{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_6443/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_6443","id":"gutenberg_6443","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6443","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Adventure","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Music","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Plays/Films/Dramas","Operas -- Stories, plots, etc.","Wagner, Richard, 1813-1883 -- Stories, plots, etc."],"text":"Produced by E. Barry Simpson, Charles Franks\nand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE WAGNER STORY BOOK\n\n[Illustration: \"AT LAST WE CAN SEE SOMETHING IN THE FIRE.\"]\n\nTHE WAGNER STORY BOOK\n\nFIRELIGHT TALES OF THE GREAT MUSIC DRAMAS\n\nBY WILLIAM HENRY FROST\n\nILLUSTRATED BY SYDNEY RICHMOND BURLEIGH\n\nTo\n\nHelen Krebbier\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nTHE STOLEN TREASURE\n\nTHE DAUGHTER OF THE GOD\n\nTHE HERO WHO KNEW NO FEAR\n\nTHE END OF THE RING\n\nTHE KNIGHT OF THE SWAN\n\nTHE PRIZE OF A SONG\n\nTHE BLOOD-RED SAIL\n\nTHE LOVE POTION\n\nTHE MINSTREL KNIGHT\n\nTHE KING OF THE GRAIL\n\nTHE ASHES\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n\"AT LAST WE CAN SEE SOMETHING IN THE FIRE\"\n\n\"THE GOLD SHINES OUT SO BRIGHT AND BEAUTIFUL\"\n\n\"THE DAUGHTER OF THE GOD\"\n\n\"THE SUNLIGHT FOLLOWS HIM STRAIGHT INTO THE CAVE\"\n\n\"THEIR TREASURE IS THEIR OWN AGAIN\"\n\n\"THE KNIGHT OF HER DREAM\"\n\n\"HE SAW HER EYES BRIGHTER THAN THE STARS\"\n\n\"THROUGH THE BLACK STORM AND HIS OWN BLACKER DESPAIR\"\n\n\"AS IF THEY COULD NEVER GAZE ENOUGH\"\n\n\"THE STRANGEST FLOWERS GROW UP UNDER THEIR FEET\"\n\n\"THE KING OF THE GRAIL\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE STOLEN TREASURE\n\n\nThere is a certain little girl who sometimes tries to find out when I\nam not over busy, so that she may ask me to tell her a story. She is\nkind enough to say that she likes my stories, and this so flatters my\nvanity that I like nothing better than telling them to her. One reason\nwhy she likes them, I suspect, is that they are not really my stories\nat all, the most of them. They are the stories that the whole world has\nknown and loved all these hundreds and thousands of years, tales of the\ngods and the heroes, of the giants and the goblins. Those are the right\nstories to tell to children, I believe, and the right ones for children\nto hear--the wonderful things that used to be done, up in the sky, and\ndown under the ocean, and inside the mountains. If the boys and girls\ndo not find out now, while they are young, all about the strange,\nmysterious, magical life of the days when the whole world was young, it\nis ten to one that they will never find out about it at all, for the\nmost of us do not keep ourselves like children always, though surely we\nhave all been told plainly enough that that is what we ought to do.\n\nThis little girl's mother is rather a strange sort of woman. I do not\nknow that she exactly disagrees with us about these stories that we\nboth like so much, but she seems to have a different way of looking at\nthem from ours. I sometimes suspect that she does not even believe in\nfairies at all, that she never so much as thought she saw a ghost,\nthat, if she heard a dozen wild horses galloping over the roof of the\nhouse and then flying away into the sky, she would think it was only\nthe wind, and that she is no more afraid of ogres than of policemen.\nStill she is a woman whom one cannot help liking, in some respects.\n\nBut one day she said something to the little girl that surprised me,\nand made me think that perhaps I had done her injustice. The child came\nto me with a face full of perplexity and said: \"What do you suppose\nmamma just told me?\"\n\n\"I am sure I can't guess,\" I replied; \"your mother tells you such\nridiculous things that I am always afraid to think what will be the\nnext. Perhaps she says that William Tell didn't shoot an apple off his\nlittle boy's head, or that the baker's wife didn't box King Alfred's\nears for letting the cakes burn.\"\n\n\"Oh, no,\" said the child, \"it isn't a bit like that; she says that you\ncan see pictures in the fire sometimes--men and horses and trees and\nall kinds of things.\"\n\n\"Does she, indeed? And how does your mother know what I can see in the\nfire or what I can't see?\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't mean just you--yourself, I mean anybody. Now can you? I\nmean can anybody?\"\n\n\"Why, yes, if that is what you mean; I think some people can. It is the\nmost sensible thing I have known your mother to say in a long time.\"\n\n\"But how can anybody see such things? Can you see them? I have been\nlooking at the fire ever so long, and I can't see anything at all but\njust the fire, the wood, and the ashes.\"\n\n\"Let us look at it together,\" I said; and I put a chair that was big\nenough to hold both of us before the fireplace. \"Just see how bright\nthe fire is; look down into those deep places under the sticks, and see\nhow it glows and shines like melted gold. Now, you know when you look\ninto a mirror you can see pictures of the things in front of it--your\nown face, the walls of the room, the furniture. That is because the\nmirror is so bright that it reflects these things; yet the mirror is\nnot bright enough to reflect anything except what is there before it,\nsuch things as you can see with your eyes and touch with your hands.\nBut the fire can do better than that, for it is a great deal brighter\nthan the mirror, and it is so bright that it can reflect thoughts. So\nyou must think of the pictures first, and then, if you know just how to\nlook for them in the fire, you will find them reflected there, and\nafter a little while you will be surprised at the wonderful things you\nwill see.\"\n\n\"I don't know what you mean at all,\" said the child; \"tell me what you\ncan see in the fire now.\"\n\n\"Very well. Suppose, then, first, that you almost close your eyes, but\nnot quite, so that you will not see the fire so plainly, and it will\nall run together and look dim and misty. When I look at it in that way\nit seems to me to be fire no more, but water. It is as if we were down\nunder a broad, deep river, and could see all the mass of water slowly\neddying and whirling and flowing on above us, with just the little glow\nand glimmer of brightness that come down from the daylight and the air\nabove. But there is one little spot that is brighter, right in the\nmiddle of the fire, where you see that one little yellow flame all by\nitself. In my picture, it is like a big lump of pure gold, resting on a\npoint of rock that stands straight up from the bottom of the river. It\nis really gold, and magic gold at that, for you know wonderful\ntreasures often lie at the bottoms of rivers. One of the wonderful\nthings about this gold is that, if anybody could have a ring made of\nit, he could compel everybody else to obey him and serve him, and could\nrule the whole world.\n\n\"Three forms I can see now moving backward and forward, and up and\ndown, and around and around about the gold. Now they grow a little\nclearer. They are river nymphs, or something of the sort, and they are\nhere to guard the gold, lest anybody should try to steal it. It would\nnot be easy to steal, even if it had no guard, and knowing this has\nperhaps made these pretty keepers a little careless about it, so that\nnow, instead of watching it very closely, they are swimming and diving\nand circling about, trying to catch one another, having the jolliest\ntime in the world, and never thinking that there may be danger near.\"\n\n\"And you can see all those things in the fire?\" said the little girl.\n\"I can't see any of them. How do you see them?\"\n\n\"Just as I told you at first, by thinking of them and then seeing the\nthoughts reflected there.\"\n\n\"Well, tell me some more.\"\n\n\"Look at that little dark spot under the fire. When I look at it in the\nway I have told you, it is the form of a dwarf. He is ugly and rough-\nlooking, he is crooked, and he has a wicked face. He slips and tumbles\nslowly along, till he catches sight of the water nymphs, and they look\nso pretty and graceful and happy, as they chase one another about and\nup and down and around, that his cruel little eyes light up with\npleasure, and he calls to them that he should like to come up and play\nwith them too.\"\n\n\"Oh, now I don't believe any of it at all,\" said the child; \"I thought\njust for a little while you might know how to see all those funny\nthings in the fire, but you can't hear people talk in the fire.\"\n\n\"Oh, my dear child, you don't know very much about the fire if you\nthink I can't see anything I want to in it, or hear anything I want to\neither. I tell you I can hear what this dwarf says, just as plainly as\nI can see him walk about. Still, if you don't believe any of it and\ndon't care to know about the dwarf and the nymphs and the gold, perhaps\nyou might better go and study your multiplication table, and I will\nfind something else to do.\"\n\n\"Oh, but I do want to know about them. Please tell me some more. What\ndo the nymphs say to the dwarf? Can you hear that too?\"\n\n\"Of course I can hear it; they call to him to come up and play with\nthem if he likes, and he clambers up over the rocks and trees to catch\none of them after another, while they swim and glide away from him, and\nfind it much better fun than chasing one another. It is good fun, no\ndoubt, for the dwarf cannot swim like them, but only scrambles about in\nthe most ridiculous way, with never any hope of catching one of them,\nexcept when she lets him come near her for a moment, to plague him by\nslipping away again quite out of his reach. At last he gets thoroughly\ntired and discouraged and angry, while the three sisters laugh at him\nand taunt him and chatter with one another, and have clearly enough\nforgotten all about the gold that they are supposed to be watching.\n\n\"But see now how much brighter the fire is getting. It makes me think\nthat something must have happened up above the river. The sun must have\nrisen, or something of that sort, for everything looks clearer and the\ngold shines out so bright and beautiful, that the blear-eyed dwarf\nhimself sees it and forgets all about trying to catch water nymphs in\nwondering what it is. He asks the nymphs, and they tell him about the\nring that could be made of it if only it could be stolen from them; but\nit is of no use for him to try, they say, because it is a part of the\nmagic of the gold that it can never be stolen except by some one who\nloves nobody in the world and has sworn that he will never love\nanybody, and it is clear enough that the dwarf is in love with all\nthree of them at this very minute. When such a strange treasure as this\nwas to be guarded, it was no doubt very clever to set three such\nbeautiful creatures as these to watch it, for if a thief were not in\nlove already, it is a hundred to one that he would be before he got\nnear enough to the gold to steal it.\n\n\"But the nymphs do not understand at all how much more a heartless\nlittle monster like this dwarf loves the glitter of gold than he could\never possibly love them. So, even while they are laughing at him, he is\nforgetting them completely, and then he swears a deep oath that as long\nas he lives he will never love any living thing. Now, if you can think\nof anything that anybody could do more wicked, more horrible, more\ncruel than that, you must know a great deal more about wicked and\nhorrible things than you have any right to know. After that every kind\nof wrong is easy, and a little thing like stealing a lump of gold of\nthe size of a bushel basket is a mere nothing. The dwarf scrambles up\nthe point of rock again, while the nymphs, who think that he is still\nchasing them, swim far away from him, and he seizes the gold and\nplunges down to the bottom with it. The nymphs rush together again with\na cry of horror and grief and fright, and in an instant everything is\ndark, as the flames of our fire suddenly drop down.\n\n[Illustration: \"THE GOLD SHINES OUT SO BRIGHT AND BEAUTIFUL.\"]\n\n\"But you see they fall only for a moment, and now, as they blaze up\nagain, brighter than ever, I see another picture. It is on the hilltop\nabove the river. The grass there is soft and fresh, the trees are cool\nand green, and the mellow light of morning is over them all. A light,\nwhite morning mist comes up from the river, and the sun, which has just\nrisen from behind the purple hills, away off where the sky touches\nthem, turns the mist into shifting and shimmering silver, so that it\nmakes the whole scene look brighter instead of dimmer. On the hill\nacross the river is a glorious sight. It is a castle, the grandest and\nmost beautiful you ever saw. Its walls are thick and strong enough for\na fortress, yet its towers and battlements look so light and graceful\nthat you would think they might hold themselves up there in the air, or\nrest on the silver river mist, if there were no walls under them. As I\nlook at the castle through the mist it seems half clear and solid and\nfirm, and half wavering and dim, mysterious and magical, like a castle\nin a dream.\n\n\"There is something magical about it, for it was all built in one night\nby two giants, and they built it for the gods themselves. And now you\nmust be prepared to meet some very fine company, for right here before\nus are the great Father and the great Mother of the gods, looking\nacross the river at their splendid new home.\"\n\n\"Do you mean Jupiter and Juno?\" the little girl asked.\n\n\"No, these are not Jupiter and Juno; and the other gods whom we shall\nsee soon, if the fire burns right, are not the gods you know already,\nbut they are a good deal like them in some ways. The Father of the Gods\nis full of joy at having such a glorious castle, and the Mother of the\nGods is full of dread at the price that must be paid to the giants for\nbuilding it. A terrible price indeed it is, as she does not hesitate to\nremind him, for the gods have promised to give the giants the beautiful\nGoddess of Love and Youth. It was a foolish and wicked promise for them\nto make, foolish because if they kept it they could never in the world\nget on without her, and wicked because they did not intend to keep it.\nThe homes of the gods, like any other homes, would be dreary enough\nwithout the Goddess of Love, but it is worse than that, for she has a\ngarden where apples grow for the gods to eat; it is eating these apples\nthat makes the gods always young, and nobody but her knows how to care\nfor them, so that if she goes away the gods will begin to grow old at\nonce and will soon die.\"\n\n\"Were the apples like that--oh, what was it? you know the name of it--\nthat the other gods used to eat?\"\n\n\"Ambrosia? Yes, something like it, but not quite. You know the gods who\nate ambrosia would live forever and are living still; we have seen some\nof them ourselves up among the stars. But these gods have to eat the\napples often, and they must get them from the Goddess of Love. This is\nmuch the better story of the two, I think, because it shows us how gods\nand other people, as long as they keep love with them, will be always\nyoung, no matter how many years they may live; and how, if they let it\ngo away from them, they will be old at once, no matter how few their\nyears.\n\n\"All this the Father and the Mother of the Gods are talking over\ntogether now, and he tells her how the Fire God, who proposed the\nbargain in the first place, said that the price need never be paid and\nthat he trusts the Fire God may yet find some way out of the trouble.\nYet the giants must be made in some way to give up their price of\nthemselves, for the Father of the Gods has the words of the promise cut\nupon his spear, and he cannot break a promise that he has once made.\nThe Fire God has gone away now to search through the world for\nsomething that may be offered to the giants instead of the Goddess of\nLove. And now I see her come, running to the Father of the Gods for\nprotection, and the other gods are here, to help her if they can, and\nthe giants themselves have come to claim her for the building of the\ncastle.\n\n\"Well, to be sure, they are all in a fine state of excitement. The\ngiants are big, dreadful-looking fellows, with clubs made of the trunks\nof trees, and the poor goddess does not want to go with them in the\nleast. All the other gods declare, too, that she shall not go with\nthem, and the giants insist that she shall. The Thunder God is there\nand he has a wonderful hammer, a blow of which is like a stroke of\nlightning. He is about to strike the giants with it, and that, you may\nbe sure, would settle the whole matter, big as they are, but the Father\nof the Gods will not let him harm them. He has promised, and whatever\nhappens he cannot break his word.\n\n\"While everything is in this dreadful state, the Fire God comes back\nfrom his search. It is not a very cheering story that he has to tell.\nHe has been through all the world, he says, and he has asked everywhere\nwhat there is that is as good for gods or giants, or anybody else, as\nthe love of a woman, which makes those who have it always young. But\nthe people in those days knew more than a good many of the people in\nthese days, and everywhere they laughed at him and told him that he\nmight as well give up his search, for he would never find what he\nsought.\"\n\n\"What do you mean by 'the people in those days'?\" the child asked; \"I\nthought you said you could see them right here in the fire now.\"\n\n\"So I can, but it is the beauty of these pictures in the fire that I\ncan see things that happened years ago, thousands of years ago, if I\nlike, just as well as things that happen now, and perhaps a little\nbetter. So you see the Fire God has not had very good luck, but as he\nwas coming back, he says, he passed near where the river nymphs were,\nand they called to him, telling him that their beautiful gold had been\nstolen, and begging him to ask the Father of the Gods to get it back\nfor them. They told him, too, about the wicked dwarf who stole it, and\nhow, before he could steal it, he had to swear never again, as long as\nhe lived, to love anybody or anything. The Fire God seems to have heard\nabout the dwarf somewhere else, too, for he says that he has already\nmade the magic ring out of the gold, that by the help of the ring he\nhas compelled all the other dwarfs to obey him and serve him, and has\npiled up such a treasure of gold and jewels as was never seen before;\nand finally, that, if the gods are not careful, the dwarf will soon\nrule over them and the whole world besides.\n\n\"So it seems that there is one person in the world who has found\nsomething which he thinks is worth more than love. And there are at\nleast two others who are as foolish as he, though they may not be quite\nso wicked. And these are the giants, for when they hear the Fire God\ntell of the wonderful treasure that the dwarf has heaped together, they\nsay to the gods that they think the dwarf is quite right, they would\nrather have all that gold than the love of any woman, and, if the gods\nwill get it for them, they may keep their Goddess of Love and Youth.\nThe Father of the Gods hesitates; how can he get the treasure? he asks.\n\n\"'You can find some way to get it, if you like,' the giants reply.\n\n\"'I will not get it for you; you shall not have it,' says the Father of\nthe Gods.\n\n\"'Then we will hold to our first bargain,' they answer, 'and take your\nLove Goddess with us. To-night we will bring her back; if you have the\ntreasure ready for us, then you may keep her; if not, then you have\nlost her forever.' And they seize her and stride away, dragging her\nwith them, while the gods look on in grief and fear. And well they may\nfear at the change that comes as soon as the beautiful goddess is gone.\nYou can see the change yourself in the fire. If it did not fit the\nstory that I am finding in it so well, I should say that the fire\nneeded more wood, for it seems almost out; see how the blackened sticks\nare smouldering and smoking, with scarcely any bright flames at all.\nThe smoke is spreading like an ugly gray cloud over everything; the\ntrees and the flowers droop; the sky is dull and the grass is dingy;\nthe castle looks grim and heavy, and no longer bright and graceful; the\nfaces of the gods themselves grow pale and haggard; they feel that they\nare suddenly older. They have not eaten the apples of youth to-day, and\nnobody can get them but the one goddess who has gone. They know that\nthey will grow older every hour and will soon die if they do not get\nher back, and the only way is to find the dwarf's treasure for the\ngiants.\n\n\"'Come quickly,' says the Father of the Gods, 'and let us get this\ntreasure; let us hasten down under the ground where the dwarfs live,\nfor we must have it to-night, when the giants come.'\n\n\"There, where the dirty yellow smoke is pouring out between the sticks\nof wood at the top of the pile, I see a crevice in the rocks. The\nFather of the Gods and the Fire God go down into it, and the smoke\ncomes thicker and blacker, and hides everything but those two, and I\nsee them climbing down and down over the rough, sharp rocks, toward the\ncaverns of the dwarfs, while the little tongues of flame shoot out at\nthem from the fissures, as if they were trying to catch and burn and\nsting them, just as they shoot out from between the black, charred\nsticks here before our eyes.\n\n\"It is a deep, dark cave that I see now, with little spots of light\nhere and there, like forges, and there is the sound of anvils. The\ndwarfs live here, and they are all working hard, as they must now, for\nthe dwarf who stole the gold and made the ring from it. I see him too,\nand he is scolding and beating another dwarf, who is his brother. It is\nall about a piece of fine metal work that he has set his brother to do,\nand now the brother wants to keep what he has made. But he drops it on\nthe ground and the dwarf king, for a king he really is now, picks it up\nand claps it on his head. It is a helmet, made of delicate rings of\nsteel linked together. It is a magic helmet, and anybody who wears it\ncan disappear from sight whenever he likes, or can take any shape he\nchooses. In a minute the dwarf is no more to be seen, and in his place\nthere is only a cloud of smoke. But he can still beat his brother, and\npresently he leaves him whining and crying on the ground, and the cloud\nfloats away.\n\n\"You are not to suppose because this dwarf is treated in this cruel way\nthat he is any better than his brother who beats him. One of them is\njust as wicked as the other, and he deserves all he gets. So here,\nlying upon the ground and groaning, the two gods find him, as they come\ndown into the cave. 'What is the matter?' they ask, and he tells them\nabout the magic helmet. Then back comes the other dwarf, who wears the\nhelmet and the ring, driving before him a crowd of his fellows, all\nladen down with gold and gems, and they throw them in a pile. They are\nso rich and dazzling, and there is such a quantity of them that the\nfire actually burns brighter there in the corner where they have heaped\nthem up. The dwarf drives all his workmen away, and then sulkily asks\nthe gods what they want here, for with his ring and his helmet he\nthinks that he is just as good as any of the gods.\n\n\"The Fire God tells him that they have heard so much about his great\nwealth that they have come to see it, and now they find his treasure\ngreater and finer than anything they ever saw before. At that the dwarf\nis flattered and begins to boast. 'This that you see is nothing,' he\nsays; 'I shall soon have much more, and by the magic of my ring I mean\nto rule the whole world and you gods too.'\n\n\"'But suppose,' says the Fire God, 'that some one should steal the ring\nfrom you while you were asleep?'\n\n\"'That shows how little you know about it,' the dwarf answers. 'Why, do\nyou see this magic helmet of mine? With this I can make myself\ninvisible, or I can take any form I like, and so nobody can find me\nwhile I am asleep to steal the ring.'\n\n\"'Oh, now you are telling us too big a story,' says the Fire God; 'it\nis nonsense to say you can take any form you like, helmet or no helmet;\nyou can't expect us to believe that.'\n\n\"At this the dwarf begins to get a little angry; 'I tell you I can,' he\ncries; 'I will prove it to you; I can change myself into anything; what\nshall it be?'\n\n\"'Oh, whatever you like,' says the Fire God, 'only let it be something\nbig and horrible to show just how much you can do.'\n\n\"So, to show what he can do, in a second the dwarf changes himself into\na horrible dragon, with slimy scales and a writhing tail, and eyes and\njaws that look as wicked as the dwarf himself, and twice as savage. The\nFire God pretends to be dreadfully frightened, and when the dwarf comes\nback to his own shape again he says: 'That was very good, but that does\nnot seem so hard, after all. Now, the way for you to hide, it seems to\nme, would be to make yourself very small, so that you could slip into a\ncrack in the rocks. You can puff yourself up like a dragon, of course,\nbut can you make yourself small as easily? Oh, no, I cannot believe\nthat.'\n\n\"'I can be anything, anything, I tell you,' the dwarf cries, getting\nstill more angry; 'I will be as small as you like,' and in another\nsecond he has changed himself into a toad, not much bigger than your\nhand, as slimy as ever, looking still just as wicked as the dwarf\nhimself, and almost as ugly.\n\n\"'Now is the time--quick!' cries the Fire God, and in an instant the\nFather of the Gods stamps his foot upon the toad and has him fast. The\nFire God stoops and pulls the magic helmet off the toad's head, and\ninstantly he is the dwarf again, but he is still firmly held under the\ngod's foot, and they tie him with cords and drag him away with them, up\namong the rocks from which they came.\"\n\n\"That is just the way Puss in Boots caught the ogre, when he turned\nhimself into a mouse,\" said the little girl.\n\n\"Yes, to be sure it is, but you know there are only a very few stories\nin the world, any way, and we cannot find new ones. The most we can\never do is to tell the old ones over in different ways, and after all\nit is better so, for old things are better than new almost always, as\nyou will find when you get a little older yourself. But now, with the\nfire burning up a little better to help me, we are back above ground.\nLet us put on more wood and see if we cannot make it better yet. We are\njust where we were before, on the hill by the river and the castle of\nthe gods. And back now come the two gods from under the ground,\ndragging the dwarf with them. 'And what will you give us now,' they\ncry, 'if we will untie you and let you go?'\n\n\"'What must I give you?' he asks.\n\n\"'You must give us the whole of your treasure,' they answer; 'we will\nnot let you go for anything less.'\n\n\"That seems a large price, but the dwarf is as crafty as he is wicked,\nthough his craft seldom does him much good, and he thinks that even if\nhe gives up all his treasure he can soon pile up as much more, with the\nhelp of the ring. So, by the power of the ring, he calls the dwarfs to\nbring him the treasure, and up they come with it, out of the cleft of\nthe rocks, and they pile it in a great, glittering heap just there\nwhere the new fire is beginning to burn so bright. 'There is the gold,'\ncries the dwarf, 'let me go.'\n\n\"'Not yet,' says the Father of the Gods; 'give us your ring first, that\nbelongs to the treasure.'\n\n\"At that the dwarf screams and struggles and writhes and curses the\ngods, but it is all of no use; the Father of the Gods tears the ring\nfrom his finger, and then they untie him and tell him to take himself\noff where he will. And now, as he goes, he lays a terrible curse on the\nring. To every one who shall ever gain it, he swears, shall come ill\nluck, misfortune, sorrow, terror, and death; let him rule the world if\nhe will, never shall he be happy; everyone shall long for the ring, and\nto him who gets it, it shall bring misery and ruin. Truly the dwarf has\ngained little by stealing the gold from the river nymphs, but the gods\nhave done wrong as well in stealing it from him, and they are doing\nwrong still in not giving it back to the nymphs; so they must suffer\ntoo.\n\n\"But it is not yet time for that, for now, as the fire burns up, the\nwhole picture grows brighter again. That is because the giants are\nbringing back the Goddess of Love and Youth, to see if the treasure is\nready for them. The trees lift up their branches again and the happy\nsunlight pours down through them; the flowers open their eyes to see\nit; the sky is clear and bright, and the grass is again fresh; while\nthe faces of the gods, who run to meet their sister, look young and\nhappy as before. Only the castle is still hidden by the shining silver\nriver mist. The giants have come near. 'Is the ransom ready for us?'\nthey cry.\n\n\"'There is your treasure.' says the Father of the Gods, 'take it and be\ngone.'\n\n\"'We must see that it is enough first,' they answer; 'our treasure must\nbe as much as your goddess, so you must pile it up before her till she\nis quite hidden by it; then we will take it, and you shall have her\nback.'\n\n\"They heap up the gold and the jewels before the goddess, higher and\nhigher, till everything is gone from the old pile to the new one. Then\none of the giants looks over it and still sees the gold of her hair\nabove the gold of the treasure. 'Give me that helmet that you carry,'\nhe says to the Fire God, 'to put on the top.' and he gives it. Now the\nother giant peeps through a chink in the pile and sees one of her eyes.\n'Quick,' he cries to the Father of the Gods, 'give me that ring you\nwear to stop this chink.'\n\n\"'No,' says the Father of the Gods, 'you shall not have that; it is the\nring that gives the power to rule the world, and I will keep it.'\n\n\"' Very well, then,' say the giants, 'we will have no more to do with\nyou, and we will take the goddess back with us.'\n\n\"All the gods stand terrified and pale. Will their great father let the\nGoddess of Love be taken from them again, and must they all grow old\nand die, that he may keep this ring? Everything grows dark again, as\nour fire here drops down; only there is that pale blue flame that gives\nno light, away at the back of the hearth. And now, right in the pale\nblue flame, rises the form of a woman out of the ground. It is the\nEarth Goddess, the wisest woman in the world, who knows all that ever\nwas, all that is, and all that ever shall be. She speaks to the Father\nof the Gods and tells him to give the ring to the giants, for the curse\nthat the dwarf has laid upon it will surely destroy him who keeps it.\nThen she sinks out of sight, and the Father of the Gods takes from his\nfinger the ring, and gives it.\n\n\"And even while the giants are stowing the treasure in a sack to carry\nit away, they fall to quarrelling about how it shall be divided, and\none of them strikes the other a terrible blow with his club which lays\nhim dead upon the ground. Then he strides away with the treasure,\nleaving the gods filled with horror at the first fatal work done by the\ncurse of the ring.\n\n\"Yet only for a moment; their grand new castle is ready for them now.\nHigh up upon a rock stands the Thunder God. He swings his hammer and\nthe black clouds roll around him. The thunder mutters, and lightning\nflames flash out from the dark vapors. The fire flickers and blazes up\nagain, the clouds part and melt away, and all is light at last. A\nrainbow reaches across the river from shore to shore, and the gods\nslowly walk across upon it toward their castle. Up from the river, far\nbelow them, comes a sad cry of the nymphs, begging the gods to give\nthem back their gold. But the gods do not heed it. They rest upon the\nrainbow, gazing only at their castle, as it stands before them,\nstately, graceful, radiant, and rosy in the warm glow of the sunset.\"\n\n\"And did you really, really see it all in the fire?\" the little girl\nasked, after she had thought it all over for a few minutes. \"It sounds\njust as if it was a story you had read in a book.\"\n\n\"Well, perhaps I may have seen something, or heard something, or read\nsomething of the kind somewhere,\" I replied, \"but you know I told you\nat first that you must think of the pictures before you could see them\nreflected in the fire.\"\n\nThe little girl sat still and thought about it again for a time. \"I\ndon't believe you saw any pictures in the fire at all,\" she said at\nlast.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DAUGHTER OF THE GOD\n\n\n\"If you say you can see all those things in the fire,\" said the little\ngirl, with an air of doubt not yet quite overcome, \"I suppose I shall\nhave to believe it, but I don't see how. I try to think of them the way\nyou said, but I don't see them in the fire a bit. Can you see them all\nthe time?\"\n\n\"It makes a good deal of difference how I feel about it,\" I answered,\n\"and a little difference how the fire burns. To-night, you see, the\nfire does not burn quite as it usually does. It is cold out of doors,\nand there is a wind that comes in gusts and blows different ways. It\ngives the fire a good draught, and on the whole it burns rather\nfiercely, but when the wind goes down the fire goes down a little too,\nand when the wind changes it blows a puff of smoke down the chimney now\nand then. Altogether it is not a well-behaved fire at all, and I am\nafraid if we try to see things in it, some of them will be rather rough\nand rude, and none of them very cheerful. Still, if you would like to\ntry--\"\n\n\"Oh, do try,\" the child said, \"I like nice gloomy things.\"\n\n\"Very well. Just now the fire is so fierce and hot that it seems to me\nnothing less than a house on fire. It is a house that stands all alone\nin the woods. Before it was set on fire a boy and a girl lived there.\nNeither of them had any mother, but the boy's father lived with them\nand took care of them, going out hunting and leaving the boy and the\ngirl together, till the boy was old enough to go hunting with him, and\nthen the girl was left alone. They were very happy there together, all\nthree of them, and the father always thought that the girl would\nsometime grow up and be his son's wife. But now, while they are\nhunting, a robber has come and has burned the house, and he takes the\ngirl with him and carries her off to his own house, far away among the\nmountains.\n\n\"After this it is not so pleasant roaming the woods and hunting all\nday, with no house to go back to and no greeting of a bright face in\nthe evening. To make it still worse, one day, while they are hunting,\nthe poor boy loses sight of his father and never finds him again. So\nnow he is quite alone, but he still lives in the woods in the old way\ntill he grows to be a tall, strong, handsome young man. Perhaps he is\nall the stronger and the better fighter because the most of his\nenemies, and his friends too, for that matter, have been wild beasts.\nThat he has had one good enemy I know, because the coat that he wears\nis the skin of a bear.\n\n\"And all this time the girl has been kept a prisoner at the house of\nthe robber, and she has grown up as well, now, to be a tall, beautiful\nwoman. At times, no doubt, the robber has treated her well enough, and\nat times, I am afraid, not so well. But always he has urged her and has\ntried to make her promise to be his wife, and now, after all these\nyears, at last she has promised. She has never forgotten the brave boy\nwhom she used to love, but the robber has told her that he is dead, and\nfinally she has come to believe it and has no more any hope of ever\nbeing happy.\n\n\"I am looking right into the robber's house now. It is a strange house,\nfor right in the middle of it stands a large tree, which grows up\nthrough the roof and spreads its branches over the house. And more\nwonderful still, there is a sword sticking in this tree, up to the\nhilt. Perhaps I might better tell you something about this sword before\nwe go any farther. Do you remember the gold that was stolen from the\nriver nymphs, the other night, when we were watching the fire, and the\nmagic ring that the dwarf made of it? Of course you do, and you\nremember too how the Father of the Gods got it and paid it to the\ngiants for building his castle, and would not give it back to the river\nnymphs, and how one of the giants killed the other and kept all the\ntreasure. Well, the Father of the Gods has been learning and thinking a\ngood deal since then, and he has begun to see what a great wrong he did\nwhen he put the gold to his own uses, instead of giving it back to the\nnymphs. It is no light punishment that falls on gods when they do\nwrong, and he sees that for this sin he and all the other gods who live\nwith him in his castle must at last be destroyed utterly. Yet he still\nhopes to save them if only the gold, or at least the ring, can be given\nback again to the nymphs.\n\n\"Now, the giant who took all the treasure carried it away to a deep\ncave in the side of a mountain, and then, by the help of the magic\nhelmet, he changed himself into a horrible, fierce, fiery, poisonous\ndragon, so that he might stay in the cave and guard it. And there he\nhas stayed guarding it ever since. You will see at once that the\ntreasure never would do him any good in that way, but giants are\nusually stupid, and he could not think of anything better to do with\nit. A boy who has a penny and knows enough to buy a penny whistle with\nit is richer than this dragon giant. Yet he guards the treasure pretty\nwell, and the Father of the Gods cannot take it away from him, and\ncannot help anybody else to take it away from him, because he paid it\nto him for the castle, and to touch it now would be to break his\npromise. Yet he wishes that somebody, without his help, would kill the\ndragon and give the gold back to its real owners. This would not really\ndo him any good, for his own old sin would still be just as great, and\nhe knows it; yet he has a strange kind of hope that it may somehow help\nhim. But the dragon is so big and fierce and fiery and poisonous, that\nnobody could ever hope to kill him except the very greatest of heroes,\nand one who simply did not know what fear meant. Even such a hero might\nhave a good deal of trouble about it, if he did not have a sword that\nwas just as keen and strong, just as sharp and firm and true as\nhimself. So, that he may not want for such a good blade, the Father of\nthe Gods has made a magic sword. No one but a god could make a sword\nlike this, and he has driven it up to the hilt into the great tree in\nthe robber's house. It is quite safe there, for the magic of it is that\nnobody but the bravest, strongest, truest hero living can ever draw it\nout, but for him it will be easy. There are some things besides drawing\nswords out of trees which can be done easily by men who are brave and\nstrong and true, and which no other man can do at all.\n\n\"All this time I have been looking into the robber's house. There is a\nstorm outside, worse than the wind that is troubling our fire. It howls\nabove the house, and tears at the branches of the tree, till even the\ngreat trunk shivers and trembles and makes the roof creak and groan.\nSuddenly the door is burst open, and in, out of the storm, rushes a\nman, and falls before the fire as if he were so weary that he could\nmove no more. Then from another room of the house comes the woman who\nhas promised to be the robber's wife, the girl who once lived in the\nhouse that the robber burned. When she sees the stranger lying before\nthe fire, she lifts him up and brings him a big drinking-horn, and\ntells him to stay and rest till the robber comes home. Then he looks at\nher, and she seems to him the kindest, the sweetest, and the loveliest\nwoman he has ever seen.\n\n\"Soon the robber comes home, and he asks the stranger what he is and\nhow he came here. Then the stranger tells him all the story that I have\ntold you of the burning of the house where he lived with his father,\nand how since then he has wandered the woods and has fought with the\nwild beasts and with his enemies. As soon as he tells that, the woman\nknows that the boy whom she used to love so long ago is not dead, but\nis sitting here before her, and the hope comes to her that he may take\nher away from this place, so that she may not have to be married to the\nrobber. Then she asks the stranger why he is unarmed, and he says that\nhe fought to rescue a woman from her enemies; he killed some of them,\nbut the others were so many that they broke his spear and his shield,\nand he had to save himself from them, and so it was that he came to\nthis house.\n\n\"At this the robber grows red and pale with anger. He has heard of\nthe fight, and the men who were killed were his friends. 'Stay here\nto-night,' he says; 'while you are in my house I cannot harm you, but\nto-morrow you must go out and fight with me for killing my friends.'\n\n\"The robber and the woman have gone away and the stranger is left\nalone. Sad and gloomy enough are his thoughts, for to-morrow he must\nfight with the robber, and he has no sword, no spear, no shield. The\nfire before him dies down, as our fire dies down too, for the moment,\nand as all his hope grows darker and colder. And then, just as his life\nand the world and the future seem blackest, the woman comes back. Why\nshould her coming bring him hope? He could not tell, perhaps, yet her\nvery presence cheers him; misfortune and death seem not so near when\nshe is by, and not so terrible, even should they come. He may not know\nwhy it is, but I know, and so do you.\n\n\"She hastens to him and shows him the sword in the tree. She tells him\nof its magic; he must be the hero to draw it out, she says, and then,\nin the fight to-morrow, he must overcome his enemy and give her revenge\nfor all she had suffered from him. And how gladly he will do her\nbidding! He seizes the sword and draws it quickly out of the tree,\nwhile her eyes gaze at him and are filled with joy. The hero has come--\nher hero. He holds the wonderful magic sword in his hand, but only for\na moment he looks upon its long, gleaming, beautiful blade. Then he\nturns to her again. They twine their arms about each other and together\nthey leave this hateful house. And now, of a sudden, it is as if their\ntwo hearts were all the world, as indeed they are, to each other, for\nall around them the storm was stilled; the winter is gone and it is\nspring; the peaceful moonlight fills the happy woods with a soft glory;\nsweet airs breathe tenderly on them and on the flowers in their path;\nquiet voices speak to them out of the budding trees; and so together\nthey are gone into the forest.\n\n\"The Father of the Gods has done more than I have told you yet to guard\nagainst the end which he knows must come, in spite of all that he can\ndo. He has fancied that his castle might be safer if he were to fill it\nwith strong warriors to fight for him in any need. Therefore, wherever\nbattles are fought he sends his nine daughters to choose the bravest of\nthe men who are killed and to bring them to his castle. Each of these\ndaughters has a horse which flies through the air faster than any bird.\nWhen the fallen heroes have come thus to the halls of the gods, they\nare brought to life and their wounds are healed by means that the gods\nknow how to use, and they live there, feasting day after day with other\nheroes. And lest they should forget their old skill and bravery in\nfighting, every day they have a battle and many of them are killed and\nchopped to pieces by the others' swords, but at sunset they are all\nalive and well again, and they go back together to their feast in the\nhalls of the gods.\n\n\"It is one of these daughters of the god, one of these choosers of\nheroes, whom I see before me now. I wish that I could make you see her.\nShe is more than a beautiful woman, and also she is less. She is tall\nand her form is strong, yet light and buoyant. She is dressed all in\narmor, and she has a spear and a shield which gleams and glistens like\na beacon-light for an army. She herself, as I see her here, is as\ngraceful and as full of warm life as a flame of the fire, the same hot\nglow stirs her heart and moves her to the same eager, free action. Her\nface is as clear and pure as the fire itself, and almost as radiant as\nher silver shield, while the gold of her hair breaking from under the\nlight of her helmet, outshines them all. Beating under her bosom,\nthrilling through her form, glowing in her cheeks, and beaming from her\neyes, is the joy of life and strength and beauty. Yet where is the\ntenderness that one would seek in a woman's eyes? A glad light shines\nin hers, but it is not softened by any kindly ray of gentleness or\nmercy. Where is the sweetness of a woman's lips? Hers are calm and\nbeautiful, but they tempt no more than a stain of blood upon the snow.\nWhat is there in her face that could melt into a woman's compassion and\npity? Her face is not cruel, not unkind, only still, stern, and placid\nas marble. She is not a woman, you know; only a goddess--a war goddess.\n\n\"Just now the Father of the Gods is telling his daughter of the fight\nthat is to come between the robber and the hero who won the sword, and\nhe commands her to help the hero to win. She is delighted at this, for\nshe loves all brave, true heroes as he does, but she has scarcely left\nher father when the Mother of the Gods comes, riding furiously through\nthe air in a chariot drawn by two rams. She has heard of the fight too,\nand she takes quite a different view of it. 'This man whom you would\nsave and help,' she says, 'has taken the woman away from the man whose\nwife she promised to be. Is that all you care for a promise? He must be\npunished; you must help his enemy to kill him.'\n\n[Illustration: \"DAUGHTER OF THE GOD.\"]\n\n\"You see she cares nothing at all about heroes, but to her a promise is\na promise. And the Father of the Gods himself is very particular about\npromises, as you must remember, so he is forced to say that he will not\nhelp the hero. But that is not enough for her; he must command his\ndaughter not to help him. She shall not, he says, but that is not\nenough; he must help his enemy and see that he wins. This is hard for\nthe Father of the Gods, for he loves the hero, and if he is left to\nhimself he must win, with his magic sword, yet he cannot choose; the\npromise has been broken, and he gives his word that the hero shall die.\n\n\"The Father of the Gods is left alone, and again his daughter comes to\nhim. He tells her sadly that she must help the robber in the fight, and\nthat the hero must die. She is as sad as he at this command, for all\nthat she ever wishes is to do what he would have her do, and she knows\nthat, though he says that the hero must die, yet he would have him\nlive. But his word is given, and, full of sorrow, the god and his\ndaughter part. And now comes the hero himself, with his bride. She is\nfearful of what may befall him in the fight, and would have him flee\nfarther away. He will not do that, and he tries to cheer her, till she\nfaints and sinks down at his feet. Then, beautiful and sad, but still\ncalm, stern, and placid, the Daughter of the God stands before him.\n\n\"'Soon,' she says to him, 'you must come with me to the castle of the\ngods. There the Father of the Gods will welcome you, there your own\nfather, whom you lost so long ago, waits for you, there you will fight\nand feast with heroes, and the daughters of the god will serve you.'\n\n\"'And shall this woman here,' he asks, 'whom I love, go with me and\nwith you there?'\n\n\"'No,' she answers, 'this woman cannot go.'\n\n\"'Then I will not go,' he replies; 'gladly I would stand before the\nFather of the Gods, gladly I would see my own father again and the\nheroes and the daughters of the god, but not without her; I will not go\nwith you; leave us here.'\n\n\"If the daughter of the god were a woman she would understand all this,\nbut now it would make her impatient, if anything could. She cannot know\nand cannot feel why this man, who has had only trouble and ill luck all\nhis life, should choose to stay and wait for more trouble and ill luck\nwith this one poor woman who lies at their feet, fainting and knowing\nnot even that she is alive, rather than to sit and feast with gods and\nheroes. How little a war goddess can really know about brave men!\n\n\"Yet she does know that her father, whose wishes are her own, wishes\nthis woman to live, and that she will be in danger after her hero has\nleft her; so she tells him that he may leave his bride with her and she\nwill protect her. But the man is still more unreasonable. He says that\nshe is cruel and hard-hearted. That is unjust, for she is not cruel. He\nsays too that the woman shall die rather than be left with her. If he\nmust die, he will kill the woman, too, and he is about to do it, when\nthe Daughter of the God holds his hand. She thinks only now of how much\nher father longs that this man may live; she resolves that in spite of\nthe command she will save him; she tells him that he shall have her\nhelp in the fight, and she leaves him, just as there comes a noise and\na shout of the robber with his men and his dogs hunting for the hero to\nkill him.\n\n\"See how the black smoke is driven down the chimney by the changing\ngusts of wind. It is like dark clouds gathering over the sky and\ndropping down upon the mountain, so that it is hard to see anything at\nall. The fire goes down, too, and its flames dart and flicker in\nsudden, angry flashes. Some of them are like lightning, brightening the\nwhole scene for an instant, and then I can see the hero and the robber\nin their fight, springing and thrusting and striking at each other so\nthat it seems as if they must both be killed a dozen times over. Again\nin the sparkle of the fire I see the gleaming of the magic sword, as\nthe hero whirls it above his head and strikes at his enemy. Then comes\na flare of flame that shines from the shield of the Daughter of the\nGod, as she throws it over the hero to protect and save him. It is all\nin vain, for there comes a hot, red glow in which for an instant all\nthe rest is lost, and now, in the midst of it stands the Father of the\nGods himself. The daughter falls back helpless before him, and he\nstretches his spear toward the hero. The magic sword falls upon the\nspear and is shivered to pieces. Nothing indeed could shatter that\nblade but the spear of the god who made it, but with that spear to help\nhim the robber springs upon his enemy and his sword is through his\nheart, and he is fallen.\n\n\"The Daughter of the God has come back to where the woman lay, she has\nlifted her from the ground and has laid her across her horse's saddle\nas if she were dead; she leaps upon his back and they are galloping\naway like the wind. The Father of the Gods has avenged the broken\npromise; he has killed the hero whom he loved, and now he turns for one\nmoment toward the robber whom he has helped to win the fight. Only once\nthe god waves his hand toward him and the robber falls dead; he will\nfight and kill brave men no more. But a harder task than all is to come\nfor the Father of the Gods; how shall he deal with his own daughter,\nwho has disobeyed him?\n\n\"The fire is burning a little better now, but it does not yet seem to\nbe quite on good terms with the wind outside. The smoke is going up\nagain instead of down, and that is an improvement. It rises in sudden\npuffs and flurries, like clouds flying across the sky after a storm.\nThe shadows of the clouds fall upon a mountain height, a rugged, rocky,\nwild, beautiful place, where the daughters of the god are meeting to\nride home together with the heroes they have brought from some field of\nbattle. Now and then, as the quick flames leap up into the smoke, I can\nsee another and another coming, riding on her flying horse, racing with\nthe driving wind and the hurrying clouds, each with her warrior lying\nbefore her across her saddle, and so alighting here and joining her\nsisters. They are all here at last except the one Daughter of the God\nwhom we have seen before, and now she comes, but she brings no warrior\nacross her saddle, only the poor woman with whom she fled from the\nfight.\n\n\"She tells her sisters how she has disobeyed their father, and she begs\nthem to protect her and the woman against his anger. They dare not help\nher; never has one of them done anything that was not his will. What\ncan she do? He is coming in pursuit of her; sooner or later he must\nfind her, but she may at least save the woman. She bids her flee alone\nwhile she waits with her sisters for her father and her punishment to\ncome. Far away, she tells her, there is a deep forest, and in the\nforest is a cave where the horrible dragon that was once the giant\nkeeps and guards his treasure. So much does the Father of the Gods\ndread the curse that the wicked dwarf laid upon the ring, and the doom\nwhich he knows is coming to himself because of his own sin, that he\nnever wanders there. To this forest she must go, and there she may find\na refuge. The Daughter of the God gives the woman the fragments of the\nbroken magic sword, which she has brought with her from the field of\nthe fight, and bids her go.\n\n\"And now, with angry lightnings flashing all around him, comes the\nFather of the Gods. Never before has he been shaken by such a storm as\nthis. His daughter whom he loved more than all the others, has\ndisobeyed him. Never before has she done anything but that which it was\nhis will that she should do. Now she has known his will, she has heard\nhis command, and she has broken it. She stands before him, sorrowful,\nbut still calm, stern, and placid, and asks what is to be her\npunishment. She has brought her doom upon herself, he answers, and now\nshe must be a war goddess no more, but only a woman. He must kiss her\nonce, and all the strength and the valor and the pride of the goddess\nwill be gone. Then she will sink to sleep, and here on this rocky\nmountain height she must lie till some man comes and awakes her, and\nshe must be a woman only and his wife.\n\n\"Very dreadful this seems to the poor war goddess, but it is because\nshe has never been a woman, and does not know much about women. To me\nit does not seem dreadful at all. It is much better and sweeter and\nnobler, I believe, to be the best that a woman can be than the\nstrongest and greatest and proudest that a goddess can be. And I hope\nyou will always remember what we see here in the fire to-night, and if\nyou ever feel that there is any danger of your being a goddess, or if\nanybody ever tells you that you are one, then let somebody kiss you and\nmake you a woman.\n\n\"But to one who has so long been used to wearing armor and riding\nthrough the air, and choosing the bravest of the fallen heroes, and\nbearing them to the castle of the gods, the change may well seem hard\nto suffer at first. So the Daughter of the God thinks that no heavier\npunishment could have been found for her. Her sisters think so, too,\nand they beg their father to have mercy on her, but he sternly bids\nthem be silent and to leave him. Now the Daughter of the God tells him\nhow she tried to do what he would have her do; she knew that he loved\nthe hero and hated the robber, and that his command to her was given\nunwillingly; she hoped to gain for him the wish of his heart, in spite\nof his words, and she threw her shield over the hero.\n\n\"It is useless; he cannot stay her punishment now, but his anger is all\ngone and he is filled with sorrow like her own. He loves her still,\nmore than any other daughter, and now he will never have her beside him\nin the halls of the gods again, never again see her ride to the battle,\nnever see her return with brave men to guard his house, never again\nspeak to her as he could to no other, and tell her all that is in his\nheart, never again see her glad, deep, answering eyes look into his,\nfull of sympathy and help. One thing yet she begs: if all that they\nhave been to each other, the god and his daughter, must be no more, if\nshe must sleep and wait here for an unknown husband to wake her, she\nprays him to set some guard around her, a wall of fire, that no one but\na brave man, the bravest of men, may win her for his bride.\n\n\"Yes, he will do this; she shall be shut in by fire and none shall ever\ncome to her but the bravest of heroes, one who knows no fear at all. No\none who fears even his own terrible spear, that spear which broke the\nmagic sword that he himself had made, shall ever awake her who was his\ndaughter, and now is to be his daughter no more. He draws her to him\nfor one last time; he kisses her lips and they are silent; he kisses\nher eyes and they close. He lays her on a bank of soft moss; he closes\nher helmet and covers her with her shield. Near by her horse lies upon\nthe ground asleep too; the flowers among the grass and in the crevices\nof the rocks droop their drowsy heads; the winds as they pass make no\nnoise. He touches the point of his spear to the ground. Instantly the\nfire springs up; it makes a fierce, raging ring around the rock; surely\nonly one who knows no fear can ever pass it. The Father of the Gods is\ngone. Now we can see nothing but the fire streaming up and exulting in\nits life and its hot defiance of all but the bravest; but there in the\nmidst of it lies the Daughter of the God, asleep till her lover shall\ncall her with a kiss to come with him and be a woman.\"\n\nThe little girl's mother had come into the room and had heard the last\nof the story. \"Isn't it time,\" she said, \"that the daughter of somebody\nelse was asleep, too, if she wants to grow to be a woman?\"\n\n\"It is late,\" I had to admit. \"Well, the Daughter of the God is safe\nfor the present. Perhaps some other time, when we have a better-behaved\nfire, we may see something of the lover.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE HERO WHO KNEW NO FEAR\n\n\n\"Don't you think the fire is very good to-night?\" the little girl\nasked.\n\n\"Yes, it is certainly very good indeed,\" I admitted.\n\n\"I should think,\" she said, \"that anybody that could see things in\nfires might see very nice things in this one.\"\n\nWhen she who might command deigns thus delicately to make a mere\nsuggestion, it is the part both of chivalry and of loyalty to obey. I\nshould feel that having my head chopped off was altogether too good for\nme if I hesitated at such a time. \"Come,\" I said, \"and let us see what\nthe fire really looks like. What does it look like to you?\"\n\n\"Oh, it doesn't look like anything at all to me, only just the fire.\nWhat does it to you?\"\n\n\"It looks like a fire to me too, but it is the fire of a smith's forge.\nThe place where it is looks half like a room and half like a cavern. It\nis all of rocks, but there is the forge and there are the chimney and\nthe anvil and the bellows and all sorts of smith's tools.\"\n\n\"You can see things all around the fire, just the same as in it, can't\nyou?\" said the child.\n\n\"Oh, to be sure; when I want to see these things that make themselves\ninto stories, I can see them almost anywhere, only I think the fire is\na particularly good place. And who do you think is working at the\nforge? It is an ugly little dwarf, the very one whom we saw the other\nnight, who made the magic helmet, the brother of the one who stole the\ntreasure from the river nymphs. You remember he was a clever smith,\nelse he never could have made that wonderful helmet. Now he is at work\nhere trying to make a sword. And he does make a sword too, but he does\nnot seem pleased with it when it is finished, and he leaves off his\nwork and sits down, with a very dissatisfied, sulky, ugly look in his\nface.\n\n\"It would be hard for anybody to look more unlike the dwarf than the\nperson I see now coming into the cave. He is a boy, or perhaps he would\nrather be called a young man, and I shall be glad to call him whatever\nhe likes. He is dressed in skins and wears a little silver horn at his\nside. If the dwarf is short and ugly, he is tall and handsome; if the\ndwarf's face has a scowl of wicked hatred and cunning, his has a smile\nthat beams with kindliness and candor; if the dwarf is old and crooked\nand rough and hairy, he is young and straight and graceful and fair. In\nshort, you surely never saw a young man who looked more free, happy,\ngenerous, noble, strong, and bold than he. It makes one more good-\nhumored to look at him, and the sunlight follows him straight into the\ncave. Something else follows him too, for he is leading a big brown\nbear by a cord twisted around its neck. He sends the bear at the dwarf,\nwho screams and runs away in terror. The young man seems to have caught\nthe bear in the woods just to frighten the dwarf, and he lets it go\nagain when the dwarf tells him that the sword is finished and ready for\nhim. He takes the sword and looks at it scornfully. It is good for\nnothing, he says. He strikes it upon the anvil and breaks it into a\ndozen pieces. He is a little particular about his swords; he does not\nlike them unless he can chop anvils with them.\n\n\"Before we try to see any more, perhaps I ought to tell you something\nabout this wonderful youth and why he lives here in the cave with the\ndwarf. He was born here. This is the forest where the treasure is\nhidden that was paid to the giants for building the castle of the gods.\nIt is guarded, as you know, by the giant who killed his brother so that\nhe might have the whole of it, and he has changed himself into a\nhorrible dragon, by the magic helmet, so that he may guard it better.\nThe young man's mother was the woman whom the Daughter of the God sent\naway into this forest to save her from the anger of the Father of the\nGods, as you remember. She took refuge here in the dwarf's cave and she\ndied soon after her son was born, and then the dwarf kept the boy and\nbrought him up. But it was not because he cared for him at all or had\nthe least kindly feeling for anybody. It was just because he wanted, as\nso many others wanted, that rich treasure and the magic helmet and the\nmagic ring with the curse upon it.\n\n\"Now, you see, the boy's mother gave him the pieces of the broken magic\nsword and told him to keep them for the boy. He knew something about\nthe sword and so he got it into his head that this was the very sword\nthat would sometime kill that dragon. And since this boy was to have\nthe sword, he thought, too, that he might very likely grow up to be the\nman who would kill the dragon. Do you see, then, why he has kept him\nand fed him and brought him up so carefully? It was just because he was\nso cunning and cruel and selfish that he took good care of the boy. He\nknew very well that he himself would never dare to go near enough to\nthat dragon for it to breathe on him, but he thought: 'Some day I will\ngive this boy the magic sword and make him go and kill the monster with\nit, and then I will kill him and get all the treasure, with the helmet\nand the ring, and then I shall be the ruler of all the dwarfs, of men,\nof the gods themselves, and of the whole world.'\n\n[Illustration: \"THE SUNLIGHT FOLLOWS HIM STRAIGHT INTO THE CAVE.\"]\n\n\"So the baby that the dwarf took and tended at first has grown to be\nthis noble, brave, generous young man, and he hates the dwarf as anyone\nas good and strong as he must hate anything so cowardly and mean and\nwicked. All these years the dwarf has never told him anything about his\nmother or how he came to be living with him here in the cave. But now\nof a sudden the young man asks the dwarf some questions and shows that\nhe means to treat him very roughly if he does not answer them. So the\ndwarf tells him a little of what I have told you, and to prove that\nwhat he says about his mother is true he shows him the pieces of the\nbroken sword.\n\n\"The young man gets interested in these at once, you may be sure. 'That\nwas a good sword,' he cries; 'that is the sword I must have; mend it\nfor me, dwarf, and mend it quickly. I will go into the forest, and, if\nit is not done when I come back, you shall be sorry that you worked so\nbadly.'\n\n\"Then away he goes to play with the bears, perhaps, in the forest. Now\nyou can be quite sure that the dwarf has not kept that broken sword all\nthese years without ever trying to mend it. He has tried many times,\nand he can no more put the pieces together than he can look as handsome\nas the fiery youth who has just left him here frightened half to death.\nSo he simply sits down and lets himself get more frightened till he\nlooks up and finds that he has a visitor.\n\n\"The visitor is a tall old man whom he does not know, but I know him;\nhe is the Father of the Gods. He asks the dwarf to let him sit down and\nrest, but the dwarf is even more ill-natured than usual and bids him go\naway and not trouble him. The Father of the Gods replies that he might\nperhaps tell the dwarf something that would be of use to him if he\nwould let him stay. Now you see what a good chance this would be for\nthe dwarf to ask how to mend the broken sword, but he is so cross and\nsurly that he thinks of nothing but how to be as disagreeable as\npossible, so he says that he knows all that he needs to know and does\nnot care to learn from anybody. But the Father of the Gods persists; he\nwill give the dwarf his head, he says, if he cannot answer any three\nquestions that he may ask him. This pleases the dwarf, for he thinks it\nwould be a pleasure to him to cut off somebody's head. 'What people,\nthen,' he asks for his first question, 'live under the ground?'\n\n\"'The dwarfs,' says the stranger; 'one of them had a ring once, by\nwhich he ruled all the others.'\n\n\"'And what people,' asks the dwarf, 'live upon the mountains?'\n\n\"'The giants; one of them, in the form of a dragon, has the ring now.'\n\n\"'And who live up among the clouds?'\n\n\"'The gods,' says the stranger, 'and the Father of the Gods has a spear\nwith which he rules the world.'\n\n\"As he says that, he lets the end of the spear which he carries drop\nupon the ground and instantly there is a peal of thunder.\n\n\"'Now,' says the stranger, 'as I have saved my head, you must pledge me\nyours to answer the three questions which I shall ask. Who is the\nstrongest of heroes whom the Father of the Gods loves?'\n\n\"The dwarf answers that he thinks it must be the son of the woman who\ndied long ago in the forest, who will kill the dragon and win the\ntreasure. This is a good answer, and the stranger asks again: 'What\nsword must he use to kill the dragon?'\n\n\"What easy questions these are, to be sure! The dwarf says at once:\n'The magic sword that the Father of the Gods made.'\n\n\"Now the stranger looks stern and says: 'But who shall mend the sword\nthat it may be fit for the fight?'\n\n\"At this the dwarf is frightened indeed. He cries out in terror that he\ncannot do it, he knows no better smith than himself, and he does not\nsee how it can be done. 'Then you should have asked me that,' says the\nstranger, 'instead of foolish questions about things that you knew\nalready. Yet I will tell you: as none but the best of heroes could pull\nthat sword out of the tree where it once stuck, so now none but a hero\nwho knows no fear can put its broken pieces together. Your poor head,\nwhich belongs to me, I will leave to the same hero, and so good-by.'\n\n\"The dwarf falls upon the ground in a trembling heap, and so the young\nman finds him when he comes back to ask if he has yet mended the sword.\n'I can never mend it,' he cries. 'Have you ever known fear?'\n\n\"'Fear?' he answers; 'no, what is fear? Is it something I ought to know\nhow to do, something you ought to have taught me and have not? Is it a\npleasant thing to have or to know or to do? What is it like?'\n\n\"'I cannot teach you fear,' says the dwarf, 'but I know one who can, or\nelse you never can learn it. It is the dragon that lives in the cave at\nthe end of the wood. I will take you to him and if he will not teach\nyou fear then you may kill him.'\n\n\"'Very well,' says the young man, 'I will go; but first mend the sword\nfor me; I shall need it.'\n\n\"'I cannot mend it for you.' the dwarf answers; 'only one who does not\nknow how to fear can do that.'\n\n\"'Then I must do it myself,' says the young man, and he sets about it\nat once.\n\n\"The fire on that forge has never been so hot and the fire here on our\nhearth has never been so bright as now when the young man who knows no\nfear blows the bellows. While the coals under that eager blast shine\nredder and redder and then whiter and whiter he begins filing the\npieces of the sword to powder. The dwarf cries out to him that that is\nnot the way to mend a sword; but this is not a common sword, and the\ndwarf has shown well enough already that he knows nothing about mending\nit. So the young smith pays no attention to him, but goes on with his\nwork. In mending magic swords, just as in some other things, knowing\nhow at the start does not count for so much as not knowing any fear.\n\n\"So without any fear the young man melts the filings of the sword with\nthe splendid fire which you can surely see just as well as anybody, and\npours the melted metal into a mould of the shape of a sword blade. By\nthis time the dwarf has found that it is of no use to interrupt him and\nhas begun to think about his own work. When the dragon has been killed,\nhe thinks, the hero will be hot and tired, and then he will offer him\nsomething to drink. It will be poison, the hero will die, and then he,\nthe poor dwarf, who has worked and waited all these years for this day,\nwill have all the treasure, with the magic helmet and the ring. So he\nsets himself to brewing the poison by the very same fire that the young\nman is using to forge his sword.\n\n\"And now the young man has heated the sword again and shaped it with\nhammers and cooled it with water, he is sharpening and polishing the\nblade and fitting it to the hilt, and now at last he holds it in his\nhand and it is done. He has forged the magic sword and has proved his\nright; he is the true hero, the hero who knows no fear. And is there\nany thing that such a hero loves better than a good sword? Yes, to be\nsure; but to this hero the time for that has not come yet, and he has\nnever felt such delight as fills him now when he looks along the\nbright, smooth, keen edge of this blade. Oh, the sword was not like\nthis before it was broken. Sometimes people say that beautiful polished\nthings are like mirrors, but this sword is like a flame. It burns and\ntwinkles as he holds it and turns it in his hand. I can scarcely see of\nwhat shape it is, for now it shines like a straight beam of light, now,\nas he twists it, there is a flash in a half circle, like a scymitar,\nand again the point alone gleams out and flashes, as if it would find\nits own way to the heart of a foe, with no hand to guide it. He swings\nthe sword above his head, as he did the other that the dwarf made for\nhim, and strikes it upon the anvil. And this time the anvil falls in\ntwo as if it were made of paper, and the sword glitters and shines and\nshimmers in the joy of its magic sharpness and strength.\n\n\"Now that the sword is ready, the dwarf leads the young man away\nthrough the woods, a long journey, to a place where he has never been\nbefore, to find the dragon. You see that deep, dark hole under the\nsticks; that is the dragon's cave in the side of the mountain. Just a\nlittle light shines at the very bottom of it, where the dragon is\nresting and breathing out fire. 'There is his hole,' says the dwarf;\n'just wait here till he comes out and then kill him, Look out for his\nteeth or he will catch you and eat you; be careful about his breath,\nfor it is fiery and poisonous; beware of his tail, for he may wind it\naround you and crush you.'\n\n\"'I do not care for his teeth or his breath or his tail,' says the\nyoung man; 'I only want to find his heart. Leave me here, and never let\nme see you again.'\n\n\"The dwarf goes away and the young man sits down on the grass to wait\nfor the dragon. You see, since he knows nothing at all about fear it\ndoes not seem to him such a great thing to kill a dragon. He does not\ncare much whether he kills it or not, and he is in no hurry about it.\nSo he sits on the grass and looks at the gray old rocks and the bright\nyoung flowers about him, sees the golden sunlight falling in little\nspots and flecks through the branches, feels the cool, fresh morning\nair, and hears the soft rustle of the trees and the singing of the\nbirds. Most of all, he listens to the birds that flutter about in the\nbranches above him, as the sparks hover over the fire there, before\nthey fly away up the chimney, and in particular to one bird, right over\nhis head in the tree. It sings so loudly and so clearly that it seems\nto be talking to him, only, of course, he cannot understand what it\nsays. He has wished for a long time that he might have some better\ncompany than the ugly dwarf, and he thinks now that he should like to\ntalk with the bird.\n\n\"If he cannot understand the bird, perhaps the next best thing would be\nto make the bird understand him, so he makes a pipe out of a reed and\ntries to play upon it something like the bird's song. I don't know what\nhe thinks he is saying to the bird with his reed, and he seems not much\npleased with it himself, for he throws it away and blows a ringing,\nechoing blast on his horn instead. And now he gets an answer, for this\ntime he has awakened the dragon, and it comes out of its cave to see\nwhat is making so much noise so early in the morning.\n\n\"Oh, but it is an ugly-looking monster! It is something like a snake,\nbut more like a giant lizard. It has scales all over its body and it\nhas a long, shiny tail. It walks clumsily, because its legs are too\nsmall for it, and writhes and wriggles itself along, raising its head\nnow and then to look about, and breathing out red fire and black smoke\nlike a blast from a furnace. When its poisonous breath has blown this\nsmoke away for an instant, it shows two rows of teeth like knives and a\nlong forked tongue like a snake's, and its jaws are opened wide enough\nto take the young man into them and bite him into a dozen pieces at one\nsnap. Surely if he is ever to learn what fear is now is his chance.\n\n\"He sees all this just as plainly as I see it here in the fire; but do\nyou think he is afraid? Why, he simply laughs at the monster. 'A\npleasant-looking fellow you are,' he says; 'can you teach me what fear\nis? If you cannot, I shall prick you with my sword to make you think\nabout it.'\n\n\"Now, this dragon can talk just as well as it could when it was a\ngiant, so it begins to get angry and tells the impudent young man to\ncome on and see what he can do with his little tailor's needle of a\nsword. He does not have to be asked twice, and in a minute there is\njust as lively a fight as you ever saw. The dragon tries to breathe\nfire upon the hero and scorch him up to a black cinder, but he does not\nwant to be a cinder and he runs around to the dragon's side. Then the\ndragon tries to catch him with its long slimy tail, so that it may\ncrush him to a jelly, but he does not want to be a jelly either, so as\nsoon as the tail comes near enough he gives it a terrible wound with\nhis sword, and then runs back in front of the dragon. The monster gives\na dreadful roar as it feels the wound, and raises its head and breast\nhigh up in the air, striking at the hero with its long, sharp claws and\ntrying to throw the whole weight of its body upon him. This is just\nwhat he has been watching for, and as the dragon lifts itself before\nhim he drives his sword clear through its heart.\n\n\"Then he springs lightly away again, as the dragon, with another\nhorrible bellow, falls down and rolls over upon its side. 'It is the\ncurse of the ring that has killed me,' says the dragon, as it dies; 'my\ntreasure is there in the cave; you can take it now, bold boy, but the\ncurse of the ring will bring death to you, as it has brought it to me.'\n\n\"So the dragon lies dead. The young hero seizes the hilt of the sword\nto draw it from the dragon's body, and as he pulls it out the blood\nfrom the wound spurts upon his hand. It burns as if it were the fuel of\nthe creature's fiery breath. As he feels its heat he puts his fingers\ninto his mouth, and the instant that he tastes the blood the most\nwonderful thing of all happens to him. He understands the songs of the\nbirds. The one that he tried to talk with before sings to him again,\nand now he knows every word. It tells him that in the cave are gold and\njewels untold, that with the magic helmet he can do wonderful things,\nand that with the magic ring he can rule the world. He thanks the bird\nfor telling him such good things, and goes to find the helmet and the\nring. In a minute he comes back with them; he does not want the rest of\nthe treasure, for he knows nothing about gold and cares nothing about\nit.\n\n\"Now the bird sings to him again. 'Beware of the dwarf,' it says, 'he\nmeans to do you harm. But when he speaks to you the blood of the dragon\nwhich you have tasted will help you to understand the meaning that is\nin his heart instead of the words that he says.'\n\n\"So the dwarf comes back, with a drinking-horn in which he has poured\nthe poison, and he offers it to the hero to drink. But with all the\nfriendly words that he tries to speak, he can hide nothing from the\nyoung man, who reads his heart and knows that he has kept him and fed\nhim all these years only that he might kill the dragon, and that now he\nmeans to poison him and get the gold for himself. There is only one\nthing to be done with such wickedness as this. He raises his sword and\nwith one blow strikes the dwarf dead.\n\n\"You can guess how the bird is delighted at this. It sings to him\nagain: 'I know where you could find the loveliest woman in the world.\nThere is fire burning all around her, and if you could only pass\nthrough that you could win her for your wife.'\n\n\"'But could I pass through the fire?' he asks.\n\n\"'Only the hero who knows no fear can do that,' sings the bird.\n\n\"'Very well, then, I know no fear,' he answers; 'the dragon could not\nteach it to me; lead me to this woman; perhaps I may learn it from\nher.'\n\n\"The bird flutters down a little from the tree and then flies away. Did\nyou see the big, bright spark that flew up the chimney?\n\n\"Away runs the hero too, following the bird. It is a long journey,\nthrough the forest and over the rocks and the mountains, but he is\nyoung and eager, and his light heart makes the way almost as easy for\nhim as it is for the bird. Yet the bird is the faster, and by and by it\nflies so far ahead that he cannot see it at all, and then his way is\nbarred by a mighty form that stands before him. It is the Father of the\nGods. The young man does not know what a terrible person he has met,\nthough it is fair to say that if he did know he would not care, and he\nasks him if he knows where he may find the beautiful woman with the\nfire all about her.\n\n\"The Father of the Gods asks him in turn how he heard of this woman,\nwhat taught him to understand the song of the bird, who forged the\nsword with which he killed the dragon. All these things he answers, and\nthe Father of the Gods is sure that the hero who knows no fear has come\nat last. Yet one test remains for him. 'There is the place you seek,'\nhe says, as he points to the mountain-top, where the bright flames are\nwhirling and dancing and leaping up into the very sky, 'there is your\nway, yet not another step upon it shall you go.' and he stretches his\nspear across the path to keep the young man back.\n\n\"Ah, once before that spear was raised against this magic sword. It was\na mighty arm that swung the sword then, the arm of the best of heroes\nliving, but the hero had done a wrong, he had helped to break a\npromise, and he who breaks promises can never break the spears of the\ngods. His arm had not the young strength of that which masters the\nsword to-day. Fierce and brave and noble was he, yet he had seen many\nsorrows, and he knew what fear was; the glad, free hope of the new hero\nwas not his. The sword then was true of temper, bright and sharp, but\nthe heat and the light of the fire of a new manhood had not been forged\ninto it then, and it was not aflame with the glory of youth and the\npromise of love. And so, with a sweep and a flash as of lightning, the\nmagic sword cuts through the spear that no other sword ever dared even\nstrike, and as the fragments fall upon the ground, the mountain shakes\nand shudders, and the thunder rolls and rumbles about its top. The\nyoung man is again upon his way. Half sadly and half gladly, the Father\nof the Gods looks after him. He has come and has passed, the hero who\nknows no fear; he has not even feared the spear that ruled the world,\nand now that spear is broken. The time of the gods is near.\n\n\"Again I see the whole fire streaming up fiercely and joyously, as it\ndid when the Father of the Gods kissed his daughter to sleep. The winds\nare still hushed around the mountain top, the flowers in the grass and\non the rock still droop with folded petals, and the horse still sleeps\nupon the ground, for there, in the midst of the fire, on the bank of\nmoss still lies the Daughter of the God, her form covered with her\nshield, and her face hidden by her closed helmet. Through all these\nyears nothing has changed or stirred in this magic circle except the\nchanging, stirring, restless, watchful fire that rings it around. Now,\nthe time for life has come again. Up from the mountain side comes a\nringing horn note, and in a moment the hero strides through the flames\nthat dart and flicker and lick at him, but cannot harm him, and stands\nin the magic circle gazing in wonder upon its strange sleep.\n\n\"'Who is that,' he thinks, 'covered with the shield? It must be a\nknight, but is it not hard for him to lie there all dressed in armor?'\nHe gently takes off the helmet and starts back in surprise as he sees\nthe lovely face and the soft spun gold that falls out upon the moss as\nhe lifts the helmet away. Now he raises the shield and tries to open\nthe armor in front, that the knight may breathe more freely. He cannot\nunfasten it, and at last he cuts it with his sword, and then he starts\nagain as he sees the light, snowy folds of the garment underneath. This\ncan be no knight, this is a woman. What has he done? What shall he do?\nHe stands and looks at her; he has never seen anything half so\nbeautiful, and as he looks he trembles; he fears to wake her and he\nfears to leave her asleep. Yes, the hero who knew no fear trembles. He\nhas learned to fear from this woman. Not by anything that she has done\nhas she taught him, for she still sleeps. It is only because she is a\nwoman that he fears. He is no less a hero for that. A man who lived\nlong and never feared at all would be no hero. The time has come to\nhim, as it must come to every man, when it is braver to fear.\n\n\"Yet, though he fears, he does not hesitate. He does just the only\nthing that he possibly could do. He kneels beside her and kisses her\nlips. Then she awakes. She opens those eyes that are blue with the\ndepth of the sea and the light of the sky. She gazes around her at the\nrocks, at the trees, at the sunlight, at her hero, and her face is\nfilled with joy. And what a face it is! No longer as it was before. At\nher father's kiss the goddess slept; her hero's kiss awoke the woman.\nHer face is as clear, as pure, and as radiant as before, but soft and\ngracious and gentle; her eyes are as full of light as they were, but\nthere is tenderness in them too; her lips are as calm and beautiful,\nbut they are all sweetness; what was still and stern and placid is full\nof sympathy, kind, and loving.\n\n\"The flowers lift up their heads and open to look at her; the horse\nneighs to say that he is awake again and knows her; the little winds\ncome back and murmur softly at first among the leaves; then they get\nbolder and kiss her cheek and lift her hair and shake it out to the\nlight, and whisper to her hero and ask him if he saw any gold like that\nin the dragon's cave. He has never seen any woman before, yet he knows\nthat in all the world there cannot be another such as this. She has\nseen many heroes, yet this is he for whom she has waited so long. Each\nknows all the depth of the other's thoughts, and so they stand and gaze\neach into the other's eyes and into the other's heart.\"\n\n\"And is that all?\" said the child. \"It ends just like 'The Sleeping\nBeauty,' doesn't it?\"\n\n\"No; just here it is like 'The Sleeping Beauty,' but we shall see more\nsome other time. This is the end for the night.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE END OF THE RING\n\n\nThe fire has always fascinated and charmed me. When I was a child\nmyself I used to watch it till my eyes ached, and my habit of throwing\nsticks and paper into it to see them burn was a terror to all my aunts.\nA bonfire was a delicious joy, and fireworks, especially if I could set\nthem off myself, were the summit of happiness. Even now, whenever I see\na house on fire I am afraid my pleasure in watching it is much greater\nthan my sorrow for the people who are losing their property or their\nhome. I do not want houses to burn, but if they must burn I want to see\nthem. As for the fire on the hearth, that is my counsellor and friend.\nWhen we are alone together I sit and gaze into it, and it tells me of\nold, happy times, of other friends who are far away now, and of the\npleasant nights we had together. It speaks to me of old hopes, it is\nglad with me in their fulfilment or it cheers me in their loss. It\ntalks of bright, new hopes, and tells me that even if all else fails,\nit will still be true to me and will try, if I will come back to it, to\ncheer and help me again as it cheers and helps me now.\n\nAs I sat in this way with the fire, the little girl came and took a low\nstool beside me. She looked into the fire too, laying her cheek upon my\nhand, which rested on the arm of the chair. She does not care for our\ntalks about other hearth fires that long ago went out, so we had to do\nsomething else to entertain her. \"Did you want to know more about the\nDaughter of the God and the Hero who knew no fear?\" I said. \"Well, I\ncan see them both now, just where we saw them last on the mountain top,\nwith the fire burning around them as it did before, but not so high and\nfierce as before, because it is not needed for a guard so much as it\nwas.\n\n\"The Daughter of the God is telling her hero that he ought to go to\nseek more adventures. Perhaps he may find other things for his magic\nsword to kill besides dragons and wicked dwarfs, and the more such\nthings he does the better she will love him when he comes back. Oh, she\nknows all about heroes and what they ought to do. He does not like to\nleave her at all, but if he knows that she really wants him to seek\nadventures, you may be sure he will seek them. Before he goes, he gives\nher the ring that he got from the dragon's cave, with the curse upon\nit, but they are not the sort of man and woman to trouble themselves\nabout curses. In return she gives him her horse and her shield, not\nthat he will need it much against his enemies, with that magic sword,\nand besides she knows how to cast a spell upon him so that he cannot be\nwounded in battle; but the shield may keep off the rain, if he has to\nsleep out of doors. So he goes away down the mountain and she waits for\nhim to come back.\n\n\"Now all the fire changes to a shining river. It is the same river\nwhere the treasure was once kept by the nymphs, only now we are above\nit instead of under it. On the bank is the hall of a king and I see the\nking himself sitting on his throne, with his sister, a beautiful\nprincess, beside him. With them too is their half-brother. He is a\nstrange fellow and you ought to know him. His father is the dwarf who\nstole the treasure, and his father has told him all about it many times\nand has taught him to hope that some time he may get it again, so that\nthey two may divide all the riches between them, and with the ring and\nthe helmet may rule the world. He is just as wicked as his father, all\nhe cares for in the world is to get that treasure, and you may be sure\nthat he will try to get it in every way that he can find, good or bad.\n\n\"He is trying at this very moment, and in rather a strange way, you may\nthink at first. He is telling the king that he ought to have a wife,\nand that his sister ought to have a husband. The king asks, just as\neverybody always asks when he is told that, 'Whom do you want me to\nhave?'\n\n\"'The most beautiful and the most royal of all women,' says the half-\nbrother, 'lives upon a rock with fire all around it for a guard, and\nwhoever shall break through the fire and come to her shall win her for\nhis wife.'\n\n\"This does not encourage the king at all. He never walked through a\nfire or did anything of the sort, and he does not even care to try. You\nsee the difference between a king and a hero. But the half-brother says\nthat he knows of a hero who would be glad to go through the fire and\nget this woman for the king, if only he might have the king's sister\nfor himself. The princess is not displeased at all at the notion of a\nhusband who is so brave and can do such wonderful things, but she fears\nthat such a hero must long ago have seen and loved some woman more\nbeautiful than she, and that he will not care for her at all. But the\nhalf-brother answers: 'There is a magic drink which you shall give him,\nand it will make him forget any other woman he has ever seen, no matter\nwho she is.'\n\n\"The half-brother knows very well, I believe, that the hero already\nloves the Daughter of the God, and it is she that he means to make him\nforget before he sends him to get her for the king. Of course the king\nand his sister know nothing about this, or they would have nothing to\ndo with such a wicked plan, for they are reasonably good people. The\nhalf-brother says that the hero is going about the world to find\nadventures and is sure to come here before long, and true enough, even\nwhile he is speaking they see him coming with his horse in a little\nboat on the river. They call to him to come on shore, and they welcome\nhim as if they were never so glad to see anybody before in their lives.\n\n\"Perhaps, indeed, they never were so glad to see anybody, and I am sure\nthe princess never was. A form so full of life and action and vigor, or\na face so full of freedom and courage and cheer surely she has never\nseen. The fine frankness of his ways and the young grace of his motion\nare new to her too, and that she can hope to win him at once for\nherself is almost more than she can believe. She would not think of\nsuch a thing at all if she knew how little he thought or cared about\nher. He is charming and polite enough, of course, but as often as he\nthinks of her or of anything else once he thinks of the Daughter of the\nGod twice, and when his thoughts are not especially drawn away he\nthinks of her all the time. But now the princess offers him a horn\nfilled with the magic drink that is to make him forget. Oh, if only\nthat clever little bird were here now to warn him, as it did when the\ndwarf mixed the drink for him, how much trouble might be saved! But,\nyou know, he never thinks of danger, so he drinks, and then he thinks\nof nothing at all--nothing at all but the princess.\n\n\"Well, that is not surprising, for you know she is only the second\nwoman he ever saw and he has forgotten the first. You would scarcely\nbelieve how much he has forgotten her. Why, if the king were to tell\nhim at this moment that a woman slept under a shield, guarded by fire,\nthat a young man came through the fire, cut open her armor, kissed her,\nawakened her, and vowed that he would love her forever, he would not\nremember that he had ever known of anything of the kind or had ever\nheard of such a young man. For him there is no woman in the world now\nbut the princess.\n\n\"The king does tell him a little of this story, when the hero asks him,\nstill thinking of the princess, whether he has a wife as well a sister.\n'No,' the king answers, 'I have no wife. The woman I want for my wife I\nfear I never can win; she is far away upon a mountain and a fire burns\nall around her. He who could pass through the fire and come to her\nmight win her, but I could never do it.'\n\n\"It is just as I told you. This absurd young man does not know that he\never heard of a woman in the middle of a fire before; he does not know\nthat he ever learned to fear, so he says: 'I am not afraid of a little\nfire; I will go and get your bride for you if you will give me your\nsister for mine.'\n\n\"'I will give you my sister gladly,' says the king; 'but how is my\nbride to be made to think that it is I who come to her and win her,\ninstead of you?'\n\n\"'That is easy,' says the half-brother; 'with that helmet which he\nwears he can take any form he will, and he can make himself look\nexactly like you. He shall bring the woman away through the fire and\nthen he shall leave her to you, and she will never know that it was not\nyou who came to her rock.'\n\n\"Now, the hero, you know, never knew what could be done with that\nhelmet. He only took it with him from the dragon's cave because the\nlittle bird told him it was good for something. Now that he has learned\nits use everything that he and the king want to do seems simple enough,\nand they set off in the little boat for the rock with the fire around\nit. The half-brother stays on the shore and looks after them, with his\npale face and his wicked eyes. The woman far away on that rock has the\nmagic ring. When the king brings her here as his bride he will find\nsome way to get the ring, and then what will he care for kings or\nbrides, for princesses or heroes? He and the wicked dwarf, his father,\nwill rule the world.\n\n\"The fire burns up high and clear again and within its circle sits the\nDaughter of the God. She does not sleep now; she sits and gazes at the\nring her hero gave her, thinking nothing of the curse upon it, and\nwonders when he will come back to her. Ah, when will her hero come back\nto her? Do you remember how once on this very rock the daughters of the\ngod met to ride together to his castle, and how they came each riding\non her flying horse, racing with the driving wind and the hurrying\nclouds? With just such a leap and a flash of a sudden flame up into the\nsmoke I can see one of them riding now. So quickly she gallops through\nthe sky that I can scarcely see what she is till she reaches the rock,\nsprings from her horse, and stands before her sister. Her sister runs\nto meet her and to ask if their father is still angry with her.\n\n\"The war goddess has sad things to tell of their father. He sits in his\ncastle with the gods and his heroes around him. They do not go out to\nfight and kill each other, and to be made alive and well again at\nsunset any more. The Father of the Gods only sits there and looks at\nhis broken spear, and the rest, full of dread, look only at him. He is\nweary of ruling the world, weary of all the trouble that has come from\nthe wrong that he did in not giving that treasure back to the river\nnymphs. He is not sorry that his spear is broken and he would gladly\nhasten the end of all. He has made his heroes cut down the great ash\ntree from which his spear was made, the tree that spread its branches\nover all his castle, and they have piled the wood high around the\nwalls. When the end comes it will help the castle to burn. And now the\nFather of the Gods says that, if the woman who has the magic ring whose\ncurse has been so heavy would but give it back to the river nymphs, all\nhis great sorrows would be over.\n\n\"This his daughter, the war goddess, heard, and hastened here to tell\nit to his daughter, the woman. Will she give up the ring? Will she help\nthe gods to find the rest that they long for? Ah, but a war goddess\nknows as little of women as she does of men. No, no, the woman loves\nthe man who gave her the ring and she would not lose it for a moment to\ngain ages of peace for the gods whose homes she shares no more. She\ncares nothing for weary gods; she has a hero. The war goddess cannot\nunderstand her sister. She leaves her and is away again, toward the\ncastle of the gods, riding on her flying horse, galloping against the\ndriving wind and the hurrying clouds.\n\n\"A horn sounds down in the valley. There is only one horn in the world\nlike that, and the woman springs joyfully up to meet her hero. He comes\nand walks through the fire as he did before, but oh! how different he\nis from what he was before! Then his face was young and fresh and noble\nand his form was graceful and light; now his face and his form are\nthose of the king. Is this the promise that the Father of the Gods made\nto his daughter? He said that none should ever come to her or win her\nbut the bravest of heroes. Yes, this is indeed the promise and this the\nhero, but how sadly for her the promise is kept! When he saw her before\nhe gently lifted off her helmet and kissed her and learned to fear\nbefore her; now he thinks only of the princess, away there by the\nriver, and he tells the Daughter of the God that he is the king and\nthat she must come with him and be his bride.\n\n\"She resists him, and he seizes her to force her. She holds out her\nhand to him with the ring and bids him beware its power, which will\nprotect her from him; he seizes her hand and pulls the ring from her\nfinger. She is helpless; she faints in his grasp; he carries her\nthrough the fire and down the mountain to where the real king is. He\nleaves them together and goes back alone to the hall by the river and\nto the princess.\n\n\"Very glad is the princess, you may be sure, to see him come back so\nquickly and so safely, and glad too is the half-brother, but for a\ndifferent reason, for he sees the ring on his finger. Now they call all\nthe people together to greet the king and his bride as they come in\ntheir boat on the river. There are shouts and cheers, and men with\nwaving banners and women who scatter flowers; the king smiles upon his\npeople and thanks them for their greeting, and there is only one who is\nnot merry and glad. And whom do you think the king's new bride sees in\nall this happy crowd? Only her hero, in his own form again, and, if her\nheart was wounded and sad before, it dies within her now, when she sees\nhim leading the princess out to meet them and knows that he thinks no\nlonger of her. She turns pale and faint at first and then angry and\nfierce. She cries out that this man was her lover, that he has betrayed\nher for the princess and that he has betrayed the king too.\n\n\"Of course, nobody can understand that at all--nobody but the half-\nbrother--but you can think how everybody must be shocked and\nastonished, and how everybody tries to make out what she means, and\nfails. To be sure, she understands it herself as little as the rest.\nShe knows nothing about the magic drink that made her lover forget her;\nshe knows only that he swore always to love her and that now he loves\nthe princess. The king does not know that the hero ever saw his bride\ntill he went to her mountain to bring her for him, so he supposes that,\nif he ever told her that he loved her, it must have been then; that\nwould be betraying the king, his friend, in a most cruel way, of\ncourse. The princess knows only just what the king knows, and if the\nking has been deceived and betrayed, she must have been deceived and\nbetrayed a great deal more. As for the poor hero himself, he does not\nremember that he ever saw this woman before, he does not know how he\ncan have done any wrong, and he is more puzzled than any of the rest.\nOnly the half-brother knows all about it, that nobody is to blame at\nall except himself, and it is he whom nobody thinks of suspecting. The\nhero lays his hand on the half-brother's spear and swears that he has\nnever wronged anyone here; if he has, he says, may this very spear slay\nhim.\n\n\"Now is the time for the half-brother to work the hero's ruin and to\ntry to get the ring that he wears. When all have gone but him and the\nking and his bride, he whispers to her that he will help her, and will\nkill the hero to revenge the wrong that he has done her. 'You kill\nhim!' she cries. 'If he once looked at you, you would not dare come\nnear him.'\n\n\"'Yet,' he says, 'there must be some way that I could do it; tell me\nwhat it is and you will be revenged.'\n\n\"'I cast a spell upon him,' she says, 'so that he could not be wounded\nin battle, but I knew that he would never turn his back upon an enemy,\nso I set no spell there; you may strike him in the back.'\n\n\"Now, he tells the king that nothing but the hero's death can restore\nthe honor that he has lost. 'To-morrow,' he says, 'we will go hunting;\nI will kill him with my spear, and we will tell the princess that it\nwas a wild boar that did it.'\n\n\"'It shall be so,' they all cry; 'he must die.'\n\n\"And whom do you think I see now? The river nymphs again. Not before\nthe king's house, where we have been so long, but in another part of\nthe river, all shut in by wild woods and rocks. They are swimming and\nplaying on the water, just as they did under it when we saw them first,\nand they seem just as careless and happy as they did then, but they are\nstill mourning for their lost treasure and longing to get it back\nagain. If they could only get the ring it would do as well as the whole\ntreasure, for the ring is the magic part of it. And now to this very\nspot comes the hero, who wears the ring on his finger. He has wandered\naway from the king and his men, who were hunting with him, and as soon\nas the nymphs see him they beg him to give them back their ring.\n\n\"He says that he will not, at first; it was too much trouble for him to\nwin it from the dragon. But he really does not care so very much about\nit, and I think he would let them have it in the end if it were not for\na great mistake that they make in asking for it. They tell him about\nthe curse of the ring, and that if he keeps it he will be killed this\nvery day. Now, you can see easily enough that that is the very worst\nthing they could say if they hoped to get the ring from him, for he is\nnot in the least afraid of being killed, and he will not have anybody\nbelieve that he is afraid. They shall not have it, he says, happen what\nwill. They will have it, they call back to him, and this very day; and\nso they dive down under the water and leave him.\n\n\"Now come the rest of the huntsmen and sit about in a circle to rest\nhere in the shade and to talk. The king is gloomy, thinking still of\nthe wrongs that have been done him. His half-brother asks the hero if\nit is true that he knows what the birds say. 'I listen to them no\nmore,' he answers; 'but to cheer the king I will tell you some stories\nof the things that I have seen and the things that I have done.'\n\n\"He tells them of the dwarf who kept him and brought him up that he\nmight fight the dragon; he tells how he mended the magic sword, how he\nkilled the dragon with it, and took the helmet and the ring from the\ncave. A bird then sang to him, he says, and told him that the dwarf\nwould try to kill him, but he killed the dwarf instead. Here he stops,\nfor he cannot remember anything about the mountain top with the fire\naround it, or the Daughter of the God, or even what the bird sang to\nhim next. But the king's half-brother squeezes something into his wine\nand tells him to drink it and it will make him remember better.\n\n\"He drinks, and it does make him remember better. He tells of the\nlovely woman who slept with the fire all around her, and how he kissed\nher and awoke her. Then suddenly the king understands it all; he\nremembers the drink of forgetfulness that they gave the hero, and he\nknows that nobody has done any wrong but his wicked half-brother; he it\nwas who told him of the woman in the fire who should be his wife, he\nwho said that the hero should bring her to him, he who bade them give\nhim the drink to make him forget, he who first said that the hero must\ndie. The king would gladly save the hero now, but it is too late.\n\n\"It is too late, for of a sudden two ravens fly up from beside the\nriver and away over the heads of them all. They are the ravens that fly\nall over the world and then to the Father of the Gods, to tell him all\nthat they see and all that they hear. They are going now to tell him\nthat the end of the gods, the end that he longs for, is near. The hero\nstarts up to hear what they say. He turns his back to the others, and\nthe half-brother, before the king can stop him, thrusts his spear into\nhis back. The hero turns for an instant to rush against the murderer,\nbut his strength is gone, and he falls helpless upon the ground. All\nthe rest cry out in horror, and the half-brother turns from them and\nstrides away.\n\n\"And what now of the hero? He speaks no word to those who stand about\nhim as he lies here dying on the ground. Where are his thoughts now? He\nis thinking of the only time he ever feared. He is back again upon the\nrock, with the flames curling and whirling all around him. Before him\nonce more lies the Daughter of the God. Again he kisses her lips. She\nawakes. He sees again those deep, blue, wonderful eyes. He does not see\nthe rocks, or the trees, or the sunlight--only her. Again for one last\nmoment he knows that in all the world there cannot be another woman\nsuch as this. They look each into the other's eyes and into the other's\nheart. He is dead.\n\n\"They lay him on his shield and lift it upon their shoulders, and so\nthey bear him back to the king's house by the river. The half-brother\nis there before them and tells the princess that her lover has been\nkilled by a wild boar. She does not believe him, and when the others\ncome she calls the king and all the rest his murderers. The king indeed\nwished his death once, but he is sorry enough for it now, and says that\nit was his half-brother alone who did it. 'Well, then,' cries the\nmurderer, 'it was I, and now I will have my reward; I will take the\nring.'\n\n\"The king cries out that he shall not have it, and draws his sword. The\nhalf-brother draws his own and rushes upon him, and before the men can\nrun between them the king too lies dead upon the ground. Then again the\nmurderer turns toward the body of the hero to take the ring, but, as he\ncomes near it, the hand that wears the ring rises of itself, as if it\nwere not dead and would ward him off. He falls back in terror, and so\ndo all the rest.\n\n\"But now comes the Daughter of the God. She bids them all stand back\nfrom her hero. 'He was mine, not yours,' she says to the princess; 'he\nloved me and I loved him before you ever saw him.'\n\n\"'Then it was all the fault of this wicked man who has murdered him,'\nthe princess answers; 'he gave me the drink for him that made him\nforget you.'\n\n\"She turns away from the hero and bends over the king, her brother. The\nDaughter of the God understands now; he was never faithless to her of\nhimself. She tells the men to build a funeral pyre. They pile up the\nwood and the women scatter flowers upon it. Then she takes the ring\nfrom her hero's hand. While they lay his body on the pyre she bids them\nbring his horse, the horse that once was hers, that flew with her\nthrough the clouds when she was a goddess, and slept on the mountain\ntop with the fire around it where she slept. With a torch she lights\nthe pyre. See how the flames leap up and catch at the wood and stream\nand grow. Once more the ravens fly up from the river bank and away into\nthe sky. Now the end for the gods comes indeed.\n\n\"The Daughter of the God springs upon the horse and with one bound they\nleap into the middle of the flames. Yet, as soon as they are there,\nthey are gone, nor can I see the hero there any more. The pyre all\nfalls together; but in the middle of its hot, red embers I see\nsomething brighter than all the rest. It is the ring. The water of the\nriver rises and rises till it flows over the fire and puts it out. Then\non the surface, swimming and playing about as always, I see the river\nnymphs. They have found the ring, and their treasure is their own\nagain. But the wicked half-brother of the king, the son of that dwarf\nwho stole it at first long ago, tries one last time to gain it. He\nplunges into the river to seize it from the nymphs, but one of them\nholds it up high in her hand and swims away from him, and the others\ntwine their arms around him and draw him down and down under the water\nand he is seen no more. The river sinks back to its old bed. The\ntreasure that was stolen is restored. All the evil and the punishment\nthat came from the curse of the ring is done.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"THEIR TREASURE IS THEIR OWN AGAIN.\"]\n\nA big stick that had been burning brightly and steadily for a long time\nsuddenly fell in two and the quick flames and the sparks sprang high up\ninto the chimney. \"See, it is the castle of the gods itself that is\nburning and lighting up all the sky. The wrong that they have done and\nthe sorrow that they have suffered are past, and their end has come.\nBut the fire burns fiercer still. It seizes upon everything, in the sky\nand on the earth. Perhaps it is better that it should. The world that\nwe have seen in our fire here grew so selfish and cruel and bad after\nthe gold was stolen from the river that it may be best for it to end in\nthese flames. They will last for only a moment. Even now they are not\nso fierce. I can see the sky again. There is a beautiful brightness in\nit, like the coming of the morning; yet it is more than that, for it\nstreams and flashes like the northern lights. I can see the earth again\ntoo, but it is not as it was before. It is a new world. It has all the\nbeautiful things that the old one had, the green pastures and plains,\nthe silver rivers, the blue mountains. Some of the gods have come back,\nbut not those who did such wrong and made the old world so wicked. The\nGod of Summer, who died long ago when the evil began, has come again;\nand if he and all who were good and beautiful before are to be here\nstill, I am sure that the Daughter of the God and the hero who knew no\nfear must find their way here somehow. A new world that is to be all\nunselfish and brave and true needs such a woman and such a hero.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE KNIGHT OF THE SWAN\n\n\nThe little girl was lying on the rug before the fire, one elbow buried\nin the long fur, and one cheek resting on her hand. She was gazing into\nthe fire, studying the bright, flickering flames and the red embers. I\nhad not noticed that she was there till her mother said, \"You will ruin\nthat child's eyes with your stories about the things in the fire. She\nwould watch it half the day if I would let her; it is too bright and\ntoo hot to look at so long and so near. Come away, dear, and don't look\nat the fire again to-day.\"\n\n\"But why can't I see such things as you see?\" the child said to me,\nwith a little sigh, as she got up slowly from the rug and came toward\nme.\n\n\"Just because you have not quite learned how yet,\" I said; \"now suppose\nyou give up trying for a little while, because you might hurt your\neyes, as your mother says, and let me look into the fire for you again.\nSit here in the big chair with me; turn your face right away from the\nfire and lay it against my shoulder. Now shut your eyes. Some people\ncan see a great deal better with their eyes shut, especially such\nthings as we are trying to see, because when their eyes are open they\nsee the every-day things all around them, and it confuses them and\nprevents their seeing what they want to see or what they ought to see.\nThey are people who have not learned to look right through the every-\nday things and see others, in spite of them, that are much better and\nmore beautiful, as you will learn to do some time. But just now keep\nyour eyes shut.\n\n\"I see then, first, a splendid company of knights and people. The\nshining of the fire is like the light of the sun, that glances from the\npolished armor, the gleaming weapons, the standards, and the banners of\nbright-colored silk and gold. It is all so fine that it looks like a\nholiday time; but it is not that, for the crowds of people seem bent on\nsomething more important than dancing and playing games. They are all\nlooking toward the King, who stands under a great tree and seems to\nhave something to say to them. The heralds are blowing their trumpets\nand calling to the people to come and hear what the King has to say,\nthough they are all there already and are only too anxious to hear, and\nso the King speaks. He says that far away at the other end of the\ncountry there is danger. Enemies are coming against him and his people,\nand he calls upon all the men here about him to help him to guard the\nland.\n\n\"Then they all shout and wave their banners and their arms, as I can\nsee in the flickering of the bright little flames, and they all cry\nthat they will fight for their King and their country. But this does\nnot satisfy the King, for he says that since he has come here he finds\neverything going wrong and everybody quarrelling, and he asks what it\nall means. Now there comes forward a man who has all this while been\nstanding silent beside his wife; and it may be as well to say just here\nthat this man's wife is a wicked witch and that the man himself is none\ntoo good. So a part of what he tells the King is true and another good\nlarge part is not true at all. When he tells what the King knew before,\nhe tells the truth; and when he tells anything that the King did not\nknow before, it is generally a lie.\n\n\"So he tells the King that he was left the guardian of the two children\nof the Duke who ruled in this part of the country, and who died a few\nyears ago. One of the children was a girl and the other was a boy, and\nhe tells the King, too, how he took care of them as they grew up. All\nthis is true and the King knew all about it before. But now he goes on\nto say that one day, when the brother and the sister had gone away from\ntheir castle together, the sister came back alone, trembling and crying\nand saying that she had lost her brother. Probably this is true enough\ntoo, but when he says that the poor sister was not really sorry at all,\nbecause she had killed her brother herself, he is telling a dreadful,\ncruel lie. Still perhaps it is not so much his fault, for his wife, the\nwitch, who you must remember is a good deal more wicked than himself,\nknows much more about it all than it would do for her to tell, and she\nmay have deceived him as well as other people.\n\n\"Of course the King is shocked at such a dreadful story as this, and he\nwants to know how the sister could ever have done anything so wicked.\nWell, of course the man who accuses her so boldly has a reason to give\nfor what he says she did, or he never would have dared mention it at\nall. So he explains that the sister was to be married to him and that\nshe refused him, and then he married the witch instead, only he does\nnot call her a witch. He thinks that the sister must have had some\nother lover, and she must have thought that if her brother, who ought\nto be Duke as soon as he should be old enough, were only dead, she\ncould be married to her lover, and then he would be the Duke. And now\nhe says that he thinks he himself ought to be Duke, since there is\nnobody who deserves to be one better than he, and he asks the King to\nmake him so. Now, of course anybody as bright as you are can see at\nonce that the whole reason for all these wicked stories is just that he\nwants to be Duke; but kings and knights and crowds of people are not\nalways very bright, though they may look so there in the fire, and they\ndo not feel so sure about it as you or I would. So the quarrel lies\nbetween a rich and powerful man who is a soldier and once saved the\nKing's life, with a wife who is a witch and knows all about magic, and\none poor girl who knows nothing about magic and who has no friends who\nwould dare to help her. For these people here about the King are a\npeculiar sort of people who shout very loud about justice and their own\nrights and others' rights, but seldom do anything unless they feel sure\nthat they are on the side that is going to win. There are no such\npeople nowadays, of course; but there were once.\n\n\"But the King himself is a good king, and he means to be quite fair and\njust, and he calls for the sister to come before him and tell her own\nstory. So the heralds blow their trumpets again and call for her, and\nshe comes. She is dressed all in white, and she looks so beautiful and\npale and sad that nobody who was not wicked himself could ever suspect\nher of doing anything wicked, and all the men about mutter that the one\nwho says that she killed her brother will have to prove it. They have\njust heard the King say something of the kind, so they feel very\nrighteous and very bold about it. The King, then, asks her if she can\nsay anything about this dreadful accusation, and she tells him how\noften she has prayed for help, how, after she has prayed, she has\nfallen into a sweet sleep and has seen a knight in bright armor,\nleaning on his sword, and how he has comforted her. This knight, she\nsays, shall be the one to fight for her and to protect her.\n\n\"Now, of course, this is all very pretty, but it does not seem to have\nmuch to do with the question of whether she killed her poor little\nbrother or not. Yet it does have something to do with it, and I will\ntell you how. A long time ago, hundreds of years, when people had\nquarrels, they did not hire lawyers to argue and plead and plot and\ncontrive for them, but they just stood up together, if they were both\nstrong men, and fought till one of them killed the other or showed that\nhe could if he wanted to. And everybody who looked on felt perfectly\nsure that the one who was right could not possibly lose such a fight\nand the one who was wrong could not possibly win it. If one of the two\nwho had the quarrel was a woman, some friend who trusted her enough to\nthink that she was right would fight for her.\"\n\n\"But what made the man who was wrong ever fight at all,\" the little\ngirl asked, \"if everybody believed that he was sure to get beaten?\"\n\n\"I have thought of that myself,\" I admitted, \"and I think that it must\nhave been for one of two reasons: either the bad people did not believe\nthat the right was sure to win, or else the people who were wrong\nusually thought that they were really right. I believe that was the\ntrue reason, and it shows that bad people are not always quite so bad\nas we think, for they usually contrive in some way, I am sure, to make\nthemselves believe they are right. And now, though all these things\nthat I am telling you are things that I see right here in the fire, yet\nthey are like things that must have happened long, long ago, and this\nvery way of settling disagreements by a good hard fight is the way that\nthe question of this poor girl's guilt or innocence must be settled.\nShe probably knows this just as well as anybody, and that is what she\nmeans when she says that the knight she saw in her dream shall be the\none to fight for her. But the accuser turns everything against her, as\nusual, and says: 'You see it is just as I said; she is talking about\nthis lover of hers who she hopes will marry her and be Duke instead of\nher brother. Yet he says he is quite ready to fight anybody who wants\nto try it with him, and he invites any of the men standing about to\ncome forward and fight for the poor, helpless girl, if he wants to. But\nthey all say no, they should be very sorry to have to kill such a great\nman and so brave a soldier. The truth is, you see, they are all afraid\nthat if they should fight they might get hurt, and why should they\ntrouble themselves about this girl's rights or wrongs?\n\n\"Still she says that the knight whom she saw in her dream shall be her\nchampion, and if he will come now and help her in this need she will be\nhis bride if he will take her, and he shall have all her father's lands\nand his crown, since her brother is dead. But nobody comes, and the\npeople all begin to think that she must be guilty after all, and that,\ninstead of the accuser having to prove that she is, she will have to\nprove that she is not, if she wants any sympathy from them, though why\nshe should want it I hardly know. But the King still means to give her\nevery chance, and he orders the heralds to blow their trumpets toward\nthe north and the east and the south and the west, and to call upon\nanybody who will defend her straightway to appear. And the heralds blow\ntheir loud trumpets and the people gaze anxiously in all directions,\nbut nobody comes to help her. And then she tells the King that her\nknight dwells far off and does not hear, and she begs him to call upon\nhim again, and the heralds blow once more, and she prays that her\nknight may be sent to her, and now suddenly all the eyes of the crowd\nare turned one way, and all the people shout and point and gaze at\nsomething which they see away in the distance.\n\n\"I can see it too, for there in the fire, back on the hearth, is a bed\nof bright embers that shines and glitters like a broad river under the\nsun of noon, and at the very farthest place is one little spot brighter\nthan all the rest, and it seems to come nearer and nearer, and as it\ncomes I begin to make out its wonderful shape. There is a little boat,\nand in it stands a knight, all in silver armor, and it is his armor\nthat shines so. But the strangest thing of all is that a beautiful\nwhite swan, its wings almost as bright as the knight's armor, is\ndrawing the boat along by a silver chain wound about its neck. It is\nthis that makes the people gaze and point, and, while the swan and the\nboat are coming nearer, I will tell you more about the knight than he\nwill be willing to tell about himself. Did you ever hear of the Holy\nGrail? It was the crystal cup, the old stories say, out of which the\nSaviour drank at the Last Supper, and afterward His blood was caught in\nit, as He hung upon the cross. Hundreds of years later it was kept in a\nbeautiful temple which nobody ever knew how to find, except a few\nchosen knights, who guarded the Grail and did its bidding, for this cup\nseemed still to have the life of that blood in it, and it had ways of\ntelling its knights what they must do. And so they were sometimes sent\nfar away to fight for the right or to punish wrong, but wherever they\nwent they never knew hunger or thirst or weariness, and they could\nnever be killed or overcome in battle; but no one must ever ask one of\nthese knights his name or his dwelling place, and, if anyone having the\nright should ask these questions, the knight must return to the temple\nof the Holy Grail. Now, seven days ago a bell in the temple rang, all\nof itself, meaning that help was needed somewhere. One of the knights\nput on his armor and called for his horse, and stood ready, but he knew\nnot where he was to go or what he was to do, till a swan drawing a\nlittle boat came sailing along upon the river, and the knight said:\n'Take back the horse; I will go with the swan,' and so here is he come\nto see what help is wanted of him.\n\n\"And now I see him step on shore, and the girl whom he has come to\nrescue knows him as the knight of her dream, and everybody is glad of\nhis coming except the accuser and his wife, the witch, and she,\nstrangely enough, seems a good deal more frightened at the sight of the\nswan than at that of the knight. Now the knight asks the young girl\nwhether, if he will fight her battle and win it, she will promise never\nto ask him whence he comes or what he is, and she swears that she will\nalways love him and trust him, and will do whatever he commands. So now\nthe two knights, with all the people looking on and holding their\nbreaths with anxiety, and the king watching that all may be done fairly\nand in order, draw their swords and stand against each other. But I see\nonly one or two little flashes of the flames as the gleaming swords are\nwhirled above their heads, and then the wicked accuser falls and the\nKnight of the Swan spares his life, while all the people shout and lift\nthe knight above their heads on his shield, just as if they had known\nall along that the girl was innocent, and just as if they would not\nhave shouted just as loud if the battle had gone the other way.\n\n[Illustration: \"THE KNIGHT OF HER DREAM.\"]\n\n\"The fire is going down a little and everything looks darker. It is\nnight now. Here on one side is a church, all dark, and on the other\nside, where the light still shines, I can see the bright windows of the\npalace, where they are making preparations for a grand wedding\ntomorrow, and you can guess who are to be married. On the steps of the\nchurch, looking up at the palace windows and the lights that shine in\nthem, are the witch and her husband. He is bemoaning his disgrace and\naccusing his wife of causing it all by telling him that the good sister\nhad killed her brother. And this shows me, more than anything he has\ndone before, how bad he is, and what a coward he is, because, when a\nman has tried to gain things that he knows are not his by ways that he\nknows are not right, he ought to take all the consequences, if he\nfails, like a man, and not snivel and say that a woman made him do it.\nBut the witch says that there is a chance yet for them to be revenged,\nfor, if only the Knight of the Swan can be made to tell who he is, he\nwill have to go away as he came and be lost, and she believes she can\nfind some way to tempt his bride to ask him the forbidden questions,\nand then he will have to answer.\n\n\"Now the bride that is to be to-morrow comes out upon a balcony of the\npalace, and the witch, sending her husband away, calls to her and tells\nher how sorry they both are for all that they have done. No doubt they\nare very sorry indeed, as they ought to be. But the bride is so happy\nand so kind that she cannot bear to see anybody unhappy, so she says\nthat she forgives them, and if she has injured them in any way she asks\nthat they forgive her. That is absurd, of course. Then she lets the\nwitch talk to her till the wicked woman says that she hopes the knight\nwho came to her in such a strange way, that nobody can account for,\nwill never deceive her, and that she will always live happily with him;\nand by this she means, of course, that she thinks that he will deceive\nher and that she will not be happy. But the bride says that she trusts\nher knight wholly, and she asks the witch to come in with her and rest\nfor the night. And that is just the one thing she ought not to do, for\nhere is what I hope you will see and remember more than anything else\nin all this: be as kind and as helpful and as compassionate as you can,\nalways, but never help, never listen to, never allow to be near you a\nman or a woman who says one word against anyone you love. Put no trust\nin anyone till you know that trust is safe, and, when you once know,\nnever hear of one breath of doubt again.\n\n\"The fire burns higher and brighter, and the morning is coming. The\nsquare grows light and fills with people. Now come the heralds again,\nand they sound their trumpets and proclaim that the Knight of the Swan\nis to have the crown of his bride's father, and is to be called\nGuardian instead of Duke, that the accuser of his bride is an outcast\nand must be shunned by all men, and finally that everybody to-day is to\ncome to the marriage, but that to-morrow all the men must go to the\ndefence of the King and the country. And now, with all its sparkle and\nglitter, comes the procession, leading the bride to the church, when,\njust as she is at the door, right before her stands the witch, full of\nanger and pride, and cries aloud that it is her place to go before this\nwoman, and no one shall keep her from the place that is hers, and she\ntaunts the bride with not knowing who or what her knight is; and so a\ngreat clamor arises among the people, and in the midst of it come the\nKing and the Knight of the Swan and their train. The witch's wicked\nhusband comes, too, and calls out that the knight beat him yesterday by\nmagic and not by honest fighting, and he demands that the King ask the\nknight who he is. But he and his wife are put aside, and the procession\ngoes into the church, and as I look into the church itself now the\nwhole of the fire is a blaze of candles on the altar. Now turn your\nface away from the fire as it was before and shut your eyes again.\nThere is no more to be seen in this wedding than there was in the\nbattle of the two knights, and all that there is I will tell you.\n\n\"The light of the candles on the altar changes to a blaze of wedding\ntorches, and the King and the knights and the ladies are leading the\nbride and the bridegroom to their chamber. Slowly and solemnly, yet\njoyfully, they march along, and it is all so clear to me that I can\neven hear the music that they chant as they come. Soft and low it is at\nfirst, and then it swells out fuller and stronger and clearer but\nalways so noble and pure and stately in its melody and its rhythm that\nnobody who had once heard it could ever forget how grand and beautiful\nit was. I have heard it many times, and you will hear it often, too,\nand once, I hope--I almost know--you will hear it at one of the\nsweetest moments of your life, and whenever you hear it I think it will\nbe more full of meaning for you if you will think of the Knight of the\nSwan and his bride. But do not think of what comes to them afterward,\nfor that need never come to you or to anyone who remembers what I told\nyou a little while ago; and if ever you feel tempted to forget for one\nmoment, then think of this true and lovely music--you will know it well\nand can think of it when you like by that time--and I am sure you will\nfeel truer and better again at once.\n\n\"But the torches pass away and out of sight, and the knight and his\nbride are left alone; and now comes the sad part, for the poor bride\nhas listened too much to those who spoke evil of her husband, or\nsomething evil has come into her own mind and made her forget her\npromise, for she tells him that she loves him so much that she wishes\nshe might know what he is whom she loves. Now this may be very natural\nand might be very right if she had not promised never to ask; but\nthough he begs her not to demand of him this one thing, yet she\nimplores him more and more to tell her, till at last she speaks very\ncruelly to him, and as much as tells him that he does not love her at\nall. You would never think that she was the same poor girl who knelt by\nthe river and prayed that her knight might be sent to help her in her\ndanger. And suddenly, as he is about to tell her all she asks, her old\naccuser breaks into the room with his men, and rushes with his sword\ndrawn to kill the knight, and now indeed his bride does seize his sword\nand hold it out to him, while he draws it from the sheath; then there\nis one little flash of a flame as he swings it high above his head, and\nhis enemy lies at last dead before him. He tells the men to take him\naway and to lead his bride before the King, where he will come and tell\nher everything.\n\n\"It is morning again on the banks of the river, and the knights and the\npeople are coming in crowds as I saw them in the beginning. The King\ncomes, and the poor bride, sadder now even than she was at first. The\nKnight of the Swan comes too, and he asks the King if he did right to\nkill his wicked enemy, who was trying to kill him unprepared. The King\nanswers that he did right. Then he says that he cannot go with the King\nto his wars, because his bride has forgotten her promise to him, and\nhas asked him whence he came, and now, by the law which he obeys, as\nsoon as he has answered her, he must leave her and all the rest\nforever. Then, while they all listen in sorrow, he tells them that he\nis a Knight of the Holy Grail, and must go back to the temple which he\nleft to come here and help his bride. And while she weeps at the\nthought of losing him, suddenly I see the swan again on the river,\ndrawing the little boat as before, ready to take the knight away, and\nthen he tells his bride that if she could but have trusted him and\nnever questioned him for a year, her brother would have come back to\nher.\n\n\"And now for one last time the witch stands up, more proud and\nrevengeful then ever, and cries out that she has beaten them all, for\nthe swan is really the brother, and that it was she who wound the chain\nabout his neck that enchanted him and made him a swan. But while she\nexults in her triumph, there flies down over the heads of all of them a\nbeautiful white dove. It is the dove that comes once a year to the\ntemple and strengthens the power of the Holy Grail, and as the knight\nsees it he kneels and prays and then rises and unwinds the silver chain\nfrom the swan's neck, and at the very instant the swan is changed into\na beautiful boy, the lost brother, and he runs to his sister and they\nclasp each other in their arms, while the witch falls down upon the\nground, overcome at last and powerless, and the knight steps into the\nboat, the dove lifts the silver chain, and they glide away upon the\nriver, farther and farther, and the little spot where they were, that\nwas the brightest in the fire, grows dimmer and fainter and goes out\nand is dark.\"\n\n\"And won't the knight come back at all?\" asked the little girl.\n\n\"No,\" I answered, \"the brother and the sister are close in each other's\narms and they are gazing away upon the river as far as they can see,\nbut the Knight of the Swan will never come back.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE PRIZE OF A SONG\n\n\nThe fire was almost out. It was so late in the spring that none at all\nwas needed, but we liked it to look at. As for the little girl and me,\nwe should hardly have known how to get on without it, and the little\ngirl's mother chose to humor us, so we wasted a great deal of wood, as\nignorant people would think, and were just as comfortable with the sky\nsmiling and the trees budding all around us as if we had been in the\nmidst of snow-drifts and howling storms. This afternoon the sun had\nbeen shining right in upon the fire, as if he would like to know what\nit was doing there at all, when he was making the weather quite warm\nenough, in the house as well as out. A fire never burns well when the\nsun shines on it, and besides, nobody had taken much care of ours, so\nthat after the sun had gone it looked very low and discouraged.\n\n\"Do you think anybody could see anything in a fire like that?\" the\nlittle girl asked, with a doubtful gaze into it and a meaning, clearly\nenough, that, if I thought it at all possible for anybody to see\nanything, she wished that I myself would try.\n\n\"We will put on another stick,\" I said, \"and have a better fire. It\nwill not be a very hot fire even then, and with all this soft spring\nair about us, I don't think we can see any more gods and giants and\nknights and dragons in it. But we may see some simpler people, with\nbright young hearts that begin to stir and move and to beat quicker and\nharder in the spring, as young hearts ought to do, not only in the\nspring of the year, but in their own spring, and we may perhaps see\nsome people with older hearts, which stirred and beat too in their\ntime, and we shall see by them that those which move freest and grow\nwarmest in their spring are the fullest and the richest in their autumn\nand can never be hurt in the winter, just as the tree in which the sap\nflows best in the spring spreads out the broadest shade in the fierce\nheat of the summer, bears the finest fruit in the autumn, and lives the\nstrongest till the next spring comes. If you ever tell any very learned\npeople what we see here in this fire they may tell you, perhaps, that\nit all happened on Midsummer Day and not in the spring at all, and they\nwill be quite right, in their own poor way of being right, but\nMidsummer Day is not in the middle of the summer, you know, but just at\nthe beginning of it, when the spring has been gone only a few days. It\nis then that the lovely touch of the spring has done all that it can\nfor the world, when the sun climbs his very highest in the heavens to\nlook at all the sweetness and beauty that have been spread over the\nearth, when the summer is young and happy and kind and has not begun to\nburn and wither everything that would like to love its brightness and\nits power. So if you would see all the joy and the light that the\nspring can bring, you must look for them not far from Midsummer Day.\n\n\"We shall not begin to see all this till our new stick begins to burn\nbetter, but in the meantime we may see some things that are pleasant\nenough, if they are not quite so radiant, and while the fire is still\nrather dark, just burning quietly in a few little places, we seem to me\nto be in a dim, old church. The service is just ending. In one of the\npews sits a pretty girl who is behaving herself in a most unbecoming\nway, for she is constantly sending shy glances toward a young man who\nleans against a pillar not far off and looks at her in his turn in a\nway that really ought to shock her, instead of pleasing her, as it\nseems to do.\"\n\n\"Is he a knight?\" asked the little girl, instinctively knowing him for\nthe hero of the story.\n\n\"Do you want him to be a knight?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes; let's have just one knight, if we can't have any giants or\ndragons.\"\n\n\"I believe you are beginning to see the pictures in the fire yourself.\nWell, he shall be a knight, but he shall not wear any armor and he\nshall not fight, and all the rest of the people we see shall be quite\ncommon people, mere tradesmen, a goldsmith and a tailor and a toy-maker\nand a cobbler and the like. But whether the young man is a knight or\nnot, he and the pretty girl ought to know better than to look at each\nother in that way in church, with looks that seem to mean so much and\nyet to have no connection with the service at all. The service is over\nnow and the people all leave the church, except a few, but the young\nknight and the pretty girl stay behind, and he does not lose a minute\nin telling her that he loves her and that he is dreadfully anxious to\nknow if she can love him. Now, of course, as she has done nothing all\nthrough the service but steal glances at him and probably could not\neven tell what hymns were sung, or whether there was a sermon or not,\nand has been thinking all the time how handsome he was, and knows very\nwell that he was looking at her all the time, and knows very well, too,\nbeing a pretty girl, that he was thinking how pretty she was, of\ncourse, you see, she could not tell at all whether she could love him\nor not, and such a question naturally throws her into the greatest\nconfusion.\n\n\"But while the young man is saying all the pretty things that the time\nallows, and the young woman is trying to think what she shall answer,\nher maid, who has been running about all this time, looking for things\nshe has lost, bustles up, hears a part of what the young man says, and\ntells him that her mistress is already betrothed; and the mistress\nquickly says yes, but that nobody yet knows to whom. This is such a\nsurprising state of things that it needs an explanation; so the maid\ntells the young knight that her mistress is to be given as bride for a\nprize to-morrow, which will be Midsummer Day, to the man who shall sing\nthe best song. He asks if the bride herself is to judge whose song is\nbest; and at that she makes up her mind at last, and says that she will\nchoose nobody but him. But there is something else, for nobody can even\ntry for the prize unless he belongs to a certain company or society of\npoets and singers here in the town, and the knight, though he has a\npretty good opinion of the song he could make if he should try, is\nquite a stranger here. And now, as if for the very purpose of helping\nthe knight, comes another young man, who turns out to be a prentice,\nand he begins arranging benches and chairs in some queer sort of way,\nwhile the looks that he casts at the maid and the looks she throws back\nat him show that they are not total strangers; and he tells them that\nthese very poets and singers are to meet here in a few minutes, and\nthat if anybody wants to join them he will have a chance to sing to\nthem and to prove whether he is worthy.\n\n\"So the young man of course determines that he will try, and it is\nclear that he expects nothing in the world but that he will carry\neverything before him; and while the young women hurry away, the\nprentice tells him something about the singers, who are always called\nmasters, and the queer rules that they have for making all their songs.\nQueer enough they are, too, and so many that if you were to hear them\nall you would think that they were quite enough to prevent anybody's\never making a song at all; but the most important thing that the knight\nlearns is that, while he is singing, the judge will make a mark with\nchalk every time he breaks a rule, and, if more than seven chalk marks\nare scored against him, he cannot be a master, and so cannot try for\nthe prize that he wants so much to win to-morrow.\n\n\"Now the masters begin to gather for their meeting, coming in one by\none and two by two. First comes a goldsmith, the father of the pretty\ngirl we have just seen. With him is a queer-looking, awkward, self-\nconceited man, who, anybody can see in a minute, must be a town clerk.\nFrom what he is saying to the goldsmith it is clear that he means to\ntry for the prize of his daughter's hand to-morrow. He is in no doubt\nthat he can sing better than anybody else, but is not sure that the\ngoldsmith's daughter will think so. That is a very unlucky thing that\nhappens to singers sometimes; they themselves know perfectly well that\nthey can sing better than anybody else anywhere about, but all the\nother people are so stupid that they will not understand it.\n\n\"The young knight, who knows the goldsmith, tells him now that he wants\nto join this company of singers, and be a master too; and the goldsmith\nsays that he shall be glad to help all he can. But the town clerk\noverhears them, and he sees at once that what the knight wants is to\nsing for the prize to-morrow. Now, the rule is, you remember, that\nnobody but a master may even try for the prize; so the jealous town\nclerk resolves that he will keep the young man from becoming a master.\nAnd it happens, by good luck for him and bad luck for the knight, that\nit is his turn to-day to take the chalk and mark the mistakes that are\nmade in singing by anybody who tries to prove himself worthy to be a\nmaster.\n\n\"When the masters are all met, the goldsmith makes a little speech, and\ntells them how the prize is to be given to-morrow. They are to decide\nwho wins, but his daughter is to judge too. She may choose none without\ntheir voice, but she may refuse any. That is no more than fair, of\ncourse. No girl would like to be married to a man just because the\nlines of his poetry came out right when somebody else counted them. Yet\nthe masters all argue and dispute and suggest about the rules; but in\nthe end they agree to do just what the goldsmith says, since they\ncannot do anything else.\n\n\"Now comes the trial of the young knight who wants to be a master. The\ntown clerk goes behind a curtain, with his slate and his chalk, and you\nmay be sure he does not forget his promise to himself that the knight\nshall fail. Then the young man stands up in the midst of them all and\nsings his song. A happy, free, beautiful song it is. It tells first how\nthe spring came into the forest and awakened the trees and brought the\nflowers. Then it tells how the spring came into the young man's own\nheart, as you know I told you it ought to do, and how it made him sing\nof love; and that is quite right too, though perhaps I forgot to say so\nbefore.\n\n\"But happy and beautiful as the song is, it is scarcely begun before\nthe most dreadful scratching of the chalk is heard behind the curtain.\nAll the masters begin to shake their heads, too, for this knight is\nbold enough to make his own song in his own way, and he knows and cares\nno more about the rules and measures of these masters for making songs\nthan you know or care about the game laws of Scotland. So by the time\nthe song is half over, out rushes the town clerk with his slate, not\nwith the eight marks on it that would end the singer's hopes of being a\nmaster, but with nearer eighty. He vows the case is hopeless, and as he\nshows the slate to the other masters they all seem to agree with him,\nthough they are not all quite so jealous as he is.\n\n\"All but one; for there is one old shoemaker who says that he thinks\nthe song was very good. It did not follow the rules, but it had rules\nof its own, and he liked it. Then there is trouble indeed. For any man\nto say in this old church and this old town that a song can be good\nwhen it has one line too many or one rhyme too few is almost as bad as\nfor him to say that the King is bald-headed and that the oldest\nprincess has freckles. All the masters say that to let such a song pass\nis out of the question, and that the shoemaker is quite absurd to think\nof such a thing. At this the shoemaker declares that the town clerk is\nnot a fair judge, because he is jealous. At that again the town clerk\nsays that the shoemaker had better not talk so much about poetry, but\ngo home and finish the shoes he has ordered. Now, the shoemaker is\nreally the only one of all the masters who knows anything at all about\npoetry; but now and then, years ago, a man who knew a great deal had to\nstand aside and let others, who knew very little but could talk louder,\ndo what they liked in their own way. That is what the shoemaker has to\ndo now, and for this time the knight has failed.\n\n\"What a bad fire we have, to be sure! It is getting lower and lower,\nand even our new stick will not burn. While everything is as dark as\nthis we shall have to think that it is night. Never mind, we can see a\nlittle still, and the little that I can see is the street of the old\ntown, with its queer old houses and peaked roofs and sharp steeples.\nHere, on one side, where there is a bit of light shining like a glow in\na window, is the shop of our old cobbler; and over there, with no light\nat all, the fire is so bad, is the goldsmith's house. The cobbler is\nsitting outside his door, trying to work; but the light is as bad for\nhim as it is for us, and, besides, he cannot think of his work, much\nless do it. He is thinking, I know, of the young knight and his song,\nand is wishing that he might win the prize to-morrow, master or no\nmaster. His heart had its spring-time once, you may be sure, and its\nglowing summer, and they have brought it a rich, peaceful autumn, such\nas they alone can bring. That was why he knew all the meaning of the\nsong and liked it, though it broke every one of his own rules. And so,\nlike the good old fellow that he is, he wishes the man who sang the\nsong all joy and good luck--and the prize.\n\n\"While he is thinking of all this, comes the goldsmith's daughter, for\nshe has heard that the young man has failed, and she is sad, and wants\nto talk to some one. Perhaps, too, she wants to know something. They\ntalk about to-morrow, of course, and the shoemaker tells her that the\ntown clerk means to sing for the prize. At that the prize herself gets\nquite alarmed, for she likes the town clerk no better than you or I do.\n'But why should he not win?' the shoemaker says; 'there will not be\nmany bachelors there to try.'\n\n\"'And might not a widower try?' she asks slyly.\n\n\"Now, the shoemaker knows that she means himself, but he says no, he is\ntoo old. And then the absurd girl actually urges him to try, though she\ndoes not want him the least bit, and does not want anybody except the\nyoung knight, who makes such beautiful songs that are all out of shape.\nWhen you get to be a woman, perhaps you will know why she does this;\nbut I confess I do not. Perhaps she thinks that the shoemaker would not\nbe half so bad as the town clerk, or perhaps she only wants to find out\nif the shoemaker really does mean to sing, so that she may know whether\nhe is the knight's friend or his enemy. At any rate, he pretends to be\nnot half so much the friend of the young people as I know he really is,\nand when she is beginning to get quite angry with him her maid comes\nand tries to lead her into the house. But just at this moment the\nknight himself is seen coming down the street, and not a step toward\nthe house does she go after that.\n\n\"The shoemaker has gone into his shop now, and the lovers are alone. He\ntells her how he sang his very best, that he might be a master, because\nthat was the only way to win her, and it was of no use. But she does\nnot care whether he failed or not. She declares that he is a poet, that\nshe will give the prize herself and to nobody but him; so now what do\nyou suppose it matters to him if all the masters in the world said that\nhis songs were wrong? He will not sing for them, and they need not\nlisten.\n\n\"There is just one way now, as anybody can see, for him to make sure of\nthe prize, and that is to take it while he has it. And that is just\nwhat he is about to do. But I am sorry to see that the cobbler, behind\nthe door of his shop, has been impolite enough to listen to all this\nimportant talk about poets and songs; and he sees that if he lets these\ntwo run away together now, there will be no prize and no singing for\nto-morrow. So he sets a lamp in his window, right there where the fire\nis kind enough to burn for us a little at last, and sends the light\nstreaming out across the street, and the lovers know that if they try\nto pass they will be seen. And while they are helping each other think\nwhat they can do, somebody else comes slowly down the street, walking\nin the shadows and looking around to see if he is watched, like a\nburglar. It is the town clerk, and he has come here just to sing under\nthe window of the goldsmith's daughter the song that he means to sing\nto-morrow, to see if she will like it and if she will probably give it\nthe prize. Oh, he is a good, honest poet and faithful lover, and he\nmeans to leave nothing untried that can help him. One does not get a\nchance to marry a goldsmith's daughter every day.\n\n\"All this is annoying enough, but there is nothing for the lovers to do\nbut to wait for the town clerk to sing and go away; so they get into\nthe deepest shadow, and then they put their arms around each other so\nthat they can stand closer and not be seen so easily. It is a good plan\nfor another reason, too, because some people can wait much more\npatiently in that position than in any other. But things are getting\nworse and worse, for the shoe-maker seems bound to have his part of the\nfun too; and just as the town clerk is about to sing he begins to work\nagain and to hammer on his last. This is the most impolite shoemaker, I\nsuppose, that this polite old town ever saw, if he is a poet. Think of\na man who will hammer on a shoe when a town clerk is going to sing, and\na song that he made himself, too. Something must be done, of course; so\nthe town clerk comes and talks with the cobbler, and pretends that he\nis very anxious to get his opinion of the song he is going to sing.\nThat seems natural enough, because everybody knows that the cobbler is\nthe best poet in town. So they agree that whenever the town clerk\nbreaks a rule in his song the cobbler shall strike one blow on his\nlast, just as if he were marking the mistakes on the slate, the way the\ntown clerk himself did with the knight.\n\n\"Oh, but he must be a good town clerk, he knows so many tricks, and can\nalways arrange everything so well to make it go his way. The town is\nlucky to have such a clerk. Yet, strange to say, the minute he begins\nto sing, he makes more mistakes than even the poor young knight did,\nand it is really a question whether his song or the shoemaker's\npounding makes the more noise. Mind, I say noise, not music; if it were\na question of music the shoemaker would be far ahead. Well, between\nthem, they wake up the shoemaker's prentice, and he comes to the window\nof the shop, to see what is the matter. He is the same prentice whom we\nsaw in the church, who looked at the goldsmith's daughter's maid in\nsuch a strange way, you remember. And now, as he looks across at the\nhouse opposite, he sees the goldsmith's daughter's maid again, standing\nat the window. She is standing there in one of her mistress's gowns, to\nmake the town clerk think that the mistress herself is listening to his\nsong; and he does think so, but the poor prentice knows who she is very\nwell indeed. And since he knows who she is, of course he makes up his\nmind at once that the town clerk is singing to her, that he loves her,\nand that just as likely as not she loves him. No doubt you think he\nmight know better; and perhaps he might, if he were not so much in love\nwith the goldsmith's daughter's maid; but when a man is in love he is\nalways ready to believe anything that it is particularly uncomfortable\nfor him to believe.\n\n\"So, what does the shoemaker's prentice do but jump right out of the\nwindow, fetch the good town clerk one blow under the chin, that shuts\nhis mouth and stops his singing, and begin just as lively a fight with\nhim as any we ever saw among our knights and giants and dragons. They\nmake so much noise that more people wake up, and come out of their\nhouses into the street; and, since the old town is usually a bit dull\nand quiet, they find this just the sort of thing they like, and they\nall begin fighting, too, with a jolly good will. Of course, not one of\nthem has the slightest notion of what he is fighting about; but that\nmakes no difference to any good, honest fighter, and there is a fine\nbreaking of heads and kicking of shins. Just as everything is in the\nmost delightful confusion possible, the knight and the goldsmith's\ndaughter try to make their way through the crowd and escape; but the\ntroublesome old shoemaker, who has been watching them from the very\nbeginning, runs quickly out, pushes the girl to her own door, where her\nfather stands to receive her, drags the knight into his shop, seizes\nhis prentice too, and shuts his door behind him. Somebody cries that\nthe watchman is coming; the people scatter right and left, and, by the\ntime that little flame there under the andiron has burned up and shown\nitself to me as the old watchman's lantern, it shines on nothing but\nthe quiet, empty street.\n\n\"But there is more light than the watchman's lantern, for our new stick\nis beginning to burn now. The night must be past, and, if the night is\npast, it is Midsummer Day. It is not so bright yet as it might be. Let\nus put on still another stick, and have all the Midsummer weather we\ncan. I see a room now, not very handsome or rich, but very comfortable\nand cheerful, with flowers in the window and more flowers scattered\nabout. It is the old shoemaker's shop, and the old shoemaker himself\nsits at the window, pretending to read, but really thinking, as usual,\nabout the young knight who sings to please himself and not to obey\nother people's rules, and about the goldsmith's daughter; and he is\ntrying, also as usual, to plan some way to make the prize go as he\nwants it to go. He does not quite see how it is to be done, but he has\na comfortable feeling that it will all come out right; and while he is\nstudying over it, the knight himself comes put of the room where he has\nslept to say good-morning.\n\n\"He tells the shoemaker that he has had a beautiful dream, and the\nshoemaker asks him what it was, saying that it is the true business of\na poet to have dreams and to tell them, so that everybody may know\nthem. So the knight tells his dream, making it into a song as he goes\nalong, and now and then the shoemaker stops him quietly to tell him\nwhat are the rules of the masters for making such songs as this. The\nknight always asks why such rules should be, and the shoemaker gives\nhim some pretty reason for each one, and he shows that the rules are\nnot so bad after all, if only one knows how to use them and to make the\nmost of them. The dream was about a beautiful garden with a tree that\nbore fruit of gold, and as the dreamer looked at it there came a lovely\nmaiden, who you may be sure was the goldsmith's daughter, and she\nembraced him and then pointed to the fruit of the tree, and when she\npointed to it, it was golden fruit no longer, but stars, and the tree\nitself was a laurel-tree.\n\n\"You may guess that the poor old masters never heard such a song as\nthis. As the knight sings it the shoemaker writes it down on a bit of\npaper and tells the knight to remember the melody, and then they go\naway together. Scarcely have they gone when the door opens softly and\nin a treacherous-looking sort of way that must be strange to the\nshoemaker's door, and in comes the town clerk. Ridiculous enough he\nlooks in his gorgeous holiday clothes, and limping along, because of\nthe beating that the prentice gave him last night. And angry enough he\nis, too, with the shoemaker and the prentice and the knight and the\nworld in general, except himself, with whom it might be reasonable for\nhim to be angry. You can see a wicked red glow, right there in the\nmiddle of the fire, where he stands. But he has not forgotten about the\nprize--oh, not in the least. He is still plotting and contriving how he\ncan best make sure of it, and so it does not take long for his sharp\nlittle eyes to find the song lying on the table, where the shoemaker\nleft it when he went out.\n\n\"Now, there is one peculiar thing about these people who can see\nthrough mill-stones, and that is, that they sometimes think they are\nseeing through one when there is really no mill-stone there at all;\njust as you and I might think we were looking through a glass window\nwhen it was only an empty sash. Just see, for instance, how much\ncleverer the town clerk is than there is any sort of need for him to\nbe. He sees that this song is a song; well, anybody could see that. He\nsees that it is in the shoemaker's handwriting; anybody who knew the\nshoemaker's handwriting could see that. But now he takes the liberty of\nguessing that the shoemaker made this song himself, and that he is\ngoing to sing it himself for the prize. So he gets more angry still,\nfor he knows that the shoemaker is the best poet in all this dear old\ntown, where anybody can be a poet by learning the rules, and he knows\nthat if the shoemaker tries to win the prize he will probably do so.\nBut he hears the shoemaker coming back and he has just time to hide the\nsong in his pocket.\n\n\"Now he boldly accuses the shoemaker of meaning to sing for the prize.\nIt may seem to you that it is no affair of his whether the shoemaker\nmeans to sing or not, and it may seem so to me too, but we are not town\nclerks. Yet the shoemaker assures him that he does not mean to sing,\naccuses him in turn of stealing the song, and then, to prove his own\nwords, gives it to him. With that the town clerk is altogether\ndelighted, for he is one of those shallow people who think that when\none man has done a good thing, another man can do just as well as he by\ndoing the same thing. He feels sure that if he sings one of the\nshoemaker's songs he cannot fail to win the prize, and he makes the\nshoemaker promise that, whatever happens, he will not claim the song as\nhis. The shoemaker is quite ready to promise anything, because he is a\nwise old soul and he knows that it is not altogether what one does, but\npretty largely how one does it, as a cobbler or as a town clerk or as a\nsinger, that wins him fame and honor--and Midsummer Day prizes.\n\n\"The town clerk hobbles away, and now who should come in but the\ngoldsmith's daughter herself? Well, no one could wonder at her lover's\nhaving pleasant dreams, for she is as pretty a prize as ever a poet\nsang a song for, or to, or about. With her best gown and her flowers\nand her jewels, and especially with herself, I don't think you could\nfind any prize that a poet would rather have, even in a town twice as\nbig as this. It seems there is something wrong about the shoe that the\ncobbler has made for her to wear to-day, and she has come to get him to\nmend it. I wonder, by the way, if she knows that the knight was the\nshoemaker's guest last night. She says that when she wants to\nstandstill the shoe insists on walking, and when she wants to walk the\nshoe makes up its mind to stand still. You see yourself what a\nremarkable and improper way this is for a shoe to behave. It is so\nstrange that I am inclined to doubt if it is the fault of the shoe at\nall, or if she really knows whether she wants to walk or stand still.\nYou see it is not easy for us to tell just how a girl would feel at\nbeing put up for a prize.\n\n\"While the cobbler is at work on the shoe, the knight too appears, and\nthe cobbler hints that he should like to hear the rest of the dream\nthat the young man began to tell him before. So he sings more of his\nsong and tells how the stars among the branches of the laurel-tree\nformed a crown for the lovely maiden's head, how her eyes, as he looked\ninto her face, were to him brighter than all of them, and how then she\ntwined with her own hand, about his head, the wreath of the star-fruit\nof the laurel-tree, and still and always he saw her eyes brighter than\nthe stars.\n\n\"After he has sung this they all seem to understand one another better.\nThe goldsmith's daughter's maid comes in to look for her mistress, the\nprentice tumbles in to look for the maid, or for something else, and\naway they all start for the fields outside the town, where all who\nwill--that is, if they are masters and may--are to sing for the prize.\n\n\"At last the fire is burning as it ought, and we can see all the life\nand light that we care to enjoy. Those flames that stream up so far\nmust mean that the sun has mounted his very highest to mark the noon of\nMidsummer Day, and the floods of merry sparks that pour up the chimney\nare not brighter or merrier than the throngs of people, men and women,\nboys and girls, that walk and run, and caper and dance, and tumble out\nof the city gates and into the meadows where the singing is to be. But\nthere is more gravity all at once when the masters come. They are\nmighty and important persons at any time, and above all they are so\nto-day, when they are to decide who is to have this wonderful prize.\nThey have a higher place to sit than the rest of the meadow, and the\ncommon people of the town, who do not pretend to be poets at all, can\nstand wherever they can find room. The goldsmith and his daughter have\nthe highest seats of all, and the shoemaker is next to them, for he is\nsupposed to know a good song when he hears it. All the other masters\nhave good places too, including the town clerk. The knight is somewhere\nin the crowd of people who know nothing about poetry.\n\n[Illustration: \"HE SAW HER EYES BRIGHTER THAN THE STARS.\"]\n\n\"When everything is ready the town clerk is the first to sing his song\nfor the prize, because he is the oldest of those who are to try, and\nindeed he seems to be about the only one, with the knight quite out of\nthe race, because he did so badly in the church yesterday. So the town\nclerk stands forth, and after a little opening plink-plunk on his\nguitar, he tries to sing the knight's own song, which the shoemaker\ngave him, knowing well that he would get into trouble with it. And\nindeed, the dream that he tells about must have been a nightmare,\nthough nobody who hears him knows what it is about, and the poor town\nclerk seems to know least of all. He has the song under his coat and\ntries to look at it now and then, but he reads it wrong and sings\nnonsense, and in a moment all the people are laughing at him, even\nthose who do not know a good song when they hear it, for they seem to\nknow a bad song very well when they hear it.\n\n\"At that he gets angry, stops singing, and says that the song is not\nhis at all but the shoemaker's, and he is to blame. Here is a fine\nstate of things, for the shoemaker is supposed, as I said before, to\nknow more about songs than any of the other people in town, and indeed\nhe knows more about most things than all of them put together. He says\nthat the song is not his, but that it is good enough, if only it could\nbe sung right, and he asks if there is anybody here who knows how to\nsing it.\n\n\"This is the time for the young knight, and he comes forward from the\ncrowd and says that he will try. But first, the shoemaker makes all the\nmasters promise that if he sings the song well and if it is a good song\nhe shall have all the honor just as if he were a master. Now the young\nman takes his place and everybody is still. He looks straight at the\ngoldsmith's daughter; he does not know that there are any others around\nhim; and now he sings. And what a glorious song it is, full of hope and\nhappiness and victory and joy! He did not sing like this to the masters\nin the church yesterday; not even to the shoemaker this morning did he\nsing like this. It is not hard to see the reason. Yesterday he tried to\nbe a master, and when he sang he was wondering how these fussy old\nfellows would measure his song with their rhyme-gauges and their foot-\nrules. How could anybody sing when he was thinking of that? Even then\nit was not a bad song and the goldsmith's daughter would have known it\nif she had been the judge. The shoemaker, with his warm old spring-time\nheart, knew it as it was, but the masters were too learned ever to know\nanything. But now the goldsmith's daughter is the judge and the young\npoet sings only to her, only for her, only about her. If one smile\ncurves her pretty lips as he sings, it is more to him than the shouts\nof all the people. That is the way to sing, and that is why, when he is\ndone, all the people do shout, and do clap their hands and wave their\nhats, and do cry out that he must have the prize.\n\n\"And he does have the prize. She crowns his head with a wreath of\nlaurel, which he cares for only because she sets it there, and the\ngoldsmith himself brings him the gold chain that makes him a master.\nThis the young man would put aside, but the wise old shoemaker bids him\ntake this too, and to honor the masters and their art; for, he says,\nthough the Holy Roman Empire should vanish in smoke, yet art will\nremain. And I think he means by this that all the kingdoms of the earth\nmay be lost and may fall into dust and ashes, as our fire here will do\nwhen we leave it to-night, but that the happy young people, with their\nstirring hearts of spring, and the kindly old people, with their ripe\nhearts of autumn, will still sing songs and still tell stories.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE BLOOD-RED SAIL\n\n\nThe fire had been out for weeks. Somebody who came from the country had\nalmost filled the fireplace with a huge bouquet of wild roses. They\nmade it look very pretty for a few days, but now the roses had all\nfaded and fallen to pieces too, and nobody cared enough even to sweep\nup the dry, dead leaves and throw them out. It all looked forsaken and\ndesolate enough. But it was no more desolate than I. We were lonely and\nunhappy for the same reason, the poor fireplace and I, because the\nlittle girl had gone away with her mother down to the sea and would not\nbe back for more weeks and weeks yet. The city was so hot and dull and\nstupid! It made me feel dull and stupid to stay in it, except when it\nmade me angry. Yet perhaps the fireplace was even a little worse off\nthan I, though it was not more forsaken and alone, for it had no work\nto do, while I had plenty. Then again the fireplace, in spite of all\nthe wonderful and beautiful things we had seen in it sometimes, had\nnever been anywhere except just where it was now, and it knew nothing\nabout the sea. But I had been in several other places; and even in the\ncity, with the heat pouring down from the sky and quivering up from the\npavements, one can dream of \"waters, winds, and rocks,\" and dreams are\ngood things to have for those who can have nothing else.\n\nAnd I had the dreams and something else. For the little girl and her\nmother had said that I might come down to the sea too, whenever I\nthought the city could get on without me. What surprised me was that\nthe city got on at all, but all the time I thought more and more that I\nwas of no use to it, and it was of no use to me, and finally I left all\nmy work in it to take care of itself and fled away to the sea. Oh, how\nlovely it was! That first long unbroken sight of the line where the sky\nand the water met made me feel, as I always feel at such times, that it\nwas worth half the year's worry and care just to see this ocean and\nthis heaven, to breathe this free, salt air, to smell the flowers by\nthe roadside, and to gaze and gaze again at the two great tracts of\npeaceful blue. How wonderful is this calm rest of a thing that can rage\nand destroy when it will! The peace of a field of daisies is pretty and\nsweet; the peace of the ocean is like that of God.\n\nThe little girl and I had a long walk along the beaches, over the\nrocks, and through the tall, salt grass. We hunted among the smooth,\nround pebbles for the smoothest and the roundest; we studied the jelly-\nfish that was borne up the beach by the wave and then glided swiftly\nback again with it, as if it had forgotten something, till one wave,\nhigher than the others, would leave it lying on the sand at our feet,\nwhere we could study it as much as we liked; we wondered if the jelly-\nfish ever did forget anything and if he had remembered it now, so that\nhe did not want to go back any more. We caught little crabs and made\nthem run races, laying huge wagers on our favorites; I filled my\npocket, and the little girl filled her handkerchief with the tiny,\npointed shells that can be strung into such pretty necklaces. Then we\nfound a great, bright, curly ribbon of seaweed, as wide as two hands,\nso long that when the little girl held it by the middle she could\nscarcely lift the ends off the sand, and rich and beautiful in color\nlike dark-red tortoise-shell. The little girl looped one end of it\naround her head and wound the rest about her body, so that she looked a\ntrue little sea princess.\n\nAll day a fresh, cool breeze came up from the sea, so different from\nthe air of the dreadful city. Toward evening it grew cooler yet. The\nwind blew more, and little shreds and patches of fog, and then larger\nclouds of it, hurried along over the fields. We could see them coming,\naway off over the water, then they reached the shore and hid the walls\nand the pastures, then they wrapped us up within themselves and passed\nus, and we saw them flying off again as if they were trying to carry a\nchill from the sea as far into the land as they could. And it was\nchilly after the sun was quite gone--not very cold, but just cool\nenough so that everybody thought it would be pleasant to have a bit of\nfire on the hearth. And when we thought a fire would be pleasant we\nalways had it.\n\nOf course down there we never think of making a fire of anything but\ndriftwood. It makes the most wonderful, magical fire in the world. One\ncould dream out stories for a whole evening from the wood alone. Here\nis a stick that must have been a part of a spar. Was it blown away from\nthe mast in a gale? Now hold your breath and think if some poor sailor\nwas blown off into the waves with it. Did he catch at this very stick\nas he sank? Did his wife wait and wait for him at home, till his\nshipmate came and told her? Here is a little piece of smooth board,\nwith a bit of cornice fastened to the end. It must be from the wall of\na cabin. Did the captain's daughter and the young mate sit under it and\nwhisper stories to each other in the calm evenings of the voyage? There\nis a piece of barrel-stave. Perhaps it once held rum for the sailors'\ngrog; it burns as if it did. There again is a float from a fisherman's\nnet. Was the net torn when it broke away, and did the fisherman lose\nsome fish? And because of that did his sweetheart perhaps lose a ribbon\nor a trinket? Then here is a broken fragment of a lobster pot. Even\nthis might be some loss to a poor man. And not only are all these\nthings and a hundred times as many more to be thought of, but all this\nwood has been soaked in the salts of the sea, and when it burns the\nflames are of all sorts of strange and beautiful and ghostly colors--\nwhite and red and green and blue and yellow and violet.\n\nEverybody feels the charm of a driftwood fire. The little girl surely\ncould not help feeling it, and she came and sat on the stool at my\nfeet, leaned her head against my knee, and gazed at the flames without\nsaying a word. But I answered her thought. \"Yes,\" I said, \"we may see\nalmost anything in that fire. Look at that strip of cocoanut husk. Does\nit not tell of green palm-groves and sunny skies and warm breezes? Yet\nas it lies there on its curved side, with the two ends lifted from the\nhearth, has it not the shape of a galley, like those in which the rude\nold pirates of the North used to sweep over the sea, bringing terror to\nall who came in their way? It is all burnt and blackened, and right\nover it rises a tall flame of bright red. It is a black ship, with\nsails all of the color of blood. The strangest of ships it is, and it\nhas the strangest of stories.\n\n\"Long, long years ago, in a fearful storm, the captain tried to sail\nthis ship around the cape. The captain of another ship hailed him and\nasked him if he did not mean to find a harbor for the night. But he\nswore a terrible oath that he would sail around the cape in spite of\nDavy Jones, if it took till doomsday. At this Davy Jones was angry, and\nswore on his part that it should take till doomsday, that the captain\nshould sail in the storm till then and should never get around the\ncape. Do you know who Davy Jones is? He is the wicked spirit of the\nsea. When the winds and the waves rage and tear away the sails of the\nships, or sink the ships or drive them upon the reefs, it is his work;\nwhen it is all smooth and calm and sparkling, as we saw it to-day, then\nthe good fairies of the sea are there and are making everything about\nit calm and happy.\n\n\"But the fairies never came near this ship. She was always driven\nabout, and there was a storm wherever she went. Never could her captain\nbring her into any port and never could he round the cape. Only for\nyears and years he sailed and sailed in the storm, and found no harbor\nand no rest. At first he was bold and tried to sail on and gain his\nport; then he was angry and raged again, and swore that he would not be\nbeaten; then he was in despair; and at last he grew so weary with the\nstorm and the sea and the clouds and again the wind and the sky and the\nocean and yet the rain and the waves and the fog, that he longed only\nto die and to be at peace.\n\n\"But he did not die, and no one of his crew died. The sailors all grew\nold, and their hair and their beards were white, and they looked like\nghosts, and their ship was like the ghost of a ship; but they were not\nghosts; they were real men and they sailed in a real ship. Sometimes\nthe crews of other ships saw them. Sometimes they hailed the crews of\nthe other ships and begged them to take letters to their friends at\nhome. They said that their almanac had been blown away and they did not\nknow how long they had been from home. They would lower a boat and row\nto the ship they had hailed, in a sea that would swamp any other boat\nin half a minute, and so they would bring their letters on deck. Those\nwho knew their story refused to take the letters, and then the sailors\nwould nail them to the mast or lay them on the deck, with a heavy\nweight to keep them from blowing away, and go back to their own ship.\nSo the letters sometimes reached their homes, for it was said to bring\nbad luck either to take their letters willingly or to throw them away\nwhen they were left on the ship.\n\n\"But oh, what of those to whom the letters were sent? Once a captain\nbrought a packet of them to the port from which the strange ship had\nsailed. Not one of those to whom they were directed could be found, and\nhe opened some of them, hoping that the letters themselves might tell\nhim some way of finding the sailors' friends. One of the sailors had\nwritten to his father that after this voyage he meant to live on the\nland with him and never to go to sea again. When the captain took this\nletter to its address, he found a man of the right name, but the man\nsaid: 'No, no, the letter is not for me; no son of mine is a sailor.\nNone of our family ever went to sea except one, for there is an old\nstory that my great-grandfather's brother once went away in a ship and\nthat the ship was never heard of again. For years his old father used\nto dream about him and to declare that his ship still floated, and he\ndied believing that his boy was yet alive. No, that is my name on the\nletter, but it is not for me' One sailor had sent a bank-note to his\nsister, but where her house stood there was a church, and it had been\nthere for a hundred years. Another in his letter sent a pressed\ntropical flower to his sweetheart. It was of the color that looked\npretty in her hair, but the poor fellow forgot that pressing it would\nspoil it for that. The captain, despairing of delivering the letters,\nwent into the church, and there, on one of the stones of the floor, he\nread the sweetheart's name. It said that she was ninety years old when\nshe died, and the words were almost worn away by the feet that had\ncrossed them. The captain dropped the flower upon the stone, and the\nnext morning it was swept away.\n\n\"So the sailors grew so old that it seemed they could not grow any\nolder. Then slowly they began to know what they had always refused to\nbelieve, that they had been sailing for years and for hundreds of\nyears, and that all who ever knew them and loved them had been long,\nlong dead. Then their eyes grew more hollow, and their hair and their\nlong beards thinner, and their faces more wrinkled and withered, and it\nwas as if all the blood had dried out of their hearts. Perhaps it was\nwhen the blood went out of their hearts that it stained the sails that\ndreadful red. So much for the crew, but it was different with the\ncaptain. Davy Jones was preparing something worse yet for him, or\nthought he was. He was tired of seeing him simply wander hopelessly on\nthe ocean; he wanted to plague him more. He could do this, he thought,\nby giving him now and then a little hope and then shattering it and\nsinking it to the bottom of the sea, and dragging the man's heart to\nthe bottom of the sea, too, with a leaden load of despair.\n\n\"The captain had never grown to look old, and now, to carry out his\nwicked plan, Davy Jones promised that once in every seven years he\nmight enter a port and go on shore, and if ever he should find a good\nwoman who would love him and give her life for him, he might rest and\nnever sail again; but when he failed to find such a woman he must go on\nboard his ship again and sail through the storm and the wind and the\nwaves for seven years more. Now, Davy Jones would never have promised\nthis if he had thought that there could be such a good and loving\nwoman, but being only a wicked spirit of the sea he did not know much\nabout good women.\n\n\"And for a long time his plan did succeed and the poor captain was more\nwretched than ever. Once in seven years he would go on shore to seek\nthat true woman, and as often he would return to his ship and sail\naway. Good women he found many, but none of them would love him. Then\nhis heart would fill with bitterness, for he saw them loving and giving\ntheir lives to men who, he could not but know, were less brave and\npatient and worthy of them than he; faithless men who forgot them,\ncruel men who misused them, dull men who knew not their own blessings.\nWhy should they love such men as these and never him? Now, you and I,\nwho are so wise, know, of course, that such thoughts were selfish and\nwicked. For what was he to any woman that she should give her life, or\neven an hour of it, for him? Was his life or his peace better than\nanother's, that another's should be given for his? Why should any woman\nlove him when there were so many others for her to love?\n\n\"But he never thought of these things, so he would rage against all\nwomen and he would steer his ship into the most awful waves and\nwhirlpools, hoping that she would be wrecked and sunk, but his ship was\nnever harmed; and he would steer toward pirates, hoping that they would\nkill him for the chests of gold he had, but even the pirates, when they\nsaw his blood-red sails, would cross themselves and flee from him. Then\nthe seven years would pass and he would go on shore, and now, perhaps,\na woman would say that she loved him; yet when the time came she would\nnot give her life for him, and he would throw himself down upon his\nface on the deck of his ship and steer nowhere, but still drive on\nthrough the wind, the black waves, the black storm, and his own blacker\ndespair.\"\n\n\"Oh, my!\" said the little girl, \"that's awfully nice and ghosty, but I\nthought this was the best fire we ever had, and now you don't see\nanything in it at all.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I do,\" I replied, \"I have seen the ship all the time, that\nblack ship with its sail of red flame. I have seen it tossing upon the\nsea, sweeping up till the flame of its sail almost touched the clouds,\nand then plunging down into the black water, but always, always rushing\non with the storm around it and with never any rest. And I have seen\nthe angry clouds tearing across the sky; you can see them yourself when\nthe smoke flies up the chimney, and then when the white flames are\nflickering and flashing up and then dying down, you can think that you\nsee the lightning. Yes, and you cannot help hearing the wind, whistling\nup there around the top of the chimney as it would whistle through the\nrigging of a ship.\n\n\"The seven years have passed again, and now the ship has come to land,\nthat the captain may try the little chance once more that has failed\nhim so often. The red flame has dropped down, for the sails are furled,\nand the wind has stopped for a minute, too, while the ship is at\nanchor, and there is no need for the storm to pursue it. I see the\ncaptain walking on the shore and talking with the master of another\nship that is anchored near by. The master tells him that he lives only\na few miles away, and asks him if he will come and spend the night with\nhim on shore. The captain replies that for a little rest at his house\nhe will give the master untold treasures from his ship. He makes a sign\nto his men and they bring a big chest. He opens it and shows the master\nthat it is full to the top of gold and pearls and rubies and emeralds,\nthat flash and shine with all the colors that ever our driftwood fire\ncan show us.\n\n[Illustration: \"THROUGH THE BLACK STORM AND HIS OWN BLACKER DESPAIR.\"]\n\n\"Such a price for a night's or a year's lodging the master never\ndreamed of. He cannot believe that such wealth is all for him, and he\nasks what he can ever do for the captain to earn it. 'Have you not a\ndaughter?' the captain asks. You see he knows how to go about his work\nwithout loss of time, even though he has never been very lucky in it.\n\n\"'Indeed I have,' the master answers, 'a good, true, lovely girl.'\n\n\"'Give her to me,' says the captain, 'for my wife; that is all I ask.'\n\n\"The master thinks that is a good deal to ask, but not too much, when\nhe looks at the chest again, and he says, joyfully enough: 'You shall\nhave her, indeed; I know such a man as you will make a good son-in-law;\ncome home with me quickly.'\n\n\"So each goes on board his own ship. The master sails first to lead the\nway, and then the red flaming sail springs up again and the black ship\nis off the shore. And the storm howls again too; the waves rise, the\nclouds tear across the sky, and in a minute the ship has passed out of\nsight.\n\n\"Listen to the wind around the chimney. It was roaring and whistling a\nminute ago, but now it is not so loud. It grows fainter still, till its\nsound is no more a roar or a whistle, but only the lightest humming of\na wind, and to me all the wind seems gone now and it is the hum of\nwhirling spinning wheels that I hear. And what I see is a room where a\ndozen girls sit spinning and singing songs about their wheels and about\ntheir lovers. But one among them does not spin. She lets her wheel\nstand idle and only sits and looks at a picture that hangs on the wall.\nIt is of a dark man with black hair, a black beard, and deep, piercing\neyes; it is the captain whom we have seen so much already. The other\ngirls laugh at her, say that she is in love with the picture, and ask\nher why she does not sing with them. She cannot sing their happy songs,\nshe says. Then they ask her to sing by herself, and she sings them a\nsong about the captain. It tells them his story, as we know it already,\nand as she sings they all stop their wheels and begin to gather around\nher, and in spite of all their merriment it moves them at last, as such\na sad story ought to move anybody.\n\n\"And when she has finished they all say, 'Ah, poor fellow, if only some\ngood woman would save him from his dreadful lot! But who would do it\nand give up her own life?'\n\n\"'I would do it,' she replies, 'and I hope that the winds may blow him\nhere, so that I can tell him that I am ready to love him and to save\nhim.'\n\n\"The others, who are very charming girls, no doubt, but just now not\nquite so noble and resolute as this one, are almost frightened to hear\nher talk so, and when somebody says that her father is coming they all\nslip away and leave her to meet him alone, while they chatter among\nthemselves about what a strange girl she is to want to give her life\nfor a man whose black hair and piercing eyes she has never even seen\nexcept in a picture. Her father is the shipmaster whom we saw, as you\nhave guessed by this time, and he has brought the stranger captain home\nwith him. 'This is my daughter,' he says; 'is she not all and more than\nall that I told you?'\n\n\"Then, having always found her, no doubt, a good and obedient child, he\ntells her at once that the captain is to stay with them, and that he\nexpects her to be his wife. Some girls do not like to be ordered to\nmarry even the men they love; but she is so true and simple and kind\nthat she means to love the captain with all her heart, and even her\nfather's wish that she shall do so cannot change her. The father thinks\nvery wisely that they will get on better without him, so he leaves\nthem, and they do get on better at once. First they gaze for a long\ntime into each other's eyes, those deep, piercing, sad eyes of the\ncaptain, and those true, soft, young eyes of the master's daughter.\nThen he thinks that her face is not strange to him, as he remembers,\ndimly at first and then more clearly, that he has seen this face in\ndreams many times, when it was the face of an angel who was to save him\nfrom his long weariness. And the dreams were not far wrong, for she\nlooks into his eyes with no thought for herself, but only: 'This is one\nwho has suffered for many years and must suffer for many years more,\nunless I love him and save him.'\n\n\"He asks her if she can give herself wholly to him, and she answers\nthat, whatever his fate may be and whatever hers, she will take it all\nand will be all his own forever. 'If you knew what it would cost you to\nbe true to me,' he says, 'you would shrink away from me and try to save\nyourself.' 'Never,' she answers; 'let it cost what it will, I will be\ntrue to you till death.'\n\n\"I see the shore and the sea again. This time it is near the master's\nhouse, and the two ships are moored not far apart. The red sails are\nfurled, but on the ship there is the little pale blue flame of a\nghostly watch-fire. The captain comes out of the house and strides up\nand down along the shore. All the gladness that he had when we saw him\nlast is gone--no, not all, but there is doubt and perplexity with it\nnow. The fact is that the captain has learned something now that he\nnever knew before. All these weary years he has been longing and hoping\nfor some good woman to love him, but he has never thought much about\nloving any good woman. What right had he to expect anything when he\nmeant to give nothing? He has never thought of this before, but he\nthinks of it now. And the reason is that now, when he has found a woman\nwho loves him and will gladly die for him, he finds too that he loves\nher as well; and if he loves her, how can he let her die for him? She\nis so good and unselfish that perhaps it would be a happiness to her to\ndo it, but it is the more to his credit that he does not think of that.\n\n\"That is why he paces up and down the shore and fights hard with\nhimself. Only think of it. For all these many years, while other men\nwere living happy lives and growing old, and their children and their\ngrand-children were growing old too, the angry winds and waves have\ndriven him about and have given him no rest; now this woman could save\nhim, but his love tells him that he ought to save her instead. Can he\nsave her and go back again to the rage of the storm and live in it\nforever, live in it till doomsday? Oh, it is a hard fight, but at last\nhe answers yes; all that he has borne so long he can bear still longer.\nThe sea shall swallow his ship and cast it up again, the clouds shall\nsink down upon it, the winds shall drive it over the whole ocean, but\nshe shall not die because of him. And it will not be with him quite as\nit was before; now he will remember through all the hundreds of years\nthat are to come that she loved him once, he will think of her always,\nand thinking of her he will wait for doomsday.\n\n\"I see him go on board his ship again; he is calling to his men; they\nare hoisting the sails; see the red flame spring up again. The storm\ncomes again too. Look at the black smoke that is like flying clouds,\nand hear the wind up there around the chimney. But now out of her\nfather's house comes the master's daughter. She sees the ship speeding\naway, and in an instant she knows all the reason; she knows it because\nshe would have done the same if she had been the captain. Then she runs\nto a high rock that stands out into the sea; she calls through the loud\nwind that drowns her voice that she will come to him and will be true\nto him till death, and then she leaps from the rock into the rough,\nraging waves. But look; the waves that very instant are rough and\nraging no more; the sea is all still; the clouds are gone, and the wind\nis silent. The ship with the blood-red sails is sinking out of sight.\nSee how the red flame dies down and the black hull is breaking to\npieces. And right where it was I can see the captain and the master's\ndaughter rising out of the sea together, with a beautiful light around\nthem, as beautiful as all the colors of our fire can make it. They seem\nto float along the water, away and away, and I think the good fairies\nof the sea must be taking them to Fairyland or to some pleasant island,\nwhere they will always live happily together.\"\n\nThe fire blazed up brighter than ever for a minute and then dropped\ndown again. \"Come here to the window,\" I said; \"see how the fog has all\ncleared away and has left the moon shining down upon the sea. What a\nbroad track of light it makes from the shore here where it is nearest\nus, away off to the edge of the sky! How the little flecks and sparkles\nof light run and dance and chase one another, and how happy and glad\nthey seem, riding the little ripples of waves in the light of the moon!\nAre they the sea fairies, dancing and playing together and calming the\nwater, to bring the sailors safe back to their homes, do you think?\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE LOVE POTION\n\n\nThere was a beautiful moon and everybody said it was a pity to have it\nwasted. So indeed it was, and everybody asked everybody else what we\nshould do to prevent its being wasted. A few, who had made the best\npossible use of more moons than the rest of us, were in favor of simply\nsitting on the rocks and looking at the moon and the sea under it. That\nwas really not a bad plan at all. When you sit with somebody beside you\nand the rest of the party not too near, on a high rock that runs far\nout into the water, and look at the big white moon and the soft colors\nof the sky around it, and then at the stretch of water, unobstructed to\nthe horizon, with the moon's reflection broken by the waves into a\nmillion dancing sparkles, when you turn and look toward the beach,\nseeing the black surges rolling swiftly up to the shore and then\nbreaking into gleaming foam, but still plunging on, like banks of\ntumbling snow--then indeed you can think of wonderful things and say\nwonderful things if you like. But perhaps you may prefer to say nothing\nat all, and that is a very good and pleasant way too, for at such a\ntime it seems really not quite right to talk unless you can talk in\npoetry, and that is not easy to do, no matter how much you may feel\nlike doing it.\n\nThese people who had made the best of so many moons knew all this, but\nsome of the others thought that this moon was worthy of a greater\neffort and a more deep-laid plan. All the things that are usually done\non moonlight nights were rejected one by one. Then one of those strange\npersons who are always noticing things said, not at all as if he\nthought it had anything to do with the subject, that there was an\nuncommon quantity of wood scattered along the shore. Then it was\ndecided, just because nothing better could be thought of, that there\nshould be a bonfire down on the shore, and nothing else, except the\nmoon. So in the forenoon the daily bathing party started for the shore\na little earlier than usual, and instead of spending our extra time in\nlying on our backs with the sun in our eyes, in the hope of getting\nsunburned, we spent it in gathering wood for the fire.\n\nPicking up driftwood for a bonfire is not very easy work, but there\nwere so many of us that we soon had two good piles, one for the fire at\nthe start and one to feed it as it burned. Among the wood there were\ntwo whole barrels, and one of them had had tar in it, so we were sure\nof a splendid fire. Then we all went home, and after it was dark we all\ncame back again. The fire was lighted; the bright-colored flames of the\ndriftwood played together and grew and streamed up above our heads,\ncrackled and roared and sent up torrents of black smoke mixed with\ngolden sparks. For a little while nobody was tired of feeding it and\nwatching it, but by and by we let a few attend to keeping it up, while\nthe rest of us made a very little fire among the stones and let it\nquickly die down to a bed of red embers for toasting marshmallow drops.\nThe man up at the village who keeps the shop with everything in it, and\nthe post-office, must have a notion that city people live chiefly on\nmarshmallow drops, that is, if he ever lets himself be troubled by any\nnotions except those he keeps to sell.\n\nAfter that the most of the people strolled away along the shore. Some\nsaid they wanted to see how the fire looked from a distance, and\nothers, I think, were trying to get nearer to the moon. At last the\nlittle girl and I were left alone. We made cushions of folded coats and\nshawls, and sat leaning against a big rock, looking at the fire.\n\n\"We scarcely need the fire to-night,\" I said; \"if we try a little we\ncan see pictures through it and all around it, as well as in it. See\nthat big, black rock, that stands almost in the edge of the water, like\nan old castle, built upon the shore. Then look away across the water to\nthe island over yonder. I see a ship coming from the island toward our\nshore; perhaps you do not see it yet. As it gets nearer I can see a\nknight standing in the bow. He is a big, bold, fine-looking fellow, and\nhe is all in black armor. The ship reaches the shore and the knight and\nhis men go toward the castle, where the King lives, while the King and\nall his court come out to meet him. Some people may tell you, or you\nmay some time find out for yourself, that this King is a very wicked\nman, mean, cruel, and treacherous. Perhaps he is, but all I can tell\nyou is that now he does not seem so to me; on the contrary he seems as\nkind and generous as you could wish.\n\n\"The knight in the black armor marches proudly up to him and tells him\nthat he has been sent by his brother, the King of the island over there\nfrom which he came, to get the tribute which the king here has owed to\nhim for years, and it must be paid, or else the king or some one of his\nknights must fight with him to see whether it shall be paid or not. The\nblack knight is such a big man and looks like such a good fighter that\nthe men about the King seem to think it would be a pretty good thing to\npay the tribute and let him go home with it. Not one of them says a\nword about wanting to fight with him, for a little while; but by and\nby, when all the rest have had a fair chance, a young man comes forward\nand asks the King if he may try. He is as big a man as the black knight\nhimself, and as handsome and brave looking as any you ever dreamed of\nseeing, but he is so young that he cannot have fought many battles, and\none would think that he would be afraid to set himself against the big\nblack knight, unless one looked at his face, as I do, and saw that he\ncould not possibly be afraid of anything.\"\n\n\"Is he braver than the one that killed the dragon?\" the child asked.\n\n\"Why, no, I suppose not; nobody could be braver than he, because, you\nknow, he could not learn what fear meant, and did not even know whether\nit was something to feel or something to eat or something to wear, but\nthis young knight is just as brave as there is any need for anybody to\nbe, and when he asks the King to let him try to beat the black knight,\nall the other knights say at once, 'By all means, let him try,' and\nthey are really quite eager about it, and almost all of them change\ntheir minds about giving the tribute. So the King says that he may\nfight the battle if he will, and he puts on his armor, which is all of\ngreen, and mounts his horse.\n\n\"The black knight is on his horse too, and they ride far apart and then\nface each other and hold their long spears before them, ready for the\nbattle. All the people stand far off at the sides, the heralds blow\ntheir trumpets, and the two knights run together with all the speed of\ntheir horses. The points of their spears are down and they are both\nwell aimed, but each catches the other's spear fairly in the middle of\nhis shield, and they rush together so hard that there is a great crash,\nand both the knights and both the horses fall to the ground with a\nterrible clatter of arms. But the knights are both on their feet again\nin a moment, and are falling upon each other with their swords, cutting\nand slashing and warding and advancing and retreating, till it is hard\nto tell which is the black knight and which the green, or whether they\nare not both black and both green. First one seems to be getting a\nlittle the better of the fight and then the other. The black knight is\nbetter trained, but the green knight is so much younger and fresher\nthat he keeps his strength better, and by and by the black knight sees\nthat he is surely gaining a little. Then he rushes upon the green\nknight and fights with all his strength and all his skill, and at last\nhe gives him a wound on the shoulder. Then the green knight sees that\nif he is ever to do anything in this fight he must do it now, and he\nuses all his strength and all his skill too, and he brings down such a\nblow with his sword on the head of the black knight that it cuts\nthrough the helmet, and the edge of the sword is broken, and with\nanother clash and clatter of arms the black knight falls to the ground.\n\n\"The black knight's men run to him and carry him to his ship, and sail\naway as quickly as they can toward their island. I can see them all the\nway, though it is a little dark out there, in spite of the moon, and I\ncan see everything they do after they get there; I have to, you know,\nor it would spoil the story. They carry him to the King's castle, and\nthe Queen and her daughter, who know all about medicines, and even some\nthings that are stronger than medicines, dress his wound and nurse him\nand watch him day and night. But it is all of no use; nothing can cure\nthe black knight's wound, and so he dies; but in dressing the wound the\nprincess has found in it a little piece of steel that was broken from\nthe edge of the green knight's sword.\n\n\"Now you ought to know, before we go any farther, that this princess is\nprobably altogether the most beautiful princess that you ever heard a\nstory about.\"\n\n\"Oh, that's the way they always are,\" said the little girl; \"is she\nbeautifuller than the one that had the fire all round her?\"\n\n\"Perhaps not, but she was not a princess, you know; she was a goddess\ntill her father kissed her, and then she was nothing at all till her\nlover came and kissed her, and after that she was a woman, which was\naltogether the best thing she could possibly be. But when we first saw\nher she was a goddess, and we have a right to expect more of her than\nof a princess. So I say again that this is quite the most beautiful\nprincess that you have ever heard a story about, and you must believe\nit, if you please, or I shall not tell you any more about her.\"\n\n\"Oh, I believe anything you say,\" said the child, \"but where is the\ngreen knight?\"\n\n\"He is still here on the shore, in the King's castle, and his wound is\na very bad one too, and after all the doctors have tried to cure it and\nhave failed, one of them says that it can never be cured at all except\nin the country of the black knight who gave it to him. Now it is not\nvery safe for the knight to go over to that island, where so many\npeople would probably be glad to kill him for killing the black knight,\nso he disguises himself as much as he can before he goes. And he goes\nstraight to the King's castle, just as the black knight did, and the\nQueen and the princess take care of him just as they took care of the\nblack knight, only this time they have better luck, and in a little\nwhile he gets well.\n\n\"But long before he gets well the princess, who is watching by his\nside, sees the sword that he brought lying near by, and having nothing\nbetter to do, she looks first at the jewels in the hilt and then slowly\ndraws the sword out of its scabbard to let her eye run along the\npolished blade, with its smooth, sharp edge. And then her eye quickly\ncomes to a break in the smooth, sharp edge, and in an instant she\nthinks of the splinter of a sword edge that she found in her uncle's\nwound. At that she quickly drops the sword. Then she gets the splinter,\nwhich she has kept, and finds that it just fits the broken place in the\nsword, so she knows that this knight whom she is nursing and curing of\nhis wound is the one who killed her uncle when he was fighting for her\nfather. For a moment she thinks that she will kill him, and she lifts\nthe sword above him, but when she sees the helpless look in his eyes\nshe has not the heart to do it, and she lets the sword fall again. If\nthe truth were told, I think she is already a little in love with him,\nand if he were any kind of knight except a green one, he would be in\nlove with her too.\n\n\"If he only would fall in love now it might save a good deal of trouble\nafterwards, but because of his habit of wearing green clothes and green\narmor, or for some other reason, he does not, and when his wound is\nquite cured he sails cheerfully away again, just as if it were an\neveryday affair to be nursed by a queen and a princess. He sails back\nhere to our own shore now, to the King's castle, and the King and\neverybody else are as glad as possible to see him. He tells them all\nabout the Queen and the princess, and how beautiful she is, for it\nseems he did notice that, till by and by, when the knights of the court\nfind that he is talking about her only in the way he would talk about a\npicture that pleased him, they whisper to the King that such a\nprincess, who is so beautiful, and knows so much about curing wounds,\nwould no doubt make a good queen, and they advise him to send for her\nand marry her. The green knight himself hears these whispers, and he\nsays, 'Yes, by all means; I will go and get her; she will be glad to\ncome, and her father and mother will be delighted to have her.' Did you\never hear of such absurd conduct from a young man dressed in green?\n\n\"Away he sails again, over to the island, and when he tells his errand\nthe King and the Queen are delighted indeed. The princess is not so\nmuch delighted as some young women might be at the prospect of being\nmarried to a king, but she pretends to be very well pleased and says\nthat she will go. This time it is she who makes a sad mistake, for if\nshe would only say, right out aloud, 'I do not want to be married to\nthis King; I want to be married to the green knight,' again it might\nsave a good deal of trouble afterwards. She need not say it to him, but\nshe might say it to her mother, and if he did not love her the Queen\nwould know very well how to make him, as you shall see by and by.\nStill, if there were no trouble there would be no story, so we might\nbetter not complain, as long as the trouble will not be ours. So the\nprincess sails away with the knight, and the Queen, before she goes,\nlike a careful mother, gives her a little box of medicines such as she\nuses herself. That is to say, medicines and other things. One of the\nother things is a poison that kills anybody who drinks it, in just\nabout a minute, and it looks and tastes just like wine. Another is a\nstranger mixture yet, for when a man and a woman drink it together it\nmakes them, from that instant, love each other as long as they live,\nmore than they love life or honor or their country or anything or\nanybody else in the world. And this, too, looks and tastes just like\nwine. It would not be easy to find two more dangerous drinks than these\ntogether.\n\n\"I see the knight and the princess now on board the ship, coming here\nto our shore. The knight stands near the helmsman, looking away at the\nsea and the sky, and thinking of nothing more sensible than how glad\nhis King will be when he sees his bride, and how much his King will\nthank him for finding for him and bringing to him such a lovely\nprincess. But the princess, who is sitting far away from him, at the\nother end of the ship, is thinking a great deal, and of such bitter\nthings that she does not look at the beautiful sea and sky at all. The\nend of half her thoughts is that in a very little while now she will\nhave to be the wife of a king whom she has never seen and never wants\nto see, because she loves the green knight, and the end of the other\nhalf of her thoughts is that she hates the knight who has brought her\nto this, as she could never in the world hate anybody except one whom\nshe loved.\n\n\"And this is how her thoughts come, for you know I can see thoughts\njust as plainly as I can see castles and ships and battles: she thinks\nof her uncle, whom she loved, who fought for her father and for her\ncountry, who was wounded, and whose life she could not save; she thinks\nof the unknown knight who came to her, wounded too, whom she nursed and\ndid save; she thinks how she began to love him, for the most of us love\nbetter those whom we help than those who help us; she thinks of that\ntime when she saw his sword and knew that it was he who had killed her\nuncle, how her anger rose against him for that and because he had dared\nto come to her for help, how she had been about to kill him, and how\nshe saw that helpless look in his eyes and had not the heart to do it.\nIt is now that her thoughts grow bitter, for she thinks how he went\naway again and never dreamed of loving her for healing his wound and\nsaving his life, and then sparing his life and loving him, when she\nought to hate him and kill him, because he killed her uncle. She is\nbeautiful enough to be loved, she thinks. Then comes a maddening\nthought of how this man whom she loved not only cared no more for her\nthan for one of her father's dogs, but himself came back to ask her\nhand for another. This seems an insult to her and it makes her whole\nsoul burn. She wishes she had killed him when she had his sword in her\nhands, and the madness fills her mind and burns her soul till she\nresolves that she will kill him now.\n\n\"She not only thinks all this but says it to her maid, and she orders\nher to take the poison out of the box of medicines that her mother gave\nher, and put it into a goblet, and she says that the knight shall drink\nsome of it and that she will drink the rest herself, and so punish her\nenemy and be rid of the King who is to be her husband, for she will\ngladly die rather than be married to him. Of course this throws the\npoor maid into a terrible fright, for she is not a princess, and\npoisoning and cutting off heads, and such things seem like serious\nmatters to her, so she would gladly save the knight and her mistress\ntoo, if she could. If you were in her place I know very well what you\nwould do. You would give the princess some wine instead of the poison,\nand before she could find out what you had done, she and the knight\nwould be on shore and would be saved. But this poor girl is so\nfrightened that she can think of nothing to do but to give her mistress\nand the knight the love drink instead of the poison.\n\n\"The princess calls the knight to her and frowns upon him as dreadfully\nas she knows how. Can you think how a bunch of sweet, fresh, red and\nwhite roses would look if it should get terribly angry? Well, that is\nabout the way the princess frowns. But it is not her fault. She was not\nmade to frown. She tells the knight that he has been very cruel and\nvery untrue to her, and that she ought to have killed him for killing\nher uncle; but now she says she will forgive him, and to show that they\nare friends she asks him to drink this wine with her. And now you may\nsee how brave this green knight really is, for he sees well enough that\nshe does not forgive him at all and means to kill him; yet he takes the\ngoblet from her hand without a tremor of his own and drinks. Then she\nsnatches the goblet from him and drinks the rest herself, and cries,\n'Now we shall both die; I have my revenge upon you, and you shall not\nmarry me to your King!'\n\n\"But, oh, it is the drink of love, and instead of dying the two stand\nand gaze at each other as if they could never gaze enough, then they\nstretch their arms toward each other, and so they meet, and now,\nwhatever happens to either of them, they must always love each other as\nlong as they live, more than they love life or honor or their country\nor anything or anybody else in the world.\n\n\"How they ever get on shore I don't know, but I do know that when they\nare there they make another great mistake, for they hide from the King\nthat they love each other, and they let him think still that the\nprincess means to be married to him, when I am sure she can mean\nnothing of the kind. He is a very good sort of King, who wants\neverybody to be as happy as possible, and he never has seen this\nprincess before, so what can he really care for her? If they would only\ntell him I am sure he would be glad to help them, instead of standing\nin their way, but they are just as foolish as they have both been all\nalong, and they say nothing about it.\n\n\"The princess is in the garden of the castle with her maid and they are\nwaiting for the knight to come. The King and all his men have ridden a-\nhunting. It is night, and a torch burns at the castle door; at last we\ncan see something in the fire. The knight will not come till they put\nout the torch, for that is the signal they have arranged, and they will\nnot put out the torch till the hunting party is far away. You see they\nare still so absurdly secret about it! The maid tells the princess that\nshe might better not put out the torch at all, for a treacherous friend\nof the knight has watched them, suspects their love, and has told the\nKing; that the hunting party is only a trap, and that the King will\nsoon come back. If it were a real hunt it would be strange for the\ngreen knight himself not to go, for he is the best huntsman in the\nwhole country. All this is quite true; for the King, kind and generous\nas he is, does not like to be deceived any better than anybody else,\nand he wants people to keep the promises that they make to him.\n\n\"But the princess is in such haste to see the green knight again that\nshe will not heed the maid's warning. She sends her up to the tower to\nwatch, as soon as she thinks the hunters are far enough away, and then\nshe throws the torch down upon the ground and puts it out. Then the\ngreen knight comes. But they have scarcely sat down on the grassy bank\nto tell each other how much they love each other, and to forget all\nabout the poor King, when the maid cries out from the tower that the\nhuntsmen are coming back, the knight's old servant comes running with\nhis sword drawn to his master and begs him to save himself, and in a\nminute they all come, the treacherous friend of the green knight\nleading the way, and the King next after him. The knight is standing\nbefore the princess, not thinking of himself, and the traitor, who\ncould never match him for a moment in a fair fight, rushes upon him and\nwounds him, but before he can do more the King himself holds him back.\nThe old servant raises the knight from the ground where he has fallen,\ndrags him quickly to the shore and puts him in a ship that is there,\nand once more they sail away.\n\n[Illustration: \"AS IF THEY COULD NEVER GAZE ENOUGH.\"]\n\n\"The rock there by the water is no longer the castle of the King. It is\nthe green knight's castle now, in another country, across the sea. The\nold servant has brought the knight here, away from his enemies, to try\nto heal his wound. All his care seems useless. The poor knight has all\nthe time grown worse. But his faithful old servant has remembered who\nit was that cured another wound of his before, and he has sent a ship\nwith secret messengers to bring the princess if they can. That he may\nknow as soon as he sees the ship whether the princess is on board, he\nhas told the sailors to hoist white sails if they bring her with them,\nand black sails if they do not. He is watching now for the ship to come\nback.\n\n\"It is the court-yard of the castle that I see, and a sweet, calm,\nlovely picture it is. The knight and his servant have been so long away\nthat the place has been neglected, but it is all the prettier for that.\nThe grass has grown long, and, as the light winds breathe upon it, it\nsways and sinks and rises in waves, as if it tried to be like the sea\ndown there below it. The gray old walls and ramparts of the castle have\nbright green moss upon them, and from the crannies hang little plants\nand vines. High up, where a rough stone projects a little from the\ntower, a cluster of bluebells swings in the breeze and nods to the\nother flowers and the grass and the trees down below. Are the bluebells\ntrying to say to the grass that up there on their airy lookout they can\nsee away over the shining water, that the ship is not yet in sight, but\nthat they know she will come? Beyond and away, clear to the edge of the\nsky, just as it is here before us now, lies the sea. Smooth and\npeaceful it is, as if it were resting all through this calm day. Over\nit all the sun is sending a flood of light, fifty times as bright as\nthe light of this splendid moon of ours. But now and then it is dimmed\na little, for far away on the sea lies a strip of shade, the shadow of\na cloud; slowly it moves toward the land, as the cloud sails through\nthe blue sky, and as it comes it is seen plainer and moves faster, till\nthe shadow reaches the shore and rests for an instant on the castle and\nthe court-yard, and then it passes away into the land and everything is\nsunny again.\n\n\"Yet in all this light and peaceful beauty there is something that\nseems like sadness. In the court-yard, on his couch, lies the knight,\nin the cool shade. He does not know where he is, and he does not know\nhis servant, who stands beside him, with the tears in his faithful old\neyes, but he must know that he is in a beautiful place. Does everything\nin the place know that he is here, too, and feel sad to see him lying\nsick and wounded and weak and weary? The sun veils his face oftener\nthan he does on some of our bright days, and when there is no cloud he\nshines with a soft, mellow light, the sea throws shades of purple over\nits blue and silver, and its waves break against the shore with only a\nsoft little sound, and a sort of hushed song that is like a moan and is\nlike a lullaby too. You can hear it down there among the pebbles around\nthe rock. The bluebells swing softly, as if they were afraid to ring\nout aloud and disturb the sleeping knight. The hard walls look softer\nfor their coverings of moss; the grass waves slowly and bends toward\nthe wounded man, seeming to listen to his breathing. A shepherd leans\nover the rampart and plays a soft, sad, sleepy little air on his pipe.\n'Is the knight awake?' he calls to the servant.\n\n\"'No,' the servant answers, 'and unless the princess comes I fear he\nwill never wake; watch for the ship.'\n\n\"'I will watch,' the shepherd says, 'and if I see the ship I will play\na lively tune on my pipe to tell you of it.'\n\n\"The knight begins to wake and stir; he asks where he is, and the\nservant tells him that he is at his own castle. He has been dreaming of\nthe princess, and the servant says, 'I have sent the ship for her; she\nwill come to-day.' But the knight is so weak that he cannot understand\nor talk of one thing very long, and he falls half asleep again and\ndreams of the princess, and because he has heard of a ship he dreams of\nother ships. He has his old wound now and is lying, just as he lies\nhere, in that ship which bore him the first time toward the princess;\nnow she is with him and his face grows lighter. She is looking at his\nsword; she raises it again, as she did so long ago, to kill him; but\nshe sees again the helpless look in his eyes and has not the heart to\ndo it, and she lets the sword fall again. He is on a second ship,\nsailing toward the princess to bring her for the King's bride; now the\nship is sailing back and they are together on the deck. She holds out\nto him that goblet of strange wine; they both drink, they gaze into\neach other's eyes, the dream is too happy to last, and he awakes and\ncries, 'Has the ship come? Can you not see her yet?'\n\n\"'Not yet,' the servant answers; 'but she must come soon.'\n\n\"The knight is in the garden of the castle--the other castle--waiting\nfor the princess to put out the torch, that he may come to her. The\ntorch falls upon the ground, he runs toward the place, and they are\ntogether yet again. It is another happy dream that cannot stay. 'Is the\nship nowhere in sight?'\n\n\"Before the servant can answer he hears the merry tune from the\nshepherd's pipe and knows that the ship is coming now, indeed. He looks\naway across the sea and tells his master how swiftly it flies over the\nwater toward them, with its white sails, for the sails are white and\nthe princess is on board. The time seems long to the knight and his\nservant, yet it is really short, for the wind is fair. The ship comes\nnearer and nearer, it passes the dangerous reef, it is so near that the\nservant can see the faces of the princess and the helmsman and the\nsailors. Now it is at the very shore and the princess is at the gate.\nAh, it was not medicines that the knight needed. With the very\nknowledge that the princess is there, he raises himself from his couch\nand walks toward the gate. Then his little strength fails again and he\nwould fall, but the princess herself catches him in her arms and holds\nhim. This time it is no dream.\n\n\"She leads him back to the couch, he sinks upon it, and she bends over\nhim. But suddenly the shepherd runs to the rampart and cries that\nanother ship is coming, the King's ship. Are the King's men coming then\nto carry back the princess, perhaps to kill the knight? The servant\ncalls the men of the castle and they try to barricade and guard the\ngate. But they are too late; the King's men and the King himself break\nthrough the barriers and are in the courtyard. The very first of them\nis the knight's treacherous friend; the old servant instantly cuts him\ndown with his sword, and there is one good stroke at least. Then the\nKing calls to all to hold their hands and to strike no more; he has\ncome only to give the princess to the knight. He has heard of the love\ndrink, and knows at last that they were not to blame for what they did,\nand that they never meant to be false to him.\n\n\"But still the knight lies there on his couch and the princess kneels\nby his side and bends over him, and neither of them speaks or moves.\"\n\n\"And will the knight get well again?\" the little girl asked.\n\n\"Let us not try to find out any more now,\" I said. \"The knight and the\nprincess are both here, and I know that they are happier together than\nthey have ever been before. That is enough, is it not?\"\n\nAll at once there were voices behind us, three voices at least.\n\n\"Hello, there! who's attending to the fire? You're letting it all go\nout, and there's plenty of wood left.\"\n\n\"What are you two doing here all alone? Don't you know you'll catch\nyour death o' cold sitting here so long?\"\n\n\"Are there any marshmallows left?\"\n\n\"No,\" said the little girl, answering the last question, \"we don't care\nabout marshmallows any way,\" and I really believe just then she thought\nshe did not care about them, though usually she likes them almost as\nwell as anybody.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MINSTREL KNIGHT\n\n\nThe little girl stayed at the seashore till the middle of the autumn.\nThat is the way sensible people do, when they can, and I have worked\nmuch in vain if I have not shown by this time that this little girl is\na sensible little person. The spring is very lovely, to be sure, and of\ncourse we all love it. I should be the last one to say anything against\nit. But to me the most beautiful time of the whole beautiful year is\nthe early autumn. The heat and the work and the worry of the year are\nover, and the clear, rich, golden good of it all is left to be enjoyed.\nThe flowers are not pink and pale blue any more; they are of deep,\nsplendid yellow and red and purple. The golden-rod and the asters are\nlords of flowers, and the cardinal is their high-priest, while if you\nwill have something that is delicate and modest, there is the fringed\ngentian, and that shows, too, how healthy and brave and free it is by\nkeeping no company with dark shadows, and opening only when the bright\nsun shines full upon it.\n\nBut of the things that are best in the autumn, the best above all\nothers is the sea. It has been lying quiet and restful all summer, and\nnow it awakes and begins to move and to show the strength and the\nfreedom of its glorious life. As you stand upon the shore and look at\nit, it draws itself away from you and away from the land as if it were\ndone with it forever; then it pauses, and in a moment begins to come\nback. Up and up the beach it marches with a majestic will that nothing\nelse in the world is like; as it comes it lifts itself higher and\nhigher; then the wave leaps into the air and its crest is turned to\nemerald as the sunlight strikes through it for the pause of another\ninstant, there is a roll, a mad plunge, the spray dashes high above\nyour head, the foam floats and flies up the beach to your very feet,\nthe hollow rumble of the water sounds fainter and farther along the\nsands, and the ocean draws itself back away from you and away from the\nland. Its colors are different, too. Before it had all sorts of\nfanciful hues and shades, pale green and blue, silver, violet, almost\nrose sometimes, the colors of summer dreams. Now the dreaming time is\nover. The green of the wave-crests is luminous, the white and the blue\nhave the gleam of polished steel, the violet and the rose are turned to\ndeep, rich purple. The sea is not cold, harsh, and cruel yet, but it is\nfree, bold, and majestic.\n\nAll this I knew because I remembered it, not because I saw it, for I\nhad been back in the city a long time. The fire was lighted again and I\nhad sat before it often, thinking of the driftwood fire away down\nthere, with the little girl sitting before it, seeing pictures in it\nfor herself, perhaps, and listening to the low sound of the sea, coming\nup through the still evening air. But one night she came and sat with\nme again, and once more we both looked into the same fire. \"I believe I\ncan almost see pictures myself now,\" she said.\n\n\"Can you? And what do you see in the fire now?\"\n\n\"Oh, I can see a prince and a princess--and a knight--and a lovely\ngoddess, like the one that had the apples--and a cave, like the one\nwhere the dragon lived--\"\n\n\"And don't you see the dragon himself? Where is he?\"\n\n\"No, there isn't any dragon; that would be too much like the other\nstory.\"\n\n\"But you must not mind that. There are only a few good stories\naltogether, and the most we can do, as I told you once before, is to\ntell them over and over again in different ways.\"\n\n\"But I don't want any dragon in this one. Now you tell me what they all\ndo, the goddess and the knight, and the prince and the princess, and\nwhat the cave is for.\"\n\n\"Very well, I will try. First I see the knight. He is riding along upon\nhis horse, through the forests, over the hills and across the valleys.\nIt is a lovely day of summer. When he comes to the top of a hill, he\nsees the country lying before him and all around him, deep green with\nwoods and pastures and paler green where the grain is ripening. Here\nand there, too, it is sprinkled with tiny dots of red, where the\npoppies grow thick in a field, and there are spots that are almost blue\nwith cornflowers. A silver ribbon of a river winds through it, and the\nsight of it is lost among the blue mountains. As he rides down into a\nvalley the branches wave above him and break the sunshine that falls\nupon the road and the grass beside it. The flecks of light and the\npatches of shade tremble and waver and dart across and across the way,\nas if they were weaving a robe for the earth, of gold and brown and\ngreen. The air is full of the smell of the flowers, a brook makes a\nsoft, cheery little noise, and from the pastures comes the sleepy sound\nof sheep-bells.\n\n\"The knight is riding toward the castle of the prince. He is a\nminstrel, as well as a knight, and at the castle he will meet other\nminstrels who are his friends, and they are all to sing for a prize\nwhich the prince has offered. There is as much happiness in the heart\nof the knight as in everything around him, for he loves the prince's\ndaughter, and he knows that she loves him. Besides this she is to give\nthe prize to the one who wins it, and with his mind full of gladness\nand thoughts of her, he feels sure that he can win.\n\n\"As he rides thus the evening falls. The moon comes up, and from the\nhills the country stretches darkly away all around, with the silver\nribbon of the river still winding through it. The shade is so deep in\nthe valleys that he has to ride through them slowly. The robe of the\nearth now is all of deep gray and silver. The smell of the flowers is\nstronger and sweeter than before, the brooks sound louder, and the\nsheep bells are silent. The knight's thoughts just now are wandering\naway from the princess, and he is thinking of the fame that he hopes to\nwin as a minstrel, how he will gain this prize and many other prizes,\nhow kings will send for him to come to their courts, that they may hear\nhis songs, how he will grow great and rich, and how his name will live\non after he is dead.\n\n\"As he thinks of these things, suddenly he sees a strange form before\nhim in the valley. It is like a woman, wonderfully beautiful,\nmarvellously, magically beautiful. Something more than the moonlight\nseems to rest upon her and to show him her face with its deep eyes and\nsoft cheeks, her movements, so graceful and gentle that it seems as if\nshe did not move herself at all, but were just stirred and swayed by\nthe little breezes. A rosy light shines from her face and around her\ndark hair. All about her are nymphs, or fairies, dancing and gliding\nand scattering roses for her to walk upon. It seems really quite\nneedless to do that, for she appears rather to float and move in the\nair and to rest on the flower-perfumed wind than to stand or walk upon\nthe ground. Now a knight who was also a minstrel could not possibly\nmake any mistake about such a person as this, and he knows at once that\nshe is the very Goddess of Love and Beauty.\"\n\n\"Is she the one that had the apples?\" the little girl asked.\n\n\"No, not quite the same. She is one something like her, yet a good deal\ndifferent.\"\n\n\"Is she Venus then?\"\n\n\"Yes, you have guessed just right, and so at last somebody in our story\nhas a name. But she is not altogether like the Venus that you have\nheard about so many times before. Some people used to believe that\nafter the old gods whom you know so well had lost their rule on Mount\nOlympus, they went to live inside the mountains and under the ground,\nand that they were not kind to men any more, but always did harm,\nwhenever they were able to do anything. Now, for myself, I don't quite\nsee how this could be, because you know we have felt so sure that we\nsaw some of them up in the sky sometimes. Yet now that I see Venus\nhere, it does seem to me as if there were something in the story after\nall, and I believe it would be better for the knight if he had never\nseen her at all. If he were thinking of the princess at the time I do\nnot believe he would look twice at Venus. No, I am sure he would not\neven see her once.\n\n\"But since he is not thinking of the princess, but only of what a great\nman he would be if he could make his songs seem as wonderful to\neverybody else as they seem to himself, it is not surprising that he is\ndelighted by such a vision, and it is not surprising, either, when the\ngoddess and her nymphs beckon to him and then glide away as if they\nwanted him to follow them, that he gets off his horse and does follow\nthem. They move along so fast that he cannot keep up with them, and\nsoon he cannot even see them, but it is still easy for him to follow.\nFor everywhere they go the strangest flowers spring up under their feet\nand make a pathway to lead him. They are huge, bright flowers, cup-\nshaped and star-shaped and sun-shaped. Flowers of such wonderful form\nand size, and such gorgeous colors the knight never saw before. Some of\nthem seem to be made of hammered gold, and some of silver; some have\nstamens of precious stones, and some look like clear crystal, blood-\nred, deep purple, or orange, as if they were cut from solid gems; some\nof them have petals like flames, that shimmer and glow and are\nreflected by the others; the leaves are all glistening emerald and they\nare sprinkled with pearls like drops of evening dew. The stems twine\nabout like serpents, and they seem to the knight to move and turn about\nto show him all their magic splendor. Some of them, with coiling\ntendrils, like gold wire, sway toward him as if they would catch him\nand hold him, others dance and wave about on their stems and twinkle as\nthe other stars do, up above the trees, as if they were laughing and\nmocking at him, and still others bow and bend away from him and beckon\nhim on. The whole of the fire is scarcely enough to show me this\nstrange garden. A pale, ghostly light rises from all the flowers and\nhovers over the path. The knight would stop to pick some of them, but\nthose before him seem always more beautiful than those close at hand,\nand, besides, he is eager to follow the goddess. So on he hurries till\nhe sees before him a way straight into the side of the mountain and\nwithin a great glare of light. If he would only think of the princess\nnow, for one instant! But he goes straight on into the mountain, and\nthe way shuts behind him, and outside the magic flowers are gone, and\nthere is nothing but the soft grass, the whispering trees, the dark\nsky, with the stars, and the calm night.\n\n[Illustration: \"THE STRANGEST FLOWERS SPRING UP UNDER THEIR FEET.\"]\n\n\"Do you see how very wrong it is for the knight to go away after the\ngoddess into the mountain? When people let themselves be led away like\nthat by fairies and goddesses it is usually a long time before they get\nback. A knight like this one, who is a minstrel as well, ought to know\nall about such things, and I dare say he does. He must have heard of\nmen who went to such places and saw beautiful and wonderful sights, and\nfeasted and danced till they thought that they had been away from their\nhomes for a day, or a week, and then, when they went back to them,\nfound that they had really been gone for years, perhaps for hundreds of\nyears, and that all their friends were dead. He ought to think of his\nfriends, the other knights and minstrels, who will be grieved when they\nmeet and he is not with them. For his own sake he ought to know better\nthan to run into strange and dangerous places just because they look\npleasant. More than all, he ought to think of the princess. If he does\nnot care for the prize of his song any more for itself he should care\nfor her who is to give it. He should remember how much she loves him,\nlittle as he deserves it. She will not forget him as he does her. When\nshe waits and waits for him and he does not come she will believe that\nhe is dead, and she will cry her pretty eyes out. She will never think\nthat he has gone away from her to visit a goddess of love and beauty\nwho lives in a cave.\n\n\"Now I see the cave of the goddess, deep in the mountain. It seems dim\nand misty and confused at first, but gradually I can see it clearer.\nAll around the sides and the top are great pendants of gems, like\nicicles, of all sorts of colors, as if the precious stones had once\nbeen liquid and had run down into the cave and then had frozen into\ncrystal. Here and there are diamonds and rubies and opals and emeralds\nas big as your head, set in the roof, and they have some magical way of\nshining all by themselves and light up the whole cave like lamps. The\nground is covered with flowers like those that made the path to lead\nthe knight to the place. A stream of water runs from the cave and is\nfed by fountains in the middle. These fountains are wonderful affairs\ntoo. Sometimes they throw jets of liquid silver almost to the roof;\nthen they fall down and spread out wide in sheets, of the color and the\nbrightness of melted gold; again the water rises in little streams that\ntwine and weave themselves together like basket-work, and all of deep,\nshining crimson; then the fountains take other fantastic forms and\nother colors, purple or green or orange, but always glowing with light,\nand so they pass to silver and to gold again.\n\n\"This is the cave of Venus. It is filled with the nymphs who attend\nher, and they are singing choruses in her praise, and dancing\nwonderful, mazy, mad, delirious dances. They whirl about and around\nalone, in couples, in lines, in circles, and in crowds, their arms\nwaving and their hair streaming in the air. Sometimes while they dance\nevery one is plainly to be seen, and again their garments surround them\nlike clouds, and they are all one waving, streaming, fluttering mass.\nThese mists of light robes then are like the fountains, for now they\nare shining white, now red or yellow or green or purple, now all the\ncolors together, mixed and blended like broken and tangled rainbows.\n\n\"If you could see all that I see here in the fire I think you would be\ndelighted with it, for a little while. But how do you suppose the\nminstrel knight likes it? He sits beside the goddess and looks at it\nwearily. He has seen them all so much that walls of gems and streams of\ngold and whirling rainbows do not please him any more. He has been here\nin the cave for a whole year. He sees now how wrong it was for him to\ncome, and he is so tired of it all that he is beginning to feel that he\nwould rather die than be among these mad pleasures any longer. But he\ncannot do that because nobody ever dies here. When he sees these walls\nof cold crystal, gleaming with the colored light from the great gems,\nhe thinks of the broad, lovely country that he once saw, that stretched\naway and ended only at the blue mountains, and of the silver river that\nnever changed to blood, or to green fire, with the clear sunlight\nbrightening them all.\n\n\"If he tries to rest his eyes upon the great, glowing, magic flowers\nthat cover the ground, they only make him think of the red poppies that\nshone out from the fields of ripening grain, and of the blue of the\ncorn-flowers, and then he tries to think of the perfume from the\nflowers that filled the air after it grew still at evening. There are\nodors here, too, but they are so heavy and sweet that after a time it\nis almost a pain to smell them. He hears the rush and the dash of the\nfountains, and he longs for the low, merry little sound of the brook\nthat ran along beside his road. The air here is full of music, the rich\nharmonies of many instruments and the voices of the nymphs who sing\ntheir choruses to Venus, but his ears are tired of the sounds, and he\nwishes that he might hear only the sleepy tinkle of the sheep-bells,\nchiming with the voice of the brook. But more than everything else he\nthinks of the princess. He remembers now how kind and true she was, and\nhow much truer he ought to have been in return than he really was. He\nwonders if she still remembers him, if she thinks him dead, and then\nhis heart stops, as he wonders if she herself is dead. Oh, it is a fine\ntime now to think of these things! If he had only remembered the\nprincess once before, instead of thinking what a great minstrel he was,\nhe would never have followed Venus into her cave. Now he can only think\nof that great wrong he did and long for the fresh fields and woods, for\nthe air, the sunlight--and the princess.\n\n\"Venus, sitting by his side, sees that he is troubled and asks him why.\nHe tells her how much he wishes that he might see again the world he\nused to know, and live the life he used to live, and he begs her to let\nhim go. She is angry at first. Has she not brought him to live here\namong such delights as no man before ever knew, and is he tired of them\nnow, and does he want to escape from them? He can only say that he will\nnever forget her or the beautiful things he has seen here, but he can\nnever be happy here again, and if she will only let him he must go. At\nlast she tells him that he may go. 'But you will not be happy,' she\nsays; 'your old friends will scorn you when they know where you have\nbeen. They will never forgive you for coming here. You will find no\nrest, no help, no hope. Then, when you learn that you can have peace\nnowhere else, come back to me and stay with me forever.'\n\n\"All at once the cave, with everything in it, is gone. The knight knows\nhow or where it went no more than I. As for him, he does not know that\nhe has moved from his place, and as for me, the fire is burning just as\nit did before. Yet now I see him lying on the soft grass of a beautiful\nvalley. Above him are the sky and the nodding branches of the trees;\naround are the hills. He sees and he smells the flowers that were lost\nto him so long. The low tinkle of the sheep-bells comes again drowsily\nto his ears. A little way up the hill a shepherd is playing softly on\nhis pipe. He picks a flower and smells it, to be sure that it is all\nreal. Then the tears come to his eyes as he thinks of all the beauty\nand sweetness of the life that he lost and has found again.\n\n\"But now a band of pious pilgrims passes, on the way to Rome. They are\ngoing to ask the Pope to forgive their sins. The sight of them brings a\nnew thought to the knight. It is the thought of his own sin. Now that\nhe sees again the sweet loveliness of the world, he feels at last fully\nhow wicked it was for him to leave it and all his own duties and his\nfriends in it. He is in despair when he thinks that he is no longer\nworthy of the princess, if indeed he ever were. He dares not see her\nagain; he dares not ask his friends to be his friends longer; he throws\nhimself upon the ground and feels that he has no more a place in this\nhappy world.\n\n\"At this very moment comes a company of huntsmen riding past. Their\nleader is the prince himself and the rest are the friends of the\nminstrel knight, the very ones with whom he should have sung for the\nprize a year ago. Very glad they are to find him, after thinking him\ndead so long, and they insist that he must come with them and be one of\nthem again. He will not go with them. He feels that he is not like them\nany more. His wrong has been so great that he dares not be with brave,\ngood men. They urge him, but it is useless. But there is one among\nthem, a knight and a minstrel too, who also loves the princess. She\ndoes not love him, but his own love is so deep and true that he will do\nanything to make her happy. When he finds that nothing else can move\nthe stubborn knight he tells him that the princess still loves him,\nthat she has grieved for him all the time that he has been lost, and\nthat he must come back to them for her sake. He is touched at last. He\nhad not dared to ask of her, and now he knows that he may see her\nagain, that she could never forget like him, that she will love him and\nforgive him. He cannot resist. He will go.\n\n\"They are all in the hall of the prince's castle now. They are to sing\nagain for a prize and again the princess is to give it. The prince\ntells them that they must all sing of love. The knight who loves the\nprincess hopelessly begins. He sings of his own love, how it is fixed\nupon one who does not love him in return, and how still his love for\nher is all the joy he has, and he would gladly lose the last blood of\nhis heart for her. They all cry out that he has sung nobly, except the\nknight from the cave of Venus. He thinks this is a very weak, silly\nkind of love; he sings in a very different way, and he tells them that\nif they want to know what love really is they must go and learn of the\nGoddess of Love.\n\n\"They are all filled with horror. They know now where he has been. He\nhas left the princess for Venus; he has learned to scorn their knightly\nlove; worse than all, it seems to them, he, a Christian man, has passed\na whole year in the home of a heathen goddess. They declare that he has\nbetrayed them in daring to come among them like an honest knight. They\nforget that he refused to come, that he told them he was unworthy of\nthem and was too wicked to be one of them, and they almost compelled\nhim. So their swords are out to kill him. But the princess, whom he has\ninjured a thousand times as much as all of them put together, commands\nthem to spare him. He may yet be forgiven, she says, and it is not for\nthem to judge. She will pray for him as long as she lives, and God may\npardon him. At her word they draw back and put up their swords, yet\nthey think his guilt too great ever to be forgiven. There can be but\none only hope for him, says the prince; some of the pilgrims on their\nway to Rome are still in the valley; he must go with them and pray for\npardon from the Pope.\n\n\"Never another pilgrim toiled along the road to Rome feeling such a\nheavy weight of sin to be forgiven as the minstrel knight. He does not\ntalk with the others or lighten the way as they do with holy songs. He\nknows not how to suffer enough for his guilt, and to seek out\npunishments for himself is his only content. Some of the pilgrims walk\nwhere the grass is soft and cool; he chooses the paths that are full of\nstones and thorns. They drink at the springs of cold water; he thirsts\nmore than they, but he turns away and lets the noon sun blaze down upon\nhis bare head. They find shelter and rest for the night; he lies upon\nthe snow of the mountain and sleeps there, if he sleeps at all. When he\ncomes near to Italy he fears that the sight of that lovely land will be\npleasing to his eyes, and so he has himself led blindfold on to Rome.\n\n\"The Pope sits upon his throne, and before him come all who seek for\npardon. He forgives them, blesses them, and sends them away. At last\ncomes the minstrel knight. He throws himself on the stones before the\nfeet of the Pope and tells the story of all the wrong that he has done.\nThe Pope listens and is filled with horror, as the prince and the\nknights were before, and there is no princess here to say one word of\nlove or mercy. 'There is no hope for you,' he answers, 'no pardon, no\nhope. Your guilt is too deep and black. As soon shall this naked staff\nI hold bear flowers and leaves as one like you find forgiveness or\nmercy.'\n\n\"And so the minstrel knight shrinks away. He knows not where to turn.\nAll places are alike to him, alike full of darkness and despair. The\npilgrims are returning home. He follows them, as a dog that had been\nstruck and wounded might crawl after men who had been his friends.\n\n\"I see the beautiful valley again. The princess is kneeling before a\nlittle cross. She is praying that the knight whom she loves may be\nforgiven. Back in the rising shadows of the evening stands the knight\nwho loves her hopelessly, watching her as she prays. The pilgrims are\ncoming from Rome. They are singing songs of mercy and peace. The\nprincess looks eagerly among them. The minstrel knight is not there.\n'He will never come back,' she sighs, and she turns away and slowly\nclimbs the hill toward her father's castle, where she may pray for him\nagain.\n\n\"And now a dark figure comes slowly, fearfully on, by the way that the\npilgrims have passed. He sees his friend, standing where he stood while\nthe princess prayed. He calls to him to stand back; he is too guilty\nfor any good man to touch or come near him. He tells him how he went to\nRome and what the Pope said. Then he tells the awful thought that is\nnow in his mind. The Goddess of Love and Beauty bade him when all hope\nshould be lost to come to her again and stay with her forever. He is\nseeking her mountain now. He calls to her to guide him. Now at the very\nback of the fire I see a rising red glow. The goddess is there and she\ncalls to him to hasten to her. 'You are mad,' cries his friend; 'stay;\nbe brave; bear it all, and you may yet be forgiven.'\n\n\"Suddenly there comes to the knight another thought--the best thought\nhe has ever had--the princess. Instantly the red glow is gone and the\ngoddess is hidden from him forever. His friend knows his thought. 'She\nis up there,' he says, 'praying for you still.'\n\n\"At last the knight is humbled, overcome, subdued. He falls upon his\nface and prays for pardon, as the princess is praying for him up there\nin the castle. And now all at once there is a glad shout, a song of\nhappiness and peace. Another band of pilgrims has come from Rome. They\nare bringing the staff of the Pope, and all in a night it has borne\nflowers and leaves. The smell of lilies fills the air. They are\ncarrying the staff through the land to tell the knight and all other\nmen like him, if, indeed, there are others, that they are forgiven. The\nminstrel knight has found pardon and he may rest.\"\n\n\"And what became of the princess?\" the little girl asked.\n\n\"The fire is too low,\" I said; \"I cannot see any more. What do you\nthink became of her?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" she answered, \"but I think she must be very happy that\nthe knight is forgiven.\"\n\n\"I think they are both very happy,\" I said.\n\n\n\n\nTHE KING OF THE GRAIL\n\n\nIt was the last evening of the year. In honor of the occasion the\nlittle girl was allowed to sit up rather later than usual--not till\nmidnight, of course, so that she could see how different the whole\nworld would look after the clock had struck, but long enough to make\nher feel that she was doing something very pleasant, because something\nthat it was not good for her to do very often. Our friends down by the\nsea had sent us a strange Christmas present, but they knew what we\nwanted. It was a big box of driftwood, almost a wagon-load. We resolved\nthat it should not be used except on great occasions, and of course New\nYear's eve was a great occasion. Here in the city we could not listen\nin the evening stillness and catch the low murmur of the restless\nwater, but the fire burned with the same strange and lovely colors as\nif it had been kindled on the beach. Tonight it was not likely that we\nshould see any storms or any ghostly ships, yet the little girl knew\nwell enough that there were wonderful things to be seen in that fire.\n\n\"What can you see in it?\" I asked her.\n\n\"I don't want to see things myself,\" she said. \"I want you to see them.\nJust think; this is the last time we can have any stories about the\nfire this year.\"\n\n\"But the new year will begin to-morrow,\" I said, \"and it will be just\nas good as the old one, will it not?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I suppose so,\" she said, \"but this has been such a nice year\nthat I don't like to have it go. But now tell me what is in the fire.\"\n\n\"There are so many strange things in it that I scarcely know how to\nbegin to tell you about them. I am very much afraid that I shall not\nmake you understand all that I see in the fire to-night, and I am the\nmore afraid of it because I am not at all sure that I can quite\nunderstand it all myself. But first the reddest and brightest spot in\nthe whole fire begins to grow redder and brighter and to take a new\nshape. It is the shape of a goblet. It is of clear crystal and its\nsharp angles and edges sparkle with many colors, but within it that\nstrange, deep red glows and shines and grows brighter still, till it\nbeats and throbs as if it were alive. And all around it, too, there is\na circle of soft rays of light, like a halo.\n\n\"Perhaps you know what this is, but I am afraid you don't Do you\nremember what I told you once about the Holy Grail? This is the Holy\nGrail--the cup from which the Saviour drank at the Last Supper, and in\nwhich afterwards His blood was caught as He hung upon the cross. It is\nthat blood in the cup which is still alive and glows and beats and\nthrobs. This Holy Grail, as I told you before, is guarded by a band of\nknights in a beautiful temple, which nobody can find except those whom\nthe Grail itself has chosen and allowed to come. I can see the temple\nnow. It has a high, light, graceful dome, which rests on tall pillars\nof marble that is like snow. The whole temple may be of something like\nsnow, too, for it melts away so that I cannot see it and comes again,\nthen half of it is gone and then the other half, so that I scarcely\nknow whether I see it at all. Perhaps it is the smoke of the fire that\nmakes it seem so. But I can see that the dome is all covered with\nfigures and traceries of gold, which bloom out bright like flowers\nwhenever the whole dome looks plainest, and then fade again. But when\nthe smoke comes across the whole picture and darkens it for a moment,\nthen the lines upon the dome show through it like fire, and they change\nand waver, and then the whole temple is gone again.\n\n\"You remember something about the Grail's knights. The Knight of the\nSwan was one of them. They live here in the temple, except when they\nare sent away on some journey, to help some one who is in trouble, to\ndo some act of justice, to fight for the right, or to punish the wrong.\nAnd whether they stay here or go as far away as they can, they never\nneed any food except what the Grail gives them. The Grail chooses them\nat first, feeds them afterwards, and gives them their commands, for\nsometimes, in that halo that shines around it, there appear letters and\nwords to tell the knights what they should know. And once a year, on\nGood Friday, a white dove flies into the temple and rests upon the Holy\nGrail, to give it more of these powers for the coming year.\n\n\"I see now a strange-looking man with a dark face and deep, bright eyes\nwhich seem never to rest, but always to look and search for something\nthat they never find. Yet now and then a cruel light comes into them\nand makes them blaze for an instant, and his hard lips smile a little,\nand then his face grows stern and gloomy again. He is a wicked\nmagician. Once he wanted to join the Knights of the Grail. He could\neven be their king, he thought. But the Grail chose its own knights and\nit did not choose him. Then he swore that he would be avenged upon the\nGrail knights; he would tempt them away from the temple, he would\noverthrow them, he would find a way to steal the Grail itself. It was\nfor this that he learned his magic. He built an enchanted castle not\nfar from the Temple of the Grail and filled it with every kind of\npleasure that he could devise. Then he tried to entice good knights to\ncome to his castle, and if any knight came, if any stayed in the\nenchanted halls to eat or drink or dance or play, that knight was lost\nforever. He could go back to his old friends and his old life no more,\nand his use in the world was ended.\n\n\"Again I see a woman--a woman yet more strange than this man. You will\nthink so when I tell you who she is. You remember the wife of the King,\nwhose daughter danced before the King and pleased him so much that he\npromised her any gift she should ask; how the Queen told her to ask for\nthe head of the great prophet, who was in prison, and how the head was\ncut off and brought to her. This woman whom I see was that Queen. The\nold stories say that she saw the Saviour as He passed, bearing His\ncross upon His back, and that she laughed at Him. He only looked at her\nsorrowfully and spoke no word. But always from that time she was forced\nto wander through the world, and laugh at everything that was true and\ngood. Can you think of anything more horrible? After a long, weary time\nshe wished that she might die, but still through all lands she\njourneyed, laughing at everything she saw that was sweet and pure and\nholy. The wish to die grew and grew till it was her only longing. But\nshe could not die. For hundreds of years she has lived unchanged. Some\nsay that she can never die or grow old till the best knight of all the\nworld shall come and pardon her great sins. Others say that she must\nlive till one comes whom she cannot tempt away by her beauty from the\npath he follows.\n\n\"For she is very beautiful. It is not the beauty of a common woman that\nshe has, but something far beyond it. She can be tender, sweet, gentle,\nenticing, and then in an instant proud, defiant, radiant. Perhaps the\nwicked magician has given her some of this wonderful beauty by his\nmagic, for she is in his power and helps him to entrap knights into his\ncastle, where they lose all hope of returning to the life of the world\nand of doing good in it. She does not wish to do this, but the magician\ncompels her. So always she must tempt and entice at his command the\nknights who come near his castle, and always she must long for one to\ncome whom she cannot tempt, for then she will be free. The knights of\nthe Grail are not the men for whom she waits. To tempt them is only too\neasy. Even their King cannot resist her.\n\n\"I see the King of the Grail now. He holds a spear in his hand that is\nalmost as great and wonderful a thing as the Grail itself. From the\npoint of the spear flows a little stream of blood. It trickles down the\nshaft of the spear to the King's hand that holds it, but the blood does\nnot stain the hand; it flows over it and leaves it clean and white. It\nis the very spear with which the Roman soldier wounded the side of the\nSaviour, and ever since that time the blood has run from its point. But\nthe King has wandered too far away from the Temple of the Grail and too\nnear the magician's enchanted castle. The magician sees him and sends\nthe woman to try to bring him within his power. Such wonderful beauty\nas hers the King has never seen before. For one instant in looking at\nher he forgets to guard the spear; he lets it go from his hand, the\nmagician seizes it and strikes the King with it in the side. He is\nborne back to the temple with just such a wound as that other which\nthis same spear made so many years ago. And the magician has the spear.\nAs he holds it the blood flows from its point and trickles down the\nshaft, and as it flows over his hand it stains it a deep, ugly red. He\ncarries the spear to his castle. He has stolen this, and now he will\nwait on and watch for a chance to steal the Grail.\n\n\"And the wound in the King's side will not heal. All that can be done\nwith medicines and balsams and ointments is done, but they are of no\nuse. Many years pass--yes, just while we are looking into the fire--and\nstill the wound is the same, still it burns and stings, and still it\nbleeds again whenever the King uncovers the Grail so that it may feed\nthe knights who are in the temple and help those who are far away. Some\nwounds, some sicknesses, the Grail itself can cure, but it cannot cure\nthis, or it will not. Yet once, while the King knelt before it, he saw\nwords that shone like fire in the halo around it, and they said: 'Wait\nfor the simple Fool, taught by pity, for him I have chosen.' Perhaps\nyou do not see quite what that means. Well, I don't think the King\nquite knows what it means either, but he knows that he has something to\nwait for, and that is better than knowing nothing at all about it. That\nwas years ago, and still the wound burns and stings, and still it\nbleeds when the King uncovers the Grail.\n\n\"When we look into the fire we can go back through the years just as\nwell as forward. So now, going back for a little while and far away\nfrom the Temple of the Grail, I see something very different from what\nwe have seen before. I see a boy who lives with his mother in a forest.\nHis father was a knight and was killed in battle. His mother feared\nthat when he grew up he would want to be a knight too, and would be\nkilled in the same way, so she brought him here to the forest and kept\nhim away from the great world where men live and work and fight, and\nnever let him know anything about knights or battles or tournaments or\nthe courts of kings. She lets him learn to shoot with a bow as he grows\nup, and to hunt the beasts of the woods. He can hit any bird that flies\nwith his arrows, and he runs so fast that he can catch the deer by the\nhorns.\n\n\"Yet he does not know that men wear armor and fight with spears and\nswords, and he has never heard of an army or a battle. Perhaps he may\nbe almost enough of a simple fool about these things to help the King\nof the Grail.\"\n\n\"I don't think he was a fool at all,\" said the little girl, \"if his\nmother wouldn't let him hear anything about such things.\"\n\n\"I think,\" I answered, \"that the letters around the Grail could not\nhave meant quite what we mean by a fool. The Grail would not choose any\nsuch person, I am sure. They must have meant some one who was good and\nsimple and had not learned the ways of the world. And then you know the\nletters said, 'taught by pity,' so I suppose he is to be a fool at all\nonly till he is 'taught by pity.' Well, the mother might have known\nthat she could not keep her boy in this ignorance forever, and so one\nday he meets three knights riding through the forest. He is filled with\nwonder and delight at their polished armor, their waving plumes, and\ntheir long spears, with their glittering points. He asks them who they\nare and what all these wonderful things are for. They tell him that\nthey are knights, and everything else that he wants to know, and then\nhe runs home to his mother and tells her that he wants to go away and\nsee the world and be a knight too.\n\n\"She tries to tell him that knights are wicked men, but he will not\nbelieve it, and he begs her to let him go. She sees that she cannot\nkeep him, that all her care has been lost, and at last she says that he\nmay go. He has no armor, but perhaps he may get that some time. He\ntakes his bow and his arrows and wanders away through the forest, and\nhis mother looks after him till she can see no more through her tears.\n\n\"We are back near the Temple of the Grail now. I see a beautiful, deep\nforest. An old knight and two young squires are lying on a green bank\nand are just awaking at the sound of trumpets from the temple. They are\nscarcely awake when a strange creature is seen coming toward them. It\nis a woman upon a galloping horse. And the horse is strange enough too.\nIts mane is so long that it drags upon the ground, and then the wind\ncatches it and blows it about till the horse looks like a hurrying\nblack cloud, and its eyes show through the cloud like flashes of\nlightning. The woman's eyes sometimes are deep and full of fire, and\nsometimes they look dull and cold, almost dead. She is not beautiful.\nShe has a dark face, burned as if she had travelled much under hot\nsuns. Her long black hair is in disorder and flies all about her in the\nwind. Her dress is in disorder too, and it is fastened around the waist\nby a girdle of snake skin, with long ends that hang down to the ground.\nEverything about her looks wild and terrible. She is a woman whom you\nwould not care to meet on a lonely road after dark and on a horse like\nthis. Yet if you looked at her face more closely you would not find\nanything cruel in it, but you would find a great deal of sorrow and\nsuffering.\n\n\"You can never guess who this woman is, so I must tell you. She is the\nvery same who helps the wicked magician to entice knights into his\ncastle. She looks very different now, to be sure, but it is a strange\nlife that she leads altogether. It is only when she is asleep that the\nmagician has power over her. When she is awake she tries to atone a\nlittle for her great sins by serving the Holy Grail. She rides all over\nthe world and brings news of battles or messages from knights of the\nGrail who are in distant countries, or she stays here and finds work to\ndo at home. But always, because of her curse, she laughs, even at the\ngood that she herself tries to do. And at last the longing for rest\ncomes upon her again till she cannot resist it. She sinks to sleep, and\nthen the magician calls her. She is forced to obey him, he gives her\nback that wonderful beauty, and she helps him in his wicked work.\n\n\"Now she has been all the way to Arabia to find a balsam for the King's\nwound. She gives it to the old knight, in a little flask, and then\nthrows herself upon the ground to rest. At the same time there comes a\ntrain of knights, bearing the King of the Grail in a litter toward the\nlake for his morning bath. He thanks the woman for bringing the balsam,\nbut she only laughs at what she has done and at his thanks. It will do\nhim no good, she says. Alas, he knows too well that it will do him\nnone. Nobody can do him good but the simple Fool, taught by pity. And\nso they carry him on to his bath.\n\n\"The old knight stays behind. 'Why should we try all these things,' he\nthinks again, 'when none can help him but the simple Fool?' At this\ninstant a swan flies up from the lake and then suddenly flutters and\nfalls upon the ground. There is an arrow through its heart. Everybody\nwho sees it cries out in horror, for it is one of the laws of this\nplace that no animal shall be harmed. What man cruel enough to kill\nthis beautiful, harmless swan can have found his way here, where none\ncan come who is not chosen by the Grail? In a moment some squires run\nin, bringing the murderer of the swan. He is scarcely a man at all,\nhardly more than a boy, and he carries a bow and arrow. It is the same\nboy whom we saw living in the woods with his mother. The old knight\nlooks at him sorrowfully. 'Did you kill this poor bird?' he asks.\n\n\"'Yes, to be sure,' says the young man,' I can hit anything.'\n\n\"The old knight talks with him kindly and tells him how wrong it is to\nkill harmless things. His mother never taught him that. She only tried\nto keep him from knowing anything about knights. The old man makes him\nsee how cruel he has been, and at last the boy throws away his arrows\nand breaks his bow. Now the knight asks him who he is, whence he comes,\nand who was his father, but he can answer nothing. Indeed, he knows\nlittle enough of these things, for his mother never told him. His\nmother and the life that he led with her in the forest are all that he\ncan remember to tell the old knight. Even of his mother and of his old\nlife the strange woman who lies upon the grass can tell more than he,\nfor she has seen him and his mother often, though they did not see her,\nand she laughs at the poor woman who thought she could keep her son\nfrom ever knowing anything of arms and battles. She tells him, too,\nthat his mother is dead; she saw her die as she passed, because he had\nleft her. The boy is moved at last, frightened, bewildered. He never\nknew anybody but his mother; she was his only friend; she taught him\nall he ever learned; and she is dead because of him. What shall he do\nnow?\n\n\"The King and his train come back again from the lake and pass on\ntoward the temple. The woman feels the terrible weariness coming upon\nher again. She struggles against it, but it is of no use. She sinks\nupon the ground behind the low bushes and sleeps. The magician can have\nher now if he wants her, and surely he will want her.\n\n\"The old knight has been watching the boy. 'Can it be,' he thinks,\n'that this is the Fool, taught by pity, for whom we were to wait?' That\nhe is a fool the old man thinks is clear enough, but how could he kill\nthe swan? He cannot have been taught very much by pity. But perhaps the\ntime for that has not come yet, and surely he could not get here at all\nif the Grail had not chosen him in some way. Perhaps if he sees the\nKing, so pale and sick with his wound, and knows how he has suffered\nwith it these many years, he may be moved to pity and may learn some\nneedful things. So the old knight leads him gently away toward the\nTemple of the Grail.\n\n\"They walk through the forest and among the rocks, and as they go there\ncomes to them a sound of chimes. It grows clearer as they go on, till\nthey reach the temple, and then it is over their heads. They are in a\ngrand, beautiful hall that is something like a church, but not quite.\nThere are tall pillars and arches, and high above everything is the\ndome, so high that, as one looks up into it, its loftiest curves seem\ndim and misty and the eye loses itself in trying to see how high it is.\nYet all the light of the great hall streams down from there, and down\nfrom there too comes the sound of the bells.\n\n\"The knights of the Grail are coming into the hall and sitting at two\ntables, long and curved, so that they make a great circle just under\nthe dome. On the tables before them are cups, but nothing else. As the\nknights come they sing in chorus, and voices up in the dome and others\nstill higher answer their song, while from the height far above them\nall still rings the soft voice of the chimes. And now the King of the\nGrail is borne in upon his couch and is brought to the highest place in\nthe hall. Before him something is carried covered with purple cloth. It\nis the Holy Grail itself, and the time has come when it must be\nuncovered, that it may feed and strengthen its knights.\n\n\"But the King fears. It is when the Grail is uncovered and when it does\nso much good to all the others, that his wound always bleeds again and\nthe pain of it is most terrible. Perhaps you think he is not very brave\nto delay what he knows he must do, but only think of that dreadful\nwound that can never be cured but by the one who is so long in coming;\nyes, think of the slow, weary years that he has waited for the simple\nFool, and you will not wonder that it is a terrible thing to him to\nuncover the Grail again. But the voices up in the dome still sing the\npromise: 'Wait for the simple Fool, taught by pity, for him I have\nchosen.' The knights gently bid their King do his duty. He makes a sign\nto the boys who have brought the Grail. They uncover it and place it in\nhis hand. Everything else in the hall grows dim, while one clear ray of\nlight falls from the dome straight upon the Grail, and the red blood\nthat is in it shines through the crystal of the goblet as if it were a\nlight itself.\n\n\"A feeling of peace and gladness comes upon all, even upon the King.\nBut now the Grail grows dimmer. The boys cover it again and the old\nlight comes slowly back into the hall. All the cups on the tables are\nfilled with wine, and beside each one is a piece of bread. It is thus\nthat the Holy Grail feeds its knights. But the King does not eat, and\nsuddenly he grows paler and presses his hand to his side. His wound is\nbleeding again and his squires quickly carry him away. The knights\nleave the hall too. The old knight is still watching the boy. If he is\nthe Fool that was promised, if he is to be taught by pity, surely he\nmust pity the poor King and he will ask something about him, why he\nsuffers so, or what is his wound. But the old knight waits and the boy\nsays nothing. 'Do you know what you have seen?' the knight asks. The\nboy only shakes his head. Then he has not been moved at all; he does\nnot pity. 'Begone,' says the knight, 'you are good for nothing,' and he\nsends him away and is alone. And still from the dome, far up and out of\nsight, comes the chiming of the bells. If the old man could hear it\nright, surely it would say to him again: 'Wait for the simple Fool,\ntaught by pity, for him I have chosen.'\n\n\"The Temple of the Grail is gone now. We are in the castle of the\nwicked magician. He has been thinking too of the young man--the boy--\nthe Fool, who was at the Temple of the Grail, and he knows more about\nhim than the poor old knight. He knows that if he is ever to steal the\nHoly Grail, as he so long has hoped to do, he must get this Fool into\nhis power, of all people in the world. He has a magic mirror in which\nhe can see him. He sees that he has left the Temple of the Grail and is\ncoming nearer his own castle.\n\n\"Now he needs the help of the woman, the woman who is sleeping and\ncannot resist him. He lights a magic fire, right there where you see\nthat blue flame in our own fire, he speaks magic words, and the woman\nrises out of the very blue flame itself, and stands before him. But how\ndifferent she is from that woman we saw among the Grail knights! She\nhad no beauty then. Now it is radiant, burning, blinding. All that\nmight make the beauty of a hundred women--the pride, the tenderness,\nthe stateliness, the modesty, the fierceness, the gentleness, the\nrounded form, the glowing color, the waves of hair, the deep eyes, now\nflashing and fiery, and now soft and dewy--are hers. The magician\nsmiles as he sees her. With her to help him, what can he not do? He\ntells her whom she is to entice into his power. She will not do it, she\nsays. He reminds her that if she cannot entice the Fool she will\nherself be saved from all her wanderings and her weary life. He need\nnot remind her of anything. She cannot resist him any more than she\ncould resist the sleep that came upon her. What he commands she must\ndo.\n\n\"Still the magician sees the boy approaching. He calls to the knights\nof the castle to defend it against him. They run out in a crowd to meet\nthe Fool. He snatches weapons from the foremost of them and fights them\nall at once. Some he wounds and all he drives before him, for the\nknights that are in the magician's power quickly grow to be cowards.\nNot all of them together can keep him back.\n\n\"And now I see the garden of the castle. It is full of big, gay-colored,\ngorgeous flowers. They trail along the ground, they cluster upon the\nterraces, they climb upon the walls of the castle and of the garden, and\nthey clutch at the ramparts and twine and twist about them. I suppose I\nmust say that they are beautiful flowers, but they are not of the sort\nthat I like. Anybody can see that there is magic about them. The earth\nand the water, the air and the sunshine, never would make such flowers.\nIt might not be easy to say why, but just a single look at them is\nenough to make one feel sure that they are all poisonous. On the wall of\nthe garden, with a sword in his hand, stands the Fool, looking down into\nit and wondering at the flowers. There were none in the least like these\nin the forest where he lived with his mother, and none about the Temple\nof the Grail.\n\n\"But what is this more wonderful sight still that he sees? Are the\nflowers alive, and are they running about and playing together? It is a\ncrowd of girls, with queer, bright colored gowns that make them look\nfor all the world like the huge flowers of the garden. They have just\nrun out of the castle and they are all in confusion, and are crying and\ncomplaining because the knights, who were their play-fellows, have been\nbeaten and wounded. Who is he that has done it? Where is he? If they\ncould find him they would tear him all to little bits, you would think.\nAnd then they do find him. There he stands on the wall, looking down at\nthem and wondering. And when he says that he will play with them\ninstead of the knights, they forget all about everybody but him in a\nmoment, and instead of quarrelling with him or trying to punish him for\nwounding their knights, they only quarrel with one another, because\nevery one of them wants him all for herself.\n\n\"He has come down from the wall and they all gather around him,\nchattering and struggling for him. He does not seem to care half so\nmuch for them as they do for him, and when he sees that they will do\nnothing but quarrel about him he turns to go away again, but a voice\ncalls him and tells him to stay. He turns again and stops, and all the\nliving flowers run away, chattering and laughing at him. The voice that\ncalled him was the woman's, He is bewildered when he sees her. He has\nnever seen such beauty before, any more than you or I ever have. For an\ninstant he thinks that she is another of the strange flowers of this\nstrange garden. Yet her beauty does not seem to move him very much.\nPerhaps that is because he is a Fool.\n\n\"But she speaks to him not at all as the other living flowers did. At\nfirst she makes him remember the old years when he was with his mother,\nhow she cared for him in everything, and how she tried to keep him from\nknowing those things which she dreaded that he should learn. Then she\ntells him again how she died when he had left her. This, she thinks,\nwith what she is to say next, may move him, and indeed it does, but not\nas she meant that it should. The great sorrow for his mother comes upon\nhim again, and stronger than when he heard first that she was dead. He\nweeps now and throws himself upon the ground, and nothing can comfort\nhim.\n\n\"The woman tries to console him now. She tells him that if he will but\nstay he may have all the pleasures of the magician's castle, and she\nwill love him, she, the most beautiful woman in the whole world. But he\ndoes not heed her, the Fool--he is thinking of other things. He\nremembers the King and his wound. So much he remembers that he almost\nfeels the wound in himself. And as the woman bends above him there\ncomes another thought. Nobody has ever told him, yet somehow now he\nknows, that it was she who tempted the King when he got that wound,\njust as she tries to tempt him now. I think that it is his own great\nsorrow that has made him know something of what another's sorrow must\nbe, and when he has remembered the King and has felt the wound himself,\nall this has helped him to see and to know much more. Perhaps this is\nthe way that he is 'taught by pity.'\n\n\"The woman cannot move him more, cannot tempt him, but now the magician\nhimself stands on the wall of the castle with the spear in his hand.\nThe blood still flows from the point and trickles down the shaft to his\nhand and stains it that deep, ugly red. He poises the spear a moment\nand then hurls it at the Fool. But it will not strike him. It stops\nabove his head and hangs in the air. The Fool lifts his hand and grasps\nthe spear. The blood from its point runs down the shaft and over his\nhand, and leaves it clean and white. He only shakes the spear in his\nhand, and the castle and the garden tremble and fall, as the fire here\nfalls together, and they are gone.\n\n\"Once more we are near the Temple of the Grail. The place is at the\nedge of woods which reach away in one direction, while in the other are\nfields and meadows. It is spring, and the green of the trees is fresh\nand light, and the fields are covered with flowers. They are not like\nthe flowers of that magic garden. Their bright little cups hold cool\ndrops of dew, and the air is full of their perfume. The old knight is\nhere. He has heard a sound like a groan from the little thicket of low\nbushes and brambles at the border of the wood. He searches, and brings\nout a woman--the same woman. She is still asleep, but in a moment she\nslowly awakes. She is no longer beautiful. She is out of the magician's\npower now, even if he is not buried under his ruined castle. She is\nready to serve the Grail.\n\n\"The Grail! Alas! nobody serves the Grail now. The poor King, since\nthat last time when the Fool saw him uncover the Grail, will touch it\nno more. He fears too much the pain of his wound. It cannot feed or\nhelp its knights now, and they cannot go any more to carry help into\nfar-off lands. But to-day the King has promised that he will uncover it\nfor one last time, for this is Good Friday, when the dove comes to\nrenew the power of the Grail.\n\n\"While the old knight and the woman stand here, another comes toward\nthem. He is a knight in black armor, with his helmet closed, and\ncarrying a spear. 'Do you not know,' the old knight asks him, 'what\nholy day this is, and that none now should come here bearing arms?' The\nblack knight only shakes his head. He sets his spear in the ground and\nkneels before it, taking off his helmet and gazing up at the point,\nfrom which the blood flows. The old knight looks at him and at the\nspear in wonder. Then he sees the blood, and by that he knows what\nspear it is. He looks again at the knight, with his helmet off, and now\nhe knows him too. He is filled with a joy that he has not known these\nmany years. Yes, the sorrows of the King and of the knights of the\nGrail are over now. This is indeed 'the simple Fool, taught by pity,'\nthis is he whom the Grail has chosen.\n\n\"And now there comes the soft sound of the chimes to tell them that it\nis time for them to go to the temple to see the Grail uncovered. The\nold knight leads the way and the others follow. Through the woods and\nalong the rocky pathways they walk, the sound of the bells grows\nplainer, and so they come to the temple. The hall is filled with the\nknights of the Grail. The King is borne in as he was before, and is\nbrought to the highest place. The Holy Grail is carried before him with\nits purple cover. They all look at the King and wait for him. For a\nmoment he wavers, then he springs from his couch--no, no, he will not\nuncover the Grail again; let him die rather; let them kill him, and\nthen the Grail shall feed them and bless them, and shall torture him no\nmore.\n\n[Illustration: \"THE KING OF THE GRAIL.\"]\n\n\"They all draw back from him in dread at his look and his words--all\nbut one. For the Fool goes straight to him and touches the wound with\nthe spear. Instantly the wound is healed. 'You shall uncover the Grail\nno more,' he says, 'for I am chosen to be its King instead of you.' He\nmakes a sign to the boys who have brought it, and they uncover it and\nplace it in his hand. He holds it above his head and again the red\nblood in it glows and throbs. Down from the dome flies a white dove and\nrests above it. Before it, and before him who holds it, kneel the old\nKing, no longer king now, the old knight, and the woman, for her too\nthis new King has saved, for he has come, the best knight of the world\nand one whom she could not tempt. The simple Fool is the King of the\nGrail. The sound of the singing voices comes down from the dome, and\nfrom far above them come still the voices of the bells. Surely to any\nwho could know how to hear it their chiming must say again: 'Taught by\npity--him I have chosen,'\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE ASHES\n\n\nAfter the little girl had gone, I still sat for a long time looking\ninto the fire. I was seeing pictures for myself, not now of the days so\nlong gone by, but of days not yet come, pictures with the little girl\nin them. There, in the flames where we had seen so much together, I\ncould see pretty clearly, as I thought, what she would be and all that\nshe would be some time. But when I tried to see what she would do and\nhow her lot should fall, the fire would tell me no more. Yet wherever\nand however it shall fall, may she not be a little better, a little\nwiser, a little happier perhaps, for knowing these old stories that\nhave helped so many women and so many men before her to live their\nlives? Will it not be good for her to remember Br\u00fcnnhilde's fearless\ntruth, Senta's sacrifice, Elizabeth's constancy? And if to the thoughts\nof these she add Parsifal's lesson of compassion, surely then even a\nlittle of Eva's coquetry can do no harm.\n\nAnd then I tried to see something of her knight. But the fire had all\ndied down now, and was only a heap of ashes. I could question as much\nas I would, but there was no reply. Would he seek her out and come to\nher like Siegfried, through struggles and through fire? Would he find\nand help her in her greatest need, like Lohengrin? Would he only love\nher and sing a song for her, like Walter? Or would it be for her to\nhelp and to save him, like Vanderdecken?--Surely not like Tannh\u00e4user.\nNo, no answer. I stirred the ashes. Underneath there was still a\nbright, ruddy, friendly glow, but nothing more.\n\nA clock somewhere in the house, with a low, musical note, struck\nmidnight. But what was this other music that followed it? Was it again\nthe bells of Monsalvat, this soft chime that came on the still air? No,\nno, only church bells far off, ringing in the New Year, Many times I\nhad heard them and well I knew their sound. And all around those bells,\nI knew too, at this moment, there were noise and uproar and confusion,\nso much that those who stood nearest to them in the street could not\ntell whether they were ringing, just as many other sweet and pleasant\nthings are made to seem lost among the coarse and the commonplace. But\nto me here, away from the vulgar crowd and forgetting it, the music\ncame, faint indeed, yet clear and pure. I opened the window and the\nchime came plainer with the keen winter air, and the bells--I am sure\nof it--answered all my questions and rang a promise for the New Year\nand for all the years.","title":"The Wagner Story Book: Firelight Tales of the Great Music Dramas","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":55906}