DOWN where the forest is so thick that the sun rarely pierces the leafy
roof, where there are mosses and ferns and little plants of the
brightest green, where parrots screech and thousands of little monkeys
chatter in the trees, there stands a great white temple. Once, long ago,
there was joy and gladness there, and flower-crowned people danced and
sang, but now vines hang about the doors and window holes and there are
tall rank weeds in the courtyard. Still, it is even now very beautiful,
though sad to see.
Long years before this temple was built, there lived a king, and his
people loved him, and he on his part loved not only his people, but
every flower that grew, every grass blade and every leaf on bush and
tree. Where he came from, none knew, but there were those who said that
he had come from the sea, not in a ship with men, but alone, in a great
and beautiful sea-shell. So they called him, in their own tongue, The
King Who Came in a Sea-shell. And when he went about among his people he
wore a headdress of gold-green feathers, a feather cloak of turquoise
blue, and about his middle was a golden belt set with glittering
precious stones. On his feet were golden sandals and in his hand he bore
a great spear of silver. The spear he carried for a sign only, for there
was no fighting in those days, and it was a time when all went very
well. Every one had enough to eat and to drink and to wear, so that none
had to worry about the day to come. Men loved diamonds and emeralds and
rubies for their beauty, and just as they loved the sight of the tiny
rainbow in a sparkling dew drop. As for other things, corn grew so large
that a single ear was as much as a man could carry and cotton grew not
only white, as we see it now, but red and blue and yellow and scarlet
and black and orange and violet and green.
It was the daughter of the Sea-shell King who had taught the people how
to grow coloured cotton, and she, with her silky cloud of hair, was the
most beautiful creature ever seen. When she walked about, the air was
sweet with wonderful perfume, birds sang with joy as though their
throats would burst, and slim drooping ferns nodded a welcome.
The story of the beauty and goodness of the maiden ran through all the
land, and young men who sought her hand came from far and wide. So many
were her suitors that a day was set apart each week, when all the people
gathered to see the young men display their powers or their gifts or
their clevernesses. Some would shoot with the bow and others cast the
lasso. Singers sang the songs they had made and musicians played their
flutes so well that the slender boughs bent to listen. There were gifts,
too, and some brought rare stones cut into the shapes of birds and
animals and flowers, but not one man had touched the heart of the
princess, though she was gracious to all.
Now before the king came, an evil creature of a witch had ruled the
land, and she had come from the Land of the Shaking Mud. Somehow, the
Sea-shell King had driven her away and, that she should worry his people
no more, he had set a boundary, and guards were on watch day and night
to prevent her in her mischief. So she spent the day in her cave, coming
out only at night to prowl about the boundary, and then only when there
was no moon. Her name was Tlapa.
One day there came to the king a man in rags, who said that his name was
Maconahola, and the king was glad to see him, the more so because age
was creeping upon the king, and he sought someone wise and brave enough
to rule in his place. But no sooner had the princess looked at the
stranger than she cast down her eyes, saying that he had the face of the
man she had seen in a dream. When the king asked her questions, she said
that in her dream she had followed the stranger about, had slept at his
feet, had tended his fields and made his clothes. At that her father was
greatly astonished, for that his daughter should be the servant of a man
who came clad in rags seemed strange indeed.
The second day, Maconahola was asked if he bore gifts, but he showed his
empty hands. Then, to the end that no idle or useless man should be in
that land, a time was set and Maconahola was ordered to appear before
the young men and compete with them. At the test Maconahola stood very
well. When the best bowman sent his arrow into the exact centre of the
mark, Maconahola drew his bow and aimed so carefully that his arrow
split the arrow of the other man. Nor was he less skilful with the
lasso, casting his loop so that it fell about the smallest thing aimed
at. It was much the same when the swiftest runner was brought. To be
sure, he ran like a deer, but Maconahola ran like the wind, leaving him
far behind. As for the singing contest, when the stranger sang the very
birds were hushed and, the song being finished, a great quetzal with
jet-black wings, a scarlet breast, and head and back of gold-green
feathers, flew down and sat on the shoulder of Maconahola.
Then a great shout went up, and all the bowmen, the lasso throwers, the
runners, and the singers came forward and greeted Maconahola, for there
was no jealousy in that land, nor was there envy, and each had it in his
mind to strive for that which seemed best, caring nothing for
self-advancement. As for the king, being very old and tired, he was glad
indeed to find a man who might become ruler in his place. So he stepped
down from his high place and cast his coat made of a thousand turquoise
feathers about the stranger’s shoulders. All went very well indeed, and
the princess was happy to have found the man of her dreams, and the two
of them loved all things, so that all things embraced and loved them.
But Tlapa, the witch with long crooked nails and black teeth and
ice-like eyes, learned of all this from the bats. Loving evil, and war,
and violence, she was angry that another should come into the land to
rule when the old king died, for she had long waited for the breath to
pass from his body so that she might rule again. Seeing how the people
greeted Maconahola, she became tight-lipped and slit-eyed. One night she
went to Roraima, a place of rocks, where lived a wild man of terrible
strength who sat in his cave all day, crouched over a fire of smoking
green wood. Over the cave fire Tlapa and the wild man whispered long and
long, while bats flapped and fluttered and white worms crawled close to
listen, for they plotted how to dispose of Maconahola. The wild man was
all for dashing into the country, trampling down the guards that stood
in his way, and beating the stranger with his great club of long, blunt
thorns. But that Tlapa would not hear of, knowing that Maconahola could
shoot an arrow that would speedily put an end to the wild man of the
rocks. Far more crafty was she, remembering and telling the wild man of
a strange plant that grew in the gloomy depths of a forest far away,
where, because of the tangled thicket, she could never go.
No sooner had the wild man learnt of the strange plant than he sprang to
his feet and with great bounds went crashing through the forest,
overturning trees that stood in his way, upsetting huge rocks, splashing
through swamps, and climbing a rocky precipice like a wild cat until he
came to the place where grew the evil weed. He was back again in his
cave before midnight. Taking the weed, Tlapa dried it over a fire of
rotten wood and crushed it into powder. The powder she cast into the air
and, carried by the wind, it fell where the king’s people lived.
Wherever it fell, wherever it touched, there grew hate and suspicion,
jealousy and greed. Where the dust fell on plant or flower, though there
was but the slightest fleck of it, there was immediately a withering and
a dying; the very corn shrivelled and shrunk. Where had been flowers,
there grew in a single night dense, thorny tangle. The very weather
changed and the pleasant cool passed away, so that the days were hot and
the nights icy cold. Some men, touched with a strange greed, laid claim
to great tracts of earth, bidding others begone, and so for the first
time in that land men quarrelled and fought. Even the old king changed a
little and, seeing the trouble that had come upon his land, was
persuaded to believe that Maconahola was the cause.
Word passed from mouth to mouth and whispering tongues poisoned truth,
and when Maconahola took his walks, grieving to see the withered flowers
and fruits, people hid from his gaze. Thoughts passed to words and words
to deeds, and one day a crowd turned on Maconahola and with sticks and
stones drove him across the border and into a forest where, except for
the cry of a distant bird, it was still as midnight.
Sad at heart, Maconahola built a little shelter of branches and leaves
and day after day wandered alone. Nor had he living company until one
day there came to him a dog, footsore and thin. The creature was hungry
and weak and thorn-torn, and Maconahola took it in, washed and tended it
and shared with it his meal. And a poor enough meal it was being of
small berries and drops of tree gum and little roots.
In the morning when he went down to the stream to bathe, the dog did not
follow him, and on his return, to his vast astonishment, he found in
front of his house a field with growing corn and many food plants. It
had grown up in less than an hour. So that evening he was full of
gladness, and with his dog walked about in full enjoyment of the
beautiful green earth, thankful for the humming bees and the gentle wind
that moved the leaves, thankful for the only living creature that was
with him.
On the next day when he returned from his stream, having left the dog
sleeping in the sun, he found that his little bower of branches and
leaves had been transformed to a house with furnishings all simple,
clean, and bright. And around it were glorious flowers and fruits, and
in the trees birds sang, and humming-birds, looking like flashing
emeralds, darted through the leaves. So again his heart was full of joy
and thankfulness.
The third day he made as if to go to the river, but instead turned and
hid himself behind the house to watch. Then he saw the wonder, for the
dog threw off its skin and there stood the beautiful maiden whom he had
known as the king’s daughter. At once she set about making garments of
coloured cotton for him, and so rapidly she wrought that they fell from
her hands like flower petals. Then she busied herself weaving a hammock
of silk grass.
Maconahola made no sign, but went down to the river as usual and when he
returned the dog ran to meet him, thrusting its moist nose into his
hand. But the next day again he hid, and again the dog cast off its skin
and the princess went to the garden, and to her came a cloud of humming
birds. Swiftly Maconahola ran to the dogskin, picked it up and threw it
into the fire, where it burned like dry leaves. Then the princess saw
what had been done and gave a great cry of joy for the spell was broken;
and Maconahola knew a fresh vigour of soul.
Hand in hand, they returned to the land, and the old king seeing them
coming went out to meet them. And all the people were with him,
overjoyed that Maconahola had returned, seeing the evil that had come
upon them had not been removed with his departure. Overjoyed, too, were
they to see the princess again, for none knew to what place she had
gone, knowing only that she had vanished one evening, and at the same
time a dog had run swiftly through their midst. For certainly, Tlapa the
witch had laid some enchantment upon her with evil design. But evil,
though it may touch the good, cannot for ever bind it, wherefore the
maiden resumed her own form some part of every day.
There was a great meeting of all the people then, and Maconahola lost no
time in seeking out the witch Tlapa, whom he killed with a silver
pointed arrow shot through her heart. As for the wild man of Roraima, it
is said that learning of the death of the witch, he dashed away in great
terror and, sinking in the Shaking Mud, was seen no more. But the King
of the Sea-shell made Maconahola a ruler, and on the spot where the
bower had been built and where he first saw the dog there was erected
the temple of white stone which you may see for yourself to this day if
you go to Orinoco.
[Illustration]