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THE ISLAND CASTLE Prologue.
Wake and dream at evening's dawn! Calm is the bright nocturnal day, Sleeping Fates no more can frown, Weariness is worn away.
The wave is weary of the shore, And of the eye the mortal tear. Weep among the stones no more, Dreaming rise to that pure sphere
Where none are slain, and none destroy, Where none are deaf, and none are mute, Fierce Mockery dares not follow Joy, Nor set his heel on heart and lute.
You have heard the story of how Perseus won the Gorgon's head and saved Andromeda from being devoured by the monster Cepheus; these things are told and done many times. Perhaps you know too that among other names Andromeda is sometimes called Form; the monster, Free Verse; and Perseus, Music. As for the Medusa, one name for her is quite enough.
You recall that it is Perseus' custom to evade her petrifying stare by looking in a mirror when he strikes at her, for the reflected glance has no power to harm. But on the occasion I will tell of the trick could not be used, for to behold this particular Medusa in a mirror was exactly the same as seeing her face to face. Nevertheless, Perseus was brave or desperate enough to attempt the combat. He took the seven most courageous from among his followers and concealed them about the field of battle. They were to watch the Medusa's movements, avoiding her gaze; thus while he himself, blindfolded, attacked her with the sword, their signal-cries directed him.
What dance was danced upon that field, Not the ancient runes can tell; Yet to blind Light did darkness yield, At Perseus' hand the monster fell.
Three of Perseus' faithful companions perished in this fight, for the monster had spied them out and turned her gaze on them deliberately. Perseus himself, grieving, exhausted, and no longer even certain where his opponent was, flung the sword from him with all his might, and it was this cast that killed her.
The consequence of all this was that Perseus returned from his quest too late. When he arrived at the promontory no one stood in Andromeda's place on the rock. He saw only themonster closing its hideous jaws and beginning to sink beneath the waves. Overcome with rage and sorrow, Perseus turned the Medusa's head on the monster, as he had done before, and, as before, the monster was transformed into a huge rock off the coast. But whether because of some peculiar virtue in the gaze of this Medusa, or because Andromeda was transforming the monster from within: this time no desolate stone, but a radiant island castle grew before Perseus' eyes.
This he beheld, although in his despair he had already looked into the Medusa's eyes and was himself becoming stone. Three of his companions had followed his example and shared his fate, and the four stood in a circle at the head of the promontory. Perseus alone gazed past the uplifted head of the Medusa and out toward the island castle, whose new splendor had, at the last moment, drawn his eyes away. So the power of sight was left him, and a dim, slow flicker of thought; but his body was stone.
He had looked upon the countenance of the Medusa, which was like the plains of the moon seen too close, and an air none could breathe. His soul had rushed out of him through the twin dark tunnels of her gaze; then it had gone out, like a candle in an airless chamber. Yet presently he dreamed. He stood with open eyes in utter darkness, and time passed for which there was no measure. Then somewhere a door opened. Into the room stepped the figure of a girl, clothed in a light veil that shone brightly, so that he could scarcely divine her form or features. She led him out into the day, pointed to the castle, and vanished. He woke and found himself staring out through the glass of his eyes. He could not move, but the arm that held the Medusa could feel pain, and the chill emanating from that head was like knives in the flesh. Instead of the castle he saw before him only a pile of weathered stones, so ruinous it seemed doubtful if design had placed them. Yet the memory of the shining castle persisted.
So he stood. After these dreadful events the last of Perseus' companions, his old tutor, went grieving from the scene. In a town near the promontory he had three rings made, one of iron, one of copper, and one of silver. He put spells on the cooper and silver rings and cast them into the well in the town square. Then he died, and the iron ring was buried with him.
When one hundred years had passed, a swan alighted on the head of the Medusa. The hair of snakes changed to a plumage of purest white, and the swan carried it away. And that is why the feathers of the swan have such whiteness. After another hundred years there came a raven. Seeing that the Medusa's eyes had changed to black diamonds, he picked them out and carried them off. And that is why crows have such bright black eyes and seem to know when death is near.
Now the people of the coast town regarded the place with horror. No one could have dared to think of going and removing those figures of ill omen; the spot was shunned, but the statues could be seen from afar, and a chill fell on the heart of every man that passed the promontory. Each feared lest a stray glance from the still living head of Medusa might fall on him. For a long time the people were oppressed by fears which seemed to hide in every shadow. At length they took counsel and built a wall round the promontory, so that the thing could not be seen from the town, nor approached by land. Then they had some peace. At the same time they could see the castle in all its radiance, separate from them apparently by a narrow strait; but this was scarcely less an object of terror.
One hundred years had passed to the day, when one noontide a traveler, a noble youth, stopped in the town square. All was deserted under the hot sun; but presently a maiden came with her pitcher and began to lower the bucket into the well. Moved by a sudden impulse, the youth seized the bucket as she drew it up and began to drink, and as he did so he saw in the bottom a copper ring. This he put on his finger, and straightway he heard a voice singing:
Alas! my lover is not here, Yet sing I will, and call I must; The ring has lain a hundred-year, And yet two hundred years shall rust.
The youth looked up, and saw the castle, and was possessed by a longing to go there. Others had arrived on the scene; he questioned them eagerly as to the name and origin of the castle, but received only evasive replies. He then asked if any would ferry him across, and there was silence. Finally he begged them to sell him a boat, however small and worthless, that he might try his luck alone. One or two seemed to be considering his offer, but an old man spoke: "Who knows what may yet live in the castle, or what would come upon the town, were we to lend this stranger a boat for his purpose? Let us have nothing to do with it!" There was a murmur of agreement, and the crowd quickly dispersed, leaving the youth and the old man alone.
"Be not wroth, stranger," said the old man. "What I have done is for thy good. My house lies outside the town; come, and sup with me, and stay the night; tomorrow thou shalt go thy ways."
The youth's only thought now was to reach the castle, and for this he saw no means at hand. Will-less in all else, he let the old man lead him out of the town, nor saw aught of what they passed, though the way was steep and difficult, and it was twilight before they reached the old man's dwelling. It was but an earthen hovel, halfway down the cliff; within an old woman was stirring porridge at a rude hearth. No word was spoken when they entered. After a time she gave them porridge in wooden bowls, but the youth, though he took the spoon in his hand, did not eat. At this the old woman's curiosity was aroused, and she asked what ailed the stranger.
"Some enchantment has fallen on him, I fear," replied the old man. And he told her what had passed at the market place. When she heard how he had advised the townspeople, she said: "That was ill done and well done. Why do you and the townspeople not know that a princess sleeps within the castle these hundred years, and the copper ring is the sign of her deliverer? Yet it is well for him, for we can lend him our boat which always returns to shore, and in which no ill came come to him who rows, if he take not his hand from the oars."
"Woman, all this I knew," the old man answered. "But we shall not lend him the boat, for the time is not yet." The old woman disputed, but to no avail.
The youth gave no sign, but he had heard what the old woman said. When they had done eating, the old couple lay down on the bare earth floor to rest, and the youth did the same. But he did not sleep. From the finger which wore the copper ring a strange sensation invaded him: a wakefulness sweeter than sleep, yet tormenting; he felt that it was wearing him away, and that he could now perceive the castle's radiance through the very walls. Presently the breathing of the old couple gave sign that they had fallen asleep. The youth rose up and stole out of the door. In the radiant night he could see a little path that led farther down the cliff, to a cove where a small wooded boat was moored. He stepped into the coracle and pushed from shore. As he seized the oars he felt a sharp pain from the ring finger; but it passed, and he began to row toward the castle.
The unearthly radiance was no longer evident; indeed it might have been only the rays of the moon on the delicately chiseled stones that shimmered toward him. But it seemed very close over the water, and for some hours he rowed with a will.
Yet he could not approach his goal; for though the shore dropped away and disappeared under the horizon, the castle seemed no larger. The night wore on, the stars rose and set, and morning began to glimmer up behind him. The sun rose, and as its rays grew stronger the copper ring began burning. At first the youth overcame the pain and rowed as ever, but at midmorning he could bear it no more. Letting go the oars, he seized the burning ring in his left hand, drew it from his right, and flung it over the side; and a swan came swimming by and seized it. Immediately he saw the castle, as though not a stone's throw away. On its highest tower a beautiful lady appeared and raised three cries of grief so prolonged that a wave woke in the sea and cast the lad from his boat and drowned him. But the boat returned whence it had come and so his death became known.
From that day on the townspeople noticed that the castle no longer shone as before, though in sunlight and moonlight it was still far fairer than any mortal dwelling. They became accustomed to it as it was, and ascribed its former splendor to the exaggeration of legend. The body of the youth they never found, for it was washed to the base of the forbidden promontory; there the swan buried him, and wept over the grave. And another hundred years went by.
Once more a noble stranger appeared in the town. He had heard the story of the copper ring, and as he asked the girl at the well to draw water for him, he felt a strange thrill as of remembrance or anticipation. What was his wonder when raising the bucket to his lips he saw the silver ring gleaming through the water! For a long moment he held it in his hand, gazing at it with a delight in which some ancient fear and sadness mingled. Suddenly through the uplifted ring he saw the castle and heard a voice singing:
The ring has lain two hundred years And yet a hundred-year shall rust, And my deliverer is not here -- Yet wake I will, and sing I must.
And he put the ring on.
Now all happened as before. The others came; he asked about the castle and was given confused and conflicting legends. He asked if any would take him there, and all refused. He tried to purchase a boat, and might have succeeded, but one old man, after remaining a long time in silence, said, "The copper ring brought no good to the wearer, and this silver ring will bring no good to us if we help or harbor this man. It is best that he depart from this place without delay." And all concurred. The youth, seeing that the people opposed him, left by the road they pointed. When he had gone some distance and the town was no longer in sight, he flung himself down on a stone at the side of the road, and wept.
Immediately he heard someone calling, and when he lifted his eyes he saw the old man who had turned the townspeople against him, and he stood up in anger and shame.
"My son, I am sorry," said the old man, "but it was for your good that I did it. You may think us fools or cowards, yet we have acted rightly. Come, for it is near evening;you will be welcome in my house tonight."
The youth was silent. At length: "I do not have good reason for trusting you, but something tells me that I must. At any rate it is of little importance what happens to me, if I am not to reach the castle."
"That you may think, my friend, that you may think," his companion replied. "But your life may be worth something to you later, after all. Who knows where the silver ring comes from? It is not good to listen too much to old stories." Here the old man, seeing that his words only gave pain and offense to his guest, fell silent and conducted the young man to his house on the cliffside. It was a poor cottage, but clean-swept and orderly, with a bright fire blazing upon the hearth. The old woman received the youth with kind words. Supper was put on the table; the old people began to eat and to talk of their affairs; but seeing the young man distracted and downcast the woman asked him what the matter was. The young man burst out, "I must reach the castle, or never leave this place alive!"
"My son," then said the old man, "you may leave this place alive, but reaching the castle would be another matter. I myself believe it to be a mirage; our fishermen are superstitious and tell all sorts of stories about it, but never go there. At best you would be venturing into uncharted waters, and you, I think, are no mariner."
"I wonder," suddenly spoke the old woman. "Do you know that not far from our house, in the bushes, a path begins which no one can have used for many years? It leads to a cove where no fishing boats are moored, only a small craft seemingly of ancient make, yet sound and new. When I saw it I thought of the boat in which he who wore the copper ring is said to have set out for the castle!"
When he heard this the youth begged the old woman to show him the path and told her of the silver ring. But at the old man's bidding she refused. The youth disputed them vainly, then fell silent for a moment. "I must go," he said. And he rose like a drunken man and stumbled outside.
"Wait!" cried the old woman. "If you go that way, you'll fall over the cliff! Come back, I will show you the path." So he returned into the cottage. The old woman made him sit down, and the old man said: "My son, your journey will end badly, for all this is folly. It would be better for you to remove the silver ring now and cast it into the sea. But if you are resolved to begin the quest, resolve to finish it also, and do not remove the ring in the course of it, come what may. For some say that when the body of the wearer of the copper ring was washed to shore, he no longer had it on his finger; perhaps, if you guard your ring well, it will in some way preserve you."
The young man replied, "I thank you, old man. Not to add a hundred years to my life would I take the ring from my finger now. But thanks to your counsel I shall watch the ring jealously, for it may be some enemy power will try to wrest it from me."
Since he was resolved, the old man sighed deeply, embraced him, and took leave of him as a son; then the woman took him outside and showed him the rocky path which led down to the cove. He did not hear her farewell, but climbed straight down to the water's edge, seated himself in the boat, and began to row just as the moon was rising.
Once again the shore receded, and the castle grew now nearer, though he could see it more plainly under the moon. He saw for the first time how ancient and deserted it was, though only the first marks of ruin were upon it. He rowed and rowed through the night, and a great fear began to oppress his heart. He fought against it, but towards dawn he began to feel the hand with the ring growing cold. None the less determinedly he clenched the oars, though the rays of the rising sun did not warm him, and at noon he had almost reached the landing place of the castle; but his heart had scarcely rejoiced when a black crow, with a cawing and flapping of wings, settled on the bow. In his fright the youth's numb hand let go the oar, and the silver ring fell into the bottom of the boat and the raven snatched it away. Immediately on the topmost tower a beautiful lady appeared and lifted three long wails of anguish; and a wave woke in the sea and snatched the boat from the shore and drowned the youth; but the raven found him on the shore of the island, and buried him there. The boat returned to the cove, and the old woman found it; but as she decided to keep this secret, the wearer of the silver ring was soon forgotten.
From that time on the townspeople began to perceive the decay of the castle, and as the next hundred years wore to a close it seemed utterly ruinous.
But the wall that hid the promontory was also beginning to crumble. This was scarcely noticed; for a long time people had avoided the place merely out of habit. When through the broken wall three statues were revealed -- for the fourth man had crumbled where he stood -- no one was much surprised or frightened. At last someone took the stones of the wall and built his house with them.
On a cloudy night three drunken men were walking on the road past the promontory, and one of them caught sight of the statues. "Say," he exclaimed, "if we hadn't been drinking, we'd be cold tonight; but who knows how long it's been since those fellows have tasted meat or drink?" And they walked tipsily out onto the promontory. They went up to the statues, looked them in the face and poked at them; tiring of this, they left off and looked over the edge of the promontory toward the island. "Twenty years ago," said the first drunken man, "I could throw a stone halfway to that castle."
"Ten years ago," rejoined the second, "I could throw a stone that would fall into the water not a yard from the landing."
"Friends," cried the third, "I am surely as drunk as you are, but this very night I shall strike the castle with a stone I shall pluck from the air!" And before the others could speak or laugh, he had stepped up to the stone Perseus and snatched from his hand the head of Medusa. It shrank and became a common stone; he flung it over the cliff, and it turned to a vulture which vanished immediately into the clouds.
Then all was softly illuminated with a golden radiance, and the drunkards, so terrified they forgot to stumble, fled back to the town.
The light came from a golden ring which had appeared on Perseus' finger when the head of Medusa was snatched away. He and his companions stood all night in the light of the ring; in the hour before dawn the clouds dispersed and out of the western sky flew a raven and placed the copper ring on the hand of the one companion; when the morning star appeared a swan flew out of the east and gave the silver ring to the other. At sunrise the first ray touched the ring on Perseus' finger. Without a word they left the promontory and started for town.
Perseus remembered nothing except the radiant image of the castle, which had brightened through the years of his enchantment until he saw nothing else. Now he looked across the water and saw there an island surmounted by a pile of weathering stone, and he wondered what place it was that appeared so desolate and so strange.
Before he reached the town an old man came out to meet him. "The time has come," he said. Then the light from the ring was bright as sunlight, yet soft to the eye, and a voice was heard in the air:
Spent are thrice one hundred years, Now all sorrowless I sing: Rusted is the iron ring, My deliverer, he is here.
"Wisest of men," said Perseus, "how may I reach the castle?"
"That I can tell you," the old man replied, "for we saw it in a dream this morning, both my good woman and I. There is a path that leads from here across the cliff below the town; take it, and do not turn aside until it ends in a small cove under the rocks. There you will find a boat, but do not loose it from the mooring until the evening star appears. Then step with your companions into the boat, and wait until the waves take you from the shore. Only two things matter: put no hand to the oars, and whatever tolls are demanded of you, pay them. My good woman sends you this." And he gave them a loaf of bread and a flask of sweet wine and turned back toward the city.
The three took the path and arrived at the cove. There in the shade they ate and drank and waited until the evening star appeared. Then they stepped into their boat and the waves carried them out to sea.
The shore receded and the castle came no nearer; Perseus gazed up at the stars and saw them move in their circle round the pole, and it seemed to him that they completed the circle, not once, but countless times, and still the night lasted. Bread and wine remained, but they ate and drank no more. At last they saw that they were approaching the harbor. The waves carried the boat until gently it touched the landing.
Just then with a rush of wings a huge vulture alighted on the shore ahead of them and barred their way. Perseus called out:
Bird of carrion, give way! What thou askest I will pay.
The bird answered:
A copper ring, Or all, and everything.
Then one of Perseus' companions took from his finger the copper ring and flung it to the bird, and it shrieked and fluttered upward until it stood before the door of the castle. And again the hero called out:
Bird of carrion, give way! What thou askest I will pay.
Then the bird flapped its great wings, craned its neck, and answered,
A silver ring, Or all, and everything.
And the other companion flung her the silver ring, and she screamed and flew away over the castle.
Then they entered the castle and walked through mouldering corridors until they came to a tower with a staircase which could still be climbed. On crumbling stairs they mounted to the top. Perseus felt that never would he descend the staircase; but he remembered everything, and felt no pain.
So they reached the end of the staircase and stood on the platform. In the east the sky had begun to turn grey, while overhead the stars were still bright; below them the sea was tranquil. Then Perseus looked down and beheld the vulture rising toward him like a hideous shadow until it circled just opposite them, cawing,
Despoiler of the night, give way! Else thou a golden ring must pay.
"It is the ring of my beloved!" cried Perseus, and despite his companions' fearful pleadings he would not surrender the golden ring. So that battle was joined. Perseus' two companions fell; then Perseus and the vulture fought for about an hour. The vulture struck with beak and claw, and seemed not to tire in the fighting; but Perseus, though he received no wounds, felt his strength beginning to fail. Seeing this, he gathered what force he had left and rushed forward once more, calling on the name of Andromeda.
Just then the sun rose above the horizon, and the vulture disappeared into thin air. The copper and silver rings fell to the ground, and the swan and the raven came down and swallowed them. Then Perseus heard someone call his name, and when he turned around Andromeda stood before him. What words they spoke then I cannot tell you, for I do not know.
With great difficulty the two descended the broken stairway. They wandered together through the deserted corridors until they came to a small chamber in the very center of the castle; there was a bed made, and a table set with food and drink.
While they ate they told each other all that had occurred during the time of their separation. Andromeda said, "When I saw the monster approaching and knew that you had not come in time to save me, I fainted away with terror, and dreamed I ran through dark corridors, calling your name until I fell, and lay in a black swoon which lasted I know not how long. After this a little thought returned; I slept, yet knew I slept. I dreamed that a ship, all of copper, came toward me over the sea; but midway between the shore and the castle a storm came up and the ship foundered, and I was overcome with sorrow. But after this dream I awoke for one instant, and a swan flew into the room and placed on my lips an oaten wafer and three drops of water, and I slept again. But now in my sleep I saw the castle wherein I lay; in my dreams I could wander among the halls of precious stone and the flowers and fountains of the gardens; until at last the splendors wearied my solitude, and I dreamed no more. But then I saw a silver ship, and it seemed to me that it came straight to the landing of the castle, when a storm came up and dashed it on the rocks. This grieved me so that I woke again, and a raven flew in through the window, placed three drops of honey and a wheaten cake on my lips, and departed. And again I slept; but now my dreams were of the shore. I saw the doings of the people in the town, generation after generation; I saw the promontory where three statues had stood since time out of mind; and I saw my own dwelling, black and ruinous, from across the water. After a while I knew all that had passed: why you had come too late to deliver me, how my other deliverers had perished, and how you would be tried when you awakened. A voice said, "A wise man will advise him; but woe unto you all, if he follow that counsel to the end!" For know, beloved, had you given the golden ring to the vulture Medusa, she would have had us both in her power forever.
"Last night I dreamed that a golden ship came sailing from the town. It came into the harbor and reached the landing safely; then one stepped out, and I awoke. At first I heard only an indefinite tumult and was filled with fear; but then I heard the sound of battle coming from the tower. I heard the cries of the swan and the raven, and your voice called my name; and I climbed the tower, and found you."
So they talked until they were weary, and then they lay down to rest. When they woke all was transformed. The floor and walls of the room were of precious stone; the curtains of the bed were of some faery texture, and shone with an unearthly light. They rose and walked through the palace, wondering at each new splendor that met their eyes; they went out into the gardens, where fountains played again among beds of immortal flowers. So they wandered together, and talked, and sang, for the space of three days.
On the evening of the third day Andromeda spoke to Perseus: "Beloved, our time in this place is spent; tomorrow we must be gone. Before dawn we must go out into the garden which overlooks the western sea. The sun will rise in the west, and he will take us with him."
Next morning the song of the swan and the harsh cawing of the raven penetrated into the inner chamber where the lovers slept. They rose and found at the bedside two pairs of winged sandals; they put them on and went out to the garden overlooking the western sea. There they stroked the heads of the swan and the raven and bade them farewell, and when the sun rose they set their feet on the first rays, which bore them like a golden highway.
Of all this the townspeople were ignorant. None had seen the stranger pass to the cove, nor the boat put out from shore. The drunkards' tale at first provoked mere incredulity and laughter, but when it was reported that the men of stone were indeed gone from the promontory, the people began to fear. All day the rumors flew; no one slept that night, and on the following morning the sun did not rise. Now arose a weeping and lamentation which lasted until the town bells rang for evening. The people were somewhat comforted by this familiar sound; they retired into their houses, and the night passed in deep silence. When again the morning bells rang out but no light appeared, they continued to sit in stony despair.
But after some hours -- no one knew how long -- a man began going about from house to house, waking the people with new hopes. He was a man of some learning, though of not quite spotless reputation, and it was said he knew more about what had happened in the past than any man alive. When the people were gathered at the marketplace he addressed them, saying that there was a way to lift the darkness; at the time when the stone men were formed certain rings had been thrown into the well, and the copper and silver rings had already been drawn out; now the stone men were gone, but the golden ring had not been found and was doubtless still lying at the bottom of the well; this was the cause of all the trouble, and if the townspeople would but retrieve the golden ring from the well, they would not only dispel the darkness, but the ring would bring them great good fortune.
The people grasped eagerly at this good news. All crowded around the well while the mayor of the town let down the bucket; but it came up, and there was only water in it. They let down the bucket again, and the same thing happened. They poured the water on the ground and emptied out the well until it was dry; they sent men down with flaring torches to look for the ring; they scraped in the mud of the bottom until they reached the bare rock; but they found only water, mud, and rock. The last man was drawn up from the well; no one spoke; in the crowd a few began to weep. Then the bells rang -- whether for evening or morning, none knew. The people wandered aimlessly in the marketplace; none thought of returning to their houses; slowly a murmur rose among them: "The sun will not
rise again; why should we cling to miserable life, like worms in the dark earth? Let us bring out our stores of meat and drink, and feast until they are gone, and then let us set fire to the town, that we may at least have light by which to die!"
These voices grew louder, and finally a meeting was called to decide the matter. When all were assembled a child stood forth and said, "In matters of life and death the children too should have a voice." Then several said this was but just, and the rest being indifferent agreed. When all had been heard on both sides, there was silence for a moment; then the old man spoke: "Townsmen, this matter has been laid before you, and you will do as you like; but tomorrow the sun will rise in the west."
No one believed the old man, except the children; but they outnumbered the adults by one. However, the adults did not accept the verdict of the children. They brought out their stores and took to feasting, and soon they and their town were ashes.
But the children slipped away unnoticed. They hid themselves in the forest and wept until they fell asleep. On the following morning the sun rose in the west, and they saw a beautiful golden ship come over the water and sail into the cove under the cliff. They all forgot to weep for the great wonder of it and ran down to the cove.
The old couple were there to meet them. They led them into the ship, which floated out again and sailed to the castle. All the time the sun shone upon them, but its rays were never burning, and they could not have said whether the time of the journey was long or short. They landed, and there was no one at the landing; they entered the gate, and none met them; they walked through all the gardens and the shining halls, they heard the plash of fountains and the singing of birds, but saw no human face until they came to the innermost room. It was empty, for bed and table had vanished; but on opposite walls hung two mirrors, and in them were fixed the images of two human forms; and the children were struck dumb with wonder, for they had never seen beings so fair; and no one spoke for about an hour.
Finally the old man said, "Your time in this place is short, my children; come, and may each remember what you have seen here." Then he led them to a hall near the gardens, where a long table was set with dishes of gold and knives and spoons of silver; and the food was such that, if any were very hungry in times afterward, they had only to think of it in order to be satisfied. And each found by his plate a precious stone, carved in the likeness of a bird, or an animal, or a fish, or a plow, or a spinning-wheel, or a musical instrument, or some other shape. Each amulet conferred some particular kind of good luck, and all had this special virtue, that everyone was pleased with what he had gotten. So they feasted and sang and talked until the stars came out and their eyes began to be heavy. Then they heard the voice of the old woman: "Children, now you must depart; the golden ship will carry you back to the shore. My husband and I will remain here to keep the castle. On the longest day of every year the golden ship will come to your harbor, and you may visit us again. Yet if you wish you may come from time to time in your own wooden boats; for the spell of distance between the castle and the shore is lifted."
So they sailed away, and slept, and when they reached the land it was morning. Then they took counsel on the shore and decided not to rebuild the town. Instead they made themselves shelters in the woods and fields, just near enough so that they could comfortably visit each other.
Since then not so very much has happened, though doubtless many a century has come and gone. The castle stands, beautiful as of yore; the old couple still live there, attended by the swan and the raven, and I think they may be immortal. It is good to look over the water and see the castle shining; it is good to row there alone on a starry night, or to sail there in the golden ship on the longest day of the year. Yet it is also sweet to return to the shore, to set foot on the beach, and greet the simple flowers that grow in the rocks, and the creatures of wood and field. Each year some are born, and some die. The amulets are passed from hand to hand, and the old songs wander from mouth to mouth. In the fields the wheat rises and falls; and the sun sets in the east and rises in the west.
1971
Prologue.
Wake and dream at evening's dawn! Calm is the bright nocturnal day, Sleeping Fates no more can frown, Weariness is worn away.
The wave is weary of the shore, And of the eye the mortal tear. Weep among the stones no more, Dreaming rise to that pure sphere
Where none are slain, and none destroy, Where none are deaf, and none are mute, Fierce Mockery dares not follow Joy, Nor set his heel on heart and lute.
You have heard the story of how Perseus won the Gorgon's head and saved Andromeda from being devoured by the monster Cepheus; these things are told and done many times. Perhaps you know too that among other names Andromeda is sometimes called Form; the monster, Free Verse; and Perseus, Music. As for the Medusa, one name for her is quite enough.
You recall that it is Perseus' custom to evade her petrifying stare by looking in a mirror when he strikes at her, for the reflected glance has no power to harm. But on the occasion I will tell of the trick could not be used, for to behold this particular Medusa in a mirror was exactly the same as seeing her face to face. Nevertheless, Perseus was brave or desperate enough to attempt the combat. He took the seven most courageous from among his followers and concealed them about the field of battle. They were to watch the Medusa's movements, avoiding her gaze; thus while he himself, blindfolded, attacked her with the sword, their signal-cries directed him.
What dance was danced upon that field, Not the ancient runes can tell; Yet to blind Light did darkness yield, At Perseus' hand the monster fell.
Three of Perseus' faithful companions perished in this fight, for the monster had spied them out and turned her gaze on them deliberately. Perseus himself, grieving, exhausted, and no longer even certain where his opponent was, flung the sword from him with all his might, and it was this cast that killed her.
The consequence of all this was that Perseus returned from his quest too late. When he arrived at the promontory no one stood in Andromeda's place on the rock. He saw only themonster closing its hideous jaws and beginning to sink beneath the waves. Overcome with rage and sorrow, Perseus turned the Medusa's head on the monster, as he had done before, and, as before, the monster was transformed into a huge rock off the coast. But whether because of some peculiar virtue in the gaze of this Medusa, or because Andromeda was transforming the monster from within: this time no desolate stone, but a radiant island castle grew before Perseus' eyes.
This he beheld, although in his despair he had already looked into the Medusa's eyes and was himself becoming stone. Three of his companions had followed his example and shared his fate, and the four stood in a circle at the head of the promontory. Perseus alone gazed past the uplifted head of the Medusa and out toward the island castle, whose new splendor had, at the last moment, drawn his eyes away. So the power of sight was left him, and a dim, slow flicker of thought; but his body was stone.
He had looked upon the countenance of the Medusa, which was like the plains of the moon seen too close, and an air none could breathe. His soul had rushed out of him through the twin dark tunnels of her gaze; then it had gone out, like a candle in an airless chamber. Yet presently he dreamed. He stood with open eyes in utter darkness, and time passed for which there was no measure. Then somewhere a door opened. Into the room stepped the figure of a girl, clothed in a light veil that shone brightly, so that he could scarcely divine her form or features. She led him out into the day, pointed to the castle, and vanished. He woke and found himself staring out through the glass of his eyes. He could not move, but the arm that held the Medusa could feel pain, and the chill emanating from that head was like knives in the flesh. Instead of the castle he saw before him only a pile of weathered stones, so ruinous it seemed doubtful if design had placed them. Yet the memory of the shining castle persisted.
So he stood. After these dreadful events the last of Perseus' companions, his old tutor, went grieving from the scene. In a town near the promontory he had three rings made, one of iron, one of copper, and one of silver. He put spells on the cooper and silver rings and cast them into the well in the town square. Then he died, and the iron ring was buried with him.
When one hundred years had passed, a swan alighted on the head of the Medusa. The hair of snakes changed to a plumage of purest white, and the swan carried it away. And that is why the feathers of the swan have such whiteness. After another hundred years there came a raven. Seeing that the Medusa's eyes had changed to black diamonds, he picked them out and carried them off. And that is why crows have such bright black eyes and seem to know when death is near.
Now the people of the coast town regarded the place with horror. No one could have dared to think of going and removing those figures of ill omen; the spot was shunned, but the statues could be seen from afar, and a chill fell on the heart of every man that passed the promontory. Each feared lest a stray glance from the still living head of Medusa might fall on him. For a long time the people were oppressed by fears which seemed to hide in every shadow. At length they took counsel and built a wall round the promontory, so that the thing could not be seen from the town, nor approached by land. Then they had some peace. At the same time they could see the castle in all its radiance, separate from them apparently by a narrow strait; but this was scarcely less an object of terror.
One hundred years had passed to the day, when one noontide a traveler, a noble youth, stopped in the town square. All was deserted under the hot sun; but presently a maiden came with her pitcher and began to lower the bucket into the well. Moved by a sudden impulse, the youth seized the bucket as she drew it up and began to drink, and as he did so he saw in the bottom a copper ring. This he put on his finger, and straightway he heard a voice singing:
Alas! my lover is not here, Yet sing I will, and call I must; The ring has lain a hundred-year, And yet two hundred years shall rust.
The youth looked up, and saw the castle, and was possessed by a longing to go there. Others had arrived on the scene; he questioned them eagerly as to the name and origin of the castle, but received only evasive replies. He then asked if any would ferry him across, and there was silence. Finally he begged them to sell him a boat, however small and worthless, that he might try his luck alone. One or two seemed to be considering his offer, but an old man spoke: "Who knows what may yet live in the castle, or what would come upon the town, were we to lend this stranger a boat for his purpose? Let us have nothing to do with it!" There was a murmur of agreement, and the crowd quickly dispersed, leaving the youth and the old man alone.
"Be not wroth, stranger," said the old man. "What I have done is for thy good. My house lies outside the town; come, and sup with me, and stay the night; tomorrow thou shalt go thy ways."
The youth's only thought now was to reach the castle, and for this he saw no means at hand. Will-less in all else, he let the old man lead him out of the town, nor saw aught of what they passed, though the way was steep and difficult, and it was twilight before they reached the old man's dwelling. It was but an earthen hovel, halfway down the cliff; within an old woman was stirring porridge at a rude hearth. No word was spoken when they entered. After a time she gave them porridge in wooden bowls, but the youth, though he took the spoon in his hand, did not eat. At this the old woman's curiosity was aroused, and she asked what ailed the stranger.
"Some enchantment has fallen on him, I fear," replied the old man. And he told her what had passed at the market place. When she heard how he had advised the townspeople, she said: "That was ill done and well done. Why do you and the townspeople not know that a princess sleeps within the castle these hundred years, and the copper ring is the sign of her deliverer? Yet it is well for him, for we can lend him our boat which always returns to shore, and in which no ill came come to him who rows, if he take not his hand from the oars."
"Woman, all this I knew," the old man answered. "But we shall not lend him the boat, for the time is not yet." The old woman disputed, but to no avail.
The youth gave no sign, but he had heard what the old woman said. When they had done eating, the old couple lay down on the bare earth floor to rest, and the youth did the same. But he did not sleep. From the finger which wore the copper ring a strange sensation invaded him: a wakefulness sweeter than sleep, yet tormenting; he felt that it was wearing him away, and that he could now perceive the castle's radiance through the very walls. Presently the breathing of the old couple gave sign that they had fallen asleep. The youth rose up and stole out of the door. In the radiant night he could see a little path that led farther down the cliff, to a cove where a small wooded boat was moored. He stepped into the coracle and pushed from shore. As he seized the oars he felt a sharp pain from the ring finger; but it passed, and he began to row toward the castle.
The unearthly radiance was no longer evident; indeed it might have been only the rays of the moon on the delicately chiseled stones that shimmered toward him. But it seemed very close over the water, and for some hours he rowed with a will.
Yet he could not approach his goal; for though the shore dropped away and disappeared under the horizon, the castle seemed no larger. The night wore on, the stars rose and set, and morning began to glimmer up behind him. The sun rose, and as its rays grew stronger the copper ring began burning. At first the youth overcame the pain and rowed as ever, but at midmorning he could bear it no more. Letting go the oars, he seized the burning ring in his left hand, drew it from his right, and flung it over the side; and a swan came swimming by and seized it. Immediately he saw the castle, as though not a stone's throw away. On its highest tower a beautiful lady appeared and raised three cries of grief so prolonged that a wave woke in the sea and cast the lad from his boat and drowned him. But the boat returned whence it had come and so his death became known.
From that day on the townspeople noticed that the castle no longer shone as before, though in sunlight and moonlight it was still far fairer than any mortal dwelling. They became accustomed to it as it was, and ascribed its former splendor to the exaggeration of legend. The body of the youth they never found, for it was washed to the base of the forbidden promontory; there the swan buried him, and wept over the grave. And another hundred years went by.
Once more a noble stranger appeared in the town. He had heard the story of the copper ring, and as he asked the girl at the well to draw water for him, he felt a strange thrill as of remembrance or anticipation. What was his wonder when raising the bucket to his lips he saw the silver ring gleaming through the water! For a long moment he held it in his hand, gazing at it with a delight in which some ancient fear and sadness mingled. Suddenly through the uplifted ring he saw the castle and heard a voice singing:
The ring has lain two hundred years And yet a hundred-year shall rust, And my deliverer is not here -- Yet wake I will, and sing I must.
And he put the ring on.
Now all happened as before. The others came; he asked about the castle and was given confused and conflicting legends. He asked if any would take him there, and all refused. He tried to purchase a boat, and might have succeeded, but one old man, after remaining a long time in silence, said, "The copper ring brought no good to the wearer, and this silver ring will bring no good to us if we help or harbor this man. It is best that he depart from this place without delay." And all concurred. The youth, seeing that the people opposed him, left by the road they pointed. When he had gone some distance and the town was no longer in sight, he flung himself down on a stone at the side of the road, and wept.
Immediately he heard someone calling, and when he lifted his eyes he saw the old man who had turned the townspeople against him, and he stood up in anger and shame.
"My son, I am sorry," said the old man, "but it was for your good that I did it. You may think us fools or cowards, yet we have acted rightly. Come, for it is near evening;you will be welcome in my house tonight."
The youth was silent. At length: "I do not have good reason for trusting you, but something tells me that I must. At any rate it is of little importance what happens to me, if I am not to reach the castle."
"That you may think, my friend, that you may think," his companion replied. "But your life may be worth something to you later, after all. Who knows where the silver ring comes from? It is not good to listen too much to old stories." Here the old man, seeing that his words only gave pain and offense to his guest, fell silent and conducted the young man to his house on the cliffside. It was a poor cottage, but clean-swept and orderly, with a bright fire blazing upon the hearth. The old woman received the youth with kind words. Supper was put on the table; the old people began to eat and to talk of their affairs; but seeing the young man distracted and downcast the woman asked him what the matter was. The young man burst out, "I must reach the castle, or never leave this place alive!"
"My son," then said the old man, "you may leave this place alive, but reaching the castle would be another matter. I myself believe it to be a mirage; our fishermen are superstitious and tell all sorts of stories about it, but never go there. At best you would be venturing into uncharted waters, and you, I think, are no mariner."
"I wonder," suddenly spoke the old woman. "Do you know that not far from our house, in the bushes, a path begins which no one can have used for many years? It leads to a cove where no fishing boats are moored, only a small craft seemingly of ancient make, yet sound and new. When I saw it I thought of the boat in which he who wore the copper ring is said to have set out for the castle!"
When he heard this the youth begged the old woman to show him the path and told her of the silver ring. But at the old man's bidding she refused. The youth disputed them vainly, then fell silent for a moment. "I must go," he said. And he rose like a drunken man and stumbled outside.
"Wait!" cried the old woman. "If you go that way, you'll fall over the cliff! Come back, I will show you the path." So he returned into the cottage. The old woman made him sit down, and the old man said: "My son, your journey will end badly, for all this is folly. It would be better for you to remove the silver ring now and cast it into the sea. But if you are resolved to begin the quest, resolve to finish it also, and do not remove the ring in the course of it, come what may. For some say that when the body of the wearer of the copper ring was washed to shore, he no longer had it on his finger; perhaps, if you guard your ring well, it will in some way preserve you."
The young man replied, "I thank you, old man. Not to add a hundred years to my life would I take the ring from my finger now. But thanks to your counsel I shall watch the ring jealously, for it may be some enemy power will try to wrest it from me."
Since he was resolved, the old man sighed deeply, embraced him, and took leave of him as a son; then the woman took him outside and showed him the rocky path which led down to the cove. He did not hear her farewell, but climbed straight down to the water's edge, seated himself in the boat, and began to row just as the moon was rising.
Once again the shore receded, and the castle grew now nearer, though he could see it more plainly under the moon. He saw for the first time how ancient and deserted it was, though only the first marks of ruin were upon it. He rowed and rowed through the night, and a great fear began to oppress his heart. He fought against it, but towards dawn he began to feel the hand with the ring growing cold. None the less determinedly he clenched the oars, though the rays of the rising sun did not warm him, and at noon he had almost reached the landing place of the castle; but his heart had scarcely rejoiced when a black crow, with a cawing and flapping of wings, settled on the bow. In his fright the youth's numb hand let go the oar, and the silver ring fell into the bottom of the boat and the raven snatched it away. Immediately on the topmost tower a beautiful lady appeared and lifted three long wails of anguish; and a wave woke in the sea and snatched the boat from the shore and drowned the youth; but the raven found him on the shore of the island, and buried him there. The boat returned to the cove, and the old woman found it; but as she decided to keep this secret, the wearer of the silver ring was soon forgotten.
From that time on the townspeople began to perceive the decay of the castle, and as the next hundred years wore to a close it seemed utterly ruinous.
But the wall that hid the promontory was also beginning to crumble. This was scarcely noticed; for a long time people had avoided the place merely out of habit. When through the broken wall three statues were revealed -- for the fourth man had crumbled where he stood -- no one was much surprised or frightened. At last someone took the stones of the wall and built his house with them.
On a cloudy night three drunken men were walking on the road past the promontory, and one of them caught sight of the statues. "Say," he exclaimed, "if we hadn't been drinking, we'd be cold tonight; but who knows how long it's been since those fellows have tasted meat or drink?" And they walked tipsily out onto the promontory. They went up to the statues, looked them in the face and poked at them; tiring of this, they left off and looked over the edge of the promontory toward the island. "Twenty years ago," said the first drunken man, "I could throw a stone halfway to that castle."
"Ten years ago," rejoined the second, "I could throw a stone that would fall into the water not a yard from the landing."
"Friends," cried the third, "I am surely as drunk as you are, but this very night I shall strike the castle with a stone I shall pluck from the air!" And before the others could speak or laugh, he had stepped up to the stone Perseus and snatched from his hand the head of Medusa. It shrank and became a common stone; he flung it over the cliff, and it turned to a vulture which vanished immediately into the clouds.
Then all was softly illuminated with a golden radiance, and the drunkards, so terrified they forgot to stumble, fled back to the town.
The light came from a golden ring which had appeared on Perseus' finger when the head of Medusa was snatched away. He and his companions stood all night in the light of the ring; in the hour before dawn the clouds dispersed and out of the western sky flew a raven and placed the copper ring on the hand of the one companion; when the morning star appeared a swan flew out of the east and gave the silver ring to the other. At sunrise the first ray touched the ring on Perseus' finger. Without a word they left the promontory and started for town.
Perseus remembered nothing except the radiant image of the castle, which had brightened through the years of his enchantment until he saw nothing else. Now he looked across the water and saw there an island surmounted by a pile of weathering stone, and he wondered what place it was that appeared so desolate and so strange.
Before he reached the town an old man came out to meet him. "The time has come," he said. Then the light from the ring was bright as sunlight, yet soft to the eye, and a voice was heard in the air:
Spent are thrice one hundred years, Now all sorrowless I sing: Rusted is the iron ring, My deliverer, he is here.
"Wisest of men," said Perseus, "how may I reach the castle?"
"That I can tell you," the old man replied, "for we saw it in a dream this morning, both my good woman and I. There is a path that leads from here across the cliff below the town; take it, and do not turn aside until it ends in a small cove under the rocks. There you will find a boat, but do not loose it from the mooring until the evening star appears. Then step with your companions into the boat, and wait until the waves take you from the shore. Only two things matter: put no hand to the oars, and whatever tolls are demanded of you, pay them. My good woman sends you this." And he gave them a loaf of bread and a flask of sweet wine and turned back toward the city.
The three took the path and arrived at the cove. There in the shade they ate and drank and waited until the evening star appeared. Then they stepped into their boat and the waves carried them out to sea.
The shore receded and the castle came no nearer; Perseus gazed up at the stars and saw them move in their circle round the pole, and it seemed to him that they completed the circle, not once, but countless times, and still the night lasted. Bread and wine remained, but they ate and drank no more. At last they saw that they were approaching the harbor. The waves carried the boat until gently it touched the landing.
Just then with a rush of wings a huge vulture alighted on the shore ahead of them and barred their way. Perseus called out:
Bird of carrion, give way! What thou askest I will pay.
The bird answered:
A copper ring, Or all, and everything.
Then one of Perseus' companions took from his finger the copper ring and flung it to the bird, and it shrieked and fluttered upward until it stood before the door of the castle. And again the hero called out:
Bird of carrion, give way! What thou askest I will pay.
Then the bird flapped its great wings, craned its neck, and answered,
A silver ring, Or all, and everything.
And the other companion flung her the silver ring, and she screamed and flew away over the castle.
Then they entered the castle and walked through mouldering corridors until they came to a tower with a staircase which could still be climbed. On crumbling stairs they mounted to the top. Perseus felt that never would he descend the staircase; but he remembered everything, and felt no pain.
So they reached the end of the staircase and stood on the platform. In the east the sky had begun to turn grey, while overhead the stars were still bright; below them the sea was tranquil. Then Perseus looked down and beheld the vulture rising toward him like a hideous shadow until it circled just opposite them, cawing,
Despoiler of the night, give way! Else thou a golden ring must pay.
"It is the ring of my beloved!" cried Perseus, and despite his companions' fearful pleadings he would not surrender the golden ring. So that battle was joined. Perseus' two companions fell; then Perseus and the vulture fought for about an hour. The vulture struck with beak and claw, and seemed not to tire in the fighting; but Perseus, though he received no wounds, felt his strength beginning to fail. Seeing this, he gathered what force he had left and rushed forward once more, calling on the name of Andromeda.
Just then the sun rose above the horizon, and the vulture disappeared into thin air. The copper and silver rings fell to the ground, and the swan and the raven came down and swallowed them. Then Perseus heard someone call his name, and when he turned around Andromeda stood before him. What words they spoke then I cannot tell you, for I do not know.
With great difficulty the two descended the broken stairway. They wandered together through the deserted corridors until they came to a small chamber in the very center of the castle; there was a bed made, and a table set with food and drink.
While they ate they told each other all that had occurred during the time of their separation. Andromeda said, "When I saw the monster approaching and knew that you had not come in time to save me, I fainted away with terror, and dreamed I ran through dark corridors, calling your name until I fell, and lay in a black swoon which lasted I know not how long. After this a little thought returned; I slept, yet knew I slept. I dreamed that a ship, all of copper, came toward me over the sea; but midway between the shore and the castle a storm came up and the ship foundered, and I was overcome with sorrow. But after this dream I awoke for one instant, and a swan flew into the room and placed on my lips an oaten wafer and three drops of water, and I slept again. But now in my sleep I saw the castle wherein I lay; in my dreams I could wander among the halls of precious stone and the flowers and fountains of the gardens; until at last the splendors wearied my solitude, and I dreamed no more. But then I saw a silver ship, and it seemed to me that it came straight to the landing of the castle, when a storm came up and dashed it on the rocks. This grieved me so that I woke again, and a raven flew in through the window, placed three drops of honey and a wheaten cake on my lips, and departed. And again I slept; but now my dreams were of the shore. I saw the doings of the people in the town, generation after generation; I saw the promontory where three statues had stood since time out of mind; and I saw my own dwelling, black and ruinous, from across the water. After a while I knew all that had passed: why you had come too late to deliver me, how my other deliverers had perished, and how you would be tried when you awakened. A voice said, "A wise man will advise him; but woe unto you all, if he follow that counsel to the end!" For know, beloved, had you given the golden ring to the vulture Medusa, she would have had us both in her power forever.
"Last night I dreamed that a golden ship came sailing from the town. It came into the harbor and reached the landing safely; then one stepped out, and I awoke. At first I heard only an indefinite tumult and was filled with fear; but then I heard the sound of battle coming from the tower. I heard the cries of the swan and the raven, and your voice called my name; and I climbed the tower, and found you."
So they talked until they were weary, and then they lay down to rest. When they woke all was transformed. The floor and walls of the room were of precious stone; the curtains of the bed were of some faery texture, and shone with an unearthly light. They rose and walked through the palace, wondering at each new splendor that met their eyes; they went out into the gardens, where fountains played again among beds of immortal flowers. So they wandered together, and talked, and sang, for the space of three days.
On the evening of the third day Andromeda spoke to Perseus: "Beloved, our time in this place is spent; tomorrow we must be gone. Before dawn we must go out into the garden which overlooks the western sea. The sun will rise in the west, and he will take us with him."
Next morning the song of the swan and the harsh cawing of the raven penetrated into the inner chamber where the lovers slept. They rose and found at the bedside two pairs of winged sandals; they put them on and went out to the garden overlooking the western sea. There they stroked the heads of the swan and the raven and bade them farewell, and when the sun rose they set their feet on the first rays, which bore them like a golden highway.
Of all this the townspeople were ignorant. None had seen the stranger pass to the cove, nor the boat put out from shore. The drunkards' tale at first provoked mere incredulity and laughter, but when it was reported that the men of stone were indeed gone from the promontory, the people began to fear. All day the rumors flew; no one slept that night, and on the following morning the sun did not rise. Now arose a weeping and lamentation which lasted until the town bells rang for evening. The people were somewhat comforted by this familiar sound; they retired into their houses, and the night passed in deep silence. When again the morning bells rang out but no light appeared, they continued to sit in stony despair.
But after some hours -- no one knew how long -- a man began going about from house to house, waking the people with new hopes. He was a man of some learning, though of not quite spotless reputation, and it was said he knew more about what had happened in the past than any man alive. When the people were gathered at the marketplace he addressed them, saying that there was a way to lift the darkness; at the time when the stone men were formed certain rings had been thrown into the well, and the copper and silver rings had already been drawn out; now the stone men were gone, but the golden ring had not been found and was doubtless still lying at the bottom of the well; this was the cause of all the trouble, and if the townspeople would but retrieve the golden ring from the well, they would not only dispel the darkness, but the ring would bring them great good fortune.
The people grasped eagerly at this good news. All crowded around the well while the mayor of the town let down the bucket; but it came up, and there was only water in it. They let down the bucket again, and the same thing happened. They poured the water on the ground and emptied out the well until it was dry; they sent men down with flaring torches to look for the ring; they scraped in the mud of the bottom until they reached the bare rock; but they found only water, mud, and rock. The last man was drawn up from the well; no one spoke; in the crowd a few began to weep. Then the bells rang -- whether for evening or morning, none knew. The people wandered aimlessly in the marketplace; none thought of returning to their houses; slowly a murmur rose among them: "The sun will not
rise again; why should we cling to miserable life, like worms in the dark earth? Let us bring out our stores of meat and drink, and feast until they are gone, and then let us set fire to the town, that we may at least have light by which to die!"
These voices grew louder, and finally a meeting was called to decide the matter. When all were assembled a child stood forth and said, "In matters of life and death the children too should have a voice." Then several said this was but just, and the rest being indifferent agreed. When all had been heard on both sides, there was silence for a moment; then the old man spoke: "Townsmen, this matter has been laid before you, and you will do as you like; but tomorrow the sun will rise in the west."
No one believed the old man, except the children; but they outnumbered the adults by one. However, the adults did not accept the verdict of the children. They brought out their stores and took to feasting, and soon they and their town were ashes.
But the children slipped away unnoticed. They hid themselves in the forest and wept until they fell asleep. On the following morning the sun rose in the west, and they saw a beautiful golden ship come over the water and sail into the cove under the cliff. They all forgot to weep for the great wonder of it and ran down to the cove.
The old couple were there to meet them. They led them into the ship, which floated out again and sailed to the castle. All the time the sun shone upon them, but its rays were never burning, and they could not have said whether the time of the journey was long or short. They landed, and there was no one at the landing; they entered the gate, and none met them; they walked through all the gardens and the shining halls, they heard the plash of fountains and the singing of birds, but saw no human face until they came to the innermost room. It was empty, for bed and table had vanished; but on opposite walls hung two mirrors, and in them were fixed the images of two human forms; and the children were struck dumb with wonder, for they had never seen beings so fair; and no one spoke for about an hour.
Finally the old man said, "Your time in this place is short, my children; come, and may each remember what you have seen here." Then he led them to a hall near the gardens, where a long table was set with dishes of gold and knives and spoons of silver; and the food was such that, if any were very hungry in times afterward, they had only to think of it in order to be satisfied. And each found by his plate a precious stone, carved in the likeness of a bird, or an animal, or a fish, or a plow, or a spinning-wheel, or a musical instrument, or some other shape. Each amulet conferred some particular kind of good luck, and all had this special virtue, that everyone was pleased with what he had gotten. So they feasted and sang and talked until the stars came out and their eyes began to be heavy. Then they heard the voice of the old woman: "Children, now you must depart; the golden ship will carry you back to the shore. My husband and I will remain here to keep the castle. On the longest day of every year the golden ship will come to your harbor, and you may visit us again. Yet if you wish you may come from time to time in your own wooden boats; for the spell of distance between the castle and the shore is lifted."
So they sailed away, and slept, and when they reached the land it was morning. Then they took counsel on the shore and decided not to rebuild the town. Instead they made themselves shelters in the woods and fields, just near enough so that they could comfortably visit each other.
Since then not so very much has happened, though doubtless many a century has come and gone. The castle stands, beautiful as of yore; the old couple still live there, attended by the swan and the raven, and I think they may be immortal. It is good to look over the water and see the castle shining; it is good to row there alone on a starry night, or to sail there in the golden ship on the longest day of the year. Yet it is also sweet to return to the shore, to set foot on the beach, and greet the simple flowers that grow in the rocks, and the creatures of wood and field. Each year some are born, and some die. The amulets are passed from hand to hand, and the old songs wander from mouth to mouth. In the fields the wheat rises and falls; and the sun sets in the east and rises in the west.
1971
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