Part 12

“Before you go,” said he, “let me give you a warning. Look at my hands.”

He held out his palms, and I saw that they were covered with a rash, red and angry-looking. He rubbed his palms together, as if to soothe an irritation.

“The itching palms!” said he. “I have handled the dead leaves all my life; and because I have handled them my palms itch, itch, all day and night, without ever a moment’s peace. I warn you not to touch the dead leaves. The dead leaves of the orange tree; do not touch them.”

“Very well,” said I, and with these words we left him.

The Guardian of the Gate, leading us back into the city streets, turned and said:

“You have just had your first chance to gain the best thing in the world. I will now give you your second. Be careful how you choose.”

We entered a street of shops; and I now noticed that the people were, each of them, rubbing their palms together, as if to soothe an intolerable itching.

I paused to look into one of the shops as we passed. The customers within were handing over to the dealer, in return for his goods, leaves, dead leaves, of the sort we had seen in the glass showrooms; and whenever these dead leaves passed from hand to hand, I remarked that the itching of the palm they touched became more exasperating, so that the people were quite beside themselves, and could not keep quiet on their feet; but the dealer nevertheless received the dead leaves eagerly, and the others gave them up with reluctance.

“These people are mad,” said I.

We joined a great rout of people, all rubbing their hands, who were pouring down a street in the direction of an open square; and when we reached it, we saw in the center, on a platform above the heads of the crowd, a man in a robe, who was evidently about to read from a paper held in his hand.

“Your second chance,” said the Guardian of the Gate. “I will leave you to your choice. Be careful how you choose.”

He turned away, and disappeared in the crowd.

“Hear ye! Hear ye!” cried the man on the platform. “A message from the King! Whereas the affliction of the itching palm has now become so grievous that it can no longer be endured, the King now offers, to such person as shall cure him, one-half of all the dead leaves in his treasury! And to him also he promises one-half of all the dead leaves belonging to each person whom he shall cure! The offer is open to all! Be diligent! Thus saith the King!”

The messenger got down, and immediately there arose near the platform a commotion, with much laughter, and those in that neighborhood began to cry out:

“Way for the Lord Buffo! Make way for the wise Lord Buffo!”

_A Dwarf Clad in Motley Stands up to Speak_

A singular figure now mounted the platform, facing in our direction. He was a dwarf, hunchbacked and thickset, with a very large head set deep in his shoulders, and arms which hung to his knees. His clothing was of squares of yellow and blue and green and orange, and on his head he wore a paper crown, rimmed around at the top with little bells. With his right hand he pulled up by a cord a small monkey, dressed in all respects like himself; and in his other hand he held the long tail feather of a cock.

“The King’s Fool,” said one of the bystanders in my ear.

The Fool waved the feather, and the crowd settled itself to listen.

“Hear ye! Hear ye!” he cried, in a loud, harsh voice.

At this the people shouted, “Go on, go on!”

The monkey leaped up on to the dwarf’s shoulder, and the dwarf proceeded, with the greatest gravity.

“I, Buffo, chief counselor to his most gracious majesty, King Fatchaps, do call upon you to hearken to the voice of Wisdom!”

“Wisdom! That’s good!” laughed the crowd,--never ceasing to rub their palms and dance up and down the while.

“First I must tell you, my loyal subjects, that you are all mad. Do you believe it?”

“Yes! yes! Of course!” shouted the crowd, still laughing.

“Give ear, and I will prove it to you! Thus! Answer me! Isn’t there enough in our city for all, to feed you and clothe you and shelter you and amuse you? Answer!”

“True!” cried many persons in the throng.

“Then why are there some among you who starve, and others who cast out of their abundance to the dogs? Tell me that!”

No one replied.

“Because you are mad! With the itching palm! Look at you! You can’t stand still on your feet! Rub, rub! Want in the midst of plenty! Scratch, scratch! Some with too little and some with too much! Rub, rub! And enough for everybody in reason! Scratch, scratch! All mad, all mad! Rub, rub! Look at me--have I itching palms?” He held up his hands, palms outward.

“No!” exclaimed several in the crowd.

“Tell me why! Tell me why! Because I touch not the dead leaves! Isn’t it so?”

No one answered.

“Give ear, madmen, and I will reveal to you how to cure the itching palm! Bring the dead orange leaves here to the square! Pile them up! Burn them, burn them, burn them, every one! That’s it! Will you give up the dead leaves?”

“No!” roared the people as if with one voice.

“Then farewell, madmen!” cried the Fool, and he jerked the monkey from his shoulder and descended from the platform.

The people, still rubbing their hands together and dancing, but laughing withal, rapidly left the square, and my sister and myself started to go; and as we started, the dwarf appeared before us with his monkey, and cocked his eye up at us waggishly.

“What, ho!” said the Fool. “Strangers, by the ears of a donkey! Greeting, strangers, what do you among my mad subjects?”

“To tell you the truth, my lord,” said I, making up my mind on the spur of the moment, “I have come here with my sister from a distant land, to cure the people and their King of the itching palm.”

“How so?” said the hunchback, sharply.

“With a little remedy of my own,” said I, tapping my pouch.

“Bah!” said the Fool, jerking the monkey’s cord. “Go home, madman, you are wasting your time.”

“One moment!” I said. “Conduct me to the King, I beg you. You shall see me prove my boast.”

He looked up at me sidewise. “Pouf!” said he, snapping his fingers. “Old Fatchaps is as big a fool as you are. Here; I’ll give you a chance; there’s nobody here to help me. I ask you, will you help me? I have a plan to gather the leaves together and burn them. With your help I can do it, and we will save the people together. Will you help?”

“Not I,” said I, laughing again. “The people would tear us both to pieces.”

“What does that matter?” said the Fool.

“It matters to me,” said I.

“Is that your choice?” said the Fool. “You have made your choice? Done, then. Come with me. I will take you to the King; and you will wish that I hadn’t. Oh, these fools! The time is coming when I must take the case in hand myself, all alone; for I will tell you a secret; lend me your ear.” He pulled my head down, and whispered fiercely in my ear. “I love this people, and I will save them; whether they will or no. D’ye hear? They are my people, and they must be saved! Whether they will or no! And then what a bonfire! What a bonfire!”

He jerked the monkey’s cord again, and made off swiftly. We followed him, and my sister said to me, in a low voice, “Do you think he is mad?”

“That,” said I, “is precisely what I do not know.”

_Buffo the Fool Leads Them to the Palace_

In a few moments we entered and crossed the grounds of an immense palace, and Buffo the Fool opened the palace door without ceremony and preceded us into a great hall, where he stopped and said:

“I must have a good look at you first. Buffino, my mirror!”

The monkey darted off down the hall and up the staircase. While he was gone the Fool said to me:

“You have seen the orange tree and the panther?”

“Yes,” said I.

“Do they worship the orange tree in your country?”

“No, no,” said I. “Orange trees are the commonest of our possessions. We have them by thousands. Their leaves are of no account.”

“So?” said he, with a look which said that he did not believe it. “We have no tree in all this city, nor anywhere in all this land, but a single orange tree. No one knows how the seed came here. We worship that tree; nothing else.”

“A very pretty sentiment,” said I. “Nothing could be prettier.”

“Hideous!” said he. “The leaves that drop from that tree and die are the cause of all our evil. We fight over them, we steal them, we waste our lives in getting them, and we suffer the agony of the itching palm when they are ours. Will you help me destroy the panther that guards the tree?”

“Certainly not,” said I with a shiver.

“You have made your choice,” said the Fool. “Buffino, give me the mirror.”

The monkey, who had now returned, handed to the dwarf a large mirror, and the Fool held it up before my sister.

Instead of the beautiful person of my sister appeared in the glass the face and figure of an old woman, bent, ugly, and wrinkled. My sister started back in dismay, and the dwarf held up the mirror before myself. It showed me a gross, puffy face with three chins and pig’s eyes, horribly repulsive. I shuddered.

“Just as I thought,” said the Fool. “Tell me now, have you seen the King’s brother?”

“Yes,” said I.

“Will you marry him?” said he to my sister.

“Oh!” said she. “How could I? I can’t say. I’m--”

“Just as I thought,” said the dwarf. “And you won’t help me cure my people. What is it you came here to seek?”

“We are seeking the best thing in the world,” said I.

“And what is that?”

“I don’t know; but we’ll certainly recognize it when we find it.”

“Not you,” said the dwarf; “not until my mirror shows you fair and comely; _then_ you’ll know it.”

“How are we to get it to show us fair and comely?” said I.

“One of you by saving a miserable outcast, and the other by saving a whole people; then you’ll be fair and comely, inside and out, but not until then.”

“You talk in riddles, master Buffo,” said I. “Let us go to the King.”

“Madman!” said the dwarf, and gave the mirror back to the monkey, who scampered off with it and disappeared.

We followed the Fool up the great staircase and into a distant wing of the palace, and stopped at a door, on which the hunchback knocked. Receiving no answer, he opened the door and led us in. “Your majesty!” he cried.

_They Find the King in a Terrible State_

The King was pacing the floor, grinding and scratching his palms together, and muttering angrily to himself. He was an enormous man with a puffy, red face, a snub nose, and three chins, and he wheezed as he walked. His hair stood up on end all over his head as if it was trying to fly off. His fat legs went back and forth in a kind of tripping run, and his fat hands rubbed and scratched and slapped each other in a perfect frenzy.

“What, what!” he cried, never halting for an instant. “What’s the matter, what’s the matter?”

“Stop a minute, King Fatchaps!” said the Fool. “Here’s a madman come to cure your itching palms! Ha, ha!”

“What do you say? What do you say?” said the King, dancing along, back and forth.

“It is true, your majesty,” said I.

“You can cure me? What do you say? You’re an impostor! They’re all impostors! Can you cure me? Why don’t you do it then?”

“I understand,” said I, “that a reward is offered--”

“Well, well? What of it?” said the King, wheezing and puffing. “Half of my dead leaves! What of it?”

“The fact is,” said I, “we should prefer gold or silver.”

“Impudence!” cried the King. “Gold? Silver? What do you mean? I never heard of them.”

“He’ll take the leaves, never fear,” said the dwarf. “Oh, yes.”

“Take ’em!” cried the King. “Who is the beautiful lady? Take ’em? Dead leaves or nothing! Take ’em or leave ’em!”

It was plain that a fortune of dead leaves was as good as any other, if you only thought it so, and if these people thought it so, as they evidently did, I might as well take it.

“I am satisfied, your majesty,” said I, “and if you will hold out your palm, I will work the cure.”

_The Perfection Cream Is Rubbed into the Itching Palm_

The King held out his left hand as he passed, and I trotted along beside him, and drawing from my pouch one of my little jars, I applied to the King’s palm, with my fingers, a small portion of my salve, rubbing it in as well as I could; and then I ran around to his other side, and did the same for his other hand. It was rather difficult, considering that I had to trot along beside him as he tripped back and forth across the carpet.

“What, what, what! Bless my soul!” cried the King, stopping suddenly. “It feels better!”

I bowed and smiled, and Buffo the Fool said, “Mad, old Fatchaps! Both of you mad!”

“Speak when you’re spoken to!” said the King. “Who asked your opinion? Pfoo! pfoo! I haven’t any breath left! Not another word out of you, sir! I know when I’m cured! I’m no fool, I’m no fool!”

“Oh, no, not at all!” said the Fool.

“Here, you!” said the King. “Take this young man and his wife and feed ’em, and let ’em sleep in the palace. I’ll settle with ’em in the morning, if the itching’s gone. I’m no fool.”

“Not my wife,--my sister,” said I, bowing.

“What do you say?” cried the King. “Oh, that’s different!”

He bowed before my sister, and kissed her hand very respectfully.

“Bless my soul! Beautiful as a moonbeam! What do you say? Where do you come from, eh? The itching’s gone. But I’ll wait till morning. I’m no fool. Be off with you, clown, and let ’em eat and sleep in the palace. What do you say? He shall cure the whole city, and I’ll make ’em give up half of all their dead leaves to him! In the morning, in the morning! What do you say? Be off with you!”

We hastily left him, and as we passed down the hall we saw him poke his head out of the door and heard him call:

“Ho! I’m cured! Where’s that confounded chamberlain? Send me the chamberlain! What do you say? I’m cured!” And he banged the door shut again.

That night we dined sumptuously and slept in gorgeous apartments in the palace. In the morning, being once more conducted by Buffo to the King, we found him in a transport of happiness. The cure was perfect. He kissed my sister’s hand, and threw his arms about me, and cried:

“It’s yours! Half of my dead leaves, and I’ll make a Prince out of you! Not a word! What do you say? Never woke up once last night! Get to work and cure all my people. Where’s that confounded chamberlain? Get to work, get to work!”

_Tush the Apothecary Takes the People in Hand_

The arrangements were soon made. I took my stand on the palace steps, and all day long the people filed before me, and into each palm I rubbed a little of my salve. It was a work of days, and all business stopped until my task was done. At the end, the city was cured; never were there in this world a people so beside themselves with joy.

In the square where I had first met the King’s Fool the King caused to be thrown up, with five hundred pairs of willing hands, a vat of hardened mud in blocks, and into this vat his servants poured for me a good full half of all the dead orange leaves in his treasury, and on top of these, from each of those whom I had cured, one-half of his store of leaves; so that when all was done the vat was just half full. I was rich; richer than the King himself; and my Perfection Cream was all gone.

I hinted to the King that some kind of covering should be provided for the vat, to protect my riches from the weather.

“What, what?” said he, his face growing a trifle purple. “There’s no rain at this time of year! What do you say? All in good time! I can’t do everything in a minute!”

Now it came to pass, as you may guess, that the King grew daily more smitten with my sister’s beauty. Scarcely a day passed on which he did not visit us in the splendid apartments in his palace which he had given us for our own. His favors became more lavish as time went on; they could have only one meaning. “You shall be Queen!” said I to my sister, and she smiled knowingly.

We were expecting, one evening, a visit from the King, when the Fool entered our apartment, and behind him came, instead of the King, the King’s ugly brother. I was startled, for I had forgotten him completely.

He knelt beside my sister, and took her hand tenderly in his.

“Dear lady,” he said, “I do not blame you that you have neglected your promise. I have stolen here at great risk to lay myself again at your feet. Surely a loyal heart must weigh with you more than rank or riches. Ah, dear lady, say that you will be mine!”

I confess that there was something about this young man which made me like him better than before; but of course a match such as he proposed was out of the question.

My sister shook her head and drew away her hand. “I cannot, I cannot,” she said.

“Tell me,” he said, “do you think well of me--do you care for me a little--do you think you can say you love me, ever so little?”

“I do! I do!” cried my sister, to my amazement, hiding her face in her hands. “I loved you on the first day I saw you! I can’t help it! I do!”

“Ah, then,” said the young man, rising, while I on my part remained speechless with astonishment, “what’s to hinder? You are mine!”

“No, no,” said my sister, weeping, “it can never be.”

“Is it because I am poor and friendless?”

My sister said never a word.

“Is it because you prize rank and wealth more than love?”

Still my sister said nothing.

The young man hesitated, and stooping to kiss her hand, he said, “I have received my answer;” and with these words he strode mournfully to the door. But she did not look up at him, and with a sigh of deep grief he left us.

_Paravaine Has Made Her Choice_

“The wrong choice once more,” said the Fool, and he, too, went his way.

My sister had hardly dried her eyes when there came a knock upon the door behind her, and the King entered. She did not turn round, and the King tripped in silently on his toes, putting a finger roguishly to his lips and shaking all over with mirth; and coming up behind her he placed his two fat hands over her eyes, wagging his eyebrows up and down at me.

“Guess who it is!” he cried, wheezing. “What do you say? It’s somebody come a-wooing! Never mind who! Ha, ha, ha! Guess who it is, and to-morrow you’ll be Queen! What do you say? Pouf! Pah! I’m all out of breath. It’s somebody that wants you to be his Queen. Guess! The most beautiful Queen in the whole--”

He stopped suddenly. The King’s Fool and his monkey had slipped into the room behind him and were standing before my sister, and the dwarf was holding up his mirror before my sister’s face.

“What, what, what!” cried the King in a rage, taking away his hands from my sister’s eyes. “What do you mean? Out of my sight, Fool! Away! Begone!”

The dwarf held the mirror higher, shaking with laughter the while, and my sister gazed into it. I saw her shudder and turn pale, and then she screamed and buried her face in her hands.

The King, staring likewise into the mirror, turned purple and remained as if frozen with horror. He shook himself, and gave a choking gasp.

“What’s this?” he cried. “It’s the--what a-- Take it away. She’s an old woman! She’s a witch! What a-- I’m no fool, it’s a trick, I knew it all the time! Take her away! She’s an old woman. You can’t play tricks on me, I won’t have it, I won’t stand it. She’s a witch! I’m going. I won’t stay. It’s a trick. I’m no fool!”

With these words, puffing and wheezing, he trotted on his fat legs out of the room.

“No marriage yet,” said the Fool, looking at me queerly, and he ran after the King, pulling his monkey along with him.

_He Finds Himself Rubbing His Palms Together_

That night, as I stood before my mirror, undressing, and comforting myself with the thought of all the magnificence I had acquired and would acquire with my dead orange leaves, I found myself rubbing the palm of my right hand with the fingers of my left. I was aware of a slight itching in the palm.

At breakfast in the morning, I noticed that my sister, who was very sober, would now and then scratch the palm of her right hand; but I said nothing, and in the afternoon, without questioning her on the subject of her love for the King’s brother, I prepared to visit the King, to try if I could not bring him back to reason. I was ready to leave, when my sister broke into my room, crying out frantically:

“I can’t stand it, I can’t stand it! The itching in my palms! It won’t stop for a moment! I can’t sit still! It’s growing worse and worse! Oh, brother, cure it, cure it, or I shall go mad!”

She walked up and down the room in a frenzy, rubbing her palms together. I tried in vain to pacify her, and at length I left her and betook myself to the King.

On my way the itching of the night before returned, and this time I felt it in both my hands. I knew that my sister and myself, in common with the King and all his subjects, had been handling the dead leaves freely since I had worked the cure, and I began to be uneasy.

When I knocked at the King’s door the voice of the Fool said “Come in,” and I found the King running with his tripping step up and down the room, rubbing his hands, and beside him trotted the Fool and the monkey.

“Imbecile!” cried the King, without stopping for an instant. “You shall die the death! A trick, a trick! And half of my dead leaves gone for nothing! A death in boiling oil! What do you say? Don’t answer me! My hands, my hands! Worse than before! You shall suffer, you shall suffer! A slow death! Why don’t you speak? What are you going to do?”

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the Fool. “He’s been handling the dead leaves again, and so have you all. It’ll be my turn soon! My turn soon!”

“Patience, your majesty,” said I, rubbing my hands. “I will go to work at once and prepare more of my salve. Have no fear. I will cure you instantly. I am off to my work.”

_He Cannot Find the Ingredients for Making the Salve_

“Pouf! Pah!” said the King, angrily, and I ran from the room, to find the ingredients necessary for my salve. But alas, they were not to be found. I sent everywhere; the city was scoured; but it was no use; I was in despair. Such simples as could be found I gathered together, and of these I made a new remedy,--far different from my old, but it was the best I could do. I tried it on myself, and felt an almost instant relief. I shouted with joy.

I returned to the King, and as I passed an open window in the great hall I heard the muttering of many voices outside, and I saw a great concourse of people in the palace grounds, all talking angrily, and all rubbing their hands and dancing on their toes in anguish. They began to shout my name, and I knew that if I should fall among them in their present temper I should be lost.

The King was trotting up and down as before, and the dwarf and the monkey were running along beside him.

“What, what?” he cried. “What now? No tricks! I’m no fool. What’s the matter?”

“If I cure you,” said I, holding up my box of ointment, “I must have the rest of your leaves; and from every one I cure I must have the rest of his; it is only just.”

“Anything!” cried the King. “You can’t do it! It’s another trick! I’ll give all the dead leaves in the city to anyone who can save me and my people! It’s a trick! You can’t do it. What are you waiting for? Try it! Oh, these hands! It’s no use! Hurry up!”

I seized his hand, and running beside him I rubbed into his palm a little of my new ointment; and running around to his other side I did the same for his other hand.

“See the madmen!” cried the Fool, clapping his hands in glee.

“By the beard of my uncle!” cried the King. “I feel better! It’s going! It’s gone! It’s all over! I’m cured! Oh, wonderful young man, come to my arms! What do you say? I knew you could do it all the time. I’m cured!”

He grasped my arm and pulled me from the room, and down the stairway to the front door. A great throng filled the grounds, from the door to the gate; and commanding silence, the King announced in a loud voice that I was ready with my cure, and that whoever wished to be cured should give up the remainder of his dead leaves.