Twilight Land

Plague take the Fiddler! say I.

“Listen,” says Ill-Luck. “It has been many a long day that I have been in that hazel-nut, and you are the man that has let me out; for once in a way I will do a good turn to a poor human body.” Therewith, and without giving the Fiddler time to speak a word, Ill-Luck caught him up by the belt, and – whiz! away he flew like a bullet, over hill and over valley, over moor and over mountain, so fast that not enough wind was left in the Fiddler’s stomach to say “Bo!”

By-and-by he came to a garden, and there he let the Fiddler drop on the soft grass below. Then away he flew to attend to other matters of greater need.

When the Fiddler had gathered his wits together, and himself to his feet, he saw that he lay in a beautiful garden of flowers and fruit-trees and marble walks and what not, and that at the end of it stood a great, splendid house, all built of white marble, with a fountain in front, and peacocks strutting about on the lawn.

Well, the Fiddler smoothed down his hair and brushed his clothes a bit, and off he went to see what was to be seen at the grand house at the end of the garden.

He entered the door, and nobody said no to him. Then he passed through one room after another, and each was finer than the one he left behind. Many servants stood around; but they only bowed, and never asked whence he came. At last he came to a room where a little old man sat at a table. The table was spread with a feast that smelled so good that it brought tears to the Fiddler’s eyes and water to his mouth, and all the plates were of pure gold. The little old man sat alone, but another place was spread, as though he were expecting some one. As the Fiddler came in the little old man nodded and smiled. “Welcome!” he cried; “and have you come at last?”

“Yes,” said the Fiddler, “I have. It was Ill-Luck that brought me.”

“Nay,” said the little old man, “do not say that. Sit down to the table and eat; and when I have told you all, you will say it was not Ill-Luck, but Good-Luck, that brought you.”

The Fiddler had his own mind about that; but, all the same, down he sat at the table, and fell to with knife and fork at the good things, as though he had not had a bite to eat for a week of Sundays.

“I am the richest man in the world,” says the little old man, after a while.

“I am glad to hear it,” says the Fiddler.

“You may well be,” said the old man, “for I am all alone in the world, and without wife or child. And this morning I said to myself that the first body that came to my house I would take for a son – or a daughter, as the case might be. You are the first, and so you shall live with me as long as I live, and after I am gone everything that I have shall be yours.”

The Fiddler did nothing but stare with open eyes and mouth, as though he would never shut either again.

Well, the Fiddler lived with the old man for maybe three or four days as snug and happy a life as ever a mouse passed in a green cheese. As for the gold and silver and jewels – why, they were as plentiful in that house as dust in a mill! Everything the Fiddler wanted came to his hand. He lived high, and slept soft and warm, and never knew what it was to want either more or less, or great or small. In all of those three or four days he did nothing but enjoy himself with might and main.

But by-and-by he began to wonder where all the good things came from. Then, before long, he fell to pestering the old man with questions about the matter.

At first the old man put him off with short answers, but the Fiddler was a master-hand at finding out anything that he wanted to know. He dinned and drummed and worried until flesh and blood could stand it no longer. So at last the old man said that he would show him the treasure-house where all his wealth came from, and at that the Fiddler was tickled beyond measure.

The old man took a key from behind the door and led him out into the garden. There in a corner by the wall was a great trap-door of iron. The old man fitted the key to the lock and turned it. He lifted the door, and then went down a steep flight of stone steps, and the Fiddler followed close at his heels. Down below it was as light as day, for in the centre of the room hung a great lamp that shone with a bright light and lit up all the place as bright as day. In the floor were set three great basins of marble: one was nearly full of silver, one of gold, and one of gems of all sorts.

“All this is mine,” said the old man, “and after I am gone it shall be yours. It was left to me as I will leave it to you, and in the meantime you may come and go as you choose and fill your pockets whenever you wish to. But there is one thing you must not do: you must never open that door yonder at the back of the room. Should you do so, Ill-Luck will be sure to overtake you.”

Oh no! The Fiddler would never think of doing such a thing as opening the door. The silver and gold and jewels were enough for him. But since the old man had given him leave, he would just help himself to a few of the fine things. So he stuffed his pockets full, and then he followed the old man up the steps and out into the sunlight again.

It took him maybe an hour to count all the money and jewels he had brought up with him. After he had done that, he began to wonder what was inside of the little door at the back of the room. First he wondered; then he began to grow curious; then he began to itch and tingle and burn as though fifty thousand I-want-to-know nettles were sticking into him from top to toe. At last he could stand it no longer. “I’ll just go down yonder,” says he, “and peep through the key-hole; perhaps I can see what is there without opening the door.”

So down he took the key, and off he marched to the garden. He opened the trap-door, and went down the steep steps to the room below. There was the door at the end of the room, but when he came to look there was no key-hole to it. “Pshaw!” said he, “here is a pretty state of affairs. Tut! tut! tut! Well, since I have come so far, it would be a pity to turn back without seeing more.” So he opened the door and peeped in.

“Pooh!” said the Fiddler, “there’s nothing there, after all,” and he opened the door wide.

Before him was a great long passageway, and at the far end of it he could see a spark of light as though the sun were shining there. He listened, and after a while he heard a sound like the waves beating on the shore. “Well,” says he, “this is the most curious thing I have seen for a long time. Since I have come so far, I may as well see the end of it.” So he entered the passageway, and closed the door behind him.

He went on and on, and the spark of light kept growing larger and larger, and by-and-by – pop! out he came at the other end of the passage.

Sure enough, there he stood on the sea-shore, with the waves beating and dashing on the rocks. He stood looking and wondering to find himself in such a place, when all of a sudden something came with a whiz and a rush and caught him by the belt, and away he flew like a bullet.

By-and-by he managed to screw his head around and look up, and there it was Ill-Luck that had him. “I thought so,” said the Fiddler; and then he gave over kicking.

Well; on and on they flew, over hill and valley, over moor and mountain, until they came to another garden, and there Ill-Luck let the Fiddler drop.

Swash! Down he fell into the top of an apple-tree, and there he hung in the branches.

It was the garden of a royal castle, and all had been weeping and woe (though they were beginning now to pick up their smiles again), and this was the reason why:

The king of that country had died, and no one was left behind him but the queen. But she was a prize, for not only was the kingdom hers, but she was as young as a spring apple and as pretty as a picture; so that there was no end of those who would have liked to have had her, each man for his own. Even that day there were three princes at the castle, each one wanting the queen to marry him; and the wrangling and bickering and squabbling that was going on was enough to deafen a body. The poor young queen was tired to death with it all, and so she had come out into the garden for a bit of rest; and there she sat under the shade of an apple-tree, fanning herself and crying, when —

Swash! Down fell the Fiddler into the apple-tree and down fell a dozen apples, popping and tumbling about the queen’s ears.

The queen looked up and screamed, and the Fiddler climbed down.

“Where did you come from?” said she.

“Oh, Ill-Luck brought me,” said the Fiddler.

“Nay,” said the queen, “do not say so. You fell from heaven, for I saw it with my eyes and heard it with my ears. I see how it is now. You were sent hither from heaven to be my husband, and my husband you shall be. You shall be king of this country, half-and-half with me as queen, and shall sit on a throne beside me.”

You can guess whether or not that was music to the Fiddler’s ears.

So the princes were sent packing, and the Fiddler was married to the queen, and reigned in that country.

Well, three or four days passed, and all was as sweet and happy as a spring day. But at the end of that time the Fiddler began to wonder what was to be seen in the castle. The queen was very fond of him, and was glad enough to show him all the fine things that were to be seen; so hand in hand they went everywhere, from garret to cellar.

But you should have seen how splendid it all was! The Fiddler felt more certain than ever that it was better to be a king than to be the richest man in the world, and he was as glad as glad could be that Ill-Luck had brought him from the rich little old man over yonder to this.

So he saw everything in the castle but one thing. “What is behind that door?” said he.

“Ah! that,” said the queen, “you must not ask or wish to know. Should you open that door Ill-Luck will be sure to overtake you.”

“Pooh!” said the Fiddler, “I don’t care to know, anyhow,” and off they went, hand in hand.

Yes, that was a very fine thing to say; but before an hour had gone by the Fiddler’s head began to hum and buzz like a beehive. “I don’t believe,” said he, “there would be a grain of harm in my peeping inside that door; all the same, I will not do it. I will just go down and peep through the key-hole.” So off he went to do as he said; but there was no key-hole to that door, either. “Why, look!” says he, “it is just like the door at the rich man’s house over yonder; I wonder if it is the same inside as outside,” and he opened the door and peeped in. Yes; there was the long passage and the spark of light at the far end, as though the sun were shining. He cocked his head to one side and listened. “Yes,” said he, “I think I hear the water rushing, but I am not sure; I will just go a little farther in and listen,” and so he entered and closed the door behind him. Well, he went on and on until – pop! there he was out at the farther end, and before he knew what he was about he had stepped out upon the sea-shore, just as he had done before.

Whiz! whirr! Away flew the Fiddler like a bullet, and there was Ill-Luck carrying him by the belt again. Away they sped, over hill and valley, over moor and mountain, until the Fiddler’s head grew so dizzy that he had to shut his eyes. Suddenly Ill-Luck let him drop, and down he fell – thump! bump! – on the hard ground. Then he opened his eyes and sat up, and, lo and behold! there he was, under the oak-tree whence he had started in the first place. There lay his fiddle, just as he had left it. He picked it up and ran his fingers over the strings – trum, twang! Then he got to his feet and brushed the dirt and grass from his knees. He tucked his fiddle under his arm, and off he stepped upon the way he had been going at first.

“Just to think!” said he, “I would either have been the richest man in the world, or else I would have been a king, if it had not been for Ill-Luck.”

And that is the way we all of us talk.

Dr. Faustus had sat all the while neither drinking ale nor smoking tobacco, but with his hands folded, and in silence. “I know not why it is,” said he, “but that story of yours, my friend, brings to my mind a story of a man whom I once knew – a great magician in his time, and a necromancer and a chemist and an alchemist and mathematician and a rhetorician, an astronomer, an astrologer, and a philosopher as well.”

“’Tis a long list of excellency,” said old Bidpai.

“’Tis not as long as was his head,” said Dr. Faustus.

“It would be good for us all to hear a story of such a man,” said old Bidpai.

“Nay,” said Dr. Faustus, “the story is not altogether of the man himself, but rather of a pupil who came to learn wisdom of him.”

“And the name of your story is what?” said Fortunatus.

“It hath no name,” said Dr. Faustus.

“Nay,” said St. George, “everything must have a name.”

“It hath no name,” said Dr. Faustus. “But I shall give it a name, and it shall be – ”

Empty Bottles

In the old, old days when men were wiser than they are in these times, there lived a great philosopher and magician, by name Nicholas Flamel. Not only did he know all the actual sciences, but the black arts as well, and magic, and what not. He conjured demons so that when a body passed the house of a moonlight night a body might see imps, great and small, little and big, sitting on the chimney stacks and the ridge-pole, clattering their heels on the tiles and chatting together.

He could change iron and lead into silver and gold; he discovered the elixir of life, and might have been living even to this day had he thought it worth while to do so.

There was a student at the university whose name was Gebhart, who was so well acquainted with algebra and geometry that he could tell at a single glance how many drops of water there were in a bottle of wine. As for Latin and Greek – he could patter them off like his A B C’s. Nevertheless, he was not satisfied with the things he knew, but was for learning the things that no schools could teach him. So one day he came knocking at Nicholas Flamel’s door.

“Come in,” said the wise man, and there Gebhart found him sitting in the midst of his books and bottles and diagrams and dust and chemicals and cobwebs, making strange figures upon the table with jackstraws and a piece of chalk – for your true wise man can squeeze more learning out of jackstraws and a piece of chalk than we common folk can get out of all the books in the world.

No one else was in the room but the wise man’s servant, whose name was Babette.

“What is it you want?” said the wise man, looking at Gebhart over the rim of his spectacles.

“Master,” said Gebhart, “I have studied day after day at the university, and from early in the morning until late at night, so that my head has hummed and my eyes were sore, yet I have not learned those things that I wish most of all to know – the arts that no one but you can teach. Will you take me as your pupil?”

The wise man shook his head.

“Many would like to be as wise as that,” said he, “and few there be who can become so. Now tell me. Suppose all the riches of the world were offered to you, would you rather be wise?”

“Yes.”

“Suppose you might have all the rank and power of a king or of an emperor, would you rather be wise?”

“Yes.”

“Suppose I undertook to teach you, would you give up everything of joy and of pleasure to follow me?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps you are hungry,” said the master.

“Yes,” said the student, “I am.”

“Then, Babette, you may bring some bread and cheese.”

It seemed to Gebhart that he had learned all that Nicholas Flamel had to teach him.

It was in the gray of the dawning, and the master took the pupil by the hand and led him up the rickety stairs to the roof of the house, where nothing was to be seen but gray sky, high roofs, and chimney stacks from which the smoke rose straight into the still air.

“Now,” said the master, “I have taught you nearly all of the science that I know, and the time has come to show you the wonderful thing that has been waiting for us from the beginning when time was. You have given up wealth and the world and pleasure and joy and love for the sake of wisdom. Now, then, comes the last test – whether you can remain faithful to me to the end; if you fail in it, all is lost that you have gained.”

After he had said that he stripped his cloak away from his shoulders and laid bare the skin. Then he took a bottle of red liquor and began bathing his shoulder-blades with it; and as Gebhart, squatting upon the ridge-pole, looked, he saw two little lumps bud out upon the smooth skin, and then grow and grow and grow until they became two great wings as white as snow.

“Now then,” said the master, “take me by the belt and grip fast, for there is a long, long journey before us, and if you should lose your head and let go your hold you will fall and be dashed to pieces.”

Then he spread the two great wings, and away he flew as fast as the wind, with Gebhart hanging to his belt.

Over hills, over dales, over mountains, over moors he flew, with the brown earth lying so far below that horses and cows looked like pismires and men like fleas.

Then, by-and-by, it was over the ocean they were crossing, with the great ships that pitched and tossed below looking like chips in a puddle in rainy weather.

At last they came to a strange land, far, far away, and there the master lit upon a sea-shore where the sand was as white as silver. As soon as his feet touched the hard ground the great wings were gone like a puff of smoke, and the wise man walked like any other body.

At the edge of the sandy beach was a great, high, naked cliff; and the only way of reaching the top was by a flight of stone steps, as slippery as glass, cut in the solid rock.

The wise man led the way, and the student followed close at his heels, every now and then slipping and stumbling so that, had it not been for the help that the master gave him, he would have fallen more than once and have been dashed to pieces upon the rocks below.

At last they reached the top, and there found themselves in a desert, without stick of wood or blade of grass, but only gray stones and skulls and bones bleaching in the sun.

In the middle of the plain was a castle such as the eyes of man never saw before, for it was built all of crystal from roof to cellar. Around it was a high wall of steel, and in the wall were seven gates of polished brass.

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