Hyladdu Alizamrald, the unfortunate gentleman now before you, was born
in the country of Empskutia, on the borders of the great unknown region
of Phlezzogripotamia, which lies beyond the sources of the river
Phlezzra. He was the only child of a nobleman, whose wealth was
unbounded, and whose power was immense. The day of his birth was made a
day of rejoicing throughout the city. Not only were fountains of wine
set flowing, that none might go athirst (for the Empskutians are driest
when they’re happiest), but living fountains of milk also, that every
child might, on that happy day, drink its fill of the pure infantine
fluid. It is perhaps needless to remark that these last were cows,
driven in from the surrounding plains.
Hyladdu was an infant of great promise, and bade fair to become the
pride of his native land, instead of being--of being--pardon my emotion.
[_Showman puts handkerchief to his eyes. Hyladdu wipes away a tear with
his boot-toe._] Yes, gentlemen and ladies [_calmer_], at his birth there
seemed to be no reason why Hyladdu’s head should not rise as far towards
the clouds as will yours, my smiling young friends before me. Briefly,
he was not born a dwarf. Shall I relate how this sweet flower of promise
was nipped in the bud? [_The audience cry, “Yes! yes!” Hyladdu takes his
handkerchief in both boots and wipes his eyes._]
Listen, then. When Hyladdu had reached the age of eighty-one
days--eighty-one being the third multiple of three--his parents,
according to the custom of the country, summoned to the cradle of the
young child a Thulsk.
The Thulski are a tall, mysterious race of prophets, known only in
Empskutia, who attain to an unknown age. Many of them cannot even
remember their own boyhood. These prophets are reverenced by all the
people. As year after year is added to their life, they grow thin, dark,
and shrivelled, like mummies. The skin is dry and hangs loose about the
bones. The hair is long and white, and every year adds to its length and
its whiteness, while the eyes seem blacker and more piercing. They wear
very high black caps, square, and carry in the hand a peculiar flower, a
snow-white flower, having five petals, which grows in secret places, and
which, even if found, no other person ever dare to pluck, lest its
peculiar smell should work a charm upon them. None but the Thulski
themselves know when and where the Thulski die. If they have graves they
are unknown graves, though it is a common belief in the country that the
mysterious white-petalled flower blooms only in their burial-places.
During life they live apart from all others, seldom speaking, even when
mingled in the busy crowd.
The order of the Thulski is kept up in this way. Their chief, clad in
long dark robes, wanders silently the streets, and when, among the
children at play, he discovers one who has some peculiar mark about
him,--the nature of this mark is unknown,--he beckons, and the child
follows him. Must follow him. For that silent beckoning joins him to
their order. He is from that moment a Thulsk, and has no wish to
escape.
Now, although to be a Thulsk is to be certain of long life, yet no
mother desires this fate for her child, but, on the contrary, children
are warned against them, and have among themselves a secret sign, a
rapid motion of the fingers, which means “scatter!” And if, when they
are at play, the white-haired prophet is seen, though even at a great
distance, this sign is rapidly made, and the little flock disappears so
instantly, one would suppose the earth had swallowed them. You will see,
before my melancholy story is finished, what all this has to do with
Hyladdu’s misfortune.
As I was saying, when he had attained the age of eighty-one
days,--eighty-one being the third multiple of three,--his parents,
according to the custom of the Empskutians, summoned one of these
prophets to the cradle of their child, that his fortunes might be
foretold.
The weird, shrivelled old Thulsk, with his flowing white hair, wrapped
his dark robes about him, and sat silently at the low cradle, gazing
upon the sleeping child. At length he arose, with a look of sorrow, and
would have departed without uttering a single word.
“Speak! speak!” cried the father.
“Ah, do not speak!” murmured the mother; for she perceived that the
prophet foresaw evil. “Yet speak, yes, speak!” she cried. “Let us know
the worst, that we may prepare ourselves.”
The prophet then made a reply, of which these five words are a
translation:--
“Sorrow cometh sufficiently soon. Wait!”
But, on being very earnestly entreated, he disclosed that before the
beautiful infant attained his sixth year--six being the double of
three--he would sustain injuries from a fall, by which either his mind
or his body would be blighted. Which, it was not given him to say. He
added that it grieved him to still further disclose that he himself
would be in some way connected with the child’s misfortune, though in
what way even his prophetic vision could not foresee.
Now it may readily be supposed that the parents spared no pains to ward
off from their child this unknown danger. The upper windows were
immediately fastened down, fresh air being secured by means of hinges on
each square of glass. As soon as he could walk sentinels were placed at
every flight of stairs, and to keep him out of the cellar, a neighboring
wine-merchant was invited to store his goods there, so that wine-butts
took up every inch of room, from floor to ceiling. Ladders and movable
steps he was not allowed the sight of, and as it seems as natural for
boys to climb trees as to breathe the air around them, every tree in the
grounds was protected by sharp iron teeth.
The longing which every boy has to climb is called the climbing
instinct. In Hyladdu the climbing instinct was nipped in the
bud,--smothered, crushed, kept under. He was forbidden to swing on
gates, taught to avoid fence-posts, lamp-posts, and flag-staffs, and to
look upon hills as summits of danger. Of shinning, he knew but the name.
And that the very idea of climbing might be kept from his mind, all
climbing plants were rooted out from the grounds; not even a
morning-glory was allowed to run up a string! By these means the anxious
parents hoped to prevent what the Thulsk had foretold, from coming to
pass. “For,” said they, “if he never goes up, he can never fall down.”
But mark now how all these precautions were the very means of making the
prophecy prove true. For, had he only been taught to climb, and had been
accustomed to high places, that sad accident might not have taken place
and the blighted individual before you might now have been one of the
flowers of his country! [_Emotion._] Pardon me, friends. Tears come
unbidden. [_Showman holds handkerchief to his eyes. Dwarf ditto, with
boots._]
Imagine now the dear child, grown a beautiful boy of five summers,--a
boy of beaming blue eyes, and a rosy cheek! of flaxen curls and a
graceful motion! The idol of his parents, the joy of his friends! Sweet
in disposition, of tender feelings, quick to learn, truthful,
affectionate, gentle in his manners, winning in his ways, no wonder that
he was so well beloved!
It was only one short week before his sixth birthday, and his friends
were trembling with joy, that the fatal time had so nearly passed, when
the calamity which had so long hung over him like a cloud descended upon
him like a thunderbolt! In other words, he lacked but a week of six, and
all were rejoicing that the danger was nearly passed, when the event
happened.
Hyladdu, being, like most boys, of a playful turn of mind, was sometimes
permitted to join in the games of other children, in front of his
father’s mansion, attended always by a faithful servant. On this
particular day they were amusing themselves by playing with some
silver-coated marbles, a box of which had been presented to Hyladdu by
his grandmother, who was one of the court ladies.
A very pretty group they were. The children of that country, like their
fathers, were dressed in long white robes, with bright sashes. On their
heads they wore caps of blue or scarlet, which turned up with points
before, behind, and at each side. On each point a little silver bell was
hung, that the servants might have less difficulty in following them
about. Their shoes were pointed at the toes.
Among those silver marbles was an “alley” of great beauty, glistening
with rubies, and inlaid with pearl. This alley never was played for in
earnest. [_Here the dwarf beckons to the showman, and whispers in his
ear._] He informs me that the laws forbade playing in earnest. I will
now finish as rapidly as possible.
In the course of the game, this precious “alley” rolled a long distance,
until it came to a brick in the pavement, which was set slanting, or had
become so by a sinking of the ground underneath. This brick gave the
“alley” a turn sideways to the left, and it rolled at last through a
crack in the garden fence, and hid itself in the grass. The servant, in
great haste, darted through the gate in search of it.
Meanwhile, slowly down the street, though at a distance, a Thulsk was
approaching. It was the same who had nearly six years before sat by
Hyladdu’s cradle. He walked silently on, his eyes cast down, his hands
clasped, holding between them the five-petalled flower. One of the boys,
perceiving him, made the sign of warning. Instantly they scattered, like
a flock of pigeons, leaving their little silver-belled caps on the
ground. Hyladdu, seeing the cellar open, would have hidden himself
there, but no space was left between the wine-butts. A much larger boy
seized his hand and pulled him into a strange house, and then, in his
fright, dragged him through long passage-ways, and up seven flights of
stairs; for the Empskutians build their houses to an immense height.
Here they sat down to breathe awhile, and Hyladdu begged the boy to go
for the faithful servant, that he might lead him home.
Now no sooner was the boy gone than Hyladdu began to look about him, and
presently he discovered a slender staircase going still higher. Having
climbed seven flights with help, he felt no fear in attempting the
eighth alone. This slender staircase conducted him to the roof of the
building. [_Emotion and handkerchief._] Excuse my emotion. But when I
think what might have happened, if something else had not happened to
prevent, when I think that he might have fallen from that immense
height, to be dashed in pieces beneath, I--I--But I will let my story
take its course.
And now let me tell you that the people of Empskutia were very fond of
the beautiful. The streets were adorned with ornamental trees, and over
the roofs of the houses were trained flowering vines, which ran to the
highest peak of cupola or chimney, and, blooming sweetly there, filled
the whole air with fragrance. It was the custom of the people to place
stout iron hooks along the eaves of their dwellings, from which were
suspended immense flower-pots of various beautiful designs. In these
pots the flowering vines took root and from thence not only climbed the
roof, but trailed gracefully down, thus giving the city a festive
appearance, like a never-ending gala-day.
When Hyladdu looked out from the top of that last eighth flight, the
long-smothered instinct of climbing burst out like a hidden fire. It
would not be restrained. Ah, now will be seen the folly of crushing that
instinct. Had he only have been accustomed to dizzy heights, made
familiar with danger, how different might have been his fate!
[_Emotion._]
The instinct of climbing, as I said, was now strong upon him! No sooner
did he perceive that there was still a height to gain than he resolved
to gain that height. Nothing less would satisfy him than sitting astride
the ridgepole, where a pair of bright-feathered birds had built their
nest, and were then feeding their young. He ventured out, made his way
cautiously up, holding on by the vines. Ah, could his parents have seen
him then!
He arrived at the top, and there, seated on that lofty pinnacle,
surrounded by beautiful flowers, he gazed on the scene below, and
enjoyed a new happiness. For the first time in his life he looked down
from a height! for the first time in his life he gazed abroad over a
wide extended country!
Such pleasure he had never known, and the faithful servant, anxiously
searching, might have found him there, still enjoying it, but for a
pretty little bluebird, that flew suddenly down and startled him, while
he was gazing at some object far away. This little bird came flying
through the air, and alighted for an instant on the child’s head,
thinking perhaps to make its nest in the soft curls, or it might have
thought his rosy lips were cherries. The suddenness with which it came
startled Hyladdu. He trembled, he lost his hold, slipped, then caught
by a vine, it gave way, he slipped again, but, having no skill in
climbing, slipped lower and lower, and would have fallen from the roof
and been dashed in pieces, but for that custom which was mentioned just
now, of suspending large flower-pots from the eaves. It happened that
his course lay directly towards one of these iron hooks. He dropped,
therefore, into the immense flower-pot beneath, where he lay as secure
as a babe in its cradle!
From this frightful position he was at length rescued by one of the hook
and ladder company of that city, and placed in his mother’s arms. His
own arms were nearly paralyzed by his frantic efforts to cling to some
support, so that ever afterwards he could move them but very slightly,
as you perceive. [_Dwarf moves his arms slightly, by shaking his body._]
And though the child’s life was spared, yet the terrible fright had the
effect of stopping his growth! Yes, my young friends, Hyladdu never grew
more, except in wisdom! The innocent cause of all this, the poor
sorrowing grandmother, died of remorse!
And now my story becomes a more pleasing one to tell. Although the
child’s body remained dwarfed in size, yet his heart grew in goodness,
and his mind grew in knowledge, and he was beloved and respected by all.
Debarred earthly mountains, he mounted the heights of learning. The
climbing instinct, which his body could not satisfy, was developed in
his mind. He craved books, he craved whole libraries. Teacher after
teacher came, all exhausting upon him their treasures of knowledge.
Music and drawing, studied scientifically, were his amusements. He
mastered astronomy, mineralogy, algebra, conchology, trigonometry,
physiology, engineering, metaphysics, technology, geology, phrenology,
also foreign languages unnumbered, with all the literature belonging to
each. [_Sensation in the audience._] And when at last the storehouses of
wisdom seemed exhausted, a report reached him of a great country beyond
the seas, called the United States of America, in whose excellent
schools there remains something yet to learn! [_Applause from the
audience._]
He studied the written language of that country, read its history, and
resolved to seek its shores. For he longed to behold the land of the
Revolutionary War; to read the Declaration of Independence, and to stand
upon the grave of Old John Brown! [_Applause._]
He had heard of Bunker’s Hill. Travellers said that upon whomsoever
rested the shadow of its monument, that person possessed forever after
the unflinching bravery of those who bled and perished there!
[_Cheers._] He had heard of Plymouth Rock [_Cheers_], and been told that
his foot once planted firmly upon it, he would feel springing up within
him all the heroism, the self-sacrifice, and the everlasting
perseverance of the glorious Pilgrim Fathers! [_Prolonged cheering._]
I have now, my young friends, told you, very briefly, the history of
this remarkable character. His age is thirty-four years. He is of a
cheerful disposition, having long ago resolved to look his misfortune
steadily in the face and make the best of it. In books, where are
treasures stored up by the scholars of all past time, he finds a
never-ending pleasure. Though dwarfed in stature, he is resolved to make
a man of himself, and will fight it out on that line if it takes all
summer. For he early adopted for his motto, these beautiful lines of Dr.
Watts,--
“Were I so tall as to reach the pole,
Or grasp the ocean in my span,
I should be measured by my soul.
The mind’s the standard of the man.”
[_Applause._
(_Curtain falls._)
I once heard the above narrative repeated by Joe in a truly theatrical
manner. On the same occasion I also saw the picture of the “creature” to
which William Henry refers in his postscript to the Dwarf Letter.
Uncle Jacob hailed me one day as I was coming from my office, and after
driving close to the curbstone, informed me that Cousin Joe and his
accordion had arrived, both in good health and spirits. Also, that
Billy’s school had met with a very sudden vacation, caused either by
flues, or furnaces, or both, having something the matter with them, and
the young rascal would be at home that evening, and I must come without
fail. “Of course you know,” said he, “’tis a pretty hard thing for Billy
having to give up his studies, so he’s coming home to his friends.
Nothing like being among friends when you’re in trouble?”
Now this was by no means a remarkable event. Only a boy coming home for
a few days to see his folks. Still, an occasion which worked Grandmother
up to the pitch of putting on her best cap should not be passed over in
silence.
I went out to the Farm that evening, and on arriving found Cousin Joe,
and the accordion, and Aunt Phebe’s family, with a few relatives whom I
had never met before, all assembled at Grandmother’s. They had made up a
fire in the “Franklin fireplace.” This “Franklin fireplace” was a sort
of iron framework, projecting from the chimney into the room. The top
was flat, with brass balls on the corners. It had iron sides, which
“flared out,” and a rounded iron hearth of its own, about an inch above
the brick hearth, and shining brass andirons.
No one could wish for a brighter room, I thought, for there was the
light from the fire, the light from the “lights,” and the light from all
those smiling faces! An inviting supper-table was set out, covered
dishes were “keeping warm” on the hearth and “frame,” and everything was
ready and waiting for William Henry. Mr. Carver had gone to the station,
and they were expected back every moment.
Georgiana was very busy over a skein of blue sewing-silk. She informed
me that that was the first whole skein of sewing-silk she ever had in
all her life, and that it came from a bundle of all colors, which Cousin
Joe gave to Hannah Jane. It brought trouble with it, as it is said all
earthly possessions do, and snarled at all her attempts to coax it on to
a spool. Tommy, sober as a judge, was holding it for her to wind. He sat
in a little chair, with his legs crossed. His mother said he was very
particular to cross his legs, so as to seem more like a man.
Lucy Maria had just persuaded Grandmother to put on her best, double
stringed, white-ribboned cap, in honor of William Henry. It was the very
one he brought her so long ago, but was still as good as new, having
very seldom seen the light of day, or of evening, since it first came
home in the bandbox. She had also been coaxed into her second-best
dress, and then into the rocking-chair. Lucy Maria tied her cap under
the chin, with the narrow strings, and smoothed down the wide ones.
“You have no idea, Grandmother,” said she. “You haven’t the faintest
idea how well you look!”
“’T is too dressy for me,” said Grandmother. “It don’t feel natural on
my head.”
“Now I should think,” said Uncle Jacob, “that a cap would feel more
natural on anybody’s head than anywhere!”
“It looks natural,” said Lucy Maria, “I’m sure it does. Looks as if it
grew there!”
“And only think how ’t will please Billy!” said Aunt. Phebe.
[Illustration]
The “_Map of the United States_” had been brought out of the front room,
and placed over the mantel-piece. And Lucy Maria, for fun, she said, and
to pay a delicate compliment to the artist, had fastened a few sprays of
upland cranberry around it. And, also, for fun, she pinned up near it a
little picture, which I had quite a laugh over, and which, she said, was
the renowned Megotharium, in the act of feeding drawn by the famous
artist, William Henry, assisted by his brother artist, Dorry. The
picture, she added, was not an _original_, but merely a copy done by a
female. A photograph of these two artists, sitting side by side, was
exhibited, underneath the picture.
Cousin Joe said that _creature_ beat all his going to sea. This young
tailor, by the way, must have made a jolly shipmate. He was full of his
jokes and his tricks. Tried to twirl Tommy round, by rubbing him between
his two hands, as one does a top, telling him that was the way the
Hottentots did to take the mischief out of boys!
Aunt Phebe said she thought if the Hottentots knew any way of taking the
mischief out of boys, and were out of work, they might find employment
in this country.
Tommy begged to play “one tune,” and was allowed to. Cousin Joe declared
that “that accordion was played every wave of the way across the
Atlantic,” either by himself or by one of the sailors, and that
sometimes the mermaids sang to its music! Asked Tommy if he would like
to bear the tune the mermaids sang? Tommy said he should rather wait
till after supper. This was the way in which, company being present, the
young chap let it be known that he was hungry.
Grandmother wondered, then, why they didn’t come, and went to look out
of the window, putting up both hands, to keep the light of the room from
her eyes; then opened the outside door, to listen for the whistle; then
went to look at the kitchen clock; then came back, saying it was a good
deal past the time, and what could be the matter?
She little knew who was behind, following her on tiptoe into the room.
William Henry himself! He was creeping in at the sink room door, just as
she turned to come back from looking at the clock, and followed softly
behind. She didn’t notice how very smiling we all looked. Billy shook
his finger at us, to hush us.
“I hope there hasn’t anything happened to the cars,” said she.
“I hope so too!” shouted Billy. And, by a miraculous jump, he planted
himself, square foot, in front of his grandmother, who, of course,
walked straight into his arms!
Then everybody shouted, and clapped, and shook hands, and kissed. The
cap got twisted about, and as if there were not confusion enough, Cousin
Joe began to caper about, and to play on his accordion tunes that were
never played before!
Such a splendid fellow as Billy was! Such a hearty, laughing, breezy
fellow, with his thick head of hair, “not so red as it was,” and his
honest, good-natured face! I didn’t wonder they were all so glad to see
him.
“Welcome home, shipmate!” shouted Cousin Joe. “Welcome home! How long’ll
you be in port?” And worked away at Billy’s hand as if he’d been pumping
out ship.
“’Most a week,” said Billy. “Mind my forefinger.”
“Don’t take long to stay at home a week,” said Cousin Joe, tossing up
his accordion.
“That’s so,” said Uncle Jacob. “Come, let’s be doing something!”
“That means, let’s be eating something,” said Aunt Phebe. “Come, girls,
put everything on the table! Billy, how tall and spruce you do look!
Poor Grandmother, she’s losing her little Billy!”
“But what’s her loss is his gain!” said Uncle Jacob. “I speak to sit
next the frosted cake. Where’s Tommy?”
Tommy came in, tugging Billy’s carpet-bag, which he found in the
kitchen, hoping, no doubt, there were goodies inside for him.
We had a delightful “supper-time,” Grandmother, of course, piling
Billy’s plate with everything good.
“I see,” said Mr. Carver, “that whatever boys eat at home grandmothers
expect will agree with them!”
The happy “young rascal” meanwhile bore the separation from his studies
with amazing fortitude! Told no end of funny stories about the boys, and
about parties, and about the Two Betseys. And twice, during supper, he
exclaimed, “I do hope nothing has happened to those cars. They were such
good cars!”
My visits to the farm were always delightful, but during that
supper-time, and during that evening, I grudged every moment as it flew
away.
Uncle Jacob was in high glee, and insisted on being taught “the graces,”
and on having his wife taught “the graces.” Then Lucy Maria “set her
foot down” that every one should stand in the row, and Billy should be
Mr. Tornero. And, being a girl of resolution, she coaxed every one into
line, except Grandmother, who said her rheumatism should do her some
service then, if never before.
“The graces” were then taught, and learned, amid shouts of laughter,
Cousin Joe playing for us, and I’ll venture to say that had Mr. Tornero
been present, he would have been astonished at our steps, and also at
the music!
Afterwards we had the dwarf shown off, Cousin Joe being the showman. He
declared after looking over the “Narrative,” that Empskutia was a place
well known to him, and that he had often sailed up the “river Phlezzra,”
to trade with the natives. Lucy Maria dressed him in a large-figured red
and green bedspread, pinned on to look like a loose robe, with flowing
sleeves, and girded about the waist with cords and tassels taken from
Aunt Phebe’s parlor curtains. He wore an immense lace collar, and a
turban made of a white muslin handkerchief (one that was Grandmother’s
mother’s) and besprinkled with artificial flowers. His face was tattooed
with a lead-pencil, and dark circles drawn around his eyes. He held in
his hand a slender rod, or wand.
The dwarf was a young cousin of William Henry’s (not Tommy), and he did
his part well, whistling, bowing, dancing, sneezing, rising, sitting,
with a perfectly sober face.
The showman then read the “Narrative,” adding thereto such ridiculous
incidents, and such comical remarks, that the audience were convulsed
with laughter, and the face of the dwarf twitched alarmingly. These
twitchings, he (the showman) said, were not unusual, and were the
effects of the sad occurrence then being narrated. The closing portions
of the story were declaimed in a powerful voice. He “acted out” the
“pole” and the “span,” and at the third line, “I must be measured by my
_soul_,” laid his hand upon his heart in the most impressive manner, and
remained in that position till the curtain fell.
After this “John Brown” was sung, and William Henry was permitted to
roar out that “Glory Hallelujah” as loudly as he pleased.
* * * * *
The following letter must have been written some time after William
Henry met with the _affliction_ which was so touchingly alluded to by
Uncle Jacob, as above related, and which that wretched youth felt could
only be endured in the bosom of his family! In the interval it appears
that he had been removed from the Crooked Pond School, and that Dorry
had left also, to finish preparing himself for college in some higher
seminary of learning.
* * * * *
_William Henry’s Letter after leaving School._