It was the day before the Prince’s wedding. All was hurry and bustle in
the kitchen. Suddenly the Cook exclaimed: “I have lost the pepper!” The
King replied: “If that be so, then woe is me! For is it not written in
the Great Book that my father brought from the Isles of the West, that
all the bridal dishes must be sprinkled with red pepper? Otherwise sad
troubles and misfortunes shall follow my son and his bride all the days
of their life. Therefore, O Cook, I tell thee that the pepper-castor
must be found, and if it be not found before the shadow of the Great
Mosque falls athwart the orange-grove, thou shalt surely die the death.”
And putting on his crown and his purple robes, he walked sadly away,
followed in slow procession by his seven pages, his cup-bearer and his
favourite minstrel.
[Illustration: A stylized line drawing featuring two female figures
adorned with household items, like a teapot and utensils, interacting
with a regal, elaborately dressed figure holding a large ceremonial
umbrella.]
At the words of the great King, the Cook wept sadly, and made much
lamentation. And all the maids, too, lifted their voices and wept. The
Chief Butler and his twenty-three assistants, likewise moaned and tore
their hair, for you must know that red pepper was an exceedingly scarce
commodity throughout that land, and full well feared they, that none
could by any good hap be procured before the shadow of the Great Mosque
fell athwart the orange-grove. And so, weeping altogether, they led the
Cook gently to her marbled kitchen, with its great copper cauldrons, its
gleaming ovens and fire-irons, its porcelain pie-dishes and pewter pots,
over which she had reigned for long years, and there they left her for a
while, that she might commune with herself, and make her peace with the
gods.
* * * * *
So the Cook sat her down sadly in the big rocking-chair, the very chair
in which her own mother had rocked and dangled her. She gazed at the
little tender beams of sunlight as they flashed through the
diamond-paned window. Outside the thrushes sang gaily in the lilac
bushes, and from the far corners of the Palace Gardens, she could hear
the soft twitterings of tomtits and robins. And as she saw and heard all
these sights and sounds, just as if she had before her all the friends
and companions of her girlhood days, she rocked herself to and fro, and
keened bitterly, and in her grief spoke forty curses on the castor, and
on the thieves who had purloined the precious treasure.
Now it happened that just in front of the half-opened and diamond-paned
window, there was a golden cage in which fluttered a little cockatoo.
The King’s mother, herself, had brought it from far-away lands as a
present for the Cook, and it was indeed her greatest pet. Many a dainty
did she keep for it, and many a lump of sugar, even in the days of
dearth, when queues and coupons troubled the heart of the people. Red
and purple was its plumage, with little tufts of faint sea-green. Keen
and sparkling were its eyes, and often, when the golden sunbeams flooded
the Cook’s kitchen, these eyes seemed to gaze out very fiercely, as if
the many-coloured bird could see its far-away home, there across the
wide, wide seas, the little palm-fringed isle with the surf dashing in
glistening white up to its yellow sands, to fall back to the main-sea
deep with soft, sad music.
* * * * *
And as the Cook made her moan the little cockatoo cocked its head on one
side, as if listening eagerly. For you must know that the isle where the
bird was born and bred was famed throughout the world for its rare,
rich, red pepper. Kings and Queens eagerly sought for it, and merchants
from Arabia, from Persia and from a far-away island called Britain, came
often to barter for it. And as the Cook keened softly, and bewept the
loss of the castor, you would have thought that the little cockatoo was
going mad with excitement, for it fluttered wildly around its golden
cage, and beat its wings against the bars, as if some wonderful scheme
were whirling through its little brain.
[Illustration: A figure with a salt shaker head rides a rocking chair
toward a bird in an ornate cage.]
And then, to the amazement of the Cook, the cockatoo put its pert head
through the bars of the golden cage and spoke in this wise: “O Cook, be
not afraid, for I tell thee that before the shadow of the Great Mosque
falls athwart the orange-grove, there shall be brought to thee from my
home far, far across the seas rich, rare, red pepper, such as Kings and
Queens and great merchants delight in. Only open the door of my golden
cage, and thou wilt be saved!”
Something spoke in the heart of the Cook, and told her that the bird
could save her. So, opening the door of the golden cage, she let the
cockatoo go free. For a moment it flew up and down the kitchen in the
full beams of the morning sun, flashing and sparkling like a little
bundle of diamonds and pearls, and amethysts and rubies. Then with a
shrill cry it darted out of the window, and soon all that the Cook could
see was a tiny speck mounting up the pathway of the sun.
Away flew the little bird, as if for its very life. Now it is skimming
over the silvery surface of the sun-sprinkled sea, bright and glittering
as a polished mirror. Now it is high up among the clouds, lost in fleecy
folds of pearly white. On and on and on it flew, until at last it could
glimpse the palm-fringed, surf-beaten shore where it had spent its
youngest and happiest days.
* * * * *
Meantime the dread hour drew near, for the shadow of the Great Mosque
was soon to fall athwart the orange-grove. The Ten Executioners, with
their heavy swords were ready, and the priests sang a sad song as they
moved slowly to the place of execution. All the household wept, but the
Cook herself wept not. She sat in silence gazing steadily through the
diamond-paned window up the golden pathway of the sun. And the people in
pity said: “Her mind has given away! Alas! she is distracted!” Yet they
crowded around her to say farewell, but she spake not a word, only gazed
steadily at the fleecy clouds.
[Illustration: A figure with a salt shaker head gestures toward a bird
while facing an armed figure, alongside a line of soldiers.]
And now, indeed, but few moments were left before the shadow of the
Great Mosque should fall athwart the orange-grove, and all things were
ready, and lamentations arose on every side. But just as the Lord High
Executioner moved to the Cook’s side to pinion her arms, and cover her
eyes, she uttered a great cry, and pointed to a little speck up, far up,
in the sky. It flashed like a dewdrop of the morn, and sparkled like
jewels of great price, and ever it came nearer and nearer, until the
astonished people saw that it was the little cockatoo, gleaming in the
sunlit glory of its red and purple, and faint sea-green. Through the
window it flew as if it had travelled down the pathway of the sun. Once,
and once only, it flew around the marbled kitchen, and then, with a
shrill cry, it alighted gently on the shoulder of the Cook. And all the
women gave a great shout, for fastened to the back of the little bird
was a packet of the rich, rare, red pepper beloved of Kings and Queens,
and sought for by rich merchants. And seeing it, the people rejoiced
exceedingly, even the King himself, and sang songs of joy, and raised
their voices in exultation, but the little cockatoo, fluttering feebly,
fell dead on the floor of the marbled kitchen.
Thus was the Cook saved, and joyous was the revelry at the
marriage-feast, and cunningly were the bridal dishes sprinkled with
rich, rare, red pepper. And the little cockatoo was buried with honour,
in the centre of the Palace Gardens, near the orange-grove, just where
the shadow of the Great Mosque falls athwart it. And if you do not
believe this tale, ask the robin redbreast, or the thrush, for all the
birds know it well.