Cap on—cap and knee!Cap off—who is he?
Cap on—cap and knee!Cap off—who is he?
It was the same that the dwarf had repeated to him in the river. What did it mean? The dwarf had said it was full of wisdom; but Raymond had never been much in the way of wisdom, and perhaps might fail to recognise it when he saw it. He could not even be sure whether it were better wisdom to put the cap on again or to keep it off. He was inclined to keep it off. His head felt much clearer so; he was able to think lovingly of Rosamund once more, andhe longed to see her again. What if some harm came to her in his absence? Might not that half of the spade guinea give the dwarf some power over her? He rose to his feet full of anxiety, and looked back towards Honeymead. Through a break in the clouds the sun lit up the little village; the cottages showed clearly in the warm light; and amongst them, with its thatched and gabled roof, and with the great lime-trees standing over it, was the Brindled Cow. Rosamund was there, no doubt, wondering where her Raymond was. Now, perhaps, the dwarf was coming in, with the half-guinea round his neck. What if he were to assert that he was the true Raymond, showing the token in proof thereof? When this thought came into Raymond's mind he started up from the milestone, resolved to go back to Honeymead without the loss of an instant. How blind and stupid he had been! Was not Rosamund more precious than a kingdom, or than all the money in the Bank of England? Of course she was!
But just as Raymond's eyes were sparkling with good resolutions, and one foot advanced on the way back to the BrindledCow, he heard a flourish of trumpets, hautboys, and cymbals, and, behold! a splendid cavalcade advancing towards him on the way to London. In front rode a company of knights in glittering armour; then came a long array of men-at-arms, squires, and attendants, gorgeously attired; then more knights, riding two-and-two; then a body of courtiers, and in the midst of these, borne upon the shoulders of some of them, a platform draped in cloth of gold. Upon the platform was a chair of carved ivory, and in the chair sat a man with a long white beard falling over his breast, and an ermine mantle on his shoulders. One foot rested on a golden footstool, thereby showing a fine silk stocking with embroidered clocks. The sight of that stocking made Raymond's heart beat.
By this time the vanguard of knights had reached the milestone beside which Raymond was standing. As they passed they glanced at him contemptuously. This annoyed him, for he was used to think well of himself, and the Honeymead people treated him with consideration. But if the knights looked contemptuous, the men-at-arms and attendants jeered and made mouths at him; andas for the pages they mocked and bantered him unmercifully.
'Here's an odd fish!' cried one, pointing with his finger.
'He's lost his way trying to swim on land!' laughed another.
'A scaly fellow—let's skin him and clean him!' called out a third.
'How much are you a pound, fish?' asked a fourth.
'Bah! he's stale already!' shouted a fifth.
'What's that in his right fin?—a human cap and feather, I declare!' exclaimed a sixth.
'Take it away from him!' cried several together; and one spurred his horse towards the young man and reached forth the point of his lance, as if to catch the cap from Raymond's hand.
But Raymond, though a minute ago he was almost ready to throw the cap away, was not going to submit to being robbed of it. He caught the lance by the shaft and jerked it from the page's grasp; then, putting the cap firmly on his head, he stood on his guard boldly, with the weapon advanced.
Why was the laugh with which the other pages had begun to greet their companion's mishap checked so suddenly? Why was every eye bent upon Raymond with an expression of respect and subservience? Why did all salute him so profoundly, bowing to their saddles in silent homage? What did this sudden change mean? It could not be that they were awed by the bold front he had shown; it was more likely that this was but a new way of making fun of him. And yet it was odd that all should have joined in it unanimously and at an instant's notice. What did it all mean?
The pages passed on, and the second company of knights followed. Strange! they also seemed to have taken up the jest, for one and all made deep obeisance to Raymond as they passed. And now came on the courtiers, bearing aloft the platform on which sat the majestic figure in the pink silk stockings. Raymond began to feel alarmed. If this were (as he more than suspected) his Majesty King Ormund himself, what punishment would be inflicted for the audacious crime of disarming one of his Majesty's bodyguard? To lose his head was the leasthe might expect. There could be no doubt that Raymond was alarmed, for he actually forgot to uncover his head in the presence of his sovereign. There he stood, upright and pale, with the spear in his hand, the yellow cap on his head, and his eyes fixed upon the king.
The courtiers saw him. There was a flutter and a murmuring amongst them; one of them said something to the King, at which he gave a start.
'Now for it!' thought Raymond. He moved his head a little—perhaps he would not have the power of moving it much longer. He wondered how it would look when it was off his shoulders.
The King now leaned forward in his ivory chair and gazed at Raymond intently. Then he gave an order to those about him, and the platform was lowered to the ground by those who carried it. The King stepped from it and came straight towards Raymond, the crowd falling back on either side. How strange! instead of frowning his Majesty wore a very cordial smile. He was close up to Raymond now; he was throwing his royal arms about his neck; he was kissing himheartily on both cheeks; he was saying, 'It delights our heart to see thee. Welcome—welcome to England!'
'What, in the name of wonder, is the meaning of it all?' said Raymond to himself.
When it became evident that King Ormund, instead of cutting off Raymond's head, was treating him like a younger brother, Raymond began to pluck up spirit. 'Possibly I look like some friend of his,' he thought; and he resolved to make the most of the mistake, keeping his eyes open for the first chance of escape.
Meanwhile the King overwhelmed him with attentions, and even insisted upon his sitting beside him in the ivory chair; and the courtiers who had to carry this double weight, instead of looking discontented, smiled as if Raymond had been loading them with benefits instead of with himself. The procession now swept onward, and the King himself had hardly more honour than the washerwoman's son. In his wildest dreamsRaymond had never anticipated making such a brilliant entry into London as this.
And had he given up the idea of going back to Honeymead? Yes; and he had almost forgotten that there was such a place. The Brindled Cow and Rosamund were like visions of the past which did not much concern him. His yellow cap was the thing that most troubled him, for it pained his head badly. If he had been alone he would have taken it off; but in such fine company he was unwilling to be seen without the handsomest part of his attire.
All this time the King had been talking to him in the most confidential and familiar way imaginable.
'My dear fellow,' he said, 'your arrival is most timely. To-morrow would have been too late. It is most kind of you.'
'I rejoice to be of service——'
'Service, my friend! Such a word between you and me? Never! Counsel—support—sympathy—such as one potentate may claim from another—these I expect from you. But let me explain to you exactly how the case stands. In the first place, I feel that I am getting old.'
After saying this the King paused as if for a reply. Raymond had never known what it was to pay a compliment in his life; but now something prompted him to say, with a smile and a bow—
'Not at all. Your Majesty is, to all intents and purposes, as young as I am.'
'Ah, it is very good of you to say that,' sighed his Majesty, looking highly gratified. 'But I really am old—older than you would suppose; and, if you can believe it, some of my scoundrelly subjects have said (behind my back) that I am growing senile—that is the word the villains use—and they are plotting to dethrone me at ten o'clock to-morrow morning.'
'A conspiracy?'
'Nothing less. It is announced to take place at Drury Lane Theatre, and the house is sold, from pit to gallery.'
'Oh! it is only a play, then?' said Raymond, in a relieved tone.
'I don't know what you mean by a play,' returned the King, looking slightly hurt. 'It takes place on the stage, of course; but it is as much earnest as anything that goes on in London.'
'Certainly—of course,' said Raymond, anxious not to seem ignorant of fashionable customs. 'But whom do the conspirators mean to put on the throne in your stead? Your son?'
'My Assimund, you mean? Well, that is just the point. My son Assimund is a perfectly harmless young fellow, but—in fact—he is rather too much so.'
'Too much so?'
'Yes—he is—as I might say—hum!' And the King tapped his forehead significantly.
'You don't mean———' And Raymond laid his forefinger between his eyes and then shook it in the air.
'Fact, I assure you.'
'Dear me, how sad!'
'So now you see what I am driving at,' added the King more briskly.
'Well, I hardly—that is——'
'Briefly, then, the part of the usurper has not yet been given out. But I have reigned fifty years, and, between you and me, I'm tired of it. This crown of mine'—the King laid his hand upon the diadem he wore—'often gives me a headache. Ah, I see you understand that. You've felt the same yourself?'
'Why, something of the sort, I confess,' said Raymond, settling his yellow cap on his brow.
'Bless you! what monarch has not? But you are young and hearty—you can stand it. So here is my plan: I decline to submit to force, because the precedent would be dangerous; but I am willing to abdicate. That is my counter-move—my rival attraction, as the stage manager would say. But, if it is to succeed, there is no time to be lost; the posters must be got out at once.'
'Yes, I agree with you,' said Raymond, who was now quite bewildered.
'I was sure I might count on your aid. It is settled, then. As soon as we reach town I will arrange with the advertising agent that your name shall appear upon the bills as my successor in the largest type.'
'I?' cried Raymond, jumping up, and almost oversetting the ivory chair.
'Bless me! what's the matter? Who else but you?'
Raymond sat down again quite dumb-foundered. He a king! It had been the ambition of his life, but now that it was so near being realised he found himself unprepared. Some kinds of good luck are better to look forward to than to have. However, since it seemed inevitable, Raymond was bound to put a good face upon it. Probably he would have a prime minister to give him some hints at starting.
'I shall be happy to make myself of use,' he said politely. 'But I must tell you that it is some time since I governed a kingdom, and I may be a little out of practice.'
'Oh, never mind that,' returned the King, stroking his beard. 'In an absolute monarchy like this the sovereign is responsible to no one. Do as you like; it saves trouble and expense too.'
Raymond smiled, and tried to look at ease. But he resolved to make one more effort to get time for looking about him.
'It will not be best, I suppose, to enter upon my duties at once?' he said. 'The people will have to accustom themselves to the change, and——'
'Nothing of the sort,' interrupted the King. 'I don't believe in too much playing to the pit and gallery, especially when the stalls are inclined to be disorderly. Make your hit with the executioner's axe, if need be.Don't mince matters—it is better to mincethem.'
'But are you really so willing to part with your crown? It looks quite as comfortable as my cap feels,' sighed Raymond. They were now within sight of the city gates, and he was feeling rather nervous.
'Do you think so? Suppose you try it on?' said the good-natured monarch, taking his crown off. 'Come, off with your cap!'
Raymond doffed his cap, thrust it into the front of his doublet, and put out his hands to take the crown which the King held towards him.
But as he did so he noticed a singular change come over his Majesty's heretofore jolly visage. The eyes of the venerable potentate opened wider and wider until they were broader than they were long; his forehead wrinkled, and his nostrils expanded. His face from red became crimson, and from crimson purple; and he shook all over.
'Who are you, fellow?' he roared out in a terrible voice. 'How did you get up here? Ho! guards! seize this insolent varlet and cut off his head this moment!'
There was no time to think twice. Raymond sprang to his feet, overturning the ivory chair as he did so, so that his transparent Majesty King Ormund fell off to the platform, which trembled at the shock. The fifty courtiers who supported it staggered and lost their footing, and the whole affair came to the ground with a tremendous crash, landing the King in a mud-puddle, and splashing his transparent stockings all over with mire.
Taking advantage of the dismay and confusion thus brought about, Raymond dodged between the legs of a gigantic guard who was on the point of clutching him, butted his head into the stomach of a second, who in falling upset a third, over whom a fourth and fifth stumbled; and, having by this time got to the brink of the broad and deep ditch beside the road, he crossed it with a flying leap, plunged into the bushes on the further side, and made such good use of his legs that in two or three minutes he was beyond the reach of pursuit.
Raymond ran on without paying attention to the way he was going so long as it was away from King Ormund and his company. By and by he came to another road, narrower than the one he had left, but leading also towards the city. There was a heap of stones on the roadside, and on this Raymond sat down to think over his adventure.
It was a puzzle, whichever way he looked at it. Had the King been making game of him all along? No, his Majesty had without doubt looked upon him as a person of consequence. But if so, what had so suddenly undeceived him?
'The dwarf must be at the bottom of it,' said Raymond to himself.
But how? The dwarf had given him the cap and promised him the kingdom. He had been very near getting the kingdom; but thecap had only given him a headache. He pulled it out of his doublet and looked at it.
Yes, it was a fine cap. But Raymond had got to feel such a dislike of it that, had he owned another, he would have thrown this away. But it would never do to make his entrance into London bareheaded.
'But why should I go to London at all?' Raymond asked himself. 'I don't really want to be a king: I only like to think about being one. Shall I go back to the Brindled Cow and Rosamund? Yes, I will!' And with that he got up, put on his cap, and took two or three steps in the direction of Honeymead.
'But what an ass I should be,' he said, stopping short, 'to turn back at the very gates of London! Besides, it is too late to get back to Honeymead to-night. I won't return before to-morrow. Something may happen after all.'
He faced about once more towards London.
'It is an odd thing,' he remarked to himself as he went along, 'how I keep changing my mind first one way and then another. Why is it? It used not to be so when I wasin Honeymead. It almost seems as if I were not the same fellow; or as if I were sometimes myself, and sometimes somebody else. I believe there must be something of that kind the matter with me,' he continued after a while. 'Look how those courtiers treated me. They were all cap and knee to me one moment, and the next they were all shouting out "Who is he? Cap and knee—who is he?" Hullo! I have an idea! It is—it isn't—can it be—the cap?'
He snatched it off his head, and round the band he read again the couplet that had mystified him before:—
Cap on—cap and knee!Cap off—who is he?
Cap on—cap and knee!Cap off—who is he?
The words began to have a meaning now. Fairies and magic spells were at that time common-place matters in England. Fairy stories were not written then, but the events they tell about used to happen. The dwarf himself had called the cap a talisman. 'I will try the experiment with the next person I see,' said Raymond to himself.
The words were scarcely out of his mouth when a noise of pattering hoofs made himlook round, and he saw a young fellow riding towards him on the extreme end of a small donkey. Raymond stood in the middle of the road, his cap in his hand.
'Get out of the way, you!' called out the rider as he drew near. 'I'm going to the Seven Brethren. Now then, stupid!'
'I also am in a hurry to get to London,' said Raymond politely. 'Couldn't you give me a ride there?'
'Mind your eye, numskull!' cried the other; and he tried to drive his donkey directly over Raymond. But Raymond caught the bridle, and at the same time put on his cap. Everything depended on what the donkey-rider did next.
Greatly to Raymond's gratification—though it half-frightened him too—the fellow immediately slipped backwards over his donkey's tail; and, having reached the ground, made an awkward but obsequious salute.
'Beg your Worship's pardon humbly!' said he, ducking his head and scraping his foot at every few words. 'Didn't know your Worship at first. Hope your Worship will pardon a poor lad whose intellects are not quite right.'
Indeed, the fellow appeared only half-witted. He had round goggle eyes, a silly mouth, and scarcely any forehead at all.
As for Raymond he felt more like hugging the fellow than merely pardoning him; but he remembered that he must keep up his dignity. Moreover, he now perceived that the wearing of the cap made almost as much change in his own feelings as in other people's opinion of him.
'I will overlook your mistake,' he said condescendingly; 'and in proof of it I will make use of your donkey as far as the city; for I am weary, and there is not much time to lose.'
'Indeed, then, your Worship, he's not fit for a gentleman like your Worship to be riding on,' replied the fellow, ducking again; 'but, if your Worship doesn't mind, I should be proud to see your Worship sitting on him; and he'll carry your Worship well.'
Raymond mounted accordingly, and the party proceeded on their way, the fellow trotting behind, and occasionally persuading the donkey with the oaken cudgel he carried. Meanwhile Raymond asked him some questions.
'You are going to the Seven Brethren?'
'Yes, your Worship. There are good things there, as your Worship knows.'
'How should I know?'
'La! as if I couldn't see that your Worship was one of them himself!'
'It must be the same Seven Brethren of which the dwarf spoke,' thought Raymond; and he said aloud, 'They meet to-night at five o'clock, I think?'
'Right, your Worship. And your Worship may trust me. "Yellow-cap" is the password, "seven" the number, and "five" the time. Isn't it, your Worship?'
Raymond felt much obliged by this information, though he was careful not to say so. When they came to the city gates he slipped off the donkey at a moment when the other was not looking, at the same time removing his cap; when he had the pleasure of seeing the fellow turn to him and ask him whether he had seen 'his Worship?' Raymond only shook his head in reply; and then, following the donkey and its owner at a distance, he presently saw them turn into a narrow archway.
Raymond crossed over to the opposite side of the road, in order to take a look at the house to which the archway belonged. It was a little old-fashioned inn, squeezed in between two tall houses, like a shabby dwarf between two respectable giants. Over the door hung a sign—a painting of a man with seven heads. They were ugly faces, all of them, each with its peculiar kind of ugliness, and Raymond felt a separate kind of dislike towards each one. Nevertheless (as might have been expected, seeing that there was but one body between them) they bore a sort of family likeness one to another. 'That must be a very wicked body,' Raymond thought; 'it must be capable of committing all the seven deadly sins at once.' It was thick and shapeless, with short crooked legs, and very longarms. Underneath was written,'The Seven Brethren.'
As he stood in the shadow on the opposite side of the street, with his cap under his arm, Raymond felt half-minded not to enter the inn which hung out so uninviting a sign. How different were these faces from those of Armand, Dorimund, Sigismund, and the rest of the rosy young farmers who drank milk at the Brindled Cow! Should he go back there even now? There he would be sure of a welcome: he was not sure of a welcome here. Raymond hesitated. But before he could make up his mind the barmaid of the Seven Brethren appeared at the door of the inn. She soon espied him where he stood, and smiled and beckoned to him.
'Come over, come over, my lad,' she said; 'it's just upon supper-time, and there's a chop on the gridiron, and a draught of brown ale I'll draw for you. Come; you look right hungry.'
Her voice and look made Raymond's heart beat, for, in a certain way, they were like Rosamund's. And yet they were unlike. She had eyes like Rosamund's, but the expression in them was one which Rosamundnever wore. Her manner of speaking, too, resembled Rosamund's. Yet Rosamund had never spoken in quite that tone. Raymond hardly knew whether to be pleased or shocked. After a little hesitation he put on his cap and came across the street to her.
'Oh! my Lord, I'm sure I crave your pardon!' exclaimed the girl, dropping him a curtsey. But though her words were humble Raymond fancied he saw a mischievous sparkle in her eye which made him suspect that she might be making fun of him. 'I didn't recognise your Lordship in the shadow over there,' she continued, in a still softer voice. 'They have been expecting your Lordship.'
Now that Raymond was close to the girl she seemed much prettier than before. 'What is your name?' he asked her.
'Silvia, please your Lordship.'
'Silvia—not Rosamund?'
'Oh, no, please your Lordship. Rosamund is such a vulgar name.'
'You are very pretty, Silvia.'
'Your Lordship is very good to say so,' replied she, casting down her sparkling eyes and curtseying again.
'What is that round your neck, Silvia?'
'That is the half of a brass farthing, please your Lordship, that I and my lover split between us this afternoon.'
'I thought it was the half of a spade guinea.'
'I'd be glad to exchange it for that,' said Silvia, looking up, with a smile.
'Would you exchange your lover at the same time?'
'If the other was a handsome man,' said she, with a coquettish glance. 'But won't your Lordship come in? It's past five, I'm sure.'
'I will follow you,' said he. And they went in.
'Will your Lordship take my hand?' she said. 'The passage is very dark and winding.' She put her hand in his as she spoke.
'Why is there no light here?' he asked.
'This passage can never be lighted, please your Lordship: the goblins pinch out the wick of the candle with their fingers.'
'Are there goblins here?' said Raymond, drawing back.
'Keep hold of my hand, and they will do your Lordship no harm.'
'Does this passage belong to them?'
'Mind the steps, please your Lordship,' said Silvia suddenly. 'If you were to lose me here you would never see light again.'
'How strange your voice sounds! Are you Silvia?'
'I am not Rosamund, at any rate!' replied his conductor, with a low laugh. 'It's the vault of the passage makes my voice sound hoarse.'
'We must be a long way underground. And this darkness is like a block of black marble. And I feel as if creatures were walking around me who can see me though I cannot see them.'
'Their eyes are more used to the darkness than your Lordship's.'
'How far have we still to go?'
'Not far. I shall leave your Lordship at the next corner.'
'What am I to do then?'
No reply was made to this question. But in a few moments Raymond lost his hold of the hand that had guided him, and a voice said, in a whining tone—
'Won't your Lordship spare me a trifle for coming so far?'
'I—I'm afraid I have nothing to give,'said Raymond, putting his hand in his empty pocket.
'A kiss is all I want from your Lordship,' answered the voice; and then a pair of lips met Raymond's in the darkness. The lips were cold as ice, but the breath that came between them was hot as flame.
Then all was silence. Had Raymond kissed one of the invisible goblins instead of Silvia? Or was Silvia herself a goblin?
Be that as it might Raymond was left in an awkward situation. For all he knew he was in the middle of an underground labyrinth; and the next step might land him at the bottom of some pitfall. Raymond remembered that long ago, when he was a small boy, his mother had once shut him up in the dark closet behind the kitchen chimney, because he had made a mud-pie on the ironing-board. That closet had seemed black enough, but what was it compared with this? Besides, Rosamund had come after a while and secretly let him out, and they had spent the afternoon together in the barn. But Rosamund could never come to him here; and that goblin kiss upon his lips had taken away his right to hope for her.
While these thoughts had been passing through his mind he had been slowly feeling his way forward; but all at once he was brought to a stand by a sharp prick on the breast as if from the point of a levelled spear.
'Who comes?' said a harsh voice.
'Only me,' replied Raymond in his most conciliating tone.
'Have you the password?' demanded the voice again.
Recollecting what the donkey-driver had told him, Raymond answered at a venture—
'Yellow-cap!'
'Pass on, Yellow-cap!' said the voice.
He passed on, hoping that his wanderings were now to end. But after a few steps he felt against his throat the smooth sharp edge of a sword, which caused him to start back with a cry.
'Who comes?' said a snarling voice.
'Yellow-cap!' Raymond replied.
'The number, Yellow-cap?'
'Seven!' hazarded Raymond.
'Pass on, Seven!' said the voice.
Raymond stepped forward nervously, stumbled down an unexpected pair of steps, and all in a moment there was a brilliantdazzle of light close to his eyes. It vanished as suddenly as it came; but it had given him a fleeting impression of many grisly faces pressing around him on all sides, with fire-lit eyes all fixed upon his. On the succeeding darkness, which seemed more intense than ever, the image of these faces was still somehow discernible; while from amidst them came a hissing voice, which said—
'Who comes?'
'Yellow-cap!'
'The number?'
'Seven!'
'The time?'
'Five!'
'Pass!' said the voice.
And immediately (though how it happened he could not tell) Raymond found himself in a square, low-ceilinged, comfortable room, with a large lamp burning in the centre of the table, around which were seated six men, each with a long pipe in his mouth and a tankard of ale before him.
The six men arose, and each in turn, and then all together, uttered the words—
'Welcome, Yellow-cap!'
Then he among them who had the biggest nose and the most sweeping moustachios came forward, made Raymond a grave salute, and, taking him by the arm, led him to a chair at the head of the table.
'The tale of the Seven Brethren is at last complete,' said he.
'Hear! hear!' gruffly responded the others.
'Brother Yellow-cap,' continued the first speaker, 'let me introduce you to our Brotherhood. I am the Prime Maniac. He on your right is the Chancellor of the Jingle. Next to him is the Home Doggerel. At the foot of the table is the First Lord of the Seesaw. The Foreign Doggerel is next on the left.Next again the Lord Privy Gander. One and all of us are bound to aid you, abet you, and obey you, so long as you own and wear the yellow cap. Once more, welcome, Yellow-cap!'
'Welcome!' chimed in the Brethren; and they raised their tankards to their lips and emptied them at a draught.
'We do not call one another by our titles,' said the Lord Privy Gander.
'Nor by our names,' added the Chancellor of the Jingle.
'Nor by our surnames,' pursued the Home Doggerel.
'But by our nicknames,' observed the Foreign Doggerel.
'By the mystic syllables repeated,' said the First Lord of the Seesaw.
Hereupon a curious ceremony took place. Beginning with the Lord Privy Gander, and so on in regular order to the First Lord of the Seesaw, each brother in rapid succession spoke his own nickname, with the following result.
'Ruba!' said the Lord Privy Gander.
'Dubb!' said the Chancellor of the Jingle.
'Dubsix!' said the Home Doggerel.
'Menin!' said the Foreign Doggerel.
'Atub!' said the First Lord of the Seesaw.
'Gyp is my nickname,' remarked the Prime Maniac, 'because the verse had not feet enough to go all round. Did you ever hear anything like this before?'
'I fancied at one moment that I had; but now I don't know,' Yellow-cap answered.
'There is only one inconvenience about it,' observed Ruba.
'We must always speak in order,' added Dubb.
'On pain of spoiling our metre,' put in Dubsix.
'And our rhyme,' continued Menin.
'Except Gyp,' added Atub, 'who can talk when he likes, and that is his chief advantage.'
'It is an advantage in more ways than one,' Gyp remarked. 'Not only can I talk when I like, but none of the others can say anything unless all the rest are willing; because his speaking makes it necessary that all the rest should have something to say, and that Ruba should begin. The only lawsthat we recognise are metrical laws, and they, as you know, are the strictest in the world.'
Yellow-cap felt rather bewildered; but he was glad to find that he himself was not included in the metrical system. Some error in either rhyme or rhythm would, he felt sure, have been the consequence.
'Let me order you a pipe and tankard,' continued Gyp, ringing the bell. Somewhat to Yellow-cap's surprise Silvia appeared at the door in answer to the summons. The pipe and the tankard were soon brought; and the new-comer's health having then been drunk in ceremonious silence, the formal part of his reception seemed to be at an end.
Meanwhile he had improved such opportunity as he had had for examining the faces about him, and was not altogether astonished to find that they were the originals of the many-headed portrait on the inn signboard. Only the seventh (and central) head, the ugliest of all, was missing; the Brethren, exclusive of himself, being only six in number. Beer-drinking and tobacco-smoking seemed to be the business of the meeting. Yellow-cap had never until this evening drunk anything stronger than milk or smoked anything more dangerous than sweet-fern; but the beer gave him courage for the tobacco, and he soon began to feel at home.
'But can you tell me how I got here?' he inquired of Gyp, who sat nearest him, and who, moreover, could answer without setting all the feet running. 'The way was long and perilous and as black as pitch; and yet, when the door was open just now, I could see right through the house into the street, and it did not seem more than twelve paces.'
'Did you come alone?' asked Gyp, puffing a long whiff of smoke up towards the ceiling.
'Alone with Silvia.'
'Ah-h-h! Silvia sometimes leads the best of men astray. But you got here at last, and that is more than many do. And you were but just in time. The King prints his placards to-night.'
'What placards?' asked Yellow-cap innocently.
'Announcing his "successor"—a farce in one act.'
'And who is his successor?'
'Who would you like him to be?' inquired Gyp, smiling.
At this all the Brethren looked at one another and winked mysteriously. Yellow-cap, who was fast becoming wise, and who knew more about this matter than he cared to admit, could not help wondering at his queer position—the Head of a Secret Society hostile to the very monarch who had offered him his kingdom that same afternoon. The thought of it made him feel quite hot; and he was so far forgetting himself as to be on the point of taking off his cap to cool his forehead, when Gyp caught his arm, and a murmur of horror ran through the assembly.
'Forbear! as you value your credit!' cried Ruba.
'And your gentility!' exclaimed Dubb.
'And your influence!' called out Dubsix.
'And your success!' shouted Menin.
'And your reputation!' bawled Atub.
'It is against the first law of the Brotherhood,' added Ruba.
'We all have headaches,' asserted Dubb.
'We couldn't live without them,' declared Dubsix.
'Would you commit suicide?' demanded Menin.
'Be guilty of treason?' hiccoughed Atub, who had swallowed some smoke the wrong way.
'Good gracious!' was all that poor Yellow-cap was able to reply.
'Allow me to explain,' interposed Gyp courteously. 'The Seven Brethren are the outcome of an artificial civilisation. It is our strength and also our weakness that we never seem to be what we are. Our laws are binding because they are irrational. Our power is great because it is an imposition. Our respectability is perfect because it is a fraud. We gain our ends because our ends are ourselves. Our union is strong because it depends on mutual distrust. In a word, we are the Everlasting Unreality! Have you understood me?'
'Not in the least,' replied Yellow-cap.
''Tis well. No one of us understands either himself or his brother. He who understands or is understood is anathema.'
'Dear me!' ejaculated Yellow-cap.
'You have heard of the cap of invisibility?'
'I believe so.'
'The yellow cap is more wondrous yet—it is only when you put it on that you can be seen—at all events by the world.'
'Dear me!' ejaculated Yellow-cap again.
Hereupon all the Brethren twisted their moustachios, knocked the ashes out of their pipes, refilled them, lighted them, and smoked in silence.
'By the way,' said Yellow-cap at length, 'about the signboard outside the inn-door. I recognise six of the portraits, but where is the seventh? He was the one whose face was the most ugly and disagreeable of all; but I don't see him here.'
'He is here,' said Ruba.
Yellow-cap was going to ask, 'Where?' but Gyp laid his hand upon his arm and whispered in his ear that he must not interrupt until the whole verse had run itself out.
'We have seen him,' continued Dubb.
'The likeness is good,' pronounced Dubsix.
'Flattering,' affirmed Menin.
'I can think of nothing to say,' confessed Atub.
'Come and look in our mirror,' said Gyp, taking Yellow-cap by the arm and leading him to the end of the room.
Now, against the wall at this end hung a very odd specimen of a looking-glass. Its surface was convex, and in shape it was neither square, nor round, nor exactly oval, for it was pointed at both ends. Its length was divided into three parts, of which the central one was black, and those at the sides of a dull white like china. Altogether it looked like a gigantic eye plucked from the forehead of some Polyphemus; and hung up in the old inn-parlour, where, if it could no longer see anything itself, it might at least give those who gazed into it a distorted image of themselves.
When Yellow-cap, however, first fixed his eyes upon this curious mirror he could see nothing but a profound depth of blackness; but in the midst of this obscure movements were presently visible. By and by the many wavering shapes grew clearer and drew near to one another and, as it were, melted together, until at last a definite image stood forth against the dark background.
A strange figure it was—of a short-legged,shapeless man, with no less than seven heads upon his shoulders. Six of these Yellow-cap knew at once; but the seventh—the central and most important one of all—was unknown to him. And what an unpleasant set of features it had, to be sure!
The whole company had gathered behind Yellow-cap, who was standing directly in front of the mirror.
'You don't know him?' spoke the voice of Ruba.
'He knows you,' said Dubb.
'He is an old friend of yours,' remarked Dubsix.
'And a very dear one,' added Menin.
'And a very false one,' observed Atub.
'What does it all mean?' inquired Yellow-cap.
'If you will give yourself the trouble to lay your left finger beside your nose it might inform you,' said Gyp courteously.
Yellow-cap did as he was desired. The reflection in the glass lifted the corresponding finger and laid it beside the nose of no other than the central head.
'Would you mind winking your left eye?' continued Gyp.
Yellow-cap did so. The central head alone winked back.
'Now you might stick out your tongue,' suggested Gyp.
Yellow-cap tried this experiment also: the seventh head was the only one that imitated the gesture.
'This is absurd,' exclaimed Yellow-cap indignantly. 'The central head imitates everything I do; it even pretends to look like me, which is ridiculous, for it is ugly, while I am——'
'Perhaps you have never looked in a mirror before?' said Gyp gently.
'Yes, I have—in tin pans,' returned Yellow-cap warmly.
'Tin pans are untrustworthy,' said Gyp. 'This is the best mirror in the world, and that is the reason why it is in the shape of an eye, without any face belonging to it.'
'I should think you would be the last people in the world to want a good mirror, or any mirror at all!' exclaimed Yellow-cap testily.
'We don't want it—and that is why we have it. We call it our eyesore; and it is the eye of our destiny. Look again.'
'What is this?' muttered Yellow-cap. 'All the heads are melting into one another; now they are all swallowed up in the central head; and now that head looks more like me than ever, and yet uglier; and now—why, it looks like the old dwarf I carried across the river, and—which am I?'
He turned round, and, behold! the six Brethren were seated each one in his place at the table, smoking and drinking as gravely as ever, and looking as if they had never once stirred from their chairs. Glancing back at the mirror, he saw that it had returned to its former unreflecting condition, only a few vanishing shadows being yet visible in its black depths.
'It certainly is different from a tin pan,' thought he as he went back to his chair at the head of the table.
'Nothing more than an optical illusion,' said Gyp, filling Yellow-cap's pipe from his own tobacco-pouch, and handing it to him courteously. 'There is no harm in it—none at all.'
'Especially as it makes you our Head,' observed Ruba.
'I move we suspend the rules,' said Dubb.
'I second that motion,' said Dubsix.
'We mustn't put our feet into our business,' remarked Menin in an explanatory way.
'The only rule we never suspend is the rule that no rule shall not sometimes be suspended,' added Atub.
'So be it,' said Gyp agreeably. 'The metrical system is hereby suspended for the rest of the evening. Have another tankard of ale, Brother Yellow-cap?'
'I don't care if I do—with a Head on it,' returned Yellow-cap, putting an emphasis on the 'Head.' And when the ale was brought he arose, with a frown on his brow, and spoke to them in a bold voice as follows:—
'Yes, I am your Head, for no one of you is so unreal as I. When I was a little boy I sat blowing soap-bubbles, and saw the Appanage of Royalty appear amidst the clouds of the wash-tub. He promised me this cap, and now the cap is mine. I have paid for it all I had in the world, and now I mean to get my profit out of it. You have waited for me: I have never waited for you; for I could succeed without you; but, without me, you would be nothing!'
'Hear! hear!' exclaimed the Brethren in chorus, seeming much pleased with Yellow-cap's eloquence.
'Now, Brother Gyp, you may state the object of this meeting,' said Yellow-cap, resuming his seat.
Gyp bowed and pulled a roll of parchment out of Brother Dubsix's pocket, which was written all over with musical notes in the bass and treble clefs.
'The object is a twofold one,' he began.
'I object to that expression,' interrupted Dubb.
'Why?' demanded Gyp in a mortified tone.
'Only for the sake of speaking out of metre,' replied Dubb; at which the Brethren looked at one another and lifted their eyebrows.
'Well, at all events,' said Gyp, recovering his good-humour, 'we want to get the King out and put the usurper in his place.'
'Has anything been done to prepare the people for this change?' inquired Yellow-cap. 'Are they on our side?'
'We've got fifty paidclaqueurs—I know that,' said Atub.
'And we have suspended the rule about full-dress in the stalls,' added Dubsix.
'Ah!' exclaimed Menin, nodding his head and crossing his feet on the table in republican style, 'there is a great deal in that.'
'How are you going to depose him?' Yellow-cap asked.
'In the usual way,' said Gyp: 'by finding a rhyme to him, and then putting him under foot.'
'But suppose he won't be deposed?'
'Ah, it will be our turn then,' said Ruba gloomily. 'He will appoint a successor, and we shall be repeated backwards.'
At this all the Brethren curled their moustachios and sighed deeply.
'Who is to find the rhyme to "King Ormund?"' inquired Yellow-cap, to whom this affair began to look rather irregular.
'Who but the usurper?' cried all the Brethren together.
'And who is he?' said Yellow-cap.
Hereupon the Brethren one and all took their pipes out of their mouths and deliberately pointed at Yellow-cap with their pipe-stems. At the same time they puffed out avast cloud of tobacco-smoke, which rose to the ceiling of the room and collected there.
'Do you mean me?' cried Yellow-cap, recoiling. 'I never made a rhyme in my life.'
'You have said it!' they answered with one voice; 'so let it be!'
At this moment they all arose and solemnly emptied their tankards; then they piled the tankards together in the centre of the table; and Dubsix and Atub, taking each an arm of Yellow-cap, raised him from the floor and seated him upon the pile as upon a throne.
The six Brethren now joined hands and began to dance round and round the table, puffing volumes of smoke from their pipes as they went. Faster and wilder moved the dance, thicker and yellower whirled the smoke-wreaths, and the six faces sped dizzily round the table, until it seemed to Yellow-cap as if he were encircled by a great ring of face, with one broad nose, one endless grinning mouth, and a single leering eye in the forehead.
By and by the room began to spin round also—such, at least, was Yellow-cap's impression. Round and round it spun like ateetotum, moving as fast as the dancers did, but in the opposite direction. The smoke, driven together by these contrary motions, was whirled into a sort of hollow dome over Yellow-cap's head. The yellow light from the lamp shone upon that smoky dome, and its shape became defined more and more distinctly, until at last it hung poised in air—a gigantic image of the very yellow cap which Yellow-cap wore.
Gradually it settled down lower and lower, as if to shut him in. He tried to rise from his tankard throne, but a heavy weight from above seemed to prevent him. And now, glaring upon him through the maze of flying phantoms, he saw the mirror of the Brethren, no longer black and lifeless, but fierce and flaming as the eye of a giant demon. And through the centre of that fiery pupil he saw the Brethren, one after another, take a flying leap; not vanishing suddenly, but dwindling away, smaller and smaller, until they could be seen no more. Each as he leaped threw back at Yellow-cap a malicious leer and beckoned to him mockingly to follow. Gyp was the last; and as he sprang Yellow-cap wrenched himself from his throne—which fellbehind him with a crash—and strove to follow.
But the yellow cap of stifling smoke came down upon him and shut him in. He sank downwards, choking and gasping; and he heard, ringing through the heated air, a sound of laughter that reminded him of Silvia.
Yellow-cap opened his eyes, which felt dry and hot. It was indeed Silvia, who was laughing, and bidding him wake up, for it was past eight o'clock in the morning. And where had Yellow-cap passed the night? Underneath the table in the inn parlour, where that extraordinary meeting of the Seven Brethren had taken place. As Yellow-cap got slowly to his feet he pressed both hands to his head, which felt like a newly-roasted chestnut, with the kernel loose inside; but the yellow cap was still fast about his brows. He longed to take it off and put his head under the pump; but that luxury, he knew, was now and hereafter forbidden him.
'Where are the other fellows?' he asked, turning to Silvia. 'They jumped through the fiery eye——'
'Through what, your Lordship?' cried Silvia, opening her eyes very wide.
'Through that,' said Yellow-cap, pointing to the end of the room where the mysterious mirror hung. But, to his great perplexity, there was to be seen there only a very common-place old looking-glass, made in three compartments, and mounted in a tarnished frame. In the light of the morning sun, which was pouring through the dusty window-panes, it looked not at all like an eye, and it was absurd to suppose that anybody could have jumped through it.
'Things always look so different in the morning,' remarked Silvia good-humouredly. 'But, if it please your Lordship, I am sent by the Brethren to say that they are waiting for you in the front room.'
Yellow-cap felt not at all in the mood to lead a conspiracy; but still he tried to put a good face upon the matter. 'Lead on!' said he; and Silvia opened the door and went before him across a small enclosed yard to another door, on which she tapped; and Yellow-cap, passing in, found himself once more in the presence of his six friends. They were eating devilled bones, and were dressedin long white dominoes. Each had a playbook beside his plate, and they were apparently studying their parts for the morning performance.
'Good morning! Fine day for the deposition,' said Gyp, acting as spokesman for the rest. 'Have a bone?'
'I have no appetite,' replied Yellow-cap. 'Why are you all dressed in white?'
'So that we may be the blacker inside,' said Ruba, looking up from his book.
'It is the court-dress of conspirators,' added Dubb.
'We are clothed in the unwritten pages of history,' continued Dubsix.
'We shall be red hereafter,' said Menin, archly.
'Because we rose against the tyrant,' concluded Atub, with a sigh.
'They are apt to be rather stupid at this hour in the morning,' remarked Gyp, turning to Yellow-cap, 'but they will get warmed to it presently. May I ask whether you are perfect in your part?'
'I have not thought of any rhyme to "Ormund,"' said Yellow-cap.
'Any rhyme will do,' Gyp went on; 'andperhaps the Home or the Foreign Doggerel will be able to help you to one when the time comes.'
'Brethren,' said Yellow-cap, clearing his throat, 'I propose we put off this affair until to-morrow. I don't feel at all well this morning; and besides, a thing like this ought to be done after dark, not in broad daylight.'
Hereupon the six Brethren looked at one another and gave a low whistle; and after a pause Gyp said—
'This day is the only day in the year on which conspiracies are allowed to take place, and they are not permitted later than ten o'clock in the forenoon. But I may mention that the theatre is always darkened, and is lighted by artificial means.'
'I do not understand,' said Yellow-cap, 'how a conspiracy can succeed, if the people who are conspired against fix the time when it is to come off.'
'What sort of an audience should we get,' replied Gyp, 'if the date of the performance was not advertised beforehand? We should find ourselves playing to empty boxes. Besides, conspiracies are costly; and if——'
'If you please,' said Silvia, opening thedoor, 'it is just upon nine o'clock, and the donkey waits.'
'We come!' said all the Brethren together, They rose up, put their play-books in their pockets, and joining hands so as to form a circle, with Gyp and Yellow-cap in the middle of it, they rapidly repeated five times over the following mystic chant, Gyp beating time for them with the forefinger of his right hand on the five fingers of his left:—