“Dear Rudolph, art thou not well?” asks his mother, in that native
language which she loves. “For some time past thou hast been so very
quiet, and—” there she pauses, not wanting to remind him of how fretful
and ill-natured he has been of late.
“Feel well enough!” he answers gruffly, and then is sorry, and wishes he
had gone to rest ten minutes ago, as he thought of doing.
A tiny cloud of displeasure flits across the sweet, gentle face, and
little Karl, leaning against his mother’s chair, twines an arm about her
neck, and smooths her sunny hair, as if to make amends. As for Rudolph’s
father, stern words spring to his lips; but suspecting what is the
trouble, he withholds them, only glancing up from his book with eyes so
full of unutterable sadness that the boy creeps guiltily out of the room,
and off to his chamber above.
This is the trouble with Rudolph—he is haunted; haunted by a demon whose
name is Discontent. It first appeared to him one evening in a certain
elegant mansion on a certain fashionable avenue, whither he had been
sent with a message; for his father was to do some repairing there. In
the spacious, high-ceiled, oak-paneled library, where he waited to see
the master of the house, this little demon stole up to him and whispered:
“Look at it—at all this splendor! these tall mirrors, and huge
chandeliers, and rich paintings, and carved cases of books! You never saw
the like, did you?”
It followed him through the great hall with its marble floor and high,
arched entrance, followed him down the wide steps and out into the
street, whispering all the while, pointing back at the smooth front of
stone and the plate-glass windows; then, when they reached Rudolph’s
home, pointing scornfully at the humble cottage, and the entrance that
is neither high nor arched. It followed him in, this demon, into the
single apartment that is hall and library and kitchen combined. It sat
down beside him in the corner. “Bah!” it muttered in disdain, “this
lounge can’t compare with that sofa where you rested just now. But wasn’t
it soft, though!” It called his attention to all the objects around,
sneering at the curtains because they are not of damask, at the floor
because it is uncarpeted, at the wall-paper because it is cheap. It
noticed Rudolph’s mother laying the table, and asked, “Do you imagine
that ladies who live in fine houses ever get supper themselves? Bah!
don’t you believe it!” It noticed Rudolph’s father leaning back in his
arm-chair with closed eyes, weary after the day’s labor, and queried, “Do
you suppose that gentleman you saw to-night ever gets tired, ever works?
No, of course he doesn’t. _He_ never wears work-clothes, shabby and worn
like that! He always goes dressed in broadcloth, and his purse is always
full, and he carries himself like a prince, and asks no odds of anybody.
And did you mind how he looked down at you, as if you were nothing but a
worm?—because your father’s only a carpenter! Wonder if he’ll treat _him_
so? Bah! isn’t it wretched to be poor and to have to work!” And when
Rudolph took his place at the table, it was—“Bah! do you think gentlemen
ever eat anything so common as this?” and he pushed from him the simple
food, untasted, and went back to his corner; and there he sat the whole
evening, and there he has spent every evening since, his face buried in
his hands, the demon whispering in his ear. For it has never left him;
no, not for a moment. It has followed him everywhere. In school, day
after day it kept up a continual buzzing, hindering him from getting
his lessons—he, the one who had always known them so well. It would
compare his own garments with those of one and another better clad than
he. “And there’s Jesse James—see, he carries a gold watch!” “And isn’t
it mean for ’em to call you a ‘Dutchman!’ just because your father and
mother came from Germany—though _you_ never lived there in your life—and
because you’re poor and only a carpenter’s son. Pity your father couldn’t
have been a count, or a baron, or something like that! How everybody
would have stared when he rode along in his glittering carriage, and how
everybody would have wanted to be friends, and would have asked him to
dinner, and all that! And how polite everybody would have been to _you_!
You wouldn’t have been a ‘Dutchman’ then; oh, not at all! And if he had
been a grand-duke, oh, think of it! How everybody would have gone down to
the depot to meet him, and how people would have crowded around to shake
hands with him, and what a fuss they would have made over him—as they did
one winter when Alexis was here, you know, and you climbed up a lamp-post
to get a glimpse of him. Wasn’t he splendid, though! How grand it must be
to be the son of a Czar!”
But during the Christmas holidays, now almost over, there has been no
school, and Rudolph has had nothing to do but the marketing, and keeping
the walk before the house clear of snow, and running here and there about
the city on errands for his father—who never has any vacation, the year
round. And all these days, oh, how that demon has tantalized him! It
would lead him through the market to where lay great heaps of turkeys
and geese and ducks, so plump and tempting, ready for the oven. “But
_you_ can’t buy any, they cost too much!” It would draw him close up to
the bakery windows. “Wouldn’t Karl like one of those delicious cakes,
though! But you can’t buy it, it costs too much. Isn’t it too bad to
have to count the pennies so?” All the way down the street, of pleasant
afternoons, it would keep tormenting, pointing now at the richly-dressed
ladies out shopping: “Pity your mother can’t have velvets, and feathers,
and furs, like that, and be fashionable!” now exclaiming: “Look! there
goes Jesse James. He’s taking his sister out for a sleigh-ride. Aren’t
those horses just splendid! and that robe, look at it! it’s a real
tiger’s skin! and the bells, oh, how they jingle! By the way, did you
hear him telling one of the schoolboys, last week, about the Christmas
present he was going to give his cousin Florence?—a set of diamonds!
think of it! Here are some, right here in this shop-window. Look at
them! see how they shine!... Pity _you_ can’t make somebody a Christmas
present!—your cousin Mina, for instance. Pity _you_ can’t take somebody
out sleigh-riding. Never had a sleigh-ride yourself, for that matter.
Never had a ride any way, except in a street-car. Never had a single
chance to drive a horse, even.... What’s the reason some can have
everything they want, and others—oh! don’t it make you mad the way things
go on in this world?”
Yes, it does make him “mad.” He goes about glum and scowling. (He used
to be pleasant enough.) The ripple of his laughter is no longer heard,
and he frolics no more with little Karl, who hardly dares approach him,
he is so cross. And thus it is that his mother is led to question if he
is not well, and thus it is that his father comes to suspect what is the
trouble, and to guess the name of the demon that has crept in to disturb
their peaceful home, and to vex the bright, ambitious boy he is so proud
of. The book he is reading has lost its interest, for hours he scarcely
turns a page; and it is a great relief to lay it aside when the consoling
little Karl, feeling that something is amiss, climbs sleepily into his
arms and lays a velvety cheek against his own.
Meanwhile, there is that wicked demon up-stairs upon the pillow, never
ceasing its poisonous whispering, till Rudolph, unable to shake off the
tormentor, at last gives way to sobs and tears, thankful that he is alone
and in the dark, for he wouldn’t have so much as a ray of daylight catch
him crying.
Oh, Rudolph, is there no one to come to you here and drive away that
demon, by telling you of all the mighty ones who have risen from humbler
stations than yours—aye, climbed, round by round, up the ladder of
fortune till they reached the top, admired and applauded by the crowds
below—will no one comfort you by telling you of these?
Wait; here comes some one into the room, comes close to the bedside—a
stranger. Perhaps he has come for that.... But no; listen to what he says:
“Arise, Rudolph, and accompany me to the palace of the Czar.”
The lad stares in amazement at the speaker—a tall, gaunt personage,
wrapped in a black mantle that almost touches the floor, and so conceals
the head and face with its ample folds that only the eyes are visible.
What black, piercing eyes!—blacker than the mantle. Rudolph stares, and
then arises, obedient.
The two travelers are not long in reaching their destination, and
Rudolph soon finds himself in the imperial palace, in a great saloon,
magnificent beyond comparison with that oak-paneled library he saw some
time ago. There is dancing here, and the glittering dresses of the
dancers dazzle him, and the music is so delightful it drives him nearly
wild. When finally he lifts his dizzy eyes from the whirling throng, he
sees, sitting in state at the farther end of the apartment, one who he
concludes is the Czar; for all who approach him bow low and speak to him
reverently.
“Would Rudolph like to be Czar?” asks the personage in black.
“A-a-ah!” exclaims the other, smiling and clasping his hands.
“Then bide your time.”
They wait behind a heavy curtain till the music ceases, and the dancers
are gone, and the lights are extinguished, and the long saloon is dark
and empty. Then the muffled stranger leads through a maze of galleries
and corridors, unlocks, at length, a door, bids Rudolph enter, and
Rudolph obeys. This apartment, also, is magnificent, but not so large as
the other. At one side is a downy couch with golden-fringed drapery, and
there the great Czar reposes. Upon the wall, near, hangs a sword.
“Take it down,” commands the personage in black; and Rudolph takes it
down.
“Raise it,” is the second command, as they stand over the sleeping Czar;
and Rudolph raises on high the gleaming sword.
“Strike!” And Rudolph strikes.
“Now return it to its place and follow me.” And Rudolph returns the
weapon, dripping, to its place upon the wall, and follows back through
the long galleries and corridors, and down the marble stairs, and out and
away from the palace, and out and away from the city—away to a cave in
the mountains. And the personage in black again commands, “Stay here and
bide your time.”
Day after day there come to them, in their hiding-place, rumors, now of
the murder of the Czar, now of strife and difference among his subjects
over who shall be successor, and, finally, of an invasion by the
neighboring monarchs, who, seeing the people at war among themselves,
would profit by this opportunity to gain possession of the Empire.
“Now is your time!” says the personage in black to Rudolph, and he leads
him into the midst of the battles, and teaches him so well the art of
warfare, that from the ranks he soon rises to be Field-Marshal. Then,
the personage in black always secretly counseling, Rudolph (always
blindly obedient, he knows not why), following closely his instructions,
defeats the invading armies in every battle, drives them out of the
Empire, pursues them into their own provinces, and returns triumphant;
and the people greet him with loud rejoicing, and lead him to the great
throne-room, and robe him in the ermine-lined robe, and crown him with
the jeweled crown, and shout till the echoes ring—“Hail, Rudolph, the
Czar!” and, “Long live Rudolph, the Czar!”
And again there are music and dancing; and it is Rudolph, now, who is
seated in state above the glittering throng, and all who approach him bow
low and address him reverently—excepting one—a tall, gaunt personage,
with muffled face, and piercing eyes, and long, black mantle, who steals
up behind him and whispers, “Does Rudolph enjoy being Czar?” And Rudolph,
remembering all, neither clasps his hands nor smiles.
At midnight, as Rudolph lies upon the downy couch with its silken folds
and golden-fringed drapery, suddenly waking from slumber, he sees one
standing over him with lifted sword; and he springs upon the assassin,
and seizes his sword, and calls to the attendants, and has him put in
irons; and this man makes confession, and reveals to the Czar a plot
among the nobles against his life; then Rudolph causes some of those
conspirators to be thrown into prison, and some to be beheaded; and,
for further safety, the guard in the palace is increased. But not long
after, again suddenly waking in the middle of the night, he sees another
standing over him with lifted sword; and he springs upon this one also,
and seizes his sword, and calls to the attendants, and has him bound with
irons; and behold, when the lights are brought, this man is found to
be one of the palace guard; and he, too, makes confession, and reveals
to the Czar that all in the army are his foes and ready to take his
life; then Rudolph sends out and causes some of the Generals and chief
conspirators of the army to be imprisoned, and others to be beheaded;
and, for further safety, he places his most faithful and trusty servant
to watch in his chamber while he sleeps. But a third time, suddenly
waking at midnight, he sees this servant standing over him with lifted
sword; and him, too, he overpowers, and seizes the murderous weapon; and
this man, also, confesses; and from him the Czar learns that all in the
palace hate him and have plotted to take his life.
So it comes to pass that Rudolph, the Czar, dares not close his eyes day
or night, for there is no one whom he can trust to protect him while he
slumbers. And as the weeks and months wear away, he grows so haggard
with watching, so weary for lack of sleep, that one morning, ere the
sun has risen, and while all is hushed and silent, he casts aside the
robe of ermine, and the golden crown and sceptre, and steals away from
the palace, and out through the palace garden, and off to the fields
beyond; and there, feeling secure, he lies down and closes his eyes, and
is just falling into a delicious slumber, when the sound of stealthy
footsteps arouses him, and looking up, behold one standing over him with
lifted sword; and he springs up to defend himself, but the other turns
and flees. Then he goes on till he reaches a wide forest, and thinking,
“Surely no one will molest me here,” he lies down with a sigh of relief,
and is just losing himself in sleep, when the howling of wolves disturbs
him, and he is obliged to hurry onward, to escape being torn in pieces by
those ferocious beasts.
When he reaches the plain at the other side of the forest, he perceives,
at some distance, a group of huts, and saying, “Surely no one will know
me there,” he approaches them and asks for lodging, and is shown to a
rude chamber, where, just as he is about to lie down, he spies some
object crouching among the shadows, and moving toward it, behold, a
peasant armed with a glittering sword. And the wretched Czar departs
in haste, saying, “My enemies are my own subjects;” and he pauses not
till he is far beyond the boundaries of his own realm. Now at last in a
country ruled by another, thinking, “I am surely safe,” he throws himself
down by the wayside, faint and footsore; but just as sweet sleep is
stealing over him, listen—a rustling, and look—a highwayman standing near
with lifted sword; and he wearily moans, and, rising, hastens away.
At length he comes to a great city, and saying, “Surely none will know
me or wish to harm me here,” he finds lodgings for the night, and lays
himself down to rest, when lo! one approaches softly with lifted sword,
and Rudolph, the Czar, recognizes the face of him he saw in the field
beyond the palace garden. “Alas, he has followed me hither!” he cries,
and hurriedly leaves the city.
And so, wherever he goes, he dares not sleep, either from fear of
assassins, or of highwaymen, or of wild beasts. And so he wanders, and
ever wanders on. And one day as he drags himself along, seeking a place
to rest, he stops to drink from a fountain beside the path, and as he
kneels over the smooth, mirror-like waters, he discovers that his locks
are very white, and that his garments are thread-bare and torn. Still
onward and onward he journeys, sleep the one thing that he longs for.
At last, as he emerges from the shadows of a dark defile between high
mountains, he lifts his heavy, drooping eyelids, and beholds, spread
out beyond, a valley far lovelier than any he has seen in all his
journeyings. Slowly and gently it climbs up and into the purpling
distance, with other valleys stepping down between the hills to meet it,
and little hamlets nestling at the feet of those hills. And he says,
“Surely in so peaceful a valley nothing can disturb me. I will get me to
one of those villages and inquire for an inn, and there I will rest—there
I will sleep, sleep, sleep.”
But just where the defile opens into the valley he encounters an armed
sentinel, who steps forward and asks for his pass.
“I have no pass,” he answers.
“Then thou canst not enter.”
“But I am no common man. I am great, and famous, and much feared.”
“That matters not. Thou hast no pass. I may not let thee enter.”
“But hark you! I am Czar of all the Russias.”
“Whatever or whoever thou art, thou hast no pass; therefore our King
knows thee not; I may not let thee enter. Answer me no more.”
And Rudolph, the Czar, complaining bitterly, crawls a little way off
and casts himself down among the rocks. While he lies there, peering
wistfully into the beautiful valley, wondering at the blueness of the
heavens and the softness of the light, listening to the gurgling of
waters, and catching glimpses of cataracts flashing down the distant
hills, under overhanging branches—while he lies there, one, haughty, and
bearing himself like a prince, draws near, and Rudolph remembers to have
met him in a spacious, oak-paneled library, long ago, when he, the Czar,
was a boy.
No sooner does this one reach the entrance to the valley, than the
sentinel appears as before, and demands his pass. The other hands him a
paper, which he examines, and pronounces to be worthless. “It bears not
our King’s signature, but that of his worst enemy. Begone, impostor!”
“But I am a millionaire! I own ships upon the sea, laden with
merchandise, and mines in the earth rich with ore, and acres of land more
than I can count!”
“Away! Answer me no more.”
And the rich man turns away in wrath and confusion.
Presently appears another, in workman’s garb, which proves to be only a
disguise, for, as he nears the entrance to the valley, on a sudden behold
him a warrior clad in armor! And this armor is like nothing that Rudolph,
the Czar, has seen. The various pieces of which it is composed are of
different hues; the helmet white as snow, and so dazzling that he turns
his eyes from it as he would turn them from the burning sun of noonday;
the breastplate like gold, only brighter; the sword red like flame;
the shield is as if it were of adamant, and the device upon it is an
anchor. As the warrior gives his pass to the sentinel, the Czar, unseen,
recognizes his own father!
But the sentinel does not look at the pass. “I know thee by thine armor!”
he cries, with a smile of welcome, and immediately blows a bugle which
he carries, and the sound rings through the valley—sweetly, sweetly!
winding among the hills, sending back a thousand echoes on its way. Then
the people pour out of the hamlets, and come down in myriads to meet the
warrior, strewing the way with flowers and greeting him with music—oh,
so marvelous! oh, so thrilling! that the very light moves to and fro in
little waves, as if keeping time, and the flashing, gurgling waters join
the chorus, and the overhanging branches swing a slow accompaniment.
Among the people who surround the warrior, just one glimpse has Rudolph,
the Czar, of her who was once his mother, arrayed in garments the beauty
of which is only surpassed by the beauty of her face, and her face
surpasses in loveliness all that he ever imagined could be; just one
glimpse, too, of another face he has known; then the people close about
them and they are lost sight of; and while he reaches out his hands,
crying, “Oh, my mother! Oh, my brother! Oh, my father!” the radiant
throng moves backward up the valley and into one of those other valleys,
and disappears, and the music grows fainter and fainter. As he lies
weeping and listening to that faint, far melody, one from the valley,
mantled in white and mounted upon a snowy steed, rides into the dark
defile, and as he passes by where Rudolph, the Czar, lies, the latter
questions:
“Where have they taken the warrior who entered just now?”
“They are leading him to the royal city, to receive from our King’s own
hands the unfading crown of laurels which is given to the victors.”
“But I was once well acquainted with this one, and I never knew that he
was a warrior, nor did I guess that he wore armor.”
“There are many who wear armor unsuspected, and fight their battles
unseen.”
“But how did he procure his pass?”
“Hast thou not heard how our King sends forth spies into all lands to
search for those who will make good, loyal subjects, ever willing to
obey and carry out his commands? To all such are given passes, signed
by the King himself, that when they come hither they may be allowed to
enter. All others are excluded, lest, entering, they annoy the peaceful
citizens, and stir up strife and discord.”
“But this warrior’s armor was unlike anything I have ever seen. Of what
metal is it composed?”
“It is made of several different metals; the helmet of a mixture of two
metals, called Truth and Honesty; the breastplate is also of two metals,
Patience and Constancy; the sword, of the Hatred of all that is base and
evil; and the shield, of the Hope of admission to our land; for this—to
gain entrance here—is considered the highest privilege that can be
granted to any mortal. But I ride on an errand for the King, and must not
delay.”
“One moment more, O bright one! Is there no secret path by which I can
gain entrance to this peaceful kingdom? Is this the only way?”
“This is the only way.”
“O bright one, return, I pray thee, to the King, and entreat him in my
behalf that he will permit me to enter! for I am weary, oh! I am _so_
weary, and I can find no place where I may rest; and there, too, are all
who love or care for me, and all I love or care for.”
But the messenger answers sorrowfully, “Thou hast no pass!” and rides
away, and the snow-white mantle and the snow-white steed flit along
through the brooding shadows till, in the distance, they are lost from
view. And Rudolph, the Czar, straining his eyes to follow them, is
suddenly startled by a loud, mocking laugh that rings weirdly up and down
the dark defile; and, turning, he sees standing behind him the tall,
gaunt personage in black; and the sight of that muffled figure so fills
him with terror, that he rises and hastens away as fast as his feeble
limbs can carry him.
And now there comes to him remembrance of a place where, when he was a
boy, he rested well and slept undisturbed; and onward he journeys by land
and sea, pausing not till he reaches his native town and has found the
humble cottage where he used to dwell. He creeps softly to the window and
peers in. It is all there, just as it used to be—the cupboard in this
corner; the chintz-covered lounge in that; the simple brown paper on the
wall; the window-curtains of muslin; the clock on the mantel; the clean,
white floor; the polished stove; the vapor curling from the spout of the
shining tea-kettle—all there, so comfortable, so cosy, so homelike! But
the people are strangers. That is not little Karl playing on the floor;
that is not the mother knitting in the rocking-chair. And Rudolph, the
Czar, weeps again, remembering how the last words he had for them were
harsh words, and that he is never to see them more.