The common excuse for misery was that people who were poor and hungry did not work hard for their food and sustenance; that they were lacking in industry, application or skill, and would not take the trouble to better themselves. But what could a bear-halfling do with his clumsy paws? He could not even till the land, yet he had been made partly human and his skills at hunting were little good to him, even supposing his human masters would allow him to hunt and kill for his food. For every one of the Halflings there was some such deficiency, and why had not the folk of Atlas-Alamesios thought of this before creating them? And now that they were there, crowding the steps of this sacred place, what could their makers do about them? They could not be killed in cold blood, and they had done nothing to deserve death.
He put the flute away with hands that shook. The Halflings crowded around him made soft sounds of discontent, growls and mutters and whines, but none of them menaced him.
"There, there," he muttered, "that's enough for now. Maybe I can give you folks another concert one of these days." He could do nothing for them; he could give them pleasure with his music, but that was doing nothing for their basic trouble, which was that they had been made human, but not quite human enough.
One by one the Halflings stole quietly away. Last to go was the odd furry little rabbit-halfling, who lingered to rub his soft fuzzy body against Tamino's, and look up wistfully with his pink eyes. But at last he too scampered away with his odd hopping gait, and Tamino was alone.
Was it, could it ever be justified, to create such havoc for the sake of a few devoted servants such as the dog-halflings? Tamino was ashamed of being human; no other race would have done such things.
Yet, having met Papageno, would he wish this charming and comical man had never existed? Tamino struggled with his own feelings and came to no conclusion. And at that moment he heard the sound of Papageno's pipes.
Theoretical questions about Papageno's existence could be forestalled for another time. Now, he and Papageno were in similar case, lost in the hostile environs of Sarastro's Temple—and if Sarastro had been responsible for creating these Halflings, he hated the man more than ever—and he was responsible.
"I am here, Papageno," he called, and began to run in the direction of the sound.
CHAPTER NINE
WHEN Monostatos had gone away, Pamina I got up cautiously, and beckened to Papageno to follow her. Carefully they skirted the garden, seen only by a harmless dog-halfling who was scouting the edges of the planted lawns and chasing down small rodents; not, Pamina thought, one of Monostatos's flunkies.
She followed Papageno at a little distance, taking care to move quietly. Her mind was full of the prince he had mentioned. She had never wasted much thought on the fact that one day she would find herself interested in some young man; the casual loves of her half sisters had repelled her, rather than encouraging her to do likewise. And this youth was actually one her mother had chosen to rescue her. Her thoughts were filled with rosy romantic images, while on quite another level she was aware that she was thinking of the prince to keep from confronting her thoughts and fears about Monostatos. The prince, so far, was merely a pleasant daydream; Monostatos was a very real threat. If he had been telling the truth when he said that Sarastro destined her for his consort, she must somehow get away from here, entirely away, without a moment's delay. Would the prince, then, restore her to her mother? Her heart sang at the knowledge that, before very long, she would be in the familiar surroundings of her mother's residence.
Sarastro would be disappointed in her. If he was truly her father—but Monostatos had lied about everything else. Why should he have told the truth about that, either? On the other hand, why would he lie about it—except out of pure vicious cruelty, to hurt and frighten her?
For the moment, though, they were out of reach of the hateful Monostatos, prince, son of the Great Serpent, or whatever he was calling himself now. Whatever he called himself, all she wanted of him was to keep out of her sight. And, if Sarastro chose Monostatos for his assigned messenger, she wanted nothing to do with Sarastro either, father or not.
She ran toward the edge of the garden, now abandoning her caution and hurrying to the path which wound outside the hedges. She was not sure of her way, but even if she lost herself in Sarastro's realm, that was better than being imprisoned in some luxurious suite, treated as an honored guest while, in truth, she was as much a prisoner as if she were wearing the chains Monostatos had threatened. Sooner or later, she, or Papageno, would find a way out, and be safe again in the security of her mother's familiar rule.
Papageno, behind her, touched her shoulder.
"We can't simply go blundering around," he whispered. "The prince must be somewhere near. We lost each other on the way in—he should have had the sense to stay close to me," he added petulantly. "I would never have allowed myself to do anything so silly as getting lost."
"I'm sure you wouldn't," said Pamina gravely. It was full daylight now; any passerby could see them. "But he did lose himself, and somehow we must find him before we get out of here. Have you any ideas?"
For answer, Papageno put his little whistle to his lips and played a cheerful birdcall. From a distance came an answering note-aflute.
"It is the prince. Come this way," Papageno urged. They hurried in the direction of the voice, momentarily forgetting caution—and ran directly into the arms of a dozen Halflings, bearing ropes and nets as if for hunting. One of them shouted, "There they are! Don't let them get away!"
Helplessly, Pamina tried to run; but they already had hold of Papageno, and two more seized her.
"Let me go!" she cried out. "You'll be punished for this!" She simply could not believe what was happening. In her mother's house—in any properly regulated place—the Halfling who laid hands on any unwilling human would have been flayed alive. Their rough paws on her terrified her; she felt dizzy and light-headed, and was suddenly feared she would fall to the ground; yet pride would not let her cling to a Halfling for support.
"Don't touch me! Take your hands off me! Papageno, help me!"
"Do you think that he can help you? Oh, no, Pamina," said the familiar, hateful voice of Monostatos. "No one can help you now, except me; and you have refused that help. They are acting by my orders. Take her," he commanded the Halflings, who were hanging back a little. "Bind her."
Still unbelieving, Pamina felt one of her hands seized and bound with cords. Monostatos himself grasped the other.
"Come, Pamina, my little sweetheart, don't make me do this to you," he murmured, and bent close to her. "Now that you know you can't escape, resign yourself. Nothing will happen to you, if you recognize that you are designed for me; do you believe I would let them harm my promised wife? Come, give me a kiss, and let's be friends again."
His lips touched hers; she wrenched away with desperate strength. Her fingernails raked down his cheek; he sprang back, cursing angrily.
Papageno, struggling furiously, flung off the Halfling who was trying to hold him. His fingers fumbled at his waist for the bells given him by the Queen's ladies. The Messengers had told him to ring these when he was in danger. Maybe they were like the flute Tamino had been given, and would summon help. His fingers moved swiftly on the bells.
Pamina heard the sound, a merry and sweet jingling, and wondered what could possibly be in Papageno's mind; music at a time like this? But Monostatos, at the sound, dropped her hand and let her go; he looked away from her, and, while Pamina watched in utter astonishment, he began to dance. Not looking at her, not looking at anything, he described a curious gliding circle, his upper body weaving back and forth, while the dog-halflings circled round him, jigging crudely in time to the bells. Papageno blinked, moving his own body gently in time to the sound, but he kept on playing.
Pamina had heard of legendary control devices which had power over the Halflings. She had never seen one before this. Nor would she ever have believed that Monostatos, for all she had flung the word Halfling at him for a
n insult, would have been affected. Papageno continued to ring the bells; to tell the truth, it was all Pamina herself could do to keep from dancing!
One by one the Halflings formed into a line and danced away.
Papageno kept the bells ringing until they were out of sight, then cautiously slacked off. Pamina was filled with a thousand questions. Where—and how—had he come by the bells? What had made Monostatos and the rest react this way? Why had Papageno himself been immune? But none of these questions were important now. What was important was to get away.
And then she heard a sound that froze her with terror. It was the sound of the royal trumpets which preceded the procession. Sarastro, and his priests en-route to the sunrise observances, were on this road. She froze in her tracks; it was too late to run, she could see the glitter of the rising sun on the priestly ornaments they wore. And some of them had already seen her.
Papageno, his hands busy stowing the bells in their skin at his waist, looked up to see her look of consternation.
"What is it, princess?"
"It is Sarastro and the priests," she whispered, clutching at the last remnants of her courage. Papageno stood shaking, with all the feathers on his crest twitching in dread.
"Sarastro," he moaned. "Oh, what will he do to us? What will we say to him?"
Pamina was nearly as afraid as the Halfling; but she had been trained never to show fear or dread, even at the sacrifices, and her training stood her well in place of courage.
She said resolutely, "We will tell him the truth." She stood her ground, waiting for the priests to come up with her.
The first of them had nearly reached her when Sarastro, walking in procession with his trusted favorites, saw Pamina and looked at her—in surprise, Pamina thought, and displeasure.
Of course he is angry, she thought, I have tried to escape from him. But if what Monostatos did was at his wish, I want to know it now.
Sarastro stepped toward her, gesturing the priests at his side to remain where they were.
"Pamina," he said, not unkindly. "What are you doing out here at this hour? I can hardly imagine that you intended to attend the sunrise observance. Perhaps you— "
He stopped abruptly as a great commotion broke out behind them. Monostatos, surrounded by the dog-halflings, was dragging a prisoner toward them; a young man Pamina had never seen before. She knew from Papageno's face that this was the prince. He was richly dressed, in finery a little the worse for wear—he had evidently put up a tremendous struggle before they captured him—and handsome, with fine features and troubled eyes. He had come to rescue her—and this had befallen him. Pamina felt, even knowing that it was irrational, that she was to blame for his predicament. "Let him go!" she commanded, so imperiously that the Halflings who held him had released him before they knew what they were doing. She went swiftly toward him, and held out her hands.
"You are Prince Tamino," she murmured, looking into his eyes.
He grasped her hands in both of his own and drew her toward him, returning her gaze as if there were nothing in the world but the two of them. For a moment, for Pamina, there was not.
Then the rough hands of Monostatos grabbed them both and pulled them apart, and Pamina was gazing up into the mild blue eyes of the priest-king Sarastro.
The sunrise observances had been turned over to another of the priests. Pamina sat beside Sarastro on a couch, and he gestured to her to help herself from a tray containing fruits and wine and cakes made with dried fruits and honey.
She said nervously, "You won't let any harm come to poor Papageno, will you? Or to the prince?" Then, fearing lest he should misunderstand, she added quickly, "Prince Tamino, I mean, not Monostatos." She took a dried fig and nibbled at it, though it felt like wood in her dry mouth.
"I don't know what you have been told about me, Pamina," Sarastro said, and his voice sounded kind. "But I assure you that I intend no harm to Papageno, and still less to Prince Tamino, who has come here as my honored guest, for the purpose of undertaking the Ordeals."
"I was your honored guest too," she observed a little bitterly, "and I found myself your prisoner."
"Pamina—" Sarastro sighed, then leaned his chin on his hands. He said, "It is no part of my purpose to rehearse all the differences I have with your mother. I had hoped you would never hear of them, but I suppose that is too much to ask."
"May I first ask a question, sir?" she asked, and the priest nodded at her.
"Here you may ask whatever you will, and I pledge to you, whatever answer you receive will be the truth."
"Monostatos told me that you are my father. Is that true, then?"
"I'm afraid so, Pamina," Sarastro said. "Does it displease you as much as all that?"
He was looking at her kindly; his eyes seemed to twinkle at her. Surely there was nothing intolerable about acknowledging this serene and kindly man as her father. But then perhaps the other things Monostatos had said were also true. She demanded, "Did you promise me to Monostatos as his wife?"
Sarastro's serene face betrayed a certain surprise. "Why, no," he said. "Did you want him as a husband? It is true that I told him that if he successfully passed all the Ordeals, and if you liked him, he might have permission to ask you to marry him; no more than that. Did he tell you that, Pamina?"
"Why do you think I was trying to run away?" she demanded.
"I was hoping you would tell me that." Sarastro did not take his eyes off her; they held a quiet watchfulness she did not yet understand. "I gave orders that you were to be well treated, and to be given everything you asked for. Did anyone violate these orders?"
Was it possible, then, that Sarastro did not know the truth? She said, and to her dismay she heard her voice shaking, "I tried—I tried to escape because I was afraid of him—of Monostatos. He threatened me; he told me that you had destined me for his bride, and I was afraid—afraid it was the truth. He—he spoke with such conviction, and he treated me as if—" again she paused, searching for words—"as if I were already pledged to him as his wife."
Sarastro bent his eyes on her face; Pamina hung her head, frightened, afraid that she could cry, fighting against tears that threatened to escape anyhow. Then she felt Sarastro's hand, gently turning her face up till she met his eyes.
"Pamina, is this the truth?"
"I don't know what you do here in this place," she flared at him, in sudden anger, "but I would never stoop to lie about it!"
He sighed. "That is true; you do not know this place, nor do you know me," he said, "and you cannot be blamed for that. Well, Pamina, let me ask again; would you repeat this accusation before Monostatos, if I should ask you to do so?"
"With the greatest of pleasure," she said emphatically. "And if the damned Halfling can look in my eyes and deny it—" She stopped; her whole body was throbbing with indignation, and Sarastro reached out and took her hand.
"I can see the truth in your eyes, my child. I can only say that I regret, more than I can say, that you were subjected to such an ordeal. I was mistaken in Monostatos; I thought that as the son of the Great Serpent, who was once my friend and a sworn Brother of the Temple, he would behave honorably. Anyone can be mistaken; I only regret—well, no matter now."
Sarastro sighed heavily, then went on, "As for Prince Tamino, I have made him the same offer that I gave to Monostatos; if he successfully completes the Ordeals, he may court you for his wife. And if I have properly read your heart, you will not be offended by this as you were when Monostatos took his success for granted." His eyes twinkled at her again, and Pam-ina blushed, that he had seen her holding Tamino's hands and defending him.
"Tamino—Prince Tamino," she amended quickly, "is a noble young man. I—I would willingly hear him, if he should make an offer for my hand."
"He is indeed noble, and he seems kind and courageous as well," Sarastro said encouragingly. "For this purpose, my dear, I summoned him from his own country, in the hope that he would meet with your approval."
He patte
d her hand again, so kindly that Pamina cried out suddenly, "Oh, Father—if you are really my father—won't you let me go back to my mother? It is not that I am unhappy here, now that I know Monostatos did not—did not come after me with your consent and approval! I am sorry I misjudged you. But won't you let me go home? My poor mother—she will die of grief!"
Sarastro sighed deeply. He said, after a moment of silence, "I am sorry, Pamina. I cannot. You do not know your mother as well as I do... she is a heartless woman, cruel and domineering. In her hands you too would become heartless and wicked. I cannot expect you to know what I know; I only ask you to trust me for the time being. Somehow you have escaped the taint of bitterness and cruelty which lies within her; but you were a child, with a child's unconsciousness of wrong and evil. Now that you are a woman, I must see you guided in the pathways of truth and of light. Your mother—"
"She is my mother," Pamina said with quiet dignity, "I do not want to hear anything against her."
Sarastro put down the honey cake he had taken up, untouched. He said, "I cannot fault you, child, for believing in your mother. I wish you would trust me, but I suppose I have yet to earn your confidence. Let me now deal with Monostatos, and with the prince."
"And Papageno?"
"No harm will come to him," Sarastro reassured her. "He tried to help you escape, but I do not hold him responsible for that, since he too was misled, and did not understand what he meddled with. I propose to allow him to enter the Ordeals—what do you know of them, Pamina?"
"Very little."
"In time you shall know all; but, in brief, should he be found worthy, he will be given a wife, and allowed to mate under the protection of the Temple. When I took you from your mother, I also had your faithful servant Papagena brought here. The priestesses who deal with the female Halflings have spoken with her, and they tell me she is truthful, kind and virtuous for what she is. Bird-halflings are few, especially those who are gifted with sufficient intelligence; and I was hoping I could find another who was worthy of your good Papagena. This Papageno seems to fit that description. You have observed him; what do you think of him?"
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