Twilight Land
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Howard Pyle >> Twilight Land
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"Aha!" said Babo to himself. "This time I shall have bread and my
master none."
But listen to what happened. Up stepped the wise man to the
gallows, and gave it a sharp rap with his staff. Then, lo and
behold! The gallows was gone, and in its place stood a fine inn,
with lights in the windows, and a landlord bowing and smiling in
the doorway, and a fire roaring in the kitchen, and the smell of
good things cooking filling the air all around, so that only to
sniff did one's heart good.
Poor Babo let fall the stone he had carried all day. A stone it
was, and a stone he let fall.
" Born a fool, live a fool, die a fool,'" said Agricola. "But
come in, Babo, come in; here is room enough for two." So that
night Babo had a good supper and a sound sleep, and that is a
cure for most of a body's troubles in this world.
The third day of their travelling they came to farms and
villages, and there Simon Agricola began to think of showing some
of those tricks of magic that were to make his fortune and Babo's
into the bargain.
At last they came to a blacksmith's shop, and there was the smith
hard at work, dinging and donging, and making sweet music with
hammer and anvil. In walked Simon Agricola and gave him good-day.
He put his fingers into his purse, and brought out all the money
he had in the world; it was one golden angel. "Look, friend,"
said he to the blacksmith; "if you will let me have your forge
for one hour, I will give you this money for the use of it."
The blacksmith liked the tune of that song very well. "You may
have it," said he; and he took off his leathern apron without
another word, and Simon Agricola put it on in his stead.
Presently, who should come riding up to the blacksmith's shop but
a rich old nobleman and three servants. The servants were hale,
stout fellows, but the nobleman was as withered as a winter leaf.
"Can you shoe my horse?" said he to Simon Agricola, for he took
him to be the smith because of his leathern apron.
"No," says Simon Agricola; "that is not my trade: I only know how
to make old people young."
"Old people young!" said the old nobleman; "can you make me young
again?"
"Yes," said Simon Agricola, "I can, but I must have a thousand
golden angels for doing it."
"Very well," said the old nobleman; "make me young, and you shall
have them and welcome."
So Simon Agricola gave the word, and Babo blew the bellows until
the fire blazed and roared. Then the doctor caught the old
nobleman, and laid him upon the forge. He heaped the coals over
him, and turned him this way and that, until he grew red-hot,
like a piece of iron. Then he drew him forth from the fire and
dipped him in the water-tank. Phizz! The water hissed, and the
steam rose up in a cloud; and when Simon Agricola took the old
nobleman out, lo and behold! He was as fresh and blooming and
lusty as a lad of twenty.
But you should have seen how all the people stared and goggled!--Babo and the blacksmith and the
nobleman's servants. The
nobleman strutted up and down for a while, admiring himself, and
then he got upon his horse again. "But wait," said Simon
Agricola; "you forgot to pay me my thousand golden angels."
"Pooh!" said the nobleman, and off he clattered, with his
servants at his heels; and that was all the good that Simon
Agricola had of this trick. But ill-luck was not done with him
yet, for when the smith saw how matters had turned out, he laid
hold of the doctor and would not let him go until he had paid him
the golden angel he had promised for the use of the forge. The
doctor pulled a sour face, but all the same he had to pay the
angel. Then the smith let him go, and off he marched in a huff.
Outside of the forge was the smith's mother--a poor old creature,
withered and twisted and bent as a winter twig. Babo had kept his
eyes open, and had not travelled with Simon Agricola for nothing.
He plucked the smith by the sleeve: "Look'ee, friend," said he,
"how would you like me to make your mother, over yonder, young
again?"
"I should like nothing better," said the smith.
"Very well," said Babo; "give me the golden angel that the master
gave you, and I'll do the job for you."
Well, the smith paid the money, and Babo bade him blow the
bellows. When the fire roared up good and hot, he caught up the
old mother, and, in spite of her scratching and squalling, he
laid her upon the embers. By-and-by, when he thought the right
time had come, he took her out and dipped her in the tank of
water; but instead of turning young, there she lay, as dumb as a
fish and as black as coal.
When the blacksmith saw what Babo had done to his mother, he
caught him by the collar, and fell to giving him such a dressing
down as never man had before.
"Help!" bawled Babo. "Help! Murder!"
Such a hubbub had not been heard in that town for many a day.
Back came Simon Agricola running, and there he saw, and took it
all in in one look.
"Stop, friend," said he to the smith, "let the simpleton go; this
is not past mending yet."
"Very well," said the smith; "but he must give me back my golden
angel, and you must cure my mother, or else I'll have you both up
before the judge."
"It shall be done," said Simon Agricola; so Babo paid back the
money, and the doctor dipped the woman in the water. When he
brought her out she was as well and strong as ever--but just as
old as she had been before.
"Now be off for a pair of scamps, both of you," said the
blacksmith; "and if you ever come this way again, I'll set all
the dogs in the town upon you."
Simon Agricola said nothing until they had come out upon the
highway again, and left the town well behind them; then--" Born a
fool, live a fool, die a fool!'" says he.
Babo said nothing, but he rubbed the places where the smith had
dusted his coat.
The fourth day of their journey they came to a town, and here
Simon Agricola was for trying his tricks of magic again. He and
Babo took up their stand in the corner of the market-place, and
began bawling, "Doctor Knowall! Doctor Knowall! Who has come from
the other end of Nowhere! He can cure any sickness or pain! He
can bring you back from the gates of death! Here is Doctor
Knowall! Here is Doctor Knowall!"
Now there was a very, very rich man in that town, whose daughter
lay sick to death; and when the news of this great doctor was
brought to his ears, he was for having him try his hand at curing
the girl.
"Very well," said Simon Agricola, "I will do that, but you must
pay me two thousand golden angels."
"Two thousand golden angels!" said the rich man; "that is a great
deal of money, but you shall have it if only you will cure my
daughter."
Simon Agricola drew a little vial from his bosom. From it he
poured just six drops of yellow liquor upon the girl's tongue.
Then--lo and behold!--up she sat in bed as well and strong as
ever, and asked for a boiled chicken and a dumpling, by way of
something to eat.
"Bless you! Bless you!" said the rich man.
"Yes, yes; blessings are very good, but I would like to have my
two thousand golden angels," said Simon Agricola.
"Two thousand golden angels! I said nothing about two thousand
golden angels," said the rich man; "two thousand fiddlesticks!"
said he. "Pooh! Pooh! You must have been dreaming! See, here are
two hundred silver pennies, and that is enough and more than
enough for six drops of medicine."
"I want my two thousand golden angels," said Simon Agricola.
"You will get nothing but two hundred pennies," said the rich
man.
"I won't touch one of them," said Simon Agricola, and off he
marched in a huff.
But Babo had kept his eyes open. Simon Agricola had laid down the
vial upon the table, and while they were saying this and that
back and forth, thinking of nothing else, Babo quietly slipped it
into his own pocket, without any one but himself being the wiser.
Down the stairs stumped the doctor with Babo at his heels. There
stood the cook waiting for them.
"Look," said he, "my wife is sick in there; won't you cure her,
too?"
"Pooh!" said Simon Agricola; and out he went, banging the door
behind him.
"Look, friend," said Babo to the cook, "here I have some of the
same medicine. Give me the two hundred pennies that the master
would not take, and I'll cure her for you as sound as a bottle."
"Very well," said the cook, and he counted out the two hundred
pennies, and Babo slipped them into his pocket. He bade the woman
open her mouth, and when she had done so he poured all the stuff
down her throat at once.
"Ugh!" said she, and therewith rolled up her eyes, and lay as
stiff and dumb as a herring in a box.
When the cook saw what Babo had done, he snatched up the rolling-pin and made at him to pound his
head to a jelly. But Babo did
not wait for his coming; he jumped out of the window, and away he
scampered with the cook at his heels.
Well, the upshot of the business was that Simon Agricola had to
go back and bring life to the woman again, or the cook would
thump him and Babo both with the rolling-pin. And, what was more,
Babo had to pay back the two hundred pennies that the cook had
given him for curing his wife.
The wise man made a cross upon the woman's forehead, and up she
sat, as well--but no better--as before.
"And now be off," said the cook, "or I will call the servants and
give you both a drubbing for a pair of scamps."
Simon Agricola said never a word until they had gotten out of the
town. There his anger boiled over, like water into the fire.
"Look," said he to Babo: " Born a fool, live a fool, die a fool.'
I want no more of you. Here are two roads; you take one, and I
will take the other."
"What!" said Babo, "am I to travel the rest of the way alone? And
then, besides, how about the fortune you promised me?"
"Never mind that," said Simon Agricola; "I have not made my own
fortune yet."
"Well, at least pay me something for my wages," said Babo.
"How shall I pay you?" said Simon Agricola. "I have not a single
groat in the world."
"What!" said Babo, "have you nothing to give me?"
"I can give you a piece of advice."
"Well," said Babo, "that is better than nothing, so let me have
it."
"Here it is," said Simon Agricola: " Think well! Think well!--before you do what you are about to
do, think well!'"
"Thank you!" said Babo; and then the one went one way, and the
other the other.
(You may go with the wise man if you choose, but I shall jog
along with the simpleton.)
After Babo had travelled for a while, he knew not whither, night
caught him, and he lay down under a hedge to sleep. There he lay,
and snored away like a saw-mill, for he was wearied with his long
journeying.
Now it chanced that that same night two thieves had broken into a
miser's house, and had stolen an iron pot full of gold money. Day
broke before they reached home, so down they sat to consider the
matter; and the place where they seated themselves was on the
other side of the hedge where Babo lay. The older thief was for
carrying the money home under his coat; the younger was for
burying it until night had come again. They squabbled and
bickered and argued till the noise they made wakened Babo, and he
sat up. The first thing he thought of was the advice that the
doctor had given him the evening before.
" Think well!'" he bawled out; " think well! before you do what
you are about to do, think well!'"
When the two thieves heard Babo's piece of advice, they thought
that the judge's officers were after them for sure and certain.
Down they dropped the pot of money, and away they scampered as
fast as their legs could carry them.
Babo heard them running, and poked his head through the hedge,
and there lay the pot of gold. "Look now," said he: "this has
come from the advice that was given me; no one ever gave me
advice that was worth so much before." So he picked up the pot of
gold, and off he marched with it.
He had not gone far before he met two of the king's officers, and
you may guess how they opened their eyes when they saw him
travelling along the highway with a pot full of gold money.
"Where are you going with that money?" said they.
"I don't know," said Babo.
"How did you get it?" said they.
"I got it for a piece of advice," said Babo.
For a piece of advice! No, no--the king's officers knew butter
from lard, and truth from t'other thing. It was just the same in
that country as it is in our town--there was nothing in the world
so cheap as advice. Whoever heard of anybody giving a pot of gold
and silver money for it? Without another word they marched Babo
and his pot of money off to the king.
"Come," said the king, "tell me truly; where did you get the pot
of money?"
Poor Babo began to whimper. "I got it for a piece of advice,"
said he.
"Really and truly?" said the king.
"Yes," said Babo; "really and truly."
"Humph!" said the king. "I should like to have advice that is
worth as much as that. Now, how much will you sell your advice to
me for?"
"How much will you give?" said Babo.
"Well," said the king, "let me have it for a day on trial, and at
the end of that time I will pay you what it is worth."
"Very well," said Babo, "that is a bargain"; and so he lent the
king his piece of advice for one day on trial.
Now the chief councillor and some others had laid a plot against
the king's life, and that morning it had been settled that when
the barber shaved him he was to cut his throat with a razor. So
after the barber had lathered his face he began to whet the
razor, and to whet the razor.
Just at that moment the king remembered Babo's piece of advice.
" Think well!' said he; " think well! Before you do what you are
about to do, think well!'"
When the barber heard the words that the king said, he thought
that all had been discovered. Down he fell upon his knees, and
confessed everything.
That is how Babo's advice saved the king's life--you can guess
whether the king thought it was worth much or little. When Babo
came the next morning the king gave him ten chests full of money,
and that made the simpleton richer than anybody in all that land.
He built himself a fine house, and by-and-by married the daughter
of the new councillor that came after the other one's head had
been chopped off for conspiring against the king's life. Besides
that, he came and went about the king's castle as he pleased, and
the king made much of him. Everybody bowed to him, and all were
glad to stop and chat awhile with him when they met him in the
street.
One morning Babo looked out of the window, and who should he see
come travelling along the road but Simon Agricola himself, and he
was just as poor and dusty and travel-stained as ever.
"Come in, come in!" said Babo; and you can guess how the wise man
stared when he saw the simpleton living in such a fine way. But
he opened his eyes wider than ever when he heard that all these
good things came from the piece of advice he had given Babo that
day they had parted at the cross roads.
"Aye, aye!" said he, "the luck is with you for sure and certain.
But if you will pay me a thousand golden angels, I will give you
something better than a piece of advice. I will teach you all the
magic that is to be learned from the books."
"No," said Babo, "I am satisfied with the advice."
"Very well," said Simon Agricola, " Born a fool, live a fool, die
a fool'"; and off he went in a huff.
That is all of this tale except the tip end of it, and that I
will give you now.
I have heard tell that one day the king dropped in the street the
piece of advice that he had bought from Babo, and that before he
found it again it had been trampled into the mud and dirt. I
cannot say for certain that this is the truth, but it must have
been spoiled in some way or other, for I have never heard of
anybody in these days who would give even so much as a bad penny
for it; and yet it is worth just as much now as it was when Babo
sold it to the king.
I had sat listening to these jolly folk for all this time, and I
had not heard old Sindbad say a word, and yet I knew very well he
was full of a story, for every now and then I could see his lips
move, and he would smile, and anon he would stroke his long white
beard and smile again.
Everybody clapped their hands and rattled their canicans after
the Blacksmith had ended his story, and methought they liked it
better than almost anything that had been told. Then there was a
pause, and everybody was still, and as nobody else spoke I myself
ventured to break the silence. "I would like," said I (and my
voice sounded thin in my own ears, as one's voice always does
sound in Twilight Land), "I would like to hear our friend Sindbad
the Sailor tell a story. Methinks one is fermenting in his mind."
Old Sindbad smiled until his cheeks crinkled into wrinkles.
"Aye," said every one, "will you not tell a story?"
"To be sure I will," said Sindbad. "I will tell you a good
story," said he, "and it is about--
The Enchanted Island.
But it is not always the lucky one that carries away the plums;
sometimes he only shakes the tree, and the wise man pockets the
fruit.
Once upon a long, long time ago, and in a country far, far away,
there lived two men in the same town and both were named Selim;
one was Selim the Baker and one was Selim the Fisherman.
Selim the Baker was well off in the world, but Selim the
Fisherman was only so-so. Selim the Baker always had plenty to
eat and a warm corner in cold weather, but many and many a time
Selim the Fisherman's stomach went empty and his teeth went
chattering.
Once it happened that for time after time Selim the Fisherman
caught nothing but bad luck in his nets, and not so much as a
single sprat, and he was very hungry. "Come," said he to himself,
"those who have some should surely give to those who have none,"
and so he went to Selim the Baker. "Let me have a loaf of bread,"
said he, "and I will pay you for it tomorrow."
"Very well," said Selim the Baker; "I will let you have a loaf of
bread, if you will give me all that you catch in your nets to-morrow."
"So be it," said Selim the Fisherman, for need drives one to hard
bargains sometimes; and therewith he got his loaf of bread.
So the next day Selim the Fisherman fished and fished and fished
and fished, and still he caught no more than the day before;
until just at sunset he cast his net for the last time for the
day, and, lo and behold! There was something heavy in it. So he
dragged it ashore, and what should it be but a leaden box, sealed
as tight as wax, and covered with all manner of strange letters
and figures. "Here," said he, "is something to pay for my bread
of yesterday, at any rate"; and as he was an honest man, off he
marched with it to Selim the Baker.
They opened the box in the baker's shop, and within they found
two rolls of yellow linen. In each of the rolls of linen was
another little leaden box: in one was a finger-ring of gold set
with a red stone, in the other was a finger-ring of iron set with
nothing at all.
That was all the box held; nevertheless, that was the greatest
catch that ever any fisherman made in the world; for, though
Selim the one or Selim the other knew no more of the matter than
the cat under the stove, the gold ring was the Ring of Luck and
the iron ring was the Ring of Wisdom.
Inside of the gold ring were carved these letters: "Whosoever
wears me, shall have that which all men seek--for so it is with
good-luck in this world."
Inside of the iron ring were written these words: "Whosoever
wears me, shall have that which few men care for--and that is the
way it is with wisdom in our town."
"Well," said Selim the Baker, and he slipped the gold ring of
good-luck on his finger, "I have driven a good bargain, and you
have paid for your loaf of bread."
"But what will you do with the other ring?" said Selim the
Fisherman.
"Oh, you may have that," said Selim the Baker.
Well, that evening, as Selim the Baker sat in front of his shop
in the twilight smoking a pipe of tobacco, the ring he wore began
to work. Up came a little old man with a white beard, and he was
dressed all in gray from top to toe, and he wore a black velvet
cap, and he carried a long staff in his hand. He stopped in front
of Selim the Baker, and stood looking at him a long, long time.
At last--"Is your name Selim?" said he.
"Yes," said Selim the Baker, "it is."
"And do you wear a gold ring with a red stone on your finger?"
"Yes," said Selim, "I do."
"Then come with me," said the little old man, "and I will show
you the wonder of the world."
"Well," said Selim the Baker, "that will be worth the seeing, at
any rate." So he emptied out his pipe of tobacco, and put on his
hat and followed the way the old man led.
Up one street they went, and down another, and here and there
through alleys and byways where Selim had never been before. At
last they came to where a high wall ran along the narrow street,
with a garden behind it, and by-and-by to an iron gate. The old
man rapped upon the gate three times with his knuckles, and cried
in a loud voice, "Open to Selim, who wears the Ring of Luck!"
Then instantly the gate swung open, and Selim the Baker followed
the old man into the garden.
Bang! shut the gate behind him, and there he was.
There he was! And such a place he had never seen before. Such
fruit! Such flowers! Such fountains! Such summer-houses!
"This is nothing, " said the old man; "this is only the beginning
of wonder. Come with me."
He led the way down a long pathway between the trees, and Selim
followed. By-and-by, far away, they saw the light of torches; and
when they came to what they saw, lo and behold! there was the
sea-shore, and a boat with four-and-twenty oarsmen, each dressed
in cloth of gold and silver more splendidly than a prince. And
there were four-and-twenty black slaves, carrying each a torch of
spice-wood, so that all the air was filled with sweet smells. The
old man led the way, and Selim, following, entered the boat; and
there was a seat for him made soft with satin cushions
embroidered with gold and precious stones and stuffed with down,
and Selim wondered whether he was not dreaming.
The oarsmen pushed off from the shore and away they rowed.
On they rowed and on they rowed for all that livelong night.
At last morning broke, and then as the sun rose Selim saw such a
sight as never mortal eyes beheld before or since. It was the
wonder of wonders--a great city built on an island. The island
was all one mountain; and on it, one above another and another
above that again, stood palaces that glistened like snow, and
orchards of fruit, and gardens of flowers and green trees.
And as the boat came nearer and nearer to the city, Selim could
see that all around on the house-tops and down to the water's
edge were crowds and crowds of people. All were looking out
towards the sea, and when they saw the boat and Selim in it, a
great shout went up like the roaring of rushing waters.
"It is the King!" they cried--"it is the King!" It is Selim the
King!"
Then the boat landed, and there stood dozens of scores of great
princes and nobles to welcome Selim when he came ashore. And
there was a white horse waiting for him to ride, and its saddle
and bridle were studded with diamonds and rubies and emeralds
that sparkled and glistened like the stars in heaven, and Selim
thought for sure he must be dreaming with his eyes open.
But he was not dreaming, for it was all as true as that eggs are
eggs. So up the hill he rode, and to the grandest and the most
splendid of all the splendid palaces, the princes and noblemen
riding with him, and the crowd shouting as though to split their
throats.
And what a palace it was!--as white as snow and painted all
inside with gold and blue. All around it were gardens blooming
with fruit and flowers, and the like of it mortal man never saw
in the world before.
There they made a king of Selim, and put a golden crown on his
head; and that is what the Ring of Good Luck can do for a baker.
But wait a bit! There was something queer about it all, and that
is now to be told.
All that day was feasting and drinking and merry-making, and the
twinging and twanging of music, and dancing of beautiful dancing-girls, and such things as Selim had
never heard tell of in all
his life before. And when night came they lit thousands and
thousands of candles of perfumed wax; so that it was a hard
matter to say when night began and day ended, only that the one
smelled sweeter than the other.
But at last it came midnight, and then suddenly, in an instant,
all the lights went out and everything was as dark as pitch--not
a spark, not a glimmer anywhere. And, just as suddenly, all the
sound of music and dancing and merrymaking ceased, and everybody
began to wail and cry until it was enough to wring one's heart to
hear. Then, in the midst of all the wailing and crying, a door
was flung open, and in came six tall and terrible black men,
dressed all in black from top to toe, carrying each a flaming
torch; and by the light of the torches King Selim saw that all--the princes, the noblemen, the
dancing-girls--all lay on their
faces on the floor.
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