carry it, binding it in bundles over their shoulders, and bending and
groaning under its weight; he saw others hide it in the ground, and
watch the place clothed in rags, that none might suspect that they were
rich; but some, on the contrary, who had dug up an unusual quantity, he
saw dancing and singing, and vaunting their success, till robbers
waylaid them when they slept, and rifled their bundles and carried their
golden sand away.
"All these men are mad," thought the prince, "and this pernicious gold
has made them so."
After this, as he wandered here and there, he saw groups of people
smelting the gold under the shadow of the trees, and he observed that a
dancing, quivering vapor rose up from it which dazzled their eyes, and
distorted everything that they looked at; arraying it also in different
colors from the true one. He observed that this vapor from the gold
caused all things to rock and reel before the eyes of those who looked
through it, and also, by some strange affinity, it drew their hearts
toward those who carried much gold on their persons, so that they called
them good and beautiful; it also caused them to see darkness and dulness
in the faces of those who had carried none. "This," thought the prince,
"is very strange;" but not being able to explain it, he went still
farther, and there he saw more people. Each of these had adorned himself
with a broad golden girdle, and was sitting in the shade, while other
men waited on them.
"What ails these people?" he inquired of one who was looking on, for he
observed a peculiar air of weariness and dulness in their faces. He was
answered that the girdles were very tight and heavy, and being bound
over the regions of the heart, were supposed to impede its action, and
prevent it from beating high, and also to chill the wearer, as, being of
opaque material, the warm sunshine of the earth could not get through to
warm them.
"Why, then, do they, not break them asunder," exclaimed the prince, "and
fling them away?"
"Break them asunder!" cried the man; "why, what a madman you must be;
they are made of the purest gold!"
"Forgive my ignorance," replied the prince; "I am a stranger."
So he walked on, for feelings of delicacy prevented him from gazing any
longer at the men with the golden girdles; but as he went he pondered on
the misery he had seen, and thought to himself that this golden sand did
more mischief than all the poisons of the apothecary; for it dazzled the
eyes of some, it strained the hearts of others, it bowed down the heads
of many to the earth with its weight; it was a sore labor to gather it,
and when it was gathered the robber might carry it away; it would be a
good thing, he thought, if there were none of it.
After this he came to a place where were sitting some aged widows and
some orphan children of the gold-diggers, who were helpless and
destitute; they were weeping and bemoaning themselves, but stopped at
the approach of a man whose appearance attracted the prince, for he had
a very great bundle of gold on his back, and yet it did not bow him down
at all; his apparel was rich, but he had no girdle on, and his face was
anything but sad.
"Sir," said the prince to him, "you have a great burden; you are
fortunate to be able to stand under it."
[Illustration: "'I COULD NOT DO SO,' HE REPLIED, 'ONLY THAT AS I GO ON I
KEEP LIGHTENING IT.'"]
"I could not do so," he replied, "only that as I go on I keep lightening
it;" and as he passed each of the widows, he threw gold to her, and,
stooping down, hid pieces of it in the bosoms of the children.
"You have no girdle," said the prince.
"I once had one," answered the gold-gatherer; "but it was so tight over
my breast that my heart grew cold under it, and almost ceased to beat.
Having a great quantity of gold on my back, I felt almost at the last
gasp; so I threw off my girdle, and being on the bank of a river, which
I knew not how to cross, I was about to fling it in, I was so vexed!
'But no,' thought I, 'there are many people waiting here to cross
besides myself. I will make my girdle into a bridge, and we will cross
over on it.'"
"Turn your girdle into a bridge!" said the prince, doubtfully, for he
did not quite understand.
The man explained himself.
"And, then, sir, after that," he continued, "I turned one-half of my
burden into bread, and gave it to these poor people. Since then I have
not been oppressed by its weight, however heavy it may have been; for
few men have a heavier one. In fact, I gather more from day to day."
As the man kept speaking, he scattered his gold right and left with a
cheerful countenance, and the prince was about to reply, when suddenly a
great trembling under his feet made him fall to the ground. The refining
fires of the gold-gatherers sprang up into flames, and then went out;
night fell over everything on the earth, and nothing was visible in the
sky but the stars of the southern cross.
"It is past midnight," thought the prince, "for the stars of the cross
begin to bend."
He raised himself upon his elbow, and tried to pierce the darkness, but
could not. At length a slender blue flame darted out, as from ashes in a
chafing-dish, and by the light of it he saw the strange pattern of his
carpet and the cushions lying about. He did not recognize them at first,
but presently he knew that he was lying in his usual place, at the top
of his tower.
"Wake up, prince," said the old man.
The prince sat up and sighed, and the old man inquired what he had seen.
"O man of much learning!" answered the prince, "I have seen that this is
a wonderful world; I have seen the value of labor, and I know the uses
of it; I have tasted the sweetness of liberty, and am grateful, though
it was but in a dream; but as for that other word that was so great a
mystery to me, I only know this, that it must remain a mystery forever,
since I am fain to believe that all men are bent on getting it; though,
once gotten, it causeth them endless disquietude, only second to their
discomfort that are without it. I am fain to believe that they can
procure with it whatever they most desire, and yet that it cankers their
hearts and dazzles their eyes; that it is their nature and their duty to
gather it; and yet that, when once gathered, the best thing they can do
is to scatter it!"
The next morning, when he awoke, the old man was gone. He had taken with
him the golden cup. And the sentinel was also gone, none knew whither.
Perhaps the old man had turned his golden cup into a golden key.
THE WATER-LILY
My father and mother were gone out for the day, and had left me charge
of the children. It was very hot, and they kept up a continual fidget. I
bore it patiently for some time, for children will be restless in hot
weather, but at length I requested that they would get something to do.
"Why don't you work, or paint, or read, Hatty?" I demanded of my little
sister.
"I'm tired of always grounding those swans," said Harriet, "and my
crochet is so difficult; I seem to do it quite right, and yet it comes
wrong."
"Then why don't you write your diary?"
"Oh, because Charlie won't write his."
"A very bad reason; his not writing leaves you the more to say; besides,
I thought you promised mamma you would persevere if she would give you a
book."
"And so we did for a long time," said Charlie; "why, I wrote pages and
pages of mine. Look here!"
So saying, he produced a copy-book with a marbled cover, and showed me
that it was about half-full of writing in large text.
"If you wrote all that yourself, I should think you might write more."
"Oh, but I am so tired of it, and besides, this is such a very hot day."
"I know that, and to have you leaning on my knee makes me no cooler; but
I have something for you to do just now, which I think you will like."
"Oh, what is it, sister? May we both do it?"
"Yes, if you like. You may go into the field to gardener, and ask him to
get me a water-lily out of the stream; I want one to finish my sketch
with."
"You really do want one? you are not pretending, just to give us
something to do?"
"No, I really want one; you see these in the glass begin to wither."'
"Make haste then, Hatty. Sister, you shall have the very best lily we
can find."
Thereupon they ran off, leaving me to inspect the diary. Its first page
was garnished with the resemblance of a large swan with curly wings;
from his beak proceeded the owner's name in full, and underneath were
his lucubrations. The first few pages ran as follows:
"_Wednesday._ To-day mamma said, as all the others were writing diaries,
I might do one too if I liked, so I said I should, and I shall write it
every day till I am grown up. I did a long division sum, a very hard
one. We dined early to-day, and we had a boiled leg of mutton and an
apple pudding, but I shall not say another time what we had for dinner,
because I shall have plenty of other things to say."
"_Friday._ Gardener has been mending the palings; he gave me five nails;
they were very good ones, such as I like. He said if any boy that he
knew was to pull nails out of his wall trees when _he'd_ done them, he
should certainly tell their papa of them. Aunt Fanny came and took away
Sophy to spend a fortnight. Uncle Tom came too; he said I was a fine
boy, and gave me a shilling."
"_Saturday._ My half-holiday. Hurrah! I went and bought two hoop-sticks
for me and Hatty; they cost fourpence each."
"_Sunday._ On Sunday I went to church."
"_Monday._ To-day I had a cold, and after school I was just going to
bowl my hoop when Orris said to mamma it rained, and ma said she
couldn't think of my going out in the rain, and so I couldn't go. After
that Orris called me to come into her room, and gave me a fourpenny
piece and two pictures, so now I've got eightpence. Orris is very kind,
but sometimes she thinks she ought to command, because she is the
eldest."
"_Tuesday._ I shall not write my diary every day, unless I like."
"_Wednesday._ I dined late with papa and mamma and the elder ones: it
rained. If the others won't tell me what to say, of course I don't
know."
"_Friday._ I went to the shop and bought some tin _tax_. I don't like
writing diaries particularly. It will be a good thing to leave off till
the holidays."
I had only got so far when the children ran in with a beautiful
water-lily. They had scarcely deposited it in my hand when they both
exclaimed in a breath:
"And what are we to do now?"
"You may bring me a glass of water to put it in."
This was soon done, and then the question was repeated. I saw there was
but one chance of quiet, so I resolved to make a virtue of necessity,
and say that if they would each immediately begin some ordinary
occupation, I would tell them a story. What child was ever proof against
a story?
"But we are to choose what it shall be about?" said one of them.
"Why?"
"Oh, never mind why. Shall we tell her, Harriet? Well, it's because you
tell cheating stories: you say, 'I'll tell you a story about a girl, or
a cottage, or a thimble, or anything you like,' and it really is
something about us."
"You may choose, then."
"Then it shall be about the lily we got for you."
"Give me ten minutes to think about it, and collect your needles and
pencils."
Upon this they brought together a heap of articles which they were not
at all likely to want, and after altering the position of their stools
and discussing what they would do, and changing their minds many times,
declared at length that they were quite ready.
[Illustration: "LIVED ON THE BORDERS OF ONE OF THE GREAT AMERICAN
FORESTS."]
"Now begin, please. _There was once--_" So I accordingly began. "There
was once a boy who was very fond of pictures. There were not many
pictures for him to look at, for his mother, who was a widow, lived on
the borders of one of the great American forests. She had come out from
England with her husband, and now that he was dead, the few pictures
hanging on her walls were almost the only luxuries she possessed.
"Her son would often spend his holidays in trying to copy them, but as
he had very little application, he often threw his half-finished
drawings away, and once he was heard to say that he wished some
kind-hearted fairy would take it in hand and finish it for him.
"'Child,' said the mother, 'for my part I don't believe there are any
such things as fairies. I never saw one, and your father never did; but
by all accounts, if fairies there be, they are a jealous and revengeful
race. Mind your books, my child, and never mind the fairies.'
"'Very well, mother,' said the boy.
"'It makes me sad to see you stand gazing at the pictures,' said his
mother, coming up to him and laying her hand on his curly head; 'why,
child, pictures can't feed a body, pictures can't clothe a body, and a
log of wood is far better to burn and warm a body.'
"'All that is quite true, mother,' said the boy.
"'Then why do you keep looking at them, child?'
"The boy hesitated, and then answered, 'I don't know, mother.'
"'You don't know! nor I neither. Why, child, you look at the dumb things
as if you loved them. Put on your cap and run out to play.'
"So the boy went out, and wandered toward the forest till he came to the
brink of a sheet of water. It was too small to be called a lake, but it
was deep, clear, and overhung with crowds of trees. It was evening, and
the sun was getting low. There was a narrow strip of land stretching out
into the water. Pine-trees grew upon it; and here and there a plane-tree
or a sumach dipped its large leaves over, and seemed intent on watching
its own clear reflection.
"The boy stood still, and thought how delightful it was to see the sun
red and glorious between the black trunks of the pine-trees. Then he
looked up into the abyss of clear sky overhead, and thought how
beautiful it was to see the little frail clouds folded over one another
like a belt of rose-colored waves. Then he drew still nearer to the
water, and saw how they were all reflected down there among the leaves
and flowers of the lilies; and he wished he were a painter, for he said
to himself, 'I am sure there are no trees in the world with such
beautiful leaves as these pines; I am sure there are no other clouds in
the world so lovely as these; I know this is the sweetest piece of water
in the world, and, if I could paint it, every one else would know it
too.' He stood still for awhile, watching the water-lilies as they
closed their leaves for the night, and listening to the slight sound
they made when they dipped their heads under water. 'The sun has been
playing tricks with these lilies as well as with the clouds,' he said to
himself, 'for when I passed by in the morning they swayed about like
floating snowballs, and now there is not a bud of them that has not got
a rosy side. I must gather one, and see if I cannot make a drawing of
it.' So he gathered a lily, sat down with it in his hand, and tried very
hard to make a correct sketch of it in a blank leaf of his copy-book. He
was far more patient than usual, but he succeeded so little to his own
satisfaction, that at length he threw down the book, and, looking into
the cup of his lily, said to it, in a sorrowful voice, 'Ah, what use is
it my trying to copy anything so beautiful as you are? How much I wish I
were a painter!'
"As he said these words he felt a slight quivering in the flower; and,
while he looked, the cluster of stamens at the bottom of the cup floated
upward, and glittered like a crown of gold; the dewdrops which hung upon
them changed into diamonds before his eyes; the white petals flowed
together; the tall pistil was a golden wand; and the next moment a
beautiful little creature stood upon his hand, clad in a robe of the
purest white, and scarcely taller than the flower from which she sprung.
[Illustration: "THE NEXT MOMENT A BEAUTIFUL LITTLE CREATURE STOOD UPON
HIS HAND."]
"Struck with astonishment, the boy kept silence. She lifted up her face,
and opened her lips more than once. He expected her to say some
wonderful thing; but, when at length she did speak, she only said,
'Child, are you happy?'
"'No,' said the boy, in a low voice, 'because I want to paint, and I
cannot.'
"'How do you know that you cannot?' asked the fairy.
"'Oh, fairy,' replied the boy, 'because I have tried a great many times.
It is of no use trying any longer.'
"'What if I were to help you?' said the fairy.
"'There would then indeed be some pleasure in the work and some chance
of success,' said the boy.
"'I was just closing my leaves for the night,' answered the fairy, 'when
you drew me out of the water; and I should have made you feel the
effects of my resentment if it had not happened that you are the
favorite of our race. Under the water, at the bottom of this lake, are
our palaces and castles; and when, after visiting the upper world, we
wish to return to them, we close one of these lilies over us, and sink
in it to our home. The wish that I heard you utter just now induced me
to appear to you. I know a powerful charm which will ensure your success
and the accomplishment of your highest wishes; but it is one which
requires a great deal of care and patience in the working, and I cannot
put you in possession of it unless you will promise the most implicit
obedience to my directions.'
"'Spirit of a water-lily!' said the boy, 'I promise with all my heart.'
"'Go home, then,' continued the fairy, 'and you will find lying on the
threshold a little key: take it up.'
"'I will,' answered the boy; 'and what then shall I do?'
"'Carry it to the nearest pine-tree,' said the fairy, 'strike the trunk
with it, and a keyhole will appear. Do not be afraid to unlock that
magic door. Slip in your hand, and you will bring out a wonderful
palette. I have not time now to tell you half its virtues, but they will
soon unfold themselves. You must be very careful to paint with colors
from that palette every day. On this depends the success of the charm.
You will find that it will soon give grace to your figures and beauty to
your coloring; and I promise you that, if you do not break the spell,
you shall not only in a few years be able to produce as beautiful a copy
of these flowers as can be wished, but your name shall become known to
fame, and your genius shall be honored, and your pictures admired on
both sides the Atlantic.'
"'Can it be possible?' said the boy; and the hand trembled on which
stood the fairy.
"'It shall be so, if only you do not break the charm,' said the fairy;
'but lest, like the rest of your ungrateful race, you should forget what
you owe to me, and even when you grow older begin to doubt whether you
have ever seen me, the Lily you gathered will never fade till my promise
is accomplished.'
"So saying, she gathered around her the folds of her robe, crossed her
arms, and dropping her head on her breast, trembled slightly; and,
before the boy could remark the change, he had nothing in his hand but a
flower.
"He looked up. All the beautiful rosy flowers were faded to a shady
gray. The gold had disappeared from the water, and the forest was dense
and gloomy. He arose with the lily in his hand, went slowly home, laid
it in a casket to protect it from injury, and then proceeded to search
for the palette, which he shortly found; and, lest he should break the
spell, he began to use it that very night.
"Who would not like to have a fairy friend? Who would not like to work
with a magic palette? Every day its virtues become more apparent. He
worked very hard, and it was astonishing how soon he improved. His deep,
heavy outlines soon became light and clear; and his coloring began to
assume a transparent delicacy. He was so delighted with the fairy
present that he even did more than was required of him. He spent nearly
all his leisure time in using it, and often passed whole days beside the
sheet of water in the forest. He painted it when the sun shone, and it
was spotted all over with the reflection of fleeting white clouds; he
painted it covered with water-lilies rocking on the ripples; by
moonlight, when two or three stars in the empty sky shone down upon it;
and at sunset, when it lay trembling like liquid gold.
"But the fairy never came to look at his work. He often called to her
when he had been more than usually successful; but she never made him
any answer, nor took the least notice of his entreaties that he might
see her again.
"So a long time--several years--passed away. He was grown up to be a
man, and he had never broken the charm; he still worked every day with
his magic palette.
"No one in these parts cared at all for his pictures. His mother's
friends told him he would never get his bread by painting; his mother
herself was sorry that he chose to waste his leisure so; and the more
because the pictures on her walls were brighter far than his, and had
clouds and trees of far clearer color, not like the common clouds and
misty hills that he was so fond of painting, and his faintly colored
distant forest, with uncertain and variable hues, such as she could see
any day when she looked out at her window.
"It made the young man unhappy to hear all this fault found with his
proceedings, but it never made him leave off using the fairy's palette,
though about this time he himself began to doubt whether he should ever
be a painter. One evening he sat at his easel, trying in vain to give
the expression he wished to an angel's face, which seemed to get less
and less like the face in his heart with every touch he gave it. On a
sudden he threw down his brush, and with a feeling of bitter
disappointment upbraided himself for what he now thought his folly in
listening to the fairy, and accepting her delusive gift. What had he got
by it hitherto? Nothing but his mother's regrets and the ridicule of his
companions. He threw himself on his bed. It grew dark; he could no
longer be vexed with the sight of his unfinished angel; and presently he
fell asleep and forgot his sorrow.
"In the middle of the night he suddenly awoke. His chamber was full of
moonlight. The lid of the casket where he kept the lily had sprung open,
and his fairy friend stood near it.
"'American painter,' she said, in a reproachful voice, 'since you think
I have been rather a foe than a friend to you, I am ready to take back
my gift.'
"But sleep had now cooled the young painter's mind, and softened his
feelings of vexation, so that he did not find himself at all willing to
part with the palette. While he hesitated how to excuse himself, she
further said, 'But if you still wish to try what it can do for you, take
this ring which _my sister_ sends you; wear it, and it will greatly
assist the charm.'
"The youth held out his hand and took the ring. As he cast his eyes upon
it, the fairy vanished. He turned it to the moonlight, and saw that it
was set with a stone of a transparent blue color. It had the property of
reflecting everything bright that came near it; and there was a word
engraven upon it. He thought--he could not be sure--but he thought the
word was 'Hope.'
"After this, and during a long time, I can tell you no more about him:
whether he finished the angel's face, and whether it pleased him at
last, I do not know. I only know that, in process of time, his mother
died--that he came to Europe--and that he was quite unknown and very
poor.
"The next thing recorded of him is this, that on a sudden he became
famous. The world began to admire his works, and to seek his company. He
was considered a great man, and wealth and honors flowed in upon him. It
happened to him that one day in travelling he came to a great city,
where there was a large collection of pictures. He went to see them, and
among them he saw many of his own pictures; some of them he had painted
before he had left his forest home; others were of more recent date. All
the people and all the painters praised them. But there was one that
they liked better than the others; and when he heard them call it his
masterpiece, he went and sat down opposite to it, that he might think
over again some of the thoughts that he had had when he painted it.
"It was a picture of a little child, holding in its hands several
beautiful water-lilies; and the crowd that gathered round it praised the
lightness of the drapery, the beauty of the infant form, the soft light
shed down upon it, and, above all, the innocent expression of the baby
features.
"He was pleased, but not elated. He called to mind the words of his
fairy benefactress, and acknowledged to himself that at length they were
certainly fulfilled.