“THE RAGPICKER AND THE PRINCESS.”
When I was sixteen years old (said Alb the Fortunate) and my dear Princess Hyla fourteen, the King, her father, sojourned for a time at his castle of Ventamere, beside the sea; and you may be sure that the Princess was with him there, for he could never bear to be parted from her for a single day.
My father followed in the King’s train, and I, on my part, was not to be left behind; and we lodged together, my father and myself, in the town hard by the castle, where I saw the Princess every day, and daily grew in favor with her father.
The windows of the King’s castle looked out across the Great Sea, and beneath the windows of the Princess’s room the tide washed up and down against the wall.
One evening, as it was growing dusk, and the moon was beginning to tinge a wave here and there with silver, the Princess was leaning out from her window and looking across the sea— But what I am now to tell you I did not know at the time, as you will understand, but only later.
Night fell, and still the Princess leaned upon her hand and gazed out across the sea. I do not know whether she was thinking of me, but—However. In the town of Ventamere near by, where the shore curved inward in a bay, lights began to glimmer, but the castle was dark, for the King, intending to commence at daybreak his journey back to his capital, was already a-bed.
The Princess Hears a Voice from the Waves Beneath Her Window
The Princess, beginning to be drowsy, reached out her hand to close the casement of her window; and as she did so she heard a voice, a melancholy voice, not loud, as of a young man singing to himself, directly beneath her window. She started in astonishment and looked down, but she could see no one. The moonlight glittered on the sea to the very base of her wall; there was no foothold anywhere for a human foot; but the voice rose nevertheless from just below her in the restless waters, and it was singing a kind of lament, pausing once to put in a few spoken words, in this wise:
“O quivering seas that sever,
O quivering severing sea!
And I would I could sing forever
The sorrows that sleep in me,—
The soundless sundering sorrows,
The shuddering secret sorrows,
The sorrows secret and soundless,
That sleep in the soul of me.
And O! the vain endeavor!
The silence and the pain!
The silence that now shall never
Sink into the sea again!
(That’s a very good line, though,
about silence sinking into the sea.
It sounds a good deal like real
poetry. Anyway—)
Of such would I sing forever,
And sighing forever sing,
But alas, I never was clever
At all that sort of thing,
And though I would chant forever
By quivering seas that sever
And severing seas that quiver
A ceaseless sorrowing song,
I cannot sing forever,
For that would be too long.”
The Princess waited, and the voice began again. It seemed farther out on the water now, as if the singer were moving out to sea. The words appeared to her to be so strange that she never forgot them, and I am able to repeat them to you precisely as she gave them to me afterward.
“O weary the sea’s commotion,
And weary the sea tides’ fret,
The fretful tides of the ocean
How weary and how wet!
The humid hateful ocean
The hideous heedless ocean,
The ocean huge and humid,
That always will be wet!
(If I could only once get thoroughly
dry, just for a single day! It makes
me weary, the way they go on about a
life on the ocean wave. I only wish
they had to live in it all the time.)
And O! for a seat on the settle
Beside the ingle nook!
And O! for the steaming kettle!
And O! for a human cook!
I hear, on the soft breeze sighing,
The sorrowful soft breeze dying,
I hear, as it sighs and rustles,
The music of bacon frying,
And O, I long to be free!
(If I could only get ashore on two
feet, for just one hour, I know where
I’d go. I know a good warm tavern
where—)
O dear! could I only be free!
For a diet of fish and mussels,
Of cold raw fish and mussels,
Did never agree with me.”
The voice moved off across the sea, and died away in the distance.
“Dear me!” said the Queen. “What an extraordinary song! And so sad, too.”
“Never mind, grandmother,” said Bojohn. “Please let him go on with his story.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” said the Queen, “let the poor man go on with his story. I wonder how he remembers all those words. I’m sure I never could have remembered them. I’ve a very poor memory for songs, myself. It’s different with the King; I declare he never forgets anything. I remember there was a minstrel came to the castle once, and after he was gone the King repeated word for word—”
“Please, grandmother,” said Bojohn.
“What is it, my dear?”
“Solario is waiting to go on with his story.”
“So he is,” said the Queen. “I think it’s a very pretty story indeed. I wonder how it ends!”
“Go on!” cried Bojohn, and Solario proceeded.
The Princess lingered, hoping to hear the voice again, but it came no more. She turned back into her room and lit the lamp which hung from the center of the ceiling. She stood before her mirror, with the lamp at her back, and as she raised her hand to unfasten the pearl necklace which she wore, she glanced at the wall beside the mirror. Her shadow, thrown by the lamp, stood upright against the wall. And at that moment she saw something which caused her to stiffen with terror.
The Princess Sees the Shadow of an Old Woman
Through the crack of her closed door at the right of her shadow, another shadow was oozing in and spreading itself out across the wall toward her own. It took shape, and paused for a moment; it was the shadow of a bent old woman, stooping under a heavy bag, and holding out in one hand a kind of poker with a hook at the end.
The Princess held her breath. The stooping shadow stole slowly along the wall, and touched the Princess’s shadow with its poker. Instantly the Princess’s shadow began to move toward the other, and the other began to back away. The strange shadow reached the door and slipped into the crack; the Princess’s shadow followed, and slipped into the crack after it. They were gone, and only the blank surface of the wall remained.
The Princess tried to move, but she could not stir; she tried to cry out, but she could not speak. She stood there in the lamplight before her mirror, with one hand upraised as if to unfasten her necklace; the minutes passed, and she did not move. She heard the splashing of the tide outside; a clock struck the hour; there was no other sound. Hours passed, and still she stood with hand raised to her neck, before the mirror. She heard the clock strike twelve; and on the twelfth stroke her door swung slowly open.
The shadow of a Ragpicker oozed in through the door
A Midnight Visit from a One-Armed Old Man
In the doorway stood an old man; a spare old man, with long white hair and beard, and bright blue eyes in a rosy face. His blue gown, spangled with silver stars, lacked one sleeve, the right; he had only one arm, and that the left. The Princess felt somehow that she was glad he had come.
He stepped quickly to her side and smiling kindly took down her hand from her neck. She felt a pleasant warmth at his touch, and she sighed with relief. He kept her hand in his, and drew her toward the door. She had no wish to resist him. She followed quietly, and together they passed out of the room into the dark hall....
At daybreak, when the King was ready to depart, there was a great to-do. The Princess was nowhere to be found. Her lamp was still burning, and her bed had not been slept in. The King was beside himself, and the castle was in a turmoil. Searchers were sent in every direction, all the bells in the town were set to ringing, and cryers went about the streets proclaiming a reward.
My father and myself hastened to the castle, and I knelt before the King and begged his special leave to seek the Princess on my own account. I knew nothing, save that she had vanished in the night, but I resolved that I would find her, and I did not doubt of my success.
“Go,” said the King, “and good fortune attend you. If you bring her back, no reward will I refuse you, even to the hand of my dear child herself. Make haste, and do not return alone.”
Alb, Seeking the Princess, Sits Down by the Seashore
All that morning I ran about the town, seeking her in every quarter; but nowhere was any trace of her to be found. I came back in the afternoon to the seashore near the castle, there to ponder what I had best do next. Trudging along a strip of sand under a bluff beside the sea, I came to a large rock which rose up out of the water at the beach’s edge, and climbing up on it I seated myself on a narrow shelf and bared my head to the breeze.
I had sat thus only a moment when I heard a voice from the other side of the rock, a melancholy voice, not loud, as of a young man singing to himself; and it was singing a mournful song, pausing now and then to speak in ordinary tones. I remember the words very well, and they were these.
“I dream in my deep-sea cavern
Of many a bosky copse,
I dream of a cosy tavern
And a couple of mutton chops,—
For even the storks have gruel,
And even the sheep have corn,
But me!—it is too, too cruel!
Alas, that I ever was born.
(It’s too cruel, that’s what it is. It isn’t
right. There’s no justice in it, and I’m
sick of it, that’s what I am.)
O sorrow too deep to utter!
O midnight hour of the soul!
If there only were bread and butter,
Or something warm in a bowl,—
(I don’t care what. I’m so sick of raw
fish, I believe I could even stand stewed
rhubarb.)
O sea, so ceaselessly sloshing,
But it’s utterly useless for washing,
And O! how I yearn for soap.
I seek, in my cavern’s enclosure,
To talk with the fishes, but they,
Maintaining the strictest composure,
Have simply nothing to say.
Proud heart, you are left unheeded
Alone with your grief and your ache,
When all that is really needed
Is just a mere trifle of cake.
(Not fish cake. Not that. Chocolate
cake, three layers, with walnuts on top
and in between.)
Sing on, proud heart, though breaking
With every harmonious strain,
And physic be not worth the taking
For your description of pain,
Sing on, though it be not forever,
Forever and a day,—
(Not that there’s any sense in adding
on a day to forever. It’s long enough,
in all conscience, without that. However—)
I wish I could sing forever
To pass the dull time away;
And could I be endlessly clever
And make me an endless song,
I would sing of my sorrow forever,
I would,—were it not so long.”
The voice gave a great sigh, and the singing ceased.
“I used to make up little rhymes when I was a girl,” said the Queen, “and very pretty little rhymes they were, too, or at least your grandmother, Dorobel, used to say so. But dear me; I never could remember verses, no matter how hard I tried; never.”
“Yes, yes, grandmother,” said Bojohn. “Go on, Solario.”
“Now the King was different; he could remember them, but he couldn’t make them up; and I could make them up, but I couldn’t remember them! Tee-hee-hee! Dear, dear! When I think of it!”
“Grandmother,” said Bojohn, “Solario is waiting to go on.”
“So he is,” said the Queen. “I never liked sad stories when I was a girl, for they always made me cry. But this one may turn out better than I expect. I really think you’re doing very nicely, Solario. I always say, that no matter how poorly one makes out, he ought to be praised if he is doing his best.”
“Go on!” cried Bojohn; and Solario proceeded.
When the singing ceased (said Alb) I climbed noiselessly around the rock to the other side, and looked down.
An Interview with a Talking Seal
A fat seal was lying below me on a ledge of the rock, just out of the water. The creature raised his head, and gazed up at me with his big soft eyes.
“I could have sworn the voice was here,” said I, half aloud.
“Are you speaking to me?” said the seal.
I assure you I jumped in amazement. “What!” said I. “Was it you?”
“Well,” said the seal, “there’s nobody else here, is there?”
“Of all things!” said I. “A talking seal! I never heard of such a—”
“I suppose I haven’t any right to talk. Just because I haven’t any legs, and have to live in a horrible sealskin, I suppose I’m not even to utter a word. Is that it? Oh, yes, I dare say; I suppose so.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend—”
“I suppose not. Anyway, you’d better not stand there quarreling with me all day if you ever expect to find the Princess.”
“Oh! Do you know anything about her? Tell me, quick!”
“Yes, I do. I know a little about her. I know where she is. The Ragpicker’s shadow came last night and fetched away the Princess’s shadow, because the Ragpicker needed the Princess’s shadow to protect her against the people. Everybody is afraid of shadows,—I suppose you know that. And then the One-Armed Sorcerer took away the Princess, and what he’s going to do with her I don’t know. But you’d better find out. Are you ready to go?”
“Yes, yes! I’m ready! I’ll go anywhere! Tell me where!”
“You talk brave enough. The question is, do you act as brave as you talk? Do you mind getting half-drowned?”
“No, no! I mind nothing! Tell me what I must do!”
“Sounds very brave, indeed. Are you afraid of shadows?”
“Of course not!”
“Then you’re the only person in these parts who isn’t. Where you’re going, they’re all afraid of shadows, and that’s how the Ragpicker protects herself against the people; with shadows. And so you’re not afraid of them. Well, well!”
“I’m not afraid of anything! Tell me what to do!”
“So! Pretty brave! All right, I’ll take you there myself. Take off your coat and shoes.”
I took off my shoes, stockings, and coat.
The seal hunched himself down into the water, and lay there with his head resting on the rock.
“Now,” said he, “come down here and lie on my back, and hold on tight; and don’t get in the way of my flippers.”
I hesitated for a moment at the idea of lying down in the water on the back of a seal, but I came down the rock and stretched myself out on his back and clung to him with my arms and legs as well as I could.
A Sea Journey on the Back of a Seal
“Hold on tight,” said the seal, and darted off across the sea so suddenly that I lost my grip and fell off into the water; but he swam under me, and I was soon on his back once more, none the worse.
“What’s the matter?” said the seal. “Haven’t you any strength? I suppose I’ll have to go slower.”
He glided slowly and smoothly over the long swells, and as soon as I got used to it I found that it was really wonderful sport. We followed the shore line quite around the island to its opposite side, and then the seal made straight for the open sea. The shore faded away behind us, and at last it was gone.
Hours passed, and I grew stiff and cold. I slipped off the seal’s back now and then, for the exercise of swimming. It was excessively difficult to hold on to his slippery skin, and I ached so painfully with the strain that I feared at last that I should have to let go for good; and I was about to give up, when I saw afar off on the horizon what looked like land. The seal swam faster. I took new courage, and clung to him tighter.
It was indeed land,—evidently an island; and as we came close to it I could make out in its side a deep cove, backed with dark, woody hills and flanked on either side by rocky cliffs. Fishing boats of all sizes were moored in the cove, and a large village straggled up the hillside behind.
The seal glided into the smooth water between the cliffs, and slid up against the sand of the beach at the foot of the village. It was just twilight.
I jumped to my feet and stretched my numb and aching limbs, gazing with curiosity at the near-by houses. I turned round at the sound of the seal’s voice.
“Can you get me a custard pie?” said the seal.
“What?” said I, in astonishment.
“There’s a pastry cook in the village. I’ll wait for you here. Mince pie’ll do, if they’re out of custard.”
I hastened away into the village, without saying anything more.
The Village of Storks
It was a large village, and there were a good many streets; and before I found the pastry cook’s shop I paused to look at the strange collection of birds which adorned the housetops. On nearly every chimney or ridgepole stood a stork, and on some were two or three, and even more; young storks all of them, judging by their size.
I noticed, as I passed the villagers in the street, that their faces were very sad; and I thought it singular that although I saw many grown people, I met no children, and heard no children’s voices.
The pastry cook, when I found him, proved to have the saddest face of all, and his wife looked as if she had been weeping; and there were on the pastry cook’s housetop no less than five small storks. When I mentioned that I wanted a custard pie for a seal, the pastry cook handed over the pie to me without any appearance of surprise, and without accepting any payment.
I hurried back to the beach, and sat down before the seal and held the custard pie while the hungry creature ate it.
“Did you ever eat raw fish?” said he.
“I should say not,” said I.
“It’s awful,” said the seal. “It’s positively petrifying. You know I wasn’t always a seal. Custard pie always used to do me more good than anything else.”
“Tell me who you are,” said I, “and who the Ragpicker is.”
“There’s no time now,” said the seal. “You’d better be going. The people here would like to kill the Ragpicker if they could, but they’re afraid of the shadows; she’s afraid of the people, and the people are afraid of the shadows; and she’s more afraid of the One-Armed Sorcerer than anybody else, though between you and me I think she’s wrong about it, because he seems to be a pretty decent sort of old chap, and I rather believe he’d like to help her if she wasn’t afraid of him; but of course you can’t help a person who’s afraid of you. All mixed up, isn’t it?”
“I don’t understand a word of it,” said I.
“Brave people are always stupid,” said the seal, and with this he wriggled himself off into the water, and I saw his head going back and forth slowly from side to side across the cove.
I turned and went into the village. It was now nearly dark.
As I came toward the pastry cook’s shop again, the village cryer came walking down the street, ringing a bell, and calling out, over and over again, “Seven o’clock, and time for supper! Seven o’clock, and time for supper!”
As the cryer passed by, the storks flapped their wings and flew down from the housetops, and took their stand in a row before their houses, along the curbs; and wherever a stork stood before a house a woman came out with a bowl in her hand. When I reached the pastry cook’s shop, the pastry cook’s wife was kneeling on the sidewalk before the five little storks, feeding them gruel out of a bowl with a long spoon. I observed that all along the street women were feeding the storks in the same way; but again I noticed that there were no children.
I walked on, watching in every street the feeding of the storks, and looking out for some sign of the Princess. I observed at last a gilded wooden arm and hand holding a lantern, projecting from the front wall of a house a little in advance; and before this house, at the curb, a single stork was standing, and an old man, one-armed, wearing white hair and beard and dressed in a blue gown with silver stars, was sitting before the stork, feeding it with a long spoon from a bowl in his lap. Around the stork’s neck hung a pearl necklace.
Wondering whether I had ever seen that necklace before, I passed behind the old man, and as I did so the stork fixed its eye on me and ruffled its feathers in agitation. I had no sooner gone by than there was a great fluttering among all the storks, and I observed, coming toward me down the street, a bent old woman, stooping under a bulging bag and holding out what appeared to be a poker with a hook at the end. She was ragged and decrepit, and there was a gleam in her eye which seemed to me to be more of terror than anything.
She gazed intently at the stork with the necklace, and then passed on down the street. All the storks, at sight of her, suddenly flew up on to the housetops, and all the people, or nearly all, went hurriedly indoors. As I turned to follow her with my eyes, I saw that the stork with the necklace was perched up on the ridgepole, and that the old one-armed man was gone.
The Ragpicker Frightens the Men Away with Her Bag
The Ragpicker had reached the next corner, and was about to turn into the street at her right, when a dozen men came hurrying toward her in a group, and she stopped and faced them. They were burly men, and they were plainly angry; they carried cudgels, and one of them carried a rope; they meant to do her harm, without a doubt. They advanced on her, muttering dangerously together, and she stood stock still, waiting. One of the men gave a shout, and they rushed upon her in a body; but quick as a wink the old woman whisked her bag from her shoulder to the ground, and began to open it; and at this the men fell back against each other as if afraid; and as the old woman made again as if to open the bag, the men hesitated, turned about, and actually took to their heels and fled.
The Ragpicker slung her bag upon her back again, turned the corner, and disappeared.
What could be in that bag, I wondered, to make those burly men afraid?
I hurried to the corner, and saw the old woman plodding away toward the end of the street. She did not look around, and I followed her cautiously. She passed beyond the village houses and began to climb a path which wound up the hillside among the rocks.
Keeping carefully out of sight behind her, I saw her stop at last beside a hut which leaned against the side of the hill, and go in at its door. I stole up quietly. There were no windows in the hut, but I thought I might be able to see inside through the roof, which was only a thatch of straw. I could easily reach it from the side of the hill. In a moment I was lying on the roof, and digging away the straw with my fingers.
I worked slowly and noiselessly, and after a time made a hole through which I could look down into the hut. It was dark below, but I could see the old woman stooping down over an opening in the floor, from which she was just raising a trapdoor. She stepped down into the opening and closed the door over her head.
I lost no time in making a hole in the thatch big enough to admit my body; and when I had done so I dropped to the floor, and stood beside the trapdoor. I raised it cautiously and peered down. All was dark below, but I could make out a flight of stone steps. I went down without a sound.
He Follows the Ragpicker Down Into the Dark
At the bottom I got down on my hands and knees and crawled along, touching the side of a wall at my right. The wall ended abruptly, and feeling the ground before me I found that I was on the edge of open space, and I could hear the rushing of water far below. My hand touched the top of a ladder, and I went down it carefully; but after a moment my foot dangled in space, and I nearly fell off; the ladder stopped short, and I clung on desperately. I then climbed to the top again and crawled along toward my left, feeling the edge with my hand until I shortly touched the top of another ladder; and down this ladder, fastened securely against the wall, I went more cautiously than before.
The ladder was long, but I finally found myself on solid ground. Following the wall to the left, I passed around a corner, and as I did so I saw a light.
It was a square patch of light, like the light of a small window, afar off in the darkness. I went down on my hands and knees again and crawled toward it. The ground was unbroken here, and I could now scarcely hear the sound of water. I stopped at last directly beneath the light, and touched a wall. I felt with my left hand what seemed to be a closed door, and I got up slowly on my feet. I was looking into a lighted room through a small square window, without glass, and crossed with iron bars.
A lamp was burning brightly in a bracket on a wall of the room. On the earthen floor, near the center, the old Ragpicker was kneeling before a brazier containing a brisk fire, over which hung an iron pot. Her bag lay on the floor beside her, flat and limp; it was evidently empty.
She Stirs a Steaming Mixture with Her Long Hooked Forefinger
As I watched her, she arose from her knees and went to a door at the rear, and made sure that it was closed tight. She then went to a great heap of rubbish which was piled in one corner, and scratching with her poker amongst the rags, bones, and old iron there, picked out carefully a handful of bones, examining each one minutely. She then took from a shelf a large bottle of some dark liquid, and with this and the bones she returned to the fire. She poured the liquid into the iron pot and dropped in the bones, one by one; and as she did so I observed a thing which I had not discerned before, that what I had thought was a poker held in her hand was in fact a long, black, stiff forefinger, hooked at the end. There was no doubt about it; it was the first finger of her right hand, as stiff as an iron rod, and about a foot and a half long. She stuck it into the steaming pot and stirred the mixture with it, muttering to herself words which I could not understand.
Presently she stopped stirring, and sniffing the contents of the pot nodded her head as if satisfied. She picked up from the ground an iron ladle and a pewter bowl, and ladling the steaming liquid from the pot into the bowl, drank it down, every drop.
She put down the ladle and the bowl, and stood motionless, as if waiting. A change began to come over her. Her back straightened; she grew taller; the wrinkles left her face; her skin became fairer, her eyes larger, her hair longer; and there before my eyes stood a young and beautiful damsel, tall and erect, with dark eyes in a pale face, and two thick braids of brown hair hanging to her waist.
She held up her right hand and looked at it. The long black stiff finger with the hook was still there. She screamed, and burying her face on her left arm shook with sobs. In a moment she raised her head and put away her hideous right hand behind her where she could not see it. Her left hand she placed over her eyes, with a gesture of despair, and as she remained standing in that attitude the hand over her eyes grew old and withered; she began to shrink and stoop, and she moaned to herself. It was plain that the effect of what she had drunk was beginning to wear off. She shuddered, and gave a mournful cry; and in another instant she was the old, bent Ragpicker again.
I drew a long breath. I stood back, for fear that I might be seen, and when I looked again the old woman was standing with her back toward me, facing the closed door at the rear. I noticed now, what I had not noticed before, that she cast no shadow in the lamplight on the floor.
“Skag!” she cried. “Come hither!”
A shadow oozed into the room through the crack of the door, and moved upright across the floor toward the Ragpicker. It was the shadow of a bent old woman, stooping under a bulky bag, and holding out what appeared to be a poker, hooked at the end; the shadow of the old Ragpicker herself. It stood still, not far from the door.
“It’s no use, Skag,” said the old woman to her shadow. “I haven’t found the right bone; but I will find it, yet! I’ll find it yet! Bring in the Princess’s shadow.”
Her own shadow disappeared through the crack in the door, and returned immediately, followed by another. I started, and almost cried out. It was the shadow of a young girl, undoubtedly the Princess, and it stood upright on the floor beside the other.
“Ah!” said the old woman. “Now my shadows are complete. This one is the best and most fearsome of all. Ah, how they fear the shadows! Lucky for me, lucky for me! They’re not afraid of me, but they’re afraid of shadows! This day they would have killed me, but for my bag of shadows. We mustn’t lose them, Skag, we mustn’t lose them.”
She paced about, growing more and more excited, and went on talking as she walked.
“We’re in danger, Skag, we’re in danger. The One-Armed Sorcerer is working against us. He has brought the Princess herself here, to help him against me. What can he mean to do? He means to take away my shadows from me, Skag, it must be that. And he has brought the Princess to help him. And what then? Death, Skag, death; a quick death, for what will the people be afraid of then? We must stop it, Skag, we must stop the sorcerer, and there is only one way. The Princess must be destroyed! To-morrow morning, when the sun shines and the shadows can be seen, I will seek her out and destroy her; and the shadows shall go with me and protect me. Bring in the shadows, Skag.”
The Shadows of the Children
The old woman’s shadow disappeared through the crack again, and immediately returned; and behind it came a shadow, and another, and another; many shadows, all of children, and they moved upright across the floor and stood before the Ragpicker. They were flat as paper and black as ink; and the lamplight did not shine through them. They kept on coming, and the room was soon full of them; hundreds, as it seemed, hundreds of shadows of little children, some so small that they were just beginning to walk. And the shadow of the Princess was the tallest of all.
The Ragpicker pointed at the Princess’s shadow with her long, black rod of a finger, and said, “Into the bag!”
She stooped to her bag and held it open at the floor, and the shadow of the Princess moved to it, crouched, and went in.
“In, all of you!” cried the old woman.
All the shadows crowded around the mouth of the bag, and one after another stooped and went in. There was none left but the shadow of the old woman herself. She closed the bag, now bulging, and flinging it over her shoulder she said to her own shadow, “Hither, Skag, and lie down!”
Her shadow moved close to her, and spread itself out on the ground with its feet to hers, growing longer as it did so, so that it became no more than an ordinary shadow cast by the lamplight on the floor.
The old woman went to the lamp and blew out the light, and the room was in darkness, except for the glimmer of the dying fire.
I flattened myself on the ground as the door opened and the old woman came forth with her bag on her back. I could scarcely see her, and in an instant she had disappeared in the darkness.
He Loses His Way in the Dark
I waited a moment or two, and then crawled cautiously in the direction I thought she had taken; but there was nothing but the blackness of deep night all round me, and I could not be sure of my direction. I looked behind me, and I could not see any longer the window I had just left. I had come from the ladder easily enough, but it was plainly a different matter to get back. I crawled on uncertainly, and stopped now and then; I had gone by this time farther than I had come at first, but I found no wall. I must have lost my way. I went on, and found myself going down a slope. I knew that this could not be right, and I changed my course a little; but I was still going down the slope, and I was afraid that I would be utterly lost if I turned back.
The sound of rushing water came to my ears now. The slope grew steeper, and I crawled more cautiously. The sound of water became more distinct. The ground was suddenly slimy, and before I knew it I was slipping down a steep descent, unable to stop myself. I slid and slid, faster and faster, clutching the slimy ground and rolling over and over; and as I was fainting with dizziness I shot off into space, and came down with a splash into a torrent of deep water.
The stream hurled me away. I struggled against it, but it was too swift. It was impossible to swim. I could do no more than keep my head above water, and let the current fling me along into the darkness. Tossed like a leaf, hurled against the walls of the stream, scratched by the edges of rocks, bruised, bleeding, and half-drowned, I almost lost consciousness, and scarcely knew anything more until I felt myself lying on soft sand in shallow water. I looked up, and saw above me a clear sky; the open sea was rolling toward me on a beach, and the moon was glittering on the waves.
I tottered to my feet. I was so weak and sore that I could hardly stand. When I was able to move, I walked forward toward the ocean. The stream which had brought me spread out and lost itself in the sand. At my feet the breakers came rushing up, and a strip of beach lay at my right hand and my left, enclosed at the back and sides by a high cliff. There was no way out except by climbing the cliff. I shouted, hoping that the seal might be out there in the water, but there was no response. I made up my mind that I would have to climb the cliff.
It was a cruel task, for the cliff was steep, and there was scarcely any foothold but an occasional rock and bush; but I never once thought of discouragement, and I stuck to it with all my might. My bare feet and my hands were torn by the rocks, but I kept on, up and up, and in time I stood on the top. I hastened away along the edge of the cliff, and came after a long walk to a place where the cliff turned back shoreward; and there I looked down, and saw the roofs of the village straggling up its hillside behind the cove.
He Hears the Voice of the Seal Again
I lay down and put my head out over the edge of the cliff, and at that moment there came to me from the still water of the cove a faint, sad voice, singing:
“O wonderful pancake batter!
O table and fork and plate!
I wonder whatever’s the matter,
That he keeps me waiting so late?
He said he was willing to serve us
Regardless of danger or pelf,
But I’m getting so dreadfully nervous
I really am scarcely myself.
O why does he loiter and linger
While I wait so sorry and sick?
Let him sever the Ragpicker’s finger
And do it almightily quick.
For then I shall sit at a table,
My napkin over my knees,
And tipple as long as I’m able,
And gobble as long as I please,
With plenty of good hot curry,
And plenty of custard pie,—
If he only would hurry, hurry!
O why does he linger, why?”
The voice stopped, and I rose to my feet and made off across the moonlit fields.
“There used to be a baker at the castle,” said the Queen, “shortly after I was married, who made up a great many very pretty songs. The King used to say that he sang better than he baked. For my part, I was very sorry to lose him. His niece was going to be married in one of our villages, I forget which,—no, I believe it was a cousin; I am almost sure it was his cousin, and I think it was the niece who was looking after his mother while he was here, and she had to go and keep house for the cousin after she was married, and that left his mother all alone; so that he had to go back to his mother, and I always thought he was such a good son to give up his place here at the castle in order to take care of his poor old mother, and I’m sure very few would have done it in his place; but I must say that the next baker was very much better at gingerbread, though he never made up any songs, and I think the King himself missed the first one a good deal afterward, though he never would say so.”
“Go on!” cried Bojohn; and Solario proceeded.
I rose to my feet (said Alb) and made off across the fields. I found a path which wound down to the village, and I was presently standing in the street. All the storks were gone, probably within doors for the night.
I set forth briskly to find the house of the One-Armed Sorcerer. I realized that the stork with the necklace was the Princess herself, and I knew that if she was to be saved from the Ragpicker I must act quickly.
I remembered the gilded wooden arm and hand, holding a lantern, which stood out from the one-armed man’s house, and it was only a matter of time to find it. I found it sooner than I expected. A light was burning dimly in the lantern, but the house was dark. There was no stork upon the housetop. I tried the handle of the door quietly, and to my surprise the door gave before me, and I pushed it open.
He Peeps into the Sorcerer’s Workshop
I found myself in a dark room, which I crossed quickly to a door at the other side. This door I opened on a crack, and through the crack I looked into a lighted room; a small room, evidently a workshop, cluttered about with glass vessels of strange shapes, metal machines of various sorts, wooden hoops curiously interlaced, charts of the skies, and great, brass-bound books; and at one side of the room was a forge and in the center a table.
Before this table was standing the one-armed man whom I had already seen. On the table, the stork with the necklace was lying on its side, perfectly still, and as I looked the old man plucked a feather from the stork’s wing and examined it carefully. He then cast it aside and plucked another, this time from the back. This also he tossed away, after examining it, and he then plucked a feather from the shoulder, and holding it up to the light gave a cry of pleasure, and without turning said, “Come in, Alb, I have been expecting you.”
I stepped into the room, and the old man greeted me with a friendly smile, and held up the feather.
“Do you see this?” said he.
I looked at it closely. At the point of the quill hung a single drop of blood.
The stork on the table stirred uneasily. The sorcerer stroked it gently and said, “Sleep!” and the stork lay perfectly still again.
“Wait a minute,” said the old man. “We must keep this drop from falling off, and we must harden the point of the quill.”
He produced from a closet a metal box, and out of this he took a small glass tube, covered with frost. He held the drop of blood for a moment inside the tube, and then put the tube away in its box.
“Now,” said he, “the drop will not fall off.”
He went to the forge, and blowing up the coals with a pair of bellows, he held the point of the quill for a moment in the fire.
“Now,” said he, “it is as hard as a pin.”
The One-Armed Sorcerer plucked a feather from the stork
“Sir,” said I, “will you tell me what this is for?”
“To save the Ragpicker from herself,” said the sorcerer.
“But it’s the Princess I have come to save,” said I.
“It is the same thing,” said the old man. “If the Ragpicker is saved from herself, everybody else is saved too. And this drop of blood from the Princess’s heart will do it, and nothing else.”
“I have seen the Ragpicker to-night, sir,” said I, “and I will tell you about it.”
“Sit down, my son,” said the old man, and when we were seated I told him all that I had seen and heard in the Ragpicker’s cavern.
The sorcerer shook his head and smiled. “And so she thinks I wish to take away her shadows and let the people kill her! Well, well, it’s the way of wickedness to see nothing but evil. Why should I wish her harm? What I seek to do is to save her, not to destroy her; but she’ll never believe that, because she can’t think straight. Anyway, in trying to do evil she has provided me with the means of making her good.”
“How has she done that?” said I.
“If she hadn’t stolen the Princess’s shadow, I shouldn’t have brought the Princess here; and if I hadn’t brought the Princess here, she wouldn’t now be a stork; and if she hadn’t been turned to a stork I couldn’t have gotten the drop of blood from her heart.”
“Is it true,” said I, “that the Ragpicker protects herself with shadows?”
“Of course! What could protect her better? What else is there to fear, but shadows? I confess I’m more than half afraid of them myself. We all know we shouldn’t be, but we are, just the same. They’re perfectly harmless, but they’re terrible. There’s nothing so real as shadows.”
“But tell me,” said I, “how we are to save the Princess.”
“All in good time,” said the sorcerer; “in the meantime, you must get a little rest, for you have an important task to do in the morning.”
I was tired out, in fact. The sorcerer left me, and I sat beside the sleeping stork, watching it in silence for a long while, and then I surrendered myself to drowsiness, and fell asleep.
When I awoke, it was morning. The stork was gone, and the sorcerer’s hand was on my shoulder.
“Come,” said he, and placed in my hand a tiny bow of thin metal, with a string of fine hair, and showed me how to use the stork’s feather as an arrow to the bow. He then instructed me in what I had to do, and led me out into the street.
The stork which had been a Princess was standing on the curb before the door, and all the other storks were in their places on the housetops. The street was already busy; shops and houses were being opened for the day and many people were outdoors.
He Lies in Wait with a Bow and Arrow
Carrying the stork’s feather and the bow, I went to the next corner, round which on the evening before I had seen the Ragpicker turn up toward her home. I passed this corner, and concealed myself in a doorway just beyond.
I had not long to wait. I had drawn my head back into the doorway for a moment, and when I looked again the Ragpicker was standing at the street crossing with her back toward me, gazing in the direction of the stork which stood before the sorcerer’s door. On her back was her bag, and in her left hand she carried a knife. The people in the street stopped to watch her, muttering together.
“Skag!” said she, “come in!” And she turned sidewise to her shadow, which lay at a great length on the ground before her. It began to shorten toward her, and kept shortening until it was no longer than herself. “Stand up!” said she, and the shadow stood upright beside her, a black, flat image of herself in outline, looking as if it had been cut from stiff, black paper.
The Ragpicker let down the bag from her shoulder and opened it on the ground and said “Come out!” And at this all the people gave a cry of terror and fled into their houses and shut the doors, and all the storks on the housetops fluttered their feathers and flapped their wings.
The Ragpicker Releases the Shadows in the Street
Out of the bag poured shadows; hundreds of them; all the shadows of little children which I had seen go into the bag the night before; and as they poured out, they ran about in the street as if bewildered.
“Skag!” said the Ragpicker. “To the fore!”
The old woman’s shadow hastened to the front of all the others and raised its long poker finger, beckoning them to follow. They crowded behind, and moved noiselessly up the street toward the stork at the sorcerer’s door. The Ragpicker followed close behind, holding her knife up in her left hand. The stork which was the Princess stood motionless on the curb before the door. The sorcerer was not to be seen.
Now was my time for action. I crept silently after the old woman, and came up just behind her. I fitted the feather with its drop of blood to the little bow, and as I approached the old woman so close that I might have touched her, I aimed quickly at her back and let the arrow fly. Straight into her back it darted, and stuck there fast.
“Skag!” she screamed, but she said no more.
Quick as a wink I plucked the feather from her back, and as I did so she turned upon me with her knife uplifted. But she stood suddenly still, her hand relaxed, and the knife fell to the ground. A change came slowly over her. Her back straightened; she grew taller; the wrinkles left her face; her skin became fairer, her eyes larger, her hair longer; and there was standing before me in her place a beautiful young damsel, tall and erect, with dark eyes in a pale face, and two thick braids of brown hair hanging to her waist.
She held up her right hand and looked at it, and gave a cry of joy. The long, black, hooked finger was gone. Her two hands were the shapely white hands of a young woman, without blemish.
“Free!” she cried. “The enchantment is over! I am myself at last! Oh, thanks, young man!” And she threw her arms around me and kissed me soundly on the cheek.
I released myself, awkwardly enough, and as I did so I saw all the shadows up the street fall flat to the ground, as if they had been knocked over by a ball; and they began to slip swiftly away in every direction across the pavement. In an instant Skag, the old Ragpicker’s shadow, lay at the young woman’s feet. She screamed and shrank away, but in another instant the shadow’s shape was changed, and in its place on the ground was the shadow of the young woman herself. She clapped her hands with joy.
A Singular Commotion on the Housetops
The shadows of the children were climbing the walls of the houses; and all of a sudden I heard a great clamor from the housetops, as of hundreds of children crying out together.
“We can’t get down! Oh, I’m falling! Help! I can’t hold on! Oh, Mother! We can’t get down! I’m slipping! I’m going to fall! Hurry! Mother! Come quick!”
I looked up, and there on the housetops, where the storks had been, children were clinging to the chimney pots, straddling the ridgepoles, hanging on to the gables, big children and little children, boys and girls, shrieking out at the top of their voices, and struggling to keep from toppling off into the street. One tiny boy suddenly disappeared down a chimney; a big girl lost her hold and rolled down the roof into a wide leaden gutter, where she hung, half on and half off. Dozens of boys and girls sat astride the ridgepoles, as if riding cockhorses. The big boys began to shout with glee, but the little ones were crying with fright; and at the hubbub all the doors flew open and all the fathers and mothers ran out, and when they saw what it was, a mighty shout went up, and it wasn’t a minute before a ladder stood against every wall, and not more than two minutes before all the children were safe on the ground, hugged up in their mothers’ and fathers’ arms, with such laughing and weeping and cheering as never were, I am sure, in this world before.
“Oh, isn’t it wonderful!” cried the beautiful young woman. “I’m so glad, so glad!”
“The Princess!” I cried. “Look at the Princess!”
The Princess Is Herself Again, but—
She was her own lovely self again, and she was standing at the same place on the curb before the sorcerer’s house, and the sorcerer himself was standing beside her. The young woman and myself ran swiftly to her, and I shouted a joyous greeting as I approached; but to my surprise, she did not reply.
She was standing perfectly motionless, with her eyes wide open, and one hand raised to her neck as if about to unfasten her necklace. On her shoulder, shown by the open neck of her dress, was a tiny spot of blood.
The young woman kissed the sorcerer’s hand and thanked him.
“But the Princess!” I cried. “What is the matter with the Princess?”
The sorcerer shook his head sadly. “Somebody always has to pay for these benefits,” said he, “and I’m afraid that when we plucked the feather we took away something we cannot replace. She cannot move nor speak. But I will set to work, and in time I will—”
“Come!” said the young woman. “I will help her! We must take her home! Come at once!”
The sorcerer and myself lifted the Princess between us and carried her down the street toward the cove. The village people and their children followed us, and stood in a throng on the beach as we got into a boat and hoisted a sail.
“Good-bye!” shouted the people, and the sorcerer and myself waved our hands, none too cheerfully; and at that moment we heard a kind of bark from the water beside the boat, and a voice cried, “Sister!” It was the seal. The young woman leaned down toward him and cried, “Brother!”
“Is everything all right now?” said the seal. “What are you going to do about me?”
His sister raised the Princess and showed him the red mark on the Princess’s shoulder, and told him about the plucking of the stork’s feather. Then the seal’s sister said:
“For once you have done a good deed, brother; and if you’ll do another—you know the promise!—two good deeds!—you will be free too. Go! and do not return until you have brought that which will cure the Princess. The milk of the White Walrus who lives in the Far-Alone Grotto on the Twelfth Ice Floe! Do you understand?”
“It’s a pretty good trip,” said the seal, “and I’ll probably have to fight the walruses. But if you say so, why I suppose— When do you think I’d better start?”
“This instant!” cried his sister. “Off with you! And return to us at the King’s castle at Ventamere.”
“Oh, very well,” said the seal, and dived. He came up again at the mouth of the cove, making off at a great rate for the open sea....
We reached the King’s castle at Ventamere in the evening, and pressed straightway into the Grand Refectory, where the King was at supper with his court. As we entered, the whole company sprang up, and my father ran toward me.
The King Beholds His Child and Is Grieved
The sorcerer and myself, carrying the Princess, stood her on her feet and supported her thus between us, and the seal’s sister stood beside us.
“My daughter!” cried the King, and rushing toward the Princess with outstretched arms, stopped in amazement as she remained between us as speechless and motionless as a statue.
I whispered rapidly into my father’s ear, and the sorcerer, kneeling before the King, began to explain.
The King paid no attention to him, but placed a hand upon his daughter’s arm and wept.
“My poor child!” he said. “What shall we do now?”
There was a movement at the door. A crowd of the castle people poured into the room, and parting, opened a lane for a young man, a stranger, who advanced rapidly from the door; a very fat young man, with a round, pink face and round, blue eyes, who wore hanging from his shoulders the skin and head of a seal.
“Brother!” cried the seal’s sister.
“Yes,” said the fat young man, “it’s me; and a pretty little time I’ve had among the walruses, I can tell you;” and he bowed low at the same time to the King.
“Have you some business with us, young sir?” said the King.
“Venison steak and hasty pudding,” said the fat young man, with his eye on the supper table. “Oh; I beg your pardon. I am the milk man.”
“Milk? We want no milk here,” said the King.
“It’s for the Princess,” said the fat young man. “To be taken externally. Good for lumbago, rheumatism, sprains, chilblains, strawberry rash—”
“What is this fellow talking about?” said the King, in exasperation.
“Brother!” said the young woman, his sister, fixing him sternly with her eye.
“Rub a little on her shoulder,” said her brother. “Direct from the White Walrus on the Twelfth Ice Floe, and the walruses nearly ate me alive before I got it; but here it is. Excellent for all sorts of skin and blood diseases, as well as—”
“Brother!” said the young woman, sternly.
“I beg your pardon,” said the fat young man; and with a very grand manner he took out of his pocket an oyster shell, and pried it open with a knife from the table. On the lower half of the shell was a spoonful of white liquid.
The Seal Introduces His Liniment, Guaranteed to Cure in All Cases
“Very convenient milk bottle,” said he; and waving the King aside he stepped up to the Princess and went on pompously, as if he were making a speech:
“I will now,” said he, “in the presence of the entire company, and openly before you all, so that you may see that no deception is practised upon you, apply a modicum of my liniment to the shoulder of the young lady, at the point where I perceive a stain of red, rubbing the same in gently thus, with a downward motion of the first two fingers of the right hand, thus, and thus, and thus.”
He poured the white liquid from the shell on to the red spot on the Princess’s shoulder, and rubbed it in gently, talking all the while.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen,” he went on, “I call your attention to the effects of this lotion when properly applied. It is warranted to be very efficacious in all cases of— But see; she lowers her hand; she moves her foot; she speaks; she—”
“Father!” cried the Princess, and threw herself into her father’s arms.
“Hurrah!” I shouted, and all the company cheered, until the rafters rang again.
“Let the castle people retire,” said the King, and he led the Princess to the table, where he seated her at his right hand, wiping his eyes and blowing his nose. When we were all at table, the sorcerer told his tale, and not until he had heard it to the end would the King permit the meal to proceed. I observed that the son of the assistant carol singer was very attentive to the seal’s sister; and as for the fat young man her brother,—during the repast, which lasted a full two hours, he spoke not a word.
At the end the King begged him to relate the story of his enchantment and his sister’s, and he readily consented; whereupon he commenced, without being asked a second time,
THE STORY OF THE TALKING SEAL AND HIS SISTER
“You must know,” he began—
“I am very sorry,” said the Princess Dorobel, interrupting, “but it is Bojohn’s bedtime, and I fear we shall have to hear this story another time.”
“Oh, mother!” said Bojohn. “I couldn’t go to sleep if I tried. Please don’t—”
“No, my dear,” said the Princess Dorobel, “not to-night. Pray go on with Alb’s story, Solario.”
When the seal’s story was finished (said Alb), the King begged the One-Armed Sorcerer to remain with him as his friend and adviser; and this the sorcerer consented to do.
“And now,” said the King, turning to me, “what reward shall be yours? I will deny you nothing.”
I knelt before him, and made my request boldly. I knew that my whole future hung upon that moment.
“The hand of my lady Princess,” said I, “if she is willing.”
“What do you say, my dear?” said the King.
The Princess said nothing, but turned red as a rose, and buried her head on her father’s shoulder. She was mine! I took her hand in mine and kissed it.
“That’s settled,” said the King. “And you, sir,” said he to the fat young man, “what gift shall I bestow upon you?”
“A little more of the custard pie, if you please,” said the fat young man.
THE FIFTH NIGHT
THE CITY OF DEAD LEAVES
SOLARIO was sitting cross-legged on his worktable, and before him, in a row, sat the Executioner, Bodkin, Bojohn, Prince Bilbo, the Princess Dorobel, and the Queen.
“This time,” said Bojohn, “we want to hear the story of Montesango’s Cave.”
Solario shook his head. “The story is too dreadful altogether,” said he. “I fear you would lie awake all night if—”
“Then tell us about the Roving Griffin,” said Bodkin.
“Or the Blind Giant,” said Bojohn.
“I am very curious myself,” said the Princess Dorobel, “to hear the story of the seal and his sister. What do you say, mother?”
“I remember very well,” said the Queen, dropping her knitting in her lap, “I saw a seal once when I was a young girl, and a very curious creature it was, too, I’m sure. I’ve never forgotten it, because I was on my way to be married to your father,—of course he wasn’t your father then, you know,—and I think the day I saw the seal was the day your father was expected to meet us, or the day before, I can’t be quite certain now, it’s so long ago; and we were waiting for him by the seashore,—but no, we weren’t expecting him on that day, because he had sent a messenger to say that he couldn’t start until all the horses were shod, and the blacksmith was just getting over the measles. I remember that messenger very well; a small, dark man with a beard, by the name of—what was his name? Something like Manniko, or Finnikin,—no, it was Tallboy. That was it. Tallboy. He didn’t stay with the King very long after we were married, because his sister’s youngest boy was taken down with the—”
“Grandmother!” said Bojohn. “Solario is waiting to go on.”
“Dear me,” said the Queen, “so he is. I’m glad I brought my knitting with me to-night.”
“I am sure,” said Prince Bilbo, “we would all be glad to hear about the seal and his sister.”
“Your will is my pleasure,” said Solario, very prettily, “and I will therefore now commence the story of—”
Here there was a sharp cry from outside the room door.
“Let me in!” piped up a voice, loud and sharp as a whistle.
Mortimer the Executioner opened the door, and at first glance there appeared to be no one there. But Bojohn cried out, “It’s the Encourager!” And there, on the sill, was in fact the tiny figure of the Encourager, no taller than a sparrow, carrying his umbrella folded under his arm. He opened the umbrella, and leaping into the air floated up with it to the Executioner’s shoulder, where, folding the umbrella again, he stood bowing to the company.
“Dear me,” said the Queen, “I believe it’s the Encourager of the Interrupter.”
“If there’s anything going on,” piped up the Encourager, in his shrill voice, “I don’t want to be left out!”
“Then sit down, Mortimer,” said Prince Bilbo, “and let the Encourager hear the story too.”
The Executioner seated himself, and the Encourager sat down on the Executioner’s shoulder and gazed solemnly at Solario with his beady black eyes.
“Ahem!” said Solario, clearing his throat and picking up his shears. “I will now, with your majesty’s gracious permission, proceed with the story as it was related to the assembled company at Ventamere by the seal, and by Alb the Fortunate to myself. This, then, is