IN WHICH YOU READ OF THE GLORIOUS CAVERNS OF WHITE MARBLE FRONTING
ON THE WONDERFUL RIVER.—IN THE TROPICS OF THE UNDER WORLD.—HOW WE
CAME UPON A SOLITARY WANDERER ON THE BANKS OF THE RIVER.—MY
CONVERSATION WITH HIM, AND MY JOY AT FINDING MYSELF IN THE LAND OF
THE RATTLEBRAINS, OR HAPPY FORGETTERS.—BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF THEM.
With every turn in the winding way that skirted the white shores of this
wonderful stream, its swarms of light-emitting animals lent it a new
beauty; for as the day advanced—if I may so express it—they lifted their
glowing bodies nearer and nearer to the surface, until now the river
shone like molten silver; and as the sheer walls of rock on the opposite
bank held set in them vast slabs of mica, the effect was that these
gigantic natural mirrors reflected the glowing stream with startling
fidelity, and threw the flood of soft light in dazzling shimmer against
the fantastic portals of the white marble caverns on this side of the
stream. It was a scene never to forget, and again and again I paused in
silent wonder to feast my eyes upon some newly discovered beauty. Now,
for the first, I noted that every white marble basin of cove and inlet
was filled with a different glow, according to the nature of the tiny
phosphorescent animals which happened to fill its waters,—one being a
delicate pink, another a glorious red, the third a deep rich purple, the
fourth a soft blue, the fifth a golden yellow, and so on, the charm of
each tint being greatly enhanced by the snowy whiteness of these marble
basins, through which long lines of curious fish scaled in hues of
polished gold and silver swam slowly along, turning up their glorious
sides to catch the full splendor of the light reflected from the mica
mirrors. And now the chilly breath of King Gelidus’ domain no longer
filled the air. I stood in the tropics of the under world, so to speak;
and but one thing was lacking to make my enjoyment of this fairy region
complete, and that was some one to share it with me.
True, Bulger had an idea of its beauty, for he testified his happiness
at being once more in a warm land by executing some mad capers for my
amusement, and by scampering along the shore of the glowing river and
barking at the stately fish as they slowly fanned the water with their
many colored fins; but I must admit that I longed for the Princess
Schneeboule to keep me company. But it was a rash wish; for the warm air
would have thrown her into convulsions of fear, and she would have
preferred to meet her death in the cool river rather than attempt to
breathe such a fiery atmosphere. By this time I had advanced several
miles along the white shores of the glowing stream, and, feeling
somewhat fatigued, I was about to sit down on the jutting edge of a
natural bench of rock, which seemed almost placed on the river banks by
human hands for human forms to rest upon and watch the wonderful play of
tints and hues in this wide sweeping inlet, when, to my amazement, I saw
that a human creature was already sitting there.
His eyes were fixed upon the water, and methought that his face, which
was gentle and placid, wore a tired look. Certainly he was plunged into
such deep meditation that he either took or feigned to take no notice of
my approach. Bulger was inclined to dash forward and attract his
attention by a string of earsplitting barks, but I shook my head. This
wanderer along the glowing stream of day wore rather a graceful
cloak-like garment, woven of some substance that shimmered in the light,
and so I concluded that it must be mineral wool. His head was bare, and
so were his legs to the knees, his feet being shod with white metal
sandals tied on with what looked like leathern thongs. All in all, he
had a friendly though somewhat peculiar look about him, and his attitude
struck me as being that of a person either plunged into deep thought, or
possibly listening for some anxiously expected signal. At any rate,
accustomed as I was to meet all sorts of people on my travels in the
four corners of the globe, I determined to make bold enough to interrupt
the gentleman’s meditations and wish him good-morrow.
[Illustration: THROUGH THE REVOLVING DOOR.]
“Whom have I the pleasure of meeting in this beautiful section of the
World within a World?”
The man looked at me in a dazed sort of way and replied,—
“I really don’t know, I’m happy to say.”
“But, sir, thy name!” I insisted.
“Forgot it years ago,” was his remarkable answer.
“But surely, sir,” I exclaimed rather testily, “thou art not the sole
inhabitant of this beautiful under world,—thou hast kinsman, wife,
family?”
“Ay, gentle stranger,” he replied in slow and measured tones, “there are
people farther along the shore, and they are good, dear souls, although
I have forgotten their names, and I have, too, a very faint recollection
that two of those people are sons of mine. Stop! no, their names are
gone from me too, I forgot them the day my own name slipped from my
mind!” and as he uttered these words he threw his head back with a
sudden jerk and I heard a strange click inside of it, as if something
had slipped from its place, and that instant a mysterious expression
used by that Master of Masters, Don Fum, flashed through my mind.
Rattlebrains! Yes, that was it; and now I felt sure that I was standing
in the presence of one of the curious folk inhabiting the World within a
World, to whom Don Fum had given the strange name of Rattlebrains, or
Happy Forgetters.
I was so delighted that I could barely keep myself from rushing up to
this gentle-visaged and mild-mannered person, whose head had just given
forth the sharp click, and grasping him by the hand. But I feared to
shock him by such a friendly greeting, and so I contented myself with
crying out,—
“Sir, thou seest before thee none other than the famous traveller, Baron
Sebastian von Troomp!” but to my great amazement and greater chagrin he
simply turned his strange eyes, with the far-away look, upon me for an
instant, and then resumed his contemplation of the beautifully tinted
sheet of water, as if I hadn’t opened my mouth. It was the most
extraordinary treatment that I had experienced since my descent into the
under world, and I was upon the point of resenting it, as became a true
knight and especially a von Troomp, when Don Fum’s brief description of
the Rattlebrains, or Happy Forgetters, flitted through my mind.
Said he, “By the exercise of their strong wills they have been busy for
ages striving to unload their brains of the to them now useless stock of
knowledge accumulated by their ancestors, and the natural consequence
has been that the brains of these curious folk, who call themselves the
Happy Forgetters, relieved of all labor and strain of thought, have
absolutely shrunken rather than increased in size, so that with many of
the Happy Forgetters their brains are like the shrivelled kernel of a
last year’s nut and give forth a sharp click when they move their heads
suddenly with a jerk, as is often their wont, for they take great pride
in proving to the listener that they deserve the name of Rattlebrain.
“Nor do I need remind thee, O reader,” concluded Don Fum, in his
celebrated work on the “World within a World,” “that the chiefest among
the Happy Forgetters is the man whose head gives forth the loudest and
sharpest click; for he it is who has forgotten most.”
You can have but a faint idea, dear friends, of my delight at the
prospect of spending some time among these curious people—people who
look with absolute dread upon knowledge as the one thing necessary to
get rid of before happiness can enter the human heart.
No joy can equal the Happy Forgetter’s when, upon clasping a friend’s
hand, he finds that he has forgotten his very name; and no day is well
spent in this land at the close of which the inhabitant may not
exclaim,—
“This day I succeeded in forgetting something that I knew yesterday!”
At last the Happy Forgetter rose from his seat and calmly walked away,
without so much as wishing me good-day; but I was resolved not to be so
easily gotten rid of, so I called after him in a loud voice, and Bulger,
following my example, raised a racket at his heels, whereupon he faced
about and remarked,—
“Beg pardon, I had quite forgotten thee, I’m happy to say, and thy name
too, I’ve forgotten that; let me see, Art thou a radiate?” (One of the
animals in the water.) I was more than half inclined to lose my temper
at this slur, classing me, a back-boned animal, with a mere jelly-fish;
but under all the circumstances I thought it best to control myself, for
I could well imagine that from the size of my head and the utter absence
of all click inside of it, I was not destined to be a very welcome
visitor among the Happy Forgetters; and therefore, swallowing my injured
feelings, I made a very low bow, and begged this curious gentleman to be
kind enough to conduct me to his people—among whom I wished to abide for
a few days.