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FRANK R. STOCKTON'S WRITINGS.
* * * * *
New Uniform Edition.
THE BEE-MAN OF ORN, and Other Fanciful Tales.
THE LADY OR THE TIGER? and Other Stories.
THE CHRISTMAS WRECK, and Other Stories.
THE LATE MRS NULL.
RUDDER GRANGE.
The set, five vols., $6.25; each, $1.25.
* * * * *
RUDDER GRANGE. New Illustrated Edition. With over 100 Illustrations
by A.B. Frost. Square 12mo, $2.00.
* * * * *
THE LADY OR THE TIGER? and Other Stories. 12mo, paper, 50 cents.
THE CHRISTMAS WRECK, and Other Stories. 12mo, paper, 50 cents.
RUDDER GRANGE. 12mo, paper, 60 cents.
* * * * *
A JOLLY FRIENDSHIP. Illustrated, 12mo, $1.50.
THE STORY OF VITEAU. Illustrated, 12mo, $1.50.
THE TING-A-LING TALES. Illustrated, 12mo, $1.00.
THE FLOATING PRINCE, and Other Fairy Tales. Illustrated, 4to, cloth,
$2.50; boards, $1.50.
ROUNDABOUT RAMBLERS IN LANDS OF FACT AND FANCY. Illustrated. 4to,
boards, $1.50.
TALES OUT OF SCHOOL. Illustrated. 4to, boards, $1.50.
THE BEE-MAN OF ORN
AND
OTHER FANCIFUL TALES
BY
FRANK R. STOCKTON
New York
1887
Charles Scribner's Sons.
Rand Avery Company,
Electrotypers and Printers,
Boston.
CONTENTS.
* * * * *
I. THE BEE-MAN OF ORN
II. THE GRIFFIN AND THE MINOR CANON
III. OLD PIPES AND THE DRYAD
IV. THE QUEEN'S MUSEUM
V. CHRISTMAS BEFORE LAST; OR, THE FRUIT OF THE FRAGILE PALM
VI. PRINCE HASSAK'S MARCH
VII. THE BATTLE OF THE THIRD COUSINS
VIII. THE BANISHED KING
IX. THE PHILOPENA
THE BEE-MAN OF ORN.
* * * * *
In the ancient country of Orn, there lived an old man who was called
the Bee-man, because his whole time was spent in the company of bees.
He lived in a small hut, which was nothing more than an immense
bee-hive, for these little creatures had built their honeycombs in
every corner of the one room it contained, on the shelves, under the
little table, all about the rough bench on which the old man sat, and
even about the head-board and along the sides of his low bed. All day
the air of the room was thick with buzzing insects, but this did not
interfere in any way with the old Bee-man, who walked in among them,
ate his meals, and went to sleep, without the slightest fear of being
stung. He had lived with the bees so long, they had become so
accustomed to him, and his skin was so tough and hard, that the bees
no more thought of stinging him than they would of stinging a tree or
a stone. A swarm of bees had made their hive in a pocket of his old
leathern doublet; and when he put on this coat to take one of his
long walks in the forest in search of wild bees' nests, he was very
glad to have this hive with him, for, if he did not find any wild
honey, he would put his hand in his pocket and take out a piece of a
comb for a luncheon. The bees in his pocket worked very
industriously, and he was always certain of having something to eat
with him wherever he went. He lived principally upon honey; and when
he needed bread or meat, he carried some fine combs to a village not
far away and bartered them for other food. He was ugly, untidy,
shrivelled, and brown. He was poor, and the bees seemed to be his
only friends. But, for all that, he was happy and contented; he had
all the honey he wanted, and his bees, whom he considered the best
company in the world, were as friendly and sociable as they could be,
and seemed to increase in number every day.
One day, there stopped at the hut of the Bee-man a Junior Sorcerer.
This young person, who was a student of magic, necromancy, and the
kindred arts, was much interested in the Bee-man, whom he had
frequently noticed in his wanderings, and he considered him an
admirable subject for study. He had got a great deal of useful
practice by endeavoring to find out, by the various rules and laws of
sorcery, exactly why the old Bee-man did not happen to be something
that he was not, and why he was what he happened to be. He had
studied a long time at this matter, and had found out something.
"Do you know," he said, when the Bee-man came out of his hut, "that
you have been transformed?"
"What do you mean by that?" said the other, much surprised.
"You have surely heard of animals and human beings who have been
magically transformed into different kinds of creatures?"
"Yes, I have heard of these things," said the Bee-man; "but what have
I been transformed from?"
"That is more than I know," said the Junior Sorcerer. "But one thing
is certain--you ought to be changed back. If you will find out what
you have been transformed from, I will see that you are made all
right again. Nothing would please me better than to attend to such a
case."
And, having a great many things to study and investigate, the Junior
Sorcerer went his way.
This information greatly disturbed the mind of the Bee-man. If he had
been changed from something else, he ought to be that other thing,
whatever it was. He ran after the young man, and overtook him.
"If you know, kind sir," he said, "that I have been transformed, you
surely are able to tell me what it is that I was."
"No," said the Junior Sorcerer, "my studies have not proceeded far
enough for that. When I become a senior I can tell you all about it.
But, in the meantime, it will be well for you to try to discover for
yourself your original form, and when you have done that, I will get
some of the learned masters of my art to restore you to it. It will
be easy enough to do that, but you could not expect them to take the
time and trouble to find out what it was."
And, with these words, he hurried away, and was soon lost to view.
Greatly disquieted, the Bee-man retraced his steps, and went to his
hut. Never before had he heard any thing which had so troubled him.
"I wonder what I was transformed from?" he thought, seating himself
on his rough bench. "Could it have been a giant, or a powerful
prince, or some gorgeous being whom the magicians or the fairies
wished to punish? It may be that I was a dog or a horse, or perhaps a
fiery dragon or a horrid snake. I hope it was not one of these. But,
whatever it was, every one has certainly a right to his original
form, and I am resolved to find out mine. I will start early
to-morrow morning, and I am sorry now that I have not more pockets to
my old doublet, so that I might carry more bees and more honey for my
journey."
He spent the rest of the day in making a hive of twigs and straw,
and, having transferred to this a number of honey-combs and a colony
of bees which had just swarmed, he rose before sunrise the next day,
and having put on his leathern doublet, and having bound his new hive
to his back, he set forth on his quest; the bees who were to
accompany him buzzing around him like a cloud.
As the Bee-man passed through the little village the people greatly
wondered at his queer appearance, with the hive upon his back. "The
Bee-man is going on a long expedition this time," they said; but no
one imagined the strange business on which he was bent. About noon he
sat down under a tree, near a beautiful meadow covered with blossoms,
and ate a little honey. Then he untied his hive and stretched himself
out on the grass to rest. As he gazed upon his bees hovering about
him, some going out to the blossoms in the sunshine, and some
returning laden with the sweet pollen, he said to himself, "They know
just what they have to do, and they do it; but alas for me! I know
not what I may have to do. And yet, whatever it may be, I am
determined to do it. In some way or other I will find out what was my
original form, and then I will have myself changed back to it."
And now the thought came to him that perhaps his original form might
have been something very disagreeable, or even horrid.
"But it does not matter," he said sturdily. "Whatever I was that
shall I be again. It is not right for any one to retain a form which
does not properly belong to him. I have no doubt I shall discover my
original form in the same way that I find the trees in which the wild
bees hive. When I first catch sight of a bee-tree I am drawn towards
it, I know not how. Something says to me: 'That is what you are
looking for.' In the same way I believe that I shall find my original
form. When I see it, I shall be drawn towards it. Something will say
to me: 'That is it.'"
When the Bee-man was rested he started off again, and in about an
hour he entered a fair domain. Around him were beautiful lawns, grand
trees, and lovely gardens; while at a little distance stood the
stately palace of the Lord of the Domain. Richly dressed people were
walking about or sitting in the shade of the trees and arbors;
splendidly caparisoned horses were waiting for their riders; and
everywhere were seen signs of opulence and gayety.
"I think," said the Bee-man to himself, "that I should like to stop
here for a time. If it should happen that I was originally like any
of these happy creatures it would please me much."
He untied his hive, and hid it behind some bushes, and taking off his
old doublet, laid that beside it. It would not do to have his bees
flying about him if he wished to go among the inhabitants of this
fair domain.
For two days the Bee-man wandered about the palace and its grounds,
avoiding notice as much as possible, but looking at every thing. He
saw handsome men and lovely ladies; the finest horses, dogs, and
cattle that were ever known; beautiful birds in cages, and fishes in
crystal globes, and it seemed to him that the best of all living
things were here collected.
At the close of the second day, the Bee-man said to himself: "There
is one being here toward whom I feel very much drawn, and that is the
Lord of the Domain. I cannot feel certain that I was once like him,
but it would be a very fine thing if it were so; and it seems
impossible for me to be drawn toward any other being in the domain
when I look upon him, so handsome, rich, and powerful. But I must
observe him more closely, and feel more sure of the matter, before
applying to the sorcerers to change me back into a lord of a fair
domain."
The next morning, the Bee-man saw the Lord of the Domain walking in
his gardens. He slipped along the shady paths, and followed him so as
to observe him closely, and find out if he were really drawn toward
this noble and handsome being. The Lord of the Domain walked on for
some time, not noticing that the Bee-man was behind him. But suddenly
turning, he saw the little old man.
"What are you doing here, you vile beggar?" he cried; and he gave him
a kick that sent him into some bushes that grew by the side of the
path.
The Bee-man scrambled to his feet, and ran as fast as he could to the
place where he had hidden his hive and his old doublet.
"If I am certain of any thing," he thought, "it is that I was never a
person who would kick a poor old man. I will leave this place. I was
transformed from nothing that I see here."
He now travelled for a day or two longer, and then he came to a great
black mountain, near the bottom of which was an opening like the
mouth of a cave.
This mountain he had heard was filled with caverns and under-ground
passages, which were the abodes of dragons, evil spirits, horrid
creatures of all kinds.
"Ah me!" said the Bee-man with a sigh, "I suppose I ought to visit
this place. If I am going to do this thing properly, I should look on
all sides of the subject, and I may have been one of those horrid
creatures myself."
Thereupon he went to the mountain, and as he approached the opening
of the passage which led into its inmost recesses he saw, sitting
upon the ground, and leaning his back against a tree, a Languid
Youth.
"Good-day," said this individual when he saw the Bee-man. "Are you
going inside?"
"Yes," said the Bee-man, "that is what I intend to do."
"Then," said the Languid Youth, slowly rising to his feet, "I think I
will go with you. I was told that if I went in there I should get my
energies toned up, and they need it very much; but I did not feel
equal to entering by myself, and I thought I would wait until some
one came along. I am very glad to see you, and we will go in
together."
So the two went into the cave, and they had proceeded but a short
distance when they met a very little creature, whom it was easy to
recognize as a Very Imp. He was about two feet high, and resembled in
color a freshly polished pair of boots. He was extremely lively and
active, and came bounding toward them.
"What did you two people come here for?" he asked.
"I came," said the Languid Youth, "to have my energies toned up."
"You have come to the right place," said the Very Imp. "We will tone
you up. And what does that old Bee-man want?"
"He has been transformed from something, and wants to find out what
it is. He thinks he may have been one of the things in here."
"I should not wonder if that were so," said the Very Imp, rolling his
head on one side, and eying the Bee-man with a critical gaze.
"All right," said the Very Imp; "he can go around, and pick out his
previous existence. We have here all sorts of vile creepers,
crawlers, hissers, and snorters. I suppose he thinks any thing will
be better than a Bee-man."
"It is not because I want to be better than I am," said the Bee-man,
"that I started out on this search. I have simply an honest desire to
become what I originally was."
"Oh! that is it, is it?" said the other. "There is an idiotic
moon-calf here with a clam head, which must be just like what you
used to be."
"Nonsense," said the Bee-man. "You have not the least idea what an
honest purpose is. I shall go about, and see for myself."
"Go ahead," said the Very Imp, "and I will attend to this fellow who
wants to be toned up." So saying he joined the Languid Youth.
"Look here," said that individual, regarding him with interest, "do
you black and shine yourself every morning?"
"No," said the other, "it is water-proof varnish. You want to be
invigorated, don't you? Well, I will tell you a splendid way to
begin. You see that Bee-man has put down his hive and his coat with
the bees in it. Just wait till he gets out of sight, and then catch a
lot of those bees, and squeeze them flat. If you spread them on a
sticky rag, and make a plaster, and put it on the small of your back,
it will invigorate you like every thing, especially if some of the
bees are not quite dead."
"Yes," said the Languid Youth, looking at him with his mild eyes,
"but if I had energy enough to catch a bee I would be satisfied.
Suppose you catch a lot for me."
"The subject is changed," said the Very Imp. "We are now about to
visit the spacious chamber of the King of the Snap-dragons."
"That is a flower," said the Languid Youth.
"You will find him a gay old blossom," said the other. "When he has
chased you round his room, and has blown sparks at you, and has
snorted and howled, and cracked his tail, and snapped his jaws like a
pair of anvils, your energies will be toned up higher than ever
before in your life."
"No doubt of it," said the Languid Youth; "but I think I will begin
with something a little milder."
"Well then," said other, "there is a flat-tailed Demon of the Gorge
in here. He is generally asleep, and, if you say so, you can slip
into the farthest corner of his cave, and I'll solder his tail to the
opposite wall. Then he will rage and roar, but he can't get at you,
for he doesn't reach all the way across his cave; I have measured
him. It will tone you up wonderfully to sit there and watch him."
"Very likely," said the Languid Youth; "but I would rather stay
outside and let you go up in the corner. The performance in that way
will be more interesting to me."
"You are dreadfully hard to please," said the Very Imp. "I have
offered them to you loose, and I have offered them fastened to a
wall, and now the best thing I can do is to give you a chance at one
of them that can't move at all. It is the Ghastly Griffin and is
enchanted. He can't stir so much as the tip of his whiskers for a
thousand years. You can go to his cave and examine him just as if he
were stuffed, and then you can sit on his back and think how it would
be if you should live to be a thousand years old, and he should wake
up while you are sitting there. It would be easy to imagine a lot of
horrible things he would do to you when you look at his open mouth
with its awful fangs, his dreadful claws, and his horrible wings all
covered with spikes."
"I think that might suit me," said the Languid Youth. "I would much
rather imagine the exercises of these monsters than to see them
really going on."
"Come on, then," said the Very Imp, and he led the way to the cave of
the Ghastly Griffin.
The Bee-man went by himself through a great part of the mountain, and
looked into many of its gloomy caves and recesses, recoiling in
horror from most of the dreadful monsters who met his eyes. While he
was wandering about, an awful roar was heard resounding through the
passages of the mountain, and soon there came flapping along an
enormous dragon, with body black as night, and wings and tail of
fiery red. In his great fore-claws he bore a little baby.
"Horrible!" exclaimed the Bee-man. "He is taking that little creature
to his cave to devour it."
He saw the dragon enter a cave not far away, and following looked in.
The dragon was crouched upon the ground with the little baby lying
before him. It did not seem to be hurt, but was frightened and
crying. The monster was looking upon it with delight, as if he
intended to make a dainty meal of it as soon as his appetite should
be a little stronger.
"It is too bad!" thought the Bee-man. "Somebody ought to do
something." And turning around, he ran away as fast as he could.
He ran through various passages until he came to the spot where he
had left his bee-hive. Picking it up, he hurried back, carrying the
hive in his two hands before him. When he reached the cave of the
dragon, he looked in and saw the monster still crouched over the
weeping child. Without a moment's hesitation, the Bee-man rushed into
the cave and threw his hive straight into the face of the dragon. The
bees, enraged by the shock, rushed out in an angry crowd and
immediately fell upon the head, mouth, eyes, and nose of the dragon.
The great monster, astounded by this sudden attack, and driven almost
wild by the numberless stings of the bees, sprang back to the
farthest portion of his cave, still followed by his relentless
enemies, at whom he flapped wildly with his great wings and struck
with his paws. While the dragon was thus engaged with the bees, the
Bee-man rushed forward, and, seizing the child, he hurried away. He
did not stop to pick up his doublet, but kept on until he reached the
entrance of the caves. There he saw the Very Imp hopping along on one
leg, and rubbing his back and shoulders with his hands, and stopped
to inquire what was the matter, and what had become of the Languid
Youth.
"He is no kind of a fellow," said the Very Imp. "He disappointed me
dreadfully. I took him up to the Ghastly Griffin, and told him the
thing was enchanted, and that he might sit on its back and think
about what it could do if it was awake; and when he came near it the
wretched creature opened its eyes, and raised its head, and then you
ought to have seen how mad that simpleton was. He made a dash at me
and seized me by the ears; he kicked and beat me till I can scarcely
move."
"His energies must have been toned up a good deal," said the Bee-man.
"Toned up! I should say so!" cried the other. "I raised a howl, and a
Scissor-jawed Clipper came out of his hole, and got after him; but
that lazy fool ran so fast that he could not be caught."
The Bee-man now ran on and soon overtook the Languid Youth.
"You need not be in a hurry now," said the latter, "for the rules of
this institution don't allow the creatures inside to come out of this
opening, or to hang around it. If they did, they would frighten away
visitors. They go in and out of holes in the upper part of the
mountain."
The two proceeded on their way.
"What are you going to do with that baby?" said the Languid Youth.
"I shall carry it along with me," said the Bee-man, "as I go on with
my search, and perhaps I may find its mother. If I do not, I shall
give it to somebody in that little village yonder. Any thing would be
better than leaving it to be devoured by that horrid dragon."
"Let me carry it. I feel quite strong enough now to carry a baby."
"Thank you," said the Bee-man, "but I can take it myself. I like to
carry something, and I have now neither my hive nor my doublet."
"It is very well that you had to leave them behind," said the Youth,
"for the bees would have stung the baby."
"My bees never sting babies," said the other.
"They probably never had a chance," remarked his companion.
They soon entered the village, and after walking a short distance the
youth exclaimed: "Do you see that woman over there sitting at the
door of her house? She has beautiful hair and she is tearing it all
to pieces. She should not be allowed to do that."
"No," said the Bee-man. "Her friends should tie her hands."
"Perhaps she is the mother of this child," said the Youth, "and if
you give it to her she will no longer think of tearing her hair."
"But," said the Bee-man, "you don't really think this is her child?"
"Suppose you go over and see," said the other.
The Bee-man hesitated a moment, and then he walked toward the woman.
Hearing him coming, she raised her head, and when she saw the child
she rushed towards it, snatched it into her arms, and screaming with
joy she covered it with kisses. Then with happy tears she begged to
know the story of the rescue of her child, whom she never expected to
see again; and she loaded the Bee-man with thanks and blessings. The
friends and neighbors gathered around and there was great rejoicing.
The mother urged the Bee-man and the Youth to stay with her, and rest
and refresh themselves, which they were glad to do as they were tired
and hungry.
They remained at the cottage all night, and in the afternoon of the
next day the Bee-man said to the Youth: "It may seem an odd thing to
you, but never in all my life have I felt myself drawn towards any
living being as I am drawn towards this baby. Therefore I believe
that I have been transformed from a baby."
"Good!" cried the Youth. "It is my opinion that you have hit the
truth. And now would you like to be changed back to your original
form?"
"Indeed I would!" said the Bee-man, "I have the strongest yearning to
be what I originally was."
The Youth, who had now lost every trace of languid feeling, took a
great interest in the matter, and early the next morning started off
to inform the Junior Sorcerer that the Bee-man had discovered what he
had been transformed from, and desired to be changed back to it.
The Junior Sorcerer and his learned Masters were filled with
enthusiasm when they heard this report, and they at once set out for
the mother's cottage. And there by magic arts the Bee-man was changed
back into a baby. The mother was so grateful for what the Bee-man had
done for her that she agreed to take charge of this baby, and to
bring it up as her own.
"It will be a grand thing for him," said the Junior Sorcerer, "and I
am glad that I studied his case. He will now have a fresh start in
life, and will have a chance to become something better than a
miserable old man living in a wretched hut with no friends or
companions but buzzing bees."
The Junior Sorcerer and his Masters then returned to their homes,
happy in the success of their great performance; and the Youth went
back to his home anxious to begin a life of activity and energy.
Years and years afterward, when the Junior Sorcerer had become a
Senior and was very old indeed, he passed through the country of Orn,
and noticed a small hut about which swarms of bees were flying. He
approached it, and looking in at the door he saw an old man in a
leathern doublet, sitting at a table, eating honey. By his magic art
he knew this was the baby which had been transformed from the
Bee-man.
"Upon my word!" exclaimed the Sorcerer, "He has grown into the same
thing again!"
THE GRIFFIN AND THE MINOR CANON.
* * * * *
Over the great door of an old, old church which stood in a quiet town
of a far-away land there was carved in stone the figure of a large
griffin. The old-time sculptor had done his work with great care, but
the image he had made was not a pleasant one to look at. It had a
large head, with enormous open mouth and savage teeth; from its back
arose great wings, armed with sharp hooks and prongs; it had stout
legs in front, with projecting claws; but there were no legs
behind,--the body running out into a long and powerful tail, finished
off at the end with a barbed point. This tail was coiled up under
him, the end sticking up just back of his wings.
The sculptor, or the people who had ordered this stone figure, had
evidently been very much pleased with it, for little copies of it,
also in stone, had been placed here and there along the sides of the
church, not very far from the ground, so that people could easily
look at them, and ponder on their curious forms. There were a great
many other sculptures on the outside of this church,--saints,
martyrs, grotesque heads of men, beasts, and birds, as well as those
of other creatures which cannot be named, because nobody knows
exactly what they were; but none were so curious and interesting as
the great griffin over the door, and the little griffins on the sides
of the church.
A long, long distance from the town, in the midst of dreadful wilds
scarcely known to man, there dwelt the Griffin whose image had been
put up over the church-door. In some way or other, the old-time
sculptor had seen him, and afterward, to the best of his memory, had
copied his figure in stone. The Griffin had never known this, until,
hundreds of years afterward, he heard from a bird, from a wild
animal, or in some manner which it is not now easy to find out, that
there was a likeness of him on the old church in the distant town.
Now, this Griffin had no idea how he looked. He had never seen a
mirror, and the streams where he lived were so turbulent and violent
that a quiet piece of water, which would reflect the image of any
thing looking into it, could not be found. Being, as far as could be
ascertained, the very last of his race, he had never seen another
griffin. Therefore it was, that, when he heard of this stone image of
himself, he became very anxious to know what he looked like, and at
last he determined to go to the old church, and see for himself what
manner of being he was. So he started off from the dreadful wilds,
and flew on and on until he came to the countries inhabited by men,
where his appearance in the air created great consternation; but he
alighted nowhere, keeping up a steady flight until he reached the
suburbs of the town which had his image on its church. Here, late in
the afternoon, he alighted in a green meadow by the side of a brook,
and stretched himself on the grass to rest. His great wings were
tired, for he had not made such a long flight in a century, or more.
The news of his coming spread quickly over the town, and the people,
frightened nearly out of their wits by the arrival of so
extraordinary a visitor, fled into their houses, and shut themselves
up. The Griffin called loudly for some one to come to him, but the
more he called, the more afraid the people were to show themselves.
At length he saw two laborers hurrying to their homes through the
fields, and in a terrible voice he commanded them to stop. Not daring
to disobey, the men stood, trembling.
"What is the matter with you all?" cried the Griffin. "Is there not a
man in your town who is brave enough to speak to me?"
"I think," said one of the laborers, his voice shaking so that his
words could hardly be understood, "that--perhaps--the Minor
Canon--would come."
"Go, call him, then!" said the Griffin; "I want to see him."
The Minor Canon, who filled a subordinate position in the old church,
had just finished the afternoon services, and was coming out of a
side door, with three aged women who had formed the week-day
congregation. He was a young man of a kind disposition, and very
anxious to do good to the people of the town. Apart from his duties
in the church, where he conducted services every week-day, he visited
the sick and the poor, counselled and assisted persons who were in
trouble, and taught a school composed entirely of the bad children in
the town with whom nobody else would have any thing to do. Whenever
the people wanted something difficult done for them, they always went
to the Minor Canon. Thus it was that the laborer thought of the young
priest when he found that some one must come and speak to the
Griffin.
The Minor Canon had not heard of the strange event, which was known
to the whole town except himself and the three old women, and when he
was informed of it, and was told that the Griffin had asked to see
him, he was greatly amazed, and frightened.
"Me!" he exclaimed. "He has never heard of me! What should he want
with me?"
"Oh! you must go instantly!" cried the two men. "He is very angry now
because he has been kept waiting so long; and nobody knows what may
happen if you don't hurry to him."
The poor Minor Canon would rather have had his hand cut off than go
out to meet an angry griffin; but he felt that it was his duty to go,
for it would be a woful thing if injury should come to the people of
the town because he was not brave enough to obey the summons of the
Griffin. So, pale and frightened, he started off.
"Well," said the Griffin, as soon as the young man came near, "I am
glad to see that there is some one who has the courage to come to
me."
The Minor Canon did not feel very courageous, but he bowed his head.
"Is this the town," said the Griffin, "where there is a church with a
likeness of myself over one of the doors?"
The Minor Canon looked at the frightful creature before him and saw
that it was, without doubt, exactly like the stone image on the
church. "Yes," he said, "you are right."
"Well, then," said the Griffin, "will you take me to it? I wish very
much to see it."
The Minor Canon instantly thought that if the Griffin entered the
town without the people knowing what he came for, some of them would
probably be frightened to death, and so he sought to gain time to
prepare their minds.
"It is growing dark, now," he said, very much afraid, as he spoke,
that his words might enrage the Griffin, "and objects on the front of
the church can not be seen clearly. It will be better to wait until
morning, if you wish to get a good view of the stone image of
yourself."
"That will suit me very well," said the Griffin. "I see you are a man
of good sense. I am tired, and I will take a nap here on this soft
grass, while I cool my tail in the little stream that runs near me.
The end of my tail gets red-hot when I am angry or excited, and it is
quite warm now. So you may go, but be sure and come early to-morrow
morning, and show me the way to the church."
The Minor Canon was glad enough to take his leave, and hurried into
the town. In front of the church he found a great many people
assembled to hear his report of his interview with the Griffin. When
they found that he had not come to spread ruin and devastation, but
simply to see his stony likeness on the church, they showed neither
relief nor gratification, but began to upbraid the Minor Canon for
consenting to conduct the creature into the town.
"What could I do?" cried the young man. "If I should not bring him he
would come himself and, perhaps, end by setting fire to the town with
his red-hot tail."
Still the people were not satisfied, and a great many plans were
proposed to prevent the Griffin from coming into the town. Some
elderly persons urged that the young men should go out and kill him;
but the young men scoffed at such a ridiculous idea. Then some one
said that it would be a good thing to destroy the stone image so that
the Griffin would have no excuse for entering the town; and this
proposal was received with such favor that many of the people ran for
hammers, chisels, and crowbars, with which to tear down and break up
the stone griffin. But the Minor Canon resisted this plan with all
the strength of his mind and body. He assured the people that this
action would enrage the Griffin beyond measure, for it would be
impossible to conceal from him that his image had been destroyed
during the night. But the people were so determined to break up the
stone griffin that the Minor Canon saw that there was nothing for him
to do but to stay there and protect it. All night he walked up and
down in front of the church-door, keeping away the men who brought
ladders, by which they might mount to the great stone griffin, and
knock it to pieces with their hammers and crowbars. After many hours
the people were obliged to give up their attempts, and went home to
sleep; but the Minor Canon remained at his post till early morning,
and then he hurried away to the field where he had left the Griffin.
The monster had just awakened, and rising to his fore-legs and
shaking himself, he said that he was ready to go into the town. The
Minor Canon, therefore, walked back, the Griffin flying slowly
through the air, at a short distance above the head of his guide. Not
a person was to be seen in the streets, and they proceeded directly
to the front of the church, where the Minor Canon pointed out the
stone griffin.
The real Griffin settled down in the little square before the church
and gazed earnestly at his sculptured likeness. For a long time he
looked at it. First he put his head on one side, and then he put it
on the other; then he shut his right eye and gazed with his left,
after which he shut his left eye and gazed with his right. Then he
moved a little to one side and looked at the image, then he moved the
other way. After a while he said to the Minor Canon, who had been
standing by all this time:
"It is, it must be, an excellent likeness! That breadth between the
eyes, that expansive forehead, those massive jaws! I feel that it
must resemble me. If there is any fault to find with it, it is that
the neck seems a little stiff. But that is nothing. It is an
admirable likeness,--admirable!"
The Griffin sat looking at his image all the morning and all the
afternoon. The Minor Canon had been afraid to go away and leave him,
and had hoped all through the day that he would soon be satisfied
with his inspection and fly away home. But by evening the poor young
man was utterly exhausted, and felt that he must eat and sleep. He
frankly admitted this fact to the Griffin, and asked him if he would
not like something to eat. He said this because he felt obliged in
politeness to do so, but as soon as he had spoken the words, he was
seized with dread lest the monster should demand half a dozen babies,
or some tempting repast of that kind.
"Oh, no," said the Griffin, "I never eat between the equinoxes. At
the vernal and at the autumnal equinox I take a good meal, and that
lasts me for half a year. I am extremely regular in my habits, and do
not think it healthful to eat at odd times. But if you need food, go
and get it, and I will return to the soft grass where I slept last
night and take another nap."
The next day the Griffin came again to the little square before the
church, and remained there until evening, steadfastly regarding the
stone griffin over the door. The Minor Canon came once or twice to
look at him, and the Griffin seemed very glad to see him; but the
young clergyman could not stay as he had done before, for he had many
duties to perform. Nobody went to the church, but the people came to
the Minor Canon's house, and anxiously asked him how long the Griffin
was going to stay.
"I do not know," he answered, "but I think he will soon be satisfied
with regarding his stone likeness, and then he will go away."
But the Griffin did not go away. Morning after morning he came to the
church, but after a time he did not stay there all day. He seemed to
have taken a great fancy to the Minor Canon, and followed him about
as he pursued his various avocations. He would wait for him at the
side door of the church, for the Minor Canon held services every day,
morning and evening, though nobody came now. "If any one should
come," he said to himself, "I must be found at my post." When the
young man came out, the Griffin would accompany him in his visits to
the sick and the poor, and would often look into the windows of the
school-house where the Minor Canon was teaching his unruly scholars.
All the other schools were closed, but the parents of the Minor
Canon's scholars forced them to go to school, because they were so
bad they could not endure them all day at home,--griffin or no
griffin. But it must be said they generally behaved very well when
that great monster sat up on his tail and looked in at the
school-room window.
When it was perceived that the Griffin showed no sign of going away,
all the people who were able to do so left the town. The canons and
the higher officers of the church had fled away during the first day
of the Griffin's visit, leaving behind only the Minor Canon and some
of the men who opened the doors and swept the church. All the
citizens who could afford it shut up their houses and travelled to
distant parts, and only the working people and the poor were left
behind. After some days these ventured to go about and attend to
their business, for if they did not work they would starve. They were
getting a little used to seeing the Griffin, and having been told
that he did not eat between equinoxes, they did not feel so much
afraid of him as before.
Day by day the Griffin became more and more attached to the Minor
Canon. He kept near him a great part of the time, and often spent the
night in front of the little house where the young clergyman lived
alone. This strange companionship was often burdensome to the Minor
Canon; but, on the other hand, he could not deny that he derived a
great deal of benefit and instruction from it. The Griffin had lived
for hundreds of years, and had seen much; and he told the Minor Canon
many wonderful things.
"It is like reading an old book," said the young clergyman to
himself; "but how many books I would have had to read before I would
have found out what the Griffin has told me about the earth, the air,
the water, about minerals, and metals, and growing things, and all
the wonders of the world!"
Thus the summer went on, and drew toward its close. And now the
people of the town began to be very much troubled again.
"It will not be long," they said, "before the autumnal equinox is
here, and then that monster will want to eat. He will be dreadfully
hungry, for he has taken so much exercise since his last meal. He
will devour our children. Without doubt, he will eat them all. What
is to be done?"
To this question no one could give an answer, but all agreed that the
Griffin must not be allowed to remain until the approaching equinox.
After talking over the matter a great deal, a crowd of the people
went to the Minor Canon, at a time when the Griffin was not with him.
"It is all your fault," they said, "that that monster is among us.
You brought him here, and you ought to see that he goes away. It is
only on your account that he stays here at all, for, although he
visits his image every day, he is with you the greater part of the
time. If you were not here, he would not stay. It is your duty to go
away and then he will follow you, and we shall be free from the
dreadful danger which hangs over us."
"Go away!" cried the Minor Canon, greatly grieved at being spoken to
in such a way. "Where shall I go? If I go to some other town, shall I
not take this trouble there? Have I a right to do that?"
"No," said the people, "you must not go to any other town. There is
no town far enough away. You must go to the dreadful wilds where the
Griffin lives; and then he will follow you and stay there."
They did not say whether or not they expected the Minor Canon to stay
there also, and he did not ask them any thing about it. He bowed his
head, and went into his house, to think. The more he thought, the
more clear it became to his mind that it was his duty to go away, and
thus free the town from the presence of the Griffin.
That evening he packed a leathern bag full of bread and meat, and
early the next morning he set out on his journey to the dreadful
wilds. It was a long, weary, and doleful journey, especially after he
had gone beyond the habitations of men, but the Minor Canon kept on
bravely, and never faltered. The way was longer than he had expected,
and his provisions soon grew so scanty that he was obliged to eat but
a little every day, but he kept up his courage, and pressed on, and,
after many days of toilsome travel, he reached the dreadful wilds.
When the Griffin found that the Minor Canon had left the town he
seemed sorry, but showed no disposition to go and look for him. After
a few days had passed, he became much annoyed, and asked some of the
people where the Minor Canon had gone. But, although the citizens had
been so anxious that the young clergyman should go to the dreadful
wilds, thinking that the Griffin would immediately follow him, they
were now afraid to mention the Minor Canon's destination, for the
monster seemed angry already, and, if he should suspect their trick
he would, doubtless, become very much enraged. So every one said he
did not know, and the Griffin wandered about disconsolate. One
morning he looked into the Minor Canon's school-house, which was
always empty now, and thought that it was a shame that every thing
should suffer on account of the young man's absence.
"It does not matter so much about the church," he said, "for nobody
went there; but it is a pity about the school. I think I will teach
it myself until he returns."
It was the hour for opening the school, and the Griffin went inside
and pulled the rope which rang the school-bell. Some of the children
who heard the bell ran in to see what was the matter, supposing it to
be a joke of one of their companions; but when they saw the Griffin
they stood astonished, and scared.
"Go tell the other scholars," said the monster, "that school is about
to open, and that if they are not all here in ten minutes, I shall
come after them."
In seven minutes every scholar was in place.
Never was seen such an orderly school. Not a boy or girl moved, or
uttered a whisper. The Griffin climbed into the master's seat, his
wide wings spread on each side of him, because he could not lean back
in his chair while they stuck out behind, and his great tail coiled
around, in front of the desk, the barbed end sticking up, ready to
tap any boy or girl who might misbehave. The Griffin now addressed
the scholars, telling them that he intended to teach them while their
master was away. In speaking he endeavored to imitate, as far as
possible, the mild and gentle tones of the Minor Canon, but it must
be admitted that in this he was not very successful. He had paid a
good deal of attention to the studies of the school, and he
determined not to attempt to teach them any thing new, but to review
them in what they had been studying; so he called up the various
classes, and questioned them upon their previous lessons. The
children racked their brains to remember what they had learned. They
were so afraid of the Griffin's displeasure that they recited as they
had never recited before. One of the boys, far down in his class,
answered so well that the Griffin was astonished.
"I should think you would be at the head," said he. "I am sure you
have never been in the habit of reciting so well. Why is this?"
"Because I did not choose to take the trouble," said the boy,
trembling in his boots. He felt obliged to speak the truth, for all
the children thought that the great eyes of the Griffin could see
right through them, and that he would know when they told a
falsehood.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," said the Griffin. "Go down to
the very tail of the class, and if you are not at the head in two
days, I shall know the reason why."
The next afternoon this boy was number one.
It was astonishing how much these children now learned of what they
had been studying. It was as if they had been educated over again.
The Griffin used no severity toward them, but there was a look about
him which made them unwilling to go to bed until they were sure they
knew their lessons for the next day.
The Griffin now thought that he ought to visit the sick and the poor;
and he began to go about the town for this purpose. The effect upon
the sick was miraculous. All, except those who were very ill indeed,
jumped from their beds when they heard he was coming, and declared
themselves quite well. To those who could not get up, he gave herbs
and roots, which none of them had ever before thought of as
medicines, but which the Griffin had seen used in various parts of
the world; and most of them recovered. But, for all that, they
afterward said that no matter what happened to them, they hoped that
they should never again have such a doctor coming to their bed-sides,
feeling their pulses and looking at their tongues.
As for the poor, they seemed to have utterly disappeared. All those
who had depended upon charity for their daily bread were now at work
in some way or other; many of them offering to do odd jobs for their
neighbors just for the sake of their meals,--a thing which before had
been seldom heard of in the town. The Griffin could find no one who
needed his assistance.
The summer had now passed, and the autumnal equinox was rapidly
approaching. The citizens were in a state of great alarm and anxiety.
The Griffin showed no signs of going away, but seemed to have settled
himself permanently among them. In a short time, the day for his
semi-annual meal would arrive, and then what would happen? The
monster would certainly be very hungry, and would devour all their
children.
Now they greatly regretted and lamented that they had sent away the
Minor Canon; he was the only one on whom they could have depended in
this trouble, for he could talk freely with the Griffin, and so find
out what could be done. But it would not do to be inactive. Some step
must be taken immediately. A meeting of the citizens was called, and
two old men were appointed to go and talk to the Griffin. They were
instructed to offer to prepare a splendid dinner for him on equinox
day,--one which would entirely satisfy his hunger. They would offer
him the fattest mutton, the most tender beef, fish, and game of
various sorts, and any thing of the kind that he might fancy. If none
of these suited, they were to mention that there was an orphan asylum
in the next town.
"Anything would be better," said the citizens, "than to have our dear
children devoured."
The old men went to the Griffin, but their propositions were not
received with favor.
"From what I have seen of the people of this town," said the monster,
"I do not think I could relish any thing which was prepared by them.
They appear to be all cowards, and, therefore, mean and selfish. As
for eating one of them, old or young, I could not think of it for a
moment. In fact, there was only one creature in the whole place for
whom I could have had any appetite, and that is the Minor Canon, who
has gone away. He was brave, and good, and honest, and I think I
should have relished him."
"Ah!" said one of the old men very politely, "in that case I wish we
had not sent him to the dreadful wilds!"
"What!" cried the Griffin. "What do you mean? Explain instantly what
you are talking about!"
The old man, terribly frightened at what he had said, was obliged to
tell how the Minor Canon had been sent away by the people, in the
hope that the Griffin might be induced to follow him.
When the monster heard this, he became furiously angry. He dashed
away from the old men and, spreading his wings, flew backward and
forward over the town. He was so much excited that his tail became
red-hot, and glowed like a meteor against the evening sky. When at
last he settled down in the little field where he usually rested, and
thrust his tail into the brook, the steam arose like a cloud, and the
water of the stream ran hot through the town. The citizens were
greatly frightened, and bitterly blamed the old man for telling about
the Minor Canon.
"It is plain," they said, "that the Griffin intended at last to go
and look for him, and we should have been saved. Now who can tell
what misery you have brought upon us."
The Griffin did not remain long in the little field. As soon as his
tail was cool he flew to the town-hall and rang the bell. The
citizens knew that they were expected to come there, and although
they were afraid to go, they were still more afraid to stay away; and
they crowded into the hall. The Griffin was on the platform at one
end, flapping his wings and walking up and down, and the end of his
tail was still so warm that it slightly scorched the boards as he
dragged it after him.
When everybody who was able to come was there, the Griffin stood
still and addressed the meeting.