further, but coming to a grassy place in the depth of the forest, he lay
down and slept. Nightfall came soon after and still he slept. In the
depth of the night, when all was still and dark, the sky in the north
grew brighter as rays of light shot in quivering ecstasy toward the
zenith. It was the Northern Lights--the Aurora Borealis. The parents of
this Elephant had long sought it but had never reached it; they had
hoped that it would be the staircase up which their son, the Elephant,
now asleep, would mount the sky to dwell among the stars. Still he
slept, though the light grew clearer and the rays became more distinctly
marked. It was now twelve o'clock and deep night. What was that
descending the slope of the Auroral Light? Who could tell? Who saw it?
Yet the Elephant in his sleep saw it. Down the slope he knew It
come--down the staircase which was the way to immortality. Now It
hovered near him and thus he heard It speak:--
"Thou hast sinned. The river that flowed so peacefully and carried
beauty and joy wherever it ran, thou hast despoiled and rudely ravaged.
Thou smotest its breast with terrible rocks; thou wouldst not heed its
complaining cry; thou turnedst its peace into mad wrangling. But worse,
thou slewest with thine own foot the little one that loved thee and
saved thy life from the fierce Wolf. For this the river and the Squirrel
shall be avenged. Thou didst choke the river with rocks; thou didst
crush the Squirrel with thy foot. Thou shalt thyself become a stone and
another shall stand on thy head. Arise!"
The Elephant obeyed trembling. He stood upon his feet. For one moment he
saw with his mortal eyes It that had spoken; the next he was blinded by
a flash; he saw no more, but he knew that in that instant he was turned
into a rock where he was standing. His feet were sunk in the ground and
his trunk extended before him was also rooted in the earth. All stone.
Where his eyes were, only two slight chinks in the rock remained.
But at the same moment the Elephant heard,--so faintly that he could
hardly catch the sound--a last word from the voice:--
"Thus, but not forever. A Deliverer shall come and thou shalt mount up
to the sky and dwell among the stars."
That was what the Elephant heard. He heard nothing more but he could
feel. He could feel himself a stone; that is a dreadful thing to feel.
It was a heavy, crushing feeling; a dead weight always bearing him down.
He could not lift it; he could not throw it off. It was forever crushing
him down, down,--though he never really sank. But it was the same thing
to him; he felt that he was sinking.
But he had another evil to bear. A tree with its roots sunk in the
ground all about him, stood directly over his head. That was a bitter
suffering to him; he could feel it there. He knew that it was stretching
its long arms into the air and waving its branches in the wind. He knew
that its roots grappled his body and grew tighter fixed in the earth.
The tree, indeed, died in time, but another took its place and the
torment grew with it. For it kept in his mind the Squirrel he had
killed. He could stolidly bear the crushing weight of the rock bringing
remorse at the recollection of the happy river that he had made an
angry brawling stream,--but the tree--it was a birch, the very kind that
he had first devoured after the death of his mother, the tree, that
moving with every breath of air, stirred in his mind the recollection of
the Squirrel he had killed, who had loved him, saved him from death, and
died beside for love of the river--the tree he thought he could not
bear.
But still through all his remorse and bitter anguish, the Elephant
seemed to hear, though faintly, the last words spoken:
"But not forever. A Deliverer shall come, and thou shalt mount the sky
and dwell among the stars."
This was the only slight ray of comfort, though he did not always
remember it, but still when the morning sun arose and its beams fell
upon the rock, it awakened the remembrance in the Elephant's mind, and
he repeated to himself, "A Deliverer shall come." And sometimes in the
deep and still night, the Aurora flushing in the north would lighten up
a deeper and more cheering hope, for by it he thought would the
Deliverer come.
But though the Deliverer has not yet come, still some small comfort does
the Elephant have. For the gentle mosses have grown over his stony body;
the mosses on the river bank he had terrified and roughly beaten with
the jagged rocks. Now did these spread themselves over him, covering him
with green verdure and gladdening his soul with the love they gave him.
The tree, too, drops yearly its leaves upon his back, and the roots,
though they hug him closer, seem to him to do it more lovingly and not
with the old terrible gripe.
Yes, all these things make him mindful of the Deliverer. He knows not in
what form he will come, but I will tell you. A Squirrel shall finally
gnaw away the roots of the tree and it will fall never to rise again.
The river, turning its course, shall flow over and about him, and its
constant washing shall wear away the rock. The rocky covering gone, in
the night, the deep and still night, the Aurora of the north shall
stream upon the bed of the river, and where the rock once stood shall
rise up the Elephant, and the Squirrel that once led him shall now go
before him and lead him up the quivering rays to the sky, where he
shall become a constellation never before seen by men, but then
discovered and named
The Elephant.
Now he sleeps still in the deep forest. It must all be true, for I have
seen him there, and so have others.
_Vaterville, Valley of the Mad,
White Mountains._
[Illustration]
The Old Brown Coat.
ALICE'S STORY.
The Gift.
[Illustration]
The royal family of the Kingdom of Percan had an old brown coat which
they prized very highly; it was so old that no one could say exactly
when it was made, but the story was that the Phoenix made it for the
first King of Percan, so it must have been very old. Only the ruler of
the kingdom was allowed to put it on, which he did once a year, on New
Year's Day. Anybody else who wore it either would die or become king.
Such an old coat would have to be mended occasionally, for though the
King put it on very carefully on New Year's Day--sixteen men helping him
on with it and taking two hours to do it in--and though he only wore it
an hour and then put it away safely in a cedar chest for the rest of the
year,--yet for all this care the coat, being so old and weak, frequently
was torn. Whenever this sad event happened, the sixteen men who were
called "Coat-Tails to His Majesty," (because they were appendages to the
coat,) carried the coat to the oldest woman in the kingdom, who was
obliged to mend it. If she were so old as to be helpless, the Sixteen
Coat-Tails put her to death and then went to the woman next to her in
age, who was of course the oldest then, until at last they found one who
could mend it. Then they all kept guard over her to see that neither she
nor any one else put it on, and when the coat was mended, they carried
it back to the king's palace and put it away in the cedar chest. Once
safely locked up, the Sixteen Coat-Tails sat on the chest by turns all
the rest of the year. They were very trusty men indeed; it was a great
honour to be one of the Coat-Tails.
Now, at the time when this story commences, the King of Percan was
Shahtah the Great. He was called the Great, because he weighed so much
and measured so far round the waist; since he had come to the throne, he
had been growing greater and more powerful, until his fame spread
through all the earth.
It was New Year's Day; and all the people came flocking to the palace to
see the King put on the Old Brown Coat. At noon came a long procession
led by the Sixteen Coat-Tails, headed by Kaddel the chief of the
Sixteen; they carried the coat in a gold box. "See!" cried the people;
"that is the box! the Old Brown Coat is inside! hurrah!" and as the
procession passed, all the people shouted and tossed up their hats. And
Kaddel was so splendidly dressed that he thought some of the crowd must
be shouting for him. Then the palace was crowded as Kaddel at the head
of the Coat-Tails brought the box before the King, who sat on the
throne, and opened it in the presence of the royal family and the
people, who however could not get near enough to see very much. The King
who, as I said, was very fat, came slowly down the steps of the throne
and laid aside his regal apparel, when the Sixteen Coat-Tails lifted the
Old Brown Coat very carefully and began putting it upon the King; and
very hard work it was. "I must reduce my size," said Shahtah; "next year
I will drink a great deal of vinegar. I really am afraid I shall not be
able to get the coat on without tearing it." Indeed the coat was already
beginning to burst in several places, and Shahtah became quite heated
with trying to make himself as small as possible. "If your Majesty would
let out your breath," said Kaddel, "I think we might get it on." So
Shahtah let out his breath as well as he could, at the same time
shrinking in his skin, and the Sixteen Coat-Tails seized the opportunity
to give a final push to the coat, so that it was at last fairly on, two
hours and five minutes after it was taken out of the box. But Shahtah,
the King, could not possibly do without breathing longer; he grew very
red, and by the time the coat was fairly on was so exhausted, and so
relieved at being through with the exertion, that he drew a long breath
and sighed heavily, which expanded his portly frame until the coat burst
in twenty rents. "How vexatious!" thought Kaddel, "and my grandmother
who is blind, is the oldest woman! If now, the King were only as thin as
I am," (for he was very thin,) "there would be no difficulty; or if I
were only the king," he half added to himself.
When the coat was taken off, after the people had looked at it for an
hour, and Shahtah the Great had been put to bed, for he was very much
exhausted,--the Sixteen Coat-Tails immediately set out with the coat to
get it mended. "Who is the oldest woman in the kingdom?" asked one of
them. Kaddel kept the list and had to answer--"It is my grandmother." So
they went to her house. But Kaddel's grandmother was ninety years old
and blind, and besides had lost the use of her hands by paralysis. Of
course she could not mend the coat, so there was nothing to be done but
to put her to death and find the next in age. The law was very strict
and could not be avoided. When they went away with the Old Brown Coat,
Kaddel felt very bitter toward the fat old Shahtah. "If he had only been
lean like me!" he groaned; "or if I were only king," he added to
himself. This he said to himself so often that by the time they had
found an old woman who could mend the coat, Kaddel had made up his mind
to be king. "To be king," said he, "one must needs wear the Old Brown
Coat; to be sure one may die; but the chance is even; and at any rate I
am determined to kill Shahtah for making my grandmother die. The coat
would just fit me."
The first night after the coat was finished and safely locked up in the
cedar chest in the palace of the King of Percan, it was Kaddel's turn to
sit upon the chest to guard it. In the middle of the night when all was
quiet, he opened the chest and very carefully put on the Old Brown Coat;
it was a perfect fit. "Now that I have put it on," said he, "I must
either be king or die." Then he wont silently up to Shahtah's chamber
where the guard let him in without suspicion, for Kaddel was a very
trusty man and chief of the Sixteen Coat-Tails; there he killed the fat
Shahtah and came out again. "Do not disturb the King," he said to the
guard, "he will sleep late." Returning to the chest he took out the coat
again and, doing it up in a bundle, went off with it on horseback long
before morning, for he said to himself, "I will escape with the coat,
then when the family of the King find he has been killed and the Old
Brown Coat taken by me, they will be very angry and try to catch me and
get the coat again, for no one can rule who does not wear the coat. But
the people like me, and after a while I will come back and rule over
them." So he rode night and day for a long while, and though the King's
family sent messengers after him in every direction, they could not find
him.
But Kaddel had forgotten that he who wears the coat may after all not be
king but die. He was in the forest on the banks of a beautiful blue
river. He was hiding in a cave very far away from any living person, but
not far away from the wild beasts. One day he had taken the Old Brown
Coat out of the bundle and laid it upon the limb of a tree, that he
might look at it and fancy himself a king wearing it; but a tiger stole
smoothly behind him and, before he was aware, the beast had killed
Kaddel. The Coat lay still upon the bough and was protected by the
leaves. But a great wind came and broke off the bough, sending it into
the river that flowed below; the coat clung to the limb and floated with
it for many days down the river.
Now the river ran for hundreds of miles through the forest without
passing any house, but then it came to a woodman's hut where dwelt,
entirely alone, the woodman and his little daughter Isal. One evening
after the sun was down, Isal was playing on the river bank when she saw
a limb of a tree floating down the river toward her; as it came near,
the current of the stream brought it by the bank, and Isal, reaching out
into the water, took hold of a twig and drew to her the very bough which
had floated for hundred of miles down the river, with the Old Brown Coat
snugly hid among the twigs and leaves. "Here is a coat!" said Isal. "I
wonder where it could have come from!" She took it off the bough, which
drifted away as she let it go, and held up the coat to look at it. "And
what a strange looking coat it is!" she said. "It must be very old; it
is very carefully mended too. Some poor person must have owned it; but
it doesn't belong to anyone I know. I'll see if it fits me." Now Isal
had never heard anything about the Old Brown Coat of the Kingdom of
Percan, and of course knew nothing about the story that any one who wore
it must rule or die. "It certainly fits me very well," said she, "but I
don't think it is very warm; it is soft though, and I will sleep on it
to night." She carried it into the house and showed it to her father,
who turned it round and round but knew no more about it than she. When
night came she laid the coat upon her hard bed so as to make it a little
softer, for they were very poor, and soon went to sleep upon it.
Do you recollect that I told you at the beginning of this story that the
Phoenix made the Old Brown Coat? Yes, the Phoenix made it, but not
the one that was living then; for the Phoenix, you know, lives for
five hundred years; there is only one Phoenix at a time, and when the
old bird has lived his five hundred years, he builds a bonfire of sweet
spices and lies down on it; when he is burned to ashes, out of the
cinders rises up a new Phoenix with crimson and golden feathers who
also lives five hundred years, and so on. It looks something like an
eagle, though to be sure it is a great deal more magnificent than
the eagle, and is a very wise bird. I do not know how old the
present Phoenix is; persons differ about his age. Now it was a
Phoenix--surely the great-great-great-grandfather of the one who was
living in the reign of Shahtah, King of Percan, that made the Old Brown
Coat; and the descendants of that bird, called generally Phoenix the
Tailor, took a great interest in the coat and in all who wore it. The
Phoenix who was living at the time of this story, was very much
concerned about the stealing of the coat. He was a very old bird; he was
four hundred and ninety-five years old when Shahtah was killed, and of
course knew a great deal.
"Such a thing has not happened in my memory," said he, gravely, "but the
times are growing very degenerate. When I was young there was a great
deal more respect shown to the Old Brown Coat. That coat was made by the
Tailor, my great-great-great grandfather. I can remember when the whole
kingdom would have held their breath if there had happened a rent in the
coat. But the times are sadly degenerate. I am sure I don't know what
the world will come to after I die."
This he said to the Tufters. The Phoenix of course can have no
children, so he generally adopts four birds of some other family and
brings them up to wait on him. The four adopted children of the
Phoenix were Tufters, that is a kind of goose, but differing from the
goose in having a very fine scarlet tuft on the head which sets off the
white body very finely; besides the Tufter is very wise. You sometimes
hear persons say--as silly as a goose, but never as silly as a Tufter.
Still the Tufters are geese after all, and are very fond of cackling.
So, when the Phoenix had done speaking, the Tufters looked at one
another and burst into a fit of cackling. The Phoenix was very much
displeased at this. "How often have I told you," said he, "not to cackle
in that way. It is very disrespectful in you. Besides this is no
cackling matter." So the Tufters tried to look solemn, which made them
look very much like geese. "I don't know exactly what it is best to do
about this," proceeded the Phoenix, stroking his beak with one of his
claws as he always did when he reflected; "but at any rate we must
watch the coat." So the Tufters were sent off to keep watch over the
coat, all except the youngest, who remained behind to take care of the
aged bird. Her name was Rosedrop, because the tuft on her head was
shaped and coloured like a rose.
After a while the Tufters came back very much excited. They forgot to
make their obeisance to the Phoenix, when they came in, which
irritated the venerable bird very much. "Where are your manners?" said
he, sharply, as they were about to speak all at once. The Tufters
recollected themselves, and standing in a row before the Phoenix, each
upon one leg, they stretched out their long necks and bowed all together
till their heads touched the ground, when they rubbed their brilliant
tufts in the dirt. They always do this to show their humility. This
pleased the Phoenix, and he told them they might speak now if they had
anything to tell him, but one at a time. Whereupon, they all forgot
their manners again, and cackled together in a most confusing manner,
telling him that Kaddel had been killed, the coat had been carried down
the river and captured by a woodman's little daughter, named Isal.
"I saw it myself," said the oldest, "and I saw Isal take it from the
bough, on which it floated, and put it on."
"Yes," said the second, "and she has gone to sleep on it. She is very
beautiful."
"But she will have to die or else rule, which is impossible, though; the
law is very strict," said the next.
"Oh!" said the youngest, who had stayed with her father, "and must she
die, because she put the coat on?" And Rosedrop looked very sad. She
would have cried, but Tufters never cry. The Phoenix was evidently
very much perplexed. He shook his head very hard while all the Tufters
stood huddled around him.
"We must put this right," said he at last; but he did not say how; no
doubt he knew, though, he looked so wise.
"Suppose we carry the coat back to the Prince; he will never know that
Isal wore it," suggested the third of the Tufters who had spoken
before.
"Little Tufters should be seen, not heard," said the Phoenix; "I did
not ask your advice." At this the Tufter who had spoken so rashly looked
very foolish, and the rest cackled over it. "You're a goose!" said they,
all except Rosedrop, who came up and stroked her brother's tuft with her
bill. "Isal must be brought here," at last said the Phoenix. "You must
all four go and bring her here with the coat."
Away flew the Tufters--they fly very swiftly--and long before morning,
though it was hundreds of miles away, they had come to the woodman's
hut. The father and Isal were both asleep--Isal upon the Old Brown Coat.
"What a sweet face!" whispered Rosedrop. Then each took a corner of the
coat by the beak and lifting it up with Isal upon it, they flew out of
the house and back again to the Phoenix. Isal was still asleep, but
the morning light would soon wake her.
"Shall I give her a worm?" said the Tufter who had spoken so rashly
before.
"Nonsense!" said the Phoenix sharply. "Little girls don't eat worms!
Be more discreet. But you may go and find some berries." So he went off
for them and Rosedrop with him. Isal was awake when they came back, and
very much astonished at everything about her.
"How came I here?" said she, "with these strange looking birds about me.
That is certainly a very odd looking bird, and very tame;" and she went
up to the Phoenix to stroke it.
"Make your manners! make your manners! Stand on one foot! Put your head
out! so!" screamed all the Tufters at once, as they stretched out their
necks toward her and the Phoenix. But Isal could not tell that they
said anything. "How these geese do cackle," said she, as she stroked the
Phoenix, who did not dislike it, though he thought her rather forward,
and bade Rosedrop bring her some berries. Rosedrop brought them to Isal,
who thought she was the prettiest of all, and not at all like a goose.
"What shall we do with her now we have her here?" asked the rash Tufter;
but he was sorry he asked, for the Phoenix gave him a terrible peck.
"I know my own affairs," said the old bird angrily, but really he knew
very little about this affair and was sadly perplexed and quite at his
wit's end. He said nothing of that though, but looked more than usually
wise, and finally, when all were on tip-toe, or rather tip-claw, to hear
what the wise bird would say, he spoke, and told the oldest to go to the
palace of the King and bring back word of what was going on there.
"Ah!" said the second in age, "the Phoenix is a wonderful bird! what
deep plans he has!"
* * * * *
Meanwhile Isal stayed by the Phoenix and the three Tufters, who kept
very good watch over her. She looked about in vain for her father's
house or for the great blue river; she could not understand how she came
to be where she was and in such strange company; for, though the birds
all told her everything about it a great many times over, she could not
understand them, for she had never learned the Phoenician and the
Tufter tongues. After roaming about all day and eating berries, shouting
for her father and sometimes crying, she lay down upon the Old Brown
Coat. The coat she knew; somehow or other she was pretty sure that it
must have had something to do with her strange journey. She had heard
her father tell about the wonderful cushion that Houssain rode upon;
perhaps she had flown here upon the coat; she would lie down upon it and
wish herself home again, and "who knows," said she, "but I shall wake up
on my cot in the morning?"
After Isal had dropped asleep the Tufter who had been sent to the palace
returned quite out of breath; he had such good news to tell; he hurried
through his manners before the punctilious Phoenix, and then proceeded
to relate how he had called on his friend, the Peacock, who lived in the
palace garden. "I had a very good time, indeed," said he; "we had green
peas to eat, and the Peacock showed me all his new feathers. I asked him
about the theft of the coat and what the prince was going to do; but he
did not know much about it; he said that for his part he thought people
made a very ridiculous fuss about a seedy old coat. But just then we
were joined by the Rabbit. The Peacock rather despised him; he whispered
to me--so loud that I am sure the Rabbit must have heard--'Did you ever
see such an absurd tail?' But I am sure the Rabbit is very beautiful and
much more intelligent. The Peacock has such a disagreeable voice, and he
is always trying to sing. I asked the Rabbit if he knew anything about
the coat. He said he did; his friend the Mouse had told him the latest
news that very morning; and the Mouse was very good authority, for he
lived generally in the library and had gone through a great many books;
he was very learned; he had overheard the Prince talking with the
prime-minister, and he gathered that the Prince had sent out a
proclamation, promising to give a very large sum to any one who would
bring back the Old Brown Coat, and if it chanced to be a maiden he would
marry her and make her queen; though of course that was quite absurd,
the Rabbit said; but then the Rabbit jumps at conclusions. The Peacock
tried to turn the conversation once or twice; he thought it was
insufferably dull and finally went off in a dudgeon, and I saw him as I
flew away, looking very grand, strutting along the garden walk. I bade
the Rabbit good-by and left my regards for the Mouse though I am afraid
it was rather improper--the Mouse is so learned. And here I am."
When the Tufter finished they all talked very eagerly about what was
best to be done, while the Phoenix sat apart and deliberated by
himself; of course the four children could know nothing about it.
Finally he called them to him and said--"Children, you may get
yourselves ready to go with me to the Palace." This was, indeed, great
news; the Phoenix had not, visited the palace for a hundred years.
This was indeed a great event!
"May I go too?" asked Rosedrop.