Short Stories of Various Types
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Various >> Short Stories of Various Types
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"Well puffed, my pretty lad!" still cried old Mother Rigby. "Come!
another good, stout whiff, and let it be with might and main. Puff for
thy life, I tell thee! Puff out of the very bottom of thy heart, if any
heart thou hast, or any bottom to it. Well done, again! Thou didst suck
in that mouthful as if for the pure love of it."
And then the witch beckoned to the scarecrow, throwing so much magnetic
potency into her gesture that it seemed as if it must inevitably be
obeyed, like the mystic call of the lodestone when it summons the iron.
"Why lurkest thou in the corner, lazy one?" said she. "Step forth! Thou
hast the world before thee!"
Upon my word, if the legend were not one which I heard on my
grandmother's knee, and which had established its place among things
credible before my childish judgment could analyze its probability, I
question whether I should have the face to tell it now.
In obedience to Mother Rigby's word and extending its arm as if to
reach her outstretched hand, the figure made a step forward--a kind of
hitch and jerk, however, rather than a step--then tottered and almost
lost its balance. What could the witch expect? It was nothing, after
all, but a scarecrow stuck upon two sticks. But the strong-willed old
Beldam scowled and beckoned and flung the energy of her purpose so
forcibly at this poor combination of rotten wood and musty straw and
ragged garments that it was compelled to show itself a man, in spite of
the reality of things; so it stepped into the bar of sunshine. There it
stood, poor devil of a contrivance that it was, with only the thinnest
vesture of human similitude about it, through which was evident the
stiff, rickety, incongruous, faded, tattered, good-for-nothing
patchwork of its substance, ready to sink in a heap upon the floor, as
conscious of its own unworthiness to be erect. Shall I confess the
truth? At its present point of vivification the scarecrow reminds me of
some of the lukewarm and abortive characters composed of heterogeneous
materials used for the thousandth time, and never worth using, with
which romance writers (and myself, no doubt, among the rest) have so
overpeopled the world of fiction.
But the fierce old hag began to get angry and show a glimpse of her
diabolic nature, like a snake's head peeping with a hiss out of her
bosom, at this pusillanimous behavior of the thing which she had taken
the trouble to put together.
"Puff away, wretch!" cried she, wrathfully. "Puff puff, puff, thou
thing of straw and emptiness! thou rag or two! thou meal-bag! thou
pumpkin-head! thou nothing! Where shall I find a name vile enough to
call thee by? Puff, I say, and suck in thy fantastic life along with
the smoke, else I snatch the pipe from thy mouth and hurl thee where
that red coal came from."
Thus threatened, the unhappy scarecrow had nothing for it but to puff
away for dear life. As need was, therefore, it applied itself lustily
to the pipe, and sent forth such abundant volleys of tobacco-smoke that
the small cottage-kitchen became all-vaporous. The one sunbeam
struggled mistily through, and could but imperfectly define the image
of the cracked and dusty window-pane on the opposite wall.
Mother Rigby, meanwhile, with one brown arm akimbo and the other
stretched toward the figure, loomed grimly amid the obscurity with such
port and expression as when she was wont to heave a ponderous nightmare
on her victims and stand at the bedside to enjoy their agony.
In fear and trembling did this poor scarecrow puff. But its efforts, it
must be acknowledged, served an excellent purpose, for with each
successive whiff the figure lost more and more of its dizzy and
perplexing tenuity and seemed to take denser substance. Its very
garments, moreover, partook of the magical change, and shone with the
gloss of novelty, and glistened with the skilfully embroidered gold
that had long ago been rent away, and, half revealed among the smoke, a
yellow visage bent its lustreless eyes on Mother Rigby.
At last the old witch clenched her fist and shook it at the figure. Not
that she was positively angry but merely acting on the principle--perhaps
untrue or not the only truth, though as high a one as Mother Rigby
could be expected to attain--that feeble and torpid natures, being
incapable of better inspiration, must be stirred up by fear. But here
was the crisis. Should she fail in what she now sought to affect, it
was her ruthless purpose to scatter the miserable simulacre into its
original elements.
"Thou hast a man's aspect," said she, sternly, "have also the echo and
mockery of a voice. I bid thee speak!"
The scarecrow gasped, struggled, and at length emitted a murmur which
was so incorporated with its smoky breath that you could scarcely tell
whether it were indeed a voice or only a whiff of tobacco. Some
narrators of this legend held the opinion that Mother Rigby's
conjurations and the fierceness of her will had compelled a familiar
spirit into the figure, and that the voice was his.
"Mother," mumbled the poor stifled voice, "be not so awful with me! I
would fain speak, but, being without wits, what can I say?"
"Thou canst speak, darling, canst thou?" cried Mother Rigby, relaxing
her grim countenance into a smile. "And what shalt thou say, quotha?
Say, indeed! Art thou of the brotherhood of the empty skull and
demandest of me what thou shalt say? Thou shalt say a thousand things,
and saying them a thousand times over, thou shalt still have said
nothing. Be not afraid, I tell thee! When thou comest into the
world--whither I purpose sending thee forthwith--thou shalt not lack
the wherewithal to talk. Talk. Why, thou shalt babble like a
mill-stream, if thou wilt. Thou hast brains enough for that, I trow."
"At your service, mother," responded the figure.
"And that was well said, my pretty one!" answered Mother Rigby. "Then
thou spakest like thyself and meant nothing. Thou shalt have a hundred
such set phrases and five hundred to the boot of them. And now,
darling, I have taken so much pains with thee and thou art so beautiful
that, by my troth, I love thee better than any witch's puppet in the
world; and I've made them of all sorts--clay, wax, straw, sticks, night
fog, morning mist, sea-foam, and chimney-smoke. But thou art the very
best; so give heed to what I say."
"Yes, kind mother," said the figure, "with all my heart!"
"With all thy heart!" cried the old witch, setting her hands to her
sides, and laughing loudly. "Thou hast such a pretty way of speaking!
With all thy heart! And thou didst put thy hand to the left side of thy
waistcoat, as if thou really hadst one!"
So now in high good-humor with this fantastic contrivance of hers,
Mother Rigby told the scarecrow that it must go and play its part in
the great world, where not one man in a hundred, she affirmed, was
gifted with more real substance than itself. And that he might hold up
his head with the best of them, she endowed him on the spot with an
unreckonable amount of wealth. It consisted partly of a gold-mine in
Eldorado,[185-1] and of ten thousand shares in a broken bubble, and of
half a million acres of vineyard at the North Pole, and of a castle in
the air and a chateau in Spain, together with all the rents and income
therefrom accruing. She further made over to him the cargo of a certain
ship laden with salt of Cadiz which she herself by her necromantic arts
had caused to founder ten years before in the deepest part of
mid-ocean. If the salt were not dissolved and could be brought to
market, it would fetch a pretty penny among the fishermen. That he
might not lack ready money, she gave him a copper farthing of
Birmingham manufacture, being all the coin she had about her, and
likewise a great deal of brass, which she applied to his forehead, thus
making it yellower than ever.
"With that brass alone," quoth Mother Rigby, "thou canst pay thy way
all over the earth. Kiss me, pretty darling! I have done my best for
thee."
Furthermore, that the adventurer might lack no possible advantage
toward a fair start in life, this excellent old dame gave him a token
by which he was to introduce himself to a certain magistrate, member of
the council, merchant, and elder of the church (the four capacities
constituting but one man) who stood at the head of society in the
neighboring metropolis. The token was neither more nor less than a
single word, which Mother Rigby whispered to the scarecrow and which
the scarecrow was to whisper to the merchant.
"Gouty as the old fellow is, he'll run thy errands for thee when once
thou hast given him that word in his ear," said the old witch. "Mother
Rigby knows the worshipful justice Gookin, and the worshipful justice
knows Mother Rigby!"
Here the witch thrust her wrinkled face close to the puppet's,
chuckling irrepressibly, and fidgeting all through her system with
delight at the idea which she meant to communicate.
"The worshipful Master Gookin," whispered she, "hath a comely maiden to
his daughter. And hark ye, my pet. Thou hast a fair outside and a
pretty wit enough of thine own. Yea, a pretty wit enough! Thou wilt
think better of it when thou hast seen more of other people's wits. Now
with thy outside and thy inside thou art the very man to win a young
girl's heart. Never doubt it; I tell thee it shall be so. Put but a
bold face on the matter, sigh, smile, flourish thy hat, thrust forth
thy leg like a dancing-master, put thy right hand to the left side of
thy waistcoat, and pretty Polly Gookin is thine own."
All this while the new creature had been sucking in and exhaling
the vapory fragrance of his pipe and seemed now to continue this
occupation as much for the enjoyment it afforded as because it was
an essential condition of his existence. It was wonderful to see how
exceedingly like a human being it behaved. Its eyes (for it appeared
to possess a pair) were bent on Mother Rigby, and at suitable junctures
it nodded or shook its head. Neither did it lack words proper for the
occasion--"Really!"--"Indeed!"--"Pray tell me!"--"Is it possible!"--"Upon
my word!"--"By no means!"--"Oh!"--"Ah!"--"Hem!" and other such weighty
utterances as imply attention, inquiry, acquiescence, or dissent on
the part of the auditor. Even had you stood by and seen the scarecrow
made, you could scarcely have resisted the conviction that it
perfectly understood the cunning counsels which the old witch poured
into its counterfeit of an ear. The more earnestly it applied its lips
to the pipe, the more distinctly was its human likeness stamped among
visible realities, the more sagacious grew its expression, the more
lifelike its gestures and movements, and the more intelligibly audible
its voice. Its garments too glistened so much the brighter with an
illusory magnificence. The very pipe in which burned the spell of all
this wonder-work ceased to appear as a smoke-blackened earthern stump,
and became a meerschaum with painted bowl and amber mouthpiece.
It might be apprehended, however, that, as the life of the illusion
seemed identical with the vapor of the pipe, it would terminate
simultaneously with the reduction of the tobacco to ashes. But the
beldam foresaw the difficulty.
"Hold thou the pipe, my precious one," said she, "while I fill it for
thee again."
It was sorrowful to behold how the fine gentleman began to fade back
into a scarecrow while Mother Rigby shook the ashes out of the pipe and
proceeded to replenish it from her tobacco-box.
"Dickon," cried she, in her high, sharp tone, "another coal for this
pipe."
No sooner said than the intensely red speck of fire was glowing within
the pipe-bowl and the scarecrow, without waiting for the witch's
bidding, applied the tube to his lips and drew in a few short,
convulsive whiffs, which soon however became regular and equable.
"Now, mine own heart's darling," quoth Mother Rigby, "whatever may
happen to thee, thou must stick to thy pipe. Thy life is in it; and
that, at least, thou knowest well, if thou knowest nought besides.
Stick to thy pipe, I say! Smoke, puff, blow thy cloud, and tell the
people, if any question be made, that it is for thy health and that so
the physician orders thee to do. And, sweet one, when thou shalt find
thy pipe getting low, go apart into some corner, and--first filling
thyself with smoke--cry sharply, 'Dickon, a fresh pipe of tobacco!' and
'Dickon, another coal for my pipe!' and have it into thy pretty mouth
as speedily as may be, else instead of a gallant gentleman in a
gold-laced coat, thou wilt be but a jumble of sticks, and tattered
clothes, and a bag of straw, and a withered pumpkin. Now depart, my
treasure, and good luck go with thee!"
"Never fear, mother," said the figure, in a stout voice, and sending
forth a courageous whiff of smoke. "I will thrive if an honest man and
a gentleman may."
"Oh, thou wilt be the death of me!" cried the old witch, convulsed with
laughter. "That was well said! If an honest man and a gentleman may!
Thou playest thy part to perfection. Get along with thee for a smart
fellow and I will wager on thy head, as a man of pith and substance,
with a brain and what they call a heart, and all else that a man should
have against any other thing on two legs. I hold myself a better witch
than yesterday for thy sake. Did I not make thee? And I defy any witch
in New England to make such another! Here! take my staff along with
thee."
The staff, though it was but a plain oaken stick, immediately took the
aspect of a gold-headed cane.
"That gold head has as much sense in it as thine own," said Mother
Rigby, "and it will guide thee straight to worshipful Master Gookin's
door. Get thee gone, my pretty pet, my darling, my precious one, my
treasure; and if any ask thy name, it is 'Feathertop,' for thou hast a
feather in thy hat and I have thrust a handful of feathers into the
hollow of thy head. And thy wig, too, is of the fashion they call
'feathertop'; so be 'Feathertop' thy name."
And issuing from the cottage, Feathertop strode manfully towards town.
Mother Rigby stood at the threshold, well pleased to see how the
sunbeams glistened on him, as if all his magnificence were real, and
how diligently and lovingly he smoked his pipe, and how handsomely he
walked in spite of a little stiffness of his legs. She watched him
until out of sight and threw a witch-benediction after her darling when
a turn of the road snatched him from her view.
Betimes in the forenoon, when the principal street of the neighboring
town was just at its acme of life and bustle, a stranger of very
distinguished figure was seen on the sidewalk. His port as well as his
garments betokened nothing short of nobility. He wore a richly
embroidered plum-colored coat, a waistcoat of costly velvet
magnificently adorned with golden foliage, a pair of splendid scarlet
breeches and the finest and glossiest of white silk stockings. His head
was covered with a peruke so daintily powdered and adjusted that it
would have been sacrilege to disorder it with a hat, which, therefore
(and it was a gold-laced hat set off with a snowy feather), he carried
beneath his arm. On the breast of his coat glistened a star. He managed
his gold-headed cane with an airy grace peculiar to the fine gentlemen
of the period and, to give the highest possible finish to his
equipment, he had lace ruffles at his wrist of a most ethereal
delicacy, sufficiently avouching how idle and aristocratic must be the
hands which they half-concealed.
It was a remarkable point in the accoutrement of this brilliant
personage that he held in his left hand a fantastic kind of pipe with
an exquisitely painted bow and an amber mouthpiece. This he applied to
his lips as often as every five or six paces and inhaled a deep whiff
of smoke, which after being retained a moment in his lungs might be
seen to eddy gracefully from his mouth and nostrils.
As may well be supposed, the street was all astir to find out the
stranger's name.
"It is some great nobleman, beyond question," said one of the
townspeople. "Do you see the star at his breast?"
"Nay, it is too bright to be seen," said another. "Yes, he must needs
be a nobleman, as you say. But by what conveyance, think you, can his
Lordship have voyaged or traveled hither? There has been no vessel from
the old country for a month past; and if he have arrived overland from
the southward, pray where are his attendants and equipage?"
"He needs no equipage to set off his rank," remarked a third. "If he
came among us in rags, nobility would shine through a hole in his
elbow. I never saw such dignity of aspect. He has the old Norman
blood[191-1] in his veins, I warrant him."
"I rather take him to be a Dutchman or one of your High Germans," said
another citizen. "The men of those countries have always the pipe at
their mouths."
"And so has a Turk," answered his companion. "But in my judgment, this
stranger hath been bred at the French court and hath there learned
politeness and grace of manner which none understand so well as the
nobility of France. That gait, now! A vulgar spectator might deem it
stiff--he might call it a hitch and jerk--but, to my eye, it hath an
unspeakable majesty and must have been acquired by constant observation
of the deportment of the Grand Monarque. The stranger's character and
office are evident enough. He is a French ambassador come to treat with
our rulers about the cession of Canada."
"More probably a Spaniard," said another, "and hence his yellow
complexion. Or most likely he is from the Havana or from some port on
the Spanish main and comes to make investigation about the piracies
which our governor is thought to connive at. Those settlers in Peru and
Mexico have skins as yellow as the gold which they dig out of their
mines."
"Yellow or not," cried a lady, "he is a beautiful man! So tall, so
slender! Such a fine, noble face, with so well shaped a nose and all
that delicacy of expression about the mouth! And, bless me! how bright
his star is! It positively shoots out flames."
"So do your eyes, fair lady," said the stranger, with a bow and a
flourish of his pipe, for he was just passing at the instant. "Upon my
honor, they have quite dazzled me!"
"Was ever so original and exquisite a compliment?" murmured the lady,
in an ecstasy of delight.
Amid the general admiration excited by the stranger's appearance there
were only two dissenting voices. One was that of an impertinent cur
which, after sniffing at the heels of the glistening figure, put its
tail between its legs and skulked into its master's backyard,
vociferating an execrable howl. The other dissentient was a young child
who squalled at the fullest stretch of his lungs and babbled some
unintelligible nonsense about a pumpkin.
Feathertop, meanwhile, pursued his way along the street. Except for the
few complimentary words to the lady, and now and then a slight
inclination of the head in requital of the profound reverences of the
bystanders, he seemed wholly absorbed in his pipe. There needed no
other proof of his rank and consequence than the perfect equanimity
with which he comported himself, while the curiosity and admiration of
the town swelled almost into a clamor around him. With a crowd
gathering behind his footsteps, he finally reached the mansion-house of
the worshipful Justice Gookin, entered the gate, ascended the steps of
the front door and knocked. In the interim before his summons was
answered the stranger was observed to shake the ashes out of his pipe.
"What did he say in that sharp voice?" inquired one of the spectators.
"Nay, I know not," answered his friend. "But the sun dazzles my eyes
strangely. How dim and faded His Lordship looks all of a sudden! Bless
my wits, what is the matter with me?"
"The wonder is," said the other, "that his pipe, which was out an
instant ago, should be all alight again and with the reddest coal I
ever saw. There is something mysterious about this stranger. What a
whiff of smoke was that! 'Dim and faded,' did you call him? Why, as he
turns about the star on his breast is all ablaze."
"It is, indeed," said his companion, "and it will go near to dazzle
pretty Polly Gookin, whom I see peeping at it out of the chamber
window."
The door being now opened, Feathertop turned to the crowd, made a
stately bend of his body, like a great man acknowledging the reverence
of the meaner sort, and vanished into the house. There was a mysterious
kind of a smile--if it might not better be called a grin or
grimace--upon his visage, but of all the throng that beheld him not an
individual appears to have possessed insight enough to detect the
illusive character of the stranger, except a little child and a
cur-dog.
Our legend here loses somewhat of its continuity, and, passing over the
preliminary explanation between Feathertop and the merchant, goes in
quest of the pretty Polly Gookin. She was a damsel of a soft, round
figure with light hair and blue eyes, and a fair rosy face which seemed
neither very shrewd nor very simple. This young lady had caught a
glimpse of the glistening stranger while standing at the threshold and
had forthwith put on a laced cap, a string of beads, her finest
kerchief and her stiffest damask petticoat, in preparation for the
interview. Hurrying from her chamber to the parlor, she had ever since
been viewing herself in the large looking-glass and practising pretty
airs--now a smile, now a ceremonious dignity of aspect, and now a
softer smile than the former, kissing her hand likewise, tossing her
head and managing her fan, while within the mirror an unsubstantial
little maid repeated every gesture and did all the foolish things that
Polly did, but without making her ashamed of them. In short, it was the
fault of pretty Polly's ability, rather than her will, if she failed to
be as complete an artifice as the illustrious Feathertop himself; and
when she thus tampered with her own simplicity, the witch's phantom
might well hope to win her.
No sooner did Polly hear her father's gouty footsteps approaching the
parlor door, accompanied with the stiff clatter of Feathertop's
high-heeled shoes, than she seated herself bolt upright and innocently
began warbling a song.
"Polly! Daughter Polly!" cried the old merchant. "Come hither, child."
Master Gookin's aspect, as he opened the door, was doubtful and
troubled.
"This gentleman," continued he, presenting the stranger, "is the
chevalier Feathertop--nay, I beg his pardon, My Lord Feathertop--who
hath brought me a token of remembrance from an ancient friend of mine.
Pay your duty to His Lordship, child, and honor him as his quality
deserves."
After these few words of introduction the worshipful magistrate
immediately quitted the room. But even in that brief moment, had the
fair Polly glanced aside at her father instead of devoting herself
wholly to the brilliant guest, she might have taken warning of some
mischief nigh at hand. The old man was nervous, fidgety and very pale.
Purposing a smile of courtesy, he had deformed his face with a sort of
galvanic grin which, when Feathertop's back was turned, he exchanged
for a scowl, at the same time shaking his fist and stamping his gouty
foot--an incivility which brought its retribution along with it. The
truth appears to have been that Mother Rigby's word of introduction,
whatever it might be, had operated far more on the rich merchant's
fears than on his good-will. Moreover, being a man of wonderfully acute
observation, he had noticed that the painted figures on the bowl of
Feathertop's pipe were in motion. Looking more closely, he became
convinced that these figures were a party of little demons, each duly
provided with horns and a tail, and dancing hand in hand with gestures
of diabolical merriment round the circumference of the pipe-bowl. As if
to confirm his suspicions, while Master Gookin ushered his guest along
a dusky passage from his private room to the parlor, the star on
Feathertop's breast had scintillated actual flames, and threw a
flickering gleam upon the wall, the ceiling and the door.
With such sinister prognostics manifesting themselves on all hands, it
is not to be marveled at that the merchant should have felt that he was
committing his daughter to a very questionable acquaintance. He cursed
in his secret soul the insinuating elegance of Feathertop's manners as
this brilliant personage bowed, smiled, put his hand on his heart,
inhaled a long whiff from his pipe, and enriched the atmosphere with
the smoky vapor of a fragrant and visible sigh. Gladly would poor
Master Gookin have thrust his dangerous guest into the street, but
there was a restraint and terror within him. This respectable old
gentleman, we fear, at an earlier period of life had given some pledge
or other to the Evil Principle, and perhaps was now to redeem it by the
sacrifice of his daughter.
It so happened that the parlor door was partly of glass shaded by a
silken curtain the folds of which hung a little awry. So strong was the
merchant's interest in witnessing what was to ensue between the fair
Polly and the gallant Feathertop that after quitting the room he could
by no means refrain from peeping through the crevice of the curtain.
But there was nothing very miraculous to be seen--nothing except the
trifles previously noticed, to confirm the idea of a supernatural peril
environing the pretty Polly. The stranger, it is true, was evidently a
thorough and practised man of the world, systematic and self-possessed,
and therefore the sort of person to whom a parent ought not to confide
a simple young girl without due watchfulness for the result. The worthy
magistrate, who had been conversant with all degrees and qualities of
mankind, could not but perceive every motion and gesture of the
distinguished Feathertop came in its proper place. Nothing had been
left rude or native in him; a well-digested conventionalism had
incorporated itself thoroughly with his substance and transformed him
into a work of art. Perhaps it was this peculiarity that invested him
with a species of ghastliness and awe. It is the effect of anything
completely and consummately artificial in human shape that the person
impresses us as an unreality, and as having hardly pith enough to cast
a shadow upon the floor. As regarded Feathertop, all this resulted in a
wild, extravagant, and fantastical impression, as if his life and being
were akin to the smoke that curled upward from his pipe.
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