Chapter One
Where the Rainbow Ends
There was a boy who used to sit in the twilight and listen to
his great-aunt's stories.
She told him that if he could reach the place where the end of
the rainbow stands he would find there a golden key.
"And what is the key for?" the boy would ask. "What is it the
key of? What will it open?"
"That nobody knows," his aunt would reply. "He has to find that
out."
"I suppose, being gold," the boy once said, thoughtfully, "that
I could get a good deal of money for it if I sold it."
"Better never find it than sell it," returned his aunt.
And then the boy went to bed and dreamed about the golden key.
Now all that his great-aunt told the boy about the golden key
would have been nonsense, had it not been that their little house
stood on the borders of Fairyland. For it is perfectly well known
that out of Fairyland nobody ever can find where the rainbow stands.
The creature takes such good care of its golden key, always flitting
from place to place, lest any one should find it! But in Fairyland
it is quite different. Things that look real in this country look
very thin indeed in Fairyland, while some of the things that here
cannot stand still for a moment, will not move there. So it was
not in the least absurd of the old lady to tell her nephew such
things about the golden key.
"Did you ever know anybody find it?" he asked, one evening.
"Yes. Your father, I believe, found it."
"And what did he do with it, can you tell me?"
"He never told me."
"What was it like?"
"He never showed it to me."
"How does a new key come there always?"
"I don't know. There it is." "Perhaps it is the rainbow's egg."
"Perhaps it is. You will be a happy boy if you find the nest."
"Perhaps it comes tumbling down the rainbow from the sky."
"Perhaps it does."
Chapter Two
Two Runaways
One evening, in summer, he went into his own room, and stood at
the lattice-window, and gazed into the forest which fringed the
outskirts of Fairyland. It came close up to his great aunt's garden,
and, indeed, sent some straggling trees into it. The forest lay
to the east, and the sun, which was setting behind the cottage,
looked straight into the dark wood with his level red eye. The
trees were all old, and had few branches below, so that the sun
could see a great way into the forest; and the boy, being keen-sighted,
could see almost as far as the sun. The trunks stood like rows
of red columns in the shine of the red sun, and he could see down
aisle after aisle in the vanishing distance. And as he gazed into
the forest he began to feel as if the trees were all waiting for
him, and had something they could not go on with till he came
to them. But he was hungry and wanted his supper. So he lingered.
Suddenly, far among the trees, as far as the sun could shine,
he saw a glorious thing. It was the end of a rainbow, large and
brilliant. He could count all seven colours, and could see shade
after shade beyond the violet; while before the red stood a colour
more gorgeous and mysterious still. It was a colour he had never
seen before. Only the spring of the rainbow-arch was visible.
He could see nothing of it above the trees.
"The golden key!" he said to himself, and darted out of the house,
and into the wood.
He had not gone far before the sun set. But the rainbow only glowed
the brighter. For the rainbow of Fairyland is not dependent upon
the sun as ours is. The trees welcomed him. The bushes made way
for him. The rainbow grew larger and brighter; and at length he
found himself within two trees of it.
It was a grand sight, burning away there in silence, with its
gorgeous, its lovely, its delicate colours, each distinct, all
combining. He could now see a great deal more of it. It rose high
into the blue heavens, but bent so little that he could not tell
how high the crown of the arch must reach. It was still only a
small portion of a huge bow.
He stood gazing at it till he forgot himself with delight--even
forgot the key which he had come to seek. And as he stood it grew
more wonderful still. For in each of the colours, which was as
large as the column of a church, he could faintly see beautiful
forms slowly ascending as if by the steps of a winding stair.
The forms appeared irregularly--now one, now many, now several,
now none--men and women and children--all different, all beautiful.
He drew nearer to the rainbow. It vanished. He started back a
step in dismay. It was there again, as beautiful as ever. So he
contented himself with standing as near it as he might, and watching
the forms that ascended the glorious colours towards the unknown
height of the arch, which did not end abruptly but faded away
in the blue air, so gradually that he could not say where it ceased.
When the thought of the golden key returned, the boy very wisely
proceeded to mark out in his mind the space covered by the foundation
of the rainbow, in order that he might know where to search, should
the rainbow disappear. It was based chiefly upon a bed of moss.
Meantime it had grown quite dark in the wood. The rainbow alone
was visible by its own light. But the moment the moon rose the
rainbow vanished. Nor could any change of place restore the vision
to the boy's eyes. So he threw himself down upon the mossy bed,
to wait till the sunlight would give him a chance of finding the
key. There he fell fast asleep.
When he woke in the morning the sun was looking straight into
his eyes. He turned away from it, and the same moment saw a brilliant
little thing lying on the moss within a foot of his face. It was
the golden key. The pipe of it was of plain gold, as bright as
gold could be. The handle was curiously wrought and set with sapphires.
In a terror of delight he put out his hand and took it, and had
it.
He lay for a while, turning it over and over, and feeding his
eyes upon its beauty. Then he jumped to his feet, remembering
that the pretty thing was of no use to him yet. Where was the
lock to which the key belonged? It must be somewhere, for how
could anybody be so silly as make a key for which there was no
lock? Where should he go to look for it? He gazed about him, up
into the air, down to the earth, but saw no keyhole in the clouds,
in the grass, or in the trees.
Just as he began to grow disconsolate, however, he saw something
glimmering in the wood. It was a mere glimmer that he saw, but
he took it for a glimmer of rainbow, and went towards it.--And
now I will go back to the borders of the forest.
Not far from the house where the boy had lived, there was another
house, the owner of which was a merchant, who was much away from
home. He had lost his wife some years before, and had only one
child, a little girl, whom he left to the charge of two servants,
who were very idle and careless. So she was neglected and left
untidy, and was sometimes ill-used besides.
Now it is well known that the little creatures commonly called
fairies, though there are many different kinds of fairies in Fairyland,
have an exceeding dislike to untidiness. Indeed, they are quite
spiteful to slovenly people. Being used to all the lovely ways
of the trees and flowers, and to the neatness of the birds and
all woodland creatures, it makes them feel miserable, even in
their deep woods and on their grassy carpets, to think that within
the same moonlight lies a dirty, uncomfortable, slovenly house.
And this makes them angry with the people that live in it, and
they would gladly drive them out of the world if they could. They
want the whole earth nice and clean. So they pinch the maids black
and blue, and play them all manner of uncomfortable tricks.
But this house was quite a shame, and the fairies in the forest
could not endure it. They tried everything on the maids without
effect, and at last resolved upon making a clean riddance, beginning
with the child. They ought to have known that it was not her fault,
but they have little principle and much mischief in them, and
they thought that if they got rid of her the maids would be sure
to be turned away.
So one evening, the poor little girl having been put to bed early,
before the sun was down, the servants went off to the village,
locking the door behind them. The child did not know she was alone,
and lay contentedly looking out of her window towards the forest,
of which, however, she could not see much, because of the ivy
and other creeping plants which had straggled across her window.
All at once she saw an ape making faces at her out of the mirror,
and the heads carved upon a great old wardrobe grinning fearfully.
Then two old spider-legged chairs came forward into the middle
of the room, and began to dance a queer, old-fashioned dance.
This set her laughing, and she forgot the ape and the grinning
heads. So the fairies saw they had made a mistake, and sent the
chairs back to their places. But they knew that she had been reading
the story of Silverhair all day. So the next moment she heard
the voices of the three bears upon the stair, big voice, middle
voice, and little voice, and she heard their soft, heavy tread,
as if they had had stockings over their boots, coming nearer and
nearer to the door of her room, till she could bear it no longer.
She did just as Silverhair did, and as the fairies wanted her
to do: she darted to the window, pulled it open, got upon the
ivy, and so scrambled to the ground. She then fled to the forest
as fast as she could run.
Now, although she did not know it, this was the very best way
she could have gone; for nothing is ever so mischievous in its
own place as it is out of it; and, besides, these mischievous
creatures were only the children of Fairyland, as it were, and
there are many other beings there as well; and if a wanderer gets
in among them, the good ones will always help him more than the
evil ones will be able to hurt him.
Chapter Three
The Air-Fish & Grandmother
The sun was now set, and the darkness coming on, but the child
thought of no danger but the bears behind her. If she had looked
round, however, she would have seen that she was followed by a
very different creature from a bear. It was a curious creature,
made like a fish, but covered, instead of scales, with feathers
of all colours, sparkling like those of a humming bird. It had
fins, not wings, and swam through the air as a fish does through
the water. Its head was like the head of a small owl.
After running a long way, and as the last of the light was disappearing,
she passed under a tree with drooping branches. It dropped its
branches to the ground all about her, and caught her as in a trap.
She struggled to get out, but the branches pressed her closer
and closer to the trunk. She was in great terror and distress,
when the air-fish, swimming into the thicket of branches, began
tearing them with its beak. They loosened their hold at once,
and the creature went on attacking them, till at length they let
the child go. Then the air-fish came from behind her, and swam
on in front, glittering and sparkling all lovely colours; and
she followed.
It led her gently along till all at once it swam in at a cottage
door. The child followed still. There was a bright fire in the
middle of the floor, upon which stood a pot without a lid, full
of water that boiled and bubbled furiously. The air-fish swam
straight to the pot and into the boiling water, where it lay quiet.
A beautiful woman rose from the opposite side of the fire and
came to meet the girl. She took her up in her arms, and said,
"Ah, you are come at last! I have been looking for you a long
time."
She sat down with her on her lap, and there the girl sat staring
at her. She had never seen anything so beautiful. She was tall
and strong, with white arms and neck, and a delicate flush on
her face. The child could not tell what was the colour of her
hair, but could not help thinking it had a tinge of dark green.
She had not one ornament upon her, but she looked as if she had
just put off quantities of diamonds and emeralds. Yet here she
was in the simplest, poorest little cottage, where she was evidently
at home. She was dressed in shining green.
The girl looked at the lady, and the lady looked at the girl.
"What is your name?" asked the lady.
"The servants always called me Tangle."
"Ah, that was because your hair was so untidy. But that was their
fault, the naughty women! Still it is a pretty name, and I will
call you Tangle too. You must not mind my asking you questions,
for you may ask me the same questions, every one of them, and
any others that you like. How old are you?"
"Ten," answered Tangle.
"You don't look like it," said the lady.
"How old are you. please?" returned Tangle.
"Thousands of years old,' answered the lady.
"You don't look like it," said Tangle.
"Don't I? I think I do. Don't you see how beautiful I am!"
And her great blue eyes looked down on the little Tangle, as if
all the stars in the sky were melted in them to make their brightness.
"Ah! but," said Tangle, "when people live long they grow old.
At least I always thought so."
"I have not time to grow old," said the lady. "I am too busy for
that. It is very idle to grow old.--But I cannot have my little
girl so untidy. Do you know I can't find a clean spot on your
face to kiss!"
"Perhaps," suggested Tangle, feeling ashamed, but not too much
so to say a word for herself, "perhaps that is because the tree
made me cry so."
"My poor darling!" said the lady, looking now as if the moon were
melted in her eyes, and kissing her little face, dirty as it was,
"the naughty tree must suffer for making a girl cry."
"And what is your name, please?" asked Tangle.
"Grandmother," answered the lady.
"Is it really?"
"Yes, indeed. I never tell stories, even in fun."
"How good of you!"
"I couldn't if I tried. It would come true if I said it, and then
I should be punished enough." And she smiled like the sun through
a summer-shower.
"But now," she went on, "I must get you washed and dressed, and
then we shall have some supper."
"Oh! I had supper long ago," said Tangle.
"Yes, indeed you had," answered the lady, "three years ago. You
don't know that it is three years since you ran away from the
bears. You are thirteen and more now."
Tangle could only stare. She felt quite sure it was true.
"You will not be afraid of anything I do with you--will you?"
said the lady.
"I will try very hard not to be; but I can't be certain, you know,"
replied Tangle.
"I like your saying so, and I shall be quite satisfied," answered
the lady.
She took off the girl's night-gown, rose with her in her arms,
and going to the wall of the cottage, opened a door. Then Tangle
saw a deep tank, the sides of which were filled with green plants,
which had flowers of all colours. There was a roof over it like
the roof of the cottage. It was filled with beautiful clear water,
in which swam a multitude of such fishes as the one that had led
her to the cottage. It was the light their colours gave that showed
the place in which they were.
The lady spoke some words Tangle could not understand, and threw
her into the tank.
The fishes came crowding about her. Two or three of them got under
her head and kept it up. The rest of them rubbed themselves all
over her, and with their wet feathers washed her quite clean.
Then the lady, who had been looking on all the time, spoke again;
whereupon some thirty or forty of the fishes rose out of the water
underneath Tangle, and so bore her up to the arms the lady held
out to take her. She carried her back to the fire, and, having
dried her well, opened a chest, and taking out the finest linen
garments, smelling of grass and lavender, put them upon her, and
over all a green dress, just like her own, shining like hers,
and soft like hers, and going into just such lovely folds from
the waist, where it was tied with a brown cord, to her bare feet.
"Won't you give me a pair of shoes too, grandmother?" said Tangle.
"No, my dear; no shoes. Look here. I wear no shoes."
So saying she lifted her dress a little, and there were the loveliest
white feet, but no shoes. Then Tangle was content to go without
shoes too. And the lady sat down with her again, and combed her
hair, and brushed it, and then left it to dry while she got the
supper.
Chapter Four
The Language of Nature
First she got bread out of one hole in the wall; then milk out
of another; then several kinds of fruit out a third; and then
she went to the pot on the fire, and took out the fish, now nicely
cooked, and, as soon as she had pulled off its feathered skin,
ready to be eaten.
"But," exclaimed Tangle. And she stared at the fish, and could
say no more.
"I know what you mean," returned the lady. "You do not like to
eat the messenger that brought you home. But it is the kindest
return you can make. The creature was afraid to go until it saw
me put the pot on, and heard me promise it should be boiled the
moment it returned with you. Then it darted out of the door at
once. You saw it go into the pot of itself the moment it entered,
did you not?"
"I did," answered Tangle, "and I thought it very strange; but
then I saw you, and forgot all about the fish."
"In Fairyland," resumed the lady, as they sat down to the table,
"the ambition of the animals is to be eaten by the people; for
that is their highest end in that condition. But they are not
therefore destroyed. Out of that pot comes something more than
the dead fish, you will see."
Tangle now remarked that the lid was on the pot. But the lady
took no further notice of it till they had eaten the fish, which
Tangle found nicer than any fish she had ever tasted before. It
was as white as snow, and as delicate as cream. And the moment
she had swallowed a mouthful of it, a change she could not describe
began to take place in her. She heard a murmuring all about her,
which became more and more articulate, and at length, as she went
on eating, grew intelligible. By the time she had finished her
share, the sounds of all the animals in the forest came crowding
through the door to her ears; for the door still stood wide open,
though it was pitch dark outside; and they were no longer sounds
only; they were speech, and speech that she could understand.
She could tell what the insects in the cottage were saying to
each other too. She had even a suspicion that the trees and flowers
all about the cottage were holding midnight communications with
each other; but what they said she could not hear.
As soon as the fish was eaten, the lady went to the fire and took
the lid off the pot. A lovely little creature in human shape,
with large white wings, rose out of it, and flew round and round
the roof of the cottage; then dropped, fluttering, and nestled
in the lap of the lady. She spoke to it some strange words, carried
it to the door, and threw it out into the darkness. Tangle heard
the flapping of its wings die away in the distance.
"Now have we done the fish any harm?" she said, returning.
"No," answered Tangle, "I do not think we have. I should not mind
eating one every day."
"They must wait their time, like you and me too, my little Tangle."
And she smiled a smile which the sadness in it made more lovely.
"But," she continued, "I think we may have one for supper to-morrow.
So saying she went to the door of the tank, and spoke; and now
Tangle understood her perfectly.
"I want one of you." she said, "the wisest."
Thereupon the fishes got together in the middle of the tank, with
their heads forming a circle above the water, and their tails
a larger circle beneath it. They were holding a council, in which
their relative wisdom should be determined. At length one of them
flew up into the lady's hand, looking lively and ready.
"You know where the rainbow stands?" she asked.
"Yes, mother, quite well," answered the fish.
"Bring home a young man you will find there, who does not know
where to go."
The fish was out of the door in a moment. Then the lady told Tangle
it was time to go to bed; and, opening another door in the side
of the cottage, showed her a little arbour, cool and green, with
a bed of purple heath growing in it, upon which she threw a large
wrapper made of the feathered skins of the wise fishes, shining
gorgeous in the firelight. Tangle was soon lost in the strangest,
loveliest dreams. And the beautiful lady was in every one of her
dreams.
Chapter Five
The Arrival of Mossy
In the morning she woke to the rustling of leaves over her head,
and the sound of running water. But, to her surprise, she could
find no door--nothing but the moss-grown wall of the cottage.
So she crept through an opening in the arbour, and stood in the
forest. Then she bathed in a stream that ran merrily through the
trees, and felt happier; for having once been in her grandmother's
pond, she must be clean and tidy ever after; and, having put on
her green dress, felt like a lady.
She spent that day in the wood, listening to the birds and beasts
and creeping things. She understood all that they said, though
she could not repeat a word of it; and every kind had a different
language, while there was a common though more limited understanding
between all the inhabitants of the forest. She saw nothing of
the beautiful lady, but she felt that she was near her all the
time; and she took care not to go out of sight of the cottage.
It was round, like a snow-hut or a wig wam; and she could see
neither door nor window in it. The fact was, it had no windows;
and though it was full of doors, they all opened from the inside,
and could not even be seen from the outside.
She was standing at the foot of a tree in the twilight, listening
to a quarrel between a mole and a squirrel, in which the mole
told the squirrel that the tail was the best of him, and the squirrel
called the mole Spade-fists, when, the darkness having deepened
around her, she became aware of something shining in her face,
and looking round, saw that the door of the cottage was open,
and the red light of the fire flowing from it like a river through
the darkness. She left Mole and Squirrel to settle matters as
they might, and darted off to the cottage. Entering, she found
the pot boiling on the fire, and the grand, lovely lady sitting
on the other side of it.
"I've been watching you all day," said the lady. "You shall have
something to eat by-and-by, but we must wait till our supper comes
home."
She took Tangle on her knee, and began to sing to her--such songs
as made her wish she could listen to them for ever. But at length
in rushed the shining fish, and snuggled down in the pot. It was
followed by a youth who had outgrown his worn garments. His face
was ruddy with health, and in his hand he carried a little jewel,
which sparkled in the firelight. The first words the lady said
were,--
"What is that in your hand, Mossy?"
Now Mossy was the name his companions had given him, because he
had a favourite stone covered with moss, on which he used to sit
whole days reading; and they said the moss had begun to grow upon
him too.
Mossy held out his hand. The moment the lady saw that it was the
golden key, she rose from her chair, kissed Mossy on the forehead,
made him sit down on her seat, and stood before him like a servant.
Mossy could not bear this, and rose at once. But the lady begged
him, with tears in her beautiful eyes, to sit, and let her wait
on him.
"But you are a great, splendid, beautiful lady," said Mossy.
"Yes, I am. But I work all day long--that is my pleasure; and
you will have to leave me so soon!"
"How do you know that, if you please, madam?" asked Mossy.
"Because you have got the golden key."
"But I don't know what it is for. I can't find the key-hole. Will
you tell me what to do?"
"You must look for the key-hole. That is your work. I cannot help
you. I can only tell you that if you look for it you will find
it."
"What kind of box will it open? What is there inside?"
"I do not know. I dream about it, but I know nothing."
"Must I go at once?"
"You may stop here to-night, and have some of my supper. But you
must go in the morning. All I can do for you is to give you clothes.
Here is a girl called Tangle, whom you must take with you."
"That will be nice," said Mossy.
"No, no !" said Tangle. "I don't want to leave you, please, grandmother."
"You must go with him, Tangle. I am sorry to lose you, but it
will the best thing for you. Even the fishes, you see, have to
go into the pot, and then out into the dark. If you fall in with
the Old Man of the Sea, mind you ask him whether he has not got
some more fishes ready for me. My tank is getting thin."
So saying, she took the fish from the pot, and put the lid on
as before. They sat down and ate the fish, and then the winged
creature rose from the pot, circled the roof, and settled on the
lady's lap. She talked to it, carried it to the door, and threw
it out into the dark. They heard the flap of its wings die away
in the distance.
The lady then showed Mossy into just such another chamber as that
of Tangle; and in the morning he found a suit of clothes laid
beside him. He looked very handsome in them. But the wearer of
Grandmother's clothes never thinks about how he or she looks,
but thinks always how handsome other people are.
Tangle was very unwilling to go.
"Why should I leave you? I don't know the young man," she said
to the lady.
"I am never allowed to keep my children long. You need not go
with him except you please, but you must go some day; and I should
like you to go with him, for he has the golden key. No girl need
be afraid to go with a youth that has the golden key. You will
take care of her, Mossy, will you not?"
"That I will," said Mossy.
And Tangle cast a glance at him, and thought she should like to
go with him.
"And," said the lady, "If you should lose each other as you go
through the--the--I never can remember the name of that country,--do
not be afraid, but go on and on."
She kissed Tangle on the mouth and Mossy on the forehead, led
them to the door, and waved her hand eastward. Mossy and Tangle
took each other's hand and walked away into the depth of the forest.
In his right hand Mossy held the golden key.
Chapter Six
A Sea of Shadows
They wandered thus a long way, with endless amusement from the
talk of the animals. They soon learned enough of their language
to ask them necessary questions. The squirrels were always friendly,
and gave them nuts out of their own hoards; but the bees were
selfish and rude, justifying themselves on the ground that Tangle
and Mossy were not subjects of their queen, and charity must begin
at home, though indeed they had not one drone in their poorhouse
at the time. Even the blinking moles would fetch them an earth-nut
or a truffle now and then, talking as if their mouths, as well
as their eyes and ears, were full of cotton wool, or their own
velvety fur. By the time they got out of the forest they were
very fond of each other, and Tangle was not in the least sorry
that her grandmother had sent her away with Mossy.
At length the trees grew smaller, and stood farther apart, and
the ground began to rise, and it got more and more steep, till
the trees were all left behind, and the two were climbing a narrow
path with rocks on each side. Suddenly they came upon a rude doorway,
by which they entered a narrow gallery cut in the rock. It grew
darker and darker, till it was pitch dark, and they had to feel
their way. At length the light began to return, and at last they
came out upon a narrow path on the face of a lofty precipice.
This path went winding down the rock to a wide plain, circular
in shape, and surrounded on all sides by mountains. Those opposite
to them were a great way off, and towered to an awful height,
shooting up sharp, blue, ice-enameled pinnacles. An utter silence
reigned where they stood. Not even the sound of water reached
them.
Looking down, they could not tell whether the valley below was
a grassy plain or a great still lake. They had never seen any
place look like it. The way to it was difficult and dangerous,
but down the narrow path they went, and reached the bottom in
safety. They found it composed of smooth, light-coloured sandstone,
undulating in parts, but mostly level. It was no wonder to them
now that they had not been able to tell what it was, for this
surface was everywhere crowded with shadows. It was a sea of shadows.
The mass was chiefly made up of the shadows of leaves innumerable,
of all lovely and imaginative forms, waving to and fro, floating
and quivering in the breath of a breeze whose motion was unfelt,
whose sound was unheard. No forests clothed the mountain-sides,
no trees were anywhere to be seen, and yet the shadows of the
leaves, branches, and stems of all various trees covered the valley
as far as their eyes could reach.
They soon spied the shadows of flowers mingled with those of the
leaves, and now and then the shadow of a bird with open beak,
and throat distended with song. At times would appear the forms
of strange, graceful creatures, running up and down the shadow-boles
and along the branches, to disappear in the wind-tossed foliage.
As they walked they waded knee-deep in the lovely lake. For the
shadows were not merely lying on the surface of the ground, but
heaped up above it like substantial forms of darkness, as if they
had been cast upon a thousand different planes of the air. Tangle
and Mossy often lifted their heads and gazed upwards to descry
whence the shadows came; but they could see nothing more than
a bright mist spread above them, higher than the tops of the mountains,
which stood clear against it. No forests, no leaves, no birds
were visible.
After a while, they reached more open spaces, where the shadows
were thinner; and came even to portions over which shadows only
flitted, leaving them clear for such as might follow. Now a wonderful
form, half bird-like half human, would float across on outspread
sailing pinions. Anon an exquisite shadow group of gamboling children
would be followed by the loveliest female form, and that again
by the grand stride of a Titanic shape, each disappearing in the
surrounding press of shadowy foliage. Sometimes a profile of unspeakable
beauty or grandeur would appear for a moment and vanish. Sometimes
they seemed lovers that passed linked arm in arm, sometimes father
and son, sometimes brothers in loving contest, sometimes sisters
entwined in gracefullest community of complex form. Sometimes
wild horses would tear across, free, or bestrode by noble shadows
of ruling men. But some of the things which pleased them most
they never knew how to describe.
About the middle of the plain they sat down to rest in the heart
of a heap of shadows. After sitting for a while, each, looking
up, saw the other in tears: they were each longing after the country
whence the shadows fell.
"We must find the country from which the shadows come," said Mossy.
"We must, dear Mossy," responded Tangle. "What if your golden
key should be the key to it?"
"Ah! that would be grand," returned Mossy. "But we must rest here
for a little, and then we shall be able to cross the plain before
night."
So he lay down on the ground, and about him on every side, and
over his head, was the constant play of the wonderful shadows.
He could look through them, and see the one behind the other,
till they mixed in a mass of darkness. Tangle, too, lay admiring,
and wondering, and longing after the country whence the shadows
came.
Chapter Seven
The Old Man of the Sea
When they were rested they rose and pursued their journey. How
long they were in crossing this plain I cannot tell; but before
night Mossy's hair was streaked with grey, and Tangle had got
wrinkles on her forehead.
As evening drew on, the shadows fell deeper and rose higher. At
length they reached a place where they rose above their heads,
and made all dark around them. Then they took hold of each other's
hand, and walked on in silence and in some dismay. They felt the
gathering darkness, and something strangely solemn besides, and
the beauty of the shadows ceased to delight them. All at once
Tangle found that she had not a hold of Mossy's hand, though when
she lost it she could not tell.
"Mossy, Mossy!" she cried aloud in terror.
But no Mossy replied. A moment after, the shadows sank to her
feet, and down under her feet, and the mountains rose before her.
She turned towards the gloomy region she had left, and called
once more upon Mossy. There the gloom lay tossing and heaving,
a dark stormy, foamless sea of shadows, but no Mossy rose out
of it, or came climbing up the hill on which she stood. She threw
herself down and wept in despair.
Suddenly she remembered that the beautiful lady had told them,
if they lost each other in a country of which she could not remember
the name, they were not to be afraid, but to go straight on.
"And besides," she said to herself, "Mossy has the golden key,
and so no harm will come to him, I do believe."
She rose from the ground, and went on. Before long she arrived
at a precipice, in the face of which a stair was cut. When she
had ascended halfway, the stair ceased, and the path led straight
into the mountain. She was afraid to enter, and turning again
towards the stair, grew giddy at sight of the depth beneath her,
and was forced to throw herself down in the mouth of the cave.
When she opened her eyes, she saw a beautiful little creature
with wings standing beside her, waiting.
"I know you," said Tangle. 'You are my fish."
"Yes. But I am a fish no longer. I am an aeranth now."
"What is that?" asked Tangle.
"What you see I am," answered the shape. "And I am come to lead
you through the mountain."
"Oh! thank you, dear fish--aeranth, I mean," returned Tangle,
rising.
Thereupon the aeranth took to his wings, and flew on through the
long, narrow passage, reminding Tangle very much of the way he
had swum on before her when he was a fish. And the moment his
white wings moved, they began to throw off a continuous shower
of sparks of all colours, which lighted up the passage before
them. All at once he vanished, and Tangle heard a low, sweet sound,
quite different from the rush and crackle of his wings. Before
her was an open arch, and through it came light, mixed with the
sound of sea-waves.
She hurried out, and fell, tired and happy, upon the yellow sand
of the shore. There she lay, half asleep with weariness and rest,
listening to the low plash and retreat of the tiny waves, which
seemed ever enticing the land to leave off being land, and become
sea. And as she lay, her eyes were fixed upon the foot of a great
rainbow standing far away against the sky on the other side of
the sea. At length she fell fast asleep.
When she awoke, she saw an old man with long white hair down to
his shoulders, leaning upon a stick covered with green buds, and
so bending over her.
"What do you want here, beautiful woman?" he said.
"Am I beautiful? I am so glad!" answered Tangle, rising. "My grandmother
is beautiful."
"Yes. But what do you want?" he repeated, kindly.
"I think I want you. Are not you the Old Man of the Sea?"
"I am."
"Then grandmother says, have you any more fishes ready for her?"
"We will go and see, my dear," answered the old man, speaking
yet more kindly than before. "And I can do some thing for you,
can I not?"
"Yes--show me the way up to the country from which the shadows
fall," said Tangle. For there she hoped to find Mossy again.
"Ah! indeed, that would be worth doing," said the old man. "But
I cannot, for I do not know the way myself. But I will send you
to the Old Man of the Earth. Perhaps he can tell you. He is much
older than I am."
Leaning on his staff, he conducted her along the shore to a steep
rock, that looked like a petrified ship turned upside down. The
door of it was the rudder of a great vessel, ages ago at the bottom
of the sea. Immediately within the door was a stair in the rock,
down which the old man went, and Tangle followed. At the bottom,
the old man had his house, and there he lived.
As soon as she entered it, Tangle heard a strange noise, unlike
anything she had ever heard before. She soon found that it was
the fishes talking. She tried to understand what they said; but
their speech was so old-fashioned, and rude, and undefined, that
she could not make much of it.
"I will go and see about those fishes for my daughter," said the
Old Man of the Sea. And moving a slide in the wall of his house,
he first looked out, and then tapped upon a thick piece of crystal
that filled the round opening. Tangle came up behind him, and
peeping through the window into the heart of the great deep green
ocean, saw the most curious creatures, some very ugly, all very
odd, and with especially queer mouths, swimming about everywhere,
above and below, but all coming towards the window in answer to
the tap of the Old Man of the Sea. Only a few could get their
mouths against the glass; but those who were floating miles away
yet turned their heads towards it. The Old Man looked through
the whole flock carefully for some minutes, and then turning to
Tangle, said,
"I am sorry I have not got one ready yet. I want more time than
she does. But I will send some as soon as I can."
He then shut the slide. Presently a great noise arose in the sea.
The old man opened the slide again, and tapped on the glass, whereupon
the fishes were all as still as sleep.
"They were only talking about you," he said. "And they do speak
such nonsense!--To-morrow," he continued, "I must show you the
way to the Old Man of the Earth. He lives a long way from here."
"Do let me go at once," said Tangle.
"No. That is not possible. You must come this way first."
He led her to a hole in the wall, which she had not observed before.
It was covered with the green leaves and white blossoms of a creeping
plant.
"Only white-blossoming plants can grow under the sea," said the
old man. "In there you will find a bath, in which you must lie
till I call you."
Tangle went in, and found a smaller room or cave, in the further
corner of which was a great basin hollowed out of a rock, and
half full of the clearest sea-water. Little streams were constantly
running into it from cracks in the wall of the cavern. It was
polished quite smooth inside, and had a carpet of yellow sand
in the bottom of it. Large green leaves and white flowers of various
plants crowded up and over it, draping and covering it almost
entirely. No sooner was she undressed and lying in the bath, than
she began to feel as if the water were sinking into her, and she
was receiving all the good of sleep without undergoing its forgetfulness.
She felt the good coming all the time. And she grew happier and
more hopeful than she had been since she lost Mossy. But she could
not help thinking how very sad it was for a poor old man to live
there all alone, and have to take care of a whole seaful of stupid
and riotous fishes.
After about an hour, as she thought, she heard his voice calling
her, and rose out of the bath. All the fatigue and aching of her
long journey had vanished. She was as whole, and strong, and well
as if she had slept for seven days. Returning to the opening that
led into the other part of the house, she started back with amazement,
for through it she saw the form of a grand man, with a majestic
and beautiful face, waiting for her.
"Come," he said; "I see you are ready."
She entered with reverence. "Where is the Old Man of the Sea?"
she asked, humbly.
"There is no one here but me," he answered, smiling. "Some people
call me the Old Man of the Sea. Others have another name for me,
and are terribly frightened when they meet me taking a walk by
the shore. Therefore I avoid being seen by them, for they are
so afraid, that they never see what I really am. You see me now.
But I must show you the way to the Old Man of the Earth."
He led her into the cave where the bath was, and there she saw,
in the opposite corner, a second opening in the rock. "Go down
that stair, and it will bring you to him," said the Old Man of
the Sea.
With humble thanks Tangle took her leave.
Chapter Eight
The Old Man of the Earth
She went down the winding-stair, till she began to fear there
was no end to it. Still down and down it went, rough and broken,
with springs of water bursting out of the rocks and running down
the steps beside her. It was quite dark about her, and yet she
could see. For after being in that bath, people's eyes always
give out a light they can see by. There were no creeping things
in the way. All was safe and pleasant though so dark and damp
and deep.
At last there was not one step more, and she found herself in
a glimmering cave. On a stone in the middle of it sat a figure
with its back towards her--the figure of an old man bent double
with age. From behind she could see his white beard spread out
on the rocky floor in front of him. He did not move as she entered,
so she passed round that she might stand before him and speak
to him. The moment she looked in his face, she saw that he was
a youth of marvellous beauty. He sat entranced with the delight
of what he beheld in a mirror of something like silver, which
lay on the floor at his feet, and which from behind she had taken
for his white beard. He sat on, heedless of her presence, pale
with the joy of his vision. She stood and watched him. At length,
all trembling, she spoke. But her voice made no sound. Yet the
youth lifted up his head. He showed no surprise, however, at seeing
her--only smiled a welcome.
"Are you the Old Man of the Earth?" Tangle had said.
And the youth answered, and Tangle heard him, though not with
her ears: "I am. What can I do for you?"
"Tell me the way to the country whence the shadows fall."
"Ah! that I do not know. I only dream about it myself. I see its
shadows sometimes in my mirror: the way to it I do not know. But
I think the Old Man of the Fire must know. He is much older than
I am. He is the oldest man of all."
"Where does he live?"
"I will show you the way to his place. I never saw him myself."
So saying, the young man rose, and then stood for a while gazing
at Tangle.
"I wish I could see that country too," he said. "But I must mind
my work."
He led her to the side of the cave, and told her to lay her ear
against the wall.
"What do you hear?" he asked.
"I hear," answered Tangle, "the sound of a great water running
inside the rock."
"That river runs down to the dwelling of the oldest man of all--the
Old Man of the Fire. I wish I could go to see him. But I must
mind my work. That river is the only way to him."
Then the Old Man of the Earth stooped over the floor of the cave,
raised a huge stone from it, and left it leaning. It disclosed
a great hole that went plumb-down.
"That is the way," he said.
"But there are no stairs."
"You must throw yourself in. There is no other way."
She turned and looked him full in the face--stood so for a whole
minute, as she thought: it was a whole year--then threw herself
headlong into the hole.
Chapter Nine
The Old Man of the Fire
When she came to herself, she found herself gliding down fast
and deep. Her head was under water, but that did not signify,
for, when she thought about it, she could not remember that she
had breathed once since her bath in the cave of the Old Man of
the Sea. When she lifted up her head a sudden and fierce heat
struck her, and she sank it again instantly, and went sweeping
on.
Gradually the stream grew shallower. At length she could hardly
keep her head under. Then the water could carry her no farther.
She rose from the channel, and went step for step down the burning
descent. The water ceased altogether. The heat was terrible. She
felt scorched to the bone, but it did not touch her strength.
It grew hotter and hotter. She said, "I can bear it no longer."
Yet she went on.
At the long last, the stair ended at a rude archway in an all
but glowing rock. Through this archway Tangle fell exhausted into
a cool mossy cave. The floor and walls were covered with moss-green,
soft, and damp. A little stream spouted from a rent in the rock
and fell into a basin of moss. She plunged her race into it and
drank. Then she lifted her head and looked around. Then she rose
and looked again. She saw no one in the cave. But the moment she
stood upright she had a marvellous sense that she was in the secret
of the earth and all its ways. Everything she had seen, or learned
from books; all that her grandmother had said or sung to her;
all the talk of the beasts, birds, and fishes; all that had happened
to her on her journey with Mossy, and since then in the heart
of the earth with the Old man and the Older man--all was plain:
she understood it all, and saw that everything meant the same
thing, though she could not have put it into words again.
The next moment she descried, in a comer of the cave, a little
naked child, sitting on the moss. He was playing with balls of
various colours and sizes, which he disposed in strange figures
upon the floor beside him. And now Tangle felt that there was
something in her knowledge which was not in her understanding.
For she knew there must be an infinite meaning in the change and
sequence and individual forms of the figures into which the child
arranged the balls, as well as in the varied harmonies of their
colours, but what it all meant she could not tell. He went on
busily, tirelessly, playing his solitary game, without looking
up, or seeming to know that there was a stranger in his deep-withdrawn
cell. Diligently as a lace-maker shifts her bobbins, he shifted
and arranged his balls. Flashes of meaning would now pass from
them to Tangle, and now again all would be not merely obscure,
but utterly dark. She stood looking for a long time, for there
was fascination in the sight; and the longer she looked the more
an indescribable vague intelligence went on rousing itself in
her mind. For seven years she had stood there watching the naked
child with his coloured balls, and it seemed to her like seven
hours, when all at once the shape the balls took, she knew not
why, reminded her of the Valley of Shadows, and she spoke:
"Where is the Old Man of the Fire?" she said.
"Here I am," answered the child, rising and leaving his balls
on the moss. "What can I do for you?"
There was such an awfulness of absolute repose on the face of
the child that Tangle stood dumb before him. He had no smile,
but the love in his large grey eyes was deep as the center. And
with the repose there lay on his face a shimmer as of moonlight,
which seemed as if any moment it might break into such a ravishing
smile as would cause the beholder to weep himself to death. But
the smile never came, and the moonlight lay there unbroken. For
the heart of the child was too deep for any smile to reach from
it to his face.
"Are you the oldest man of all?" Tangle at length, although filled
with awe, ventured to ask.
"Yes, I am. I am very, very old. I am able to help you, I know.
I can help everybody."
And the child drew near and looked up in her face so that she
burst into tears.
"Can you tell me the way to the country the shadows fall from?"
she sobbed.
"Yes. I know the way quite well. I go there myself sometimes.
But you could not go my way; you are not old enough. I will show
you how you can go."
"Do not send me out into the great heat again," prayed Tangle.
"I will not," answered the child. And he reached up, and put his
little cool hand on her heart. "Now," he said, "you can go. The
fire will not burn you. Come."
He led her from the cave, and following him through an other archway,
she found herself in a vast desert of sand and rock. The sky of
it was of rock, lowering over them like solid thunderclouds; and
the whole place was so hot that she saw, in bright rivulets, the
yellow gold and white silver and red copper trickling molten from
the rocks. But the heat never came near her.
When they had gone some distance, the child turned up a great
stone, and took something like an egg from under it. He next drew
a long curved line in the sand with his finger, and laid the egg
in it. He then spoke something Tangle could not understand. The
egg broke, a small snake came out, and, lying in the line in the
sand, grew and grew till he filled it. The moment he was thus
full-grown, he began to glide away, undulating like a sea-wave.
"Follow that serpent," said the child. "He will lead you the right
way."
Tangle followed the serpent. But she could not go far with out
looking back at the marvellous Child. He stood alone in the midst
of the glowing desert, beside a fountain of red flame that had
burst forth at his feet, his naked whiteness glimmering a pale
rosy red in the torrid fire. There he stood, looking after her,
till, from the lengthening distance, she could see him no more.
The serpent went straight on, turning neither to the right nor
left.
Chapter Ten
From Where the Shadows Fall
Meantime Mossy had got out of the lake of shadows, and, following
his mournful, lonely way, had reached the sea-shore. It was a
dark, stormy evening. The sun had set. The wind was blowing from
the sea. The waves had surrounded the rock within which lay the
Old Man's house. A deep water rolled between it and the shore,
upon which a majestic figure was walking alone. Mossy went up
to him and said,
"Will you tell me where to find the Old Man of the Sea?"
"I am the Old Man of the Sea," the figure answered. "I see a strong
kingly man of middle age," returned Mossy.
Then the Old Man looked at him more intently, and said,
"Your sight, young man, is better than that of most who take this
way. The night is stormy: come to my house and tell me what I
can do for you."
Mossy followed him. The waves flew from before the footsteps of
the Old Man of the Sea, and Mossy followed upon dry sand.
When they had reached the cave, they sat down and gazed at each
other.
Now Mossy was an old man by this time. He looked much older than
the Old Man of the Sea, and his feet were very weary.
After looking at him for a moment, the Old Man took him by the
hand and led him into his inner cave. There he helped him to undress,
and laid him in the bath. And he saw that one of his hands Mossy
did not open.
"What have you in that hand?" he asked.
Mossy opened his hand, and there lay the golden key.
"Ah!" said the Old Man, "that accounts for your knowing me. And
I know the way you have to go."
"I want to find the country whence the shadows fall," said Mossy.
"I dare say you do. So do I. But meantime, one thing is certain.
What is that key for, do you think?"
"For a keyhole somewhere. But I don't know why I keep it. I never
could find the keyhole. And I have lived a good while, I believe,"
said Mossy, sadly. "I'm not sure that I'm not old. I know my feet
ache."
"Do they?" said the Old Man, as if he really meant to ask the
question; and Mossy, who was still lying in the bath, watched
his feet for a moment before he replied, "No, they do not," he
answered. "Perhaps I am not old either."
"Get up and look at yourself in the water."
He rose and looked at himself in the water, and there was not
a grey hair on his head or a wrinkle on his skin.
"You have tasted of death now," said the Old Man. "Is it good?"
"It is good," said Mossy. "It is better than life."
"No," said the Old Man, "it is only more life. Your feet will
make no holes in the water now."
"What do you mean?"
"I will show you that presently."
They returned to the outer cave, and sat and talked together for
a long time. At length the Old Man of the Sea rose, and said to
Mossy,
"Follow me." He led him up the stair again, and opened another
door. They stood on the level of the raging sea, looking towards
the east. Across the waste of waters, against the bosom of a fierce
black cloud, stood the foot of a rainbow, glowing in the dark.
"This indeed is my way," said Mossy, as soon as he saw the rainbow,
and stepped out upon the sea. His feet made no holes in the water.
He fought the wind, and climbed the waves, and went on towards
the rainbow. The storm died away. A lovely day and a lovelier
night followed. A cool wind blew over the wide plain of the quiet
ocean. And still Mossy journeyed eastward. But the rainbow had
vanished with the storm. Day after day he held on, and he thought
he had no guide. He did not see how a shining fish under the waters
directed his steps.
He crossed the sea, and came to a great precipice of rock, up
which he could discover but one path. Nor did this lead him farther
than half-way up the rock, where it ended on a platform. Here
he stood and pondered.--It could not be that the way stopped here,
else what was the path for? It was a rough path, not very plain,
yet certainly a path.--He examined the face of the rock. It was
smooth as glass. But as his eyes kept roving hopelessly over it,
something glittered, and he caught sight of a row of small sapphires.
They bordered a little hole in the rock.
"The keyhole!" he cried. He tried the key. It fitted. It turned.
A great clang and clash, as of iron bolts on huge brazen caldrons,
echoed thunderously within. He drew out the key. The rock in front
of him began to fall. He retreated from it as far as the breadth
of the platform would allow.
A great slab fell at his feet. In front was still the solid rock,
with this one slab fallen forward out of it. But the moment he
stepped upon it, a second fell, just short of the edge of the
first, making the next step of a stair, which thus kept dropping
itself before him as he ascended into the heart of the precipice.
It led him into a hall fit for such an approach--irregular and
rude in formation, but floor, sides, pillars, and vaulted roof,
all one mass of shining stones of every colour that light can
show. In the center stood seven columns, ranged from red to violet.
And on the pedestal of one of them sat a woman, motionless, with
her face bowed upon her knees. Seven years had she sat there waiting.
She lifted her head as Mossy drew near.
It was Tangle. Her hair had grown to her feet, and was rippled
like the windless sea on broad sands. Her face was beautiful,
like her grandmother's, and as still and peaceful as that of the
Old Man of the Fire. Her form was tall and noble. Yet Mossy knew
her at once.
"How beautiful you are, Tangle!" he said, in delight and astonishment.
"Am I?" she returned. "Oh, I have waited for you so long! But
you, you are the Old Man of the Sea. No. You are like the Old
Man of the Earth. No, no. You are like the oldest man of all.
You are like them all. And yet you are my own old Mossy! How did
you come here? What did you do after I lost you? Did you find
the keyhole? Have you got the key still?"
She had a hundred questions to ask him, and he a hundred more
to ask her. They told each other all their adventures, and were
as happy as man and woman could be. For they were younger and
better, and stronger and wiser, than they had ever been before.
It began to grow dark. And they wanted more than ever to reach
the country whence the shadows fall. So they looked about them
for a way out of the cave. The door by which Mossy entered had
closed again, and there was half a mile of rock between them and
the sea. Neither could Tangle find the opening in the floor by
which the serpent had led her thither. They searched till it grew
so dark that they could see nothing, and gave it up.
After a while, however, the cave began to glimmer again. The light
came from the moon, but it did not look like moon light, for it
gleamed through those seven pillars in the middle, and filled
the place with all colours. And now Mossy saw that there was a
pillar beside the red one, which he had not observed before. And
it was of the same new colour that he had seen in the rainbow
when he saw it first in the fairy forest. And on it he saw a sparkle
of blue. It was the sapphires round the keyhole. He took his key.
It turned in the lock to the sounds of Aeolian music.
A door opened upon slow hinges, and disclosed a winding stair
within. The key vanished from his fingers. Tangle went up. Mossy
followed. The door closed behind them. They climbed out of the
earth; and, still climbing, rose above it. They were in the rainbow.
Far abroad, over ocean and land, they could see through its transparent
walls the earth beneath their feet. Stairs beside stairs wound
up together, and beautiful beings of all ages climbed along with
them.
They knew that they were going up to the country whence the shadows
fall.
And by this time I think they must have got there.
The End