Chapter 3
Why, it beat every journey of Cook's, Knocked spots out of Baedeker's books! He stepped from his doorway Direct into Norway, He hopped in a trice to Ceylon, He saw Madagascar, Went round by Alaska, And called on a girl in Luzon: If they said she'd be down in a moment or two, He took, while he waited, a peek at Peru!
He could wake up at eight in Siam, Take his tub, if he wanted, in Guam. Eat breakfast in Kansas, And lunch in Matanzas, Go out for a walk in Brazil, Take tea in Madeira, Dine on the Riviera, And smoke his cigar in Seville, Go out to the theatre in Vladivostok, And retire in New York at eleven o'clock!
Every tongue he could readily speak: French, German, Italian, Greek, Norwegian, Bulgarian, Turkish, Bavarian, Japanese, Hindustanee, Russian and Mexican! He was a lexicon, Such as you seldom will see. His knowledge linguistic gave Ollendorff fits, And brought a hot flush to the face of Berlitz!
He would bow in an intimate way To Menelik and to Loubet, He was frequently beckoned, By William the Second, A word of advice to receive, He talked with bravado About the Mikado, King Oscar, Oom Paul, the Khedive, King Victor Emmanuel Second, the Shah, King Edward the Seventh, Kwang Su, and the Czar!
But what did he get from it all? His wife used to wait in the hall! When this wandering mortal Set foot on the portal, She always appeared on the scene, And, far from ideally, Remarked: "Well, I _really_ Would like to know where you have been!" Now what is the good of a wandering life, If you have to tell all that you do to your wife?
She'd indulge in a copious cry, She'd remark she'd undoubtedly die, Or, like many another, Go back to her mother, And what would the world think of _that_? She only grew pleasant, When offered a present Of gloves or a gown or a hat: And more than his talisman saved him in fare Fortunatus expended in putting things square!
And _The Moral_ is easily said: Like our hero, you're certain to find, When such a cap goes on a head, Retribution will follow behind!
_How a Princess Was Wooed from Habitual Sadness_
In days of old the King of Saxe Had singular opinions, For with a weighty battle-axe He brutalized his minions, And, when he'd nothing to employ His mind, he chose a village, And with an air of savage joy Delivered it to pillage.
But what aroused within his breast A rage well-nigh primeval Was, most of all, his daughter, dressed In fashion mediæval: The gowns that pleased this maiden's eye Were simple as Utopia, And for a hat she had a high Inverted cornucopia.
In all her life she'd never smiled, Her sadness was abysmal: The boisterous monarch found his child Unutterably dismal. He therefore said the prince who made Her laughter from its shell come, Besides in ducats being paid, Might wed the girl, and welcome!
I ought to say, ere I forget, She was uncommon comely-- (Who ever read a Grimm tale yet, In which the girl was homely?) And so the King's announcement drew Nine princes in a column. But all in vain. The princess grew, If anything, more solemn.
One read her "Innocents Abroad," The next wore clothes eccentric, The third one swallowed half his sword, As in the circus-tent trick. Thus eight of them into her cool Reserve but deeper shoved her: There was but one authentic fool-- The prince who really loved her!
He'd alternate between the height Of hope and deep abasement, He caught distressing colds at night, By watching 'neath her casement: He did what I have done, I know, And you, I do not doubt it,-- Instead of bottling up his woe, He bored his friends about it!
In brooding on the ways of Fate Long hours he daily wasted, His food remained upon his plate, 'Twas scarcely touched or tasted: He said the bitter things of love, All lovers, save a few, say, And learned by heart the verses of Swinburne, and A. de Musset!
This attitude his wished-for bride To silent laughter goaded, Until he talked of suicide, And then the girl exploded! "You make me laugh, and so," she said, "I'll marry you next season." (Not half the people who are wed Have half so good a reason!)
_The Moral_: The deliberate clown Can never beat love's barriers down: 'Tis better to be like the owl, Comic because so grave a fowl. From him we well may take our cue-- By him be taught, to wit, to woo!
_How a Girl was too Reckless of Grammar by Far_
Matilda Maud Mackenzie frankly hadn't any chin, Her hands were rough, her feet she turned invariably in; Her general form was German, By which I mean that you Her waist could not determine To within a foot or two: And not only did she stammer, But she used the kind of grammar That is called, for sake of euphony, askew.
From what I say about her, don't imagine I desire A prejudice against this worthy creature to inspire. She was willing, she was active, She was sober, she was kind, But she _never_ looked attractive And she _hadn't_ any mind! I knew her more than slightly, And I treated her politely When I met her, but of course I wasn't blind!
Matilda Maud Mackenzie had a habit that was droll, She spent her morning seated on a rock or on a knoll, And threw with much composure A smallish rubber ball At an inoffensive osier By a little waterfall; But Matilda's way of throwing Was like other people's mowing, And she never hit the willow-tree at all!
One day as Miss Mackenzie with uncommon ardor tried To hit the mark, the missile flew exceptionally wide, And, before her eyes astounded, On a fallen maple's trunk Ricochetted, and rebounded In the rivulet, and sunk! Matilda, greatly frightened, In her grammar unenlightened, Remarked: "Well now I ast yer! Who'd 'er thunk?"
But what a marvel followed! From the pool at once there rose A frog, the sphere of rubber balanced deftly on his nose. He beheld her fright and frenzy, And, her panic to dispel, On his knee by Miss Mackenzie He obsequiously fell. With quite as much decorum As a speaker in a forum He started in his history to tell.
"Fair maid," he said, "I beg you, do not hesitate or wince, If you'll promise that you'll wed me, I'll at once become a prince; For a fairy old and vicious An enchantment round me spun!" Then he looked up, unsuspicious, And he saw what he had won, And in terms of sad reproach he Made some comments, _sotto voce_,*
* (Which the publishers have bidden me to shun!)
Matilda Maud Mackenzie said, as if she meant to scold: "I _never_! Why, you forward thing! Now ain't you awful bold!" Just a glance he paused to give her, And his head was seen to clutch, Then he darted to the river, And he dived to beat the Dutch! While the wrathful maiden panted: "I don't think he was enchanted!" (And he really didn't look it overmuch!)
_The Moral_: In one's language one conservative should be: Speech is silver, and it never should be free!
_How the Peaceful Aladdin Gave Way to His Madness_
His name was Aladdin. The clothes he was clad in Proclaimed him an Arab at sight, And he had for a chum An uncommonly rum Old afreet, six cubits in height. This person infernal, Who seemed so fraternal, At bottom was frankly a scamp: His future to sadden, He gave to Aladdin A wonderful magical lamp.
A marvel he dubbed it. He said if one rubbed it One's wishes were done on the spot. Now what would you do Were it offered to you? Refuse it undoubtedly (not)! It's thus comprehensive With pleasure extensive Aladdin accepted the gift, And, by it befriended, Erected a splendid Château, with a bath and a lift!
Not dreaming of malice, One year in his palace He led a luxurious life, Till his genius dread Put it into his head That he needed a beautiful wife. Responding to friction, The lamp this affliction At once for Aladdin secured; The latter, delighted, Imagined he sighted A future of quiet assured.
When gladly he chose her, He didn't suppose her A philatelist, always agape For novelties, yet She had all of the set Of triangular stamps of the Cape. Some people malicious Proclaimed her Mauritius One-penny vermilion a sell. But that was all rot. It Was true she had got it, And the tuppenny blue one as well!
Since thus she collected, As might be expected, She didn't for _bric-à-brac_ care, So she traded the lamp For an Ecuador stamp That somebody told her was rare! This act served to madden The mind of Aladdin, But, 'spite of his impotent wrath, His manor-house vanished, To nothingness banished, And while he was taking a bath!
The average Arab Is hard as a scarab When some one has wounded his pride, So he jumped up and down, With a cynical frown, On the _face_ of his beautiful bride! He had picked up a cargo Of curious _argot_ While living in Paris the gay; In the slang of that city He cried without pity: _"Comme ça tu me fich'ras la paix!"_
_The Moral:_ When stamps you're adept on Of risks you are reckless, and yet Beware! If your face is once stepped on, That's the last stamp you're likely to get!
_How a Fisherman Corked up His Foe in a Jar_
A fisherman lived on the shore, (It's a habit that fishers affect,) And his life was a hideous bore: He had nothing to do but collect Continual harvests of seaweed and shells, Which he stuck upon photograph frames, To sell to the guests in the summer hotels With the quite inappropriate names!
He would wander along by the edge Of the sea, and I know for a fact From the pools with a portable dredge He would curious creatures extract: And, during the season, he always took lots Of tourists out fishing for bass, And showed them politely impossible spots, In the culpable way of his class.
It happened one day, as afar He roved on the glistening strand, That he chanced on a curious jar, Which lay on a hummock of sand. It was closed at the mouth with a cork and a seal, And over the top there was tied A cloth, and the fisherman couldn't but feel That he ought to see what was inside.
But what were his fear and surprise When the stopper he held in his hand! For a genie of singular size Appeared in a trice on the sand, Who said in the roughest and rudest of tones: "A monster you've foolishly freed! I shall simply make way with you, body and bones, And that with phenomenal speed!"
The fisherman looked in his face, And answered him boldly: "My friend, How you ever were packed in that space Is something I don't comprehend. Pray do me the favor to show me how you Can do it, as large as you are." The genie retorted: "That's just what I'll do!" And promptly reëntered the jar.
The fisherman corked him up tight: The genie protested and raved, But for all he accomplished, he might As well all his shouting have saved. And, whenever a generous bonus is paid, The fisherman willingly tells The singular tale of this trick that he played, To the guests in the summer hotels.
_The Moral_: When fortune you strike, And you've slipped through a dangerous crack, Get as forward as ever you like, But never, oh, _never_ get back!
_Envoi_
Now don't go and say you'd a dim Idea of these stories before, For I've frankly confessed them from Grimm, The monarch of magical lore:
And if, by repeating, I took Your time, I will candidly vow _This_ moral (the last in the book) Has never been published till now!
_The Moral_: The skeleton's Grimm, But I have supplied the apparel, So it's fifty per cent, of it Him, And it's fifty per cent. of it Carryl. But still (from the personal severing, For it isn't my nature to grump,) I acknowledge a measure of Levering Levering-ed the whole of the lump!
End of Project Gutenberg's Grimm Tales Made Gay, by Guy Wetmore Carryl