my body was in Europe. The sailor fought well with his fists, but he was
over-powered and bound with ropes, and led away through the Desert.
“I followed for as long as I could stay, and found that they were going
by the way of the Desert round the Hills of Hap towards Utnar Véhi, and
then I knew that the camel men belonged to Thuba Mleen.
“I work in an insurance office all day, and I hope you won’t forget me
if ever you want to insure—life, fire, or motor—but that’s no part of my
story. I was desperately anxious to get back to my flat, though it is
not good to take hashish two days running; but I wanted to see what they
would do to the poor fellow, for I had heard bad rumours about Thuba
Mleen. When at last I got away I had a letter to write; then I rang for
my servant, and told him that I must not be disturbed, though I left my
door unlocked in case of accidents. After that I made up a good fire,
and sat down and partook of the pot of dreams. I was going to the palace
of Thuba Mleen.
“I was kept back longer than usual by noises in the street, but suddenly
I was up above the town; the European countries rushed by beneath me,
and there appeared the thin white palace spires of horrible Thuba Mleen.
I found him presently at the end of a little narrow room. A curtain of
red leather hung behind him, on which all the names of God, written in
Yannish, were worked with a golden thread. Three windows were small and
high. The Emperor seemed no more than about twenty, and looked small and
weak. No smiles came on his nasty yellow face, though he tittered
continually. As I looked from his low forehead to his quivering under
lip, I became aware that there was some horror about him, though I was
not able to perceive what it was. And then I saw it—the man never
blinked; and though later on I watched those eyes for a blink, it never
happened once.
[Illustration: THUBA MLEEN]
“And then I followed the Emperor’s rapt glance, and I saw the sailor
lying on the floor, alive but hideously rent, and the royal torturers
were at work all round him. They had torn long strips from him, but had
not detached them, and they were torturing the ends of them far away
from the sailor.” The man that I met at dinner told me many things which
I must omit. “The sailor was groaning softly, and every time he groaned
Thuba Mleen tittered. I had no sense of smell, but I could hear and see,
and I do not know which was the most revolting—the terrible condition of
the sailor or the happy unblinking face of horrible Thuba Mleen.
“I wanted to go away, but the time was not yet come, and I had to stay
where I was.
“Suddenly the Emperor’s face began to twitch violently and his under lip
quivered faster, and he whimpered with anger, and cried with a shrill
voice, in Yannish, to the captain of his torturers that there was a
spirit in the room. I feared not, for living men cannot lay hands on a
spirit, but all the torturers were appalled at his anger, and stopped
their work, for their hands trembled with fear. Then two men of the
spear-guard slipped from the room, and each of them brought back
presently a golden bowl, with knobs on it, full of hashish; and the
bowls were large enough for heads to have floated in had they been
filled with blood. And the two men fell to rapidly, each eating with two
great spoons—there was enough in each spoonful to have given dreams to a
hundred men. And there came upon them soon the hashish state, and their
spirits hovered, preparing to go free, while I feared horribly, but ever
and anon they fell back again to the bodies, recalled by some noise in
the room. Still the men ate, but lazily now, and without ferocity. At
last the great spoons dropped out of their hands, and their spirits rose
and left them. I could not flee. And the spirits were more horrible than
the men, because they were young men, and not yet wholly moulded to fit
their fearful souls. Still the sailor groaned softly, evoking little
titters from the Emperor Thuba Mleen. Then the two spirits rushed at me,
and swept me thence as gusts of wind sweep butterflies, and away we went
from that small, pale, heinous man. There was no escaping from these
spirits’ fierce insistence. The energy in my minute lump of the drug was
overwhelmed by the huge spoonsful that these men had eaten with both
hands. I was whirled over Arvle Woondery, and brought to the lands of
Snith, and swept on still until I came to Kragua, and beyond this to
those bleak lands that are nearly unknown to fancy. And we came at last
to those ivory hills that are named the Mountains of Madness, and I
tried to struggle against the spirits of that frightful Emperor’s men,
for I heard on the other side of the ivory hills the pittering of those
beasts that prey on the mad, as they prowled up and down. It was no
fault of mine that my little lump of hashish could not fight with their
horrible spoonsful....”
Some one was tugging at the hall-door bell. Presently a servant came and
told our host that a policeman in the hall wished to speak to him at
once. He apologised to us, and went outside, and we heard a man in heavy
boots, who spoke in a low voice to him. My friend got up and walked over
to the window, and opened it, and looked outside. “I should think it
will be a fine night,” he said. Then he jumped out. When we put our
astonished heads out of the window to look for him, he was already out
of sight.
_Poor Old Bill_
On an antique haunt of sailors, a tavern of the sea, the light of day
was fading. For several evenings I had frequented this place, in the
hope of hearing something from the sailors, as they sat over strange
wines, about a rumor that had reached my ears of a certain fleet of
galleons of old Spain still said to be afloat in the South Seas in some
uncharted region.
In this I was again to be disappointed. Talk was low and seldom, and I
was about to leave, when a sailor, wearing ear-rings of pure gold,
lifted up his head from his wine, and looking straight before him at the
wall, told his tale loudly:
(When later on a storm of rain arose and thundered on the tavern’s
leaded panes, he raised his voice without effort and spoke on still. The
darker it got the clearer his wild eyes shone.)
“A ship with sails of the olden time was nearing fantastic isles. We had
never seen such isles.
“We all hated the captain, and he hated us. He hated us all alike, there
was no favouritism about him. And he never would talk a word with any of
us, except sometimes in the evening when it was getting dark he would
stop and look up and talk a bit to the men he had hanged at the
yard-arm.
“We were a mutinous crew. But Captain was the only man that had pistols.
He slept with one under his pillow and kept one close beside him. There
was a nasty look about the isles. They were small and flat as though
they had come up only recently from the sea, and they had no sand or
rocks like honest isles, but green grass down to the water. And there
were little cottages there whose looks we did not like. Their thatches
came almost down to the ground, and were strangely turned up at the
corners, and under the low eaves were queer dark windows whose little
leaded panes were too thick to see through. And no one, man or beast,
was walking about, so that you could not know what kind of people lived
there. But Captain knew. And he went ashore and into one of the
cottages, and someone lit lights inside, and the little windows wore an
evil look.
[Illustration: LITTLE COTTAGES ... WHOSE LOOKS WE DID NOT LIKE]
“It was quite dark when he came aboard again, and he bade a cheery
good-night to the men that swung from the yard-arm, and he eyed us in a
way that frightened poor old Bill.
“Next night we found that he had learned to curse, for he came on a lot
of us asleep in our bunks, and among them poor old Bill, and he pointed
at us with a finger, and made a curse that our souls should stay all
night at the top of the masts. And suddenly there was the soul of poor
old Bill sitting like a monkey at the top of the mast, and looking at
the stars, and freezing through and through.
“We got up a little mutiny after that, but Captain comes up and points
with his finger again, and this time poor old Bill and all the rest are
swimming behind the ship through the cold green water, though their
bodies remain on deck.
“It was the cabin-boy who found out that Captain couldn’t curse when he
was drunk, though he could shoot as well at one time as another.
“After that it was only a matter of waiting, and of losing two men when
the time came. Some of us were murderous fellows, and wanted to kill
Captain, but poor old Bill was for finding a bit of an island, out of
the track of ships, and leaving him there with his share of our year’s
provisions. And everybody listened to poor old Bill, and we decided to
maroon Captain as soon as we caught him when he couldn’t curse.
“It was three whole days before Captain got drunk again, and poor old
Bill and all had a dreadful time, for Captain invented new curses every
day, and wherever he pointed his finger our souls had to go; and the
fishes got to know us, and so did the stars, and none of them pitied us
when we froze on the masts or were hurried through forests of seaweed
and lost our way—both stars and fishes went about their businesses with
cold, unastonished eyes. Once when the sun had set and it was twilight,
and the moon was showing clearer and clearer in the sky, and we stopped
our work for a moment because Captain seemed to be looking away from us
at the colours in the sky, he suddenly turned and sent our souls to the
Moon. And it was colder there than ice at night; and there were horrible
mountains making shadows; and it was all as silent as miles of tombs;
and Earth was shining up in the sky as big as the blade of a scythe, and
we all got homesick for it, but could not speak nor cry. It was quite
dark when we got back, and we were very respectful to Captain all the
next day, but he cursed several of us again very soon. What we all
feared most was that he would curse our souls to Hell, and none of us
mentioned Hell above a whisper for fear that it should remind him. But
on the third evening the cabin-boy came and told us that Captain was
drunk. And we all went to his cabin, and we found him lying there across
his bunk, and he shot as he had never shot before; but he had no more
then the two pistols, and he would only have killed two men if he hadn’t
caught Joe over the head with the end of one of his pistols. And then we
tied him up. And poor old Bill put the rum between Captain’s teeth, and
kept him drunk for two days, so that he could not curse, till we found a
convenient rock. And before sunset of the second day we found a nice
bare island for Captain, out of the track of ships, about a hundred
yards long and about eighty wide; and we rowed him along to it in a
little boat, and gave him provisions for a year, the same as we had
ourselves, because poor old Bill wanted to be fair. And we left him
sitting comfortable with his back to a rock singing a sailor’s song.
“When we could no longer hear Captain singing we all grew very cheerful
and made a banquet out of our year’s provisions, as we all hoped to be
home again in under three weeks. We had three great banquets every day
for a week—every man had more than he could eat, and what was left over
we threw on the floor like gentlemen. And then one day, as we saw San
Huëlgédos, and wanted to sail in to spend our money, the wind changed
round from behind us and beat us out to sea. There was no tacking
against it, and no getting into the harbor, though other ships sailed by
us and anchored there. Sometimes a dead calm would fall on us, while
fishing boats all around us flew before half a gale, and sometimes the
wind would beat us out to sea when nothing else was moving. All day we
tried, and at night we laid to and tried again next day. And all the
sailors of the other ships were spending their money in San Huëlgédos
and we could not come nigh it. Then we spoke horrible things against the
wind and against San Huëlgédos, and sailed away.
“It was just the same at Norenna.
“We kept close together now and talked in low voices. Suddenly poor old
Bill grew frightened. As we went all along the Siractic coast-line, we
tried again and again, and the wind was waiting for us in every harbour
and sent us out to sea. Even the little islands would not have us. And
then we knew that there was no landing yet for poor old Bill, and every
one upbraided his kind heart that had made them maroon Captain on a
rock, so as not to have his blood upon their heads. There was nothing to
do but to drift about the seas. There were no banquets now, because we
feared that Captain might live his year and keep us out to sea.
“At first we used to hail all passing ships, and used to try to board
them in the boats; but there was no rowing against Captain’s curse, and
we had to give that up. So we played cards for a year in Captain’s
cabin, night and day, storm and fine, and every one promised to pay poor
old Bill when we got ashore.
“It was horrible to us to think what a frugal man Captain really was, he
that used to get drunk every other day whenever he was at sea, and here
he was still alive, and sober too, for his curse still kept us out of
every port, and our provisions were gone.
“Well, it came to drawing lots, and Jim was the unlucky one. Jim only
kept us about three days, and then we drew lots again, and this time it
was the nigger. The nigger didn’t keep us any longer, and we drew again,
and this time it was Charlie, and still Captain was alive.
“As we got fewer one of us kept us longer. Longer and longer a mate used
to last us, and we all wondered how ever Captain did it. It was five
weeks over the year when, we drew Mike, and he kept us for a week, and
Captain was still alive. We wondered he didn’t get tired of the same old
curse; but we supposed things looked different when one is alone on an
island.
“When there was only Jakes and poor old Bill and the cabin-boy and Dick,
we didn’t draw any longer. We said that the cabin-boy had had all the
luck, and he mustn’t expect any more. Then poor old Bill was alone with
Jakes and Dick, and Captain was still alive. When there was no more boy,
and the Captain still alive, Dick, who was a huge strong man like poor
old Bill, said that it was Jakes’ turn, and he was very lucky to have
lived as long as he had. But poor old Bill talked it all over with
Jakes, and they thought it better that Dick should take his turn.
“Then there was Jakes and poor old Bill; and Captain would not die.
“And these two used to watch one another night and day, when Dick was
gone and no one else was left to them. And at last poor old Bill fell
down in a faint and lay there for an hour. Then Jakes came up to him
slowly with his knife, and makes a stab at poor old Bill as he lies
there on the deck. And poor old Bill caught hold of him by the wrist,
and put his knife into him twice to make quite sure, although it spoiled
the best part of the meat. Then poor old Bill was all alone at sea.
“And the very next week, before the food gave out, Captain must have
died on his bit of an island; for poor old Bill heard Captain’s soul
going cursing over the sea, and the day after that the ship was cast on
a rocky coast.
“And Captain’s been dead now for over a hundred years, and poor old Bill
is safe ashore again. But it looks as if Captain hadn’t done with him
yet, for poor old Bill doesn’t ever get any older, and somehow or other
he doesn’t seem to die. Poor old Bill!”
When this was over the man’s fascination suddenly snapped, and we all
jumped up and left him.
It was not only his revolting story, but it was the fearful look in the
eyes of the man who told it, and the terrible ease with which his voice
surpassed the roar of the rain, that decided me never again to enter
that haunt of sailors—the tavern of the sea.
_The Beggars_
I was walking down Piccadilly not long ago, thinking of nursery rhymes
and regretting old romance.
As I saw the shopkeepers walk by in their black frock-coats and their
black hats, I thought of the old line in nursery annals, “The merchants
of London, they wear scarlet.”
The streets were all so unromantic, dreary. Nothing could be done for
them, I thought—nothing. And then my thoughts were interrupted by
barking dogs. Every dog in the street seemed to be barking—every kind of
dog, not only the little ones but the big ones too. They were all facing
East towards the way I was coming by. Then I turned round to look and
had this vision, in Piccadilly, on the opposite side to the houses just
after you pass the cab-rank.
Tall bent men were coming down the street arrayed in marvellous cloaks.
All were sallow of skin and swarthy of hair, and the most of them wore
strange beards. They were coming slowly, and they walked with staves,
and their hands were out for alms.
All the beggars had come to town.
I would have given them a gold doubloon engraven with the towers of
Castille, but I had no such coin. They did not seem the people to whom
it were fitting to offer the same coin as one tendered for the use of a
taxicab (O marvellous, ill-made word, surely the pass-word somewhere of
some evil order). Some of them wore purple cloaks with wide green
borders, and the border of green was a narrow strip with some, and some
wore cloaks of old and faded red, and some wore violet cloaks, and none
wore black. And they begged gracefully, as gods might beg for souls.
I stood by a lamp-post, and they came up to it, and one addressed it,
calling the lamp-post brother, and said, “O lamp-post, our brother of
the dark, are there many wrecks by thee in the tides of night? Sleep
not, brother, sleep not. There were many wrecks an it were not for
thee.”
It was strange: I had not thought of the majesty of the street lamp and
his long watching over drifting men. But he was not beneath the notice
of these cloaked strangers.
And then one murmured to the street: “Art thou weary, street? Yet a
little longer they shall go up and down, and keep thee clad with tar and
wooden bricks. Be patient, street. In a while the earthquake cometh.”
“Who are you?” people said. “And where do you come from?”
“Who may tell what we are,” they answered, “or whence we come?”
And one turned towards the smoke-stained houses, saying, “Blessed be the
houses, because men dream therein.”
Then I perceived, what I had never thought, that all these staring
houses were not alike, but different one from another, because they held
different dreams.
And another turned to a tree that stood by the Green Park railings,
saying, “Take comfort, tree, for the fields shall come again.”
And all the while the ugly smoke went upwards, the smoke that has
stifled Romance and blackened the birds. This, I thought, they can
neither praise nor bless. And when they saw it they raised their hands
towards it, towards the thousand chimneys, saying, “Behold the smoke.
The old coal-forests that have lain so long in the dark, and so long
still, are dancing now and going back to the sun. Forget not Earth, O
our brother, and we wish thee joy of the sun.”
It had rained, and a cheerless stream dropped down a dirty gutter. It
had come from heaps of refuse, foul and forgotten; it had gathered upon
its way things that were derelict, and went to sombre drains unknown to
man or the sun. It was this sullen stream as much as all other causes
that had made me say in my heart that the town was vile, that Beauty was
dead in it, and Romance fled.
Even this thing they blessed. And one that wore a purple cloak with
broad green border, said, “Brother, be hopeful yet, for thou shalt
surely come at last to the delectable Sea, and meet the heaving, huge,
and travelled ships, and rejoice by isles that know the golden sun.”
Even thus they blessed the gutter, and I felt no whim to mock.
And the people that went by, in their black unseemly coats and their
misshapen, monstrous, shiny hats, the beggars also blessed. And one of
them said to one of these dark citizens: “O twin of Night himself, with
thy specks of white at wrists and neck like to Night’s scattered stars.
How fearfully thou dost veil with black thy hid, unguessed desires. They
are deep thoughts in thee that they will not frolic with colour, that
they say ‘No’ to purple, and to lovely green ‘Begone.’ Thou hast wild
fancies that they must needs be tamed with black, and terrible
imaginings that they must be hidden thus. Has thy soul dreams of the
angels, and of the walls of faëry that thou has guarded it so utterly,
lest it dazzle astonished eyes? Even so God hid the diamond deep down in
miles of clay.
“The wonder of thee is not marred by mirth.
“Behold thou art very secret.
“Be wonderful. Be full of mystery.”
Silently the man in the black frock-coat passed on. And I came to
understand when the purple beggar had spoken, that the dark citizen had
trafficked perhaps with Ind, that in his heart were strange and dumb
ambitions: that his dumbness was founded by solemn rite on the roots of
ancient tradition: that it might be overcome one day by a cheer in the
street or by some one singing a song, and that when this shopman spoke
there might come clefts in the world and people peering over at the
abyss.
Then turning towards Green Park, where as yet Spring was not, the
beggars stretched out their hands, and looking at the frozen grass and
the yet unbudding trees they, chanting all together, prophesied
daffodils.
A motor omnibus came down the street, nearly running over some of the
dogs that were barking ferociously still. It was sounding its horn
noisily.
And the vision went then.
_Carcassonne_
_In a letter from a friend whom I have never seen, one of those that
read my books, this line was quoted—“But he, he never came to
Carcassonne.” I do not know the origin of the line, but I made
this tale about it._
When Camorak reigned at Arn, and the world was fairer, he gave a
festival to all the Weald to commemorate the splendour of his youth.
They say that his house at Arn was huge and high, and its ceiling
painted blue; and when evening fell men would climb up by ladders and
light the scores of candles hanging from slender chains. And they say,
too, that sometimes a cloud would come, and pour in through the top of
one of the oriel windows, and it would come over the edge of the
stonework as the sea-mist comes over a sheer cliff’s shaven lip where an
old wind has blown for ever and ever (he has swept away thousands of
leaves and thousands of centuries, they are all one to him, he owes no
allegiance to Time.) And the cloud would re-shape itself in the hall’s
lofty vault and drift on through it slowly, and out to the sky again
through another window. And from its shape the knights in Camorak’s hall
would prophesy the battles and sieges of the next season of war. They
say of the hall of Camorak at Arn that there hath been none like it in
any land, and foretell that there will be never.
Hither had come in the folk of the Weald from sheepfold and from forest,
revolving slow thoughts of food, and shelter, and love, and they sat
down wondering in that famous hall; and therein also were seated the men
of Arn, the town that clustered round the King’s high house, and was all
roofed with the red, maternal earth.
If old songs may be trusted, it was a marvellous hall.