draw my daughter away, when the ballad singers faced with one accord in
my direction and began to cry, “Buy our ballads! Ho, master Eyebrows!
Buy our ballads! Welcome to Oogh, master Eyebrows!”
The faces and heads of these three fellows were covered with black
hair; but I now noticed that not one of them had the vestige of an
eyebrow; and I observed further that there was not an eyebrow amongst
all the crowd, with the exception only of the boy at my side; and as to
him, the people, when they saw him, suddenly fell silent, and backed
away from him with something like fear in their eyes. The boy observed
it, as I could see, and looked as if he were going to cry again.
“What do we say, brothers,” shouted one of the ballad singers, “what do
we say to the damsel in the tattered gown? Shall one of us marry the
tattered damsel? Oh, yes, oh, yes! Tra la, tra la,--”
He paused, as if waiting for a laugh; but the crowd did not laugh any
more, and my daughter was herself in fact the only one who seemed to be
amused. As for myself, I was beginning to be angry.
“We’ll marry the Lady Tatters!” cried the blind man. “O-o-oh!” And
he burst into a loud song, in which the other two joined, all three
prancing up and down meanwhile in a ridiculous dance. So far as I can
recollect it, their song went something like this:
“O Lady Tatters! O Lady Tatters!
We scorn the fellow who basely flatters,
But we can’t help saying that nobody matters
But you, fair lady, but you, but you!
Tra la, tra la, tra la, tra la,
We know that it’s generally customary
In cases like these to be shy and wary,
For often enough in matrimony
There’s plenty of gall mixed in with the honey,
How true that is! how true! how true!
Tra la, tra la, tra la, tra la,
But under existing circumstances
Every fellow must take some chances,
Refusing to bother concerning expenses
And other deplorable consequences,
Cheerfully scorning each friendly warning,--
How few regard it! how few! how few!
Tra la, tra la, tra la, tra la,
O Lady Tatters! O Lady Tatters!
We’ve duly considered these difficult matters,
And now, without any reservation,
We’re ready to enter the marriage relation!
You’ve only to view our reliable faces
And gaze on our truly superlative graces,
To note that the suitors by whom you’re attended
Come really remarkably well recommended,--
Buy it’s all in the point of view! How true!
It’s all in the point of view!
Tra la, tra la, tra la, tra la,--”
“Silence, rogues!” I cried, out of all patience at their impudence, but
my daughter burst out laughing. It was ever her way to be amused rather
than annoyed.
“Master Eyebrows!” shouted the first ballad singer. “Choose one of us
for the tattered damsel! What will you take for her? Speak.”
“You shall have the Shears!” shouted the second ballad singer.
“The Shears of Sharpness!” shouted the third.
“See, Eyebrows!” cried the first. “The Shears of Sharpness!”
_The Blind Ballad Singer Displays the Shears of Sharpness_
He drew from under his gown a pair of tailor’s shears, and as he did so
the crowd fell back as if in alarm. He stepped toward the city wall,
and placed his hand on a flat iron bar, some two or three inches in
width, supporting an awning over a booth; and applying his shears to
it, he cut it through and through as if it had been paper. I gasped in
amazement; never had I seen a pair of shears like those.
“The Shears for the lady!” cried the blind man. “Come, Eyebrows,
choose!”
“Impudent rascal,” said I, “the lady is my daughter, and I foresee that
a good scourging is awaiting you. Come, Amadore!”
“But buy our ballads!” cried the second ballad singer. “Buy our
ballads!” cried the others, and each of the three thrust toward me one
of his papers.
I took them, and paying over a few coppers, moved on toward the city
gate. “Father!” said Amadore in my ear. “The boy is gone!”
It was true. The boy had slipped away, and was gone. The idlers began
to laugh again, and I drew my daughter after me into the city.
In a moment we were standing in a street of shops, and my daughter,
laughing again, begged me to read my ballads. I glanced at the sheets,
still angry, and was about to toss them away, when I observed that they
were blank, or nearly so, and I looked at them more closely.
On the first were written these words, and nothing more: “Hurry. Hurry.”
On the second I found these words only: “The Cobweb Room in the
Governor’s Palace.”
On the third were these words only: “The Eyebrows of Babadag the
Tailor.”
I stared at my daughter in perplexity; but she urged that these could
be no other than messages on behalf of our friend Urban, and that we
must find him without a moment’s delay. We walked on briskly, intending
to inquire our way to the governor’s palace.
_The Strange Conduct of the People of Oogh_
As we went on, we became aware of a general and oppressive stillness.
A few people were in the street, and some could be seen inside the
shops; but they conversed in low tones, and they seemed to be idle,
indifferent, and listless. Here and there a shopkeeper sat in a chair
before his shop, gazing blankly at the opposite wall.
Of the first of these shopkeepers I inquired the direction of the
governor’s palace. The man started from his reverie, as if frightened,
rose from his chair, stared at me curiously, and without a word went
into his shop and closed the door. “Did you see?” said my daughter. “He
had no eyebrows.”
At the next corner we came to an open market of stalls, and there
I repeated my inquiry. Instead of the usual bustle and clamor of a
market, there was the same silence, though the place was thronged
with people. I nudged my daughter in surprise, for among all these
people there was not an eyebrow. The venders were making no effort,
apparently, to sell their wares, and the customers were buying with an
air of indifference, as if the business bored them. I began to feel
depressed, and even my daughter was sober.
The market man of whom I asked my direction looked anxiously about him
before answering, and then whispered hurriedly, “I’ve nothing to do
with it. Nothing. How do you come to be wearing eyebrows here?”
Without answering him, I applied at two or three other stalls, but the
only result was a shaking of heads and a curious, wide gaze, as of
mild alarm. There was nothing to do but to search out unaided the most
pretentious house in the city; for such a house, undoubtedly, would be
the governor’s residence.
We walked the streets for more than an hour; and everywhere was
the same silence, the same listlessness, the same apathy. “I don’t
believe,” said my daughter, “that these people have any wills of their
own at all.”
“Certainly,” said I, “they have no eyebrows of their own, at least.
Except for the boy who ran away from us, I haven’t seen an eyebrow in
the city. It seems strange.”
_The Mansion in the Ruined Park_
We ascended a hill, and came to a park gate, at a point from which we
could see the entire city below us. Through the gate, across the park,
we saw a residence more imposing than any we had yet seen. The gate
hung wide open on broken hinges, and the park within was in a state of
ruin.
“This must be it,” said my daughter.
“It seems unlikely,” said I, “but we will soon know.”
We made our way across the park, through tall weeds and tangled
brambles, and stood before a splendid but gloomy mansion. The door was
swinging open, and we entered.
All was silent within. A sense of calamity seemed to pervade the place;
plainly it was deserted. We walked on through spacious apartments, and
everywhere was furniture of the richest description, but covered with
dust and hung with cobwebs. We stopped finally, far within, before a
door which appeared to lead outside.
“It is no use,” said I. “Our friend is gone, if he was ever here, and
we must seek him elsewhere.”
“No, no,” said my daughter. “We must find the Cobweb Room.”
She led the way out into an open court green with moss and weeds,
in the center of which was a fountain with a dry and littered basin
beneath it. I stopped suddenly, and listened. “Hark!” said I. From a
distance came, or seemed to come, the voices of the three blind ballad
singers, shouting out some ribald ballad. My daughter smiled, and I
called out, “Urban!” The singing ceased, and there was no response to
my cry. “Come,” said my daughter, and led me around the dry fountain to
an alley of cypress trees which opened toward a section of the mansion
beyond the court.
An open door at the end of this alley admitted us to a circular
chamber, very lofty, evidently an audience room, deserted like the
rest, on one side of which, on a daïs, stood a marble seat with arms,
covered with cobwebs.
“Ah! Look!” said my daughter, and pointed to an open doorway on the
opposite side of the room.
_The Solitary Figure Behind the Spider’s Web_
The doorway was barred from top to bottom and from side to side with a
single monstrous spider’s web. We stood before it and looked through.
Seated beside a table in a little room with a high window barred
likewise with a cobweb was the figure of our friend, the governor of
Oogh.
His head was resting mournfully on his hand, and he was staring
vacantly at the floor. His hair was long and powdered with dust; his
beard had grown to a great length; but he had no eyebrows. His hands
and clothing were white with dust, and there was around his neck,
in striking contrast, a gold chain, of very fine gold and delicate
workmanship.
“Urban!” I cried. “We are here!”
He did not move. I called his name again, but he seemed not to hear.
He did not move nor speak. I pushed briskly against the cobweb, but it
held like wire; I could not break through, though I dashed against it
with all my strength. I tried to cut it with a sharp knife which I wore
under my smock, but it was no use; the cobweb held, and the blade was
broken.
We remained for a moment, peering in at our friend, uncertain what to
do. Who could have been the author of this witchery? I remembered the
name which had occurred on one of the ballad singers’ sheets. I gave
a last look at the silent and motionless figure within, and led my
daughter back to the court of the dry fountain. There she sat down on
the rim of the empty basin, and looked up at the sky as if listening.
A faint sound, as of singing at a distance, seemed to float down to us.
“Just as I thought,” said my daughter. “It will be best for me to
remain here. I think some information will come to me here, if I wait.
Do you go down into the city, father, and seek what you may find there.
I will wait here until you return. Don’t be uneasy, father; I shall not
be lonesome.” And she laughed, as if at some joke.
I did not understand her purpose, and I refused to leave her; but she
insisted, and I gave in at last. She always had her way.
I left her, and set forth alone to obtain such information as I could.
I was passing out through the ruinous gateway into the street, when I
heard, or fancied I heard, from the direction of the house, the voices
of the three blind ballad singers, in one of their songs; but when I
stopped to listen I could hear them no longer, and I concluded that I
had been mistaken.
I reached the market place, and stood for a moment behind an awning,
debating whether I might put a question regarding Babadag the Tailor.
I was still uncertain what to do, when a slight commotion among the
people attracted my notice. I looked out from my concealment, and saw,
approaching from the next corner, the boy whom I had found beside the
wayside well.
_The Prince Watches the People’s Behavior Toward the Boy_
His face was dark with a sort of settled gloom. He walked slowly, and
as he came on the people made way for him and stood whispering in
groups and glancing at him furtively over their shoulders. He paused
at one of the stalls and picking up some dates looked at the vender,
timidly and appealingly, as if about to speak; but the vender sidled
away from him toward the nearest group, and the boy put down the fruit,
sighed, and went on.
He passed the place of my concealment, and by this time tears were
beginning to trickle down his cheeks. But he held his head proudly, and
looking neither to right nor to left passed out of sight around the
next corner.
I followed him, hoping for some light upon the general mystery. I
followed him across the city, through many streets, wondering why
it was that a boy so gentle and so beautiful should seem to inspire
everywhere a kind of mild and listless aversion. At one place a child
ran up to him and tugged at his garments, and the boy’s face lighted
up with pleasure; but the child’s mother pulled her infant away in a
hurry, and the boy went on, more sadly than before.
He came to a street in which, for the space of a single block, the
shops and houses were evidently deserted; and in the middle of this
block, before a shop with broken windows, deserted apparently like the
rest, the boy stopped, and pushing open the front door, went in.
I came up quickly, and peeping in at the same door saw a vacant room
within, in which remnants of old merchandise were lying about in
disorder, and dirt and refuse lay everywhere on the floor. I went in
quietly and crossed the room to a door at the rear, and opening it on
a crack saw the boy stooping down in a paved yard. I heard the boy
speak, without hearing what he said, and saw him descend by some means
into the ground and disappear.
I ran to the spot and knelt down beside an iron grating, some three
feet square, which I found there in the pavement. I heard from below a
rumble, succeeded by a clatter, and then there was silence. Laying down
my pack on the ground I pulled at the grating, and found that it rose
on hinges, like a trapdoor. I opened it, and saw beneath it a ladder. I
stepped on the top rung, and went down.
_The Man with the Ball in the Underground Alley_
At the bottom I found myself at one end of a dimly lighted room, very
long and very narrow, like an enclosed alley; and near by was the boy,
and beside him a grown man, both intent on something at the other end
of the room. The man was swinging in his right hand a large wooden
ball, and as I watched him he cried out, laughing cheerily:
“Never mind, Figli! This time I’ll make a strike! Only forty-seven more
to make! Now watch!”
He hurled the ball from him along the floor, and it rolled swiftly to
the far end of the room, where it crashed in among ten large wooden
bottles, standing upright on the floor. He was playing tenpins.
“Oh!” cried the boy called Figli. “Only seven!”
“Never mind, never mind,” said the Bowler, cheerfully, and ran up the
alley and set up the pins, and then ran back with the ball, in great
haste. As he came back, he appeared to look directly at me, but gave no
sign of having seen me. I scanned his face closely. He was blind. His
hair and beard were black, and he had no eyebrows.
The boy flung out his hands as if in despair, and cried:
“It’s no use! You can’t do it! Forty-seven strikes to make by midnight!
Oh, he’ll give you to Goolk the Spider! What shall I do? What shall I
do?”
“Perhaps I can help you,” said I, coming forward.
The boy sprang up, and the Blind Bowler wheeled round toward me.
“Oh! it’s you,” said the boy named Figli. “What can a peddler do
against the Eyebrow?”
“Who is it?” said the Blind Bowler.
“It’s a stranger with eyebrows,” said Figli, “who was kind to me
to-day.”
The Blind Bowler sent a ball spinning up the alley, and all the ten
pins fell down with a clatter.
“A strike!” cried Figli, joyfully.
“We’ll do it yet!” said the Bowler. “Only forty-six more! Never give
up! Keep everlastingly at it, that’s my motto!” And he ran after the
ball, set up the pins, and ran back, ready to throw again.
“If he has eyebrows,” said he, panting and wiping his forehead, “he
must have a will of his own; and it must be a good will, or else he
wouldn’t have been kind to you.”
He rolled the ball again, knocking down only six.
“Better luck next time!” he cried, and darted up the alley. “Never say
die, and keep everlastingly at it, that’s the motto!”
“My boy,” said I, “I beg you to trust me, and to tell me who you are,
and why--”
“A strike!” cried the Blind Bowler. “Only forty-five to make by
midnight! Trust him, Figli! His voice is honest. I think he is the one
we have been waiting for. Trust him!”
“It’s hard for me to tell you,” said the boy, “it’s too--”
“I’ll tell you!” cried the Blind Bowler, running down the alley. “His
name is Figli Babadag. Does that tell you everything?”
“No, nothing,” said I.
“Eight down that time!” cried the Bowler. “Never say die! He’s the son
of Babadag the Tailor. Now do you know?”
“No,” said I.
“Then I must tell you,” said the Blind Bowler. “It is Babadag who rules
the city; don’t you know that? Master of black secrets is Babadag, and
lord of the Eyebrow; and his anger is terrible. He has put the golden
chain about the Governor’s neck and shut him up in the Cobweb Room.
He has drawn the wills from out of the brains of all our people, by
plucking out their eyebrows, so that in all the city there are but two
wills only, one bad and one good: the will of Babadag and the will of
his little son. Nine down that time! Never give up!”
“Oh!” cried Figli. “I want my father to be good! I want him to be poor
and good like the others! If I could only make him good!”
“Only one way to do that!” said the Blind Bowler, halfway down the
alley. “He is lord of the Eyebrow, and in the Eyebrow lies his power.
But the hairs of his eyebrows are no ordinary hairs; they are of the
family of gray snakes that live in the lake Siskratoum, and there is no
one to cut them, even if there were a blade sharp enough; and they must
be cut by the hand of love, and there is no one here that loves him,
but his son. There is not one but trembles at his name, and even at the
name of Figli his son;--there is scarcely one who dares brush against
the boy in the street, for fear of what power may lie in the eyebrows
of the boy, and for fear of his father’s malice.”
“They won’t speak to me!” cried Figli. “They’re afraid of me! And I’ve
done them no harm! I only want to be friends with them!”
“You see he’s all alone. He hates his riches; he wants to be poor and
simple, like the others.”
“And what about yourself?” said I.
“Ah!” cried the Blind Bowler. “Only six down that time! Not so easy,
when you’ve no eyes to see with! But keep everlastingly at it, that’s
the word! What did you say?”
“What about yourself?” said I.
“Oh, me! I helped the governor fight this Babadag, and we lost; and
for that the powerful one put out my eyes, and the eyes of my three
brothers as well, for nothing but because they were my brothers; three
ballad singers--”
“Yes!” said I. “I have seen them.”
“Ridiculous fellows, but no harm in them! And because it was my
pleasure in former times to play at bowling, old Babadag placed me
here, under my shop, to bowl a thousand strikes, if I could, by
midnight of this very day; and if not, to take my place in the web with
Goolk the Spider. Those ballad singers, my brothers, they would like
to help me if they could, and perhaps they will yet, who knows? Aha!
Another strike! I’ll do it yet!”
“It’s no use,” said Figli. “The time’s too short. And I can’t save him.
Oh, if you could help us, peddler! But you mustn’t do my father any
harm!”
“My boy,” said I, “I am a friend of the enchanted governor, and I will
do my best to help you. And perhaps the three blind ballad singers mean
to help too. I think they do. Will you take me to your father?”
The boy started in alarm. “You are very brave, peddler,” said he. “What
do you say?” he asked of the Blind Bowler.
“I say yes!” cried the Bowler. “There is hope in this stranger. I think
he’s the one we’ve been waiting for. My brothers have been on the
lookout for him. They’ll help too. Trust him!”
“Do you know any stories?” said the boy.
I smiled. “A few, I dare say,” said I.
“My father is a lover of tales. It’s his one weakness. It will be safer
for you if you can amuse him with tales, and the longer they are the
better.”
“The wine, if he offers you any,” said the Blind Bowler, “will be
drugged; that much is sure. Take care. And do not let yourself be
touched by Goolk the Spider.”
“Come,” said I. “There is not a moment to be lost.”
_The Prince Sets Out for His Encounter with Babadag the Tailor_
I hastened to the ladder, followed by the boy, and we began to go up.
The tenpins fell down with a clatter, and as I reached the grating
overhead I heard the voice of the Blind Bowler from below, crying out
cheerily, “Four down! Never mind! Keep everlastingly at it!”
In the paved yard I slung my pack on my back again, and followed the
boy into the street. It was beginning to grow dark, and I thought
anxiously of my daughter; but I could not go back to her yet. During
our walk the boy spoke only once, and then he said:
“You must not do my father any harm. I love my father. I want him to be
good, like the others, but I should die--I should die!--if he came to
any harm.”
I did not reply, but followed for half an hour through streets which
were now almost empty of people. We entered at last a street narrower
than the others, paved with cobblestones and without a sidewalk,
and stopped before a shop over whose door, by way of a sign, hung a
yardstick and a pair of shears. It seemed a mean enough abode for the
ruler of the city, but Figli, without hesitating, opened the door and
went in. The room inside was dark, but I could see a tailor’s bench and
implements, and a disorderly array of half-finished garments, covered
with dust. The boy opened a door at the rear, and I followed him along
a dark passage to another door, which Figli threw open to a flood of
light.
_Babadag the Tailor, Goolk the Spider, and the Eight Tailors_
We were standing in a magnificent apartment, paved with colored marble,
hung and spread with soft rugs, and lit with hundreds of tapers. At
the left, near the wall, was sitting an old man, and behind his chair,
from ceiling to floor, was a gigantic spider’s web, which glistened
like silver in the candlelight. In the center of this web was a great
green spider, with five or six small black spiders about him. Against
the opposite wall, on a tailor’s bench, eight men, totally without
eyebrows, were sitting cross-legged, each bending over a bowl held on
his knees, filled with what looked like shreds of hair, and engaged in
some kind of work with tiny knitting needles.
The old man’s gross and heavy body was clothed in a gorgeous robe of
pale yellow silk, like that which the boy had thrown in the mud, but
embroidered with spider’s webs of spun gold, and studded with rubies
and amethysts. His face, a rather jovial face, was covered with gray
hair, which hung over his breast, and his eyes shone like sparks behind
a pair of the shaggiest eyebrows I had ever seen. He gazed at me
calmly, and held out a hand to his son.
The boy went to him, and Babadag the Tailor put an arm about him and
said, with very obvious tenderness:
“My boy, you are late. And your robe and hat! Where are they?”
The boy threw himself on his knees beside his father, and cried,
“Oh, father! I couldn’t wear them any longer. I couldn’t! They’re
hateful! I don’t want to be dressed in silk! I want to be poor like the
others! I can’t wear them any longer, I can’t, I can’t!”
[Illustration: “You are welcome, master peddler,” said Babadag]
The old man smiled kindly. “Never mind, my son, never mind. I’ll not
scold you. We’ll think no more about it. Who is the visitor you have
brought with you?”
“It’s a peddler,” said Figli, standing up. “I don’t know his name; a
peddler I met by chance, and I’d like you to buy me something from his
pack.”
I stepped forward, made my bow, and dropped my pack to the floor.
“You are welcome, master peddler,” said Babadag.
The green spider gave a sharp twitch, which set the whole web quivering.
“Quiet, Goolk!” said Babadag.
The eight men on the tailor’s bench stopped their work, and said:
“Welcome, master peddler!”
“Knit your brows!” said Babadag, angrily, and the eight men hurriedly
resumed their knitting.
I opened my pack and began to take out some toys.
“Presently, presently, peddler,” said Babadag, stopping me. “Your face
is dark, stranger. A little more, and it would have been black.”
“Yes, very dark,” said the eight men, stopping their work again.
“Knit your brows!” thundered Babadag. “Accursed dogs, be silent!--A
dark stranger, who wears eyebrows in the city of Oogh! A thing of
interest! I would gladly know who you are and what brings you here.”
I was prepared with my story, and I answered promptly.
“Magnificence,” said I, “I am a peddler, and my name is Nobbud
Bald-er-Dash. If the ear of graciousness will incline to me, I will
tell an amusing tale concerning myself, and at some length.”