CONTAINING MR. PARNASSUS'S POEM, THE GLACIER KING.
At the conclusion of Dr. Bleedem's narrative he was highly complimented
by his audience, and various were the comments upon his recital. The
chairman declared himself unable to decide as to which of the two
stories related that evening was the more marvellous.
The host of the "Headless Lady" vowed he had never heard such a tale in
all his life before, though he knew a good story or two himself. Mr.
Oldstone proposed the health of the doctor, which was drunk accordingly,
amid cheers. He responded to it in a short speech, when the old Dutch
clock in the corner struck one. The president rose and addressed the
club thus:
"Gentlemen, we have listened to two most interesting stories; but time
flies--the clock has announced the commencement of another day. I regret
that, on account of the length of the first two narratives, we shall be
prevented from hearing a story from everyone; yet I should be loth to
break up this very pleasant meeting without hearing _one_ more recital.
I propose, however, that, in consideration for some of our worthy
guests--the gallant captain, to wit, and our comic friend here, who, as
you see, gentlemen, appear somewhat overwhelmed under the all-inspiring
influence of the punch--(laughter)--that the next narrative be of
shorter duration than the two preceding.
"According to order, the next tale ought to proceed from Professor
Cyanite."
Then, turning towards the professor, he inquired if he had a story ready
that would not take too long in the recital.
"Well, chairman," said the professor, "the fact is that I had prepared
somewhat a lengthy one for our meeting. At present I can't think of one
sufficiently short to wind up the evening."
"In that case," said the chairman, "perhaps Mr. Blackdeed will be able
to favour now."
Mr. Blackdeed begged to be excused. He said he could not think of one at
all. He hoped, however, to have one ready for the next evening.
"Dear, dear!" said the chairman; "this is really a very bad state of
affairs. Has no one some short story ready? Mr. Parnassus, cannot you
favour the company?"
The young poet, blushing slightly, replied, "I thought of bringing
before the company this evening--or, rather, last evening, I ought to
say--a curious little incident out of my own experience, which occurred
to me when travelling in Switzerland a few years ago. I have put it into
verse in the form of a ballad. It is not long, and if it will not weary
the company, I shall be most happy to sing it."
"A song, a song!" cried many voices at once. "Bravo, Parnassus! Hear,
hear!"
"The title of the ballad I am about to sing to you, gentlemen, I propose
calling 'The Glacier King.'"
"Good," said the chairman. "Silence, gentlemen, if you please. A song
from Mr. Parnassus."
A dead silence ensued, and the poet, after clearing his throat once or
twice, began in a clear, rich voice the following ballad:--
THE GLACIER KING.
In youth, when I mid mountains roamed, full well I can recall
That fearful night. The pale moonlight shone on the glaciers tall.
I wandered from my chalet's hearth (the world was locked in sleep),
But something on my bosom made my soul a vigil keep.
I wandered on, I recked not where, for I was sad of mood,
Until upon the basement of a glacier grim I stood.
The moon peeped out behind the clouds, the scene was strange and
weird--
Like sheeted ghosts those icy rocks above me now appeared.
I cared not if I lived or died; my soul was sunk in gloom.
I'd little left to live for then; I almost sought my doom.
"We die but once," I inly said. "Death's certain, soon or late,
And I would just as lief it came, as still protract my fate."
I crunched the snow beneath my feet, and little recked of fear;
I trod the giant pinnacles (the night grew dark and drear),
Yet onward recklessly I strode, nor cared which way I went,
Until across this sea of ice appeared a mighty rent.
A horrid chasm, with below the torrent's deafening sound,
But with the madness of despair I cleared it with a bound.
A little onward still I stood (the scene was weird and grand),
A wondrous cavern wrought in ice by Nature's playful hand.
Its dripping arches overhung the cataract beneath,
Its pendant massive icicles appeared like dragon's teeth;
And lost in contemplation of this fearful yawning cave,
I deemed its chilly arches the recesses of the grave.
Anon the cave appeared when moonbeams would its depths illume,
A fairy hall of diamond, anon, a ghastly tomb.
And as I mused in phantasy, forgetting half my woe,
I wondered whether elves or ghouls their revels held below.
My blood ran chilled within my veins, a tremor shook my frame,
As, mingled with the torrent's roar, unearthly voices came.
Awhile I listened breathlessly, as louder still they grew;
The icy cave's inhabitants for ever nearer drew.
But one deep voice above the rest, in stern commanding tone,
That echoed through the cavern's walls, cried, "Silence, and begone."
Then, terrified, I scarce had time upon my feet to spring,
When, robed in icy majesty, there stood the Glacier King.
A mantle of the drifted snow bedecked his regal frame;
Upon his head a crown of ice, his sceptre of the same,
His hair and beard were icicles, his visage stern and pale,
His eyes like glacier caverns sunk, with look that made one quail.
With terror rooted to the spot, with fright uprose my hair,
While on me, as in wonderment, he fixed an icy stare.
At length he ope'd his lips and spake, in deep sepulchral tone,
"What seekest thou, stranger, in our realm, a night like this alone?"
I know not what I answer made, with voice below my breath,
When nearer, with majestic stride, he came, and thus he saith--
"Thou 'rt welcome to our palace cold; it is full many a day
Since one of thy mortal race hath wandered past this way."
He led me kindly by the hand. But, oh! that hand of ice.
I felt benumbed all over, but he held me like a vice.
Then with his sceptre tapped a door, which opened with a bang.
While through the cavern's icy halls infernal laughter rang.
He led me down by steps of ice, hewn in the solid rock,
And halting at a portal, with his sceptre gave a knock.
The door of ice was opened by a figure grim and grey,
That bowed in deepest reverence, then onward led the way.
We entered then the hall of state, where stood the icy throne;
The courtiers on our entrance bowed as if to gods of stone.
Their hair hung dank about their forms, the wildest ever seen;
Their raiment dripping icicles, their bodies of sea green.
Then out and spake the Glacier King, "Make haste and bring a light;
A mortal from the outer world will sup with us to-night.
Let supper be in readiness at once without delay."
The menials made obeisance, and hastened to obey.
Then soon the hall of banqueting we entered, when, lo! there
A lofty cavern lighted up with phosphorescent glare;
A ghastly light from out a lamp suspended from a height,
That shed upon the icicles its dim funereal light.
The table was a slab of ice, the dishes they were cold,
And when they were uncovered I shuddered to behold,
For some were human corpses that had perished in the snow,
Or in the glacier's crevices had met their fate below.
My heart then sank within me, and I from the table turned.
The guests all looked in wonderment, that I their dishes spurned.
The King then turned upon me. "Though our dishes you decline,
You must not leave this hall to-night before you taste our wine."
He bid a menial near to fill a goblet to the brim,
And as he filled a ghastly smile played o'er his features grim.
The King then raised it to his lips, and first a draught drank he;
The giant goblet carved in ice he handed then to me.
I seized the beaker in my hand, and raised it to my lip;
And cautiously I tasted it, although 'twas but a sip.
I laid the crystal down in haste, as horrified I stood.
The liquor that the goblet held I found was _human blood_!
The King of Ice he marvelled, and his brow grew grave and stern,
His eye would seem to ask me, "Dost thou thus my favour spurn?"
I trembled, for I noticed when the icy monarch frowned
The reflection of his countenance upon the court around.
Each drew a pointed icicle from out an icy sheath,
They wore as daggers at their sides--for fear I scarce could breathe--
And brandishing them high aloft, while as their hands they clenched,
They vowed that such gross insult should not pass unavenged.
"Ho! sheath your daggers," quoth the king. "Once more our guest
we'll try.
Base mortal! if thou still refuse to drain yon goblet dry,
Then dread our fell displeasure, for by our crown we vow,
The King of Glaciers ne'er is mocked by mortals such as thou."
I seized the goblet once again, and in despair did quaff.
Now through the banquet hall resounds a wild unearthly laugh.
The nauseous fluid seemed to burn like fire through my veins
I felt intoxication stealing o'er me for my pains.
I fell down in a stupor, know not how long I lay,
But when my eyes were opened 'twas past the break of day.
The King and court had vanished, but around me I descried
A troop of tourists, who that morn the glaciers would bestride.
They asked me how I came there, how I could be so mad,
Alone to scale the glaciers, upon a night so bad.
I told them shortly all my tale--all I had got to tell--
About the awful Glacier King, down in his icy cell.
They smiled, and said it truly was a very fearful _dream_;
But I vowed all that had happened like truth to me did seem.
They asked me to point out to them the grotto that I saw.
I gazed around me, and behold the grotto was no more.
Whether it was dream or not, I know not to this day;
'Tis strange the grotto in a night should all have thawed away.
And when I spoke about the cup I quaffed the cave beneath,
"_That was my brandy-flask_," quoth one, "_I forced between your
teeth_."
"Else you had perished in the snow, in truth, you looked far gone.
'Twas by the greatest chance on earth we found you here at dawn.
I thought you dead, but still I plied my flask, and, as you see,
It has proved worthy of its name, immortal 'Eau-de-Vie.'"
I thanked them for their courtesy, but when I strove to rise,
No muscle of my rigid frame could I, to my surprise,
As much as put in motion. My bones seemed on the rack,
And to my chalet's fire-side had to be carried back.
'Twas long ere I recovered my wonted life and strength;
The tourists oft would visit me, and we grew friends at length.
And the day of my recovery, to mark the grand event,
I started in their company to make a great ascent.
My mountain days are over now, my friends in other climes;
But when we meet together we talk of bygone times.
But still the name of _Glacier_ for ever doth recall
The horrors of that fearful night, within that icy hall.
And at their friendly tables I'm often asked to dine.
They order "Vin du Glacier," as well as other wine,
And ask me if it tastes as well, as o'er their wine they sing,
As that from out the cellars of H.M. the Glacier King.
Hardly had the poet concluded his lay, when the cheering and clapping of
hands that ensued half-deafened all present; that is to say, with the
exception of two individuals--_viz._, the worthy captain and our friend
the comedian, who had been deaf for some time past, under the kindly
influences of the punch.
To say that the health of the poet was drunk with three times three
would be unnecessary. We leave that to the imagination of the reader.
Not only was that conventional ceremony gone through, but the chairman,
after a short complimentary speech, proposed that a crown of laurels
should be made and the young poet crowned therewith there and then.
The poet modestly interposed, but the command of the president,
especially on such an occasion as the present, was not to be recalled.
John Hearty, of the "Headless Lady," was sent outside, snowing hard as
it was, to gather some laurel from a bush which grew close to the inn,
and the poet was crowned with all due honours. There were two, however,
who did not witness the imposing ceremony. Who these two were we will
leave our readers to guess.
The fumes of the punch had thrown the ideas of these two worthies into
another channel, and the reverie into which they had fallen was so deep
as to render them perfectly unconscious of all that was going on around
them.
The captain was the first to recover from his meditations.
"Ease her! Stop her!" he cried, awaking with a yawn.
Then, glancing round at the company, his eye first caught sight of the
poet's brow crowned with laurels.
"Odds bobs, messmate!" he cried, "what the deuce have they been doing to
your figurehead?"
"Ah! captain," said one of the members, "you do not know what you have
lost. You've missed a song."
"Missed a song, have I? Well, I thought someone must have been singing;
it came in my dream. But what, in the name of Davy Jones, has Mr.
Parnassus been taking. Why, one would think he had been taking a glass
of prussic acid, to break out all over laurel leaves like that."
"That," said the chairman, "is the crown awarded to genius. Mr.
Parnassus has this evening--or, I should say, this morning--favoured us
with a poem."
"Humph!" said the captain, who was not of a poetical nature himself.
"Yes," continued the chairman, "a poem; the work of his own pure brain,
for which he has been rewarded with the crown that now adorns his
temples, a crown of no intrinsic value, as you perceive, like the
bejewelled diadem of royalty, but which, nevertheless, has been sought
after by minds no less ambitious in the early days of ancient history,
when the love of honour alone was a deeper incitement to the soul than
the mere love of worldly pelf, and when once obtained, was guarded as
zealously----"
Here our comic friend showed some signs of returning animation. He
stretched, yawned, and, rubbing his eyes, gazed round upon the company
in bewilderment. He also fixed his eyes on the laurel crown, and so
ludicrous was the expression of wonder on his countenance, although he
did not utter a word, that the whole company was thrown into an
immoderate fit of laughter, which completely drowned the end of the
chairman's sententious speech. The poor little comedian got most
unmercifully chaffed by each of the company in turn, being asked gravely
by one what his opinion was of the last story; by another, whether he
liked the punch--whether it was strong enough for him. By another wag he
was offered a penny for his thoughts; while another insisted upon
hearing the story he had been thinking of all that time, etc., etc. The
little man answered good-humouredly to all their bantering, when the
president once more thumped the table.
"Captain Toughyarn," he began, "you have been guilty at our meeting of
falling asleep in the middle of a story, and of being so engrossed in
your state of--of--What shall I say, gentlemen?--of lethargy, as to be
totally unconscious of a most spirited song that ensued. You have raised
our curiosity, however, by telling us that the song entered into and
formed part of your dream. We would fain hear your dream, as some slight
expiation of such gross violation of etiquette."
"What will he say to me," thought our comic friend, "if he doesn't let
the captain escape?"
"Hear, hear!" cried several voices at once. "By Jove, you're in for it
too, Jollytoast."
"Well, chairman," said the captain, "I'm sorry I've broken through
discipline; but when a man has got grog stowed away in his hull----"
"Exactly so," said the chairman; "but for all that the company must hear
your dream."
"Yes, yes!" shouted the company.
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