeezed out! there must be something short-sighted in the eternal arrangements, surely! thus it was, however; and the last drop of blood having been extracted from the flints, and the last screw of the rack having been turned so often that its purchase crumbled, and it now turned and turned with nothing to bite, monseigneur began to run away from a phenomenon so low and unaccountable.
but, this was not the change on the village, and on many a village like it. for scores of years gone by, monseigneur had squeezed it and wrung it, and had seldom graced it with his presence except for the pleasures of the chase now, found in hunting the people; now, found in hunting the beasts, for whose preservation monseigneur made edifying spaces of barbarous and barren wilderness. no. the change consisted in the appearance of strange faces of low caste, rather than in the disappearance of the high caste, chiselled, and otherwise beautified and beautifying features of monseigneur.
for, in these times, as the mender of roads worked, solitary, in the dust, not often troubling himself to reflect that dust he was and to dust he must return, being for the most part too much occupied in thinking how little he had for supper and how much more he would eat if he had it in these times, as he raised his eyes from his lonely labour, and viewed the prospect, he would see some rough figure approaching on foot, the like of which was once a rarity in those parts, but was now a frequent presence. as it advanced, the mender of roads would discern without surprise, that it was a shaggy-haired man, of almost barbarian aspect, tall, in wooden shoes that were clumsy even to the eyes of a mender of roads, grim, rough, swart, steeped in the mud and dust of many highways, dank with the marshy moisture of many low grounds, sprinkled with the thorns and leaves and moss of many byways through woods.
such a man came upon him, like a ghost, at noon in the july weather, as he sat on his heap of stones under a bank, taking such shelter as he could get from a shower of hail.
the man looked at him, looked at the village in the hollow, at the mill, and at the prison on the crag. when he had identified these objects in what benighted mind he had, he said, in a dialect that was just intelligible:
“how goes it, jacques?”
“all well, jacques.”
“touch then!”
they joined hands, and the man sat down on the heap of stones.
“no dinner?”
“nothing but supper now,” said the mender of roads, with a hungry face.
“it is the fashion,” growled the man. “i meet no dinner anywhere.”
he took out a blackened pipe, filled it, lighted it with flint and steel, pulled at it until it was in a bright glow: then, suddenly held it from him and dropped something into it from between his finger and thumb, that blazed and went out in a puff of smoke.
“touch then.” it was the turn of the mender of roads to say it this time, after observing these operations. they again joined hands.
“to-night?” said the mender of roads.
“to-night,” said the man, putting the pipe in his mouth.
“where?”
“here.”
he and the mender of roads sat on the heap of stones looking silently at one another, with the hail driving in between them like a pigmy charge of bayonets, until the sky began to clear over the village.
“show me!” said the traveller then, moving to the brow of the hill.
“see!” returned the mender of roads, with extended finger. “you go down here, and straight through the street, and past the fountain ”
“to the devil with all that!” interrupted the other, rolling his eye over the landscape. “i go through no streets and past no fountains.
well?”
“well! about two leagues beyond the summit of that hill above the village.”
“good. when do you cease to work?”
“at sunset.”
“will you wake me, before departing? i have walked two nights without resting. let me finish my pipe, and i shall sleep like a child. will you wake me?”
“surely.”
the wayfarer smoked his pipe out, put it in his breast, slipped off his great wooden shoes, and lay down on his back on the heap of stones. he was fast asleep directly.
as the road-mender plied his dusty labour, and the hail-clouds, rolling away, revealed bright bars and streaks of sky which were responded to by silver gleams upon the landscape, the little man (who wore a red cap now, in place of his blue one) seemed fascinated by the figure on the heap of stones. his eyes were so often turned towards it, that he used his tools mechanically, and, one would have said, to very poor account.
the bronze face, the shaggy black hair and beard, the coarse woollen red cap, the rough medley dress of home-spun stuff and hairy skins of beasts, the powerful frame attenuated by spare living, and the sullen and desperate compression of the lips in sleep, inspired the mender of roads with awe. the traveller had travelled far, and his feet were footsore, and his ankles chafed and bleeding; his great shoes, stuffed with leaves and grass, had been heavy to drag over the many long leagues, and his clothes were chafed into holes, as he himself was into sores. stooping down beside him, the road-mender tried to get a peep at secret weapons in his breast or where not; but, in vain, for he slept with his arms crossed upon him, and set as resolutely as his lips.
fortified towns with their stockades, guard-houses, gates, trenches, and drawbridges, seemed to the mender of roads, to be so much air as against this figure. and when he lifted his eyes from it to the horizon and looked around, he saw in his small fancy similar figures, stopped by no obstacle, tending to centres all over france.
the man slept on, indifferent to showers of hail and intervals of brightness, to sunshine on his face and shadow, to the paltering lumps of dull ice on his body and the diamonds into which the sun changed them, until the sun was low in the west, and the sky was glowing. then, the mender of roads having got his tools together and all things ready to go down into the village, roused him.
“good!” said the sleeper, rising on his elbow. “two leagues beyond the summit of the hill?”
“about.”
“about. good!”
the mender of roads went home, with the dust going on before him according to the set of the wind, and was soon at the fountain, squeezing himself in among the lean kine brought there to drink, and appearing even to whisper to them in his whispering to all the village.
when the village had taken its poor supper, it did not creep to bed, as it usually did, but came out of doors again, and remained there. a curious contagion of whispering was upon it, and also, when it gathered together at the fountain in the dark, another curious contagion of looking expectantly at the sky in one direction only. monsieur gabelle, chief functionary of the place, became uneasy; went out on his house-top alone, and looked in that direction too; glanced down from behind his chimneys at the darkening faces by the fountain below, and sent word to the sacristan who kept the keys of the church, that there might be need to ring the tocsin by-and-bye.
the night deepened. the trees environing the old chateau, keeping its solitary state apart, moved in a rising wind, as though they threatened the pile of building massive and dark in the gloom. up the two terrace flights of steps the rain ran wildly, and beat at the great door, like a swift messenger rousing those within; uneasy rushes of wind went through the hall, among the old spears and knives, and passed lamenting up the stairs, and shook the curtains of the bed where the last marquis had slept. east, west, north, and south, through the woods, four heavy-treading, unkempt figures crushed the high grass and cracked the branches, striding on cautiously to come together in the courtyard. four lights broke out there, and moved away in different directions, and all was black again.
but, not for long. presently, the chateau began to make itself strangely visible by some light of its own, as though it were growing luminous.
then, a flickering streak played behind the architecture of the front, picking out transparent places, and showing where balustrades, arches, and windows were. then it soared higher, and grew broader and brighter.
soon, from a score of the great windows, flames burst forth, and the stone faces awakened, stared out of fire.
a faint murmur arose about the house from the few people who were left there, and there was a saddling of a horse and riding away. there was spurring and splashing through the darkness, and bridle was drawn in the space by the village fountain, and the horse in a foam stood at monsieur gabelle's door. “help, gabelle! help, every one!” the tocsin rang impatiently, but other help (if that were any) there was none. the mender of roads, and two hundred and fifty particular friends, stood with folded arms at the fountain, looking at the pillar of fire in the sky. “it must be forty feet high,” said they, grimly; and never moved.
the rider from the chateau, and the horse in a foam, clattered away through the village, and galloped up the stony steep, to the prison on the crag. at the gate, a group of officers were looking at the fire; removed from them, a group of soldiers. “help, gentlemen officers! the chateau is on fire; valuable objects may be saved from the flames by timely aid! help, help!” the officers looked towards the soldiers who looked at the fire; gave no orders; and answered, with shrugs and biting of lips, “it must burn.”
as the rider rattled down the hill again and through the street, the village was illuminating. the mender of roads, and the two hundred and fifty particular friends, inspired as one man and woman by the idea of lighting up, had darted into their houses, and were putting candles in every dull little pane of glass. the general scarcity of everything, occasioned candles to be borrowed in a rather peremptory manner of monsieur gabelle; and in a moment of reluctance and hesitation on that functionary's part, the mender of roads, once so submissive to authority, had remarked that carriages were good to make bonfires with, and that post-horses would roast.
the chateau was left to itself to flame and burn. in the roaring and raging of the conflagration, a red-hot wind, driving straight from the infernal regions, seemed to be blowing the edifice away. with the rising and falling of the blaze, the stone faces showed as if they were in torment. when great masses of stone and timber fell, the face with the two dints in the nose became obscured: anon struggled out of the smoke again, as if it were the face of the cruel marquis, burning at the stake and contending with the fire.
the chateau burned; the nearest trees, laid hold of by the fire, scorched and shrivelled; trees at a distance, fired by the four fierce figures, begirt the blazing edifice with a new forest of smoke. molten lead and iron boiled in the marble basin of the fountain; the water ran dry; the extinguisher tops of the towers vanished like ice before the heat, and trickled down into four rugged wells of flame. great rents and splits branched out in the solid walls, like crystallisation; stupefied birds wheeled about and dropped into the furnace; four fierce figures trudged away, east, west, north, and south, along the night-enshrouded roads, guided by the beacon they had lighted, towards their next destination. the illuminated village had seized hold of the tocsin, and, abolishing the lawful ringer, rang for joy.
not only that; but the village, light-headed with famine, fire, and bell-ringing, and bethinking itself that monsieur gabelle had to do with the collection of rent and taxes though it was but a small instalment of taxes, and no rent at all, that gabelle had got in those latter days became impatient for an interview with him, and, surrounding his house, summoned him to come forth for personal conference. whereupon, monsieur gabelle did heavily bar his door, and retire to hold counsel with himself. the result of that conference was, that gabelle again withdrew himself to his housetop behind his stack of chimneys; this time resolved, if his door were broken in (he was a small southern man of retaliative temperament), to pitch himself head foremost over the parapet, and crush a man or two below.
probably, monsieur gabelle passed a long night up there, with the distant chateau for fire and candle, and the beating at his door, combined with the joy-ringing, for music; not to mention his having an ill-omened lamp slung across the road before his posting-house gate, which the village showed a lively inclination to displace in his favour.
a trying suspense, to be passing a whole summer night on the brink of the black ocean, ready to take that plunge into it upon which monsieur gabelle had resolved! but, the friendly dawn appearing at last, and the rush-candles of the village guttering out, the people happily dispersed, and monsieur gabelle came down bringing his life with him for that while.
within a hundred miles, and in the light of other fires, there were other functionaries less fortunate, that night and other nights, whom the rising sun found hanging across once-peaceful streets, where they had been born and bred; also, there were other villagers and townspeople less fortunate than the mender of roads and his fellows, upon whom the functionaries and soldiery turned with success, and whom they strung up in their turn. but, the fierce figures were steadily wending east, west, north, and south, be that as it would; and whosoever hung, fire burned.
the altitude of the gallows that would turn to water and quench it, no functionary, by any stretch of mathematics, was able to calculate successfully.
xxiv. drawn to the loadstone rock
in such risings of fire and risings of sea the firm earth shaken by the rushes of an angry ocean which had now no ebb, but was always on the flow, higher and higher, to the terror and wonder of the beholders on the shore three years of tempest were consumed. three more birthdays of little lucie had been woven by the golden thread into the peaceful tissue of the life of her home.
many a night and many a day had its inmates listened to the echoes in the corner, with hearts that failed them when they heard the thronging feet. for, the footsteps had become to their minds as the footsteps of a people, tumultuous under a red flag and with their country declared in danger, changed into wild beasts, by terrible enchantment long persisted in.
monseigneur, as a class, had dissociated himself from the phenomenon of his not being appreciated: of his being so little wanted in france, as to incur considerable danger of receiving his dismissal from it, and this life together. like the fabled rustic who raised the devil with infinite pains, and was so terrified at the sight of him that he could ask the enemy no question, but immediately fled; so, monseigneur, after boldly reading the lord's prayer backwards for a great number of years, and performing many other potent spells for compelling the evil one, no sooner beheld him in his terrors than he took to his noble heels.
the shining bull's eye of the court was gone, or it would have been the mark for a hurricane of national bullets. it had never been a good eye to see with had long had the mote in it of lucifer's pride, sardanapalus's luxury, and a mole's blindness but it had dropped out and was gone. the court, from that exclusive inner circle to its outermost rotten ring of intrigue, corruption, and dissimulation, was all gone together. royalty was gone; had been besieged in its palace and “suspended,” when the last tidings came over.
the august of the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety-two was come, and monseigneur was by this time scattered far and wide.
as was natural, the head-quarters and great gathering-place of monseigneur, in london, was tellson's bank. spirits are supposed to haunt the places where their bodies most resorted, and monseigneur without a guinea haunted the spot where his guineas used to be.
moreover, it was the spot to which such french intelligence as was most to be relied upon, came quickest. again: tellson's was a munificent house, and extended great liberality to old customers who had fallen from their high estate. again: those nobles who had seen the coming storm in time, and anticipating plunder or confiscation, had made provident remittances to tellson's, were always to be heard of there by their needy brethren. to which it must be added that every new-comer from france reported himself and his tidings at tellson's, almost as a matter of course. for such variety of reasons, tellson's was at that time, as to french intelligence, a kind of high exchange; and this was so well known to the public, and the inquiries made there were in consequence so numerous, that tellson's sometimes wrote the latest news out in a line or so and posted it in the bank windows, for all who ran through temple bar to read.
on a steaming, misty afternoon, mr. lorry sat at his desk, and charles darnay stood leaning on it, talking with him in a low voice. the penitential den once set apart for interviews with the house, was now the news-exchange, and was filled to overflowing. it was within half an hour or so of the time of closing.
“but, although you are the youngest man that ever lived,” said charles darnay, rather hesitating, “i must still suggest to you ”
“i understand. that i am too old?” said mr. lorry.
“unsettled weather, a long journey, uncertain means of travelling, a disorganised country, a city that may not be even safe for you.”
“my dear charles,” said mr. lorry, with cheerful confidence, “you touch some of the reasons for my going: not for my staying away. it is safe enough for me; nobody will care to interfere with an old fellow of hard upon fourscore when there are so many people there much better worth interfering with. as to its being a disorganised city, if it were not a disorganised city there would be no occasion to send somebody from our house here to our house there, who knows the city and the business, of old, and is in tellson's confidence. as to the uncertain travelling, the long journey, and the winter weather, if i were not prepared to submit myself to a few inconveniences for the sake of tellson's, after all these years, who ought to be?”
“i wish i were going myself,” said charles darnay, somewhat restlessly, and like one thinking aloud.
“indeed! you are a pretty fellow to object and advise!” exclaimed mr.
lorry. “you wish you were going yourself? and you a frenchman born? you are a wise counsellor.”
“my dear mr. lorry, it is because i am a frenchman born, that the thought (which i did not mean to utter here, however) has passed through my mind often. one cannot help thinking, having had some sympathy for the miserable people, and having abandoned something to them,” he spoke here in his former thoughtful manner, “that one might be listened to, and might have the power to persuade to some restraint. only last night, after you had left us, when i was talking to lucie ”
“when you were talking to lucie,” mr. lorry repeated. “yes. i wonder you are not ashamed to mention the name of lucie! wishing you were going to france at this time of day!”
“however, i am not going,” said charles darnay, with a smile. “it is more to the purpose that you say you are.”
“and i am, in plain reality. the truth is, my dear charles,” mr. lorry glanced at the distant house, and lowered his voice, “you can have no conception of the difficulty with which our business is transacted, and of the peril in which our books and papers over yonder are involved. the lord above knows what the compromising consequences would be to numbers of people, if some of our documents were seized or destroyed; and they might be, at any time, you know, for who can say that paris is not set afire to-day, or sacked to-morrow! now, a judicious selection from these with the least possible delay, and the burying of them, or otherwise getting of them out of harm's way, is within the power (without loss of precious time) of scarcely any one but myself, if any one. and shall i hang back, when tellson's knows this and says this tellson's, whose bread i have eaten these sixty years because i am a little stiff about the joints? why, i am a boy, sir, to half a dozen old codgers here!”
“how i admire the gallantry of your youthful spirit, mr. lorry.”
“tut! nonsense, sir! and, my dear charles,” said mr. lorry, glancing at the house again, “you are to remember, that getting things out of paris at this present time, no matter what things, is next to an impossibility. papers and precious matters were this very day brought to us here (i speak in strict confidence; it is not business-like to whisper it, even to you), by the strangest bearers you can imagine, every one of whom had his head hanging on by a single hair as he passed the barriers. at another time, our parcels would come and go, as easily as in business-like old england; but now, everything is stopped.”
“and do you really go to-night?”
“i really go to-night, for the case has become too pressing to admit of delay.”
“and do you take no one with you?”
“all sorts of people have been proposed to me, but i will have nothing to say to any of them. i intend to take jerry. jerry has been my bodyguard on sunday nights for a long time past and i am used to him.
nobody will suspect jerry of being anything but an english bull-dog, or of having any design in his head but to fly at anybody who touches his master.”
“i must say again that i heartily admire your gallantry and youthfulness.”
“i must say again, nonsense, nonsense! when i have executed this little commission, i shall, perhaps, accept tellson's proposal to retire and live at my ease. time enough, then, to think about growing old.”
this dialogue had taken place at mr. lorry's usual desk, with monseigneur swarming within a yard or two of it, boastful of what he would do to avenge himself on the rascal-people before long. it was too much the way of monseigneur under his reverses as a refugee, and it was much too much the way of native british orthodoxy, to talk of this terrible revolution as if it were the only harvest ever known under the skies that had not been sown as if nothing had ever been done, or omitted to be done, that had led to it as if observers of the wretched millions in france, and of the misused and perverted resources that should have made them prosperous, had not seen it inevitably coming, years before, and had not in plain words recorded what they saw. such vapouring, combined with the extravagant plots of monseigneur for the restoration of a state of things that had utterly exhausted itself, and worn out heaven and earth as well as itself, was hard to be endured without some remonstrance by any sane man who knew the truth. and it was such vapouring all about his ears, like a troublesome confusion of blood in his own head, added to a latent uneasiness in his mind, which had already made charles darnay restless, and which still kept him so.
among the talkers, was stryver, of the king's bench bar, far on his way to state promotion, and, therefore, loud on the theme: broaching to monseigneur, his devices for blowing the people up and exterminating them from the face of the earth, and doing without them: and for accomplishing many similar objects akin in their nature to the abolition of eagles by sprinkling salt on the tails of the race. him, darnay heard with a particular feeling of objection; and darnay stood divided between going away that he might hear no more, and remaining to interpose his word, when the thing that was to be, went on to shape itself out.
the house approached mr. lorry, and laying a soiled and unopened letter before him, asked if he had yet discovered any traces of the person to whom it was addressed? the house laid the letter down so close to darnay that he saw the direction the more quickly because it was his own right name. the address, turned into english, ran:
“very pressing. to monsieur heretofore the marquis st. evremonde, of france. confided to the cares of messrs. tellson and co., bankers, london, england.”
on the marriage morning, doctor manette had made it his one urgent and express request to charles darnay, that the secret of this name should be unless he, the doctor, dissolved the obligation kept inviolate between them. nobody else knew it to be his name; his own wife had no suspicion of the fact; mr. lorry could have none.
“no,” said mr. lorry, in reply to the house; “i have referred it, i think, to everybody now here, and no one can tell me where this gentleman is to be found.”
the hands of the clock verging upon the hour of closing the bank, there was a general set of the current of talkers past mr. lorry's desk. he held the letter out inquiringly; and monseigneur looked at it, in the person of this plotting and indignant refugee; and monseigneur looked at it in the person of that plotting and indignant refugee; and this, that, and the other, all had something disparaging to say, in french or in english, concerning the marquis who was not to be found.
“nephew, i believe but in any case degenerate successor of the polished marquis who was murdered,” said one. “happy to say, i never knew him.”
“a craven who abandoned his post,” said another this monseigneur had been got out of paris, legs uppermost and half suffocated, in a load of hay “some years ago.”
“infected with the new doctrines,” said a third, eyeing the direction through his glass in passing; “set himself in opposition to the last marquis, abandoned the estates when he inherited them, and left them to the ruffian herd. they will recompense him now, i hope, as he deserves.”
“hey?” cried the blatant stryver. “did he though? is that the sort of fellow? let us look at his infamous name. d n the fellow!”
darnay, unable to restrain himself any longer, touched mr. stryver on the shoulder, and said:
“i know the fellow.”
“do you, by jupiter?” said stryver. “i am sorry for it.”
“why?”
“why, mr. darnay? d'ye hear what he did? don't ask, why, in these times.”
“but i do ask why?”
“then i tell you again, mr. darnay, i am sorry for it. i am sorry to hear you putting any such extraordinary questions. here is a fellow, who, infected by the most pestilent and blasphemous code of devilry that ever was known, abandoned his property to the vilest scum of the earth that ever did murder by wholesale, and you ask me why i am sorry that a man who instructs youth knows him? well, but i'll answer you. i am sorry because i believe there is contamination in such a scoundrel. that's why.”
mindful of the secret, darnay with great difficulty checked himself, and said: “you may not understand the gentleman.”
“i understand how to put you in a corner, mr. darnay,” said bully stryver, “and i'll do it. if this fellow is a gentleman, i don't understand him. you may tell him so, with my compliments. you may also tell him, from me, that after abandoning his worldly goods and position to this butcherly mob, i wonder he is not at the head of them. but, no, gentlemen,” said stryver, looking all round, and snapping his fingers, “i know something of human nature, and i tell you that you'll never find a fellow like this fellow, trusting himself to the mercies of such precious protégés. no, gentlemen; he'll always show 'em a clean pair of heels very early in the scuffle, and sneak away.”
with those words, and a final snap of his fingers, mr. stryver shouldered himself into fleet-street, amidst the general approbation of his hearers. mr. lorry and charles darnay were left alone at the desk, in the general departure from the bank.
“will you take charge of the letter?” said mr. lorry. “you know where to deliver it?”
“i do.”
“will you undertake to explain, that we suppose it to have been addressed here, on the chance of our knowing where to forward it, and that it has been here some time?”
“i will do so. do you start for paris from here?”
“from here, at eight.”
“i will come back, to see you off.”
very ill at ease with himself, and with stryver and most other men, darnay made the best of his way into the quiet of the temple, opened the letter, and read it. these were its contents:
“prison of the abbaye, paris.
“june 21, 1792. “monsieur heretofore the marquis.
“after having long been in danger of my life at the hands of the village, i have been seized, with great violence and indignity, and brought a long journey on foot to paris. on the road i have suffered a great deal. nor is that all; my house has been destroyed razed to the ground.
“the crime for which i am imprisoned, monsieur heretofore the marquis, and for which i shall be summoned before the tribunal, and shall lose my life (without your so generous help), is, they tell me, treason against the majesty of the people, in that i have acted against them for an emigrant. it is in vain i represent that i have acted for them, and not against, according to your commands. it is in vain i represent that, before the sequestration of emigrant property, i had remitted the imposts they had ceased to pay; that i had collected no rent; that i had had recourse to no process. the only response is, that i have acted for an emigrant, and where is that emigrant?
“ah! most gracious monsieur heretofore the marquis, where is that emigrant? i cry in my sleep where is he? i demand of heaven, will he not come to deliver me? no answer. ah monsieur heretofore the marquis, i send my desolate cry across the sea, hoping it may perhaps reach your ears through the great bank of tilson known at paris!
“for the love of heaven, of justice, of generosity, of the honour of your noble name, i supplicate you, monsieur heretofore the marquis, to succour and release me. my fault is, that i have been true to you. oh monsieur heretofore the marquis, i pray you be you true to me!
“from this prison here of horror, whence i every hour tend nearer and nearer to destruction, i send you, monsieur heretofore the marquis, the assurance of my dolorous and unhappy service.
“your afflicted,
“gabelle.”
the latent uneasiness in darnay's mind was roused to vigourous life by this letter. the peril of an old servant and a good one, whose only crime was fidelity to himself and his family, stared him so reproachfully in the face, that, as he walked to and fro in the temple considering what to do, he almost hid his face from the passersby.
he knew very well, that in his horror of the deed which had culminated the bad deeds and bad reputation of the old family house, in his resentful suspicions of his uncle, and in the aversion with which his conscience regarded the crumbling fabric that he was supposed to uphold, he had acted imperfectly. he knew very well, that in his love for lucie, his renunciation of his social place, though by no means new to his own mind, had been hurried and incomplete. he knew that he ought to have systematically worked it out and supervised it, and that he had meant to do it, and that it had never been done.
the happiness of his own chosen english home, the necessity of being always actively employed, the swift changes and troubles of the time which had followed on one another so fast, that the events of this week annihilated the immature plans of last week, and the events of the week following made all new again; he knew very well, that to the force of these circumstances he had yielded: not without disquiet, but still without continuous and accumulating resistance. that he had watched the times for a time of action, and that they had shifted and struggled until the time had gone by, and the nobility were trooping from france by every highway and byway, and their property was in course of confiscation and destruction, and their very names were blotting out, was as well known to himself as it could be to any new authority in france that might impeach him for it.
but, he had oppressed no man, he had imprisoned no man; he was so far from having harshly exacted payment of his dues, that he had relinquished them of his own will, thrown himself on a world with no favour in it, won his own private place there, and earned his own bread. monsieur gabelle had held the impoverished and involved estate on written instructions, to spare the people, to give them what little there was to give such fuel as the heavy creditors would let them have in the winter, and such produce as could be saved from the same grip in the summer and no doubt he had put the fact in plea and proof, for his own safety, so that it could not but appear now.
this favoured the desperate resolution charles darnay had begun to make, that he would go to paris.
yes. like the mariner in the old story, the winds and streams had driven him within the influence of the loadstone rock, and it was drawing him to itself, and he must go. everything that arose before his mind drifted him on, faster and faster, more and more steadily, to the terrible attraction. his latent uneasiness had been, that bad aims were being worked out in his own unhappy land by bad instruments, and that he who could not fail to know that he was better than they, was not there, trying to do something to stay bloodshed, and assert the claims of mercy and humanity. with this uneasiness half stifled, and half reproaching him, he had been brought to the pointed comparison of himself with the brave old gentleman in whom duty was so strong; upon that comparison (injurious to himself) had instantly followed the sneers of monseigneur, which had stung him bitterly, and those of stryver, which above all were coarse and galling, for old reasons. upon those, had followed gabelle's letter: the appeal of an innocent prisoner, in danger of death, to his justice, honour, and good name.
his resolution was made. he must go to paris.
yes. the loadstone rock was drawing him, and he must sail on, until he struck. he knew of no rock; he saw hardly any danger. the intention with which he had done what he had done, even although he had left it incomplete, presented it before him in an aspect that would be gratefully acknowledged in france on his presenting himself to assert it. then, that glorious vision of doing good, which is so often the sanguine mirage of so many good minds, arose before him, and he even saw himself in the illusion with some influence to guide this raging revolution that was running so fearfully wild.
as he walked to and fro with his resolution made, he considered that neither lucie nor her father must know of it until he was gone.
lucie should be spared the pain of separation; and her father, always reluctant to turn his thoughts towards the dangerous ground of old, should come to the knowledge of the step, as a step taken, and not in the balance of suspense and doubt. how much of the incompleteness of his situation was referable to her father, through the painful anxiety to avoid reviving old associations of france in his mind, he did not discuss with himself. but, that circumstance too, had had its influence in his course.
he walked to and fro, with thoughts very busy, until it was time to return to tellson's and take leave of mr. lorry. as soon as he arrived in paris he would present himself to this old friend, but he must say nothing of his intention now.
a carriage with post-horses was ready at the bank door, and jerry was booted and equipped.
“i have delivered that letter,” said charles darnay to mr. lorry. “i would not consent to your being charged with any written answer, but perhaps you will take a verbal one?”
“that i will, and readily,” said mr. lorry, “if it is not dangerous.”
“not at all. though it is to a prisoner in the abbaye.”
“what is his name?” said mr. lorry, with his open pocket-book in his hand.
“gabelle.”
“gabelle. and what is the message to the unfortunate gabelle in prison?”
“simply, 'that he has received the letter, and will come.'”
“any time mentioned?”
“he will start upon his journey to-morrow night.”
“any person mentioned?”
“no.”
he helped mr. lorry to wrap himself in a number of coats and cloaks, and went out with him from the warm atmosphere of the old bank, into the misty air of fleet-street. “my love to lucie, and to little lucie,” said mr. lorry at parting, “and take precious care of them till i come back.”
charles darnay shook his head and doubtfully smiled, as the carriage rolled away.
that night it was the fourteenth of august he sat up late, and wrote two fervent letters; one was to lucie, explaining the strong obligation he was under to go to paris, and showing her, at length, the reasons that he had, for feeling confident that he could become involved in no personal danger there; the other was to the doctor, confiding lucie and their dear child to his care, and dwelling on the same topics with the strongest assurances. to both, he wrote that he would despatch letters in proof of his safety, immediately after his arrival.
it was a hard day, that day of being among them, with the first reservation of their joint lives on his mind. it was a hard matter to preserve the innocent deceit of which they were profoundly unsuspicious.
but, an affectionate glance at his wife, so happy and busy, made him resolute not to tell her what impended (he had been half moved to do it, so strange it was to him to act in anything without her quiet aid), and the day passed quickly. early in the evening he embraced her, and her scarcely less dear namesake, pretending that he would return by-and-bye (an imaginary engagement took him out, and he had secreted a valise of clothes ready), and so he emerged into the heavy mist of the heavy streets, with a heavier heart.
the unseen force was drawing him fast to itself, now, and all the tides and winds were setting straight and strong towards it. he left his two letters with a trusty porter, to be delivered half an hour before midnight, and no sooner; took horse for dover; and began his journey.
“for the love of heaven, of justice, of generosity, of the honour of your noble name!” was the poor prisoner's cry with which he strengthened his sinking heart, as he left all that was dear on earth behind him, and floated away for the loadstone rock.
the end of the second book.
book the third the track of a storm
i. in secret
the traveller fared slowly on his way, who fared towards paris from england in the autumn of the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety-two. more than enough of bad roads, bad equipages, and bad horses, he would have encountered to delay him, though the fallen and unfortunate king of france had been upon his throne in all his glory; but, the changed times were fraught with other obstacles than these. every town-gate and village taxing-house had its band of citizen-patriots, with their national muskets in a most explosive state of readiness, who stopped all comers and goers, cross-questioned them, inspected their papers, looked for their names in lists of their own, turned them back, or sent them on, or stopped them and laid them in hold, as their capricious judgment or fancy deemed best for the dawning republic one and indivisible, of liberty, equality, fraternity, or death.
a very few french leagues of his journey were accomplished, when charles darnay began to perceive that for him along these country roads there was no hope of return until he should have been declared a good citizen at paris. whatever might befall now, he must on to his journey's end.
not a mean village closed upon him, not a common barrier dropped across the road behind him, but he knew it to be another iron door in the series that was barred between him and england. the universal watchfulness so encompassed him, that if he had been taken in a net, or were being forwarded to his destination in a cage, he could not have felt his freedom more completely gone.
this universal watchfulness not only stopped him on the highway twenty times in a stage, but retarded his progress twenty times in a day, by riding after him and taking him back, riding before him and stopping him by anticipation, riding with him and keeping him in charge. he had been days upon his journey in france alone, when he went to bed tired out, in a little town on the high road, still a long way from paris.
nothing but the production of the afflicted gabelle's letter from his prison of the abbaye would have got him on so far. his difficulty at the guard-house in this small place had been such, that he felt his journey to have come to a crisis. and he was, therefore, as little surprised as a man could be, to find himself awakened at the small inn to which he had been remitted until morning, in the middle of the night.
awakened by a timid local functionary and three armed patriots in rough red caps and with pipes in their mouths, who sat down on the bed.
“emigrant,” said the functionary, “i am going to send you on to paris, under an escort.”
“citizen, i desire nothing more than to get to paris, though i could dispense with the escort.”
“silence!” growled a red-cap, striking at the coverlet with the butt-end of his musket. “peace, aristocrat!”
“it is as the good patriot says,” observed the timid functionary. “you are an aristocrat, and must have an escort and must pay for it.”
“i have no choice,” said charles darnay.
“choice! listen to him!” cried the same scowling red-cap. “as if it was not a favour to be protected from the lamp-iron!”
“it is always as the good patriot says,” observed the functionary. “rise and dress yourself, emigrant.”
darnay complied, and was taken back to the guard-house, where other patriots in rough red caps were smoking, drinking, and sleeping, by a watch-fire. here he paid a heavy price for his escort, and hence he started with it on the wet, wet roads at three o'clock in the morning.
the escort were two mounted patriots in red caps and tri-coloured cockades, armed with national muskets and sabres, who rode one on either side of him.
the escorted governed his own horse, but a loose line was attached to his bridle, the end of which one of the patriots kept girded round his wrist. in this state they set forth with the sharp rain driving in their faces: clattering at a heavy dragoon trot over the uneven town pavement, and out upon the mire-deep roads. in this state they traversed without change, except of horses and pace, all the mire-deep leagues that lay between them and the capital.
they travelled in the night, halting an hour or two after daybreak, and lying by until the twilight fell. the escort were so wretchedly clothed, that they twisted straw round their bare legs, and thatched their ragged shoulders to keep the wet off. apart from the personal discomfort of being so attended, and apart from such considerations of present danger as arose from one of the patriots being chronically drunk, and carrying his musket very recklessly, charles darnay did not allow the restraint that was laid upon him to awaken any serious fears in his breast; for, he reasoned with himself that it could have no reference to the merits of an individual case that was not yet stated, and of representations, confirmable by the prisoner in the abbaye, that were not yet made.
but when they came to the town of beauvais which they did at eventide, when the streets were filled with people he could not conceal from himself that the aspect of affairs was very alarming. an ominous crowd gathered to see him dismount of the posting-yard, and many voices called out loudly, “down with the emigrant!”
he stopped in the act of swinging himself out of his saddle, and, resuming it as his safest place, said:
“emigrant, my friends! do you not see me here, in france, of my own will?”
“you are a cursed emigrant,” cried a farrier, making at him in a furious manner through the press, hammer in hand; “and you are a cursed aristocrat!”
the postmaster interposed himself between this man and the rider's bridle (at which he was evidently making), and soothingly said, “let him be; let him be! he will be judged at paris.”
“judged!” repeated the farrier, swinging his hammer. “ay! and condemned as a traitor.” at this the crowd roared approval.
checking the postmaster, who was for turning his horse's head to the yard (the drunken patriot sat composedly in his saddle looking on, with the line round his wrist), darnay said, as soon as he could make his voice heard:
“friends, you deceive yourselves, or you are deceived. i am not a traitor.”
“he lies!” cried the smith. “he is a traitor since the decree. his life is forfeit to the people. his cursed life is not his own!”
at the instant when darnay saw a rush in the eyes of the crowd, which another instant would have brought upon him, the postmaster turned his horse into the yard, the escort rode in close upon his horse's flanks, and the postmaster shut and barred the crazy double gates. the farrier struck a blow upon them with his hammer, and the crowd groaned; but, no more was done.
“what is this decree that the smith spoke of?” darnay asked the postmaster, when he had thanked him, and stood beside him in the yard.
“truly, a decree for selling the property of emigrants.”
“when passed?”
“on the fourteenth.”
“the day i left england!”
“everybody says it is but one of several, and that there will be others if there are not already banishing all emigrants, and condemning all to death who return. that is what he meant when he said your life was not your own.”
“but there are no such decrees yet?”
“what do i know!” said the postmaster, shrugging his shoulders; “there may be, or there will be. it is all the same. what would you have?”
they rested on some straw in a loft until the middle of the night, and then rode forward again when all the town was asleep. among the many wild changes observable on familiar things which made this wild ride unreal, not the least was the seeming rarity of sleep. after long and lonely spurring over dreary roads, they would come to a cluster of poor cottages, not steeped in darkness, but all glittering with lights, and would find the people, in a ghostly manner in the dead of the night, circling hand in hand round a shrivelled tree of liberty, or all drawn up together singing a liberty song. happily, however, there was sleep in beauvais that night to help them out of it and they passed on once more into solitude and loneliness: jingling through the untimely cold and wet, among impoverished fields that had yielded no fruits of the earth that year, diversified by the blackened remains of burnt houses, and by the sudden emergence from ambuscade, and sharp reining up across their way, of patriot patrols on the watch on all the roads.
daylight at last found them before the wall of paris. the barrier was closed and strongly guarded when they rode up to it.
“where are the papers of this prisoner?” demanded a resolute-looking man in authority, who was summoned out by the guard.
naturally struck by the disagreeable word, charles darnay requested the speaker to take notice that he was a free traveller and french citizen, in charge of an escort which the disturbed state of the country had imposed upon him, and which he had paid for.
“where,” repeated the same personage, without taking any heed of him whatever, “are the papers of this prisoner?”
the drunken patriot had them in his cap, and produced them. casting his eyes over gabelle's letter, the same personage in authority showed some disorder and surprise, and looked at darnay with a close attention.
he left escort and escorted without saying a word, however, and went into the guard-room; meanwhile, they sat upon their horses outside the gate. looking about him while in this state of suspense, charles darnay observed that the gate was held by a mixed guard of soldiers and patriots, the latter far outnumbering the former; and that while ingress into the city for peasants' carts bringing in supplies, and for similar traffic and traffickers, was easy enough, egress, even for the homeliest people, was very difficult. a numerous medley of men and women, not to mention beasts and vehicles of various sorts, was waiting to issue forth; but, the previous identification was so strict, that they filtered through the barrier very slowly. some of these people knew their turn for examination to be so far off, that they lay down on the ground to sleep or smoke, while others talked together, or loitered about. the red cap and tri-colour cockade were universal, both among men and women.
when he had sat in his saddle some half-hour, taking note of these things, darnay found himself confronted by the same man in authority, who directed the guard to open the barrier. then he delivered to the escort, drunk and sober, a receipt for the escorted, and requested him to dismount. he did so, and the two patriots, leading his tired horse, turned and rode away without entering the city.
he accompanied his conductor into a guard-room, smelling of common wine and tobacco, where certain soldiers and patriots, asleep and awake, drunk and sober, and in various neutral states between sleeping and waking, drunkenness and sobriety, were standing and lying about. the light in the guard-house, half derived from the waning oil-lamps of the night, and half from the overcast day, was in a correspondingly uncertain condition. some registers were lying open on a desk, and an officer of a coarse, dark aspect, presided over these.
“citizen defarge,” said he to darnay's conductor, as he took a slip of paper to write on. “is this the emigrant evremonde?”
“this is the man.”
“your age, evremonde?”
“thirty-seven.”
“married, evremonde?”
“yes.”
“where married?”
“in england.”
“without doubt. where is your wife, evremonde?”
“in england.”
“without doubt. you are consigned, evremonde, to the prison of la force.”
“just heaven!” exclaimed darnay. “under what law, and for what offence?”
the officer looked up from his slip of paper for a moment.
“we have new laws, evremonde, and new offences, since you were here.” he said it with a hard smile, and went on writing.
“i entreat you to observe that i have come here voluntarily, in response to that written appeal of a fellow-countryman which lies before you. i demand no more than the opportunity to do so without delay. is not that my right?”
“emigrants have no rights, evremonde,” was the stolid reply. the officer wrote until he had finished, read over to himself what he had written, sanded it, and handed it to defarge, with the words “in secret.”
defarge motioned with the paper to the prisoner that he must accompany him. the prisoner obeyed, and a guard of two armed patriots attended them.
“is it you,” said defarge, in a low voice, as they went down the guardhouse steps and turned into paris, “who married the daughter of doctor manette, once a prisoner in the bastille that is no more?”
“yes,” replied darnay, looking at him with surprise.
“my name is defarge, and i keep a wine-shop in the quarter saint antoine. possibly you have heard of me.”
“my wife came to your house to reclaim her father? yes!”
the word “wife” seemed to serve as a gloomy reminder to defarge, to say with sudden impatience, “in the name of that sharp female newly-born, and called la guillotine, why did you come to france?”
“you heard me say why, a minute ago. do you not believe it is the truth?”
“a bad truth for you,” said defarge, speaking with knitted brows, and looking straight before him.
“indeed i am lost here. all here is so unprecedented, so changed, so sudden and unfair, that i am absolutely lost. will you render me a little help?”
“none.” defarge spoke, always looking straight before him.
“will you answer me a single question?”
“perhaps. according to its nature. you can say what it is.”
“in this prison that i am going to so unjustly, shall i have some free communication with the world outside?”
“you will see.”
“i am not to be buried there, prejudged, and without any means of presenting my case?”
“you will see. but, what then? other people have been similarly buried in worse prisons, before now.”
“but never by me, citizen defarge.”
defarge glanced darkly at him for answer, and walked on in a steady and set silence. the deeper he sank into this silence, the fainter hope there was or so darnay thought of his softening in any slight degree.
he, therefore, made haste to say:
“it is of the utmost importance to me (you know, citizen, even better than i, of how much importance), that i should be able to communicate to mr. lorry of tellson's bank, an english gentleman who is now in paris, the simple fact, without comment, that i have been thrown into the prison of la force. will you cause that to be done for me?”
“i will do,” defarge doggedly rejoined, “nothing for you. my duty is to my country and the people. i am the sworn servant of both, against you.
i will do nothing for you.”
charles darnay felt it hopeless to entreat him further, and his pride was touched besides. as they walked on in silence, he could not but see how used the people were to the spectacle of prisoners passing along the streets. the very children scarcely noticed him. a few passers turned their heads, and a few shook their fingers at him as an aristocrat; otherwise, that a man in good clothes should be going to prison, was no more remarkable than that a labourer in working clothes should be going to work. in one narrow, dark, and dirty street through which they passed, an excited orator, mounted on a stool, was addressing an excited audience on the crimes against the people, of the king and the royal family. the few words that he caught from this man's lips, first made it known to charles darnay that the king was in prison, and that the foreign ambassadors had one and all left paris. on the road (except at beauvais) he had heard absolutely nothing. the escort and the universal watchfulness had completely isolated him.
that he had fallen among far greater dangers than those which had developed themselves when he left england, he of course knew now. that perils had thickened about him fast, and might thicken faster and faster yet, he of course knew now. he could not but admit to himself that he might not have made this journey, if he could have foreseen the events of a few days. and yet his misgivings were not so dark as, imagined by the light of this later time, they would appear. troubled as the future was, it was the unknown future, and in its obscurity there was ignorant hope. the horrible massacre, days and nights long, which, within a few rounds of the clock, was to set a great mark of blood upon the blessed garnering time of harvest, was as far out of his knowledge as if it had been a hundred thousand years away. the “sharp female newly-born, and called la guillotine,” was hardly known to him, or to the generality of people, by name. the frightful deeds that were to be soon done, were probably unimagined at that time in the brains of the doers. how could they have a place in the shadowy conceptions of a gentle mind?
of unjust treatment in detention and hardship, and in cruel separation from his wife and child, he foreshadowed the likelihood, or the certainty; but, beyond this, he dreaded nothing distinctly. with this on his mind, which was enough to carry into a dreary prison courtyard, he arrived at the prison of la force.
a man with a bloated face opened the strong wicket, to whom defarge presented “the emigrant evremonde.”
“what the devil! how many more of them!” exclaimed the man with the bloated face.
defarge took his receipt without noticing the exclamation, and withdrew, with his two fellow-patriots.
“what the devil, i say again!” exclaimed the gaoler, left with his wife.
“how many more!”
the gaoler's wife, being provided with no answer to the question, merely replied, “one must have patience, my dear!” three turnkeys who entered responsive to a bell she rang, echoed the sentiment, and one added, “for the love of liberty;” which sounded in that place like an inappropriate conclusion.
the prison of la force was a gloomy prison, dark and filthy, and with a horrible smell of foul sleep in it. extraordinary how soon the noisome flavour of imprisoned sleep, becomes manifest in all such places that are ill cared for!
“in secret, too,” grumbled the gaoler, looking at the written paper. “as if i was not already full to bursting!”
he stuck the paper on a file, in an ill-humour, and charles darnay awaited his further pleasure for half an hour: sometimes, pacing to and fro in the strong arched room: sometimes, resting on a stone seat: in either case detained to be imprinted on the memory of the chief and his subordinates.
“come!” said the chief, at length taking up his keys, “come with me, emigrant.”
through the dismal prison twilight, his new charge accompanied him by corridor and staircase, many doors clanging and locking behind them, until they came into a large, low, vaulted chamber, crowded with prisoners of both sexes. the women were seated at a long table, reading and writing, knitting, sewing, and embroidering; the men were for the most part standing behind their chairs, or lingering up and down the room.
in the instinctive association of prisoners with shameful crime and disgrace, the new-comer recoiled from this company. but the crowning unreality of his long unreal ride, was, their all at once rising to receive him, with every refinement of manner known to the time, and with all the engaging graces and courtesies of life.
so strangely clouded were these refinements by the prison manners and gloom, so spectral did they become in the inappropriate squalor and misery through which they were seen, that charles darnay seemed to stand in a company of the dead. ghosts all! the ghost of beauty, the ghost of stateliness, the ghost of elegance, the ghost of pride, the ghost of frivolity, the ghost of wit, the ghost of youth, the ghost of age, all waiting their dismissal from the desolate shore, all turning on him eyes that were changed by the death they had died in coming there.
it struck him motionless. the gaoler standing at his side, and the other gaolers moving about, who would have been well enough as to appearance in the ordinary exercise of their functions, looked so extravagantly coarse contrasted with sorrowing mothers and blooming daughters who were there with the apparitions of the coquette, the young beauty, and the mature woman delicately bred that the inversion of all experience and likelihood which the scene of shadows presented, was heightened to its utmost. surely, ghosts all. surely, the long unreal ride some progress of disease that had brought him to these gloomy shades!
“in the name of the assembled companions in misfortune,” said a gentleman of courtly appearance and address, coming forward, “i have the honour of giving you welcome to la force, and of condoling with you on the calamity that has brought you among us. may it soon terminate happily! it would be an impertinence elsewhere, but it is not so here, to ask your name and condition?”
charles darnay roused himself, and gave the required information, in words as suitable as he could find.
“but i hope,” said the gentleman, following the chief gaoler with his eyes, who moved across the room, “that you are not in secret?”
“i do not understand the meaning of the term, but i have heard them say so.”
“ah, what a pity! we so much regret it! but take courage; several members of our society have been in secret, at first, and it has lasted but a short time.” then he added, raising his voice, “i grieve to inform the society in secret.”
there was a murmur of commiseration as charles darnay crossed the room to a grated door where the gaoler awaited him, and many voices among which, the soft and compassionate voices of women were conspicuous gave him good wishes and encouragement. he turned at the grated door, to render the thanks of his heart; it closed under the gaoler's hand; and the apparitions vanished from his sight forever.
the wicket opened on a stone staircase, leading upward. when they had ascended forty steps (the prisoner of half an hour already counted them), the gaoler opened a low black door, and they passed into a solitary cell. it struck cold and damp, but was not dark.
“yours,” said the gaoler.
“why am i confined alone?”
“how do i know!”
“i can buy pen, ink, and paper?”
“such are not my orders. you will be visited, and can ask then. at present, you may buy your food, and nothing more.”
there were in the cell, a chair, a table, and a straw mattress. as the gaoler made a general inspection of these objects, and of the four walls, before going out, a wandering fancy wandered through the mind of the prisoner leaning against the wall opposite to him, that this gaoler was so unwholesomely bloated, both in face and person, as to look like a man who had been drowned and filled with water. when the gaoler was gone, he thought in the same wandering way, “now am i left, as if i were dead.” stopping then, to look down at the mattress, he turned from it with a sick feeling, and thought, “and here in these crawling creatures is the first condition of the body after death.”
“five paces by four and a half, five paces by four and a half, five paces by four and a half.” the prisoner walked to and fro in his cell, counting its measurement, and the roar of the city arose like muffled drums with a wild swell of voices added to them. “he made shoes, he made shoes, he made shoes.” the prisoner counted the measurement again, and paced faster, to draw his mind with him from that latter repetition.
“the ghosts that vanished when the wicket closed. there was one among them, the appearance of a lady dressed in black, who was leaning in the embrasure of a window, and she had a light shining upon her golden hair, and she looked like * * * * let us ride on again, for god's sake, through the illuminated villages with the people all awake! * * * * he made shoes, he made shoes, he made shoes. * * * * five paces by four and a half.” with such scraps tossing and rolling upward from the depths of his mind, the prisoner walked faster and faster, obstinately counting and counting; and the roar of the city changed to this extent that it still rolled in like muffled drums, but with the wail of voices that he knew, in the swell that rose above them.
ii. the grindstone
tellson's bank, established in the saint germain quarter of paris, was in a wing of a large house, approached by a courtyard and shut off from the street by a high wall and a strong gate. the house belonged to a great nobleman who had lived in it until he made a flight from the troubles, in his own cook's dress, and got across the borders. a mere beast of the chase flying from hunters, he was still in his metempsychosis no other than the same monseigneur, the preparation of whose chocolate for whose lips had once occupied three strong men besides the cook in question.
monseigneur gone, and the three strong men absolving themselves from the sin of having drawn his high wages, by being more than ready and willing to cut his throat on the altar of the dawning republic one and indivisible of liberty, equality, fraternity, or death, monseigneur's house had been first sequestrated, and then confiscated. for, all things moved so fast, and decree followed decree with that fierce precipitation, that now upon the third night of the autumn month of september, patriot emissaries of the law were in possession of monseigneur's house, and had marked it with the tri-colour, and were drinking brandy in its state apartments.
a place of business in london like tellson's place of business in paris, would soon have driven the house out of its mind and into the gazette.
for, what would staid british responsibility and respectability have said to orange-trees in boxes in a bank courtyard, and even to a cupid over the counter? yet such things were. tellson's had whitewashed the cupid, but he was still to be seen on the ceiling, in the coolest linen, aiming (as he very often does) at money from morning to night. bankruptcy must inevitably have come of this young pagan, in lombard-street, london, and also of a curtained alcove in the rear of the immortal boy, and also of a looking-glass let into the wall, and also of clerks not at all old, who danced in public on the slightest provocation. yet, a french tellson's could get on with these things exceedingly well, and, as long as the times held together, no man had taken fright at them, and drawn out his money.
what money would be drawn out of tellson's henceforth, and what would lie there, lost and forgotten; what plate and jewels would tarnish in tellson's hiding-places, while the depositors rusted in prisons, and when they should have violently perished; how many accounts with tellson's never to be balanced in this world, must be carried over into the next; no man could have said, that night, any more than mr. jarvis lorry could, though he thought heavily of these questions. he sat by a newly-lighted wood fire (the blighted and unfruitful year was prematurely cold), and on his honest and courageous face there was a deeper shade than the pendent lamp could throw, or any object in the room distortedly reflect a shade of horror.
he occupied rooms in the bank, in his fidelity to the house of which he had grown to be a part, like strong root-ivy. it chanced that they derived a kind of security from the patriotic occupation of the main building, but the true-hearted old gentleman never calculated about that. all such circumstances were indifferent to him, so that he did his duty. on the opposite side of the courtyard, under a colonnade, was extensive standing for carriages where, indeed, some carriages of monseigneur yet stood. against two of the pillars were fastened two great flaring flambeaux, and in the light of these, standing out in the open air, was a large grindstone: a roughly mounted thing which appeared to have hurriedly been brought there from some neighbouring smithy, or other workshop. rising and looking out of window at these harmless objects, mr. lorry shivered, and retired to his seat by the fire. he had opened, not only the glass window, but the lattice blind outside it, and he had closed both again, and he shivered through his frame.
from the streets beyond the high wall and the strong gate, there came the usual night hum of the city, with now and then an indescribable ring in it, weird and unearthly, as if some unwonted sounds of a terrible nature were going up to heaven.
“thank god,” said mr. lorry, clasping his hands, “that no one near and dear to me is in this dreadful town to-night. may he have mercy on all who are in danger!”
soon afterwards, the bell at the great gate sounded, and he thought, “they have come back!” and sat listening. but, there was no loud irruption into the courtyard, as he had expected, and he heard the gate clash again, and all was quiet.
the nervousness and dread that were upon him inspired that vague uneasiness respecting the bank, which a great change would naturally awaken, with such feelings roused. it was well guarded, and he got up to go among the trusty people who were watching it, when his door suddenly opened, and two figures rushed in, at sight of which he fell back in amazement.
lucie and her father! lucie with her arms stretched out to him, and with that old look of earnestness so concentrated and intensified, that it seemed as though it had been stamped upon her face expressly to give force and power to it in this one passage of her life.
“what is this?” cried mr. lorry, breathless and confused. “what is the matter? lucie! manette! what has happened? what has brought you here?
what is it?”
with the look fixed upon him, in her paleness and wildness, she panted out in his arms, imploringly, “o my dear friend! my husband!”
“your husband, lucie?”
“charles.”
“what of charles?”
“here.
“here, in paris?”
“has been here some days three or four i don't know how many i can't collect my thoughts. an errand of generosity brought him here unknown to us; he was stopped at the barrier, and sent to prison.”
the old man uttered an irrepressible cry. almost at the same moment, the bell of the great gate rang again, and a loud noise of feet and voices came pouring into the courtyard.
“what is that noise?” said the doctor, turning towards the window.
“don't look!” cried mr. lorry. “don't look out! manette, for your life, don't touch the blind!”
the doctor turned, with his hand upon the fastening of the window, and said, with a cool, bold smile:
“my dear friend, i have a charmed life in this city. i have been a bastille prisoner. there is no patriot in paris in paris? in france who, knowing me to have been a prisoner in the bastille, would touch me, except to overwhelm me with embraces, or carry me in triumph.
my old pain has given me a power that has brought us through the barrier, and gained us news of charles there, and brought us here. i knew it would be so; i knew i could help charles out of all danger; i told lucie so. what is that noise?” his hand was again upon the window.
“don't look!” cried mr. lorry, absolutely desperate. “no, lucie, my dear, nor you!” he got his arm round her, and held her. “don't be so terrified, my love. i solemnly swear to you that i know of no harm having happened to charles; that i had no suspicion even of his being in this fatal place. what prison is he in?”
“la force!”
“la force! lucie, my child, if ever you were brave and serviceable in your life and you were always both you will compose yourself now, to do exactly as i bid you; for more depends upon it than you can think, or i can say. there is no help for you in any action on your part to-night; you cannot possibly stir out. i say this, because what i must bid you to do for charles's sake, is the hardest thing to do of all. you must instantly be obedient, still, and quiet. you must let me put you in a room at the back here. you must leave your father and me alone for two minutes, and as there are life and death in the world you must not delay.”
“i will be submissive to you. i see in your face that you know i can do nothing else than this. i know you are true.”
the old man kissed her, and hurried her into his room, and turned the key; then, came hurrying back to the doctor, and opened the window and partly opened the blind, and put his hand upon the doctor's arm, and looked out with him into the courtyard.
looked out upon a throng of men and women: not enough in number, or near enough, to fill the courtyard: not more than forty or fifty in all. the people in possession of the house had let them in at the gate, and they had rushed in to work at the grindstone; it had evidently been set up there for their purpose, as in a convenient and retired spot.
but, such awful workers, and such awful work!
the grindstone had a double handle, and, turning at it madly were two men, whose faces, as their long hair flapped back when the whirlings of the grindstone brought their faces up, were more horrible and cruel than the visages of the wildest savages in their most barbarous disguise.
false eyebrows and false moustaches were stuck upon them, and their hideous countenances were all bloody and sweaty, and all awry with howling, and all staring and glaring with beastly excitement and want of sleep. as these ruffians turned and turned, their matted locks now flung forward over their eyes, now flung backward over their necks, some women held wine to their mouths that they might drink; and what with dropping blood, and what with dropping wine, and what with the stream of sparks struck out of the stone, all their wicked atmosphere seemed gore and fire. the eye could not detect one creature in the group free from the smear of blood. shouldering one another to get next at the sharpening-stone, were men stripped to the waist, with the stain all over their limbs and bodies; men in all sorts of rags, with the stain upon those rags; men devilishly set off with spoils of women's lace and silk and ribbon, with the stain dyeing those trifles through and through. hatchets, knives, bayonets, swords, all brought to be sharpened, were all red with it. some of the hacked swords were tied to the wrists of those who carried them, with strips of linen and fragments of dress: ligatures various in kind, but all deep of the one colour. and as the frantic wielders of these weapons snatched them from the stream of sparks and tore away into the streets, the same red hue was red in their frenzied eyes; eyes which any unbrutalised beholder would have given twenty years of life, to petrify with a well-directed gun.
all this was seen in a moment, as the vision of a drowning man, or of any human creature at any very great pass, could see a world if it were there. they drew back from the window, and the doctor looked for explanation in his friend's ashy face.
“they are,” mr. lorry whispered the words, glancing fearfully round at the locked room, “murdering the prisoners. if you are sure of what you say; if you really have the power you think you have as i believe you have make yourself known to these devils, and get taken to la force. it may be too late, i don't know, but let it not be a minute later!”
doctor manette pressed his hand, hastened bareheaded out of the room, and was in the courtyard when mr. lorry regained the blind.
his streaming white hair, his remarkable face, and the impetuous confidence of his manner, as he put the weapons aside like water, carried him in an instant to the heart of the concourse at the stone.
for a few moments there was a pause, and a hurry, and a murmur, and the unintelligible sound of his voice; and then mr. lorry saw him, surrounded by all, and in the midst of a line of twenty men long, all linked shoulder to shoulder, and hand to shoulder, hurried out with cries of “live the bastille prisoner! help for the bastille prisoner's kindred in la force! room for the bastille prisoner in front there! save the prisoner evremonde at la force!” and a thousand answering shouts.
he closed the lattice again with a fluttering heart, closed the window and the curtain, hastened to lucie, and told her that her father was assisted by the people, and gone in search of her husband. he found her child and miss pross with her; but, it never occurred to him to be surprised by their appearance until a long time afterwards, when he sat watching them in such quiet as the night knew.
lucie had, by that time, fallen into a stupor on the floor at his feet, clinging to his hand. miss pross had laid the child down on his own bed, and her head had gradually fallen on the pillow beside her pretty charge. o the long, long night, with the moans of the poor wife! and o the long, long night, with no return of her father and no tidings!
twice more in the darkness the bell at the great gate sounded, and the irruption was repeated, and the grindstone whirled and spluttered.
“what is it?” cried lucie, affrighted. “hush! the soldiers' swords are sharpened there,” said mr. lorry. “the place is national property now, and used as a kind of armoury, my love.”
twice more in all; but, the last spell of work was feeble and fitful.
soon afterwards the day began to dawn, and he softly detached himself from the clasping hand, and cautiously looked out again. a man, so besmeared that he might have been a sorely wounded soldier creeping back to consciousness on a field of slain, was rising from the pavement by the side of the grindstone, and looking about him with a vacant air.
shortly, this worn-out murderer descried in the imperfect light one of the carriages of monseigneur, and, staggering to that gorgeous vehicle, climbed in at the door, and shut himself up to take his rest on its dainty cushions.
the great grindstone, earth, had turned when mr. lorry looked out again, and the sun was red on the courtyard. but, the lesser grindstone stood alone there in the calm morning air, with a red upon it that the sun had never given, and would never take away.
iii. the shadow
one of the first considerations which arose in the business mind of mr.
lorry when business hours came round, was this: that he had no right to imperil tellson's by sheltering the wife of an emigrant prisoner under the bank roof. his own possessions, safety, life, he would have hazarded for lucie and her child, without a moment's demur; but the great trust he held was not his own, and as to that business charge he was a strict man of business.
at first, his mind reverted to defarge, and he thought of finding out the wine-shop again and taking counsel with its master in reference to the safest dwelling-place in the distracted state of the city. but, the same consideration that suggested him, repudiated him; he lived in the most violent quarter, and doubtless was influential there, and deep in its dangerous workings.
noon coming, and the doctor not returning, and every minute's delay tending to compromise tellson's, mr. lorry advised with lucie. she said that her father had spoken of hiring a lodging for a short term, in that quarter, near the banking-house. as there was no business objection to this, and as he foresaw that even if it were all well with charles, and he were to be released, he could not hope to leave the city, mr. lorry went out in quest of such a lodging, and found a suitable one, high up in a removed by-street where the closed blinds in all the other windows of a high melancholy square of buildings marked deserted homes.
to this lodging he at once removed lucie and her child, and miss pross:
giving them what comfort he could, and much more than he had himself.
he left jerry with them, as a figure to fill a doorway that would bear considerable knocking on the head, and returned to his own occupations.
a disturbed and doleful mind he brought to bear upon them, and slowly and heavily the day lagged on with him.
it wore itself out, and wore him out with it, until the bank closed. he was again alone in his room of the previous night, considering what to do next, when he heard a foot upon the stair. in a few moments, a man stood in his presence, who, with a keenly observant look at him, addressed him by his name.
“your servant,” said mr. lorry. “do you know me?”
he was a strongly made man with dark curling hair, from forty-five to fifty years of age. for answer he repeated, without any change of emphasis, the words:
“do you know me?”
“i have seen you somewhere.”
“perhaps at my wine-shop?”
much interested and agitated, mr. lorry said: “you come from doctor manette?”
“yes. i come from doctor manette.”
“and what says he? what does he send me?”
defarge gave into his anxious hand, an open scrap of paper. it bore the words in the doctor's writing:
“charles is safe, but i cannot safely leave this place yet.
i have obtained the favour that the bearer has a short note from charles to his wife. let the bearer see his wife.”
it was dated from la force, within an hour.
“will you accompany me,” said mr. lorry, joyfully relieved after reading this note aloud, “to where his wife resides?”
“yes,” returned defarge.
scarcely noticing as yet, in what a curiously reserved and mechanical way defarge spoke, mr. lorry put on his hat and they went down into the courtyard. there, they found two women; one, knitting.
“madame defarge, surely!” said mr. lorry, who had left her in exactly the same attitude some seventeen years ago.
“it is she,” observed her husband.
“does madame go with us?” inquired mr. lorry, seeing that she moved as they moved.
“yes. that she may be able to recognise the faces and know the persons.
it is for their safety.”
beginning to be struck by defarge's manner, mr. lorry looked dubiously at him, and led the way. both the women followed; the second woman being the vengeance.
they passed through the intervening streets as quickly as they might, ascended the staircase of the new domicile, were admitted by jerry, and found lucie weeping, alone. she was thrown into a transport by the tidings mr. lorry gave her of her husband, and clasped the hand that delivered his note little thinking what it had been doing near him in the night, and might, but for a chance, have done to him.
“dearest, take courage. i am well, and your father has influence around me. you cannot answer this.
kiss our child for me.”
that was all the writing. it was so much, however, to her who received it, that she turned from defarge to his wife, and kissed one of the hands that knitted. it was a passionate, loving, thankful, womanly action, but the hand made no response dropped cold and heavy, and took to its knitting again.
there was something in its touch that gave lucie a check. she stopped in the act of putting the note in her bosom, and, with her hands yet at her neck, looked terrified at madame defarge. madame defarge met the lifted eyebrows and forehead with a cold, impassive stare.
“my dear,” said mr. lorry, striking in to explain; “there are frequent risings in the streets; and, although it is not likely they will ever trouble you, madame defarge wishes to see those whom she has the power to protect at such times, to the end that she may know them that she may identify them. i believe,” said mr. lorry, rather halting in his reassuring words, as the stony manner of all the three impressed itself upon him more and more, “i state the case, citizen defarge?”
defarge looked gloomily at his wife, and gave no other answer than a gruff sound of acquiescence.
“you had better, lucie,” said mr. lorry, doing all he could to propitiate, by tone and manner, “have the dear child here, and our good pross. our good pross, defarge, is an english lady, and knows no french.”
the lady in question, whose rooted conviction that she was more than a match for any foreigner, was not to be shaken by distress and, danger, appeared with folded arms, and observed in english to the vengeance, whom her eyes first encountered, “well, i am sure, boldface! i hope you are pretty well!” she also bestowed a british cough on madame defarge; but, neither of the two took much heed of her.
“is that his child?” said madame defarge, stopping in her work for the first time, and pointing her knitting-needle at little lucie as if it were the finger of fate.
“yes, madame,” answered mr. lorry; “this is our poor prisoner's darling daughter, and only child.”
the shadow attendant on madame defarge and her party seemed to fall so threatening and dark on the child, that her mother instinctively kneeled on the ground beside her, and held her to her breast. the shadow attendant on madame defarge and her party seemed then to fall, threatening and dark, on both the mother and the child.
“it is enough, my husband,” said madame defarge. “i have seen them. we may go.”
but, the suppressed manner had enough of menace in it not visible and presented, but indistinct and withheld to alarm lucie into saying, as she laid her appealing hand on madame defarge's dress:
“you will be good to my poor husband. you will do him no harm. you will help me to see him if you can?”
“your husband is not my business here,” returned madame defarge, looking down at her with perfect composure. “it is the daughter of your father who is my business here.”
“for my sake, then, be merciful to my husband. for my child's sake! she will put her hands together and pray you to be merciful. we are more afraid of you than of these others.”
madame defarge received it as a compliment, and looked at her husband.
defarge, who had been uneasily biting his thumb-nail and looking at her, collected his face into a sterner expression.
“what is it that your husband says in that little letter?” asked madame defarge, with a lowering smile. “influence; he says something touching influence?”
“that my father,” said lucie, hurriedly taking the paper from her breast, but with her alarmed eyes on her questioner and not on it, “has much influence around him.”
“surely it will release him!” said madame defarge. “let it do so.”
“as a wife and mother,” cried lucie, most earnestly, “i implore you to have pity on me and not to exercise any power that you possess, against my innocent husband, but to use it in his behalf. o sister-woman, think of me. as a wife and mother!”
madame defarge looked, coldly as ever, at the suppliant, and said, turning to her friend the vengeance:
“the wives and mothers we have been used to see, since we were as little as this child, and much less, have not been greatly considered? we have known their husbands and fathers laid in prison and kept from them, often enough? all our lives, we have seen our sister-women suffer, in themselves and in their children, poverty, nakedness, hunger, thirst, sickness, misery, oppression and neglect of all kinds?”
“we have seen nothing else,” returned the vengeance.
“we have borne this a long time,” said madame defarge, turning her eyes again upon lucie. “judge you! is it likely that the trouble of one wife and mother would be much to us now?”
she resumed her knitting and went out. the vengeance followed. defarge went last, and closed the door.
“courage, my dear lucie,” said mr. lorry, as he raised her. “courage, courage! so far all goes well with us much, much better than it has of late gone with many poor souls. cheer up, and have a thankful heart.”
“i am not thankless, i hope, but that dreadful woman seems to throw a shadow on me and on all my hopes.”
“tut, tut!” said mr. lorry; “what is this despondency in the brave little breast? a shadow indeed! no substance in it, lucie.”
but the shadow of the manner of these defarges was dark upon himself, for all that, and in his secret mind it troubled him greatly.
iv. calm in storm
doctor manette did not return until the morning of the fourth day of his absence. so much of what had happened in that dreadful time as could be kept from the knowledge of lucie was so well concealed from her, that not until long afterwards, when france and she were far apart, did she know that eleven hundred defenceless prisoners of both sexes and all ages had been killed by the populace; that four days and nights had been darkened by this deed of horror; and that the air around her had been tainted by the slain. she only knew that there had been an attack upon the prisons, that all political prisoners had been in danger, and that some had been dragged out by the crowd and murdered.
to mr. lorry, the doctor communicated under an injunction of secrecy on which he had no need to dwell, that the crowd had taken him through a scene of carnage to the prison of la force. that, in the prison he had found a self-appointed tribunal sitting, before which the prisoners were brought singly, and by which they were rapidly ordered to be put forth to be massacred, or to be released, or (in a few cases) to be sent back to their cells. that, presented by his conductors to this tribunal, he had announced himself by name and profession as having been for eighteen years a secret and unaccused prisoner in the bastille; that, one of the body so sitting in judgment had risen and identified him, and that this man was defarge.
that, hereupon he had ascertained, through the registers on the table, that his son-in-law was among the living prisoners, and had pleaded hard to the tribunal of whom some members were asleep and some awake, some dirty with murder and some clean, some sober and some not for his life and liberty. that, in the first frantic greetings lavished on himself as a notable sufferer under the overthrown system, it had been accorded to him to have charles darnay brought before the lawless court, and examined. that, he seemed on the point of being at once released, when the tide in his favour met with some unexplained check (not intelligible to the doctor), which led to a few words of secret conference. that, the man sitting as president had then informed doctor manette that the prisoner must remain in custody, but should, for his sake, be held inviolate in safe custody. that, immediately, on a signal, the prisoner was removed to the interior of the prison again; but, that he, the doctor, had then so strongly pleaded for permission to remain and assure himself that his son-in-law was, through no malice or mischance, delivered to the concourse whose murderous yells outside the gate had often drowned the proceedings, that he had obtained the permission, and had remained in that hall of blood until the danger was over.
the sights he had seen there, with brief snatches of food and sleep by intervals, shall remain untold. the mad joy over the prisoners who were saved, had astounded him scarcely less than the mad ferocity against those who were cut to pieces. one prisoner there was, he said, who had been discharged into the street free, but at whom a mistaken savage had thrust a pike as he passed out. being besought to go to him and dress the wound, the doctor had passed out at the same gate, and had found him in the arms of a company of samaritans, who were seated on the bodies of their victims. with an inconsistency as monstrous as anything in this awful nightmare, they had helped the healer, and tended the wounded man with the gentlest solicitude had made a litter for him and escorted him carefully from the spot had then caught up their weapons and plunged anew into a butchery so dreadful, that the doctor had covered his eyes with his hands, and swooned away in the midst of it.
as mr. lorry received these confidences, and as he watched the face of his friend now sixty-two years of age, a misgiving arose within him that such dread experiences would revive the old danger.
but, he had never seen his friend in his present aspect: he had never at all known him in his present character. for the first time the doctor felt, now, that his suffering was strength and power. for the first time he felt that in that sharp fire, he had slowly forged the iron which could break the prison door of his daughter's husband, and deliver him.
“it all tended to a good end, my friend; it was not mere waste and ruin.
as my beloved child was helpful in restoring me to myself, i will be helpful now in restoring the dearest part of herself to her; by the aid of heaven i will do it!” thus, doctor manette. and when jarvis lorry saw the kindled eyes, the resolute face, the calm strong look and bearing of the man whose life always seemed to him to have been stopped, like a clock, for so many years, and then set going again with an energy which had lain dormant during the cessation of its usefulness, he believed.
greater things than the doctor had at that time to contend with, would have yielded before his persevering purpose. while he kept himself in his place, as a physician, whose business was with all degrees of mankind, bond and free, rich and poor, bad and good, he used his personal influence so wisely, that he was soon the inspecting physician of three prisons, and among them of la force. he could now assure lucie that her husband was no longer confined alone, but was mixed with the general body of prisoners; he saw her husband weekly, and brought sweet messages to her, straight from his lips; sometimes her husband himself sent a letter to her (though never by the doctor's hand), but she was not permitted to write to him: for, among the many wild suspicions of plots in the prisons, the wildest of all pointed at emigrants who were known to have made friends or permanent connections abroad.
this new life of the doctor's was an anxious life, no doubt; still, the sagacious mr. lorry saw that there was a new sustaining pride in it.
nothing unbecoming tinged the pride; it was a natural and worthy one; but he observed it as a curiosity. the doctor knew, that up to that time, his imprisonment had been associated in the minds of his daughter and his friend, with his personal affliction, deprivation, and weakness.
now that this was changed, and he knew himself to be invested through that old trial with forces to which they both looked for charles's ultimate safety and deliverance, he became so far exalted by the change, that he took the lead and direction, and required them as the weak, to trust to him as the strong. the preceding relative positions of himself and lucie were reversed, yet only as the liveliest gratitude and affection could reverse them, for he could have had no pride but in rendering some service to her who had rendered so much to him. “all curious to see,” thought mr. lorry, in his amiably shrewd way, “but all natural and right; so, take the lead, my dear friend, and keep it; it couldn't be in better hands.”
but, though the doctor tried hard, and never ceased trying, to get charles darnay set at liberty, or at least to get him brought to trial, the public current of the time set too strong and fast for him. the new era began; the king was tried, doomed, and beheaded; the republic of liberty, equality, fraternity, or death, declared for victory or death against the world in arms; the black flag waved night and day from the great towers of notre dame; three hundred thousand men, summoned to rise against the tyrants of the earth, rose from all the varying soils of france, as if the dragon's teeth had been sown broadcast, and had yielded fruit equally on hill and plain, on rock, in gravel, and alluvial mud, under the bright sky of the south and under the clouds of the north, in fell and forest, in the vineyards and the olive-grounds and among the cropped grass and the stubble of the corn, along the fruitful banks of the broad rivers, and in the sand of the sea-shore.
what private solicitude could rear itself against the deluge of the year one of liberty the deluge rising from below, not falling from above, and with the windows of heaven shut, not opened!
there was no pause, no pity, no peace, no interval of relenting rest, no measurement of time. though days and nights circled as regularly as when time was young, and the evening and morning were the first day, other count of time there was none. hold of it was lost in the raging fever of a nation, as it is in the fever of one patient. now, breaking the unnatural silence of a whole city, the executioner showed the people the head of the king and now, it seemed almost in the same breath, the head of his fair wife which had had eight weary months of imprisoned widowhood and misery, to turn it grey.
and yet, observing the strange law of contradiction which obtains in all such cases, the time was long, while it flamed by so fast. a revolutionary tribunal in the capital, and forty or fifty thousand revolutionary committees all over the land; a law of the suspected, which struck away all security for liberty or life, and delivered over any good and innocent person to any bad and guilty one; prisons gorged with people who had committed no offence, and could obtain no hearing; these things became the established order and nature of appointed things, and seemed to be ancient usage before they were many weeks old.
above all, one hideous figure grew as familiar as if it had been before the general gaze from the foundations of the world the figure of the sharp female called la guillotine.
it was the popular theme for jests; it was the best cure for headache, it infallibly prevented the hair from turning grey, it imparted a peculiar delicacy to the complexion, it was the national razor which shaved close: who kissed la guillotine, looked through the little window and sneezed into the sack. it was the sign of the regeneration of the human race. it superseded the cross. models of it were worn on breasts from which the cross was discarded, and it was bowed down to and believed in where the cross was denied.
it sheared off heads so many, that it, and the ground it most polluted, were a rotten red. it was taken to pieces, like a toy-puzzle for a young devil, and was put together again when the occasion wanted it. it hushed the eloquent, struck down the powerful, abolished the beautiful and good. twenty-two friends of high public mark, twenty-one living and one dead, it had lopped the heads off, in one morning, in as many minutes.
the name of the strong man of old scripture had descended to the chief functionary who worked it; but, so armed, he was stronger than his namesake, and blinder, and tore away the gates of god's own temple every day.
among these terrors, and the brood belonging to them, the doctor walked with a steady head: confident in his power, cautiously persistent in his end, never doubting that he would save lucie's husband at last. yet the current of the time swept by, so strong and deep, and carried the time away so fiercely, that charles had lain in prison one year and three months when the doctor was thus steady and confident. so much more wicked and distracted had the revolution grown in that december month, that the rivers of the south were encumbered with the bodies of the violently drowned by night, and prisoners were shot in lines and squares under the southern wintry sun. still, the doctor walked among the terrors with a steady head. no man better known than he, in paris at that day; no man in a stranger situation. silent, humane, indispensable in hospital and prison, using his art equally among assassins and victims, he was a man apart. in the exercise of his skill, the appearance and the story of the bastille captive removed him from all other men. he was not suspected or brought in question, any more than if he had indeed been recalled to life some eighteen years before, or were a spirit moving among mortals.
v. the wood-sawyer
one year and three months. during all that time lucie was never sure, from hour to hour, but that the guillotine would strike off her husband's head next day. every day, through the stony streets, the tumbrils now jolted heavily, filled with condemned. lovely girls; bright women, brown-haired, black-haired, and grey; youths; stalwart men and old; gentle born and peasant born; all red wine for la guillotine, all daily brought into light from the dark cellars of the loathsome prisons, and carried to her through the streets to slake her devouring thirst.
liberty, equality, fraternity, or death; the last, much the easiest to bestow, o guillotine!
if the suddenness of her calamity, and the whirling wheels of the time, had stunned the doctor's daughter into awaiting the result in idle despair, it would but have been with her as it was with many. but, from the hour when she had taken the white head to her fresh young bosom in the garret of saint antoine, she had been true to her duties. she was truest to them in the season of trial, as all the quietly loyal and good will always be.
as soon as they were established in their new residence, and her father had entered on the routine of his avocations, she arranged the little household as exactly as if her husband had been there. everything had its appointed place and its appointed time. little lucie she taught, as regularly, as if they had all been united in their english home. the slight devices with which she cheated herself into the show of a belief that they would soon be reunited the little preparations for his speedy return, the setting aside of his chair and his books these, and the solemn prayer at night for one dear prisoner especially, among the many unhappy souls in prison and the shadow of death were almost the only outspoken reliefs of her heavy mind.
she did not greatly alter in appearance. the plain dark dresses, akin to mourning dresses, which she and her child wore, were as neat and as well attended to as the brighter clothes of happy days. she lost her colour, and the old and intent expression was a constant, not an occasional, thing; otherwise, she remained very pretty and comely. sometimes, at night on kissing her father, she would burst into the grief she had repressed all day, and would say that her sole reliance, under heaven, was on him. he always resolutely answered: “nothing can happen to him without my knowledge, and i know that i can save him, lucie.”
they had not made the round of their changed life many weeks, when her father said to her, on coming home one evening:
“my dear, there is an upper window in the prison, to which charles can sometimes gain access at three in the afternoon. when he can get to it which depends on many uncertainties and incidents he might see you in the street, he thinks, if you stood in a certain place that i can show you. but you will not be able to see him, my poor child, and even if you could, it would be unsafe for you to make a sign of recognition.”
“o show me the place, my father, and i will go there every day.”
from that time, in all weathers, she waited there two hours. as the clock struck two, she was there, and at four she turned resignedly away.
when it was not too wet or inclement for her child to be with her, they went together; at other times she was alone; but, she never missed a single day.
it was the dark and dirty corner of a small winding street. the hovel of a cutter of wood into lengths for burning, was the only house at that end; all else was wall. on the third day of her being there, he noticed her.
“good day, citizeness.”
they ran through the forge, and down the dungeon steps, and knocked at the iron door. "who's there?" said the dragon. "it's only us," said the children.
and the dragon was so dull from having been alone for ten years that he said: "come in, dears."
"you won't hurt us, or breathe fire at us or anything?" asked tina.
and the dragon said, "not for worlds."
so they went in and talked to him, and told him what the weather was like outside, and what there was in the papers, and at last johnnie said: "there's a lame giant in the town. he wants you."
"does he?" said the dragon, showing his teeth. "if only i were out of this!"
"if we let you loose you might manage to run away before he could catch you."
"yes, i might," answered the dragon, "but then again i mightn't."
"why you'd never fight him?" said tina.
"no," said the dragon; "i'm all for peace, i am. you let me out, and you'll see."
so the children loosed the dragon from the chains and the collar, and he broke down one end of the dungeon and went out only pausing at the forge door to get the blacksmith to rivet his wing.
he met the lame giant at the gate of the town, and the giant banged on the dragon with his club as if he were banging an iron foundry, and the dragon behaved like a smelting works all fire and smoke. it was a fearful sight, and people watched it from a distance, falling off their legs with the shock of every bang, but always getting up to look again.
at last the dragon won, and the giant sneaked away across the marshes, and the dragon, who was very tired, went home to sleep, announcing his intention of eating the town in the morning. he went back into his old dungeon because he was a stranger in the town, and he did not know of any other respectable lodging. then tina and johnnie went to the mayor and corporation and said, "the giant is settled. please give us the thousand pounds reward."
but the mayor said: "no, no, my boy. it is not you who have settled the giant, it is the dragon. i suppose you have chained him up again? when he comes to claim the reward he shall have it."
"he isn't chained up yet," said johnnie. "shall i send him to claim the reward?"
but the mayor said he need not trouble; and now he offered a thousand pounds to anyone who would get the dragon chained up again.
"i don't trust you," said johnnie. "look how you treated my father when he chained up the dragon."
but the people who were listening at the door interrupted, and said that if johnnie could fasten up the dragon again they would turn out the mayor and let johnnie be mayor in his place. for they had been dissatisfied with the mayor for some time, and thought they would like a change.
so johnnie said, "done," and off he went, hand in hand with tina, and they called on all their little friends and said: "will you help us to save the town?"
and all the children said: "yes, of course we will. what fun!"
"well, then," said tina, "you must all bring your basins of bread and milk to the forge tomorrow at breakfast time."
"and if ever i am mayor," said johnnie, "i will give a banquet, and you shall be invited. and we'll have nothing but sweet things from beginning to end."
all the children promised, and next morning tina and johnnie rolled their big washing tub down the winding stair.
"what's that noise?" asked the dragon.
"it's only a big giant breathing," said tina, "he's gone by now."
then, when all the town children brought their bread and milk, tina emptied it into the wash tub, and when the tub was full tina knocked at the iron door with the grating in it and said: "may we come in?"
"oh, yes," said the dragon, "it's very dull here."
so they went in, and with the help of nine other children they lifted the washing tub in and set it down by the dragon. then all the other children went away, and tina and johnnie sat down and cried.
"what's this?" asked the dragon. "and what's the matter?"
"this is bread and milk," said johnnie; "it's our breakfast all of it."
"well," said the dragon, "i don't see what you want with breakfast. i'm going to eat everyone in the town as soon as i've rested a little."
"dear mr. dragon," said tina, "i wish you wouldn't eat us. how would you like to be eaten yourself?"
"not at all," the dragon confessed, "but nobody will eat me."
"i don't know," said johnnie, "there's a giant "
"i know. i fought with him, and licked him."
"yes, but there's another come now the one you fought was only this one's little boy. this one is half as big again."
"he's seven times as big," said tina.
"no, nine times," said johnnie. "he's bigger than the steeple."
"oh, dear," said the dragon. "i never expected this."
"and the mayor has told him where you are," tina went on, "and he is coming to eat you as soon as he has sharpened his big knife. the mayor told him you were a wild dragon but he didn't mind. he said he only ate wild dragons with bread sauce."
"that's tiresome," said the dragon. "and i suppose this sloppy stuff in the tub is the bread sauce?"
the children said it was. "of course," they added, "bread sauce is only served with wild dragons. tame ones are served with apple sauce and onion stuffing. what a pity you're not a tame one: he'd never look at you then," they said. "good-bye, poor dragon, we shall never see you again, and now you'll know what it's like to be eaten." and they began to cry again.
"well, but look here," said the dragon, "couldn't you pretend i was a tame dragon? tell the giant that i'm just a poor little timid tame dragon that you kept for a pet."
"he'd never believe it," said johnnie. "if you were our tame dragon we should keep you tied up, you know. we shouldn't like to risk losing such a dear, pretty pet."
then the dragon begged them to fasten him up at once, and they did so:
with the collar and chains that were made years ago in the days when men sang over their work and made it strong enough to bear any strain.
and then they went away and told the people what they had done, and johnnie was made mayor, and had a glorious feast exactly as he had said he would with nothing in it but sweet things. it began with turkish delight and halfpenny buns, and went on with oranges, toffee, coconut ice, peppermints, jam puffs, raspberry-noyeau, ice creams, and meringues, and ended with bull's-eyes and gingerbread and acid drops.
this was all very well for johnnie and tina; but if you are kind children with feeling hearts you will perhaps feel sorry for the poor deceived, deluded dragon chained up in the dull dungeon, with nothing to do but to think over the shocking untruths that johnnie had told him.
when he thought how he had been tricked, the poor captive dragon began to weep and the large tears fell down over his rusty plates. and presently he began to feel faint, as people sometimes do when they have been crying, especially if they have not had anything to eat for ten years or so.
and then the poor creature dried his eyes and looked about him, and there he saw the tub of bread and milk. so he thought, "if giants like this damp, white stuff, perhaps i should like it too," and he tasted a little, and liked it so much that he ate it all up.
and the next time the tourists came, and johnnie let off the colored fire, the dragon said shyly: "excuse my troubling you, but could you bring me a little more bread and milk?"
so johnnie arranged that people should go around with carts every day to collect the children's bread and milk for the dragon. the children were fed at the town's expense on whatever they liked; and they ate nothing but cake and buns and sweet things, and they said the poor dragon was very welcome to their bread and milk.
now, when johnnie had been mayor ten years or so he married tina, and on their wedding morning they went to see the dragon. he had grown quite tame, and his rusty plates had fallen off in places, and underneath he was soft and furry to stroke. so now they stroked him.
and he said, "i don't know how i could ever have liked eating anything but bread and milk. i am a tame dragon now, aren't i?" and when they said that yes, he was, the dragon said: "i am so tame, won't you undo me?" and some people would have been afraid to trust him, but johnnie and tina were so happy on their wedding day that they could not believe any harm of anyone in the world. so they loosened the chains, and the dragon said: "excuse me a moment, there are one or two little things i should like to fetch," and he moved off to those mysterious steps and went down them, out of sight into the darkness. and as he moved, more and more of his rusty plates fell off.
in a few minutes they heard him clanking up the steps. he brought something in his mouth it was a bag of gold.
"it's no good to me," he said. "perhaps you might find it useful." so they thanked him very kindly.
"more where that came from," said he, and fetched more and more and more, till they told him to stop. so now they were rich, and so were their fathers and mothers. indeed, everyone was rich, and there were no more poor people in the town. and they all got rich without working, which is very wrong; but the dragon had never been to school, as you have, so he knew no better.
and as the dragon came out of the dungeon, following johnnie and tina into the bright gold and blue of their wedding day, he blinked his eyes as a cat does in the sunshine, and he shook himself, and the last of his plates dropped off, and his wings with them, and he was just like a very, very extra-sized cat. and from that day he grew furrier and furrier, and he was the beginning of all cats. nothing of the dragon remained except the claws, which all cats have still, as you can easily ascertain.
and i hope you see now how important it is to feed your cat with bread and milk. if you were to let it have nothing to eat but mice and birds it might grow larger and fiercer, and scalier and tailier, and get wings and turn into the beginning of dragons. and then there would be all the bother over again.
the fiery dragon]
vii. the fiery dragon,
or the heart of stone and the heart of gold
the little white princess always woke in her little white bed when the starlings began to chatter in the pearl gray morning. as soon as the woods were awake, she used to run up the twisting turret-stairs with her little bare feet, and stand on the top of the tower in her white bed-gown, and kiss her hands to the sun and to the woods and to the sleeping town, and say: "good morning, pretty world!"
then she would run down the cold stone steps and dress herself in her short skirt and her cap and apron, and begin the day's work. she swept the rooms and made the breakfast, she washed the dishes and she scoured the pans, and all this she did because she was a real princess. for of all who should have served her, only one remained faithful her old nurse, who had lived with her in the tower all the princess's life. and, now the nurse was old and feeble, the princess would not let her work any more, but did all the housework herself, while nurse sat still and did the sewing, because this was a real princess with skin like milk and hair like flax and a heart like gold.
her name was sabrinetta, and her grandmother was sabra, who married st.
george after he had killed the dragon, and by real rights all the country belonged to her: the woods that stretched away to the mountains, the downs that sloped down to the sea, the pretty fields of corn and maize and rye, the olive orchards and the vineyards, and the little town itself with its towers and its turrets, its steep roofs and strange windows that nestled in the hollow between the sea, where the whirlpool was, and the mountains, white with snow and rosy with sunrise.
but when her father and mother had died, leaving her cousin to take care of the kingdom till she grew up, he, being a very evil prince, took everything away from her, and all the people followed him, and now nothing was left her of all her possessions except the great dragon proof tower that her grandfather, st. george, had built, and of all who should have been her servants only the good nurse.
this was why sabrinetta was the first person in all the land to get a glimpse of the wonder.
early, early, early, while all the townspeople were fast asleep, she ran up the turret-steps and looked out over the field, and at the other side of the field there was a green, ferny ditch and a rose-thorny hedge, and then came the wood. and as sabrinetta stood on her tower she saw a shaking and a twisting of the rose-thorny hedge, and then something very bright and shining wriggled out through it into the ferny ditch and back again. it only came out for a minute, but she saw it quite plainly, and she said to herself: "dear me, what a curious, shiny, bright-looking creature! if it were bigger, and if i didn't know that there have been no fabulous monsters for quite a long time now, i should almost think it was a dragon."
the thing, whatever it was, did look rather like a dragon but then it was too small; and it looked rather like a lizard only then it was too big. it was about as long as a hearthrug.
"i wish it had not been in such a hurry to get back into the wood," said sabrinetta. "of course, it's quite safe for me, in my dragonproof tower; but if it is a dragon, it's quite big enough to eat people, and today's the first of may, and the children go out to get flowers in the wood."
when sabrinetta had done the housework (she did not leave so much as a speck of dust anywhere, even in the corneriest corner of the winding stair) she put on her milk white, silky gown with the moon-daisies worked on it, and went up to the top of her tower again.
across the fields troops of children were going out to gather the may, and the sound of their laughter and singing came up to the top of the tower.
"i do hope it wasn't a dragon," said sabrinetta.
the children went by twos and by threes and by tens and by twenties, and the red and blue and yellow and white of their frocks were scattered on the green of the field.
"it's like a green silk mantle worked with flowers," said the princess, smiling.
then by twos and by threes, by tens and by twenties, the children vanished into the wood, till the mantle of the field was left plain green once more.
"all the embroidery is unpicked," said the princess, sighing.
the sun shone, and the sky was blue, and the fields were quite green, and all the flowers were very bright indeed, because it was may day.
then quite suddenly a cloud passed over the sun, and the silence was broken by shrieks from far off; and, like a many-colored torrent, all the children burst from the wood and rushed, a red and blue and yellow and white wave, across the field, screaming as they ran. their voices came up to the princess on her tower, and she heard the words threaded on their screams like beads on sharp needles: "the dragon, the dragon, the dragon! open the gates! the dragon is coming! the fiery dragon!"
and they swept across the field and into the gate of the town, and the princess heard the gate bang, and the children were out of sight but on the other side of the field the rose-thorns crackled and smashed in the hedge, and something very large and glaring and horrible trampled the ferns in the ditch for one moment before it hid itself again in the covert of the wood.
the princess went down and told her nurse, and the nurse at once locked the great door of the tower and put the key in her pocket.
"let them take care of themselves," she said, when the princess begged to be allowed to go out and help to take care of the children. "my business is to take care of you, my precious, and i'm going to do it.
old as i am, i can turn a key still."
so sabrinetta went up again to the top of her tower, and cried whenever she thought of the children and the fiery dragon. for she knew, of course, that the gates of the town were not dragonproof, and that the dragon could just walk in whenever he liked.
the children ran straight to the palace, where the prince was cracking his hunting whip down at the kennels, and told him what had happened.
"good sport," said the prince, and he ordered out his pack of hippopotamuses at once. it was his custom to hunt big game with hippopotamuses, and people would not have minded that so much but he would swagger about in the streets of the town with his pack yelping and gamboling at his heels, and when he did that, the green-grocer, who had his stall in the marketplace, always regretted it; and the crockery merchant, who spread his wares on the pavement, was ruined for life every time the prince chose to show off his pack.
the prince rode out of the town with his hippopotamuses trotting and frisking behind him, and people got inside their houses as quickly as they could when they heard the voices of his pack and the blowing of his horn. the pack squeezed through the town gates and off across country to hunt the dragon. few of you who had not seen a pack of hippopotamuses in full cry will be able to imagine at all what the hunt was like. to begin with, hippopotamuses do not bay like hounds: they grunt like pigs, and their grunt is very big and fierce. then, of course, no one expects hippopotamuses to jump. they just crash through the hedges and lumber through the standing corn, doing serious injury to the crops, and annoying the farmers very much. all the hippopotamuses had collars with their name and address on, but when the farmers called at the palace to complain of the injury to their standing crops, the prince always said it served them right for leaving their crops standing about in people's way, and he never paid anything at all.
so now, when he and his pack went out, several people in the town whispered, "i wish the dragon would eat him" which was very wrong of them, no doubt, but then he was such a very nasty prince.
they hunted by field, and they hunted by wold; they drew the woods blank, and the scent didn't lie on the downs at all. the dragon was shy, and would not show himself.
but just as the prince was beginning to think there was no dragon at all, but only a cock and bull, his favourite old hippopotamus gave tongue. the prince blew his horn and shouted: "tally ho! hark forward!
tantivy!" and the whole pack charged downhill toward the hollow by the wood. for there, plain to be seen, was the dragon, as big as a barge, glowing like a furnace, and spitting fire and showing his shining teeth.
"the hunt is up!" cried the prince. and indeed it was. for the dragon instead of behaving as a quarry should, and running away ran straight at the pack, and the prince, on his elephant, had the mortification of seeing his prize pack swallowed up one by one in the twinkling of an eye, by the dragon they had come out to hunt. the dragon swallowed all the hippopotamuses just as a dog swallows bits of meat. it was a shocking sight. of the whole of the pack that had come out sporting so merrily to the music of the horn, now not even a puppy-hippopotamus was left, and the dragon was looking anxiously around to see if he had forgotten anything.
the prince slipped off his elephant on the other side and ran into the thickest part of the wood. he hoped the dragon could not break through the bushes there, since they were very strong and close. he went crawling on hands and knees in a most un-prince-like way, and at last, finding a hollow tree, he crept into it. the wood was very still no crashing of branches and no smell of burning came to alarm the prince.
he drained the silver hunting bottle slung from his shoulder, and stretched his legs in the hollow tree. he never shed a single tear for his poor tame hippopotamuses who had eaten from his hand and followed him faithfully in all the pleasures of the chase for so many years. for he was a false prince, with a skin like leather and hair like hearth brushes and a heart like a stone. he never shed a tear, but he just went to sleep.
when he awoke it was dark. he crept out of the tree and rubbed his eyes.
the wood was black about him, but there was a red glow in a dell close by. it was a fire of sticks, and beside it sat a ragged youth with long, yellow hair; all around lay sleeping forms which breathed heavily.
"who are you?" said the prince.
"i'm elfin, the pig keeper," said the ragged youth. "and who are you?"
"i'm tiresome, the prince," said the other.
"and what are you doing out of your palace at this time of night?" asked the pig keeper, severely.
"i've been hunting," said the prince.
the pig keeper laughed. "oh, it was you i saw, then? a good hunt, wasn't it? my pigs and i were looking on."
all the sleeping forms grunted and snored, and the prince saw that they were pigs: he knew it by their manners.
"if you had known as much as i do," elfin went on, "you might have saved your pack."
"what do you mean?" said tiresome.
"why, the dragon," said elfin. "you went out at the wrong time of day.
the dragon should be hunted at night."
"no, thank you," said the prince, with a shudder. "a daylight hunt is quite good enough for me, you silly pig keeper."
"oh, well," said elfin, "do as you like about it the dragon will come and hunt you tomorrow, as likely as not. i don't care if he does, you silly prince."
"you're very rude," said tiresome.
"oh, no, only truthful," said elfin.
"well, tell me the truth, then. what is it that, if i had known as much as you do about, i shouldn't have lost my hippopotamuses?"
"you don't speak very good english," said elfin. "but come, what will you give me if i tell you?"
"if you tell me what?" said the tiresome prince.
"what you want to know."
"i don't want to know anything," said prince tiresome.
"then you're more of a silly even than i thought," said elfin. "don't you want to know how to settle the dragon before he settles you?"
"it might be as well," the prince admitted.
"well, i haven't much patience at any time," said elfin, "and now i can assure you that there's very little left. what will you give me if i tell you?"
"half my kingdom," said the prince, "and my cousin's hand in marriage."
"done," said the pig keeper. "here goes! the dragon grows small at night! he sleeps under the root of this tree. i use him to light my fire with."
and, sure enough, there under the tree was the dragon on a nest of scorched moss, and he was about as long as your finger.
"how can i kill him?" asked the prince.
"i don't know that you can kill him," said elfin, "but you can take him away if you've brought anything to put him in. that bottle of yours would do."
so between them they managed, with bits of stick and by singeing their fingers a little, to poke and shove the dragon till they made it creep into the silver hunting bottle, and then the prince screwed on the top tight.
"now we've got him," said elfin. "let's take him home and put solomon's seal on the mouth of the bottle, and then he'll be safe enough. come along we'll divide up the kingdom tomorrow, and then i shall have some money to buy fine clothes to go courting in."
but when the wicked prince made promises he did not make them to keep.
"go on with you! what do you mean?" he said. "i found the dragon and i've imprisoned him. i never said a word about courtings or kingdoms. if you say i did, i shall cut your head off at once." and he drew his sword.
"all right," said elfin, shrugging his shoulders. "i'm better off than you are, anyhow."
"what do you mean?" spluttered the prince.
"why, you've only got a kingdom (and a dragon), but i've got clean hands (and five and seventy fine black pigs)."
so elfin sat down again by his fire, and the prince went home and told his parliament how clever and brave he had been, and though he woke them up on purpose to tell them, they were not angry, but said: "you are indeed brave and clever." for they knew what happened to people with whom the prince was not pleased.
then the prime minister solemnly put solomon's seal on the mouth of the bottle, and the bottle was put in the treasury, which was the strongest building in the town, and was made of solid copper, with walls as thick as waterloo bridge.
the bottle was set down among the sacks of gold, and the junior secretary to the junior clerk of the last lord of the treasury was appointed to sit up all night with it and see if anything happened. the junior secretary had never seen a dragon, and, what was more, he did not believe the prince had ever seen a dragon either. the prince had never been a really truthful boy, and it would have been just like him to bring home a bottle with nothing in it and then to pretend that there was a dragon inside. so the junior secretary did not at all mind being left. they gave him the key, and when everyone in the town had gone back to bed he let in some of the junior secretaries from other government departments, and they had a jolly game of hide-and-seek among the sacks of gold, and played marbles with the diamonds and rubies and pearls in the big ivory chests.
they enjoyed themselves very much, but by-and-by the copper treasury began to get warmer and warmer, and suddenly the junior secretary cried out, "look at the bottle!"
the bottle sealed with solomon's seal had swollen to three times its proper size and seemed to be nearly red hot, and the air got warmer and warmer and the bottle bigger and bigger, till all the junior secretaries agreed that the place was too hot to hold them, and out they went, tumbling over each other in their haste, and just as the last got out and locked the door the bottle burst, and out came the dragon, very fiery, and swelling more and more every minute, and he began to eat the sacks of gold and crunch up the pearls and diamonds and rubies as if they were sugar.
by breakfasttime he had devoured the whole of the prince's treasures, and when the prince came along the street at about eleven, he met the dragon coming out of the broken door of the treasury, with molten gold still dripping from his jaws. then the prince turned and ran for his life, and as he ran toward the dragonproof tower the little white princess saw him coming, and she ran down and unlocked the door and let him in, and slammed the dragonproof door in the fiery face of the dragon, who sat down and whined outside, because he wanted the prince very much indeed.
the princess took prince tiresome into the best room, and laid the cloth, and gave him cream and eggs and white grapes and honey and bread, with many other things, yellow and white and good to eat, and she served him just as kindly as she would have done if he had been anyone else instead of the bad prince who had taken away her kingdom and kept it for himself because she was a true princess and had a heart of gold.
when he had eaten and drunk, he begged the princess to show him how to lock and unlock the door. the nurse was asleep, so there was no one to tell the princess not to, and she did.
see page 129.]
"you turn the key like this," she said, "and the door keeps shut. but turn it nine times around the wrong way, and the door flies open."
and so it did. and the moment it opened, the prince pushed the white princess out of her tower, just as he had pushed her out of her kingdom, and shut the door. for he wanted to have the tower all for himself. and there she was, in the street, and on the other side of the way the dragon was sitting whining, but he did not try to eat her, because though the old nurse did not know it dragons cannot eat white princesses with hearts of gold.
the princess could not walk through the streets of the town in her milky-silky gown with the daisies on it, and with no hat and no gloves, so she turned the other way, and ran out across the meadows, toward the wood. she had never been out of her tower before, and the soft grass under her feet felt like grass of paradise.
she ran right into the thickest part of the wood, because she did not know what her heart was made of, and she was afraid of the dragon, and there in a dell she came on elfin and his five and seventy fine pigs. he was playing his flute, and around him the pigs were dancing cheerfully on their hind legs.
"oh, dear," said the princess, "do take care of me. i am so frightened."
"i will," said elfin, putting his arms around her. "now you are quite safe. what were you frightened of?"
"the dragon," she said.
"so it's gotten out of the silver bottle," said elfin. "i hope it's eaten the prince."
"no," said sabrinetta. "but why?"
he told her of the mean trick that the prince had played on him.
"and he promised me half his kingdom and the hand of his cousin the princess," said elfin.
"oh, dear, what a shame!" said sabrinetta, trying to get out of his arms. "how dare he?"
"what's the matter?" he asked, holding her tighter. "it was a shame, or at least i thought so. but now he may keep his kingdom, half and whole, if i may keep what i have."
"what's that?" asked the princess.
"why, you my pretty, my dear," said elfin, "and as for the princess, his cousin forgive me, dearest heart, but when i asked for her i hadn't seen the real princess, the only princess, my princess."
"do you mean me?" said sabrinetta.
"who else?" he asked.
"yes, but five minutes ago you hadn't seen me!"
"five minutes ago i was a pig keeper now i've held you in my arms i'm a prince, though i should have to keep pigs to the end of my days."
"but you haven't asked me," said the princess.
"you asked me to take care of you," said elfin, "and i will all my life long."
so that was settled, and they began to talk of really important things, such as the dragon and the prince, and all the time elfin did not know that this was the princess, but he knew that she had a heart of gold, and he told her so, many times.
"the mistake," said elfin, "was in not having a dragonproof bottle. i see that now."
"oh, is that all?" said the princess. "i can easily get you one of those because everything in my tower is dragonproof. we ought to do something to settle the dragon and save the little children."
so she started off to get the bottle, but she would not let elfin come with her.
"if what you say is true," she said, "if you are sure that i have a heart of gold, the dragon won't hurt me, and somebody must stay with the pigs."
elfin was quite sure, so he let her go.
she found the door of her tower open. the dragon had waited patiently for the prince, and the moment he opened the door and came out though he was only out for an instant to post a letter to his prime minister saying where he was and asking them to send the fire brigade to deal with the fiery dragon the dragon ate him. then the dragon went back to the wood, because it was getting near his time to grow small for the night.
so sabrinetta went in and kissed her nurse and made her a cup of tea and explained what was going to happen, and that she had a heart of gold, so the dragon couldn't eat her; and the nurse saw that of course the princess was quite safe, and kissed her and let her go.
she took the dragonproof bottle, made of burnished brass, and ran back to the wood, and to the dell, where elfin was sitting among his sleek black pigs, waiting for her.
"i thought you were never coming back," he said. "you have been away a year, at least."
the princess sat down beside him among the pigs, and they held each other's hands till it was dark, and then the dragon came crawling over the moss, scorching it as he came, and getting smaller as he crawled, and curled up under the root of the tree.
"now then," said elfin, "you hold the bottle." then he poked and prodded the dragon with bits of stick till it crawled into the dragonproof bottle. but there was no stopper.
"never mind," said elfin. "i'll put my finger in for a stopper."
"no, let me," said the princess. but of course elfin would not let her.
he stuffed his finger into the top of the bottle, and the princess cried out: "the sea the sea run for the cliffs!" and off they went, with the five and seventy pigs trotting steadily after them in a long black procession.
the bottle got hotter and hotter in elfin's hands, because the dragon inside was puffing fire and smoke with all his might hotter and hotter and hotter but elfin held on till they came to the cliff edge, and there was the dark blue sea, and the whirlpool going around and around.
elfin lifted the bottle high above his head and hurled it out between the stars and the sea, and it fell in the middle of the whirlpool.
"we've saved the country," said the princess. "you've saved the little children. give me your hands."
"i can't," said elfin. "i shall never be able to take your dear hands again. my hands are burnt off."
and so they were: there were only black cinders where his hands ought to have been. the princess kissed them, and cried over them, and tore pieces of her silky-milky gown to tie them up with, and the two went back to the tower and told the nurse all about everything. and the pigs sat outside and waited.
"he is the bravest man in the world," said sabrinetta. "he has saved the country and the little children; but, oh, his hands his poor, dear, darling hands!"
here the door of the room opened, and the oldest of the five and seventy pigs came in. it went up to elfin and rubbed itself against him with little loving grunts.
"see the dear creature," said the nurse, wiping away a tear. "it knows, it knows!"
sabrinetta stroked the pig, because elfin had no hands for stroking or for anything else.
"the only cure for a dragon burn," said the old nurse, "is pig's fat, and well that faithful creature knows it "
"i wouldn't for a kingdom," cried elfin, stroking the pig as best he could with his elbow.
"is there no other cure?" asked the princess.
here another pig put its black nose in at the door, and then another and another, till the room was full of pigs, a surging mass of rounded blackness, pushing and struggling to get at elfin, and grunting softly in the language of true affection.
"there is one other," said the nurse. "the dear, affectionate beasts they all want to die for you."
"what is the other cure?" said sabrinetta anxiously.
"if a man is burnt by a dragon," said the nurse, "and a certain number of people are willing to die for him, it is enough if each should kiss the burn and wish it well in the depths of his loving heart."
"the number! the number!" cried sabrinetta.
"seventy-seven," said the nurse.
"we have only seventy-five pigs," said the princess, "and with me that's seventy-six!"
"it must be seventy-seven and i really can't die for him, so nothing can be done," said the nurse, sadly. "he must have cork hands."
"i knew about the seventy-seven loving people," said elfin. "but i never thought my dear pigs loved me so much as all this, and my dear too and, of course, that only makes it more impossible. there's one other charm that cures dragon burns, though; but i'd rather be burnt black all over than marry anyone but you, my dear, my pretty."
"why, who must you marry to cure your dragon burns?" asked sabrinetta.
"a princess. that's how st. george cured his burns."
"there now! think of that!" said the nurse. "and i never heard tell of that cure, old as i am."
but sabrinetta threw her arms round elfin's neck, and held him as though she would never let him go.
"then it's all right, my dear, brave, precious elfin," she cried, "for i am a princess, and you shall be my prince. come along, nurse don't wait to put on your bonnet. we'll go and be married this very moment."
so they went, and the pigs came after, moving in stately blackness, two by two. and, the minute he was married to the princess, elfin's hands got quite well. and the people, who were weary of prince tiresome and his hippopotamuses, hailed sabrinetta and her husband as rightful sovereigns of the land.
next morning the prince and princess went out to see if the dragon had been washed ashore. they could see nothing of him; but when they looked out toward the whirlpool they saw a cloud of steam; and the fishermen reported that the water for miles around was hot enough to shave with!
and as the water is hot there to this day, we may feel pretty sure that the fierceness of that dragon was such that all the waters of all the sea were not enough to cool him. the whirlpool is too strong for him to be able to get out of it, so there he spins around and around forever and ever, doing some useful work at last, and warming the water for poor fisher-folk to shave with.
the prince and princess rule the land well and wisely. the nurse lives with them, and does nothing but fine sewing, and only that when she wants to very much. the prince keeps no hippopotamuses, and is consequently very popular. the five and seventy devoted pigs live in white marble sties with brass knockers and pig on the doorplate, and are washed twice a day with turkish sponges and soap scented with violets, and no one objects to their following the prince when he walks abroad, for they behave beautifully, and always keep to the footpath, and obey the notices about not walking on the grass. the princess feeds them every day with her own hands, and her first edict on coming to the throne was that the word pork should never be uttered on pain of death, and should, besides, be scratched out of all the dictionaries.
kind little edmund]
viii. kind little edmund, or the caves and the cockatrice
edmund was a boy. the people who did not like him said that he was the most tiresome boy that ever lived, but his grandmother and his other friends said that he had an inquiring mind. and his granny often added that he was the best of boys. but she was very kind and very old.
edmund loved to find out about things. perhaps you will think that in that case he was constant in his attendance at school, since there, if anywhere, we may learn whatever there is to be learned. but edmund did not want to learn things: he wanted to find things out, which is quite different. his inquiring mind led him to take clocks to pieces to see what made them go, to take locks off doors to see what made them stick.
it was edmund who cut open the india rubber ball to see what made it bounce, and he never did see, any more than you did when you tried the same experiment.
edmund lived with his grandmother. she loved him very much, in spite of his inquiring mind, and hardly scolded him at all when he frizzled up her tortoiseshell comb in his anxiety to find out whether it was made of real tortoiseshell or of something that would burn. edmund went to school, of course, now and then, and sometimes he could not prevent himself from learning something, but he never did it on purpose.
"it is such waste of time," said he. "they only know what everybody knows. i want to find out new things that nobody has thought of but me."
"i don't think you're likely to find out anything that none of the wise men in the whole world have thought of all these thousands of years,"
said granny.
but edmund did not agree with her. he played truant whenever he could, for he was a kindhearted boy, and could not bear to think of a master's time and labor being thrown away on a boy like himself who did not wish to learn, only to find out when there were so many worthy lads thirsting for instruction in geography and history and reading and ciphering, and mr. smiles's "self-help."
other boys played truant too, of course and these went nutting or blackberrying or wild plum gathering, but edmund never went on the side of the town where the green woods and hedges grew. he always went up the mountain where the great rocks were, and the tall, dark pine trees, and where other people were afraid to go because of the strange noises that came out of the caves.
edmund was not afraid of these noises though they were very strange and terrible. he wanted to find out what made them.
one day he did. he had invented, all by himself, a very ingenious and new kind of lantern, made with a turnip and a tumbler, and when he took the candle out of granny's bedroom candlestick to put in it, it gave quite a splendid light.
he had to go to school next day, and he was caned for being absent without leave although he very straightforwardly explained that he had been too busy making the lantern to have time to come to school.
but the day after he got up very early and took the lunch granny had ready for him to take to school two boiled eggs and an apple turnover and he took his lantern and went off as straight as a dart to the mountains to explore the caves.
the caves were very dark, but his lantern lighted them up beautifully; and they were most interesting caves, with stalactites and stalagmites and fossils, and all the things you read about in the instructive books for the young. but edmund did not care for any of these things just then. he wanted to find out what made the noises that people were afraid of, and there was nothing in the caves to tell him.
presently he sat down in the biggest cave and listened very carefully, and it seemed to him that he could distinguish three different sorts of noises. there was a heavy rumbling sound, like a very large old gentleman asleep after dinner; and there was a smaller sort of rumble going on at the same time; and there was a sort of crowing, clucking sound, such as a chicken might make if it happened to be as big as a haystack.
"it seems to me," said edmund to himself, "that the clucking is nearer than the others." so he started up again and explored the caves once more. he found out nothing, but about halfway up the wall of the cave, he saw a hole. and, being a boy, he climbed up to it and crept in; and it was the entrance to a rocky passage. and now the clucking sounded more plainly than before, and he could hardly hear the rumbling at all.
"i am going to find out something at last," said edmund, and on he went. the passage wound and twisted, and twisted and turned, and turned and wound, but edmund kept on.
"my lantern's burning better and better," said he presently, but the next minute he saw that all the light did not come from his lantern. it was a pale yellow light, and it shone down the passage far ahead of him through what looked like the chink of a door.
"i expect it's the fire in the middle of the earth," said edmund, who had not been able to help learning about that at school.
but quite suddenly the fire ahead gave a pale flicker and went down; and the clucking ceased.
the next moment edmund turned a corner and found himself in front of a rocky door. the door was ajar. he went in, and there was a round cave, like the dome of st. paul's. in the middle of the cave was a hole like a very big hand-washing basin, and in the middle of the basin edmund saw a large pale person sitting.
this person had a man's face and a griffin's body, and big feathery wings, and a snake's tail, and a cock's comb and neck feathers.
"whatever are you?" said edmund.
"i'm a poor starving cockatrice," answered the pale person in a very faint voice, "and i shall die oh, i know i shall! my fire's gone out! i can't think how it happened; i must have been asleep. i have to stir it seven times round with my tail once in a hundred years to keep it alight, and my watch must have been wrong. and now i shall die."
i think i have said before what a kindhearted boy edmund was.
"cheer up," said he. "i'll light your fire for you." and off he went, and in a few minutes he came back with a great armful of sticks from the pine trees outside, and with these and a lesson book or two that he had forgotten to lose before, and which, quite by an oversight, were safe in his pocket, he lit a fire all around the cockatrice. the wood blazed up, and presently something in the basin caught fire, and edmund saw that it was a sort of liquid that burned like the brandy in a snapdragon. and now the cockatrice stirred it with his tail and flapped his wings in it so that some of it splashed out on edmund's hand and burnt it rather badly. but the cockatrice grew red and strong and happy, and its comb grew scarlet, and its feathers glossy, and it lifted itself up and crowed "cock-a-trice-a-doodle-doo!" very loudly and clearly.
edmund's kindly nature was charmed to see the cockatrice so much improved in health, and he said: "don't mention it; delighted, i'm sure," when the cockatrice began to thank him.
"but what can i do for you?" said the creature.
"tell me stories," said edmund.
"what about?" said the cockatrice.
"about true things that they don't know at school," said edmund.
so the cockatrice began, and he told him about mines and treasures and geological formations, and about gnomes and fairies and dragons, and about glaciers and the stone age and the beginning of the world, and about the unicorn and the phoenix, and about magic, black and white.
and edmund ate his eggs and his turnover, and listened. and when he got hungry again he said good-bye and went home. but he came again the next day for more stories, and the next day, and the next, for a long time.
he told the boys at school about the cockatrice and his wonderful true tales, and the boys liked the stories; but when he told the master he was caned for untruthfulness.
"but it's true," said edmund. "just you look where the fire burnt my hand."
"i see you've been playing with fire into mischief as usual," said the master, and he caned edmund harder than ever. the master was ignorant and unbelieving: but i am told that some schoolmasters are not like that.
now, one day edmund made a new lantern out of something chemical that he sneaked from the school laboratory. and with it he went exploring again to see if he could find the things that made the other sorts of noises.
and in quite another part of the mountain he found a dark passage, all lined with brass, so that it was like the inside of a huge telescope, and at the very end of it he found a bright green door. there was a brass plate on the door that said mrs. d. knock and ring, and a white label that said call me at three. edmund had a watch: it had been given to him on his birthday two days before, and he had not yet had time to take it to pieces and see what made it go, so it was still going. he looked at it now. it said a quarter to three.
did i tell you before what a kindhearted boy edmund was? he sat down on the brass doorstep and waited till three o'clock. then he knocked and rang, and there was a rattling and puffing inside. the great door flew open, and edmund had only just time to hide behind it when out came an immense yellow dragon, who wriggled off down the brass cave like a long, rattling worm or perhaps more like a monstrous centipede.
edmund crept slowly out and saw the dragon stretching herself on the rocks in the sun, and he crept past the great creature and tore down the hill into the town and burst into school, crying out: "there's a great dragon coming! somebody ought to do something, or we shall all be destroyed."
he was caned for untruthfulness without any delay. his master was never one for postponing a duty.
"but it's true," said edmund. "you just see if it isn't."
he pointed out of the window, and everyone could see a vast yellow cloud rising up into the air above the mountain.
"it's only a thunder shower," said the master, and caned edmund more than ever. this master was not like some masters i know: he was very obstinate, and would not believe his own eyes if they told him anything different from what he had been saying before his eyes spoke.
so while the master was writing lying is very wrong, and liars must be caned. it is all for their own good on the black-board for edmund to copy out seven hundred times, edmund sneaked out of school and ran for his life across the town to warn his granny, but she was not at home. so then he made off through the back door of the town, and raced up the hill to tell the cockatrice and ask for his help. it never occurred to him that the cockatrice might not believe him. you see, he had heard so many wonderful tales from him and had believed them all and when you believe all a person's stories they ought to believe yours. this is only fair.
at the mouth of the cockatrice's cave edmund stopped, very much out of breath, to look back at the town. as he ran he had felt his little legs tremble and shake, while the shadows of the great yellow cloud fell upon him. now he stood once more between warm earth and blue sky, and looked down on the green plain dotted with fruit trees and red-roofed farms and plots of gold corn. in the middle of that plain the gray town lay, with its strong walls with the holes pierced for the archers, and its square towers with holes for dropping melted lead on the heads of strangers; its bridges and its steeples; the quiet river edged with willow and alder; and the pleasant green garden place in the middle of the town, where people sat on holidays to smoke their pipes and listen to the band.
edmund saw it all; and he saw, too, creeping across the plain, marking her way by a black line as everything withered at her touch, the great yellow dragon and he saw that she was many times bigger than the whole town.
"oh, my poor, dear granny," said edmund, for he had a feeling heart, as i ought to have told you before.
the yellow dragon crept nearer and nearer, licking her greedy lips with her long red tongue, and edmund knew that in the school his master was still teaching earnestly and still not believing edmund's tale the least little bit.
"he'll jolly well have to believe it soon, anyhow," said edmund to himself, and though he was a very tender-hearted boy i think it only fair to tell you that he was this i am afraid he was not as sorry as he ought to have been to think of the way in which his master was going to learn how to believe what edmund said. then the dragon opened her jaws wider and wider and wider. edmund shut his eyes, for though his master was in the town, the amiable edmund shrank from beholding the awful sight.
when he opened his eyes again there was no town only a bare place where it had stood, and the dragon licking her lips and curling herself up to go to sleep, just as kitty does when she has quite finished with a mouse. edmund gasped once or twice, and then ran into the cave to tell the cockatrice.
"well," said the cockatrice thoughtfully, when the tale had been told.
"what then?"
"i don't think you quite understand," said edmund gently. "the dragon has swallowed up the town."
"does it matter?" said the cockatrice.
"but i live there," said edmund blankly.
"never mind," said the cockatrice, turning over in the pool of fire to warm its other side, which was chilly, because edmund had, as usual, forgotten to close the cave door. "you can live here with me."
"i'm afraid i haven't made my meaning clear," said edmund patiently.
"you see, my granny is in the town, and i can't bear to lose my granny like this."
"i don't know what a granny may be," said the cockatrice, who seemed to be growing weary of the subject, "but if it's a possession to which you attach any importance "
"of course it is," said edmund, losing patience at last. "oh do help me. what can i do?"
"if i were you," said his friend, stretching itself out in the pool of flame so that the waves covered him up to his chin, "i should find the drakling and bring it here."
"but why?" said edmund. he had gotten into the habit of asking why at school, and the master had always found it trying. as for the cockatrice, he was not going to stand that sort of thing for a moment.
"oh, don't talk to me!" he said, splashing angrily in the flames. "i give you advice; take it or leave it i shan't bother about you anymore.
if you bring the drakling here to me, i'll tell you what to do next. if not, not."
and the cockatrice drew the fire up close around his shoulders, tucked himself up in it, and went to sleep.
now this was exactly the right way to manage edmund, only no one had ever thought of trying to do it before.
he stood for a moment looking at the cockatrice; the cockatrice looked at edmund out of the corner of his eye and began to snore very loudly, and edmund understood, once and for all, that the cockatrice wasn't going to put up with any nonsense. he respected the cockatrice very much from that moment, and set off at once to do exactly as he was told for perhaps the first time in his life.
though he had played truant so often, he knew one or two things that perhaps you don't know, though you have always been so good and gone to school regularly. for instance, he knew that a drakling is a dragon's baby, and he felt sure that what he had to do was to find the third of the three noises that people used to hear coming from the mountains. of course, the clucking had been the cockatrice, and the big noise like a large gentleman asleep after dinner had been the big dragon. so the smaller rumbling must have been the drakling.
he plunged boldly into the caves and searched and wandered and wandered and searched, and at last he came to a third door in the mountain, and on it was written the baby is asleep. just before the door stood fifty pairs of copper shoes, and no one could have looked at them for a moment without seeing what sort of feet they were made for, for each shoe had five holes in it for the drakling's five claws. and there were fifty pairs because the drakling took after his mother, and had a hundred feet no more and no less. he was the kind called draco centipedis in the learned books.
edmund was a good deal frightened, but he remembered the grim expression of the cockatrice's eye, and the fixed determination of his snore still rang in his ears, in spite of the snoring of the drakling, which was, in itself, considerable. he screwed up his courage, flung the door open, and called out: "hello, you drakling. get out of bed this minute."
the drakling stopped snoring and said sleepily: "it ain't time yet."
"your mother says you are to, anyhow; and look sharp about it, what's more," said edmund, gaining courage from the fact that the drakling had not yet eaten him.
the drakling sighed, and edmund could hear it getting out of bed. the next moment it began to come out of its room and to put on its shoes. it was not nearly so big as its mother; only about the size of a baptist chapel.
"hurry up," said edmund, as it fumbled clumsily with the seventeenth shoe.
"mother said i was never to go out without my shoes," said the drakling; so edmund had to help it to put them on. it took some time, and was not a comfortable occupation.
at last the drakling said it was ready, and edmund, who had forgotten to be frightened, said, "come on then," and they went back to the cockatrice.
the cave was rather narrow for the drakling, but it made itself thin, as you may see a fat worm do when it wants to get through a narrow crack in a piece of hard earth.
"here it is," said edmund, and the cockatrice woke up at once and asked the drakling very politely to sit down and wait. "your mother will be here presently," said the cockatrice, stirring up its fire.
the drakling sat down and waited, but it watched the fire with hungry eyes.
"i beg your pardon," it said at last, "but i am always accustomed to having a little basin of fire as soon as i get up, and i feel rather faint. might i?"
it reached out a claw toward the cockatrice's basin.
"certainly not," said the cockatrice sharply. "where were you brought up? did they never teach you that 'we must not ask for all we see'? eh?"
"i beg your pardon," said the drakling humbly, "but i am really very hungry."
the cockatrice beckoned edmund to the side of the basin and whispered in his ear so long and so earnestly that one side of the dear boy's hair was quite burnt off. and he never once interrupted the cockatrice to ask why. but when the whispering was over, edmund whose heart, as i may have mentioned, was very tender said to the drakling: "if you are really hungry, poor thing, i can show you where there is plenty of fire." and off he went through the caves, and the drakling followed.
when edmund came to the proper place he stopped.
there was a round iron thing in the floor, like the ones the men shoot the coals down into your cellar, only much larger. edmund heaved it up by a hook that stuck out at one side, and a rush of hot air came up that nearly choked him. but the drakling came close and looked down with one eye and sniffed, and said: "that smells good, eh?"
"yes," said edmund, "well, that's the fire in the middle of the earth.
there's plenty of it, all done to a turn. you'd better go down and begin your breakfast, hadn't you?"
so the drakling wriggled through the hole, and began to crawl faster and faster down the slanting shaft that leads to the fire in the middle of the earth. and edmund, doing exactly as he had been told, for a wonder, caught the end of the drakling's tail and ran the iron hook through it so that the drakling was held fast. and it could not turn around and wriggle up again to look after its poor tail, because, as everyone knows, the way to the fires below is very easy to go down, but quite impossible to come back on. there is something about it in latin, beginning: "facilis descensus."
so there was the drakling, fast by the silly tail of it, and there was edmund very busy and important and very pleased with himself, hurrying back to the cockatrice.
"now," said he.
"well, now," said the cockatrice. "go to the mouth of the cave and laugh at the dragon so that she hears you."
edmund very nearly said "why?" but he stopped in time, and instead, said: "she won't hear me "
"oh, very well," said the cockatrice. "no doubt you know best," and he began to tuck himself up again in the fire, so edmund did as he was bid.
and when he began to laugh his laughter echoed in the mouth of the cave till it sounded like the laughter of a whole castleful of giants.
and the dragon, lying asleep in the sun, woke up and said very crossly:
"what are you laughing at?"
"at you," said edmund, and went on laughing. the dragon bore it as long as she could, but, like everyone else, she couldn't stand being made fun of, so presently she dragged herself up the mountain very slowly, because she had just had a rather heavy meal, and stood outside and said, "what are you laughing at?" in a voice that made edmund feel as if he should never laugh again.
then the good cockatrice called out: "at you! you've eaten your own drakling swallowed it with the town. your own little drakling! he, he, he! ha, ha, ha!"
and edmund found the courage to cry "ha, ha!" which sounded like tremendous laughter in the echo of the cave.
"dear me," said the dragon. "i thought the town stuck in my throat rather. i must take it out, and look through it more carefully." and with that she coughed and choked and there was the town, on the hillside.
edmund had run back to the cockatrice, and it had told him what to do.
so before the dragon had time to look through the town again for her drakling, the voice of the drakling itself was heard howling miserably from inside the mountain, because edmund was pinching its tail as hard as he could in the round iron door, like the one where the men pour the coals out of the sacks into the cellar. and the dragon heard the voice and said: "why, whatever's the matter with baby? he's not here!" and made herself thin, and crept into the mountain to find her drakling. the cockatrice kept on laughing as loud as it could, and edmund kept on pinching, and presently the great dragon very long and narrow she had made herself found her head where the round hole was with the iron lid.
her tail was a mile or two off outside the mountain. when edmund heard her coming he gave one last nip to the drakling's tail, and then heaved up the lid and stood behind it, so that the dragon could not see him.
then he loosed the drakling's tail from the hook, and the dragon peeped down the hole just in time to see her drakling's tail disappear down the smooth, slanting shaft with one last squeak of pain. whatever may have been the poor dragon's other faults, she was an excellent mother. she plunged headfirst into the hole, and slid down the shaft after her baby.
edmund watched her head go and then the rest of her. she was so long, now she had stretched herself thin, that it took all night. it was like watching a goods train go by in germany. when the last joint of her tail had gone edmund slammed down the iron door. he was a kindhearted boy, as you have guessed, and he was glad to think that dragon and drakling would now have plenty to eat of their favorite food, forever and ever.
he thanked the cockatrice for his kindness, and got home just in time to have breakfast and get to school by nine. of course, he could not have done this if the town had been in its old place by the river in the middle of the plain, but it had taken root on the hillside just where the dragon left it.
"well," said the master, "where were you yesterday?"
edmund explained, and the master at once caned him for not speaking the truth.
"but it is true," said edmund. "why, the whole town was swallowed by the dragon. you know it was "
"nonsense," said the master. "there was a thunderstorm and an earthquake, that's all." and he caned edmund more than ever.
"but," said edmund, who always would argue, even in the least favorable circumstances, "how do you account for the town being on the hillside now, instead of by the river as it used to be?"
"it was always on the hillside," said the master. and all the class said the same, for they had more sense than to argue with a person who carried a cane.
"but look at the maps," said edmund, who wasn't going to be beaten in argument, whatever he might be in the flesh. the master pointed to the map on the wall.
there was the town, on the hillside! and nobody but edmund could see that of course the shock of being swallowed by the dragon had upset all the maps and put them wrong.
and then the master caned edmund again, explaining that this time it was not for untruthfulness, but for his vexatious argumentative habits. this will show you what a prejudiced and ignorant man edmund's master was how different from the revered head of the nice school where your good parents are kind enough to send you.
the next day edmund thought he would prove his tale by showing people the cockatrice, and he actually persuaded some people to go into the cave with him; but the cockatrice had bolted himself in and would not open the door so edmund got nothing by that except a scolding for taking people on a wild-goose chase.
"a wild goose," said they, "is nothing like a cockatrice."
and poor edmund could not say a word, though he knew how wrong they were. the only person who believed him was his granny. but then she was very old and very kind, and had always said he was the best of boys.
only one good thing came of all this long story. edmund has never been quite the same boy since. he does not argue quite so much, and he agreed to be apprenticed to a locksmith, so that he might one day be able to pick the lock of the cockatrice's front door and learn some more of the things that other people don't know.
but he is quite an old man now, and he hasn't gotten that door open yet!
the snow image
a childish miracle
one afternoon of a cold winter's day, when the sun shone forth with chilly brightness, after a long storm, two children asked leave of their mother to run out and play in the new-fallen snow. the elder child was a little girl, whom, because she was of a tender and modest disposition, and was thought to be very beautiful, her parents, and other people who were familiar with her, used to call violet. but her brother was known by the style and title of peony, on account of the ruddiness of his broad and round little phiz, which made everybody think of sunshine and great scarlet flowers. the father of these two children, a certain mr. lindsey, it is important to say, was an excellent but exceedingly matter-of-fact sort of man, a dealer in hardware, and was sturdily accustomed to take what is called the common-sense view of all matters that came under his consideration.
with a heart about as tender as other people's, he had a head as hard and impenetrable, and therefore, perhaps, as empty, as one of the iron pots which it was a part of his business to sell. the mother's character, on the other hand, had a strain of poetry in it, a trait of unworldly beauty, a delicate and dewy flower, as it were, that had survived out of her imaginative youth, and still kept itself alive amid the dusty realities of matrimony and motherhood.
so, violet and peony, as i began with saying, besought their mother to let them run out and play in the new snow; for, though it had looked so dreary and dismal, drifting downward out of the gray sky, it had a very cheerful aspect, now that the sun was shining on it. the children dwelt in a city, and had no wider play-place than a little garden before the house, divided by a white fence from the street, and with a pear-tree and two or three plum-trees overshadowing it, and some rose-bushes just in front of the parlor-windows. the trees and shrubs, however, were now leafless, and their twigs were enveloped in the light snow, which thus made a kind of wintry foliage, with here and there a pendent icicle for the fruit.
"yes, violet, yes, my little peony," said their kind mother, "you may go out and play in the new snow."
accordingly, the good lady bundled up her darlings in woollen jackets and wadded sacks, and put comforters round their necks, and a pair of striped gaiters on each little pair of legs, and worsted mittens on their hands, and gave them a kiss apiece, by way of a spell to keep away jack frost. forth sallied the two children, with a hop-skip-and-jump, that carried them at once into the very heart of a huge snow-drift, whence violet emerged like a snow-bunting, while little peony floundered out with his round face in full bloom. then what a merry time had they! to look at them, frolicking in the wintry garden, you would have thought that the dark and pitiless storm had been sent for no other purpose but to provide a new plaything for violet and peony; and that they themselves had beer created, as the snow-birds were, to take delight only in the tempest, and in the white mantle which it spread over the earth.
at last, when they had frosted one another all over with handfuls of snow, violet, after laughing heartily at little peony's figure, was struck with a new idea.
"you look exactly like a snow-image, peony," said she, "if your cheeks were not so red. and that puts me in mind! let us make an image out of snow, an image of a little girl, and it shall be our sister, and shall run about and play with us all winter long. won't it be nice?"
"oh yes!" cried peony, as plainly as he could speak, for he was but a little boy. "that will be nice! and mamma shall see it!"
"yes," answered violet; "mamma shall see the new little girl. but she must not make her come into the warm parlor; for, you know, our little snow-sister will not love the warmth."
and forthwith the children began this great business of making a snow-image that should run about; while their mother, who was sitting at the window and overheard some of their talk, could not help smiling at the gravity with which they set about it. they really seemed to imagine that there would be no difficulty whatever in creating a live little girl out of the snow. and, to say the truth, if miracles are ever to be wrought, it will be by putting our hands to the work in precisely such a simple and undoubting frame of mind as that in which violet and peony now undertook to perform one, without so much as knowing that it was a miracle. so thought the mother; and thought, likewise, that the new snow, just fallen from heaven, would be excellent material to make new beings of, if it were not so very cold.
she gazed at the children a moment longer, delighting to watch their little figures, the girl, tall for her age, graceful and agile, and so delicately colored that she looked like a cheerful thought more than a physical reality; while peony expanded in breadth rather than height, and rolled along on his short and sturdy legs as substantial as an elephant, though not quite so big. then the mother resumed her work.
what it was i forget; but she was either trimming a silken bonnet for violet, or darning a pair of stockings for little peony's short legs.
again, however, and again, and yet other agains, she could not help turning her head to the window to see how the children got on with their snow-image.
indeed, it was an exceedingly pleasant sight, those bright little souls at their task! moreover, it was really wonderful to observe how knowingly and skilfully they managed the matter. violet assumed the chief direction, and told peony what to do, while, with her own delicate fingers, she shaped out all the nicer parts of the snow-figure. it seemed, in fact, not so much to be made by the children, as to grow up under their hands, while they were playing and prattling about it. their mother was quite surprised at this; and the longer she looked, the more and more surprised she grew.
"what remarkable children mine are!" thought she, smiling with a mother's pride; and, smiling at herself, too, for being so proud of them. "what other children could have made anything so like a little girl's figure out of snow at the first trial? well; but now i must finish peony's new frock, for his grandfather is coming to-morrow, and i want the little fellow to look handsome."
so she took up the frock, and was soon as busily at work again with her needle as the two children with their snow-image. but still, as the needle travelled hither and thither through the seams of the dress, the mother made her toil light and happy by listening to the airy voices of violet and peony. they kept talking to one another all the time, their tongues being quite as active as their feet and hands. except at intervals, she could not distinctly hear what was said, but had merely a sweet impression that they were in a most loving mood, and were enjoying themselves highly, and that the business of making the snow-image went prosperously on. now and then, however, when violet and peony happened to raise their voices, the words were as audible as if they had been spoken in the very parlor where the mother sat. oh how delightfully those words echoed in her heart, even though they meant nothing so very wise or wonderful, after all!
but you must know a mother listens with her heart much more than with her ears; and thus she is often delighted with the trills of celestial music, when other people can hear nothing of the kind.
"peony, peony!" cried violet to her brother, who had gone to another part of the garden, "bring me some of that fresh snow, peony, from the very farthest corner, where we have not been trampling. i want it to shape our little snow-sister's bosom with. you know that part must be quite pure, just as it came out of the sky!"
"here it is, violet!" answered peony, in his bluff tone, but a very sweet tone, too, as he came floundering through the half-trodden drifts. "here is the snow for her little bosom. o violet, how beau-ti-ful she begins to look!"
"yes," said violet, thoughtfully and quietly; "our snow-sister does look very lovely. i did not quite know, peony, that we could make such a sweet little girl as this."
the mother, as she listened, thought how fit and delightful an incident it would be, if fairies, or still better, if angel-children were to come from paradise, and play invisibly with her own darlings, and help them to make their snow-image, giving it the features of celestial babyhood! violet and peony would not be aware of their immortal playmates, only they would see that the image grew very beautiful while they worked at it, and would think that they themselves had done it all.
"my little girl and boy deserve such playmates, if mortal children ever did!" said the mother to herself; and then she smiled again at her own motherly pride.
nevertheless, the idea seized upon her imagination; and, ever and anon, she took a glimpse out of the window, half dreaming that she might see the golden-haired children of paradise sporting with her own golden-haired violet and bright-cheeked peony.
now, for a few moments, there was a busy and earnest, but indistinct hum of the two children's voices, as violet and peony wrought together with one happy consent. violet still seemed to be the guiding spirit, while peony acted rather as a laborer, and brought her the snow from far and near. and yet the little urchin evidently had a proper understanding of the matter, too!
"peony, peony!" cried violet; for her brother was again at the other side of the garden. "bring me those light wreaths of snow that have rested on the lower branches of the pear-tree. you can clamber on the snowdrift, peony, and reach them easily. i must have them to make some ringlets for our snow-sister's head!"
"here they are, violet!" answered the little boy. "take care you do not break them. well done! well done! how pretty!"
"does she not look sweetly?" said violet, with a very satisfied tone; "and now we must have some little shining bits of ice, to make the brightness of her eyes. she is not finished yet. mamma will see how very beautiful she is; but papa will say, 'tush! nonsense! come in out of the cold!'"
"let us call mamma to look out," said peony; and then he shouted lustily, "mamma! mamma!! mamma!!! look out, and see what a nice 'ittle girl we are making!"
the mother put down her work for an instant, and looked out of the window. but it so happened that the sun for this was one of the shortest days of the whole year had sunken so nearly to the edge of the world that his setting shine came obliquely into the lady's eyes.
so she was dazzled, you must understand, and could not very distinctly observe what was in the garden. still, however, through all that bright, blinding dazzle of the sun and the new snow, she beheld a small white figure in the garden, that seemed to have a wonderful deal of human likeness about it. and she saw violet and peony, indeed, she looked more at them than at the image, she saw the two children still at work; peony bringing fresh snow, and violet applying it to the figure as scientifically as a sculptor adds clay to his model.
indistinctly as she discerned the snow-child, the mother thought to herself that never before was there a snow-figure so cunningly made, nor ever such a dear little girl and boy to make it.
"they do everything better than other children," said she, very complacently. "no wonder they make better snow-images!"
she sat down again to her work, and made as much haste with it as possible; because twilight would soon come, and peony's frock was not yet finished, and grandfather was expected, by railroad, pretty early in the morning. faster and faster, therefore, went her flying fingers.
the children, likewise, kept busily at work in the garden, and still the mother listened, whenever she could catch a word. she was amused to observe how their little imaginations had got mixed up with what they were doing, and carried away by it. they seemed positively to think that the snow-child would run about and play with them.
"what a nice playmate she will be for us, all winter long!" said violet. "i hope papa will not be afraid of her giving us a cold!
sha'n't you love her dearly, peony?"
"oh yes!" cried peony. "and i will hug her, and she shall sit down close by me and drink some of my warm milk!"
"oh no, peony!" answered violet, with grave wisdom. "that will not do at all. warm milk will not be wholesome for our little snow-sister.
little snow people, like her, eat nothing but icicles. no, no, peony; we must not give her anything warm to drink!"
there was a minute or two of silence; for peony, whose short legs were never weary, had gone on a pilgrimage again to the other side of the garden. all of a sudden, violet cried out, loudly and joyfully, "look here, peony! come quickly! a light has been shining on her cheek out of that rose-colored cloud! and the color does not go away! is not that beautiful!"
"yes; it is beau-ti-ful," answered peony, pronouncing the three syllables with deliberate accuracy. "o violet, only look at her hair!
it is all like gold!"
"oh certainly," said violet, with tranquillity, as if it were very much a matter of course. "that color, you know, comes from the golden clouds, that we see up there in the sky. she is almost finished now.
but her lips must be made very red, redder than her cheeks. perhaps, peony, it will make them red if we both kiss them!"
accordingly, the mother heard two smart little smacks, as if both her children were kissing the snow-image on its frozen mouth. but, as this did not seem to make the lips quite red enough, violet next proposed that the snow-child should be invited to kiss peony's scarlet cheek.
"come, 'ittle snow-sister, kiss me!" cried peony.
"there! she has kissed you," added violet, "and now her lips are very red. and she blushed a little, too!"
"oh, what a cold kiss!" cried peony.
just then, there came a breeze of the pure west-wind, sweeping through the garden and rattling the parlor-windows. it sounded so wintry cold, that the mother was about to tap on the window-pane with her thimbled finger, to summon the two children in, when they both cried out to her with one voice. the tone was not a tone of surprise, although they were evidently a good deal excited; it appeared rather as if they were very much rejoiced at some event that had now happened, but which they had been looking for, and had reckoned upon all along.
"mamma! mamma! we have finished our little snow-sister, and she is running about the garden with us!"
"what imaginative little beings my children are!" thought the mother, putting the last few stitches into peony's frock. "and it is strange, too that they make me almost as much a child as they themselves are! i can hardly help believing, now, that the snow-image has really come to life!"
"dear mamma!" cried violet, "pray look out and see what a sweet playmate we have!"
the mother, being thus entreated, could no longer delay to look forth from the window. the sun was now gone out of the sky, leaving, however, a rich inheritance of his brightness among those purple and golden clouds which make the sunsets of winter so magnificent. but there was not the slightest gleam or dazzle, either on the window or on the snow; so that the good lady could look all over the garden, and see everything and everybody in it. and what do you think she saw there?
violet and peony, of course, her own two darling children. ah, but whom or what did she see besides? why, if you will believe me, there was a small figure of a girl, dressed all in white, with rose-tinged cheeks and ringlets of golden hue, playing about the garden with the two children! a stranger though she was, the child seemed to be on as familiar terms with violet and peony, and they with her, as if all the three had been playmates during the whole of their little lives. the mother thought to herself that it must certainly be the daughter of one of the neighbors, and that, seeing violet and peony in the garden, the child had run across the street to play with them. so this kind lady went to the door, intending to invite the little runaway into her comfortable parlor; for, now that the sunshine was withdrawn, the atmosphere, out of doors, was already growing very cold.
but, after opening the house-door, she stood an instant on the threshold, hesitating whether she ought to ask the child to come in, or whether she should even speak to her. indeed, she almost doubted whether it were a real child after all, or only a light wreath of the new-fallen snow, blown hither and thither about the garden by the intensely cold west-wind. there was certainly something very singular in the aspect of the little stranger. among all the children of the neighborhood, the lady could remember no such face, with its pure white, and delicate rose-color, and the golden ringlets tossing about the forehead and cheeks. and as for her dress, which was entirely of white, and fluttering in the breeze, it was such as no reasonable woman would put upon a little girl, when sending her out to play, in the depth of winter. it made this kind and careful mother shiver only to look at those small feet, with nothing in the world on them, except a very thin pair of white slippers. nevertheless, airily as she was clad, the child seemed to feel not the slightest inconvenience from the cold, but danced so lightly over the snow that the tips of her toes left hardly a print in its surface; while violet could but just keep pace with her, and peony's short legs compelled him to lag behind.
once, in the course of their play, the strange child placed herself between violet and peony, and taking a hand of each, skipped merrily forward, and they along with her. almost immediately, however, peony pulled away his little fist, and began to rub it as if the fingers were tingling with cold; while violet also released herself, though with less abruptness, gravely remarking that it was better not to take hold of hands. the white-robed damsel said not a word, but danced about, just as merrily as before. if violet and peony did not choose to play with her, she could make just as good a playmate of the brisk and cold west-wind, which kept blowing her all about the garden, and took such liberties with her, that they seemed to have been friends for a long time. all this while, the mother stood on the threshold, wondering how a little girl could look so much like a flying snow-drift, or how a snow-drift could look so very like a little girl.
she called violet, and whispered to her.
"violet my darling, what is this child's name?" asked she. "does she live near us?"
"why, dearest mamma," answered violet, laughing to think that her mother did not comprehend so very plain an affair, "this is our little snow-sister whom we have just been making!"
"yes, dear mamma," cried peony, running to his mother, and looking up simply into her face. "this is our snow-image! is it not a nice 'ittle child?"
at this instant a flock of snow-birds came flitting through the air. as was very natural, they avoided violet and peony. but and this looked strange they flew at once to the white-robed child, fluttered eagerly about her head, alighted on her shoulders, and seemed to claim her as an old acquaintance. she, on her part, was evidently as glad to see these little birds, old winter's grandchildren, as they were to see her, and welcomed them by holding out both her hands. hereupon, they each and all tried to alight on her two palms and ten small fingers and thumbs, crowding one another off, with an immense fluttering of their tiny wings. one dear little bird nestled tenderly in her bosom; another put its bill to her lips. they were as joyous, all the while, and seemed as much in their element, as you may have seen them when sporting with a snow-storm.
violet and peony stood laughing at this pretty sight; for they enjoyed the merry time which their new playmate was having with these small-winged visitants, almost as much as if they themselves took part in it.
"violet," said her mother, greatly perplexed, "tell me the truth, without any jest. who is this little girl?"
"my darling mamma," answered violet, looking seriously into her mother's face, and apparently surprised that she should need any further explanation, "i have told you truly who she is. it is our little snow-image, which peony and i have been making. peony will tell you so, as well as i."
"yes, mamma," asseverated peony, with much gravity in his crimson little phiz; "this is 'ittle snow-child. is not she a nice one? but, mamma, her hand is, oh, so very cold!"
while mamma still hesitated what to think and what to do, the street-gate was thrown open, and the father of violet and peony appeared, wrapped in a pilot-cloth sack, with a fur cap drawn down over his ears, and the thickest of gloves upon his hands. mr. lindsey was a middle-aged man, with a weary and yet a happy look in his wind-flushed and frost-pinched face, as if he had been busy all the day long, and was glad to get back to his quiet home. his eyes brightened at the sight of his wife and children, although he could not help uttering a word or two of surprise, at finding the whole family in the open air, on so bleak a day, and after sunset too. he soon perceived the little white stranger sporting to and fro in the garden, like a dancing snow-wreath, and the flock of snow-birds fluttering about her head.
"pray, what little girl may that be?" inquired this very sensible man.
"surely her mother must be crazy to let her go out in such bitter weather as it has been to-day, with only that flimsy white gown and those thin slippers!"
"my dear husband," said his wife, "i know no more about the little thing than you do. some neighbor's child, i suppose. our violet and peony," she added, laughing at herself for repeating so absurd a story, "insist that she is nothing but a snow-image, which they have been busy about in the garden, almost all the afternoon."
as she said this, the mother glanced her eyes toward the spot where the children's snow-image had been made. what was her surprise, on perceiving that there was not the slightest trace of so much labor! no image at all! no piled up heap of snow! nothing whatever, save the prints of little footsteps around a vacant space!
"this is very strange!" said she.
"what is strange, dear mother?" asked violet. "dear father, do not you see how it is? this is our snow-image, which peony and i have made, because we wanted another playmate. did not we, peony?"
"yes, papa," said crimson peony. "this be our 'ittle snow-sister. is she not beau-ti-ful? but she gave me such a cold kiss!"
"poh, nonsense, children!" cried their good, honest father, who, as we have already intimated, had an exceedingly common-sensible way of looking at matters. "do not tell me of making live figures out of snow.
come, wife; this little stranger must not stay out in the bleak air a moment longer. we will bring her into the parlor; and you shall give her a supper of warm bread and milk, and make her as comfortable as you can. meanwhile, i will inquire among the neighbors; or, if necessary, send the city-crier about the streets, to give notice of a lost child."
so saying, this honest and very kind-hearted man was going toward the little white damsel, with the best intentions in the world. but violet and peony, each seizing their father by the hand, earnestly besought him not to make her come in.
"dear father," cried violet, putting herself before him, "it is true what i have been telling you! this is our little snow-girl, and she cannot live any longer than while she breathes the cold west-wind. do not make her come into the hot room!"
"yes, father," shouted peony, stamping his little foot, so mightily was he in earnest, "this be nothing but our 'ittle snow-child! she will not love the hot fire!"
"nonsense, children, nonsense, nonsense!" cried the father, half vexed, half laughing at what he considered their foolish obstinacy. "run into the house, this moment! it is too late to play any longer, now. i must take care of this little girl immediately, or she will catch her death-a-cold!"
"husband! dear husband!" said his wife, in a low voice, for she had been looking narrowly at the snow-child, and was more perplexed than ever, "there is something very singular in all this. you will think me foolish, but but may it not be that some invisible angel has been attracted by the simplicity and good faith with which our children set about their undertaking? may he not have spent an hour of his immortality in playing with those dear little souls? and so the result is what we call a miracle. no, no! do not laugh at me; i see what a foolish thought it is!"
"my dear wife," replied the husband, laughing heartily, "you are as much a child as violet and peony."
and in one sense so she was, for all through life she had kept her heart full of childlike simplicity and faith, which was as pure and clear as crystal; and, looking at all matters through this transparent medium, she sometimes saw truths so profound that other people laughed at them as nonsense and absurdity.
but now kind mr. lindsey had entered the garden, breaking away from his two children, who still sent their shrill voices after him, beseeching him to let the snow-child stay and enjoy herself in the cold west-wind.
as he approached, the snow-birds took to flight. the little white damsel, also, fled backward, shaking her head, as if to say, "pray, do not touch me!" and roguishly, as it appeared, leading him through the deepest of the snow. once, the good man stumbled, and floundered down upon his face, so that, gathering himself up again, with the snow sticking to his rough pilot-cloth sack, he looked as white and wintry as a snow-image of the largest size. some of the neighbors, meanwhile, seeing him from their windows, wondered what could possess poor mr.
lindsey to be running about his garden in pursuit of a snow-drift, which the west-wind was driving hither and thither! at length, after a vast deal of trouble, he chased the little stranger into a corner, where she could not possibly escape him. his wife had been looking on, and, it being nearly twilight, was wonder-struck to observe how the snow-child gleamed and sparkled, and how she seemed to shed a glow all round about her; and when driven into the corner, she positively glistened like a star! it was a frosty kind of brightness, too, like that of an icicle in the moonlight. the wife thought it strange that good mr. lindsey should see nothing remarkable in the snow-child's appearance.
"come, you odd little thing!" cried the honest man, seizing her by the hand, "i have caught you at last, and will make you comfortable in spite of yourself. we will put a nice warm pair of worsted stockings on your frozen little feet, and you shall have a good thick shawl to wrap yourself in. your poor white nose, i am afraid, is actually frost-bitten. but we will make it all right. come along in."
and so, with a most benevolent smile on his sagacious visage, all purple as it was with the cold, this very well-meaning gentleman took the snow-child by the hand and led her towards the house. she followed him, droopingly and reluctant; for all the glow and sparkle was gone out of her figure; and whereas just before she had resembled a bright, frosty, star-gemmed evening, with a crimson gleam on the cold horizon, she now looked as dull and languid as a thaw. as kind mr. lindsey led her up the steps of the door, violet and peony looked into his face, their eyes full of tears, which froze before they could run down their cheeks, and again entreated him not to bring their snow-image into the house.
"not bring her in!" exclaimed the kind-hearted man. "why, you are crazy, my little violet! quite crazy, my small peony! she is so cold, already, that her hand has almost frozen mine, in spite of my thick gloves. would you have her freeze to death?"
his wife, as he came up the steps, had been taking another long, earnest, almost awe-stricken gaze at the little white stranger. she hardly knew whether it was a dream or no; but she could not help fancying that she saw the delicate print of violet's fingers on the child's neck. it looked just as if, while violet was shaping out the image, she had given it a gentle pat with her hand, and had neglected to smooth the impression quite away.
"after all, husband," said the mother, recurring to her idea that the angels would be as much delighted to play with violet and peony as she herself was, "after all, she does look strangely like a snow-image! i do believe she is made of snow!"
a puff of the west-wind blew against the snow-child, and again she sparkled like a star.
"snow!" repeated good mr. lindsey, drawing the reluctant guest over his hospitable threshold. "no wonder she looks like snow. she is half frozen, poor little thing! but a good fire will put everything to rights!"
without further talk, and always with the same best intentions, this highly benevolent and common-sensible individual led the little white damsel drooping, drooping, drooping, more and more out of the frosty air, and into his comfortable parlor. a heidenberg stove, filled to the brim with intensely burning anthracite, was sending a bright gleam through the isinglass of its iron door, and causing the vase of water on its top to fume and bubble with excitement. a warm, sultry smell was diffused throughout the room. a thermometer on the wall farthest from the stove stood at eighty degrees. the parlor was hung with red curtains, and covered with a red carpet, and looked just as warm as it felt. the difference betwixt the atmosphere here and the cold, wintry twilight out of doors, was like stepping at once from nova zembla to the hottest part of india, or from the north pole into an oven. oh, this was a fine place for the little white stranger!
the common-sensible man placed the snow-child on the hearth-rug, right in front of the hissing and fuming stove.
"now she will be comfortable!" cried mr. lindsey, rubbing his hands and looking about him, with the pleasantest smile you ever saw. "make yourself at home, my child."
sad, sad and drooping, looked the little white maiden, as she stood on the hearth-rug, with the hot blast of the stove striking through her like a pestilence. once, she threw a glance wistfully toward the windows, and caught a glimpse, through its red curtains, of the snow-covered roofs, and the stars glimmering frostily, and all the delicious intensity of the cold night. the bleak wind rattled the window-panes, as if it were summoning her to come forth. but there stood the snow-child, drooping, before the hot stove!
but the common-sensible man saw nothing amiss.
"come wife," said he, "let her have a pair of thick stockings and a woollen shawl or blanket directly; and tell dora to give her some warm supper as soon as the milk boils. you, violet and peony, amuse your little friend. she is out of spirits, you see, at finding herself in a strange place. for my part, i will go around among the neighbors, and find out where she belongs."
the mother, meanwhile, had gone in search of the shawl and stockings; for her own view of the matter, however subtle and delicate, had given way, as it always did, to the stubborn materialism of her husband.
without heeding the remonstrances of his two children, who still kept murmuring that their little snow-sister did not love the warmth, good mr. lindsey took his departure, shutting the parlor-door carefully behind him. turning up the collar of his sack over his ears, he emerged from the house, and had barely reached the street-gate, when he was recalled by the screams of violet and peony, and the rapping of a thimbled finger against the parlor window.
"husband! husband!" cried his wife, showing her horror-stricken face through the window-panes. "there is no need of going for the child's parents!"
"we told you so, father!" screamed violet and peony, as he re-entered the parlor. "you would bring her in; and now our poor dear-beau-ti-ful little snow-sister is thawed!"
and their own sweet little faces were already dissolved in tears; so that their father, seeing what strange things occasionally happen in this every-day world, felt not a little anxious lest his children might be going to thaw too! in the utmost perplexity, he demanded an explanation of his wife. she could only reply, that, being summoned to the parlor by the cries of violet and peony, she found no trace of the little white maiden, unless it were the remains of a heap of snow, which, while she was gazing at it, melted quite away upon the hearth-rug.
"and there you see all that is left of it!" added she, pointing to a pool of water in front of the stove.
"yes, father," said violet looking reproachfully at him, through her tears, "there is all that is left of our dear little snow-sister!"
"naughty father!" cried peony, stamping his foot, and i shudder to say shaking his little fist at the common-sensible man. "we told you how it would be! what for did you bring her in?"
and the heidenberg stove, through the isinglass of its door, seemed to glare at good mr. lindsey, like a red-eyed demon, triumphing in the mischief which it had done!
this, you will observe, was one of those rare cases, which yet will occasionally happen, where common-sense finds itself at fault. the remarkable story of the snow-image, though to that sagacious class of people to whom good mr. lindsey belongs it may seem but a childish affair, is, nevertheless, capable of being moralized in various methods, greatly for their edification. one of its lessons, for instance, might be, that it behooves men, and especially men of benevolence, to consider well what they are about, and, before acting on their philanthropic purposes, to be quite sure that they comprehend the nature and all the relations of the business in hand. what has been established as an element of good to one being may prove absolute mischief to another; even as the warmth of the parlor was proper enough for children of flesh and blood, like violet and peony, though by no means very wholesome, even for them, but involved nothing short of annihilation to the unfortunate snow-image.
but, after all, there is no teaching anything to wise men of good mr.
lindsey's stamp. they know everything, oh, to be sure! everything that has been, and everything that is, and everything that, by any future possibility, can be. and, should some phenomenon of nature or providence transcend their system, they will not recognize it, even if it come to pass under their very noses.
"wife," said mr. lindsey, after a fit of silence, "see what a quantity of snow the children have brought in on their feet! it has made quite a puddle here before the stove. pray tell dora to bring some towels and mop it up!"
the great stone face
one afternoon, when the sun was going down, a mother and her little boy sat at the door of their cottage, talking about the great stone face.
they had but to lift their eyes, and there it was plainly to be seen, though miles away, with the sunshine brightening all its features.
and what was the great stone face?
embosomed amongst a family of lofty mountains, there was a valley so spacious that it contained many thousand inhabitants. some of these good people dwelt in log-huts, with the black forest all around them, on the steep and difficult hill-sides. others had their homes in comfortable farm-houses, and cultivated the rich soil on the gentle slopes or level surfaces of the valley. others, again, were congregated into populous villages, where some wild, highland rivulet, tumbling down from its birthplace in the upper mountain region, had been caught and tamed by human cunning, and compelled to turn the machinery of cotton-factories. the inhabitants of this valley, in short, were numerous, and of many modes of life. but all of them, grown people and children, had a kind of familiarity with the great stone face, although some possessed the gift of distinguishing this grand natural phenomenon more perfectly than many of their neighbors.
the great stone face, then, was a work of nature in her mood of majestic playfulness, formed on the perpendicular side of a mountain by some immense rocks, which had been thrown together in such a position as, when viewed at a proper distance, precisely to resemble the features of the human countenance. it seemed as if an enormous giant, or a titan, had sculptured his own likeness on the precipice. there was the broad arch of the forehead, a hundred feet in height; the nose, with its long bridge; and the vast lips, which, if they could have spoken, would have rolled their thunder accents from one end of the valley to the other. true it is, that if the spectator approached too near, he lost the outline of the gigantic visage, and could discern only a heap of ponderous and gigantic rocks, piled in chaotic ruin one upon another. retracing his steps, however, the wondrous features would again be seen; and the farther he withdrew from them, the more like a human face, with all its original divinity intact, did they appear; until, as it grew dim in the distance, with the clouds and glorified vapor of the mountains clustering about it, the great stone face seemed positively to be alive.
it was a happy lot for children to grow up to manhood or womanhood with the great stone face before their eyes, for all the features were noble, and the expression was at once grand and sweet, as if it were the glow of a vast, warm heart, that embraced all mankind in its affections, and had room for more. it was an education only to look at it. according to the belief of many people, the valley owed much of its fertility to this benign aspect that was continually beaming over it, illuminating the clouds, and infusing its tenderness into the sunshine.
as we began with saying, a mother and her little boy sat at their cottage-door, gazing at the great stone face, and talking about it. the child's name was ernest.
"mother," said he, while the titanic visage smiled on him, "i wish that it could speak, for it looks so very kindly that its voice must needs be pleasant. if i were to see a man with such a face, i should love him dearly."
"if an old prophecy should come to pass," answered his mother, "we may see a man, some time or other, with exactly such a face as that."
"what prophecy do you mean, dear mother?" eagerly inquired ernest.
"pray tell me about it!"
so his mother told him a story that her own mother had told to her, when she herself was younger than little ernest; a story, not of things that were past, but of what was yet to come; a story, nevertheless, so very old, that even the indians, who formerly inhabited this valley, had heard it from their forefathers, to whom, as they affirmed, it had been murmured by the mountain streams, and whispered by the wind among the tree-tops. the purport was, that, at some future day, a child should be born hereabouts, who was destined to become the greatest and noblest personage of his time, and whose countenance, in manhood, should bear an exact resemblance to the great stone face. not a few old-fashioned people, and young ones likewise, in the ardor of their hopes, still cherished an enduring faith in this old prophecy. but others, who had seen more of the world, had watched and waited till they were weary, and had beheld no man with such a face, nor any man that proved to be much greater or nobler than his neighbors, concluded it to be nothing but an idle tale. at all events, the great man of the prophecy had not yet appeared.
"o mother, dear mother!" cried ernest, clapping his hands above his head, "i do hope that i shall live to see him!"
his mother was an affectionate and thoughtful woman, and felt that it was wisest not to discourage the generous hopes of her little boy. so she only said to him, "perhaps you may."
and ernest never forgot the story that his mother told him. it was always in his mind, whenever he looked upon the great stone face. he spent his childhood in the log-cottage where he was born, and was dutiful to his mother, and helpful to her in many things, assisting her much with his little hands, and more with his loving heart. in this manner, from a happy yet often pensive child, he grew up to be a mild, quiet, unobtrusive boy, and sun-browned with labor in the fields, but with more intelligence brightening his aspect than is seen in many lads who have been taught at famous schools. yet ernest had had no teacher, save only that the great stone face became one to him. when the toil of the day was over, he would gaze at it for hours, until he began to imagine that those vast features recognized him, and gave him a smile of kindness and encouragement, responsive to his own look of veneration. we must not take upon us to affirm that this was a mistake, although the face may have looked no more kindly at ernest than at all the world besides. but the secret was that the boy's tender and confiding simplicity discerned what other people could not see; and thus the love, which was meant for all, became his peculiar portion.
about this time there went a rumor throughout the valley, that the great man, foretold from ages long ago, who was to bear a resemblance to the great stone face, had appeared at last. it seems that, many years before, a young man had migrated from the valley and settled at a distant seaport, where, after getting together a little money, he had set up as a shopkeeper. his name but i could never learn whether it was his real one, or a nickname that had grown out of his habits and success in life was gathergold. being shrewd and active, and endowed by providence with that inscrutable faculty which develops itself in what the world calls luck, he became an exceedingly rich merchant, and owner of a whole fleet of bulky-bottomed ships. all the countries of the globe appeared to join hands for the mere purpose of adding heap after heap to the mountainous accumulation of this one man's wealth.
the cold regions of the north, almost within the gloom and shadow of the arctic circle, sent him their tribute in the shape of furs; hot africa sifted for him the golden sands of her rivers, and gathered up the ivory tusks of her great elephants out of the forests; the east came bringing him the rich shawls, and spices, and teas, and the effulgence of diamonds, and the gleaming purity of large pearls. the ocean, not to be behindhand with the earth, yielded up her mighty whales, that mr. gathergold might sell their oil, and make a profit of it. be the original commodity what it might, it was gold within his grasp. it might be said of him, as of midas in the fable, that whatever he touched with his finger immediately glistened, and grew yellow, and was changed at once into sterling metal, or, which suited him still better, into piles of coin. and, when mr. gathergold had become so very rich that it would have taken him a hundred years only to count his wealth, he bethought himself of his native valley, and resolved to go back thither, and end his days where he was born. with this purpose in view, he sent a skilful architect to build him such a palace as should be fit for a man of his vast wealth to live in.
as i have said above, it had already been rumored in the valley that mr. gathergold had turned out to be the prophetic personage so long and vainly looked for, and that his visage was the perfect and undeniable similitude of the great stone face. people were the more ready to believe that this must needs be the fact, when they beheld the splendid edifice that rose, as if by enchantment, on the site of his father's old weatherbeaten farm-house. the exterior was of marble, so dazzlingly white that it seemed as though the whole structure might melt away in the sunshine, like those humbler ones which mr. gathergold, in his young play-days, before his fingers were gifted with the touch of transmutation, had been accustomed to build of snow. it had a richly ornamented portico, supported by tall pillars, beneath which was a lofty door, studded with silver knobs, and made of a kind of variegated wood that had been brought from beyond the sea. the windows, from the floor to the ceiling of each stately apartment, were composed, respectively, of but one enormous pane of glass, so transparently pure that it was said to be a finer medium than even the vacant atmosphere.
hardly anybody had been permitted to see the interior of this palace; but it was reported, and with good semblance of truth, to be far more gorgeous than the outside, insomuch that whatever was iron or brass in other houses was silver or gold in this; and mr. gathergold's bedchamber, especially, made such a glittering appearance that no ordinary man would have been able to close his eyes there. but, on the other hand, mr. gathergold was now so inured to wealth, that perhaps he could not have closed his eyes unless where the gleam of it was certain to find its way beneath his eyelids.
in due time, the mansion was finished; next came the upholsterers, with magnificent furniture; then, a whole troop of black and white servants, the harbingers of mr. gathergold, who, in his own majestic person, was expected to arrive at sunset. our friend ernest, meanwhile, had been deeply stirred by the idea that the great man, the noble man, the man of prophecy, after so many ages of delay, was at length to be made manifest to his native valley. he knew, boy as he was, that there were a thousand ways in which mr. gathergold, with his vast wealth, might transform himself into an angel of beneficence, and assume a control over human affairs as wide and benignant as the smile of the great stone face. full of faith and hope, ernest doubted not that what the people said was true, and that now he was to behold the living likeness of those wondrous features on the mountain-side. while the boy was still gazing up the valley, and fancying, as he always did, that the great stone face returned his gaze and looked kindly at him, the rumbling of wheels was heard, approaching swiftly along the winding road.
"here he comes!" cried a group of people who were assembled to witness the arrival. "here comes the great mr. gathergold!"
a carriage, drawn by four horses, dashed round the turn of the road.
within it, thrust partly out of the window, appeared the physiognomy of the old man, with a skin as yellow as if his own midas-hand had transmuted it. he had a low forehead, small, sharp eyes, puckered about with innumerable wrinkles, and very thin lips, which he made still thinner by pressing them forcibly together.
"the very image of the great stone face!" shouted the people. "sure enough, the old prophecy is true; and here we have the great man come, at last!"
and, what greatly perplexed ernest, they seemed actually to believe that here was the likeness which they spoke of. by the roadside there chanced to be an old beggar-woman and two little beggar-children, stragglers from some far-off region, who, as the carriage rolled onward, held out their hands and lifted up their doleful voices, most piteously beseeching charity. a yellow claw the very same that had clawed together so much wealth poked itself out of the coach-window, and dropt some copper coins upon the ground; so that, though the great man's name seems to have been gathergold, he might just as suitably have been nicknamed scattercopper. still, nevertheless, with an earnest shout, and evidently with as much good faith as ever, the people bellowed, "he is the very image of the great stone face!"
but ernest turned sadly from the wrinkled shrewdness of that sordid visage, and gazed up the valley, where, amid a gathering mist, gilded by the last sunbeams, he could still distinguish those glorious features which had impressed themselves into his soul. their aspect cheered him. what did the benign lips seem to say?
"he will come! fear not, ernest; the man will come!"
the years went on, and ernest ceased to be a boy. he had grown to be a young man now. he attracted little notice from the other inhabitants of the valley; for they saw nothing remarkable in his way of life save that, when the labor of the day was over, he still loved to go apart and gaze and meditate upon the great stone face. according to their idea of the matter, it was a folly, indeed, but pardonable, inasmuch as ernest was industrious, kind, and neighborly, and neglected no duty for the sake of indulging this idle habit. they knew not that the great stone face had become a teacher to him, and that the sentiment which was expressed in it would enlarge the young man's heart, and fill it with wider and deeper sympathies than other hearts. they knew not that thence would come a better wisdom than could be learned from books, and a better life than could be moulded on the defaced example of other human lives. neither did ernest know that the thoughts and affections which came to him so naturally, in the fields and at the fireside, and wherever he communed with himself, were of a higher tone than those which all men shared with him. a simple soul, simple as when his mother first taught him the old prophecy, he beheld the marvellous features beaming adown the valley, and still wondered that their human counterpart was so long in making his appearance.
by this time poor mr. gathergold was dead and buried; and the oddest part of the matter was, that his wealth, which was the body and spirit of his existence, had disappeared before his death, leaving nothing of him but a living skeleton, covered over with a wrinkled yellow skin.
since the melting away of his gold, it had been very generally conceded that there was no such striking resemblance, after all, betwixt the ignoble features of the ruined merchant and that majestic face upon the mountain-side. so the people ceased to honor him during his lifetime, and quietly consigned him to forgetfulness after his decease. once in a while, it is true, his memory was brought up in connection with the magnificent palace which he had built, and which had long ago been turned into a hotel for the accommodation of strangers, multitudes of whom came, every summer, to visit that famous natural curiosity, the great stone face. thus, mr. gathergold being discredited and thrown into the shade, the man of prophecy was yet to come.
it so happened that a native-born son of the valley, many years before, had enlisted as a soldier, and, after a great deal of hard fighting, had now become an illustrious commander. whatever he may be called in history, he was known in camps and on the battle-field under the nickname of old blood-and-thunder. this war-worn veteran being now infirm with age and wounds, and weary of the turmoil of a military life, and of the roll of the drum and the clangor of the trumpet, that had so long been ringing in his ears, had lately signified a purpose of returning to his native valley, hoping to find repose where he remembered to have left it. the inhabitants, his old neighbors and their grown-up children, were resolved to welcome the renowned warrior with a salute of cannon and a public dinner; and all the more enthusiastically, it being affirmed that now, at last, the likeness of the great stone face had actually appeared. an aid-de-camp of old blood-and-thunder, travelling through the valley, was said to have been struck with the resemblance. moreover the schoolmates and early acquaintances of the general were ready to testify, on oath, that, to the best of their recollection, the aforesaid general had been exceedingly like the majestic image, even when a boy, only the idea had never occurred to them at that period. great, therefore, was the excitement throughout the valley; and many people, who had never once thought of glancing at the great stone face for years before, now spent their time in gazing at it, for the sake of knowing exactly how general blood-and-thunder looked.
on the day of the great festival, ernest, with all the other people of the valley, left their work, and proceeded to the spot where the sylvan banquet was prepared. as he approached, the loud voice of the rev. dr.
battleblast was heard, beseeching a blessing on the good things set before them, and on the distinguished friend of peace in whose honor they were assembled. the tables were arranged in a cleared space of the woods, shut in by the surrounding trees, except where a vista opened eastward, and afforded a distant view of the great stone face. over the general's chair, which was a relic from the home of washington, there was an arch of verdant boughs, with the laurel profusely intermixed, and surmounted by his country's banner, beneath which he had won his victories. our friend ernest raised himself on his tiptoes, in hopes to get a glimpse of the celebrated guest; but there was a mighty crowd about the tables anxious to hear the toasts and speeches, and to catch any word that might fall from the general in reply; and a volunteer company, doing duty as a guard, pricked ruthlessly with their bayonets at any particularly quiet person among the throng. so ernest, being of an unobtrusive character, was thrust quite into the background, where he could see no more of old blood-and-thunder's physiognomy than if it had been still blazing on the battle-field. to console himself, he turned towards the great stone face, which, like a faithful and long remembered friend, looked back and smiled upon him through the vista of the forest. meantime, however, he could overhear the remarks of various individuals, who were comparing the features of the hero with the face on the distant mountain-side.
"'tis the same face, to a hair!" cried one man, cutting a caper for joy.
"wonderfully like, that's a fact!" responded another.
"like! why, i call it old blood-and-thunder himself, in a monstrous looking-glass!" cried a third. "and why not? he's the greatest man of this or any other age, beyond a doubt."
and then all three of the speakers gave a great shout, which communicated electricity to the crowd, and called forth a roar from a thousand voices, that went reverberating for miles among the mountains, until you might have supposed that the great stone face had poured its thunderbreath into the cry. all these comments, and this vast enthusiasm, served the more to interest our friend; nor did he think of questioning that now, at length, the mountain-visage had found its human counterpart. it is true, ernest had imagined that this long-looked-for personage would appear in the character of a man of peace, uttering wisdom, and doing good, and making people happy. but, taking an habitual breadth of view, with all his simplicity, he contended that providence should choose its own method of blessing mankind, and could conceive that this great end might be effected even by a warrior and a bloody sword, should inscrutable wisdom see fit to order matters so.
"the general! the general!" was now the cry. "hush! silence! old blood-and-thunder's going to make a speech."
even so; for, the cloth being removed, the general's health had been drunk, amid shouts of applause, and he now stood upon his feet to thank the company. ernest saw him. there he was, over the shoulders of the crowd, from the two glittering epaulets and embroidered collar upward, beneath the arch of green boughs with intertwined laurel, and the banner drooping as if to shade his brow! and there, too, visible in the same glance, through the vista of the forest, appeared the great stone face! and was there, indeed, such a resemblance as the crowd had testified? alas, ernest could not recognize it! he beheld a war-worn and weatherbeaten countenance, full of energy, and expressive of an iron will; but the gentle wisdom, the deep, broad, tender sympathies, were altogether wanting in old blood-and-thunder's visage; and even if the great stone face had assumed his look of stern command, the milder traits would still have tempered it.
"this is not the man of prophecy," sighed ernest to himself, as he made his way out of the throng. "and must the world wait longer yet?"
the mists had congregated about the distant mountain-side, and there were seen the grand and awful features of the great stone face, awful but benignant, as if a mighty angel were sitting among the hills, and enrobing himself in a cloud-vesture of gold and purple. as he looked, ernest could hardly believe but that a smile beamed over the whole visage, with a radiance still brightening, although without motion of the lips. it was probably the effect of the western sunshine, melting through the thinly diffused vapors that had swept between him and the object that he gazed at. but as it always did the aspect of his marvellous friend made ernest as hopeful as if he had never hoped in vain.
"fear not, ernest," said his heart, even as if the great face were whispering him, "fear not, ernest; he will come."
more years sped swiftly and tranquilly away. ernest still dwelt in his native valley, and was now a man of middle age. by imperceptible degrees, he had become known among the people. now, as heretofore, he labored for his bread, and was the same simple-hearted man that he had always been. but he had thought and felt so much, he had given so many of the best hours of his life to unworldly hopes for some great good to mankind, that it seemed as though he had been talking with the angels, and had imbibed a portion of their wisdom unawares. it was visible in the calm and well-considered beneficence of his daily life, the quiet stream of which had made a wide green margin all along its course. not a day passed by, that the world was not the better because this man, humble as he was, had lived. he never stepped aside from his own path, yet would always reach a blessing to his neighbor. almost involuntarily too, he had become a preacher. the pure and high simplicity of his thought, which, as one of its manifestations, took shape in the good deeds that dropped silently from his hand, flowed also forth in speech.
he uttered truths that wrought upon and moulded the lives of those who heard him. his auditors, it may be, never suspected that ernest, their own neighbor and familiar friend, was more than an ordinary man; least of all did ernest himself suspect it; but, inevitably as the murmur of a rivulet, came thoughts out of his mouth that no other human lips had spoken.
when the people's minds had had a little time to cool, they were ready enough to acknowledge their mistake in imagining a similarity between general blood-and-thunder's truculent physiognomy and the benign visage on the mountain-side. but now, again, there were reports and many paragraphs in the newspapers, affirming that the likeness of the great stone face had appeared upon the broad shoulders of a certain eminent statesman. he, like mr. gathergold and old blood-and-thunder, was a native of the valley, but had left it in his early days, and taken up the trades of law and politics. instead of the rich man's wealth and the warrior's sword, he had but a tongue, and it was mightier than both together. so wonderfully eloquent was he, that whatever he might choose to say, his auditors had no choice but to believe him; wrong looked like right, and right like wrong; for when it pleased him, he could make a kind of illuminated fog with his mere breath, and obscure the natural daylight with it. his tongue, indeed, was a magic instrument:
sometimes it rumbled like the thunder; sometimes it warbled like the sweetest music. it was the blast of war, the song of peace; and it seemed to have a heart in it, when there was no such matter. in good truth, he was a wondrous man; and when his tongue had acquired him all other imaginable success, when it had been heard in halls of state, and in the courts of princes and potentates, after it had made him known all over the world, even as a voice crying from shore to shore, it finally persuaded his countrymen to select him for the presidency. before this time, indeed, as soon as he began to grow celebrated, his admirers had found out the resemblance between him and the great stone face; and so much were they struck by it, that throughout the country this distinguished gentleman was known by the name of old stony phiz. the phrase was considered as giving a highly favorable aspect to his political prospects; for, as is likewise the case with the popedom, nobody ever becomes president without taking a name other than his own.
while his friends were doing their best to make him president, old stony phiz, as he was called, set out on a visit to the valley where he was born. of course, he had no other object than to shake hands with his fellow-citizens and neither thought nor cared about any effect which his progress through the country might have upon the election.
magnificent preparations were made to receive the illustrious statesman; a cavalcade of horsemen set forth to meet him at the boundary line of the state, and all the people left their business and gathered along the wayside to see him pass. among these was ernest.
though more than once disappointed, as we have seen, he had such a hopeful and confiding nature, that he was always ready to believe in whatever seemed beautiful and good. he kept his heart continually open, and thus was sure to catch the blessing from on high when it should come. so now again, as buoyantly as ever, he went forth to behold the likeness of the great stone face.
the cavalcade came prancing along the road, with a great clattering of hoofs and a mighty cloud of dust, which rose up so dense and high that the visage of the mountain-side was completely hidden from ernest's eyes. all the great men of the neighborhood were there on horseback; militia officers, in uniform; the member of congress; the sheriff of the county; the editors of newspapers; and many a farmer, too, had mounted his patient steed, with his sunday coat upon his back. it really was a very brilliant spectacle, especially as there were numerous banners flaunting over the cavalcade, on some of which were gorgeous portraits of the illustrious statesman and the great stone face, smiling familiarly at one another, like two brothers. if the pictures were to be trusted, the mutual resemblance, it must be confessed, was marvellous. we must not forget to mention that there was a band of music, which made the echoes of the mountains ring and reverberate with the loud triumph of its strains; so that airy and soul-thrilling melodies broke out among all the heights and hollows, as if every nook of his native valley had found a voice, to welcome the distinguished guest. but the grandest effect was when the far-off mountain precipice flung back the music; for then the great stone face itself seemed to be swelling the triumphant chorus, in acknowledgment that, at length, the man of prophecy was come.
all this while the people were throwing up their hats and shouting with enthusiasm so contagious that the heart of ernest kindled up, and he likewise threw up his hat, and shouted, as loudly as the loudest, "huzza for the great man! huzza for old stony phiz!" but as yet he had not seen him.
"here he is, now!" cried those who stood near ernest. "there! there!
look at old stony phiz and then at the old man of the mountain, and see if they are not as like as two twin-brothers!"
in the midst of all this gallant array came an open barouche, drawn by four white horses; and in the barouche, with his massive head uncovered, sat the illustrious statesman, old stony phiz himself.
"confess it," said one of ernest's neighbors to him, "the great stone face has met its match at last!"
now, it must be owned that, at his first glimpse of the countenance which was bowing and smiling from the barouche, ernest did fancy that there was a resemblance between it and the old familiar face upon the mountain-side. the brow, with its massive depth and loftiness, and all the other features, indeed, were boldly and strongly hewn, as if in emulation of a more than heroic, of a titanic model. but the sublimity and stateliness, the grand expression of a divine sympathy, that illuminated the mountain visage and etherealized its ponderous granite substance into spirit, might here be sought in vain. something had been originally left out, or had departed. and therefore the marvellously gifted statesman had always a weary gloom in the deep caverns of his eyes, as of a child that has outgrown its playthings or a man of mighty faculties and little aims, whose life, with all its high performances, was vague and empty, because no high purpose had endowed it with reality.
still, ernest's neighbor was thrusting his elbow into his side, and pressing him for an answer.
"confess! confess! is not he the very picture of your old man of the mountain?"
"no!" said ernest bluntly, "i see little or no likeness."
"then so much the worse for the great stone face!" answered his neighbor; and again he set up a shout for old stony phiz.
but ernest turned away, melancholy, and almost despondent: for this was the saddest of his disappointments, to behold a man who might have fulfilled the prophecy, and had not willed to do so. meantime, the cavalcade, the banners, the music, and the barouches swept past him, with the vociferous crowd in the rear, leaving the dust to settle down, and the great stone face to be revealed again, with the grandeur that it had worn for untold centuries.
"lo, here i am, ernest!" the benign lips seemed to say. "i have waited longer than thou, and am not yet weary. fear not; the man will come."
the years hurried onward, treading in their haste on one another's heels. and now they began to bring white hairs, and scatter them over the head of ernest; they made reverend wrinkles across his forehead, and furrows in his cheeks. he was an aged man. but not in vain had he grown old: more than the white hairs on his head were the sage thoughts in his mind; his wrinkles and furrows were inscriptions that time had graved, and in which he had written legends of wisdom that had been tested by the tenor of a life. and ernest had ceased to be obscure.
unsought for, undesired, had come the fame which so many seek, and made him known in the great world, beyond the limits of the valley in which he had dwelt so quietly. college professors, and even the active men of cities, came from far to see and converse with ernest; for the report had gone abroad that this simple husbandman had ideas unlike those of other men, not gained from books, but of a higher tone, a tranquil and familiar majesty, as if he had been talking with the angels as his daily friends. whether it were sage, statesman, or philanthropist, ernest received these visitors with the gentle sincerity that had characterized him from boyhood, and spoke freely with them of whatever came uppermost, or lay deepest in his heart or their own. while they talked together, his face would kindle, unawares, and shine upon them, as with a mild evening light. pensive with the fulness of such discourse, his guests took leave and went their way; and passing up the valley, paused to look at the great stone face, imagining that they had seen its likeness in a human countenance, but could not remember where.
while ernest had been growing up and growing old, a bountiful providence had granted a new poet to this earth. he likewise, was a native of the valley, but had spent the greater part of his life at a distance from that romantic region, pouring out his sweet music amid the bustle and din of cities. often, however, did the mountains which had been familiar to him in his childhood lift their snowy peaks into the clear atmosphere of his poetry. neither was the great stone face forgotten, for the poet had celebrated it in an ode, which was grand enough to have been uttered by its own majestic lips. this man of genius, we may say, had come down from heaven with wonderful endowments. if he sang of a mountain, the eyes of all mankind beheld a mightier grandeur reposing on its breast, or soaring to its summit, than had before been seen there. if his theme were a lovely lake, a celestial smile had now been thrown over it, to gleam forever on its surface. if it were the vast old sea, even the deep immensity of its dread bosom seemed to swell the higher, as if moved by the emotions of the song. thus the world assumed another and a better aspect from the hour that the poet blessed it with his happy eyes. the creator had bestowed him, as the last best touch to his own handiwork. creation was not finished till the poet came to interpret, and so complete it.
the effect was no less high and beautiful, when his human brethren were the subject of his verse. the man or woman, sordid with the common dust of life, who crossed his daily path, and the little child who played in it, were glorified if he beheld them in his mood of poetic faith. he showed the golden links of the great chain that intertwined them with an angelic kindred; he brought out the hidden traits of a celestial birth that made them worthy of such kin. some, indeed, there were, who thought to show the soundness of their judgment by affirming that all the beauty and dignity of the natural world existed only in the poet's fancy. let such men speak for themselves, who undoubtedly appear to have been spawned forth by nature with a contemptuous bitterness; she having plastered them up out of her refuse stuff, after all the swine were made. as respects all things else, the poet's ideal was the truest truth.
the songs of this poet found their way to ernest. he read them after his customary toil, seated on the bench before his cottage-door, where for such a length of time he had filled his repose with thought, by gazing at the great stone face. and now as he read stanzas that caused the soul to thrill within him, he lifted his eyes to the vast countenance beaming on him so benignantly.
"o majestic friend," he murmured, addressing the great stone face, "is not this man worthy to resemble thee?"
the face seemed to smile, but answered not a word.
now it happened that the poet, though he dwelt so far away, had not only heard of ernest, but had meditated much upon his character, until he deemed nothing so desirable as to meet this man, whose untaught wisdom walked hand in hand with the noble simplicity of his life. one summer morning, therefore, he took passage by the railroad, and, in the decline of the afternoon, alighted from the cars at no great distance from ernest's cottage. the great hotel, which had formerly been the palace of mr. gathergold, was close at hand, but the poet, with his carpet-bag on his arm, inquired at once where ernest dwelt, and was resolved to be accepted as his guest.
approaching the door, he there found the good old man, holding a volume in his hand, which alternately he read, and then, with a finger between the leaves, looked lovingly at the great stone face.
"good evening," said the poet. "can you give a traveller a night's lodging?"
"willingly," answered ernest; and then he added, smiling, "methinks i never saw the great stone face look so hospitably at a stranger."
the poet sat down on the bench beside him, and he and ernest talked together. often had the poet held intercourse with the wittiest and the wisest, but never before with a man like ernest, whose thoughts and feelings gushed up with such a natural freedom, and who made great truths so familiar by his simple utterance of them. angels, as had been so often said, seemed to have wrought with him at his labor in the fields; angels seemed to have sat with him by the fireside; and, dwelling with angels as friend with friends, he had imbibed the sublimity of their ideas, and imbued it with the sweet and lowly charm of household words. so thought the poet. and ernest, on the other hand, was moved and agitated by the living images which the poet flung out of his mind, and which peopled all the air about the cottage-door with shapes of beauty, both gay and pensive. the sympathies of these two men instructed them with a profounder sense than either could have attained alone. their minds accorded into one strain, and made delightful music which neither of them could have claimed as all his own, nor distinguished his own share from the other's. they led one another, as it were, into a high pavilion of their thoughts, so remote, and hitherto so dim, that they had never entered it before, and so beautiful that they desired to be there always.
as ernest listened to the poet, he imagined that the great stone face was bending forward to listen too. he gazed earnestly into the poet's glowing eyes.
"who are you, my strangely gifted guest?" he said.
the poet laid his finger on the volume that ernest had been reading.
"you have read these poems," said he. "you know me, then, for i wrote them."
again, and still more earnestly than before, ernest examined the poet's features; then turned towards the great stone face; then back, with an uncertain aspect, to his guest. but his countenance fell; he shook his head, and sighed.
"wherefore are you sad?" inquired the poet.
"because," replied ernest, "all through life i have awaited the fulfilment of a prophecy; and, when i read these poems, i hoped that it might be fulfilled in you."
"you hoped," answered the poet, faintly smiling, "to find in me the likeness of the great stone face. and you are disappointed, as formerly with mr. gathergold, and old blood-and-thunder, and old stony phiz.
yes, ernest, it is my doom. you must add my name to the illustrious three, and record another failure of your hopes. for in shame and sadness do i speak it, ernest i am not worthy to be typified by yonder benign and majestic image."
"and why?" asked ernest. he pointed to the volume. "are not those thoughts divine?"
"they have a strain of the divinity," replied the poet. "you can hear in them the far-off echo of a heavenly song. but my life, dear ernest, has not corresponded with my thought. i have had grand dreams, but they have been only dreams, because i have lived and that, too, by my own choice among poor and mean realities. sometimes even shall i dare to say it? i lack faith in the grandeur, the beauty, and the goodness, which my own words are said to have made more evident in nature and in human life. why, then, pure seeker of the good and true, shouldst thou hope to find me, in yonder image of the divine?"
the poet spoke sadly, and his eyes were dim with tears. so, likewise, were those of ernest.
at the hour of sunset, as had long been his frequent custom, ernest was to discourse to an assemblage of the neighboring inhabitants in the open air. he and the poet, arm in arm, still talking together as they went along, proceeded to the spot. it was a small nook among the hills, with a gray precipice behind, the stern front of which was relieved by the pleasant foliage of many creeping plants that made a tapestry for the naked rock, by hanging their festoons from all its rugged angles.
at a small elevation above the ground, set in a rich framework of verdure, there appeared a niche, spacious enough to admit a human figure, with freedom for such gestures as spontaneously accompany earnest thought and genuine emotion. into this natural pulpit ernest ascended, and threw a look of familiar kindness around upon his audience. they stood, or sat, or reclined upon the grass, as seemed good to each, with the departing sunshine falling obliquely over them, and mingling its subdued cheerfulness with the solemnity of a grove of ancient trees, beneath and amid the boughs of which the golden rays were constrained to pass. in another direction was seen the great stone face, with the same cheer, combined with the same solemnity, in its benignant aspect.
ernest began to speak, giving to the people of what was in his heart and mind. his words had power, because they accorded with his thoughts; and his thoughts had reality and depth, because they harmonized with the life which he had always lived. it was not mere breath that this preacher uttered; they were the words of life, because a life of good deeds and holy love was melted into them. pearls, pure and rich, had been dissolved into this precious draught. the poet, as he listened, felt that the being and character of ernest were a nobler strain of poetry than he had ever written. his eyes glistening with tears, he gazed reverentially at the venerable man, and said within himself that never was there an aspect so worthy of a prophet and a sage as that mild, sweet, thoughtful countenance, with the glory of white hair diffused about it. at a distance, but distinctly to be seen, high up in the golden light of the setting sun, appeared the great stone face, with hoary mists around it, like the white hairs around the brow of ernest. its look of grand beneficence seemed to embrace the world.
at that moment, in sympathy with a thought which he was about to utter, the face of ernest assumed a grandeur of expression, so imbued with benevolence, that the poet, by an irresistible impulse, threw his arms aloft and shouted, "behold! behold! ernest is himself the likeness of the great stone face!"
then all the people looked, and saw that what the deep-sighted poet said was true. the prophecy was fulfilled. but ernest, having finished what he had to say, took the poet's arm, and walked slowly homeward, still hoping that some wiser and better man than himself would by and by appear, bearing a resemblance to the great stone face.
ethan brand
a
bartram the lime-burner, a rough, heavy-looking man, begrimed with charcoal, sat watching his kiln at nightfall, while his little son played at building houses with the scattered fragments of marble, when, on the hill-side below them, they heard a roar of laughter, not mirthful, but slow, and even solemn, like a wind shaking the boughs of the forest.
"father, what is that?" asked the little boy, leaving his play, and pressing betwixt his father's knees.
"oh, some drunken man, i suppose," answered the lime-burner; "some merry fellow from the bar-room in the village, who dared not laugh loud enough within doors lest he should blow the roof of the house off. so here he is, shaking his jolly sides at the foot of graylock."
"but, father," said the child, more sensitive than the obtuse, middle-aged clown, "he does not laugh like a man that is glad. so the noise frightens me!"
"don't be a fool, child!" cried his father, gruffly. "you will never make a man, i do believe; there is too much of your mother in you. i have known the rustling of a leaf startle you. hark! here comes the merry fellow now. you shall see that there is no harm in him."
bartram and his little son, while they were talking thus, sat watching the same lime-kiln that had been the scene of ethan brand's solitary and meditative life, before he began his search for the unpardonable sin. many years, as we have seen, had now elapsed, since that portentous night when the idea was first developed. the kiln, however, on the mountain-side, stood unimpaired, and was in nothing changed since he had thrown his dark thoughts into the intense glow of its furnace, and melted them, as it were, into the one thought that took possession of his life. it was a rude, round, tower-like structure about twenty feet high, heavily built of rough stones, and with a hillock of earth heaped about the larger part of its circumference; so that the blocks and fragments of marble might be drawn by cart-loads, and thrown in at the top. there was an opening at the bottom of the tower, like an over-mouth, but large enough to admit a man in a stooping posture, and provided with a massive iron door. with the smoke and jets of flame issuing from the chinks and crevices of this door, which seemed to give admittance into the hill-side, it resembled nothing so much as the private entrance to the infernal regions, which the shepherds of the delectable mountains were accustomed to show to pilgrims.
there are many such lime-kilns in that tract of country, for the purpose of burning the white marble which composes a large part of the substance of the hills. some of them, built years ago, and long deserted, with weeds growing in the vacant round of the interior, which is open to the sky, and grass and wild-flowers rooting themselves into the chinks of the stones, look already like relics of antiquity, and may yet be overspread with the lichens of centuries to come. others, where the limeburner still feeds his daily and night-long fire, afford points of interest to the wanderer among the hills, who seats himself on a log of wood or a fragment of marble, to hold a chat with the solitary man. it is a lonesome, and, when the character is inclined to thought, may be an intensely thoughtful occupation; as it proved in the case of ethan brand, who had mused to such strange purpose, in days gone by, while the fire in this very kiln was burning.
the man who now watched the fire was of a different order, and troubled himself with no thoughts save the very few that were requisite to his business. at frequent intervals, he flung back the clashing weight of the iron door, and, turning his face from the insufferable glare, thrust in huge logs of oak, or stirred the immense brands with a long pole. within the furnace were seen the curling and riotous flames, and the burning marble, almost molten with the intensity of heat; while without, the reflection of the fire quivered on the dark intricacy of the surrounding forest, and showed in the foreground a bright and ruddy little picture of the hut, the spring beside its door, the athletic and coal-begrimed figure of the lime-burner, and the half-frightened child, shrinking into the protection of his father's shadow. and when, again, the iron door was closed, then reappeared the tender light of the half-full moon, which vainly strove to trace out the indistinct shapes of the neighboring mountains; and, in the upper sky, there was a flitting congregation of clouds, still faintly tinged with the rosy sunset, though thus far down into the valley the sunshine had vanished long and long ago.
the little boy now crept still closer to his father, as footsteps were heard ascending the hill-side, and a human form thrust aside the bushes that clustered beneath the trees.
"halloo! who is it?" cried the lime-burner, vexed at his son's timidity, yet half infected by it. "come forward, and show yourself, like a man, or i'll fling this chunk of marble at your head!"
"you offer me a rough welcome," said a gloomy voice, as the unknown man drew nigh. "yet i neither claim nor desire a kinder one, even at my own fireside."
to obtain a distincter view, bartram threw open the iron door of the kiln, whence immediately issued a gush of fierce light, that smote full upon the stranger's face and figure. to a careless eye there appeared nothing very remarkable in his aspect, which was that of a man in a coarse brown, country-made suit of clothes, tall and thin, with the staff and heavy shoes of a wayfarer. as he advanced, he fixed his eyes which were very bright intently upon the brightness of the furnace, as if he beheld, or expected to behold, some object worthy of note within it.
"good evening, stranger," said the lime-burner; "whence come you, so late in the day?"
"i come from my search," answered the wayfarer; "for, at last, it is finished."
"drunk! or crazy!" muttered bartram to himself. "i shall have trouble with the fellow. the sooner i drive him away, the better."
the little boy, all in a tremble, whispered to his father, and begged him to shut the door of the kiln, so that there might not be so much light; for that there was something in the man's face which he was afraid to look at, yet could not look away from. and, indeed, even the lime-burner's dull and torpid sense began to be impressed by an indescribable something in that thin, rugged, thoughtful visage, with the grizzled hair hanging wildly about it, and those deeply sunken eyes, which gleamed like fires within the entrance of a mysterious cavern. but, as he closed the door, the stranger turned towards him, and spoke in a quiet, familiar way, that made bartram feel as if he were a sane and sensible man, after all.
"your task draws to an end, i see," said he. "this marble has already been burning three days. a few hours more will convert the stone to lime."
"why, who are you?" exclaimed the lime-burner. "you seem as well acquainted with my business as i am myself."
"and well i may be," said the stranger; "for i followed the same craft many a long year, and here, too, on this very spot. but you are a newcomer in these parts. did you never hear of ethan brand?"
"the man that went in search of the unpardonable sin?" asked bartram, with a laugh.
"the same," answered the stranger. "he has found what he sought, and therefore he comes back again."
"what! then you are ethan brand himself?" cried the lime-burner, in amazement. "i am a new-comer here, as you say, and they call it eighteen years since you left the foot of graylock. but, i can tell you, the good folks still talk about ethan brand, in the village yonder, and what a strange errand took him away from his lime-kiln.
well, and so you have found the unpardonable sin?"
"even so!" said the stranger, calmly.
"if the question is a fair one," proceeded bartram, "where might it be?"
ethan brand laid his finger on his own heart.
"here!" replied he.
and then, without mirth in his countenance, but as if moved by an involuntary recognition of the infinite absurdity of seeking throughout the world for what was the closest of all things to himself, and looking into every heart, save his own, for what was hidden in no other breast, he broke into a laugh of scorn. it was the same slow, heavy laugh, that had almost appalled the lime-burner when it heralded the wayfarer's approach.
the solitary mountain-side was made dismal by it. laughter, when out of place, mistimed, or bursting forth from a disordered state of feeling, may be the most terrible modulation of the human voice. the laughter of one asleep, even if it be a little child, the madman's laugh, the wild, screaming laugh of a born idiot, are sounds that we sometimes tremble to hear, and would always willingly forget. poets have imagined no utterance of fiends or hobgoblins so fearfully appropriate as a laugh. and even the obtuse lime-burner felt his nerves shaken, as this strange man looked inward at his own heart, and burst into laughter that rolled away into the night, and was indistinctly reverberated among the hills.
"joe," said he to his little son, "scamper down to the tavern in the village, and tell the jolly fellows there that ethan brand has come back, and that he has found the unpardonable sin!"
the boy darted away on his errand, to which ethan brand made no objection, nor seemed hardly to notice it. he sat on a log of wood, looking steadfastly at the iron door of the kiln. when the child was out of sight, and his swift and light footsteps ceased to be heard treading first on the fallen leaves and then on the rocky mountain-path, the lime-burner began to regret his departure. he felt that the little fellow's presence had been a barrier between his guest and himself, and that he must now deal, heart to heart, with a man who, on his own confession, had committed the one only crime for which heaven could afford no mercy. that crime, in its indistinct blackness, seemed to overshadow him, and made his memory riotous with a throng of evil shapes that asserted their kindred with the master sin, whatever it might be, which it was within the scope of man's corrupted nature to conceive and cherish. they were all of one family; they went to and fro between his breast and ethan brand's, and carried dark greetings from one to the other.
then bartram remembered the stories which had grown traditionary in reference to this strange man, who had come upon him like a shadow of the night, and was making himself at home in his old place, after so long absence, that the dead people, dead and buried for years, would have had more right to be at home, in any familiar spot, than he. ethan brand, it was said, had conversed with satan himself in the lurid blaze of this very kiln. the legend had been matter of mirth heretofore, but looked grisly now. according to this tale, before ethan brand departed on his search, he had been accustomed to evoke a fiend from the hot furnace of the lime-kiln, night after night, in order to confer with him about the unpardonable sin; the man and the fiend each laboring to frame the image of some mode of guilt which could neither be atoned for nor forgiven. and, with the first gleam of light upon the mountain-top, the fiend crept in at the iron door, there to abide the intensest element of fire until again summoned forth to share in the dreadful task of extending man's possible guilt beyond the scope of heaven's else infinite mercy.
while the lime-burner was struggling with the horror of these thoughts, ethan brand rose from the log, and flung open the door of the kiln. the action was in such accordance with the idea in bartram's mind, that he almost expected to see the evil one issue forth, red-hot, from the raging furnace.
"hold! hold!" cried he, with a tremulous attempt to laugh; for he was ashamed of his fears, although they overmastered him. "don't, for mercy's sake, bring out your devil now!"
"man!" sternly replied ethan brand, "what need have i of the devil? i have left him behind me, on my track. it is with such half-way sinners as you that he busies himself. fear not, because i open the door. i do but act by old custom, and am going to trim your fire, like a lime-burner, as i was once."
he stirred the vast coals, thrust in more wood, and bent forward to gaze into the hollow prison-house of the fire, regardless of the fierce glow that reddened upon his face. the lime-burner sat watching him, and half suspected this strange guest of a purpose, if not to evoke a fiend, at least to plunge into the flames, and thus vanish from the sight of man. ethan brand, however, drew quietly back, and closed the door of the kiln.
"i have looked," said he, "into many a human heart that was seven times hotter with sinful passions than yonder furnace is with fire. but i found not there what i sought. no, not the unpardonable sin!"
"what is the unpardonable sin?" asked the lime-burner; and then he shrank farther from his companion, trembling lest his question should be answered.
"it is a sin that grew within my own breast," replied ethan brand, standing erect with a pride that distinguishes all enthusiasts of his stamp. "a sin that grew nowhere else! the sin of an intellect that triumphed over the sense of brotherhood with man and reverence for god, and sacrificed everything to its own mighty claims! the only sin that deserves a recompense of immortal agony! freely, were it to do again, would i incur the guilt. unshrinkingly i accept the retribution!"
"the man's head is turned," muttered the lime-burner to himself. "he may be a sinner like the rest of us, nothing more likely, but, i'll be sworn, he is a madman too."
nevertheless, he felt uncomfortable at his situation, alone with ethan brand on the wild mountain-side, and was right glad to hear the rough murmur of tongues, and the footsteps of what seemed a pretty numerous party, stumbling over the stones and rustling through the underbrush.
soon appeared the whole lazy regiment that was wont to infest the village tavern, comprehending three or four individuals who had drunk flip beside the bar-room fire through all the winters, and smoked their pipes beneath the stoop through all the summers, since ethan brand's departure. laughing boisterously, and mingling all their voices together in unceremonious talk, they now burst into the moonshine and narrow streaks of firelight that illuminated the open space before the lime-kiln. bartram set the door ajar again, flooding the spot with light, that the whole company might get a fair view of ethan brand, and he of them.
there, among other old acquaintances, was a once ubiquitous man, now almost extinct, but whom we were formerly sure to encounter at the hotel of every thriving village throughout the country. it was the stage-agent. the present specimen of the genus was a wilted and smoke-dried man, wrinkled and red-nosed, in a smartly cut, brown, bobtailed coat, with brass buttons, who, for a length of time unknown, had kept his desk and corner in the bar-room, and was still puffing what seemed to be the same cigar that he had lighted twenty years before. he had great fame as a dry joker, though, perhaps, less on account of any intrinsic humor than from a certain flavor of brandy-toddy and tobacco-smoke, which impregnated all his ideas and expressions, as well as his person. another well-remembered, though strangely altered, face was that of lawyer giles, as people still called him in courtesy; an elderly ragamuffin, in his soiled shirtsleeves and tow-cloth trousers. this poor fellow had been an attorney, in what he called his better days, a sharp practitioner, and in great vogue among the village litigants; but flip, and sling, and toddy, and cocktails, imbibed at all hours, morning, noon, and night, had caused him to slide from intellectual to various kinds and degrees of bodily labor, till at last, to adopt his own phrase, he slid into a soap-vat. in other words, giles was now a soap-boiler, in a small way.
he had come to be but the fragment of a human being, a part of one foot having been chopped off by an axe, and an entire hand torn away by the devilish grip of a steam-engine. yet, though the corporeal hand was gone, a spiritual member remained; for, stretching forth the stump, giles steadfastly averred that he felt an invisible thumb and fingers with as vivid a sensation as before the real ones were amputated. a maimed and miserable wretch he was; but one, nevertheless, whom the world could not trample on, and had no right to scorn, either in this or any previous stage of his misfortunes, since he had still kept up the courage and spirit of a man, asked nothing in charity, and with his one hand and that the left one fought a stern battle against want and hostile circumstances.
among the throng, too, came another personage, who, with certain points of similarity to lawyer giles, had many more of difference. it was the village doctor; a man of some fifty years, whom, at an earlier period of his life, we introduced as paying a professional visit to ethan brand during the latter's supposed insanity. he was now a purple-visaged, rude, and brutal, yet half-gentlemanly figure, with something wild, ruined, and desperate in his talk, and in all the details of his gesture and manners. brandy possessed this man like an evil spirit, and made him as surly and savage as a wild beast, and as miserable as a lost soul; but there was supposed to be in him such wonderful skill, such native gifts of healing, beyond any which medical science could impart, that society caught hold of him, and would not let him sink out of its reach. so, swaying to and fro upon his horse, and grumbling thick accents at the bedside, he visited all the sick-chambers for miles about among the mountain towns, and sometimes raised a dying man, as it were, by miracle, or quite as often, no doubt, sent his patient to a grave that was dug many a year too soon.
the doctor had an everlasting pipe in his mouth, and, as somebody said, in allusion to his habit of swearing, it was always alight with hell-fire.
these three worthies pressed forward, and greeted ethan brand each after his own fashion, earnestly inviting him to partake of the contents of a certain black bottle, in which, as they averred, he would find something far better worth seeking than the unpardonable sin. no mind, which has wrought itself by intense and solitary meditation into a high state of enthusiasm, can endure the kind of contact with low and vulgar modes of thought and feeling to which ethan brand was now subjected. it made him doubt and, strange to say, it was a painful doubt whether he had indeed found the unpardonable sin, and found it within himself. the whole question on which he had exhausted life, and more than life, looked like a delusion.
"leave me," he said bitterly, "ye brute beasts, that have made yourselves so, shrivelling up your souls with fiery liquors! i have done with you. years and years ago, i groped into your hearts and found nothing there for my purpose. get ye gone!"
"why, you uncivil scoundrel," cried the fierce doctor, "is that the way you respond to the kindness of your best friends? then let me tell you the truth. you have no more found the unpardonable sin than yonder boy joe has. you are but a crazy fellow, i told you so twenty years ago,-neither better nor worse than a crazy fellow, and the fit companion of old humphrey, here!"
he pointed to an old man, shabbily dressed, with long white hair, thin visage, and unsteady eyes. for some years past this aged person had been wandering about among the hills, inquiring of all travellers whom he met for his daughter. the girl, it seemed, had gone off with a company of circus-performers, and occasionally tidings of her came to the village, and fine stories were told of her glittering appearance as she rode on horseback in the ring, or performed marvellous feats on the tight-rope.
the white-haired father now approached ethan brand, and gazed unsteadily into his face.
"they tell me you have been all over the earth," said he, wringing his hands with earnestness. "you must have seen my daughter, for she makes a grand figure in the world, and everybody goes to see her. did she send any word to her old father, or say when she was coming back?"
ethan brand's eye quailed beneath the old man's. that daughter, from whom he so earnestly desired a word of greeting, was the esther of our tale, the very girl whom, with such cold and remorseless purpose, ethan brand had made the subject of a psychological experiment, and wasted, absorbed, and perhaps annihilated her soul, in the process.
"yes," he murmured, turning away from the hoary wanderer, "it is no delusion. there is an unpardonable sin!"
while these things were passing, a merry scene was going forward in the area of cheerful light, beside the spring and before the door of the hut. a number of the youth of the village, young men and girls, had hurried up the hill-side, impelled by curiosity to see ethan brand, the hero of so many a legend familiar to their childhood. finding nothing, however, very remarkable in his aspect, nothing but a sunburnt wayfarer, in plain garb and dusty shoes, who sat looking into the fire as if he fancied pictures among the coals, these young people speedily grew tired of observing him. as it happened, there was other amusement at hand. an old german jew travelling with a diorama on his back, was passing down the mountain-road towards the village just as the party turned aside from it, and, in hopes of eking out the profits of the day, the showman had kept them company to the lime-kiln.
"come, old dutchman," cried one of the young men, "let us see your pictures, if you can swear they are worth looking at!"
"oh yes, captain," answered the jew, whether as a matter of courtesy or craft, he styled everybody captain, "i shall show you, indeed, some very superb pictures!"
so, placing his box in a proper position, he invited the young men and girls to look through the glass orifices of the machine, and proceeded to exhibit a series of the most outrageous scratchings and daubings, as specimens of the fine arts, that ever an itinerant showman had the face to impose upon his circle of spectators. the pictures were worn out, moreover, tattered, full of cracks and wrinkles, dingy with tobacco-smoke, and otherwise in a most pitiable condition. some purported to be cities, public edifices, and ruined castles in europe; others represented napoleon's battles and nelson's sea-fights; and in the midst of these would be seen a gigantic, brown, hairy hand, which might have been mistaken for the hand of destiny, though, in truth, it was only the showman's, pointing its forefinger to various scenes of the conflict, while its owner gave historical illustrations. when, with much merriment at its abominable deficiency of merit, the exhibition was concluded, the german bade little joe put his head into the box.
viewed through the magnifying-glasses, the boy's round, rosy visage assumed the strangest imaginable aspect of an immense titanic child, the mouth grinning broadly, and the eyes and every other feature overflowing with fun at the joke. suddenly, however, that merry face turned pale, and its expression changed to horror, for this easily impressed and excitable child had become sensible that the eye of ethan brand was fixed upon him through the glass.
"you make the little man to be afraid, captain," said the german jew, turning up the dark and strong outline of his visage from his stooping posture. "but look again, and, by chance, i shall cause you to see somewhat that is very fine, upon my word!"
ethan brand gazed into the box for an instant, and then starting back, looked fixedly at the german. what had he seen? nothing, apparently; for a curious youth, who had peeped in almost at the same moment, beheld only a vacant space of canvas.
"i remember you now," muttered ethan brand to the showman.
"ah, captain," whispered the jew of nuremberg, with a dark smile, "i find it to be a heavy matter in my show-box, this unpardonable sin! by my faith, captain, it has wearied my shoulders, this long day, to carry it over the mountain."
"peace," answered ethan brand, sternly, "or get thee into the furnace yonder!"
the jew's exhibition had scarcely concluded, when a great, elderly dog who seemed to be his own master, as no person in the company laid claim to him saw fit to render himself the object of public notice.
hitherto, he had shown himself a very quiet, well-disposed old dog, going round from one to another, and, by way of being sociable, offering his rough head to be patted by any kindly hand that would take so much trouble. but now, all of a sudden, this grave and venerable quadruped, of his own mere motion, and without the slightest suggestion from anybody else, began to run round after his tail, which, to heighten the absurdity of the proceeding, was a great deal shorter than it should have been. never was seen such headlong eagerness in pursuit of an object that could not possibly be attained; never was heard such a tremendous outbreak of growling, snarling, barking, and snapping, as if one end of the ridiculous brute's body were at deadly and most unforgivable enmity with the other. faster and faster, round about went the cur; and faster and still faster fled the unapproachable brevity of his tail; and louder and fiercer grew his yells of rage and animosity; until, utterly exhausted, and as far from the goal as ever, the foolish old dog ceased his performance as suddenly as he had begun it. the next moment he was as mild, quiet, sensible, and respectable in his deportment, as when he first scraped acquaintance with the company.
as may be supposed, the exhibition was greeted with universal laughter, clapping of hands, and shouts of encore, to which the canine performer responded by wagging all that there was to wag of his tail, but appeared totally unable to repeat his very successful effort to amuse the spectators.
meanwhile, ethan brand had resumed his seat upon the log, and moved, as it might be, by a perception of some remote analogy between his own case and that of this self-pursuing cur, he broke into the awful laugh, which, more than any other token, expressed the condition of his inward being. from that moment, the merriment of the party was at an end; they stood aghast, dreading lest the inauspicious sound should be reverberated around the horizon, and that mountain would thunder it to mountain, and so the horror be prolonged upon their ears. then, whispering one to another that it was late, that the moon was almost down,-that the august night was growing chill, they hurried homewards, leaving the lime-burner and little joe to deal as they might with their unwelcome guest. save for these three human beings, the open space on the hill-side was a solitude, set in a vast gloom of forest. beyond that darksome verge, the firelight glimmered on the stately trunks and almost black foliage of pines, intermixed with the lighter verdure of sapling oaks, maples, and poplars, while here and there lay the gigantic corpses of dead trees, decaying on the leaf-strewn soil. and it seemed to little joe a timorous and imaginative child that the silent forest was holding its breath until some fearful thing should happen.
ethan brand thrust more wood into the fire, and closed the door of the kiln; then looking over his shoulder at the lime-burner and his son, he bade, rather than advised, them to retire to rest.
"for myself, i cannot sleep," said he. "i have matters that it concerns me to meditate upon. i will watch the fire, as i used to do in the old time."
"and call the devil out of the furnace to keep you company, i suppose,"
muttered bartram, who had been making intimate acquaintance with the black bottle above mentioned. "but watch, if you like, and call as many devils as you like! for my part, i shall be all the better for a snooze. come, joe!"
as the boy followed his father into the hut, he looked back at the wayfarer, and the tears came into his eyes, for his tender spirit had an intuition of the bleak and terrible loneliness in which this man had enveloped himself.
when they had gone, ethan brand sat listening to the crackling of the kindled wood, and looking at the little spirts of fire that issued through the chinks of the door. these trifles, however, once so familiar, had but the slightest hold of his attention, while deep within his mind he was reviewing the gradual but marvellous change that had been wrought upon him by the search to which he had devoted himself. he remembered how the night dew had fallen upon him, how the dark forest had whispered to him, how the stars had gleamed upon him, a simple and loving man, watching his fire in the years gone by, and ever musing as it burned. he remembered with what tenderness, with what love and sympathy for mankind and what pity for human guilt and woe, he had first begun to contemplate those ideas which afterwards became the inspiration of his life; with what reverence he had then looked into the heart of man, viewing it as a temple originally divine, and, however desecrated, still to be held sacred by a brother; with what awful fear he had deprecated the success of his pursuit, and prayed that the unpardonable sin might never be revealed to him. then ensued that vast intellectual development, which, in its progress, disturbed the counterpoise between his mind and heart. the idea that possessed his life had operated as a means of education; it had gone on cultivating his powers to the highest point of which they were susceptible; it had raised him from the level of an unlettered laborer to stand on a star-lit eminence, whither the philosophers of the earth, laden with the lore of universities, might vainly strive to clamber after him. so much for the intellect! but where was the heart? that, indeed, had withered, had contracted, had hardened, had perished! it had ceased to partake of the universal throb. he had lost his hold of the magnetic chain of humanity. he was no longer a brother-man, opening the chambers or the dungeons of our common nature by the key of holy sympathy, which gave him a right to share in all its secrets; he was now a cold observer, looking on mankind as the subject of his experiment, and, at length, converting man and woman to be his puppets, and pulling the wires that moved them to such degrees of crime as were demanded for his study.
thus ethan brand became a fiend. he began to be so from the moment that his moral nature had ceased to keep the pace of improvement with his intellect. and now, as his highest effort and inevitable development, as the bright and gorgeous flower, and rich, delicious fruit of his life's labor, he had produced the unpardonable sin!
"what more have i to seek? what more to achieve?" said ethan brand to himself. "my task is done, and well done!"
starting from the log with a certain alacrity in his gait and ascending the hillock of earth that was raised against the stone circumference of the lime-kiln, he thus reached the top of the structure. it was a space of perhaps ten feet across, from edge to edge, presenting a view of the upper surface of the immense mass of broken marble with which the kiln was heaped. all these innumerable blocks and fragments of marble were redhot and vividly on fire, sending up great spouts of blue flame, which quivered aloft and danced madly, as within a magic circle, and sank and rose again, with continual and multitudinous activity. as the lonely man bent forward over this terrible body of fire, the blasting heat smote up against his person with a breath that, it might be supposed, would have scorched and shrivelled him up in a moment.
ethan brand stood erect, and raised his arms on high. the blue flames played upon his face, and imparted the wild and ghastly light which alone could have suited its expression; it was that of a fiend on the verge of plunging into his gulf of intensest torment.
"o mother earth," cried he, "who art no more my mother, and into whose bosom this frame shall never be resolved! o mankind, whose brotherhood i have cast off, and trampled thy great heart beneath my feet! o stars of heaven, that shone on me of old, as if to light me onward and upward! farewell all, and forever. come, deadly element of fire,-henceforth my familiar friend! embrace me, as i do thee!"
that night the sound of a fearful peal of laughter rolled heavily through the sleep of the lime-burner and his little son; dim shapes of horror and anguish haunted their dreams, and seemed still present in the rude hovel, when they opened their eyes to the daylight.
"up, boy, up!" cried the lime-burner, staring about him. "thank heaven, the night is gone, at last; and rather than pass such another, i would watch my lime-kiln, wide awake, for a twelvemonth. this ethan brand, with his humbug of an unpardonable sin, has done me no such mighty favor, in taking my place!"
he issued from the hut, followed by little joe, who kept fast hold of his father's hand. the early sunshine was already pouring its gold upon the mountain-tops, and though the valleys were still in shadow, they smiled cheerfully in the promise of the bright day that was hastening onward. the village, completely shut in by hills, which swelled away gently about it, looked as if it had rested peacefully in the hollow of the great hand of providence. every dwelling was distinctly visible; the little spires of the two churches pointed upwards, and caught a fore-glimmering of brightness from the sun-gilt skies upon their gilded weather-cocks. the tavern was astir, and the figure of the old, smoke-dried stage-agent, cigar in mouth, was seen beneath the stoop.
old graylock was glorified with a golden cloud upon his head. scattered likewise over the breasts of the surrounding mountains, there were heaps of hoary mist, in fantastic shapes, some of them far down into the valley, others high up towards the summits, and still others, of the same family of mist or cloud, hovering in the gold radiance of the upper atmosphere. stepping from one to another of the clouds that rested on the hills, and thence to the loftier brotherhood that sailed in air, it seemed almost as if a mortal man might thus ascend into the heavenly regions. earth was so mingled with sky that it was a day-dream to look at it.
to supply that charm of the familiar and homely, which nature so readily adopts into a scene like this, the stage-coach was rattling down the mountain-road, and the driver sounded his horn, while echo caught up the notes, and intertwined them into a rich and varied and elaborate harmony, of which the original performer could lay claim to little share. the great hills played a concert among themselves, each contributing a strain of airy sweetness.
little joe's face brightened at once.
"dear father," cried he, skipping cheerily to and fro, "that strange man is gone, and the sky and the mountains all seem glad of it!"
"yes," growled the lime-burner, with an oath, "but he has let the fire go down, and no thanks to him if five hundred bushels of lime are not spoiled. if i catch the fellow hereabouts again, i shall feel like tossing him into the furnace!"
with his long pole in his hand, he ascended to the top of the kiln.
after a moment's pause, he called to his son.
"come up here, joe!" said he.
so little joe ran up the hillock, and stood by his father's side. the marble was all burnt into perfect, snow-white lime. but on its surface, in the midst of the circle, snow-white too, and thoroughly converted into lime, lay a human skeleton, in the attitude of a person who, after long toil, lies down to long repose. within the ribs strange to say was the shape of a human heart.
"was the fellow's heart made of marble?" cried bartram, in some perplexity at this phenomenon. "at any rate, it is burnt into what looks like special good lime; and, taking all the bones together, my kiln is half a bushel the richer for him."
so saying, the rude lime-burner lifted his pole, and, letting it fall upon the skeleton, the relics of ethan brand were crumbled into fragments.
the canterbury pilgrims
the summer moon, which shines in so many a tale, was beaming over a broad extent of uneven country. some of its brightest rays were flung into a spring of water, where no traveller, toiling, as the writer has, up the hilly road beside which it gushes, ever failed to quench his thirst. the work of neat hands and considerate art was visible about this blessed fountain. an open cistern, hewn and hollowed out of solid stone, was placed above the waters, which filled it to the brim, but by some invisible outlet were conveyed away without dripping down its sides. though the basin had not room for another drop, and the continual gush of water made a tremor on the surface, there was a secret charm that forbade it to overflow. i remember, that when i had slaked my summer thirst, and sat panting by the cistern, it was my fanciful theory that nature could not afford to lavish so pure a liquid, as she does the waters of all meaner fountains.
while the moon was hanging almost perpendicularly over this spot, two figures appeared on the summit of the hill, and came with noiseless footsteps down towards the spring. they were then in the first freshness of youth; nor is there a wrinkle now on either of their brows, and yet they wore a strange, old-fashioned garb. one, a young man with ruddy cheeks, walked beneath the canopy of a broad-brimmed gray hat; he seemed to have inherited his great-grandsire's square-skirted coat, and a waistcoat that extended its immense flaps to his knees; his brown locks, also, hung down behind, in a mode unknown to our times. by his side was a sweet young damsel, her fair features sheltered by a prim little bonnet, within which appeared the vestal muslin of a cap; her close, long-waisted gown, and indeed her whole attire, might have been worn by some rustic beauty who had faded half a century before. but that there was something too warm and life-like in them, i would here have compared this couple to the ghosts of two young lovers who had died long since in the glow of passion, and now were straying out of their graves, to renew the old vows, and shadow forth the unforgotten kiss of their earthly lips, beside the moonlit spring.
"thee and i will rest here a moment, miriam," said the young man, as they drew near the stone cistern, "for there is no fear that the elders know what we have done; and this may be the last time we shall ever taste this water."
thus speaking, with a little sadness in his face, which was also visible in that of his companion, he made her sit down on a stone, and was about to place himself very close to her side; she, however, repelled him, though not unkindly.
"nay, josiah," said she, giving him a timid push with her maiden hand, "thee must sit farther off, on that other stone, with the spring between us. what would the sisters say, if thee were to sit so close to me?"
"but we are of the world's people now, miriam," answered josiah.
the girl persisted in her prudery, nor did the youth, in fact, seem altogether free from a similar sort of shyness; so they sat apart from each other, gazing up the hill, where the moonlight discovered the tops of a group of buildings. while their attention was thus occupied, a party of travellers, who had come wearily up the long ascent, made a halt to refresh themselves at the spring. there were three men, a woman, and a little girl and boy. their attire was mean, covered with the dust of the summer's day, and damp with the night-dew; they all looked woebegone, as if the cares and sorrows of the world had made their steps heavier as they climbed the hill; even the two little children appeared older in evil days than the young man and maiden who had first approached the spring.
"good evening to you, young folks," was the salutation of the travellers; and "good evening, friends," replied the youth and damsel.
"is that white building the shaker meeting-house?" asked one of the strangers. "and are those the red roofs of the shaker village?"
"friend, it is the shaker village," answered josiah, after some hesitation.
the travellers, who, from the first, had looked suspiciously at the garb of these young people, now taxed them with an intention which all the circumstances, indeed, rendered too obvious to be mistaken.
"it is true, friends," replied the young man, summoning up his courage.
"miriam and i have a gift to love each other, and we are going among the world's people, to live after their fashion. and ye know that we do not transgress the law of the land; and neither ye, nor the elders themselves, have a right to hinder us."
"yet you think it expedient to depart without leave-taking," remarked one of the travellers.
"yea, ye-a," said josiah, reluctantly, "because father job is a very awful man to speak with; and being aged himself, he has but little charity for what he calls the iniquities of the flesh."
"well," said the stranger, "we will neither use force to bring you back to the village, nor will we betray you to the elders. but sit you here awhile, and when you have heard what we shall tell you of the world which we have left, and into which you are going, perhaps you will turn back with us of your own accord. what say you?" added he, turning to his companions. "we have travelled thus far without becoming known to each other. shall we tell our stories, here by this pleasant spring, for our own pastime, and the benefit of these misguided young lovers?"
in accordance with this proposal, the whole party stationed themselves round the stone cistern; the two children, being very weary, fell asleep upon the damp earth, and the pretty shaker girl, whose feelings were those of a nun or a turkish lady, crept as close as possible to the female traveller, and as far as she well could from the unknown men. the same person who had hitherto been the chief spokesman now stood up, waving his hat in his hand, and suffered the moonlight to fall full upon his front.
"in me," said he, with a certain majesty of utterance, "in me, you behold a poet."
though a lithographic print of this gentleman is extant, it may be well to notice that he was now nearly forty, a thin and stooping figure, in a black coat, out at elbows; notwithstanding the ill condition of his attire, there were about him several tokens of a peculiar sort of foppery, unworthy of a mature man, particularly in the arrangement of his hair which was so disposed as to give all possible loftiness and breadth to his forehead. however, he had an intelligent eye, and, on the whole, a marked countenance.
"a poet!" repeated the young shaker, a little puzzled how to understand such a designation, seldom heard in the utilitarian community where he had spent his life. "oh, ay, miriam, he means a varse-maker, thee must know."
this remark jarred upon the susceptible nerves of the poet; nor could he help wondering what strange fatality had put into this young man's mouth an epithet, which ill-natured people had affirmed to be more proper to his merit than the one assumed by himself.
"true, i am a verse-maker," he resumed, "but my verse is no more than the material body into which i breathe the celestial soul of thought.
alas! how many a pang has it cost me, this same insensibility to the ethereal essence of poetry, with which you have here tortured me again, at the moment when i am to relinquish my profession forever! o fate!
why hast thou warred with nature, turning all her higher and more perfect gifts to the ruin of me, their possessor? what is the voice of song, when the world lacks the ear of taste? how can i rejoice in my strength and delicacy of feeling, when they have but made great sorrows out of little ones? have i dreaded scorn like death, and yearned for fame as others pant for vital air, only to find myself in a middle state between obscurity and infamy? but i have my revenge! i could have given existence to a thousand bright creations. i crush them into my heart, and there let them putrefy! i shake off the dust of my feet against my countrymen! but posterity, tracing my footsteps up this weary hill, will cry shame upon the unworthy age that drove one of the fathers of american song to end his days in a shaker village!"
during this harangue, the speaker gesticulated with great energy, and, as poetry is the natural language of passion, there appeared reason to apprehend his final explosion into an ode extempore. the reader must understand that, for all these bitter words, he was a kind, gentle, harmless, poor fellow enough, whom nature, tossing her ingredients together without looking at her recipe, had sent into the world with too much of one sort of brain, and hardly any of another.
"friend," said the young shaker, in some perplexity, "thee seemest to have met with great troubles; and, doubtless, i should pity them, if if i could but understand what they were."
"happy in your ignorance!" replied the poet, with an air of sublime superiority. "to your coarser mind, perhaps, i may seem to speak of more important griefs when i add, what i had well-nigh forgotten, that i am out at elbows, and almost starved to death. at any rate, you have the advice and example of one individual to warn you back; for i am come hither, a disappointed man, flinging aside the fragments of my hopes, and seeking shelter in the calm retreat which you are so anxious to leave."
"i thank thee, friend," rejoined the youth, "but i do not mean to be a poet, nor, heaven be praised! do i think miriam ever made a varse in her life. so we need not fear thy disappointments. but, miriam," he added, with real concern, "thee knowest that the elders admit nobody that has not a gift to be useful. now, what under the sun can they do with this poor varse-maker?"
"nay, josiah, do not thee discourage the poor man," said the girl, in all simplicity and kindness. "our hymns are very rough, and perhaps they may trust him to smooth them."
without noticing this hint of professional employment, the poet turned away, and gave himself up to a sort of vague reverie, which he called thought. sometimes he watched the moon, pouring a silvery liquid on the clouds, through which it slowly melted till they became all bright; then he saw the same sweet radiance dancing on the leafy trees which rustled as if to shake it off, or sleeping on the high tops of hills, or hovering down in distant valleys, like the material of unshaped dreams; lastly, he looked into the spring, and there the light was mingling with the water. in its crystal bosom, too, beholding all heaven reflected there, he found an emblem of a pure and tranquil breast. he listened to that most ethereal of all sounds, the song of crickets, coming in full choir upon the wind, and fancied that, if moonlight could be heard, it would sound just like that. finally, he took a draught at the shaker spring, and, as if it were the true castalia, was forthwith moved to compose a lyric, a farewell to his harp, which he swore should be its closing strain, the last verse that an ungrateful world should have from him. this effusion, with two or three other little pieces, subsequently written, he took the first opportunity to send, by one of the shaker brethren, to concord, where they were published in the new hampshire patriot.
meantime, another of the canterbury pilgrims, one so different from the poet that the delicate fancy of the latter could hardly have conceived of him, began to relate his sad experience. he was a small man, of quick and unquiet gestures, about fifty years old, with a narrow forehead, all wrinkled and drawn together. he held in his hand a pencil, and a card of some commission-merchant in foreign parts, on the back of which, for there was light enough to read or write by, he seemed ready to figure out a calculation.
"young man," said he, abruptly, "what quantity of land do the shakers own here, in canterbury?"
"that is more than i can tell thee, friend," answered josiah, "but it is a very rich establishment, and for a long way by the roadside thee may guess the land to be ours, by the neatness of the fences."
"and what may be the value of the whole," continued the stranger, "with all the buildings and improvements, pretty nearly, in round numbers?"
"oh, a monstrous sum, more than i can reckon," replied the young shaker.
"well, sir," said the pilgrim, "there was a day, and not very long ago, neither, when i stood at my counting-room window, and watched the signal flags of three of my own ships entering the harbor, from the east indies, from liverpool, and from up the straits, and i would not have given the invoice of the least of them for the title-deeds of this whole shaker settlement. you stare. perhaps, now, you won't believe that i could have put more value on a little piece of paper, no bigger than the palm of your hand, than all these solid acres of grain, grass, and pasture-land would sell for?"
"i won't dispute it, friend," answered josiah, "but i know i had rather have fifty acres of this good land than a whole sheet of thy paper."
"you may say so now," said the ruined merchant, bitterly, "for my name would not be worth the paper i should write it on. of course, you must have heard of my failure?"
and the stranger mentioned his name, which, however mighty it might have been in the commercial world, the young shaker had never heard of among the canterbury hills.
"not heard of my failure!" exclaimed the merchant, considerably piqued.
"why, it was spoken of on 'change in london, and from boston to new orleans men trembled in their shoes. at all events, i did fail, and you see me here on my road to the shaker village, where, doubtless (for the shakers are a shrewd sect), they will have a due respect for my experience, and give me the management of the trading part of the concern, in which case i think i can pledge myself to double their capital in four or five years. turn back with me, young man; for though you will never meet with my good luck, you can hardly escape my bad."
"i will not turn back for this," replied josiah, calmly, "any more than for the advice of the varse-maker, between whom and thee, friend, i see a sort of likeness, though i can't justly say where it lies. but miriam and i can earn our daily bread among the world's people as well as in the shaker village. and do we want anything more, miriam?"
"nothing more, josiah," said the girl, quietly.
"yea, miriam, and daily bread for some other little mouths, if god send them," observed the simple shaker lad.
miriam did not reply, but looked down into the spring, where she encountered the image of her own pretty face, blushing within the prim little bonnet. the third pilgrim now took up the conversation. he was a sunburnt countryman, of tall frame and bony strength, on whose rude and manly face there appeared a darker, more sullen and obstinate despondency, than on those of either the poet or the merchant.
"well, now, youngster," he began, "these folks have had their say, so i'll take my turn. my story will cut but a poor figure by the side of theirs; for i never supposed that i could have a right to meat and drink, and great praise besides, only for tagging rhymes together, as it seems this man does; nor ever tried to get the substance of hundreds into my own hands, like the trader there. when i was about of your years, i married me a wife, just such a neat and pretty young woman as miriam, if that's her name, and all i asked of providence was an ordinary blessing on the sweat of my brow, so that we might be decent and comfortable, and have daily bread for ourselves, and for some other little mouths that we soon had to feed. we had no very great prospects before us; but i never wanted to be idle; and i thought it a matter of course that the lord would help me, because i was willing to help myself."
"and didn't he help thee, friend?" demanded josiah, with some eagerness.
"no," said the yeoman, sullenly; "for then you would not have seen me here. i have labored hard for years; and my means have been growing narrower, and my living poorer, and my heart colder and heavier, all the time; till at last i could bear it no longer. i set myself down to calculate whether i had best go on the oregon expedition, or come here to the shaker village; but i had not hope enough left in me to begin the world over again; and, to make my story short, here i am. and now, youngster, take my advice, and turn back; or else, some few years hence, you'll have to climb this hill, with as heavy a heart as mine."
this simple story had a strong effect on the young fugitives. the misfortunes of the poet and merchant had won little sympathy from their plain good sense and unworldly feelings, qualities which made them such unprejudiced and inflexible judges, that few men would have chosen to take the opinion of this youth and maiden as to the wisdom or folly of their pursuits. but here was one whose simple wishes had resembled their own, and who, after efforts which almost gave him a right to claim success from fate, had failed in accomplishing them.
"but thy wife, friend?" exclaimed the younger man. "what became of the pretty girl, like miriam? oh, i am afraid she is dead!"
"yea, poor man, she must be dead, she and the children, too," sobbed miriam.
the female pilgrim had been leaning over the spring, wherein latterly a tear or two might have been seen to fall, and form its little circle on the surface of the water. she now looked up, disclosing features still comely, but which had acquired an expression of fretfulness, in the same long course of evil fortune that had thrown a sullen gloom over the temper of the unprosperous yeoman.
"i am his wife," said she, a shade of irritability just perceptible in the sadness of her tone. "these poor little things, asleep on the ground, are two of our children. we had two more, but god has provided better for them than we could, by taking them to himself."
"and what would thee advise josiah and me to do?" asked miriam, this being the first question which she had put to either of the strangers.
"'tis a thing almost against nature for a woman to try to part true lovers," answered the yeoman's wife, after a pause; "but i'll speak as truly to you as if these were my dying words. though my husband told you some of our troubles, he didn't mention the greatest, and that which makes all the rest so hard to bear. if you and your sweetheart marry, you'll be kind and pleasant to each other for a year or two, and while that's the case, you never will repent; but, by and by, he'll grow gloomy, rough, and hard to please, and you'll be peevish, and full of little angry fits, and apt to be complaining by the fireside, when he comes to rest himself from his troubles out of doors; so your love will wear away by little and little, and leave you miserable at last.
it has been so with us; and yet my husband and i were true lovers once, if ever two young folks were ."
as she ceased, the yeoman and his wife exchanged a glance, in which there was more and warmer affection than they had supposed to have escaped the frost of a wintry fate, in either of their breasts. at that moment, when they stood on the utmost verge of married life, one word fitly spoken, or perhaps one peculiar look, had they had mutual confidence enough to reciprocate it, might have renewed all their old feelings, and sent them back, resolved to sustain each other amid the struggles of the world. but the crisis passed and never came again.
just then, also, the children, roused by their mother's voice, looked up, and added their wailing accents to the testimony borne by all the canterbury pilgrims against the world from which they fled.
"we are tired and hungry!" cried they. "is it far to the shaker village?"
the shaker youth and maiden looked mournfully into each other's eyes.
they had but stepped across the threshold of their homes, when lo! the dark array of cares and sorrows that rose up to warn them back. the varied narratives of the strangers had arranged themselves into a parable; they seemed not merely instances of woful fate that had befallen others, but shadowy omens of disappointed hope and unavailing toil, domestic grief and estranged affection, that would cloud the onward path of these poor fugitives. but after one instant's hesitation, they opened their arms, and sealed their resolve with as pure and fond an embrace as ever youthful love had hallowed.
"we will not go back," said they. "the world never can be dark to us, for we will always love one another."
then the canterbury pilgrims went up the hill, while the poet chanted a drear and desperate stanza of the farewell to his harp, fitting music for that melancholy band. they sought a home where all former ties of nature or society would be sundered, and all old distinctions levelled, and a cold and passionless security be substituted for mortal hope and fear, as in that other refuge of the world's weary outcasts, the grave.
the lovers drank at the shaker spring, and then, with chastened hopes, but more confiding affections, went on to mingle in an untried life.
the devil in manuscript
on a bitter evening of december, i arrived by mail in a large town, which was then the residence of an intimate friend, one of those gifted youths who cultivate poetry and the belles-lettres, and call themselves students at law. my first business, after supper, was to visit him at the office of his distinguished instructor. as i have said, it was a bitter night, clear starlight, but cold as nova zembla, the shop-windows along the street being frosted, so as almost to hide the lights, while the wheels of coaches thundered equally loud over frozen earth and pavements of stone. there was no snow, either on the ground or the roofs of the houses. the wind blew so violently, that i had but to spread my cloak like a main-sail, and scud along the street at the rate of ten knots, greatly envied by other navigators, who were beating slowly up, with the gale right in their teeth. one of these i capsized, but was gone on the wings of the wind before he could even vociferate an oath.
after this picture of an inclement night, behold us seated by a great blazing fire, which looked so comfortable and delicious that i felt inclined to lie down and roll among the hot coals. the usual furniture of a lawyer's office was around us, rows of volumes in sheepskin, and a multitude of writs, summonses, and other legal papers, scattered over the desks and tables. but there were certain objects which seemed to intimate that we had little dread of the intrusion of clients, or of the learned counsellor himself, who, indeed, was attending court in a distant town. a tall, decanter-shaped bottle stood on the table, between two tumblers, and beside a pile of blotted manuscripts, altogether dissimilar to any law documents recognized in our courts. my friend, whom i shall call oberon, it was a name of fancy and friendship between him and me, my friend oberon looked at these papers with a peculiar expression of disquietude.
"i do believe," said he, soberly, "or, at least, i could believe, if i chose, that there is a devil in this pile of blotted papers. you have read them, and know what i mean, that conception in which i endeavored to embody the character of a fiend, as represented in our traditions and the written records of witchcraft. oh, i have a horror of what was created in my own brain, and shudder at the manuscripts in which i gave that dark idea a sort of material existence! would they were out of my sight!"
"and of mine, too," thought i.
"you remember," continued oberon, "how the hellish thing used to suck away the happiness of those who, by a simple concession that seemed almost innocent, subjected themselves to his power. just so my peace is gone, and all by these accursed manuscripts. have you felt nothing of the same influence?"
"nothing," replied i, "unless the spell be hid in a desire to turn novelist, after reading your delightful tales."
"novelist!" exclaimed oberon, half seriously. "then, indeed, my devil has his claw on you! you are gone! you cannot even pray for deliverance! but we will be the last and only victims; for this night i mean to burn the manuscripts, and commit the fiend to his retribution in the flames."
"burn your tales!" repeated i, startled at the desperation of the idea.
"even so," said the author, despondingly. "you cannot conceive what an effect the composition of these tales has had on me. i have become ambitious of a bubble, and careless of solid reputation. i am surrounding myself with shadows, which bewilder me, by aping the realities of life. they have drawn me aside from the beaten path of the world, and led me into a strange sort of solitude, a solitude in the midst of men,-where nobody wishes for what i do, nor thinks nor feels as i do. the tales have done all this. when they are ashes, perhaps i shall be as i was before they had existence. moreover, the sacrifice is less than you may suppose, since nobody will publish them."
"that does make a difference, indeed," said i.
"they have been offered, by letter," continued oberon, reddening with vexation, "to some seventeen booksellers. it would make you stare to read their answers; and read them you should, only that i burnt them as fast as they arrived. one man publishes nothing but school-books; another has five novels already under examination."
"what a voluminous mass the unpublished literature of america must be!"
cried i.
"oh, the alexandrian manuscripts were nothing to it!" said my friend.
"well, another gentleman is just giving up business, on purpose, i verily believe, to escape publishing my book. several, however, would not absolutely decline the agency, on my advancing half the cost of an edition, and giving bonds for the remainder, besides a high percentage to themselves, whether the book sells or not. another advises a subscription."
"the villain!" exclaimed i.
"a fact!" said oberon. "in short, of all the seventeen booksellers, only one has vouchsafed even to read my tales; and he a literary dabbler himself, i should judge has the impertinence to criticise them, proposing what he calls vast improvements, and concluding, after a general sentence of condemnation, with the definitive assurance that he will not be concerned on any terms."
"it might not be amiss to pull that fellow's nose," remarked i.
"if the whole 'trade' had one common nose, there would be some satisfaction in pulling it," answered the author. "but, there does seem to be one honest man among these seventeen unrighteous ones; and he tells me fairly, that no american publisher will meddle with an american work, seldom if by a known writer, and never if by a new one, unless at the writer's risk."
"the paltry rogues!" cried i. "will they live by literature, and yet risk nothing for its sake? but, after all, you might publish on your own account."
"and so i might," replied oberon. "but the devil of the business is this. these people have put me so out of conceit with the tales, that i loathe the very thought of them, and actually experience a physical sickness of the stomach, whenever i glance at them on the table. i tell you there is a demon in them! i anticipate a wild enjoyment in seeing them in the blaze; such as i should feel in taking vengeance on an enemy, or destroying something noxious."
i did not very strenuously oppose this determination, being privately of opinion, in spite of my partiality for the author, that his tales would make a more brilliant appearance in the fire than anywhere else.
before proceeding to execution, we broached the bottle of champagne, which oberon had provided for keeping up his spirits in this doleful business. we swallowed each a tumblerful, in sparkling commotion; it went bubbling down our throats, and brightened my eyes at once, but left my friend sad and heavy as before. he drew the tales towards him, with a mixture of natural affection and natural disgust, like a father taking a deformed infant into his arms.
"pooh! pish! pshaw!" exclaimed he, holding them at arm's-length. "it was gray's idea of heaven, to lounge on a sofa and read new novels.
now, what more appropriate torture would dante himself have contrived, for the sinner who perpetrates a bad book, than to be continually turning over the manuscript?"
"it would fail of effect," said i, "because a bad author is always his own great admirer."
"i lack that one characteristic of my tribe, the only desirable one,"
observed oberon. "but how many recollections throng upon me, as i turn over these leaves! this scene came into my fancy as i walked along a hilly road, on a starlight october evening; in the pure and bracing air, i became all soul, and felt as if i could climb the sky, and run a race along the milky way. here is another tale, in which i wrapt myself during a dark and dreary night-ride in the month of march, till the rattling of the wheels and the voices of my companions seemed like faint sounds of a dream, and my visions a bright reality. that scribbled page describes shadows which i summoned to my bedside at midnight: they would not depart when i bade them; the gray dawn came, and found me wide awake and feverish, the victim of my own enchantments!"
"there must have been a sort of happiness in all this," said i, smitten with a strange longing to make proof of it.
"there may be happiness in a fever fit," replied the author. "and then the various moods in which i wrote! sometimes my ideas were like precious stones under the earth, requiring toil to dig them up, and care to polish and brighten them; but often a delicious stream of thought would gush out upon the page at once, like water sparkling up suddenly in the desert; and when it had passed, i gnawed my pen hopelessly, or blundered on with cold and miserable toil, as if there were a wall of ice between me and my subject."
"do you now perceive a corresponding difference," inquired i, "between the passages which you wrote so coldly, and those fervid flashes of the mind?"
"no," said oberon, tossing the manuscripts on the table. "i find no traces of the golden pen with which i wrote in characters of fire. my treasure of fairy coin is changed to worthless dross. my picture, painted in what seemed the loveliest hues, presents nothing but a faded and indistinguishable surface. i have been eloquent and poetical and humorous in a dream, and behold! it is all nonsense, now that i am awake."
my friend now threw sticks of wood and dry chips upon the fire, and seeing it blaze like nebuchadnezzar's furnace, seized the champagne bottle, and drank two or three brimming bumpers, successively. the heady liquor combined with his agitation to throw him into a species of rage. he laid violent hands on the tales. in one instant more, their faults and beauties would alike have vanished in a glowing purgatory.
but, all at once, i remembered passages of high imagination, deep pathos, original thoughts, and points of such varied excellence, that the vastness of the sacrifice struck me most forcibly. i caught his arm.
"surely, you do not mean to burn them!" i exclaimed.
"let me alone!" cried oberon, his eyes flashing fire. "i will burn them! not a scorched syllable shall escape! would you have me a damned author? to undergo sneers, taunts, abuse, and cold neglect, and faint praise, bestowed, for pity's sake, against the giver's conscience! a hissing and a laughing-stock to my own traitorous thoughts! an outlaw from the protection of the grave, one whose ashes every careless foot might spurn, unhonored in life, and remembered scornfully in death! am i to bear all this, when yonder fire will insure me from the whole? no!
there go the tales! may my hand wither when it would write another!"
the deed was done. he had thrown the manuscripts into the hottest of the fire, which at first seemed to shrink away, but soon curled around them, and made them a part of its own fervent brightness. oberon stood gazing at the conflagration, and shortly began to soliloquize, in the wildest strain, as if fancy resisted and became riotous, at the moment when he would have compelled her to ascend that funeral pile. his words described objects which he appeared to discern in the fire, fed by his own precious thoughts; perhaps the thousand visions which the writer's magic had incorporated with these pages became visible to him in the dissolving heat, brightening forth ere they vanished forever; while the smoke, the vivid sheets of flame, the ruddy and whitening coals, caught the aspect of a varied scenery.
"they blaze," said he, "as if i had steeped them in the intensest spirit of genius. there i see my lovers clasped in each other's arms.
how pure the flame that bursts from their glowing hearts! and yonder the features of a villain writhing in the fire that shall torment him to eternity. my holy men, my pious and angelic women, stand like martyrs amid the flames, their mild eyes lifted heavenward. ring out the bells! a city is on fire. see! destruction roars through my dark forests, while the lakes boil up in steaming billows, and the mountains are volcanoes, and the sky kindles with a lurid brightness! all elements are but one pervading flame! ha! the fiend!"
i was somewhat startled by this latter exclamation. the tales were almost consumed, but just then threw forth a broad sheet of fire, which flickered as with laughter, making the whole room dance in its brightness, and then roared portentously up the chimney.
"you saw him? you must have seen him!" cried oberon. "how he glared at me and laughed, in that last sheet of flame, with just the features that i imagined for him! well! the tales are gone."
the papers were indeed reduced to a heap of black cinders, with a multitude of sparks hurrying confusedly among them, the traces of the pen being now represented by white lines, and the whole mass fluttering to and fro in the draughts of air. the destroyer knelt down to look at them.
"what is more potent than fire!" said he, in his gloomiest tone. "even thought, invisible and incorporeal as it is, cannot escape it. in this little time, it has annihilated the creations of long nights and days, which i could no more reproduce, in their first glow and freshness, than cause ashes and whitened bones to rise up and live. there, too, i sacrificed the unborn children of my mind. all that i had accomplished all that i planned for future years has perished by one common ruin, and left only this heap of embers! the deed has been my fate. and what remains? a weary and aimless life, a long repentance of this hour, and at last an obscure grave, where they will bury and forget me!"
as the author concluded his dolorous moan, the extinguished embers arose and settled down and arose again, and finally flew up the chimney, like a demon with sable wings. just as they disappeared, there was a loud and solitary cry in the street below us. "fire!" fire! other voices caught up that terrible word, and it speedily became the shout of a multitude. oberon started to his feet, in fresh excitement.
"a fire on such a night!" cried he. "the wind blows a gale, and wherever it whirls the flames, the roofs will flash up like gunpowder.
every pump is frozen up, and boiling water would turn to ice the moment it was flung from the engine. in an hour, this wooden town will be one great bonfire! what a glorious scene for my next pshaw!"
the street was now all alive with footsteps, and the air full of voices. we heard one engine thundering round a corner, and another rattling from a distance over the pavements. the bells of three steeples clanged out at once, spreading the alarm to many a neighboring town, and expressing hurry, confusion, and terror, so inimitably that i could almost distinguish in their peal the burden of the universal cry, "fire! fire! fire!"
"what is so eloquent as their iron tongues!" exclaimed oberon. "my heart leaps and trembles, but not with fear. and that other sound, too, deep and awful as a mighty organ, the roar and thunder of the multitude on the pavement below! come! we are losing time. i will cry out in the loudest of the uproar, and mingle my spirit with the wildest of the confusion, and be a bubble on the top of the ferment!"
from the first outcry, my forebodings had warned me of the true object and centre of alarm. there was nothing now but uproar, above, beneath, and around us; footsteps stumbling pell-mell up the public staircase, eager shouts and heavy thumps at the door, the whiz and dash of water from the engines, and the crash of furniture thrown upon the pavement.
at once, the truth flashed upon my friend. his frenzy took the hue of joy, and, with a wild gesture of exultation, he leaped almost to the ceiling of the chamber.
"my tales!" cried oberon. "the chimney! the roof! the fiend has gone forth by night, and startled thousands in fear and wonder from their beds! here i stand, a triumphant author! huzza! huzza! my brain has set the town on fire! huzza!"
my kinsman, major molineux
after the kings of great britain had assumed the right of appointing the colonial governors, the measures of the latter seldom met with the ready and generous approbation which had been paid to those of their predecessors, under the original charters. the people looked with most jealous scrutiny to the exercise of power which did not emanate from themselves, and they usually rewarded their rulers with slender gratitude for the compliances by which, in softening their instructions from beyond the sea, they had incurred the reprehension of those who gave them. the annals of massachusetts bay will inform us, that of six governors in the space of about forty years from the surrender of the old charter, under james ii, two were imprisoned by a popular insurrection; a third, as hutchinson inclines to believe, was driven from the province by the whizzing of a musket-ball; a fourth, in the opinion of the same historian, was hastened to his grave by continual bickerings with the house of representatives; and the remaining two, as well as their successors, till the revolution, were favored with few and brief intervals of peaceful sway. the inferior members of the court party, in times of high political excitement, led scarcely a more desirable life. these remarks may serve as a preface to the following adventures, which chanced upon a summer night, not far from a hundred years ago. the reader, in order to avoid a long and dry detail of colonial affairs, is requested to dispense with an account of the train of circumstances that had caused much temporary inflammation of the popular mind.
it was near nine o'clock of a moonlight evening, when a boat crossed the ferry with a single passenger, who had obtained his conveyance at that unusual hour by the promise of an extra fare. while he stood on the landing-place, searching in either pocket for the means of fulfilling his agreement, the ferryman lifted a lantern, by the aid of which, and the newly risen moon, he took a very accurate survey of the stranger's figure. he was a youth of barely eighteen years, evidently country-bred, and now, as it should seem, upon his first visit to town.
he was clad in a coarse gray coat, well worn, but in excellent repair; his under garments were durably constructed of leather, and fitted tight to a pair of serviceable and well-shaped limbs; his stockings of blue yarn were the incontrovertible work of a mother or a sister; and on his head was a three-cornered hat, which in its better days had perhaps sheltered the graver brow of the lad's father. under his left arm was a heavy cudgel formed of an oak sapling, and retaining a part of the hardened root; and his equipment was completed by a wallet, not so abundantly stocked as to incommode the vigorous shoulders on which it hung. brown, curly hair, well-shaped features, and bright, cheerful eyes were nature's gifts, and worth all that art could have done for his adornment.
the youth, one of whose names was robin, finally drew from his pocket the half of a little province bill of five shillings, which, in the depreciation in that sort of currency, did but satisfy the ferryman's demand, with the surplus of a sexangular piece of parchment, valued at three pence. he then walked forward into the town, with as light a step as if his day's journey had not already exceeded thirty miles, and with as eager an eye as if he were entering london city, instead of the little metropolis of a new england colony. before robin had proceeded far, however, it occurred to him that he knew not whither to direct his steps; so he paused, and looked up and down the narrow street, scrutinizing the small and mean wooden buildings that were scattered on either side.
"this low hovel cannot be my kinsman's dwelling," thought he, "nor yonder old house, where the moonlight enters at the broken casement; and truly i see none hereabouts that might be worthy of him. it would have been wise to inquire my way of the ferryman, and doubtless he would have gone with me, and earned a shilling from the major for his pains. but the next man i meet will do as well."
he resumed his walk, and was glad to perceive that the street now became wider, and the houses more respectable in their appearance. he soon discerned a figure moving on moderately in advance, and hastened his steps to overtake it. as robin drew nigh, he saw that the passenger was a man in years, with a full periwig of gray hair, a wide-skirted coat of dark cloth, and silk stockings rolled above his knees. he carried a long and polished cane, which he struck down perpendicularly before him at every step; and at regular intervals he uttered two successive hems, of a peculiarly solemn and sepulchral intonation.
having made these observations, robin laid hold of the skirt of the old man's coat just when the light from the open door and windows of a barber's shop fell upon both their figures.
"good evening to you, honored sir," said he, making a low bow, and still retaining his hold of the skirt. "i pray you tell me whereabouts is the dwelling of my kinsman, major molineux."
the youth's question was uttered very loudly; and one of the barbers, whose razor was descending on a well-soaped chin, and another who was dressing a ramillies wig, left their occupations, and came to the door.
the citizen, in the mean time, turned a long-favored countenance upon robin, and answered him in a tone of excessive anger and annoyance. his two sepulchral hems, however, broke into the very centre of his rebuke, with most singular effect, like a thought of the cold grave obtruding among wrathful passions.
"let go my garment, fellow! i tell you, i know not the man you speak of. what! i have authority, i have hem, hem authority; and if this be the respect you show for your betters, your feet shall be brought acquainted with the stocks by daylight, tomorrow morning!"
robin released the old man's skirt, and hastened away, pursued by an ill-mannered roar of laughter from the barber's shop. he was at first considerably surprised by the result of his question, but, being a shrewd youth, soon thought himself able to account for the mystery.
"this is some country representative," was his conclusion, "who has never seen the inside of my kinsman's door, and lacks the breeding to answer a stranger civilly. the man is old, or verily i might be tempted to turn back and smite him on the nose. ah, robin, robin! even the barber's boys laugh at you for choosing such a guide! you will be wiser in time, friend robin."
he now became entangled in a succession of crooked and narrow streets, which crossed each other, and meandered at no great distance from the water-side. the smell of tar was obvious to his nostrils, the masts of vessels pierced the moonlight above the tops of the buildings, and the numerous signs, which robin paused to read, informed him that he was near the centre of business. but the streets were empty, the shops were closed, and lights were visible only in the second stories of a few dwelling-houses. at length, on the corner of a narrow lane, through which he was passing, he beheld the broad countenance of a british hero swinging before the door of an inn, whence proceeded the voices of many guests. the casement of one of the lower windows was thrown back, and a very thin curtain permitted robin to distinguish a party at supper, round a well-furnished table. the fragrance of the good cheer steamed forth into the outer air, and the youth could not fail to recollect that the last remnant of his travelling stock of provision had yielded to his morning appetite, and that noon had found and left him dinnerless.
"oh, that a parchment three-penny might give me a right to sit down at yonder table!" said robin, with a sigh. "but the major will make me welcome to the best of his victuals; so i will even step boldly in, and inquire my way to his dwelling."
he entered the tavern, and was guided by the murmur of voices and the fumes of tobacco to the public-room. it was a long and low apartment, with oaken walls, grown dark in the continual smoke, and a floor which was thickly sanded, but of no immaculate purity. a number of persons the larger part of whom appeared to be mariners, or in some way connected with the sea occupied the wooden benches, or leatherbottomed chairs, conversing on various matters, and occasionally lending their attention to some topic of general interest. three or four little groups were draining as many bowls of punch, which the west india trade had long since made a familiar drink in the colony. others, who had the appearance of men who lived by regular and laborious handicraft, preferred the insulated bliss of an unshared potation, and became more taciturn under its influence. nearly all, in short, evinced a predilection for the good creature in some of its various shapes, for this is a vice to which, as fast day sermons of a hundred years ago will testify, we have a long hereditary claim. the only guests to whom robin's sympathies inclined him were two or three sheepish countrymen, who were using the inn somewhat after the fashion of a turkish caravansary; they had gotten themselves into the darkest corner of the room, and heedless of the nicotian atmosphere, were supping on the bread of their own ovens, and the bacon cured in their own chimney-smoke. but though robin felt a sort of brotherhood with these strangers, his eyes were attracted from them to a person who stood near the door, holding whispered conversation with a group of ill-dressed associates. his features were separately striking almost to grotesqueness, and the whole face left a deep impression on the memory.
the forehead bulged out into a double prominence, with a vale between; the nose came boldly forth in an irregular curve, and its bridge was of more than a finger's breadth; the eyebrows were deep and shaggy, and the eyes glowed beneath them like fire in a cave.
while robin deliberated of whom to inquire respecting his kinsman's dwelling, he was accosted by the innkeeper, a little man in a stained white apron, who had come to pay his professional welcome to the stranger. being in the second generation from a french protestant, he seemed to have inherited the courtesy of his parent nation; but no variety of circumstances was ever known to change his voice from the one shrill note in which he now addressed robin.
"from the country, i presume, sir?" said he, with a profound bow. "beg leave to congratulate you on your arrival, and trust you intend a long stay with us. fine town here, sir, beautiful buildings, and much that may interest a stranger. may i hope for the honor of your commands in respect to supper?"
"the man sees a family likeness! the rogue has guessed that i am related to the major!" thought robin, who had hitherto experienced little superfluous civility.
all eyes were now turned on the country lad, standing at the door, in his worn three-cornered hat, gray coat, leather breeches, and blue yarn stockings, leaning on an oaken cudgel, and bearing a wallet on his back.
robin replied to the courteous innkeeper, with such an assumption of confidence as befitted the major's relative. "my honest friend," he said, "i shall make it a point to patronize your house on some occasion, when" here he could not help lowering his voice "when i may have more than a parchment three-pence in my pocket. my present business," continued he, speaking with lofty confidence, "is merely to inquire my way to the dwelling of my kinsman, major molineux."
there was a sudden and general movement in the room, which robin interpreted as expressing the eagerness of each individual to become his guide. but the innkeeper turned his eyes to a written paper on the wall, which he read, or seemed to read, with occasional recurrences to the young man's figure.
"what have we here?" said he, breaking his speech into little dry fragments. "'left the house of the subscriber, bounden servant, hezekiah mudge, had on, when he went away, gray coat, leather breeches, master's third-best hat. one pound currency reward to whosoever shall lodge him in any jail of the providence.' better trudge, boy; better trudge!"
robin had begun to draw his hand towards the lighter end of the oak cudgel, but a strange hostility in every countenance induced him to relinquish his purpose of breaking the courteous innkeeper's head. as he turned to leave the room, he encountered a sneering glance from the bold-featured personage whom he had before noticed; and no sooner was he beyond the door, than he heard a general laugh, in which the innkeeper's voice might be distinguished, like the dropping of small stones into a kettle.
"now, is it not strange," thought robin, with his usual shrewdness, "is it not strange that the confession of an empty pocket should outweigh the name of my kinsman, major molineux? oh, if i had one of those grinning rascals in the woods, where i and my oak sapling grew up together, i would teach him that my arm is heavy though my purse be light!"
on turning the corner of the narrow lane, robin found himself in a spacious street, with an unbroken line of lofty houses on each side, and a steepled building at the upper end, whence the ringing of a bell announced the hour of nine. the light of the moon, and the lamps from the numerous shop-windows, discovered people promenading on the pavement, and amongst them robin had hoped to recognize his hitherto inscrutable relative. the result of his former inquiries made him unwilling to hazard another, in a scene of such publicity, and he determined to walk slowly and silently up the street, thrusting his face close to that of every elderly gentleman, in search of the major's lineaments. in his progress, robin encountered many gay and gallant figures. embroidered garments of showy colors, enormous periwigs, gold-laced hats, and silver-hilted swords glided past him and dazzled his optics. travelled youths, imitators of the european fine gentlemen of the period, trod jauntily along, half dancing to the fashionable tunes which they hummed, and making poor robin ashamed of his quiet and natural gait. at length, after many pauses to examine the gorgeous display of goods in the shop-windows, and after suffering some rebukes for the impertinence of his scrutiny into people's faces, the major's kinsman found himself near the steepled building, still unsuccessful in his search. as yet, however, he had seen only one side of the thronged street; so robin crossed, and continued the same sort of inquisition down the opposite pavement, with stronger hopes than the philosopher seeking an honest man, but with no better fortune. he had arrived about midway towards the lower end, from which his course began, when he overheard the approach of some one who struck down a cane on the flag-stones at every step, uttering at regular intervals, two sepulchral hems.
"mercy on us!" quoth robin, recognizing the sound.
turning a corner, which chanced to be close at his right hand, he hastened to pursue his researches in some other part of the town. his patience now was wearing low, and he seemed to feel more fatigue from his rambles since he crossed the ferry, than from his journey of several days on the other side. hunger also pleaded loudly within him, and robin began to balance the propriety of demanding, violently, and with lifted cudgel, the necessary guidance from the first solitary passenger whom he should meet. while a resolution to this effect was gaining strength, he entered a street of mean appearance, on either side of which a row of ill-built houses was straggling towards the harbor. the moonlight fell upon no passenger along the whole extent, but in the third domicile which robin passed there was a half-opened door, and his keen glance detected a woman's garment within.
"my luck may be better here," said he to himself.
accordingly, he approached the doors and beheld it shut closer as he did so; yet an open space remained, sufficing for the fair occupant to observe the stranger, without a corresponding display on her part. all that robin could discern was a strip of scarlet petticoat, and the occasional sparkle of an eye, as if the moonbeams were trembling on some bright thing.
"pretty mistress," for i may call her so with a good conscience thought the shrewd youth, since i know nothing to the contrary, "my sweet pretty mistress, will you be kind enough to tell me whereabouts i must seek the dwelling of my kinsman, major molineux?"
robin's voice was plaintive and winning, and the female, seeing nothing to be shunned in the handsome country youth, thrust open the door, and came forth into the moonlight. she was a dainty little figure with a white neck, round arms, and a slender waist, at the extremity of which her scarlet petticoat jutted out over a hoop, as if she were standing in a balloon. moreover, her face was oval and pretty, her hair dark beneath the little cap, and her bright eyes possessed a sly freedom, which triumphed over those of robin.
"major molineux dwells here," said this fair woman.
now, her voice was the sweetest robin had heard that night, yet he could not help doubting whether that sweet voice spoke gospel truth. he looked up and down the mean street, and then surveyed the house before which they stood. it was a small, dark edifice of two stories, the second of which projected over the lower floor, and the front apartment had the aspect of a shop for petty commodities.
"now, truly, i am in luck," replied robin, cunningly, "and so indeed is my kinsman, the major, in having so pretty a housekeeper. but i prithee trouble him to step to the door; i will deliver him a message from his friends in the country, and then go back to my lodgings at the inn."
"nay, the major has been abed this hour or more," said the lady of the scarlet petticoat; "and it would be to little purpose to disturb him to-night, seeing his evening draught was of the strongest. but he is a kind-hearted man, and it would be as much as my life's worth to let a kinsman of his turn away from the door. you are the good old gentleman's very picture, and i could swear that was his rainy-weather hat. also he has garments very much resembling those leather small-clothes. but come in, i pray, for i bid you hearty welcome in his name."
so saying, the fair and hospitable dame took our hero by the hand; and the touch was light, and the force was gentleness, and though robin read in her eyes what he did not hear in her words, yet the slender-waisted woman in the scarlet petticoat proved stronger than the athletic country youth. she had drawn his half-willing footsteps nearly to the threshold, when the opening of a door in the neighborhood startled the major's housekeeper, and, leaving the major's kinsman, she vanished speedily into her own domicile. a heavy yawn preceded the appearance of a man, who, like the moonshine of pyramus and thisbe, carried a lantern, needlessly aiding his sister luminary in the heavens. as he walked sleepily up the street, he turned his broad, dull face on robin, and displayed a long staff, spiked at the end.
"home, vagabond, home!" said the watchman, in accents that seemed to fall asleep as soon as they were uttered. "home, or we'll set you in the stocks by peep of day!"
"this is the second hint of the kind," thought robin. "i wish they would end my difficulties, by setting me there to-night."
nevertheless, the youth felt an instinctive antipathy towards the guardian of midnight order, which at first prevented him from asking his usual question. but just when the man was about to vanish behind the corner, robin resolved not to lose the opportunity, and shouted lustily after him, "i say, friend! will you guide me to the house of my kinsman, major molineux?"
the watchman made no reply, but turned the corner and was gone; yet robin seemed to hear the sound of drowsy laughter stealing along the solitary street. at that moment, also, a pleasant titter saluted him from the open window above his head; he looked up, and caught the sparkle of a saucy eye; a round arm beckoned to him, and next he heard light footsteps descending the staircase within. but robin, being of the household of a new england clergyman, was a good youth, as well as a shrewd one; so he resisted temptation, and fled away.
he now roamed desperately, and at random, through the town, almost ready to believe that a spell was on him, like that by which a wizard of his country had once kept three pursuers wandering, a whole winter night, within twenty paces of the cottage which they sought. the streets lay before him, strange and desolate, and the lights were extinguished in almost every house. twice, however, little parties of men, among whom robin distinguished individuals in outlandish attire, came hurrying along; but, though on both occasions, they paused to address him such intercourse did not at all enlighten his perplexity.
they did but utter a few words in some language of which robin knew nothing, and perceiving his inability to answer, bestowed a curse upon him in plain english and hastened away. finally, the lad determined to knock at the door of every mansion that might appear worthy to be occupied by his kinsman, trusting that perseverance would overcome the fatality that had hitherto thwarted him. firm in this resolve, he was passing beneath the walls of a church, which formed the corner of two streets, when, as he turned into the shade of its steeple, he encountered a bulky stranger muffled in a cloak. the man was proceeding with the speed of earnest business, but robin planted himself full before him, holding the oak cudgel with both hands across his body as a bar to further passage.
"halt, honest man, and answer me a question," said he, very resolutely.
"tell me, this instant, whereabouts is the dwelling of my kinsman, major molineux!"
"keep your tongue between your teeth, fool, and let me pass!" said a deep, gruff voice, which robin partly remembered. "let me pass, or i'll strike you to the earth!"
"no, no, neighbor!" cried robin, flourishing his cudgel, and then thrusting its larger end close to the man's muffled face. "no, no, i'm not the fool you take me for, nor do you pass till i have an answer to my question. whereabouts is the dwelling of my kinsman, major molineux?" the stranger, instead of attempting to force his passage, stepped back into the moonlight, unmuffled his face, and stared full into that of robin.
"watch here an hour, and major molineux will pass by," said he.
robin gazed with dismay and astonishment on the unprecedented physiognomy of the speaker. the forehead with its double prominence the broad hooked nose, the shaggy eyebrows, and fiery eyes were those which he had noticed at the inn, but the man's complexion had undergone a singular, or, more properly, a twofold change. one side of the face blazed an intense red, while the other was black as midnight, the division line being in the broad bridge of the nose; and a mouth which seemed to extend from ear to ear was black or red, in contrast to the color of the cheek. the effect was as if two individual devils, a fiend of fire and a fiend of darkness, had united themselves to form this infernal visage. the stranger grinned in robin's face, muffled his party-colored features, and was out of sight in a moment.
"strange things we travellers see!" ejaculated robin.
he seated himself, however, upon the steps of the church-door, resolving to wait the appointed time for his kinsman. a few moments were consumed in philosophical speculations upon the species of man who had just left him; but having settled this point shrewdly, rationally, and satisfactorily, he was compelled to look elsewhere for his amusement. and first he threw his eyes along the street. it was of more respectable appearance than most of those into which he had wandered, and the moon, creating, like the imaginative power, a beautiful strangeness in familiar objects, gave something of romance to a scene that might not have possessed it in the light of day. the irregular and often quaint architecture of the houses, some of whose roofs were broken into numerous little peaks, while others ascended, steep and narrow, into a single point, and others again were square; the pure snow-white of some of their complexions, the aged darkness of others, and the thousand sparklings, reflected from bright substances in the walls of many; these matters engaged robin's attention for a while, and then began to grow wearisome. next he endeavored to define the forms of distant objects, starting away, with almost ghostly indistinctness, just as his eye appeared to grasp them, and finally he took a minute survey of an edifice which stood on the opposite side of the street, directly in front of the church-door, where he was stationed. it was a large, square mansion, distinguished from its neighbors by a balcony, which rested on tall pillars, and by an elaborate gothic window, communicating therewith.
"perhaps this is the very house i have been seeking," thought robin.
then he strove to speed away the time, by listening to a murmur which swept continually along the street, yet was scarcely audible, except to an unaccustomed ear like his; it was a low, dull, dreamy sound, compounded of many noises, each of which was at too great a distance to be separately heard. robin marvelled at this snore of a sleeping town, and marvelled more whenever its continuity was broken by now and then a distant shout, apparently loud where it originated. but altogether it was a sleep-inspiring sound, and, to shake off its drowsy influence, robin arose, and climbed a window-frame, that he might view the interior of the church. there the moonbeams came trembling in, and fell down upon the deserted pews, and extended along the quiet aisles. a fainter yet more awful radiance was hovering around the pulpit, and one solitary ray had dared to rest upon the open page of the great bible.
had nature, in that deep hour, become a worshipper in the house which man had builded? or was that heavenly light the visible sanctity of the place, visible because no earthly and impure feet were within the walls? the scene made robin's heart shiver with a sensation of loneliness stronger than he had ever felt in the remotest depths of his native woods; so he turned away and sat down again before the door.
there were graves around the church, and now an uneasy thought obtruded into robin's breast. what if the object of his search, which had been so often and so strangely thwarted, were all the time mouldering in his shroud? what if his kinsman should glide through yonder gate, and nod and smile to him in dimly passing by?
"oh that any breathing thing were here with me!" said robin.
recalling his thoughts from this uncomfortable track, he sent them over forest, hill, and stream, and attempted to imagine how that evening of ambiguity and weariness had been spent by his father's household. he pictured them assembled at the door, beneath the tree, the great old tree, which had been spared for its huge twisted trunk and venerable shade, when a thousand leafy brethren fell. there, at the going down of the summer sun, it was his father's custom to perform domestic worship that the neighbors might come and join with him like brothers of the family, and that the wayfaring man might pause to drink at that fountain, and keep his heart pure by freshening the memory of home.
robin distinguished the seat of every individual of the little audience; he saw the good man in the midst, holding the scriptures in the golden light that fell from the western clouds; he beheld him close the book and all rise up to pray. he heard the old thanksgivings for daily mercies, the old supplications for their continuance to which he had so often listened in weariness, but which were now among his dear remembrances. he perceived the slight inequality of his father's voice when he came to speak of the absent one; he noted how his mother turned her face to the broad and knotted trunk; how his elder brother scorned, because the beard was rough upon his upper lip, to permit his features to be moved; how the younger sister drew down a low hanging branch before her eyes; and how the little one of all, whose sports had hitherto broken the decorum of the scene, understood the prayer for her playmate, and burst into clamorous grief. then he saw them go in at the door; and when robin would have entered also, the latch tinkled into its place, and he was excluded from his home.
"am i here, or there?" cried robin, starting; for all at once, when his thoughts had become visible and audible in a dream, the long, wide, solitary street shone out before him.
he aroused himself, and endeavored to fix his attention steadily upon the large edifice which he had surveyed before. but still his mind kept vibrating between fancy and reality; by turns, the pillars of the balcony lengthened into the tall, bare stems of pines, dwindled down to human figures, settled again into their true shape and size, and then commenced a new succession of changes. for a single moment, when he deemed himself awake, he could have sworn that a visage one which he seemed to remember, yet could not absolutely name as his kinsman's was looking towards him from the gothic window. a deeper sleep wrestled with and nearly overcame him, but fled at the sound of footsteps along the opposite pavement. robin rubbed his eyes, discerned a man passing at the foot of the balcony, and addressed him in a loud, peevish, and lamentable cry.
"hallo, friend! must i wait here all night for my kinsman, major molineux?"
the sleeping echoes awoke, and answered the voice; and the passenger, barely able to discern a figure sitting in the oblique shade of the steeple, traversed the street to obtain a nearer view. he was himself a gentleman in his prime, of open, intelligent, cheerful, and altogether prepossessing countenance. perceiving a country youth, apparently homeless and without friends, he accosted him in a tone of real kindness, which had become strange to robin's ears.
"well, my good lad, why are you sitting here?" inquired he. "can i be of service to you in any way?"
"i am afraid not, sir," replied robin, despondingly; "yet i shall take it kindly, if you'll answer me a single question. i've been searching, half the night, for one major molineux, now, sir, is there really such a person in these parts, or am i dreaming?"
"major molineux! the name is not altogether strange to me," said the gentleman, smiling. "have you any objection to telling me the nature of your business with him?"
then robin briefly related that his father was a clergyman, settled on a small salary, at a long distance back in the country, and that he and major molineux were brothers' children. the major, having inherited riches, and acquired civil and military rank, had visited his cousin, in great pomp, a year or two before; had manifested much interest in robin and an elder brother, and, being childless himself, had thrown out hints respecting the future establishment of one of them in life.
the elder brother was destined to succeed to the farm which his father cultivated in the interval of sacred duties; it was therefore determined that robin should profit by his kinsman's generous intentions, especially as he seemed to be rather the favorite, and was thought to possess other necessary endowments.
"for i have the name of being a shrewd youth," observed robin, in this part of his story.
"i doubt not you deserve it," replied his new friend, good-naturedly; "but pray proceed."
"well, sir, being nearly eighteen years old, and well grown, as you see," continued robin, drawing himself up to his full height, "i thought it high time to begin in the world. so my mother and sister put me in handsome trim, and my father gave me half the remnant of his last year's salary, and five days ago i started for this place, to pay the major a visit. but, would you believe it, sir! i crossed the ferry a little after dark, and have yet found nobody that would show me the way to his dwelling; only, an hour or two since, i was told to wait here, and major molineux would pass by."
"can you describe the man who told you this?" inquired the gentleman.
"oh, he was a very ill-favored fellow, sir," replied robin, "with two great bumps on his forehead, a hook nose, fiery eyes; and, what struck me as the strangest, his face was of two different colors. do you happen to know such a man, sir?"
"not intimately," answered the stranger, "but i chanced to meet him a little time previous to your stopping me. i believe you may trust his word, and that the major will very shortly pass through this street. in the mean time, as i have a singular curiosity to witness your meeting, i will sit down here upon the steps and bear you company."
he seated himself accordingly, and soon engaged his companion in animated discourse. it was but of brief continuance, however, for a noise of shouting, which had long been remotely audible, drew so much nearer that robin inquired its cause.
"what may be the meaning of this uproar?" asked he. "truly, if your town be always as noisy, i shall find little sleep while i am an inhabitant."
"why, indeed, friend robin, there do appear to be three or four riotous fellows abroad to-night," replied the gentleman. "you must not expect all the stillness of your native woods here in our streets. but the watch will shortly be at the heels of these lads and "
"ay, and set them in the stocks by peep of day," interrupted robin recollecting his own encounter with the drowsy lantern-bearer. "but, dear sir, if i may trust my ears, an army of watchmen would never make head against such a multitude of rioters. there were at least a thousand voices went up to make that one shout."
"may not a man have several voices, robin, as well as two complexions?"
said his friend.
"perhaps a man may; but heaven forbid that a woman should!" responded the shrewd youth, thinking of the seductive tones of the major's housekeeper.
the sounds of a trumpet in some neighboring street now became so evident and continual, that robin's curiosity was strongly excited. in addition to the shouts, he heard frequent bursts from many instruments of discord, and a wild and confused laughter filled up the intervals.
robin rose from the steps, and looked wistfully towards a point whither people seemed to be hastening.
"surely some prodigious merry-making is going on," exclaimed he "i have laughed very little since i left home, sir, and should be sorry to lose an opportunity. shall we step round the corner by that darkish house and take our share of the fun?"
"sit down again, sit down, good robin," replied the gentleman, laying his hand on the skirt of the gray coat. "you forget that we must wait here for your kinsman; and there is reason to believe that he will pass by, in the course of a very few moments."
the near approach of the uproar had now disturbed the neighborhood; windows flew open on all sides; and many heads, in the attire of the pillow, and confused by sleep suddenly broken, were protruded to the gaze of whoever had leisure to observe them. eager voices hailed each other from house to house, all demanding the explanation, which not a soul could give. half-dressed men hurried towards the unknown commotion stumbling as they went over the stone steps that thrust themselves into the narrow foot-walk. the shouts, the laughter, and the tuneless bray the antipodes of music, came onwards with increasing din, till scattered individuals, and then denser bodies, began to appear round a corner at the distance of a hundred yards.
"will you recognize your kinsman, if he passes in this crowd?" inquired the gentleman.
"indeed, i can't warrant it, sir; but i'll take my stand here, and keep a bright lookout," answered robin, descending to the outer edge of the pavement.
a mighty stream of people now emptied into the street, and came rolling slowly towards the church. a single horseman wheeled the corner in the midst of them, and close behind him came a band of fearful wind instruments, sending forth a fresher discord now that no intervening buildings kept it from the ear. then a redder light disturbed the moonbeams, and a dense multitude of torches shone along the street, concealing, by their glare, whatever object they illuminated. the single horseman, clad in a military dress, and bearing a drawn sword, rode onward as the leader, and, by his fierce and variegated countenance, appeared like war personified; the red of one cheek was an emblem of fire and sword; the blackness of the other betokened the mourning that attends them. in his train were wild figures in the indian dress, and many fantastic shapes without a model, giving the whole march a visionary air, as if a dream had broken forth from some feverish brain, and were sweeping visibly through the midnight streets.
a mass of people, inactive, except as applauding spectators, hemmed the procession in; and several women ran along the sidewalk, piercing the confusion of heavier sounds with their shrill voices of mirth or terror.
"the double-faced fellow has his eye upon me," muttered robin, with an indefinite but an uncomfortable idea that he was himself to bear a part in the pageantry.
the leader turned himself in the saddle, and fixed his glance full upon the country youth, as the steed went slowly by. when robin had freed his eyes from those fiery ones, the musicians were passing before him, and the torches were close at hand; but the unsteady brightness of the latter formed a veil which he could not penetrate. the rattling of wheels over the stones sometimes found its way to his ear, and confused traces of a human form appeared at intervals, and then melted into the vivid light. a moment more, and the leader thundered a command to halt:
the trumpets vomited a horrid breath, and then held their peace; the shouts and laughter of the people died away, and there remained only a universal hum, allied to silence. right before robin's eyes was an uncovered cart. there the torches blazed the brightest, there the moon shone out like day, and there, in tar-and-feathery dignity, sat his kinsman, major molineux!
he was an elderly man, of large and majestic person, and strong, square features, betokening a steady soul; but steady as it was, his enemies had found means to shake it. his face was pale as death, and far more ghastly; the broad forehead was contracted in his agony, so that his eyebrows formed one grizzled line; his eyes were red and wild, and the foam hung white upon his quivering lip. his whole frame was agitated by a quick and continual tremor, which his pride strove to quell, even in those circumstances of overwhelming humiliation. but perhaps the bitterest pang of all was when his eyes met those of robin; for he evidently knew him on the instant, as the youth stood witnessing the foul disgrace of a head grown gray in honor. they stared at each other in silence, and robin's knees shook, and his hair bristled, with a mixture of pity and terror. soon, however, a bewildering excitement began to seize upon his mind; the preceding adventures of the night, the unexpected appearance of the crowd, the torches, the confused din and the hush that followed, the spectre of his kinsman reviled by that great multitude, all this, and, more than all, a perception of tremendous ridicule in the whole scene, affected him with a sort of mental inebriety. at that moment a voice of sluggish merriment saluted robin's ears; he turned instinctively, and just behind the corner of the church stood the lantern-bearer, rubbing his eyes, and drowsily enjoying the lad's amazement. then he heard a peal of laughter like the ringing of silvery bells; a woman twitched his arm, a saucy eye met his, and he saw the lady of the scarlet petticoat. a sharp, dry cachinnation appealed to his memory, and, standing on tiptoe in the crowd, with his white apron over his head, he beheld the courteous little innkeeper. and lastly, there sailed over the heads of the multitude a great, broad laugh, broken in the midst by two sepulchral hems; thus, "haw, haw, haw, hem, hem, haw, haw, haw, haw!"
the sound proceeded from the balcony of the opposite edifice, and thither robin turned his eyes. in front of the gothic window stood the old citizen, wrapped in a wide gown, his gray periwig exchanged for a nightcap, which was thrust back from his forehead, and his silk stockings hanging about his legs. he supported himself on his polished cane in a fit of convulsive merriment, which manifested itself on his solemn old features like a funny inscription on a tombstone. then robin seemed to hear the voices of the barbers, of the guests of the inn, and of all who had made sport of him that night. the contagion was spreading among the multitude, when all at once, it seized upon robin, and he sent forth a shout of laughter that echoed through the street, every man shook his sides, every man emptied his lungs, but robin's shout was the loudest there. the cloud-spirits peeped from their silvery islands, as the congregated mirth went roaring up the sky! the man in the moon heard the far bellow. "oho," quoth he, "the old earth is frolicsome to-night!"
when there was a momentary calm in that tempestuous sea of sound, the leader gave the sign, the procession resumed its march. on they went, like fiends that throng in mockery around some dead potentate, mighty no more, but majestic still in his agony. on they went, in counterfeited pomp, in senseless uproar, in frenzied merriment, trampling all on an old man's heart. on swept the tumult, and left a silent street behind.
"well, robin, are you dreaming?" inquired the gentleman, laying his hand on the youth's shoulder.
robin started, and withdrew his arm from the stone post to which he had instinctively clung, as the living stream rolled by him. his cheek was somewhat pale, and his eye not quite as lively as in the earlier part of the evening.
"will you be kind enough to show me the way to the ferry?" said he, after a moment's pause.
"you have, then, adopted a new subject of inquiry?" observed his companion, with a smile.
"why, yes, sir," replied robin, rather dryly. "thanks to you, and to my other friends, i have at last met my kinsman, and he will scarce desire to see my face again. i begin to grow weary of a town life, sir. will you show me the way to the ferry?"
"no, my good friend robin, not to-night, at least," said the gentleman. "some few days hence, if you wish it, i will speed you on your journey. or, if you prefer to remain with us, perhaps, as you are a shrewd youth, you may rise in the world without the help of your kinsman, major molineux."
the magical mimics in oz
toto carries a message
"toto," called princess ozma of oz, as a small black dog trotted down the corridor past the open door of her study in the royal palace of the emerald city, "toto, will you do me a favor?"
"certainly," answered the little dog, his bright eyes regarding the princess questioningly. "what can i do for your majesty?"
ozma smiled. "i wonder if you would go to dorothy's rooms and ask her to join me here as soon as possible."
"that'll be easy, ozma," said toto, "i was just on my way to see dorothy. it's time for our morning romp in the garden."
"well," laughed ozma, "i shall keep dorothy for only a few minutes, then she can join you in the garden for your play."
"thank you, ozma," replied toto as he turned and trotted down the corridor leading to dorothy's suite of rooms.
as the little dog disappeared, the smile slowly faded from ozma's face, and the lovely little ruler of the world's most beautiful fairyland looked unusually serious.
the truth was that ozma was thinking of events that had happened many years before in the history of the land of oz. not always had oz been a fairy realm. in those olden times oz had been nothing more than a remarkably beautiful country of rolling plains, wooded hills and rich farm lands. indeed, oz had not been so much different from our own united states, except that it was surrounded on all sides by a deadly desert. it was this desert which prevented curious men from the great outside world from finding their way to oz. for the fumes and gasses that rose from the shifting sands of the desert were deadly poison to all living things, and for a human to have set foot on the desert would have meant instant and terrible death. consequently, all living things avoided the deadly desert, and it is no wonder that oz was so entirely secluded and went unnoticed by the rest of the world for so many long years.
meanwhile, the oz people were happy and contented, living their simple carefree lives without worries or troubles. the soil of oz was fertile and the people naturally industrious, so there was always an abundance of everything for everyone. hence destructive and terrible wars were unknown in oz even in the olden days.
one fine day queen lurline, ruler of all the fairies in the world, chanced to be flying over the land of oz with her fairy band. she was greatly impressed with the beauty of the hidden country. the fairy queen paused, flying in wide circles over the peaceful land. here was a country so entirely beautiful and charming that it deserved to be a fairy realm.
queen lurline sought out the king of this favored land and found him to be an old man with no son or daughter to whom he could pass on his crown. with great joy the old king accepted the tiny, baby fairy whom queen lurline placed in his care. when the baby fairy attained her full age of girlhood (no fairy ever appears to be older than a young girl of fourteen or fifteen) she was to be crowned princess ozma of oz.
from the time of lurline's visit, oz became a fairyland, abounding in enchantments and strange happenings. indeed, several of the inhabitants of oz fell to studying the magic arts and became witches and magicians, very nearly preventing ozma from becoming the rightful ruler of the fairyland.
ozma was fully aware that she was a member of queen lurline's fairy band, and she was justly proud of her immortal heritage. she knew, too, that she owed allegiance to the powerful fairy queen, and that was the reason she appeared so thoughtful this morning as she awaited princess dorothy.
ozma's reverie was broken by a gentle rap on the open door. looking up, she saw dorothy standing in the doorway.
"come in, my dear," said ozma, "there is something i must discuss with you."
ozma and glinda go away
"what is it, ozma?" dorothy asked, as she sat down beside her friend.
"dorothy," ozma began, thoughtfully, "you have heard me tell the story of how the good queen lurline left me here as a baby to become the ruler of the land of oz."
"of course, ozma, and how you were stolen by old mombi, the witch, and "
"yes," interrupted ozma, smiling, "all that is true, but the important fact is that now the day has arrived when i must answer the summons of the great fairy queen. you see," continued the girlish ruler seriously, "every 200 years all the members of queen lurline's fairy band gather for a grand council in the beautiful forest of burzee which lies just across the deadly desert to the south of oz."
"isn't that the forest where santa claus was found as an infant and adopted by the forest nymph?" asked dorothy eagerly.
"yes," replied ozma, "burzee is indeed a famous forest. for untold centuries its cool groves have been the meeting place of queen lurline and her subjects. they gather to discuss and plan the work they will do during the next two centuries.
"in the old days," ozma's voice was musing and thoughtful as she continued, "when mankind was simpler and gentler of nature, it was easier for the fairies to do their good works and to aid the helpless humans. but today few humans believe in fairies."
"the children do," dorothy suggested.
"yes," said ozma, "but unfortunately as the children grow older and become men and women, they forget all they ever knew about fairies. i wish," she added wistfully, "that the men and women of the world would keep a bit of their childhood with them. they would find it a valuable thing."
"when will you be going, ozma?" dorothy asked softly.
"tomorrow morning," ozma replied. "and so important is this meeting that i have asked glinda the good to accompany me, although she is not a member of queen lurline's fairy band."
"ozma," said dorothy seriously, her chin cupped in her hand, "there is one thing i have often wondered about. what did queen lurline do after she left you here to become the ruler of oz?"
"there is a story," ozma began with a far-away look in her eyes, "that after she made oz a fairyland, queen lurline flew away to the land of the phanfasms, that strange realm lying southeast of oz, across the deadly desert and bordering the kingdom of the nomes."
"i remember the phanfasms," dorothy nodded. "they are the wicked creatures who came with the nome king through his tunnel under the deadly desert to conquer oz."
"yes, and thanks to the wisdom of our famous scarecrow, we were able to render them harmless," ozma recalled with a smile.
"did queen lurline go to see the phanfasms after she left oz?" asked dorothy.
"no," replied ozma. "it seems that instead of going to mount phantastico, where the phanfasms dwell, queen lurline flew to the second of the twin peaks to mount illuso, home of the dread mimics."
"i don't remember hearing about the mimics before. just who are they, ozma," asked dorothy with interest.
"not a great deal is known about them," replied ozma seriously, "and what we do know is so unpleasant that the mimics are avoided as a subject of conversation. they are not humans, nor are they immortals.
like the phanfasms, to whom they are closely related, they belong to the ancient race of erbs creatures who inhabited the earth long before the coming of mankind. both the mimics and the phanfasms hate all humans and immortals, for they feel that mankind, aided by the immortals, has stolen the world from them."
"they don't sound very nice to me," said dorothy with a shudder. "why did queen lurline go to see such dreadful creatures?"
ozma's voice was grave as she answered. "queen lurline knew that the mimics bitterly hated all that was good and happy and just in the world. the wise queen fully realized that now that oz was so beautiful and favored and its people so happy and contented a fairy folk, the mimics would lose no time in seeking to bring unhappiness to oz. it was to prevent this, that queen lurline paid her visit to mount illuso."
"and did she succeed?" asked dorothy.
"yes, my dear," replied ozma. "queen lurline placed a fairy spell on the mimics to make it impossible for them to attack the inhabitants of oz. but let's not discuss the unpleasant mimics any further," ozma concluded. "thanks to good queen lurline we don't even have to think about the creatures. let us return to our conversation about you."
"about me?" asked dorothy.
"yes," replied ozma. "can't you guess why i asked you to see me this particular morning?"
"why, to tell me about the trip you and glinda are planning," said dorothy.
"and something more, too," continued ozma. "who do you think will rule the emerald city and the land of oz, while both glinda and i are absent?"
"i suppose either the little wizard or the scarecrow," ventured dorothy, remembering that in the past both the wizard and the scarecrow had ruled the land of oz.
"no," replied ozma calmly. "you, dorothy, will be the ruler of the emerald city and the land of oz in my absence."
"i?" cried dorothy. "oh, ozma, i'm only a little girl! i don't know the first thing about ruling!"
"you are a princess of oz," stated ozma with dignity. "i shall appoint the wizard as your counselor and advisor. with his wisdom and your honesty of heart and sweetness of nature, i am confident the land of oz will be well ruled."
dorothy was silent, considering.
"come, my dear," said ozma with a smile. "i shall be gone only three short days. i am sure once you have become accustomed to the idea, you will enjoy the novel experience of being a real ruler, so do not worry."
rising from the divan, ozma concluded: "i must go now to inform the courtiers and lords and ladies of my journey. i will instruct them in the regular affairs of state to be carried on in my absence, so that you will not be annoyed with these routine matters."
ozma kissed dorothy on the cheek and the two girls left the room arm in arm, parting a few minutes later as ozma went about making preparations for her journey. dorothy joined toto who was waiting patiently for her in the lovely gardens of the royal palace.
the little dog quickly noticed that his mistress was not nearly so carefree in her play as usual, but seemed more serious and thoughtful.
he wondered if this had anything to do with her conversation with ozma, but since dorothy didn't mention the subject to him and seemed to be so busy with her own thoughts, toto, being a wise little dog, refrained from troubling her with questions.
dorothy had a long talk with the wizard later in the day. the little man pointed out that dorothy's duties as a ruler would be very slight, so well-governed was oz and so well-behaved were the oz people.
nevertheless, dorothy was greatly cheered and relieved when the wizard promised to help her, should any problem arise that she found troubling.
ozma's time was so entirely taken up with affairs of state and the many preparations for her absence from her beloved country, that dorothy saw nothing of the girlish ruler during the remainder of the day.
the morning of ozma and glinda's departure dawned bright and clear, with the sunlight shining brilliantly on the beautiful city of emeralds.
breakfast had been over for several hours when glinda the good sorceress arrived from her castle far to the south in the quadling country of the land of oz. glinda and ozma went immediately to the royal throne room where the famous oz personages waited to witness their departure.
at exactly 10 o'clock princess ozma seated herself in her emerald throne, while the stately glinda stood at her right. before them was as strange and impressive an assemblage of nobles, courtiers and old friends as ever gathered together in any fairy realm.
among those present were: the famous scarecrow of oz with his highly polished companion, nick chopper, the nickel-plated tin woodman; comical jack pumpkinhead astride the wooden sawhorse who was ozma's personal steed and earliest companion; scraps, the jolly patchwork girl; sweet little trot and her faithful sailor friend, grizzled old cap'n bill; betsy bobbin and her mule, hank; the cheerful shaggy man looking shaggier than ever; the highly magnified and thoroughly educated woggle bug wearing his wisest expression for this important occasion; the stately cowardly lion who was one of dorothy's oldest friends and his companion the hungry tiger who longed to devour fat babies but never did because his conscience wouldn't permit him to; that strange creature the woozy whose eyes flashed real fire when he became angry; button bright, the boy from philadelphia who had been dorothy's companion on several wonderful adventures; ojo the lucky and his unc nunkie; dorothy's beloved aunt em and uncle henry, and of course the little wizard, and many, many others.
ozma stood before her throne and raised her hand. immediately silence settled over the assemblage in the vast throne room.
"as you all know," the princess said, "glinda and i are about to attend an important fairy conference in the distant forest of burzee. we shall be gone from oz for a period of three days. during that time, princess dorothy will be your sovereign and ruler."
ozma removed her dainty fairy wand from the folds of her gown and lifted it into the air. for a moment she smiled on all, then, with a graceful wave of the wand and before the onlookers realized what was happening, both she and glinda had vanished.
but dorothy knew that even at that moment queen lurline was greeting the lovely ozma and the stately glinda in the depths of the enchanted forest of burzee.
mount illuso
on that far away day those many years ago, when queen lurline had left the baby ozma to become the ruler of oz, queen lurline did not pause, for she knew the most important part of her work was still to be done.
if the land of oz was to be the happy fairyland she hoped it would be, she must protect it from the evil of the mimics.
with this thought in mind, the good queen left oz and flew straight to the bleak land of the phanfasms. signalling to one of her fairy maidens to accompany her, queen lurline flew down to grim mount illuso, home of the dread mimics.
pausing at the entrance to the great hollow mountain queen lurline bade her fairy companion await her return. then, taking the precaution to make herself invisible to the eyes of the mimics, the fairy queen stepped into the enchanted mountain.
the sight that met her eyes caused even the good queen lurline to chill and falter momentarily on the rocky ledge on which she stood. above her rose the vast, cavernous walls of the hollow mountain. spread out below were the corridors burrowed into the rock by the mimics. in dark caverns deep below these corridors the monsters made their homes.
all of this scene was lighted by flaming torches set at intervals in the walls of the cavern. the torches flared deep red, casting lurid, flickering shadows and adding to the weird unreality of the scene.
as queen lurline gazed, the mimics were moving through the rough-hewn corridors or flying through the air. the most unusual thing about the creatures was their strange habit of constantly changing their shapes. they shifted restlessly from one form to another. since they were creatures of evil, the shapes they assumed were all forms of the blackest evil and dread.
even as queen lurline watched, fascinated by the strange spectacle, the mimics shifted and changed and flitted from one loathsome shape to another. a monster bird with leathery wings and a horned head dropped to the ground, and in another second assumed the squat body of a huge toad with the head of a hyena, snarling with laughter. a crawling red lizard, all of ten feet in length, turned into a giant butterfly with black wings and the body of a serpent. a great, green bat with wicked talons alighted on a ledge not far from queen lurline and in an instant changed to a mammoth, hairy creature with the body of a huge ape and the head of an alligator.
the good queen shuddered in spite of herself. what she had seen had only served to strengthen her resolution to protect the oz people for all time against the mimics. immediately she began weaving a powerful incantation. in a few minutes the enchantment was completed. queen lurline breathed a sigh of relief, for she knew that the mimics were now powerless to harm any of the fairy inhabitants of the land of oz.
queen lurline was well aware that the mimics' strange habit of changing their shapes was the least of their evil characteristics. much more dreadful was the power possessed by these creatures to steal the shapes of both mortals and immortals. a mimic accomplished this simply by casting himself on the shadow of his victim. instantly the mimic arose, a perfect double in outward appearance of the person whose shadow he had stolen. as for the unfortunate victim, he fell into a spell of enchantment, unable to move or speak, but conscious of all that was taking place about him.
no wonder queen lurline sighed with relief when she thought that her powerful magic had made the oz people secure against the dread evil of the mimics!
queen lurline slipped from the cavern through the stone portal of mount illuso. for a moment she paused, breathing deeply and gratefully of the fresh air. but she must not tarry now. she still had other important work to do here. when she returned to her fairy companion, queen lurline gave her brief instructions concerning the important part she was to play at mount illuso in the coming years. then they both spread their fairy wings and flew straight to the very summit of the hollow mount.
the mimics mean mischief
on the same morning that ozma and glinda left the land of oz for the forest of burzee, events of equal importance were happening in mount illuso, home of the mimics.
the mimics were ruled over by two sovereigns king umb and queen ra.
it is a question which was the more wicked and dangerous of this pair.
king umb was bold and brutal, while his wife, queen ra, was clever and cunning. together they made a fitting combination to rule so wicked a horde as the mimics.
on this particular morning king umb and queen ra secluded themselves in a hidden cavern, deep in the underground caves that honeycombed the depths of hollow mount illuso. roughly hewn from the grey rock, this cavern was circular in shape and was filled with ancient books and strange and weird implements of sorcery and enchantment. king umb possessed little skill in magic arts, but queen ra was powerful in the practice of conjuring and evil incantation.
after the visit of queen lurline to mount illuso and the casting of the powerful enchantment that prevented king umb and queen ra from leading their mimic subjects in the destruction of oz, queen ra had at first raged and fumed and wildly vowed vengeance on queen lurline and princess ozma. then, as the years passed by, the evil queen spent more and more time lurking in the secret cavern, studying the ancient sorcery of the erbs, employing her black arts to follow events in the history of oz and plotting the destruction of the fairyland.
of course the mimic king and queen were free to lead their hordes in attacks on people of other lands, and you may wonder why they didn't forget all about oz and content themselves with bringing misery to other countries. the reason was that the wicked king and queen of the mimics despised all that was good, and they could not endure the thought of the oz people living in peace and contentment, safe from their evil-doing. so long as the oz inhabitants remained the happiest people in all the world, king umb and queen ra could derive no satisfaction in bringing misery to other less happy lands.
queen ra was well aware that princess ozma was one of the most powerful fairy rulers in existence, and that her loyal friend, glinda the good, was the mightiest and wisest of all sorceresses. nevertheless, through her own dark magic, queen ra had recently made two important discoveries that raised her hopes so high that she believed she might be able soon to defy both ozma and glinda.
first, she had discovered that ozma and glinda were about to depart on a journey that would take them away from the land of oz. second, she had learned that in one of ozma's books of magic records in the royal palace of the emerald city was written the charm that would break the spell queen lurline had cast on the mimics to protect oz!
this morning queen ra had assumed the shape of a huge woman almost a giantess with the head of a grey wolf. king umb wore the form of a black bear with an owl head. the queen held in her hands a circlet of dully gleaming metal. the red eyes of her wolf head gazed at it steadily, while she muttered an incantation. as the wolf-headed woman spoke, a wisp of grey mist appeared in the center of the metal ring.
the mist expanded into a ball, growing denser in appearance. next it became milky in hue, then opalescent, finally glowing as with an inner light. slowly a scene appeared in the metal-bound ball of shimmering opal mist. while king umb and queen ra watched, the throne room of the royal palace in the emerald city grew distinct in the milky depths of the captive ball. princess ozma stood by her throne with glinda the good at her side. the lips of the little ruler were moving, forming words, although the mimic monarchs could distinguish no sound. ozma was addressing her subjects. then the girl ruler smiled and raised her wand. in an instant both ozma and glinda had vanished. the ball of glowing mist disappeared. with a clatter queen ra threw the metal circlet to the stone floor of the cave and triumphantly faced the owl-headed bear.
"they have gone!" she cried.
"you are positive that now is the time for us to act?" asked king umb.
"absolutely," said the wolf-headed woman. "we know that one of ozma's magic record books holds the secret of the enchantment cast on us.
we know that ozma and glinda will be absent from oz for three days, leaving the country and the emerald city unprotected by their magic arts. we know that those people who have in recent years come from the great outside world to live in oz, were not inhabitants of oz when lurline made it a fairyland. thus they are not protected by the enchantment she cast on us. it will be simple for us to assume the shapes of these people of course they are mere mortals " the queen added with a sneer, "but even so they will serve our purpose."
"you have a plan then?" asked the owl-headed king.
"a plan that will result in the utter destruction of oz and the enslavement of the oz people," asserted the queen with grim relish.
"listen!" the wolf-headed woman commanded. "tonight you and i, with styg and ebo, will fly swiftly across the deadly desert to the land of oz. we will go directly to the emerald city. there we will seek out the two mortals from the great outside world whose shapes will admit us to every part of the royal palace. my magic arts have told me that at a certain hour tomorrow morning these two mortals will be together with no one else about to witness or interfere with our deed. after we have stolen their shapes, the helpless mortals will be seized by styg and ebo and returned here, where they will be our prisoners. then we will be free to search through ozma's magic record books. as soon as we locate the magical antidote to lurline's enchantment, we will break the spell binding our subjects. by the time ozma and glinda return, oz will be overrun by mimics, and we shall be ready to give their royal highnesses a proper reception!" queen ra smiled wickedly as she finished this recital.
the owl eyes of king umb had been regarding queen ra intently as she revealed her plan. when she had finished, an evil leer spread over the king's furry features.
"ra," said king umb, "you are the most wicked queen who ever ruled the mimics!"
and that, by mimic standards, was the highest compliment king umb could pay his queen.
several hours after midnight, king umb and queen ra, followed by the two mimics, styg and ebo, slipped outside the entrance of the hollow mountain. immediately all four assumed the shapes of giant birds, black of plumage and with powerful wings. during the creatures' long flight over the deadly desert to oz, they changed shapes a number of times, but always to another form of powerful bird.
as they mounted into the air and soared through the dark night over the peak of mount illuso, king umb cast a backward glance toward the summit of the mountain.
"what about the guardian?" he asked queen ra uneasily.
"bah!" the giant bird that was queen ra croaked derisively. "who cares about her? let her go on dreaming over her foolish flowers and sticks of wood that's all she has done all these years!"
prisoners of the mimics
high in the top of the tallest tower of the royal palace was the wizard's apartment. in this secluded spot, the little man kept his magical tools and apparatus and could work undisturbed for long hours over difficult feats of magic.
the morning after ozma and glinda had left, dorothy had climbed the stair to the wizard's quarters, and she and the wizard were deep in a discussion of matters of state.
two sides of the room they occupied were composed of tall french windows, rising from the floor to the ceiling and opening onto a spacious veranda. the windows were flung wide open to admit the refreshing breeze and the welcome sunlight.
suddenly the air was filled with the flutter of powerful wings, and four large, black-plumed birds, settled on the veranda and stepped into the room.
glancing up in surprise at this sudden interruption, the wizard exclaimed with annoyance, "here, what's the meaning of this intrusion?"
(since all birds and animals in the land of oz possess the power of human speech, the wizard naturally addressed the birds as he would have spoken to human beings.)
but the birds made no reply. instead, two of them stepped swiftly toward dorothy and the wizard, who had risen in surprise and were standing beside their chairs. the two birds flung themselves on the shadows cast by the girl and the man. instantly the birds vanished, and dorothy and the wizard found themselves staring in amazement at exact duplicates of themselves!
sensing that he was confronted by some sort of evil magic, the wizard made an effort to reach his black bag of magic tools which rested on a nearby table, but it was too late. caught in the mimic spell, the little man was powerless to move. dorothy's plight was the same; she could not so much as lift her little finger.
all this had happened in much less time than i have taken to tell it, and it was so sudden and unexpected that our friends had not even had time to cry out.
now the mimic form of dorothy, speaking in dorothy's own voice, said to the two remaining birds, "seize them, ebo and styg, and see that my commands are fulfilled!"
one black bird grasped the form of the helpless wizard, the other that of dorothy. then, flapping their powerful wings, the two birds passed through the windows and soared aloft, bearing their captives high into the heavens.
swiftly they left the emerald city. in a few minutes it was no more than a lovely jewel set in the farmlands around it. the birds headed southeast in the direction of the deadly desert.
at times in their flight, when the captives were able to exchange glances, dorothy read in the wizard's kindly eyes a mute expression of concern for his little comrade. the girl tried to reassure him, but it was difficult to look brave when she was unable to move even an eyelash and besides, dorothy had to admit to herself, she didn't feel at all brave just now.
in another minute when dorothy was gazing at the bird that was carrying her so swiftly through the air, she was startled to see the form of the creature shift and change. from a huge, eagle-like bird it changed to an enormous condor. strange birds these were, dorothy thought, which went about changing their shapes and stealing little girls and wizards.
as they flew over the yellow land of the winkies, the motion of the bird's body occasionally permitted dorothy to look downward. once she glimpsed, sparkling in the sunlight, the highly polished towers and minarets of a handsome tin castle. this, she knew, was the home of her old friend nick chopper the tin woodman, emperor of the winkies.
dorothy found herself wondering what the kind-hearted nick chopper would say if he could know that at this moment his dear friends were being carried high in the air over his castle, prisoners of two giant black birds! but there was no use speculating in this fashion. the tin woodman was powerless to aid them, even if he had known their plight.
with a start dorothy realized that the birds had crossed the border of oz and were now flying over the deadly desert. the fact that they had left the land of oz behind them disturbed dorothy greatly. yet the little girl did not give way to fright. she had experienced so many strange and sometimes dangerous adventures in her lifetime, that she had wisely learned never to despair.
the journey over the desert seemed endless. despite the great height at which the birds flew, dorothy was beginning to feel faint and ill from the evil fumes of the sands by the time they reached the border of the land of the phanfasms. however, once past the desert, she was revived by the fresh air.
where were these great birds taking them? and why? as dorothy pondered, she noted a sharp mountain peak jutting suddenly out of the grey, grim land of desolate waste and stone that lay below. straight for the mountain flew the birds. in a few more minutes they descended with their victims to the entrance of the mountain. passing through the stone portal, the mimics retained their bird shapes, circling through the vast cavern of the hollow mountain. the cavern and corridors were deserted now that the sun was in the heavens, and the mimics had returned to their underground caverns to rest after the night of revelry.
styg and ebo flew to a ledge of rock that jutted out from the mountain wall. ebo muttered a magic word, and a rude stone door swung open, revealing a lightless cavern. dorothy was thrust into the cave, and a moment later the wizard was deposited beside her in the darkness.
until now dorothy had entertained a vague hope that in some way the wizard's magic powers would come to their rescue. but since the little man had none of his magic tools with him, and could not speak to utter an incantation, nor move to make the motions of a charm, dorothy realized that he was quite as powerless as she.
dorothy and the wizard speak strangely
"ooomph!" puffed the scarecrow.
"whooosh!" gasped the patchwork girl.
colliding suddenly as they met headlong at a sharp turn in the garden path, both the scarecrow and the patchwork girl tumbled in a heap on the garden walk.
a moment later they had risen to sitting positions and were regarding each other comically.
the patchwork girl was a sorry sight. the high-grade cotton in her patchwork or "crazy quilt" body was bunched together in all the wrong places. after running and dancing a great deal that morning as she always did the patchwork girl's body had sagged and she had grown dumpy in appearance. when this happened she always lay down and rolled about until she had resumed her original plump shape. now after her abrupt meeting with the scarecrow her figure was in bad need of attention. the pointed toes of the red leather shoes sewn on her feet stood straight up. her fingers, carefully formed and fitted with gold plates for finger nails, dug into the path on which she sat. her shock of brown yarn hair hung down over her suspender button eyes and over her ears, which were made of thin plates of gold. between the two rows of pearls sewn in her mouth for teeth, her scarlet plush tongue stuck out impudently at the scarecrow.
the patchwork girl's brains were slightly mixed, containing among other qualities a dash of poesy, which accounted for her habit of breaking into rhymes and jingles when it was least expected. now she was too surprised to speak. she had been brought to life in the first place by a magic powder, and since she was always jolly and good-natured, the patchwork girl was a prime favorite among the oz folks. nicknamed scraps, the queer girl laughed at dignity and liked nothing better than to dance and sing. it was impossible to be downcast for long in the company of this merry, carefree creature.
"why don't you look where you're going, scraps?" said the scarecrow ruefully, as he brushed his blue munchkin farmer trousers.
"now that you mention it," replied the patchwork girl reprovingly, "i don't have x-ray eyes, so i couldn't see through to the other side of the hedge where i was going."
"all right," said the scarecrow, as he rose to his feet. "please accept my humble apologies." the straw man gallantly assisted the patchwork girl to stand. "there's no harm done. the spill was as much my fault as it was yours. i was thinking so deeply that i didn't see you."
"what were you thinking about?" asked scraps.
"dorothy," replied the scarecrow with a sigh. "tell me, scraps, have you seen her today?"
"not once," answered the patchwork girl, combing her yarn hair with her fingers.
"until a few minutes ago, i've spent the entire day with aunt em who sewed tight some of my stitches that were coming loose, sewed on my eyes with new thread, so i wouldn't lose 'em, and sewed on a new pair of red shoes, as i'd worn holes in my old ones. now i'm as good as new!"
"well," replied the scarecrow, with his broad smile, "that may be true, but i'd say no matter in how good condition you are, you're always just sew-sew."
the smile quickly faded from the straw man's painted face as he continued seriously, "scraps, i'm worried about dorothy."
"don't worry about dorothy; she's able to take care of herself," said practical scraps.
"you don't understand," explained the scarecrow. "you see, yesterday after ozma and glinda left for the forest of burzee, dorothy asked me to help her plan a banquet to celebrate their return. dorothy wanted me to think up some ideas for the entertainment to accompany the dinner.
i agreed to set my famous brains to work on the problem and spent all last night in deep thought. this morning, bright and early, i rushed to dorothy and started to tell her the ideas i had. you can imagine my surprise when dorothy stared at me as though she hadn't the faintest idea what i was talking about, and then turned and walked away from me."
the scarecrow paused, his brow wrinkled with perplexity. "i don't understand it," he continued. "it isn't like our sweet little dorothy to be rude or absent-minded. she and the wizard have been in ozma's chamber of magic all day and i tried twice to see her, but each time she said she couldn't be disturbed."
"come to think of it," replied scraps quickly, "aunt em remarked that she couldn't understand why dorothy hadn't been in to see her. dorothy always visits her aunt em and uncle henry at least once a day. but maybe she's busy ruling while ozma's away."
this explanation failed to satisfy the scarecrow. he was gazing in the distance down the garden path. "isn't that trot and cap'n bill sitting on that bench over there?"
"whoop ti doodle who?
cap'n bill and trot it is as like as not!"
sang the patchwork girl, turning a handspring and dancing toward the bench.
the scarecrow followed, and he and scraps were warmly greeted by little trot and old cap'n bill. the scarecrow repeated his story of the strange manner in which dorothy had been acting, but neither trot nor cap'n bill had seen dorothy that day. the old sailor was silent for a moment, considering. then he said:
"you know, it's funny; but i was tellin' trot only a minute ago that the wizard had me puzzled by the curious way he was behavin'."
"what do you mean?" asked the scarecrow.
"well," went on cap'n bill, "fer some time past i've been workin' on a boat fer ozma an' her friends, so they could go sailin' on that lake jest outside the emerald city. i had everythin' i needed 'cept fer some tools, so the wizard lent me some o' his thet get the work done extra fast, 'cause they're magic tools. the boat's nearly finished a handsome craft if i do say so myself. all she needs to make 'er trim is a coat o' paint. i thought it would be nice to have 'er finished as a sort of surprise fer ozma when she returns from this here fairy conclave, so i asked the wizard to lend me his magic paint bucket and brush the bucket always stays full, no matter how much paint you use from it, an' the brush paints any color you want from the same bucket o' paint. well, the wizard jest gave me a funny sort o' look and walked away, mumblin' somethin' about bein' busy and havin' somethin'
important to do. 'tain't like the wizard at all. somethin' ailin' him,"
concluded cap'n bill, wagging his grizzled head.
"then it's the same thing that's ailing dorothy," remarked the scarecrow sagely.
the four old friends were silent, each turning over the problem in his own mind.
the bench on which trot and cap'n bill were sitting was in front of a high hedge so high that none of them could see over it. on the other side of the thick hedge ran another garden path. suddenly they heard footsteps, as if several people were hurrying down the garden path which was hidden from their view. while they listened, wondering who it could be, the footsteps halted just opposite them on the other side of the hedge. before they could call out a greeting, they recognized the voice of the wizard saying:
"we can talk here. there's no one about. now tell me; why are we wasting time in the garden?"
"because," it was the voice of dorothy replying, "it would look suspicious if we did not leave the chamber of magic occasionally."
"have you found the spell yet?" asked the wizard's voice.
"not yet," replied dorothy's voice. "i've been through only half of ozma's magic record books. give me time it's there. and i'll find it!"
"time!" replied the wizard's voice, raised in excitement. "we have no time to lose! do you realize that ozma and glinda will be back in a day and a half? we must find the spell before then if we don't want ozma to wreck our plans and rob us of the chance we have waited for!"
"never fear," asserted dorothy's voice. "i'll find the spell long before ozma and glinda return. we'll be ready for those two when they do come back!"
gradually the voices subsided, as the two walked slowly down the garden path toward the royal palace.
on the other side of the hedge, trot, cap'n bill, scraps and the scarecrow stared at one another in bewilderment. what could this mean?
it was incredible that dorothy and the wizard could be plotting against their dearest friends, ozma and glinda.
in the cavern of the doomed
neither dorothy nor the wizard could tell how long they lay in their cavern prison deep in hollow mount illuso, but it is certain that minutes seemed like hours to them.
while the wizard had recognized the country to which he and dorothy had been carried as the land of the phanfasms, he was not aware of the existence of mount illuso and its mimic dwellers. he was sure, however, that the creatures who had captured dorothy and him were not phanfasms.
he had seen the phanfasms when those evil creatures had once attempted to invade oz, and they bore no resemblance to the beings who had made dorothy and him captives.
dorothy found some comfort in telling herself that as soon as ozma and glinda returned to the emerald city the imposters would be detected and she and the wizard speedily rescued. but what if ozma and glinda were deceived? how long would she and the wizard be kept in the cave? what wicked plot was behind all this? and just how powerful and clever were the creatures who had captured her and the wizard?
suddenly something happened that banished all these puzzling questions.
there was a light in the cavern! the two prisoners could see each other! true, the light was feeble, but it was increasing steadily in strength.
as the light grew more brilliant, dorothy felt pleasantly warm and glowing, as though she were lying in the bright sunlight. and then to her intense joy the little girl realized that the spell cast on her was broken. the light had released her. she was free to move about as she pleased.
dorothy jumped happily to her feet. the wizard, too, was freed from the spell, and a moment later was standing, smiling broadly with satisfaction.
"was the light your magic, wizard?" asked dorothy eagerly.
"no, my dear, i had nothing to do with the light," replied the wizard.
"but i wonder who or what turned it on?" said dorothy. "could it be a trick, do you think?" she asked after a moment's hesitation.
"no, i believe not," replied the wizard. "there would be no point in our captors' troubling themselves to enchant us and make us prisoners, and then releasing us from the enchantment. i believe we will find this light is a part of a greater mystery than we know anything about."
"well, seems to me there's plenty of mystery about everything that's happened today," said dorothy. "what are we going to do now, wizard?"
"explore our prison," answered the little man promptly.
dorothy looked about her. they were entirely surrounded by the solid stone walls of the cavern, which was about one-hundred feet square. she could detect no sign of the door by which they had entered.
"look, wizard," dorothy exclaimed. "see how the light shines from one small point in the far end of the cavern?"
"yes," agreed the wizard, "it's almost as if someone had built a powerful flashlight into the stone wall. come, let's examine the light more closely."
the two walked to the opposite side of the cavern and found that, as dorothy had observed, the flood of light originated from one small point. this point was a circular bit of stone, round and polished, and no larger than a small button.
"why," exclaimed dorothy, "it looks 'zactly like the button of an electric light switch! wonder what would happen if i pressed it?"
impulsively dorothy reached out and pressed the button of rock with her finger. in the deep silence that filled the cave, the two adventurers detected a far-away humming sound, like the whirring of wheels in motion. as dorothy and the wizard listened, the sound grew louder.
"what do you suppose it is?" whispered dorothy.
"i haven't the faintest idea," said the wizard, "but i don't think we'll have to wait long to find out."
at last the whirring noise seemed to be just opposite them on the other side of the stone wall. it stopped completely and there was silence. a second later a section of the stone wall swung outward, and dorothy and the wizard found themselves staring into a small room much like the car of an elevator. the car was painted bright blue, trimmed with red and gold, and sitting on a small stool was a curious little man.
toto makes a discovery
"where's dorothy?" toto asked pretty little jellia jamb, ozma's maid, as he paused outside the door of dorothy's apartment early in the morning of the day after ozma and glinda departed.
"she's gone up to the wizard's rooms in the tower," replied jellia jamb.
"thanks," said toto. "i imagine dorothy will have her hands full while ozma is gone."
with this, the little dog trotted down the corridor, philosophically seeking some other amusement. he hadn't gone very far before he was hailed by betsy bobbin, who appeared with a small wicker basket on her arm.
"hello, toto!" betsy called. "want to go with hank and me? i'm going to pick wild flowers in the green fields outside the emerald city and hank's coming along. i have a nice picnic lunch packed," the girl added, indicating the basket she carried.
now there were few things toto liked better than to get out in the country and frolic in the fields, so the little dog accepted the invitation gratefully.
a short time later betsy, her devoted companion, hank the mule, and toto arrived at the gates of the emerald city and were greeted by omby amby, the soldier with the green whiskers. he was very tall and wore a handsome green and gold uniform with a tall plumed hat. his long, green beard fell below his waist making him look even taller. in addition to being the keeper of the gates, omby amby was also the royal army of oz, princess ozma's body-guard and the police force of the emerald city.
you might suppose that, holding all these offices, omby amby was a very busy man. to the contrary, so seldom was there ever any breaking of the oz laws which were all just and reasonable that it had been many years since the soldier with the green whiskers had acted in any of his official capacities other than that of keeper of the gates.
as omby amby unlocked the gates for them, betsy promised to bring him a bouquet of flowers for his wife, tollydiggle.
outside the emerald city lay pleasant, gently rolling fields in which buttercups and daisies grew in profusion. sniffing the fresh country air, toto ran happily across the field. hank hee-hawed loudly and fell to munching the tall field grass. betsy was delighted with the hundreds of pretty flowers and gathered several large bouquets.
shortly after noon the happy trio sought the shade of a large tree.
nearby, a spring of cool, crystal-clear water bubbled from a mossy bank and flowed across the field as a tiny brook. betsy opened her basket and took out sandwiches, hard boiled eggs, potato salad and other picnic delicacies, which she and toto shared. betsy offered hank a peanut butter sandwich, but the mule refused disdainfully, saying, "no, thank you, betsy, i much prefer this fresh green grass."
"well, don't eat too much of it," advised the girl, "or you'll get the colic."
the mule winked one eye at toto and replied, "i'd be much more likely to get the colic if i ate your strange human foods."
after they had eaten and refreshed themselves with the water of the spring, they rested for a time in the cool shade of the tree, and then leisurely made their way back to the emerald city. at the city's gates, omby amby welcomed them back and gratefully accepted the bouquet betsy gave him for tollydiggle.
arriving at the palace, the three friends said good-bye, betsy going to her apartment, while hank made his way to the royal stables to talk with his cronies, the cowardly lion and the hungry tiger.
jellia jamb tripped down the palace steps on an errand, and toto called to her, "is dorothy still busy?"
"yes," answered jellia jamb, "she and the wizard have been in ozma's chamber of magic all afternoon."
this did not strike the little dog as strange. he knew ozma might have left instructions for dorothy and the wizard to carry out in the chamber of magic.
as it was now nearly mid-afternoon, toto decided to have a nap in the garden. curling up in the cool earth under a large rose bush, he fell asleep, telling himself that he would awaken in time for dinner, when he would surely see dorothy. toto knew that however busy dorothy and the wizard might be, they would leave the chamber of magic and appear for dinner always a festive occasion in the grand dining room of the royal palace.
promptly at seven o'clock, the inhabitants of the royal palace began to gather in the grand dining room. cap'n bill and trot took their accustomed places at the table, as did betsy bobbin, button bright, the shaggy man, aunt em and uncle henry. while the scarecrow, the patchwork girl and tik-tok the machine man were non-flesh and could not partake of the food, nevertheless they had their places at the table. for these dinners were as much occasions for the enjoyment of merry conversation, as they were for satisfying hunger and thirst.
at the far end of the room was a separate table, shared by the animal companions of the oz people. at this table were set places with the proper foods for hank the mule, the cowardly lion, the hungry tiger, billina the yellow hen, eureka the pink kitten, the woozy, toto and the sawhorse. although the sawhorse was made of wood and required no food and seldom took part in the conversation, nevertheless the odd steed enjoyed listening to the table talk of the others.
everyone was at his place except dorothy, the wizard and toto and of course ozma's chair at the head of the table was vacant. dorothy's place was at ozma's right, while the wizard sat at her left. a few minutes later, king umb and queen ra, having decided that it would arouse too much comment if they were absent from the dinner, entered the sumptuous dining room and took their places on either side of ozma's vacant chair. now only toto remained absent.
the truth was that the little dog had overslept and had awakened from his nap to find the shadows lengthening across the garden. realizing he was late for dinner, toto hurried to the nearest palace entrance and ran as quickly as he could to the grand dining room.
as he entered, the first course of the meal was being served, and a ripple of conversation rose from the two tables. the scarecrow and scraps were chatting together. betsy was telling trot about the lovely wild flowers she had found, and the cowardly lion and the hungry tiger were discussing a visit they planned to their old jungle home in the forest far to the south in the quadling country.
in spite of the apparent atmosphere of gayety, this gathering was not at all like the merry company that usually assembled in the dining room for the evening meal. first of all, the absence of the radiant ozma was keenly felt by the entire gathering, and this automatically subdued the spirit of the occasion. next, no one at the table had failed to note and wonder at the fact that dorothy and the wizard usually so cheerful and cordial had merely nodded unsmilingly to their assembled friends as they had taken their places at the head of the table. finally, scraps, the scarecrow, trot and cap'n bill, unable to forget the strange conversation they had overheard in the garden earlier in the day, stole curious glances at dorothy and the wizard, seeking some clue to their unusual behavior.
as toto trotted into the dining room, his bright little eyes immediately sought out his mistress. toto stopped short; his body became tense with excitement. he barked loudly and then growled, "where's dorothy?"
in the silence that fell over the dining room at the dog's unusual actions, toto repeated his question. "where's dorothy?" he demanded.
the scarecrow was staring earnestly at toto. "why, here's dorothy," the straw man answered. "right here, where she always sits."
"you're wrong all of you are wrong," growled toto ominously. the little dog was quivering with excitement. "whoever that is sitting there might fool the rest of you, but she can't deceive me. she's not dorothy at all. something's happened to dorothy!"
mr. and mrs. hi-lo
"step right in, folks! watch your step, miss. we're on our way up next stop the top! only two stops bottom and top. next stop's the top!"
the little man spoke with an air of importance, as he smiled at dorothy and the wizard from the stool on which he was perched in the car which the opening in the stone wall had revealed. they peered at him curiously.
"shall we go in?" asked dorothy, drawing a deep breath.
"to be sure," said the wizard. "anything is better than this stone prison."
"ah, a philosopher, and a wise one, too," remarked the little man.
as soon as dorothy and the wizard were in the elevator for such it proved to be the stone door swung shut. at once the little man pressed one of several buttons on the side of the car and again they heard the whirring sound which had puzzled them in the cavern. dorothy concluded it was caused by the machinery that operated the elevator. the little car was shooting upward with a speed that caused her ears to ring.
"just swallow several times," advised the wizard, sensing dorothy's discomfort. "that will make equal the air pressure inside and outside your body. it's a trick i learned when i went up in my balloon to draw crowds to the circus back in omaha."
dorothy did as the wizard suggested and found the ringing sensation disappeared.
"who are you?" asked the wizard gazing curiously at the little man.
"and where are you taking us?"
"you don't know who i am?" exclaimed the little man with surprise.
"after all, you know you did ring for the elevator, and since i am the elevator operator, naturally i answered. allow me to introduce myself. my name is hi-lo and i am taking you to the only other place the elevator goes except for the bottom and that's to the top of mount illuso. i assure you it's a far better place than the bottom!"
while he spoke, dorothy had been regarding the little man who called himself hi-lo. he was very short, his head coming only to dorothy's waist. he was dressed in a bright blue uniform with big, gold buttons.
a red cap was perched at a jaunty angle on his head. his face was round and his cheeks as rosy as two apples. his blue eyes were very bright and friendly. but the oddest thing about him was that his clothes appeared to be a part of his body as though they were painted on. and dorothy concluded he was most certainly made of some substance other than flesh and blood.
"ah, i see i've aroused your interest," remarked the little man with satisfaction. "well, i'm proud to tell you that i am made of the finest white pine and painted with quick-drying four-hour enamel that flows easily from the brush and is guaranteed not to chip, crack, craze or peel. i'm easily washable, too; spots and stains wipe off in a jiffy with a damp cloth or sponge no rubbing or scrubbing for me! and i suppose," hi-lo concluded vainly, "you've already admired my rich, glossy finish and beautiful rainbow colors."
dorothy smiled at this speech, and the wizard asked, "tell me, hi-lo, do people live on the top of mount illuso?"
"of course," hi-lo replied in his cheerful voice. "we have a thriving community of folks pineville it's called. but we're all very happy and contented," he went on hastily. "there's not a lonesome pine among us, although there are several trails on the mountain top."
"but are there no flesh and blood folks, like us?" queried the wizard.
before hi-lo could answer, the elevator came to an abrupt stop.
"well, here we are!" announced hi-lo cheerily. he pressed another button. the door of the elevator swung open and hi-lo called, "all out!
all out! top floor all kinds of wooden goods, the best pine to be had pine tables, pine chairs, pine houses and pine people!"
dorothy and the wizard stepped from the elevator and surveyed the scene before them. yes, this was certainly the top of mount illuso. the elevator exit was in a large stone wall, at least ten feet in height, that appeared to circle the edge of the mountain top. before them spread a dense pine forest, while a small path led from the elevator to a tiny cottage that stood nearby. the cottage was painted bright blue with trim white shutters, and smoke was rising cheerily from its red brick chimney.
"right this way! just follow me, folks," said hi-lo, trotting along the path to the cottage, his little wooden legs moving with surprising speed. "mrs. hi-lo will certainly be surprised to see you. you are a real event the very first visitors we have ever had from down below."
as they approached the tiny cottage, the front door swung open, and a little woman stood in the doorway. she was even smaller than hi-lo, and like him was made of wood and painted with the same bright enamels. she wore a blue and white apron over a red polka-dot dress. on her head was a trim little lace cap.
"my goodness!" she beamed. "visitors at last! do come in and make yourselves comfortable."
the wizard found it necessary to bend over to get in the doorway, so small was the cottage. once inside, his head nearly touched the ceiling. the cottage was neatly and attractively furnished with comfortable pine chairs, tables and a large davenport drawn before a fireplace on which a log fire crackled cheerfully. the air was sharp on the mountain top, so the bright fire was a welcome sight to the two wanderers. all the furniture glowed with the cheerful, gaudy hues of glossy enamel. dorothy thought that the wholesome aroma of pine scent that filled the cottage was especially delightful.
"great pine cones!" exclaimed mrs. hi-lo. "you must be half starved.
i'll get you something to eat in no time at all. tell me, would you like a delicious cross cut of pine steak with pine-dust pudding, fresh, crisp pine-needle salad with turpentine dressing and a strawberry pine cone for dessert?"
dorothy almost laughed aloud at this strange food, but the little wizard answered courteously, "you are most kind, madame, but i fear our systems would not be able to digest the delicacies you suggest. perhaps you have something that meat folks like us could eat?"
"of course!" cried mrs. hi-lo. "how stupid of me! you are meat folks too bad," she added critically. "it must be a terrible bother to take off and put on all those clothes and to keep your hair trimmed and your nails pared."
"now, mother, let's not draw unkind comparisons," cautioned hi-lo diplomatically, as he settled himself into a comfortable chair. "none of us is perfect, you know. remember that spring when you sprouted a green twig on your right shoulder?"
"you are right," said mrs. hi-lo with a laugh. "we all have our weak points." and with that the little lady bustled off into the kitchen.
dorothy and the wizard sat down gingerly on two of the largest chairs the room contained. but small as the chairs were, they proved quite sturdy and readily supported their weight.
"is there any way," asked the wizard, "that we can leave this mountain top?"
hi-lo sat bolt upright in his chair and stared at the wizard in amazement. "leave the mountain top?" he repeated as if he couldn't believe his own ears. "do i understand you to say that you want to leave this delightful place this most favored spot in the universe?"
"we do," said the wizard emphatically. "our home is in the land of oz, and we desire to return there as quickly as possible."
"but why?" asked hi-lo. "no place could be as delightful as this mountain top. just wait until you have become acquainted with it our healthful, refreshing climate, our beautiful pine forest, our handsome village of pineville and its delightful people!"
"have you ever been anywhere else?" asked the wizard quietly.
"no, never but "
"then permit me to say," replied the wizard, "that you are not qualified to judge. little dorothy and i have traveled in many strange lands all over the world, and we prefer the land of oz for our home."
"well, everyone to his own taste, of course," muttered hi-lo, unconvinced and a trifle crestfallen.
just then mrs. hi-lo re-entered the room bearing a tray laden with steaming hot foods. at her invitation dorothy and the wizard pulled their chairs up to a table, and mrs. hi-lo served the food on gleaming white enameled pine platters and dishes. there was savory vegetable soup, scrambled eggs, cheese, lettuce and tomato salad, chocolate layer cake and lemonade. the food was delicious and as dorothy and the wizard had not eaten since breakfast, and it was now nearly evening, they did full justice to the meal. mr. and mrs. hi-lo looked on with polite curiosity, marveling that the strangers could enjoy such odd food.
when they had finished the wizard sighed with satisfaction and sat back in his chair. "where did you get this excellent food, if there are no human beings on the mountain top?" he asked.
"oh, but there is one meat person like yourselves on mount illuso,"
said mrs. hi-lo. "she is our ruler, and many years ago she gave me the magic recipe for the preparation of human food. as you are the first human visitors we have ever had, this is the first time i have had occasion to use the recipe."
"who is this ruler of yours?" inquired dorothy.
"she is a beautiful fairy princess, named ozana," hi-lo replied.
"ozana!" exclaimed dorothy. "wizard, did you hear that? ozana doesn't that sound an awful lot like an oz name?"
"it certainly does," agreed the little man. "may we see this princess ozana of yours?" he asked hi-lo.
"i was about to mention," replied hi-lo, "that it was ozana's orders when she appointed me keeper of the elevator that i was to instruct any passengers i might have to seek her out at her home in pineville."
"oh, let's go see her right away!" exclaimed dorothy excitedly.
"not tonight," objected hi-lo. "you would never find your way through the pine forest in the dark. you may stay with us tonight and be on your way to see princess ozana early in the morning."
dorothy and the wizard could offer no objection to this sensible and kindly offer of hospitality. since it was now quite dark outside, and the little cottage was cheerful and cozy with the log fire casting dancing reflections in the brightly enameled furniture, they were quite content to spend the night there.
after several more questions about the ruler who called herself ozana, dorothy and the wizard decided that hi-lo and his wife knew nothing more beyond the facts that princess ozana had created the pine folks and built the village for them to live in.
"have you and hi-lo always lived here alone?" dorothy asked mrs. hi-lo.
the little woman's expression was sad as she answered, "no. once we had a son. he was not a very good boy and was continually getting into mischief. he was the only one of our wooden folks who ever was discontented with life here on mount illuso. he wanted to travel and see the world. we could do nothing at all with him." mrs. hi-lo sighed and continued, "one day a friendly stork paused in a long flight to rest on mount illuso, and the naughty boy persuaded the stork to carry him into the great outside world. from that time on we have never heard anything more of him. i often wonder what happened to our poor son,"
the little woman concluded in a sorrowful tone.
"how big was your boy?" asked the wizard. "was he just a little shaver?"
"oh, no," replied mrs. hi-lo. "he was almost fully grown a young stripling, i should call him."
"and was his name charlie?" inquired the wizard thoughtfully.
"yes! yes, it was! oh, tell me, sir," implored mrs. hi-lo, "do you, perchance, know my son?"
"not personally," replied the wizard. "but i can assure you, madame, that you have nothing to worry about where your son charlie is concerned. that friendly stork knew his business and left charlie on the right doorstep."
the wizard had a small radio in his apartment in the royal palace in the emerald city, which he sometimes turned on and listened to with much curiosity. but he never listened for long, as he was subject to headaches when listening to anything but good music.
"oh, thank you!" exclaimed mrs. hi-lo. "it is such a relief to know that our charlie turned out all right after all. there were times," the woman confessed, "when i had a horrible suspicion that he was made from a bad grade of pine knotty pine, you know."
"there are those who share that opinion," murmured the wizard. but mrs.
hi-lo was so overjoyed to hear of her son that she paid no attention to the wizard's words.
hi-lo, who seemed totally uninterested in this conversation concerning his wayward son, merely muttered, "a bad one, that youngster," and then yawned somewhat pointedly and remarked that since their beds were far too small for their guests to occupy, he and his wife would retire to their bedrooms and dorothy and the wizard could pass the night in the living room.
mrs. hi-lo supplied them with warm blankets and soft pillows, and then she and hi-lo bid them a happy good night. dorothy made a snug bed on the davenport, while the wizard curled up cozily before the fire.
just before dorothy dropped off to sleep she asked, "do you suppose this princess ozana has any connection with oz, wizard?"
"it is possible, and then again, the name may be merely a coincidence, my dear," the little man answered sleepily, "so don't build your hopes too high."
a moment later dorothy's eyes closed and she was sound asleep, dreaming that toto, in a bright blue uniform with big gold buttons and a little red cap, was operating the elevator and saying, "right this way, dorothy! step lively, please. going up next stop, princess ozana!"
the village of pineville
dorothy and the wizard awakened bright and early the next morning, eager to pursue their adventures. mrs. hi-lo prepared a hearty breakfast for them from her magic recipe and, as they made ready to leave the pretty little cottage, hi-lo advised them:
"just follow the trail that leads through the pine forest and you will come to the village of pineville where princess ozana lives. you can't miss it, and if you walk steadily you should be there by noon."
stepping from the cottage, dorothy and the wizard found the morning sun bright and warm and the air filled with the pungent aroma of pine from the forest.
"good-bye!" called mrs. hi-lo from the door of the cottage.
"good-bye!" called mr. hi-lo. "don't forget to remember us to the princess!"
"we won't," promised dorothy. "we'll tell her how kind you've been to us."
in a short time the cottage was lost to their view, and the two travelers were deep in the cool shade of the pine forest. the trail over which they walked was carpeted with pine needles, making a soft and pleasant path for their feet.
once when they paused to rest for a few moments a red squirrel frisked down a nearby tree and, sitting on a stump before dorothy, asked saucily, "where to, strangers?"
"we're on our way to see princess ozana," said dorothy.
"oh, are you indeed!" exclaimed the squirrel with a flirt of his whiskers. "well, you are just halfway there. if you walk briskly you'll find yourselves out of the forest in another two hours."
"how do you know we are just halfway there?" asked dorothy.
"because i've measured the distance many times," replied the squirrel.
"i should think you would prefer to live nearer the village of pineville," remarked dorothy. "it must be very lonesome here in this deep pine forest."
"oho! that shows how unobserving you mortals are!" exclaimed the red squirrel. "my family and i wouldn't think of living anywhere but here, no matter how lonely it is. know why?"
"no, i must say i don't," confessed the girl.
"look at my tree look at my tree!" chattered the squirrel, flirting his big bushy tail in the direction of the tree from which he had appeared.
"of course!" chuckled the wizard. "it's a hickory tree!"
"but i don't see " began dorothy in perplexity.
"what do squirrels like best of all, my dear?" asked the wizard, smiling with amusement.
"oh, wizard, why didn't i think of that? they like nuts, of course!"
"exactly!" snapped the little red squirrel. "and since pine trees do not bear nuts and hickory trees do well, city life and fine company may be all right for some folks, but i prefer to remain here in comfort where i know my family will be well provided for."
and with that the wise little creature gave a leap and a bound and darted up the trunk of the one and only nut tree in all the pine forest.
dorothy and the wizard followed the pine-needle trail on through the pine forest until finally the trees thinned and they stepped out into an open meadow, bright with yellow buttercups. the sun was almost directly overhead by this time.
below the two travelers, in a pretty green valley that formed the center of the mountain top, lay a small village of several hundred cottages, all similar to hi-lo's. the buildings were painted with glossy blue enamel and shone brilliantly in the sun. they were grouped in a circle about one large central cottage that differed from the others in that it was considerably larger, and, from where dorothy and the wizard stood, appeared to be surrounded by rather extensive gardens and grounds.
dorothy and the wizard followed the trail over the meadow to a point where it broadened into a street that led among the houses. the two travelers set out on this street, which was wide and pleasant and paved with blocks of white pine.
as dorothy and the wizard walked through the village, they saw that the cottages were occupied by wooden folks, much like hi-lo and his wife.
a wooden woman was washing the windows of her cottage. a wooden man with wooden shears was trimming the hedge around his house. another was repairing the white picket fence around his cottage. tiny wooden children, almost doll-like they were so small, played in the yards.
from one cottage a spotted wooden dog ran into the road and barked at the strangers.
"i suppose he's made of dog-wood," observed dorothy with a smile.
dorothy and the wizard aroused much curiosity among the little wooden folk, most of whom paused in their work to stare at the strangers as they passed. but none of them seemed to fear the meat people.
a wooden lady approached them, walking down the street with quick, lively steps. on her arm was a market basket full of green pine cones.
pausing, the wizard removed his hat and in his most polite manner addressed her.
"pardon me, madame. can you tell me if this street leads to the palace of princess ozana?"
"palace? what's that?" asked the woman with a puzzled expression on her face. "i don't know what a palace is, sir, but if you follow this street you will come to the cottage where our princess ozana dwells."
"thank you, madame," said the wizard, and the little woman trotted busily down the street.
in a few minutes more dorothy and the wizard had reached the central part of pineville. here a trim, white picket fence encircled a large area that seemed to be one huge flower garden with every sort of flower imaginable growing in it. in the exact center of this enclosure stood an attractive blue cottage, large enough to accommodate comfortably full-sized human beings. just in front of the cottage was a pond of placid blue water. in the pond grew water lilies and all sorts of flowering plants that one finds in lakes and ponds.
the path that led from the entrance of the cottage divided at the pond's edge and encircled the water, meeting on the opposite side of the pond and running again as a single path to a gate in the fence before which dorothy and the wizard stood. forming a bower over the gate was a white wooden trellis covered with roses. from the center of the pretty trellis hung a blue sign with these words in white enameled letters:
welcome cottage of princess ozana walk in
"well, i guess that means us," said the wizard with a smile, as he read the sign and pushed open the gate.
princess ozana
dorothy exclaimed with delight as they stepped through the garden gate.
she had no idea any garden could be so beautiful. flowers of every known variety grew in profusion. save for the mossy paths that wound through the garden, there was not a spot of ground that was without blossoming plants. as for the pond, it was like a small sea of lovely blossoming water plants. at the far edge of the pond dorothy noted three graceful white swans, sleeping in the shade of a large flowering bush that grew at the edge of the pond and trailed its blossoms into the water. the air was sweet with the perfume of thousands and thousands of flowers.
"oh, wizard," gasped dorothy, "did you ever see anything so lovely?"
"it is indeed a beautiful sight," replied the little man admiringly.
here and there, throughout the garden, a score or more of little wooden men were busily at work. some were watering plants from blue wooden pails, others were trimming blossoming bushes and hedges, some were digging out weeds, and others were building trellises for climbing vines. none of them took the slightest notice of dorothy and the wizard, so absorbed were they in their work.
not far from where dorothy and the wizard stood, was a little maid, on her knees, digging with a trowel in the soft earth about a beautiful rambling rose bush that climbed above her on a blue trellis.
"let's ask her where we can find princess ozana," suggested dorothy.
a few steps brought them to the side of the maiden who wore a pretty blue apron with a pink petal design. on her hands were gardening gloves and her golden hair fell loosely down her back.
"i wonder," began the wizard, "if you can tell us if the princess ozana is in?"
the little maid looked up, regarding the strangers with friendly curiosity. dorothy saw that she was very lovely. her eyes were as soft as shy woodland violets, and of the same purple hue; her skin as delicately colored as fragile petals, and her lips were like rosebuds.
"no," the maid replied with a suspicion of a smile in her voice, "princess ozana is not in her cottage at the moment."
"perhaps you know where we can find her," suggested the wizard.
at this the little maid gave a silvery laugh and exclaimed, "you have found her i am princess ozana!"
"of course, wizard," said dorothy, "princess ozana is the only flesh and blood person on mount illuso 'cept for us, so this just must be she. besides," she added, "no one else could be so beautiful."
"thank you, my dear," said ozana graciously, as she rose to her feet.
"and you, sir," she continued, turning to the wizard and sweetly easing the little man's embarrassment, "could scarcely be blamed for failing to recognize a princess garbed so simply and digging in a garden."
"i most humbly ask your pardon," murmured the wizard.
"come," said ozana, "let us go into my cottage, where we can talk at ease. i must know all about you."
as they started for the cottage, a small voice called after them, "wait! wait for me! don't leave me here! it's time for my milk!"
dorothy glanced behind her and saw, scrambling from under a bush, a tiny kitten with pure white fur and china blue eyes.
"oh, what a darling!" she cried.
"this is felina, my pet kitten," announced ozana as she knelt and gathered the small bundle of fur into her arms.
ozana led her guests to the living room of the cottage, an attractive room, fragrant with pine scent and comfortably furnished with pine chairs, divans and tables.
pressing a button set in the pine-paneled wall, ozana bid her guests make themselves comfortable while she ordered lunch. a moment later a little wooden maid in a blue dress and spotless white pinafore, followed closely by a small wooden boy in a page's livery, appeared smiling in the doorway. the maid curtsied gracefully and the boy bobbed his head as ozana said, "this is dolly and poppet, my maid and page.
dolly, will you and poppet please prepare sandwiches and refreshments for us my guests have traveled far and must be quite hungry."
"we are happy to serve your highness," answered the wooden girl and boy in unison. with another curtsy and bow the maid and page disappeared from the room.
ozana seated herself beside dorothy and taking the little girl's hand in her own, while she smiled warmly at the wizard, the fairy princess said, "now, let us become acquainted."
"well," began dorothy, "this is the famous wizard of oz, and i am "
"princess dorothy of oz," ozana finished for her.
"you know us?" asked dorothy eagerly.
"to be sure, i know you," replied ozana. "by my fairy arts i keep myself informed of all that goes on in the emerald city. i recall when our wizard first visited the land of oz in his balloon, and when the cyclone lifted your house into the air and carried you, dorothy, all the way from kansas to oz."
"why do you say 'our' wizard?" asked the wizard.
"because i consider myself very close to the land of oz. i have a great fondness for all its inhabitants and especially for the wizard who built the emerald city and united the four countries of oz," replied ozana earnestly.
the wizard blushed modestly. "as for building the emerald city,"
he remarked, "i have said many times before that i only bossed the job the oz people themselves did all the work."
dorothy nodded. "when i first heard your name, ozana, i suspected it was connected in some way with oz."
"i am called ozana," stated the violet-eyed maid simply, "because i am a member of queen lurline's fairy band and first cousin of princess ozma of oz."
"wizard, did you hear that? princess ozana is ozma's cousin!"
at this moment dolly and poppet reappeared bearing trays heaped with sandwiches and glasses of cool, fresh milk. dorothy was so excited over the revelation ozana had just made that she could scarcely eat.
while they enjoyed their food, ozana and her guests exchanged stories.
first dorothy and the wizard related their adventures.
"i have no doubt at all," said ozana, "that the two strange birds who took your forms were none other than king umb and queen ra, the mimic monarchs."
"did you say mimics?" exclaimed dorothy.
"yes, my dear, mount illuso is the home of the dread mimics."
"oh," said dorothy thoughtfully, "that explains a lot of things. why, only the day before she left the land of oz, ozma and i were discussing the mimics."
the wizard, who knew nothing of the mimics, listened with interest as ozana described the creatures.
"i don't understand," said the wizard when ozana had finished, "why you should be living alone on the top of this mountain in which such evil creatures as the mimics dwell."
"that question is easily answered," replied ozana. "immediately after queen lurline enchanted the mimics so that they could not attack the oz inhabitants, she flew with me, her fairy companion, to the top of mount illuso. here she left me, giving me certain fairy powers over the mimics and instructing me that i was to remain here at all times as the guardian of oz to prevent the mimics from doing any harm to the oz people should the evil creatures ever succeed in lifting queen lurline's spell. i was not even permitted to leave the mountain to attend queen lurline's fairy councils in the forest of burzee."
"then it must have been your fairy light that freed us from the mimic enchantment in the cavern prison," surmised dorothy.
"yes, it was," ozana admitted. "you see, after queen lurline departed from mount illuso and i was left alone, the first thing i did was to place the button of light in that cavern which the mimics call their cavern of the doomed. i enchanted the light so that it would appear soon after prisoners were placed in the cave. i gave the light power to overcome the spell cast by the mimics on their victims."
"then you are responsible for the elevator and hi-lo, too," said the wizard.
"yes," replied ozana. "i placed the elevator in the mountain and stationed hi-lo there to operate it. i did all this by my fairy arts.
of course the mimics have no knowledge of my arrangements to bring about the release of their victims. i knew the escaped prisoners would find their way to me and i could aid them if i judged them worthy. but i never expected to find inhabitants of the land of oz in the mimic cavern of the doomed!"
"how is it," asked the wizard, "that the mimics were able to capture dorothy and me, despite the fact that we are inhabitants of the land of oz?"
"you must remember," said ozana, "that both you and dorothy came to oz from the great outside world and neither of you was an inhabitant of oz when queen lurline cast her spell over the mimics. hence you were not protected by that spell. it was for just such an unlooked-for development as this that the wise queen lurline left me on this mountain top."
"may i ask then," said the wizard, "why you knew nothing of the flight of the mimic king and queen to the emerald city?"
ozana's face flushed slightly at this question, and she replied hesitatingly. "i must admit that i am fully responsible for all your troubles. but i plead with you to consider my side of the story. i have dwelt on this forsaken mountain top with no human companions for more than two hundred years. at first i amused myself by creating the little wooden people and building their pine village for them. but it was too much like playing with dolls, and i soon tired. then i busied myself with my garden, growing in it every variety of flower that exists. this occupied me for many long years.
"please remember i had taken many precautions against the mimics. i believed i could rely on my fairy light to free any prisoners in the cavern of the doomed, but apparently the mimics took no captives they thought important enough to occupy the cavern of the doomed until they made you prisoners. and then my fairy light served me well. can you find it in your hearts to forgive me that i did not spend all my time keeping guard over the mimics through all those long years?"
"of course. we understand, ozana," said dorothy, pressing the fairy maid's hand affectionately.
"and i must confess," continued ozana with a grateful smile at dorothy, "that had i not been so completely absorbed in my garden during the last few days, i would surely have known of ozma and glinda's departure from the emerald city and your own plight."
the wizard had been very thoughtful while ozana was speaking. now he asked, "just what do you believe to be the plans of the two mimics who are now masquerading as dorothy and me in the emerald city?"
ozana was grave at this question. "it is evident," she replied, "that king umb and queen ra hope to take advantage of the absence of ozma and glinda to search for the counter-charm that would release the mimics from queen lurline's enchantment and permit them to overrun oz.
"queen ra must have discovered by her black arts that queen lurline had given the secret of the magical antidote into ozma's keeping, knowing it would be safest with ozma.
"it may be," added ozana thoughtfully, "that if king umb and queen ra have not discovered the spell by the time ozma and glinda return, they would even be so bold as to remain in the emerald city, hoping they could deceive ozma and glinda as they have the rest of the oz folks."
"what do you think they will do if they find the magic spell?" asked dorothy fearfully.
the violet depths of ozana's eyes darkened as she considered. "i don't like to think about that, my dear," she answered slowly.
after a moment's silence princess ozana brightened. "come, now, let's not borrow trouble. the mimic monarchs have had so little time that i am sure they could not have succeeded in their search! we have nothing to fear now. however, i will spend the entire afternoon and evening in study, and by use of my fairy arts i will be able to discover just what king umb and queen ra's plot is. with that knowledge we can act wisely and quickly to defeat the mimic monarchs."
"do you think we should wait that long?" asked the wizard.
"it is necessary," replied ozana firmly. "i must have time to study ra and umb's actions during the past few days and to prepare myself to fight them. remember, they are powerful enemies. unless i am mistaken we shall be on our way to the emerald city in the morning, and i shall be fully armed with whatever knowledge is necessary to defeat the mimic monarchs completely. do not worry, my friends. i am confident i can bring about the downfall of king umb and queen ra before ozma and glinda return to the emerald city tomorrow."
"of course you are right," assented the wizard slowly.
"now," said ozana rising, "let me show you my garden of which i am quite proud. i am sure you will find it so interesting that you will regret you have only one short afternoon to spend in it. i have passed countless days in it and found it ever more fascinating."
the white kitten, felina, had finished lapping up the milk from the bowl placed on the floor for her by the little wooden maid. dorothy knelt, cuddling the tiny creature in her arms.
"may i take felina in the garden with us?" dorothy asked.
"to be sure," replied ozana. "i shall be far too occupied this afternoon to give her my attention."
as they stepped from ozana's cottage into the garden, the fairy princess said, "i believe you will find my garden different from any you have ever seen. i call it my story blossom garden."
story blossom garden
"now i will show you why i call my garden story blossom garden," began ozana as she advanced toward a rose tree laden with lovely blooms.
"you see, these are not ordinary flowers. they are fairy flowers that i created with my fairy arts. and the soil in which they grow is magic soil. take this rose, for instance." here ozana cupped a large red rose in her hands. "look into its petals, dorothy, and tell me what you see."
"why, the petals form a lovely girl's face!" dorothy exclaimed in delight.
"and so it is with all the blossoms in my garden," said ozana. "if you look closely into them, you will see a human face. now, dorothy, put your ear close to the rose and listen."
dorothy did as she was bid and quite clearly she heard a small but melodious voice say pleadingly, "pick me, pick me, little girl, and i will tell you the sweetest story ever told a love story."
dorothy looked at the rose in awe. "what does it mean?" she asked ozana.
"simply that all the flowers in my garden are story blossom flowers.
pick a blossom and hold it to your ear, and it will tell you its story.
when the story is done, the blossom will fade and wither."
"oh, but i shouldn't like any of the beautiful flowers to die,"
protested dorothy, "even to hear their lovely stories."
"they do not die," replied ozana. "as i said, these are no ordinary flowers. they do not grow from seeds or bulbs. instead, as soon as a blossom has told its story it fades and withers. then one of my gardeners plants it, and in a few days it blooms afresh with a new story to tell. the flowers are all eager to be picked so that they may tell their stories. just as ordinary flowers give off their perfumes freely and graciously, so my flowers love to breathe forth the fragrance of their stories. a poet once said that perfumes are the souls of flowers. i have succeeded in distilling those perfumes into words."
"can't the flowers tell their stories while they are still growing?"
asked dorothy.
"no," replied ozana. "only when they are separated from their plants can they tell their stories."
"do all the roses tell the same love story?" dorothy asked.
"no indeed," said ozana. "while it is true that all the roses tell love stories for the rose is the flower of love all roses do not tell the same love story. since no two rose blossoms are identical, no two blossoms tell the same story. it was my purpose in creating the garden to supply myself with a never-ending source of amusement as an escape from the boredom of living alone on this desolate mountain top. i was reminded of the princess in the arabian nights tales. you will recall that she told her stories for a thousand-and-one nights. my story blossoms," ozana concluded with a smile, "can tell many, many more than a thousand-and-one stories. there are many thousands of blossoms in my garden, and each blossom has a different story."
"you are certainly to be congratulated on your marvelous garden," said the wizard. "it is a miraculous feat of magic," he added admiringly.
"thank you," replied ozana graciously. "and now i will leave you, as i must form our plans for tomorrow. i must ask you to excuse me from the evening meal. dolly and poppet will serve you, and when you are ready they will show you to your sleeping rooms. good-bye, for the present, my friends."
dorothy and the wizard bid their lovely hostess good-bye and then turned to the wonderful garden of story blossoms.
putting felina on the ground to romp beside her, dorothy dropped to her knees before a cluster of pansies. as she bent her ear over one of the little flower faces, it murmured, "pick me, little girl, pick me!
i'll tell you an old-fashioned story of once-upon-a-time about a wicked witch and a beautiful princess."
the wizard found himself admiring the flaming beauty of a stately tiger-lily. placing his ear close to the blossom, he listened and heard the flower say in a throaty voice, "pick me, o man, and hear a thrilling story of splendid silken beasts in their sultry jungle lairs."
now dorothy was listening to a purple thistle that spoke with a rich scotch burr, "pick me, little girrrl, an' ye'll make naw mistake, for i'll tell ye a tale of a highland lassie for auld lang syne."
noticing a tawny blossom with gay purple spots, dorothy placed her ear close to it. this was a harlequin flower and it said, "pick me, child, and i'll tell you a wonder tale about merryland and its valley of clowns, where dwell the happy, fun-loving clowns who delight in making children laugh." dorothy remembered reading in a story book about merryland and the valley of clowns.
next was a black-eyed-susan that murmured to dorothy, "pick me, and i will tell you the story of three things that men love best black eyes and brown and blue. men love them all, but oh, black eyes men love and die for you!"
dorothy smiled and moved on to a daisy which whispered to her in halting, doubtful tones, "does he really love her? i shouldn't tell, but i know, i know and i will tell if only you'll pick me, little girl."
"and i thought daisies didn't tell," dorothy said to herself. she stopped before a rambling rose that spoke in a rapid, excited voice and wanted to relate a story of vagabond adventure in far-away places. then a bright red tulip whispered about a tale of wind-mills and holland canals and pretty dutch girls.
at last the little girl came to a sunflower so tall that she had to stand on tip-toe to hear its words. "pick me," the sunflower urged, "and hear my story of sun-baked prairies and western farm homes and great winds that sweep across the plains."
"i wonder," thought dorothy, "if the sunflower would tell me a story about my old home in kansas. there used to be a great many sunflowers on uncle henry's farm back there."
a tiny violet growing in a mossy bed caught the girl's eye, and as she knelt to hear its words, a shrill, unpleasant voice exclaimed, "pick me! pick me! pick me immediately! i'll tell you a story that will burn your ears off! all about dick superguy greatest detective in the world! he can't be killed he's all-powerful!" dorothy was sure the shy little violet hadn't uttered these words. while she looked about to see where the rude voice was coming from, one of the little wooden gardeners stepped up and said apologetically, "beg your pardon, miss, it's just a weed. they're always loud and noisy, and while we don't care much for their stories, we feel they have as much right to grow as any other plants. even a magic fairy garden has its weeds."
the wizard had strolled over to the pond of placid blue water, and placing his ear close to a green pad on which nestled an exquisite water lily, he heard these words, "pick me, o man, and i'll tell you a tale of a magic white ship that sails the jeweled seas and of the strange creatures that dwell in the blue depths."
turning to a lotus blossom, the wizard heard a sleepy voice murmur, "pick me, pick me. i'll carry you afar to the secret islands of the never-ending nights, where the winds are music in the palm trees and the hours are woven of delights."
now that they had listened to the pleading voices of so many of the blossoms, dorothy and the wizard decided to pick some of them and hear their stories.
dorothy's first selection was a jack-in-the-pulpit, which proved to be an unfortunate choice as the story the blossom told was preachy and sermon-like. she decided the blossom was a trifle green.
next she tried a daffodil. the story this blossom whispered to her in silver tones was about a lovely spring maiden who went dancing around the earth, and at her approach all ugliness and coldness and bitterness vanished. in the spring maiden's wake appeared a trail of anemones and violets and daffodils and tulips, and gentle winds that caused new hopes to arise in the hearts of the winter-weary people.
the wizard selected a pink carnation. this spicily-scented blossom told him an exciting story of intrigue and adventure in high places. it was a romantic, dashing story, full of cleverness and surprises.
then the wizard plucked a cluster of purple lilacs. each of the tiny blossoms growing on the stem joined in a chorus to sing him a story of home and love, of patience and virtue and all the common things of life in which the poorest may find riches and happiness.
almost before dorothy and the wizard realized it, the shadows of evening were lengthening over the garden, and dolly and poppet appeared to inform them the evening meal was awaiting them.
dorothy picked up the white kitten which had fallen asleep in the shadow of a nearby hedge, and she and the wizard followed the maid and the page back to the cheery comfort of ozana's cottage. they chatted happily over the good food served them by dolly and poppet. felina had her bowl of milk on the floor, near dorothy's chair.
then, since they realized the next day was likely to be a busy and exciting one, they followed dolly and poppet to the rooms ozana had prepared for them and said good-night at their doors. the rooms were delightfully furnished with deep, soft beds and everything to make them comfortable for the night.
as dorothy pulled the covers over her, and felina snuggled into a small, furry ball at the girl's feet, dolly reappeared with a poppy blossom in her hand.
"here, princess dorothy," the thoughtful little maid said, "listen to the story of the poppy blossom and you'll be sure to sleep well."
so dorothy listened to the soft, slumbrous voice of the poppy and was asleep almost before the tale was finished.
what kind of a story did the sweet poppy tell? why, a bedtime story, of course.
the three swans
dorothy was awakened by the sunlight streaming through the windows of her bedroom. refreshed and eager for the adventures that lay ahead, she bathed and dressed and, with felina in her arms, knocked on the door of the wizard's room.
the man was already awake and in excellent spirits as he greeted dorothy. a moment later dolly and poppet came to lead them to the living room where ozana was awaiting them for breakfast.
the fairy princess, radiant with loveliness, was dressed in a simple, blue dress with a circlet of roses set in her golden hair. dorothy thought this an excellent crown for the princess of story blossom garden.
when the meal was finished, ozana said, "it will please you to learn that my studies which i completed late last night revealed that the mimic king and queen have accomplished no real harm in the emerald city. however, queen ra has succeeded in doing something that has surprised me. she has thrown up a magic screen about her activities which has made it impossible for me to discover whether she has found the spell that would release the mimics from queen lurline's enchantment. it is logical to believe ra has failed, since, if she had discovered the spell, she would surely have used it to permit the mimic hordes to overrun oz."
"but you cannot be sure. is that it, ma'am?" asked the wizard.
"yes, i am afraid so," ozana admitted, frowning slightly.
"this magic screen that queen ra has devised baffles me and resists all my efforts to penetrate it. for this reason i think it would be wise for us to go as quickly as possible to the emerald city. as you know, ozma and glinda will return from the forest of burzee this morning at ten o'clock. i would like to be present to greet them and to explain what has happened. there is no use causing them undue alarm. after all, i am responsible for the mimics in regard to the land of oz," ozana concluded thoughtfully.
"well," said dorothy, "i'm ready to go. how about you, wizard?"
the little man's expression was grave as he answered. "the quicker we get back to oz the better. i have an uneasy feeling that we are not finished with the mimics by any means."
"then it is settled," announced ozana. "come, my friends, let us make all possible haste. we have no time to lose."
"may i take felina to oz with us?" asked dorothy.
ozana smiled. "certainly, my dear. only let us hurry."
dorothy and the wizard followed ozana to the cottage door and down the path that led to the edge of the pond. the garden was fresh and lovely in the early morning. the side of the cottage that faced the morning sun was covered with blue morning glories. dorothy regretted that there was no time for her to pick one of the delicate blossoms and listen to its story.
standing at the edge of the pond, ozana uttered a soft, musical whistle. from under the low-hanging branches of a large bush that trailed into the water on the far shore of the pond, emerged the three graceful swans which dorothy and the wizard had admired the day before.
the snow white birds moved swiftly across the water in answer to ozana's summons.
"these are my swans which will carry us over the deadly desert to the emerald city," said ozana.
"they don't look big enough to carry even you or me, let alone the wizard," said dorothy doubtfully.
ozana laughed. "of course they are not large enough now, dorothy, but soon they will be."
the three swans were now at the pond's edge, just at ozana's feet. the fairy princess bent, touching the head of each of the birds gently with a slender wand which she drew from the folds of her blue dress. while dorothy and the wizard watched, the birds grew steadily before their wondering eyes. in a few seconds they were nearly five times the size of ordinary swans.
the fairy princess placed a dainty foot on the back of one of the swans, and then settled herself on the bird's downy back, motioning to dorothy and the wizard to do likewise.
dorothy stepped gingerly to the back of the swan nearest her. she found the great bird supported her easily. holding felina in her lap, the little girl nestled comfortably among the feathers. the wizard had already mounted the third swan.
seeing that the passengers were all aboard, ozana signaled the swans, and with mighty strokes of their great wings the birds soared into the air. dorothy looked behind her and saw ozana's cottage growing smaller as the birds climbed higher and higher into the heavens. in a short time, they had left mount illuso so far in the distance that it was no longer visible.
the soft feathers of the bird that carried her, and the gentle motion with which it sped through the air made dorothy think of riding through the sky on a downy feather bed.
"isn't it grand, wizard!" dorothy called.
"it certainly beats any traveling i ever did," admitted the wizard.
"it's even better than my balloon back in omaha."
ozana's bird flew in advance, with the swans bearing dorothy and the wizard slightly to her rear on either side of her.
they crossed the border of the land of the phanfasms and soared high over the deadly desert. the swans flew even higher over the desert than had the mimic birds. for this reason none of the travelers suffered from the poisonous fumes that rose from the shifting sands of the desert.
as they approached the yellow land of the winkies, dorothy noticed that ozana cast several anxious glances at the sun which was rising higher and higher in the heavens. it seemed to the little girl that the fairy princess was disturbed and anxious.
"is anything wrong, ozana?" called dorothy.
"i cannot say for sure," replied ozana. "something has taken place in oz of which i was not aware. i can feel the change now that we are actually over the land of oz. i am trying to discover what has happened by means of my fairy powers. i am afraid, too, that the journey is taking longer than i expected, and we shall not be able to arrive before ozma and glinda."
at a signal from their mistress the three swans quickened their already swift flight.
again and again ozana consulted the sun, and her appearance became more grave and worried as they approached the emerald city.
suddenly the fairy princess's expression changed. a look of anger and dismay clouded her face, and the next instant she cried out beseechingly:
"forgive me, my friends! i now understand all that has happened. the mimics have cunningly outwitted me!"
the mimic monarchs lock themselves in
back in the emerald city a great deal had been happening while dorothy and the wizard were adventuring on mount illuso.
you will recall that toto had startled the oz people by trotting into the grand dining room and declaring that it was not dorothy who sat at the head of the table. you see, in some ways animals are wiser than human beings. king umb and queen ra were able to fool the oz people just by looking like dorothy and the wizard, but they couldn't deceive the keen senses of the little dog so easily. toto's animal instinct warned him that this was not his beloved mistress dorothy nor his old friend the wizard. when toto made his astonishing assertion every eye in the dining room turned questioningly upon the mimic king and queen.
suddenly queen ra leaped to her feet. grasping king umb by the arm and hissing, "hurry, you fool!" she pulled the mimic king after her and the two dashed from the dining room.
for a moment everyone was too startled to move except toto. he sped like an arrow after the fleeing monarchs.
the quick-witted scarecrow broke the spell by leaping to his feet and following with awkward haste after the dog. instantly there rose a clamor of startled exclamations and bewildered questions from the oz people who were thrown into confusion by these strange happenings.
by the time the scarecrow had reached the corridor, king umb, queen ra and toto were nowhere in sight. but the straw man could hear toto's excited barking. following in the direction of the sound, down one corridor and up another, the scarecrow arrived in the wing of the palace usually occupied by ozma, and found toto barking before a closed door. the little dog's eyes flashed angrily.
when toto saw the scarecrow, he stopped barking and said, "i was just too late. they slammed the door in my face and now i suppose it is locked." the scarecrow attempted to turn the knob with his stuffed hand and found that, as toto suspected, the door was locked.
"do you know what room this is?" toto asked.
"of course," replied the scarecrow, "it's ozma's chamber of magic."
"yes," went on the little dog, "the same room where the imitation dorothy and wizard have shut themselves in all day. why? i want to know! i tell you, scarecrow, there's something awfully funny going on here."
the straw man was thoughtful. "i agree with you, toto. something is happening that we don't understand. we must find out what it is. i believe the wisest thing we can do is to return to the dining room and hold a council to talk this thing over. maybe we will be able to find an explanation."
silently the little dog agreed, and a short time later a group of the best-loved companions of dorothy and the wizard was gathered in a living room adjoining the grand dining room. the scarecrow presided over the meeting.
"all we really know," he began, "is that dorothy and the wizard have been acting very strangely today the second day of the absence of ozma and glinda. toto insists that they are not dorothy and the wizard at all."
"lan' sakes!" exclaimed dorothy's aunt em, "i'll admit the child ain't been herself today, but it's down-right silly to say that our dorothy's someone else. i ought to know my own niece!"
"em, you're a-gittin' all mixed up," cautioned uncle henry. "you jest now said dorothy ain't been herself today that means she must be somebody else."
"but who could look so much like dorothy and the wizard?" queried betsy bobbin with a frown.
"and why should anyone wish to deceive us?" asked tiny trot.
now cap'n bill spoke up. "s'posin'," began the old sailor gruffly, "that we admit fer the moment that this ain't the real dorothy and the wizard. then the most important thing is where are the real dorothy and the wizard?"
"that's the smartest thing that's been said yet," declared toto earnestly, with an admiring glance at cap'n bill. "here we are, wasting time in talk, when something dreadful may be happening to dorothy and the wizard. let's get busy and find them quickly."
"maybe they're lost," suggested button bright. "if that's the case there's nothing to worry about, 'cause i've been lost lots of times and i always got found again." but no one paid any attention to the boy.
with her yarn hair dangling before her eyes, the patchwork girl danced to the front of the gathering. "the trouble with you people," she asserted, "is that you don't know how to add two and two and get four."
"what do you mean by that, scraps?" asked the scarecrow.
"just this," retorted the stuffed girl, saucily making a face at the scarecrow. "what did we overhear dorothy and the wizard discussing today in the garden? magic! they were talking about a magic spell which they hoped to find before ozma and glinda returned. all right.
now where did dorothy and the wizard spend most of the day and where have they fled just now to lock themselves in? to ozma's chamber of magic!" the patchwork girl concluded triumphantly, "mark my words there's magic behind all this, and the secret is hidden in ozma's chamber of magic."
with his chin in his hand, the scarecrow was regarding scraps in silent admiration. "sometimes," he said, "i almost believe your head is stuffed with the same quality of brains the wizard put in mine."
"nope!" denied scraps emphatically. "it's not brains just a little common sense." and with that the irrepressible creature leaped to the chandelier suspended from the ceiling and began chinning herself.
"yes," agreed the scarecrow with a sigh as he regarded her antics, "i guess i was wrong about your brains."
"but what are we going to do? that's what i want to know," demanded toto impatiently.
"i believe," declared the scarecrow finally, "there is only one thing we can do. we must go to ozma's chamber of magic and try to persuade this strange dorothy and the wizard to admit us. if they refuse, then we shall be obliged to break open the door and demand an explanation of their mysterious behavior."
"good!" exclaimed toto. "let us go at once."
they all filed out of the room and made their way to ozma's chamber of magic. the door was still locked. several times the scarecrow called to dorothy and the wizard to open the door and admit them, but there was no response. then cap'n bill stepped forward. he knew what was expected of him as the biggest and strongest of the group. he placed a shoulder against the door and pushed. the door creaked and yielded. again cap'n bill pushed. this time the door yielded more noticeably. upon the third trial the door suddenly gave way before the old sailor man's weight, and the scarecrow followed by scraps, trot, betsy bobbin, button bright and the rest crowded into ozma's chamber of magic.
in the chamber of magic
when queen ra seized king umb by the arm and fled with him from the dining room, the mimic queen was alarmed. she realized it was useless to attempt to deceive toto, and she greatly feared the little dog would succeed in convincing the scarecrow and the others that something had happened to dorothy and the wizard.
fear lent speed to the queen's feet as she ran down the corridor, dragging king umb after her, with toto in close pursuit. she slammed the door of the chamber of magic and locked it just in time to prevent toto's entry. then she flung herself in a chair, gasping for breath.
when king umb, who was even more frightened than his queen, had got his breath and could speak, he said raspingly, "so this is the way your plan works a miserable dog robs us of success!"
"silence!" commanded queen ra angrily. "we are far from defeated. we still have time to find the magic spell. and we will! we were fools to give up the search and go to that silly dinner," she concluded bitterly.
she turned to ozma's magic books and began feverishly leafing through them. for perhaps ten minutes she continued her search fruitlessly.
flung carelessly on the floor at her side was a great pile of books through which she had previously looked in vain for the magic spell.
only four books remained to be searched through.
while king umb watched nervously, the queen continued her frantic quest. now only two books remained. the magic spell must be in one of these two volumes. suddenly queen ra leaped to her feet with a cry of triumph. "i have found it!" she announced with exultation. she tore a page from the book and cast the volume to the floor.
"come," she urged, "let us return to mount illuso as speedily as possible. soon we will come again to oz. but we will not be alone!"
both ra and umb laughed with wicked satisfaction.
just then the scarecrow called to dorothy and the wizard to open the door and admit them.
"fools!" muttered queen ra. "in a short time you will all be my slaves."
pausing to pick up dorothy's magic belt, queen ra walked to a large french window that looked down on the palace court-yard. turning to king umb, she said, "these hateful shapes can serve us no longer, so let us discard them and be on our way." instantly the figures of dorothy and the wizard vanished and in their places appeared two great, black birds with huge, powerful wings.
just as cap'n bill burst open the door, and the scarecrow and the rest crowded into the room, the birds flew from the window.
the little group hurried to the window and looked out. high above the palace and swiftly disappearing in the night, flew two enormous bat-like birds. the night was too dark and the birds too far away for any of the oz people to see that one of the creatures clutched dorothy's magic belt. while queen ra had not yet learned how to command the many wonderful powers of the magic belt (or she would most certainly have used the belt to transport herself and umb to the mimic land in the twinkling of an eye), nevertheless she had no intention of leaving the valuable talisman behind to be used by the oz people.
more bewildered than ever, the scarecrow and his companions turned from the window.
"i told you so!" declared toto excitedly. "you see those creatures were not dorothy and the wizard at all."
"you are right," said the scarecrow, "those great birds must be the same beings that we thought were dorothy and the wizard."
"certainly," replied toto. "you can see for yourself that dorothy and the wizard are not here."
it was true enough. there was no trace of dorothy or the wizard in the chamber of magic.
"but who were those creatures? and why did they want us to believe they were dorothy and the wizard? and what has happened to the real dorothy and the wizard?" the scarecrow asked helplessly.
"why not look in the magic picture and find out?" asked the patchwork girl, as she danced about the room.
"of course, the very thing!" exclaimed the scarecrow. "why didn't i think of that myself?"
"because your brains are of an extraordinary quality," retorted scraps, "and you can't be expected to think common-sense thoughts."
the magic picture which hung on a wall in ozma's boudoir was one of the rarest treasures in all oz. ordinarily the picture presented merely an attractive view of a pleasant countryside with rolling fields and a forest in the background. but when anyone stood in front of the picture and asked to see a certain person anywhere in the world the painted picture faded and was replaced by the moving image of the person named and his or her surroundings at that exact time.
the scarecrow and his companions gathered about the magic picture and the straw man said solemnly, "i want to see dorothy and the wizard."
instantly the painted scene faded and in its place appeared the interior of hi-lo's little cottage. dorothy and the wizard were just about to sit down to the food mrs. hi-lo had prepared for them.
"i wonder who those two funny little people are?" murmured trot, fascinated by the quaint appearance of mr. and mrs. hi-lo.
"they are not familiar to me," observed the scarecrow reflectively, "nor have i ever seen a cottage quite like that one in the land of oz."
for a time the group watched in silence while dorothy and the wizard ate their food and conversed with mr. and mrs. hi-lo. but at length, as nothing of importance occurred, the scarecrow said:
"even though we don't know where dorothy and the wizard are, at least the magic picture has shown us they are safe for the moment and we don't need to worry about them."
"why not use dorothy's magic belt to wish dorothy and the wizard back here in the palace?" trot asked suddenly as she stared at the images in the magic picture.
"an excellent suggestion!" agreed the scarecrow, his face beaming.
"trot, i believe you have solved our problem," he said admiringly.
the scarecrow knew that when dorothy was not wearing her magic belt on a journey, it was always kept in ozma's chamber of magic. so the straw man went there himself to get the belt. a few minutes later he returned and announced gloomily, "it's gone. the magic belt is nowhere in the chamber of magic. either ozma took it with her, or it has been stolen. the magic picture has shown us that dorothy is not wearing the belt."
disappointment was reflected on everyone's face, and for a moment no one spoke. then the scarecrow declared, "my friends, there remains only one more thing for us to do."
"what is that?" asked cap'n bill.
"one of us must leave immediately for glinda's castle in the quadling country to consult glinda's great book of records. the book will provide us with a complete account of all that has happened to dorothy and the wizard."
"a wise suggestion," agreed cap'n bill. "who will go?"
"i will," volunteered dorothy's uncle henry quickly. "i want to do everything possible to bring dorothy back to us and it 'pears to me we can't do much of anything until we know what has happened to her."
"good!" exclaimed the scarecrow. "you can leave at once. i will order ozma's wooden sawhorse to carry you to glinda's castle and back. but even though the sawhorse is swift and tireless, you will not be able to make the journey, consult the great book of records and return to the emerald city before ozma and glinda come back day after tomorrow.
that is too bad. the disappearance of dorothy and the wizard and all this mystery will not provide a very cheerful homecoming for ozma and glinda. but at least we shall have the information contained in the great book of records, and then ozma and glinda will know best what to do."
uncle henry kissed aunt em good-bye and hurried to the royal stable where the sawhorse was waiting for him.
"i understand," said the queer steed, whose body and head were made from a tree trunk, "that we're going to glinda's castle in the quadling country."
"that's right," nodded uncle henry. "and this is no pleasure trip, so go as fast as you can."
glancing at uncle henry for a moment from one of his eyes which were knots in the wood, the sawhorse turned, as soon as uncle henry was mounted, and dashed down the stable driveway into the street leading to the gates of the emerald city. once outside the city, the sawhorse ran so swiftly that its legs, which were merely sticks of wood which ozma had caused to be shod with gold, fairly twinkled. it sped with a rolling, cradle-like motion over fields and hills, and uncle henry had to hold on for dear life.
perhaps i should explain that glinda's great book of records is a marvelous book in which everything that happens, from the slightest detail to the most important event taking place anywhere in the world, is recorded the same instant that it happens. no occurrence is too trivial to appear in the book. if a naughty child stamps its foot in anger, or if a powerful ruler plunges his country into war, both events are noted in the book, as of equal importance.
the huge book lies open on a great table, occupying the center of glinda's study and is bound to the table by large chains of gold. next to ozma's magic picture, glinda's great book of records is the most valuable treasure in oz. the scarecrow knew that by consulting this wonderful book, uncle henry would be able to discover exactly what had happened to dorothy and the wizard.
the scarecrow and scraps, having no need for sleep, sat before the magic picture all night long conversing quietly and occasionally glancing at the images of dorothy and the wizard as the picture showed them sleeping in hi-lo's cottage.
the rest of the oz people retired to their bedrooms, but none of them slept well that night. they were far too worried over the plight of dorothy and the wizard to rest easily.
a web is woven
arriving at mount illuso early the following morning, king umb and queen ra passed the day secluded in the secret cavern where the queen was accustomed to study the dark sorcery of the erbs and practice her evil magic. this cavern was so well hidden, far in the depths of mount illuso, and its location was so closely guarded, that only a few of the most faithful subjects of the mimic king and queen were aware of its existence.
while queen ra's shape was that of a woman, her body was covered with a heavy fur of a reddish-brown color, and her head was that of a fox with a long snout and sharply pointed ears. two green eyes blazed with a fierce light from her furry face. in her hand the fox-woman held a brass whistle on which she blew a shrill blast. in answer to this summons came the mimic known as ebo. ebo wore the body of a jackal with the head of a serpent.
"go to the cave of the doomed and bring the two prisoners to me at once," the queen commanded.
"yes, your highness," hissed ebo as he swayed his serpent head in obeisance and left the cavern.
"we might as well have a little fun while we wait for midnight,"
grinned the fox head of the woman evilly.
king umb appeared as a great, grey ape with cloven hoofs and the head of a man. from the center of his forehead projected a single horn. the man-face was covered with a shaggy, black beard which fell to the hairy chest of the ape-body.
"what do you intend doing with the girl and the man?" asked the grey ape.
"i shall practice transformations on the man, giving him a number of unusual shapes and then perhaps combine them all into one interesting creature. it is amazingly easy to change the shapes of humans, so it will not be much of a feat of magic. then, just before we leave for the emerald city, i shall change him into a salamander a green salamander instead of the ordinary red kind, of course, since he is from the emerald city and then when we are over the deadly desert i shall drop him into the sands. salamanders are the only creatures that can exist in the desert, so it will really be a merciful fate, since it will not stop him from living."
"and the girl?" prompted king umb.
"i think i shall keep the girl chained in my cavern to amuse me when the excitement of conquering and devastating oz is over and i am in need of diversion," said queen ra.
while the queen was relating her wicked plans, ebo made his way to the cave of the doomed and was amazed and terrified to find it empty. how could there be an escape from the cave from which there was no exit save the single stone door which was always closely guarded? the jackal body of ebo trembled with fear of the punishment he knew queen ra would be quick to inflict on him. but there was nothing else for him to do but to report the mysterious disappearance of the prisoners to the mimic king and queen.
queen ra received the news with a scream of rage. blowing on her brass whistle, she summoned two other mimics. pointing to ebo who cringed with fear, she cried, "carry him away and cast him into the pit of forked flames."
king umb was uneasy. "i don't like this," he said. "how do we know that the two mortals will not interfere with our plans to conquer oz?"
"bah! what can two weak mortals do in the face of our might?" demanded the queen derisively.
knowing his wife's temper, king umb refrained from reminding ra that the mortals had somehow miraculously succeeded in escaping from the cave of the doomed. instead, he merely shrugged his ape shoulders and said, "just the same, i wish we were on our way to oz now, instead of waiting until midnight."
queen ra glared at her husband. "i have told you that lurline's enchantment can be broken only at midnight. tonight at twelve, i will cast the spell which lurline foolishly left in ozma's possession.
since it is the antidote to the enchantment which protects oz from the mimics, lurline knew ozma would guard it most carefully. but we succeeded in stealing it. once the spell is cast, the mimics will be free in all their power to attack oz and enslave its people. i tell you, umb, the famous land of oz is doomed. in a few short hours it will be a shambles. nothing can save it!"
a few minutes before the hour of midnight, the mimic hordes assembled in the vast domed cavern which forms that portion of hollow mount illuso that towers above the earth.
in the center of the cavern on a stone dais stood king umb and queen ra. the mimic queen lifted her arms and immediately silence fell over the shifting mass of evil beings.
the queen held in her hand a small box of black enameled wood. placing the box on the stone dais before her, she raised the lid and muttered an incantation. immediately there crawled from the box a scarlet spider as large as the queen's hand. at the first word of the incantation the spider began to grow. in a few seconds its body was four feet in thickness, and its hairy legs sprawled to a distance of fifteen feet from its body which was covered with a crimson fur.
"now go," queen ra commanded the spider, "and weave the web that will enmesh the fairy enchantment that hangs over us!"
the mimic hordes parted to make a path through their midst for the spider. the loathsome creature scuttled first to the wall of the cavern, and then climbed up the side of the wall. in a few seconds it had reached the top of the cavern.
then, moving with incredible speed, it wove a monster spider web of crimson strands as thick and tough as heavy rope cables.
queen ra watched silently until the fashioning of the scarlet web was completed. at that moment she cried aloud for all to hear:
"so long as this web remains unbroken, the mimics are freed from the enchantment cast on them by lurline! the web is a snare and a net for lurline's fairy enchantment and holds every remnant of it caught fast in its coils."
the queen spoke triumphantly, and well she might, for the magic spell she had stolen from ozma had worked perfectly.
"come!" shouted queen ra. "let us tarry no longer. we have waited too many years for this hour!"
with this the mimic king and queen assumed the shapes of giant birds and soared through the cavern to the stone portal. the throngs of their mimic subjects followed, beating the air with great, leathery wings as they passed from the cavern into the night.
soon the sky above mount illuso was darkened with the great numbers of the mimic horde, and the light of the moon was blotted from the earth by the flapping wings.
following the lead of king umb and queen ra, they headed straight for the deadly desert and the land of oz.
the mimics in the emerald city
on the morning when the mimic hordes swept over the border of the deadly desert and the winkie country and on to the emerald city, button bright and the patchwork girl were playing leap-frog in the garden of the royal palace.
cap'n bill was sitting nearby on a bench in the sun, carving on a block of wood with his big jack-knife. the old sailor man worked slowly and painstakingly, but when he finished he knew he would have a good likeness of princess ozma's lovely features carved in the wood. this he planned to mount as a figurehead on the prow of the boat he was building as a surprise for ozma.
suddenly button bright, who had tumbled flat on his back, cried out:
"look! look at those birds!"
scraps swept her yarn hair out of her button eyes and tilted her head back. the sky was darkening with a great cloud of birds. and what beautiful creatures those birds were!
"birds of a feather flock together.
red, blue, green and gold match my patches, bold.
"not a grey topknot in the whole lot!
see the popinjay flirt its colors gay..."
cried the patchwork girl, dancing about in wild excitement.
"stop it, scraps!" commanded button bright who was nearly as excited as the stuffed girl.
"trot, betsy, ojo, scarecrow!" the boy called. "come out and see the pretty birds!"
of course this taking the forms of gorgeous plumed birds was a clever part of queen ra's cunning scheme. she knew the beauty of the birds, instead of alarming the oz people, would fascinate them. the queen hoped by this wily stratagem to take the oz inhabitants completely by surprise with no thought of danger in their minds.
the scheme worked even better than queen ra dared dream.
ojo the lucky, aunt em, the scarecrow, betsy bobbin, trot, jellia jamb, and all the others came hurrying from the royal palace, while from the royal stable came the cowardly lion, the hungry tiger, hank the mule, the woozy and others of the animal friends of the palace residents.
gathering in the gardens and court-yard, they all stared up in wonder at the beautiful birds.
outside the grounds of the royal palace, much the same thing was happening throughout the emerald city. those people who were out of doors witnessing the spectacle called to those who were indoors, urging them to hurry out and see the lovely visitors. it was no time at all until every building in the city was emptied of its curious inhabitants.
this was just what the mimics wanted. with the people of the emerald city standing in the daylight, plainly casting their shadows, queen ra gave a signal and the mimic birds ceased their slow circling in the sky for the enjoyment of the oz people and dropped down to the city.
king umb and queen ra led those birds which settled in the palace court-yard and gardens.
a bird with brilliant scarlet and royal purple feathers and a topknot of gleaming gold alighted close to trot. the little girl stepped forward with delight to stroke the bird's lovely plumage. instantly the creature vanished and in its place stood a perfect duplicate of trot, while the real trot was frozen in her tracks, unable to move.
mystified at suddenly seeing two trots before him, cap'n bill rose from his bench and started toward them. but he was confronted by one of the giant birds and an instant later the old sailor man was unable to move. he could only stare with amazement at an exact double of himself wooden leg and all. button bright was about to leap playfully on the back of another bird when he fell to the ground powerless to move. at the same moment the bird vanished and the boy's double appeared in its place.
and so it went throughout the emerald city. the friendly oz people were delighted that the lovely birds should approach so near that they might be treated to a closer view of their gorgeous plumage, which, it must be admitted, was exceedingly beautiful. only the eyes of the birds betrayed their true natures. they flamed a fierce red. one or two of the oz people, upon meeting the glare of those piercing eyes, were alarmed and would have turned and fled. but it was too late. in a few minutes, all the human inhabitants of the emerald city were made captives.
however, the mimics were able to steal the shapes only of human beings.
the scarecrow, the patchwork girl, tik-tok, the glass cat, billina the yellow hen, the woozy, toto, hank the mule, the cowardly lion and the hungry tiger remained unchanged. fearing the mule, the lion and the tiger might prove dangerous because of their size, queen ra quickly placed a magic spell on the three beasts that caused them to fall on the court-yard lawn in a deep sleep.
the scarecrow, scraps, tik-tok and the others who had escaped the magic of the mimics were completely confused by these sudden and baffling events. the stuffed girl rubbed her suspender button eyes and gazed with disbelief at two button brights which one was it she had been playing with only a few minutes before? and there were two aunt ems and two jellia jambs! wondering if the world had somehow suddenly become double, the bewildered patchwork girl looked about for her own twin.
of all the horde of beautiful birds that had settled on the emerald city, only two remained in the royal gardens. these were king umb and queen ra. at this point the mimic king and queen cast off their bird forms. a strange man and woman suddenly appeared in the midst of the oz people and the mimic-oz-people. the woman was big, raw-boned and red-skinned. her hair was twisted on her head in a hard black knot, on which was set a small golden crown. the scarecrow started with surprise when he saw that the strange woman was wearing dorothy's magic belt.
(until now the belt had been concealed by the plumage of ra's bird form.) queen ra had brought the magic belt with her because of its wonderful powers which she had been studying and which she felt would be useful in carrying out the conquest of oz. beside the woman stood a giant man with a flowing black beard and tangled black hair. his eyes were fierce and hawklike.
quickly queen ra uttered a command, at which a number of the mimic-oz-people leaped forward and proceeded to bind the non-human ozites with strong ropes, which the magic of queen ra placed in their hands.
to his amazement, the scarecrow found himself being made captive by cap'n bill and ojo the lucky. the straw man was wise enough to know that these twin likenesses were not really his old friends, cap'n bill and ojo, so he resisted with all his might. but the poor scarecrow's body was so light that the mimics had no difficulty in fastening the ropes about him and pinning his arms to his sides.
scraps was more of a problem. it required the combined efforts of the mimic jellia jamb, aunt em, betsy bobbin and button bright to bind her.
but even with these odds none of the mimics escaped without scratches on his face from scraps' gold plated finger nails.
tik-tok, the woozy, the glass cat and the rest were all securely bound in a few more seconds.
while our friends were being made prisoners, king umb and queen ra hastened away to the throne room of the royal palace. there the prisoners of the mimics were carried into the presence of the mimic king and queen. the scarecrow and the others were shocked and outraged at the spectacle of the harsh-looking woman brazenly occupying ozma's throne, while at her side stood the fierce-visaged man.
the mimic ojo and button bright lined up the captives before the throne, while queen ra regarded them scornfully.
"a pair of stuffed dummies, an animated washing machine, and a menagerie," she commented derisively.
"i demand," shouted the scarecrow boldly, "that you release us immediately!"
"ah! the famous scarecrow of oz!" gloatingly exclaimed queen ra. "and as brave as ever! i believe i will have your body destroyed by fire, first removing your head so that you will be able to entertain me with your wise thoughts. it would be a shame," she added with sarcasm, "if such great brains were lost to the world."
now the one thing in the world the scarecrow feared was a lighted match, so it is no wonder that, brave as he was, he shrank before so terrible a fate as that proposed by the wicked queen.
"you will not get a-way with this," warned tik-tok in his mechanical voice. "you will sure-ly be pun-ish-ed for your wick-ed-ness and e-vil do-ing."
"and you are tik-tok the machine man," said queen ra. "as useless a pile of rubbish as was ever assembled. i shall have you carefully taken apart, piece by piece, and amuse myself in my spare time by trying to put you back together again like a jig-saw puzzle."
"my ma-chin-er-y does not per-mit me to fear," replied tik-tok calmly, "e-ven when i am thor-ough-ly wound up, so you are wast-ing your threats on me."
the evil queen went down the line of captives, plotting terrible fates for each of them. billina, she predicted, would soon be roasted for dinner. the patchwork girl would become a combination pin-cushion and personal slave. the glass cat would be melted down into marbles.
finally she came to the last of the prisoners the square shaped woozy whom ra promised to have chopped into cubes for building blocks.
it was at this moment that the scarecrow became aware that with the exceptions of hank the mule and the cowardly lion and the hungry tiger, who lay sleeping in the court-yard, all the animals of the royal palace were present save the sawhorse, who was at that moment swiftly bearing uncle henry back to the emerald city from glinda's castle in the quadling country and one other.
that other was toto!
the return of ozma and glinda
after his first sense of joy at finding that toto had somehow escaped capture, the scarecrow reflected more soberly that even though the little dog was free there was nothing he could do to rescue his friends from their desperate plight.
but the scarecrow had been in dangerous situations before, so he did not give up hope by any means. while queen ra was gloating over her prisoners, the scarecrow's famous brains were hard at work. suddenly it occurred to the straw man that ozma and glinda were to return to the emerald city at ten o'clock this morning. it was almost that time now. if only he could engage the wicked queen in conversation until ozma and glinda appeared, then the royal ruler and the good sorceress might take their enemies by surprise. the scarecrow was confident that ozma would be able to deal with these usurpers to her throne.
with this plan in mind, the scarecrow cried out in a bold voice: "i demand to know what you have done with dorothy and the wizard!" when he had witnessed the peculiar manner in which the gaudily plumed birds had assumed the shapes of his human friends in the garden, the scarecrow had first suspected that these creatures were responsible for the disappearance of dorothy and the wizard. then the sight of dorothy's magic belt about the waist of the big woman had convinced him of the truth of his suspicions.
queen ra answered the scarecrow with a scornful laugh. "you are quite brave, my blustering, straw-stuffed dummy, but your braveness will do you no good. as for your princess dorothy and the man who calls himself a wizard, you will never see them again. furthermore," the queen went on, "as soon as i have suitably disposed of you and the rest of these animated creatures and beasts, i will use the magic belt to transport the helpless bodies of all the oz people in the emerald city to mount illuso, where they will share the same fate as your dorothy and her wizard friend."
in spite of the assurance with which she spoke, the evil queen was uneasy when she recalled the disappearance of dorothy and the wizard from the cave of the doomed. had she underestimated the wizard's powers of magic? queen ra shrugged this thought from her mind. what had she to fear from two mere mortals? what had she to fear from anyone now?
the emerald city was hers and oz was as good as conquered!
"do not heed the threats of this wicked woman!" the scarecrow called to his captive companions. "she is boasting too soon!"
at these words queen ra turned angrily upon the scarecrow.
"enough of your insolence, miserable wretch!" she cried. "i will show you who is boasting. since you dare challenge me, i will destroy you immediately!"
her eyes flashing with rage, queen ra leaped from the throne and moved toward the scarecrow. when she was about six feet from him, ra paused and muttered an incantation. instantly dancing flames of fire leaped from the marble floor of the throne room, making a circle around the scarecrow. with a smile of satisfaction, queen ra resumed her place on ozma's throne to enjoy the spectacle in comfort.
the dancing circle of fire moved swiftly inward. as the blazing circle grew smaller in circumference, the flames leaped ever higher and closer to the helpless scarecrow, who stood in the circle's exact center.
the leaping fire had moved so close to the scarecrow that it almost scorched his stuffed clothing. the friends of the scarecrow watched in horror. prisoners themselves, there was nothing they could do to save their old comrade from this terrible fate.
"whish!"
there was a sudden rush of air, and in the center of the throne room stood princess ozma and glinda the good on the exact spot from which they had vanished three days before.
ozma swept the throne room with a glance that instantly comprehended the scarecrow's great danger. in another moment her old friend would be reduced to a pile of smoldering ashes. quick as a flash, the little princess pointed her fairy wand at the flames that were licking the straw man's boots. while the onlookers blinked, the flames vanished. a long sigh of relief went up from the scarecrow's friends.
queen ra was glaring with terrible rage at the royal ozma, who advanced calmly toward the wicked queen with an expression of stern dignity on her girlish features.
"who are you, and what are you doing on my throne?" ozma asked.
"your throne no longer!" replied ra harshly. "for you are no longer ruler of the land of oz. instead you are my prisoner, and soon i will make it impossible for you to interfere with my plans as you have just done."
the stately glinda spoke now, her voice grave and thoughtful.
"i believe i know who you are," she said. "you must be the queen of the evil mimics. i have read about you in my great book of records."
"if this is true," said ozma sorrowfully, "then your mimic hordes are these creatures who so closely resemble my own beloved subjects, while the true oz people are robbed of the power of motion by your evil spell."
"good!" sneered ra. "i am glad you understand everything so well. you have not a friend in the emerald city to aid you. everyone of your subjects in the city is a victim of the mimic magic. soon this will be true of all the land of oz. i am sure you will agree with me," queen ra went on mockingly, "that it is only fair and just that you should share your subjects' fate. indeed i know you are so foolishly loyal that you would not escape and leave your people to suffer even if you could. so king umb and i, ourselves, will oblige you by making it possible for you to join your beloved subjects. owing to your high rank as the two most powerful persons in the land of oz, we will do you the honor of taking your shapes."
concluding this triumphant speech, queen ra grinned with malicious satisfaction and said gloatingly, "at last the royal ozma and the great glinda bow to a power greater than their own! come," she called to king umb, "you take the form of glinda, i will take that of ozma."
with this the mimic monarchs advanced on ozma and glinda. the little ruler and glinda the good were silent. both realized that queen ra had spoken the truth when she had declared their powers to be useless against the mimics. therefore the girl ruler and the sorceress made no effort to combat their enemies, but stood bravely and proudly awaiting their fate.
at that very moment when king umb and queen ra were about to seize the shadows of ozma and glinda, a small, black form streaked with the speed of light from underneath ozma's throne straight to the menacing figures of the mimic king and queen. it was toto! with fierce growls and barks he began worrying and snapping at the ankles of the mimic monarchs.
the sudden appearance of the little dog and his desperate attack took ra and umb completely by surprise. for a moment they entirely forgot ozma and glinda and devoted all their efforts to freeing themselves from the snapping jaws of the furiously snarling little dog.
this respite which toto had so bravely won saved ozma and glinda from sharing the fate of their subjects. a few seconds after toto's attack, there suddenly appeared in the entrance of the throne room three figures, two of whom the scarecrow joyfully recognized as dorothy and the little wizard. they were accompanied by a maiden who was unknown to the scarecrow but whose beauty was quite evident. for an instant the trio stood in the doorway, surveying the strange scene that met their eyes in ozma's royal throne room.
ozana's fairy arts
swiftly princess ozana for the maiden was she advanced to the center of the throne room. she was followed closely by the wizard and dorothy, who bore in her arms the sleeping form of a tiny, white kitten.
at the appearance of dorothy, toto stopped worrying the ankles of king umb and queen ra and ran to meet the little girl. so happy was the excited little dog to see his beloved mistress that he even ignored the presence of the sleeping kitten. dorothy knelt and caressed him.
meanwhile, queen ra, recognizing ozana, paled and gasped: "the guardian of oz!"
"yes," admitted ozana calmly, "it is i, princess ozana."
king umb was so terrified at the appearance of the little maiden that the big fellow's knees knocked together and his face turned a sickly, green hue.
but it cannot be said that queen ra lacked courage. after the first shock of ozana's appearance, the queen summoned her spirits and faced the fairy maid defiantly. ra had determined not to give up her triumph without a struggle.
clasping her palms to dorothy's magic belt, the mimic queen whispered a command to it. but nothing happened.
ozana divined what the queen was about, but she only smiled.
in a rage, queen ra tore the useless belt from her waist and flung it to the throne room floor.
"you should know better," ozana gently chided the infuriated queen, "than to attempt to work such simple magic on me. even if you had succeeded in transforming me into a wooden doll, i would still have retained my fairy powers and been able to defeat you."
fright and realization that she was defeated mingled in queen ra's eyes as she stared at ozana. the unhappy queen said not a word. she sat spellbound, gazing with fearful fascination at the serene features of her girlish opponent.
ozana was speaking with an air of calm justice. "because i appeared absorbed in my own occupations," she addressed queen ra, "you counted me harmless. you believed i would be unaware of your evil-doing. you thought you could attack oz without my knowing it. but you were wrong.
and now the time has come for me to fulfill the trust placed in me by queen lurline when she made me guardian of oz. at that time she imparted to me the same powers over the race of mimics that only she, of all fairies, possesses. i shall use those powers as queen lurline would wish me to. i shall place her enchantment once more on the mimics so that they will be powerless to steal the shapes of all who dwell in the land of oz. at the same time, the re-weaving of this fairy enchantment will release all those oz people whose shapes are now held by the mimics."
as ozana completed this speech, she described a large circle in the air before her with her fairy wand. immediately that space was filled with a silvery, cloud-like radiance that glowed and shimmered. then, while ozma and the rest watched, a scene appeared in the cloud of silver mist. dorothy and the wizard recognized it as the interior of the mimic cavern inside hollow mount illuso. far in the top of the cavern they saw a scarlet spider web, in the center of which squatted a huge crimson spider. while those in the throne room watched with fascinated interest, the spider, seeming to sense that it was being observed, scuttled with a sudden, crab-like motion to the outer edge of the web.
there it squatted, its eyes glowing like dull, red coals.
with the tip of her wand, ozana touched the head of the image of the spider. instantly, the creature leaped into the air and trembled convulsively, as though it had received an electric shock. then it began slowly to dissolve before their eyes. first its legs wilted, grew shapeless and melted away. next its body collapsed inwardly, like an over-ripe melon, finally shriveling and disappearing altogether.
now the spellbound spectators in the throne room saw a spot of silver light appear on the outermost strand of the crimson web. the light raced over every coil of the immense web, progressing swiftly to the web's center. as fast as the silver light flashed along the scarlet coils, they vanished. in a few seconds more not a trace remained of the vast web or its loathsome occupant. the point of cleansing silver light winked out; the image of the mimic cavern faded; and the silver mist vanished from the throne room.
at this same instant, shouts of joy and exchanges of affectionate greetings rang through the royal palace and were echoed throughout the emerald city. the sound of these happy voices told princess ozma that her beloved subjects were no longer under the spell of the mimics.
in the throne room itself, the mimic-oz people, who had bound the scarecrow and his companions and brought them before king umb and queen ra, vanished. in their places stood mimics in their variety of repulsive animal and bird shapes. while the startled oz people watched, the mimics flitted and shifted about the royal throne room, changing their forms in the manner peculiar to these creatures.
but for the moment the mimics were forgotten, as all eyes were fastened with admiration and gratitude on princess ozana.
ozana smiled happily. "queen ra," she said, "you are now quite powerless to harm the people of oz."
queen ra, who had watched ozana's fairy magic with fascinated interest, knew she was utterly defeated. all her old arrogance and overbearing manner vanished. with bowed head, she refrained from meeting the eyes of ozana or those of any of her former victims.
in the mirrored ballroom
now ozma stepped forward. with happy tears of gratitude sparkling in her eyes, she grasped the hands of princess ozana. "how can i ever thank you for what you have done?"
ozana seemed embarrassed. "the truth is," she admitted, "had i done my duty, as queen lurline instructed, and watched the mimics more closely, the creatures would never have dared to invade oz. i owe all of you my humblest apology for this neglect of duty. the least i could do," she added soberly, "was to right the wrongs already committed."
"well," said dorothy happily, "all's well that ends well, an' we think you're fine, ozana."
"thank you, my dear," smiled ozana, affectionately stroking the little girl's hair.
"i think we owe toto a great debt of thanks," observed the wise glinda.
"had it not been for the little dog's bravery, you and i, ozma, would have undergone the unpleasant experience of becoming mimic victims."
"you are right," agreed ozma, turning to the dog. "i had not forgotten your brave action, toto. nothing glinda and i can say or do will properly reward you. nevertheless i shall have made for you a handsome new collar studded with emeralds and bearing your name in gold letters as a slight token of our gratitude."
"thank you, your highness," said toto shyly. "it was nothing, really.
when i saw the big birds stealing the shapes of trot and betsy and button bright and all the others out in the garden, i was frightened so i ran and hid under your throne. i could peep out and see everything that was going on, and when the mimic king and queen threatened you and glinda i became so angry that i just forgot about everything else."
"good dog!" said the wizard, patting toto's head.
dorothy beamed proudly at her little pet.
"dear me!" exclaimed ozma, gazing at the mimics in the throne room.
"how are we ever to transport all these creatures to their cavern home? we can't have them here to overrun oz, even though they are now harmless," she added, shuddering with revulsion at the shifting shapes of evil assumed by the mimics.
"that is simple," said ozana. "is there a room in the palace with a great many mirrors?"
"yes," replied ozma, "the grand ballroom which adjoins the throne room its walls and ceiling are composed entirely of mirrors."
"then let us go to the ballroom," said ozana.
ozma and glinda led ozana to the entrance of the grand ballroom.
dorothy and the wizard and toto followed.
ozana paused before the great door which was flung wide open. in her bell-like voice she murmured the words of a powerful fairy spell.
immediately king umb and queen ra, followed by the other mimics in the throne room, advanced as though they were in a trance to the portal of the mirrored ballroom. then they passed into the room itself. ozana continued to chant her fairy spell. now came a whole procession of the mimic creatures, first from all over the royal palace and finally from every part of the emerald city. they came trooping in by the hundreds, wearing a myriad of fantastic shapes and forms. at length the very last mimic had entered the ballroom, and, huge though the room was, it seemed to the onlookers that it must surely be filled to overflowing with the mimic horde.
by this time, the scarecrow, scraps, tik-tok and the rest who had been bound with ropes by the mimics were freed and they with trot, cap'n bill, betsy bobbin, button bright and the others all crowded about the entrance to look curiously into the ballroom. even the cowardly lion, the hungry tiger and hank the mule crowded into the throne room. the three beasts had awakened from the sleep cast on them by queen ra when ozana had re-woven the spell that protected the oz inhabitants.
"why," rumbled the cowardly lion, "the room's empty!"
in a sense the lion was right. there was no one in the grand ballroom, it was true. but dorothy and the others could plainly see the flitting, shifting shadow shapes of the mimics in the mirrors that paneled the walls and ceiling of the great room shadow creatures caught and confined in the depths of the mirrors!
"i wonder," dorothy whispered, "what will become of them."
the shattering of the mirrors
"now we can send the mimics back to mount illuso at will," said ozana in answer to dorothy's question. "all we need to do is shatter the mirrors and the mimics will return to their gloomy realm, banished forever from oz."
it was ozma who followed ozana's suggestion and brought about the breaking of the mirrors. the dainty ruler lifted her wand and murmured a fairy charm. instantly every mirror in the grand ballroom shivered and shattered with a vast, tinkling sound. not one of the scores of mirrors in the great chamber was left whole.
"it would be too bad," ozana remarked, "to mar permanently the beauty of your lovely ballroom." she lifted her wand, and while the onlookers blinked the mirrors were whole again. in their gleaming depths was no trace of the mimic horde. the grand ballroom was as splendid as ever.
as it was now nearing noon, ozma graciously invited ozana to join her and glinda with dorothy and the wizard, aunt em, trot, cap'n bill, betsy bobbin, button bright, the scarecrow, scraps and others of her friends for luncheon in the dining room of her own royal suite.
dorothy and the wizard related their adventures on mount illuso, and then the scarecrow tried to make clear to ozma, glinda and dorothy and the wizard everything that had happened in the emerald city during their absence. scraps helped him out, and betsy bobbin reminded him of things he had forgotten, while trot chimed in, and button bright wanted to tell the story his way. there was such a chatter it was a wonder ozma and the rest understood anything.
just as the meal was about to end, there was a knock on the door and uncle henry breathlessly entered the room. after aunt em and dorothy had hugged and kissed uncle henry, dorothy told him how she had got back to the emerald city. (he had read an account of the rest of her adventures in glinda's great book of records the night before.) scraps, helped out by aunt em, filled in the details of what had happened in the palace since he and the sawhorse had left.
when they had finished, uncle henry exhibited several sheets of paper closely filled with writing. "here's the whole story of the mimics. i copied everything the great book of records had to say about 'em, and then i left glinda's castle last night, travelin' all night long so as to get here as early today as possible. but i guess," he concluded, gazing ruefully at the papers he carried, "these ain't much use anymore."
"not one of us could have done better than you did, uncle henry," ozma consoled him. "instead of regretting your trip," she added wisely, "let us instead be grateful that there is no longer any need for us to concern ourselves with what the great book of records has to say about the mimics."
glinda announced that she must return to her castle in the quadling country, from which she had been absent too long. bidding good-bye to all her friends, the great sorceress was transported in the twinkling of an eye by her magic art to her far-away castle.
with glinda's departure the rest of ozma's guests began to take their leave, until finally the girl ruler was alone with only dorothy and ozana.
ozma had noticed that throughout the merry luncheon, ozana had appeared quiet and subdued, as though she were deeply occupied with thoughts of her own.
"tell me," ozma said gently, taking princess ozana's hand in her own, "is there something troubling you, my dear?"
with a smile, ozana replied, "yes, ozma, there is. truthfully, i dread returning to lonely mount illuso. in the short time i have been privileged to enjoy the companionship of dorothy and the wizard, and the society of the oz people here in the emerald city, i have come to realize more than ever what a terribly lonely life i lead on mount illuso. and," she added, gazing affectionately at dorothy, "i have become very fond of little dorothy. i shall be very sorry indeed to leave her and all the rest of you for that forsaken mountain top."
ozma laughed softly. "everyone loves our princess dorothy. but,"
and the little ruler's expression grew serious as she continued, "i sympathize with you, ozana. perhaps there is a way out of your predicament. is there any real reason why you should return to mount illuso? the mimics are harmless enough now. we can follow their actions in the magic picture and the great book of records. and you can use your fairy powers to control the mimics from the land of oz as easily as you could from the top of mount illuso."
"you mean ?" exclaimed ozana eagerly.
"that we would like nothing better than to have you make your home here in the land of oz," said ozma warmly. "furthermore it is my belief that through your long years of lonely vigil on mount illuso, and your courageous rescue of the people of oz from the mimics, you have more than earned a home in oz."
"oh, ozma, thank you!" exclaimed ozana. and then she added doubtfully, "do you think queen lurline will give her consent?"
"i see no reason why she should not," answered ozma. "it so happens that i am to speak with queen lurline within the hour. we made arrangements to confer this afternoon on some important happenings in the great outside world. during our conversation i will ask her about your remaining in oz."
"thank you, ozma," murmured ozana. "i can't begin to tell you how grateful i am."
"now if you will excuse me," said ozma, "i must prepare to establish communication with queen lurline."
arm in arm, dorothy and ozana made their way to dorothy's rooms, where they spent the next hour in conversation. dorothy was well pleased with the prospect of ozana's making her home in oz, for she believed the princess would be a delightful companion.
at last there came a gentle rap on the door, and princess ozma entered dorothy's room.
ozana and dorothy rose to their feet and looked questioningly at ozma.
"it is all settled," the girl ruler announced with her brightest smile.
"queen lurline readily gave her consent. from this moment on, dear cousin, you are no longer ozana of mount illuso, but ozana, princess of oz."
what the magic picture revealed
after the first happy excitement over ozma's news had subsided ozana grew serious and dorothy thought she detected a note of sadness in the fairy maid's voice as she said:
"there is one duty i must perform, ozma, before i can begin my new existence as an inhabitant of your lovely fairyland."
"what is that?" asked ozma.
"i must restore the pine folk and their village to their original forms, as part of the pine forest that covers the top of mount illuso.
likewise, story blossom garden must be returned to its original state, that is, ordinary wild flowers blossoming in the forest."
"why must you do that?" asked dorothy.
"since i am not to return to mount illuso, the pine folk and the garden are left entirely to the mercy of the mimics and other wicked creatures who dwell in the land of the phanfasms. quick transformation of the mountain top to its original state is far better than destruction of the village and the garden by creatures of evil."
ozana's voice was tinged with real regret. "ozma, may i look into your magic picture to see the garden and the village just once more, before i cause them to vanish forever?"
ozma made no reply other than to nod and lead the way to her boudoir where hung the magic picture. dorothy was mystified by the expression on the little ruler's face. she was sure ozma was repressing a smile and was secretly amused at something.
on the way to ozma's boudoir, dorothy, who had grown fond of felina the white kitten, asked, "what about felina, ozana? did you find her on mount illuso?"
"no, indeed," ozana explained. "felina accompanied me when i first went to mount illuso. she is my own pet. she is a fairy kitten and is as old as i am and that is many hundreds of years."
standing before the magic picture, ozana said quietly, "i wish to see the story blossom garden on mount illuso."
instantly the magic picture's familiar country scene faded. in its place appeared, not the lovely story blossom garden, but a barren, desert waste. even the blue pond had disappeared. there was no sign of any living thing in the dreary, desert scene.
"what can it mean?" dorothy cried. "ozma, do you think something's gone wrong with the magic picture?"
ozana paled slightly and her eyes were troubled as she spoke again, "i wish to see the village of pineville on mount illuso."
this time the magic picture shifted only slightly to show a second expanse of grey wasteland as gloomy and forbidding as the first.
"they are gone," cried ozana in dismay. "the garden and the village are gone!"
to the amazement of ozana and dorothy, ozma met their consternation by laughing merrily.
"of course they are gone," the little ruler said, "because they are here!"
"what do you mean?" asked ozana.
"first of all," began ozma, "you didn't think, did you, ozana, that no matter how much we wanted you to make your home with us, we would ask you to sacrifice your lovely story blossom garden and the quaint people of your village of pineville? queen lurline and i discussed this matter seriously and agreed we could not permit the garden and the village to be destroyed. so, after i finished my conversation with queen lurline, i consulted a map of the land of oz prepared by professor woggle bug and found just what i was looking for a small mountain in the quadling country, only a short distance to the south from the emerald city and not far from miss cuttenclip's interesting village. the top of this mountain was about the same in area as the top of mount illuso, and it was an uninhabited sandy waste. while you and dorothy talked, i worked a powerful fairy spell that transported the pine forest, the village of pineville and the story blossom garden to the oz mountain top.
hereafter that mountain will be known as story blossom mountain. that is why my magic picture showed only a desert waste when you asked to see the pine village and the story blossom garden on mount illuso. the magic picture couldn't show them to you on mount illuso for they are no longer there!
"instead," ozma concluded, "they are here in the land of oz." turning to the magic picture, she said, "i wish to see story blossom garden on story blossom mountain."
the image of the desert waste faded and in the frame of the magic picture appeared the beautiful fairy garden. the vision was so real that dorothy could almost hear the blossoms whispering among themselves.
bright tears of joy and gratitude sparkled in ozana's violet eyes.
"what happened to hi-lo and his elevator?" dorothy asked.
"they were transported, too," replied ozma quickly.
"i imagine," the girl ruler went on, "that hi-lo will be a very busy little man, carrying visitors up and down in his elevator. and you, ozana, will be able to live in your pretty cottage and work in your wonderful garden without fear of ever becoming lonely. every day will bring you visitors from the emerald city and all parts of the land of oz who will be eager to see the pine folk and their village and to enjoy story blossom garden. really, ozana, it is we who are indebted to you," ozma concluded.
dorothy beamed lovingly at ozma. then, turning to ozana, the little girl said, "now i guess you understand ozana, why you're just about the luckiest person in the whole world to be invited to live in the land of oz."
the grand banquet
the next day was given over entirely to welcoming ozana to oz. early in the morning, the sawhorse was hitched to the red wagon, and a merry company of travelers rode out of the emerald city to be the first visitors to story blossom mountain. in the front seat of the red wagon rode ozma, ozana, dorothy and trot. in the rear seat were betsy bobbin, cap'n bill, the wizard and the scarecrow.
the sawhorse needed no reins to guide him, as this intelligent horse responded to spoken commands. being tireless and having no need for oats or water, he was in many ways superior to ordinary horses.
as the red wagon pulled up near the entrance to hi-lo's elevator, the party was met by flaxen-haired miss cuttenclip. not far distant was a pretty little paper village of paper people, ruled over by miss cuttenclip, who had skillfully cut out the entire village and all its inhabitants from "live" paper furnished her by glinda the good. ozma had communicated with miss cuttenclip before the journey, inviting her to meet them and visit story blossom mountain and afterwards to accompany them to the emerald city for the grand banquet to be given that evening in ozana's honor. ozana and miss cuttenclip became friends at once.
hi-lo greeted ozana and the rest joyfully, but it was necessary for him to make two trips to carry this large party to the mountain top. ozana showed the visitors around the village of pineville and story blossom garden. on the surface of the blue pond floated the three swans.
knowing that ozana would no longer need them to carry her back to mount illuso, ozma had thoughtfully transported the swans from the court-yard of her palace to their pond when she had worked the fairy spell that had brought the story blossom garden to oz.
after passing several happy hours in the story blossom garden, ozana and her guests returned to the bottom of the mountain, where the sawhorse and the red wagon waited to carry them back to the emerald city.
the rest of the day was devoted to preparing for the grand banquet to be given in ozana's honor that evening in the grand dining room of the royal palace. all of ozma's old friends and companions were invited.
late in the afternoon the guests began arriving. the tin woodman journeyed from his glittering tin castle in the winkie country. jack pumpkinhead left his house, a huge, hollowed-out pumpkin in the middle of a pumpkin field. the highly magnified and thoroughly educated woggle bug traveled from the royal athletic college of oz, of which he was principal.
among other guests who came from great distances were glinda the good, the giant frogman, cayke the cookie cook, dr. pipt the crooked magician who was no longer crooked nor a magician, his wife margolotte, the good witch of the north and lady aurex queen of the skeezers.
dorothy transported all of these visitors to the emerald city by means of her magic belt, except glinda, who arrived by her own magic.
the grand banquet proved to be one of the most brilliant and delightful occasions ever to be enjoyed in the emerald city, and was long remembered by all who were present. in addition to the delicious food, there was music and special entertainment for the guests. the scarecrow made a gallant speech of welcome to which ozana charmingly replied.
the woggle bug could not be restrained from reading an "ode to ozana,"
which he claimed he had composed on the spur of the moment, writing it on the cuff of his shirt sleeve. a number of the guests thought the composition sounded suspiciously like an "ode to ozma," which the woggle bug had written some years before, but they were all too kind-hearted to mention this. the tin woodman sang a love song, which he had written especially for the occasion, and which he had titled "you're my tin type." while the song was only moderately good, the tin woodman sang in a metallic tenor with great feeling and the company applauded politely.
then the little wizard made them all gasp with a truly wonderful display of magic. the wizard opened his show by causing a fountain of many colored flames of fire to appear in the center of the banquet table. at his command, streamers of fire of different colors red, green, blue, rose, orange, violet leaped out from the burning fountain to touch the unlighted candles that stood at the place of each guest.
after this the fountain of fire vanished while the now-lighted candles continued to burn throughout the banquet, each shedding the light imparted to it by the colored fire.
the wizard concluded his entertainment by tossing a napkin into the air above the banquet table. instantly the napkin disappeared and a storm of confetti showered down on the guests, while band after band of what appeared to be brightly colored paper ribbon fell over the party.
but it didn't take button bright long to discover and announce with shouts of glee to the rest of the guests, that the confetti and the many colored paper ribbons were really the most delicious of spearmint, peppermint, clove, licorice, lime, lemon, orange and chocolate candies and mints. this, of course, provided the perfect ending for the dinner.
at the table occupied by the animals, there was a great deal of talking and merry-making. toto received many compliments on his handsome new red leather collar, embellished with clusters of emeralds and his own name in solid gold letters. princess ozma, herself, had fitted the collar about the proud little dog's neck that very afternoon as a tribute to toto's loyalty and bravery.
just as the happy banquet was about to end, toto, who had been so absorbed in all the excitement and the wizard's marvelous tricks, that he had scarcely tasted his food, turned to his bowl of milk. he found the tiny white kitten felina daintily lapping the last of the milk from the bowl with her little, pink tongue.
toto sniffed. "i never could understand," he growled, "what it is that witches and fairies and little girls see in cats!"
the tsarevna frog
in an old, old russian tsarstvo, i do not know when, there lived a sovereign prince with the princess his wife. they had three sons, all of them young, and such brave fellows that no pen could describe them. the youngest had the name of ivan tsarevitch. one day their father said to his sons:
"my dear boys, take each of you an arrow, draw your strong bow and let your arrow fly; in whatever court it falls, in that court there will be a wife for you."
the arrow of the oldest tsarevitch fell on a boyar-house just in front of the terem where women live; the arrow of the second tsarevitch flew to the red porch of a rich merchant, and on the porch there stood a sweet girl, the merchant's daughter. the youngest, the brave tsarevitch ivan, had the ill luck to send his arrow into the midst of a swamp, where it was caught by a croaking frog.
ivan tsarevitch came to his father: "how can i marry the frog?"
complained the son. "is she my equal? certainly she is not."
"never mind," replied his father, "you have to marry the frog, for such is evidently your destiny."
thus the brothers were married: the oldest to a young boyarishnia, a nobleman's child; the second to the merchant's beautiful daughter, and the youngest, tsarevitch ivan, to a croaking frog.
after a while the sovereign prince called his three sons and said to them:
"have each of your wives bake a loaf of bread by to-morrow morning."
ivan returned home. there was no smile on his face, and his brow was clouded.
"c-r-o-a-k! c-r-o-a-k! dear husband of mine, tsarevitch ivan, why so sad?" gently asked the frog. "was there anything disagreeable in the palace?"
"disagreeable indeed," answered ivan tsarevitch; "the tsar, my father, wants you to bake a loaf of white bread by to-morrow."
"do not worry, tsarevitch. go to bed; the morning hour is a better adviser than the dark evening."
the tsarevitch, taking his wife's advice, went to sleep. then the frog threw off her frogskin and turned into a beautiful, sweet girl, vassilissa by name. she now stepped out on the porch and called aloud:
"nurses and waitresses, come to me at once and prepare a loaf of white bread for to-morrow morning, a loaf exactly like those i used to eat in my royal father's palace."
in the morning tsarevitch ivan awoke with the crowing cocks, and you know the cocks and chickens are never late. yet the loaf was already made, and so fine it was that nobody could even describe it, for only in fairyland one finds such marvelous loaves. it was adorned all about with pretty figures, with towns and fortresses on each side, and within it was white as snow and light as a feather.
the tsar father was pleased and the tsarevitch received his special thanks.
"now there is another task," said the tsar smilingly. "have each of your wives weave a rug by to-morrow."
tsarevitch ivan came back to his home. there was no smile on his face and his brow was clouded.
"c-r-o-a-k! c-r-o-a-k! dear tsarevitch ivan, my husband and master, why so troubled again? was not father pleased?"
"how can i be otherwise? the tsar, my father, has ordered a rug by to-morrow."
"do not worry, tsarevitch. go to bed; go to sleep. the morning hour will bring help."
again the frog turned into vassilissa, the wise maiden, and again she called aloud:
"dear nurses and faithful waitresses, come to me for new work. weave a silk rug like the one i used to sit upon in the palace of the king, my father."
once said, quickly done. when the cocks began their early "cock-a-doodle-doo," tsarevitch ivan awoke, and lo! there lay the most beautiful silk rug before him, a rug that no one could begin to describe. threads of silver and gold were interwoven among bright-colored silken ones, and the rug was too beautiful for anything but to admire.
the tsar father was pleased, thanked his son ivan, and issued a new order. he now wished to see the three wives of his handsome sons, and they were to present their brides on the next day.
the tsarevitch ivan returned home. cloudy was his brow, more cloudy than before.
"c-r-o-a-k! c-r-o-a-k! tsarevitch, my dear husband and master, why so sad? hast thou heard anything unpleasant at the palace?"
"unpleasant enough, indeed! my father, the tsar, ordered all of us to present our wives to him. now tell me, how could i dare go with thee?"
"it is not so bad after all, and might be much worse," answered the frog, gently croaking. "thou shalt go alone and i will follow thee.
when thou hearest a noise, a great noise, do not be afraid; simply say: 'there is my miserable froggy coming in her miserable box.'"
the two elder brothers arrived first with their wives, beautiful, bright, and cheerful, and dressed in rich garments. both the happy bridegrooms made fun of the tsarevitch ivan.
"why alone, brother?" they laughingly said to him. "why didst thou not bring thy wife along with thee? was there no rag to cover her? where couldst thou have gotten such a beauty? we are ready to wager that in all the swamps in the dominion of our father it would be hard to find another one like her." and they laughed and laughed.
lo! what a noise! the palace trembled, the guests were all frightened.
tsarevitch ivan alone remained quiet and said:
"no danger; it is my froggy coming in her box."
to the red porch came flying a golden carriage drawn by six splendid white horses, and vassilissa, beautiful beyond all description, gently reached her hand to her husband. he led her with him to the heavy oak tables, which were covered with snow-white linen and loaded with many wonderful dishes such as are known and eaten only in the land of fairies and never anywhere else. the guests were eating and chatting gayly.
vassilissa drank some wine, and what was left in the tumbler she poured into her left sleeve. she ate some of the fried swan, and the bones she threw into her right sleeve. the wives of the two elder brothers watched her and did exactly the same.
when the long, hearty dinner was over, the guests began dancing and singing. the beautiful vassilissa came forward, as bright as a star, bowed to her sovereign, bowed to the honorable guests and danced with her husband, the happy tsarevitch ivan.
while dancing, vassilissa waved her left sleeve and a pretty lake appeared in the midst of the hall and cooled the air. she waved her right sleeve and white swans swam on the water. the tsar, the guests, the servants, even the gray cat sitting in the corner, all were amazed and wondered at the beautiful vassilissa. her two sisters-in-law alone envied her. when their turn came to dance, they also waved their left sleeves as vassilissa had done, and, oh, wonder! they sprinkled wine all around. they waved their right sleeves, and instead of swans the bones flew in the face of the tsar father. the tsar grew very angry and bade them leave the palace. in the meantime ivan tsarevitch watched a moment to slip away unseen. he ran home, found the frogskin, and burned it in the fire.
vassilissa, when she came back, searched for the skin, and when she could not find it her beautiful face grew sad and her bright eyes filled with tears. she said to tsarevitch ivan, her husband:
"oh, dear tsarevitch, what hast thou done? there was but a short time left for me to wear the ugly frogskin. the moment was near when we could have been happy together forever. now i must bid thee good-by.
look for me in a far-away country to which no one knows the roads, at the palace of kostshei the deathless;" and vassilissa turned into a white swan and flew away through the window.
tsarevitch ivan wept bitterly. then he prayed to the almighty god, and making the sign of the cross northward, southward, eastward, and westward, he went on a mysterious journey.
no one knows how long his journey was, but one day he met an old, old man. he bowed to the old man, who said:
"good-day, brave fellow. what art thou searching for, and whither art thou going?"
tsarevitch ivan answered sincerely, telling all about his misfortune without hiding anything.
"and why didst thou burn the frogskin? it was wrong to do so. listen now to me. vassilissa was born wiser than her own father, and as he envied his daughter's wisdom he condemned her to be a frog for three long years. but i pity thee and want to help thee. here is a magic ball. in whatever direction this ball rolls, follow without fear."
ivan tsarevitch thanked the good old man, and followed his new guide, the ball. long, very long, was his road. one day in a wide, flowery field he met a bear, a big russian bear. ivan tsarevitch took his bow and was ready to shoot the bear.
"do not kill me, kind tsarevitch," said the bear. "who knows but that i may be useful to thee?" and ivan did not shoot the bear.
above in the sunny air there flew a duck, a lovely white duck. again the tsarevitch drew his bow to shoot it. but the duck said to him:
"do not kill me, good tsarevitch. i certainly shall be useful to thee some day."
and this time he obeyed the command of the duck and passed by.
continuing his way he saw a blinking hare. the tsarevitch prepared an arrow to shoot it, but the gray, blinking hare said:
"do not kill me, brave tsarevitch. i shall prove myself grateful to thee in a very short time."
the tsarevitch did not shoot the hare, but passed by. he walked farther and farther after the rolling ball, and came to the deep blue sea. on the sand there lay a fish. i do not remember the name of the fish, but it was a big fish, almost dying on the dry sand.
"o tsarevitch ivan!" prayed the fish, "have mercy upon me and push me back into the cool sea."
the tsarevitch did so, and walked along the shore. the ball, rolling all the time, brought ivan to a hut, a queer, tiny hut standing on tiny hen's feet.
"izboushka! izboushka!" for so in russia do they name small huts "izboushka, i want thee to turn thy front to me," cried ivan, and lo! the tiny hut turned its front at once. ivan stepped in and saw a witch, one of the ugliest witches he could imagine.
"ho! ivan tsarevitch! what brings thee here?" was his greeting from the witch.
"o, thou old mischief!" shouted ivan with anger. "is it the way in holy russia to ask questions before the tired guest gets something to eat, something to drink, and some hot water to wash the dust off?"
baba yaga, the witch, gave the tsarevitch plenty to eat and drink, besides hot water to wash the dust off. tsarevitch ivan felt refreshed. soon he became talkative, and related the wonderful story of his marriage. he told how he had lost his dear wife, and that his only desire was to find her.
"i know all about it," answered the witch. "she is now at the palace of kostshei the deathless, and thou must understand that kostshei is terrible. he watches her day and night and no one can ever conquer him. his death depends on a magic needle. that needle is within a hare; that hare is within a large trunk; that trunk is hidden in the branches of an old oak tree; and that oak tree is watched by kostshei as closely as vassilissa herself, which means closer than any treasure he has."
then the witch told ivan tsarevitch how and where to find the oak tree. ivan hastily went to the place. but when he perceived the oak tree he was much discouraged, not knowing what to do or how to begin the work. lo and behold! that old acquaintance of his, the russian bear, came running along, approached the tree, uprooted it, and the trunk fell and broke. a hare jumped out of the trunk and began to run fast; but another hare, ivan's friend, came running after, caught it and tore it to pieces. out of the hare there flew a duck, a gray one which flew very high and was almost invisible, but the beautiful white duck followed the bird and struck its gray enemy, which lost an egg.
that egg fell into the deep sea. ivan meanwhile was anxiously watching his faithful friends helping him. but when the egg disappeared in the blue waters he could not help weeping. all of a sudden a big fish came swimming up, the same fish he had saved, and brought the egg in his mouth. how happy ivan was when he took it! he broke it and found the needle inside, the magic needle upon which everything depended.
at the same moment kostshei lost his strength and power forever.
ivan tsarevitch entered his vast dominions, killed him with the magic needle, and in one of the palaces found his own dear wife, his beautiful vassilissa. he took her home and they were very happy ever after.
seven simeons
in an empire, in a country beyond many seas and islands, beyond high mountains, beyond large rivers, upon a level expanse, as if spread upon a table, there stood a large town, and in that town there lived a tsar called archidei, the son of aggei; therefore he was called aggeivitch.
a famous tsar he was, and a clever one. his wealth could not be counted; his warriors were innumerable. there were forty times forty towns in his kingdom, and in each one of these towns there were ten palaces with silver doors and golden ceilings and magnificent crystal windows.
for his council twelve wise men were selected, each one of them having a beard half a yard long and a head full of wisdom. these advisers offered nothing but truth to their father sovereign; none ever dared advance a lie.
how could such a tsar be anything but happy? but it is true, indeed, that neither wealth nor wisdom give happiness when the heart is not at ease, and even in golden palaces the poor heart often aches.
so it was with the tsar archidei; he was rich and clever, besides being a handsome fellow; but he could not find a bride to his taste, a bride with wit and beauty equal to his own. and this was the cause of the tsar archidei's sorrow and distress.
one day he was sitting in his golden armchair looking out of the window lost in thought. he had gazed for quite a while before he noticed foreign sailors landing opposite the imperial palace. the sailors ran their ship up to the wharf, reefed their white sails, threw the heavy anchor into the sea and prepared the plank ready to go ashore. before them all walked an old merchant; white was his beard and he had about him the air of a wise man. an idea suddenly occurred to the tsar: "sea merchants generally are well informed on many subjects. if i ask them, perchance i shall find that they have met somewhere a princess, beautiful and clever, suitable for me, the tsar archidei."
without delay the order was given to call the sea merchants into the halls of the palace.
the merchant guests appeared, prayed to the holy icons hanging in the corner, bowed to the tsar, bowed to the wise advisers. the tsar ordered his servants to serve them with tumblers of strong green wine.
the guests drank the strong green wine and wiped their beards with embroidered towels. then the tsar archidei addressed them:
"we are aware that you gallant sea merchants cross all the big waters and see many wonderful things. my desire is to ask you about something, and you must give a straightforward answer without any deceit or evasion."
"so be it, mighty tsar archidei aggeivitch," answered the merchant guests, bowing.
"well, then, can you tell me if somewhere in an empire or kingdom, or among great princes, there is a maiden as beautiful and wise as i myself, tsar archidei; an illustrious maiden who would be a proper wife for me, a suitable tsaritza for my country?"
the merchant guests seemed to be puzzled, and after a long silence the eldest among them thus replied:
"indeed, i once heard that yonder beyond the great sea, on an island called buzan, there is a great country; and the sovereign of that land has a daughter named helena, a princess very beautiful, not less so, i dare say, than thyself. and wise she is, too; a wise man once tried for three years to guess a riddle that she gave, and did not succeed."
"how far is that island, pray tell, and where are the roads that lead to it?"
"the island is not near," answered the old merchant. "if one chooses the wide sea he must journey ten years. besides, the way to it is not known to us. moreover, even suppose we did know the way, it seems that the princess helena is not a bride for thee."
the tsar archidei shouted with anger:
"how dost thou dare to speak such words, thou, a long-bearded buck?"
"thy will be done, but think for thyself. suppose thou shouldst send an envoy to the island of buzan. he would require ten long years to go there, ten years equally long to come back, and so his journey would require fully twenty years. by that time a most beautiful princess would grow old a girl's beauty is like the swallow, a bird of passage; it lasts not long."
the tsar archidei became thoughtful.
"well," he said to the merchant guests, "you have my thanks, guests of passage, respectable men of trade. go in god's name, transact business in my tsarstvo without any taxes whatever. what to do about the beautiful princess helena i will try to think out by myself."
the merchants bowed low and left the tsar's rich palace.
the tsar archidei sat still, wrapped in thought, but he could find neither beginning nor end to the problem. "let me ride into the wide fields," he said; "let me forget my sorrow amid the excitement of the noble hunt, hoping that the future may bring advice."
the falconers appeared, cheerful notes from the golden trumpets resounded, and falcons and hawks were soon slumbering under their velvet caps as they sat quietly on the fingers of the hunters.
the tsar archidei aggeivitch came with his men to a wide, wide field.
all of his men were watching the moment to loose their falcons in order to let the birds pursue a long-legged heron or a white-breasted swan.
now, you, my listeners, must understand that the fairy tale is quick, but life is not. the tsar archidei was on horseback for a long while, and finally came to a green valley. looking around he saw a well cultivated field where the golden ears of the grain were already ripe, and oh, how beautiful! the tsar stopped in admiration.
"i presume," he exclaimed, "that good workers are owners of this place, honest plowmen and diligent sowers. if only all fields in my tsarstvo were equally cultivated, my people need never know what hunger means, and there would even be plenty to send beyond the sea to be exchanged for silver and gold."
then the tsar archidei gave orders to inquire who the owners of the field were, and what were their names. hunters, grooms, and servants rushed in all directions, and discovered seven brave fellows, all of them fair, red-cheeked, and very handsome. they were dining according to the peasant fashion, which means that they were eating rye bread with onions, and drinking clear water. their blouses were red, with a golden galloon around the neck, and they were so much alike that one could hardly be recognized from another.
the royal messengers approached.
"whose field is this?" they asked; "this field with golden wheat?"
the seven brave peasants answered cheerfully:
"this is our field; we plowed it, and we also have sown the golden wheat."
"and what kind of people are you?"
"we are the tsar archidei aggeivitch's peasants, farmers, and we are brothers, sons of one father and mother. the name for all of us is simeon, so you understand we are seven simeons."
this answer was faithfully delivered to the tsar archidei by the envoys, and the tsar at once desired to see the brave peasants, and ordered them to be called before him. the seven simeons presently appeared and bowed. the tsar looked at them with his bright eyes and asked them:
"what kind of people are you whose field is so well cultivated?"
one of the seven brothers, the eldest of them, answered:
"we are all thy peasants, simpletons, without any wisdom, born of peasant parents, all of us children of the same father and the same mother, and all having the same name, simeon. our old father taught us to pray to god, to obey thee, to pay taxes faithfully, and besides to work and toil without rest. he also taught to each of us a trade, for the old saying is, 'a trade is no burden, but a profit.' the old father wished us to keep our trades for a cloudy day, but never to forsake our own fields, and always to be contented, and plow and harrow diligently.
"he also used to say, 'if one does not neglect the mother earth, but thoroughly harrows and sows in due season, then she, our mother, will reward generously, and will give plenty of bread, besides preparing a soft place for the everlasting rest when one is old and tired of life.'"
the tsar archidei liked the simple answer of the peasant, and said:
"take my praise, brave good fellows, my peasants, tillers of the soil, sowers of wheat, gatherers of gold. and now tell me, what trades did your father teach you, and what do you know?"
the first simeon answered:
"my trade is not a very wise one. if thou wouldst let me have materials and working men, then i could build a post, a white stone column, reaching beyond the clouds, almost to the sky."
"good enough!" exclaimed the tsar archidei. "and thou, the second simeon, what is thy trade?"
the second simeon was quick to give answer:
"my trade is a simple one. if my brother will build a white stone column, i can climb upon that column high up in the sky, and i shall see from above all the empires and all the kingdoms under the sun, and everything which is going on in those foreign countries."
"thy trade is not so bad either," and the tsar smiled and looked at the third brother. "and thou, third simeon, what trade is thine?"
the third simeon also had his answer ready:
"my trade is simple, too; that is to say, a peasant's trade. if thou art in need of ships, thy learned men of foreign birth build them for thee as well as their wisdom teaches them. but if thou wilt order, i will build them simply one, two! and the ship is ready. my ships will be the result of the quick headwork of a peasant simpleton. but where a foreign ship sails a year, mine will sail an hour, and where others take ten years, mine will take not longer than a week."
"well, well!" laughed the tsar. "and thy trade, the fourth simeon?" he asked.
the fourth brother bowed.
"my trade needs no wisdom either. if my brother will build thee a ship, i then will sail that ship; and if an enemy gives chase or a tempest rises, i'll seize the ship by the black prow and plunge her into the deep waters where there is eternal quiet; and after the storm is over or the enemy far, i'll again guide her to the surface of the wide sea."
"good!" approved the tsar. "and thou, fifth simeon, what dost thou know? hast thou also a trade?"
"my trade, tsar archidei aggeivitch, is not a fair one, for i am a blacksmith. if thou wouldst order a shop built for me, i at once would forge a self-shooting gun, and no eagle far above in the sky or wild beast in the wood would be safe from that gun."
"not bad either," answered the tsar archidei, well pleased. "thy turn now, sixth simeon."
"my trade is no trade," answered the sixth simeon, rather humbly. "if my brother shoots a bird or a beast, never mind what or where, i can catch it before it falls down, catch it even better than a hunting dog. if the prey should fall into the blue sea, i'll find it at the sea's bottom; should it fall into the depth of the dark woods, i'll find it there in the midst of night; should it get caught in a cloud, i'll find it even there."
the tsar archidei evidently liked the trade of the sixth simeon very well also. these were all simple trades, you see, without any wisdom whatever, but rather entertaining. the tsar also liked the peasants'
speech, and he said to them:
"thanks, my peasants, tillers of the soil, my faithful workers. your father's words are true ones: 'a trade is not a burden, but a profit.'
now come to my capital for a trial; people like you are welcome. and when the season for harvest arrives, the time to reap, to bind in bundles the golden grain, to thresh and carry the wheat to the market, i will let you go home with my royal grace."
then all the seven simeons bowed very low. "thine is the will," said they, "and we are thy obedient subjects."
here the tsar archidei looked at the youngest simeon and remembered that he had not asked him about his trade. so he said:
"and thou, seventh simeon, what is thy trade?"
"i have none, tsar archidei aggeivitch. i learned many, but not a single one did me any good, and though i know something very well, i am not sure your majesty would like it."
"let us know thy secret," ordered the tsar archidei.
"no, tsar archidei aggeivitch! give me, first of all, thy royal word not to kill me for my inborn talent, but to have mercy upon me. then only will i be willing to disclose my secret."
"thy wish is granted. i give thee my royal word, true and not to be broken, that whatever thou shalt disclose to me, i will have mercy upon thee."
hearing these kind words, the seventh simeon smiled, looked around, shook his curls and began:
"my trade is one for which there is no mercy in thy tsarstvo, and it is the one thing i am able to do. my trade is to steal and to hide the trace of how and when. there is no treasure, no fortunate possession, not even a bewitched one, nor a secret place that could be forbidden me if it be my wish to steal."
as soon as these bold words of the seventh simeon reached the tsar's ears he became very angry.
"no!" he exclaimed, "i certainly shall not pardon thee, thief and burglar! i will give orders for thy cruel death! i will have thee chained and thrown into my subterranean prison with nothing but bread and water for food until thou forget thy trade!"
"great and merciful tsar archidei aggeivitch, postpone thy orders.
listen to my peasant talk," prayed the seventh simeon. "our old russian saying is: 'he is no thief who is not caught, and neither is he who steals, but the one who instigates the theft.' if my wish had been to steal, i should have done it long ago. i should have stolen thy treasures and thy judges would not have objected to take a small share of them, and i could have built a white-walled stone palace and have been rich. but, mark this: i am a stupid peasant of low origin. i know well enough how to steal, but will not. if thy wish were to learn my trade, how could i keep it from thee? and if thou, for this sincere acknowledgment, wilt have me put to death, then what is the value of thy royal word?"
the tsar thought a moment. "for this time," he said, "i will not let thee die, for it pleases me to grant thee my grace. but from this very day, this very hour, thou never shalt see god's light nor the bright sunshine nor the silvery moon. thou shalt never walk at liberty through the wide fields, but thou, my dear guest, shalt dwell in a palace where no sunny ray ever penetrates. you, my servants, take him, chain his hands and his feet and lead him to my chief jailor. and you six simeons follow me. you have my grace and reward. to-morrow every one of you will begin to work for me according to his gifts and capacities."
the six simeons followed the tsar archidei, and the seventh brother, the youngest, the beloved one, was fallen upon by the servants, taken away to the dark prison and heavily chained.
the tsar archidei ordered carpenters to be sent to the first simeon, as well as masons and blacksmiths and all sorts of workingmen. he also ordered a supply of bricks, stones, iron, clay, and cement. without any delay, simeon, the first brother, began to build a column, and according to his simple peasant's habits his work progressed rapidly, and not a moment was wasted in clever combinations. in a short time the white column was ready, and lo, how high it went! as high as the great planets. the smaller stars were beneath it, and from above the people seemed to be like bugs.
the second simeon climbed the column, looked around, listened to all sounds, and came down. the tsar archidei, anxious to know about everything under the sun, ordered him to report, and simeon did so. he told the tsar archidei all the wonderful doings all over the world. he told how one king was fighting another, where there was war and where there was peace, and with other things the second simeon even mentioned deep secrets, quite surprising secrets, which made the tsar archidei smile; and the courtiers, encouraged by the royal smile, roared with laughter.
meantime the third simeon was accomplishing something in his line.
after crossing himself three times the fellow rolled up his sleeves to the elbow, took a hatchet and one, two without any haste built a vessel. what a curious vessel it was! the tsar archidei watched the wonderful structure from the shore and as soon as the orders were given for sailing, the new vessel sailed away like a white-winged hawk. the cannon were shooting and upon the masts, instead of rigging, were drawn strings upon which musicians were playing the national tunes.
as soon as the wonderful vessel sailed into deep water, the fourth simeon snatched the prow and no trace of it remained on the surface; the whole vessel went to the depths like a heavy stone. in an hour or so simeon, with his left hand, led the ship to the blue surface of the sea again, and with his right he presented to the tsar a most magnificent sturgeon for his "kulibiaka," the famous russian fish pie.
while the tsar archidei enjoyed himself with looking at the marvelous vessel, the fifth simeon built a blacksmith shop in the court back of the palace. there he blew the bellows and heated the iron. the noise from his hammers was great and the result of his peasant work was a self-shooting gun. the tsar archidei aggeivitch went to the wild fields and perceived high above him, very high under the sky, an eagle flying.
"now!" exclaimed the tsar, "there is an eagle forgetting himself with watching the sun; shoot it. perchance thou shalt have the good luck to hit it. then i will honor thee."
simeon shook his locks, smiled, put into his gun a silver bullet, aimed, shot, and the eagle fell swiftly to the earth. the sixth simeon did not even allow the eagle to fall to the ground, but, quick as a flash, he ran under it with a plate, caught it on that big plate and presented his prey to the tsar archidei.
"thanks, thanks, my brave fellows, faithful peasants, tillers of the soil!" exclaimed the tsar archidei gayly. "i see now plainly that all of you are men of trade and i wish to reward you. but now go to your dinner and rest awhile." the six simeons bowed to the tsar very low, prayed to the holy icons and went. they were already seated, had time to swallow each one a tumbler of the strong, green wine, took up the round wooden spoons in order to attack the "stchi," the russian cabbage soup, when lo! the tsar's fool came running and shaking his striped cap with the round bells and shouted:
"you ignorant simpletons, unlearned peasants, moujiks! is it a suitable moment for dinner when the tsar wants you? go in haste!"
all the six started running toward the palace, thinking within themselves: "what can have happened?" in front of the palace stood the guards with their iron staves; in the halls all the wise and learned people were gathered together, and the tsar himself was sitting on his high throne looking very grim and thoughtful.
"listen to me," he said when the peasants approached, "you, my brave fellows, my clever brothers simeon. i like your trades and i think, as do my wise advisers, that if thou, the second simeon, art able to see everything going on under the sun, thou shouldst climb quickly on yonder column and glance around to see if there is, as they say, beyond the great sea an island, buzan by name. and see if on that island, as men assert, there is a mighty kingdom, and in that kingdom a mighty king, and if that king, as the story goes, has a daughter, the most beautiful princess helena."
the second simeon bowed and ran quickly, even forgetting to put on his cap. he went straight to the column, climbed it, looked around, came down, and this was his report:
"tsar archidei aggeivitch, i have accomplished thy sovereign wish. i looked far beyond the sea and have seen the island buzan. mighty is the king there, and he is proud and merciless. he sits within his palace and his speech is always the same:
'i am a great king and i have a most beautiful daughter, the princess helena. there is no one in the universe more beautiful and more wise than she; there is no bridegroom worthy of her in any place under the bright sun, no tsar, no king, no tsarevitch, no korolevitch. to no one will i ever give my daughter, the princess helena, and whoever shall dare to court her, on such an one will i declare war, ruin his country, and capture himself.'"
"and how great is the army of that king?" asked the tsar archidei; "and also how far is his kingdom from my tsarstvo?"
"well, according to the measure of my eyes," answered simeon, "i fancy it would take a ship ten years less two days; or, if it happened to be stormy, i am afraid even a little longer than ten years. and that king has not a small army. i have seen altogether a hundred thousand spearmen, a hundred thousand armed men, and a hundred thousand or more could be gathered from the tsar's court, from his servants and all kinds of underlings. besides, there is no small armament of guards held in reserve for a special occasion, fed and petted by the king."
the tsar archidei remained for a long time in thoughtful silence and finally addressed his court people:
"my warriors and advisers: i have but one wish; i want the princess helena for my wife. but tell me, how can i reach her?"
the wise advisers remained silent, hiding themselves behind each other. the third simeon looked around, bowed to the tsar, and said:
"tsar archidei aggeivitch, forgive my simple words. how to reach the island of buzan there is no need to worry about. sit down on my ship; she is simply built, and equipped without any wise tricks. where others require a year she takes but a day, and where other ships take ten years mine will take, let us say, a week. only order thine advisers to decide whether we ought to fight for or peacefully court the beautiful princess."
"now, my warriors brave, my advisers sage," spoke the tsar archidei to his men, "how will you decide upon this matter? who among you will go to fight for the princess, or who will be shrewd enough to bring her peacefully here? i will pour gold and silver over that one. i will give to him the first rank among the very first."
and again the brave warriors and the sage advisers remained silent.
the tsar grew angry; he seemed to be ready for a terrible word. then, as if somebody had asked the fool, out he jumped from behind the wise people with his foolish talk, shook his striped fool's cap, rang his many bells, and shouted:
"why so silent, wise men? why so deep in thought? you have big heads and long beards; it would seem that there is plenty of wisdom, so why not show it? to go to the island of buzan to obtain the bride does not mean to lose gold or army. have you already forgotten the seventh simeon? why, it will be simple enough for him to steal the princess helena. afterwards let the king of buzan come here to fight us, and we will welcome him as an honored guest. but do not forget that he must take ten years' time to reach us, and in ten years ah me! i have heard that some wise man somewhere undertook to teach a horse to talk in ten years!"
"good! good!" exclaimed the tsar archidei, forgetting even his anger.
"i thank thee, striped fool. i certainly shall reward thee. thou must have a new cap with noisy bells, and each one of thy children a ginger pancake. you, faithful servants, run quickly and bring here the seventh simeon."
according to the tsar's bidding the heavy iron gates of the dark prison were thrown open, the heavy chains were taken off and the seventh simeon appeared before the eager eyes of the tsar archidei, who thus addressed him:
"listen to me attentively, thou seventh simeon, for i had almost decided to grant thee a high honor; to keep thee thy life long in my prison. but if thou shouldst prove useful to me, then will i give thee freedom; and besides, thou shalt have a share out of my treasures. art thou able to steal the beautiful princess helena from her father, the mighty king of the island of buzan?"
"and why not?" cheerfully laughed the seventh simeon. "there is nothing difficult about it. she is not a pearl, and i presume she is not under too many locks. only order the ship which my brother had built for thee to be loaded with velvets and brocades, with persian rugs, beautiful pearls and precious stones, and bid my four brothers come along with me. but the two eldest keep thou as hostages."
once said, quickly done. the tsar archidei gave orders while all were running hither and thither, and everything was finished so promptly that a short-haired girl would scarcely have had time to plait her hair. the ship, laden with velvets, brocades, with persian rugs and pearls, and costly precious stones, was ready; the five brothers, the brave simeons, were ready; they bowed to the tsar, spread sail, and disappeared.
the ship floated swiftly over the blue waters; she flew like a hawk in comparison with the slow merchant vessels, and in a week after the five simeons had left their native land they sighted the island of buzan.
the island appeared to be surrounded with cannon as thick as peas; the gigantic guards walked up and down the shores tugging fiercely at their big mustaches. as soon as the ship became visible from a tower somebody shouted through a dutch trumpet:
"stop! answer! what kind of people are ye? why come ye here?"
the seventh simeon answered from the ship: "we are a peaceful people, not enemies but friends, merchants everywhere welcomed as guests. we bring foreign merchandise. we want to sell, to buy, and to exchange.
we also have gifts for your king and for the korolevna."
the five brothers, our brave simeons, lowered the boat, loaded it with choice venetian velvets, brocades, pearls, and precious stones, and covered all with persian rugs. they rowed to the wharf, and landing near the king's palace, at once carried their gifts to the king.
the beautiful korolevna helena was sitting in her terem. she was a fair maiden with eyes like stars and eyebrows like precious sable.
when she looked at one it was like receiving a gift, and when she walked it was like the graceful swimming of a swan. the korolevna was quick to notice the brave, handsome brothers and at once called her nurses and maidens.
"hasten, my dear nurses, and you, swift maidens, find out what kind of strangers are these coming to our royal palace."
all of the nurses, all of the maidens, ran out with questions ready.
the seventh simeon answered them thus:
"we are merchant guests, peaceful people. our native land is the country of the tsar archidei aggeivitch, a great tsar indeed. we came to sell, to buy, to exchange; moreover, we have gifts for the king and his princess. we do hope the king will favor us and will accept these trifles; if not for himself, at least for the adornment of his court's lovely maidens."
when helena heard these words she at once let the merchants in. and the merchants appeared, bowed low to the beautiful korolevna, unfolded the showy velvets and golden brocades, strewed around the pearls and precious stones, such stones and pearls as had never been seen before in buzan. the nurses and the maidens opened their mouths in amazement, and the korolevna herself seemed to be greatly pleased. the seventh simeon, quick to understand, smiled and said:
"we all know thee to be as wise as beautiful, but now thou art evidently joking about us or mocking us. these simple wares are altogether too plain for thine own use. accept them for thy nurses and maidens for their everyday attire, and these stones send away to the kitchen boys to play with. but if thou wilt listen to me, let me say that on our ship we have very different velvets and brocades; we have also precious stones, far more precious than any one has ever seen; yet we dared not bring them at once lest we might not suit thy temper and thy hearty wish. if thou shouldst decide to come in person and choose anything from among our possessions, they all are thine and we bow to thee gratefully for the bright glance of thy beautiful eyes."
the royal maid liked well enough these polite words of the handsome simeon, and to her father she went:
"father and king, there have come to visit us some foreign merchants and they have brought some goods never before seen in buzan. give me thy permission to go on board their wonderful ship to choose what things i like. they also have rich gifts for thee."
the king hesitated before answering her, frowning and scratching behind his ear.
"well," he said at last, "be it according to thy wish, my daughter, my beautiful korolevna. and you, my counselors, order my royal vessel to be ready, the cannons loaded, and a hundred of my bravest warriors detailed to escort the vessel. send besides a thousand heavy armed warriors to guard the korolevna on her way to the merchants' vessel."
then the king's vessel started from the island of buzan. numbers of cannon and warriors protected the princess, and the royal father remained quiet at home.
when they reached the merchants' ship the korolevna helena came down, and at once the crystal bridge was placed and the korolevna with all her nurses and maidens went on board the foreign ship, such a ship as they had never seen before, never even dreamed of. meanwhile the guards kept watch.
the seventh simeon showed the lovely guests everywhere. he was talking smoothly while leisurely unfolding his precious goods. the korolevna listened attentively, looked around curiously, and seemed well pleased.
at the same moment the fourth simeon, watching the proper moment, snapped the prow and down to mysterious depths went the ship where no one could see her. the people on the king's vessel screamed in terror, the warriors looked like drunken fools, and the guards only opened their eyes wider than before. what should they do? they directed the vessel back to the island and appeared before the king with their terrible tale.
"oh, my daughter, my darling princess helena! it is god who punishes me for my pride. i never wanted thee to marry. no king, no prince, would i consider worthy of thee; and now oh! now i know that thou art wedded to the deep sea! as for me, i am left alone for the rest of my sorrowful days."
then all at once he looked around and shouted to his men:
"you fools! what were you thinking about? you shall all lose your heads! guards, throw them into dungeons! the most cruel death shall be theirs, such a death that the children of their great-grandchildren shall shiver to hear the tale!"
now, while the king of buzan raved and grieved, the ship of the brothers simeon, like a golden fish, swam under the blue waters, and when the island was lost from sight the fourth simeon brought her to the surface and she rose upon the waters like a white-winged gull. by this time the princess was becoming anxious about the long time they were away from home, and she exclaimed:
"nurses and maidens, we are leisurely looking around, but i fancy my father the king finds the time sadly long." she hastily walked to the deck of the ship, and behold! only the wide sea was around her like a mirror! where was her native island, where the royal vessel? there was nothing visible but the blue sea. the princess screamed, struck her white bosom with both hands, transformed herself into a white swan and flew high into the sky. but the fifth simeon, watching closely, lost no time, snapped his lucky gun and the white swan was shot. his brother, the sixth simeon, caught the white swan, but lo! instead of the white swan there was a silvery fish, which slipped away from him.
simeon caught the fish, but the pretty, silvery fish turned into a small mouse running around the ship. simeon did not let it reach a hole, but swifter than a cat caught the mouse, and the princess helena, as beautiful and natural as before, appeared before them, fair-faced, bright-eyed.
on a lovely morning a week later the tsar archidei was sitting by the window of his palace lost in thought. his eyes were turned toward the sea, the wide, blue sea. he was sad at heart and could not eat; feasts had no interest for him, the costly dishes had no taste, the honey drink seemed weak. all his thoughts and longings were for the princess helena, the beautiful one, the only one.
what is that far away upon the waters? is it a white gull? or are those white wings not wings, but sails? no, it is not a gull, but the ship of the brothers simeon, and she approaches as rapidly as the wind which blows her sails. the cannon boom, native melodies are played on the cords of the masts. soon the ship is anchored, the crystal bridge prepared, and the korolevna helena, the beautiful princess, appears like a never-setting sun, her eyes like bright stars, and oh! how happy is the tsar archidei!
"run quick, my faithful servants, you brave officers of state, and you, too, my bodyguard, and all you useful and ornamental fellows of my palace, run and prepare, shoot off rockets and ring the bells in order to give a joyful welcome to korolevna helena, the beautiful."
all hastened to their tasks, to shoot, to ring the bells, to open the gates, to honorably receive the korolevna. the tsar himself came out to meet the beautiful princess, took her white hands and helped her into the palace.
"welcome! welcome!" said the tsar archidei. "thy fame, korolevna helena, reached me, but never could i imagine such beauty as is thine.
yet, though i admire thee, i do not want to separate thee from thy father. say the word and my faithful servants will take thee back to him. if thou choosest, however, to remain in my tzarstvo, be the tsaritza over my country and rule over me, the tsar archidei, also."
at these words of the tsar the korolevna helena threw such a glance at the tsar that it seemed to him the sun was laughing, the moon singing, and the stars dancing all around.
well, what more is there to be said? you certainly can imagine the rest. the courtship was not long and the wedding feast was soon ready, for you know kings always have everything at their command. the brothers simeon were at once dispatched to the king of buzan with a message from the korolevna, his daughter, and this is what she wrote:
"dear father, mighty king and sovereign: i have found a husband according to my heart's wish and i am asking thy fatherly blessing.
my bridegroom, the tsar archidei aggeivitch, sends his counselors to thee, begging thee to come to our wedding."
at the very moment when the merchant ship was to land at the island of buzan, crowds of people had gathered to witness the execution of the unfortunate guards and brave warriors whose ill-luck it was to have allowed the princess to disappear.
"stop!" simeon the seventh shouted aloud from the deck. "we bring a missive from the korolevna helena. holla!"
very glad indeed was the king of the island of buzan, and glad were all his subjects. the missive was read and the condemned were pardoned.
"evidently," the king said, "it is fated that the handsome and witty tsar archidei and my beautiful daughter are to become husband and wife."
then the king treated the envoys and the brothers simeon very well and sent his blessings with them, as he himself did not wish to go, being very old. the ship soon returned and the tsar archidei rejoiced over it with his beautiful bride, and at once summoned the seven simeons, the seven brave peasants.
he said to them: "thanks! thanks! my peasants, my brave tillers of the soil. take as much gold as you wish. take silver also and ask for whatever is your heart's desire. everything shall be given you with my mighty hand. would you like to become boyars, you shall be the greatest among the very great. do you choose to become governors, each one shall have a town."
the first simeon bowed to the tsar and cheerfully answered:
"thanks also to thee, tsar archidei aggeivitch. we are but simple people and simple are our ways. it would not do for us to become boyars or governors. we do not care for thy treasures either. we have our own father's field, which shall always give us bread for hunger and money for need. let us go home, taking with us thy gracious word as our reward. if thou choosest to be so kind, give us thine order which shall save us from the judges and tax-gatherers; and if we should be guilty of some offense, let thyself alone be our judge. and do, we pray thee, pardon the seventh simeon, our youngest brother. his trade is surely bad, but he is not the first and not the last one to have such a gift."
"let it be as you wish," said the tsar; and every desire was granted to the seven simeons, and each one of them received a big tumbler of strong green wine out of the hands of the tsar himself. soon after this the wedding was celebrated.
now, honorable dames and gentlemen, do not judge this story of mine too severely. if you like it, praise it; if not, let it be forgotten.
the story is told and a word is like a sparrow once out it is out for good.
the language of the birds
somewhere in a town in holy russia, there lived a rich merchant with his wife. he had an only son, a dear, bright, and brave boy called ivan. one lovely day ivan sat at the dinner table with his parents. near the window in the same room hung a cage, and a nightingale, a sweet-voiced, gray bird, was imprisoned within. the sweet nightingale began to sing its wonderful song with trills and high silvery tones. the merchant listened and listened to the song and said:
"how i wish i could understand the meaning of the different songs of all the birds! i would give half my wealth to the man, if only there were such a man, who could make plain to me all the different songs of the different birds."
ivan took notice of these words and no matter where he went, no matter where he was, no matter what he did, he always thought of how he could learn the language of the birds.
some time after this the merchant's son happened to be hunting in a forest. the winds rose, the sky became clouded, the lightning flashed, the thunder roared loudly, and the rain fell in torrents. ivan soon came near a large tree and saw a big nest in the branches. four small birds were in the nest; they were quite alone, and neither father nor mother was there to protect them from the cold and wet. the good ivan pitied them, climbed the tree and covered the little ones with his "kaftan," a long-skirted coat which the russian peasants and merchants usually wear. the thunderstorm passed by and a big bird came flying and sat down on a branch near the nest and spoke very kindly to ivan.
"ivan, i thank thee; thou hast protected my little children from the cold and rain and i wish to do something for thee. tell me what thou dost wish."
ivan answered; "i am not in need; i have everything for my comfort.
but teach me the birds' language."
"stay with me three days and thou shalt know all about it."
ivan remained in the forest three days. he understood well the teaching of the big bird and returned home more clever than before.
one beautiful day soon after this ivan sat with his parents when the nightingale was singing in his cage. his song was so sad, however, so very sad, that the merchant and his wife also became sad, and their son, their good ivan, who listened very attentively, was even more affected, and the tears came running down his cheeks.
"what is the matter?" asked his parents; "what art thou weeping about, dear son?"
"dear parents," answered the son, "it is because i understand the meaning of the nightingale's song, and because this meaning is so sad for all of us."
"what then is the meaning? tell us the whole truth; do not hide it from us," said the father and mother.
"oh, how sad it sounds!" replied the son. "how much better would it be never to have been born!"
"do not frighten us," said the parents, alarmed. "if thou dost really understand the meaning of the song, tell us at once."
"do you not hear for yourselves? the nightingale says: 'the time will come when ivan, the merchant's son, shall become ivan, the king's son, and his own father shall serve him as a simple servant.'"
the merchant and his wife felt troubled and began to distrust their son, their good ivan. so one night they gave him a drowsy drink, and when he had fallen asleep they took him to a boat on the wide sea, spread the white sails, and pushed the boat from the shore.
for a long time the boat danced on the waves and finally it came near a large merchant vessel, which struck against it with such a shock that ivan awoke. the crew on the large vessel saw ivan and pitied him.
so they decided to take him along with them and did so. high, very high, above in the sky they perceived cranes. ivan said to the sailors:
"be careful; i hear the birds predicting a storm. let us enter a harbor or we shall suffer great danger and damage. all the sails will be torn and all the masts will be broken."
but no one paid any attention and they went farther on. in a short time the storm arose, the wind tore the vessel almost to pieces, and they had a very hard time to repair all the damage. when they were through with their work they heard many wild swans flying above them and talking very loud among themselves.
"what are they talking about?" inquired the men, this time with interest.
"be careful," advised ivan. "i hear and distinctly understand them to say that the pirates, the terrible sea robbers, are near. if we do not enter a harbor at once they will imprison and kill us."
the crew quickly obeyed this advice and as soon as the vessel entered the harbor the pirate boats passed by and the merchants saw them capture several unprepared vessels. when the danger was over, the sailors with ivan went farther, still farther. finally the vessel anchored near a town, large and unknown to the merchants. a king ruled in that town who was very much annoyed by three black crows. these three crows were all the time perching near the window of the king's chamber. no one knew how to get rid of them and no one could kill them. the king ordered notices to be placed at all crossings and on all prominent buildings, saying that whoever was able to relieve the king from the noisy birds would be rewarded by obtaining the youngest korolevna, the king's daughter, for a wife; but the one who should have the daring to undertake but not succeed in delivering the palace from the crows would have his head cut off. ivan attentively read the announcement, once, twice, and once more. finally he made the sign of the cross and went to the palace. he said to the servants:
"open the window and let me listen to the birds."
the servants obeyed and ivan listened for a while. then he said:
"show me to your sovereign king."
when he reached the room where the king sat on a high, rich chair, he bowed and said:
"there are three crows, a father crow, a mother crow, and a son crow.
the trouble is that they desire to obtain thy royal decision as to whether the son crow must follow his father crow or his mother crow."
the king answered: "the son crow must follow the father crow."
as soon as the king announced his royal decision the crow father with the crow son went one way and the crow mother disappeared the other way, and no one has heard the noisy birds since. the king gave one-half of his kingdom and his youngest korolevna to ivan, and a happy life began for him.
in the meantime his father, the rich merchant, lost his wife and by and by his fortune also. there was no one left to take care of him, and the old man went begging under the windows of charitable people.
he went from one window to another, from one village to another, from one town to another, and one bright day he came to the palace where ivan lived, begging humbly for charity. ivan saw him and recognized him, ordered him to come inside, and gave him food to eat and also supplied him with good clothes, asking questions:
"dear old man, what can i do for thee?" he said.
"if thou art so very good," answered the poor father, without knowing that he was speaking to his own son, "let me remain here and serve thee among thy faithful servants."
"dear, dear father!" exclaimed ivan, "thou didst doubt the true song of the nightingale, and now thou seest that our fate was to meet according to the predictions of long ago."
the old man was frightened and knelt before his son, but his ivan remained the same good son as before, took his father lovingly into his arms, and together they wept over their sorrow.
several days passed by and the old father felt courage to ask his son, the korolevitch:
"tell me, my son, how was it that thou didst not perish in the boat?"
ivan korolevitch laughed gayly.
"i presume," he answered, "that it was not my fate to perish at the bottom of the wide sea, but my fate was to marry the korolevna, my beautiful wife, and to sweeten the old age of my dear father."
ivanoushka the simpleton
in a kingdom far away from our country, there was a town over which ruled the tsar pea with his tsaritza carrot. he had many wise statesmen, wealthy princes, strong, powerful warriors, and also simple soldiers, a hundred thousand, less one man. in that town lived all kinds of people: honest, bearded merchants, keen and open-handed rascals, german tradesmen, lovely maidens, russian drunkards; and in the suburbs all around, the peasants tilled the soil, sowed the wheat, ground the flour, traded in the markets, and spent the money in drink.
in one of the suburbs there was a poor hut where an old man lived with his three sons, thomas, pakhom, and ivan. the old man was not only clever, he was wise. he had happened once to have a chat with the devil. they talked together while the old man treated him to a tumbler of wine and got out of the devil many great secrets. soon after this the peasant began to perform such marvelous acts that the neighbors called him a sorcerer, a magician, and even supposed that the devil was his kin.
yes, it is true that the old man performed great marvels. were you longing for love, go to him, bow to the old man, and he would give you some strange root, and the sweetheart would be yours. if there is a theft, again to him with the tale. the old man conjures over some water, takes an officer along straight to the thief, and your lost is found; only take care that the officer steals it not.
indeed the old man was very wise; but his children were not his equals. two of them were almost as clever. they were married and had children, but ivan, the youngest, was single. no one cared much for him because he was rather a fool, could not count one, two, three, and only drank, or ate, or slept, or lay around. why care for such a person? every one knows life for some is brighter than for others.
but ivan was good-hearted and quiet. ask of him a belt, he will give a kaftan also; take his mittens, he certainly would want to have you take his cap with them. and that is why all liked ivan, and usually called him ivanoushka the simpleton; though the name means fool, at the same time it carries the idea of a kind heart.
our old man lived on with his sons until finally his hour came to die.
he called his three sons and said to them:
"dear children of mine, my dying hour is at hand and ye must fulfill my will. every one of you come to my grave and spend one night with me; thou, tom, the first night; thou, pakhom, the second night; and thou, ivanoushka the simpleton, the third."
two of the brothers, as clever people, promised their father to do according to his bidding, but the simpleton did not even promise; he only scratched his head.
the old man died and was buried. during the celebration the family and guests had plenty of pancakes to eat and plenty of whisky to wash them down.
now you remember that on the first night thomas was to go to the grave; but he was too lazy, or possibly afraid, so he said to the simpleton:
"i must be up very early to-morrow morning; i have to thresh; go thou for me to our father's grave."
"all right," answered ivanoushka the simpleton. he took a slice of black rye bread, went to the grave, stretched himself out, and soon began to snore.
the church clock struck midnight; the wind roared, the owl cried in the trees, the grave opened and the old man came out and asked:
"who is there?"
"i," answered ivanoushka.
"well, my dear son, i will reward thee for thine obedience," said the father.
lo! the cocks crowed and the old man dropped into the grave. the simpleton arrived home and went to the warm stove.
"what happened?" asked the brothers.
"nothing," he answered. "i slept the whole night and am hungry now."
the second night it was pakhom's turn to go to his father's grave. he thought it over and said to the simpleton:
"to-morrow is a busy day with me. go in my place to our father's grave."
"all right," answered ivanoushka. he took along with him a piece of fish pie, went to the grave and slept. midnight approached, the wind roared, crows came flying, the grave opened and the old man came out.
"who is there?" he asked.
"i," answered his son the simpleton.
"well, my beloved son, i will not forget thine obedience," said the old man.
the cocks crowed and the old man dropped into his grave. ivanoushka the simpleton came home, went to sleep on the warm stove, and in the morning his brothers asked:
"what happened?"
"nothing," answered ivanoushka.
the woman agreed, and having sold their stock of firewood, they returned home with a fish for dinner.
on opening it, a small white bead, round and shining, fell upon the floor. the woman was attracted by its brightness, and locked it up in a box.
many days of poverty and hunger visited that household before the woman remembered the pretty stone found in the fish; but at last she thought of it, and took it to a bunniah, who, as soon as he set eyes upon it, said: "give me that, and i will give you as much as you can carry away of ghee and food and oil, not only to-day, but for many days, if you will come to my shop."
the foolish woman parted with her treasure, not knowing that it was a pearl of great value, and returned home laden with good things.
the bunniah chuckled with delight. he was crafty, like all bunniahs, and, you may depend, never kept his promise: such was the foolishness of the woman, and such the cunning and greed of the man.
the bunniah's ghost
far away in a valley in the himalayan mountains lies a little village, where once lived a good man who had his home beside a field in which grew a beautiful mulberry tree so big and so beautiful that it was the wonder of the country round.
hundreds of people were wont to gather together beneath it, and the poor carried away basket loads of its fruit. thus it became a meeting place where a mela, or fair, was held when the fruit season was on.
now the fame of it reached a certain rajah who had rented out the land, and one day he came with all his retinue to see it.
"there is no such tree in the royal gardens," said the grand vizier.
"it is not meet that a subject should possess what the rajah hath not,"
added the prime minister.
the rajah replied not a word, for his heart was filled with envy; and that night, before going to bed, he gave orders that, on a certain day, in the early dawn, before anybody was astir, a party of armed men should take their axes to the village, and fell the mulberry tree even with the ground. but ill dreams disturbed the rajah's rest, and he could not sleep.
could it be fancy, or did he really see a strange man standing before him?
the strange man spoke: "o king, live for ever! i am the spirit of a bunniah (or merchant) who died in yonder village many years ago. during my lifetime i defrauded the people. i gave them short measure and adulterated their food.
"when i died and passed into the land of unhappy spirits, the gods, who are just, o king! decreed that i should give back what i had stolen. my soul therefore went into a mulberry tree, where year after year the people gather fruit, and regain their losses.
"in one year more they will be repaid to the uttermost cowrie; [4] but you mean to destroy the tree and drive my soul i know not whither. wherefore have i come to plead with you to spare it this once, for when a year is past it will die of itself and my soul find its way to that land of shadows which is the abode of the gods where it will find peace."
so the rajah listened, and the strange man went away.
for one year longer the people sat as before under the cool shadow of the mulberry tree, and then it died. and was that all?
no: when they cut it down there was found deep in the earth one living root, and that they left, for who can destroy the soul?
hindu proverb. "pün ki jar sada hari." (the roots of charity are always green.)
bickermanji the inquisitive
there was a certain rajah whose name was bickermanji. he was very inquisitive, and always wished to know everything that was going on in his kingdom, and what his subjects were doing.
at night he disguised himself in common clothes and a blanket, and walked quietly in the streets and bazaars to spy on the people. next day, when complaints were brought to him of the doings of this or that person, he knew all about it.
in this way he observed that a certain woman, the wife of a sowcar, or bunniah, used to leave her home every night, carrying a ghurra, or chattie, on her head and some food in her hand. arrived at the river, she floated the chattie, and sat upon it, thus getting a passage to the other side, where she visited a certain fakir.
in the early morning she returned, carrying the chattie full of water for the day's use; and this being an everyday custom with native women in the east, it was never suspected that she had spent nearly the whole night away from her home. bickermanji observed all this, and wondered to himself how the matter would end.
one day the woman's husband, who had been away in another country, returned, so she had to attend to his food, and could not get away as early as usual to carry dainty dishes to the fakir, who was very angry when she arrived late, and made her excuses on account of her husband's arrival.
"what do i care for your husband?" said the fakir. "is he better than a holy mendicant? go this moment and bring me his head."
this she did, much to the fakir's surprise; but, instead of being pleased at her obedience to his wishes, he was angry, and said:
"if you killed your husband, you will one day kill me also."
so he drove her from his presence, and she returned to her own home, where, taking her husband's head upon her knee, she set up a great weeping and lamentation, which attracted all her neighbours and brought them together.
"my husband had only just returned from a journey, bringing money; and see, thieves have stolen his money, and murdered him during the night."
her neighbours believed this, and prepared to carry her husband to the burning ghât, for he was a hindoo. while they did this, the woman declared that she would follow, and perform the sacred rite of suttee, or being burnt upon her husband's funeral pyre.
although impressed by her supposed devotion to her husband, her friends wrote to bickermanji, and begged him to prevent her.
bickermanji knew all that had really happened, and meant to show his own wisdom and the woman's crime, also to punish her as he thought best. so he promptly forbade the suttee.
the widow then wrote to rajah bickermanji's stepmother, a very clever woman, and asked her to intercede, that she might die with her husband. then his stepmother said: "my son, allow this suttee to take place, and within eight days i will give you my reasons."
this aroused the curiosity of his nature, and, much against his will, he consented; so the woman had her own way.
he waited impatiently for the eight days to be over, and then went to his stepmother, who ordered a dooly, and, taking with her a goat, asked him to accompany her to the nearest temple. arrived there, she asked him to stand at the door, and left the goat outside.
"if, when i come to the door, i say 'kill,' you are to kill the goat, but if not, stand where you are," were the old woman's instructions as she went to make her offering of fruit and flowers and sweets.
soon she returned, and said: "kill," so bickermanji cut off the head of the goat. "sit upon the head, my son."
and he did as he was told, but no sooner had he done so, when the head rose up into the air with him, away through space for hundreds of miles, until he came to a wall which surrounded a space twelve miles square. in this was a garden and beautiful house; and after wandering some little time, bickermanji found water and food, a comfortable couch to lie upon, and a hookah, or native pipe, to smoke, but not a human being was anywhere to be seen. this puzzled him, but as he was both hungry and tired, he made a good meal, smoked his hookah, and laid down to sleep.
"if i sleep, i sleep, if i die, i die; a man can but die once."
now the place belonged to a purree, or winged fairy being, who used to come to it during the night, and remain away all day. the servants came an hour or two beforehand just to see everything was comfortable; and when they found bickermanji lying fast asleep, they wished to kill him, but an old woman interceded on his behalf, so they let him alone until the purree came.
bickermanji was greatly surprised to see a strange winged being standing before him, and expected immediate death; but the strange one spoke kindly, and begged him not to fear, but to make the place his home for as long as he liked.
each day passed by quietly, and in the pleasures and ease of his present existence, bickermanji soon forgot his kingdom, his wife, and his children.
before going away one morning the purree said: "there are four rooms in this house which you must never open; i will point them out to you, but, for the rest, you may use them as you will."
this request at once excited bickermanji's old spirit of curiosity; and, as soon as he found himself alone, he went quickly to the door of the first room and opened it.
within stood a horse, which turned gladly towards him, and said:
"i have not seen the light of day, or had an hour's freedom, ever since i was given to the fairy by rajah sudra. if you will take me out, i will show you all the world, and even the secret place where the fairies dance."
bickermanji was delighted, and immediately led out the horse, which he saddled, mounted, and rode for a wonderful and delightful ride.
in the evening the fairy, or purree, again warned him against opening any of the four forbidden doors; but the very next day he opened the second one, and there found a large elephant chained up.
the elephant complained bitterly of its fate, and begged bickermanji to pity it, and take it out, which, if he did, it would in return show him much that was wonderful in the world; so bickermanji again had a very interesting day.
on the morning following he opened the third door and found a camel inside. it too took him to all sorts of new and interesting places which were the haunts of fairy beings.
now only one door was left, and bickermanji determined to open that also; and when he did, he beheld a donkey, standing inside. the donkey complained just as the other animals had done, and begged for its release; but as bickermanji mounted it for his usual ride, he found himself back in his old kingdom.
"my back aches," said the donkey; "leave me a while to rest, and go you, in the meantime, to the nearest bazaar for food. when you return you will find me here."
but when bickermanji returned there was no donkey to be seen; so he tore his hair and wept bitterly, asking all the passers-by if any of them had seen his ghuddee, or donkey.
many of the inhabitants of the town recognised him, and said:
"our rajah has come back, and is asking for his ghuddee," which, in hindustanee, means "throne" as well as "donkey."
at last his stepmother heard of his return, and sent for him. he told her that he would give anything to be able to return to the place from which the donkey had brought him.
"was it not i who sent you there," she replied, "and could not i send you back again? what are you willing to do in order to return? are you willing to slay your own son to go?"
"yes, i would even do that."
"well, come with me as before to the temple, only, instead of a goat, take your son with you, and a sword. when i say 'kill' you must kill, but not before."
so the three went to the temple, and the stepmother stood in the doorway and cried "kill"; but before the rajah could raise his sword she rushed forward and seized it.
"stop! do not kill your son. do you remember the suttee, and how you judged her and wished to punish her for killing her husband on account of a friend, and now you would kill your own son for the sake of pleasure! all that has happened has been done to teach you a lesson; go you to your palace, and there reign with greater wisdom than before."
moral. "judge not, that ye be not judged."
the brahmin's daughter
a certain brahmin's wife had no affection for her seven stepdaughters, and persuaded their father to get rid of them. so he invited the girls to come with him on a visit to their grandmother, but on the way he slipped away quietly and left them eating plums in the jungle.
after a while they found themselves all alone, and as night fell were very frightened, and hid themselves in the hollow of a large tree. here a tiger found them and ate six, leaving only the youngest sister alive.
she hid in the tree for several days, and at last a rajah found her, and asked how she had got there. then she told him the whole story, and he felt pity for her and married her.
but she often wondered what had become of her father, and whether he was alive or dead; and when she remembered the fate of her sisters, she secretly made up her mind to be revenged on her stepmother.
then she called a crow, and asked it if it would go to her former home with a letter from her. in the letter she told her father of her sisters' fate and of her own good fortune.
the crow carried the news to her father, and, greatly surprised, he read the contents of his daughter's letter to his wife.
the woman was mercenary as well as cruel, and advised him to lose no time in visiting her, and bringing back all the money he could secure.
so the brahmin went and spent eight or nine days in the palace.
as he was preparing to return home, the girl called him, and gave him a box containing a snake, a scorpion, and a wasp; and as it was securely locked, he had no suspicion of its contents.
"take this," she said, "and give it with the key to my mother; let her be alone in her room when she receives it, so that she may enjoy my gifts by herself."
then she gave him another box full of clothes and jewels and money for himself.
after a long journey, the brahmin arrived at his home, and said to his wife: "this box is for me, and this one for you; keep it carefully, and open it when you are alone; here is the key." so saying he went out, shut the door, and put on the chain.
soon the woman began to cry: "i'm bitten, i'm bitten!" but he mistook it for "i've eaten, i've eaten!" meaning that he should come and share the feast. so he replied: "i've had my share, you eat what is your own share."
when he opened the door, he found her dead, so he packed up his things and returned to his daughter, and lived happily ever after.
abul hussain
there was a man called abul hussain who was once very rich, but had been so foolish in entertaining all his friends that he lost all his money, and became very poor.
he and his old mother lived together, and sometimes, when he felt lonely, he would walk out and call in two or three men, any passing strangers whom he chanced to meet, and ask them to come in and have a talk and smoke with him. when they left his house, he never expected to see them again.
on one occasion he accosted a man dressed in plain clothes, who, with two others, was taking a stroll, and said: "friend, come in and have a chat with me."
the man who was really the king with his two followers, went in; and, after they had talked some time and made merry over wine, abul said:
"i should like to exchange places with the king for just one day."
"why?" asked the king.
"because the priest who prays in the musjid here, and his four friends, are very wicked men, and i should like to have them killed."
the king, while talking, took out some powder which had the effect of putting a person to sleep, and secretly dropped it into the wine abul was drinking. shortly afterwards abul fell into a deep sleep.
the king then said to his servants: "remove this man and take him to my palace; change his clothes for some of mine, place him in my bed, and, until i give further orders, recognise him as your king, and let him use as much money as he likes."
the servants did as he told them, took up the sleeping man and put him to bed in the king's palace.
early next morning the servants came to wake abul, and said: "will your majesty rise this morning?"
abul rubbed his eyes and looked, and behold, he was in a king's room and the king's servant was addressing him! he saw his clothes, and wondered who he was, and what had happened: then he turned to the man and said: "who am i?"
the man replied: "you are our king."
"am i?" returned the puzzled abul, and, rising, he heard strains of music, and knew that the band was playing, as it always does on the awaking of a king in the morning.
he washed and dressed and went with his vizier to hold court. while there, he said to his courtiers: "there is a man living in a certain house, and his name is abul, i want you to take to his mother a bag of a thousand rupees. also go to the musjid; catch the old priest, give him one hundred stripes, put him and his four friends on donkeys, and drive them out of the city."
all day abul reigned as king, but when night came, the servants, who had been instructed what to do by the real king, once more put sleeping powder into his wine, and while he slept removed him to his own home, and put him into his own bed again.
when he awoke there in the morning he called to his servants, but no one answered, except his old mother, who came and stood beside him.
"why do you call your servants?" she asked.
"because i am a king," he replied. "who are you?"
"i am your mother, my son, and think you must be dreaming. if the king hears about this he will be so angry that perhaps he will have you killed. you are only the son of a poor man; and do not vex the king, for he has been very good, and sent us a present of a thousand rupees yesterday."
abul, however, would not listen, but kept on insisting that he was king, so at last the king had him locked up in prison, declaring that he must be mad. there he was kept until he ceased to say that he was king, and then he was released.
on his return home, he once more invited some strange men, and, as before, the king was amongst them, and again surreptitiously put the sleeping powder into abul's wine, and caused him to be removed and put into his palace on his bed while he was unconscious.
next morning on waking abul felt sure that it must be a dream this time, and he kept rubbing his eyes and asking the servants who he was. the servants replied: "why, you are our king."
abul was more than puzzled, and, pointing to his arms, which still bore the marks of bruises from stripes received in prison, said:
"if i am really the king, why have i these bruises? i have been put in prison, and these are the marks where i was beaten."
but the servant said: "your majesty is dreaming; you are a king, and a very great king."
on this abul got up, and hearing the strains of music, he was so delighted at his lucky position that he began to dance about the room, while the king, who was peeping from a doorway, stood and laughed so much that he was almost choked. at last, being unable to restrain himself longer, he called out: "o abul, do you wish to kill me with laughter?"
on this abul discovered that the king had been playing a practical joke on him, and he said: "o king, you have given me much misery."
"have i?" said the king. "well, as much misery as i have given you, so much pleasure shall you now have;" and he gave him a present of heaps of money and a beautiful wife, sending him away with the assurance that he would never be poor any more.
very soon abul ran through all his money, and, hoping to get some more from the king, planned with his wife to pay another visit to the palace.
then he went to the king and, crying and wringing his hands, said:
"o king, my wife is dead."
the king, much shocked and grieved, gave him a than [5] of cloth and a thousand rupees, and told him to go and bury his wife.
in the meantime his wife had gone to the queen's apartments, and there, throwing herself on her face, she wept and said: "o queen, my husband is dead, and i am most unhappy!"
the queen, deeply grieved, gave her a thousand rupees and a than of cloth, saying: "go, bury thy dead."
abul and his wife were now most happy, and set to work to make themselves clothes with the new cloth they had received.
now it happened that day that the king went to see his queen, and, finding her in tears, enquired the cause of her grief.
"abul's wife has just been to say abul is dead."
"no," said the king; "you mean that abul has just been to say that his wife is dead."
"no," replied the queen, "abul is dead."
"not at all," returned the king; "abul's wife is dead," and they fell out and quarrelled about it.
then the king said: "well, we'll make a contract: if i am wrong, then i'll give you a present of a garden."
and the queen said: "very well; and if i am mistaken, i will give you my picture gallery."
on this the king and queen together went with a number of followers to the house of abul.
when abul and his wife saw them coming they were so frightened that they did not know what to do, and, having no time to run away, they both got under the cloth they were sewing, and lay quite still as though they were dead.
the king and queen coming up were surprised indeed to find that both were really dead; but the king, remembering his promise to his wife, said: "now, if we only could find out who died first."
on this abul crept out quietly, fell at the king's feet, and cried:
"your majesty, i died first."
at the same time his wife crawled out and prostrated herself at the queen's feet, saying: "your majesty, i died first."
all the followers began to laugh, and so did the king, who asked abul why he had done this thing. abul then confessed how he had squandered all the money which the king had given, and, not knowing how to get any more, had determined to do what he had done.
the king, pleased at abul's cleverness, gave him houses and money, so that he never again suffered any want.
the magician and the merchant
one day a merchant, going for a stroll, came across a date tree; reaching up his hand, he plucked a date and threw the stone away.
now, near the spot where it fell there lived a wicked magician, who suddenly appeared before the frightened merchant, and told him he was going to kill him.
"you have put out my son's eye," said he, "by throwing the stone into it, and now you shall pay for the deed with your life."
the poor merchant begged and implored for mercy, but the magician refused. at last the merchant asked that he might be allowed to go home and settle his affairs. and distribute his goods amongst his family, after which he promised to return.
to this the magician consented, so the merchant departed, and spent a last happy year with his wife and children. then, after dividing his goods amongst them, bade them farewell, and with many tears, left them, that he might return to the magician and fulfil his promise.
arrived at the spot, he saw an old man, who asked him why he came to such a place. "a wicked magician lives here," said he, "who kills people, or else changes them into animals or birds."
"alas!" cried the unfortunate merchant, "that is just what my fate will be, for i have come in fulfilment of a promise to return after a year and be killed."
just then two other old men came, and, while the four were conversing together, the magician, sword in hand, suddenly appeared and rushed at the merchant to kill him.
on this the old man interceded, and said: "o magician, if what i have suffered be more than you have suffered in the loss of your son's eye, then indeed give this man double punishment: let me, i beg you, tell my story."
"say on," said the magician.
"do you see this deer?" said the old man; "it is my wife. i was once married to a wife, but after a time i wearied of her, and married another wife, who presented me with a son. i took both the woman and her child to my first wife, and asked her to feed and take care of them; but she, being jealous, changed my wife into a cow, and my son into a calf. after a year i returned and enquired after my wife and child. my first wife said: 'your wife is dead, and for the last two days your child has been missing.'
"now it happened at that time that i wanted to offer a sacrifice, and, asking for a suitable offering, my second wife was brought to me. she fell at my feet, and looked so unhappy that i could not kill her, and sent her away. then my wife grew very angry, and insisted upon the sacrifice. at last i consented, and the poor cow was killed. [6]
"then i asked for another offering, and the calf was brought. it too looked at me with tearful eyes, and i had not the heart to kill it, but gave it to a cowherd, and told him to bring it back to me after a year. he kept it with his other cattle, and one day a young girl who saw it began to laugh and cry. on this the cowherd asked her reason for such conduct, and she replied: 'that calf is not really what it appears to be, but is a young man, and his mother was the cow who was sacrificed some time ago.'
"then the cowherd ran to me and told me the girl's story, and i went at once to her to ask whether it was really true, and if she could not restore my son to his original shape again. 'yes,' she replied, 'on two conditions. one, that i may be allowed to marry your son, and the other, that i may do as i please with your first wife.'
"to this i consented, so she took some water and sprinkled it upon the calf, which at once turned into my son again. with some of the same water she sprinkled my wife, who there and then turned into a deer.
"now, i might easily kill her if i liked; but, knowing that she is my wife, i take her with me wherever i go."
then the second old man said: "hear my story. i was one of three brothers. my father died, and we divided his clothes and money amongst us. my eldest brother and i became merchants, but my third brother ran away, wasted and squandered his money, and became a beggar. he returned home, and begged us to forgive him, which we did, and gave him one thousand rupees to buy merchandise.
"we three then went across the seas to buy goods. on the seashore i saw a very beautiful woman, and asked her if she would come across the sea with me. she consented; but when my brothers saw her they grew jealous, and, as soon as the ship sailed, they took her and threw her into the sea, and me after her. but she, being an enchanted being, rose to the surface of the water unhurt, and, taking me up, carried me to a place of safety on the seashore.
"then she said she was very angry with my brothers and meant to kill them both. i begged in vain that she would spare them, so at last she consented to punish them in some other way instead of killing them.
"when next i visited at the house of my brothers, two dogs fell at my feet and cowered before me. then the woman told me that they were my brothers, and would remain dogs for twelve years, after which time they would resume their natural shapes."
the third old man began to tell his story. "i had the misfortune to marry a witch, who, soon after my marriage, turned me into a dog. i fled from the house, and ate such scraps of food as were thrown away by the store-keepers in the market place.
"one day one of the men there took me home, but his daughter turned away her head each time she looked at me. at last her father enquired her reason for doing this, and she replied: 'father, that is not a dog, but a man whose wife is a witch, and it is she who has changed him into a dog. i will restore him again to his former shape.' so she sprinkled water upon me, and i forthwith regained the shape of a man. i then asked her if i might not punish my wife, and she gave me some water and told me to go and sprinkle it upon the wicked witch.
"i did this, and she became a donkey! yet i keep her, and take care of her, and pray you, even as we had mercy, to so have mercy upon this man."
so the magician forgave the man, and let him go.
the snake and the frog
a rajah had two sons. the eldest ascended the throne after his father's death, but fearing lest his brother might interfere with him, he ordered him to be killed.
the poor boy, hearing of this order, quietly left the house and escaped into the jungles, where he saw a snake with a frog in its mouth which it was trying to swallow.
as the young rajah approached, he heard the frog say: "oh, if god would only send some one to rescue me from the snake, how thankful i should be."
the rajah, full of pity, threw a stone at the snake, and it immediately released the frog, which hopped away.
the snake remained still, dazed by the hurt received by the stone. now, the rajah felt sorry for it, and thought to himself: "i have taken away its natural food;" so, quickly cutting off a piece of his own flesh, he threw it to the snake, saying: "here, take this instead."
the snake took it home, and when its wife saw it, she said: "this is very good flesh; where did you get it?"
the snake told her what had happened, and she said: "go back to that man and reward him for what he has done."
then the snake assumed the form of a man, and, going back to the rajah, said: "i will be your servant, if you will take me."
the rajah agreed, and his new servant followed him.
the frog, meantime, had also gone home and told his wife of the narrow escape he had from the snake, and how a man had saved him from its very jaws.
"go back," said she, "and serve him, to prove your gratitude."
so he also took the form of a man and offered himself as a servant to the rajah. "come," said he, "and we three will live together."
then they entered a city belonging to a great king, and the three of them offered to work for him.
"but," said the young rajah, "i will only work on condition that you pay me a thousand rupees a day."
to this the king agreed, and they were employed by him.
the young rajah gave his own two followers one hundred rupees a day; and, after putting aside one hundred for his own requirements, distributed the rest in charity.
one day the king went to take a bath in the tank, or pond, and while bathing, his ring slipped off and fell into the water.
he therefore called the young rajah and said to him: "go and get my ring which is in that tank."
this made the youth very sad, "for," thought he, "how am i to get a ring from the bottom of a tank?"
but his servant who had once been a frog begged him not to be sad, and said: "i will get it for you."
so, quickly taking his old form, he dived into the water and restored the ring to his master, who took it to the king.
some time after this the king's daughter was bitten by a snake, and in great danger of death. "make my child well," demanded the king of the young rajah. but this was hard to do, and the youth became sadder than ever.
"do not despair," said his servant who had once been a snake, "but put me into the room where the child is, for i understand the treatment for snake-bite."
as soon as this was done he sucked out all the poison, and the child recovered.
this so delighted the king that he called the young rajah and offered him his daughter in marriage as a reward.
so the marriage took place, and they lived happily ever afterwards.
the barber and the thief
a thief entered the house of a barber, and, carefully making bundles of all he could lay hands upon, was about to take them away when the barber spied him; and, quickly getting out of bed, sat down at the door, thus cutting off the way of escape for the thief, who waited in vain for him to move.
the barber sat smoking his hookah, [7] and every now and then refreshed himself by drinking water, occasionally spitting at what looked like a bundle of rags on the floor; but which was in reality the thief. [8]
after a while the barber woke his wife by flinging a little water on her. she woke up very angry, and scolded him roundly.
"what!" said the barber, "you mind a little water being thrown at you, while this man" pointing to the thief "has no objection to being spat upon!"
then the thief found he had been discovered, and implored forgiveness.
thinking he had already suffered sufficient indignities, they forgave him and let him go.
the story of puran
there was once a shoemaker who had a vegetable garden in which grew a bed of brinjals (or egg plant). unknown to him, a fairy used sometimes to come and walk there; and one day, while passing the brinjal bushes, a thorn on them caught one of her wings and broke it, so that she was unable to fly, and had to remain where she was.
next time the shoemaker visited his garden he saw a beautiful woman in it; and, not knowing that she was a fairy, asked her to tell him her name, and how she came there.
her only reply was: "i am cold: give me a covering, i pray you."
then he invited her to take shelter in his hut, and gave her a lowie, or warm covering, saying: "take this and stay as long as you like, and be my daughter."
the shoemaker had a kind heart, and was very good to his adopted child, whom he named "loonar chumari."
now a rajah, by name suliman, sometimes visited the shoemaker's shop; and when he saw the fairy he fell in love with her, and begged for her hand in marriage.
the shoemaker consented, and after a time the marriage took place; but suliman had another wife at his palace, and a son whose name was puran:
and he was most anxious to find out whether, when he grew up, this son would make a good ruler, so he sent for a brahmin and enquired.
"yes," declared the brahmin, "he will be a good ruler, but you must keep him locked up for twelve years in an underground room."
this was done, and at the time when suliman met the fairy, the twelve years had nearly been completed; but the boy refused to remain even a week longer, for he was weary of being locked up for so long. even his own mother could not influence him in the matter, and so he was released.
now puran was a very comely youth, and when he made his obeisance to his new stepmother, she was greatly impressed with his handsome face, and thought to herself: "had i not been in such a hurry i might have married him instead of suliman."
the thought vexed her so much that she made up her mind to get puran out of her sight by having him killed. she told suliman that his boy was wanting in respect towards her, and deserving of death.
on hearing this, suliman had a bowl of boiling oil prepared, and, calling his son, said: "my son, if this be indeed true about you, plunge your hand into this boiling oil: if you are innocent no harm will come to you."
puran, without a sign of fear, did as his father bid him, and plunged in his hand, taking it out without a mark.
then suliman turned to his wife and said: "see, the oil does not burn him."
but she replied angrily: "never mind, i am not content, and shall not rest day or night until you have his eyes put out, and both his hands and his feet cut off, after which you must have him flung into a pit."
suliman, who was completely under the power of the fairy, at last consented to this, and gave the order; but puran's own mother pleaded so earnestly that her boy's eyes might be spared, that the servants felt sorry for her; and, substituting the eyes of an animal, they left the young man's eyes untouched.
then puran was thrown into a pit and there left.
a guru, or priest, who lived near that place used to send his followers daily to bring food and water for him, and one of them, mistaking the dry pit for a well, let down his chattie for water. whereupon puran, whose hands and feet had been restored by the almighty, caught hold of the chattie and would not let it go.
the guru called out: "let go, or i will bring my book of incantations and crush you into dust."
"try," replied a voice from the bottom of the pit, "for i too can bring my books and crush you to dust."
the guru was frightened, and, returning to the head guru, his master, told him what had happened.
then the old guru said: "it must be puran; i will go and see." so, taking with him a ball of raw cotton, he called out at the top of the pit: "puran, is that you? if so, and you are an innocent man, i will let down a thread of raw cotton, and you will be able to climb up by it, for it will not break if used by the innocent."
"let it down," replied puran, and he climbed up safely.
the guru looked at him as he stood up, and then quietly returned to his own home.
there he met all his pupils or followers, who are called "cheelas,"
and sent them out to bring stores. there were one hundred and thirty-five cheelas, and before they left he warned them, saying:
"go everywhere except to that magic country where those women live who practise witchcraft."
but the men were curious, and, in spite of the warning, went to the witches' country.
the witches saw them coming, and laughed gleefully. "let us play a trick on these young gurus," they said, "and turn them all into young bulls."
this they did, and, leading the creatures to their husbands, said:
"see what fine bulls we have brought in exchange for two and a half pounds of flour."
the husbands were very pleased, and kept the bulls to carry loads.
meanwhile the old guru waited for his followers, but as none of them appeared, he sought the aid of his books and discovered what had happened.
then he pronounced his incantations and dried up all the water in the country, with the exception of one well, near which he sat.
the witches soon found that they would die of thirst, so they came to the old man's well, but they barely had time to put down their chatties before he turned the lot of them into donkeys and let them graze.
very soon the witches were missed by their husbands, who came to the old guru and asked if he could give any news.
"how can i tell," said he, "when one hundred and thirty-five of my own gurus are lost and i cannot find them."
"but you can recall them, our father," said the men.
"that is what i mean to do;" and so saying, the guru took out his books and began to read. while he did this, they saw in the distance a herd of one hundred and thirty-five bulls approaching, and each one carried a load of wood or hay.
they stood still before the old guru, who then restored them to their former shapes.
then the witches' husbands were amazed, and said: "o guru! can you not call our wives also?"
"call them yourselves, my friends, as you have seen me call my men."
but the men knew nothing of either witchcraft or incantations, so they besought the guru to help them.
at last he agreed, and asked for a thick, strong stick, which he gave into the hands of one of his cheelas, and said: "go knock each of those donkeys a blow on the head with this."
the cheela did as he was told, and the donkeys resumed the shapes of women, all but five old ones which the guru said must remain donkeys by way of warning.
then the guru sent his followers forth as before, and coming to the pit where puran had been found, they saw a dry stick standing near it. "this will do for fire," said they; but when they touched it a feeble voice was heard.
so they reported the matter to the old guru, and when he touched the stick it said, "guru jee." on this he recognised puran, who for years had waited beside the well.
"why did you not go home, my son?"
"because you did not tell me," said puran, "so i waited here for your orders."
then the guru held him tenderly and washed the mud off him, and in many days he grew strong again.
"now go home to your parents," said the guru.
but puran said: "no, i will remain with you."
thus in time he became a very highly respected guru.
tabaristan
in the country called tabaristan there lived a rich rajah, who gave a feast and invited a number of guests.
amongst the guests came a stranger who partook of the good things distributed. the rajah, on seeing him, enquired who he was.
"i am a stranger," said he, "but am willing to serve you, as i have come from a very distant country."
the rajah said he would keep him as a sort of chowkidar, to guard his house at night. so all night long the stranger used to pace up and down the palace grounds keeping watch.
one night the rajah came out and, seeing him pacing up and down, asked him who he was.
"why, i am he whom you engaged as a servant."
hardly had he spoken when a loud cry echoed through the grounds, and a voice said: "i am going on, i am going on!"
"what is that?" asked the rajah.
"i do not know," said the man, "but i hear it every night."
"go and find out," returned the rajah. so the man turned to do his bidding.
now the rajah was very curious, and, quickly wrapping himself in his coat, quietly followed his servant.
outside the garden gate sat a figure covered and clothed in loose white garments.
on approaching it the servant said: "who are you?"
"i am time," replied the figure, "and hold the rajah's life, which is now nearly over."
"cannot anything be done to spare it?" asked the man.
"yes, it can be spared by the sacrifice of another, and that one must be your son."
"i will give not only my son's life, but the lives of all my family and my own," replied the man; "but, if you want only my son, you may have him."
then he went and told his son, who said: "gladly will i give my life, for what is it in comparison with the life of a rajah? come, father, take me soon that i may die."
then the man led his son to the veiled figure, and said: "here is my son; he is willing to die."
taking a knife, he was about to plunge it into his child when the figure cried: "enough! you have proved that you were willing not only to give your son, but your whole family, and the almighty is pleased to spare the rajah's life for another seven years."
now the rajah, who had heard every word of the interview, quickly returned to the spot where he had first heard the voice, and there awaited his servant's return.
"well, what was the sound?" asked he, when he saw him.
"a man and a woman had quarrelled," replied the servant, "but i have managed to reconcile them, and they have promised not to quarrel for seven years."
then the rajah left him, and ordered him to appear at his court the following day.
next day, when the court was full, the rajah addressed all his people, and said: "i am resolved to give up my throne and all i possess to this man; for last night, unknown to me, he was willing to give up, not only his son's life but his own, and the lives of all his family, in order to save mine, and for my sake."
the poor servant was deeply touched and astonished at the turn matters had so unexpectedly taken, but the rajah was firm in his resolve, and left his throne and his kingdom.
the servant then became rajah, and ruled wisely and well to the end of his days.
the painted jackal
a jackal had the habit of visiting the kitchens of several people at night and eating whatever it could find.
one day, in visiting the house of a dyer, it put its head into a deep vessel containing blue dye, and, finding the mixture was not good to eat, tried to get its head out again, but could not do so for some time. when at last it managed to escape, its head was dyed a beautiful dark blue colour.
he ran away into the jungles, glad to escape, and unconscious of his strange appearance; but the other animals in the jungle thought some new animal had come, and were quite charmed, so that they created him their king.
they divided up all the wild creatures, and put their new king next to the jackals, so that when they cried out at nights, he cried too, and nobody found out that he was only a jackal.
but one day some young jackals made him angry, so he turned them out and ordered the wolves and foxes to remain nearest to him.
that night, when he began to cry and howl, it was at once discovered that he was only a jackal; so all the animals ran at him, bit him, and turned him out.
the enchanted bird, music, and stream
there was once a prince who used to amuse himself by dressing as a poor man, and going about amongst his subjects without their finding out who he was.
in this way he found out all that they did, and how they lived.
once, while walking through a gully, he saw three sisters, and overheard their conversation.
one said: "if i could marry even a servant of the prince, how happy i should be! i should eat sweets and all sorts of nice things all day long."
the other sister said: "i'd rather marry his cook, for then i should get still better things."
but the third sister said: "i'd like best to marry the prince himself, for then i'd get the best things of all to eat."
the prince went home, and next day, while holding court, gave an order that these three sisters should be brought to him.
the order was immediately carried out, and, as the three trembling girls stood before him, they wondered much why they had been summoned.
"now," said he, "tell me what you three were talking about last night?"
terribly alarmed, the eldest confessed that she had said she would like to be the wife of one of the servants, so as to get nice things to eat. the second said she had wished to be the wife of his cook.
the third sister hesitated, and then said timidly that she had dared to say she would like best to be the wife of the prince himself.
on this the prince said: "you may have your wishes."
he then ordered the one to be married to one of his servants, and the other to his cook; but the third he married himself.
some time after this, a son was born; but his wife's two sisters, who had begged to be present upon the occasion, and who were very jealous of their sister's position, quietly removed the baby, and put a dog's puppy in its place. the baby they put into a box and flung into the river.
now the prince's gardener found the box and opened it; and, when he saw what it contained, he was overjoyed, and took the child to his wife, telling her that god had at last given her a son which he would keep and bring up as his own son.
meantime, the prince was very angry indeed, but forgave his wife at the request of her friends.
some time after this another son was born, which the sisters changed for a kitten, and, putting the babe into a box, threw it into the river as before; but again the gardener found the child and carried him to his wife.
yet a third child was born to the princess, a little girl, which the two sisters changed for a rat. as before, they placed the child in a box and threw it into the river; and yet a third time did the gardener rescue the babe, and take it to grow up with its two brothers, his adopted boys.
by this time the prince was very angry with his wife, and turned her out of his house.
the gardener and his wife, who had loved their adopted children very dearly, died when the boys were about eight or nine years of age.
so the boys begged the prince to give them land of their own, on which to build or cultivate; and he, remembering how fond his gardener had always been of them, granted their request, so they lived there very happily with their little sister.
the brothers often went out hunting, and on one occasion, when they were out and their sister alone at home, a very old woman came to her and begged for some water. she willingly gave it, and then asked the old woman very kindly if she would not come in and rest. "come and see my house," she said, "and tell me what you think of it."
the old woman said: "you have everything very nice, but there are three things which you have not got."
"and what are those?"
"you have no bird, no music, and no stream of water," replied the old woman; "without these your house is nothing."
"where am i to get them?"
"you must go to the west."
so saying, she went away and left the girl very sad, for she wished for the three things without which her home was incomplete.
on the return of her brothers, they asked her why she looked so sad; and she told them of the old woman's visit, and what she had said.
"if that is all," cried the eldest brother, "i will go and bring you all three things."
the sister at first cried very much, and begged of him not to go, but at last she consented; and as he bade her good-bye, he gave her a string of beads, saying: "as long as i am well, these beads will be separate from each other; but should any misfortune overtake me, or i should die, the beads will be no longer separate, but will be joined together."
then he mounted his horse and rode away.
on the way he met an old fakir. this old man's face was covered with hair, so that he could not see, and he had a very long grey beard.
the boy looked at him, and said: "let me shave you, and you will be able to see better."
so the fakir allowed himself to be shaved, after which he asked the youth where he was going, and on hearing, he advised him not to go. "for," said he, "many have already gone on that quest, but have never returned."
yet the boy persisted. so the old fakir gave him a ball, and said:
"keep throwing this before you as you go. stop where the ball stops, and heed no sounds or interruptions on the way."
the ball went in the direction of a high mountain, and the boy followed; but in the mountain there were strange hissing sounds and voices all around, which kept shouting to him, and asking who he was and where he came from.
he paid no heed to these, until suddenly there came a great clap of thunder, followed by an earthquake. this so startled the boy that he looked round, and in a moment was turned into stone.
the poor little sister at home, discovering that she could no longer separate her beads, was grieved indeed, knowing that some harm had befallen her brother; and she wept bitterly.
on this her second brother said he would go and seek him, and also find the three things she required for her house.
his sister implored him not to leave her, for he was all she had left; but he was determined, so she was obliged to reluctantly consent to his going.
before leaving he gave her a flower, and said: "sister, as long as this flower keeps fresh, you will know that i am alive and well; but if it should close or fade, you may feel sure that i too am dead."
then he mounted his steed and started on his journey.
soon he met the old fakir, who warned him as he had warned his brother, saying: "my son, so many have gone on this quest and have lost their lives; your own brother has lost his life, and yet you wish to go. turn back, i advise you."
"no," said the boy, "i am determined to find my brother, and also the bird, music, and stream of water."
then the fakir gave him also a ball of string, with the same directions which he had given his brother; and he continued on his journey.
as he reached the hill, he too heard the same hissing, shouting, and cries to stop; but he heeded nothing, until at last came the peal of thunder and earthquake, which so terrified him that he turned round to look, and he too was turned into stone.
at home his poor sister saw her flower fade away and die, and then she knew that her other brother had also come to an untimely end.
so she arose and locked her door, and said: "i will go myself and find my brothers."
on her way she met the same old fakir, who accosted her, and asked her whither she was going.
he was much grieved when she told him her story, and said: "brave men have lost their lives, and you, a woman, without half their strength, are going. i pray you be advised and return."
"no, no," she returned; "if men have lost their courage, i, a woman, shall not lose mine. i am very brave, and i mean to go."
so the fakir bade her god-speed very sadly, and gave her the same parting gift as he had given her brothers, directing her what to do with it.
the first thing she did was to buy some cotton wool, and with it stop her ears, so that she could not hear a sound; then she proceeded on her journey up the hill.
the same sounds followed her all the way, but she heard them not, nor did she hear the thunder or heed the earthquake in her anxiety to find her brothers.
on and on went she, until she saw a cage hanging on a tree, and in it a bird. she took it with great joy, and said: "i have found my bird, and have only the music and water to get for my home to be perfect."
to her delight, the bird heard, and replied: "if you break off a branch of that tree and stick it into the ground, the breeze through its leaves will make the sweetest music you have ever heard; and if you will take a little water from that enchanted stream yonder, and pour it into your garden, it will never cease to flow. thus you will have both music and stream."
the girl did as the bird advised, and heard the sweetest melody in the branch of the tree. then she filled a vessel with water and prepared to return, but very sorrowfully, for she had found both her brothers turned into stone.
she told her trouble to the bird, who said: "sprinkle some of the water on the stones."
this she did, and, to her great surprise, both the lads came to life.
they were delighted to see her, and to know that she had succeeded in finding the gifts they had failed to get; and the three returned home and lived very happily together for some time.
one day the two brothers thought they would like to go out hunting again.
now they did not know that an order had been passed that nobody was to hunt in that forest except the prince, and, while they were there, they came face to face with the prince himself. this alarmed them, and they tried to hide themselves; but he called them, and enquired why they were hunting there against orders.
then they explained that they were in ignorance of his orders when they came, and begged forgiveness.
the prince, pleased at their appearance, enquired who they were, and they said: "the adopted sons of your gardener who died some time ago. our own parents died when we were young."
then the prince invited them to his palace, but they said they could go nowhere without first telling their sister.
"well, ask your sister," said he, "and come to-morrow."
on the third day they met the prince again, and he asked why they had not come; but they pleaded as an excuse that they had forgotten to ask their sister. the prince then gave them a golden ball and said:
"when you see this, you will remember."
that night as they were going to bed, the small golden ball rolled out on the floor, and seeing it, they remembered, and told their sister of the prince's invitation.
she was very displeased with them for not having complied with it earlier; and told them that they must go and see him the very next day.
on the morrow the two boys went to the palace, where the prince received them very kindly, and gave them all sorts of good things to eat and drink, saying to himself: "had i had children, they would by this time be the same ages as these lads."
one day, soon after this, the bird advised the sister of the boys to invite the prince to dinner.
"how can i entertain so grand a man?" said she.
"make him a dish of kheer (rice cooked with milk and sugar); and besides this, to please him, another dish of pearls."
"but where shall i get the pearls?"
"send a man to dig beneath that tree, and you will find as many as you require," replied the bird.
so the girl did as she was told, and sent a man to dig. he soon found a box full of pearls, and these she placed in a very beautiful dish, and put it alongside the plate of kheer.
the prince accepted the invitation to dinner, and came to the house.
after showing him all round, the girl led him at last to the room in which she had prepared dinner; and as her bird was also there, she told it to make a salaam to the prince, which it did.
then the first dish was uncovered, and the prince knew that he could not eat it as it was made of pearls; but the bird spoke up and said:
"o prince! are you not yet able to understand the difference between pearls and dross? when your wife bore your children, you believed them to be dogs, cats, or rats, and turned out your poor wife, who was in reality the mother of these" and she pointed to the two boys and their sister "your own children, who were exchanged by their wicked aunts for a dog, a cat, a rat, and you believed them."
on hearing this, the prince was astounded; and then the bird told him exactly all that had taken place.
delighted to be once more united to his children, he sought his poor wife, and, throwing himself at her feet, besought her with tears to forgive him.
this she very gladly did, and returned with him to the palace, where her children received her; and they were all very happy ever after.
the two wicked sisters were killed by order of the prince.
the dog temple
about eleven miles from raipur, near the village of jagasar, is a temple built to the memory of a faithful dog of the bunjara species, and this is the story of how it came to be built.
many years ago a bunjara naik, or headman of the clan of bunjaras, or wandering traders, owed money to a "marwari," or money-lender at raipur.
when pressed for payment, the bunjara, who was then standing near the marwari's shop, said: "here is my gold necklace, and here is my faithful dog: keep both till i return to my camping-ground near jagasar, and fetch you the money."
the necklace and dog were then left as security, and the man went his way.
that night the marwari's shop was broken into by thieves, and many valuables stolen, among them the golden necklace; but, before the thieves could get clear away with their stolen property, the dog got up and barked and leaped about, and made so much noise that the marwari and his men got up, caught the thieves, and recovered the property, which was of considerable worth.
the marwari was very pleased, and out of gratitude for what the dog had done, determined to cancel and forgive the debt of his master, the bunjara. so he wrote a paper to cancel it, tied it to the dog's neck and let it go, saying: "carry the tidings to your owner."
early next morning the dog trotted off, and was nearing the camping-ground which was his home, when the bunjara saw him, and, very displeased, he took a stick and struck the poor dog across the head, saying: "you brute! you could not remain even twenty-four hours with the marwari, though my honour was at stake."
the blow killed the dog on the spot, and as he fell, the bunjara noticed the slip of paper round his neck, and, on reading it, found what joyful news his dog had brought to him. not only was the debt forgiven, but the reason for it was also stated on the paper.
the grief of the bunjara was great, for in spite of his hasty temper he loved his dog, as all bunjaras do. he repented his hasty act, and wept most bitterly over his favourite, vowing that he would try and expiate the deed by building a temple to the faithful dog's memory with the money he had recovered.
the small temple now standing on the spot where this took place testifies to the fulfilment of that vow, and a small dog carved in stone indicates why the dog temple was built.
to this day it is deeply revered by all the villagers around, and the story of that faithful dog is often repeated to show how intelligent and true a dog can be.
the beautiful milkmaid
at a place called drug, near raipur in the central provinces of india, there once lived an old woman who had a very beautiful daughter.
the old woman was most unwilling that her daughter should go out into the streets, for she said: "you are so beautiful, my daughter, that i tremble lest any one take you from me."
but the girl replied: "mother, i must go and earn our daily food. let me, i pray you, sell milk and curds as usual: no harm will come to me."
the mother very reluctantly let her go; but that day a rajah happened to pass by and saw her. he noticed how beautiful she was, and stopped his elephant to ask who she was. she told him that she was of humble origin, and only a seller of milk and curds.
"then," said the rajah, "i shall buy all that you have."
"nay," replied the girl; "surely what is mine is yours, and i offer everything in homage to you."
when she persisted in refusing payment the rajah was angry, and ordered his attendants to scatter the curds, and put the girl into prison for daring to go against his wishes.
the order was obeyed, and the beautiful milkmaid found herself a prisoner.
while in prison she prayed to her gods for deliverance, and fashioning a parrot out of clay, breathed life into it and told it to go quickly to her lover, a young man grazing his herds in the hills, and tell him what had happened.
the bird flew off and did as he was told; and the lover came down that night with all his clansmen, attacked the rajah and killed him.
then he rescued the girl, who lived happily ever after as the wife of her brave deliverer.
a remedy for snake-bite
there is in india a small state called raghoghur, the rajahs of which are said to possess the power of curing snake-bite, even though it be from the most deadly cobra or karait. this power has been handed down for centuries, and was firmly believed in during the year 1896, and even up to the present moment.
every man bitten by a deadly snake in that place takes a bit of string, ties seven knots in it, and places it round his neck. as he goes along towards the palace of the rajah or raghoghur, he keeps repeating "jeth singh," "jeth singh," "jeth singh," untying each knot while so doing.
arrived at the palace, he salutes the assembled courtiers, and in their presence undoes the last of the seven knots. this done, the rajah pours water on the bite and on the man's hands. a brahmin gives his blessing, and he returns to the village cured.
this power descends from father to son, and many are the wonderful cures reported from raghoghur.
a legend of sardana
in a city called sardana there once lived a man whose name was simru. this man had great riches and lands, and also owned a place of worship.
he married a lady of sardana, who was called "begum."
after a few years of married life simru died, and his wealthy widow gave alms and much money to the poor.
in the same city lived an oil dealer who also died, and the angels took him to heaven and presented him before the almighty.
"who have you brought?" asked the creator. "this man's days upon earth are not yet completed: take him back before his body is buried, and let his spirit re-possess his body; but in the city of sardana you will find another man of the same name: bring him to me."
on leaving the court of god, some former creditor of the oil dealer's, who had preceded him into the unseen, recognised him, and laying hold of him, demanded the sum of five rupees which he had owed him during his lifetime.
the poor man being unable to pay this debt, the angels once more took him before the almighty, who asked why they had returned.
the angels replied: "o god, there is a man here to whom this oil dealer owes five rupees, and he will not let us return until the debt is paid."
the almighty enquired if this was true, and the oil dealer replied:
"yes, but i am a poor man, and not able to repay it."
then the almighty said: "in the city of sardana lives a rich begum; do you know her?"
"yes, o king."
"well, the begum's treasury is here, and i will advance you five rupees out of it, if, when you return to earth, you promise faithfully to give it back to the begum."
so the oil dealer gratefully took the loan, paid his debt, and returned with the angels to earth, where he arrived just too late to re-enter his body, which his friends had already taken away to prepare for burial. watching his opportunity, he waited till they were otherwise engaged, and at once re-entered it; but when he sat up, and began to speak, his terrified friends and relations fled, thinking it was his ghost.
on this the oil dealer called out: "do not fear, i am not a spirit; but god has released me, as my days upon earth are not yet fulfilled. the man who ought to have died is kungra, the vegetable man; go and see whether he is dead or alive."
the friends, on going to the house of kungra, found that he had just fallen from a wall and been killed on the spot; all his relations were wailing and lamenting his sudden end.
thus everybody knew that the words of the old oil dealer were correct.
in the meantime, the oil dealer called his son, and said: "son, when i went to heaven i there met a man to whom i owed five rupees, and he caught me and would not let me return before i paid it, so the almighty advanced me the money from the begum's treasury in heaven, and bade me give her back that amount on my return to earth. therefore do i entreat you, my son, to come with me, and together we will visit the begum, and give her five rupees."
so they took the money and went to the begum's house.
"who are you?" asked she.
the oil dealer then told her the whole story, ending with: "and now i come to return you the five rupees."
the begum was very pleased, and, taking the money, she called her servants and ordered a further sum of one hundred rupees to be added to it. this money she spent on sweets, which were distributed amongst the poor.
many years afterwards the good begum of sardana died, but her houses and lands are still in existence; nor does anybody living in that town forget the story of the oilman who died and lived again. [9]
the story of "bunjara tullao"
there is at a place in india called agar, a tank or pond known as the "bunjara tullao," yet no bunjara will ever drink water there.
many years ago no pond existed in that spot, and in all the country round a water famine prevailed, and the poor were perishing for want of water.
a fakir prophesied that if a man would kill his son and daughter as a sacrifice to the gods, water would be found and last always.
that night a bunjara slew his two children, and threw them into a deep hole.
in the morning when the sun shone and people woke up, lo! there was a large pond in place of the hole, and nothing was seen of the unfortunate children. then the poor filled their chatties, and went away rejoicing.
it is said that sometimes the heads of a boy and girl were seen lifted out of the water, and that they held out their hands to passers-by; but because the peasants put mud into them, they discontinued the practice.
in the centre of the "bunjara tullao" is a shrine built in memory of its origin.
there is another such pond near the sipri bazaar, which remains clear and beautiful, notwithstanding the fact that hundreds of people bathe and wash in it.
the old "guru" who lives there explains the reason for this.
"many years ago one of the gods selected the sipri bazaar tank for his bath, and ever since its waters have remained as clear as crystal."
moral. thus there is a cause for everything in the world.
the anar pari, or pomegranate fairy
once upon a time there was a king who had seven sons, all of whom were married but the youngest.
one day the queen-mother spoke to her youngest son, and said: "why are you not married? do not the maidens of my court please thee? perhaps you want what you cannot get, and that is perfection, unless, indeed, you go and seek and marry the anar pari, who is the fairest of all fairies, and whose charms are traditional."
the prince then and there registered a vow that he would not marry at all unless he found this pearl of great price, and forthwith started on his quest for her.
he put on his armour and five weapons of defence, mounted his favourite steed, and set forth.
he had proceeded a good distance when night fell, and he found himself in a forest near a small hut. entering it, he found it was occupied by a holy fakir.
the fakir said: "my son, why have you come here? where are you going? and are you not afraid of the wild animals which infest this forest?"
the prince replied: "holy father, i am going on a long journey to try and find the pomegranate fairy, so that i may wed her."
"you are going a long way indeed," replied the fakir; "but if you listen to what i tell you, your journey will not be in vain."
next morning he called the young man, and told him that he was going to enchant him and turn him into a parrot, so that he might fly to the island on which the fairy was imprisoned, and guarded day and night by seven hundred dreadful dragons. he also told him that on the island he would find a pomegranate tree with three pomegranates on it, of which he was to pluck and bring away the middle one, for in it dwelt the fairy he was so anxious to find.
"but mind you," said the fakir, "once you have plucked the pomegranate, you are not to wait an instant, or even turn to look back when the dragons come after you, for, if you once look back, all your efforts will be in vain, and you will be killed."
then the young prince was turned into a parrot and immediately flew off.
he flew and flew and flew, till he had crossed seven seas; and in the midst of the seventh sea, he at last spied an island in which was a most lovely garden, where grew an exquisite pomegranate tree, and on it three pomegranates, the centre one most beautiful to behold.
he plucked the fruit, and flew as fast as he could, but alas, the dragon who guarded the tree saw him, and called to the other dragons, who, with wild yells and terrifying noises, flew after him.
the young prince in his flight unfortunately looked back to see where they were, and was immediately burnt to a cinder, and fell to the ground with the golden pomegranate which he had worked so hard to obtain.
the dragons came up and took away the fruit, but left the burnt body of the bird upon the ground.
the fakir waited long for the return of the parrot, but as it did not come, he set out himself to find it. he was able to cross in safety by making his body invisible, and when he came to the island, the first thing he saw was the burnt body of the parrot lying in the garden.
so he took it up, breathed once more the breath of life into it, and let it go, saying: "try once more, my son, but remember that i said:
'look not back,' but fly to my hut for safety."
thus saying, he disappeared; and the parrot, watching its chance, very silently approached the tree a second time, stole the fruit, and flew as fast as he could.
the dragons pursued, but he reached the hut in safety; and the old fakir did not lose a moment, but turned him into a small fly, and then secreted the pomegranate on his person, and sat down.
almost immediately the dragons also arrived, and said: "where is the green parrot who stole the fruit?"
"look and see," said the old fakir. "i know not what you want; no green parrot is here, nor do i know where the pomegranate is that he took away."
then he went on quietly counting his beads while the dragons searched everywhere; but at last, wearied out and finding nothing, they went away, feeling very angry at the loss of their fairy.
as soon as they had gone, the fakir caused the prince to resume his original form, and, handing him the pomegranate, said: "go back to your palace; and when you have got there, break the pomegranate, and out of it will step the most beautiful woman you have ever seen; take her to be your wife, and may luck go with you."
the young prince then mounted his steed, and thanked the old fakir for all his assistance.
as he neared his father's palace he came to a well in a garden, and having tied his horse to a tree, he went and rested beside the well, and looked at the pomegranate.
"i think i will break it now, and see if a fairy comes out, for if i wait to do so in my father's house before all his courtiers, suppose no fairy appeared, i should be ashamed to death."
so saying, he broke it, and immediately a most lovely woman appeared, bright and dazzling as the sun itself. as soon as he beheld her, he was so entranced that he fell into a swoon. then the fairy lifted his head very gently, and placing it on her knee, allowed him to sleep on.
while he slept a young woman of low caste came to draw water. seeing the beautiful fairy, she enquired of her if the sleeping man was the king's youngest son, and if she was the anar pari whom he had gone to seek.
hearing that this was so, she was filled with envy, and planned in her mind how she might take the life of the fairy. so she went up to her, and said: "o fairy, you are most beautiful, but i would be beautiful too if i had on your clothes: come, let us exchange our dresses (or sarees), and see how you look in my clothes."
the fairy did as she wished, and the young woman said: "look how beautiful i am; let us go to the well and behold our reflections in the water to see which is the most beautiful."
the fairy bent forward to see herself, and, as she did so, the young woman pushed her so that she fell into the well and sank into the water.
having done this, the wicked young woman woke up the prince, saying:
"come, let us go to the king's palace."
the prince looked doubtfully at her, but, being still half asleep, and seeing that she wore the same dress as anar pari had on, he assented, believing his passing doubt to be unreasonable.
his arrival at the palace was made an occasion for great rejoicings, and all were glad that he was at last happily married.
the new princess would never allow him to leave her, for she feared that he might return to the well; but one day, unknown to her, he found his way there, and looking in, saw floating upon the water a most exquisite lotus lily of pure white, the most perfect flower he had ever seen.
he asked his servants to hook it out for him; but each time they tried to do so, the flower disappeared beneath the water. at last he tried himself to get it, and succeeded easily, for the lily floated towards the hook that he let down.
the prince took the flower home and looked after it with the greatest care; but when his wife heard where it had come from, she went at night and, tearing it into several pieces, flung it out of the window.
as the broken fragments of the lotus touched the earth, they turned into a bed of mint which grew luxuriantly.
some of this mint was earned into the king's kitchen, to be used for seasoning dishes; but as the cook began to fry it, a voice was heard from the frying pan, saying: "here am i, the real princess, being fried to death, while the wicked woman who threw me into the well has taken my place."
the cook when he heard this was afraid, and threw the mint into the garden again. as soon as it touched the ground it became a lovely creeper, which grew and grew until it gradually approached the bed-chamber of the prince.
the false princess when she saw it at once remembered how she had thrown the fragments of the lotus lily into the garden, and, fearing lest this might be an offshoot from it, she ordered her gardener to uproot the creeper and cut it down at once.
the gardener did so, but as he was removing it, the one and only fruit on the tree fell to the ground and rolled under a jessamine bush, where it remained in security.
the gardener's daughter, who came every morning to gather flowers from this bush to weave into garlands, accidentally noticed the fruit lying beneath it, picked it up, and carried it home.
as she entered the gardener's little hut, the fruit fell to the ground and broke open, and out of it stepped the lovely anar pari.
the good people of the house were filled with wonder and admiration to see so peerless a being in their humble cottage. they gave her shelter and fed her, the gardener's daughter loving her as a sister, and the gardener as a father.
one day, as the gardener's daughter sat weaving her garlands of jessamine for the king's court, the fairy said: "please allow me to make one too; and when it is ready, take it and put it on the neck of the youngest prince."
so she made it; and when two garlands were completed they were taken to the prince and princess. the princess noticed that the prince's garland was made in wonderful fashion, and enquired who had made it. they told her that a very lovely woman living in the gardener's hut had made it, and, suspecting at once that this was anar pari come to life again, she thought of some plan by which she could destroy her.
the next day she feigned great illness and a very severe headache, which she declared nothing would cure but the placing of a heart of a young and beautiful girl on her forehead. she therefore begged for the heart of the girl who lived in the gardener's hut, and orders were given for her execution.
the gardener and his daughter wept most bitterly, and the executioners were feign to spare the life of so lovely a woman; yet they were obliged to fulfil their orders, so they led the girl to the place of execution.
before they killed her she begged that her limbs might be scattered to the four winds, and her two eyes thrown upwards into space.
the executioners did as she desired, and her heart was sent to the wicked princess.
as soon as anar pari's eyes were thrown into the air, they became a pair of love-birds and flew into the forest.
many days after, the prince went to hunt in the forest, and was resting himself under the trees when he heard two love-birds talking in the branches, and one was telling the other the story of her life. how she was once anar pari, a beautiful fairy, and how a wicked woman had enticed her away from the side of the prince while he slept, and thrown her down a well, and how the woman was now reigning in her stead as princess at the palace.
the young prince was amazed to hear all this, and looking up, cried: "i have at last found you. come down and be my fairy princess once again."
then two laughing, loving eyes appeared, and presently they were set in the form of a woman, and the prince once again beheld the world-renowned form of anar pari.
they went together to the palace, and there the prince ordered the false princess to be brought out, and told everybody present the story of her wickedness.
the sentence passed upon her was that she was to be buried alive near the well; this was done, and to this day nobody dare go near it. then the prince married the fairy, and they lived happily ever afterwards; but the old gardener and his daughter were not forgotten, and very often the beautiful princess sat with her friends, and the two girls weaved garlands together, and spoke lovingly of the time when anar pari had dwelt in the old hut in the garden.
japanese fairy tales
my lord bag of rice.
long, long ago there lived, in japan a brave warrior known to all as tawara toda, or "my lord bag of rice." his true name was fujiwara hidesato, and there is a very interesting story of how he came to change his name.
one day he sallied forth in search of adventures, for he had the nature of a warrior and could not bear to be idle. so he buckled on his two swords, took his huge bow, much taller than himself, in his hand, and slinging his quiver on his back started out. he had not gone far when he came to the bridge of seta-no-karashi spanning one end of the beautiful lake biwa. no sooner had he set foot on the bridge than he saw lying right across his path a huge serpent-dragon. its body was so big that it looked like the trunk of a large pine tree and it took up the whole width of the bridge. one of its huge claws rested on the parapet of one side of the bridge, while its tail lay right against the other. the monster seemed to be asleep, and as it breathed, fire and smoke came out of its nostrils.
at first hidesato could not help feeling alarmed at the sight of this horrible reptile lying in his path, for he must either turn back or walk right over its body. he was a brave man, however, and putting aside all fear went forward dauntlessly. crunch, crunch! he stepped now on the dragon's body, now between its coils, and without even one glance backward he went on his way.
he had only gone a few steps when he heard some one calling him from behind. on turning back he was much surprised to see that the monster dragon had entirely disappeared and in its place was a strange-looking man, who was bowing most ceremoniously to the ground. his red hair streamed over his shoulders and was surmounted by a crown in the shape of a dragon's head, and his sea-green dress was patterned with shells.
hidesato knew at once that this was no ordinary mortal and he wondered much at the strange occurrence. where had the dragon gone in such a short space of time? or had it transformed itself into this man, and what did the whole thing mean? while these thoughts passed through his mind he had come up to the man on the bridge and now addressed him:
"was it you that called me just now?"
"yes, it was i," answered the man: "i have an earnest request to make to you. do you think you can grant it to me?"
"if it is in my power to do so i will," answered hidesato, "but first tell me who you are?"
"i am the dragon king of the lake, and my home is in these waters just under this bridge."
"and what is it you have to ask of me?" said hidesato.
"i want you to kill my mortal enemy the centipede, who lives on the mountain beyond," and the dragon king pointed to a high peak on the opposite shore of the lake.
"i have lived now for many years in this lake and i have a large family of children and grand-children. for some time past we have lived in terror, for a monster centipede has discovered our home, and night after night it comes and carries off one of my family. i am powerless to save them. if it goes on much longer like this, not only shall i lose all my children, but i myself must fall a victim to the monster. i am, therefore, very unhappy, and in my extremity i determined to ask the help of a human being. for many days with this intention i have waited on the bridge in the shape of the horrible serpent-dragon that you saw, in the hope that some strong brave man would come along. but all who came this way, as soon as they saw me were terrified and ran away as fast as they could. you are the first man i have found able to look at me without fear, so i knew at once that you were a man of great courage. i beg you to have pity upon me. will you not help me and kill my enemy the centipede?"
hidesato felt very sorry for the dragon king on hearing his story, and readily promised to do what he could to help him. the warrior asked where the centipede lived, so that he might attack the creature at once. the dragon king replied that its home was on the mountain mikami, but that as it came every night at a certain hour to the palace of the lake, it would be better to wait till then. so hidesato was conducted to the palace of the dragon king, under the bridge. strange to say, as he followed his host downwards the waters parted to let them pass, and his clothes did not even feel damp as he passed through the flood.
never had hidesato seen anything so beautiful as this palace built of white marble beneath the lake. he had often heard of the sea king's palace at the bottom of the sea, where all the servants and retainers were salt-water fishes, but here was a magnificent building in the heart of lake biwa. the dainty goldfishes, red carp, and silvery trout, waited upon the dragon king and his guest.
hidesato was astonished at the feast that was spread for him. the dishes were crystallized lotus leaves and flowers, and the chopsticks were of the rarest ebony. as soon as they sat down, the sliding doors opened and ten lovely goldfish dancers came out, and behind them followed ten red-carp musicians with the koto and the samisen. thus the hours flew by till midnight, and the beautiful music and dancing had banished all thoughts of the centipede. the dragon king was about to pledge the warrior in a fresh cup of wine when the palace was suddenly shaken by a tramp, tramp! as if a mighty army had begun to march not far away.
hidesato and his host both rose to their feet and rushed to the balcony, and the warrior saw on the opposite mountain two great balls of glowing fire coming nearer and nearer. the dragon king stood by the warrior's side trembling with fear.
"the centipede! the centipede! those two balls of fire are its eyes. it is coming for its prey! now is the time to kill it."
hidesato looked where his host pointed, and, in the dim light of the starlit evening, behind the two balls of fire he saw the long body of an enormous centipede winding round the mountains, and the light in its hundred feet glowed like so many distant lanterns moving slowly towards the shore.
hidesato showed not the least sign of fear. he tried to calm the dragon king.
"don't be afraid. i shall surely kill the centipede. just bring me my bow and arrows."
the dragon king did as he was bid, and the warrior noticed that he had only three arrows left in his quiver. he took the bow, and fitting an arrow to the notch, took careful aim and let fly.
the arrow hit the centipede right in the middle of its head, but instead of penetrating, it glanced off harmless and fell to the ground.
nothing daunted, hidesato took another arrow, fitted it to the notch of the bow and let fly. again the arrow hit the mark, it struck the centipede right in the middle of its head, only to glance off and fall to the ground. the centipede was invulnerable to weapons! when the dragon king saw that even this brave warrior's arrows were powerless to kill the centipede, he lost heart and began to tremble with fear.
the warrior saw that he had now only one arrow left in his quiver, and if this one failed he could not kill the centipede. he looked across the waters. the huge reptile had wound its horrid body seven times round the mountain and would soon come down to the lake. nearer and nearer gleamed fireballs of eyes, and the light of its hundred feet began to throw reflections in the still waters of the lake.
then suddenly the warrior remembered that he had heard that human saliva was deadly to centipedes. but this was no ordinary centipede.
this was so monstrous that even to think of such a creature made one creep with horror. hidesato determined to try his last chance. so taking his last arrow and first putting the end of it in his mouth, he fitted the notch to his bow, took careful aim once more and let fly.
this time the arrow again hit the centipede right in the middle of its head, but instead of glancing off harmlessly as before, it struck home to the creature's brain. then with a convulsive shudder the serpentine body stopped moving, and the fiery light of its great eyes and hundred feet darkened to a dull glare like the sunset of a stormy day, and then went out in blackness. a great darkness now overspread the heavens, the thunder rolled and the lightning flashed, and the wind roared in fury, and it seemed as if the world were coming to an end. the dragon king and his children and retainers all crouched in different parts of the palace, frightened to death, for the building was shaken to its foundation. at last the dreadful night was over. day dawned beautiful and clear. the centipede was gone from the mountain.
then hidesato called to the dragon king to come out with him on the balcony, for the centipede was dead and he had nothing more to fear.
then all the inhabitants of the palace came out with joy, and hidesato pointed to the lake. there lay the body of the dead centipede floating on the water, which was dyed red with its blood.
the gratitude of the dragon king knew no bounds. the whole family came and bowed down before the warrior, calling him their preserver and the bravest warrior in all japan.
another feast was prepared, more sumptuous than the first. all kinds of fish, prepared in every imaginable way, raw, stewed, boiled and roasted, served on coral trays and crystal dishes, were put before him, and the wine was the best that hidesato had ever tasted in his life. to add to the beauty of everything the sun shone brightly, the lake glittered like a liquid diamond, and the palace was a thousand times more beautiful by day than by night.
his host tried to persuade the warrior to stay a few days, but hidesato insisted on going home, saying that he had now finished what he had come to do, and must return. the dragon king and his family were all very sorry to have him leave so soon, but since he would go they begged him to accept a few small presents (so they said) in token of their gratitude to him for delivering them forever from their horrible enemy the centipede.
as the warrior stood in the porch taking leave, a train of fish was suddenly transformed into a retinue of men, all wearing ceremonial robes and dragon's crowns on their heads to show that they were servants of the great dragon king. the presents that they carried were as follows:
first, a large bronze bell.
second, a bag of rice.
third, a roll of silk.
fourth, a cooking pot.
fifth, a bell.
hidesato did not want to accept all these presents, but as the dragon king insisted, he could not well refuse.
the dragon king himself accompanied the warrior as far as the bridge, and then took leave of him with many bows and good wishes, leaving the procession of servants to accompany hidesato to his house with the presents.
the warrior's household and servants had been very much concerned when they found that he did not return the night before, but they finally concluded that he had been kept by the violent storm and had taken shelter somewhere. when the servants on the watch for his return caught sight of him they called to every one that he was approaching, and the whole household turned out to meet him, wondering much what the retinue of men, bearing presents and banners, that followed him, could mean.
as soon as the dragon king's retainers had put down the presents they vanished, and hidesato told all that had happened to him.
the presents which he had received from the grateful dragon king were found to be of magic power. the bell only was ordinary, and as hidesato had no use for it he presented it to the temple near by, where it was hung up, to boom out the hour of day over the surrounding neighborhood.
the single bag of rice, however much was taken from it day after day for the meals of the knight and his whole family, never grew less the supply in the bag was inexhaustible.
the roll of silk, too, never grew shorter, though time after time long pieces were cut off to make the warrior a new suit of clothes to go to court in at the new year.
the cooking pot was wonderful, too. no matter what was put into it, it cooked deliciously whatever was wanted without any firing truly a very economical saucepan.
the fame of hidesato's fortune spread far and wide, and as there was no need for him to spend money on rice or silk or firing, he became very rich and prosperous, and was henceforth known as my lord bag of rice.
the tongue-cut sparrow.
long, long ago in japan there lived an old man and his wife. the old man was a good, kind-hearted, hard-working old fellow, but his wife was a regular cross-patch, who spoiled the happiness of her home by her scolding tongue. she was always grumbling about something from morning to night. the old man had for a long time ceased to take any notice of her crossness. he was out most of the day at work in the fields, and as he had no child, for his amusement when he came home, he kept a tame sparrow. he loved the little bird just as much as if she had been his child.
when he came back at night after his hard day's work in the open air it was his only pleasure to pet the sparrow, to talk to her and to teach her little tricks, which she learned very quickly. the old man would open her cage and let her fly about the room, and they would play together. then when supper-time came, he always saved some tit-bits from his meal with which to feed his little bird.
now one day the old man went out to chop wood in the forest, and the old woman stopped at home to wash clothes. the day before, she had made some starch, and now when she came to look for it, it was all gone; the bowl which she had filled full yesterday was quite empty.
while she was wondering who could have used or stolen the starch, down flew the pet sparrow, and bowing her little feathered head a trick which she had been taught by her master the pretty bird chirped and said:
"it is i who have taken the starch. i thought it was some food put out for me in that basin, and i ate it all. if i have made a mistake i beg you to forgive me! tweet, tweet, tweet!"
you see from this that the sparrow was a truthful bird, and the old woman ought to have been willing to forgive her at once when she asked her pardon so nicely. but not so.
the old woman had never loved the sparrow, and had often quarreled with her husband for keeping what she called a dirty bird about the house, saying that it only made extra work for her. now she was only too delighted to have some cause of complaint against the pet. she scolded and even cursed the poor little bird for her bad behavior, and not content with using these harsh, unfeeling words, in a fit of rage she seized the sparrow who all this time had spread out her wings and bowed her head before the old woman, to show how sorry she was and fetched the scissors and cut off the poor little bird's tongue.
"i suppose you took my starch with that tongue! now you may see what it is like to go without it!" and with these dreadful words she drove the bird away, not caring in the least what might happen to it and without the smallest pity for its suffering, so unkind was she!
the old woman, after she had driven the sparrow away, made some more rice-paste, grumbling all the time at the trouble, and after starching all her clothes, spread the things on boards to dry in the sun, instead of ironing them as they do in england.
in the evening the old man came home. as usual, on the way back he looked forward to the time when he should reach his gate and see his pet come flying and chirping to meet him, ruffling out her feathers to show her joy, and at last coming to rest on his shoulder. but to-night the old man was very disappointed, for not even the shadow of his dear sparrow was to be seen.
he quickened his steps, hastily drew off his straw sandals, and stepped on to the veranda. still no sparrow was to be seen. he now felt sure that his wife, in one of her cross tempers, had shut the sparrow up in its cage. so he called her and said anxiously:
"where is suzume san (miss sparrow) today?"
the old woman pretended not to know at first, and answered:
"your sparrow? i am sure i don't know. now i come to think of it, i haven't seen her all the afternoon. i shouldn't wonder if the ungrateful bird had flown away and left you after all your petting!"
but at last, when the old man gave her no peace, but asked her again and again, insisting that she must know what had happened to his pet, she confessed all. she told him crossly how the sparrow had eaten the rice-paste she had specially made for starching her clothes, and how when the sparrow had confessed to what she had done, in great anger she had taken her scissors and cut out her tongue, and how finally she had driven the bird away and forbidden her to return to the house again.
then the old woman showed her husband the sparrow's tongue, saying:
"here is the tongue i cut off! horrid little bird, why did it eat all my starch?"
"how could you be so cruel? oh! how could you so cruel?" was all that the old man could answer. he was too kind-hearted to punish his be shrew of a wife, but he was terribly distressed at what had happened to his poor little sparrow.
"what a dreadful misfortune for my poor suzume san to lose her tongue!"
he said to himself. "she won't be able to chirp any more, and surely the pain of the cutting of it out in that rough way must have made her ill! is there nothing to be done?"
the old man shed many tears after his cross wife had gone to sleep.
while he wiped away the tears with the sleeve of his cotton robe, a bright thought comforted him: he would go and look for the sparrow on the morrow. having decided this he was able to go to sleep at last.
the next morning he rose early, as soon as ever the day broke, and snatching a hasty breakfast, started out over the hills and through the woods, stopping at every clump of bamboos to cry:
"where, oh where does my tongue-cut sparrow stay? where, oh where, does my tongue-cut sparrow stay!"
he never stopped to rest for his noonday meal, and it was far on in the afternoon when he found himself near a large bamboo wood. bamboo groves are the favorite haunts of sparrows, and there sure enough at the edge of the wood he saw his own dear sparrow waiting to welcome him. he could hardly believe his eyes for joy, and ran forward quickly to greet her. she bowed her little head and went through a number of the tricks her master had taught her, to show her pleasure at seeing her old friend again, and, wonderful to relate, she could talk as of old. the old man told her how sorry he was for all that had happened, and inquired after her tongue, wondering how she could speak so well without it. then the sparrow opened her beak and showed him that a new tongue had grown in place of the old one, and begged him not to think any more about the past, for she was quite well now. then the old man knew that his sparrow was a fairy, and no common bird. it would be difficult to exaggerate the old man's rejoicing now. he forgot all his troubles, he forgot even how tired he was, for he had found his lost sparrow, and instead of being ill and without a tongue as he had feared and expected to find her, she was well and happy and with a new tongue, and without a sign of the ill-treatment she had received from his wife.
and above all she was a fairy.
the sparrow asked him to follow her, and flying before him she led him to a beautiful house in the heart of the bamboo grove. the old man was utterly astonished when he entered the house to find what a beautiful place it was. it was built of the whitest wood, the soft cream-colored mats which took the place of carpets were the finest he had ever seen, and the cushions that the sparrow brought out for him to sit on were made of the finest silk and crape. beautiful vases and lacquer boxes adorned the tokonoma[1] of every room.
[1] an alcove where precious objects are displayed.
the sparrow led the old man to the place of honor, and then, taking her place at a humble distance, she thanked him with many polite bows for all the kindness he had shown her for many long years.
then the lady sparrow, as we will now call her, introduced all her family to the old man. this done, her daughters, robed in dainty crape gowns, brought in on beautiful old-fashioned trays a feast of all kinds of delicious foods, till the old man began to think he must be dreaming. in the middle of the dinner some of the sparrow's daughters performed a wonderful dance, called the "suzume-odori" or the "sparrow's dance," to amuse the guest.
never had the old man enjoyed himself so much. the hours flew by too quickly in this lovely spot, with all these fairy sparrows to wait upon him and to feast him and to dance before him.
but the night came on and the darkness reminded him that he had a long way to go and must think about taking his leave and return home. he thanked his kind hostess for her splendid entertainment, and begged her for his sake to forget all she had suffered at the hands of his cross old wife. he told the lady sparrow that it was a great comfort and happiness to him to find her in such a beautiful home and to know that she wanted for nothing. it was his anxiety to know how she fared and what had really happened to her that had led him to seek her. now he knew that all was well he could return home with a light heart. if ever she wanted him for anything she had only to send for him and he would come at once.
the lady sparrow begged him to stay and rest several days and enjoy the change, but the old man said he must return to his old wife who would probably be cross at his not coming home at the usual time and to his work, and there-fore, much as he wished to do so, he could not accept her kind invitation. but now that he knew where the lady sparrow lived he would come to see her whenever he had the time.
when the lady sparrow saw that she could not persuade the old man to stay longer, she gave an order to some of her servants, and they at once brought in two boxes, one large and the other small. these were placed before the old man, and the lady sparrow asked him to choose whichever he liked for a present, which she wished to give him.
the old man could not refuse this kind proposal, and he chose the smaller box, saying:
"i am now too old and feeble to carry the big and heavy box. as you are so kind as to say that i may take whichever i like, i will choose the small one, which will be easier for me to carry."
then the sparrows all helped him put it on his back and went to the gate to see him off, bidding him good-by with many bows and entreating him to come again whenever he had the time. thus the old man and his pet sparrow separated quite happily, the sparrow showing not the least ill-will for all the unkindness she had suffered at the hands of the old wife. indeed, she only felt sorrow for the old man who had to put up with it all his life.
when the old man reached home he found his wife even crosser than usual, for it was late on in the night and she had been waiting up for him for a long time.
"where have you been all this time?" she asked in a big voice. "why do you come back so late?"
the old man tried to pacify her by showing her the box of presents he had brought back with him, and then he told her of all that had happened to him, and how wonderfully he had been entertained at the sparrow's house.
"now let us see what is in the box," said the old man, not giving her time to grumble again. "you must help me open it." and they both sat down before the box and opened it.
to their utter astonishment they found the box filled to the brim with gold and silver coins and many other precious things. the mats of their little cottage fairly glittered as they took out the things one by one and put them down and handled them over and over again. the old man was overjoyed at the sight of the riches that were now his. beyond his brightest expectations was the sparrow's gift, which would enable him to give up work and live in ease and comfort the rest of his days.
he said: "thanks to my good little sparrow! thanks to my good little sparrow!" many times.
but the old woman, after the first moments of surprise and satisfaction at the sight of the gold and silver were over, could not suppress the greed of her wicked nature. she now began to reproach the old man for not having brought home the big box of presents, for in the innocence of his heart he had told her how he had refused the large box of presents which the sparrows had offered him, preferring the smaller one because it was light and easy to carry home.
"you silly old man," said she, "why did you not bring the large box?
just think what we have lost. we might have had twice as much silver and gold as this. you are certainly an old fool!" she screamed, and then went to bed as angry as she could be.
the old man now wished that he had said nothing about the big box, but it was too late; the greedy old woman, not contented with the good luck which had so unexpectedly befallen them and which she so little deserved, made up her mind, if possible, to get more.
early the next morning she got up and made the old man describe the way to the sparrow's house. when he saw what was in her mind he tried to keep her from going, but it was useless. she would not listen to one word he said. it is strange that the old woman did not feel ashamed of going to see the sparrow after the cruel way she had treated her in cutting off her tongue in a fit of rage. but her greed to get the big box made her forget everything else. it did not even enter her thoughts that the sparrows might be angry with her as, indeed, they were and might punish her for what she had done.
ever since the lady sparrow had returned home in the sad plight in which they had first found her, weeping and bleeding from the mouth, her whole family and relations had done little else but speak of the cruelty of the old woman. "how could she," they asked each other, "inflict such a heavy punishment for such a trifling offense as that of eating some rice-paste by mistake?" they all loved the old man who was so kind and good and patient under all his troubles, but the old woman they hated, and they determined, if ever they had the chance, to punish her as she deserved. they had not long to wait.
after walking for some hours the old woman had at last found the bamboo grove which she had made her husband carefully describe, and now she stood before it crying out:
"where is the tongue-cut sparrow's house? where is the tongue-cut sparrow's house?"
at last she saw the eaves of the house peeping out from amongst the bamboo foliage. she hastened to the door and knocked loudly.
when the servants told the lady sparrow that her old mistress was at the door asking to see her, she was somewhat surprised at the unexpected visit, after all that had taken place, and she wondered not a little at the boldness of the old woman in venturing to come to the house. the lady sparrow, however, was a polite bird, and so she went out to greet the old woman, remembering that she had once been her mistress.
the old woman intended, however, to waste no time in words, she went right to the point, without the least shame, and said:
"you need not trouble to entertain me as you did my old man. i have come myself to get the box which he so stupidly left behind. i shall soon take my leave if you will give me the big box that is all i want!"
the lady sparrow at once consented, and told her servants to bring out the big box. the old woman eagerly seized it and hoisted it on her back, and without even stopping to thank the lady sparrow began to hurry homewards.
the box was so heavy that she could not walk fast, much less run, as she would have liked to do, so anxious was she to get home and see what was inside the box, but she had often to sit down and rest herself by the way.
while she was staggering along under the heavy load, her desire to open the box became too great to be resisted. she could wait no longer, for she supposed this big box to be full of gold and silver and precious jewels like the small one her husband had received.
at last this greedy and selfish old woman put down the box by the wayside and opened it carefully, expecting to gloat her eyes on a mine of wealth. what she saw, however, so terrified her that she nearly lost her senses. as soon as she lifted the lid, a number of horrible and frightful looking demons bounced out of the box and surrounded her as if they intended to kill her. not even in nightmares had she ever seen such horrible creatures as her much-coveted box contained. a demon with one huge eye right in the middle of its forehead came and glared at her, monsters with gaping mouths looked as if they would devour her, a huge snake coiled and hissed about her, and a big frog hopped and croaked towards her.
the old woman had never been so frightened in her life, and ran from the spot as fast as her quaking legs would carry her, glad to escape alive. when she reached home she fell to the floor and told her husband with tears all that had happened to her, and how she had been nearly killed by the demons in the box.
then she began to blame the sparrow, but the old man stopped her at once, saying:
"don't blame the sparrow, it is your wickedness which has at last met with its reward. i only hope this may be a lesson to you in the future!"
the old woman said nothing more, and from that day she repented of her cross, unkind ways, and by degrees became a good old woman, so that her husband hardly knew her to be the same person, and they spent their last days together happily, free from want or care, spending carefully the treasure the old man had received from his pet, the tongue-cut sparrow.
the story of urashima taro, the fisher lad.
long, long ago in the province of tango there lived on the shore of japan in the little fishing village of mizu-no-ye a young fisherman named urashima taro. his father had been a fisherman before him, and his skill had more than doubly descended to his son, for urashima was the most skillful fisher in all that country side, and could catch more bonito and tai in a day than his comrades could in a week.
but in the little fishing village, more than for being a clever fisher of the sea was he known for his kind heart. in his whole life he had never hurt anything, either great or small, and when a boy, his companions had always laughed at him, for he would never join with them in teasing animals, but always tried to keep them from this cruel sport.
one soft summer twilight he was going home at the end of a day's fishing when he came upon a group of children. they were all screaming and talking at the tops of their voices, and seemed to be in a state of great excitement about something, and on his going up to them to see what was the matter he saw that they were tormenting a tortoise. first one boy pulled it this way, then another boy pulled it that way, while a third child beat it with a stick, and the fourth hammered its shell with a stone.
now urashima felt very sorry for the poor tortoise and made up his mind to rescue it. he spoke to the boys:
"look here, boys, you are treating that poor tortoise so badly that it will soon die!"
the boys, who were all of an age when children seem to delight in being cruel to animals, took no notice of urashima's gentle reproof, but went on teasing it as before. one of the older boys answered:
"who cares whether it lives or dies? we do not. here, boys, go on, go on!"
and they began to treat the poor tortoise more cruelly than ever.
urashima waited a moment, turning over in his mind what would be the best way to deal with the boys. he would try to persuade them to give the tortoise up to him, so he smiled at them and said:
"i am sure you are all good, kind boys! now won't you give me the tortoise? i should like to have it so much!"
"no, we won't give you the tortoise," said one of the boys. "why should we? we caught it ourselves."
"what you say is true," said urashima, "but i do not ask you to give it to me for nothing. i will give you some money for it in other words, the ojisan (uncle) will buy it of you. won't that do for you, my boys?"
he held up the money to them, strung on a piece of string through a hole in the center of each coin. "look, boys, you can buy anything you like with this money. you can do much more with this money than you can with that poor tortoise. see what good boys you are to listen to me."
the boys were not bad boys at all, they were only mischievous, and as urashima spoke they were won by his kind smile and gentle words and began "to be of his spirit," as they say in japan. gradually they all came up to him, the ringleader of the little band holding out the tortoise to him.
"very well, ojisan, we will give you the tortoise if you will give us the money!" and urashima took the tortoise and gave the money to the boys, who, calling to each other, scampered away and were soon out of sight.
then urashima stroked the tortoise's back, saying as he did so:
"oh, you poor thing! poor thing! there, there! you are safe now! they say that a stork lives for a thousand years, but the tortoise for ten thousand years. you have the longest life of any creature in this world, and you were in great danger of having that precious life cut short by those cruel boys. luckily i was passing by and saved you, and so life is still yours. now i am going to take you back to your home, the sea, at once. do not let yourself be caught again, for there might be no one to save you next time!"
all the time that the kind fisherman was speaking he was walking quickly to the shore and out upon the rocks; then putting the tortoise into the water he watched the animal disappear, and turned homewards himself, for he was tired and the sun had set.
the next morning urashima went out as usual in his boat. the weather was fine and the sea and sky were both blue and soft in the tender haze of the summer morning. urashima got into his boat and dreamily pushed out to sea, throwing his line as he did so. he soon passed the other fishing boats and left them behind him till they were lost to sight in the distance, and his boat drifted further and further out upon the blue waters. somehow, he knew not why, he felt unusually happy that morning; and he could not help wishing that, like the tortoise he set free the day before, he had thousands of years to live instead of his own short span of human life.
he was suddenly startled from his reverie by hearing his own name called:
"urashima, urashima!"
clear as a bell and soft as the summer wind the name floated over the sea.
he stood up and looked in every direction, thinking that one of the other boats had overtaken him, but gaze as he might over the wide expanse of water, near or far there was no sign of a boat, so the voice could not have come from any human being.
startled, and wondering who or what it was that had called him so clearly, he looked in all directions round about him and saw that without his knowing it a tortoise had come to the side of the boat.
urashima saw with surprise that it was the very tortoise he had rescued the day before.
"well, mr. tortoise," said urashima, "was it you who called my name just now?"
the tortoise nodded its head several times and said:
"yes, it was i. yesterday in your honorable shadow (o kage sama de) my life was saved, and i have come to offer you my thanks and to tell you how grateful i am for your kindness to me."
"indeed," said urashima, "that is very polite of you. come up into the boat. i would offer you a smoke, but as you are a tortoise doubtless you do not smoke," and the fisherman laughed at the joke.
"he-he-he-he!" laughed the tortoise; "sake (rice wine) is my favorite refreshment, but i do not care for tobacco."
"indeed," said urashima, "i regret very much that i have no "sake" in my boat to offer you, but come up and dry your back in the sun tortoises always love to do that."
so the tortoise climbed into the boat, the fisherman helping him, and after an exchange of complimentary speeches the tortoise said:
"have you ever seen rin gin, the palace of the dragon king of the sea, urashima?"
the fisherman shook his head and replied; "no; year after year the sea has been my home, but though i have often heard of the dragon king's realm under the sea i have never yet set eyes on that wonderful place.
it must be very far away, if it exists at all!"
"is that really so? you have never seen the sea king's palace? then you have missed seeing one of the most wonderful sights in the whole universe. it is far away at the bottom of the sea, but if i take you there we shall soon reach the place. if you would like to see the sea king's land i will be your guide."
"i should like to go there, certainly, and you are very kind to think of taking me, but you must remember that i am only a poor mortal and have not the power of swimming like a sea creature such as you are "
before the fisherman could say more the tortoise stopped him, saying:
"what? you need not swim yourself. if you will ride on my back i will take you without any trouble on your part."
"but," said urashima, "how is it possible for me to ride on your small back?"
"it may seem absurd to you, but i assure you that you can do so. try at once! just come and get on my back, and see if it is as impossible as you think!"
as the tortoise finished speaking, urashima looked at its shell, and strange to say he saw that the creature had suddenly grown so big that a man could easily sit on its back.
"this is strange indeed!" said urashima; "then. mr. tortoise, with your kind permission i will get on your back. dokoisho!"[2] he exclaimed as he jumped on.
[2] "all right" (only used by lower classes).
the tortoise, with an unmoved face, as if this strange proceeding were quite an ordinary event, said:
"now we will set out at our leisure," and with these words he leapt into the sea with urashima on his back. down through the water the tortoise dived. for a long time these two strange companions rode through the sea. urashima never grew tired, nor his clothes moist with the water. at last, far away in the distance a magnificent gate appeared, and behind the gate, the long, sloping roofs of a palace on the horizon.
"ya," exclaimed urashima. "that looks like the gate of some large palace just appearing! mr. tortoise, can you tell what that place is we can now see?"
"that is the great gate of the rin gin palace, the large roof that you see behind the gate is the sea king's palace itself."
"then we have at last come to the realm of the sea king and to his palace," said urashima.
"yes, indeed," answered the tortoise, "and don't you think we have come very quickly?" and while he was speaking the tortoise reached the side of the gate. "and here we are, and you must please walk from here."
the tortoise now went in front, and speaking to the gatekeeper, said:
"this is urashima taro, from the country of japan. i have had the honor of bringing him as a visitor to this kingdom. please show him the way."
then the gatekeeper, who was a fish, at once led the way through the gate before them.
the red bream, the flounder, the sole, the cuttlefish, and all the chief vassals of the dragon king of the sea now came out with courtly bows to welcome the stranger.
"urashima sama, urashima sama! welcome to the sea palace, the home of the dragon king of the sea. thrice welcome are you, having come from such a distant country. and you, mr. tortoise, we are greatly indebted to you for all your trouble in bringing urashima here." then, turning again to urashima, they said, "please follow us this way," and from here the whole band of fishes became his guides.
urashima, being only a poor fisher lad, did not know how to behave in a palace; but, strange though it was all to him, he did not feel ashamed or embarrassed, but followed his kind guides quite calmly where they led to the inner palace. when he reached the portals a beautiful princess with her attendant maidens came out to welcome him. she was more beautiful than any human being, and was robed in flowing garments of red and soft green like the under side of a wave, and golden threads glimmered through the folds of her gown. her lovely black hair streamed over her shoulders in the fashion of a king's daughter many hundreds of years ago, and when she spoke her voice sounded like music over the water. urashima was lost in wonder while he looked upon her, and he could not speak. then he remembered that he ought to bow, but before he could make a low obeisance the princess took him by the hand and led him to a beautiful hall, and to the seat of honor at the upper end, and bade him be seated.
"urashima taro, it gives me the highest pleasure to welcome you to my father's kingdom," said the princess. "yesterday you set free a tortoise, and i have sent for you to thank you for saving my life, for i was that tortoise. now if you like you shall live here forever in the land of eternal youth, where summer never dies and where sorrow never comes, and i will be your bride if you will, and we will live together happily forever afterwards!"
and as urashima listened to her sweet words and gazed upon her lovely face his heart was filled with a great wonder and joy, and he answered her, wondering if it was not all a dream:
"thank you a thousand times for your kind speech. there is nothing i could wish for more than to be permitted to stay here with you in this beautiful land, of which i have often heard, but have never seen to this day. beyond all words, this is the most wonderful place i have ever seen."
while he was speaking a train of fishes appeared, all dressed in ceremonial, trailing garments. one by one, silently and with stately steps, they entered the hall, bearing on coral trays delicacies of fish and seaweed, such as no one can dream of, and this wondrous feast was set before the bride and bridegroom. the bridal was celebrated with dazzling splendor, and in the sea king's realm there was great rejoicing. as soon as the young pair had pledged themselves in the wedding cup of wine, three times three, music was played, and songs were sung, and fishes with silver scales and golden tails stepped in from the waves and danced. urashima enjoyed himself with all his heart.
never in his whole life had he sat down to such a marvelous feast.
when the feast was over the princes asked the bridegroom if he would like to walk through the palace and see all there was to be seen. then the happy fisherman, following his bride, the sea king's daughter, was shown all the wonders of that enchanted land where youth and joy go hand in hand and neither time nor age can touch them. the palace was built of coral and adorned with pearls, and the beauties and wonders of the place were so great that the tongue fails to describe them.
but, to urashima, more wonderful than the palace was the garden that surrounded it. here was to be seen at one time the scenery of the four different seasons; the beauties of summer and winter, spring and autumn, were displayed to the wondering visitor at once.
first, when he looked to the east, the plum and cherry trees were seen in full bloom, the nightingales sang in the pink avenues, and butterflies flitted from flower to flower.
looking to the south all the trees were green in the fullness of summer, and the day cicala and the night cricket chirruped loudly.
looking to the west the autumn maples were ablaze like a sunset sky, and the chrysanthemums were in perfection.
looking to the north the change made urashima start, for the ground was silver white with snow, and trees and bamboos were also covered with snow and the pond was thick with ice.
and each day there were new joys and new wonders for urashima, and so great was his happiness that he forgot everything, even the home he had left behind and his parents and his own country, and three days passed without his even thinking of all he had left behind. then his mind came back to him and he remembered who he was, and that he did not belong to this wonderful land or the sea king's palace, and he said to himself:
"o dear! i must not stay on here, for i have an old father and mother at home. what can have happened to them all this time? how anxious they must have been these days when i did not return as usual. i must go back at once without letting one more day pass." and he began to prepare for the journey in great haste.
then he went to his beautiful wife, the princess, and bowing low before her he said:
"indeed, i have been very happy with you for a long time, otohime sama"
(for that was her name), "and you have been kinder to me than any words can tell. but now i must say good-by. i must go back to my old parents."
then otohime sama began to weep, and said softly and sadly:
"is it not well with you here, urashima, that you wish to leave me so soon? where is the haste? stay with me yet another day only!"
but urashima had remembered his old parents, and in japan the duty to parents is stronger than everything else, stronger even than pleasure or love, and he would not be persuaded, but answered:
"indeed, i must go. do not think that i wish to leave you. it is not that. i must go and see my old parents. let me go for one day and i will come back to you."
"then," said the princess sorrowfully, "there is nothing to be done. i will send you back to-day to your father and mother, and instead of trying to keep you with me one more day, i shall give you this as a token of our love please take it back with you;" and she brought him a beautiful lacquer box tied about with a silken cord and tassels of red silk.
urashima had received so much from the princess already that he felt some compunction in taking the gift, and said:
"it does not seem right for me to take yet another gift from you after all the many favors i have received at your hands, but because it is your wish i will do so," and then he added:
"tell me what is this box?"
"that," answered the princess "is the tamate-bako (box of the jewel hand), and it contains something very precious. you must not open this box, whatever happens! if you open it something dreadful will happen to you! now promise me that you will never open this box!"
and urashima promised that he would never, never open the box whatever happened.
then bidding good-by to otohime sama he went down to the seashore, the princess and her attendants following him, and there he found a large tortoise waiting for him.
he quickly mounted the creature's back and was carried away over the shining sea into the east. he looked back to wave his hand to otohime sama till at last he could see her no more, and the land of the sea king and the roofs of the wonderful palace were lost in the far, far distance. then, with his face turned eagerly towards his own land, he looked for the rising of the blue hills on the horizon before him.
at last the tortoise carried him into the bay he knew so well, and to the shore from whence he had set out. he stepped on to the shore and looked about him while the tortoise rode away back to the sea king's realm.
but what is the strange fear that seizes urashima as he stands and looks about him? why does he gaze so fixedly at the people that pass him by, and why do they in turn stand and look at him? the shore is the same and the hills are the same, but the people that he sees walking past him have very different faces to those he had known so well before.
wondering what it can mean he walks quickly towards his old home. even that looks different, but a house stands on the spot, and he calls out:
"father, i have just returned!" and he was about to enter, when he saw a strange man coming out.
"perhaps my parents have moved while i have been away, and have gone somewhere else," was the fisherman's thought. somehow he began to feel strangely anxious, he could not tell why.
"excuse me," said he to the man who was staring at him, "but till within the last few days i have lived in this house. my name is urashima taro. where have my parents gone whom i left here?"
a very bewildered expression came over the face of the man, and, still gazing intently on urashima's face, he said:
"what? are you urashima taro?"
"yes," said the fisherman, "i am urashima taro!"
"ha, ha!" laughed the man, "you must not make such jokes. it is true that once upon a time a man called urashima taro did live in this village, but that is a story three hundred years old. he could not possibly be alive now!"
when urashima heard these strange words he was frightened, and said:
"please, please, you must not joke with me, i am greatly perplexed. i am really urashima taro, and i certainly have not lived three hundred years. till four or five days ago i lived on this spot. tell me what i want to know without more joking, please."
but the man's face grew more and more grave, and he answered:
"you may or may not be urashima taro, i don't know. but the urashima taro of whom i have heard is a man who lived three hundred years ago.
perhaps you are his spirit come to revisit your old home?"
"why do you mock me?" said urashima. "i am no spirit! i am a living man do you not see my feet;" and "don-don," he stamped on the ground, first with one foot and then with the other to show the man. (japanese ghosts have no feet.)
"but urashima taro lived three hundred years ago, that is all i know; it is written in the village chronicles," persisted the man, who could not believe what the fisherman said.
urashima was lost in bewilderment and trouble. he stood looking all around him, terribly puzzled, and, indeed, something in the appearance of everything was different to what he remembered before he went away, and the awful feeling came over him that what the man said was perhaps true. he seemed to be in a strange dream. the few days he had spent in the sea king's palace beyond the sea had not been days at all: they had been hundreds of years, and in that time his parents had died and all the people he had ever known, and the village had written down his story. there was no use in staying here any longer. he must get back to his beautiful wife beyond the sea.
he made his way back to the beach, carrying in his hand the box which the princess had given him. but which was the way? he could not find it alone! suddenly he remembered the box, the tamate-bako.
"the princess told me when she gave me the box never to open it that it contained a very precious thing. but now that i have no home, now that i have lost everything that was dear to me here, and my heart grows thin with sadness, at such a time, if i open the box, surely i shall find something that will help me, something that will show me the way back to my beautiful princess over the sea. there is nothing else for me to do now. yes, yes, i will open the box and look in!"
and so his heart consented to this act of disobedience, and he tried to persuade himself that he was doing the right thing in breaking his promise.
slowly, very slowly, he untied the red silk cord, slowly and wonderingly he lifted the lid of the precious box. and what did he find? strange to say only a beautiful little purple cloud rose out of the box in three soft wisps. for an instant it covered his face and wavered over him as if loath to go, and then it floated away like vapor over the sea.
urashima, who had been till that moment like a strong and handsome youth of twenty-four, suddenly became very, very old. his back doubled up with age, his hair turned snowy white, his face wrinkled and he fell down dead on the beach.
poor urashima! because of his disobedience he could never return to the sea king's realm or the lovely princess beyond the sea.
little children, never be disobedient to those who are wiser than you for disobedience was the beginning of all the miseries and sorrows of life.
the farmer and the badger
long, long ago, there lived an old farmer and his wife who had made their home in the mountains, far from any town. their only neighbor was a bad and malicious badger. this badger used to come out every night and run across to the farmer's field and spoil the vegetables and the rice which the farmer spent his time in carefully cultivating. the badger at last grew so ruthless in his mischievous work, and did so much harm everywhere on the farm, that the good-natured farmer could not stand it any longer, and determined to put a stop to it. so he lay in wait day after day and night after night, with a big club, hoping to catch the badger, but all in vain. then he laid traps for the wicked animal.
the farmer's trouble and patience was rewarded, for one fine day on going his rounds he found the badger caught in a hole he had dug for that purpose. the farmer was delighted at having caught his enemy, and carried him home securely bound with rope. when he reached the house the farmer said to his wife:
"i have at last caught the bad badger. you must keep an eye on him while i am out at work and not let him escape, because i want to make him into soup to-night."
saying this, he hung the badger up to the rafters of his storehouse and went out to his work in the fields. the badger was in great distress, for he did not at all like the idea of being made into soup that night, and he thought and thought for a long time, trying to hit upon some plan by which he might escape. it was hard to think clearly in his uncomfortable position, for he had been hung upside down. very near him, at the entrance to the storehouse, looking out towards the green fields and the trees and the pleasant sunshine, stood the farmer's old wife pounding barley. she looked tired and old. her face was seamed with many wrinkles, and was as brown as leather, and every now and then she stopped to wipe the perspiration which rolled down her face.
"dear lady," said the wily badger, "you must be very weary doing such heavy work in your old age. won't you let me do that for you? my arms are very strong, and i could relieve you for a little while!"
"thank you for your kindness," said the old woman, "but i cannot let you do this work for me because i must not untie you, for you might escape if i did, and my husband would be very angry if he came home and found you gone."
now, the badger is one of the most cunning of animals, and he said again in a very sad, gentle, voice:
"you are very unkind. you might untie me, for i promise not to try to escape. if you are afraid of your husband, i will let you bind me again before his return when i have finished pounding the barley. i am so tired and sore tied up like this. if you would only let me down for a few minutes i would indeed be thankful!"
the old woman had a good and simple nature, and could not think badly of any one. much less did she think that the badger was only deceiving her in order to get away. she felt sorry, too, for the animal as she turned to look at him. he looked in such a sad plight hanging downwards from the ceiling by his legs, which were all tied together so tightly that the rope and the knots were cutting into the skin. so in the kindness of her heart, and believing the creature's promise that he would not run away, she untied the cord and let him down.
the old woman then gave him the wooden pestle and told him to do the work for a short time while she rested. he took the pestle, but instead of doing the work as he was told, the badger at once sprang upon the old woman and knocked her down with the heavy piece of wood. he then killed her and cut her up and made soup of her, and waited for the return of the old farmer. the old man worked hard in his fields all day, and as he worked he thought with pleasure that no more now would his labor be spoiled by the destructive badger.
towards sunset he left his work and turned to go home. he was very tired, but the thought of the nice supper of hot badger soup awaiting his return cheered him. the thought that the badger might get free and take revenge on the poor old woman never once came into his mind.
the badger meanwhile assumed the old woman's form, and as soon as he saw the old farmer approaching came out to greet him on the veranda of the little house, saying:
"so you have come back at last. i have made the badger soup and have been waiting for you for a long time."
the old farmer quickly took off his straw sandals and sat down before his tiny dinner-tray. the innocent man never even dreamed that it was not his wife but the badger who was waiting upon him, and asked at once for the soup. then the badger suddenly transformed himself back to his natural form and cried out:
"you wife-eating old man! look out for the bones in the kitchen!"
laughing loudly and derisively he escaped out of the house and ran away to his den in the hills. the old man was left behind alone. he could hardly believe what he had seen and heard. then when he understood the whole truth he was so scared and horrified that he fainted right away.
after a while he came round and burst into tears. he cried loudly and bitterly. he rocked himself to and fro in his hopeless grief. it seemed too terrible to be real that his faithful old wife had been killed and cooked by the badger while he was working quietly in the fields, knowing nothing of what was going on at home, and congratulating himself on having once for all got rid of the wicked animal who had so often spoiled his fields. and oh! the horrible thought; he had very nearly drunk the soup which the creature had made of his poor old woman. "oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!" he wailed aloud. now, not far away there lived in the same mountain a kind, good-natured old rabbit. he heard the old man crying and sobbing and at once set out to see what was the matter, and if there was anything he could do to help his neighbor. the old man told him all that had happened. when the rabbit heard the story he was very angry at the wicked and deceitful badger, and told the old man to leave everything to him and he would avenge his wife's death. the farmer was at last comforted, and, wiping away his tears, thanked the rabbit for his goodness in coming to him in his distress.
the rabbit, seeing that the farmer was growing calmer, went back to his home to lay his plans for the punishment of the badger.
the next day the weather was fine, and the rabbit went out to find the badger. he was not to be seen in the woods or on the hillside or in the fields anywhere, so the rabbit went to his den and found the badger hiding there, for the animal had been afraid to show himself ever since he had escaped from the farmer's house, for fear of the old man's wrath.
the rabbit called out:
"why are you not out on such a beautiful day? come out with me, and we will go and cut grass on the hills together."
the badger, never doubting but that the rabbit was his friend, willingly consented to go out with him, only too glad to get away from the neighborhood of the farmer and the fear of meeting him. the rabbit led the way miles away from their homes, out on the hills where the grass grew tall and thick and sweet. they both set to work to cut down as much as they could carry home, to store it up for their winter's food. when they had each cut down all they wanted they tied it in bundles and then started homewards, each carrying his bundle of grass on his back. this time the rabbit made the badger go first.
when they had gone a little way the rabbit took out a flint and steel, and, striking it over the badger's back as he stepped along in front, set his bundle of grass on fire. the badger heard the flint striking, and asked:
"what is that noise. 'crack, crack'?"
"oh, that is nothing." replied the rabbit; "i only said 'crack, crack'
because this mountain is called crackling mountain."
the fire soon spread in the bundle of dry grass on the badger's back.
the badger, hearing the crackle of the burning grass, asked, "what is that?"
"now we have come to the 'burning mountain,'" answered the rabbit.
by this time the bundle was nearly burned out and all the hair had been burned off the badger's back. he now knew what had happened by the smell of the smoke of the burning grass. screaming with pain the badger ran as fast as he could to his hole. the rabbit followed and found him lying on his bed groaning with pain.
"what an unlucky fellow you are!" said the rabbit. "i can't imagine how this happened! i will bring you some medicine which will heal your back quickly!"
the rabbit went away glad and smiling to think that the punishment upon the badger had already begun. he hoped that the badger would die of his burns, for he felt that nothing could be too bad for the animal, who was guilty of murdering a poor helpless old woman who had trusted him.
he went home and made an ointment by mixing some sauce and red pepper together.
he carried this to the badger, but before putting it on he told him that it would cause him great pain, but that he must bear it patiently, because it was a very wonderful medicine for burns and scalds and such wounds. the badger thanked him and begged him to apply it at once. but no language can describe the agony of the badger as soon as the red pepper had been pasted all over his sore back. he rolled over and over and howled loudly. the rabbit, looking on, felt that the farmer's wife was beginning to be avenged.
the badger was in bed for about a month; but at last, in spite of the red pepper application, his burns healed and he got well. when the rabbit saw that the badger was getting well, he thought of another plan by which he could compass the creature's death. so he went one day to pay the badger a visit and to congratulate him on his recovery.
during the conversation the rabbit mentioned that he was going fishing, and described how pleasant fishing was when the weather was fine and the sea smooth.
the badger listened with pleasure to the rabbit's account of the way he passed his time now, and forgot all his pains and his month's illness, and thought what fun it would be if he could go fishing too; so he asked the rabbit if he would take him the next time he went out to fish. this was just what the rabbit wanted, so he agreed.
then he went home and built two boats, one of wood and the other of clay. at last they were both finished, and as the rabbit stood and looked at his work he felt that all his trouble would be well rewarded if his plan succeeded, and he could manage to kill the wicked badger now.
the day came when the rabbit had arranged to take the badger fishing.
he kept the wooden boat himself and gave the badger the clay boat. the badger, who knew nothing about boats, was delighted with his new boat and thought how kind it was of the rabbit to give it to him. they both got into their boats and set out. after going some distance from the shore the rabbit proposed that they should try their boats and see which one could go the quickest. the badger fell in with the proposal, and they both set to work to row as fast as they could for some time.
in the middle of the race the badger found his boat going to pieces, for the water now began to soften the clay. he cried out in great fear to the rabbit to help him. but the rabbit answered that he was avenging the old woman's murder, and that this had been his intention all along, and that he was happy to think that the badger had at last met his deserts for all his evil crimes, and was to drown with no one to help him. then he raised his oar and struck at the badger with all his strength till he fell with the sinking clay boat and was seen no more.
thus at last he kept his promise to the old farmer. the rabbit now turned and rowed shorewards, and having landed and pulled his boat upon the beach, hurried back to tell the old farmer everything, and how the badger, his enemy, had been killed.
the old farmer thanked him with tears in his eyes. he said that till now he could never sleep at night or be at peace in the daytime, thinking of how his wife's death was unavenged, but from this time he would be able to sleep and eat as of old. he begged the rabbit to stay with him and share his home, so from this day the rabbit went to stay with the old farmer and they both lived together as good friends to the end of their days.
the shinansha, or the south pointing carriage.
the compass, with its needle always pointing to the north, is quite a common thing, and no one thinks that it is remarkable now, though when it was first invented it must have been a wonder.
now long ago in china, there was a still more wonderful invention called the shinansha. this was a kind of chariot with the figure of a man on it always pointing to the south. no matter how the chariot was placed the figure always wheeled about and pointed to the south.
this curious instrument was invented by kotei, one of the three chinese emperors of the mythological age. kotei was the son of the emperor yuhi. before he was born his mother had a vision which foretold that her son would be a great man.
one summer evening she went out to walk in the meadows to seek the cool breezes which blow at the end of the day and to gaze with pleasure at the star-lit heavens above her. as she looked at the north star, strange to relate, it shot forth vivid flashes of lightning in every direction. soon after this her son kotei came into the world.
kotei in time grew to manhood and succeeded his father the emperor yuhi. his early reign was greatly troubled by the rebel shiyu. this rebel wanted to make himself king, and many were the battles which he fought to this end. shiyu was a wicked magician, his head was made of iron, and there was no man that could conquer him.
at last kotei declared war against the rebel and led his army to battle, and the two armies met on a plain called takuroku. the emperor boldly attacked the enemy, but the magician brought down a dense fog upon the battlefield, and while the royal army were wandering about in confusion, trying to find their way, shiyu retreated with his troops, laughing at having fooled the royal army.
no matter however strong and brave the emperor's soldiers were, the rebel with his magic could always escape in the end.
kotei returned to his palace, and thought and pondered deeply as to how he should conquer the magician, for he was determined not to give up yet. after a long time he invented the shinansha with the figure of a man always pointing south, for there were no compasses in those days.
with this instrument to show him the way he need not fear the dense fogs raised up by the magician to confound his men.
kotei again declared war against shiyu. he placed the shinansha in front of his army and led the way to the battlefield.
the battle began in earnest. the rebel was being driven backward by the royal troops when he again resorted to magic, and upon his saying some strange words in a loud voice, immediately a dense fog came down upon the battlefield.
but this time no soldier minded the fog, not one was confused. kotei by pointing to the shinansha could find his way and directed the army without a single mistake. he closely pursued the rebel army and drove them backward till they came to a big river. this river kotei and his men found was swollen by the floods and impossible to cross.
shiyu by using his magic art quickly passed over with his army and shut himself up in a fortress on the opposite bank.
when kotei found his march checked he was wild with disappointment, for he had very nearly overtaken the rebel when the river stopped him.
he could do nothing, for there were no boats in those days, so the emperor ordered his tent to be pitched in the pleasantest spot that the place afforded.
one day he stepped forth from his tent and after walking about for a short time he came to a pond. here he sat down on the bank and was lost in thought.
it was autumn. the trees growing along the edge of the water were shedding their leaves, which floated hither and thither on the surface of the pond. by and by, kotei's attention was attracted to a spider on the brink of the water. the little insect was trying to get on to one of the floating leaves near by. it did so at last, and was soon floating over the water to the other side of the pond.
this little incident made the clever emperor think that he might try to make something that could carry himself and his men over the river in the same way that the leaf had carried over the spider. he set to work and persevered till he invented the first boat. when he found that it was a success he set all his men to make more, and in time there were enough boats for the whole army.
kotei now took his army across the river, and attacked shiyu's headquarters. he gained a complete victory, and so put an end to the war which had troubled his country for so long.
this wise and good emperor did not rest till he had secured peace and prosperity throughout his whole land. he was beloved by his subjects, who now enjoyed their happiness of peace for many long years under him.
he spent a great deal of time in making inventions which would benefit his people, and he succeeded in many besides the boat and the south pointing shinansha.
he had reigned about a hundred years when one day, as kotei was looking upwards, the sky became suddenly red, and something came glittering like gold towards the earth. as it came nearer kotei saw that it was a great dragon. the dragon approached and bowed down its head before the emperor. the empress and the courtiers were so frightened that they ran away screaming.
but the emperor only smiled and called to them to stop, and said:
"do not be afraid. this is a messenger from heaven. my time here is finished!" he then mounted the dragon, which began to ascend towards the sky.
when the empress and the courtiers saw this they all cried out together:
"wait a moment! we wish to come too." and they all ran and caught hold of the dragon's beard and tried to mount him.
but it was impossible for so many people to ride on the dragon. several of them hung on to the creature's beard so that when it tried to mount the hair was pulled out and they fell to the ground.
meanwhile the empress and a few of the courtiers were safely seated on the dragon's back. the dragon flew up so high in the heavens that in a short time the inmates of the palace, who had been left behind disappointed, could see them no more.
after some time a bow and an arrow dropped to the earth in the courtyard of the palace. they were recognized as having belonged to the emperor kotei. the courtiers took them up carefully and preserved them as sacred relics in the palace.
the adventures of kintaro, the golden boy.
long, long ago there lived in kyoto a brave soldier named kintoki. now he fell in love with a beautiful lady and married her. not long after this, through the malice of some of his friends, he fell into disgrace at court and was dismissed. this misfortune so preyed upon his mind that he did not long survive his dismissal he died, leaving behind him his beautiful young wife to face the world alone. fearing her husband's enemies, she fled to the ashigara mountains as soon as her husband was dead, and there in the lonely forests where no one ever came except woodcutters, a little boy was born to her. she called him kintaro or the golden boy. now the remarkable thing about this child was his great strength, and as he grew older he grew stronger and stronger, so that by the time he was eight years of age he was able to cut down trees as quickly as the woodcutters. then his mother gave him a large ax, and he used to go out in the forest and help the woodcutters, who called him "wonder-child," and his mother the "old nurse of the mountains," for they did not know her high rank. another favorite pastime of kintaro's was to smash up rocks and stones. you can imagine how strong he was!
quite unlike other boys, kintaro, grew up all alone in the mountain wilds, and as he had no companions he made friends with all the animals and learned to understand them and to speak their strange talk. by degrees they all grew quite tame and looked upon kintaro as their master, and he used them as his servants and messengers. but his special retainers were the bear, the deer, the monkey and the hare.
the bear often brought her cubs for kintaro to romp with, and when she came to take them home kintaro would get on her back and have a ride to her cave. he was very fond of the deer too, and would often put his arms round the creature's neck to show that its long horns did not frighten him. great was the fun they all had together.
one day, as usual, kintaro went up into the mountains, followed by the bear, the deer, the monkey, and the hare. after walking for some time up hill and down dale and over rough roads, they suddenly came out upon a wide and grassy plain covered with pretty wild flowers.
here, indeed, was a nice place where they could all have a good romp together. the deer rubbed his horns against a tree for pleasure, the monkey scratched his back, the hare smoothed his long ears, and the bear gave a grunt of satisfaction.
kintaro said, "here is a place for a good game. what do you all say to a wrestling match?"
the bear being the biggest and the oldest, answered for the others:
"that will be great fun," said she. "i am the strongest animal, so i will make the platform for the wrestlers;" and she set to work with a will to dig up the earth and to pat it into shape.
"all right," said kintaro, "i will look on while you all wrestle with each other. i shall give a prize to the one who wins in each round."
"what fun! we shall all try to get the prize," said the bear.
the deer, the monkey and the hare set to work to help the bear raise the platform on which they were all to wrestle. when this was finished, kintaro cried out:
"now begin! the monkey and the hare shall open the sports and the deer shall be umpire. now, mr. deer, you are to be umpire!"
"he, he!" answered the deer. "i will be umpire. now, mr. monkey and mr.
hare, if you are both ready, please walk out and take your places on the platform."
then the monkey and the hare both hopped out, quickly and nimbly, to the wrestling platform. the deer, as umpire, stood between the two and called out:
"red-back! red-back!" (this to the monkey, who has a red back in japan). "are you ready?"
then he turned to the hare:
"long-ears! long-ears! are you ready?"
both the little wrestlers faced each other while the deer raised a leaf on high as signal. when he dropped the leaf the monkey and the hare rushed upon each other, crying "yoisho, yoisho!"
while the monkey and the hare wrestled, the deer called out encouragingly or shouted warnings to each of them as the hare or the monkey pushed each other near the edge of the platform and were in danger of falling over.
"red-back! red-back! stand your ground!" called out the deer.
"long-ears! long-ears! be strong, be strong don't let the monkey beat you!" grunted the bear.
so the monkey and the hare, encouraged by their friends, tried their very hardest to beat each other. the hare at last gained on the monkey.
the monkey seemed to trip up, and the hare giving him a good push sent him flying off the platform with a bound.
the poor monkey sat up rubbing his back, and his face was very long as he screamed angrily. "oh, oh! how my back hurts my back hurts me!"
seeing the monkey in this plight on the ground, the deer holding his leaf on high said:
"this round is finished the hare has won."
kintaro then opened his luncheon box and taking out a rice-dumpling, gave it to the hare saying:
"here is your prize, and you have earned, it well!"
now the monkey got up looking very cross, and as they say in japan "his stomach stood up," for he felt that he had not been fairly beaten. so he said to kintaro and the others who were standing by:
"i have not been fairly beaten. my foot slipped and i tumbled. please give me another chance and let the hare wrestle with me for another round."
then kintaro consenting, the hare and the monkey began to wrestle again. now, as every one knows, the monkey is a cunning animal by nature, and he made up his mind to get the best of the hare this time if it were possible. to do this, he thought that the best and surest way would be to get hold of the hare's long ear. this he soon managed to do. the hare was quite thrown off his guard by the pain of having his long ear pulled so hard, and the monkey seizing his opportunity at last, caught hold of one of the hare's legs and sent him sprawling in the middle of the dais. the monkey was now the victor and received, a rice-dumpling from kintaro, which pleased him so much that he quite forgot his sore back.
the deer now came up and asked the hare if he felt ready for another round, and if so whether he would try a round with him, and the hare consenting, they both stood up to wrestle. the bear came forward as umpire.
the deer with long horns and the hare with long ears, it must have been an amusing sight to those who watched this queer match. suddenly the deer went down on one of his knees, and the bear with the leaf on high declared him beaten. in this way, sometimes the one, sometimes the other, conquering, the little party amused themselves till they were tired.
at last kintaro got up and said:
"this is enough for to-day. what a nice place we have found for wrestling; let us come again to-morrow. now, we will all go home. come along!" so saying, kintaro led the way while the animals followed.
after walking some little distance they came out on the banks of a river flowing through a valley. kintaro and his four furry friends stood and looked about for some means of crossing. bridge there was none. the river rushed "don, don" on its way. all the animals looked serious, wondering how they could cross the stream and get home that evening.
kintaro, however, said:
"wait a moment. i will make a good bridge for you all in a few minutes."
the bear, the deer, the monkey and the hare looked at him to see what he would do now.
kintaro went from one tree to another that grew along the river bank.
at last he stopped in front of a very large tree that was growing at the water's edge. he took hold of the trunk and pulled it with all his might, once, twice, thrice! at the third pull, so great was kintaro's strength that the roots gave way, and "meri, meri" (crash, crash), over fell the tree, forming an excellent bridge across the stream.
"there," said kintaro, "what do you think of my bridge? it is quite safe, so follow me," and he stepped across first. the four animals followed. never had they seen any one so strong before, and they all exclaimed:
"how strong he is! how strong he is!"
while all this was going on by the river a woodcutter, who happened to be standing on a rock overlooking the stream, had seen all that passed beneath him. he watched with great surprise kintaro and his animal companions. he rubbed his eyes to be sure that he was not dreaming when he saw this boy pull over a tree by the roots and throw it across the stream to form a bridge.
the woodcutter, for such he seemed to be by his dress, marveled at all he saw, and said to himself:
"this is no ordinary child. whose son can he be? i will find out before this day is done."
he hastened after the strange party and crossed the bridge behind them.
kintaro knew nothing of all this, and little guessed that he was being followed. on reaching the other side of the river he and the animals separated, they to their lairs in the woods and he to his mother, who was waiting for him.
as soon as he entered the cottage, which stood like a matchbox in the heart of the pine-woods, he went to greet his mother, saying:
"okkasan (mother), here i am!"
"o, kimbo!" said his mother with a bright smile, glad to see her boy home safe after the long day. "how late you are to-day. i feared that something had happened to you. where have you been all the time?"
"i took my four friends, the bear, the deer, the monkey, and the hare, up into the hills, and there i made them try a wrestling match, to see which was the strongest. we all enjoyed the sport, and are going to the same place to-morrow to have another match."
"now tell me who is the strongest of all?" asked his mother, pretending not to know.
"oh, mother," said kintaro, "don't you know that i am the strongest?
there was no need for me to wrestle with any of them."
"but next to you then, who is the strongest?"
"the bear comes next to me in strength," answered kintaro.
"and after the bear?" asked his mother again.
"next to the bear it is not easy to say which is the strongest, for the deer, the monkey, and the hare all seem to be as strong as each other,"
said kintaro.
suddenly kintaro and his mother were startled by a voice from outside.
"listen to me, little boy! next time you go, take this old man with you to the wrestling match. he would like to join the sport too!"
it was the old woodcutter who had followed kintaro from the river. he slipped off his clogs and entered the cottage. yama-uba and her son were both taken by surprise. they looked at the intruder wonderingly and saw that he was some one they had never seen before.
"who are you?" they both exclaimed.
then the woodcutter laughed and said:
"it does not matter who i am yet, but let us see who has the strongest arm this boy or myself?"
then kintaro, who had lived all his life in the forest, answered the old man without any ceremony, saying:
"we will have a try if you wish it, but you must not be angry whoever is beaten."
then kintaro and the woodcutter both put out their right arms and grasped each other's hands. for a long time kintaro and the old man wrestled together in this way, each trying to bend the other's arm, but the old man was very strong, and the strange pair were evenly matched.
at last the old man desisted, declaring it a drawn game.
"you are, indeed, a very strong child. there are few men who can boast of the strength of my right arm!" said the woodcutter. "i saw you first on the banks of the river a few hours ago, when you pulled up that large tree to make a bridge across the torrent. hardly able to believe what i saw i followed you home. your strength of arm, which i have just tried, proves what i saw this afternoon. when you are full-grown you will surely be the strongest man in all japan. it is a pity that you are hidden away in these wild mountains."
then he turned to kintaro's mother:
"and you, mother, have you no thought of taking your child to the capital, and of teaching him to carry a sword as befits a samurai (a japanese knight)?"
"you are very kind to take so much interest in my son." replied the mother; "but he is as you see, wild and uneducated, and i fear it would be very difficult to do as you say. because of his great strength as an infant i hid him away in this unknown part of the country, for he hurt every one that came near him. i have often wished that i could, one day, see my boy a knight wearing two swords, but as we have no influential friend to introduce us at the capital, i fear my hope will never come true."
"you need not trouble yourself about that. to tell you the truth i am no woodcutter! i am one of the great generals of japan. my name is sadamitsu, and i am a vassal of the powerful lord minamoto-no-raiko. he ordered me to go round the country and look for boys who give promise of remarkable strength, so that they may be trained as soldiers for his army. i thought that i could best do this by assuming the disguise of a woodcutter. by good fortune, i have thus unexpectedly come across your son. now if you really wish him to be a samurai (a knight), i will take him and present him to the lord raiko as a candidate for his service.
what do you say to this?"
as the kind general gradually unfolded his plan the mother's heart was filled with a great joy. she saw that here was a wonderful chance of the one wish of her life being fulfilled that of seeing kintaro a samurai before she died.
bowing her head to the ground, she replied:
"i will then intrust my son to you if you really mean what you say."
kintaro had all this time been sitting by his mother's side listening to what they said. when his mother finished speaking, he exclaimed:
"oh, joy! joy! i am to go with the general and one day i shall be a samurai!"
thus kintaro's fate was settled, and the general decided to start for the capital at once, taking kintaro with him. it need hardly be said that yama-uba was sad at parting with her boy, for he was all that was left to her. but she hid her grief with a strong face, as they say in japan. she knew that it was for her boy's good that he should leave her now, and she must not discourage him just as he was setting out.
kintaro promised never to forget her, and said that as soon as he was a knight wearing two swords he would build her a home and take care of her in her old age.
all the animals, those he had tamed to serve him, the bear, the deer, the monkey, and the hare, as soon as they found out that he was going away, came to ask if they might attend him as usual. when they learned that he was going away for good they followed him to the foot of the mountain to see him off.
"kimbo," said his mother, "mind and be a good boy."
"mr. kintaro," said the faithful animals, "we wish you good health on your travels."
then they all climbed a tree to see the last of him, and from that height they watched him and his shadow gradually grow smaller and smaller, till he was lost to sight.
the general sadamitsu went on his way rejoicing at having so unexpectedly found such a prodigy as kintaro.
having arrived at their destination the general took kintaro at once to his lord, minamoto-no-raiko, and told him all about kintaro and how he had found the child. lord raiko was delighted with the story, and having commanded kintaro to be brought to him, made him one of his vassals at once.
lord raiko's army was famous for its band called "the four braves."
these warriors were chosen by himself from amongst the bravest and strongest of his soldiers, and the small and well-picked band was distinguished throughout the whole of japan for the dauntless courage of its men.
when kintaro grew up to be a man his master made him the chief of the four braves. he was by far the strongest of them all. soon after this event, news was brought to the city that a cannibal monster had taken up his abode not far away and that people were stricken with fear. lord raiko ordered kintaro to the rescue. he immediately started off, delighted at the prospect of trying his sword.
surprising the monster in its den, he made short work of cutting off its great head, which he carried back in triumph to his master.
kintaro now rose to be the greatest hero of his country, and great was the power and honor and wealth that came to him. he now kept his promise and built a comfortable home for his old mother, who lived happily with him in the capital to the end of her days.
is not this the story of a great hero?
the story of princess hase.
a story of old japan.
many, many years ago there lived in nara, the ancient capital of japan, a wise state minister, by name prince toyonari fujiwara. his wife was a noble, good, and beautiful woman called princess murasaki (violet).
they had been married by their respective families according to japanese custom when very young, and had lived together happily ever since. they had, however, one cause for great sorrow, for as the years went by no child was born to them. this made them very unhappy, for they both longed to see a child of their own who would grow up to gladden their old age, carry on the family name, and keep up the ancestral rites when they were dead. the prince and his lovely wife, after long consultation and much thought, determined to make a pilgrimage to the temple of hase-no-kwannon (goddess of mercy at hase), for they believed, according to the beautiful tradition of their religion, that the mother of mercy, kwannon, comes to answer the prayers of mortals in the form that they need the most. surely after all these years of prayer she would come to them in the form of a beloved child in answer to their special pilgrimage, for that was the greatest need of their two lives. everything else they had that this life could give them, but it was all as nothing because the cry of their hearts was unsatisfied.
so the prince toyonari and his wife went to the temple of kwannon at hase and stayed there for a long time, both daily offering incense and praying to kwannon, the heavenly mother, to grant them the desire of their whole lives. and their prayer was answered.
a daughter was born at last to the princess murasaki, and great was the joy of her heart. on presenting the child to her husband, they both decided to call her hase-hime, or the princess of hase, because she was the gift of the kwannon at that place. they both reared her with great care and tenderness, and the child grew in strength and beauty.
when the little girl was five years old her mother fell dangerously ill and all the doctors and their medicines could not save her. a little before she breathed her last she called her daughter to her, and gently stroking her head, said:
"hase-hime, do you know that your mother cannot live any longer? though i die, you must grow up a good girl. do your best not to give trouble to your nurse or any other of your family. perhaps your father will marry again and some one will fill my place as your mother. if so do not grieve for me, but look upon your father's second wife as your true mother, and be obedient and filial to both her and your father.
remember when you are grown up to be submissive to those who are your superiors, and to be kind to all those who are under you. don't forget this. i die with the hope that you will grow up a model woman."
hase-hime listened in an attitude of respect while her mother spoke, and promised to do all that she was told. there is a proverb which says "as the soul is at three so it is at one hundred," and so hase-hime grew up as her mother had wished, a good and obedient little princess, though she was now too young to understand how great was the loss of her mother.
not long after the death of his first wife, prince toyonari married again, a lady of noble birth named princess terute. very different in character, alas! to the good and wise princess murasaki, this woman had a cruel, bad heart. she did not love her step-daughter at all, and was often very unkind to the little motherless girl, saving to herself:
"this is not my child! this is not my child!"
but hase-hime bore every unkindness with patience, and even waited upon her step-mother kindly and obeyed her in every way and never gave any trouble, just as she had been trained by her own good mother, so that the lady terute had no cause for complaint against her.
the little princess was very diligent, and her favorite studies were music and poetry. she would spend several hours practicing every day, and her father had the most proficient of masters he could find to teach her the koto (japanese harp), the art of writing letters and verse. when she was twelve years of age she could play so beautifully that she and her step-mother were summoned to the palace to perform before the emperor.
it was the festival of the cherry flowers, and there were great festivities at the court. the emperor threw himself into the enjoyment of the season, and commanded that princess hase should perform before him on the koto, and that her mother princess terute should accompany her on the flute.
the emperor sat on a raised dais, before which was hung a curtain of finely-sliced bamboo and purple tassels, so that his majesty might see all and not be seen, for no ordinary subject was allowed to look upon his sacred face.
hase-hime was a skilled musician though so young, and often astonished her masters by her wonderful memory and talent. on this momentous occasion she played well. but princess terute, her step-mother, who was a lazy woman and never took the trouble to practice daily, broke down in her accompaniment and had to request one of the court ladies to take her place. this was a great disgrace, and she was furiously jealous to think that she had failed where her step-daughter succeeded; and to make matters worse the emperor sent many beautiful gifts to the little princess to reward her for playing so well at the palace.
there was also now another reason why princess terute hated her step-daughter, for she had had the good fortune to have a son born to her, and in her inmost heart she kept saying:
"if only hase-hime were not here, my son would have all the love of his father."
and never having learned to control herself, she allowed this wicked thought to grow into the awful desire of taking her step-daughter's life.
so one day she secretly ordered some poison and poisoned some sweet wine. this poisoned wine she put into a bottle. into another similar bottle she poured some good wine. it was the occasion of the boys'
festival on the fifth of may, and hase-hime was playing with her little brother. all his toys of warriors and heroes were spread out and she was telling him wonderful stories about each of them. they were both enjoying themselves and laughing merrily with their attendants when his mother entered with the two bottles of wine and some delicious cakes.
"you are both so good and happy." said the wicked princess terute with a smile, "that i have brought you some sweet wine as a reward and here are some nice cakes for my good children."
and she filled two cups from the different bottles.
hase-hime, never dreaming of the dreadful part her step-mother was acting, took one of the cups of wine and gave to her little step brother the other that had been poured out for him.
the wicked woman had carefully marked the poisoned bottle, but on coming into the room she had grown nervous, and pouring out the wine hurriedly had unconsciously given the poisoned cup to her own child.
all this time she was anxiously watching the little princess, but to her amazement no change whatever took place in the young girl's face.
suddenly the little boy screamed and threw himself on the floor, doubled up with pain. his mother flew to him, taking the precaution to upset the two tiny jars of wine which she had brought into the room, and lifted him up. the attendants rushed for the doctor, but nothing could save the child he died within the hour in his mother's arms.
doctors did not know much in those ancient times, and it was thought that the wine had disagreed with the boy, causing convulsions of which he died.
thus was the wicked woman punished in losing her own child when she had tried to do away with her step-daughter; but instead of blaming herself she began to hate hase-hime more than ever in the bitterness and wretchedness of her own heart, and she eagerly watched for an opportunity to do her harm, which was, however, long in coming.
when hase-hime was thirteen years of age, she had already become mentioned as a poetess of some merit. this was an accomplishment very much cultivated by the women of old japan and one held in high esteem.
it was the rainy season at nara, and floods were reported every day as doing damage in the neighborhood. the river tatsuta, which flowed through the imperial palace grounds, was swollen to the top of its banks, and the roaring of the torrents of water rushing along a narrow bed so disturbed the emperor's rest day and night, that a serious nervous disorder was the result. an imperial edict was sent forth to all the buddhist temples commanding the priests to offer up continuous prayers to heaven to stop the noise of the flood. but this was of no avail.
then it was whispered in court circles that the princess hase, the daughter of prince toyonari fujiwara, second minister at court, was the most gifted poetess of the day, though still so young, and her masters confirmed the report. long ago, a beautiful and gifted maiden-poetess had moved heaven by praying in verse, had brought down rain upon a land famished with drought so said the ancient biographers of the poetess ono-no-komachi. if the princess hase were to write a poem and offer it in prayer, might it not stop the noise of the rushing river and remove the cause of the imperial illness? what the court said at last reached the ears of the emperor himself, and he sent an order to the minister prince toyonari to this effect.
great indeed was hase-hime's fear and astonishment when her father sent for her and told her what was required of her. heavy, indeed, was the duty that was laid on her young shoulders that of saving the emperor's life by the merit of her verse.
at last the day came and her poem was finished. it was written on a leaflet of paper heavily flecked with gold-dust. with her father and attendants and some of the court officials, she proceeded to the bank of the roaring torrent and raising up her heart to heaven, she read the poem she had composed, aloud, lifting it heavenwards in her two hands.
strange indeed it seemed to all those standing round. the waters ceased their roaring, and the river was quiet in direct answer to her prayer.
after this the emperor soon recovered his health.
his majesty was highly pleased, and sent for her to the palace and rewarded her with the rank of chinjo that of lieutenant-general to distinguish her. from that time she was called chinjo-hime, or the lieutenant-general princess, and respected and loved by all.
there was only one person who was not pleased at hase-hime's success.
that one was her stepmother. forever brooding over the death of her own child whom she had killed when trying to poison her step-daughter, she had the mortification of seeing her rise to power and honor, marked by imperial favor and the admiration of the whole court. her envy and jealousy burned in her heart like fire. many were the lies she carried to her husband about hase-hime, but all to no purpose. he would listen to none of her tales, telling her sharply that she was quite mistaken.
at last the step-mother, seizing the opportunity of her husband's absence, ordered one of her old servants to take the innocent girl to the hibari mountains, the wildest part of the country, and to kill her there. she invented a dreadful story about the little princess, saying that this was the only way to prevent disgrace falling upon the family by killing her.
katoda, her vassal, was bound to obey his mistress. anyhow, he saw that it would be the wisest plan to pretend obedience in the absence of the girl's father, so he placed hase-hime in a palanquin and accompanied her to the most solitary place he could find in the wild district. the poor child knew there was no good in protesting to her unkind step-mother at being sent away in this strange manner, so she went as she was told.
but the old servant knew that the young princess was quite innocent of all the things her step-mother had invented to him as reasons for her outrageous orders, and he determined to save her life. unless he killed her, however, he could not return to his cruel task-mistress, so he decided to stay out in the wilderness. with the help of some peasants he soon built a little cottage, and having sent secretly for his wife to come, these two good old people did all in their power to take care of the now unfortunate princess. she all the time trusted in her father, knowing that as soon as he returned home and found her absent, he would search for her.
prince toyonari, after some weeks, came home, and was told by his wife that his daughter hime had done something wrong and had run away for fear of being punished. he was nearly ill with anxiety. every one in the house told the same story that hase-hime had suddenly disappeared, none of them knew why or whither. for fear of scandal he kept the matter quiet and searched everywhere he could think of, but all to no purpose.
one day, trying to forget his terrible worry, he called all his men together and told them to make ready for a several days' hunt in the mountains. they were soon ready and mounted, waiting at the gate for their lord. he rode hard and fast to the district of the hibari mountains, a great company following him. he was soon far ahead of every one, and at last found himself in a narrow picturesque valley.
looking round and admiring the scenery, he noticed a tiny house on one of the hills quite near, and then he distinctly heard a beautiful clear voice reading aloud. seized with curiosity as to who could be studying so diligently in such a lonely spot, he dismounted, and leaving his horse to his groom, he walked up the hillside and approached the cottage. as he drew nearer his surprise increased, for he could see that the reader was a beautiful girl. the cottage was wide open and she was sitting facing the view. listening attentively, he heard her reading the buddhist scriptures with great devotion. more and more curious, he hurried on to the tiny gate and entered the little garden, and looking up beheld his lost daughter hase-hime. she was so intent on what she was saying that she neither heard nor saw her father till he spoke.
"hase-hime!" he cried, "it is you, my hase-hime!"
taken by surprise, she could hardly realize that it was her own dear father who was calling her, and for a moment she was utterly bereft of the power to speak or move.
"my father, my father! it is indeed you oh, my father!" was all she could say, and running to him she caught hold of his thick sleeve, and burying her face burst into a passion of tears.
her father stroked her dark hair, asking her gently to tell him all that had happened, but she only wept on, and he wondered if he were not really dreaming.
then the faithful old servant katoda came out, and bowing himself to the ground before his master, poured out the long tale of wrong, telling him all that had happened, and how it was that he found his daughter in such a wild and desolate spot with only two old servants to take care of her.
the prince's astonishment and indignation knew no bounds. he gave up the hunt at once and hurried home with his daughter. one of the company galloped ahead to inform the household of the glad news, and the step-mother hearing what had happened, and fearful of meeting her husband now that her wickedness was discovered, fled from the house and returned in disgrace to her father's roof, and nothing more was heard of her.
the old servant katoda was rewarded with the highest promotion in his master's service, and lived happily to the end of his days, devoted to the little princess, who never forgot that she owed her life to this faithful retainer. she was no longer troubled by an unkind step-mother, and her days passed happily and quietly with her father.
as prince toyonari had no son, he adopted a younger son of one of the court nobles to be his heir, and to marry his daughter hase-hime, and in a few years the marriage took place. hase-hime lived to a good old age, and all said that she was the wisest, most devout, and most beautiful mistress that had ever reigned in prince toyonari's ancient house. she had the joy of presenting her son, the future lord of the family, to her father just before he retired from active life.
to this day there is preserved a piece of needle-work in one of the buddhist temples of kioto. it is a beautiful piece of tapestry, with the figure of buddha embroidered in the silky threads drawn from the stem of the lotus. this is said to have been the work of the hands of the good princess hase.
the story of the man who did not wish to die.
long, long ago there lived a man called sentaro. his surname meant "millionaire," but although he was not so rich as all that, he was still very far removed from being poor. he had inherited a small fortune from his father and lived on this, spending his time carelessly, without any serious thoughts of work, till he was about thirty-two years of age.
one day, without any reason whatsoever, the thought of death and sickness came to him. the idea of falling ill or dying made him very wretched.
"i should like to live," he said to himself, "till i am five or six hundred years old at least, free from all sickness. the ordinary span of a man's life is very short."
he wondered whether it were possible, by living simply and frugally henceforth, to prolong his life as long as he wished.
he knew there were many stories in ancient history of emperors who had lived a thousand years, and there was a princess of yamato, who, it was said, lived to the age of five hundred. this was the latest story of a very long life record.
sentaro had often heard the tale of the chinese king named shin-no-shiko. he was one of the most able and powerful rulers in chinese history. he built all the large palaces, and also the famous great wall of china. he had everything in the world he could wish for, but in spite of all his happiness and the luxury and the splendor of his court, the wisdom of his councilors and the glory of his reign, he was miserable because he knew that one day he must die and leave it all.
when shin-no-shiko went to bed at night, when he rose in the morning, as he went through his day, the thought of death was always with him.
he could not get away from it. ah if only he could find the "elixir of life," he would be happy.
the emperor at last called a meeting of his courtiers and asked them all if they could not find for him the "elixir of life" of which he had so often read and heard.
one old courtier, jofuku by name, said that far away across the seas there was a country called horaizan, and that certain hermits lived there who possessed the secret of the "elixir of life." whoever drank of this wonderful draught lived forever.
the emperor ordered jofuku to set out for the land of horaizan, to find the hermits, and to bring him back a phial of the magic elixir. he gave jofuku one of his best junks, fitted it out for him, and loaded it with great quantities of treasures and precious stones for jofuku to take as presents to the hermits.
jofuku sailed for the land of horaizan, but he never returned to the waiting emperor; but ever since that time mount fuji has been said to be the fabled horaizan and the home of hermits who had the secret of the elixir, and jofuku has been worshiped as their patron god.
now sentaro determined to set out to find the hermits, and if he could, to become one, so that he might obtain the water of perpetual life. he remembered that as a child he had been told that not only did these hermits live on mount fuji, but that they were said to inhabit all the very high peaks.
so he left his old home to the care of his relatives, and started out on his quest. he traveled through all the mountainous regions of the land, climbing to the tops of the highest peaks, but never a hermit did he find.
at last, after wandering in an unknown region for many days, he met a hunter.
"can you tell me," asked sentaro, "where the hermits live who have the elixir of life?"
"no." said the hunter; "i can't tell you where such hermits live, but there is a notorious robber living in these parts. it is said that he is chief of a band of two hundred followers."
this odd answer irritated sentaro very much, and he thought how foolish it was to waste more time in looking for the hermits in this way, so he decided to go at once to the shrine of jofuku, who is worshiped as the patron god of the hermits in the south of japan.
sentaro reached the shrine and prayed for seven days, entreating jofuku to show him the way to a hermit who could give him what he wanted so much to find.
at midnight of the seventh day, as sentaro knelt in the temple, the door of the innermost shrine flew open, and jofuku appeared in a luminous cloud, and calling to sentaro to come nearer, spoke thus:
"your desire is a very selfish one and cannot be easily granted. you think that you would like to become a hermit so as to find the elixir of life. do you know how hard a hermit's life is? a hermit is only allowed to eat fruit and berries and the bark of pine trees; a hermit must cut himself off from the world so that his heart may become as pure as gold and free from every earthly desire. gradually after following these strict rules, the hermit ceases to feel hunger or cold or heat, and his body becomes so light that he can ride on a crane or a carp, and can walk on water without getting his feet wet."
"you, sentaro, are fond of good living and of every comfort. you are not even like an ordinary man, for you are exceptionally idle, and more sensitive to heat and cold than most people. you would never be able to go barefoot or to wear only one thin dress in the winter time! do you think that you would ever have the patience or the endurance to live a hermit's life?"
"in answer to your prayer, however, i will help you in another way. i will send you to the country of perpetual life, where death never comes where the people live forever!"
saying this, jofuku put into sentaro's hand a little crane made of paper, telling him to sit on its back and it would carry him there.
sentaro obeyed wonderingly. the crane grew large enough for him to ride on it with comfort. it then spread its wings, rose high in the air, and flew away over the mountains right out to sea.
sentaro was at first quite frightened; but by degrees he grew accustomed to the swift flight through the air. on and on they went for thousands of miles. the bird never stopped for rest or food, but as it was a paper bird it doubtless did not require any nourishment, and strange to say, neither did sentaro.
after several days they reached an island. the crane flew some distance inland and then alighted.
as soon as sentaro got down from the bird's back, the crane folded up of its own accord and flew into his pocket.
now sentaro began to look about him wonderingly, curious to see what the country of perpetual life was like. he walked first round about the country and then through the town. everything was, of course, quite strange, and different from his own land. but both the land and the people seemed prosperous, so he decided that it would be good for him to stay there and took up lodgings at one of the hotels.
the proprietor was a kind man, and when sentaro told him that he was a stranger and had come to live there, he promised to arrange everything that was necessary with the governor of the city concerning sentaro's sojourn there. he even found a house for his guest, and in this way sentaro obtained his great wish and became a resident in the country of perpetual life.
within the memory of all the islanders no man had ever died there, and sickness was a thing unknown. priests had come over from india and china and told them of a beautiful country called paradise, where happiness and bliss and contentment fill all men's hearts, but its gates could only be reached by dying. this tradition was handed down for ages from generation to generation but none knew exactly what death was except that it led to paradise.
quite unlike sentaro and other ordinary people, instead of having a great dread of death, they all, both rich and poor, longed for it as something good and desirable. they were all tired of their long, long lives, and longed to go to the happy land of contentment called paradise of which the priests had told them centuries ago.
all this sentaro soon found out by talking to the islanders. he found himself, according to his ideas, in the land of topsyturvydom.
everything was upside down. he had wished to escape from dying. he had come to the land of perpetual life with great relief and joy, only to find that the inhabitants themselves, doomed never to die, would consider it bliss to find death.
what he had hitherto considered poison these people ate as good food, and all the things to which he had been accustomed as food they rejected. whenever any merchants from other countries arrived, the rich people rushed to them eager to buy poisons. these they swallowed eagerly, hoping for death to come so that they might go to paradise.
but what were deadly poisons in other lands were without effect in this strange place, and people who swallowed them with the hope of dying, only found that in a short time they felt better in health instead of worse.
vainly they tried to imagine what death could be like. the wealthy would have given all their money and all their goods if they could but shorten their lives to two or three hundred years even. without any change to live on forever seemed to this people wearisome and sad.
in the chemist shops there was a drug which was in constant demand, because after using it for a hundred years, it was supposed to turn the hair slightly gray and to bring about disorders of the stomach.
sentaro was astonished to find that the poisonous globe-fish was served up in restaurants as a delectable dish, and hawkers in the streets went about selling sauces made of spanish flies. he never saw any one ill after eating these horrible things, nor did he ever see any one with as much as a cold.
sentaro was delighted. he said to himself that he would never grow tired of living, and that he considered it profane to wish for death.
he was the only happy man on the island. for his part he wished to live thousands of years and to enjoy life. he set himself up in business, and for the present never even dreamed of going back to his native land.
as years went by, however, things did not go as smoothly as at first.
he had heavy losses in business, and several times some affairs went wrong with his neighbors. this caused him great annoyance.
time passed like the flight of an arrow for him, for he was busy from morning till night. three hundred years went by in this monotonous way, and then at last he began to grow tired of life in this country, and he longed to see his own land and his old home. however long he lived here, life would always be the same, so was it not foolish and wearisome to stay on here forever?
sentaro, in his wish to escape from the country of perpetual life, recollected jofuku, who had helped him before when he was wishing to escape from death and he prayed to the saint to bring him back to his own land again.
no sooner did he pray than the paper crane popped out of his pocket.
sentaro was amazed to see that it had remained undamaged after all these years. once more the bird grew and grew till it was large enough for him to mount it. as he did so, the bird spread its wings and flew, swiftly out across the sea in the direction of japan.
such was the willfulness of the man's nature that he looked back and regretted all he had left behind. he tried to stop the bird in vain.
the crane held on its way for thousands of miles across the ocean.
then a storm came on, and the wonderful paper crane got damp, crumpled up, and fell into the sea. sentaro fell with it. very much frightened at the thought of being drowned, he cried out loudly to jofuku to save him. he looked round, but there was no ship in sight. he swallowed a quantity of sea-water, which only increased his miserable plight. while he was thus struggling to keep himself afloat, he saw a monstrous shark swimming towards him. as it came nearer it opened its huge mouth ready to devour him. sentaro was all but paralyzed with fear now that he felt his end so near, and screamed out as loudly as ever he could to jofuku to come and rescue him.
lo, and behold, sentaro was awakened by his own screams, to find that during his long prayer he had fallen asleep before the shrine, and that all his extraordinary and frightful adventures had been only a wild dream. he was in a cold perspiration with fright, and utterly bewildered.
suddenly a bright light came towards him, and in the light stood a messenger. the messenger held a book in his hand, and spoke to sentaro:
"i am sent to you by jofuku, who in answer to your prayer, has permitted you in a dream to see the land of perpetual life. but you grew weary of living there, and begged to be allowed to return to your native land so that you might die. jofuku, so that he might try you, allowed you to drop into the sea, and then sent a shark to swallow you up. your desire for death was not real, for even at that moment you cried out loudly and shouted for help."
"it is also vain for you to wish to become a hermit, or to find the elixir of life. these things are not for such as you your life is not austere enough. it is best for you to go back to your paternal home, and to live a good and industrious life. never neglect to keep the anniversaries of your ancestors, and make it your duty to provide for your children's future. thus will you live to a good old age and be happy, but give up the vain desire to escape death, for no man can do that, and by this time you have surely found out that even when selfish desires are granted they do not bring happiness."
"in this book i give you there are many precepts good for you to know if you study them, you will be guided in the way i have pointed out to you."
the angel disappeared as soon as he had finished speaking, and sentaro took the lesson to heart. with the book in his hand he returned to his old home, and giving up all his old vain wishes, tried to live a good and useful life and to observe the lessons taught him in the book, and he and his house prospered henceforth.
the bamboo-cutter and the moon-child.
long, long ago, there lived an old bamboo wood-cutter. he was very poor and sad also, for no child had heaven sent to cheer his old age, and in his heart there was no hope of rest from work till he died and was laid in the quiet grave. every morning he went forth into the woods and hills wherever the bamboo reared its lithe green plumes against the sky. when he had made his choice, he would cut down these feathers of the forest, and splitting them lengthwise, or cutting them into joints, would carry the bamboo wood home and make it into various articles for the household, and he and his old wife gained a small livelihood by selling them.
one morning as usual he had gone out to his work, and having found a nice clump of bamboos, had set to work to cut some of them down.
suddenly the green grove of bamboos was flooded with a bright soft light, as if the full moon had risen over the spot. looking round in astonishment, he saw that the brilliance was streaming from one bamboo.
the old man, full of wonder, dropped his ax and went towards the light.
on nearer approach he saw that this soft splendor came from a hollow in the green bamboo stem, and still more wonderful to behold, in the midst of the brilliance stood a tiny human being, only three inches in height, and exquisitely beautiful in appearance.
"you must be sent to be my child, for i find you here among the bamboos where lies my daily work," said the old man, and taking the little creature in his hand he took it home to his wife to bring up. the tiny girl was so exceedingly beautiful and so small, that the old woman put her into a basket to safeguard her from the least possibility of being hurt in any way.
the old couple were now very happy, for it had been a lifelong regret that they had no children of their own, and with joy they now expended all the love of their old age on the little child who had come to them in so marvelous a manner.
from this time on, the old man often found gold in the notches of the bamboos when he hewed them down and cut them up; not only gold, but precious stones also, so that by degrees he became rich. he built himself a fine house, and was no longer known as the poor bamboo woodcutter, but as a wealthy man.
three months passed quickly away, and in that time the bamboo child had, wonderful to say, become a full-grown girl, so her foster-parents did up her hair and dressed her in beautiful kimonos. she was of such wondrous beauty that they placed her behind the screens like a princess, and allowed no one to see her, waiting upon her themselves.
it seemed as if she were made of light, for the house was filled with a soft shining, so that even in the dark of night it was like daytime.
her presence seemed to have a benign influence on those there. whenever the old man felt sad, he had only to look upon his foster-daughter and his sorrow vanished, and he became as happy as when he was a youth.
at last the day came for the naming of their new-found child, so the old couple called in a celebrated name-giver, and he gave her the name of princess moonlight, because her body gave forth so much soft bright light that she might have been a daughter of the moon god.
for three days the festival was kept up with song and dance and music.
all the friends and relations of the old couple were present, and great was their enjoyment of the festivities held to celebrate the naming of princess moonlight. everyone who saw her declared that there never had been seen any one so lovely; all the beauties throughout the length and breadth of the land would grow pale beside her, so they said. the fame of the princess's loveliness spread far and wide, and many were the suitors who desired to win her hand, or even so much as to see her.
suitors from far and near posted themselves outside the house, and made little holes in the fence, in the hope of catching a glimpse of the princess as she went from one room to the other along the veranda. they stayed there day and night, sacrificing even their sleep for a chance of seeing her, but all in vain. then they approached the house, and tried to speak to the old man and his wife or some of the servants, but not even this was granted them.
still, in spite of all this disappointment they stayed on day after day, and night after night, and counted it as nothing, so great was their desire to see the princess.
at last, however, most of the men, seeing how hopeless their quest was, lost heart and hope both, and returned to their homes. all except five knights, whose ardor and determination, instead of waning, seemed to wax greater with obstacles. these five men even went without their meals, and took snatches of whatever they could get brought to them, so that they might always stand outside the dwelling. they stood there in all weathers, in sunshine and in rain.
sometimes they wrote letters to the princess, but no answer was vouchsafed to them. then when letters failed to draw any reply, they wrote poems to her telling her of the hopeless love which kept them from sleep, from food, from rest, and even from their homes. still princes moonlight gave no sign of having received their verses.
in this hopeless state the winter passed. the snow and frost and the cold winds gradually gave place to the gentle warmth of spring. then the summer came, and the sun burned white and scorching in the heavens above and on the earth beneath, and still these faithful knights kept watch and waited. at the end of these long months they called out to the old bamboo-cutter and entreated him to have some mercy upon them and to show them the princess, but he answered only that as he was not her real father he could not insist on her obeying him against her wishes.
the five knights on receiving this stern answer returned to their several homes, and pondered over the best means of touching the proud princess's heart, even so much as to grant them a hearing. they took their rosaries in hand and knelt before their household shrines, and burned precious incense, praying to buddha to give them their heart's desire. thus several days passed, but even so they could not rest in their homes.
so again they set out for the bamboo-cutter's house. this time the old man came out to see them, and they asked him to let them know if it was the princess's resolution never to see any man whatsoever, and they implored him to speak for them and to tell her the greatness of their love, and how long they had waited through the cold of winter and the heat of summer, sleepless and roofless through all weathers, without food and without rest, in the ardent hope of winning her, and they were willing to consider this long vigil as pleasure if she would but give them one chance of pleading their cause with her.
the old man lent a willing ear to their
"although you have always seemed to me to be a heavenly being, yet i have had the trouble of bringing you up as my own child and you have been glad of the protection of my roof. will you refuse to do as i wish?"
then princess moonlight replied that there was nothing she would not do for him, that she honored and loved him as her own father, and that as for herself she could not remember the time before she came to earth.
the old man listened with great joy as she spoke these dutiful words.
then he told her how anxious he was to see her safely and happily married before he died.
"i am an old man, over seventy years of age, and my end may come any time now. it is necessary and right that you should see these five suitors and choose one of them."
"oh, why," said the princess in distress, "must i do this? i have no wish to marry now."
"i found you," answered the old man, "many years ago, when you were a little creature three inches high, in the midst of a great white light.
the light streamed from the bamboo in which you were hid and led me to you. so i have always thought that you were more than mortal woman.
while i am alive it is right for you to remain as you are if you wish to do so, but some day i shall cease to be and who will take care of you then? therefore i pray you to meet these five brave men one at a time and make up your mind to marry one of them!"
then the princess answered that she felt sure that she was not as beautiful as perhaps report made her out to be, and that even if she consented to marry any one of them, not really knowing her before, his heart might change afterwards. so as she did not feel sure of them, even though her father told her they were worthy knights, she did not feel it wise to see them.
"all you say is very reasonable," said the old man, "but what kind of men will you consent to see? i do not call these five men who have waited on you for months, light-hearted. they have stood outside this house through the winter and the summer, often denying themselves food and sleep so that they may win you. what more can you demand?"
then princess moonlight said she must make further trial of their love before she would grant their request to interview her. the five warriors were to prove their love by each bringing her from distant countries something that she desired to possess.
that same evening the suitors arrived and began to play their flutes in turn, and to sing their self-composed songs telling of their great and tireless love. the bamboo-cutter went out to them and offered them his sympathy for all they had endured and all the patience they had shown in their desire to win his foster-daughter. then he gave them her message, that she would consent to marry whosoever was successful in bringing her what she wanted. this was to test them.
the five all accepted the trial, and thought it an excellent plan, for it would prevent jealousy between them.
princess moonlight then sent word to the first knight that she requested him to bring her the stone bowl which had belonged to buddha in india.
the second knight was asked to go to the mountain of horai, said to be situated in the eastern sea, and to bring her a branch of the wonderful tree that grew on its summit. the roots of this tree were of silver, the trunk of gold, and the branches bore as fruit white jewels.
the third knight was told to go to china and search for the fire-rat and to bring her its skin.
the fourth knight was told to search for the dragon that carried on its head the stone radiating five colors and to bring the stone to her.
the fifth knight was to find the swallow which carried a shell in its stomach and to bring the shell to her.
the old man thought these very hard tasks and hesitated to carry the messages, but the princess would make no other conditions. so her commands were issued word for word to the five men who, when they heard what was required of them, were all disheartened and disgusted at what seemed to them the impossibility of the tasks given them and returned to their own homes in despair.
but after a time, when they thought of the princess, the love in their hearts revived for her, and they resolved to make an attempt to get what she desired of them.
the first knight sent word to the princess that he was starting out that day on the quest of buddha's bowl, and he hoped soon to bring it to her. but he had not the courage to go all the way to india, for in those days traveling was very difficult and full of danger, so he went to one of the temples in kyoto and took a stone bowl from the altar there, paying the priest a large sum of money for it. he then wrapped it in a cloth of gold and, waiting quietly for three years, returned and carried it to the old man.
princess moonlight wondered that the knight should have returned so soon. she took the bowl from its gold wrapping, expecting it to make the room full of light, but it did not shine at all, so she knew that it was a sham thing and not the true bowl of buddha. she returned it at once and refused to see him. the knight threw the bowl away and returned to his home in despair. he gave up now all hopes of ever winning the princess.
the second knight told his parents that he needed change of air for his health, for he was ashamed to tell them that love for the princess moonlight was the real cause of his leaving them. he then left his home, at the same time sending word to the princess that he was setting out for mount horai in the hope of getting her a branch of the gold and silver tree which she so much wished to have. he only allowed his servants to accompany him half-way, and then sent them back. he reached the seashore and embarked on a small ship, and after sailing away for three days he landed and employed several carpenters to build him a house contrived in such a way that no one could get access to it. he then shut himself up with six skilled jewelers, and endeavored to make such a gold and silver branch as he thought would satisfy the princess as having come from the wonderful tree growing on mount horai. every one whom he had asked declared that mount horai belonged to the land of fable and not to fact.
when the branch was finished, he took his journey home and tried to make himself look as if he were wearied and worn out with travel. he put the jeweled branch into a lacquer box and carried it to the bamboo-cutter, begging him to present it to the princess.
the old man was quite deceived by the travel-stained appearance of the knight, and thought that he had only just returned from his long journey with the branch. so he tried to persuade the princess to consent to see the man. but she remained silent and looked very sad.
the old man began to take out the branch and praised it as a wonderful treasure to be found nowhere in the whole land. then he spoke of the knight, how handsome and how brave he was to have undertaken a journey to so remote a place as the mount of horai.
princess moonlight took the branch in her hand and looked at it carefully. she then told her foster-parent that she knew it was impossible for the man to have obtained a branch from the gold and silver tree growing on mount horai so quickly or so easily, and she was sorry to say she believed it artificial.
the old man then went out to the expectant knight, who had now approached the house, and asked where he had found the branch. then the man did not scruple to make up a long story.
"two years ago i took a ship and started in search of mount horai.
after going before the wind for some time i reached the far eastern sea. then a great storm arose and i was tossed about for many days, losing all count of the points of the compass, and finally we were blown ashore on an unknown island. here i found the place inhabited by demons who at one time threatened to kill and eat me. however, i managed to make friends with these horrible creatures, and they helped me and my sailors to repair the boat, and i set sail again. our food gave out, and we suffered much from sickness on board. at last, on the five-hundredth day from the day of starting, i saw far off on the horizon what looked like the peak of a mountain. on nearer approach, this proved to be an island, in the center of which rose a high mountain. i landed, and after wandering about for two or three days, i saw a shining being coming towards me on the beach, holding in his hands a golden bowl. i went up to him and asked him if i had, by good chance, found the island of mount horai, and he answered:"
"'yes, this is mount horai!'"
"with much difficulty i climbed to the summit, here stood the golden tree growing with silver roots in the ground. the wonders of that strange land are many, and if i began to tell you about them i could never stop. in spite of my wish to stay there long, on breaking off the branch i hurried back. with utmost speed it has taken me four hundred days to get back, and, as you see, my clothes are still damp from exposure on the long sea voyage. i have not even waited to change my raiment, so anxious was i to bring the branch to the princess quickly."
just at this moment the six jewelers, who had been employed on the making of the branch, but not yet paid by the knight, arrived at the house and sent in a petition to the princess to be paid for their labor. they said that they had worked for over a thousand days making the branch of gold, with its silver twigs and its jeweled fruit, that was now presented to her by the knight, but as yet they had received nothing in payment. so this knight's deception was thus found out, and the princess, glad of an escape from one more importunate suitor, was only too pleased to send back the branch. she called in the workmen and had them paid liberally, and they went away happy. but on the way home they were overtaken by the disappointed man, who beat them till they were nearly dead, for letting out the secret, and they barely escaped with their lives. the knight then returned home, raging in his heart; and in despair of ever winning the princess gave up society and retired to a solitary life among the mountains.
now the third knight had a friend in china, so he wrote to him to get the skin of the fire-rat. the virtue of any part of this animal was that no fire could harm it. he promised his friend any amount of money he liked to ask if only he could get him the desired article. as soon as the news came that the ship on which his friend had sailed home had come into port, he rode seven days on horseback to meet him. he handed his friend a large sum of money, and received the fire-rat's skin. when he reached home he put it carefully in a box and sent it in to the princess while he waited outside for her answer.
the bamboo-cutter took the box from the knight and, as usual, carried it in to her and tried to coax her to see the knight at once, but princess moonlight refused, saying that she must first put the skin to test by putting it into the fire. if it were the real thing it would not burn. so she took off the crape wrapper and opened the box, and then threw the skin into the fire. the skin crackled and burnt up at once, and the princess knew that this man also had not fulfilled his word. so the third knight failed also.
now the fourth knight was no more enterprising than the rest. instead of starting out on the quest of the dragon bearing on its head the five-color-radiating jewel, he called all his servants together and gave them the order to seek for it far and wide in japan and in china, and he strictly forbade any of them to return till they had found it.
his numerous retainers and servants started out in different directions, with no intention, however, of obeying what they considered an impossible order. they simply took a holiday, went to pleasant country places together, and grumbled at their master's unreasonableness.
the knight meanwhile, thinking that his retainers could not fail to find the jewel, repaired to his house, and fitted it up beautifully for the reception of the princess, he felt so sure of winning her.
one year passed away in weary waiting, and still his men did not return with the dragon-jewel. the knight became desperate. he could wait no longer, so taking with him only two men he hired a ship and commanded the captain to go in search of the dragon; the captain and the sailors refused to undertake what they said was an absurd search, but the knight compelled them at last to put out to sea.
when they had been but a few days out they encountered a great storm which lasted so long that, by the time its fury abated, the knight had determined to give up the hunt of the dragon. they were at last blown on shore, for navigation was primitive in those days. worn out with his travels and anxiety, the fourth suitor gave himself up to rest. he had caught a very heavy cold, and had to go to bed with a swollen face.
the governor of the place, hearing of his plight, sent messengers with a letter inviting him to his house. while he was there thinking over all his troubles, his love for the princess turned to anger, and he blamed her for all the hardships he had undergone. he thought that it was quite probable she had wished to kill him so that she might be rid of him, and in order to carry out her wish had sent him upon his impossible quest.
at this point all the servants he had sent out to find the jewel came to see him, and were surprised to find praise instead of displeasure awaiting them. their master told them that he was heartily sick of adventure, and said that he never intended to go near the princess's house again in the future.
like all the rest, the fifth knight failed in his quest he could not find the swallow's shell.
by this time the fame of princess moonlight's beauty had reached the ears of the emperor, and he sent one of the court ladies to see if she were really as lovely as report said; if so he would summon her to the palace and make her one of the ladies-in-waiting.
when the court lady arrived, in spite of her father's entreaties, princess moonlight refused to see her. the imperial messenger insisted, saying it was the emperor's order. then princess moonlight told the old man that if she was forced to go to the palace in obedience to the emperor's order, she would vanish from the earth.
when the emperor was told of her persistence in refusing to obey his summons, and that if pressed to obey she would disappear altogether from sight, he determined to go and see her. so he planned to go on a hunting excursion in the neighborhood of the bamboo-cutter's house, and see the princess himself. he sent word to the old man of his intention, and he received consent to the scheme. the next day the emperor set out with his retinue, which he soon managed to outride. he found the bamboo-cutter's house and dismounted. he then entered the house and went straight to where the princess was sitting with her attendant maidens.
never had he seen any one so wonderfully beautiful, and he could not but look at her, for she was more lovely than any human being as she shone in her own soft radiance. when princess moonlight became aware that a stranger was looking at her she tried to escape from the room, but the emperor caught her and begged her to listen to what he had to say. her only answer was to hide her face in her sleeves.
the emperor fell deeply in love with her, and begged her to come to the court, where he would give her a position of honor and everything she could wish for. he was about to send for one of the imperial palanquins to take her back with him at once, saying that her grace and beauty should adorn a court, and not be hidden in a bamboo-cutter's cottage.
but the princess stopped him. she said that if she were forced to go to the palace she would turn at once into a shadow, and even as she spoke she began to lose her form. her figure faded from his sight while he looked.
the emperor then promised to leave her free if only she would resume her former shape, which she did.
it was now time for him to return, for his retinue would be wondering what had happened to their royal master when they missed him for so long. so he bade her good-by, and left the house with a sad heart.
princess moonlight was for him the most beautiful woman in the world; all others were dark beside her, and he thought of her night and day.
his majesty now spent much of his time in writing poems, telling her of his love and devotion, and sent them to her, and though she refused to see him again she answered with many verses of her own composing, which told him gently and kindly that she could never marry any one on this earth. these little songs always gave him pleasure.
at this time her foster-parents noticed that night after night the princess would sit on her balcony and gaze for hours at the moon, in a spirit of the deepest dejection, ending always in a burst of tears. one night the old man found her thus weeping as if her heart were broken, and he besought her to tell him the reason of her sorrow.
with many tears she told him that he had guessed rightly when he supposed her not to belong to this world that she had in truth come from the moon, and that her time on earth would soon be over. on the fifteenth day of that very month of august her friends from the moon would come to fetch her, and she would have to return. her parents were both there, but having spent a lifetime on the earth she had forgotten them, and also the moon-world to which she belonged. it made her weep, she said, to think of leaving her kind foster-parents, and the home where she had been happy for so long.
when her attendants heard this they were very sad, and could not eat or drink for sadness at the thought that the princess was so soon to leave them.
the emperor, as soon as the news was carried to him, sent messengers to the house to find out if the report were true or not.
the old bamboo-cutter went out to meet the imperial messengers. the last few days of sorrow had told upon the old man; he had aged greatly, and looked much more than his seventy years. weeping bitterly, he told them that the report was only too true, but he intended, however, to make prisoners of the envoys from the moon, and to do all he could to prevent the princess from being carried back.
the men returned and told his majesty all that had passed. on the fifteenth day of that month the emperor sent a guard of two thousand warriors to watch the house. one thousand stationed themselves on the roof, another thousand kept watch round all the entrances of the house.
all were well trained archers, with bows and arrows. the bamboo-cutter and his wife hid princess moonlight in an inner room.
the old man gave orders that no one was to sleep that night, all in the house were to keep a strict watch, and be ready to protect the princess. with these precautions, and the help of the emperor's men-at-arms, he hoped to withstand the moon-messengers, but the princess told him that all these measures to keep her would be useless, and that when her people came for her nothing whatever could prevent them from carrying out their purpose. even the emperors men would be powerless. then she added with tears that she was very, very sorry to leave him and his wife, whom she had learned to love as her parents, that if she could do as she liked she would stay with them in their old age, and try to make some return for all the love and kindness they had showered upon her during all her earthly life.
the night wore on! the yellow harvest moon rose high in the heavens, flooding the world asleep with her golden light. silence reigned over the pine and the bamboo forests, and on the roof where the thousand men-at-arms waited.
then the night grew gray towards the dawn and all hoped that the danger was over that princess moonlight would not have to leave them after all. then suddenly the watchers saw a cloud form round the moon and while they looked this cloud began to roll earthwards. nearer and nearer it came, and every one saw with dismay that its course lay towards the house.
in a short time the sky was entirely obscured, till at last the cloud lay over the dwelling only ten feet off the ground. in the midst of the cloud there stood a flying chariot, and in the chariot a band of luminous beings. one amongst them who looked like a king and appeared to be the chief stepped out of the chariot, and, poised in air, called to the old man to come out.
"the time has come," he said, "for princess moonlight to return to the moon from whence she came. she committed a grave fault, and as a punishment was sent to live down here for a time. we know what good care you have taken of the princess, and we have rewarded you for this and have sent you wealth and prosperity. we put the gold in the bamboos for you to find."
"i have brought up this princess for twenty years and never once has she done a wrong thing, therefore the lady you are seeking cannot be this one," said the old man. "i pray you to look elsewhere."
then the messenger called aloud, saying:
"princess moonlight, come out from this lowly dwelling. rest not here another moment."
at these words the screens of the princess's room slid open of their own accord, revealing the princess shining in her own radiance, bright and wonderful and full of beauty.
the messenger led her forth and placed her in the chariot. she looked back, and saw with pity the deep sorrow of the old man. she spoke to him many comforting words, and told him that it was not her will to leave him and that he must always think of her when looking at the moon.
the bamboo-cutter implored to be allowed to accompany her, but this was not allowed. the princess took off her embroidered outer garment and gave it to him as a keepsake.
one of the moon beings in the chariot held a wonderful coat of wings, another had a phial full of the elixir of life which was given the princess to drink. she swallowed a little and was about to give the rest to the old man, but she was prevented from doing so.
the robe of wings was about to be put upon her shoulders, but she said:
"wait a little. i must not forget my good friend the emperor. i must write him once more to say good-by while still in this human form."
in spite of the impatience of the messengers and charioteers she kept them waiting while she wrote. she placed the phial of the elixir of life with the letter, and, giving them to the old man, she asked him to deliver them to the emperor.
then the chariot began to roll heavenwards towards the moon, and as they all gazed with tearful eyes at the receding princess, the dawn broke, and in the rosy light of day the moon-chariot and all in it were lost amongst the fleecy clouds that were now wafted across the sky on the wings of the morning wind.
princess moonlight's letter was carried to the palace. his majesty was afraid to touch the elixir of life, so he sent it with the letter to the top of the most sacred mountain in the land. mount fuji, and there the royal emissaries burnt it on the summit at sunrise. so to this day people say there is smoke to be seen rising from the top of mount fuji to the clouds.
the mirror of matsuyama
a story of old japan.
long years ago in old japan there lived in the province of echigo, a very remote part of japan even in these days, a man and his wife. when this story begins they had been married for some years and were blessed with one little daughter. she was the joy and pride of both their lives, and in her they stored an endless source of happiness for their old age.
what golden letter days in their memory were these that had marked her growing up from babyhood; the visit to the temple when she was just thirty days old, her proud mother carrying her, robed in ceremonial kimono, to be put under the patronage of the family's household god; then her first dolls festival, when her parents gave her a set of dolls and their miniature belongings, to be added to as year succeeded year; and perhaps the most important occasion of all, on her third birthday, when her first obi (broad brocade sash) of scarlet and gold was tied round her small waist, a sign that she had crossed the threshold of girlhood and left infancy behind. now that she was seven years of age, and had learned to talk and to wait upon her parents in those several little ways so dear to the hearts of fond parents, their cup of happiness seemed full. there could not be found in the whole of the island empire a happier little family.
one day there was much excitement in the home, for the father had been suddenly summoned to the capital on business. in these days of railways and jinrickshas and other rapid modes of traveling, it is difficult to realize what such a journey as that from matsuyama to kyoto meant. the roads were rough and bad, and ordinary people had to walk every step of the way, whether the distance were one hundred or several hundred miles. indeed, in those days it was as great an undertaking to go up to the capital as it is for a japanese to make a voyage to europe now.
so the wife was very anxious while she helped her husband get ready for the long journey, knowing what an arduous task lay before him. vainly she wished that she could accompany him, but the distance was too great for the mother and child to go, and besides that, it was the wife's duty to take care of the home.
all was ready at last, and the husband stood in the porch with his little family round him.
"do not be anxious, i will come back soon," said the man. "while i am away take care of everything, and especially of our little daughter."
"yes, we shall be all right but you you must take care of yourself and delay not a day in coming back to us," said the wife, while the tears fell like rain from her eyes.
the little girl was the only one to smile, for she was ignorant of the sorrow of parting, and did not know that going to the capital was at all different from walking to the next village, which her father did very often. she ran to his side, and caught hold of his long sleeve to keep him a moment.
"father, i will be very good while i am waiting for you to come back, so please bring me a present."
as the father turned to take a last look at his weeping wife and smiling, eager child, he felt as if some one were pulling him back by the hair, so hard was it for him to leave them behind, for they had never been separated before. but he knew that he must go, for the call was imperative. with a great effort he ceased to think, and resolutely turning away he went quickly down the little garden and out through the gate. his wife, catching up the child in her arms, ran as far as the gate, and watched him as he went down the road between the pines till he was lost in the haze of the distance and all she could see was his quaint peaked hat, and at last that vanished too.
"now father has gone, you and i must take care of everything till he comes back," said the mother, as she made her way back to the house.
"yes, i will be very good," said the child, nodding her head, "and when father comes home please tell him how good i have been, and then perhaps he will give me a present."
"father is sure to bring you something that you want very much. i know, for i asked him to bring you a doll. you must think of father every day, and pray for a safe journey till he comes back."
"o, yes, when he comes home again how happy i shall be," said the child, clapping her hands, and her face growing bright with joy at the glad thought. it seemed to the mother as she looked at the child's face that her love for her grew deeper and deeper.
then she set to work to make the winter clothes for the three of them.
she set up her simple wooden spinning-wheel and spun the thread before she began to weave the stuffs. in the intervals of her work she directed the little girl's games and taught her to read the old stories of her country. thus did the wife find consolation in work during the lonely days of her husband's absence. while the time was thus slipping quickly by in the quiet home, the husband finished his business and returned.
it would have been difficult for any one who did not know the man well to recognize him. he had traveled day after day, exposed to all weathers, for about a month altogether, and was sunburnt to bronze, but his fond wife and child knew him at a glance, and flew to meet him from either side, each catching hold of one of his sleeves in their eager greeting. both the man and his wife rejoiced to find each other well.
it seemed a very long time to all till the mother and child helping his straw sandals were untied, his large umbrella hat taken off, and he was again in their midst in the old familiar sitting-room that had been so empty while he was away.
as soon as they had sat down on the white mats, the father opened a bamboo basket that he had brought in with him, and took out a beautiful doll and a lacquer box full of cakes.
"here," he said to the little girl, "is a present for you. it is a prize for taking care of mother and the house so well while i was away."
"thank you," said the child, as she bowed her head to the ground, and then put out her hand just like a little maple leaf with its eager wide-spread fingers to take the doll and the box, both of which, coming from the capital, were prettier than anything she had ever seen. no words can tell how delighted the little girl was her face seemed as if it would melt with joy, and she had no eyes and no thought for anything else.
again the husband dived into the basket, and brought out this time a square wooden box, carefully tied up with red and white string, and handing it to his wife, said:
"and this is for you."
the wife took the box, and opening it carefully took out a metal disk with a handle attached. one side was bright and shining like a crystal, and the other was covered with raised figures of pine-trees and storks, which had been carved out of its smooth surface in lifelike reality.
never had she seen such a thing in her life, for she had been born and bred in the rural province of echigo. she gazed into the shining disk, and looking up with surprise and wonder pictured on her face, she said:
"i see somebody looking at me in this round thing! what is it that you have given me?"
the husband laughed and said:
"why, it is your own face that you see. what i have brought you is called a mirror, and whoever looks into its clear surface can see their own form reflected there. although there are none to be found in this out of the way place, yet they have been in use in the capital from the most ancient times. there the mirror is considered a very necessary requisite for a woman to possess. there is an old proverb that 'as the sword is the soul of a samurai, so is the mirror the soul of a woman,'
and according to popular tradition, a woman's mirror is an index to her own heart if she keeps it bright and clear, so is her heart pure and good. it is also one of the treasures that form the insignia of the emperor. so you must lay great store by your mirror, and use it carefully."
the wife listened to all her husband told her, and was pleased at learning so much that was new to her. she was still more pleased at the precious gift his token of remembrance while he had been away.
"if the mirror represents my soul, i shall certainly treasure it as a valuable possession, and never will i use it carelessly." saying so, she lifted it as high as her forehead, in grateful acknowledgment of the gift, and then shut it up in its box and put it away.
the wife saw that her husband was very tired, and set about serving the evening meal and making everything as comfortable as she could for him.
it seemed to the little family as if they had not known what true happiness was before, so glad were they to be together again, and this evening the father had much to tell of his journey and of all he had seen at the great capital.
time passed away in the peaceful home, and the parents saw their fondest hopes realized as their daughter grew from childhood into a beautiful girl of sixteen. as a gem of priceless value is held in its proud owner's hand, so had they reared her with unceasing love and care: and now their pains were more than doubly rewarded. what a comfort she was to her mother as she went about the house taking her part in the housekeeping, and how proud her father was of her, for she daily reminded him of her mother when he had first married her.
but, alas! in this world nothing lasts forever. even the moon is not always perfect in shape, but loses its roundness with time, and flowers bloom and then fade. so at last the happiness of this family was broken up by a great sorrow. the good and gentle wife and mother was one day taken ill.
in the first days of her illness the father and daughter thought that it was only a cold, and were not particularly anxious. but the days went by and still the mother did not get better; she only grew worse, and the doctor was puzzled, for in spite of all he did the poor woman grew weaker day by day. the father and daughter were stricken with grief, and day or night the girl never left her mother's side. but in spite of all their efforts the woman's life was not to be saved.
one day as the girl sat near her mother's bed, trying to hide with a cheery smile the gnawing trouble at her heart, the mother roused herself and taking her daughter's hand, gazed earnestly and lovingly into her eyes. her breath was labored and she spoke with difficulty:
"my daughter. i am sure that nothing can save me now. when i am dead, promise me to take care of your dear father and to try to be a good and dutiful woman."
"oh, mother," said the girl as the tears rushed to her eyes, "you must not say such things. all you have to do is to make haste and get well that will bring the greatest happiness to father and myself."
"yes, i know, and it is a comfort to me in my last days to know how greatly you long for me to get better, but it is not to be. do not look so sorrowful, for it was so ordained in my previous state of existence that i should die in this life just at this time; knowing this, i am quite resigned to my fate. and now i have something to give you whereby to remember me when i am gone."
putting her hand out, she took from the side of the pillow a square wooden box tied up with a silken cord and tassels. undoing this very carefully, she took out of the box the mirror that her husband had given her years ago.
"when you were still a little child your father went up to the capital and brought me back as a present this treasure; it is called a mirror.
this i give you before i die. if, after i have ceased to be in this life, you are lonely and long to see me sometimes, then take out this mirror and in the clear and shining surface you will always see me so will you be able to meet with me often and tell me all your heart; and though i shall not be able to speak, i shall understand and sympathize with you, whatever may happen to you in the future." with these words the dying woman handed the mirror to her daughter.
the mind of the good mother seemed to be now at rest, and sinking back without another word her spirit passed quietly away that day.
the bereaved father and daughter were wild with grief, and they abandoned themselves to their bitter sorrow. they felt it to be impossible to take leave of the loved woman who till now had filled their whole lives and to commit her body to the earth. but this frantic burst of grief passed, and then they took possession of their own hearts again, crushed though they were in resignation. in spite of this the daughter's life seemed to her desolate. her love for her dead mother did not grow less with time, and so keen was her remembrance, that everything in daily life, even the falling of the rain and the blowing of the wind, reminded her of her mother's death and of all that they had loved and shared together. one day when her father was out, and she was fulfilling her household duties alone, her loneliness and sorrow seemed more than she could bear. she threw herself down in her mother's room and wept as if her heart would break. poor child, she longed just for one glimpse of the loved face, one sound of the voice calling her pet name, or for one moment's forgetfulness of the aching void in her heart. suddenly she sat up. her mother's last words had rung through her memory hitherto dulled by grief.
"oh! my mother told me when she gave me the mirror as a parting gift, that whenever i looked into it i should be able to meet her to see her. i had nearly forgotten her last words how stupid i am; i will get the mirror now and see if it can possibly be true!"
she dried her eyes quickly, and going to the cupboard took out the box that contained the mirror, her heart beating with expectation as she lifted the mirror out and gazed into its smooth face. behold, her mother's words were true! in the round mirror before her she saw her mother's face; but, oh, the joyful surprise! it was not her mother thin and wasted by illness, but the young and beautiful woman as she remembered her far back in the days of her own earliest childhood. it seemed to the girl that the face in the mirror must soon speak, almost that she heard the voice of her mother telling her again to grow up a good woman and a dutiful daughter, so earnestly did the eyes in the mirror look back into her own.
"it is certainly my mother's soul that i see. she knows how miserable i am without her and she has come to comfort me. whenever i long to see her she will meet me here; how grateful i ought to be!"
and from this time the weight of sorrow was greatly lightened for her young heart. every morning, to gather strength for the day's duties before her, and every evening, for consolation before she lay down to rest, did the young girl take out the mirror and gaze at the reflection which in the simplicity of her innocent heart she believed to be her mother's soul. daily she grew in the likeness of her dead mother's character, and was gentle and kind to all, and a dutiful daughter to her father.
a year spent in mourning had thus passed away in the little household, when, by the advice of his relations, the man married again, and the daughter now found herself under the authority of a step-mother. it was a trying position; but her days spent in the recollection of her own beloved mother, and of trying to be what that mother would wish her to be, had made the young girl docile and patient, and she now determined to be filial and dutiful to her father's wife, in all respects.
everything went on apparently smoothly in the family for some time under the new regime; there were no winds or waves of discord to ruffle the surface of every-day life, and the father was content.
but it is a woman's danger to be petty and mean, and step-mothers are proverbial all the world over, and this one's heart was not as her first smiles were. as the days and weeks grew into months, the step-mother began to treat the motherless girl unkindly and to try and come between the father and child.
sometimes she went to her husband and complained of her step-daughter's behavior, but the father knowing that this was to be expected, took no notice of her ill-natured complaints. instead of lessening his affection for his daughter, as the woman desired, her grumblings only made him think of her the more. the woman soon saw that he began to show more concern for his lonely child than before. this did not please her at all, and she began to turn over in her mind how she could, by some means or other, drive her step-child out of the house. so crooked did the woman's heart become.
she watched the girl carefully, and one day peeping into her room in the early morning, she thought she discovered a grave enough sin of which to accuse the child to her father. the woman herself was a little frightened too at what she had seen.
so she went at once to her husband, and wiping away some false tears she said in a sad voice:
"please give me permission to leave you today."
the man was completely taken by surprise at the suddenness of her request, and wondered whatever was the matter.
"do you find it so disagreeable," he asked, "in my house, that you can stay no longer?"
"no! no! it has nothing to do with you even in my dreams i have never thought that i wished to leave your side; but if i go on living here i am in danger of losing my life, so i think it best for all concerned that you should allow me to go home!"
and the woman began to weep afresh. her husband, distressed to see her so unhappy, and thinking that he could not have heard aright, said:
"tell me what you mean! how is your life in danger here?"
"i will tell you since you ask me. your daughter dislikes me as her step-mother. for some time past she has shut herself up in her room morning and evening, and looking in as i pass by, i am convinced that she has made an image of me and is trying to kill me by magic art, cursing me daily. it is not safe for me to stay here, such being the case; indeed, indeed, i must go away, we cannot live under the same roof any more."
the husband listened to the dreadful tale, but he could not believe his gentle daughter guilty of such an evil act. he knew that by popular superstition people believed that one person could cause the gradual death of another by making an image of the hated one and cursing it daily; but where had his young daughter learned such knowledge? the thing was impossible. yet he remembered having noticed that his daughter stayed much in her room of late and kept herself away from every one, even when visitors came to the house. putting this fact together with his wife's alarm, he thought that there might be something to account for the strange story.
his heart was torn between doubting his wife and trusting his child, and he knew not what to do. he decided to go at once to his daughter and try to find out the truth. comforting his wife and assuring her that her fears were groundless, he glided quietly to his daughter's room.
the girl had for a long time past been very unhappy. she had tried by amiability and obedience to show her goodwill and to mollify the new wife, and to break down that wall of prejudice and misunderstanding that she knew generally stood between step-parents and their step-children. but she soon found that her efforts were in vain. the step-mother never trusted her, and seemed to misinterpret all her actions, and the poor child knew very well that she often carried unkind and untrue tales to her father. she could not help comparing her present unhappy condition with the time when her own mother was alive only a little more than a year ago so great a change in this short time! morning and evening she wept over the remembrance. whenever she could she went to her room, and sliding the screens to, took out the mirror and gazed, as she thought, at her mother's face. it was the only comfort that she had in these wretched days.
her father found her occupied in this way. pushing aside the fusama, he saw her bending over something or other very intently. looking over her shoulder, to see who was entering her room, the girl was surprised to see her father, for he generally sent for her when he wished to speak to her. she was also confused at being found looking at the mirror, for she had never told any one of her mother's last promise, but had kept it as the sacred secret of her heart. so before turning to her father she slipped the mirror into her long sleeve. her father noting her confusion, and her act of hiding something, said in a severe manner:
"daughter, what are you doing here? and what is that that you have hidden in your sleeve?"
the girl was frightened by her father's severity. never had he spoken to her in such a tone. her confusion changed to apprehension, her color from scarlet to white. she sat dumb and shamefaced, unable to reply.
appearances were certainly against her; the young girl looked guilty, and the father thinking that perhaps after all what his wife had told him was true, spoke angrily:
"then, is it really true that you are daily cursing your step-mother and praying for her death? have you forgotten what i told you, that although she is your step-mother you must be obedient and loyal to her?
what evil spirit has taken possession of your heart that you should be so wicked? you have certainly changed, my daughter! what has made you so disobedient and unfaithful?"
and the father's eyes filled with sudden tears to think that he should have to upbraid his daughter in this way.
she on her part did not know what he meant, for she had never heard of the superstition that by praying over an image it is possible to cause the death of a hated person. but she saw that she must speak and clear herself somehow. she loved her father dearly, and could not bear the idea of his anger. she put out her hand on his knee deprecatingly:
"father! father! do not say such dreadful things to me. i am still your obedient child. indeed, i am. however stupid i may be, i should never be able to curse any one who belonged to you, much less pray for the death of one you love. surely some one has been telling you lies, and you are dazed, and you know not what you say or some evil spirit has taken possession of your heart. as for me i do not know no, not so much as a dew-drop, of the evil thing of which you accuse me."
but the father remembered that she had hidden something away when he first entered the room, and even this earnest protest did not satisfy him. he wished to clear up his doubts once for all.
"then why are you always alone in your room these days? and tell me what is that that you have hidden in your sleeve show it to me at once."
then the daughter, though shy of confessing how she had cherished her mother's memory, saw that she must tell her father all in order to clear herself. so she slipped the mirror out from her long sleeve and laid it before him.
"this," she said, "is what you saw me looking at just now."
"why," he said in great surprise, "this is the mirror that i brought as a gift to your mother when i went up to the capital many years ago! and so you have kept it all this time? now, why do you spend so much of your time before this mirror?"
then she told him of her mother's last words, and of how she had promised to meet her child whenever she looked into the glass. but still the father could not understand the simplicity of his daughter's character in not knowing that what she saw reflected in the mirror was in reality her own face, and not that of her mother.
"what do you mean?" he asked. "i do not understand how you can meet the soul of your lost mother by looking in this mirror?"
"it is indeed true," said the girl: "and if you don't believe what i say, look for yourself," and she placed the mirror before her. there, looking back from the smooth metal disk, was her own sweet face. she pointed to the reflection seriously:
"do you doubt me still?" she asked earnestly, looking up into his face.
with an exclamation of sudden understanding the father smote his two hands together.
"how stupid i am! at last i understand. your face is as like your mother's as the two sides of a melon thus you have looked at the reflection of your face all this time, thinking that you were brought face to face with your lost mother! you are truly a faithful child. it seems at first a stupid thing to have done, but it is not really so, it shows how deep has been your filial piety, and how innocent your heart.
living in constant remembrance of your lost mother has helped you to grow like her in character. how clever it was of her to tell you to do this. i admire and respect you, my daughter, and i am ashamed to think that for one instant i believed your suspicious step-mother's story and suspected you of evil, and came with the intention of scolding you severely, while all this time you have been so true and good. before you i have no countenance left, and i beg you to forgive me."
and here the father wept. he thought of how lonely the poor girl must have been, and of all that she must have suffered under her step-mother's treatment. his daughter steadfastly keeping her faith and simplicity in the midst of such adverse circumstances bearing all her troubles with so much patience and amiability made him compare her to the lotus which rears its blossom of dazzling beauty out of the slime and mud of the moats and ponds, fitting emblem of a heart which keeps itself unsullied while passing through the world.
the step-mother, anxious to know what would happen, had all this while been standing outside the room. she had grown interested, and had gradually pushed the sliding screen back till she could see all that went on. at this moment she suddenly entered the room, and dropping to the mats, she bowed her head over her outspread hands before her step-daughter.
"i am ashamed! i am ashamed!" she exclaimed in broken tones. "i did not know what a filial child you were. through no fault of yours, but with a step-mother's jealous heart, i have disliked you all the time. hating you so much myself, it was but natural that i should think you reciprocated the feeling, and thus when i saw you retire so often to your room i followed you, and when i saw you gaze daily into the mirror for long intervals, i concluded that you had found out how i disliked you, and that you were out of revenge trying to take my life by magic art. as long as i live i shall never forget the wrong i have done you in so misjudging you, and in causing your father to suspect you. from this day i throw away my old and wicked heart, and in its place i put a new one, clean and full of repentance. i shall think of you as a child that i have borne myself. i shall love and cherish you with all my heart, and thus try to make up for all the unhappiness i have caused you. therefore, please throw into the water all that has gone before, and give me, i beg of you, some of the filial love that you have hitherto given to your own lost mother."
thus did the unkind step-mother humble herself and ask forgiveness of the girl she had so wronged.
such was the sweetness of the girl's disposition that she willingly forgave her step-mother, and never bore a moment's resentment or malice towards her afterwards. the father saw by his wife's face that she was truly sorry for the past, and was greatly relieved to see the terrible misunderstanding wiped out of remembrance by both the wrong-doer and the wronged.
from this time on, the three lived together as happily as fish in water. no such trouble ever darkened the home again, and the young girl gradually forgot that year of unhappiness in the tender love and care that her step-mother now bestowed on her. her patience and goodness were rewarded at last.
the goblin of adachigahara.
long, long ago there was a large plain called adachigahara, in the province of mutsu in japan. this place was said to be haunted by a cannibal goblin who took the form of an old woman. from time to time many travelers disappeared and were never heard of more, and the old women round the charcoal braziers in the evenings, and the girls washing the household rice at the wells in the mornings, whispered dreadful stories of how the missing folk had been lured to the goblin's cottage and devoured, for the goblin lived only on human flesh. no one dared to venture near the haunted spot after sunset, and all those who could, avoided it in the daytime, and travelers were warned of the dreaded place.
one day as the sun was setting, a priest came to the plain. he was a belated traveler, and his robe showed that he was a buddhist pilgrim walking from shrine to shrine to pray for some blessing or to crave for forgiveness of sins. he had apparently lost his way, and as it was late he met no one who could show him the road or warn him of the haunted spot.
he had walked the whole day and was now tired and hungry, and the evenings were chilly, for it was late autumn, and he began to be very anxious to find some house where he could obtain a night's lodging. he found himself lost in the midst of the large plain, and looked about in vain for some sign of human habitation.
at last, after wandering about for some hours, he saw a clump of trees in the distance, and through the trees he caught sight of the glimmer of a single ray of light. he exclaimed with joy:
"oh. surely that is some cottage where i can get a night's lodging!"
keeping the light before his eyes he dragged his weary, aching feet as quickly as he could towards the spot, and soon came to a miserable-looking little cottage. as he drew near he saw that it was in a tumble-down condition, the bamboo fence was broken and weeds and grass pushed their way through the gaps. the paper screens which serve as windows and doors in japan were full of holes, and the posts of the house were bent with age and seemed scarcely able to support the old thatched roof. the hut was open, and by the light of an old lantern an old woman sat industriously spinning.
the pilgrim called to her across the bamboo fence and said:
"o baa san (old woman), good evening! i am a traveler! please excuse me, but i have lost my way and do not know what to do, for i have nowhere to rest to-night. i beg you to be good enough to let me spend the night under your roof."
the old woman as soon as she heard herself spoken to stopped spinning, rose from her seat and approached the intruder.
"i am very sorry for you. you must indeed be distressed to have lost your way in such a lonely spot so late at night. unfortunately i cannot put you up, for i have no bed to offer you, and no accommodation whatsoever for a guest in this poor place!"
"oh, that does not matter," said the priest; "all i want is a shelter under some roof for the night, and if you will be good enough just to let me lie on the kitchen floor i shall be grateful. i am too tired to walk further to-night, so i hope you will not refuse me, otherwise i shall have to sleep out on the cold plain." and in this way he pressed the old woman to let him stay.
she seemed very reluctant, but at last she said:
"very well, i will let you stay here. i can offer you a very poor welcome only, but come in now and i will make a fire, for the night is cold."
the pilgrim was only too glad to do as he was told. he took off his sandals and entered the hut. the old woman then brought some sticks of wood and lit the fire, and bade her guest draw near and warm himself.
"you must be hungry after your long tramp," said the old woman. "i will go and cook some supper for you." she then went to the kitchen to cook some rice.
after the priest had finished his supper the old woman sat down by the fire-place, and they talked together for a long time. the pilgrim thought to himself that he had been very lucky to come across such a kind, hospitable old woman. at last the wood gave out, and as the fire died slowly down he began to shiver with cold just as he had done when he arrived.
"i see you are cold," said the old woman; "i will go out and gather some wood, for we have used it all. you must stay and take care of the house while i am gone."
"no, no," said the pilgrim, "let me go instead, for you are old, and i cannot think of letting you go out to get wood for me this cold night!"
the old woman shook her head and said:
"you must stay quietly here, for you are my guest." then she left him and went out.
in a minute she came back and said:
"you must sit where you are and not move, and whatever happens don't go near or look into the inner room. now mind what i tell you!"
"if you tell me not to go near the back room, of course i won't," said the priest, rather bewildered.
the old woman then went out again, and the priest was left alone. the fire had died out, and the only light in the hut was that of a dim lantern. for the first time that night he began to feel that he was in a weird place, and the old woman's words, "whatever you do don't peep into the back room," aroused his curiosity and his fear.
what hidden thing could be in that room that she did not wish him to see? for some time the remembrance of his promise to the old woman kept him still, but at last he could no longer resist his curiosity to peep into the forbidden place.
he got up and began to move slowly towards the back room. then the thought that the old woman would be very angry with him if he disobeyed her made him come back to his place by the fireside.
as the minutes went slowly by and the old woman did not return, he began to feel more and more frightened, and to wonder what dreadful secret was in the room behind him. he must find out.
"she will not know that i have looked unless i tell her. i will just have a peep before she comes back," said the man to himself.
with these words he got up on his feet (for he had been sitting all this time in japanese fashion with his feet under him) and stealthily crept towards the forbidden spot. with trembling hands he pushed back the sliding door and looked in. what he saw froze the blood in his veins. the room was full of dead men's bones and the walls were splashed and the floor was covered with human blood. in one corner skull upon skull rose to the ceiling, in another was a heap of arm bones, in another a heap of leg bones. the sickening smell made him faint. he fell backwards with horror, and for some time lay in a heap with fright on the floor, a pitiful sight. he trembled all over and his teeth chattered, and he could hardly crawl away from the dreadful spot.
"how horrible!" he cried out. "what awful den have i come to in my travels? may buddha help me or i am lost. is it possible that that kind old woman is really the cannibal goblin? when she comes back she will show herself in her true character and eat me up at one mouthful!"
with these words his strength came back to him and, snatching up his hat and staff, he rushed out of the house as fast as his legs could carry him. out into the night he ran, his one thought to get as far as he could from the goblin's haunt. he had not gone far when he heard steps behind him and a voice crying: "stop! stop!"
he ran on, redoubling his speed, pretending not to hear. as he ran he heard the steps behind him come nearer and nearer, and at last he recognized the old woman's voice which grew louder and louder as she came nearer.
"stop! stop, you wicked man, why did you look into the forbidden room?"
the priest quite forgot how tired he was and his feet flew over the ground faster than ever. fear gave him strength, for he knew that if the goblin caught him he would soon be one of her victims. with all his heart he repeated the prayer to buddha:
"namu amida butsu, namu amida butsu."
and after him rushed the dreadful old hag, her hair flying in the wind, and her face changing with rage into the demon that she was. in her hand she carried a large blood-stained knife, and she still shrieked after him, "stop! stop!"
at last, when the priest felt he could run no more, the dawn broke, and with the darkness of night the goblin vanished and he was safe. the priest now knew that he had met the goblin of adachigahara, the story of whom he had often heard but never believed to be true. he felt that he owed his wonderful escape to the protection of buddha to whom he had prayed for help, so he took out his rosary and bowing his head as the sun rose he said his prayers and made his thanksgiving earnestly. he then set forward for another part of the country, only too glad to leave the haunted plain behind him.
the sagacious monkey and the boar.
long, long ago, there lived in the province of shinshin in japan, a traveling monkey-man, who earned his living by taking round a monkey and showing off the animal's tricks.
one evening the man came home in a very bad temper and told his wife to send for the butcher the next morning.
the wife was very bewildered and asked her husband:
"why do you wish me to send for the butcher?"
"it's no use taking that monkey round any longer, he's too old and forgets his tricks. i beat him with my stick all i know how, but he won't dance properly. i must now sell him to the butcher and make what money out of him i can. there is nothing else to be done."
the woman felt very sorry for the poor little animal, and pleaded for her husband to spare the monkey, but her pleading was all in vain, the man was determined to sell him to the butcher.
now the monkey was in the next room and overheard every word of the conversation. he soon understood that he was to be killed, and he said to himself:
"barbarous, indeed, is my master! here i have served him faithfully for years, and instead of allowing me to end my days comfortably and in peace, he is going to let me be cut up by the butcher, and my poor body is to be roasted and stewed and eaten? woe is me! what am i to do. ah!
a bright thought has struck me! there is, i know, a wild bear living in the forest near by. i have often heard tell of his wisdom. perhaps if i go to him and tell him the strait i am in he will give me his counsel.
i will go and try."
there was no time to lose. the monkey slipped out of the house and ran as quickly as he could to the forest to find the boar. the boar was at home, and the monkey began his tale of woe at once.
"good mr. boar, i have heard of your excellent wisdom. i am in great trouble, you alone can help me. i have grown old in the service of my master, and because i cannot dance properly now he intends to sell me to the butcher. what do you advise me to do? i know how clever you are!"
the boar was pleased at the flattery and determined to help the monkey.
he thought for a little while and then said:
"hasn't your master a baby?"
"oh, yes," said the monkey, "he has one infant son."
"doesn't it lie by the door in the morning when your mistress begins the work of the day? well, i will come round early and when i see my opportunity i will seize the child and run off with it."
"what then?" said the monkey.
"why the mother will be in a tremendous scare, and before your master and mistress know what to do, you must run after me and rescue the child and take it home safely to its parents, and you will see that when the butcher comes they won't have the heart to sell you."
the monkey thanked the boar many times and then went home. he did not sleep much that night, as you may imagine, for thinking of the morrow.
his life depended on whether the boar's plan succeeded or not. he was the first up, waiting anxiously for what was to happen. it seemed to him a very long time before his master's wife began to move about and open the shutters to let in the light of day. then all happened as the boar had planned. the mother placed her child near the porch as usual while she tidied up the house and got her breakfast ready.
the child was crooning happily in the morning sunlight, dabbing on the mats at the play of light and shadow. suddenly there was a noise in the porch and a loud cry from the child. the mother ran out from the kitchen to the spot, only just in time to see the boar disappearing through the gate with her child in its clutch. she flung out her hands with a loud cry of despair and rushed into the inner room where her husband was still sleeping soundly.
he sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes, and crossly demanded what his wife was making all that noise about. by the time that the man was alive to what had happened, and they both got outside the gate, the boar had got well away, but they saw the monkey running after the thief as hard as his legs would carry him.
both the man and wife were moved to admiration at the plucky conduct of the sagacious monkey, and their gratitude knew no bounds when the faithful monkey brought the child safely back to their arms.
"there!" said the wife. "this is the animal you want to kill if the monkey hadn't been here we should have lost our child forever."
"you are right, wife, for once," said the man as he carried the child into the house. "you may send the butcher back when he comes, and now give us all a good breakfast and the monkey too."
when the butcher arrived he was sent away with an order for some boar's meat for the evening dinner, and the monkey was petted and lived the rest of his days in peace, nor did his master ever strike him again.
the happy hunter and the skillful fisher.
long, long ago japan was governed by hohodemi, the fourth mikoto (or augustness) in descent from the illustrious amaterasu, the sun goddess.
he was not only as handsome as his ancestress was beautiful, but he was also very strong and brave, and was famous for being the greatest hunter in the land. because of his matchless skill as a hunter, he was called "yama-sachi-hiko" or "the happy hunter of the mountains."
his elder brother was a very skillful fisher, and as he far surpassed all rivals in fishing, he was named "umi-sachi-hiko" or the "skillful fisher of the sea." the brothers thus led happy lives, thoroughly enjoying their respective occupations, and the days passed quickly and pleasantly while each pursued his own way, the one hunting and the other fishing.
one day the happy hunter came to his brother, the skillful fisher, and said:
"well, my brother, i see you go to the sea every day with your fishing rod in your hand, and when you return you come laden with fish. and as for me, it is my pleasure to take my bow and arrow and to hunt the wild animals up the mountains and down in the valleys. for a long time we have each followed our favorite occupation, so that now we must both be tired, you of your fishing and i of my hunting. would it not be wise for us to make a change? will you try hunting in the mountains and i will go and fish in the sea?"
the skillful fisher listened in silence to his brother, and for a moment was thoughtful, but at last he answered:
"o yes, why not? your idea is not a bad one at all. give me your bow and arrow and i will set out at once for the mountains and hunt for game."
so the matter was settled by this talk, and the two brothers each started out to try the other's occupation, little dreaming of all that would happen. it was very unwise of them, for the happy hunter knew nothing of fishing, and the skillful fisher, who was bad tempered, knew as much about hunting.
the happy hunter took his brother's much-prized fishing hook and rod and went down to the seashore and sat down on the rocks. he baited his hook and then threw it into the sea clumsily. he sat and gazed at the little float bobbing up and down in the water, and longed for a good fish to come and be caught. every time the buoy moved a little he pulled up his rod, but there was never a fish at the end of it, only the hook and the bait. if he had known how to fish properly, he would have been able to catch plenty of fish, but although he was the greatest hunter in the land he could not help being the most bungling fisher.
the whole day passed in this way, while he sat on the rocks holding the fishing rod and waiting in vain for his luck to turn. at last the day began to darken, and the evening came; still he had caught not a single fish. drawing up his line for the last time before going home, he found that he had lost his hook without even knowing when he had dropped it.
he now began to feel extremely anxious, for he knew that his brother would be angry at his having lost his hook, for, it being his only one, he valued it above all other things. the happy hunter now set to work to look among the rocks and on the sand for the lost hook, and while he was searching to and fro, his brother, the skillful fisher, arrived on the scene. he had failed to find any game while hunting that day, and was not only in a bad temper, but looked fearfully cross. when he saw the happy hunter searching about on the shore he knew that something must have gone wrong, so he said at once:
"what are you doing, my brother?"
the happy hunter went forward timidly, for he feared his brother's anger, and said:
"oh, my brother, i have indeed done badly."
"what is the matter? what have you done?" asked the elder brother impatiently.
"i have lost your precious fishing hook "
while he was still speaking his brother stopped him, and cried out fiercely:
"lost my hook! it is just what i expected. for this reason, when you first proposed your plan of changing over our occupations i was really against it, but you seemed to wish it so much that i gave in and allowed you to do as you wished. the mistake of our trying unfamiliar tasks is soon seen! and you have done badly. i will not return you your bow and arrow till you have found my hook. look to it that you find it and return it to me quickly."
the happy hunter felt that he was to blame for all that had come to pass, and bore his brother's scornful scolding with humility and patience. he hunted everywhere for the hook most diligently, but it was nowhere to be found. he was at last obliged to give up all hope of finding it. he then went home, and in desperation broke his beloved sword into pieces and made five hundred hooks out of it.
he took these to his angry brother and offered them to him, asking his forgiveness, and begging him to accept them in the place of the one he had lost for him. it was useless; his brother would not listen to him, much less grant his request.
the happy hunter then made another five hundred hooks, and again took them to his brother, beseeching him to pardon him.
"though you make a million hooks," said the skillful fisher, shaking his head, "they are of no use to me. i cannot forgive you unless you bring me back my own hook."
nothing would appease the anger of the skillful fisher, for he had a bad disposition, and had always hated his brother because of his virtues, and now with the excuse of the lost fishing hook he planned to kill him and to usurp his place as ruler of japan. the happy hunter knew all this full well, but he could say nothing, for being the younger he owed his elder brother obedience; so he returned to the seashore and once more began to look for the missing hook. he was much cast down, for he had lost all hope of ever finding his brother's hook now. while he stood on the beach, lost in perplexity and wondering what he had best do next, an old man suddenly appeared carrying a stick in his hand. the happy hunter afterwards remembered that he did not see from whence the old man came, neither did he know how he was there he happened to look up and saw the old man coming towards him.
"you are hohodemi, the augustness, sometimes called the happy hunter, are you not?" asked the old man. "what are you doing alone in such a place?"
"yes, i am he," answered the unhappy young man. "unfortunately, while fishing i lost my brother's precious fishing hook. i have hunted this shore all over, but alas! i cannot find it, and i am very troubled, for my brother won't forgive me till i restore it to him. but who are you?"
"my name is shiwozuchino okina, and i live near by on this shore. i am sorry to hear what misfortune has befallen you. you must indeed be anxious. but if i tell you what i think, the hook is nowhere here it is either at the bottom of the sea or in the body of some fish who has swallowed it, and for this reason, though you spend your whole life in looking for it here, you will never find it."
"then what can i do?" asked the distressed man.
"you had better go down to ryn gu and tell ryn jin, the dragon king of the sea, what your trouble is and ask him to find the hook for you. i think that would be the best way."
"your idea is a splendid one," said the happy hunter, "but i fear i cannot get to the sea king's realm, for i have always heard that it is situated at the bottom of the sea."
"oh, there will be no difficulty about your getting there," said the old man; "i can soon make something for you to ride on through the sea."
"thank you," said the happy hunter, "i shall be very grateful to you if you will be so kind."
the old man at once set to work, and soon made a basket and offered it to the happy hunter. he received it with joy, and taking it to the water, mounted it, and prepared to start. he bade good by to the kind old man who had helped him so much, and told him that he would certainly reward him as soon as he found his hook and could return to japan without fear of his brother's anger. the old man pointed out the direction he must take, and told him how to reach the realm of ryn gu, and watched him ride out to sea on the basket, which resembled a small boat.
the happy hunter made all the haste he could, riding on the basket which had been given him by his friend. his queer boat seemed to go through the water of its own accord, and the distance was much shorter than he had expected, for in a few hours he caught sight of the gate and the roof of the sea king's palace. and what a large place it was, with its numberless sloping roofs and gables, its huge gateways, and its gray stone walls! he soon landed, and leaving his basket on the beach, he walked up to the large gateway. the pillars of the gate were made of beautiful red coral, and the gate itself was adorned with glittering gems of all kinds. large katsura trees overshadowed it. our hero had often heard of the wonders of the sea king's palace beneath the sea, but all the stories he had ever heard fell short of the reality which he now saw for the first time.
the happy hunter would have liked to enter the gate there and then, but he saw that it was fast closed, and also that there was no one about whom he could ask to open it for him, so he stopped to think what he should do. in the shade of the trees before the gate he noticed a well full of fresh spring water. surely some one would come out to draw water from the well some time, he thought. then he climbed into the tree overhanging the well, and seated himself to rest on one of the branches, and waited for what might happen. ere long he saw the huge gate swing open, and two beautiful women came out. now the mikoto (augustness) had always heard that ryn gu was the realm of the dragon king under the sea, and had naturally supposed that the place was inhabited by dragons and similar terrible creatures, so that when he saw these two lovely princesses, whose beauty would be rare even in the world from which he had just come, he was exceedingly surprised, and wondered what it could mean.
he said not a word, however, but silently gazed at them through the foliage of the trees, waiting to see what they would do. he saw that in their hands they carried golden buckets. slowly and gracefully in their trailing garments they approached the well, standing in the shade of the katsura trees, and were about to draw water, all unknowing of the stranger who was watching them, for the happy hunter was quite hidden among the branches of the tree where he had posted himself.
as the two ladies leaned over the side of the well to let down their golden buckets, which they did every day in the year, they saw reflected in the deep still water the face of a handsome youth gazing at them from amidst the branches of the tree in whose shade they stood.
never before had they seen the face of mortal man; they were frightened, and drew back quickly with their golden buckets in their hands. their curiosity, however, soon gave them courage, and they glanced timidly upwards to see the cause of the unusual reflection, and then they beheld the happy hunter sitting in the tree looking down at them with surprise and admiration. they gazed at him face to face, but their tongues were still with wonder and could not find a word to say to him.
when the mikoto saw that he was discovered, he sprang down lightly from the tree and said:
"i am a traveler, and as i was very thirsty i came to the well in the hopes of quenching my thirst, but i could find no bucket with which to draw the water. so i climbed into the tree, much vexed, and waited for some one to come. just at that moment, while i was thirstily and impatiently waiting, you noble ladies appeared, as if in answer to my great need. therefore i pray you of your mercy give me some water to drink, for i am a thirsty traveler in a strange land."
his dignity and graciousness overruled their timidity, and bowing in silence they both once more approached the well, and letting down their golden buckets drew up some water and poured it into a jeweled cup and offered it to the stranger.
he received it from them with both hands, raising it to the height of his forehead in token of high respect and pleasure, and then drank the water quickly, for his thirst was great. when he had finished his long draught he set the cup down on the edge of the well, and drawing his short sword he cut off one of the strange curved jewels (magatama), a necklace of which hung round his neck and fell over his breast. he placed the jewel in the cup and returned it to them, and said, bowing deeply:
"this is a token of my thanks!"
the two ladies took the cup, and looking into it to see what he had put inside for they did not yet know what it was they gave a start of surprise, for there lay a beautiful gem at the bottom of the cup.
"no ordinary mortal would give away a jewel so freely. will you not honor us by telling us who you are?" said the elder damsel.
"certainly," said the happy hunter, "i am hohodemi, the fourth mikoto, also called in japan, the happy hunter."
"are you indeed hohodemi, the grandson of amaterasu, the sun goddess?"
asked the damsel who had spoken first. "i am the eldest daughter of ryn jin, the king of the sea, and my name is princess tayotama."
"and," said the younger maiden, who at last found her tongue, "i am her sister, the princess tamayori."
"are you indeed the daughters of ryn jin, the king of the sea? i cannot tell you how glad i am to meet you," said the happy hunter. and without waiting for them to reply he went on:
"the other day i went fishing with my brother's hook and dropped it, how, i am sure i can't tell. as my brother prizes his fishing hook above all his other possessions, this is the greatest calamity that could have befallen me. unless i find it again i can never hope to win my brother's forgiveness, for he is very angry at what i have done. i have searched for it many, many times, but i cannot find it, therefore i am much troubled. while i was hunting for the hook, in great distress, i met a wise old man, and he told me that the best thing i could do was to come to ryn gu, and to ryn jin, the dragon king of the sea, and ask him to help me. this kind old man also showed me how to come. now you know how it is i am here and why. i want to ask ryn jin, if he knows where the lost hook is. will you be so kind as to take me to your father? and do you think he will see me?" asked the happy hunter anxiously.
princess tayotama listened to this long story, and then said:
"not only is it easy for you to see my father, but he will be much pleased to meet you. i am sure he will say that good fortune has befallen him, that so great and noble a man as you, the grandson of amaterasu, should come down to the bottom of the sea." and then turning to her younger sister, she said:
"do you not think so, tamayori?"
"yes, indeed," answered the princess tamayori, in her sweet voice. "as you say, we can know no greater honor than to welcome the mikoto to our home."
"then i ask you to be so kind as to lead the way," said the happy hunter.
"condescend to enter, mikoto (augustness)," said both the sisters, and bowing low, they led him through the gate.
the younger princess left her sister to take charge of the happy hunter, and going faster than they, she reached the sea king's palace first, and running quickly to her father's room, she told him of all that had happened to them at the gate, and that her sister was even now bringing the augustness to him. the dragon king of the sea was much surprised at the news, for it was but seldom, perhaps only once in several hundred years, that the sea king's palace was visited by mortals.
ryn jin at once clapped his hands and summoned all his courtiers and the servants of the palace, and the chief fish of the sea together, and solemnly told them that the grandson of the sun goddess, amaterasu, was coming to the palace, and that they must be very ceremonious and polite in serving the august visitor. he then ordered them all to the entrance of the palace to welcome the happy hunter.
ryn jin then dressed himself in his robes of ceremony, and went out to welcome him. in a few moments the princess tayotama and the happy hunter reached the entrance, and the sea king and his wife bowed to the ground and thanked him for the honor he did them in coming to see them.
the sea king then led the happy hunter to the guest room, and placing him in the uppermost seat, he bowed respectfully before him, and said:
"i am ryn jin, the dragon king of the sea, and this is my wife.
condescend to remember us forever!"
"are you indeed ryn jin, the king of the sea, of whom i have so often heard?" answered the happy hunter, saluting his host most ceremoniously. "i must apologize for all the trouble i am giving you by my unexpected visit." and he bowed again, and thanked the sea king.
"you need not thank me," said ryn jin. "it is i who must thank you for coming. although the sea palace is a poor place, as you see, i shall be highly honored if you will make us a long visit."
there was much gladness between the sea king and the happy hunter, and they sat and talked for a long time. at last the sea king clapped his hands, and then a huge retinue of fishes appeared, all robed in ceremonial garments, and bearing in their fins various trays on which all kinds of sea delicacies were served. a great feast was now spread before the king and his royal guest. all the fishes-in-waiting were chosen from amongst the finest fish in the sea, so you can imagine what a wonderful array of sea creatures it was that waited upon the happy hunter that day. all in the palace tried to do their best to please him and to show him that he was a much honored guest. during the long repast, which lasted for hours, ryn jin commanded his daughters to play some music, and the two princesses came in and performed on the koto (the japanese harp), and sang and danced in turns. the time passed so pleasantly that the happy hunter seemed to forget his trouble and why he had come at all to the sea king's realm, and he gave himself up to the enjoyment of this wonderful place, the land of fairy fishes! who has ever heard of such a marvelous place? but the mikoto soon remembered what had brought him to ryn gu, and said to his host:
"perhaps your daughters have told you, king ryn jin, that i have come here to try and recover my brother's fishing hook, which i lost while fishing the other day. may i ask you to be so kind as to inquire of all your subjects if any of them have seen a fishing hook lost in the sea?"
"certainly," said the obliging sea king, "i will immediately summon them all here and ask them."
as soon as he had issued his command, the octopus, the cuttlefish, the bonito, the oxtail fish, the eel, the jelly fish, the shrimp, and the plaice, and many other fishes of all kinds came in and sat down before ryn jin their king, and arranged themselves and their fins in order.
then the sea king said solemnly:
"our visitor who is sitting before you all is the august grandson of amaterasu. his name is hohodemi, the fourth augustness, and he is also called the happy hunter of the mountains. while he was fishing the other day upon the shore of japan, some one robbed him of his brother's fishing hook. he has come all this way down to the bottom of the sea to our kingdom because he thought that one of you fishes may have taken the hook from him in mischievous play. if any of you have done so you must immediately return it, or if any of you know who the thief is you must at once tell us his name and where he is now."
all the fishes were taken by surprise when they heard these words, and could say nothing for some time. they sat looking at each other and at the dragon king. at last the cuttlefish came forward and said:
"i think the tai (the red bream) must be the thief who has stolen the hook!"
"where is your proof?" asked the king.
"since yesterday evening the tai has not been able to eat anything, and he seems to be suffering from a bad throat! for this reason i think the hook may be in his throat. you had better send for him at once!"
all the fish agreed to this, and said:
"it is certainly strange that the tai is the only fish who has not obeyed your summons. will you send for him and inquire into the matter.
then our innocence will be proved."
"yes," said the sea king, "it is strange that the tai has not come, for he ought to be the first to be here. send for him at once!"
without waiting for the king's order the cuttlefish had already started for the tai's dwelling, and he now returned, bringing the tai with him.
he led him before the king.
the tai sat there looking frightened and ill. he certainly was in pain, for his usually red face was pale, and his eyes were nearly closed and looked but half their usual size.
"answer, o tai!" cried the sea king, "why did you not come in answer to my summons today?"
"i have been ill since yesterday," answered the tai; "that is why i could not come."
"don't say another word!" cried out ryn jin angrily. "your illness is the punishment of the gods for stealing the mikoto's hook."
"it is only too true!" said the tai; "the hook is still in my throat, and all my efforts to get it out have been useless. i can't eat, and i can scarcely breathe, and each moment i feel that it will choke me, and sometimes it gives me great pain. i had no intention of stealing the mikoto's hook. i heedlessly snapped at the bait which i saw in the water, and the hook came off and stuck in my throat. so i hope you will pardon me."
the cuttlefish now came forward, and said to the king:
"what i said was right. you see the hook still sticks in the tai's throat. i hope to be able to pull it out in the presence of the mikoto, and then we can return it to him safely!"
"o please make haste and pull it out!" cried the tai, pitifully, for he felt the pains in his throat coming on again; "i do so want to return the hook to the mikoto."
"all right, tai san," said his friend the cuttlefish, and then opening the tai's mouth as wide as he could and putting one of his feelers down the tai's throat, he quickly and easily drew the hook out of the sufferer's large mouth. he then washed it and brought it to the king.
ryn jin took the hook from his subject, and then respectfully returned it to the happy hunter (the mikoto or augustness, the fishes called him), who was overjoyed at getting back his hook. he thanked ryn jin many times, his face beaming with gratitude, and said that he owed the happy ending of his quest to the sea king's wise authority and kindness.
ryn jin now desired to punish the tai, but the happy hunter begged him not to do so; since his lost hook was thus happily recovered he did not wish to make more trouble for the poor tai. it was indeed the tai who had taken the hook, but he had already suffered enough for his fault, if fault it could be called. what had been done was done in heedlessness and not by intention. the happy hunter said he blamed himself; if he had understood how to fish properly he would never have lost his hook, and therefore all this trouble had been caused in the first place by his trying to do something which he did not know how to do. so he begged the sea king to forgive his subject.
who could resist the pleading of so wise and compassionate a judge? ryn jin forgave his subject at once at the request of his august guest. the tai was so glad that he shook his fins for joy, and he and all the other fish went out from the presence of their king, praising the virtues of the happy hunter.
now that the hook was found the happy hunter had nothing to keep him in ryn gu, and he was anxious to get back to his own kingdom and to make peace with his angry brother, the skillful fisher; but the sea king, who had learnt to love him and would fain have kept him as a son, begged him not to go so soon, but to make the sea palace his home as long as ever he liked. while the happy hunter was still hesitating, the two lovely princesses, tayotama and tamayori, came, and with the sweetest of bows and voices joined with their father in pressing him to stay, so that without seeming ungracious he could not say them "nay,"
and was obliged to stay on for some time.
between the sea realm and the earth there was no difference in the night of time, and the happy hunter found that three years went fleeting quickly by in this delightful land. the years pass swiftly when any one is truly happy. but though the wonders of that enchanted land seemed to be new every day, and though the sea king's kindness seemed rather to increase than to grow less with time, the happy hunter grew more and more homesick as the days passed, and he could not repress a great anxiety to know what had happened to his home and his country and his brother while he had been away.
so at last he went to the sea king and said:
"my stay with you here has been most happy and i am very grateful to you for all your kindness to me, but i govern japan, and, delightful as this place is, i cannot absent myself forever from my country. i must also return the fishing hook to my brother and ask his forgiveness for having deprived him of it for so long. i am indeed very sorry to part from you, but this time it cannot be helped. with your gracious permission, i will take my leave to-day. i hope to make you another visit some day. please give up the idea of my staying longer now."
king ryn jin was overcome with sorrow at the thought that he must lose his friend who had made a great diversion in the palace of the sea, and his tears fell fast as he answered:
"we are indeed very sorry to part with you, mikoto, for we have enjoyed your stay with us very much. you have been a noble and honored guest and we have heartily made you welcome. i quite understand that as you govern japan you ought to be there and not here, and that it is vain for us to try and keep you longer with us, much as we would like to have you stay. i hope you will not forget us. strange circumstances have brought us together and i trust the friendship thus begun between the land and the sea will last and grow stronger than it has ever been before."
when the sea king had finished speaking he turned to his two daughters and bade them bring him the two tide-jewels of the sea. the two princesses bowed low, rose and glided out of the hall. in a few minutes they returned, each one carrying in her hands a flashing gem which filled the room with light. as the happy hunter looked at them he wondered what they could be. the sea king took them from his daughters and said to his guest:
"these two valuable talismans we have inherited from our ancestors from time immemorial. we now give them to you as a parting gift in token of our great affection for you. these two gems are called the nanjiu and the kanjiu."
the happy hunter bowed low to the ground and said:
"i can never thank you enough for all your kindness to me. and now will you add one more favor to the rest and tell me what these jewels are and what i am to do with them?"
"the nanjiu," answered the sea king, "is also called the jewel of the flood tide, and whoever holds it in his possession can command the sea to roll in and to flood the land at any time that he wills. the kanjiu is also called the jewel of the ebbing tide, and this gem controls the sea and the waves thereof, and will cause even a tidal wave to recede."
then ryn jin showed his friend how to use the talismans one by one and handed them to him. the happy hunter was very glad to have these two wonderful gems, the jewel of the flood tide and the jewel of the ebbing tide, to take back with him, for he felt that they would preserve him in case of danger from enemies at any time. after thanking his kind host again and again, he prepared to depart. the sea king and the two princesses, tayotama and tamayori, and all the inmates of the palace, came out to say "good-by," and before the sound of the last farewell had died away the happy hunter passed out from under the gateway, past the well of happy memory standing in the shade of the great katsura trees on his way to the beach.
here he found, instead of the queer basket on which he had come to the realm of ryn gu, a large crocodile waiting for him. never had he seen such a huge creature. it measured eight fathoms in length from the tip of its tail to the end of its long mouth. the sea king had ordered the monster to carry the happy hunter back to japan. like the wonderful basket which shiwozuchino okina had made, it could travel faster than any steamboat, and in this strange way, riding on the back of a crocodile, the happy hunter returned to his own land.
as soon as the crocodile landed him, the happy hunter hastened to tell the skillful fisher of his safe return. he then gave him back the fishing hook which had been found in the mouth of the tai and which had been the cause of so much trouble between them. he earnestly begged his brother's forgiveness, telling him all that had happened to him in the sea king's palace and what wonderful adventures had led to the finding of the hook.
now the skillful fisher had used the lost hook as an excuse for driving his brother out of the country. when his brother had left him that day three years ago, and had not returned, he had been very glad in his evil heart and had at once usurped his brother's place as ruler of the land, and had become powerful and rich. now in the midst of enjoying what did not belong to him, and hoping that his brother might never return to claim his rights, quite unexpectedly there stood the happy hunter before him.
the skillful fisher feigned forgiveness, for he could make no more excuses for sending his brother away again, but in his heart he was very angry and hated his brother more and more, till at last he could no longer bear the sight of him day after day, and planned and watched for an opportunity to kill him.
one day when the happy hunter was walking in the rice fields his brother followed him with a dagger. the happy hunter knew that his brother was following him to kill him, and he felt that now, in this hour of great danger, was the time to use the jewels of the flow and ebb of the tide and prove whether what the sea king had told him was true or not.
so he took out the jewel of the flood tide from the bosom of his dress and raised it to his forehead. instantly over the fields and over the farms the sea came rolling in wave upon wave till it reached the spot where his brother was standing. the skillful fisher stood amazed and terrified to see what was happening. in another minute he was struggling in the water and calling on his brother to save him from drowning.
the happy hunter had a kind heart and could not bear the sight of his brother's distress. he at once put back the jewel of the flood tide and took out the jewel of the ebb tide. no sooner did he hold it up as high as his forehead than the sea ran back and back, and ere long the tossing rolling floods had vanished, and the farms and fields and dry land appeared as before.
the skillful fisher was very frightened at the peril of death in which he had stood, and was greatly impressed by the wonderful things he had seen his brother do. he learned now that he was making a fatal mistake to set himself against his brother, younger than he thought he was, for he now had become so powerful that the sea would flow in and the tide ebb at his word of command. so he humbled himself before the happy hunter and asked him to forgive him all the wrong he had done him. the skillful fisher promised to restore his brother to his rights and also swore that though the happy hunter was the younger brother and owed him allegiance by right of birth, that he, the skillful fisher, would exalt him as his superior and bow before him as lord of all japan.
then the happy hunter said that he would forgive his brother if he would throw into the receding tide all his evil ways. the skillful fisher promised and there was peace between the two brothers. from this time he kept his word and became a good man and a kind brother.
the happy hunter now ruled his kingdom without being disturbed by family strife, and there was peace in japan for a long, long time.
above all the treasures in his house he prized the wonderful jewels of the flow and ebb of the tide which had been given him by ryn jin, the dragon king of the sea.
this is the congratulatory ending of the happy hunter and the skillful fisher.
the story of the old man who made withered trees to flower.
long, long ago there lived an old man and his wife who supported themselves by cultivating a small plot of land. their life had been a very happy and peaceful one save for one great sorrow, and this was they had no child. their only pet was a dog named shiro, and on him they lavished all the affection of their old age. indeed, they loved him so much that whenever they had anything nice to eat they denied themselves to give it to shiro. now shiro means "white," and he was so called because of his color. he was a real japanese dog, and very like a small wolf in appearance.
the happiest hour of the day both for the old man and his dog was when the man returned from his work in the field, and having finished his frugal supper of rice and vegetables, would take what he had saved from the meal out to the little veranda that ran round the cottage. sure enough, shiro was waiting for his master and the evening tit-bit. then the old man said "chin, chin!" and shiro sat up and begged, and his master gave him the food. next door to this good old couple there lived another old man and his wife who were both wicked and cruel, and who hated their good neighbors and the dog shiro with all their might.
whenever shiro happened to look into their kitchen they at once kicked him or threw something at him, sometimes even wounding him.
one day shiro was heard barking for a long time in the field at the back of his master's house. the old man, thinking that perhaps some birds were attacking the corn, hurried out to see what was the matter.
as soon as shiro saw his master he ran to meet him, wagging his tail, and, seizing the end of his kimono, dragged him under a large yenoki tree. here he began to dig very industriously with his paws, yelping with joy all the time. the old man, unable to understand what it all meant, stood looking on in bewilderment. but shiro went on barking and digging with all his might.
the thought that something might be hidden beneath the tree, and that the dog had scented it, at last struck the old man. he ran back to the house, fetched his spade and began to dig the ground at that spot. what was his astonishment when, after digging for some time, he came upon a heap of old and valuable coins, and the deeper he dug the more gold coins did he find. so intent was the old man on his work that he never saw the cross face of his neighbor peering at him through the bamboo hedge. at last all the gold coins lay shining on the ground. shiro sat by erect with pride and looking fondly at his master as if to say, "you see, though only a dog, i can make some return for all the kindness you show me."
the old man ran in to call his wife, and together they carried home the treasure. thus in one day the poor old man became rich. his gratitude to the faithful dog knew no bounds, and he loved and petted him more than ever, if that were possible.
the cross old neighbor, attracted by shiro's barking, had been an unseen and envious witness of the finding of the treasure. he began to think that he, too, would like to find a fortune. so a few days later he called at the old man's house and very ceremoniously asked permission to borrow shiro for a short time.
shiro's master thought this a strange request, because he knew quite well that not only did his neighbor not love his pet dog, but that he never lost an opportunity of striking and tormenting him whenever the dog crossed his path. but the good old man was too kind-hearted to refuse his neighbor, so he consented to lend the dog on condition that he should be taken great care of.
the wicked old man returned to his home with an evil smile on his face, and told his wife how he had succeeded in his crafty intentions. he then took his spade and hastened to his own field, forcing the unwilling shiro to follow him. as soon as he reached a yenoki tree, he said to the dog, threateningly:
"if there were gold coins under your master's tree, there must also be gold coins under my tree. you must find them for me! where are they?
where? where?"
and catching hold of shiro's neck he held the dog's head to the ground, so that shiro began to scratch and dig in order to free himself from the horrid old man's grasp.
the old man was very pleased when he saw the dog begin to scratch and dig, for he at once supposed that some gold coins lay buried under his tree as well as under his neighbor's, and that the dog had scented them as before; so pushing shiro away he began to dig himself, but there was nothing to be found. as he went on digging a foul smell was noticeable, and he at last came upon a refuse heap.
the old man's disgust can be imagined. this soon gave way to anger. he had seen his neighbor's good fortune, and hoping for the same luck himself, he had borrowed the dog shiro; and now, just as he seemed on the point of finding what he sought, only a horrid smelling refuse heap had rewarded him for a morning's digging. instead of blaming his own greed for his disappointment, he blamed the poor dog. he seized his spade, and with all his strength struck shiro and killed him on the spot. he then threw the dog's body into the hole which he had dug in the hope of finding a treasure of gold coins, and covered it over with the earth. then he returned to the house, telling no one, not even his wife, what he had done.
after waiting several days, as the dog shiro did not return, his master began to grow anxious. day after day went by and the good old man waited in vain. then he went to his neighbor and asked him to give him back his dog. without any shame or hesitation, the wicked neighbor answered that he had killed shiro because of his bad behavior. at this dreadful news shiro's master wept many sad and bitter tears. great indeed, was his woful surprise, but he was too good and gentle to reproach his bad neighbor. learning that shiro was buried under the yenoki tree in the field, he asked the old man to give him the tree, in remembrance of his poor dog shiro.
even the cross old neighbor could not refuse such a simple request, so he consented to give the old man the tree under which shiro lay buried.
shiro's master then cut the tree down and carried it home. out of the trunk he made a mortar. in this his wife put some rice, and he began to pound it with the intention of making a festival to the memory of his dog shiro.
a strange thing happened! his wife put the rice into the mortar, and no sooner had he begun to pound it to make the cakes, than it began to increase in quantity gradually till it was about five times the original amount, and the cakes were turned out of the mortar as if an invisible hand were at work.
when the old man and his wife saw this, they understood that it was a reward to them from shiro for their faithful love to him. they tasted the cakes and found them nicer than any other food. so from this time they never troubled about food, for they lived upon the cakes with which the mortar never ceased to supply them.
the greedy neighbor, hearing of this new piece of good luck, was filled with envy as before, and called on the old man and asked leave to borrow the wonderful mortar for a short time, pretending that he, too, sorrowed for the death of shiro, and wished to make cakes for a festival to the dog's memory.
the old man did not in the least wish to lend it to his cruel neighbor, but he was too kind to refuse. so the envious man carried home the mortar, but he never brought it back.
several days passed, and shiro's master waited in vain for the mortar, so he went to call on the borrower, and asked him to be good enough to return the mortar if he had finished with it. he found him sitting by a big fire made of pieces of wood. on the ground lay what looked very much like pieces of a broken mortar. in answer to the old man's inquiry, the wicked neighbor answered haughtily:
"have you come to ask me for your mortar? i broke it to pieces, and now i am making a fire of the wood, for when i tried to pound cakes in it only some horrid smelling stuff came out."
the good old man said:
"i am very sorry for that. it is a great pity you did not ask me for the cakes if you wanted them. i would have given you as many as ever you wanted. now please give me the ashes of the mortar, as i wish to keep them in remembrance of my dog."
the neighbor consented at once, and the old man carried home a basket full of ashes.
not long after this the old man accidentally scattered some of the ashes made by the burning of the mortar on the trees of his garden. a wonderful thing happened!
it was late in autumn and all the trees had shed their leaves, but no sooner did the ashes touch their branches than the cherry trees, the plum trees, and all other blossoming shrubs burst into bloom, so that the old man's garden was suddenly transformed into a beautiful picture of spring. the old man's delight knew no bounds, and he carefully preserved the remaining ashes.
the story of the old man's garden spread far and wide, and people from far and near came to see the wonderful sight.
one day, soon after this, the old man heard some one knocking at his door, and going to the porch to see who it was he was surprised to see a knight standing there. this knight told him that he was a retainer of a great daimio (earl); that one of the favorite cherry trees in this nobleman's garden had withered, and that though every one in his service had tried all manner of means to revive it, none took effect.
the knight was sore perplexed when he saw what great displeasure the loss of his favorite cherry tree caused the daimio. at this point, fortunately, they had heard that there was a wonderful old man who could make withered trees to blossom, and that his lord had sent him to ask the old man to come to him.
"and," added the knight, "i shall be very much obliged if you will come at once."
the good old man was greatly surprised at what he heard, but respectfully followed the knight to the nobleman's palace.
the daimio, who had been impatiently awaiting the old man's coming, as soon as he saw him asked him at once:
"are you the old man who can make withered trees flower even out of season?"
the old man made an obeisance, and replied:
"i am that old man!"
then the daimio said:
"you must make that dead cherry tree in my garden blossom again by means of your famous ashes. i shall look on."
then they all went into the garden the daimio and his retainers and the ladies-in waiting, who carried the daimio's sword.
the old man now tucked up his kimono and made ready to climb the tree.
saying "excuse me," he took the pot of ashes which he had brought with him, and began to climb the tree, every one watching his movements with great interest.
at last he climbed to the spot where the tree divided into two great branches, and taking up his position here, the old man sat down and scattered the ashes right and left all over the branches and twigs.
wonderful, indeed, was the result! the withered tree at once burst into full bloom! the daimio was so transported with joy that he looked as if he would go mad. he rose to his feet and spread out his fan, calling the old man down from the tree. he himself gave the old man a wine cup filled with the best sake, and rewarded him with much silver and gold and many other precious things. the daimio ordered that henceforth the old man should call himself by the name of hana-saka-jijii, or "the old man who makes the trees to blossom," and that henceforth all were to recognize him by this name, and he sent him home with great honor.
the wicked neighbor, as before, heard of the good old man's fortune, and of all that had so auspiciously befallen him, and he could not suppress all the envy and jealousy that filled his heart. he called to mind how he had failed in his attempt to find the gold coins, and then in making the magic cakes; this time surely he must succeed if he imitated the old man, who made withered trees to flower simply by sprinkling ashes on them. this would be the simplest task of all.
so he set to work and gathered together all the ashes which remained in the fire-place from the burning of the wonderful mortar. then he set out in the hope of finding some great man to employ him, calling out loudly as he went along:
"here comes the wonderful man who can make withered trees blossom! here comes the old man who can make dead trees blossom!"
the daimio in his palace heard this cry, and said:
"that must be the hana-saka-jijii passing. i have nothing to do to-day.
let him try his art again; it will amuse me to look on."
so the retainers went out and brought in the impostor before their lord. the satisfaction of false old man can now be imagined.
but the daimio looking at him, thought it strange that he was not at all like the old man he had seen before, so he asked him:
"are you the man whom i named hana-saka-jijii?"
and the envious neighbor answered with a lie:
"yes, my lord!"
"that is strange!" said the daimio. "i thought there was only one hana-saka-jijii in the world! has he now some disciples?"
"i am the true hana-saka-jijii. the one who came to you before was only my disciple!" replied the old man again.
"then you must be more skillful than the other. try what you can do and let me see!"
the envious neighbor, with the daimio and his court following, then went into the garden, and approaching a dead tree, took out a handful of the ashes which he carried with him, and scattered them over the tree.
but not only did the tree not burst into flower, but not even a bud came forth. thinking that he had not used enough ashes, the old man took handfuls and again sprinkled them over the withered tree. but all to no effect. after trying several times, the ashes were blown into the daimio's eyes. this made him very angry, and he ordered his retainers to arrest the false hana-saka-jijii at once and put him in prison for an impostor. from this imprisonment the wicked old man was never freed.
thus did he meet with punishment at last for all his evil doings.
the good old man, however, with the treasure of gold coins which shiro had found for him, and with all the gold and the silver which the daimio had showered on him, became a rich and prosperous man in his old age, and lived a long and happy life, beloved and respected by all.
the jelly fish and the monkey.
long, long ago, in old japan, the kingdom of the sea was governed by a wonderful king. he was called rin jin, or the dragon king of the sea.
his power was immense, for he was the ruler of all sea creatures both great and small, and in his keeping were the jewels of the ebb and flow of the tide. the jewel of the ebbing tide when thrown into the ocean caused the sea to recede from the land, and the jewel of the flowing tide made the waves to rise mountains high and to flow in upon the shore like a tidal wave.
the palace of rin jin was at the bottom of the sea, and was so beautiful that no one has ever seen anything like it even in dreams.
the walls were of coral, the roof of jadestone and chrysoprase, and the floors were of the finest mother-of-pearl. but the dragon king, in spite of his wide-spreading kingdom, his beautiful palace and all its wonders, and his power which none disputed throughout the whole sea, was not at all happy, for he reigned alone. at last he thought that if he married he would not only be happier, but also more powerful. so he decided to take a wife. calling all his fish retainers together, he chose several of them as ambassadors to go through the sea and seek for a young dragon princess who would be his bride.
at last they returned to the palace bringing with them a lovely young dragon. her scales were of glittering green like the wings of summer beetles, her eyes threw out glances of fire, and she was dressed in gorgeous robes. all the jewels of the sea worked in with embroidery adorned them.
the king fell in love with her at once, and the wedding ceremony was celebrated with great splendor. every living thing in the sea, from the great whales down to the little shrimps, came in shoals to offer their congratulations to the bride and bridegroom and to wish them a long and prosperous life. never had there been such an assemblage or such gay festivities in the fish-world before. the train of bearers who carried the bride's possessions to her new home seemed to reach across the waves from one end of the sea to the other. each fish carried a phosphorescent lantern and was dressed in ceremonial robes, gleaming blue and pink and silver; and the waves as they rose and fell and broke that night seemed to be rolling masses of white and green fire, for the phosphorus shone with double brilliancy in honor of the event.
now for a time the dragon king and his bride lived very happily. they loved each other dearly, and the bridegroom day after day took delight in showing his bride all the wonders and treasures of his coral palace, and she was never tired of wandering with him through its vast halls and gardens. life seemed to them both like a long summer's day.
two months passed in this happy way, and then the dragon queen fell ill and was obliged to stay in bed. the king was sorely troubled when he saw his precious bride so ill, and at once sent for the fish doctor to come and give her some medicine. he gave special orders to the servants to nurse her carefully and to wait upon her with diligence, but in spite of all the nurses' assiduous care and the medicine that the doctor prescribed, the young queen showed no signs of recovery, but grew daily worse.
then the dragon king interviewed the doctor and blamed him for not curing the queen. the doctor was alarmed at rin jin's evident displeasure, and excused his want of skill by saying that although he knew the right kind of medicine to give the invalid, it was impossible to find it in the sea.
"do you mean to tell me that you can't get the medicine here?" asked the dragon king.
"it is just as you say!" said the doctor.
"tell me what it is you want for the queen?" demanded rin jin.
"i want the liver of a live monkey!" answered the doctor.
"the liver of a live monkey! of course that will be most difficult to get," said the king.
"if we could only get that for the queen, her majesty would soon recover," said the doctor.
"very well, that decides it; we must get it somehow or other. but where are we most likely to find a monkey?" asked the king.
then the doctor told the dragon king that some distance to the south there was a monkey island where a great many monkeys lived.
"if only you could capture one of these monkeys?" said the doctor.
"how can any of my people capture a monkey?" said the dragon king, greatly puzzled. "the monkeys live on dry land, while we live in the water; and out of our element we are quite powerless! i don't see what we can do!"
"that has been my difficulty too," said the doctor. "but amongst your innumerable servants you surely can find one who can go on shore for that express purpose!"
"something must be done," said the king, and calling his chief steward he consulted him on the matter.
the chief steward thought for some time, and then, as if struck by a sudden thought, said joyfully:
"i know what we must do! there is the kurage (jelly fish). he is certainly ugly to look at, but he is proud of being able to walk on land with his four legs like a tortoise. let us send him to the island of monkeys to catch one."
the jelly fish was then summoned to the king's presence, and was told by his majesty what was required of him.
the jelly fish, on being told of the unexpected mission which was to be intrusted to him, looked very troubled, and said that he had never been to the island in question, and as he had never had any experience in catching monkeys he was afraid that he would not be able to get one.
"well," said the chief steward, "if you depend on your strength or dexterity you will never catch a monkey. the only way is to play a trick on one!"
"how can i play a trick on a monkey? i don't know how to do it," said the perplexed jelly fish.
"this is what you must do," said the wily chief steward. "when you approach the island of monkeys and meet some of them, you must try to get very friendly with one. tell him that you are a servant of the dragon king, and invite him to come and visit you and see the dragon king's palace. try and describe to him as vividly as you can the grandeur of the palace and the wonders of the sea so as to arouse his curiosity and make him long to see it all!"
"but how am i to get the monkey here? you know monkeys don't swim?"
said the reluctant jelly fish.
"you must carry him on your back. what is the use of your shell if you can't do that!" said the chief steward.
"won't he be very heavy?" queried kurage again.
"you mustn't mind that, for you are working for the dragon king,"
replied the chief steward.
"i will do my best then," said the jelly fish, and he swam away from the palace and started off towards the monkey island. swimming swiftly he reached his destination in a few hours, and landed by a convenient wave upon the shore. on looking round he saw not far away a big pine-tree with drooping branches and on one of those branches was just what he was looking for a live monkey.
"i'm in luck!" thought the jelly fish. "now i must flatter the creature and try to entice him to come back with me to the palace, and my part will be done!"
so the jelly fish slowly walked towards the pine-tree. in those ancient days the jelly fish had four legs and a hard shell like a tortoise.
when he got to the pine-tree he raised his voice and said:
"how do you do, mr. monkey? isn't it a lovely day?"
"a very fine day," answered the monkey from the tree. "i have never seen you in this part of the world before. where have you come from and what is your name?"
"my name is kurage or jelly fish. i am one of the servants of the dragon king. i have heard so much of your beautiful island that i have come on purpose to see it," answered the jelly fish.
"i am very glad to see you," said the monkey.
"by the bye," said the jelly fish, "have you ever seen the palace of the dragon king of the sea where i live?"
"i have often heard of it, but i have never seen it!" answered the monkey.
"then you ought most surely to come. it is a great pity for you to go through life without seeing it. the beauty of the palace is beyond all description it is certainly to my mind the most lovely place in the world," said the jelly fish.
"is it so beautiful as all that?" asked the monkey in astonishment.
then the jelly fish saw his chance, and went on describing to the best of his ability the beauty and grandeur of the sea king's palace, and the wonders of the garden with its curious trees of white, pink and red coral, and the still more curious fruits like great jewels hanging on the branches. the monkey grew more and more interested, and as he listened he came down the tree step by step so as not to lose a word of the wonderful story.
"i have got him at last!" thought the jelly fish, but aloud he said:
"mr. monkey. i must now go back. as you have never seen the palace of the dragon king, won't you avail yourself of this splendid opportunity by coming with me? i shall then be able to act as guide and show you all the sights of the sea, which will be even more wonderful to you a land-lubber."
"i should love to go," said the monkey, "but how am i to cross the water! i can't swim, as you surely know!"
"there is no difficulty about that. i can carry you on my back."
"that will be troubling you too much," said the monkey.
"i can do it quite easily. i am stronger than i look, so you needn't hesitate," said the jelly fish, and taking the monkey on his back he stepped into the sea.
"keep very still, mr. monkey," said the jelly fish. "you mustn't fall into the sea; i am responsible for your safe arrival at the king's palace."
"please don't go so fast, or i am sure i shall fall off," said the monkey.
thus they went along, the jelly fish skimming through the waves with the monkey sitting on his back. when they were about half-way, the jelly fish, who knew very little of anatomy, began to wonder if the monkey had his liver with him or not!
"mr. monkey, tell me, have you such a thing as a liver with you?"
the monkey was very much surprised at this queer question, and asked what the jelly fish wanted with a liver.
"that is the most important thing of all," said the stupid jelly fish, "so as soon as i recollected it, i asked you if you had yours with you?"
"why is my liver so important to you?" asked the monkey.
"oh! you will learn the reason later," said the jelly fish.
the monkey grew more and more curious and suspicious, and urged the jelly fish to tell him for what his liver was wanted, and ended up by appealing to his hearer's feelings by saying that he was very troubled at what he had been told.
then the jelly fish, seeing how anxious the monkey looked, was sorry for him, and told him everything. how the dragon queen had fallen ill, and how the doctor had said that only the liver of a live monkey would cure her, and how the dragon king had sent him to find one.
"now i have done as i was told, and as soon as we arrive at the palace the doctor will want your liver, so i feel sorry for you!" said the silly jelly fish.
the poor monkey was horrified when he learnt all this, and very angry at the trick played upon him. he trembled with fear at the thought of what was in store for him.
but the monkey was a clever animal, and he thought it the wisest plan not to show any sign of the fear he felt, so he tried to calm himself and to think of some way by which he might escape.
"the doctor means to cut me open and then take my liver out! why i shall die!" thought the monkey. at last a bright thought struck him, so he said quite cheerfully to the jelly fish:
"what a pity it was, mr. jelly fish, that you did not speak of this before we left the island!"
"if i had told why i wanted you to accompany me you would certainly have refused to come," answered the jelly fish.
"you are quite mistaken," said the monkey. "monkeys can very well spare a liver or two, especially when it is wanted for the dragon queen of the sea. if i had only guessed of what you were in need. i should have presented you with one without waiting to be asked. i have several livers. but the greatest pity is, that as you did not speak in time, i have left all my livers hanging on the pine-tree."
"have you left your liver behind you?" asked the jelly fish.
"yes," said the cunning monkey, "during the daytime i usually leave my liver hanging up on the branch of a tree, as it is very much in the way when i am climbing about from tree to tree. to-day, listening to your interesting conversation, i quite forgot it, and left it behind when i came off with you. if only you had spoken in time i should have remembered it, and should have brought it along with me!"
the jelly fish was very disappointed when he heard this, for he believed every word the monkey said. the monkey was of no good without a liver. finally the jelly fish stopped and told the monkey so.
"well," said the monkey, "that is soon remedied. i am really sorry to think of all your trouble; but if you will only take me back to the place where you found me, i shall soon be able to get my liver."
the jelly fish did not at all like the idea of going all the way back to the island again; but the monkey assured him that if he would be so kind as to take him back he would get his very best liver, and bring it with him the next time. thus persuaded, the jelly fish turned his course towards the monkey island once more.
no sooner had the jelly fish reached the shore than the sly monkey landed, and getting up into the pine-tree where the jelly fish had first seen him, he cut several capers amongst the branches with joy at being safe home again, and then looking down at the jelly fish said:
"so many thanks for all the trouble you have taken! please present my compliments to the dragon king on your return!"
the jelly fish wondered at this speech and the mocking tone in which it was uttered. then he asked the monkey if it wasn't his intention to come with him at once after getting his liver.
the monkey replied laughingly that he couldn't afford to lose his liver: it was too precious.
"but remember your promise!" pleaded the jelly fish, now very discouraged.
"that promise was false, and anyhow it is now broken!" answered the monkey. then he began to jeer at the jelly fish and told him that he had been deceiving him the whole time; that he had no wish to lose his life, which he certainly would have done had he gone on to the sea king's palace to the old doctor waiting for him, instead of persuading the jelly fish to return under false pretenses.
"of course, i won't give you my liver, but come and get it if you can!"
added the monkey mockingly from the tree.
there was nothing for the jelly fish to do now but to repent of his stupidity, and to return to the dragon king of the sea and to confess his failure, so he started sadly and slowly to swim back. the last thing he heard as he glided away, leaving the island behind him, was the monkey laughing at him.
meanwhile the dragon king, the doctor, the chief steward, and all the servants were waiting impatiently for the return of the jelly fish.
when they caught sight of him approaching the palace, they hailed him with delight. they began to thank him profusely for all the trouble he had taken in going to monkey island, and then they asked him where the monkey was.
now the day of reckoning had come for the jelly fish. he quaked all over as he told his story. how he had brought the monkey halfway over the sea, and then had stupidly let out the secret of his commission; how the monkey had deceived him by making him believe that he had left his liver behind him.
the dragon king's wrath was great, and he at once gave orders that the jelly fish was to be severely punished. the punishment was a horrible one. all the bones were to be drawn out from his living body, and he was to be beaten with sticks.
the poor jelly fish, humiliated and horrified beyond all words, cried out for pardon. but the dragon king's order had to be obeyed. the servants of the palace forthwith each brought out a stick and surrounded the jelly fish, and after pulling out his bones they beat him to a flat pulp, and then took him out beyond the palace gates and threw him into the water. here he was left to suffer and repent his foolish chattering, and to grow accustomed to his new state of bonelessness.
from this story it is evident that in former times the jelly fish once had a shell and bones something like a tortoise, but, ever since the dragon king's sentence was carried out on the ancestor of the jelly fishes, his descendants have all been soft and boneless just as you see them to-day thrown up by the waves high upon the shores of japan.
the quarrel of the monkey and the crab.
long, long ago, one bright autumn day in japan, it happened, that a pink-faced monkey and a yellow crab were playing together along the bank of a river. as they were running about, the crab found a rice-dumpling and the monkey a persimmon-seed.
the crab picked up the rice-dumpling and showed it to the monkey, saying:
"look what a nice thing i have found!"
then the monkey held up his persimmon-seed and said:
"i also have found something good! look!"
now though the monkey is always very fond of persimmon fruit, he had no use for the seed he had just found. the persimmon-seed is as hard and uneatable as a stone. he, therefore, in his greedy nature, felt very envious of the crab's nice dumpling, and he proposed an exchange. the crab naturally did not see why he should give up his prize for a hard stone-like seed, and would not consent to the monkey's proposition.
then the cunning monkey began to persuade the crab, saying:
"how unwise you are not to think of the future! your rice-dumpling can be eaten now, and is certainly much bigger than my seed; but if you sow this seed in the ground it will soon grow and become a great tree in a few years, and bear an abundance of fine ripe persimmons year after year. if only i could show it to you then with the yellow fruit hanging on its branches! of course, if you don't believe me i shall sow it myself; though i am sure, later on, you will be very sorry that you did not take my advice."
the simple-minded crab could not resist the monkey's clever persuasion.
he at last gave in and consented to the monkey's proposal, and the exchange was made. the greedy monkey soon gobbled up the dumpling, and with great reluctance gave up the persimmon-seed to the crab. he would have liked to keep that too, but he was afraid of making the crab angry and of being pinched by his sharp scissor-like claws. they then separated, the monkey going home to his forest trees and the crab to his stones along the river-side. as soon as the crab reached home he put the persimmon-seed in the ground as the monkey had told him.
in the following spring the crab was delighted to see the shoot of a young tree push its way up through the ground. each year it grew bigger, till at last it blossomed one spring, and in the following autumn bore some fine large persimmons. among the broad smooth green leaves the fruit hung like golden balls, and as they ripened they mellowed to a deep orange. it was the little crab's pleasure to go out day by day and sit in the sun and put out his long eyes in the same way as a snail puts out its horn, and watch the persimmons ripening to perfection.
"how delicious they will be to eat!" he said to himself.
at last, one day, he knew the persimmons must be quite ripe and he wanted very much to taste one. he made several attempts to climb the tree, in the vain hope of reaching one of the beautiful persimmons hanging above him; but he failed each time, for a crab's legs are not made for climbing trees but only for running along the ground and over stones, both of which he can do most cleverly. in his dilemma he thought of his old playmate the monkey, who, he knew, could climb trees better than any one else in the world. he determined to ask the monkey to help him, and set out to find him.
running crab-fashion up the stony river bank, over the pathways into the shadowy forest, the crab at last found the monkey taking an afternoon nap in his favorite pine-tree, with his tail curled tight around a branch to prevent him from falling off in his dreams. he was soon wide awake, however, when he heard himself called, and eagerly listening to what the crab told him. when he heard that the seed which he had long ago exchanged for a rice-dumpling had grown into a tree and was now bearing good fruit, he was delighted, for he at once devised a cunning plan which would give him all the persimmons for himself.
he consented to go with the crab to pick the fruit for him. when they both reached the spot, the monkey was astonished to see what a fine tree had sprung from the seed, and with what a number of ripe persimmons the branches were loaded.
he quickly climbed the tree and began to pluck and eat, as fast as he could, one persimmon after another. each time he chose the best and ripest he could find, and went on eating till he could eat no more. not one would he give to the poor hungry crab waiting below, and when he had finished there was little but the hard, unripe fruit left.
you can imagine the feelings of the poor crab after waiting patiently, for so long as he had done, for the tree to grow and the fruit to ripen, when he saw the monkey devouring all the good persimmons. he was so disappointed that he ran round and round the tree calling to the monkey to remember his promise. the monkey at first took no notice of the crab's complaints, but at last he picked out the hardest, greenest persimmon he could find and aimed it at the crab's head. the persimmon is as hard as stone when it is unripe. the monkey's missile struck home and the crab was sorely hurt by the blow. again and again, as fast as he could pick them, the monkey pulled off the hard persimmons and threw them at the defenseless crab till he dropped dead, covered with wounds all over his body. there he lay a pitiful sight at the foot of the tree he had himself planted.
when the wicked monkey saw that he had killed the crab he ran away from the spot as fast as he could, in fear and trembling, like a coward as he was.
now the crab had a son who had been playing with a friend not far from the spot where this sad work had taken place. on the way home he came across his father dead, in a most dreadful condition his head was smashed and his shell broken in several places, and around his body lay the unripe persimmons which had done their deadly work. at this dreadful sight the poor young crab sat down and wept.
but when he had wept for some time he told himself that this crying would do no good; it was his duty to avenge his father's murder, and this he determined to do. he looked about for some clue which would lead him to discover the murderer. looking up at the tree he noticed that the best fruit had gone, and that all around lay bits of peel and numerous seeds strewn on the ground as well as the unripe persimmons which had evidently been thrown at his father. then he understood that the monkey was the murderer, for he now remembered that his father had once told him the story of the rice-dumpling and the persimmon-seed.
the young crab knew that monkeys liked persimmons above all other fruit, and he felt sure that his greed for the coveted fruit had been the cause of the old crab's death. alas!
he at first thought of going to attack the monkey at once, for he burned with rage. second thoughts, however, told him that this was useless, for the monkey was an old and cunning animal and would be hard to overcome. he must meet cunning with cunning and ask some of his friends to help him, for he knew it would be quite out of his power to kill him alone.
the young crab set out at once to call on the mortar, his father's old friend, and told him of all that had happened. he besought the mortar with tears to help him avenge his father's death. the mortar was very sorry when he heard the woful tale and promised at once to help the young crab punish the monkey to death. he warned him that he must be very careful in what he did, for the monkey was a strong and cunning enemy. the mortar now sent to fetch the bee and the chestnut (also the crab's old friends) to consult them about the matter. in a short time the bee and the chestnut arrived. when they were told all the details of the old crab's death and of the monkey's wickedness and greed, they both gladly consented to help the young crab in his revenge.
after talking for a long time as to the ways and means of carrying out their plans they separated, and mr. mortar went home with the young crab to help him bury his poor father.
while all this was taking place the monkey was congratulating himself (as the wicked often do before their punishment comes upon them) on all he had done so neatly. he thought it quite a fine thing that he had robbed his friend of all his ripe persimmons and then that he had killed him. still, smile as hard as he might, he could not banish altogether the fear of the consequences should his evil deeds be discovered. if he were found out (and he told himself that this could not be for he had escaped unseen) the crab's family would be sure to bear him hatred and seek to take revenge on him. so he would not go out, and kept himself at home for several days. he found this kind of life, however, extremely dull, accustomed as he was to the free life of the woods, and at last he said:
"no one knows that it was i who killed the crab! i am sure that the old thing breathed his last before i left him. dead crabs have no mouths!
who is there to tell that i am the murderer? since no one knows, what is the use of shutting myself up and brooding over the matter? what is done cannot be undone!"
with this he wandered out into the crab settlement and crept about as slyly as possible near the crab's house and tried to hear the neighbors' gossip round about. he wanted to find out what the crabs were saving about their chief's death, for the old crab had been the chief of the tribe. but he heard nothing and said to himself:
"they are all such fools that they don't know and don't care who murdered their chief!"
little did he know in his so-called "monkey's wisdom" that this seeming unconcern was part of the young crab's plan. he purposely pretended not to know who killed his father, and also to believe that he had met his death through his own fault. by this means he could the better keep secret the revenge on the monkey, which he was meditating.
so the monkey returned home from his walk quite content. he told himself he had nothing now to fear.
one fine day, when the monkey was sitting at home, he was surprised by the appearance of a messenger from the young crab. while he was wondering what this might mean, the messenger bowed before him and said:
"i have been sent by my master to inform you that his father died the other day in falling from a persimmon tree while trying to climb the tree after fruit. this, being the seventh day, is the first anniversary after his death, and my master has prepared a little festival in his father's honor, and bids you come to participate in it as you were one of his best friends. my master hopes you will honor his house with your kind visit."
when the monkey heard these words he rejoiced in his inmost heart, for all his fears of being suspected were now at rest. he could not guess that a plot had just been set in motion against him. he pretended to be very surprised at the news of the crab's death, and said:
"i am, indeed, very sorry to hear of your chief's death. we were great friends as you know. i remember that we once exchanged a rice-dumpling for a persimmon-seed. it grieves me much to think that that seed was in the end the cause of his death. i accept your kind invitation with many thanks. i shall be delighted to do honor to my poor old friend!" and he screwed some false tears from his eyes.
the messenger laughed inwardly and thought, "the wicked monkey is now dropping false tears, but within a short time he shall shed real ones."
but aloud he thanked the monkey politely and went home.
when he had gone, the wicked monkey laughed aloud at what he thought was the young crab's innocence, and without the least feeling began to look forward to the feast to be held that day in honor of the dead crab, to which he had been invited. he changed his dress and set out solemnly to visit the young crab.
he found all the members of the crab's family and his relatives waiting to receive and welcome him. as soon as the bows of meeting were over they led him to a hall. here the young chief mourner came to receive him. expressions of condolence and thanks were exchanged between them, and then they all sat down to a luxurious feast and entertained the monkey as the guest of honor.
the feast over, he was next invited to the tea-ceremony room to drink a cup of tea. when the young crab had conducted the monkey to the tearoom he left him and retired. time passed and still he did not return. at last the monkey became impatient. he said to himself:
"this tea ceremony is always a very slow affair. i am tired of waiting so long. i am very thirsty after drinking so much sake at the dinner!"
he then approached the charcoal fire-place and began to pour out some hot water from the kettle boiling there, when something burst out from the ashes with a great pop and hit the monkey right in the neck. it was the chestnut, one of the crab's friends, who had hidden himself in the fireplace. the monkey, taken by surprise, jumped backward, and then started to run out of the room.
the bee, who was hiding outside the screens, now flew out and stung him on the cheek. the monkey was in great pain, his neck was burned by the chestnut and his face badly stung by the bee, but he ran on screaming and chattering with rage.
now the stone mortar had hidden himself with several other stones on the top of the crab's gate, and as the monkey ran underneath, the mortar and all fell down on the top of the monkey's head. was it possible for the monkey to bear the weight of the mortar falling on him from the top of the gate? he lay crushed and in great pain, quite unable to get up. as he lay there helpless the young crab came up, and, holding his great claw scissors over the monkey, he said:
"do you now remember that you murdered my father?"
"then you are my enemy?" gasped the monkey brokenly.
"of course," said the young crab.
"it was your father's fault not mine!" gasped the unrepentant monkey.
"can you still lie? i will soon put an end to your breath!" and with that he cut off the monkey's head with his pitcher claws. thus the wicked monkey met his well-merited punishment, and the young crab avenged his father's death.
this is the end of the story of the monkey, the crab, and the persimmon-seed.
the white hare and the crocodiles
long, long ago, when all the animals could talk, there lived in the province of inaba in japan, a little white hare. his home was on the island of oki, and just across the sea was the mainland of inaba.
now the hare wanted very much to cross over to inaba. day after day he would go out and sit on the shore and look longingly over the water in the direction of inaba, and day after day he hoped to find some way of getting across.
one day as usual, the hare was standing on the beach, looking towards the mainland across the water, when he saw a great crocodile swimming near the island.
"this is very lucky!" thought the hare. "now i shall be able to get my wish. i will ask the crocodile to carry me across the sea!"
but he was doubtful whether the crocodile would consent to do what wanted. so he thought instead of asking a favor he would try to get what he wanted by a trick.
so with a loud voice he called to the crocodile, and said:
"oh, mr. crocodile, isn't it a lovely day?"
the crocodile, who had come out all by itself that day to enjoy the bright sunshine, was just beginning to feel a bit lonely when the hare's cheerful greeting broke the silence. the crocodile swam nearer the shore, very pleased to hear some one speak.
"i wonder who it was that spoke to me just now! was it you, mr. hare?
you must be very lonely all by yourself!"
"oh, no, i am not at all lonely," said the hare, "but as it was such a fine day i came out here to enjoy myself. won't you stop and play with me a little while?"
the crocodile came out of the sea and sat on the shore, and the two played together for some time. then the hare said:
"mr. crocodile, you live in the sea and i live on this island, and we do not often meet, so i know very little about you. tell me, do you think the number of your company is greater than mine?"
"of course, there are more crocodiles than hares," answered the crocodile. "can you not see that for yourself? you live on this small island, while i live in the sea, which spreads through all parts of the world, so if i call together all the crocodiles who dwell in the sea you hares will be as nothing compared to us!" the crocodile was very conceited.
the hare, who meant to play a trick on the crocodile, said:
"do you think it possible for you to call up enough crocodiles to form a line from this island across the sea to inaba?"
the crocodile thought for a moment and then answered:
"of course, it is possible."
"then do try," said the artful hare, "and i will count the number from here!"
the crocodile, who was very simple-minded, and who hadn't the least idea that the hare intended to play a trick on him, agreed to do what the hare asked, and said:
"wait a little while i go back into the sea and call my company together!"
the crocodile plunged into the sea and was gone for some time. the hare, meanwhile, waited patiently on the shore. at last the crocodile appeared, bringing with him a large number of other crocodiles.
"look, mr. hare!" said the crocodile, "it is nothing for my friends to form a line between here and inaba. there are enough crocodiles to stretch from here even as far as china or india. did you ever see so many crocodiles?"
then the whole company of crocodiles arranged themselves in the water so as to form a bridge between the island of oki and the mainland of inaba. when the hare saw the bridge of crocodiles, he said:
"how splendid! i did not believe this was possible. now let me count you all! to do this, however, with your permission, i must walk over on your backs to the other side, so please be so good as not to move, or else i shall fall into the sea and be drowned!"
so the hare hopped off the island on to the strange bridge of crocodiles, counting as he jumped from one crocodile's back to the other:
"please keep quite still, or i shall not be able to count. one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine "
thus the cunning hare walked right across to the mainland of inaba. not content with getting his wish, he began to jeer at the crocodiles instead of thanking them, and said, as he leapt off the last one's back:
"oh! you stupid crocodiles, now i have done with you!"
and he was just about to run away as fast as he could. but he did not escape so easily, for so soon as the crocodiles understood that this was a trick played upon them by the hare so as to enable him to cross the sea, and that the hare was now laughing at them for their stupidity, they became furiously angry and made up their minds to take revenge. so some of them ran after the hare and caught him. then they all surrounded the poor little animal and pulled out all his fur. he cried out loudly and entreated them to spare him, but with each tuft of fur they pulled out they said:
"serve you right!"
when the crocodiles had pulled out the last bit of fur, they threw the poor hare on the beach, and all swam away laughing at what they had done.
the hare was now in a pitiful plight, all his beautiful white fur had been pulled out, and his bare little body was quivering with pain and bleeding all over. he could hardly move, and all he could do was to lie on the beach quite helpless and weep over the misfortune that had befallen him. notwithstanding that it was his own fault that had brought all this misery and suffering upon the white hare of inaba, any one seeing the poor little creature could not help feeling sorry for him in his sad condition, for the crocodiles had been very cruel in their revenge.
just at this time a number of men, who looked like king's sons, happened to pass by, and seeing the hare lying on the beach crying, stopped and asked what was the matter.
the hare lifted up his head from between his paws, and answered them, saying:
"i had a fight with some crocodiles, but i was beaten, and they pulled out all my fur and left me to suffer here that is why i am crying."
now one of these young men had a bad and spiteful disposition. but he feigned kindness, and said to the hare:
"i feel very sorry for you. if you will only try it, i know of a remedy which will cure your sore body. go and bathe yourself in the sea, and then come and sit in the wind. this will make your fur grow again, and you will be just as you were before."
then all the young men passed on. the hare was very pleased, thinking that he had found a cure. he went and bathed in the sea and then came out and sat where the wind could blow upon him.
but as the wind blew and dried him, his skin became drawn and hardened, and the salt increased the pain so much that he rolled on the sand in his agony and cried aloud.
just then another king's son passed by, carrying a great bag on his back. he saw the hare, and stopped and asked why he was crying so loudly.
but the poor hare, remembering that he had been deceived by one very like the man who now spoke to him, did not answer, but continued to cry.
but this man had a kind heart, and looked at the hare very pityingly, and said:
"you poor thing! i see that your fur is all pulled out and that your skin is quite bare. who can have treated you so cruelly?"
when the hare heard these kind words he felt very grateful to the man, and encouraged by his gentle manner the hare told him all that had befallen him. the little animal hid nothing from his friend, but told him frankly how he had played a trick on the crocodiles and how he had come across the bridge they had made, thinking that he wished to count their number: how he had jeered at them for their stupidity, and then how the crocodiles had revenged themselves on him. then he went on to say how he had been deceived by a party of men who looked very like his kind friend: and the hare ended his long tale of woe by begging the man to give him some medicine that would cure him and make his fur grow again.
when the hare had finished his story, the man was full of pity towards him, and said:
"i am very sorry for all you have suffered, but remember, it was only the consequence of the deceit you practiced on the crocodiles."
"i know," answered the sorrowful hare, "but i have repented and made up my mind never to use deceit again, so i beg you to show me how i may cure my sore body and make the fur grow again."
"then i will tell you of a good remedy," said the man. "first go and bathe well in that pond over there and try to wash all the salt from your body. then pick some of those kaba flowers that are growing near the edge of the water, spread them on the ground and roll yourself on them. if you do this the pollen will cause your fur to grow again, and you will be quite well in a little while."
the hare was very glad to be told what to do, so kindly. he crawled to the pond pointed out to him, bathed well in it, and then picked the kaba flowers growing near the water, and rolled himself on them.
to his amazement, even while he was doing this, he saw his nice white fur growing again, the pain ceased, and he felt just as he had done before all his misfortunes.
the hare was overjoyed at his quick recovery, and went hopping joyfully towards the young man who had so helped him, and kneeling down at his feet, said:
"i cannot express my thanks for all you have done for me! it is my earnest wish to do something for you in return. please tell me who you are?"
"i am no king's son as you think me. i am a fairy, and my name is okuni-nushi-no-mikoto," answered the man, "and those beings who passed here before me are my brothers. they have heard of a beautiful princess called yakami who lives in this province of inaba, and they are on their way to find her and to ask her to marry one of them. but on this expedition i am only an attendant, so i am walking behind them with this great big bag on my back."
the hare humbled himself before this great fairy okuni-nushi-no-mikoto, whom many in that part of the land worshiped as a god.
"oh, i did not know that you were okuni-nushi-no-mikoto. how kind you have been to me! it is impossible to believe that that unkind fellow who sent me to bathe in the sea is one of your brothers. i am quite sure that the princess, whom your brothers have gone to seek, will refuse to be the bride of any of them, and will prefer you for your goodness of heart. i am quite sure that you will win her heart without intending to do so, and she will ask to be your bride."
okuni-nushi-no-mikoto took no notice of what the hare said, but bidding the little animal goodby, went on his way quickly and soon overtook his brothers. he found them just entering the princess's gate.
just as the hare had said, the princess could not be persuaded to become the bride of any of the brothers, but when she looked at the kind brother's face she went straight up to him and said:
"to you i give myself," and so they were married.
this is the end of the story. okuni-nushi-no-mikoto is worshiped by the people in some parts of japan, as a god, and the hare has become famous as "the white hare of inaba." but what became of the crocodiles nobody knows.
the story of prince yamato take.
the insignia of the great japanese empire is composed of three treasures which have been considered sacred, and guarded with jealous care from time immemorial. these are the yatano-no-kagami or the mirror of yata, the yasakami-no-magatama or the jewel of yasakami, and the murakumo-no-tsurugi or the sword of murakumo.
of these three treasures of the empire, the sword of murakumo, afterwards known as kusanagi-no-tsrugugi, or the grass-cleaving sword, is considered the most precious and most highly to be honored, for it is the symbol of strength to this nation of warriors and the talisman of invincibility for the emperor, while he holds it sacred in the shrine of his ancestors.
nearly two thousand years ago this sword was kept at the shrines of ite, the temples dedicated to the worship of amaterasu, the great and beautiful sun goddess from whom the japanese emperors are said to be descended.
there is a story of knightly adventure and daring which explains why the name of the sword was changed from that of murakumo to kasanagi, which means grass clearing.
once, many, many years ago, there was born a son to the emperor keiko, the twelfth in descent from the great jimmu, the founder of the japanese dynasty. this prince was the second son of the emperor keiko, and he was named yamato. from his childhood he proved himself to be of remarkable strength, wisdom and courage, and his father noticed with pride that he gave promise of great things, and he loved him even more than he did his elder son.
now when prince yamato had grown to manhood (in the olden days of japanese history, a boy was considered to have reached man's estate at the early age of sixteen) the realm was much troubled by a band of outlaws whose chiefs were two brothers, kumaso and takeru. these rebels seemed to delight in rebelling against the king, in breaking the laws and defying all authority.
at last king keiko ordered his younger son prince yamato to subdue the brigands and, if possible, to rid the land of their evil lives. prince yamato was only sixteen years of age, he had but reached his manhood according to the law, yet though he was such a youth in years he possessed the dauntless spirit of a warrior of fuller age and knew not what fear was. even then there was no man who could rival him for courage and bold deeds, and he received his father's command with great joy.
he at once made ready to start, and great was the stir in the precincts of the palace as he and his trusty followers gathered together and prepared for the expedition, and polished up their armor and donned it.
before he left his father's court he went to pray at the shrine of ise and to take leave of his aunt the princess yamato, for his heart was somewhat heavy at the thought of the dangers he had to face, and he felt that he needed the protection of his ancestress, amaterasu, the sun goddess. the princess his aunt came out to give him glad welcome, and congratulated him on being trusted with so great a mission by his father the king. she then gave him one of her gorgeous robes as a keepsake to go with him and to bring him good luck, saying that it would surely be of service to him on this adventure. she then wished him all success in his undertaking and bade him good speed.
the young prince bowed low before his aunt, and received her gracious gift with much pleasure and many respectful bows.
"i will now set out," said the prince, and returning to the palace he put himself at the head of his troops. thus cheered by his aunt's blessing, he felt ready for all that might befall, and marching through the land he went down to the southern island of kiushiu, the home of the brigands.
before many days had passed he reached the southern island, and then slowly but surely made his way to the head-quarters of the chiefs kumaso and takeru. he now met with great difficulties, for he found the country exceedingly wild and rough. the mountains were high and steep, the valleys dark and deep, and huge trees and bowlders of rock blocked up the road and stopped the progress of his army. it was all but impossible to go on.
though the prince was but a youth he had the wisdom of years, and, seeing that it was vain to try and lead his men further, he said to himself:
"to attempt to fight a battle in this impassable country unknown to my men only makes my task harder. we cannot clear the roads and fight as well. it is wiser for me to resort to stratagem and come upon my enemies unawares. in that way i may be able to kill them without much exertion."
so he now bade his army halt by the way. his wife, the princess ototachibana, had accompanied him, and he bade her bring him the robe his aunt the priestess of ise had given him, and to help him attire himself as a woman. with her help he put on the robe, and let his hair down till it flowed over his shoulders. ototachibana then brought him her comb, which he put in his black tresses, and then adorned himself with strings of strange jewels just as you see in the picture. when he had finished his unusual toilet, ototachibana brought him her mirror.
he smiled as he gazed at himself the disguise was so perfect.
he hardly knew himself, so changed was he. all traces of the warrior had disappeared, and in the shining surface only a beautiful lady looked back at him.
thus completely disguised, he set out for the enemy's camp alone. in the folds of his silk gown, next his strong heart, was hidden a sharp dagger.
the two chiefs kumaso and takeru wore sitting in their tent, resting in the cool of the evening, when the prince approached. they were talking of the news which had recently been carried to them, that the king's son had entered their country with a large army determined to exterminate their band. they had both heard of the young warrior's renown, and for the first time in their wicked lives they felt afraid.
in a pause in their talk they happened to look up, and saw through the door of the tent a beautiful woman robed in sumptuous garments coming towards them. like an apparition of loveliness she appeared in the soft twilight. little did they dream that it was their enemy whose coming they so dreaded who now stood before them in this disguise.
"what a beautiful woman! where has she come from?" said the astonished kumaso, forgetting war and council and everything as he looked at the gentle intruder.
he beckoned to the disguised prince and bade him sit down and serve them with wine. yamato take felt his heart swell with a fierce glee for he now knew that his plan would succeed. however, he dissembled cleverly, and putting on a sweet air of shyness he approached the rebel chief with slow steps and eyes glancing like a frightened deer. charmed to distraction by the girl's loveliness kumaso drank cup after cup of wine for the pleasure of seeing her pour it out for him, till at last he was quite overcome with the quantity he had drunk.
this was the moment for which the brave prince had been waiting.
flinging down the wine jar, he seized the tipsy and astonished kumaso and quickly stabbed him to death with the dagger which he had secretly carried hidden in his breast.
takeru, the brigand's brother, was terror-struck as soon as he saw what was happening and tried to escape, but prince yamato was too quick for him. ere he could reach the tent door the prince was at his heel, his garments were clutched by a hand of iron, and a dagger flashed before his eyes and he lay stabbed to the earth, dying but not yet dead.
"wait one moment!" gasped the brigand painfully, and he seized the prince's hand.
yamato relaxed his hold somewhat and said.
"why should i pause, thou villain?"
the brigand raised himself fearfully and said:
"tell me from whence you come, and whom i have the honor of addressing?
hitherto i believed that my dead brother and i were the strongest men in the land, and that there was no one who could overcome us. alone you have ventured into our stronghold, alone you have attacked and killed us! surely you are more than mortal?"
then the young prince answered with a proud smile: "i am the son of the king and my name is yamato, and i have been sent by my father as the avenger of evil to bring death to all rebels! no longer shall robbery and murder hold my people in terror!" and he held the dagger dripping red above the rebel's head.
"ah," gasped the dying man with a great effort, "i have often heard of you. you are indeed a strong man to have so easily overcome us. allow me to give you a new name. from henceforth you shall be known as yamato take. our title i bequeath to you as the bravest man in yamato."
and with these noble words, takeru fell back and died.
the prince having thus successfully put an end to his father's enemies in the world, was prepared to return to the capital. on the way back he passed through the province of idum. here he met with another outlaw named idzumo takeru who he knew had done much harm in the land. he again resorted to stratagem, and feigned friendship with the rebel under an assumed name. having done this he made a sword of wood and jammed it tightly in the shaft of his own strong sword. this he purposedly buckled to his side and wore on every occasion when he expected to meet the third robber takeru.
he now invited takeru to the bank of the river hinokawa, and persuaded him to try a swim with him in the cool refreshing waters of the river.
as it was a hot summer's day, the rebel was nothing loath to take a plunge in the river, while his enemy was still swimming down the stream the prince turned back and landed with all possible haste. unperceived, he managed to change swords, putting his wooden one in place of the keen steel sword of takeru.
knowing nothing of this, the brigand came up to the bank shortly. as soon as he had landed and donned his clothes, the prince came forward and asked him to cross swords with him to prove his skill, saying:
"let us two prove which is the better swordsman of the two!"
the robber agreed with delight, feeling certain of victory, for he was famous as a fencer in his province and he did not know who his adversary was. he seized quickly what he thought was his sword and stood on guard to defend himself. alas! for the rebel the sword was the wooden one of the young prince and in vain takeru tried to unsheathe it it was jammed fast, not all his exerted strength could move it.
even if his efforts had been successful the sword would have been of no use to him for it was of wood. yamato take saw that his enemy was in his power, and swinging high the sword he had taken from takeru he brought it down with great might and dexterity and cut off the robber's head.
in this way, sometimes by using his wisdom and sometimes by using his bodily strength, and at other times by resorting to craftiness, which was as much esteemed in those days as it is despised in these, he prevailed against all the king's foes one by one, and brought peace and rest to the land and the people.
when he returned to the capital the king praised him for his brave deeds, and held a feast in the palace in honor of his safe coming home and presented him with many rare gifts. from this time forth the king loved him more than ever and would not let yamato take go from his side, for he said that his son was now as precious to him as one of his arms.
but the prince was not allowed to live an idle life long. when he was about thirty years old, news was brought that the ainu race, the aborigines of the islands of japan, who had been conquered and pushed northwards by the japanese, had rebelled in the eastern provinces, and leaving the vicinity which had been allotted to them were causing great trouble in the land. the king decided that it was necessary to send an army to do battle with them and bring them to reason. but who was to lead the men?
prince yamato take at once offered to go and bring the newly arisen rebels into subjection. now as the king loved the prince dearly, and could not bear to have him go out of his sight even for the length of one day, he was of course very loath to send him on his dangerous expedition. but in the whole army there was no warrior so strong or so brave as the prince his son, so that his majesty, unable to do otherwise, reluctantly complied with yamato's wish.
when the time came for the prince to start, the king gave him a spear called the eight-arms-length-spear of the holly tree (the handle was probably made from the wood of the holly tree), and ordered him to set out to subjugate the eastern barbarians as the ainu were then called.
the eight-arms-length-spear of the holly tree of those old days, was prized by warriors just as much as the standard or banner is valued by a regiment in these modern days, when given by the king to his soldiers on the occasion of setting out for war.
the prince respectfully and with great reverence received the king's spear, and leaving the capital, marched with his army to the east. on his way he visited first of all the temples of ise for worship, and his aunt the princess of yamato and high priestess came out to greet him.
she it was who had given him her robe which had proved such a boon to him before in helping him to overcome and slay the brigands of the west.
he told her all that had happened to him, and of the great part her keepsake had played in the success of his previous undertaking, and thanked her very heartily. when she heard that he was starting out once again to do battle with his father's enemies, she went into the temple, and reappeared bearing a sword and a beautiful bag which she had made herself, and which was full of flints, which in those times people used instead of matches for making fire. these she presented to him as a parting gift.
the sword was the sword of murakumo, one of the three sacred treasures which comprise the insignia of the imperial house of japan. no more auspicious talisman of luck and success could she have given her nephew, and she bade him use it in the hour of his greatest need.
yamato take now bade farewell to his aunt, and once more placing himself at the head of his men he marched to the farthest east through the province of owari, and then he reached the province of suruga. here the governor welcomed the prince right heartily and entertained him royally with many feasts. when these were over, the governor told his guest that his country was famous for its fine deer, and proposed a deer hunt for the prince's amusement. the prince was utterly deceived by the cordiality of his host, which was all feigned, and gladly consented to join in the hunt.
the governor then led the prince to a wild and extensive plain where the grass grew high and in great abundance. quite ignorant that the governor had laid a trap for him with the desire to compass his death, the prince began to ride hard and hunt down the deer, when all of a sudden to his amazement he saw flames and smoke bursting out from the bush in front of him. realizing his danger he tried to retreat, but no sooner did he turn his horse in the opposite direction than he saw that even there the prairie was on fire. at the same time the grass on his left and right burst into flames, and these began to spread swiftly towards him on all sides. he looked round for a chance of escape. there was none. he was surrounded by fire.
"this deer hunt was then only a cunning trick of the enemy!" said the prince, looking round on the flames and the smoke that crackled and rolled in towards him on every side. "what a fool i was to be lured into this trap like a wild beast!" and he ground his teeth with rage as he thought of the governor's smiling treachery.
dangerous as was his situation now, the prince was not in the least confounded. in his dire extremity he remembered the gifts his aunt had given him when they parted, and it seemed to him as if she must, with prophetic foresight, have divined this hour of need. he coolly opened the flint-bag that his aunt had given him and set fire to the grass near him. then drawing the sword of murakumo from its sheath he set to work to cut down the grass on either side of him with all speed. he determined to die, if that were necessary, fighting for his life and not standing still waiting for death to come to him.
strange to say the wind began to change and to blow from the opposite direction, and the fiercest portion of the burning bush which had hitherto threatened to come upon him was now blown right away from him, and the prince, without even a scratch on his body or a single hair burned, lived to tell the tale of his wonderful escape, while the wind rising to a gale overtook the governor, and he was burned to death in the flames he had set alight to kill yamato take.
now the prince ascribed his escape entirely to the virtue of the sword of murakumo, and to the protection of amaterasu, the sun goddess of ise, who controls the wind and all the elements and insures the safety of all who pray to her in the hour of danger. lifting the precious sword he raised it above his head many times in token of his great respect, and as he did this he re-named it kusanagi-no-tsurugi or the grass-cleaving sword, and the place where he set fire to the grass round him and escaped from death in the burning prairie, he called yaidzu. to this day there is a spot along the great tokaido railway named yaidzu, which is said to be the very place where this thrilling event took place.
thus did the brave prince yamato take escape out of the snare laid for him by his enemy. he was full of resource and courage, and finally outwitted and subdued all his foes. leaving yaidzu he marched eastward, and came to the shore at idzu from whence he wished to cross to kadzusa.
in these dangers and adventures he had been followed by his faithful loving wife the princess ototachibana. for his sake she counted the weariness of the long journeys and the dangers of war as nothing, and her love for her warrior husband was so great that she felt well repaid for all her wanderings if she could but hand him his sword when he sallied forth to battle, or minister to his wants when he returned weary to the camp.
but the heart of the prince was full of war and conquest and he cared little for the faithful ototachibana. from long exposure in traveling, and from care and grief at her lord's coldness to her, her beauty had faded, and her ivory skin was burnt brown by the sun, and the prince told her one day that her place was in the palace behind the screens at home and not with him upon the warpath. but in spite of rebuffs and indifference on her husband's part, ototachibana could not find it in her heart to leave him. but perhaps it would have been better for her if she had done so, for on the way to idzu, when they came to owari, her heart was well-nigh broken.
here dwelt in a palace shaded by pine-trees and approached by imposing gates, the princess miyadzu, beautiful as the cherry blossom in the blushing dawn of a spring morning. her garments were dainty and bright, and her skin was white as snow, for she had never known what it was to be weary along the path of duty or to walk in the heat of a summer's sun. and the prince was ashamed of his sunburnt wife in her travel-stained garments, and bade her remain behind while he went to visit the princess miyadzu. day after day he spent hours in the gardens and the palace of his new friend, thinking only of his pleasure, and caring little for his poor wife who remained behind to weep in the tent at the misery which had come into her life. yet she was so faithful a wife, and her character so patient, that she never allowed a reproach to escape her lips, or a frown to mar the sweet sadness of her face, and she was ever ready with a smile to welcome her husband back or usher him forth wherever he went.
at last the day came when the prince yamato take must depart for idzu and cross over the sea to kadzusa, and he bade his wife follow in his retinue as an attendant while he went to take a ceremonious farewell of the princess miyadzu. she came out to greet him dressed in gorgeous robes, and she seemed more beautiful than ever, and when yamato take saw her he forgot his wife, his duty, and everything except the joy of the idle present, and swore that he would return to owari and marry her when the war was over. and as he looked up when he had said these words he met the large almond eyes of ototachibana fixed full upon him in unspeakable sadness and wonder, and he knew that he had done wrong, but he hardened his heart and rode on, caring little for the pain he had caused her.
when they reached the seashore at idzu his men sought for boats in which to cross the straits to kadzusa, but it was difficult to find boats enough to allow all the soldiers to embark. then the prince stood on the beach, and in the pride of his strength he scoffed and said:
"this is not the sea! this is only a brook! why do you men want so many boats? i could jump this if i would."
when at last they had all embarked and were fairly on their way across the straits, the sky suddenly clouded and a great storm arose. the waves rose mountains high, the wind howled, the lightning flashed and the thunder rolled, and the boat which held ototachibana and the prince and his men was tossed from crest to crest of the rolling waves, till it seemed that every moment must be their last and that they must all be swallowed up in the angry sea. for kin jin, the dragon king of the sea, had heard yamato take jeer, and had raised this terrible storm in anger, to show the scoffing prince how awful the sea could be though it did but look like a brook.
the terrified crew lowered the sails and looked after the rudder, and worked for their dear lives' sake, but all in vain the storm only seemed to increase in violence, and all gave themselves up for lost.
then the faithful ototachibana rose, and forgetting all the grief that her husband had caused her, forgetting even that he had wearied of her, in the one great desire of her love to save him, she determined to sacrifice her life to rescue him from death if it were possible.
while the waves dashed over the ship and the wind whirled round them in fury she stood up and said:
"surely all this has come because the prince has angered rin jin, the god of the sea, by his jesting. if so, i, ototachibana, will appease the wrath of the sea god who desires nothing less than my husband's life!"
then addressing the sea she said:
"i will take the place of his augustness, yamato take. i will now cast myself into your outraged depths, giving my life for his. therefore hear me and bring him safely to the shore of kadzusa."
with these words she leaped quickly into the boisterous sea, and the waves soon whirled her away and she was lost to sight. strange to say, the storm ceased at once, and the sea became as calm and smooth as the matting on which the astonished onlookers were sitting. the gods of the sea were now appeased, and the weather cleared and the sun shone as on a summer's day.
yamato take soon reached the opposite shore and landed safely, even as his wife ototachibana had prayed. his prowess in war was marvelous, and he succeeded after some time in conquering the eastern barbarians, the ainu.
he ascribed his safe landing wholly to the faithfulness of his wife, who had so willingly and lovingly sacrificed herself in the hour of his utmost peril. his heart was softened at the remembrance of her, and he never allowed her to pass from his thoughts even for a moment. too late had he learned to esteem the goodness of her heart and the greatness of her love for him.
as he was returning on his homeward way he came to the high pass of the usui toge, and here he stood and gazed at the wonderful prospect beneath him. the country, from this great elevation, all lay open to his sight, a vast panorama of mountain and plain and forest, with rivers winding like silver ribbons through the land; then far off he saw the distant sea, which shimmered like a luminous mist in the great distance, where ototachibana had given her life for him, and as he turned towards it he stretched out his arms, and thinking of her love which he had scorned and his faithlessness to her, his heart burst out into a sorrowful and bitter cry:
"azuma, azuma, ya!" (oh! my wife, my wife!) and to this day there is a district in tokio called azuma, which commemorates the words of prince yamato take, and the place where his faithful wife leapt into the sea to save him is still pointed out. so, though in life the princess ototachibana was unhappy, history keeps her memory green, and the story of her unselfishness and heroic death will never pass away.
yamato take had now fulfilled all his father's orders, he had subdued all rebels, and rid the land of all robbers and enemies to the peace, and his renown was great, for in the whole land there was no one who could stand up against him, he was so strong in battle and wise in council.
he was about to return straight for home by the way he had come, when the thought struck him that he would find it more interesting to take another route, so he passed through the province of owari and came to the province of omi.
when the prince reached omi he found the people in a state of great excitement and fear. in many houses as he passed along he saw the signs of mourning and heard loud lamentations. on inquiring the cause of this he was told that a terrible monster had appeared in the mountains, who daily came down from thence and made raids on the villages, devouring whoever he could seize. many homes had been made desolate and the men were afraid to go out to their daily work in the fields, or the women to go to the rivers to wash their rice.
when yamato take heard this his wrath was kindled, and he said fiercely:
"from the western end of kiushiu to the eastern corner of yezo i have subdued all the king's enemies there is no one who dares to break the laws or to rebel against the king. it is indeed a matter for wonder that here in this place, so near the capital, a wicked monster has dared to take up his abode and be the terror of the king's subjects.
not long shall it find pleasure in devouring innocent folk. i will start out and kill it at once."
with these words he set out for the ibuki mountain, where the monster was said to live. he climbed up a good distance, when all of a sudden, at a winding in the path, a monster serpent appeared before him and stopped the way.
"this must be the monster," said the prince; "i do not need my sword for a serpent. i can kill him with my hands."
he thereupon sprang upon the serpent and tried to strangle it to death with his bare arms. it was not long before his prodigious strength gained the mastery and the serpent lay dead at his feet. now a sudden darkness came over the mountain and rain began to fall, so that for the gloom and the rain the prince could hardly see which way to take. in a short time, however, while he was groping his way down the pass, the weather cleared, and our brave hero was able to make his way quickly down the mountain.
when he got back he began to feel ill and to have burning pains in his feet, so he knew that the serpent had poisoned him. so great was his suffering that he could hardly move, much less walk, so he had himself carried to a place in the mountains famous for its hot mineral springs, which rose bubbling out of the earth, and almost boiling from the volcanic fires beneath.
yamato take bathed daily in these waters, and gradually he felt his strength come again, and the pains left him, till at last one day he found with great joy that he was quite recovered. he now hastened to the temples of ise, where you will remember that he prayed before undertaking this long expedition. his aunt, priestess of the shrine, who had blessed him on his setting out, now came to welcome him back.
he told her of the many dangers he had encountered and of how marvelously his life had been preserved through all and she praised his courage and his warrior's prowess, and then putting on her most magnificent robes she returned thanks to their ancestress the sun goddess amaterasu, to whose protection they both ascribed the prince's wonderful preservation.
here ends the story of prince yamato take of japan.
momotaro, or the story of the son of a peach.
long, long ago there lived, an old man and an old woman; they were peasants, and had to work hard to earn their daily rice. the old man used to go and cut grass for the farmers around, and while he was gone the old woman, his wife, did the work of the house and worked in their own little rice field.
one day the old man went to the hills as usual to cut grass and the old woman took some clothes to the river to wash.
it was nearly summer, and the country was very beautiful to see in its fresh greenness as the two old people went on their way to work. the grass on the banks of the river looked like emerald velvet, and the pussy willows along the edge of the water were shaking out their soft tassels.
the breezes blew and ruffled the smooth surface of the water into wavelets, and passing on touched the cheeks of the old couple who, for some reason they could not explain, felt very happy that morning.
the old woman at last found a nice spot by the river bank and put her basket down. then she set to work to wash the clothes; she took them one by one out of the basket and washed them in the river and rubbed them on the stones. the water was as clear as crystal, and she could see the tiny fish swimming to and fro, and the pebbles at the bottom.
as she was busy washing her clothes a great peach came bumping down the stream. the old woman looked up from her work and saw this large peach.
she was sixty years of age, yet in all her life she had never seen such a big peach as this.
"how delicious that peach must be!" she said to herself. "i must certainly get it and take it home to my old man."
she stretched out her arm to try and get it, but it was quite out of her reach. she looked about for a stick, but there was not one to be seen, and if she went to look for one she would lose the peach.
stopping a moment to think what she would do, she remembered an old charm-verse. now she began to clap her hands to keep time to the rolling of the peach down stream, and while she clapped she sang this song:
"distant water is bitter, the near water is sweet; pass by the distant water and come into the sweet."
strange to say, as soon as she began to repeat this little song the peach began to come nearer and nearer the bank where the old woman was standing, till at last it stopped just in front of her so that she was able to take it up in her hands. the old woman was delighted. she could not go on with her work, so happy and excited was she, so she put all the clothes back in her bamboo basket, and with the basket on her back and the peach in her hand she hurried homewards.
it seemed a very long time to her to wait till her husband returned.
the old man at last came back as the sun was setting, with a big bundle of grass on his back so big that he was almost hidden and she could hardly see him. he seemed very tired and used the scythe for a walking stick, leaning on it as he walked along.
as soon as the old woman saw him she called out:
"o fii san! (old man) i have been waiting for you to come home for such a long time to-day!"
"what is the matter? why are you so impatient?" asked the old man, wondering at her unusual eagerness. "has anything happened while i have been away?"
"oh, no!" answered the old woman, "nothing has happened, only i have found a nice present for you!"
"that is good," said the old man. he then washed his feet in a basin of water and stepped up to the veranda.
the old woman now ran into the little room and brought out from the cupboard the big peach. it felt even heavier than before. she held it up to him, saying:
"just look at this! did you ever see such a large peach in all your life?"
when the old man looked at the peach he was greatly astonished and said:
"this is indeed the largest peach i have ever seen! wherever did you buy it?"
"i did not buy it," answered the old woman. "i found it in the river where i was washing." and she told him the whole story.
"i am very glad that you have found it. let us eat it now, for i am hungry," said the o fii san.
he brought out the kitchen knife, and, placing the peach on a board, was about to cut it when, wonderful to tell, the peach split in two of itself and a clear voice said:
"wait a bit, old man!" and out stepped a beautiful little child.
the old man and his wife were both so astonished at what they saw that they fell to the ground. the child spoke again:
"don't be afraid. i am no demon or fairy. i will tell you the truth.
heaven has had compassion on you. every day and every night you have lamented that you had no child. your cry has been heard and i am sent to be the son of your old age!"
on hearing this the old man and his wife were very happy. they had cried night and day for sorrow at having no child to help them in their lonely old age, and now that their prayer was answered they were so lost with joy that they did not know where to put their hands or their feet. first the old man took the child up in his arms, and then the old woman did the same; and they named him momotaro, or son of a peach, because he had come out of a peach.
the years passed quickly by and the child grew to be fifteen years of age. he was taller and far stronger than any other boys of his own age, he had a handsome face and a heart full of courage, and he was very wise for his years. the old couple's pleasure was very great when they looked at him, for he was just what they thought a hero ought to be like.
one day momotaro came to his foster-father and said solemnly:
"father, by a strange chance we have become father and son. your goodness to me has been higher than the mountain grasses which it was your daily work to cut, and deeper than the river where my mother washes the clothes. i do not know how to thank you enough."
"why," answered the old man, "it is a matter of course that a father should bring up his son. when you are older it will be your turn to take care of us, so after all there will be no profit or loss between us all will be equal. indeed, i am rather surprised that you should thank me in this way!" and the old man looked bothered.
"i hope you will be patient with me," said momotaro; "but before i begin to pay back your goodness to me i have a request to make which i hope you will grant me above everything else."
"i will let you do whatever you wish, for you are quite different to all other boys!"
"then let me go away at once!"
"what do you say? do you wish to leave your old father and mother and go away from your old home?"
"i will surely come back again, if you let me go now!"
"where are you going?"
"you must think it strange that i want to go away," said momotaro, "because i have not yet told you my reason. far away from here to the northeast of japan there is an island in the sea. this island is the stronghold of a band of devils. i have often heard how they invade this land, kill and rob the people, and carry off all they can find. they are not only very wicked but they are disloyal to our emperor and disobey his laws. they are also cannibals, for they kill and eat some of the poor people who are so unfortunate as to fall into their hands.
these devils are very hateful beings. i must go and conquer them and bring back all the plunder of which they have robbed this land. it is for this reason that i want to go away for a short time!"
the old man was much surprised at hearing all this from a mere boy of fifteen. he thought it best to let the boy go. he was strong and fearless, and besides all this, the old man knew he was no common child, for he had been sent to them as a gift from heaven, and he felt quite sure that the devils would be powerless to harm him.
"all you say is very interesting, momotaro," said the old man. "i will not hinder you in your determination. you may go if you wish. go to the island as soon as ever you like and destroy the demons and bring peace to the land."
"thank you, for all your kindness," said momotaro, who began to get ready to go that very day. he was full of courage and did not know what fear was.
the old man and woman at once set to work to pound rice in the kitchen mortar to make cakes for momotaro to take with him on his journey.
at last the cakes were made and momotaro was ready to start on his long journey.
parting is always sad. so it was now. the eyes of the two old people were filled with tears and their voices trembled as they said:
"go with all care and speed. we expect you back victorious!"
momotaro was very sorry to leave his old parents (though he knew he was coming back as soon as he could), for he thought of how lonely they would be while he was away. but he said "good-by!" quite bravely.
"i am going now. take good care of yourselves while i am away.
good-by!" and he stepped quickly out of the house. in silence the eyes of momotaro and his parents met in farewell.
momotaro now hurried on his way till it was midday. he began to feel hungry, so he opened his bag and took out one of the rice-cakes and sat down under a tree by the side of the road to eat it. while he was thus having his lunch a dog almost as large as a colt came running out from the high grass. he made straight for momotaro, and showing his teeth, said in a fierce way:
"you are a rude man to pass my field without asking permission first.
if you leave me all the cakes you have in your bag you may go; otherwise i will bite you till i kill you!"
momotaro only laughed scornfully:
"what is that you are saying? do you know who i am? i am momotaro, and i am on my way to subdue the devils in their island stronghold in the northeast of japan. if you try to stop me on my way there i will cut you in two from the head downwards!"
the dog's manner at once changed. his tail dropped between his legs, and coming near he bowed so low that his forehead touched the ground.
"what do i hear? the name of momotaro? are you indeed momotaro? i have often heard of your great strength. not knowing who you were i have behaved in a very stupid way. will you please pardon my rudeness? are you indeed on your way to invade the island of devils? if you will take such a rude fellow with you as one of your followers, i shall be very grateful to you."
"i think i can take you with me if you wish to go," said momotaro.
"thank you!" said the dog. "by the way, i am very very hungry. will you give me one of the cakes you are carrying?"
"this is the best kind of cake there is in japan," said momotaro. "i cannot spare you a whole one; i will give you half of one."
"thank you very much," said the dog, taking the piece thrown to him.
then momotaro got up and the dog followed. for a long time they walked over the hills and through the valleys. as they were going along an animal came down from a tree a little ahead of them. the creature soon came up to momotaro and said:
"good morning, momotaro! you are welcome in this part of the country.
will you allow me to go with you?"
the dog answered jealously:
"momotaro already has a dog to accompany him. of what use is a monkey like you in battle? we are on our way to fight the devils! get away!"
the dog and the monkey began to quarrel and bite, for these two animals always hate each other.
"now, don't quarrel!" said momotaro, putting himself between them.
"wait a moment, dog!"
"it is not at all dignified for you to have such a creature as that following you!" said the dog.
"what do you know about it?" asked momotaro; and pushing aside the dog, he spoke to the monkey:
"who are you?"
"i am a monkey living in these hills," replied the monkey. "i heard of your expedition to the island of devils, and i have come to go with you. nothing will please me more than to follow you!"
"do you really wish to go to the island of devils and fight with me?"
"yes, sir," replied the monkey.
"i admire your courage," said momotaro. "here is a piece of one of my fine rice-cakes. come along!"
so the monkey joined momotaro. the dog and the monkey did not get on well together. they were always snapping at each other as they went along, and always wanting to have a fight. this made momotaro very cross, and at last he sent the dog on ahead with a flag and put the monkey behind with a sword, and he placed himself between them with a war-fan, which is made of iron.
by and by they came to a large field. here a bird flew down and alighted on the ground just in front of the little party. it was the most beautiful bird momotaro had ever seen. on its body were five different robes of feathers and its head was covered with a scarlet cap.
the dog at once ran at the bird and tried to seize and kill it. but the bird struck out its spurs and flew at the dog's tail, and the fight went hard with both.
momotaro, as he looked on, could not help admiring the bird; it showed so much spirit in the fight. it would certainly make a good fighter.
momotaro went up to the two combatants, and holding the dog back, said to the bird:
"you rascal! you are hindering my journey. surrender at once, and i will take you with me. if you don't i will set this dog to bite your head off!"
then the bird surrendered at once, and begged to be taken into momotaro's company.
"i do not know what excuse to offer for quarreling with the dog, your servant, but i did not see you. i am a miserable bird called a pheasant. it is very generous of you to pardon my rudeness and to take me with you. please allow me to follow you behind the dog and the monkey!"
"i congratulate you on surrendering so soon," said momotaro, smiling.
"come and join us in our raid on the devils."
"are you going to take this bird with you also?" asked the dog, interrupting.
"why do you ask such an unnecessary question? didn't you hear what i said? i take the bird with me because i wish to!"
"humph!" said the dog.
then momotaro stood and gave this order:
"now all of you must listen to me. the first thing necessary in an army is harmony. it is a wise saying which says that 'advantage on earth is better than advantage in heaven!' union amongst ourselves is better than any earthly gain. when we are not at peace amongst ourselves it is no easy thing to subdue an enemy. from now, you three, the dog, the monkey and the pheasant, must be friends with one mind. the one who first begins a quarrel will be discharged on the spot!"
all the three promised not to quarrel. the pheasant was now made a member of momotaro's suite, and received half a cake.
momotaro's influence was so great that the three became good friends, and hurried onwards with him as their leader.
hurrying on day after day they at last came out upon the shore of the north-eastern sea. there was nothing to be seen as far as the horizon not a sign of any island. all that broke the stillness was the rolling of the waves upon the shore.
now, the dog and the monkey and the pheasant had come very bravely all the way through the long valleys and over the hills, but they had never seen the sea before, and for the first time since they set out they were bewildered and gazed at each other in silence. how were they to cross the water and get to the island of devils?
momotaro soon saw that they were daunted by the sight of the sea, and to try them he spoke loudly and roughly:
"why do you hesitate? are you afraid of the sea? oh! what cowards you are! it is impossible to take such weak creatures as you with me to fight the demons. it will be far better for me to go alone. i discharge you all at once!"
the three animals were taken aback at this sharp reproof, and clung to momotaro's sleeve, begging him not to send them away.
"please, momotaro!" said the dog.
"we have come thus far!" said the monkey.
"it is inhuman to leave us here!" said the pheasant.
"we are not at all afraid of the sea," said the monkey again.
"please do take us with you," said the pheasant.
"do please," said the dog.
they had now gained a little courage, so momotaro said:
"well, then, i will take you with me, but be careful!"
momotaro now got a small ship, and they all got on board. the wind and weather were fair, and the ship went like an arrow over the sea. it was the first time they had ever been on the water, and so at first the dog, the monkey and the pheasant were frightened at the waves and the rolling of the vessel, but by degrees they grew accustomed to the water and were quite happy again. every day they paced the deck of their little ship, eagerly looking out for the demons' island.
when they grew tired of this, they told each other stories of all their exploits of which they were proud, and then played games together; and momotaro found much to amuse him in listening to the three animals and watching their antics, and in this way he forgot that the way was long and that he was tired of the voyage and of doing nothing. he longed to be at work killing the monsters who had done so much harm in his country.
as the wind blew in their favor and they met no storms the ship made a quick voyage, and one day when the sun was shining brightly a sight of land rewarded the four watchers at the bow.
momotaro knew at once that what they saw was the devils' stronghold. on the top of the precipitous shore, looking out to sea, was a large castle. now that his enterprise was close at hand, he was deep in thought with his head leaning on his hands, wondering how he should begin the attack. his three followers watched him, waiting for orders.
at last he called to the pheasant:
"it is a great advantage for us to have you with us." said momotaro to the bird, "for you have good wings. fly at once to the castle and engage the demons to fight. we will follow you."
the pheasant at once obeyed. he flew off from the ship beating the air gladly with his wings. the bird soon reached the island and took up his position on the roof in the middle of the castle, calling out loudly:
"all you devils listen to me! the great japanese general momotaro has come to fight you and to take your stronghold from you. if you wish to save your lives surrender at once, and in token of your submission you must break off the horns that grow on your forehead. if you do not surrender at once, but make up your mind to fight, we, the pheasant, the dog and the monkey, will kill you all by biting and tearing you to death!"
the horned demons looking up and only seeing a pheasant, laughed and said:
"a wild pheasant, indeed! it is ridiculous to hear such words from a mean thing like you. wait till you get a blow from one of our iron bars!"
very angry, indeed, were the devils. they shook their horns and their shocks of red hair fiercely, and rushed to put on tiger skin trousers to make themselves look more terrible. they then brought out great iron bars and ran to where the pheasant perched over their heads, and tried to knock him down. the pheasant flew to one side to escape the blow, and then attacked the head of first one and then another demon. he flew round and round them, beating the air with his wings so fiercely and ceaselessly, that the devils began to wonder whether they had to fight one or many more birds.
in the meantime, momotaro had brought his ship to land. as they had approached, he saw that the shore was like a precipice, and that the large castle was surrounded by high walls and large iron gates and was strongly fortified.
momotaro landed, and with the hope of finding some way of entrance, walked up the path towards the top, followed by the monkey and the dog.
they soon came upon two beautiful damsels washing clothes in a stream.
momotaro saw that the clothes were blood-stained, and that as the two maidens washed, the tears were falling fast down their cheeks. he stopped and spoke to them:
"who are you, and why do you weep?"
"we are captives of the demon king. we were carried away from our homes to this island, and though we are the daughters of daimios (lords), we are obliged to be his servants, and one day he will kill us" and the maidens held up the blood-stained clothes "and eat us, and there is no one to help us!"
and their tears burst out afresh at this horrible thought.
"i will rescue you," said momotaro. "do not weep any more, only show me how i may get into the castle."
then the two ladies led the way and showed momotaro a little back door in the lowest part of the castle wall so small that momotaro could hardly crawl in.
the pheasant, who was all this time fighting hard, saw momotaro and his little band rush in at the back.
momotaro's onslaught was so furious that the devils could not stand against him. at first their foe had been a single bird, the pheasant, but now that momotaro and the dog and the monkey had arrived they were bewildered, for the four enemies fought like a hundred, so strong were they. some of the devils fell off the parapet of the castle and were dashed to pieces on the rocks beneath; others fell into the sea and were drowned; many were beaten to death by the three animals.
the chief of the devils at last was the only one left. he made up his mind to surrender, for he knew that his enemy was stronger than mortal man.
he came up humbly to momotaro and threw down his iron bar, and kneeling down at the victor's feet he broke off the horns on his head in token of submission, for they were the sign of his strength and power.
"i am afraid of you," he said meekly. "i cannot stand against you. i will give you all the treasure hidden in this castle if you will spare my life!"
momotaro laughed.
"it is not like you, big devil, to beg for mercy, is it? i cannot spare your wicked life, however much you beg, for you have killed and tortured many people and robbed our country for many years."
then momotaro tied the devil chief up and gave him into the monkey's charge. having done this, he went into all the rooms of the castle and set the prisoners free and gathered together all the treasure he found.
the dog and the pheasant carried home the plunder, and thus momotaro returned triumphantly to his home, taking with him the devil chief as a captive.
the two poor damsels, daughters of daimios, and others whom the wicked demon had carried off to be his slaves, were taken safely to their own homes and delivered to their parents.
the whole country made a hero of momotaro on his triumphant return, and rejoiced that the country was now freed from the robber devils who had been a terror of the land for a long time.
the old couple's joy was greater than ever, and the treasure momotaro had brought home with him enabled them to live in peace and plenty to the end of their days.
the ogre of rashomon.
long, long ago in kyoto, the people of the city were terrified by accounts of a dreadful ogre, who, it was said, haunted the gate of rashomon at twilight and seized whoever passed by. the missing victims were never seen again, so it was whispered that the ogre was a horrible cannibal, who not only killed the unhappy victims but ate them also.
now everybody in the town and neighborhood was in great fear, and no one durst venture out after sunset near the gate of rashomon.
now at this time there lived in kyoto a general named raiko, who had made himself famous for his brave deeds. some time before this he made the country ring with his name, for he had attacked oeyama, where a band of ogres lived with their chief, who instead of wine drank the blood of human beings. he had routed them all and cut off the head of the chief monster.
this brave warrior was always followed by a band of faithful knights.
in this band there were five knights of great valor. one evening as the five knights sat at a feast quaffing sake in their rice bowls and eating all kinds of fish, raw, and stewed, and broiled, and toasting each other's healths and exploits, the first knight, hojo, said to the others:
"have you all heard the rumor that every evening after sunset there comes an ogre to the gate of rashomon, and that he seizes all who pass by?"
the second knight, watanabe, answered him, saying:
"do not talk such nonsense! all the ogres were killed by our chief raiko at oeyama! it cannot be true, because even if any ogres did escape from that great killing they would not dare to show themselves in this city, for they know that our brave master would at once attack them if he knew that any of them were still alive!"
"then do you disbelieve what i say, and think that i am telling you a falsehood?"
"no, i do not think that you are telling a lie," said watanabe; "but you have heard some old woman's story which is not worth believing."
"then the best plan is to prove what i say, by going there yourself and finding out yourself whether it is true or not," said hojo.
watanabe, the second knight, could not bear the thought that his companion should believe he was afraid, so he answered quickly:
"of course, i will go at once and find out for myself!"
so watanabe at once got ready to go he buckled on his long sword and put on a coat of armor, and tied on his large helmet. when he was ready to start he said to the others:
"give me something so that i can prove i have been there!"
then one of the men got a roll of writing paper and his box of indian ink and brushes, and the four comrades wrote their names on a piece of paper.
"i will take this," said watanabe, "and put it on the gate of rashomon, so to-morrow morning will you all go and look at it? i may be able to catch an ogre or two by then!" and he mounted his horse and rode off gallantly.
it was a very dark night, and there was neither moon nor star to light watanabe on his way. to make the darkness worse a storm came on, the rain fell heavily and the wind howled like wolves in the mountains. any ordinary man would have trembled at the thought of going out of doors, but watanabe was a brave warrior and dauntless, and his honor and word were at stake, so he sped on into the night, while his companions listened to the sound of his horse's hoofs dying away in the distance, then shut the sliding shutters close and gathered round the charcoal fire and wondered what would happen and whether their comrade would encounter one of those horrible oni.
at last watanabe reached the gate of rashomon, but peer as he might through the darkness he could see no sign of an ogre.
"it is just as i thought," said watanabe to himself; "there are certainly no ogres here; it is only an old woman's story. i will stick this paper on the gate so that the others can see i have been here when they come to-morrow, and then i will take my way home and laugh at them all."
he fastened the piece of paper, signed by all his four companions, on the gate, and then turned his horse's head towards home.
as he did so he became aware that some one was behind him, and at the same time a voice called out to him to wait. then his helmet was seized from the back. "who are you?" said watanabe fearlessly. he then put out his hand and groped around to find out who or what it was that held him by the helmet. as he did so he touched something that felt like an arm it was covered with hair and as big round as the trunk of a tree!
watanabe knew at once that this was the arm of an ogre, so he drew his sword and cut at it fiercely.
there was a loud yell of pain, and then the ogre dashed in front of the warrior.
watanabe's eyes grew large with wonder, for he saw that the ogre was taller than the great gate, his eyes were flashing like mirrors in the sunlight, and his huge mouth was wide open, and as the monster breathed, flames of fire shot out of his mouth.
the ogre thought to terrify his foe, but watanabe never flinched. he attacked the ogre with all his strength, and thus they fought face to face for a long time. at last the ogre, finding that he could neither frighten nor beat watanabe and that he might himself be beaten, took to flight. but watanabe, determined not to let the monster escape, put spurs to his horse and gave chase.
but though the knight rode very fast the ogre ran faster, and to his disappointment he found himself unable to overtake the monster, who was gradually lost to sight.
watanabe returned to the gate where the fierce fight had taken place, and got down from his horse. as he did so he stumbled upon something lying on the ground.
stooping to pick it up he found that it was one of the ogre's huge arms which he must have slashed off in the fight. his joy was great at having secured such a prize, for this was the best of all proofs of his adventure with the ogre. so he took it up carefully and carried it home as a trophy of his victory.
when he got back, he showed the arm to his comrades, who one and all called him the hero of their band and gave him a great feast. his wonderful deed was soon noised abroad in kyoto, and people from far and near came to see the ogre's arm.
watanabe now began to grow uneasy as to how he should keep the arm in safety, for he knew that the ogre to whom it belonged was still alive.
he felt sure that one day or other, as soon as the ogre got over his scare, he would come to try to get his arm back again. watanabe therefore had a box made of the strongest wood and banded with iron. in this he placed the arm, and then he sealed down the heavy lid, refusing to open it for anyone. he kept the box in his own room and took charge of it himself, never allowing it out of his sight.
now one night he heard some one knocking at the porch, asking for admittance.
when the servant went to the door to see who it was, there was only an old woman, very respectable in appearance. on being asked who she was and what was her business, the old woman replied with a smile that she had been nurse to the master of the house when he was a little baby. if the lord of the house were at home she begged to be allowed to see him.
the servant left the old woman at the door and went to tell his master that his old nurse had come to see him. watanabe thought it strange that she should come at that time of night, but at the thought of his old nurse, who had been like a foster-mother to him and whom he had not seen for a long time, a very tender feeling sprang up for her in his heart. he ordered the servant to show her in.
the old woman was ushered into the room, and after the customary bows and greetings were over, she said:
"master, the report of your brave fight with the ogre at the gate of rashomon is so widely known that even your poor old nurse has heard of it. is it really true, what every one says, that you cut off one of the ogre's arms? if you did, your deed is highly to be praised!"
"i was very disappointed," said watanabe, "that i was not able take the monster captive, which was what i wished to do, instead of only cutting off an arm!"
"i am very proud to think," answered the old woman, "that my master was so brave as to dare to cut off an ogre's arm. there is nothing that can be compared to your courage. before i die it is the great wish of my life to see this arm," she added pleadingly.
"no," said watanabe, "i am sorry, but i cannot grant your request."
"but why?" asked the old woman.
"because," replied watanabe, "ogres are very revengeful creatures, and if i open the box there is no telling but that the ogre may suddenly appear and carry off his arm. i have had a box made on purpose with a very strong lid, and in this box i keep the ogre's arm secure; and i never show it to any one, whatever happens."
"your precaution is very reasonable," said the old woman. "but i am your old nurse, so surely you will not refuse to show me the arm. i have only just heard of your brave act, and not being able to wait till the morning i came at once to ask you to show it to me."
watanabe was very troubled at the old woman's pleading, but he still persisted in refusing. then the old woman said:
"do you suspect me of being a spy sent by the ogre?"
"no, of course i do not suspect you of being the ogre's spy, for you are my old nurse," answered watanabe.
"then you cannot surely refuse to show me the arm any longer."
entreated the old woman; "for it is the great wish of my heart to see for once in my life the arm of an ogre!"
watanabe could not hold out in his refusal any longer, so he gave in at last, saying:
"then i will show you the ogre's arm, since you so earnestly wish to see it. come, follow me!" and he led the way to his own room, the old woman following.
when they were both in the room watanabe shut the door carefully, and then going towards a big box which stood in a corner of the room, he took off the heavy lid. he then called to the old woman to come near and look in, for he never took the arm out of the box.
"what is it like? let me have a good look at it," said the old nurse, with a joyful face.
she came nearer and nearer, as if she were afraid, till she stood right against the box. suddenly she plunged her hand into the box and seized the arm, crying with a fearful voice which made the room shake:
"oh, joy! i have got my arm back again!"
and from an old woman she was suddenly transformed into the towering figure of the frightful ogre!
watanabe sprang back and was unable to move for a moment, so great was his astonishment; but recognizing the ogre who had attacked him at the gate of rashomon, he determined with his usual courage to put an end to him this time. he seized his sword, drew it out of its sheath in a flash, and tried to cut the ogre down.
so quick was watanabe that the creature had a narrow escape. but the ogre sprang up to the ceiling, and bursting through the roof, disappeared in the mist and clouds.
in this way the ogre escaped with his arm. the knight gnashed his teeth with disappointment, but that was all he could do. he waited in patience for another opportunity to dispatch the ogre. but the latter was afraid of watanabe's great strength and daring, and never troubled kyoto again. so once more the people of the city were able to go out without fear even at night time, and the brave deeds of watanabe have never been forgotten!
how an old man lost his wen.
many, many years ago there lived a good old man who had a wen like a tennis-ball growing out of his right cheek. this lump was a great disfigurement to the old man, and so annoyed him that for many years he spent all his time and money in trying to get rid of it. he tried everything he could think of. he consulted many doctors far and near, and took all kinds of medicines both internally and externally. but it was all of no use. the lump only grew bigger and bigger till it was nearly as big as his face, and in despair he gave up all hopes of ever losing it, and resigned himself to the thought of having to carry the lump on his face all his life.
one day the firewood gave out in his kitchen, so, as his wife wanted some at once, the old man took his ax and set out for the woods up among the hills not very far from his home. it was a fine day in the early autumn, and the old man enjoyed the fresh air and was in no hurry to get home. so the whole afternoon passed quickly while he was chopping wood, and he had collected a goodly pile to take back to his wife. when the day began to draw to a close, he turned his face homewards.
the old man had not gone far on his way down the mountain pass when the sky clouded and rain began to fall heavily. he looked about for some shelter, but there was not even a charcoal-burner's hut near. at last he espied a large hole in the hollow trunk of a tree. the hole was near the ground, so he crept in easily, and sat down in hopes that he had only been overtaken by a mountain shower, and that the weather would soon clear.
but much to the old man's disappointment, instead of clearing the rain fell more and more heavily, and finally a heavy thunderstorm broke over the mountain. the thunder roared so terrifically, and the heavens seemed to be so ablaze with lightning, that the old man could hardly believe himself to be alive. he thought that he must die of fright. at last, however, the sky cleared, and the whole country was aglow in the rays of the setting sun. the old man's spirits revived when he looked out at the beautiful twilight, and he was about to step out from his strange hiding-place in the hollow tree when the sound of what seemed like the approaching steps of several people caught his ear. he at once thought that his friends had come to look for him, and he was delighted at the idea of having some jolly companions with whom to walk home. but on looking out from the tree, what was his amazement to see, not his friends, but hundreds of demons coming towards the spot. the more he looked, the greater was his astonishment. some of these demons were as large as giants, others had great big eyes out of all proportion to the rest of their bodies, others again had absurdly long noses, and some had such big mouths that they seemed to open from ear to ear. all had horns growing on their foreheads. the old man was so surprised at what he saw that he lost his balance and fell out of the hollow tree.
fortunately for him the demons did not see him, as the tree was in the background. so he picked himself up and crept back into the tree.
while he was sitting there and wondering impatiently when he would be able to get home, he heard the sounds of gay music, and then some of the demons began to sing.
"what are these creatures doing?" said the old man to himself. "i will look out, it sounds very amusing."
on peeping out, the old man saw that the demon chief himself was actually sitting with his back against the tree in which he had taken refuge, and all the other demons were sitting round, some drinking and some dancing. food and wine was spread before them on the ground, and the demons were evidently having a great entertainment and enjoying themselves immensely.
it made the old man laugh to see their strange antics.
"how amusing this is!" laughed the old man to himself "i am now quite old, but i have never seen anything so strange in all my life."
he was so interested and excited in watching all that the demons were doing, that he forgot himself and stepped out of the tree and stood looking on.
the demon chief was just taking a big cup of sake and watching one of the demons dancing. in a little while he said with a bored air:
"your dance is rather monotonous. i am tired of watching it. isn't there any one amongst you all who can dance better than this fellow?"
now the old man had been fond of dancing all his life, and was quite an expert in the art, and he knew that he could do much better than the demon.
"shall i go and dance before these demons and let them see what a human being can do? it may be dangerous, for if i don't please them they may kill me!" said the old fellow to himself.
his fears, however, were soon overcome by his love of dancing. in a few minutes he could restrain himself no longer, and came out before the whole party of demons and began to dance at once. the old man, realizing that his life probably depended on whether he pleased these strange creatures or not, exerted his skill and wit to the utmost.
the demons were at first very surprised to see a man so fearlessly taking part in their entertainment, and then their surprise soon gave place to admiration.
"how strange!" exclaimed the horned chief. "i never saw such a skillful dancer before! he dances admirably!"
when the old man had finished his dance, the big demon said:
"thank you very much for your amusing dance. now give us the pleasure of drinking a cup of wine with us," and with these words he handed him his largest wine-cup.
the old man thanked him very humbly:
"i did not expect such kindness from your lordship. i fear i have only disturbed your pleasant party by my unskillful dancing."
"no, no," answered the big demon. "you must come often and dance for us. your skill has given us much pleasure."
the old man thanked him again and promised to do so.
"then will you come again to-morrow, old man?" asked the demon.
"certainly, i will," answered the old man.
"then you must leave some pledge of your word with us," said the demon.
"whatever you like," said the old man.
"now what is the best thing he can leave with us as a pledge?" asked the demon, looking round.
then said one of the demon's attendants kneeling behind the chief:
"the token he leaves with us must be the most important thing to him in his possession. i see the old man has a wen on his right cheek. now mortal men consider such a wen very fortunate. let my lord take the lump from the old man's right cheek, and he will surely come to-morrow, if only to get that back."
"you are very clever," said the demon chief, giving his horns an approving nod. then he stretched out a hairy arm and claw-like hand, and took the great lump from the old man's right cheek. strange to say, it came off as easily as a ripe plum from the tree at the demon's touch, and then the merry troop of demons suddenly vanished.
the old man was lost in bewilderment by all that had happened. he hardly knew for some time where he was. when he came to understand what had happened to him, he was delighted to find that the lump on his face, which had for so many years disfigured him, had really been taken away without any pain to himself. he put up his hand to feel if any scar remained, but found that his right cheek was as smooth as his left.
the sun had long set, and the young moon had risen like a silver crescent in the sky. the old man suddenly realized how late it was and began to hurry home. he patted his right cheek all the time, as if to make sure of his good fortune in having lost the wen. he was so happy that he found it impossible to walk quietly he ran and danced the whole way home.
he found his wife very anxious, wondering what had happened to make him so late. he soon told her all that had passed since he left home that afternoon. she was quite as happy as her husband when he showed her that the ugly lump had disappeared from his face, for in her youth she had prided herself on his good looks, and it had been a daily grief to her to see the horrid growth.
now next door to this good old couple there lived a wicked and disagreeable old man. he, too, had for many years been troubled with the growth of a wen on his left cheek, and he, too, had tried all manner of things to get rid of it, but in vain.
he heard at once, through the servant, of his neighbor's good luck in losing the lump on his face, so he called that very evening and asked his friend to tell him everything that concerned the loss of it. the good old man told his disagreeable neighbor all that had happened to him. he described the place where he would find the hollow tree in which to hide, and advised him to be on the spot in the late afternoon towards the time of sunset.
the old neighbor started out the very next afternoon, and after hunting about for some time, came to the hollow tree just as his friend had described. here he hid himself and waited for the twilight.
just as he had been told, the band of demons came at that hour and held a feast with dance and song. when this had gone on for some time the chief of the demons looked around and said:
"it is now time for the old man to come as he promised us. why doesn't he come?"
when the second old man heard these words he ran out of his hiding-place in the tree and, kneeling down before the oni, said:
"i have been waiting for a long time for you to speak!"
"ah, you are the old man of yesterday," said the demon chief. "thank you for coming, you must dance for us soon."
the old man now stood up and opened his fan and began to dance. but he had never learned to dance, and knew nothing about the necessary gestures and different positions. he thought that anything would please the demons, so he just hopped about, waving his arms and stamping his feet, imitating as well as he could any dancing he had ever seen.
the oni were very dissatisfied at this exhibition, and said amongst themselves:
"how badly he dances to-day!"
then to the old man the demon chief said:
"your performance to-day is quite different from the dance of yesterday. we don't wish to see any more of such dancing. we will give you back the pledge you left with us. you must go away at once."
with these words he took out from a fold of his dress the lump which he had taken from the face of the old man who had danced so well the day before, and threw it at the right cheek of the old man who stood before him. the lump immediately attached itself to his cheek as firmly as if it had grown there always, and all attempts to pull it off were useless. the wicked old man, instead of losing the lump on his left cheek as he had hoped, found to his dismay that he had but added another to his right cheek in his attempt to get rid of the first.
he put up first one hand and then the other to each side of his face to make sure if he were not dreaming a horrible nightmare. no, sure enough there was now a great wen on the right side of his face as on the left.
the demons had all disappeared, and there was nothing for him to do but to return home. he was a pitiful sight, for his face, with the two large lumps, one on each side, looked just like a japanese gourd.
the stones of five colors and the empress jokwa.
an old chinese story.
long, long ago there lived a great chinese empress who succeeded her brother the emperor fuki. it was the age of giants, and the empress jokwa, for that was her name, was twenty-five feet high, nearly as tall as her brother. she was a wonderful woman, and an able ruler. there is an interesting story of how she mended a part of the broken heavens and one of the terrestrial pillars which upheld the sky, both of which were damaged during a rebellion raised by one of king fuki's subjects.
the rebel's name was kokai. he was twenty-six feet high. his body was entirely covered with hair, and his face was as black as iron. he was a wizard and a very terrible character indeed. when the emperor fuki died, kokai was bitten with the ambition to be emperor of china, but his plan failed, and jokwa, the dead emperor's sister, mounted the throne. kokai was so angry at being thwarted in his desire that he raised a revolt. his first act was to employ the water devil, who caused a great flood to rush over the country. this swamped the poor people out of their homes, and when the empress jokwa saw the plight of her subjects, and knew it was kokai's fault, she declared war against him.
now jokwa, the empress, had two young warriors called hako and eiko, and the former she made general of the front forces. hako was delighted that the empress's choice should fall on him, and he prepared himself for battle. he took up the longest lance he could find and mounted a red horse, and was just about to set out when he heard some one galloping hard behind him and shouting:
"hako! stop! the general of the front forces must be i!"
he looked back and saw eiko his comrade, riding on a white horse, in the act of unsheathing a large sword to draw upon him. hako's anger was kindled, and as he turned to face his rival he cried:
"insolent wretch! i have been appointed by the empress to lead the front forces to battle. do you dare to stop me?"
"yes," answered eiko. "i ought to lead the army. it is you who should follow me."