"What is that in your hand, Mossy?"
Now Mossy was the name his companions had given him, because he had a
favourite stone covered with moss, on which he used to sit whole days
reading; and they said the moss had begun to grow upon him too.
Mossy held out his hand. The moment the lady saw that it was the golden
key, she rose from her chair, kissed Mossy on the forehead, made him
sit down on her seat, and stood before him like a servant. Mossy could
not bear this, and rose at once. But the lady begged him, with tears in
her beautiful eyes, to sit, and let her wait on him.
"But you are a great, splendid, beautiful lady," said Mossy.
"Yes, I am. But I work all day long--that is my pleasure; and you will
have to leave me so soon!"
"How do you know that, if you please, madam?" asked Mossy.
"Because you have got the golden key."
"But I don't know what it is for. I can't find the key-hole. Will you
tell me what to do?"
"You must look for the key-hole. That is your work. I cannot help you.
I can only tell you that if you look for it you will find it."
"What kind of box will it open? What is there inside?"
"I do not know. I dream about it, but I know nothing."
"Must I go at once?"
"You may stop here to-night, and have some of my supper. But you must
go in the morning. All I can do for you is to give you clothes. Here is
a girl called Tangle, whom you must take with you."
"That _will_ be nice," said Mossy.
"No, no!" said Tangle. "I don't want to leave you, please,
Grandmother."
"You must go with him, Tangle. I am sorry to lose you, but it will be
the best thing for you. Even the fishes, you see, have to go into the
pot, and then out into the dark. If you fall in with the Old Man of the
Sea, mind you ask him whether he has not got some more fishes ready for
me. My tank is getting thin."
So saying, she took the fish from the pot, and put the lid on as
before. They sat down and ate the fish, and then the winged creature
rose from the pot, circled the roof, and settled on the lady's lap. She
talked to it, carried it to the door, and threw it out into the dark.
They heard the flap of its wings die away in the distance.
The lady then showed Mossy into just such another chamber as that of
Tangle; and in the morning he found a suit of clothes laid beside him.
He looked very handsome in them. But the wearer of Grandmother's
clothes never thinks about how he or she looks, but thinks always how
handsome other people are.
Tangle was very unwilling to go.
"Why should I leave you? I don't know the young man," she said to the
lady.
"I am never allowed to keep my children long. You need not go with him
except you please, but you must go some day; and I should like you to
go with him, for he has the golden key. No girl need be afraid to go
with a youth that has the golden key. You will take care of her, Mossy,
will you not?"
"That I will," said Mossy.
And Tangle cast a glance at him, and thought she should like to go with
him.
"And," said the lady, "if you should lose each other as you go through
the--the--I never can remember the name of that country,--do not be
afraid, but go on and on."
She kissed Tangle on the mouth and Mossy on the forehead, led them to
the door, and waved her hand eastward. Mossy and Tangle took each
other's hand and walked away into the depth of the forest. In his right
hand Mossy held the golden key.
They wandered thus a long way, with endless amusement from the talk of
the animals. They soon learned enough of their language to ask them
necessary questions. The squirrels were always friendly, and gave them
nuts out of their own hoards; but the bees were selfish and rude,
justifying themselves on the ground that Tangle and Mossy were not
subjects of their queen, and charity must begin at home, though indeed
they had not one drone in their poorhouse at the time. Even the
blinking moles would fetch them an earth-nut or a truffle now and then,
talking as if their mouths, as well as their eyes and ears, were full
of cotton wool, or their own velvety fur. By the time they got out of
the forest they were very fond of each other, and Tangle was not in the
least sorry that her grandmother had sent her away with Mossy.
At length the trees grew smaller, and stood farther apart, and the
ground began to rise, and it got more and more steep, till the trees
were all left behind, and the two were climbing a narrow path with
rocks on each side. Suddenly they came upon a rude doorway, by which
they entered a narrow gallery cut in the rock. It grew darker and
darker, till it was pitch-dark, and they had to feel their way. At
length the light began to return, and at last they came out upon a
narrow path on the face of a lofty precipice. This path went winding
down the rock to a wide plain, circular in shape, and surrounded on all
sides by mountains. Those opposite to them were a great way off, and
towered to an awful height, shooting up sharp, blue, ice-enamelled
pinnacles. An utter silence reigned where they stood. Not even the
sound of water reached them.
Looking down, they could not tell whether the valley below was a grassy
plain or a great still lake. They had never seen any space look like
it. The way to it was difficult and dangerous, but down the narrow path
they went, and reached the bottom in safety. They found it composed of
smooth, light-coloured sandstone, undulating in parts, but mostly
level. It was no wonder to them now that they had not been able to tell
what it was, for this surface was everywhere crowded with shadows. The
mass was chiefly made up of the shadows of leaves innumerable, of all
lovely and imaginative forms, waving to and fro, floating and quivering
in the breath of a breeze whose motion was unfelt, whose sound was
unheard. No forests clothed the mountain-sides, no trees were anywhere
to be seen, and yet the shadows of the leaves, branches, and stems of
all various trees covered the valley as far as their eyes could reach.
They soon spied the shadows of flowers mingled with those of the
leaves, and now and then the shadow of a bird with open beak, and
throat distended with song. At times would appear the forms of strange,
graceful creatures, running up and down the shadow-boles and along the
branches, to disappear in the wind-tossed foliage. As they walked they
waded knee-deep in the lovely lake. For the shadows were not merely
lying on the surface of the ground, but heaped up above it like
substantial forms of darkness, as if they had been cast upon a thousand
different planes of the air. Tangle and Mossy often lifted their heads
and gazed upwards to discry whence the shadows came; but they could see
nothing more than a bright mist spread above them, higher than the tops
of the mountains, which stood clear against it. No forests, no leaves,
no birds were visible.
After a while, they reached more open spaces, where the shadows were
thinner; and came even to portions over which shadows only flitted,
leaving them clear for such as might follow. Now a wonderful form, half
bird-like half human, would float across on outspread sailing pinions.
Anon an exquisite shadow group of gambolling children would be followed
by the loveliest female form, and that again by the grand stride of a
Titanic shape, each disappearing in the surrounding press of shadowy
foliage. Sometimes a profile of unspeakable beauty or grandeur would
appear for a moment and vanish. Sometimes they seemed lovers that
passed linked arm in arm, sometimes father and son, sometimes brothers
in loving contest, sometimes sisters entwined in gracefullest community
of complex form. Sometimes wild horses would tear across, free, or
bestrode by noble shadows of ruling men. But some of the things which
pleased them most they never knew how to describe.
About the middle of the plain they sat down to rest in the heart of a
heap of shadows. After sitting for a while, each, looking up, saw the
other in tears: they were each longing after the country whence the
shadows fell.
"We _must_ find the country from which the shadows come," said Mossy.
"We must, dear Mossy," responded Tangle. "What if your golden key
should be the key to _it_?"
"Ah! that would be grand," returned Mossy.--"But we must rest here for
a little, and then we shall be able to cross the plain before night."
So he lay down on the ground, and about him on every side, and over his
head, was the constant play of the wonderful shadows. He could look
through them, and see the one behind the other, till they mixed in a
mass of darkness. Tangle, too, lay admiring, and wondering, and longing
after the country whence the shadows came. When they were rested they
rose and pursued their journey.
How long they were in crossing this plain I cannot tell; but before
night Mossy's hair was streaked with gray, and Tangle had got wrinkles
on her forehead.
As evening grew on, the shadows fell deeper and rose higher. At length
they reached a place where they rose above their heads, and made all
dark around them. Then they took hold of each other's hand, and walked
on in silence and in some dismay. They felt the gathering darkness, and
something strangely solemn besides, and the beauty of the shadows
ceased to delight them. All at once Tangle found that she had not a
hold of Mossy's hand, though when she lost it she could not tell.
"Mossy, Mossy!" she cried aloud in terror.
But no Mossy replied.
A moment after, the shadows sank to her feet, and down under her feet,
and the mountains rose before her. She turned towards the gloomy region
she had left, and called once more upon Mossy. There the gloom lay
tossing and heaving, a dark, stormy, foamless sea of shadows, but no
Mossy rose out of it, or came climbing up the hill on which she stood.
She threw herself down and wept in despair.
Suddenly she remembered that the beautiful lady had told them, if they
lost each other in a country of which she could not remember the name,
they were not to be afraid, but to go straight on.
"And besides," she said to herself, "Mossy has the golden key, and so
no harm will come to him, I do believe."
She rose from the ground, and went on.
Before long she arrived at a precipice, in the face of which a stair
was cut. When she had ascended half-way, the stair ceased, and the path
led straight into the mountain. She was afraid to enter, and turning
again towards the stair, grew giddy at sight of the depth beneath her,
and was forced to throw herself down in the mouth of the cave.
When she opened her eyes, she saw a beautiful little figure with wings
standing beside her, waiting.
"I know you," said Tangle. "You are my fish."
"Yes. But I am a fish no longer. I am an aeranth now."
"What is that?" asked Tangle.
"What you see I am," answered the shape. "And I am come to lead you
through the mountain."
"Oh! thank you, dear fish--aeranth, I mean," returned Tangle, rising.
Thereupon the aeranth took to his wings, and flew on through the long,
narrow passage, reminding Tangle very much of the way he had swum on
before her when he was a fish. And the moment his white wings moved,
they began to throw off a continuous shower of sparks of all colours,
which lighted up the passage before them.--All at once he vanished, and
Tangle heard a low, sweet sound, quite different from the rush and
crackle of his wings. Before her was an open arch, and through it came
light, mixed with the sound of sea-waves.
She hurried out, and fell, tired and happy, upon the yellow sand of the
shore. There she lay, half asleep with weariness and rest, listening to
the low plash and retreat of the tiny waves, which seemed ever enticing
the land to leave off being land, and become sea. And as she lay, her
eyes were fixed upon the foot of a great rainbow standing far away
against the sky on the other side of the sea. At length she fell fast
asleep.
When she awoke, she saw an old man with long white hair down to his
shoulders, leaning upon a stick covered with green buds, and so bending
over her.
"What do you want here, beautiful woman?" he said.
"Am I beautiful? I am so glad!" said Tangle, rising. "My grandmother is
beautiful."
"Yes. But what do you want?" he repeated, kindly.
"I think I want you. Are not you the Old Man of the Sea?"
"I am."
"Then Grandmother says, have you any more fishes ready for her?"
"We will go and see, my dear," answered the old man, speaking yet more
kindly than before. "And I can do something for you, can I not?"
"Yes--show me the way up to the country from which the shadows fall,"
said Tangle.
For there she hoped to find Mossy again.
"Ah! indeed, that would be worth doing," said the old man. "But I
cannot, for I do not know the way myself. But I will send you to the
Old Man of the Earth. Perhaps he can tell you. He is much older than I
am."
Leaning on his staff, he conducted her along the shore to a steep rock,
that looked like a petrified ship turned upside down. The door of it
was the rudder of a great vessel, ages ago at the bottom of the sea.
Immediately within the door was a stair in the rock, down which the old
man went, and Tangle followed. At the bottom the old man had his house,
and there he lived.
As soon as she entered it, Tangle heard a strange noise, unlike
anything she had ever heard before. She soon found that it was the
fishes talking. She tried to understand what they said; but their
speech was so old-fashioned, and rude, and undefined, that she could
not make much of it.
"I will go and see about those fishes for my daughter," said the Old
Man of the Sea.
And moving a slide in the wall of his house, he first looked out, and
then tapped upon a thick piece of crystal that filled the round
opening. Tangle came up behind him, and peeping through the window into
the heart of the great deep green ocean, saw the most curious
creatures, some very ugly, all very odd, and with especially queer
mouths, swimming about everywhere, above and below, but all coming
towards the window in answer to the tap of the Old Man of the Sea. Only
a few could get their mouths against the glass; but those who were
floating miles away yet turned their heads towards it. The old man
looked through the whole flock carefully for some minutes, and then
turning to Tangle, said,--
"I am sorry I have not got one ready yet. I want more time than she
does. But I will send some as soon as I can."
He then shut the slide.
Presently a great noise arose in the sea. The old man opened the slide
again, and tapped on the glass, whereupon the fishes were all as still
as sleep.
"They were only talking about you," he said. "And they do speak such
nonsense!--To-morrow," he continued, "I must show you the way to the
Old Man of the Earth. He lives a long way from here."
"Do let me go at once," said Tangle.
"No. That is not possible. You must come this way first."
He led her to a hole in the wall, which she had not observed before. It
was covered with the green leaves and white blossoms of a creeping
plant.
"Only white-blossoming plants can grow under the sea," said the old
man. "In there you will find a bath, in which you must lie till I call
you."
Tangle went in, and found a smaller room or cave, in the further corner
of which was a great basin hollowed out of a rock, and half-full of the
clearest sea-water. Little streams were constantly running into it from
cracks in the wall of the cavern. It was polished quite smooth inside,
and had a carpet of yellow sand in the bottom of it. Large green leaves
and white flowers of various plants crowded up and over it, draping and
covering it almost entirely.
No sooner was she undressed and lying in the bath, than she began to
feel as if the water were sinking into her, and she were receiving all
the good of sleep without undergoing its forgetfulness. She felt the
good coming all the time. And she grew happier and more hopeful than
she had been since she lost Mossy. But she could not help thinking how
very sad it was for a poor old man to live there all alone, and have to
take care of a whole seaful of stupid and riotous fishes.
After about an hour, as she thought, she heard his voice calling her,
and rose out of the bath. All the fatigue and aching of her long
journey had vanished. She was as whole, and strong, and well as if she
had slept for seven days.
Returning to the opening that led into the other part of the house, she
started back with amazement, for through it she saw the form of a grand
man, with a majestic and beautiful face, waiting for her.
"Come," he said; "I see you are ready."
She entered with reverence.
"Where is the Old Man of the Sea?" she asked, humbly.
"There is no one here but me," he answered, smiling. "Some people call
me the Old Man of the Sea. Others have another name for me, and are
terribly frightened when they meet me taking a walk by the shore.
Therefore I avoid being seen by them, for they are so afraid, that they
never see what I really am. You see me now.--But I must show you the
way to the Old Man of the Earth."
He led her into the cave where the bath was, and there she saw, in the
opposite corner, a second opening in the rock.
"Go down that stair, and it will bring you to him," said the Old Man of
the Sea.
With humble thanks Tangle took her leave. She went down the winding
stair, till she began to fear there was no end to it. Still down and
down it went, rough and broken, with springs of water bursting out of
the rocks and running down the steps beside her. It was quite dark
about her, and yet she could see. For after being in that bath,
people's eyes always give out a light they can see by. There were no
creeping things in the way. All was safe and pleasant though so dark
and damp and deep.
At last there was not one step more, and she found herself in a
glimmering cave. On a stone in the middle of it sat a figure with its
back towards her--the figure of an old man bent double with age. From
behind she could see his white beard spread out on the rocky floor in
front of him. He did not move as she entered, so she passed round that
she might stand before him and speak to him.
The moment she looked in his face, she saw that he was a youth of
marvellous beauty. He sat entranced with the delight of what he beheld
in a mirror of something like silver, which lay on the floor at his
feet, and which from behind she had taken for his white beard. He sat
on, heedless of her presence, pale with the joy of his vision. She
stood and watched him. At length, all trembling, she spoke. But her
voice made no sound. Yet the youth lifted up his head. He showed no
surprise, however, at seeing her--only smiled a welcome.
"Are you the Old Man of the Earth?" Tangle had said.
And the youth answered, and Tangle heard him, though not with her
ears:--
"I am. What can I do for you?"
"Tell me the way to the country whence the shadows fall."
"Ah! that I do not know. I only dream about it myself. I see its
shadows sometimes in my mirror: the way to it I do not know. But I
think the Old Man of the Fire must know. He is much older than I am. He
is the oldest man of all."
"Where does he live?"
"I will show you the way to his place. I never saw him myself."
So saying, the young man rose, and then stood for a while gazing at
Tangle.
"I wish I could see that country too," he said. "But I must mind my
work."
He led her to the side of the cave, and told her to lay her ear against
the wall.
"What do you hear?" he asked.
"I hear," answered Tangle, "the sound of a great water running inside
the rock."
"That river runs down to the dwelling of the oldest man of all--the Old
Man of the Fire. I wish I could go to see him. But I must mind my work.
That river is the only way to him."
Then the Old Man of the Earth stooped over the floor of the cave,
raised a huge stone from it, and left it leaning. It disclosed a great
hole that went plumb-down.
"That is the way," he said.
"But there are no stairs."
"You must throw yourself in. There is no other way."
She turned and looked him full in the face--stood so for a whole
minute, as she thought: it was a whole year--then threw herself
headlong into the hole.
When she came to herself, she found herself gliding down fast and deep.
Her head was under water, but that did not signify, for, when she
thought about it, she could not remember that she had breathed once
since her bath in the cave of the Old Man of the Sea. When she lifted
up her head a sudden and fierce heat struck her, and she sank it again
instantly, and went sweeping on.
Gradually the stream grew shallower. At length she could hardly keep
her head under. Then the water could carry her no farther. She rose
from the channel, and went step for step down the burning descent. The
water ceased altogether. The heat was terrible. She felt scorched to
the bone, but it did not touch her strength. It grew hotter and hotter.
She said, "I can bear it no longer." Yet she went on.
At the long last, the stair ended at a rude archway in an all but
glowing rock. Through this archway Tangle fell exhausted into a cool
mossy cave. The floor and walls were covered with moss--green, soft,
and damp. A little stream spouted from a rent in the rock and fell into
a basin of moss. She plunged her face into it and drank. Then she
lifted her head and looked around. Then she rose and looked again. She
saw no one in the cave. But the moment she stood upright she had a
marvellous sense that she was in the secret of the earth and all its
ways. Everything she had seen, or learned from books; all that her
grandmother had said or sung to her; all the talk of the beasts, birds,
and fishes; all that had happened to her on her journey with Mossy, and
since then in the heart of the earth with the Old man and the Older
man--all was plain: she understood it all, and saw that everything
meant the same thing, though she could not have put it into words
again.
The next moment she descried, in a corner of the cave, a little naked
child sitting on the moss. He was playing with balls of various colours
and sizes, which he disposed in strange figures upon the floor beside
him. And now Tangle felt that there was something in her knowledge
which was not in her understanding. For she knew there must be an
infinite meaning in the change and sequence and individual forms of the
figures into which the child arranged the balls, as well as in the
varied harmonies of their colours, but what it all meant she could not
tell.* He went on busily, tirelessly, playing his solitary game,
without looking up, or seeming to know that there was a stranger in his
deep-withdrawn cell. Diligently as a lace-maker shifts her bobbins, he
shifted and arranged his balls. Flashes of meaning would now pass from
them to Tangle, and now again all would be not merely obscure, but
utterly dark. She stood looking for a long time, for there was
fascination in the sight; and the longer she looked the more an
indescribable vague intelligence went on rousing itself in her mind.
For seven years she had stood there watching the naked child with his
coloured balls, and it seemed to her like seven hours, when all at once
the shape the balls took, she knew not why, reminded her of the Valley
of Shadows, and she spoke:--
"Where is the Old Man of the Fire?" she said.
* I think I must be indebted to Novalis for these geometrical figures.
"Here I am," answered the child, rising and leaving his balls on the
moss. "What can I do for you?"
There was such an awfulness of absolute repose on the face of the child
that Tangle stood dumb before him. He had no smile, but the love in his
large gray eyes was deep as the centre. And with the repose there lay
on his face a shimmer as of moonlight, which seemed as if any moment it
might break into such a ravishing smile as would cause the beholder to
weep himself to death. But the smile never came, and the moonlight lay
there unbroken. For the heart of the child was too deep for any smile
to reach from it to his face.
"Are you the oldest man of all?" Tangle at length, although filled with
awe, ventured to ask.
"Yes, I am. I am very, very old. I am able to help you, I know. I can
help everybody." And the child drew near and looked up in her face so
that she burst into tears.
"Can you tell me the way to the country the shadows fall from?" she
sobbed.
"Yes. I know the way quite well. I go there myself sometimes. But you
could not go my way; you are not old enough. I will show you how you
can go."
"Do not send me out into the great heat again," prayed Tangle.
"I will not," answered the child.
And he reached up, and put his little cool hand on her heart.
"Now," he said, "you can go. The fire will not burn you. Come."
He led her from the cave, and following him through another archway,
she found herself in a vast desert of sand and rock. The sky of it was
of rock, lowering over them like solid thunderclouds; and the whole
place was so hot that she saw, in bright rivulets, the yellow gold and
white silver and red copper trickling molten from the rocks. But the
heat never came near her.
When they had gone some distance, the child turned up a great stone,
and took something like an egg from under it. He next drew a long
curved line in the sand with his finger, and laid the egg in it. He
then spoke something Tangle could not understand. The egg broke, a
small snake came out, and, lying in the line in the sand, grew and grew
till he filled it. The moment he was thus full-grown, he began to glide
away, undulating like a sea-wave.
"Follow that serpent," said the child. "He will lead you the right
way."
Tangle followed the serpent. But she could not go far without looking
back at the marvellous child. He stood alone in the midst of the
glowing desert, beside a fountain of red flame that had burst forth at
his feet, his naked whiteness glimmering a pale rosy red in the torrid
fire. There he stood, looking after her, till, from the lengthening
distance, she could see him no more. The serpent went straight on,
turning neither to the right nor left.
Meantime Mossy had got out of the Lake of Shadows, and, following his
mournful, lonely way, had reached the sea-shore. It was a dark, stormy
evening. The sun had set. The wind was blowing from the sea. The waves
had surrounded the rock within which lay the old man's house. A deep
water rolled between it and the shore, upon which a majestic figure was
walking alone.