Tales of Fantasy and Fact

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  Transcriber's Note: Minor typographical errors have been correctedwithout note. Dialect spellings, contractions and discrepancies havebeen retained.

  LOST AGAIN P. 136]

  TALES OF FANTASY AND FACT

  By

  BRANDER MATTHEWS

  NEW YORKHARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS1896

  BOOKS BY BRANDER MATTHEWS.

  THE THEATRES OF PARIS.FRENCH DRAMATISTS OF THE 19TH CENTURY.THE LAST MEETING, a Story.A SECRET OF THE SEA, and Other Stories.PEN AND INK: Essays on Subjects of More or Less Importance.A FAMILY TREE, and Other Stories.WITH MY FRIENDS: Tales Told in Partnership.A TALE OF TWENTY-FIVE HOURS.TOM PAULDING, a Story for Boys.IN THE VESTIBULE LIMITED, a Story.AMERICANISMS AND BRITICISMS, with Other Essays on Other Isms.THE STORY OF A STORY, and Other Stories.THE DECISION OF THE COURT, a Comedy.STUDIES OF THE STAGE.THIS PICTURE AND THAT, a Comedy.VIGNETTES OF MANHATTAN.THE ROYAL MARINE, an Idyl of Narragansett.BOOK-BINDINGS, Old and New; Notes of a Book-Lover.HIS FATHER'S SON, a Novel of New York.AN INTRODUCTION TO THE STUDY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.TALES OF FANTASY AND FACT.ASPECTS OF FICTION, and Other Ventures in Criticism. (In Press.)

  Copyright, 1896, by HARPER & BROTHERS._All rights reserved._

  TOTHE MEMORY OF MY FRIENDH. C. BUNNER

  CONTENTS

  Page

  A PRIMER OF IMAGINARY GEOGRAPHY 3

  THE KINETOSCOPE OF TIME 27

  THE DREAM-GOWN OF THE JAPANESE AMBASSADOR 57

  THE RIVAL GHOSTS 93

  SIXTEEN YEARS WITHOUT A BIRTHDAY 131

  THE TWINKLING OF AN EYE 143

  A CONFIDENTIAL POSTSCRIPT 207

  A PRIMER OF IMAGINARY GEOGRAPHY

  "Ship ahoy!"

  There was an answer from our bark--for such it seemed to me by thistime--but I could not make out the words.

  "Where do you hail from?" was the next question.

  I strained my ears to catch the response, being naturally anxious toknow whence I had come.

  "From the City of Destruction!" was what I thought I heard; and Iconfess that it surprised me not a little.

  "Where are you bound?" was asked in turn.

  Again I listened with intensest interest, and again did the replyastonish me greatly.

  "Ultima Thule!" was the answer from our boat, and the voice of the manwho answered was deep and melancholy.

  Then I knew that I had set out strange countries for to see, and that Iwas all unequipped for so distant a voyage. Thule I knew, or at least Ihad heard of the king who reigned there once and who cast his gobletinto the sea. But Ultima Thule! was not that beyond the uttermostborders of the earth?

  "Any passengers?" was the next query, and I noted that the voice camenow from the left and was almost abreast of us.

  "One only," responded the captain of our boat.

  "Where bound?" was the final inquiry.

  "To the Fortunate Islands!" was the answer; and as I heard this myspirits rose again, and I was glad, as what man would not be who was onhis way to the paradise where the crimson-flowered meadows are full ofthe shade of frankincense-trees and of fruits of gold?

  Then the boat bounded forward again, and I heard the wash of the waves.

  All this time it seemed as though I were in darkness; but now I begandimly to discern the objects about me. I found that I was lying on asettee in a state-room at the stern of the vessel. Through the smallround window over my head the first rays of the rising sun darted andsoon lighted the little cabin.

  As I looked about me with curiosity, wondering how I came to be apassenger on so unexpected a voyage, I saw the figure of a man framedin the doorway at the foot of the stairs leading to the deck above.

  How it was I do not know, but I made sure at once that he was thecaptain of the ship, the man whose voice I had heard answering thehail.

  He was tall and dark, with a scant beard and a fiery and piercing gaze,which penetrated me as I faced him. Yet the expression of hiscountenance was not unfriendly; nor could any man lay eyes upon himwithout a movement of pity for the sadness written on his visage.

  I rose to my feet as he came forward.

  "Well," he said, holding out his hand, "and how are you after yournap?"

  He spoke our language with ease and yet with a foreign accent. Perhapsit was this which betrayed him to me.

  "Are you not Captain Vanderdecken?" I asked as I took his handheartily.

  "So you know me?" he returned, with a mournful little laugh, as hemotioned to me to sit down again.

  Thus the ice was broken, and he took his seat by my side, and we weresoon deep in talk.

  When he learned that I was a loyal New-Yorker, his cordialityincreased.

  "I have relatives in New Amsterdam," he cried; "at least I had once.Diedrich Knickerbocker was my first cousin. And do you know Rip VanWinkle?"

  Although I could not claim any close friendship with this gentleman, Iboasted myself fully acquainted with his history.

  "Yes, yes," said Captain Vanderdecken, "I suppose he was before yourtime. Most people are so short-lived nowadays; it's only with thatWandering Jew now that I ever have a chat over old times. Well, well,but you have heard of Rip? Were you ever told that I was on a visit toHendrik Hudson the night Rip went up the mountain and took a drop toomuch?"

  I had to confess that here was a fact I had not before known.

  "I ran up the river," said the Hollander, "to have a game of bowls withthe Englishman and his crew, nearly all of them countrymen of mine;and, by-the-way, Hudson always insists that it was I who brought thestorm with me that gave poor Rip Van Winkle the rheumatism as he sleptoff his intoxication on the hillside under the pines. He was a goodfellow, Rip, and a very good judge of schnapps, too."

  Seeing him smile with the pleasant memories of past companionship, Imarvelled when the sorrowful expression swiftly covered his face againas a mask.

  "But why talk of those who are dead and gone and are happy?" he askedin his deep voice. "Soon there will be no one left, perhaps, butAhasuerus and Vanderdecken--the Wandering Jew and the Flying Dutchman."

  He sighed bitterly, and then he gave a short, hard laugh.

  "There's no use talking about these things, is there?" he cried. "In anhour or two, if the wind holds, I can show you the house in whichAhasuerus has established his museum, the only solace of his lonelylife. He has the most extraordinary gathering of curiosities the worldhas ever seen--truly a virtuoso's collection. An American reporter cameon a voyage with me fifty or sixty years ago, and I took him overthere. His name was Hawthorne. He interviewed the Jew, and wrote up thecollection in the American papers, so I've been told."

  "I remember reading the interview," I said, "and it was indeed a mostremarkable collection."

  "It's all the more curious now for the odds and ends I've been able topick up here and there for my old friend," Vanderdecken declared; "Igot him the horn of Hernani, the harpoon with which Long Tom Coffinpinned the British officer to the mast, the long rifle of Natty Bumppo,the letter A in scarlet cloth embroidered in gold by Hester Prynne, thebanner with the strange device 'Excelsior,' the gold bug which was onceused as a plummet, Maud Muller's rake, and the jack-knives of HoseaBiglow and Sam Lawson."

  "You must have seen extraordinary things yourself," I ventured tosuggest.

  "No man has seen stranger," he answered, promptly. "No man has everbeen witness to more marvellous deeds than I--not even Ahasuerus, Iverily b
elieve, for he has only the land, and I have the boundless sea.I survey mankind from China to Peru. I have heard the horns of elflandblowing, and I could tell you the song the sirens sang. I have droppedanchor at the No Man's Land, and off Lyonesse, and in Xanadu, whereAlph the sacred river ran. I have sailed from the still-vexedBermoothes to the New Atlantis, of which there is no mention even untilthe year 1629."

  "In which year there was published an account of it written in theLatin tongue, but by an Englishman," I said, desirous to reveal myacquirements.

  "I have seen every strange coast," continued the Flying Dutchman. "TheIsland of Bells and Robinson Crusoe's Island and the Kingdoms ofBrobdingnag and Lilliput. But it is not for me to vaunt myself for myvoyages. And of a truth there are men I should like to have met andtalked with whom I have yet failed to see. Especially is there oneUlysses, a sailor-man of antiquity who called himself Outis, whence Ihave sometimes suspected that he came from the town of Weissnichtwo."

  Just to discover what Vanderdecken would say, I inquired innocentlywhether this was the same person as one Captain Nemo of whose submarineexploits I had read.

  "Captain Nemo?" the Flying Dutchman repeated scornfully. "I never heardof him. Are you sure there is such a fellow?"

  I tried to turn the conversation by asking if he had ever met anotherancient mariner named Charon.

  "Oh, yes," was his answer. "Charon keeps the ferry across the Styx tothe Elysian Fields, past the sunless marsh of Acheron. Yes--I've methim more than once. I met him only last month, and he was very proud ofhis new electric launch with its storage battery."

  When I expressed my surprise at this, he asked me if I did not knowthat the underworld was now lighted by electricity, and that Pluto hadput in all the modern improvements. Before I had time to answer, herose from his seat and slapped me on the shoulder.

  "Come up with me!--if you want to behold things for yourself," hecried. "So far, it seems to me, you have never seen the sights!"

  I followed him on deck. The sun was now two hours high, and I couldjust make out a faint line of land on the horizon.

  "That rugged coast is Bohemia, which is really a desert country by thesea, although ignorant and bigoted pedants have dared to deny it," andthe scorn of my companion as he said this was wonderful to see. "Itsborders touch Alsatia, of which the chief town is a city of refuge. Notfar inland, but a little to the south, is the beautiful Forest ofArden, where men and maids dwell together in amity, and where clownswander, making love to shepherdesses. Some of these same pestilentpedants have pretended to believe that this forest of Arden wassituated in France, which is absurd, as there are no serpents and nolions in France, while we have the best of evidence as to the existenceof both in Arden--you know that, don't you?"

  I admitted that a green and gilded snake and a lioness with udders alldrawn dry were known to have been seen there both on the same day. Iventured to suggest further that possibly this Forest of Arden was theWandering Wood where Una met her lion.

  "Of course," was the curt response; "everybody knows that Arden is amost beautiful region; even the toads there have precious jewels intheir heads. And if you range the forest freely you may chance to findalso the White Doe of Rylstone and the goat with the gilded horns thattold fortunes in Paris long ago by tapping with his hoof on atambourine."

  "These, then, are the Happy Hunting-Grounds?" I suggested with a lightlaugh.

  "Who would chase a tame goat?" he retorted with ill-concealed contemptfor my ill-advised remark.

  I thought it best to keep silence; and after a minute or two he resumedthe conversation, like one who is glad of a good listener.

  "In the outskirts of the Forest of Arden," he began again, "standsthe Abbey of Thelema--the only abbey which is bounded by no walland in which there is no clock at all nor any dial. And what need isthere of knowing the time when one has for companions only comely andwell-conditioned men and fair women of sweet disposition? And the mottoof the Abbey of Thelema is _Fais ce que voudra_--Do what you will; andmany of those who dwell in the Forest of Arden will tell you that theyhave taken this also for their device, and that if you live under thegreenwood tree you may spend your life--as you like it."

  I acknowledged that this claim was probably well founded, since Irecalled a song of the foresters in which they declared themselveswithout an enemy but winter and rough weather.

  "Yes," he went on, "they are fond of singing in the Forest of Arden,and they sing good songs. And so they do in the fair land beyond whereI have never been, and which I can never hope to go to see for myself,if all that they report be true--and yet what would I not give to seeit and to die there."

  And as he said this sadly, his voice sank into a sigh.

  "And where does the road through the forest lead, that you so much wishto set forth upon it?" I asked.

  "That's the way to Arcady," he said--"to Arcady where all the leavesare merry. I may not go there, though I long for it. Those who attainto its borders never come back again--and why should they leave it? Yetthere are tales told, and I have heard that this Arcady is theveritable El Dorado, and that in it is the true Fountain of Youth,gushing forth unfailingly for the refreshment of all who may reach it.But no one may find the entrance who cannot see it by the light thatnever was on land or sea."

  "It must be a favored region," I remarked.

  "Of a truth it is," he answered; "and on the way there is the orchardwhere grow the golden apples of Hesperides, and the dragon is dead nowthat used to guard them, and so any one may help himself to thebeautiful fruit. And by the side of the orchard flows the river Lethe,of which it is not well for man to drink, though many men would tasteit gladly." And again he sighed.

  I knew not what to say, and so waited for him to speak once more.

  "That promontory there on the weather bow," he began again after a fewmoments' silence, "that is Barataria, which was long supposed to be anisland by its former governor, Don Sancho Panza, but which is now knownby all to be connected with the mainland. Pleasant pastures slope downto the water, and if we were closer in shore you might chance to seeRozinante, the famous charger of Don Quixote de la Mancha, grazingamicably with the horse that brought the good news from Ghent to Aix."

  "I wish I could see them!" I cried, enthusiastically; "but there isanother horse I would rather behold than any--the winged steedPegasus."

  Before responding, my guide raised his hand and shaded his eyes andscanned the horizon.

  "No," he said at last. "I cannot descry any this afternoon. Sometimesin these latitudes I have seen a dozen hippogriffs circling about theship, and I should like to have shown them to you. Perhaps they are allin the paddock at the stock-farm, where Apollo is now mating them withnight-mares in the hope of improving the breed from which he selectsthe coursers that draw the chariot of the sun. They say that theexperiment would have more chance of success if it were easier to findthe night-mares' nests."

  "It was not a hippogriff I desired to see especially," I returned whenhe paused, "although that would be interesting, no doubt. It was therenowned Pegasus himself."

  "Pegasus is much like the other hippogriffs," he retorted, "althoughperhaps he has a little better record than any of them. But they say hehas not won a single aerial handicap since that American professor ofyours harnessed him to a one-hoss shay. That seemed to break hisspirit, somehow; and I'm told he would shy now even at a broomsticktrain."

  "Even if he is out of condition," I declared, "Pegasus is still thesteed I desire to see above all."

  "I haven't set eyes on him for weeks," was the answer, "so he isprobably moulting; this is the time of year. He has a roomy boxstall inthe new Augean stable at the foot of Mount Parnassus. You know theyhave turned the spring of Castaly so that it flows through thestable-yard now, and so it is easy enough to keep the place clean."

  "If I may not see Pegasus," I asked, "is there any chance of my beingtaken to the Castle of the Sleeping Beauty?"

  "I have never seen it myself," he replied, "and so I
cannot show it toyou. Rarely indeed may I leave the deck of my ship to go ashore; andthis castle that you ask about is very far inland. I am told that it isin a country which the French travellers call _La Scribie_, a curiousland, wherein the scene is laid of many a play, because its laws andits customs are exactly what every playwright has need of; but no poethas visited it for many years. Yet the Grand Duchess of Gerolstein,whose domains lie partly within the boundaries of Scribia, is still asubscriber to the _Gazette de Hollande_--the only newspaper I takehimself, by the way."

  This last remark of the Captain's explained how it was that he hadbeen able to keep up with the news of the day, despite his constantwanderings over the waste of waters; and what more natural in fact thanthat the Flying Dutchman should be a regular reader of the _HollandGazette_?

  Vanderdecken went forward into the prow of the vessel, calling to me tofollow.

  "Do you see those peaks afar in the distance?" he asked, pointing overthe starboard bow.

  I could just make out a saw-like outline in the direction indicated.

  "Those are the Delectable Mountains," he informed me; "and down on ahollow between the two ranges is the Happy Valley."

  "Where Rasselas lived?"

  "Yes," he replied, "and beyond the Delectable Mountains, on the farslope, lies Prester John's Kingdom, and there dwell anthropophagi, andmen whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders. At least, so they say.For my part, I have never seen any such. And I have now no desire to goto Prester John's Kingdom, since I have been told that he has latelymarried Pope Joan. Do you see that grove of trees there at the base ofthe mountains?"

  I answered that I thought I could distinguish weirdly contortedbranches and strangely shivering foliage.

  "That is the deadly upas-tree," he explained, "and it is as much as aman's life is worth to lie down in the shade of its twisted limbs. Islept there, on that point where the trees are the thickest, for afortnight a century or so ago--but all I had for my pains was aheadache. Still I should not advise you to adventure yourself under theshadow of those melancholy boughs."

  I confess at once that I was little prompted to a visit so dangerousand so profitless.

  "Profitless?" he repeated. "As to that I am not so certain, for if youhave a mind to see the rarest animals in the world, you could theresate your curiosity. On the shore, between the foot-hills and the groveof upas, is a park of wild beasts, the like of which no man has lookedupon elsewhere. Even from the deck of this ship I have seen more thanonce a drove of unicorns, or a herd of centaurs, come down to the waterto drink; and sometimes I have caught a pleasant glimpse of satyrs andfauns dancing in the sunlight. And once indeed--I shall never forgetthat extraordinary spectacle--as I sped past with every sail set and aten-knot breeze astern, I saw the phoenix blaze up in its new birth,while the little salamanders frisked in the intense flame."

  "The phoenix?" I cried. "You have seen the phoenix?"

  "In just this latitude," he answered, "but it was about nine o'clock inthe evening and I remember that the new moon was setting behind themountains when I happened to come on deck."

  "And what was the phoenix like?" I asked.

  "Really," he replied, "the bird was almost as Herodotus described her,of the make and size of the eagle, with a plumage partly red and partlygolden. If we go by the point by noon, perhaps you may see her foryourself."

  "Is she there still?" I asked, in wonder.

  "Why not?" he returned. "All the game of this sort is carefullypreserved and the law is off on phoenixes only once in a century.Why, if it were not for the keepers, there soon would not be a singlegriffin or dragon left, not a single sphinx, not a single chimaera. Evenas it is, I am told they do not breed as freely now as when they couldroam the whole world in safety. That is why the game laws are sorigorous. Indeed, I am informed and believe that it is not permitted tokill the were-wolves even when their howling, as they run at large atnight, prevents all sleep. It is true, of course, that very few peoplecare to remain in such a neighborhood."

  "I should think not," I agreed. "And what manner of people are they whodare to live here?"

  "Along the shore there are a few harpies," he answered; "and now andthen I have seen a mermaid on the rocks combing her hair with a goldencomb as she sang to herself."

  "Harpies?" I repeated, in disgust. "Why not the sea-serpent also?"

  "There was a sea-serpent which lived for years in that cove yonder,"said the Captain, pointing to a pleasant bay on the starboard, "but Ihave not seen it lately. Unless I am in error, it had a pitched battlehereabouts with a kraken. I don't remember who got the better of thefight--but I haven't seen the snake since."

  As I scanned the surface of the water to see if I might not detect sometrace of one or another of these marvellous beasts of the sea, Iremarked a bank of fog lying across our course.

  "And what is this that we are coming to?" I inquired.

  "That?" Captain Vanderdecken responded, indicating the misty outlinestraight before us. "That is Altruria--at least it is so down in thecharts, but I have never set eyes on it actually. It belongs to Utopia,you know; and they say that, although it is now on the level of theearth, it used once to be a flying island--the same which was formerlyknown as Laputa, and which was first visited and described by CaptainLemuel Gulliver about the year 1727, or a little earlier."

  "So that is Altruria," I said, trying in vain to see it more clearly."There was an Altrurian in New York not long ago, but I had no chanceof speech with him."

  "They are pleasant folk, those Altrurians," said the Captain, "althoughrather given to boasting. And they have really little enough to bragabout, after all. Their climate is execrable--I find it ever windyhereabouts, and when I get in sight of that bank of fog, I always lookout for squalls. I don't know just what the population is now, but Idoubt if it is growing. You see, people talk about moving there tolive, but they are rarely in a hurry to do it, I notice. Nor are themanufactures of the Altrurians as many as they were said to be. Theirchief export now is the famous Procrustean bed; although the old houseof Damocles & Co. still does a good business in swords. Their tonnageis not what it used to be, and I'm told that they are issuing a gooddeal of paper money now to try and keep the balance of trade in theirfavor."

  "Are there not many poets among the inhabitants of Altruria?" I asked.

  "They are all poets and romancers of one kind or another," declared theCaptain. "Come below again into the cabin, and I will show you some oftheir books."

  The sky was now overcast and there was a chill wind blowing, so I wasnot at all loath to leave the deck, and to follow Vanderdecken down thesteps into the cabin.

  He took a thin volume from the table. "This," he said, "is one of theirbooks--'News from Nowhere,' it is called."

  He extended it towards me, and I held out my hand for it, but itslipped through my fingers. I started forward in a vain effort to seizeit.

  As I did so, the walls and the floor of the cabin seemed to melt awayand to dissolve in air, and beyond them and taking their place were thewalls and floor of my own house. Then suddenly the clock on themantelpiece struck five, and I heard a bob-tail car rattling andclattering past the door on its way across town to Union Square, andthence to Greenwich Village, and so on down to the Hoboken Ferry.

  Then I found myself on my own sofa, bending forward to pick up thevolume of Cyrano de Bergerac, which lay on the carpet at my feet. I satup erect and collected my thoughts as best I could after so strange ajourney. And I wondered why it was that no one had ever prepared aprimer of imaginary geography, giving to airy nothings a localhabitation and a name, and accompanying it with an atlas of maps in themanner of the _Carte du Pays de Tendre_.

  (1894.)