Twilight Land (28 page)

Then there came three young men, and led the beggar up the carpet of velvet to the throne of gold.

“Welcome, my hero!” said the beautiful lady; “and have you, then, come at last?”

“Yes,” said the beggar, “I have.”

“Long have I waited for you,” said the lady; “long have I waited for the hero who would dare without fear to come through the two gates of death to marry me and to rule as king over this country, and now at last you are here.”

“Yes,” said the beggar, “I am.”

   Meanwhile, while all these things were happening, the king of that other country had painted out the words his father had written on the walls, and had had these words painted in in their stead:

For a while he was very well satisfied with them, until, a week after, he was bidden to the wedding of the Queen of the Golden Mountains; for when he came there who should the bridegroom be but the beggar whom he had set adrift in the wooden box a week or so before.

The bridegroom winked at him, but said never a word, good or ill, for he was willing to let all that had happened be past and gone. But the king saw how matters stood as clear as daylight, and when he got back home again he had the new words that stood on the walls of the room painted out, and had the old ones painted in in bigger letters than ever:

M
any and many a man has come to trouble—so he will say—by following his wife’s advice. This is how it was with a man of whom I shall tell you.

There was once upon a time a fisherman who had fished all day long and had caught not so much as a sprat. So at night there he sat by the fire, rubbing his knees and warming his shins, and waiting for supper that his wife was cooking for him, and his hunger was as sharp as vinegar, and his temper hot enough to fry fat.

While he sat there grumbling and growling and trying to make himself comfortable and warm, there suddenly came a knock at the door. The good woman opened it, and there stood an old man, clad all in red from head to foot, and with a snowy beard at his chin as white as winter snow.

The fisherman’s wife stood gaping and staring at the strange figure, but the old man in red walked straight into the hut. “Bring your nets, fisherman,” said he, “and come with me. There is something that I want you to catch for me, and if I have luck I will pay you for your fishing as never fisherman was paid before.”

“Not I,” said the fisherman; “I go out no more this night. I have been fishing all day long until my back is nearly broken, and have caught nothing, and now I am not such a fool as to go out and leave a warm fire and a good supper at your bidding.”

But the fisherman’s wife had listened to what the old man had said about paying for the job, and she was of a different mind from her husband. “Come,” said she, “the old man promises to pay you well. This is not a chance to be lost, I can tell you, and my advice to you is that you go.”

The fisherman shook his head. No, he would not go; he had said he would not, and he would not. But the wife only smiled and said again, “My advice to you is that you go.”

The fisherman grumbled and grumbled, and swore that he would not go. The wife said nothing but one thing. She did not argue; she did not lose her temper; she only said to everything that he said, “My advice to you is that you go.”

At last the fisherman’s anger boiled over. “Very well,” said he, spitting his words at her; “if you will drive me out into the night, I suppose I will have to go.”

Then down he took his fur cap and up he took his nets, and off he and the old man marched through the moonlight, their shadows bobbing along like black spiders behind them.

   Well, on they went, out from the town and across the fields and through the woods, until at last they came to a dreary, lonesome desert, where nothing was to be seen but gray rocks and weeds and thistles.

“Well,” said the fisherman, “I have fished, man and boy, for forty-seven years, but never did I see as unlikely a place to catch anything as this.”

But the old man said never a word. First of all he drew a great circle with strange figures, marking it with his finger upon the ground. Then out from under his red gown he brought a tinder-box and steel, and a little silver casket covered all over with strange figures of serpents and dragons and what not. He brought some sticks of spice-wood from his pouch, and then he struck a light and made a fire. Out of the box he took a gray powder, which he flung upon the little blaze.

Puff! Flash! A vivid flame went up into the moonlight, and then a dense smoke as black as ink, which spread out wider and wider, far and near, till all below was darker than the darkest midnight. Then the old man began to utter strange spells and words. Presently there began a rumbling that sounded louder
and louder and nearer and nearer, until it roared and bellowed like thunder. The earth rocked and swayed, and the poor fisher man shook and trembled with fear till his teeth clattered in his head.

Then suddenly the roaring and bellowing ceased, and all was as still as death, though the darkness was as thick and black as ever.

“Now,” said the old magician—for such he was—“now we are about to take a journey such as no one ever traveled before. Heed well what I tell you. Speak not a single word, for if you do, misfortune will be sure to happen.”

“Ain’t I to say anything?” said the fisherman.

“No.”

“Not even ‘boo’ to a goose?”

“No.”

“Well, that is pretty hard upon a man who likes to say his say,” said the fisherman.

“And moreover,” said the old man, “I must blindfold you as well.”

Thereupon he took from his pocket a handkerchief, and made ready to tie it about the fisherman’s eyes.

“And ain’t I to see anything at all?” said the fisherman.

“No.”

“Not even so much as a single feather?”

“No.”

“Well, then,” said the fisherman, “I wish I’d not come.”

But the old man tied the handkerchief tightly around his eyes, and then he was as blind as a bat.

“Now,” said the old man, “throw your leg over what you feel and hold fast.”

The fisherman reached down his hand, and there felt the back of something rough and hairy. He flung his leg over it, and—Whisk! Whizz! Off he shot through the air like a skyrocket. Nothing was left for him to do but grip tightly with hands and feet and to hold fast. On they went, and on they went, until, after a great while, whatever it was that was carrying him lit upon the ground, and there the fisherman found himself standing, for that which had brought him had gone.

The old man whipped the handkerchief off his eyes, and there the fisherman found himself on the shores of the sea, where there was nothing to be seen but water upon one side and rocks and naked sand upon the other.

“This is the place for you to cast your nets,” said the old magician; “for if we catch nothing here we catch nothing at all.”

The fisherman unrolled his nets and cast them and dragged them, and then cast them and dragged them again, but neither time caught so much as a herring. But the third time that he cast he found that he had caught something that
weighed as heavy as lead. He pulled and pulled, until by-and-by he dragged the load ashore, and what should it be but a great chest of wood, blackened by the sea-water, and covered with shells and green moss.

That was the very thing that the magician had come to fish for.

From his pouch the old man took a little golden key, which he fitted into a key-hole in the side of the chest. He threw back the lid; the fisherman looked within, and there was the prettiest little palace that man’s eye ever beheld, all made of mother-of-pearl and silver-frosted as white as snow. The old magician lifted the little palace out of the box and set it upon the ground.

Then, lo and behold! A marvelous thing happened; for the palace instantly began to grow for all the world like a soap-bubble, until it stood in the moonlight gleaming and glistening like snow, the windows bright with the lights of a thousand wax tapers, and the sound of music and voices and laughter coming from within.

Hardly could the fisherman catch his breath from one strange thing when another happened. The old magician took off his clothes and his face—yes, his face—for all the world as though it had been a mask, and there stood as handsome and noble a young man as ever the light looked on. Then, beckoning to the fisherman, dumb with wonder, he led the way up
the great flight of marble steps to the palace door. As he came the door swung open with a blaze of light, and there stood hundreds of noblemen, all clad in silks and satins and velvets, who, when they saw the magician, bowed low before him, as though he had been a king. Leading the way, they brought the two through halls and chambers and room after room, each more magnificent than the other, until they came to one that surpassed a hundredfold any of the others.

At the farther end was a golden throne, and upon it sat a lady more lovely and beautiful than a dream, her eyes as bright as diamonds, her cheeks like rose leaves, and her hair like spun gold. She came half-way down the steps of the throne to welcome the magician, and when the two met they kissed one another before all those who were looking on. Then she brought him to the throne and seated him beside her, and there they talked for a long time very earnestly.

Nobody said a word to the fisherman, who stood staring about him like an owl. “I wonder,” said he to himself at last, “if they will give a body a bite to eat by-and-by?” For, to tell the truth, the good supper that he had come away from at home had left a sharp hunger gnawing at his insides, and he longed for something good and warm to fill the empty place. But time passed, and not so much as a crust of bread was brought to stay his stomach.