good-luck on his finger, “I have driven a good bargain, and you
have paid for your loaf of bread.”
“But what will you do with the other ring?” said Selim the
Fisherman.
“Oh, you may have that,” said Selim the Baker.
Well, that evening, as Selim the Baker sat in front of his shop
in the twilight smoking a pipe of tobacco, the ring he wore began
to work. Up came a little old man with a white beard, and he was
dressed all in gray from top to toe, and he wore a black velvet
cap, and he carried a long staff in his hand. He stopped in front
of Selim the Baker, and stood looking at him a long, long time. At
last--“Is your name Selim?” said he.
“Yes,” said Selim the Baker, “it is.”
“And do you wear a gold ring with a red stone on your finger?”
“Yes,” said Selim, “I do.”
“Then come with me,” said the little old man, “and I will show you
the wonder of the world.”
“Well,” said Selim the Baker, “that will be worth the seeing, at
any rate.” So he emptied out his pipe of tobacco, and put on his
hat and followed the way the old man led.
Up one street they went, and down another, and here and there
through alleys and byways where Selim had never been before. At
last they came to where a high wall ran along the narrow street,
with a garden behind it, and by-and-by to an iron gate. The old man
rapped upon the gate three times with his knuckles, and cried in a
loud voice, “Open to Selim, who wears the Ring of Luck!”
Then instantly the gate swung open, and Selim the Baker followed
the old man into the garden.
Bang! shut the gate behind him, and there he was.
There he was! And such a place he had never seen before. Such
fruit! such flowers! such fountains! such summer-houses!
“This is nothing,” said the old man; “this is only the beginning of
wonder. Come with me.”
He led the way down a long pathway between the trees, and Selim
followed. By-and-by, far away, they saw the light of torches; and
when they came to what they saw, lo and behold! there was the
sea-shore, and a boat with four-and-twenty oarsmen, each dressed
in cloth of gold and silver more splendidly than a prince. And
there were four-and-twenty black slaves, carrying each a torch of
spice-wood, so that all the air was filled with sweet smells. The
old man led the way, and Selim, following, entered the boat; and
there was a seat for him made soft with satin cushions embroidered
with gold and precious stones and stuffed with down, and Selim
wondered whether he was not dreaming.
The oarsmen pushed off from the shore and away they rowed.
[Illustration]
On they rowed and on they rowed for all that livelong night.
At last morning broke, and then as the sun rose Selim saw such
a sight as never mortal eyes beheld before or since. It was the
wonder of wonders--a great city built on an island. The island was
all one mountain; and on it, one above another and another above
that again, stood palaces that glistened like snow, and orchards of
fruit, and gardens of flowers and green trees.
And as the boat came nearer and nearer to the city, Selim could see
that all around on the house-tops and down to the water’s edge were
crowds and crowds of people. All were looking out towards the sea,
and when they saw the boat and Selim in it, a great shout went up
like the roaring of rushing waters.
“It is the King!” they cried--“it is the King! It is Selim the
King!”
Then the boat landed, and there stood dozens and scores of great
princes and nobles to welcome Selim when he came ashore. And there
was a white horse waiting for him to ride, and its saddle and
bridle were studded with diamonds and rubies and emeralds that
sparkled and glistened like the stars in heaven, and Selim thought
for sure he must be dreaming with his eyes open.
But he was not dreaming, for it was all as true as that eggs are
eggs. So up the hill he rode, and to the grandest and the most
splendid of all the splendid palaces, the princes and noblemen
riding with him, and the crowd shouting as though to split their
throats.
[Illustration]
And what a palace it was!--as white as snow and painted all inside
with gold and blue. All around it were gardens blooming with fruit
and flowers, and the like of it mortal man never saw in the world
before.
There they made a king of Selim, and put a golden crown on his
head; and that is what the Ring of Good Luck can do for a baker.
* * * * *
But wait a bit! There was something queer about it all, and that is
now to be told.
All that day was feasting and drinking and merry-making, and
the twinging and twanging of music, and dancing of beautiful
dancing-girls, and such things as Selim had never heard tell of in
all his life before. And when night came they lit thousands and
thousands of candles of perfumed wax; so that it was a hard matter
to say when night began and day ended, only that the one smelled
sweeter than the other.
But at last it came midnight, and then suddenly, in an instant,
all the lights went out and everything was as dark as pitch--not
a spark, not a glimmer anywhere. And, just as suddenly, all the
sound of music and dancing and merrymaking ceased, and everybody
began to wail and cry until it was enough to wring one’s heart to
hear. Then, in the midst of all the wailing and crying, a door was
flung open, and in came six tall and terrible black men, dressed
all in black from top to toe, carrying each a flaming torch; and by
the light of the torches King Selim saw that all--the princes, the
noblemen, the dancing-girls--all lay on their faces on the floor.
The six men took King Selim--who shuddered and shook with fear--by
the arms, and marched him through dark, gloomy entries and
passageways, until they came at last to the very heart of the
palace.
There was a great high-vaulted room all of black marble, and in
the middle of it was a pedestal with seven steps, all of black
marble; and on the pedestal stood a stone statue of a woman looking
as natural as life, only that her eyes were shut. The statue was
dressed like a queen: she wore a golden crown on her head, and upon
her body hung golden robes, set with diamonds and emeralds and
rubies and sapphires and pearls and all sorts of precious stones.
As for the face of the statue, white paper and black ink could not
tell you how beautiful it was. When Selim looked at it, it made
his heart stand still in his breast, it was so beautiful.
The six men brought Selim up in front of the statue, and then a
voice came as though from the vaulted roof: “Selim! Selim! Selim!”
it said, “what art thou doing? To-day is feasting and drinking and
merry-making, but beware of to-morrow!”
As soon as these words were ended the six black men marched King
Selim back whence they had brought him; there they left him and
passed out one by one as they had first come in, and the door shut
to behind them.
Then in an instant the lights flashed out again, the music began to
play and the people began to talk and laugh, and King Selim thought
that maybe all that had just passed was only a bit of an ugly dream
after all.
So that is the way King Selim the Baker began to reign, and
that is the way he continued to reign. All day was feasting and
drinking and making merry and music and laughing and talking.
But every night at midnight the same thing happened: the lights
went out, all the people began wailing and crying, and the six
tall, terrible black men came with flashing torches and marched
King Selim away to the beautiful statue. And every night the same
voice said--“Selim! Selim! Selim! What art thou doing? To-day is
feasting and drinking and merry-making; but beware of to-morrow!”
[Illustration]
So things went on for a twelvemonth, and at last came the end of
the year. That day and night the merry-making was merrier and
wilder and madder than it had ever been before, but the great
clock in the tower went on--tick, tock! tick, tock!--and by and by
it came midnight. Then, as it always happened before, the lights
went out, and all was as black as ink. But this time there was no
wailing and crying out, but everything as silent as death; the
door opened slowly, and in came, not six black men as before, but
nine men as silent as death, dressed all in flaming red, and the
torches they carried burned as red as blood. They took King Selim
by the arms, just as the six men had done, and marched him through
the same entries and passageways, and so came at last to the same
vaulted room. There stood the statue, but now it was turned to
flesh and blood, and the eyes were open and looking straight at
Selim the Baker.
“Art thou Selim?” said she; and she pointed her finger straight at
him.
“Yes, I am Selim,” said he.
“And dost thou wear the gold ring with the red stone?” said she.
“Yes,” said he; “I have it on my finger.”
“And dost thou wear the iron ring?”
“No,” said he; “I gave that to Selim the Fisherman.”
The words had hardly left his lips when the statue gave a great
cry and clapped her hands together. In an instant an echoing cry
sounded all over the town--a shriek fit to split the ears.
The next moment there came another sound--a sound like
thunder--above and below and everywhere. The earth began to shake
and to rock, and the houses began to topple and fall, and the
people began to scream and to yell and to shout, and the waters of
the sea began to lash and to roar, and the wind began to bellow and
howl. Then it was a good thing for King Selim that he wore Luck’s
Ring; for, though all the beautiful snow-white palace about him and
above him began to crumble to pieces like slaked lime, the sticks
and the stones and the beams to fall this side of him and that, he
crawled out from under it without a scratch or a bruise, like a rat
out of a cellar.
That is what Luck’s Ring did for him.
But his troubles were not over yet; for, just as he came out from
under all the ruin, the island began to sink down into the water,
carrying everything along with it--that is, everything but him and
one thing else. That one other thing was an empty boat, and King
Selim climbed into it, and nothing else saved him from drowning. It
was Luck’s Ring that did that for him also.
[Illustration]
The boat floated on and on until it came to another island that was
just like the island he had left, only that there was neither tree
nor blade of grass nor hide nor hair nor living thing of any kind.
Nevertheless, it was an island just like the other: a high mountain
and nothing else. There Selim the Baker went ashore, and there he
would have starved to death only for Luck’s Ring; for one day a
boat came sailing by, and when poor Selim shouted, those aboard
heard him and came and took him off. How they all stared to see
his golden crown--for he still wore it--and his robes of silk and
satin and the gold and jewels!
Before they would consent to carry him away, they made him give up
all the fine things he had. Then they took him home again to the
town whence he had first come, just as poor as when he had started.
Back he went to his bake-shop and his ovens, and the first thing he
did was to take off his gold ring and put it on the shelf.
“If that is the ring of good luck,” said he, “I do not want to wear
the like of it.”
That is the way with mortal man: for one has to have the Ring of
Wisdom as well, to turn the Ring of Luck to good account.
And now for Selim the Fisherman.
Well, thus it happened to him. For a while he carried the iron ring
around in his pocket--just as so many of us do--without thinking
to put it on. But one day he slipped it on his finger--and that is
what we do not all of us do. After that he never took it off again,
and the world went smoothly with him. He was not rich, but then he
was not poor; he was not merry, neither was he sad. He always had
enough and was thankful for it, for I never yet knew wisdom to go
begging or crying.
So he went his way and he fished his fish, and twelve months and
a week or more passed by. Then one day he went past the baker shop
and there sat Selim the Baker smoking his pipe of tobacco.
“So, friend,” said Selim the Fisherman, “you are back again in the
old place, I see.”
“Yes,” said the other Selim; “awhile ago I was a king, and now I
am nothing but a baker again. As for that gold ring with the red
stone--they may say it is Luck’s Ring if they choose, but when next
I wear it may I be hanged.”
Thereupon he told Selim the Fisherman the story of what had
happened to him with all its ins and outs, just as I have told it
to you.
“Well!” said Selim the Fisherman, “I should like to have a sight
of that island myself. If you want the ring no longer, just let me
have it; for maybe if I wear it something of the kind will happen
to me.”
“You may have it,” said Selim the Baker. “Yonder it is, and you are
welcome to it.”
So Selim the Fisherman put on the ring, and then went his way about
his own business.
That night, as he came home carrying his nets over his shoulder,
whom should he meet but the little old man in gray, with the white
beard and the black cap on his head and the long staff in his hand.
[Illustration]
“Is your name Selim?” said the little man, just as he had done to
Selim the Baker.
“Yes,” said Selim; “it is.”
“And do you wear a gold ring with a red stone?” said the little old
man, just as he had said before.
“Yes,” said Selim; “I do.”
“Then come with me,” said the little old man, “and I will show you
the wonder of the world.”
Selim the Fisherman remembered all that Selim the Baker had told
him, and he took no two thoughts as to what to do. Down he tumbled
his nets, and away he went after the other as fast as his legs
could carry him. Here they went and there they went, up crooked
streets and lanes and down by-ways and alley-ways, until at last
they came to the same garden to which Selim the Baker had been
brought. Then the old man knocked at the gate three times and cried
out in a loud voice, “Open! Open! Open to Selim who wears the Ring
of Luck!”
Then the gate opened, and in they went. Fine as it all was, Selim
the Fisherman cared to look neither to the right nor to the left,
but straight after the old man he went, until at last they came to
the seaside and the boat and the four-and-twenty oarsmen dressed
like princes and the black slaves with the perfumed torches.
Here the old man entered the boat and Selim after him, and away
they sailed.
To make a long story short, everything happened to Selim the
Fisherman just as it had happened to Selim the Baker. At dawn of
day they came to the island and the city built on the mountain.
And the palaces were just as white and beautiful, and the gardens
and orchards just as fresh and blooming as though they had not
all tumbled down and sunk under the water a week before, almost
carrying poor Selim the Baker with them. There were the people
dressed in silks and satins and jewels, just as Selim the Baker had
found them, and they shouted and hurrahed for Selim the Fisherman
just as they had shouted and hurrahed for the other. There were the
princes and the nobles and the white horse, and Selim the Fisherman
got on his back and rode up to the dazzling snow-white palace, and
they put a crown on his head and made a king of him, just as they
had made a king of Selim the Baker.
That night, at midnight, it happened just as it had happened
before. Suddenly, as the hour struck, the lights all went out, and
there was a moaning and a crying enough to make the heart curdle.
Then the door flew open, and in came the six terrible black men
with torches. They led Selim the Fisherman through damp and dismal
entries and passage-ways until they came to the vaulted room of
black marble, and there stood the beautiful statue on its black
pedestal. Then came the voice from above--“Selim! Selim! Selim!” it
cried, “what art thou doing? To-day is feasting and drinking and
merry-making, but beware of to-morrow!”
But Selim the Fisherman did not stand still and listen, as Selim
the Baker had done. He called out, “I hear the words! I am
listening! I will beware to-day for the sake of to-morrow!”
I do not know what I should have done had I been king of that
island and had I known that in a twelvemonth it would all come
tumbling down about my ears and sink into the sea, maybe carry me
along with it. This is what Selim the Fisherman did [but then he
wore the iron Ring of Wisdom on his finger, and I never had that
upon mine]:
First of all, he called the wisest men of the island to him, and
found from them just where the other desert island lay upon which
the boat with Selim the Baker in it had drifted.
Then, when he had learned where it was to be found, he sent armies
and armies of men and built on that island palaces and houses, and
planted there orchards and gardens, just like the palaces and
the orchards and the gardens about him--only a great deal finer.
Then he sent fleets and fleets of ships, and carried everything
away from the island where he lived to that other island--all the
men and the women and the children; all the flocks and herds and
every living thing; all the fowls and the birds and everything that
wore feathers; all the gold and the silver and the jewels and the
silks and the satins, and whatever was of any good or of any use;
and when all these things were done, there were still two days left
till the end of the year.
[Illustration]
Upon the first of these two days he sent over the beautiful statue
and had it set up in the very midst of the splendid new palace he
had built.
Upon the second day he went over himself, leaving behind him
nothing but the dead mountain and the rocks and the empty houses.
So came the end of the twelve months.
So came midnight.
Out went all the lights in the new palace, and everything was as
silent as death and as black as ink. The door opened, and in came
the nine men in red, with torches burning as red as blood. They
took Selim the Fisherman by the arms and led him to the beautiful
statue, and there she was with her eyes open.
“Are you Selim?” said she.
[Illustration]
“Yes, I am Selim,” said he.
“And do you wear the iron Ring of Wisdom?” said she.
“Yes, I do,” said he; and so he did.
* * * * *
There was no roaring and thundering, there was no shaking and
quaking, there was no toppling and tumbling, there was no splashing
and dashing: for this island was solid rock, and was not all
enchantment and hollow inside and underneath like the other which
he had left behind.
The beautiful statue smiled until the place lit up as though the
sun shone. Down she came from the pedestal where she stood and
kissed Selim the Fisherman on the lips.
Then instantly the lights blazed everywhere, and the people shouted
and cheered, and the music played. But neither Selim the Fisherman
nor the beautiful statue saw or heard anything.
“I have done all this for you!” said Selim the Fisherman.
“And I have been waiting for you a thousand years!” said the
beautiful statue--only she was not a statue any longer.
After that they were married, and Selim the Fisherman and the
enchanted statue became king and queen in real earnest.
[Illustration]
I think Selim the Fisherman sent for Selim the Baker and made him
rich and happy--I hope he did--I am sure he did.
So, after all, it is not always the lucky one who gathers the plums
when wisdom is by to pick up what the other shakes down.
* * * * *
I could say more; for, O little children! little children! there is
more than meat in many an egg-shell; and many a fool tells a story
that joggles a wise man’s wits, and many a man dances and junkets
in his fool’s paradise till it comes tumbling down about his ears
some day; and there are few men who are like Selim the Fisherman,
who wear the Ring of Wisdom on their finger, and, alack-a-day! I am
not one of them, and that is the end of this story.
* * * * *
_Old Bidpai nodded his head. “Aye, aye,” said he, “there is a
very good moral in that story, my friend. It is, as a certain
philosopher said, very true, that there is more in an egg than
the meat. And truly, methinks, there is more in thy story than
the story of itself.” He nodded his head again and stroked his
beard slowly, puffing out as he did so a great reflective cloud of
smoke, through which his eyes shone and twinkled mistily like stars
through a cloud._
_“And whose turn is it now?” said Doctor Faustus._
_“Methinks ’tis mine,” said Boots--he who in fairy-tale always sat
in the ashes at home and yet married a princess after he had gone
out into the world awhile. “My story,” said he, “hath no moral,
but, all the same, it is as true as that eggs hatch chickens.”
Then, without waiting for any one to say another word, he began it
in these words. “I am going to tell you,” said he, how--_
[Illustration]
All Things are as Fate wills.
Once upon a time, in the old, old days, there lived a king who had
a head upon his shoulders wiser than other folk, and this was why:
though he was richer and wiser and greater than most kings, and
had all that he wanted and more into the bargain, he was so afraid
of becoming proud of his own prosperity that he had these words
written in letters of gold upon the walls of each and every room in
his palace:
_All Things are as Fate wills._
Now, by-and-by and after a while the king died; for when his time
comes, even the rich and the wise man must die, as well as the poor
and the simple man. So the king’s son came, in turn, to be king of
that land; and, though he was not so bad as the world of men goes,
he was not the man that his father was, as this story will show you.
One day, as he sat with his chief councillor, his eyes fell upon
the words written in letters of gold upon the wall--the words that
his father had written there in time gone by:
_All Things are as Fate wills_;
and the young king did not like the taste of them, for he was very
proud of his own greatness. “That is not so,” said he, pointing to
the words on the wall. “Let them be painted out, and these words
written in their place:
_All Things are as Man does._”
Now, the chief councillor was a grave old man, and had been
councillor to the young king’s father. “Do not be too hasty, my
lord king,” said he. “Try first the truth of your own words before
you wipe out those that your father has written.”
[Illustration]
“Very well,” said the young king, “so be it. I will approve the
truth of my words. Bring me hither some beggar from the town whom
Fate has made poor, and I will make him rich. So I will show you
that his life shall be as I will, and not as Fate wills.”
Now, in that town there was a poor beggar-man who used to sit every
day beside the town gate, begging for something for charity’s sake.
Sometimes people gave him a penny or two, but it was little or
nothing that he got, for Fate was against him.
The same day that the king and the chief councillor had had their
talk together, as the beggar sat holding up his wooden bowl and
asking charity of those who passed by, there suddenly came three
men who, without saying a word, clapped hold of him and marched him
off.
It was in vain that the beggar talked and questioned--in vain that
he begged and besought them to let him go. Not a word did they say
to him, either of good or bad. At last they came to a gate that led
through a high wall and into a garden, and there the three stopped,
and one of them knocked upon the gate. In answer to his knocking it
flew open. He thrust the beggar into the garden neck and crop, and
then the gate was banged to again.
But what a sight it was the beggar saw before his eyes!--flowers,
and fruit-trees, and marble walks, and a great fountain that shot
up a jet of water as white as snow. But he had not long to stand
gaping and staring around him, for in the garden were a great
number of people, who came hurrying to him, and who, without
speaking a word to him or answering a single question, or as much
as giving him time to think, led him to a marble bath of tepid
water. There he was stripped of his tattered clothes and washed
as clean as snow. Then, as some of the attendants dried him with
fine linen towels, others came carrying clothes fit for a prince to
wear, and clad the beggar in them from head to foot. After that,
still without saying a word, they let him out from the bath again,
and there he found still other attendants waiting for him--two of
them holding a milk-white horse, saddled and bridled, and fit for
an emperor to ride. These helped him to mount, and then, leaping
into their own saddles, rode away with the beggar in their midst.