Twilight Land
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Howard Pyle >> Twilight Land
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"I shall lose no time," said the Genie; and in a moment was gone.
The king was sitting in council with all of the greatest lords of
the land gathered about him, for the Emperor of India had
declared war against him, and he and they were in debate,
discussing how the country was to be saved. Just then Abdallah's
ambassador arrived, and when he and his train entered the
council-chamber all stood up to receive him, for the least of
those attendant upon him was more magnificently attired than the
king himself, and was bedecked with such jewels as the royal
treasury could not match.
Kneeling before the king, the ambassador touched the ground with
his forehead. Then, still kneeling, he unrolled a scroll, written
in letters of gold, and from it read the message asking for the
princess to wife for the Lord Abdallah.
When he had ended, the king sat for a while stroking his beard
and meditating. But before he spoke the oldest lord of the
council arose and said: "O sire! If this Lord Abdallah who asks
for the princess for his wife can send such a magnificent company
in the train of his ambassador, may it not be that he may be able
also to help you in your war against the Emperor of India?"
"True!" said the king. Then turning to the ambassador: "Tell your
master," said he, "that if he will furnish me with an army of one
hundred thousand men, to aid me in the war against the Emperor of
India, he shall have my daughter for his wife."
"Sire," said the ambassador, "I will answer now for my master,
and the answer shall be this: That he will help you with an army,
not of one hundred thousand, but of two hundred thousand men. And
if to-morrow you will be pleased to ride forth to the plain that
lieth to the south of the city, my Lord Abdallah will meet you
there with his army." Then, once more bowing, he withdrew from
the council-chamber, leaving all them that were there amazed at
what had happened.
So the next day the king and all his court rode out to the place
appointed. As they drew near they saw that the whole face of the
plain was covered with a mighty host, drawn up in troops and
squadrons. As the king rode towards this vast army, Abdallah met
him, surrounded by his generals. He dismounted and would have
kneeled, but the king would not permit him, but, raising him,
kissed him upon the cheek, calling him son. Then the king and
Abdallah rode down before the ranks and the whole army waved
their swords, and the flashing of the sunlight on the blades was
like lightning, and they shouted, and the noise was like the
pealing of thunder.
Before Abdallah marched off to the wars he and the princess were
married, and for a whole fortnight nothing was heard but the
sound of rejoicing. The city was illuminated from end to end, and
all of the fountains ran with wine instead of water. And of all
those who rejoiced, none was so happy as the princess, for never
had she seen one whom she thought so grand and noble and handsome
as her husband. After the fortnight had passed and gone, the army
marched away to the wars with Abdallah at its head.
Victory after victory followed, for in every engagement the
Emperor of India's troops were driven from the field. In two
months' time the war was over and Abdallah marched back again--the greatest general in the world.
But it was no longer as
Abdallah that he was known, but as the Emperor of India, for the
former emperor had been killed in the war, and Abdallah had set
the crown upon his own head.
The little taste that he had had of conquest had given him an
appetite for more, so that with the armies the Genie provided him
he conquered all the neighboring countries and brought them under
his rule. So he became the greatest emperor in all the world;
kings and princes kneeled before him, and he, Abdallah, the
fagot-maker, looking about him, could say: "No one in all the
world is so great as I!"
Could he desire anything more?
Yes; he did! He desired to be rid of the Genie!
When he thought of how all that he was in power and might--he,
the Emperor of the World--how all his riches and all his glory
had come as gifts from a hideous black monster with only one eye,
his heart was filled with bitterness. "I cannot forget," said he
to himself, "that as he has given me all these things, he may
take them all away again. Suppose that I should lose my ring and
that some one else should find it; who knows but that they might
become as great as I, and strip me of everything, as I have
stripped others. Yes; I wish he was out of the way!"
Once, when such thoughts as these were passing through his mind,
he was paying a visit to his father-in-law, the king. He was
walking up and down the terrace of the garden meditating on these
matters, when, leaning over a wall and looking down into the
street, he saw a fagot-maker--just such a fagot-maker as he
himself had one time been--driving an ass--just such an ass as he
had one time driven. The fagot-maker carried something under his
arm, and what should it be but the very casket in which the Genie
had once been imprisoned, and which he--the one-time fagot-maker--had seen the Genie kick over the
tree-tops.
The sight of the casket put a sudden thought into his mind. He
shouted to his attendants, and bade them haste and bring the
fagot-maker to him. Off they ran, and in a little while came
dragging the poor wretch, trembling and as white as death; for he
thought nothing less than that his end had certainly come. As
soon as those who had seized him had loosened their hold, he
flung himself prostrate at the feet of the Emperor Abdallah, and
there lay like one dead.
"Where didst thou get yonder casket?" asked the emperor.
"Oh, my lord!" croaked the poor fagot-maker, "I found it out
yonder in the woods."
"Give it to me," said the emperor, "and my treasurer shall count
thee out a thousand pieces of gold in exchange."
So soon as he had the casket safe in his hands he hurried away to
his privy chamber, and there pressed the red stone in his ring.
"In the name of the red Aldebaran, I command thee to appear!"
said he, and in a moment the Genie stood before him.
"What are my lord's commands?" said he.
"I would have thee enter this casket again," said the Emperor
Abdallah.
"Enter the casket!" cried the Genie, aghast.
"Enter the casket."
"In what have I done anything to offend my lord?" said the Genie.
"In nothing," said the emperor; "only I would have thee enter the
casket again as thou wert when I first found thee."
It was in vain that the Genie begged and implored for mercy, it
was in vain that he reminded Abdallah of all that he had done to
benefit him; the great emperor stood as hard as a rock--into the
casket the Genie must and should go. So at last into the casket
the monster went, bellowing most lamentably.
The Emperor Abdallah shut the lid of the casket, and locked it
and sealed it with his seal. Then, hiding it under his cloak, he
bore it out into the garden and to a deep well, and, first making
sure that nobody was by to see, dropped casket and Genie and all
into the water.
Now had that wise man been by--the wise man who had laughed so
when the poor young fagot-maker wept and wailed at the
ingratitude of his friend--the wise man who had laughed still
louder when the young fagot-maker vowed that in another case he
would not have been so ungrateful to one who had benefited him --
how that wise man would have roared when he heard the casket
plump into the waters of the well! For, upon my word of honor,
betwixt Ali the fagot-maker and Abdallah the Emperor of the World
there was not a pin to choose, except in degree.
Old Ali Baba's pipe had nearly gone out, and he fell a puffing at
it until the spark grew to life again, and until great clouds of
smoke rolled out around his head and up through the rafters
above.
"I liked thy story, friend," said old Bidpai--"I liked it
mightily much. I liked more especially the way in which thy
emperor got rid of his demon, or Genie."
Fortunatus took a long pull at his mug of ale. "I know not," said
he, "about the demon, but there was one part that I liked much,
and that was about the treasures of silver and gold and the
palace that the Genie built and all the fine things that the poor
fagot-maker enjoyed." Then he who had once carried the magic
purse in his pocket fell a clattering with the bottom of his
quart cup upon the table. "Hey! My pretty lass," cried he, "come
hither and fetch me another stoup of ale."
Little Brown Betty came at his call, stumbling and tumbling into
the room, just as she had stumbled and tumbled in the Mother
Goose book, only this time she did not crack her crown, but
gathered herself up laughing.
"You may fill my canican while you are about it," said St.
George, "for, by my faith, tis dry work telling a story."
"And mine, too," piped the little Tailor who killed seven flies
at a blow.
"And whose turn is it now to tell a story?" said Doctor Faustus.
" Tis his," said the Lad who fiddled for the Jew, and he pointed
to Hans who traded and traded until he had traded his lump of
gold for an empty churn.
Hans grinned sheepishly. "Well," said he, "I never did have luck
at anything, and why, then, d'ye think I should have luck at
telling a story?"
"Nay, never mind that," said Aladdin, "tell thy story, friend, as
best thou mayst."
"Very well," said Hans, "if ye will have it, I will tell it to
you; but, after all, it is not better than my own story, and the
poor man in the end gets no more than I did in my bargains."
"And what is your story about, my friend?" said Cinderella.
" Tis," said Hans, "about how--
Much shall have more and little shall have less.
Once upon a time there was a king who did the best he could to
rule wisely and well, and to deal justly by those under him whom
he had to take care of; and as he could not trust hearsay, he
used every now and then to slip away out of his palace and go
among his people to hear what they had to say for themselves
about him and the way he ruled the land.
Well, one such day as this, when he was taking a walk, he
strolled out past the walls of the town and into the green fields
until he came at last to a fine big house that stood by the banks
of a river, wherein lived a man and his wife who were very well
to do in the world. There the king stopped for a bite of bread
and a drink of fresh milk.
"I would like to ask you a question," said the king to the rich
man; "and the question is this: Why are some folk rich and some
folk poor?"
"That I cannot tell you," said the good man; "only I remember my
father used to say that much shall have more and little shall
have less."
"Very well," said the king; "the saying has a good sound, but let
us find whether or not it is really true. See; here is a purse
with three hundred pieces of golden money in it. Take it and give
it to the poorest man you know; in a week's time I will come
again, and then you shall tell me whether it has made you or him
the richer."
Now in the town there lived two beggars who were as poor as
poverty itself, and the poorer of the twain was one who used to
sit in rags and tatters on the church step to beg charity of the
good folk who came and went. To him went the rich man, and,
without so much as a good-morning, quoth he: "Here is something
for you," and so saying dropped the purse of gold into the
beggar's hat. Then away he went without waiting for a word of
thanks.
As for the beggar, he just sat there for a while goggling and
staring like one moon-struck. But at last his wits came back to
him, and then away he scampered home as fast as his legs could
carry him. Then he spread his money out on the table and counted
it--three hundred pieces of gold money! He had never seen such
great riches in his life before. There he sat feasting his eyes
upon the treasure as though they would never get their fill. And
now what was he to do with all of it? Should he share his fortune
with his brother? Not a bit of it. To be sure, until now they had
always shared and shared alike, but here was the first great lump
of good-luck that had ever fallen in his way, and he was not for
spoiling it by cutting it in two to give half to a poor beggar-man such as his brother. Not he; he
would hide it and keep it all
for his very own.
Now, not far from where he lived, and beside the river, stood a
willow-tree, and thither the lucky beggar took his purse of money
and stuffed it into a knot-hole of a withered branch, then went
his way, certain that nobody would think of looking for money in
such a hiding-place. Then all the rest of the day he sat thinking
and thinking of the ways he would spend what had been given him,
and what he would do to get the most good out of it. At last came
evening, and his brother, who had been begging in another part of
the town, came home again.
"I nearly lost my hat to-day," said the second beggar so soon as
he had come into the house.
"Did you?" said the first beggar. "How was that?"
"Oh! The wind blew it off into the water, but I got it again."
"How did you get it?" said the first beggar.
"I just broke a dead branch off of the willow-tree and drew my
hat ashore," said the second beggar.
"A dead branch!!"
"A dead branch."
"Off of the willow tree!!"
"Off of the willow tree."
The first beggar could hardly breathe.
"And what did you do with the dead branch after that?"
"I threw it away into the water, and it floated down the river."
The beggar to whom the money had been given ran out of the house
howling, and down to the river-side, thumping his head with his
knuckles like one possessed. For he knew that the branch his
brother had broken off of the tree and had thrown into the water,
was the very one in which he had hidden the bag of money.
Yes; and so it was.
The next morning, as the rich man took a walk down by the river,
he saw a dead branch that had been washed up by the tide.
"Halloo!" says he, "this will do to kindle the fire with."
So he brought it to the house, and, taking down his axe, began to
split it up for kindling. The very first blow he gave, out
tumbled the bag of money.
But the beggar--well, by-and-by his grieving got better of its
first smart, and then he started off down the river to see if he
could not find his money again. He hunted up and he hunted down,
but never a whit of it did he see, and at last he stopped at the
rich man's house and begged for a bite to eat and lodgings for
the night. There he told all his story--how he had hidden the
money that had been given him from his brother, how his brother
had broken off the branch and had thrown it away, and how he had
spent the whole live-long day searching for it. And to all the
rich man listened and said never a word. But though he said
nothing, he thought to himself, "Maybe, after all, it is not the
will of Heaven that this man shall have the money. Nevertheless,
I will give him another trial."
So he told the poor beggar to come in and stay for the night;
and, whilst the beggar was snoring away in his bed in the garret,
the rich man had his wife make two great pies, each with a fine
brown crust. In the first pie he put the little bag of money; the
second he filled full of rusty nails and scraps of iron.
The next morning he called the beggar to him. "My friend," said
he, "I grieve sadly for the story you told me last night. But
maybe, after all, your luck is not all gone. And now, if you will
choose as you should choose, you shall not go away from here
comfortless. In the pantry yonder are two great pies--one is for
you and one for me. Go in and take whichever one you please."
"A pie!" thought the beggar to himself; "does the man think that
a big pie will comfort me for the loss of three hundred pieces of
money?" Nevertheless, as it was the best thing to be had, into
the pantry the beggar went and there began to feel and weigh the
pies, and the one filled with the rusty nails and scraps of iron
was ever so much the fatter and the heavier.
"This is the one that I shall take," said he to the rich man,
"and you may have the other." And, tucking it under his arm, off
he tramped.
Well, before he got back to the town he grew hungry, and sat down
by the roadside to eat his pie; and if there was ever an angry
man in the world before, he was one that day--for there was his
pie full of nothing but rusty nails and bits of iron. "This is
the way the rich always treat the poor," said he.
So back he went in a fume. "What did you give me a pie full of
old nails for?" said he.
"You took the pie of your own choice," said the rich man;
"nevertheless, I meant you no harm. Lodge with me here one night,
and in the morning I will give you something better worth while,
maybe."
So that night the rich man had his wife bake two loaves of bread,
in one of which she hid the bag with the three hundred pieces of
gold money.
"Go to the pantry," said the rich man to the beggar in the
morning, "and there you will find two loaves of bread--one is for
you and one for me; take whichever one you choose."
So in went the beggar, and the first loaf of bread he laid his
hand upon was the one in which the money was hidden, and off he
marched with it under his arm, without so much as saying thank
you.
"I wonder," said he to himself, after he had jogged along awhile--"I wonder whether the rich man is
up to another trick such as he
played upon me yesterday?" He put the loaf of bread to his ear
and shook it and shook it, and what should he hear but the chink
of the money within. "Ah ha!" said he, "he has filled it with
rusty nails and bits of iron again, but I will get the better of
him this time."
By-and-by he met a poor woman coming home from market. "Would you
like to buy a fine fresh loaf of bread?" said the beggar.
"Yes, I would," said the woman.
"Well, here is one you may have for two pennies," said the
beggar.
That was cheap enough, so the woman paid him his price and off
she went with the loaf of bread under her arm, and never stopped
until she had come to her home.
Now it happened that the day before this very woman had borrowed
just such a loaf of bread from the rich man's wife; and so, as
there was plenty in the house without it, she wrapped this loaf
up in a napkin, and sent her husband back with it to where it had
started from first of all.
"Well," said the rich man to his wife, "the way of Heaven is not
to be changed." And so he laid the money on the shelf until he
who had given it to him should come again, and thought no more of
giving it to the beggar.
At the end of seven days the king called upon the rich man again,
and this time he came in his own guise as a real king. "Well,"
said he, "is the poor man the richer for his money?"
"No," said the rich man, "he is not"; and then he told the whole
story from beginning to end just as I have told it.
"Your father was right," said the king; "and what he said was
very true-- Much shall have more and little shall have less.'
Keep the bag of money for yourself, for there Heaven means it to
stay."
And maybe there is as much truth as poetry in this story.
And now it was the turn of the Blacksmith who had made Death sit
in his pear-tree until the cold wind whistled through the ribs of
man's enemy. He was a big, burly man, with a bullet head, and a
great thick neck, and a voice like a bull's.
"Do you mind," said he, "about how I clapped a man in the fire
and cooked him to a crisp that day that St. Peter came travelling
my way?"
There was a little space of silence, and then the Soldier who had
cheated the Devil spoke up. "Why yes, friend," said he, "I know
your story very well."
"I am not so fortunate," said old Bidpai. "I do not know your
story. Tell me, friend, did you really bake a man to a crisp? And
how was it then?"
"Why," said the Blacksmith, "I was trying to do what a better man
than I did, and where he hit the mark I missed it by an ell.
Twas a pretty scrape I was in that day."
"But how did it happen?" said Bidpai.
"It happened," said the Blacksmith, "just as it is going to
happen in the story I am about to tell."
"And what is your story about?" said Fortunatus.
"It is," said the Blacksmith, "about--
Wisdom's Wages and Folly's Pay
Once upon a time there was a wise man of wise men, and a great
magician to boot, and his name was Doctor Simon Agricola.
Once upon a time there was a simpleton of simpletons, and a great
booby to boot, and his name was Babo.
Simon Agricola had read all the books written by man, and could
do more magic than any conjurer that ever lived. But,
nevertheless, he was none too well off in the world; his clothes
were patched, and his shoes gaped, and that is the way with many
another wise man of whom I have heard tell.
Babo gathered rushes for a chair-maker, and he also had too few
of the good things to make life easy. But it is nothing out of
the way for a simpleton to be in that case.
The two of them lived neighbor to neighbor, the one in the next
house to the other, and so far as the world could see there was
not a pin to choose between them--only that one was called a wise
man and the other a simpleton.
One day the weather was cold, and when Babo came home from
gathering rushes he found no fire in the house. So off he went to
his neighbor the wise man. "Will you give me a live coal to start
my fire?" said he.
"Yes, I will do that," said Simon Agricola; "But how will you
carry the coal home?"
"Oh!" said Babo, "I will just take it in my hand."
"In your hand?"
"In my hand."
"Can you carry a live coal in your hand?"
"Oh yes!" said Babo; "I can do that easily enough."
"Well, I should like to see you do it," said Simon Agricola.
"Then I will show you," said Babo. He spread a bed of cold, dead
ashes upon his palm. "Now," said he, "I will take the ember upon
that."
Agricola rolled up his eyes like a duck in a thunder-storm.
"Well," said he, "I have lived more than seventy years, and have
read all the books in the world; I have practised magic and
necromancy, and know all about algebra and geometry, and yet,
wise as I am, I never thought of this little thing."
That is the way with your wise man.
"Pooh!" said Babo; "that is nothing. I know how to do many more
tricks than that."
"Do you?" said Simon Agricola; "then listen: to-morrow I am going
out into the world to make my fortune, for little or nothing is
to be had in this town. If you will go along with me I will make
your fortune also."
"Very well," said Babo, and the bargain was struck. So the next
morning bright and early off they started upon their journey,
cheek by jowl, the wise man and the simpleton, to make their
fortunes in the wide world, and the two of them made a pair. On
they jogged and on they jogged, and the way was none too smooth.
By-and-by they came to a great field covered all over with round
stones.
"Let us each take one of these," said Simon Agricola; "they will
be of use by-and-by"; and, as he spoke, he picked up a great
stone as big as his two fists, and dropped it into the pouch that
dangled at his side.
"Not I," said Babo; "I will carry no stone with me. It is as much
as my two legs can do to carry my body, let along lugging a great
stone into the bargain."
"Very well," said Agricola; " born a fool, live a fool, die a
fool.'" And on he tramped, with Babo at his heels.
At last they came to a great wide plain, where, far or near,
nothing was to be seen but bare sand, without so much as a pebble
or a single blade of grass, and there night caught up with them.
"Dear, dear, but I am hungry!" said Babo.
"So am I," said Simon Agricola. "Let's sit down here and eat."
So down they sat, and Simon Agricola opened his pouch and drew
forth the stone.
The stone? It was a stone no longer, but a fine loaf of white
bread as big as your two fists. You should have seen Babo goggle
and stare! "Give me a piece of your bread, master," said he.
"Not I," said Agricola. "You might have had a dozen of the same
kind, had you chosen to do as I bade you and to fetch them along
with you. Born a fool, live a fool, die a fool,'" said he; and
that was all that Babo got for his supper. As for the wise man,
he finished his loaf of bread to the last crumb, and then went to
sleep with a full stomach and a contented mind.
The next morning off they started again bright and early, and
before long they came to just such another field of stones as
they left behind them the day before.
"Come, master," said Babo, "let us each take a stone with us. We
may need something more to eat before the day is over."
"No," said Simon Agricola; "we will need no stones to-day."
But Babo had no notion to go hungry the second time, so he hunted
around till he found a stone as big as his head. All day he
carried it, first under one arm, and then under the other. The
wise man stepped along briskly enough, but the sweat ran down
Babo's face like drops on the window in an April shower. At last
they came to a great wide plain, where neither stock nor stone
was to be seen, but only a gallows-tree, upon which one poor
wight hung dancing upon nothing at all, and there night caught
them again.
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