When the mood takes my friend Annabel Lee she will, if I beg her,
tell me quaint and fantastic stories, such as are hidden away in
the dusty crevices of this world. These tales have lain away there
for centuries, and spiders have spun webs over and about them, so
that when, perchance, they are brought out, bits of fine gray fiber
are to be found among the lines.
Yesterday a pretty, plain story by my friend Annabel Lee that runs
through my mind.
“Long ago,” said my friend Annabel Lee, “there lived in Egypt a
family of well-born but poorly-bred Spoon-bills in a green marsh by
the side of the great green river Nile. This family numbered five,
and they were united and dwelling in peace. There were the father
and mother and two daughters and a son. And there had been another
son, but he was dead. And their names were Maren Spoon-bill, the
mother; and Oliver W. Spoon-bill, the father; and Lilith Spoon-bill,
the elder daughter; and Delilah Spoon-bill, the younger daughter.
And the son’s name was Le Page Spoon-bill.
“The son who had died was named Roland Spoon-bill. He was buried at
the edge of the marsh, and his name and the date were carved upon
a square, black, wooden tablet to his memory at the head of the
grave. There was also this legend upon the tablet: ‘Age 15. Gone
in the hey-day of youth to his last rest. But his virtues are with
us still.’
“And little Delilah Spoon-bill, who was an elementary, fanciful
child of nine, used to stand staring at this legend and wondering
about it. A weeping willow hung low over the grave, and Delilah
would stand near it picking gnats from its branches with her bill,
and speculating about the legend. She wondered for one thing what
‘hey-day’ meant. Was it anything like a birth-day? Or was it, on
the contrary, a day when everything went wrong and ended by a
person’s being shut into a dark bed-room? Or was it, perhaps, a
picnic day--with tarts made of red jam? In that case Delilah felt
very sorry for her brother that he should have died on such a day,
for if there is an article of diet that spoon-bills really like it
is tarts of red jam--made the way Canadians make them.
“But she never could decide.
“And another thing about the epitaph that puzzled her was the
concluding clause--‘but his virtues are with us still.’ What could
virtues be? she asked herself. Were they anything like feathers, or
were they good to eat, or were they something she had never seen and
knew nothing about? But the letters said plainly, ‘his virtues are
with us still.’ Truly, if they were among the family possessions,
why had she not seen them? For anything that belonged to any of the
Spoon-bill family that was at all out of the ordinary was always
placed in an oak cabinet with glass doors that stood in a corner
of the hall in their marsh home. Delilah had often looked in this
cabinet to see if the virtues of her brother were not there. There
were dried snake skins, and curious white stones, and Spanish moss,
and devil’s snuff-boxes--but no, there were no virtues. Of that
she was convinced. She appealed to her older sister. ‘Lilith,’
said Delilah, ‘what _are_ virtues, and where do we keep Roland’s?
Don’t you know, on the tombstone it says, “his virtues are with
us still.”’
“‘Aren’t you a silly!’ said Lilith, laughing in Spoon-billish
derision. Lilith was twelve, and one knows vastly more at twelve
than at nine. ‘Virtues aren’t anything. And as for Roland’s--that
doesn’t mean that he left them with us, any more than that he took
them with him.’
“‘Then what _does_ it mean?’ said Delilah. ‘I’ve thought so much
about it.’
“‘You’ll have to think some more,’ said Lilith--‘a good deal more,
I should say--of _your_ kind of thinking!’
“Delilah did not often appeal to her sister in these matters. She
did not enjoy Lilith’s habit of laughing. In truth, she didn’t enjoy
being laughed at at all--not the least in the world. She was like
a great many other people.
“And so was Lilith.
“But oh, there were many things that Delilah wished to know!
“The Spoon-bill family was, as I have said, well born but poorly
bred. Maren Spoon-bill and Oliver W. Spoon-bill both came of very
good stock, but they had been the black sheep of their families and
had forgotten the traditions and customs of their race. ‘They had
left no more pride,’ Maren Spoon-bill’s mother once said, ‘than a
sand-hill crane--no, nor a duck.’
“‘No, nor a duck,’ echoed Maren Spoon-bill and her husband, and
gloried in it.
“And the children ran wild.
“But the children, though they ran wild, were not without ambition.
On summer evenings, when the family took tea on the back porch and
it was too warm for the children to run about much, they used to
sit and tell their ambitions.
“‘I’m going to be an actress when _I_ get big,’ declared Lilith.
‘I’m going to have a splendid career on the stage, and I shall earn
heaps of money. And I shall have magnificent clothes, and every one
will look at me and say, “_Isn’t_ she in stunning form to-night!”’
“And Le Page and Delilah were so overcome by the vision thus presented
of their sister that they could but stare, awed and silent.
“And Delilah wondered how it must seem to be so very clever.
“But Le Page, who was eleven years old himself, soon rallied.
“‘Well, then,’ said he, ‘when _I_ get big I’m going to be a
pirate. I’ll lay over all the pirates that ever were, a-firing and
a-pillaging--and I’ll wear magnificent clothes, and everyone will
look at me and say, “_Isn’t_ he in stunning form to-night!”’
“Delilah thought this latter sounded strangely like Lilith--but
perhaps in some subtle way a pirate was like an actress, and so
must need be described in the same terms.
“‘And Delilah,’ said her father, ‘what shall you be--what kind of
clothes are you going to wear?’
“Delilah had before tried the experiment of relating her ambition
to the assembled family, and the result had been bad. The high
laughter of Lilith and Le Page always rose on the still evening air,
and even her father, who was a kind person, would smile. Delilah’s
ambition was always the same, but she nearly always varied it a
little at each telling--and the amusement evinced by her sister
and brother varied accordingly.
“Sometimes they even flapped their wings.
“Which was too cruel.
“Forsooth, children are always cruel.
“But while Delilah’s ambition was always the same, those of Lilith
and Le Page covered an exceeding wide range. Some evenings Lilith
would draw a glowing picture of herself as a lecturer of renown
with a wonderful personal magnetism and a telling style--she would
move the multitudes and draw tears from stony eyes by lifting up
her voice. Whereupon Le Page, when he had recovered his breath,
would portray himself as a celebrated scientist delving in marvelous
chemical mysteries and discovering things of untold benefit to the
race. He also would move the multitudes and draw tears from stony
eyes.
“And Delilah would wonder what were lecturers and scientists, and
how they could do these things.
“And when Lilith would announce her intention of becoming a famous
sculptor whose work in the passionate would be the delight of her
day, then Le Page would turn his mind to the idea of becoming a
noted explorer who would penetrate into Darkest Africa and Farthest
North, and whose work in the passionate would be the delight of
his day.
“And Delilah would marvel still more.
“Forsooth, children are always like that--and fascinating they are.
“And each summer evening after Lilith and Le Page had related their
ambitions, their father would ask Delilah what was hers. Then always
Delilah would whisper; ‘I’m going to study tombstones, papa! And
when I get big perhaps I shall know what every single tombstone in
the world means. And perhaps after I’ve studied a long time and
hard I can read Roland’s right off and know what it means without
thinking. And perhaps I can explain them all to people who don’t
know about them.’
“Which to Delilah was a daring ambition indeed--quite hitching
her wagon to a star.
“Well, then,” said my friend Annabel Lee, “this was when the
Spoon-bill family was in its youngness.
“The years followed one after another, and the three children grew.
And it came about that Lilith was three-and-twenty, and Le Page
was two-and-twenty, and Delilah was twenty.
“They were much as they had been when they were children. Lilith,
I may say in passing, was not an actress, nor a lecturer, nor yet
a sculptor--and Le Page was merely Le Page.
“Also Delilah was Delilah, but had ceased to be elementary in some
ways, while in others she was still, and so would be until the
finish.
“It so happened that a young spoon-bill of masculine persuasion,
from the other side of the great green river Nile, fell in love
with Delilah.
“Likewise Delilah fell in love with a young spoon-bill, but not
that young spoon-bill.
“It happens frequently so.
“And Delilah did not fancy the spoon-bill from the other side of
the river, and the spoon-bill with whom Delilah was in love did
not fancy her in just that way.
“Which also happens frequently.
“On a day when the river Nile was very green, and heavy
sickening-sweet flowers of dead white color hung from black trees
on the banks, and the sky was, oh, so blue, and all was summer, the
young spoon-bill from over the river would come to see Delilah. He
loved so well--so hopelessly--that young spoon-bill! But Delilah
on such a day would walk where the green water was shallow, and
her thoughts would be with the young spoon-bill who had gone to
her heart.
“And the young spoon-bill from over the river would come and stand
a little way from Delilah under a tree with broad thick leaves. How
fine was he to look upon, with his white feathers glistening like
silver and his eyes of topaz!
“And Delilah was most adorable with feathers of soft, soft gray--a
so soft gray that one, if one were human, would wish to rest one’s
forehead upon the fluffy down of her breast.
“Then he from over the river--his name was Gerald Spoon-bill--would
say: ‘Delilah, come with me over the river to the damp meadows,
where there is a pool with a thousand pond-lilies, and fair blooms
the way. We should be happy there, you and I.’
“But Delilah would say: ‘Oh, go back over the river, Gerald
Spoon-bill! You and I never should be happy together. Why do you
stand there by the rubber-tree day after day? And why do you waste
your life-nerves and your heart-nerves? Why are you not giving your
good heart to some one who can take it?’
“‘But you would be happy with me, Delilah,’ he under the dark
leaves would answer her eagerly. ‘We will stand in the midst of a
new day and watch the sun come up out of the sand--we will stand
in pale shallows at midday--we will feel our hearts beat high when
the lightnings come down through branches--we will fly a little in
high winds--we will stand still and silent in the midst of golden
solitudes when the sun is going off the sand--and in all these
things my heart will be yours.’
“‘Go back over the river, Gerald Spoon-bill!’ said Delilah.
“But Gerald Spoon-bill felt that he loved so well that he could
not go back over the river.
“’Tis not possible to go back over the river when one’s best-loved
is standing by herself in green shallows.
“Then along the bank from the direction of the date palms came
Auden Spoon-bill, he who had gone to Delilah’s heart. Likewise he
was good to see--not from the handsomeness of his feathers or his
eyes, but from the strength of his physical being. Though, too,
his eyes were of amethyst.
“Auden Spoon-bill went along parallel to the shore of the river
until he saw Delilah standing in the pale green water. Then he
crossed over and came toward her.
“‘There are lotus flowers blooming down below where the steep
cataract breaks over stones,’ said he. ‘Delilah, will you come with
me to eat some?’
“‘Oh, yes, I will come,’ said Delilah, eagerly.
“For she still was elementary enough to say things eagerly.
“So they went down to where the lotus-flowers grew, where the steep
cataract broke over stones.
“It so happened that it was almost the time when the great green
river Nile flows out over its banks and makes all wet with water
for miles around. At such a time it was the custom of Spoon-bills
and cranes and adjutant-birds and others of their ilk, and animals
of divers kinds, to leave their homes and move away out of reach of
the green and purple flood. But no one had thought of moving yet,
for it was too early in the season. Maren Spoon-bill and Oliver W.
Spoon-bill had not even begun to gather up their household goods,
nor had they, as their wont was, removed the black tablet from
the head of Roland Spoon-bill’s grave, which was on the very edge
of the river.
“The river-god is a person of whims like the rest of us. And so
that year, on the day that Delilah and Auden Spoon-bill went down
the river to eat lotus flowers, he gave vent to one of them. He
thought to send a premonition of the yearly flood in the shape of
one beautiful green and purple and white wave, one which would not
go so very far but which should be damaging in its effects.
“‘Delilah,’ said Auden Spoon-bill, ‘since we are here eating lotus
flowers, life is very fine, isn’t it?’
“‘Oh, very fine--yes, very fine,’ said Delilah, and was thrilled.
“‘You are a so dear friend,’ said Auden Spoon-bill.
“‘Yes,’ said Delilah, and was not thrilled.
“‘Life,’ said Auden Spoon-bill, ‘is pretty fine, no matter how it
is arranged.’
“‘But life is a very strange thing,’ said Delilah. ‘I can’t begin
to tell you how strange I have found it. For one thing, I may have
what is not my heart’s desire, and what is my heart’s desire I may
not have.’
“‘It is strange,’ admitted Auden Spoon-bill. ‘But why have any
heart’s desires aside from what is already yours in this fine, fair
world?’
“‘One can not rule one’s heart,’ cried Delilah. ‘One’s heart goes on
before one’s mind can stop to think. One’s heart rushes in before
everything. One’s heart plays with brilliant-colored things when
all else is dead-color. One’s heart loves----’
“But Delilah never finished. Before their eyes rose up a magnificent
wall--a wall of water that was fire and cloud and silver, and in
it were ineffable rainbows of the purple that gathers up the soul
in its brilliance and shows it wondrous possibilities; and in it
were lines of the pale lavender that caresses the senses--and one
breathes from it almost a fragrance of heliotrope; and in it were
broad sheets of deep black and dazzling white that were of the
seeming of life and death; and in it, last of all, was a world of
infinite green: it had come from a place of great things; it had
come to a place where all went down before it, where lives exulted
but shrank from it because of its green.
“An exquisite whim, was that of the river-god.
“Delilah and Auden Spoon-bill gazed for a brief moment. They saw
the magnificent things. They saw death in the brilliancies, but
nevertheless their spirits rose high. They saw also a wild flight
of live things before the wave. Delilah beheld her family--Lilith
and the rest--struggling and half-covered with water, and their
home made of reeds was loosed from its foundations and borne down
the river.
“Presently the flood overtook themselves and the life of Delilah
was merged in water. She was borne high on a dark swell, and at
the turning was suddenly struck a stunning blow upon the gray of
her breast by a square black wooden tablet.
“Before death came to her out of the brilliancies she was conscious
of several things. She saw before her eyes for an instant with
startling plainness the words on the tablet, ‘Gone in the hey-day
of youth to his last rest. But his virtues are with us still.’
“She even fancied for the first time that she knew what it meant.
“‘The hey-day of youth,’ she murmured to herself, ‘is the day I
go to eat lotus flowers with my best-beloved--and virtues are two
eyes of amethyst that are with me still as I am drowning.’
“Auden Spoon-bill was drowning together with her.--
“That’s all of the story,” said my friend Annabel Lee.
“Thank you,” said I. “It is lovely in its quaintness. What does it
mean, Annabel Lee?”
“Mean?” said my friend Annabel Lee. “I didn’t say it meant anything.”
“But I suppose,” said I, “everything that’s true means something.”
“Very likely,” said my friend Annabel Lee. “But this story isn’t
true. I made it up.”
Because it isn’t true, or for some other reason, the story still
runs in my head. How like my friend Annabel Lee it is!