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diff --git a/41921-0.txt b/41921-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a855a46 --- /dev/null +++ b/41921-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2543 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41921 *** + +[Illustration: [See page 48 + +OFTEN SHE WOULD LIFT THE LID OF THE GOLDEN COFFER AND LOOK AT THE +TATTERED ROBE] + + + + + THE + + MAKER OF RAINBOWS + + AND OTHER FAIRY-TALES AND FABLES + + BY + RICHARD LE GALLIENNE + + AUTHOR OF + "AN OLD COUNTRY HOUSE" + + WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY + ELIZABETH SHIPPEN GREEN + + [Illustration] + + HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS + NEW YORK AND LONDON + MCMXII + + + COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY HARPER & BROTHERS + + PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + PUBLISHED OCTOBER, 1912 + + I · M + + + THAT THIS VOLUME SHALL BE ENTIRELY IN KEEPING WITH ITS FAIRY-TALE + CONTENTS, I DEDICATE IT TO MY GOOD FRIENDS, ITS PUBLISHERS, MESSRS. + HARPER & BROTHERS IN REMEMBRANCE OF KINDLY RELATIONS BETWEEN THEM + AND ITS WRITER SELDOM FOUND OUT OF A FAIRY-TALE + + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAP. PAGE + + I. THE OLD COAT OF DREAMS 1 + + II. THE MAKER OF RAINBOWS 7 + + III. THE MAN WITH SOMETHING IN HIS EYE 14 + + IV. MOTHER-OF-PEARL 17 + + V. THE MER-MOTHER 27 + + VI. THE SLEEPLESS LORD 29 + + VII. THE MAN WITH NO MONEY 39 + + VIII. THE RAGS OF QUEEN COPHETUA 42 + + IX. THE WIFE FROM FAIRY-LAND 51 + + X. THE BUYER OF SORROWS 54 + + XI. THE PRINCESS'S MIRROR 60 + + XII. THE PINE LADY 73 + + XIII. THE KING ON HIS WAY TO BE CROWNED 75 + + XIV. THE STOLEN DREAM 88 + + XV. THE STERN EDUCATION OF CLOWNS 103 + + + + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + + OFTEN SHE WOULD LIFT THE LID OF THE GOLDEN COFFER + AND LOOK AT THE TATTERED ROBE _Frontispiece_ + + A SUDDEN STRANGE NEW LIGHT WOULD SHINE OUT OF ITS + PAGES _Facing p._ 30 + + HE WENT FORTH INTO THE DAWN SLEEPLESS " 36 + + THE HERALD ONCE MORE SET THE TRUMPET TO HIS LIPS AND BLEW " 56 + + HER ONLY CARE WAS TO GAZE ALL DAY AT HER OWN FACE " 60 + + + + + + +THE MAKER OF +RAINBOWS + + + + + +THE OLD COAT OF DREAMS + +A PROLOGUE + + +People in London--not merely literary folk, but even those "higher +social circles" to which a certain publisher, whose name--or race--it is +hardly fair to mention, had so obsequiously climbed--often wondered +whence had come the wealth that enabled him to maintain such an +establishment, give such elaborate "parties," have so many automobiles, +and generally make all that display which is so convincing to the modern +mind. + +Of course they were not seriously concerned, because, so long as it is a +party, and the _chef_ is paid so much, and the wines are as old as they +should be, not even the rarest blossom on the most ancient and +distinguished genealogical tree cares whose party it is, or, indeed, +with whom she dances. There is only one democracy, and that is +controlled by gentlemen with names that hardly sound beautiful enough +to mention in fairy tales--that democracy of money to which the fairest +flower of our aristocracy now bows her coroneted head. + +Strange--but we all know that so it is. Therefore, all sorts of +distinguished and beautiful people came to the publisher's "parties." + +It would have made no difference, really, to their hard hearts, could +they have known where all the champagne and conservatories and music +came from--they would have gone on dancing all the same, and eating +_pâté de foie gras_ and sherbets; yet it may interest a sad heart here +and there to know how it was that that publisher--whose name I forget, +but whose nose I can never forget--was able to pay for all that music +and dancing, strange flowers, and enchanted food, none of which he, of +course, understood. + + * * * * * + +Aristocrats in London, of course, know nothing of a northern district of +New York City called Harlem, with so many streets that a learned +arithmetician would be needed to number them: a district which, at the +first call of spring, becomes vocal with children on door-steps and +venders of every vegetable in every language. In this district, too, you +hear strange trumpets blow, announcing knife and scissors grinders, and +strange bells ringing from strings suspended across carts, whose +merchandise is bottles and old newspapers. You will hear, too, just when +the indomitable sweet smells from the terrible eternal spring are +blowing in at your window, and the murmur of rich happy people going +away is heard in the land, a raucous cry in the hot street--a cry full +of melancholy, even despair: it goes something like this--"Cash clo'! +Cash clo'!" + +Well, it was just then that a young poet, living in one of those highly +arithmetical streets, was wondering, as all the sad spring murmur came +to his ears, how he could possibly buy a rose for the bosom of his +sweetheart, with whom he was to dance that night at a local ball. +Everything he had in the world had gone. He had sold everything--except +his poems. All his precious books had gone, sad one by one. Little +paintings that once made his walls seem like the Louvre had gone. All +his old silver spoons and all the little intaglios he loved so well, and +yes! he had even sold the old copper chest of the Renaissance, all +studded nails, with three locks, in which ... well, all had gone. Only, +where was that rose for the bosom of his sweetheart--where was it +growing? Where and how was it to be bought? + +Just as he was at his wit's end, he heard a cry through the window. It +had meant nothing to him before. Now--strange as it may sound--it meant +a rose! + +"Cash clo'! Cash clo'!" + +He had an old dress-suit in his wardrobe. Perhaps that would buy a rose! +So, leaning through the window, he called down to the voice to "come +up." + +The gentleman from Palestine came up. + +It would be easy to describe the contempt with which he surveyed the +distinguished though somewhat ancient garments thus offered to him--in +exchange for a rose!--how he affected to examine linings and seams, +knowing all the time the distinguished tailor that had made them, and +what a bargain he was about to drive. + +Of course, they weren't, well ... really ... practically ... they +weren't worth buying.... + +The poet wondered a moment about the cost of a rose. + +"Are they worth the price of a rose?" he asked. + +The gentleman from Palestine didn't, of course, understand. + +"You see," said he, finally; "I'd like to give you more, but you know +how it is ... look at these linings and buttonholes! Honestly, I don't +really care about them at all--but--really a dollar and a half is the +best I can do on them...." And he eyed the poet's clothes with contempt. + +"A dollar seventy-five," said the poet, standing firm. + +"All right," at last said the gentleman from Palestine, "but I don't see +where I am to make any profit; however--" And he handed out the small, +dirty money. + +Then the poet bowed him out gently, saying in his heart: + +"Now I can buy my rose!" + +When the Palestinian dealer in old dress-suits went home--after sadly +leaving behind him that dollar seventy-five--he made an astonishing +discovery. + +In the necessary process of re-examining the "goods," something fell out +of one of the pockets, something the poet, after his nature, had quite +forgotten. The old-clothes man, now a publisher, picked them up from the +floor and gazed at them in delight. The poet, in his grandiose +carelessness, had forgotten to empty his pockets of various old dreams! + +Now, to be fair to the gentleman from Palestine, he belonged to a race +that loves dreams, and, to do him justice, he forgot all about the +profit he was to make of the poor poet's clothes, as he sat, +cross-legged, on the floor, and read the dreams that had fallen from the +pocket of the poet's old dress-suit. He read on and read on, and laughed +and cried--such a curious treasure-trove, such an odd medley of fairy +tales and fables and poems had fallen out of the poet's pocket--and it +was only later that the thought came to him that he might change from an +old-clothes man into a publisher of dreams. + +Now, these are some of the dreams that fell out of the poet's pocket. + + + + +THE MAKER OF RAINBOWS + + +It was a bleak November morning in the dreary little village of +Twelve-trees. Nature herself seemed hopeless and disgusted with the +universe, as the chill mists stole wearily among the bare trees, and the +boughs dripped with a clammy moisture that had nothing of the energy of +tears. + +Twelve-trees was a poor little village at the best of times, but the +past summer had been more than usually unkind to it, and the lean +wheat-fields and the ragged orchards had been leaner and more ragged +than ever before--so said the memory of the oldest villagers. + +There was very little to eat in the village of Twelve-trees, and +practically no money at all. Some of the inhabitants found consolation +in the fact that at the Inn of the Blessed Rood the cider-kegs still +held out against despair. + +But this was no comfort to the gaunt and shivering children left to +themselves on the chill door-steps, half-heartedly trying to play their +innocent little games. Even the heart of childhood felt the shadows that +November morning in the dreary little village of Twelve-trees, and even +the dogs and the cats of the village seemed to be under the same spell +of gloom, and moved about with a dank hopelessness, evidently expecting +nothing in the shape of discarded fish or transfiguring smells. + +There was no life in the long, disheveled High Street. No one seemed to +think it worth while to get up and work. There was nothing to get up +for, and no work worth doing. So, naturally, in all this echoing +emptiness, this lack of excitement, anything that happened attracted a +gratefully alert attention--even from those cats and dogs so sadly +prowling amid the dejected refuse of the village. + +Presently, amid all the November numbness, the blank nothingness of the +damp, deserted street, there was to be seen approaching from the south a +curious little figure of an old man, trundling at his side a strange +apparatus resembling a knife-grinder's wheel, and he carried some +forlorn old umbrellas under one arm. Evidently he was an itinerant +knife-grinder and umbrella-mender. As he proceeded up the street, he +called out some strange sing-song, the words of which it was impossible +to distinguish. + +But, though his cry was melancholy, his old puckered and wizened face +seemed to be alight with some inner and inextinguishable gladness, and +his electrical blue eyes, startlingly set in a network of wrinkles, were +as full of laughter as a boy's. His cry attracted a weary face here and +there at window and door; but, seeing nothing but an old knife-grinder, +the faces lost interest and immediately disappeared. The children, +however, being less sophisticated, were filled with a grateful curiosity +toward the stranger, and left the chill door-steps and trooped about him +in wonder. + +A little girl, with tears making channels down her pale, unwashed face, +caught the old man's eye. + +"Little one," he said, with a magical smile, and a voice all reassuring +love, "give me one of those tears, and I will show you what I can make +of it." + +And he touched the child's face with his hand, and caught one of her +tears on his finger, and placed it, glittering, on his wheel. Then, +working a pedal with his foot, the wheel began to move so swiftly that +one could see nothing but its whirling; and as it whirled, wonderful +colored rays began to rise from it, so that presently the dreary street +seemed full of rainbows. The sad houses were lit up with a fairy +radiance, and the faces of the children were all laughter again. + +"Well, little one," he said, when the wheel stopped whirling, "did you +like what I made out of that sad little tear?" + +And the children laughed, and begged him to do some other trick for +them. + +At that moment there came down the street a poor old half-witted woman, +indescribably dirty and bedraggled, talking to herself and laughing in a +creepy way. The village knew her as Crazy Sal, and the children were +accustomed to make cruel sport of her. As she came near they began to +jeer at her, with the heartlessness of young, unknowing things. + +But the strange old man who had made rainbows out of the little girl's +tear suddenly stopped them. + +"Stay, children," he said, "and watch." + +And, as he said this, his wheel went whirling again; and as it whirled a +light shot out from it, so that it illuminated the poor old woman, and +in its radiance she became strangely transfigured. In place of Crazy +Sal, whom they had been accustomed to mock, the children saw a +beautiful young girl, all blushes and bright eyes and pretty ribbons; +and so great was the murmur of their surprise that it drew to the +door-steps their fathers and mothers, who also saw Crazy Sal as none of +them had ever seen her before--except a very old man who remembered her +as a beautiful young girl, and remembered, too, how her mind had gone +from her as the news came one day that her sweetheart, a sailor, had +been drowned in the North Sea. + +"Who and what are you?" said this old man, stepping out a little in +front of the gathering crowd. "Are you a wizard, that you change a +child's tears into laughter, and turn an old half-witted woman back to a +young girl? You must be of the devil...." + +"Give me an ear of corn from your last harvest," answered the old +knife-grinder, "and let me put it on my wheel." + +An ear of corn was brought to him, and once more his wheel went +whirring, and again that strange light shot out from it, and spread far +past the houses over the fields beyond; and, lo! to the astonished sad +eyes of the weary farmers, they appeared waving with golden grain, +waiting for the scythe. + +And again, as the wheel stopped whirring, the old man who had +remembered Crazy Sal as a young girl spoke to the knife-grinder; again +he asked: + +"What and who are you? Are you a wizard that you change a child's tears +into laughter, and turn an old half-witted woman back to a young girl, +and make of a barren glebe a waving corn-field?" + +And the man with the strange wheel answered: + +"I am the maker of rainbows. I am the alchemist of hope. To me November +is always May, tears are always laughter that is going to be, and +darkness is light misunderstood. The sad heart makes its own sorrow, the +happy heart makes its own joy. The harvest is made by the +harvestman--and there is nothing hard or black or weary that is not +waiting for the magic touch of hope to become soft as a spring flower, +bright as the morning star, and valiant as a young runner in the dawn." + +But the village of Twelve-trees was not to be convinced by such words +made out of moonshine. Only the children believed in the laughing old +man with the strange wheel. + +"Rainbows!" mocked their fathers and mothers--"rainbows! Much good are +rainbows to a starving village." + +The old maker of rainbows took their taunts in silence, and made ready +to go his way; but as he started once more along the road he said, with +a cynical smile: + +"Have you never heard that there is a pot of gold at the end of the +rainbow?..." + +"A pot of gold?" cried out the whole village of Twelve-trees. + +"Yes," he answered, "a pot of gold! I know where it is, and I am going +to find it." + +And he moved on his way. + +Then the villagers looked at one another, and said over and over again, +"A pot of gold!" + +And they took cloaks and walking-staves and set out to accompany the old +visitor; but when they reached the outskirts of the village there was no +sign of him. He had mysteriously disappeared. + +But the children never forgot the rainbows. + + + + +THE MAN WITH SOMETHING IN HIS EYE + + +Once on a time toward the end of February, when the snow still festered +in the New York streets, and the wind blew cruelly from river to river, +a strange figure made a somewhat storm-tossed progress along +Forty-second Street, walking toward the East Side. He was a tall, +distinguished, curiously sad-looking man, with longish hair growing +gray, and clothes which, though they had been brushed many times, still +proclaimed aloud a Bond Street tailor. As he walked along he had +evidently some trouble with one of his eyes, which he rubbed from time +to time, as though a cinder, perhaps, from the Elevated Railroad had +lodged there, and at last he held a handkerchief to it as he walked +along. But whatever the trouble was, it did not seem to interfere with a +keen and kindly vision that noted every object and character of the +thronged street. Now and again, strangers in that noisy and bewildering +quarter would ask direction from him, and he never failed to stop with +an aristocratic painstaking courtesy and set them on their way. Nervous +old women with bundles at perilous crossings found his arm ready to +pilot them safely to the other side. There was about him a curious +gentleness which, after a while, did not fail to attract the attention +of enterprising boys and observing beggars, for whom, as he walked +along, evidently sorely troubled with his eye, he did not fail to find +pennies and kind words. + +At last he had become so noticeable for these oddities of behavior that, +as he went along, he had collected quite an escort of miscellaneous +individuals, ragged children with pale, precocious faces, voluble old +Irishwomen with bedraggled petticoats, sturdy beggars on crutches, and a +sprinkling of so-called "respectable" people, curiously hovering on the +skirts of the strange crowd. From some of these last came at length +unkindly comments. The man was evidently crazy--more probably he was +drunk. But it was plainly evident that he had something the matter with +his eye. + +At last a kindly individual suggested that he should go to a drug-store +and get the drug clerk to look at his eye. To this the stranger +assented, and, accompanied by his motley escort, he entered a +drug-store and put himself into the hands of the clerk, while the crowd +thronged the door and glared through the windows, wondering what was the +matter with the eccentric gentleman, who, after all, was very free with +his pence and had so kind a tongue. A policeman did not, of course, fail +to elbow himself into the store, to inquire what was the matter. + +Meanwhile the drug clerk proceeded to lift up the stranger's eyelid in a +professional manner, searching for the extraneous particle of pain. + +At last he found something, and made a strange announcement. The +something in the stranger's eye was--Pity. + +No wonder it had caused such a sensation in the most pitiless city in +the world. + + + + +MOTHER-OF-PEARL + + +There was once a poet who lived all alone by the sea. He had built for +himself a little house of boulders mortised in among the rocks, so +hidden that it was seldom that any wayfarer stumbled upon his retreat. +Wayfarers indeed were few in that solitary island, which was for the +most part covered with thick beech woods, and had for its inhabitants +only the wild creatures of wood and water and the strange unearthly +shapes that none but the poet's eyes could see. The nearest village was +miles away on the mainland, and for months at a time the solitude would +be undisturbed by sound of human voice or footstep--which was the poet's +idea of happiness. The world of men had seemed to him a world of sorrow +and foolishness and lies, and so he had forsaken it to dwell with +silence and beauty and the sound of the sea. + +For him the world had been an uncompanioned wilderness. Here at last his +spirit had found its home and its kindred. The speech of men had been +to him a vain confusion, but here were the voices he had been born to +understand, the elemental voices of earth and sea and sky, the secret +wisdom of the eternal. From morning till night his days were passed in +listening to these voices, and in writing down in beautiful words the +messages of wonder they brought him. So his little house grew to be +filled with the lovely songs that had come to him out of the sky and the +sea and the haunted beeches. He had written them in a great book with +silver clasps, and often at evening, when the moon was rising over the +sea, he would sing them to himself, for joy in the treasure which he had +thus hoarded out of the air, as a man might weigh the grains of gold +sifted from some flowing river. + +One night, as he thus sat singing to himself in the solitude, he was +startled by a deep sigh, as of some human creature near at hand, and +looking around he was aware of a lovely form, half in and half out of +the water, gazing at him with great moonlit eyes from beneath masses of +golden hair. In awe and delight he gazed back spellbound at the +unearthly vision. It was a fairy woman of the sea, more beautiful than +tongue can tell. Over her was the supernatural beauty of dreams and as +he looked at her the poet's heart filled with that more than mortal +happiness that only comes to us in dreams. + +"Beautiful spirit," at length he cried, stretching out his arms to the +vision; but as he did so she was gone, and in the place where she had +been there was nought but the lonely moonlight falling on the rocks. + +"It was all a trick of the moonlight," said the poet to himself, but, +even as he said it, there seemed to come floating to him the cadences of +an unearthly music of farewell. + +In his heart the poet knew that it had not been the moonlight, but that +nature had granted him one of those mystic visitations which come only +to those whose loving meditation upon her secrets have opened the hidden +doors. She had drawn aside for a moment the veil of her visible beauty, +and vouchsafed him a glimpse of her invisible mystery. But the veil had +been drawn again almost instantly, and the poet's eyes were left empty +and hungered for the face that had thus momentarily looked at him +through the veil. Yet his heart was filled with a high happiness, for, +the vision once his, would it not be his again? Did it not mean that +through the long initiation of his solitary contemplation he had come at +length to that aery boundary where the wall between the seen and the +unseen grows transparent and the human meets the immortal face to face? + +Still, days passed, and the poet watched in vain for the beautiful woman +of the sea. She came not again for all his singing, and his heart grew +heavy within him; but one day, as he walked the seashore at dawn, it +gave a great bound of joy, for there in mystical writing upon the silver +sand was a message which no eyes but his could have read. But the poet +was skilled in the secret script of the elements. To him the patterns of +leaves and flowers, the traceries of moss and lichen, the markings on +rocks and trees, which to others were but meaningless decorations, were +the letters of nature's hidden language, the spell-words of her runic +wisdom. To other eyes the message he had found written on the sand would +have seemed but a tangle of delicate weeds and shells cast up by the +sea. To him, as he turned it into our coarser human speech, it said: + + "Seek me not,--unsought I come,-- + Daughter of the moonlit foam, + Near and far am I to thee, + Near and far as earth and sea, + As wave to wave, as star to star, + Near and far, near and far." + +And that night, when the poet sat and sang, with full heart, in the +moonlight--lo! the vision was there once more.... But again, as he +stretched out his arms, she was gone. But this time the poet did not +grieve as before, for he knew that she would come again, as indeed it +befell. When she appeared to him the third time she had stolen so near +to his side that he could gaze deep into her strange eyes, as into the +fathomless, moonlit sea, and at the ending of his song she did not fade +away as before, but her long hair fell all about him like a net of +moonbeams, and she lay like the moon herself in his enraptured arms. + +To the passionate lover of nature, the anchorite of her solitudes, there +often comes, in the very hour of his closest approach to her, an aching +sense of incomplete oneness with her, a human desire for some responsive +embodiment of her mysterious beauty; and there are ecstatic moments in +which nature seems on the tremulous verge of sending us a magic +answer--moments of intense reverie when the woods seem about to reveal +to us the inner heart of their silence, in some sudden shape of +unimaginable enchantment, or the infinite of the starry night take form +at our side in some companionable radiance. We long, as it were, to +press our lips to the forehead of the dawn, to crush the leafy abundance +of summer to our breast, and to fold the infinite ocean in our embrace. + +To the poet, reward of his lonely vigils and endless longing, nature had +granted this marvel. How often, as he had gazed at the moon rising out +of the sea, had he dreamed of a shining shape that came to him along her +silver pathway. And to-night the mystery of the moonlit sea was in his +arms. No longer a lovely vision calling him from afar--an unapproachable +wonder, a voice, a gleam--but a miraculously embodied spirit of the +elements, supernaturally fair. + +The poet was, more than all men, learned in beautiful words, but he +could find no words for this strange happiness that had befallen him; +indeed, he had now passed beyond the world of words, and as he gazed +into those magic eyes, that seemed like sea-flowers growing out of the +air, they spoke to each other as wave talks to wave, or the leaves +whisper together on the trees. + +So it was that the poet ceased to be alone in his solitude, and the +fairy woman from the sea became his wife, and very wonderful was their +happiness. But, as with all happiness, theirs, too, was not without its +touch of sorrow. For, marvelously wedded though they were, so closely +united that they seemed veritably one rather than two beings, there had +been a deep meaning to that little song which the poet had found written +in seaweed upon the sand: + + "Near and far am I to thee, + Near and far as earth and sea," + +it had said, + + "Near and far, near and far." + +For not even their love could cast down for them one eternal barrier. +They could meet and love across it, but it was still there. They were +children of two diverse elements, and neither could cross from one into +the other--she a child of the blue sea, he a child of the green earth. +She must always leave him at the edge of the mysterious woods in which +her heart ached to wander, and, however far out into the wide waters he +would swim at her side, there would always be those deep-sea grottoes +and flower-gardens whither he could never follow. Down into these +enchanted depths he would watch her glide her shimmering way, but never +might he follow her to the hidden kingdoms of the sea. He must await her +out there, an alien, in the upper sunshine, and watch her glittering +kindred stream in and out the rainbowed portals--till again she was at +his side, her hands filled for his consolation with the secret treasures +of the sea. + +So would she, from the shore, with despair in her eyes, watch him +disappear among the beech-trees to gather for her the waxen flowers and +the sweet-smelling green leaves and grasses she loved more than any that +grew in the sea. Thus across their barrier would they make exchange of +the marvels that grew on either side, and thus, indeed, the barrier grew +less and less by reason of their love. Sometimes they asked each other +if that other mystery, Death, would remove the barrier altogether.... + +But at the heart of the woman Life was already whispering another +answer. + +"What," said she, as they watched the solemn stars in the still water +one summer night, "what if a little being were born to us that should +belong to both our worlds, to your green earth and to my blue sea? Would +you seem so lonely then? A little being that could run by your side in +the meadows, and swim with me into the depths of the sea!..." + +"Would you be so lonely then?" he echoed. + +And lo! after a season, it was this very marvel that came to pass; for +one night, as she came along the moon-path to his side, she was not +alone, but a tiny fairy woman was with her--a little radiant creature +that, as her mother had dreamed, could gather with one hand the flowers +that grow in the deeps of the wood and with the other the flowers that +grow in the deeps of the sea. + +Like any other mortal babe she was, save for this: around her waist ran +a shimmering girdle--of mother-of-pearl. + +So the poet and his wife called her Mother-of-Pearl; and she became for +them, as it were, a baby-bridge between two elements. In her mysterious +life their two lives became one, as never before. So near she brought +them to each other that often there seemed no barrier at all. And thus +days and years passed, and very wonderful was their happiness. + +But by this the world which the poet had forgotten had grown curious +regarding the life which he lived alone among the rocks. Many of his +songs, as songs will, had escaped from his solitude, and floated singing +among men; and weird rumors grew of the strange happiness that had come +to him. Some of the more curious had spied upon him in his seclusion, +and had brought back to the town marvelous accounts of having seen him +in the moonlight with his fairy wife and child at his side. And, after +its fashion, the world had decided that here was plainly the work of the +devil, and that the poet was a wizard in league with the powers of +darkness. So the ignorant world has ever interpreted the beauty it could +not understand, and the happiness it could not give. + +Thus a cloud began to gather of which the poet and his mer-wife and +little Mother-of-Pearl knew nothing, and one evening at moonrise, as +they were disporting themselves in their innocent happiness by the sea, +it burst upon them from the beech-trees with a gathering murmur and a +sudden roar. + +A great mob, uttering cries and waving torches, broke from the wood and +ran toward them. + +"Death to the wizard!" they cried. "Death! Death!" + +As the poet heard them, he turned to his wife and little +Mother-of-Pearl. "Fear not," he cried, "they cannot hurt us." + +Then, as again the cry went up, "Death to the wizard!" a sudden light +shone in his face. + +"Death ... yes! That is the last door of the barrier...." and he plunged +into the moonlit water. + +And when the rabble at length reached the shore with their torches, the +poet and his loved ones were already lost in the silver pathway that +leads to the hidden kingdoms of the sea. + + + + +THE MER-MOTHER + + + One day, walking by the sea, + I heard a sweet voice calling me: + I looked--but nothing could I see; + I listened--but no more I heard; + Only the sea and the sea-bird + And the blue sky were there with me. + + But on another happier day, + When all the sea was sun and spray, + And laughing shout of wind and foam, + I seemed to hear the voice once more,-- + Wilder and sweeter than before, + O wild as love and sweet as home. + + I looked, and lo! before me there + A maiden sat in seaweeds drest, + Sea-flowers hiding in her breast, + And with a comb of deep-sea pearl + She combed, like any other girl, + Her golden hair--her golden hair. + + And, as each shining yellow curl + Flickered like sunshine through the pearl, + She laughed and sang--but not for me: + Three little babies of the sea + Were diving in and out for joy-- + Two mer-girls and a small mer-boy. + + That fairy song was not for me, + Nor those green eyes, nor that gold hair; + Deep in the caves beneath the foam + There was a husband and a home-- + It was a mermaid taking care + Of her small children of the sea. + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE SLEEPLESS LORD + + +There was once a great lord. He was lord of seven castles, and there +were seven coronets upon his head. He was richer than he ever gave +himself the trouble to think of, for, north, south, east, and west, the +horizon even set no bounds to his estates. A thousand villages and ten +thousand farms were in the hollow of his hand, and into his coffers +flowed the fruitfulness and labor of all these. Therefore, as you can +imagine, he was a very rich lord. He had more beautiful titles, denoting +the various principalities over which he was lord, than the +deepest-lunged herald could proclaim without taking breath at least +three times. In person he was most noble and beautiful to look upon, and +his voice was like the rippling of waters under the moon, save when it +was like the call of a golden trumpet. He stood foremost in the counsels +of his realm, not only for his eloquence, but for his wisdom. Also, God +had given him a good heart. + +Only one gift had been denied him--the gift of sleep. By whatever means +he might weary himself in the day--in study, in sport, in recreation, or +in the business of the realm--night found him sleepless, and all the +dark hours the lights burned in his bedchamber and in his library, as he +would pace from one to the other, with eyes tragically awake and brain +torturingly alert and clear. + +Every means known to science by which to bring sleep to the eyes of +sleepless men had been tried in vain. Learned physicians from all parts +of the world had come to my lord's castle, and had gone thence, +confessing that their skill had availed nothing. All strange and +terrible drugs that have power over the spirit of man had failed to +conquer those stubborn eyelids. My lord still paced from his bedchamber +to his library, from his library to his bedchamber--sleepless. + +[Illustration: A SUDDEN STRANGE NEW LIGHT WOULD SHINE OUT OF ITS PAGES] + +Sometimes in his anguish he had thrown himself on his knees in prayer +before a God whom he had not always remembered--the God who giveth His +beloved sleep--but his prayers had remained unanswered; and in his +darkest moments he had dreamed of snatching by his own hands that sleep +perpetual of which a great Latin poet he loved had sung. Often, as he +paced his library, he would say over and over to himself, _Nox est +perpetua una dormienda_--and in the still night the old words would +often sound like soft dark voices calling him away into the endless +night of the endless sleep. But he was not the man to take that way of +escape. No; whatever the suffering might be, he would fight it out to +the end, and so he continued sleepless, trying this resource and that, +but, most of all, that first and last resource--courage. It is seldom +that courage fails to wrest for us some recompense from the hardest +situation, and the sleepless man, as night after night he fought with +his fate, did not miss such hard-wrung rewards. Often, as in the deepest +hush of the night he wearily took up some great old book of philosopher +or poet familiar to him from his youth, a sudden strange new light would +shine out of its pages, as of some inner radiance of truth which he had +missed in his daylight reading. At such times an exaltation would come +over him, and it would almost seem as though the curse upon him was +really a blessing of initiation into the world of a deeper wisdom, the +gate of which is hidden by the glare of the sun. In the daylight the +eternal voices are lost in the transitory clamor of human business; it +is only when the night falls, and the stars rise, and the noise of men +dies down like the drone of some sleeping insect, that the solemn +thoughts of God may be heard. + +Other compensations he found when, weary of his books and despairing of +sleep, he would leave his house and wander through the silent city, +where the roaring thoroughfares of the daytime were silent as the +pyramids, and the great warehouses seemed like deserted palaces haunted +by the moon. Night-walkers like himself grew to find his figure +familiar, and would say to themselves, or to each other, "There goes the +lord who never sleeps"; and the watchmen on their rounds all knew and +saluted the man whose eyelids never closed. Enforced as these nocturnal +rambles were, they revealed to him much beautiful knowledge which those +more fortunate ones asleep in their beds must ever miss. Thus he came in +contact with all the vast nocturnal labor of the world, the toil of +sleepless men who keep watch over the sleeping earth, and work through +the night to make it ready for the new-born day; all that labor which is +put away and forgotten with the rising of the sun, and of which the day +asks no questions, so that the result be there. This brought him very +near to humanity and taught him a deep pity for the grinding lot of +man. + +Then--was it no compensation for this sleepless one that he thus became +a companion of all the ensorceled beauty of Night, walking by her side, +a confidant of her mystic talk, as he gazed into her everlasting eyes? +Was it nothing to be the intimate of all her sibylline moods, learned in +every haunted murmur of her voice, intrusted with her lunar secrets, and +a friend of all her stars? + +Yes! it was much indeed, he often said to himself, as he turned homeward +with the first flush of morning, and met the great sweet-smelling wains +coming from the country, laden with fruits and flowers, and making their +way like moving orchards and meadows through the city streets. + +The big wagoners, too, were well acquainted with the great lord who +never slept, and would always stop when they saw him, for it was his +custom to buy from them a bunch of country flowers. + +"The country dew is still on them," he would say; "it will have dried +long since when the people sleeping yonder come to buy them," and, as he +slipped back into his house, he would often feel a sort of pity for +those who slept so well that they never saw the stars set and the sun +rise. + +Such were some of the compensations with which he strove to strengthen +his soul--not all in vain. So time passed; but at length the strain of +those interminable nights began to tell upon the sleepless man, and +strange fancies began to take possession of him. His vigils were no +longer lonely, but inhabited by spectral voices and shadowy faces. +Rebellion against his fate began to take the place of courage; and one +night, in anger against his unending ordeal, he said to himself: "Am I +not a great lord? It is intolerable that I should be denied that simple +thing which the humblest and poorest possess so abundantly. Am I not +rich? I will go forth and buy sleep." + +So saying, he took from a cabinet a great jewel of priceless value. "It +is worth half my estate," he said. "Surely with this I can buy sleep." +And he went out into the night. + +As if in irony, the night was unusually wide-awake with stars, and the +moon was almost at its full. As the sleepless one looked up into the +firmament, it almost seemed as though it mocked him with his brilliant +wakefulness. From horizon to horizon, in all the heaven, there was to be +seen no downiest feather of the wings of sleep. To his upturned eyes, +pleading for the mercy of sleep, the stars sent down an answer of +polished steel. And so he turned his eyes again upon the earth. +Everything there also, even the keenly cut shadows, seemed pitilessly +awake. It almost seemed as though God had withdrawn the blessing of +sleep from His universe. + +But no! Suddenly he gave a cry of joy, as presently, by the riverside, +stretched in an angle of its granite embankment, as though it had been a +bed of down, he came upon a great workman fast asleep, with his arms +over his head and his face full in the light of the moon. His breath +came and went with the regularity of a man who has done his days work +and is healthily tired out. He seemed to be drinking great draughts of +sleep out of the sky, as one drinks water from a spring. He was poorly +clad, and evidently a wanderer on the earth; but, houseless as he was, +to him had been granted that healing gift which the great lord who gazed +at him had prayed for in vain for months and years, and for which this +night he was willing to surrender half--nay, the whole--of his wealth, +if needs be-- + + Only a little holiday of sleep, + Soft sleep, sweet sleep; a little soothing psalm, + Of slumber from Thy sanctuaries of calm. + A little sleep--it matters not how deep; + A little falling feather from Thy wing: + Merciful Lord--is it so great a thing? + +The sleepless one gazed at the sleeper a long time, fascinated by the +mystery and beauty of that strange gift that had been denied him. Then +he took the jewel in his hand and looked at it, picturing to himself the +sleeping man's surprise when he awoke in the morning and found so +unexpected a treasure in his possession, and all that the sudden +acquisition of such wealth would mean to him. But, as I said at the +beginning, God had given him a good heart, and, as he gazed on the man's +sleep again, a pang of misgiving shot through him. After all, what were +worldly possessions compared with this natural boon of which he was +about to rob the sleeping man? Would all his castles be a fair exchange +for that? And was he about to subject a fellow human being to the +torture which he had endured to the verge of madness? + +For a long time he stood over the sleeper struggling with himself. + +"No!" at last he said. "I cannot rob him of his sleep," and turned and +passed on his way. + +[Illustration: HE WENT FORTH INTO THE DAWN SLEEPLESS] + +Presently he came to where a beautiful woman lay asleep with a little +child in her arms. They were evidently poor outcasts, yet how tranquilly +they lay there, as if all the riches of the earth were theirs, and as if +there was no hard world to fight on the morrow. If sleep had seemed +beautiful on the face of the sleeping workman, how much more beautiful +it seemed here, laying its benediction upon this poor mother and child. +How trustfully they lay in its arms out there in the shelterless night, +as though relying on the protection of the ever-watchful stars. Surely +he could not violate this sanctuary of sleep, and think to make amends +by exchange of his poor worldly possessions. No! he must go on his way +again. But first he took a ring from his finger and slipped it gently +into the baby's hand. The tiny hand closed over it with the firmness of +a baby's clutch. "It will be safe there till morning," he said to +himself, and left them to their slumbers. + +So he passed along through the city, and everywhere were sleeping forms +and houses filled with sleepers, but he could not bring himself to carry +out his plan and buy sleep. Sleep was too beautiful and sacred a thing +to be bought with the most precious stone, and man was so piteously in +need of it at each long day's end. + +Thus he went on his way, and at last, as the dawn was showing faint in +the sky, he found himself in a churchyard, and above one of the graves +was growing a shining silver flower. + +"It is the flower of sleep," said the sleepless one, and he bent over +eagerly to gather it; but as he did so his eyes fell upon an inscription +on the stone. It was the grave of a beautiful girl who had died of +heart-break for her lover. + +"I may not pluck it," he said. "She needs her sleep as well." + +And he went forth into the dawn sleepless. + + + + +THE MAN WITH NO MONEY + +A FABLE FOR CAPITALISTS + + +Once upon a time there was a man who found himself, suddenly and sadly, +without any money. I am aware that in these days it is hard to believe +such a story. Nowadays, everybody has money, and it may seem like a +stretch of the imagination to suggest a time when a man should search +his pockets and find them empty. But this is merely a fairy tale; so, I +trust that the reader will help me out by taking so apparently +preposterous a statement for granted. + +The man had been a merchant of butterflies in Ispahan, and, though his +butterflies had flitted all about the flowered world, the delight of +many-tongued and many-colored nations, he found himself at the close of +the day a very poor and weary man. + +He had but one consolation and companion left--a strange, black +butterfly, which he kept in a silver cage, and only looked at now and +again, when he was quite sure that he was alone. He had sold all his +other butterflies--all the rainbow wings--but this dark butterfly he +would keep till the end. + +Kings and queens, in sore sorrow and need, had offered him great sums +for his black butterfly, but it was the only beautiful thing he had +left--so, selfishly, he kept it to himself. Meanwhile, he starved and +wandered the country roads, homeless and foodless: his breakfast the +morning star, his supper the rising moon. But, sad as was his heart, and +empty as was his stomach, laughter still flickered in his tired eyes; +and he possessed, too, a very shrewd mind, as a man who sells +butterflies must. Making his breakfast of blackberries one September +morning, in the middle of an old wood, with the great cages of bramble +overladen with the fruit of the solitude, an idea came to him. Thereupon +he sought out some simple peasants and said: "Why do you leave these +berries to fall and wither in the solitude, when in the markets of the +world much money may be made of them for you and for your household? +Gather them for me, and I will sell them and give you a fair return for +your labor." + +Now, of course, the blackberries did not belong to the dealer in +butterflies. They were the free gift of God to men and birds. But the +simple peasants never thought of that. Instead, they gathered them, east +and west, into bushel and hogshead, and the man that had no money, that +September morning, smiled to himself as he paid them their little wage, +and filled his pockets, that before had been so empty, with the money +that God and the blackberries and the peasants had made for him. + +Thus he grew so rich that he seldom looked at the dark butterfly in the +silver cage--but sometimes, in the night, he heard the beating of its +wings. + + + + +THE RAGS OF QUEEN COPHETUA + + +When the first dazzle of bewildered happiness in her new estate had +faded from her eyes, and the miracle of her startling metamorphosis from +a wandering beggar-maid to a great Queen on a throne was beginning to +lose a little of its wonder and to take its place among the accepted +realities of life, Queen Cophetua became growingly conscious of some dim +dissatisfaction and unrest in her heart. + +Indeed, she had all that the world could give, and surely all that a +woman's heart is supposed to desire. The King's love was still hers as +when he found her at dawn by the pool in the forest; and, in exchange +for the tattered rags which had barely concealed the water-lily +whiteness of her body, countless wardrobes were filled with garments of +every variety of subtle design and exquisite fabric, textures light as +the golden sun, purple as the wine-dark sea, iridescent as the rainbow, +and soft as summer clouds--the better to set off her strange beauty for +the eyes of the King. + +And, every day of the year, the King brought her a new and priceless +jewel to hang about her neck, or wear upon her moonbeam hands, or to +shine in the fragrant night of her hair. + +Ah! what a magical wooing that had been in the depths of the forest, +that strange morning! The sun was hardly above the tops of the trees +when she had awakened from sleep at the mossy foot of a giant beech, and +its first beams were casting a solemn enchantment across a great pool of +water-lilies and filling their ivory cups with strange gold. She had +lain still a while, watching through her sleepy eyelids the unfolding +marvel of the dawn; and then rousing herself, she had knelt by the pool, +and letting down her long hair that fell almost to her feet had combed +and braided it, with the pool for her mirror--a mirror with water-lilies +for its frame. And, as she gazed at herself in the clear water, with a +girlish happiness in her own beauty, a shadow fell over the pond; and, +startled, she saw beside her own face in the mirror the face of a +beautiful young knight, so it seemed, bending over her shoulder. In fear +and maiden modesty--for her hair was only half braided, and, whiter than +any water-lily in the pond, her bosom glowed bare in the morning +sunlight--she turned around, and met the eyes of the King. + +Without moving, each gazed at the other as in a dream--eyes lost +fathom-deep in eyes. + +At last the King found voice to speak. + +"You must be a fairy," he had said, "for surely you are too beautiful to +be human!" + +"Nay, my lord," she had answered, "I am but a poor girl that wanders +with my lute yonder from village to village and town to town, singing my +little songs." + +"You shall wander no more," said the King. "Come with me, and you shall +sit upon a throne and be my Queen, and I will love you forever." + +But she could not answer a word, for fear and joy. + +And therewith the King took her by the hand, and set her upon his horse +that was grazing hard by; and, mounting behind her, he rode with her in +his arms to the city, and all the while her eyes looked up into his +eyes, as she leaned upon his shoulder, and his eyes looked deep down +into hers--but they spake not a word. Only once, at the edge of the +forest, he had bent down and kissed her on the lips, and it seemed to +both as if heaven with all its stars was falling into their hearts. + +As they rode through the city to the palace, surrounded by wondering +crowds, she nestled closer to his side, like a frightened bird, and like +a wild birds were her great eyes gazing up into his in a terror of joy. +Not once did she move them to right or left, for all the murmur of the +people about them. Nor did the King see aught but her water-lily face as +they wended thus in a dream through the crowded streets, and at length +came to the marble steps of the palace. + +Then the King, leaping from his horse, took her tenderly in his arms and +carried her lightly up the marble steps. Upon the topmost step he set +her down, and taking her hand in his, as she stood timidly by his side, +he turned his face to the multitude and spake. + +"Lo! my people," he said, "this is your Queen, whom God has sent to me +by a divine miracle, to rule over your hearts from this day forth, as +she holds rule over mine. My people, salute your Queen!" + +And therewith the King knelt on one knee to his beggar-maid and kissed +her hand; and all the people knelt likewise, with bowed heads, and a +great cry went up. + +"Our Queen! Our Queen!" + +Then the King and Queen passed into the palace, and the tiring-maids led +the little beggar-maid into a great chamber hung with tapestries and +furnished with many mirrors, and they took from off her white body the +tattered gown she had worn in the forest, and robed her in perfumed +linen and cloth of gold, and set jewels at her throat and in her hair; +and at evening in the cathedral, before the high altar, in the presence +of all the people, the King placed a sapphire beautiful as the evening +star upon her finger, and the twain became man and wife; and the moon +rose and the little beggar-maid was a Queen and lay in a great King's +arms. + +On the morrow the King summoned a famous worker in metals attached to +his court, and commanded him to make a beautiful coffer of beaten gold, +in which to place the little ragged robe of his beggar-maid; for it was +very sacred to him because of his great love. After due time the coffer +was finished, and it was acclaimed the masterpiece of the great +artificer who had made it. About its sides was embossed the story of the +King's love. On one side was the pool with the water-lilies and the +beggar-maid braiding her hair on its brink. And on another she was +riding on horseback with the King through the forest. And on another +she was standing by his side on the steps of the palace before all the +people. And on the fourth side she was kneeling by the King's side +before the high altar in the cathedral. + +The King placed the coffer in a secret gallery attached to the royal +apartments, and very tenderly he placed therein the little tattered gown +and the lute with which his Queen was wont to wander from village to +village and town to town, singing her little songs. + +Often at evening, when his heart brimmed over with the tenderness of his +love, he would persuade his Queen to doff her beautiful royal garments +and clothe herself again in that little tattered gown, through the rents +of which her white body showed whiter than any water-lilies. And, +however rich or exquisite the other garments she wore, it was in those +beloved rags, the King declared, that she looked most beautiful. In them +he loved her best. + +But this had been a while ago, and though, as has been said, the King's +love was still hers as when he had met her that strange morning in the +forest, and though every day he brought her a new and priceless jewel to +hang about her neck, or wear upon her moonbeam hands, or to shine in +the fragrant night of her hair, it was many months since he had asked +her to wear for him the little tattered gown. + +Was the miracle of their love beginning to lose a little of its wonder +for him, too; was it beginning to take its place among the accepted +realities of life? + +Sometimes the Queen fancied that he seemed a little impatient with her +elfin bird-like ways, as though, in his heart, he was beginning to wish +that she was more in harmony with the folk around her, more like the +worldly court ladies, with their great manners and artificial smiles. +For, though she had now been a Queen a long while, she had never +changed. She was still the wild gipsy-hearted child the King had found +braiding her hair that morning by the lilied pool. + +Often she would steal away by herself and enter that secret gallery, and +lift the lid of the golden coffer, and look wistfully at the little +tattered robe, and run her hands over the cracked strings of her little +lute. + +There was a long window in the gallery, from which, far away, she could +see the great green cloud of the forest; and as the days went by she +often found herself seated at this window, gazing in its direction, with +vague unformed feelings of sadness in her heart. + +One day, as she sat there at the window, an impulse came over her that +she could not resist, and swiftly she slipped off her beautiful +garments, and taking the little robe from the coffer, clothed herself in +the rags that the King had loved. And she took the old lute in her +hands, and sang low to herself her old wandering songs. And she danced, +too, an elfin dance, all alone there in the still gallery, danced as the +apple-blossoms dance on the spring winds, or the autumn leaves dance in +the depths of the forest. + +Suddenly she ceased in alarm. The King had entered the gallery +unperceived, and was watching her with sad eyes. + +"Are you weary of being a Queen?" said he, sadly. + +For answer she threw herself on his breast and wept bitterly, she knew +not why. + +"Oh, I love you! I love you," she sobbed, "but this life is not real." + +And the King went from her with a heavy heart. + +And from day to day an unspoken sorrow lay between them; and from day to +day the King's words haunted the Queen with a more insistent refrain: + +"Are you weary of being a Queen?" + +Was she weary of being a Queen? + +And so the days went by. + + * * * * * + +One day as the Queen passed down the palace steps she came upon a +beautiful girl, clothed in tatters as she had once been, seated on the +lowest step, selling flowers--water-lilies. + +The Queen stopped. + +"Where did you gather your water-lilies, child?" she asked. + +"I gathered them from a pool in the great forest yonder," answered the +girl, with a curtsey. + +"Give me one of them," said the Queen, with a sob in her voice, and she +slipped a piece of gold into the girl's hand, and fled back into the +palace. + +That night, as she lay awake by her sleeping King, she rose silently and +stole into the secret gallery. There, with tears running down her +cheeks, she dressed herself in the little tattered gown and took the +lute in her hand, and then stole back and pressed a last kiss on the +brow of her sleeping King, who still slept on. + +But at sunrise the King awoke, with a sudden fear in his heart, and lo! +where his Queen had lain was only a white water-lily. + +And at that moment, in the depths of the forest, a beggar-maid was +braiding her hair, with a pool of water-lilies for her mirror. + + + + +THE WIFE FROM FAIRY-LAND + + + Her talk was of all woodland things, + Of little lives that pass + Away in one green afternoon, + Deep in the haunted grass. + + For she had come from fairy-land, + The morning of a day + When the world that still was April + Was turning into May. + + Green leaves and silence and two eyes-- + 'Twas so she seemed to me; + A silver shadow of the woods,-- + Whisper and mystery. + + I looked into her woodland eyes, + And all my heart was hers; + And then I led her by the hand + Home up my marble stairs. + + And all my granite and my gold + Was hers for her green eyes, + And all my sinful heart was hers, + From sunset to sunrise. + + I gave her all delight and ease + That God had given to me, + I listened to fulfil her dreams, + Rapt with expectancy. + + But all I gave and all I did + Brought but a weary smile + Of gratitude upon her face-- + As though, a little while, + + She loitered in magnificence + Of marble and of gold, + And waited to be home again, + When the dull tale was told. + + Sometimes, in the chill galleries, + Unseen, she deemed, unheard, + I found her dancing like a leaf, + And singing like a bird. + + So lone a thing I never saw + In lonely earth and sky; + So merry and so sad a thing-- + One sad, one laughing, eye. + + There came a day when on her heart + A wild-wood blossom lay, + And the world that still was April + Was turning into May. + + In her green eyes I saw a smile + That turned my heart to stone,-- + My wife that came from fairy-land + No longer was alone. + + For there had come a little hand + To show the green way home, + Home through the leaves, home through the dew, + Home through the greenwood--home. + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE BUYER OF SORROWS + + +On an evening of singular sunset, about the rich beginning of May, the +little market-town of Beethorpe was startled by the sound of a trumpet. + +Beethorpe was an ancient town, mysteriously sown, centuries ago, like a +wandering thistle-down of human life, amid the silence and the nibbling +sheep of the great chalk downs. It stood in a hollow of the long smooth +billows of pale pasture that suavely melted into the sky on every side. +The evening was so still that the little river running across the +threshold of the town, and encircling what remained of its old walls, +was the noisiest thing to be heard, dominating with its talkative murmur +the bedtime hum of the High Street. + +Suddenly, as the flamboyance of the sky was on the edge of fading, and +the world beginning to wear a forlorn, forgotten look, a trumpet sounded +from the western heights above the town, as though the sunset itself +had spoken; and the people in Beethorpe, looking up, saw three horsemen +against the lurid sky. + +Three times the trumpet blew. + +And the simple folk of Beethorpe, tumbling out into the street at the +summons, and looking to the west with sleepy bewilderment, asked +themselves: Was it the last trumpet? Or was it the long-threatened +invasion of the King of France? + +Again the trumpet blew, and then the braver of the young men of the town +hastened up the hill to learn its meaning. + +As they approached the horsemen, they perceived that the center of the +three was a young man of great nobility of bearing, richly but somberly +dressed, and with a dark, beautiful face filled with a proud melancholy. +He kept his eyes on the fading sunset, sitting motionless upon his +horse, apparently oblivious of the commotion his arrival had caused. The +horseman on his right hand was clad after the manner of a herald, and +the horseman on his left hand was clad after the manner of a steward. +And the three horsemen sat motionless, awaiting the bewildered +ambassadors of Beethorpe. + +When these had approached near enough the herald once more set the +trumpet to his lips and blew; and then, unfolding a parchment scroll, +read in a loud voice: + +"To the Folk of Beethorpe--Greeting from the High and Mighty Lord, +Mortimer of the Marches: + +"Whereas our heart had gone out toward the sorrows of our people in the +counties and towns and villages of our domain, we hereby issue +proclamation that whosoever hath a sorrow, let him or her bring it +forth; and we, out of our private purse, will purchase the said sorrow, +according to its value--that the hearts of our people be lightened of +their burdens." + +And when the herald had finished reading he blew again upon the trumpet +three times; and the villagers looked at one another in +bewilderment--but some ran down the hill to tell their neighbors of the +strange proposal of their lord. Thus, presently, nearly all the village +of Beethorpe was making its way up the hill to where those three +horsemen loomed against the evening sky. + +Never was such a sorrowful company. Up the hill they came, carrying +their sorrows in their hands--sorrows for which, in excited haste, they +had rummaged old drawers and forgotten cupboards, and even ran hurriedly +into the churchyard. + +[Illustration: THE HERALD ONCE MORE SET THE TRUMPET TO HIS LIPS AND +BLEW] + +Lord Mortimer of the Marches sat his horse with the same austere +indifference, his melancholy profile against the fading sky. Only those +who stood near to him noted a kindly ironic flicker of a smile in his +eyes, as he saw, apparently seeing nothing, the poor little raked-up +sorrows of his village of Beethorpe. + +He was a fantastic young lord of many sorrows. His heart had been broken +in a very strange way. Death and Pity were his closest friends. He was +so sad himself that he had come to realize that sorrow is the only +sincerity of life. Thus sorrow had become a kind of passion with him, +even a kind of connoisseurship; and he had come, so to say, to be a +collector of sorrows. It was partly pity and partly an odd form of +dilettanteism--for his own sad heart made him pitiful for and +companionable with any other sad heart; but the sincerity of his sorrow +made him jealous of the sanctity of sorrow, and at the same time sternly +critical of, and sadly amused by, the hypocrisies of sorrow. + +So, as he sat his horse and gazed at the sunset, he smiled sadly to +himself as he heard, without seeming to hear, the small, insincere +sorrows of his village of Beethorpe--sorrows forgotten long ago, but +suddenly rediscovered in old drawers and unopened cupboards, at the +sound of his lordship's trumpet and the promise of his strange +proclamation. + +Was there a sorrow in the world that no money could buy? + +It was to find such a sorrow that Lord Mortimer thus fantastically rode +from village to village of his estates, with herald and steward. + +The unpurchasable sorrow--the sorrow no gold can gild, no jewel can buy! + +Far and wide he had ridden over his estates, seeking so rare a sorrow; +but as yet he had found no sorrow that could not be bought with a little +bag of gold and silver coins. + +So he sat his horse, while the villagers of Beethorpe were paid out of a +great leathern bag by the steward--for the steward understood the mind +of his master, and, without troubling him, paid each weeping and +whimpering peasant as he thought fit. + +In another great bag the steward had collected the sorrows of the +Village of Beethorpe; and, by this, the moon was rising, and, with +another blast of trumpet by way of farewell, the three horsemen took the +road again to Lord Mortimer's castle. + +When, out of the great leathern bag, in Lord Mortimer's cabinet they +poured upon the table the sorrows of Beethorpe, the young lord smiled to +himself, turning over one sorrow after the other, as though they had +been precious stones--for there was not one genuine sorrow among them. + +But, later, there came news to him that there was one real sorrow in +Beethorpe; and he rode alone on horseback to the village, and found a +beautiful girl laying flowers on a grave. She was so beautiful that he +forgot his ancient grief, and he thought that all his castles would be +but a poor exchange for her face. + +"Maiden," said he, "let me buy your sorrow--with three counties and +seven castles." + +And the girl looked up at him from the grave, with eyes of +forget-me-not, and said: "My lord, you mistake. This is not sorrow. It +is my only joy." + + + + +THE PRINCESS'S MIRROR + + +The sun was scarcely risen, but the young princess was already seated by +her window. Never did window open upon a scene of such enchantment. +Never has the dawn risen over so fair a land. Meadows so fresh and grass +so green, rivers of such mystic silver and far mountains so majestically +purple, no eye has seen outside of Paradise; and over all was now +outspread the fairy-land of the morning sky. + +Even a princess might rise early to behold so magic a spectacle. + +Yet, strangely enough, it was not upon this miracle that the eyes of the +princess were gazing. In fact, she seemed entirely oblivious of it +all--oblivious of all that was passing in the sky, and of all the dewy +awakening of the earth. + +Her eyes were lost in a trance over what she deemed a rarer beauty, a +stranger marvel. The princess was gazing at her own face in a golden +mirror. + +[Illustration: HER ONLY CARE WAS TO GAZE ALL DAY AT HER OWN FACE] + +And indeed it was a beautiful face that she saw there, so beautiful that +the princess might well be pardoned for thinking it the most beautiful +face in the world. So fascinated had she become by her own beauty that +she carried her mirror ever at her girdle, and gazed at it night and +day. Whenever she saw another beautiful thing she looked in her mirror +and smiled to herself. + +She had looked at the most beautiful rose in the world, and then she had +looked in her mirror and said, "I am more beautiful." + +She had looked at the morning star, and then she had looked in her +mirror and said, "I am more beautiful." + +She had looked at the rising moon, and then she had looked in her mirror +and still she said, "I am more beautiful." + +Whenever she heard of a beautiful face in her kingdom she caused it to +be brought before her, and then she looked in her mirror, and always she +smiled to herself and said, "I am more beautiful." + +Thus it had come about that her only care was to gaze all day at her own +face. So enamored had she become of it, that she hated even to sleep; +but not even in sleep did she lose the beautiful face she loved, for it +was still there in the mirror of dreams. Yet often she would wake in +the night to gaze at it, and always she arose at dawn that, with the +first rays of the sun, she might look into her mirror. Thus, from the +rising sun to the setting moon, she would sit at her window, and never +take her eyes from those beautiful eyes that looked back at her, and the +longest day in the year was not long enough to return their gaze. + +This particular morning was a morning in May--all bloom and song, and +crowding leaves and thickening grass. The valley was a mist of blossom, +and the air thrilled with the warbling of innumerable birds. Soft dewy +scents floated hither and thither on the wandering breeze. But the +princess took no note of these things, lost in the dream of her face, +and saw the changes of the dawn only as they were reflected in her +mirror and suffused her beauty with their rainbow tints. So rapt in her +dream was she that, when a bird alighted near at hand and broke into +sudden song, she was so startled that--the mirror slipped from her hand. + +Now the princess's window was in the wall of an old castle built high +above the valley, and beneath it the ground sloped precipitately, +covered with underbrush and thick grasses, to a highroad winding far +beneath. As the mirror slipped from the hand of the princess it fell +among this underbrush and rolled, glittering, down the slope, till the +princess finally lost sight of it in a belt of wild flowers overhanging +the highroad. + +As it finally disappeared, she screamed so loudly that the +ladies-in-waiting ran to her in alarm, and servants were instantly sent +forth to search for the lost mirror. It was a very beautiful mirror, the +work of a goldsmith famous for his fantastic masterpieces in the +precious metals. The fancy he had skilfully embodied was that of beauty +as the candle attracting the moths. The handle of the mirror, which was +of ivory, represented the candle, the golden flame of which swept round +in a circle to hold the crystal. Wrought here and there, on the golden +back of the mirror, were moths with wings of enamel and precious stones. +It was a marvel of the goldsmith's art, and as such was beyond price. +Yet it was not merely for this, as we know, that the princess loved it, +but because it had been so long the intimate of her beauty. For this +reason it had become sacred in her eyes, and, as she watched it roll +down the hillside, she realized that it had gained for her also a +superstitious value. It almost seemed as if to lose it would be to lose +her beauty too. She ran to another mirror in panic. No! her beauty still +remained. But no other mirror could ever be to her like the mirror she +had lost. So, forgetting her beauty for a moment, she wept and tore her +hair and beat her tiring-maids in her misery; and when the men returned +from their searching without the mirror, she gave orders to have them +soundly flogged for their failure. + +Meanwhile the mirror rested peacefully among the wild flowers and the +humming of bees. + +A short while after the serving-men had been flogged and the +tiring-maids had been beaten, there came along the white road at the +foot of the castle a tired minstrel. He was singing to himself out of +the sadness of his heart. He was forty years old, and the exchange that +life had given him for his dreams had not seemed to him a fair +equivalent. He had even grown weary of his own songs. + +He sat, dejected, amid the green grasses, and looked up at the ancient +heaven--and thought to himself. Then suddenly he turned his tired eyes +again to earth, and saw the daisies growing there, and the butterflies +flitting from flower to flower. And the road, as he looked at it, seemed +long--longer than ever. He took his old lute in his hand--wondering to +himself if they could play another tune. They were so in love with each +other--and so tired of each other. + +He played one of his old songs, of which he was heartily weary, and, as +he played, the butterflies flitted about him and filled his old hair +with blue wings. + +He was forty years old and very weary. He was alone. His last +nightingale had ceased singing. The time had come for him when one +thinks, and even dreams, of the fireside, the hearth, and the beautiful +old memories. + +He had, in short, arrived at that period of life when one begins to +perceive the beauty of money. + +As a boy he had never given a thought to gold or silver. A butterfly had +seemed more valuable to him than a gold piece. But he was growing old, +and, as I have said, he was beginning to perceive the beauty of money. + +The daisies were all around him, and the lark was singing up there in +the sky. But how could he cash a daisy or negotiate a lark? + +Dreams, after all, were dreams.... He was saying this to himself, when +suddenly his eye fell upon the princess's mirror, lying there in the +grass--so covered with butterflies, looking at themselves, that no +wonder the serving-men had been unable to find it. + +The mirror of the princess, as I have said, was made of gold and ivory, +and wonderful crystal and many precious stones. + +So, when the minstrel took it in his hands out of the grass, he +thought--well, that he might at least buy a breakfast at the next town. +For he was very hungry. + +Well, he caught up the mirror and hid it in his faded doublet, and took +his way to a wood of living green, and when he was alone--that is, alone +with a few flowers and a bird or two, and a million leaves, and the soft +singing of a little river hiding its music under many boughs--he took +out the mirror from his doublet. + +Shame upon him! he, a poet of the rainbow, had only one thought as he +took up the mirror--the gold and ivory and the precious stones. He was +merely thinking of them and his breakfast. + +But when he looked into the mirror, expecting to see his own ancient +face--what did he see? He saw something so beautiful that, just like the +princess, he dropped the mirror. Have you ever seen the wild rose as it +opens its heart to the morning sky; have you ever seen the hawthorn +holding in its fragrant arms its innumerable blooms; have you seen the +rising of the moon, or looked in the face of the morning star? + +The minstrel looked in the mirror and saw something far more wonderful +than all these wonderful things. + +He saw the face of the princess--eternally reflected there; for her love +of her own beautiful face had turned the mirror into a magic glass. To +worship oneself is the only way to make a beautiful face. + +And as the minstrel looked into the mirror he sadly realized that he +could never bring himself to sell it--and that he must go without his +breakfast. The moon had fallen into his hand out of the sky. Could he, a +poet, exchange this celestial windfall for a meal and a new doublet? As +the minstrel gazed and gazed at the beautiful face, he understood that +he could no more sell the mirror than he could sell his own soul--and, +in his pilgrimage through the world, he had received many offers for his +soul. Also, many kings and captains had vainly tried to buy from him his +gift of courage. + +But the minstrel had sold neither. And now had fallen out of the sky one +more precious thing to guard--the most beautiful face in the world. So, +as he gazed in the mirror, he forgot his hunger, forgot his faded +doublet, forgot the long sorrow of his days--and at length there came +the setting sun. Suddenly the minstrel awoke from his dream at the sound +of horsemen in the valley. The princess was sending heralds into every +corner of her dominions to proclaim the loss of the mirror, and for its +return a beautiful reward--a lock of her strange hair. + +The minstrel hid himself, with his treasure, amid the fern, and, when +the trumpets had faded in the distance, found the highroad again and +went upon his way. + +Now it chanced that a scullery-maid of the castle, as she was polishing +a copper saucepan, had lifted her eyes from her work, and, looking down +toward the highroad, had seen the minstrel pick up the mirror. He was a +very well known minstrel. All the scullery-maids and all the princesses +had his songs by heart. + +Even the birds were fabled to sing his songs, as they flitted to and fro +on their airy business. + +Thus, through the little scullery-maid, it became known to the princess +that the mirror had been found by the wandering minstrel, and so his +life became a life of peril. Bandits, hoping for the reward of that lock +of strange hair, hunted him through the woodland, across the marshes, +and over the moors. + +Jews with great money-bags came to buy from him--the beautiful face. +Sometimes he had to climb up into trees to look at it in the sunrise, +the woods were so filled with the voices of his pursuers. + +But neither hunger, nor poverty, nor small ferocious enemies were able +to take from him the beautiful face. It never left his heart. All night +long and all the watching day it was pressed close to his side. + +Meanwhile the princess was in despair. More and more the fancy possessed +her that with the lost mirror her beauty too was lost. In her +unhappiness, like all sad people, she took strange ways of escape. She +consulted the stars, and empirics from the four winds settled down upon +her castle. Each, of course, had his own invaluable nostrum; and all +went their way. For not one of these understood the heart of a poet. + +However, at last there came to the aid of the princess a reverend old +man of ninety years, a famous seer, deeply and gently and pitifully +learned in the hearts of men. His was that wisdom which comes of great +goodness. He understood the princess, and he understood the minstrel; +for, having lived so long alone with the Infinite, he understood the +Finite. + +To him the princess was as a little child, and his old wise heart went +out to her. + +And, as I have said, his heart understood the minstrel too. + +Therefore he said to the princess: "I know the hearts of poets. In seven +days I will bring you back your mirror." + +And the old man went, and at length found the poet eating wild berries +in the middle of the wood. + +"That is a beautiful mirror you have by your side," said the old man. + +"This mirror," answered the poet, "holds in its deeps the most beautiful +face in the world." + +"It is true," said the wise old man. "I have seen the beautiful face ... +but I too possess a mirror. Will you look into it?" + +And the poet took the mirror from the old man and looked; and, as he +looked, the mirror of the princess fell neglected in the grass.... + +"Why," said the wise old man, "do you let fall the princess's mirror?" + +But the poet made no answer--for his eyes were lost in the strange +mirror which the wise old man had brought him. + +"What do you see in the mirror," said the old man, "that you gaze so +earnestly in it?" + +"I see," answered the minstrel, "the infinite miracle of the universe, I +see the august and lonely elements, I see the solitary stars and the +untiring sea, I see the everlasting hills--and, as a crocus raises its +rainbow head from the black earth in springtime, I see the young moon +growing like a slender flower out of the mountains...." + +"Yet, look again," said the old man, "into this other mirror, the mirror +of the princess. Look again." + +And the poet looked--taking the two mirrors in his hands, and looking +from one to the other. + +"At last," he said, gazing into the face he had fought so long to +keep--"at last I understand that this is but a fleeting phantom of +beauty, a fluttering flower of a face--just one beautiful flower in the +innumerable meadows of the Infinite--but here...." + +And he turned to the other mirror-- + +"Here is the Eternal Beauty, the Divine Harmony, the Sacred Unfathomable +All.... Would a man be content with one rose, when all the roses of all +the rose-gardens of the world were his?..." + +"You mean," said the wise old man, smiling to himself, "that I may take +the mirror back to the princess.... Are you really willing to exchange +her face for the face of the sky?" + +"I am," answered the minstrel. + +"I knew you were a poet," said the sage. + +"And I know that you are very wise," answered the minstrel. + + * * * * * + +Yet, after all, the princess was not so happy to have her mirror back +again as she had expected to be; for had not a wandering poet found +something more beautiful than her face! + + + + +THE PINE LADY + + + O have you seen the Pine Lady, + Or heard her how she sings? + Have you heard her play + Your soul away + On a harp with moonbeam strings? + In a palace all of the night-black pine + She hides like a queen all day, + Till a moonbeam knocks + On her secret tree, + And she opens her door + With a silver key, + While the village clocks + Are striking bed + Nine times sleepily. + + O come and hear the Pine Lady + Up in the haunted wood! + The stars are rising, the moths are flitting, + The owls are calling, + The dew is falling; + And, high in the boughs + Of her haunted house, + The moon and she are sitting. + + Out on the moor the night-jar drones + Rough-throated love, + The beetle comes + With his sudden drums, + And many a silent unseen thing + Frightens your cheek with its ghostly wing; + While there above, + In a palace builded of needles and cones, + The pine is telling the moon her love, + Telling her love on the moonbeam strings-- + O have you seen the Pine Lady, + Or heard her how she sings? + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE KING ON HIS WAY TO BE CROWNED + + +In a green outlying corner of the kingdom of Bohemia, +one summer afternoon, the Grand Duke Stanislaus was busy in his garden, +swarming a hive of bees. He was a tall, middle-aged man of a scholarly, +almost priest-like, type, a gentle-mannered recluse, living only in his +books and his garden, and much loved by the country-folk for the simple +kindness of his heart. He had the most winning of smiles, and a playful +wisdom radiated from his wise, rather weary eyes. No man had ever heard +him utter a harsh word; and, indeed, life passed so tranquilly in that +green corner of Bohemia that even less peaceful natures found it hard to +be angry. There was so little to be angry about. + +Therefore, it was all the stranger to see the good duke suddenly lose +his temper this summer afternoon. + +"Preposterous!" he exclaimed; "was there ever anything quite so +preposterous! To think of interrupting me, at such a moment, with such +news!" + +He spoke from inside a veil of gauze twisted about his head, after the +manner of beekeepers; and was, indeed, just at that moment, engaged in +the delicate operation of transferring a new swarm to another hive. + +The necessity of keeping his mind on his task somewhat restored his +calm. + +"Give the messenger refreshment," he said, "and send for Father +Scholasticus." + +Father Scholasticus was the priest of the village, and the duke's very +dear friend. + +The reason for this explosion was the news, brought by swiftest courier, +that Duke Stanislaus' brother was dead, and that he himself was thus +become King of Bohemia. + +By the time Father Scholasticus arrived, the bees were housed in their +new home, and the duke was seated in his library, among the books that +he loved no less than his bees, with various important-looking +parchments spread out before him: despatches of state brought to him by +the courier, which he had been scanning with great impatience. + +"I warn you, my friend," he said, looking up as the good father +entered, "that you will find me in a very bad temper. Ferdinand is +dead--can you imagine anything more unreasonable of him? He was always +the most inconsiderate of mortals; and now, without the least warning, +he shuffles his responsibilities upon my shoulders." + +The priest knew his friend and the way of his thought, and he could not +help smiling at his quaint petulance. + +"Which means that you are King of Bohemia ... sire!" said he, with a +half-whimsical reverence. Where on earth--he was wondering--was there +another man who would be so put out at being made a king? + +"Exactly," answered the duke. "Do you wonder that I am out of temper? +You must give me your advice. There must be some way out of it. +What--what am I to do?" + +"I am afraid there is nothing for you to do but--reign ... your +Majesty," answered the priest. "I agree with you that it is a great +hardship." + +"Do you really understand how great a hardship it is?" retorted the king +to his friend. "Will you share it with me?" + +"Share it with you?" asked the priest. + +"Yes! as it appears that I must consent to be Head of the World +Temporal--will you consent to be the Head of the World Spiritual? In +short, will you consent to be Archbishop of Bohemia?" + +"Leave the little church that I love, and the kind, simple hearts in my +care, given into my keeping by the goodness of God...." asked the +priest. + +"To be the spiritual shepherd," answered the king, not without irony, +"of the sad flocks of souls that wander, without pastor, the strange +streets of lost cities...." + +The king paused, and added, with his sad, understanding smile, "and to +sit on a gold throne, in a great cathedral, filled with incense and +colored windows." + +And the priest smiled back; for the king and the priest were old friends +and understood and loved each other. + +At that moment there came a sound of trumpets through the quiet boughs, +and the priest, rising and looking through the window, saw a procession +of gilded carriages, from the first of which stepped out a dignified man +with white hair and many years, and robed in purple and ermine. + +"It is your Prime Minister, and your court," answered the priest to the +mute question of the king. And again they smiled together; but the +smile on the face of the king was weary beyond all human words: because +of all the perils that beset a man, the one peril he had feared was the +peril of being made a king, of all the sorrows that sorrow, of all the +foolishness that foolishness; for vanity had long since passed away from +his heart, and the bees and the blossoms of his garden seemed just as +worthy of his care as that swarming hive of ambitious human wasps and +earwigs over which he was thus summoned by sound of trumpet, that happy +summer afternoon--to be the king. Think of being the king of so foul a +kingdom--when one might be the king--of a garden. + +But in spite of his reluctance, the good duke at length admitted the +truth urged upon him by the good priest--that there are sacred duties +inherited by those born in high places and to noble destinies from which +there is no honorable escape, and, on the priest agreeing to be the +Archbishop of Bohemia, he resigned himself to being its king. Thereupon +he received all the various dignitaries and functionaries that could so +little have understood his heart--having in the interval recovered his +lost temper--with all the graciousness for which he was famous, and +appointed a day--as far off as possible--when he would set out, with all +his train, for his coronation in the capital, a journey of many +leagues. + +However, when the day came, and, in fact, at the very moment of the +starting out of the long and glittering cortège, all the gilded +carriages were suddenly brought to a halt by news coming to the duke of +the sickness and imminent death of a much loved dependent of his, an old +shepherd with whom as a boy he was wont to wander the hills, and listen +eagerly to the lore of times and seasons, of rising and setting stars, +and of the ways of the winds, which are hidden in the hearts of tanned +and withered old men, who have spent their lives out-of-doors under sun +and rain. + +But, to the great impatience of the court ladies and the great bewigged +and powdered gentlemen, the old shepherd lived on for several days, +during which time the duke was constantly at his side. At last, however, +the old shepherd went to his rest, and the procession, which he, humble +soul, would not have believed that he could have delayed, started on its +magnificent way again, with flutter of pennant and feather and song of +trumpet and ladies' laughter. + +But it had traveled only a few leagues when it was again brought to a +standstill by the duke--who was thus progressing to his +coronation--catching sight from his carriage window, as it flitted +past, of an extremely lovely and uncommon butterfly. The duke had, all +his days, been a passionate entomologist, and this particular butterfly +was the one that so far he had been unable to add to his collection. +Therefore he commanded the trumpets to call a halt, and had his +butterfly-net brought to him; and he and several of his gentlemen went +in pursuit of the flitting painted thing; but not that day, nor the +next, was it captured in the royal net, not, in fact, till a whole week +had gone by; and meanwhile the carriages stood idly in the stables, and +the postilions kicked their heels, and the great ladies and gentlemen +fumed at their enforced exile amid country ways and country freshness, +pining to be back once more in that artificial world where alone they +could breathe. + +"To think of a man chasing a butterfly--with a king's crown awaiting +him--and even perhaps a kingdom at stake!" said many a tongue--for +rumors came on the wind that a half-brother of the dead king was +meditating usurpation of the throne, and was already gathering a large +following about him. Urgent despatches were said to have come from the +imperial city begging that his Majesty, for the good of his loyal +subjects, continue his journey with all possible expedition. His +kingdom was at stake! + +The good duke smiled on the messenger and said, "Yes! but look at my +butterfly--" and no one but his friend the priest, of course, had +understood. Murmurs began to arise, indeed, among the courtiers, and +hints of plots even, as the duke pursued his leisurely journey, turning +aside for each wayward fancy. + +One day it would be a turtle crossing the road, with her little ones, +which would bring to a respectful halt all those beautiful gold coaches +and caracoling horses. Tenderly would the good duke step from his +carriage and watch her with his gentle smile--not, doubtless, without +sly laughter in his heart, and an understanding glance from the priest, +that so humble and helpless a creature should for once have it in its +power thus to delay so much worldly pomp and vanity. + +On another occasion, when they had journeyed for a whole day without any +such fanciful interruptions, and the courtiers began to think that they +would reach the imperial city at last, the duke decided to turn aside +several long leagues out of their course, to visit the grave of a great +poet whose songs were one of the chief glories of his land. + +"I may have no other opportunity to do him honor," said the duke. + +And when his advisers ventured to protest, and even to murmur, urging +the increasing jeopardy of his crown, he gently admonished them: + +"Poets are greater than kings," he said, "and what is my poor crown +compared with that crown of laurel which he wears forever among the +immortals?" + +There was no one found to agree with this except the good priest, and +one other, a poor poet who had somehow been included in the train, but +whom few regarded. The priest kept his thoughts to himself, but the poet +created some amusement by openly agreeing with the duke. + +But, of course, the royal will had to be accepted with such grace as the +courtiers could find to hide their discontented--and even, in the case +of some, their disaffected--hearts; for some of them, at this new whimsy +of the duke's, secretly sent messengers to the would-be usurper +promising him their allegiance and support. + +So, at length, after a day's journey, the peaceful valley was reached +where the poet lay at rest among the simple peasants whom he had +loved--kindly folk who still carried his songs in their hearts, and sang +them at evening to their babies and sweethearts, and each day brought +flowers to his green, bird-haunted grave. + +When the duke came and bowed his head in that quiet place, carrying in +his hands a wreath of laurel, his heart was much moved by their simple +flowers lying there, fresh and glittering, as with new-shed tears; and, +as he reverently knelt and placed the wreath upon the sleeping mound, he +said aloud, in the humility of his great heart: + +"What is such an offering as mine, compared with these?" + +And a picture came to him of the peaceful valley he had left behind, and +of the simple folk he loved who were his friends, and more and more his +heart missed them, and less and less it rejoiced at the journey still +before him, and still more foolish seemed his crown. + +So, with a great sigh, he rose from the poet's grave, and gave word for +the carriages once more to move along the leafy lanes. + +And, to the great satisfaction of the courtiers, the duke delayed them +no more, for his heart grew heavier within him, and he sat with his head +on his breast, speaking little even to his dear friend the priest, who +rode with him, and scarcely looking out of the windows of his carriage, +for any wonder of the way. + +At length the broad walls and towers of the city came in sight,--a city +set in a fair land of meadow and stream. The morning sun shone bright +over it, and the priest, looking up, perceived how it glittered upon a +great building of many white towers, whose gilt pinnacles gleamed like +so many crowns of gold. + +"Look, your Majesty," he said, with a sad attempt at gaiety, "yonder is +your palace." + +And the duke looked up from a deep reverie, and saw his palace, and +groaned aloud. + +But presently there came a sad twinkle in his sad eyes, as he descried +another building of many peaks and pinnacles glittering in the sun. + +"Look up, my Lord Archbishop," he said, turning to his friend, "yonder +is _your_ palace." + +And as the good priest looked, his face was all sorrow, and the tears +overflowed his eyes, as he thought of the simple souls once in his +keeping, in his parish far away. + +But presently the king, looking again toward the palace, descried a flag +floating from one of the towers, covered with heraldic devices. + +As he looked, it seemed that ten years of weariness fell from his face, +and a great joy returned. + +"Look," he said, almost in a whisper, to the priest, "those are not my +arms!..." + +The priest looked, and then looked again into the duke's eyes, and ten +years of weariness fell from his face also, and a great joy returned. + +"Thank God! we are saved," the duke and the priest exclaimed together, +and fell laughing upon each other's shoulders. For the arms floating +from the tower of the palace were the arms of the usurper, and the king +that cared not to be a king had lost his kingdom. + +And, while they were still rejoicing together, there came the sound of +many horsemen from the direction of the city, a cavalcade of many +glittering spears. The duke halted his train to await their coming, and +when they had arrived where the duke was, a herald in cloth of gold +broke from their ranks and read aloud from a great parchment many +sounding words--the meaning of which was that the good Duke Stanislaus +had been deposed from his kingdom, and that the High and Mighty Prince, +the usurper, reigned in his stead. + +When the herald had concluded the duke's voice was heard in reply: + +"It is well--it is very well!" he said. "Gather yonder white flower and +take it back to your master, and say that it is the white flower of +peace betwixt him and me." + +And astonishment fell on all, and no one, of course, except the priest, +understood. All thought that the good duke had lost his wits, which, +indeed, had been the growing belief of his courtiers for some time. + +But the herald gathered the white flower and carried it back to the +city, with sound of many trumpets. Need one say that the usurper least +of all understood? + +With the herald went all the gilded coaches and the fine ladies and +gentlemen, complaining sadly that they had had such a long and tedious +journey to no purpose, and hastening with all speed to take their +allegiance to the new king. + +The duke's own people alone remained with him, and, when all the rest +had gone, the duke gave orders for the horses' heads to be turned +homeward, to the green valley in which alone he cared to be a king. + +"Back to the bees and the books and the kind country hearts," cried the +duke to his friend. + +"Back to the little church among the quiet trees," added the priest, who +had cared as little for an archbishop's miter as the duke for a kingly +crown. + +Since then the duke had been left to hive his bees in peace, and it may +be added that he has never been known to lose his temper again. + + + + +THE STOLEN DREAM + + +The sun was setting, and slanting long lanes of golden light through the +trees, as an old man, borne done by a heavy pack, came wearily through +the wood, and at last, as if worn out with the day's travel, +unshouldered his burden and threw himself down to rest at the foot of a +great oak-tree. He was very old, older far he seemed than the tree under +whose gnarled boughs he was resting, though that looked as if it had +been growing since the beginning of the world. His back was bent as with +the weight of years, though really it had become so from the weight of +the pack that he carried; his cheeks were furrowed like the bark of a +tree, and far down upon his breast fell a beard as white as snow. But +his deep-set eyes were still bright and keen, though sly and cruel, and +his long nose was like the beak of a hawk. His hands were like roots +strong and knotted, and his fingers ended in talon-like nails. In +repose, even, they seemed to be clutching something, something they +loved to touch, and would never let go. His clothes were in rags and his +shoes scarce held to his feet. He seemed as abjectly poor as he was +abjectly old. + +Presently, when he had rested awhile, he turned to his pack, and, +furtively glancing with his keen eyes up and down the wood, to make sure +that he was alone, he drew from it a sack of leather which was evidently +of great weight. Its mouth was fastened by sliding thongs, which he +loosened with tremulous, eager hands. First he took from the bag a +square of some purple silk stuff, which he spread out on the turf beside +him, and then, his eyes gleaming with a wild light, he carefully poured +out the contents of the bag on to the purple square, a torrent of gold +and silver coins and precious stones flashing like rainbows--a king's +treasure. The setting sun flashed on the glittering heap, turning it +into a dazzle of many-colored fire. The treasure seemed to light up the +wood far and near, and the gaudy summer flowers, that a moment before +had seemed so bright and splendid, fell into shadow before its radiance. + +The old man bathed his claw-like hands in the treasure with a ghoulish +ecstasy, and let the gold and silver pour through his fingers over and +over again, streams of jeweled light gleaming and flashing in the level +rays of the sun. As he did so, he murmured inarticulately to himself, +gloating and gurgling with a lonely, hideous joy. + +Suddenly a look of fear came over his face; he seemed to hear voices +coming up the wood, and, huddling his treasure swiftly back again into +the leathern bag, and the bag into the folds of his pack, he rose and +sought some bushes near by to hide himself from the sight of whomsoever +it was that approached. But, as he shouldered his pack, he half +staggered, for the pack was of great weight and he heaved a deep sigh. + +"It grows heavier and heavier," he muttered. "I cannot carry it much +longer. I shall never be able to carry it with me to the grave." + +As he disappeared among the bushes, a young man and a young woman, with +arms twined round each other, came slowly up the glade and presently sat +down at the foot of the tree where the old man had been resting a moment +or two before. + +"Why, what is this?" presently exclaimed the young girl, picking up +something bright out of the grass. It was a gold coin, which, in his +haste, the old man had let slip through his fingers. + +"Gold!" they both exclaimed together. + +"It will buy you a new silk gown," said the lover. "Who ever heard of +such luck?" And then he sighed. + +"Ah! dear heart," he said, "if only we had more like that! Then we could +fulfil our dream." + +As the sun poured its last rays over them there at the foot of the oak, +it was to be seen that they were very poor. Their clothes were old and +weather-stained, and they had no shoes to their feet; but the white feet +of the girl shone like ivory flowers in the grass, and her hair was a +sheaf of ruddy gold. Nor was there a jewel in all the old man's treasure +as blue as her eyes. And the young man, in his manly fashion, was no +less brave and fair to look upon. + +In a little while they turned to a poor wallet at the young man's side. +"Let us eat our supper," they said. + +But there was little more than a crust or two, a few morsels of cheese, +and a mouthful or two of sour wine. Still, they were accustomed to being +hungry, and the thought of the gold coin cheered their hearts. So they +grew content, and after a while they nestled close into each other's +arms and fell asleep, while slowly and softly through the woods came the +light of the moon. + +Now all this time the old man had lain hidden, crouched down among the +bushes, afraid almost to draw his breath, but from where he was he could +hear and see all, and had overheard all that had been said. At length, +after the lovers had been silent for a long time, he took courage to +peer out from his hiding-place, and he saw that they were asleep. He +would wait a little longer, though, till their sleep was sounder, and +then he might be able perhaps to creep away unheard. So he waited on, +and the moon grew brighter and brighter, and flooded the woods with its +strange silver. And the lovers fell deeper and deeper asleep. + +"It will be safe now," said the old man, half rising and looking out +from his bushes. But this time, as he looked out, he saw something, +something very strange and beautiful. + +Hovering over the sleeping lovers was a floating, flickering shape that +seemed made of moonbeams, with two great shining stars for its eyes. It +was the dream that came nightly to watch over the sleep of the lovers; +and, as the miser gazed at it in wonder, a strange change came over his +soul, and he saw that all the treasure he had hoarded so long--gathered +by the cruel practices of years, and with carrying which about the world +his back had grown bent--was as dross compared with this beautiful +dream of two poor lovers, to whom but one of all his gold pieces had +seemed like a fortune. + +"What, after all, is it to me but a weary burden my shoulders grow too +old to carry," he murmured, "and for the sake of which my life is in +danger wherever I go, and to guard which I must hide away from the eyes +of men?" + +And the longer he gazed on the fair, shining vision, the more the +longing grew within him to possess it for himself. + +"They shall have my treasure in exchange," he said to himself, +approaching nearer to the sleepers, treading softly lest he should +awaken them. But they slept on, lost in the profound slumber of innocent +youth. As he drew near, the dream shrank from him, with fear in its +starry eyes; but it seemed the more beautiful to the old man the closer +he came to it and saw of what divine radiance it was made; and, with his +desire, his confidence grew greater. So, softly placing his leather bag +in the flowers by the side of the sleepers, he thrust out his talon-like +fingers and snatched the dream by the hand, and hurried away, dragging +it after him down the wood, fearfully turning now and again to see that +he was not pursued. + +But the sleepers still slept on, and by morning the miser was far away, +with the captive dream by his side. + +As the earliest birds chimed through the wood, and the dawn glittered on +the dewy flowers, the lovers awoke and kissed each other and laughed in +the light of the new day. + +"But what is this?" cried the girl, and her hands fell from the pretty +task of coiling up the sunrise of her hair. + +With a cry they both fell upon the leather bag, lying there so +mysteriously among the wood-lilies in the grass. With eager fingers they +drew apart the leather thongs, and went half-mad with wonder and joy as +they poured out the glittering treasure in the morning sun. + +"What can it all mean?" they cried. "The fairies must have been here in +the night." + +But the treasure seemed real enough. The jewels were not merely dewdrops +turned to diamonds and rubies and amethysts by the magic beams of the +sun, nor was the gold mere gold of faerie, but coins bearing the image +of the king of the land. Here were real jewels, real gold and silver. +Like children, they dabbled their hands in the shining heap, tossing +them up and pouring them from one hand to the other, flashing and +shimmering in the morning light. + +Then a fear came on them. + +"But folk will say that we have stolen them," said the youth; "they will +take them from us, and cast us into prison." + +"No, I believe some god has heard our prayer," said the girl, "and sent +them down from heaven in the night. He who sent them will see that we +come to no harm." + +And again they fell to pouring them through their fingers and babbling +in their delight. + +"Do you remember what we said last night when we found the gold piece?" +said the girl. "If only we had more of them! Surely our good angel heard +us, and sent them in answer." + +"It is true," said the young man. "They were sent to fulfil our dream." + +"Our poor starved and tattered dream!" said the girl. "How splendidly we +can clothe and feed it now! What a fine house we can build for it to +live in! It shall eat from gold and silver plate, and it shall wear +robes of wonderful silks and lawns like rainbows, and glitter with +jewels, blue and yellow and ruby, jewels like fire fountains and the +depths of the sea." + +But, as they spoke, a sudden disquietude fell over them, and they looked +at each other with a new fear. + +"But where _is_ our dream?" said the girl, looking anxiously around. And +they realized that their dream was nowhere to be seen. + +"I seemed to miss it once in the night," answered the young man in +alarm, "but I was too sleepy to heed. Where can it be?" + +"It cannot be far away," said the girl. "Perhaps it has wandered off +among the flowers." + +But they were now thoroughly alarmed. + +"Where can it have gone?" they both cried. And they rose up and ran to +and fro through the wood, calling out aloud on their dream. But no voice +came back in reply, nor, though they sought high and low in covert and +brake, could they find a sign of it anywhere. Their dream was lost. Seek +as they might, it was nowhere to be found. + +And then they sat down by the treasure weeping, forgetting it all in +this new sorrow. + +"What shall we do?" they cried. "We have lost our dream." + +For a while they sat on, inconsolable. Then a thought came to the girl. + +"Some one must have stolen it from us. It would never have left us of +its own accord," said she. + +And, as she spoke, her eyes fell on the forgotten treasure. + +"What use are these to us now, without our dream?" she said. + +"Who knows?" said the young man; "perhaps some one has stolen our dream +to sell it into bondage. We must go and seek it, and maybe we can buy it +back again with this treasure." + +"Let us start at once," said the girl, drying her tears at this ray of +hope; and so, replacing the treasure in the bag, the young man slung it +at the end of his staff, and together they set off down the wood, +seeking their lost dream. + +Meanwhile, the old man had journeyed hastily and far, the dream +following in his footsteps, sorrowing; and at length he came to a fair +meadow, and by the edge of a stream he sat down to rest himself, and +called the dream to his side. + +The dream shone nothing like so brightly as in the moonlit woodland, and +its eyes were heavy as with weeping. + +"Sing to me," said the old man, "to cheer my tired heart." + +"I know no songs," said the dream, sadly. + +"You lie," said the old man. "I saw the songs last night in the depths +of your eyes." + +"I cannot sing them to you," said the dream. "I can only sing them to +the simple hearts I made them for, the hearts you stole me from." + +"Stole you!" said the old man. "Did I not leave my treasure in +exchange?" + +"Your treasure will be nothing to them without me," said the dream. + +"You talk folly," said the old man. "With my treasure they can buy other +dreams just as fair as you are. Do you think that you are the only dream +in the world? There is no dream that money cannot buy." + +"But I am their own dream. They will be happy with no other," said the +dream. + +"You shall sing to me, all the same," said the old man, angrily. But the +dream shrank from him and covered its face. + +"If I sang to you, you would not understand. Your heart is old and hard +and cruel, and my songs are all of youth and love and joy." + +"Those are the songs I would hear," said the old man. + +"But I cannot sing them to you, and if I sang them you could not hear." + +"Sing," again cried the old man, harshly; "sing, I bid you." + +"I can never sing again," said the dream. "I can only die." + +And for none of the old man's threats would the dream sing to him, but +sat apart, mourning the loved ones it had lost. + +So several days passed by, and every day the dream was growing less +bright, a creature of tears and sighs, more and more fading away, like a +withering flower. At length it was nothing but a gray shadow, a weary +shape of mist that seemed ready to dissolve and vanish at any breath of +wind. No one could have known it for that radiant vision that had +hovered shimmering with such a divine light over the sleep of the +lovers. + +At length the old man lost patience, and began to curse himself for a +fool in that he had parted with so great a treasure for this worthless, +whimpering thing. And he raved like a madman as he saw in fancy all the +gold and silver and rainbow-tinted jewels he had so foolishly thrown +away. + +"Take me back to them," said the dream, "and they will give you back +your treasure." + +"A likely thing," raged the old man, "to give back a treasure like that +for such a sorry phantom." + +"You will see," said the dream. + +As there was nothing else to be done, the old man took up his staff. + +"Come along, then," said he, and started off in the direction of the +wood, and, though it was some days' journey, a glow flushed all through +the gray shape of the dream at the news, and its eyes began to shine +again. + +And so they took their way. + +But meanwhile the two lovers had gone from village to village, and city +to city, vainly asking news of their dream. And to every one they asked +they showed their treasure and said: + +"This is all yours if you can but give us back our dream." + +But nowhere could they learn any tidings, but gleaned only mockery and +derision. + +"You must be mad," said some, "to seek a dream when you have all that +wealth in your pack. Of what use is a dream to any one? And what more +dream do you want than gold and precious stones?" + +"Ah! our dream," said the lovers, "is worth all the gold and jewels in +the world." + +Sometimes others would come, bringing their own dreams. + +"Take this," they would say, "and give us your treasure." + +But the lovers would shake their heads sadly. + +"No, your dreams are not so beautiful as ours. No other dream can take +its place. We can only be happy with our own dream." + +And, indeed, the dreams that were brought to them seemed poor, pitiful, +make-believe things, often ignoble, misbegotten, sordid, and cruel. To +the lovers they seemed not dreams at all, but shapes of greed and +selfish desire. + +So the days passed, bringing them neither tidings nor hope, and there +came at length an evening when they turned their steps again to the +woodland, and sat down once more under the great oak-tree in the sunset. + +"Perhaps our dream has been waiting for us here all the time," they +said. + +But the wood was empty and echoing, and they sat and ate their supper as +before, but silently and in sorrow, and as the sun set they fell asleep +as before in each other's arms, but with tears glittering on their +eyelids. + +And again the moon came flooding the spaces of the wood, and nothing was +heard but their breathing and the song of a distant nightingale. + +But presently while they slept there was a sound of stealthy footsteps +coming up the wood. + +It was the old man, with the dream shining by his side, and ever and +anon running ahead of him in the eagerness of its hope. Suddenly it +stopped, glowing and shimmering like the dancing of the northern +lights, and placed a starry finger on its lips for silence. + +"See," it whispered, and there were the lovers, lying lost in sleep. + +But the old man's wolfish eyes saw but one thing. There lay the leather +bag of his treasure just as he had left it. Without a word, he snatched +it up and hastened off with it down the wood, gurgling uncouthly to +himself. + +"Oh, my beauties!" he cried, as he sat himself down afar off and poured +out the gold and the silver and the gleaming stones into the moonlight. +"Oh, my love, my life, and my delight! What other dream could I have but +you?" + +Meanwhile, the lovers stirred in their sleep, and murmured to each +other. + +"I seemed to hear singing," each said. + +And, half opening their eyes, they saw their dream shining and singing +above them in the moonbeams, lovelier than ever before, a shape of +heavenly silver, with two stars for its eyes. + +"Our dream has come back!" they cried to each other. "Dear dream, we had +to lose you to know how beautiful you are!" + +And with a happy sigh they turned to sleep again, while the dream kept +watch over them till the dawn. + + + + +THE STERN EDUCATION OF CLOWNS + + +A clown out of work for many weeks had trudged the country roads, +footsore and hungry, vainly seeking an engagement. At length, one +afternoon, he arrived at a certain village and spied the canvas tent and +the painted wagons of a traveling circus. This sight put a pale hope +into his sad heart, and he approached the tent as bravely as he could to +find the proprietor of the show. Sad as was his heart, his face looked +sadder; and he did not, it is to be feared, make a very impressive +appearance, as at last he found the proprietor sitting on the side of +the sawdust ring, eating lunch with the Columbine. The circus proprietor +was large and swarthy and brutal to look on, and his sullen, cruel eyes +looked sternly at the little clown, who, between a sad heart and a +long-empty stomach, had very little courage left in his frame. + +"Well!" roared the proprietor. "What is it?" + +The little clown explained his profession and his need of an engagement; +and stood there, hat in hand, with tremulous knees. + +The circus proprietor looked at him a long time in contemptuous silence, +and then, with an ugly sneer, said: + +"Have you ever had your heart broken?" + +"Indeed I have," answered the clown. "For to have your heart broken is +part of the business of a clown." + +"How many times?" + +"Six." + +"Not enough," answered the proprietor, roughly, turning again to his +lunch with the Columbine. "Get it broken again and come back; then +perhaps we can talk business." + +And the little clown went away; but he had hardly gone a few yards +before his heart broke for the seventh time--because of the bitterness +of the world. + +Yet, being wise, he waited a day or two, living as best he could along +the country roads, and then at length he came back about noon to the +circus, and again the proprietor was eating lunch with the Columbine, +and again he looked up, sullen and sneering, and said: + +"Well?" + +The clown explained that his heart had been broken for the seventh time. + +"Good," said the circus proprietor. "Wait till I have eaten lunch and we +will talk business." + +And the clown sat at the side of the ring, and the proprietor and the +Columbine ate and laughed as if he were not there. + +At length, finishing a tankard of ale, and wiping his mouth on the back +of his hand, the circus proprietor arose and beckoned the clown to come +to him. + +At the same time he took a long ringmaster's whip, and the Columbine +took one end of a skipping-rope, while he held the other. + +"Now," said the circus proprietor, "while we twirl the skipping-rope you +are to dance over it, and at the same time I will lash your shins with +this whip; and if, as you skip over the rope, you can laugh and +sing--like a child dancing on blue flowers in a meadow--I will give +you"--the proprietor hesitated a moment--"six dollars a week." + +So it was that the clown at last got an engagement. + + +THE END + + + Transcriber's note: + + _Underscores_ have been used to indicate _italic_ fonts. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Maker of Rainbows, by Richard Le Gallienne + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41921 *** |