Part 9

“O quivering seas that sever, O quivering severing sea! And I would I could sing forever The sorrows that sleep in me,-- The soundless sundering sorrows, The shuddering secret sorrows, The sorrows secret and soundless, That sleep in the soul of me. And O! the vain endeavor! The silence and the pain! The silence that now shall never Sink into the sea again! (That’s a very good line, though, about silence sinking into the sea. It sounds a good deal like real poetry. Anyway--) Of such would I sing forever, And sighing forever sing, But alas, I never was clever At all that sort of thing, And though I would chant forever By quivering seas that sever And severing seas that quiver A ceaseless sorrowing song, I cannot sing forever, For that would be too long.”

The Princess waited, and the voice began again. It seemed farther out on the water now, as if the singer were moving out to sea. The words appeared to her to be so strange that she never forgot them, and I am able to repeat them to you precisely as she gave them to me afterward.

“O weary the sea’s commotion, And weary the sea tides’ fret, The fretful tides of the ocean How weary and how wet! The humid hateful ocean The hideous heedless ocean, The ocean huge and humid, That always will be wet! (If I could only once get thoroughly dry, just for a single day! It makes me weary, the way they go on about a life on the ocean wave. I only wish _they_ had to live in it all the time.) And O! for a seat on the settle Beside the ingle nook! And O! for the steaming kettle! And O! for a human cook! I hear, on the soft breeze sighing, The sorrowful soft breeze dying, I hear, as it sighs and rustles, The music of bacon frying, And O, I long to be free! (If I could only get ashore on two feet, for just one hour, I know where I’d go. I know a good warm tavern where--) O dear! could I only be free! For a diet of fish and mussels, Of cold raw fish and mussels, Did never agree with me.”

The voice moved off across the sea, and died away in the distance.

_“Dear me!” said the Queen. “What an extraordinary song! And so sad, too.”_

_“Never mind, grandmother,” said Bojohn. “Please let him go on with his story.”_

_“Yes, yes, of course,” said the Queen, “let the poor man go on with his story. I wonder how he remembers all those words. I’m sure I never could have remembered them. I’ve a very poor memory for songs, myself. It’s different with the King; I declare he never forgets anything. I remember there was a minstrel came to the castle once, and after he was gone the King repeated word for word--_”

_“Please, grandmother,” said Bojohn._

_“What is it, my dear?”_

_“Solario is waiting to go on with his story.”_

_“So he is,” said the Queen. “I think it’s a very pretty story indeed. I wonder how it ends!”_

_“Go on!” cried Bojohn, and Solario proceeded._

The Princess lingered, hoping to hear the voice again, but it came no more. She turned back into her room and lit the lamp which hung from the center of the ceiling. She stood before her mirror, with the lamp at her back, and as she raised her hand to unfasten the pearl necklace which she wore, she glanced at the wall beside the mirror. Her shadow, thrown by the lamp, stood upright against the wall. And at that moment she saw something which caused her to stiffen with terror.

_The Princess Sees the Shadow of an Old Woman_

Through the crack of her closed door at the right of her shadow, another shadow was oozing in and spreading itself out across the wall toward her own. It took shape, and paused for a moment; it was the shadow of a bent old woman, stooping under a heavy bag, and holding out in one hand a kind of poker with a hook at the end.

The Princess held her breath. The stooping shadow stole slowly along the wall, and touched the Princess’s shadow with its poker. Instantly the Princess’s shadow began to move toward the other, and the other began to back away. The strange shadow reached the door and slipped into the crack; the Princess’s shadow followed, and slipped into the crack after it. They were gone, and only the blank surface of the wall remained.

The Princess tried to move, but she could not stir; she tried to cry out, but she could not speak. She stood there in the lamplight before her mirror, with one hand upraised as if to unfasten her necklace; the minutes passed, and she did not move. She heard the splashing of the tide outside; a clock struck the hour; there was no other sound. Hours passed, and still she stood with hand raised to her neck, before the mirror. She heard the clock strike twelve; and on the twelfth stroke her door swung slowly open.

_A Midnight Visit from a One-Armed Old Man_

In the doorway stood an old man; a spare old man, with long white hair and beard, and bright blue eyes in a rosy face. His blue gown, spangled with silver stars, lacked one sleeve, the right; he had only one arm, and that the left. The Princess felt somehow that she was glad he had come.

He stepped quickly to her side and smiling kindly took down her hand from her neck. She felt a pleasant warmth at his touch, and she sighed with relief. He kept her hand in his, and drew her toward the door. She had no wish to resist him. She followed quietly, and together they passed out of the room into the dark hall....

At daybreak, when the King was ready to depart, there was a great to-do. The Princess was nowhere to be found. Her lamp was still burning, and her bed had not been slept in. The King was beside himself, and the castle was in a turmoil. Searchers were sent in every direction, all the bells in the town were set to ringing, and cryers went about the streets proclaiming a reward.

My father and myself hastened to the castle, and I knelt before the King and begged his special leave to seek the Princess on my own account. I knew nothing, save that she had vanished in the night, but I resolved that I would find her, and I did not doubt of my success.

“Go,” said the King, “and good fortune attend you. If you bring her back, no reward will I refuse you, even to the hand of my dear child herself. Make haste, and do not return alone.”

_Alb, Seeking the Princess, Sits Down by the Seashore_

All that morning I ran about the town, seeking her in every quarter; but nowhere was any trace of her to be found. I came back in the afternoon to the seashore near the castle, there to ponder what I had best do next. Trudging along a strip of sand under a bluff beside the sea, I came to a large rock which rose up out of the water at the beach’s edge, and climbing up on it I seated myself on a narrow shelf and bared my head to the breeze.

I had sat thus only a moment when I heard a voice from the other side of the rock, a melancholy voice, not loud, as of a young man singing to himself; and it was singing a mournful song, pausing now and then to speak in ordinary tones. I remember the words very well, and they were these.

“I dream in my deep-sea cavern Of many a bosky copse, I dream of a cosy tavern And a couple of mutton chops,-- For even the storks have gruel, And even the sheep have corn, But me!--it is too, too cruel! Alas, that I ever was born. (It’s too cruel, that’s what it is. It isn’t right. There’s no justice in it, and I’m sick of it, that’s what I am.) O sorrow too deep to utter! O midnight hour of the soul! If there only were bread and butter, Or something warm in a bowl,-- (I don’t care what. I’m so sick of raw fish, I believe I could even stand stewed rhubarb.) O sea, so ceaselessly sloshing, O emblem of peace and hope!-- But it’s utterly useless for washing, And O! how I yearn for soap. I seek, in my cavern’s enclosure, To talk with the fishes, but they, Maintaining the strictest composure, Have simply nothing to say. Proud heart, you are left unheeded Alone with your grief and your ache, When all that is really needed Is just a mere trifle of cake. (Not fish cake. Not that. Chocolate cake, three layers, with walnuts on top and in between.) Sing on, proud heart, though breaking With every harmonious strain, And physic be not worth the taking For your description of pain, Sing on, though it be not forever, Forever and a day,-- (Not that there’s any sense in adding on a day to forever. It’s long enough, in all conscience, without that. However--) I wish I could sing forever To pass the dull time away; And could I be endlessly clever And make me an endless song, I would sing of my sorrow forever, I would,--were it not so long.”

The voice gave a great sigh, and the singing ceased.

_“I used to make up little rhymes when I was a girl,” said the Queen, “and very pretty little rhymes they were, too, or at least your grandmother, Dorobel, used to say so. But dear me; I never could remember verses, no matter how hard I tried; never.”_

_“Yes, yes, grandmother,” said Bojohn. “Go on, Solario.”_

_“Now the King was different; he could remember them, but he couldn’t make them up; and I could make them up, but I couldn’t remember them! Tee-hee-hee! Dear, dear! When I think of it!”_

_“Grandmother,” said Bojohn, “Solario is waiting to go on.”_

_“So he is,” said the Queen. “I never liked sad stories when I was a girl, for they_ always _made me cry. But this one may turn out better than I expect. I really think you’re doing very nicely, Solario. I always say, that no matter how poorly one makes out, he ought to be praised if he is doing his best.”_

_“Go on!” cried Bojohn; and Solario proceeded._

When the singing ceased (said Alb) I climbed noiselessly around the rock to the other side, and looked down.

_An Interview with a Talking Seal_

A fat seal was lying below me on a ledge of the rock, just out of the water. The creature raised his head, and gazed up at me with his big soft eyes.

“I could have sworn the voice was here,” said I, half aloud.

“Are you speaking to me?” said the seal.

I assure you I jumped in amazement. “What!” said I. “Was it you?”

“Well,” said the seal, “there’s nobody else here, is there?”

“Of all things!” said I. “A talking seal! I never heard of such a--”

“I suppose I haven’t any right to talk. Just because I haven’t any legs, and have to live in a horrible sealskin, I suppose I’m not even to utter a word. Is that it? Oh, yes, I dare say; I suppose so.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend--”

“I suppose not. Anyway, you’d better not stand there quarreling with me all day if you ever expect to find the Princess.”

“Oh! Do you know anything about her? Tell me, quick!”

“Yes, I do. I know a little about her. I know where she is. The Ragpicker’s shadow came last night and fetched away the Princess’s shadow, because the Ragpicker needed the Princess’s shadow to protect her against the people. Everybody is afraid of shadows,--I suppose you know that. And then the One-Armed Sorcerer took away the Princess, and what he’s going to do with her I don’t know. But you’d better find out. Are you ready to go?”

“Yes, yes! I’m ready! I’ll go anywhere! Tell me where!”

“You talk brave enough. The question is, do you act as brave as you talk? Do you mind getting half-drowned?”

“No, no! I mind nothing! Tell me what I must do!”

“Sounds very brave, indeed. Are you afraid of shadows?”

“Of course not!”

“Then you’re the only person in these parts who isn’t. Where you’re going, they’re all afraid of shadows, and that’s how the Ragpicker protects herself against the people; with shadows. And so you’re not afraid of them. Well, well!”

“I’m not afraid of anything! Tell me what to do!”

“So! Pretty brave! All right, I’ll take you there myself. Take off your coat and shoes.”

I took off my shoes, stockings, and coat.

The seal hunched himself down into the water, and lay there with his head resting on the rock.

“Now,” said he, “come down here and lie on my back, and hold on tight; and don’t get in the way of my flippers.”

I hesitated for a moment at the idea of lying down in the water on the back of a seal, but I came down the rock and stretched myself out on his back and clung to him with my arms and legs as well as I could.

_A Sea Journey on the Back of a Seal_

“Hold on tight,” said the seal, and darted off across the sea so suddenly that I lost my grip and fell off into the water; but he swam under me, and I was soon on his back once more, none the worse.

“What’s the matter?” said the seal. “Haven’t you any strength? I suppose I’ll have to go slower.”

He glided slowly and smoothly over the long swells, and as soon as I got used to it I found that it was really wonderful sport. We followed the shore line quite around the island to its opposite side, and then the seal made straight for the open sea. The shore faded away behind us, and at last it was gone.

Hours passed, and I grew stiff and cold. I slipped off the seal’s back now and then, for the exercise of swimming. It was excessively difficult to hold on to his slippery skin, and I ached so painfully with the strain that I feared at last that I should have to let go for good; and I was about to give up, when I saw afar off on the horizon what looked like land. The seal swam faster. I took new courage, and clung to him tighter.

It was indeed land,--evidently an island; and as we came close to it I could make out in its side a deep cove, backed with dark, woody hills and flanked on either side by rocky cliffs. Fishing boats of all sizes were moored in the cove, and a large village straggled up the hillside behind.

The seal glided into the smooth water between the cliffs, and slid up against the sand of the beach at the foot of the village. It was just twilight.

I jumped to my feet and stretched my numb and aching limbs, gazing with curiosity at the near-by houses. I turned round at the sound of the seal’s voice.

“Can you get me a custard pie?” said the seal.

“What?” said I, in astonishment.

“There’s a pastry cook in the village. I’ll wait for you here. Mince pie’ll do, if they’re out of custard.”

I hastened away into the village, without saying anything more.

_The Village of Storks_

It was a large village, and there were a good many streets; and before I found the pastry cook’s shop I paused to look at the strange collection of birds which adorned the housetops. On nearly every chimney or ridgepole stood a stork, and on some were two or three, and even more; young storks all of them, judging by their size.

I noticed, as I passed the villagers in the street, that their faces were very sad; and I thought it singular that although I saw many grown people, I met no children, and heard no children’s voices.

The pastry cook, when I found him, proved to have the saddest face of all, and his wife looked as if she had been weeping; and there were on the pastry cook’s housetop no less than five small storks. When I mentioned that I wanted a custard pie for a seal, the pastry cook handed over the pie to me without any appearance of surprise, and without accepting any payment.

I hurried back to the beach, and sat down before the seal and held the custard pie while the hungry creature ate it.

“Did you ever eat raw fish?” said he.

“I should say not,” said I.

“It’s awful,” said the seal. “It’s positively petrifying. You know I wasn’t always a seal. Custard pie always used to do me more good than anything else.”

“Tell me who you are,” said I, “and who the Ragpicker is.”

“There’s no time now,” said the seal. “You’d better be going. The people here would like to kill the Ragpicker if they could, but they’re afraid of the shadows; she’s afraid of the people, and the people are afraid of the shadows; and she’s more afraid of the One-Armed Sorcerer than anybody else, though between you and me I think she’s wrong about it, because he seems to be a pretty decent sort of old chap, and I rather believe he’d like to help her if she wasn’t afraid of him; but of course you can’t help a person who’s afraid of you. All mixed up, isn’t it?”

“I don’t understand a word of it,” said I.

“Brave people are always stupid,” said the seal, and with this he wriggled himself off into the water, and I saw his head going back and forth slowly from side to side across the cove.

I turned and went into the village. It was now nearly dark.

As I came toward the pastry cook’s shop again, the village cryer came walking down the street, ringing a bell, and calling out, over and over again, “Seven o’clock, and time for supper! Seven o’clock, and time for supper!”

As the cryer passed by, the storks flapped their wings and flew down from the housetops, and took their stand in a row before their houses, along the curbs; and wherever a stork stood before a house a woman came out with a bowl in her hand. When I reached the pastry cook’s shop, the pastry cook’s wife was kneeling on the sidewalk before the five little storks, feeding them gruel out of a bowl with a long spoon. I observed that all along the street women were feeding the storks in the same way; but again I noticed that there were no children.

I walked on, watching in every street the feeding of the storks, and looking out for some sign of the Princess. I observed at last a gilded wooden arm and hand holding a lantern, projecting from the front wall of a house a little in advance; and before this house, at the curb, a single stork was standing, and an old man, one-armed, wearing white hair and beard and dressed in a blue gown with silver stars, was sitting before the stork, feeding it with a long spoon from a bowl in his lap. Around the stork’s neck hung a pearl necklace.

Wondering whether I had ever seen that necklace before, I passed behind the old man, and as I did so the stork fixed its eye on me and ruffled its feathers in agitation. I had no sooner gone by than there was a great fluttering among all the storks, and I observed, coming toward me down the street, a bent old woman, stooping under a bulging bag and holding out what appeared to be a poker with a hook at the end. She was ragged and decrepit, and there was a gleam in her eye which seemed to me to be more of terror than anything.

She gazed intently at the stork with the necklace, and then passed on down the street. All the storks, at sight of her, suddenly flew up on to the housetops, and all the people, or nearly all, went hurriedly indoors. As I turned to follow her with my eyes, I saw that the stork with the necklace was perched up on the ridgepole, and that the old one-armed man was gone.

_The Ragpicker Frightens the Men Away with Her Bag_

The Ragpicker had reached the next corner, and was about to turn into the street at her right, when a dozen men came hurrying toward her in a group, and she stopped and faced them. They were burly men, and they were plainly angry; they carried cudgels, and one of them carried a rope; they meant to do her harm, without a doubt. They advanced on her, muttering dangerously together, and she stood stock still, waiting. One of the men gave a shout, and they rushed upon her in a body; but quick as a wink the old woman whisked her bag from her shoulder to the ground, and began to open it; and at this the men fell back against each other as if afraid; and as the old woman made again as if to open the bag, the men hesitated, turned about, and actually took to their heels and fled.

The Ragpicker slung her bag upon her back again, turned the corner, and disappeared.

What could be in that bag, I wondered, to make those burly men afraid?

I hurried to the corner, and saw the old woman plodding away toward the end of the street. She did not look around, and I followed her cautiously. She passed beyond the village houses and began to climb a path which wound up the hillside among the rocks.

Keeping carefully out of sight behind her, I saw her stop at last beside a hut which leaned against the side of the hill, and go in at its door. I stole up quietly. There were no windows in the hut, but I thought I might be able to see inside through the roof, which was only a thatch of straw. I could easily reach it from the side of the hill. In a moment I was lying on the roof, and digging away the straw with my fingers.

I worked slowly and noiselessly, and after a time made a hole through which I could look down into the hut. It was dark below, but I could see the old woman stooping down over an opening in the floor, from which she was just raising a trapdoor. She stepped down into the opening and closed the door over her head.

I lost no time in making a hole in the thatch big enough to admit my body; and when I had done so I dropped to the floor, and stood beside the trapdoor. I raised it cautiously and peered down. All was dark below, but I could make out a flight of stone steps. I went down without a sound.

_He Follows the Ragpicker Down Into the Dark_

At the bottom I got down on my hands and knees and crawled along, touching the side of a wall at my right. The wall ended abruptly, and feeling the ground before me I found that I was on the edge of open space, and I could hear the rushing of water far below. My hand touched the top of a ladder, and I went down it carefully; but after a moment my foot dangled in space, and I nearly fell off; the ladder stopped short, and I clung on desperately. I then climbed to the top again and crawled along toward my left, feeling the edge with my hand until I shortly touched the top of another ladder; and down this ladder, fastened securely against the wall, I went more cautiously than before.

The ladder was long, but I finally found myself on solid ground. Following the wall to the left, I passed around a corner, and as I did so I saw a light.

It was a square patch of light, like the light of a small window, afar off in the darkness. I went down on my hands and knees again and crawled toward it. The ground was unbroken here, and I could now scarcely hear the sound of water. I stopped at last directly beneath the light, and touched a wall. I felt with my left hand what seemed to be a closed door, and I got up slowly on my feet. I was looking into a lighted room through a small square window, without glass, and crossed with iron bars.

A lamp was burning brightly in a bracket on a wall of the room. On the earthen floor, near the center, the old Ragpicker was kneeling before a brazier containing a brisk fire, over which hung an iron pot. Her bag lay on the floor beside her, flat and limp; it was evidently empty.

_She Stirs a Steaming Mixture with Her Long Hooked Forefinger_

As I watched her, she arose from her knees and went to a door at the rear, and made sure that it was closed tight. She then went to a great heap of rubbish which was piled in one corner, and scratching with her poker amongst the rags, bones, and old iron there, picked out carefully a handful of bones, examining each one minutely. She then took from a shelf a large bottle of some dark liquid, and with this and the bones she returned to the fire. She poured the liquid into the iron pot and dropped in the bones, one by one; and as she did so I observed a thing which I had not discerned before, that what I had thought was a poker held in her hand was in fact a long, black, stiff forefinger, hooked at the end. There was no doubt about it; it was the first finger of her right hand, as stiff as an iron rod, and about a foot and a half long. She stuck it into the steaming pot and stirred the mixture with it, muttering to herself words which I could not understand.

Presently she stopped stirring, and sniffing the contents of the pot nodded her head as if satisfied. She picked up from the ground an iron ladle and a pewter bowl, and ladling the steaming liquid from the pot into the bowl, drank it down, every drop.