The Purple Land

by W. H. Hudson

  CHAPTER XIV

  The girl I have mentioned, whose name was Monica, and the child, calledAnita, were the only persons there besides myself who were not carriedaway by the warlike enthusiasm of the moment. Monica, silent, pale,almost apathetic, was occupied serving _mate_ to the numerous guests;while the child, when the shouting and excitement was at its height,appeared greatly terrified, and clung to Alday's wife, trembling andcrying piteously. No notice was taken of the poor little thing, and atlength she crept away into a corner to conceal herself behind a faggotof wood. Her hiding-place was close to my seat, and after a littlecoaxing I induced her to leave it and come to me. She was a most forlornlittle thing, with a white, thin face and large, dark, pathetic eyes.Her mean little cotton frock only reached to her knees, and her littlelegs and feet were bare. Her age was seven or eight; she was an orphan,and Alday's wife, having no children of her own, was bringing her up,or, rather, permitting her to grow up under her roof. I drew her to me,and tried to soothe her tremors and get her to talk. Little by littleshe gained confidence, and began to reply to my questions; then I learntthat she was a little shepherdess, although so young, and spent most ofthe time every day in following the flock about on her pony. Her ponyand the girl Monica, who was some relation--cousin, the child calledher--were the two beings she seemed to have the greatest affection for.

  "And when you slip off, how do you get on again?" I asked.

  "Little pony is tame, and I never fall off," she said. "Sometimes I getoff, then I climb on again."

  "And what do you do all day long--talk and play?"

  "I talk to my doll; I take it on the pony when I go with the sheep."

  "Is your doll very pretty, Anita?"

  No answer.

  "Will you let me see your doll, Anita? I know I shall like your doll,because I like you."

  She gave me an anxious look. Evidently doll was a very precious beingand had not met with proper appreciation. After a little nervousfidgeting she left me and crept out of the room; then presently she cameback, apparently trying to screen something from the vulgar gaze in herscanty little dress. It was her wonderful doll--the dear companion ofher rambles and rides. With fear and trembling she allowed me to take itinto my hands. It was, or consisted of, the forefoot of a sheep, cut offat the knee; on the top of the knee part a little wooden ball wrapped ina white rag represented the head, and it was dressed in a piece of redflannel--a satyr-like doll, with one hairy leg and a cloven foot. Ipraised its pleasing countenance, its pretty gown and dainty littleboots; and all I said sounded very precious to Anita, filling her withemotions of the liveliest pleasure.

  "And do you never play with the dogs and cats and little lambs?" Iasked.

  "Not with the dogs and cats. When I see a very little lamb asleep I getdown and go softly, softly and catch it. It tries to get away; then Iput my finger in its mouth, and it sucks, and sucks; then it runs away."

  "And what do you like best to eat?"

  "Sugar. When uncle buys sugar, aunt gives me a lump. I make doll eatsome, and bite off one small piece and put it in pony's mouth."

  "Which would you rather have, Anita--a great many lumps of sugar, or abeautiful string of beads, or a little girl to play with?"

  This question was rather too much for her neglected little brain, whichhad fed itself with such simple fare; so I was obliged to put it invarious ways, and at last, when she understood that only one of thethree things could be chosen, she decided in favour of a little girl toplay with.

  Then I asked her if she liked to hear stories; this also puzzled her,and after some cross-questioning I discovered that she had never heard astory, and did not know what it meant.

  "Listen, Anita, and I will tell you a story," I said. "Have you seen thewhite mist over the Yi in the morning--a light, white mist that fliesaway when the sun gets hot?"

  Yes, she often saw the white mist in the morning, she told me.

  "Then I will tell you a story about the white mist and a little girlnamed Alma."

  "Little Alma lived close to the River Yi, but far, far from here, beyondthe trees and beyond the blue hills, for the Yi is a very long river.She lived with her grandmother and with six uncles, all big tall menwith long beards; and they always talked about wars, and cattle, andhorse-racing, and a great many other important things that Alma couldnot understand. There was no one to talk to Alma and for Alma to talkto or to play with. And when she went out of the house where all the bigpeople were talking, she heard the cocks crowing, the dogs barking, thebirds singing, the sheep bleating, and the trees rustling their leavesover her head, and she could not understand one word of all they said.At last, having no one to play with or talk to, she sat down and beganto cry. Now, it happened that near the spot where she sat there was anold black woman wearing a red shawl, who was gathering sticks for thefire, and she asked Alma why she cried.

  "'Because I have no one to talk to and play with,' said Alma. Thenthe old black woman drew a long brass pin out of her shawl and prickedAlma's tongue with it, for she made Alma hold it out to be pricked.

  "'Now,' said the old woman, 'you can go and play and talk with the dogs,cats, birds, and trees, for you will understand all they say, and theywill understand all you say.'

  "Alma was very glad, and ran home as fast as she could to talk to thecat.

  "'Come, cat, let us talk and play together,' she said.

  "'Oh no,' said the cat. 'I am very busy watching a little bird, so youmust go away and play with little Niebla down by the river.'

  "Then the cat ran away among the weeds and left her. The dogs alsorefused to play when she went to them; for they had to watch the houseand bark at strangers. Then they also told her to go and play withlittle Niebla down by the river. Then Alma ran out and caught a littleduckling, a soft little thing that looked like a ball of yellow cotton,and said:

  "'Now, little duck, let us talk and play.'

  "But the duckling only struggled to get away and screamed, 'Oh, mamma,mamma, come and take me away from Alma!'

  "Then the old duck came rushing up, and said:

  "'Alma, let my child alone: and if you want to play, go and play withNiebla down by the river. A nice thing to catch my duckie in yourhands--what next, I wonder!'

  "So she let the duckling go, and at last she said, 'Yes, I will go andplay with Niebla down by the river.'

  "She waited till she saw the white mist, and then ran all the way to theYi, and stood still on the green bank close by the water with the whitemist all round her. By and by she saw a beautiful little child comeflying towards her in the white mist. The child came and stood on thegreen bank and looked at Alma. Very, very pretty she was; and she worea white dress--whiter than milk, whiter than foam, and all embroideredwith purple flowers; she had also white silk stockings, and scarletshoes, bright as scarlet verbenas. Her hair was long and fluffy, andshone like gold, and round her neck she had a string of big gold beads.Then Alma said, 'Oh, beautiful little girl, what is your name?' to whichthe little girl answered:

  "'Niebla.'

  "'Will you talk to me and play with me?' said Alma.

  "'Oh, no,' said Niebla, 'how can I play with a little girl dressed asyou are and with bare feet?'

  "For you know poor Alma only wore a little old frock that came down toher knees, and she had no shoes and stockings on. Then little Nieblarose up and floated away, away from the bank and down the river, and atlast, when she was quite out of sight in the white mist, Alma began tocry. When it got very hot she went and sat down, still crying, under thetrees; there were two very big willow-trees growing near the river. Byand by the leaves rustled in the wind and the trees began talking toeach other, and Alma understood everything they said.

  "'Is it going to rain, do you think?' said one tree.

  "'Yes, I think it will--some day,' said the other.

  "'There are no clouds,' said the first tree.

  "'No, there are no clouds to-day, but there were some the day beforeyesterday,' said the other.

 
"'Have you got any nests in your branches?' said the first tree.

  "'Yes, one,' said the other. 'It was made by a little yellow bird, andthere are five speckled eggs in it.'

  "Then the first tree said, 'There is little Alma sitting in our shade;do you know why she is crying, neighbour?'

  "The other tree answered, 'Yes, it is because she has no one to playwith. Little Niebla by the river refused to play with her because she isnot beautifully dressed.'

  "Then the first tree said, 'Ah, she ought to go and ask the fox for somepretty clothes to wear. The fox always keeps a great store of prettythings in her hole.'

  "Alma had listened to every word of this conversation. She rememberedthat a fox lived on the hillside not far off; for she had often seenit sitting in the sunshine with its little ones playing round it andpulling their mother's tail in fun. So Alma got up and ran till shefound the hole, and, putting her head down it, she cried out, 'Fox!Fox!' But the fox seemed cross, and only answered, without coming out,'Go away, Alma, and talk to little Niebla. I am busy getting dinner formy children and have no time to talk to you now.'

  "Then Alma cried, 'Oh, Fox, Niebla will not play with me because I haveno pretty things to wear. Oh, Fox, will you give me a nice dress andshoes and stockings and a string of beads?'

  "After a little while the fox came out of its hole with a big bundledone up in a red cotton handkerchief and said, 'Here are the things,Alma, and I hope they will fit you. But you know, Alma, you really oughtnot to come at this time of day, for I am very busy just now cookingthe dinner--an armadillo roasted and a couple of partridges stewed withrice, and a little omelette of turkeys' eggs. I mean plovers' eggs, ofcourse; I never touch turkeys' eggs.'

  "Alma said she was very sorry to give so much trouble.

  "'Oh, never mind,' said the fox. 'How is your grandmother?'

  "'She is very well, thank you,' said Alma, 'but she has a bad headache.'

  "'I am very sorry to hear it,' said the fox. 'Tell her to stick twofresh dock-leaves on her temples, and to drink a little weak tea made ofknot-grass, and on no account to go out in the hot sun. I should liketo go and see her, only I do not like the dogs being always about thehouse. Give her my best respects. And now run home, Alma, and try onthe things, and when you are passing this way you can bring me backthe handkerchief, as I always tie my face up in it when I have thetoothache.'

  "Alma thanked the fox very much and ran home as fast as she could, andwhen the bundle was opened she found in it a beautiful white dress,embroidered with purple flowers, a pair of scarlet shoes, silkstockings, and a string of great golden beads. They all fitted her verywell; and next day when the white mist was on the Yi she dressed herselfin her beautiful clothes and went down to the river. By and by littleNiebla came flying along, and when she saw Alma she came and kissedher and took her by the hand. All the morning they played and talkedtogether, gathering flowers and running races over the green sward: andat last Niebla bade her good-bye and flew away, for all the white mistwas floating off down the river. But every day after that Alma found herlittle companion by the Yi, and was very happy, for now she had someoneto talk to and to play with."

  After I had finished the story Anita continued gazing into my facewith an absorbed expression in her large, wistful eyes. She seemed halfscared, half delighted at what she had heard; but presently, before thelittle thing had said a word, Monica, who had been directing shy andwondering glances towards us for some time, came, and, taking her bythe hand, led her away to bed. I was getting sleepy then, and, as theclatter of talk and warlike preparation showed no signs of abating, Iwas glad to be shown into another room, where some sheep-skins, rugs,and a couple of _ponchos_ were given to me for a bed.

  During the night all the men took their departure, for in the morning,when I went into the kitchen, I only found the old woman and Alday'swife sipping bitter _mate_. The child, they informed me, had disappearedfrom the house an hour before, and Monica had gone out to look for her.Alday's wife was highly indignant at the little one's escapade, for itwas high time for Anita to go out with the flock. After taking _mate_ Iwent out, and, looking towards the Yi, veiled in a silvery mist, I spiedMonica leading the culprit home by the hand, and went to meet them.Poor little Anita! her face stained with tears, her little legs andfeet covered with clay and scratched by sharp reeds in fifty places, herdress soaking wet with the heavy mist, looked a most pitiful object.

  "Where did you find her?" I asked the girl, beginning to fear that I hadbeen the indirect cause of the poor child's misfortunes.

  "Down by the river looking for little Niebla. I knew she would be therewhen I missed her this morning."

  "How did you know that?" I asked. "You did not hear the story I toldher."

  "I made her repeat it all to me last night," said Monica.

  After that little Anita was scolded, shaken, washed and dried, then fed,and finally lifted on to the back of her pony and sent to take care ofthe sheep. While undergoing this treatment she maintained a profoundsilence, her little face puckered up into an expression that bodedtears. They were not for the public, however, and only after she wason the pony, with the reins in her little mites of hands and her backtowards us, did she give way to her grief and disappointment at havingfailed to find the beautiful child of the mist.

  I was astonished to find that she had taken the fantastic little taleinvented to amuse her as truth; but the poor babe had never read booksor heard stories, and the fairy tale had been too much for her starvedlittle imagination. I remember that once on another occasion I told apathetic story of a little child, lost in a great wilderness, to a girlabout Anita's age, and just as unaccustomed to this kind of mental fare.Next morning her mother informed me that my little listener had spenthalf the night sobbing and begging to be allowed to go and look for thatlost child I had told her about.

  Hearing that Alday would not return till evening or till the followingday, I asked his wife to lend or give me a horse to proceed onmy journey. This, however, she could not do; then she added, verygraciously, that while all the men were away my presence in the housewould be a comfort to her, a man always being a great protection. Thearrangement did not strike me as one very advantageous to myself, but,as I could not journey very well to Montevideo on foot, I was compelledto sit still and wait for Alday's return.

  It was dull work talking to those two women in the kitchen. They wereboth great talkers, and had evidently come to a tacit agreement to sharetheir one listener fairly between them, for first one, then the otherwould speak with a maddening monotony. Alday's wife had six favourite,fine-sounding words--_elements, superior, division, prolongation,justification,_ and _disproportion_. One of these she somehow managed todrag into every sentence, and sometimes she succeeded in getting in two.Whenever this happened the achievement made her so proud that she wouldin the most deliberate cold-blooded way repeat the sentence again, wordfor word. The strength of the old woman lay in dates. Not an occurrencedid she mention, whether it referred to some great public event or tosome trivial domestic incident in her own _rancho_, without giving theyear, the month, and the day. The duet between these two confoundedbarrel-organs, one grinding out rhetoric, the other chronology, went onall the morning, and often I turned to Monica, sitting over her sewing,in hopes of a different tune from her more melodious instrument, but invain, for never a word dropped from those silent lips. Occasionally herdark, luminous eyes were raised for a moment, only to sink abashed againwhen they encountered mine. After breakfast I went for a walk along theriver, where I spent several hours hunting for flowers and fossils, andamusing myself as best I could. There were legions of duck, coot, rosyspoonbills, and black-necked swans disporting themselves in the water,and I was very thankful that I had no gun with me, and so was nottempted to startle them with rude noises, and send any of them away tolanguish wounded amongst the reeds. At length, after having indulged ina good swim, I set out to walk back to the _estancia_.

  When still about a mile from the house as I walked on,
swinging mystick and singing aloud in lightness of heart, I passed a clump ofwillow-trees, and, looking up, saw Monica under them watching myapproach. She was standing perfectly motionless, and, when I caughtsight of her, cast her eyes demurely down, apparently to contemplate herbare feet, which looked very white on the deep green turf. In one handshe held a cluster of stalks of the large, crimson, autumnal lilieswhich had just begun to blossom. My singing ceased suddenly, and I stoodfor some moments gazing admiringly at the shy, rustic beauty.

  "What a distance you have walked to gather lilies, Monica!" I said,approaching her. "Will you give me one of your stalks?"

  "They were gathered for the Virgin, so I cannot give away any of these,"she replied. "If you will wait here under the trees I will find one togive you."

  I agreed to wait for her; then, placing the cluster she had gathered onthe grass, she left me. Before long she returned with a stalk, round,polished, slender, like a pipe-stem, and crowned with its cluster ofthree splendid crimson flowers.

  When I had sufficiently thanked her and admired it, I said, "What boonare you going to ask from the Virgin, Monica, when you offer her theseflowers--safety for your lover in the wars?"

  "No, senor; I have no offering to make, and no boon to ask. They are formy aunt; I offered to gather them for her, because--I wished to meet youhere."

  "To meet me, Monica--what for?"

  "To ask for a story, senor," she replied, colouring and with a shyglance at my face.

  "Ah, we have had stories enough," I said. "Remember poor Anita runningaway this morning to look for a playmate in the wet mist."

  "She is a child; I am a woman."

  "Then, Monica, you must have a lover who will be jealous if you listento stories from a stranger's lips in this lonely spot."

  "No person will ever know that I met you here," she returned--sobashful, yet so persistent.

  "I have forgotten all my stories," I said.

  "Then, senor, I will go and find you another _ramo_ of lilies while youthink of one to tell me."

  "No," I said, "you must get no more lilies for me. Look, I will give youback these you gave me." And, saying that, I fastened them in her blackhair, where by contrast they looked very splendid, and gave the girl anew grace. "Ah, Monica, they make you look too pretty--let me take themout again."

  But she would not have them taken. "I will leave you now to think of astory for me," she said, blushing and turning away.

  Then I took her hands and made her face me. "Listen, Monica," I said."Do you know that these lilies are full of strange magic? See howcrimson they are; that is the colour of passion, for they have beensteeped in passion, and turn my heart to fire. If you bring me any moreof them, Monica, I shall tell you a story that will make you tremblewith fear--tremble like the willow-leaves and turn pale as the mist overthe Yi."

  She smiled at my words; it was like a ray of sunlight falling throughthe foliage on her face. Then, in a voice that was almost a whisper, shesaid, "What will the story be about, senor? Tell me, then I shall knowwhether to gather lilies for you or not."

  "It will be about a stranger meeting a sweet, pale girl standing underthe trees, her dark eyes cast down, and red lilies in her hand; andhow she asked him for a story, but he could speak to her of nothing butlove, love, love."

  When I finished speaking she gently withdrew her hands from mine andturned away amongst the trees, doubtless to fly from me, trembling at mywords, like a frightened young fawn from the hunter.

  So for a moment I thought. But no, there lay the lilies gathered for areligious purpose at my feet, and there was nothing reproachful in theshy, dark eyes when they glanced back for a moment at me; for, in spiteof those warning words, she had only gone to find more of those perilouscrimson flowers to give me.

  Not then, while I waited for her return with palpitating heart, butafterwards in calmer moments, and when Monica had become a prettypicture in the past, did I compose the following lines. I am not so vainas to believe that they possess any great poetical merit, and introducethem principally to let the reader know how to pronounce the prettyname of that Oriental river, which it still keeps in remembrance of avanished race.

  Standing silent, pale her face was, Pale and sweet to see: 'Neath the willows waiting for me, Willow-like was she, Smiling, blushing, trembling, bashful Maid of Yi.

  Willow-like she trembled, yet she Never fled from me; But her dove-like eyes were downcast, On the grass to see White feet standing: white thy feet were, Maid of Yi.

  Stalks of lilies in her hands were: Crimson lilies three, Placed I in her braids of black hair-- They were bright to see! Lift thy dark eyes, for I love thee, Maid of Yi!