Figures of Earth: A Comedy of Appearances

by James Branch Cabell

  XVII

  Magic of the Image-Makers

  It was presently noised abroad that Queen Freydis of Audela had become ahuman woman; and thereafter certain enchanters came to Upper Morven, toseek her counsel and her favor and the aid of Schamir. These were theenchanters, Manuel was told, who made images, to which they now and thencontrived--nobody seemed to know quite how, and least of all did thethaumaturgists themselves,--to impart life.

  Once Manuel went with Freydis into a dark place where some of thesemagic-workers were at labor. By the light of a charcoal fire, clayimages were ruddily discernible; before these the enchanters movedunhumanly clad, and doing things which, mercifully perhaps, were veiledfrom Manuel by the peculiarly perfumed obscurity.

  As Manuel entered the gallery one of the magic-workers was chauntingshrilly in the darkness below. "It is the unfinished Rune of theBlackbirds," says Freydis, in a whisper.

  Below them the troubled wailing continued:

  "--Crammed and squeezed, so entombed (on some wager I hazard), in spiteof scared squawking and mutter, after the fashion that lean-faced Rajahdealt with trapped heroes, once, in Calcutta. Dared you break the crustand bullyrag 'em--hot, fierce and angry, what wide beaks buzz plainSaxon as ever spoke Witenagemot! Yet, singing, they sing as no whitebird does (where none rears phoenix) as near perfection as nature gets,or, if scowls bar platitude, notes for which there is no rejection inbanks whose coinage--oh, neat!--is gratitude."

  Said, in the darkness, another enchanter:

  "But far from their choiring the high King sat, in a gold-faced vest anda gold-laced hat, counting heaped monies, and dreaming of more francsand sequins and Louis d'or. Meanwhile the Queen on that fateful night,though avowing her lack of all appetite, was still at table, where,rumor said, she was smearing her seventh slice of bread (thus eachturgescible rumor thrives at court) with gold from the royal hives.Through the slumberous pare, under arching trees, to her labors wentsinging the maid Denise--"

  A third broke in here, saying:

  "And she sang of how subtle and bitter and bright was a beast broughtforth, that was clad with the splendor and light of the cold fair endsof the north, like a fleshly blossom more white than augmenting tempeststhat go, with thunder for weapon, to ravage the strait waste fastness ofsnow. She sang how that all men on earth said, whether its mistress atmorn went forth or waited till night,--whether she strove through thefoam and wreckage of shallow and firth, or couched in glad fields ofcorn, or fled from all human delight,--that thither it likewise wouldroam."

  Now a fourth began:

  "Thus sang Denise, what while the siccant sheets and coverlets thatpillowed kingly dreams, with curious undergarbs of royalty, she neatlyranged: and dreamed not of that doom which waited, yet unborn, to strikemen dumb with perfect awe. As when the seventh wave poises, and sunlightcleaves it through and through with gold, as though to gild oncomingdeath for him that sees foredoomed--and, gasping, sees death high andsplendid!--while the tall wave bears down, and its shattering makes anend of him: thus poised the sable bird while one might count one, two,and three, and four, and five, and six, but hardly seven--"

  So they continued; but Manuel listened to no more. "What is the meaningof all this?" he asked, of Freydis.

  "It is an experimental incantation," she replied, "in that it is a bitof unfinished magic for which the proper words have not yet been found:but between now and a while they will be stumbled on, and then this runewill live perpetually, surviving all those rhymes that are infected withthought and intelligent meanings such as are repugnant to human nature."

  "Are words, then, so important and enduring?"

  "Why, Manuel, I am surprised at you! In what else, pray, does man differfrom the other animals except in that he is used by words?"

  "Now I would have said that words are used by men."

  "There is give and take, of course, but in the main man is moresubservient to words than they are to him. Why, do you but think of suchterrible words as religion and duty and love, and patriotism and art,and honor and common-sense, and of what these tyrannizing words do toand make of people!"

  "No, that is chop-logic: for words are only transitory noises, whereasman is the child of God, and has an immortal spirit."

  "Yes, yes, my dearest, I know you believe that, and I think it isdelightfully quaint and sweet of you. But, as I was saying, a man hasonly the body of an animal to get experiences in, and the brain of ananimal to think them over with, so that the thoughts and opinions of thepoor dear must remain always those of a more or less intelligent animal.But his words are very often magic, as you will comprehend by and by whenI have made you the greatest of image-makers."

  "Well, well, but we can let that wait a bit," said Manuel.

  And thereafter Manuel talked with Freydis, confessing that theappearance of these magic-workers troubled Manuel. He had thought it, hesaid, an admirable thing to make images that lived, until he saw andconsidered the appearance of these habitual makers of images. They werean ugly and rickety, short-tempered tribe, said Manuel: they wereshiftless, spiteful, untruthful, and in everyday affairs not far fromimbecile: they plainly despised all persons who could not make images,and they apparently detested all those who could. With Manuel they wereparticularly high and mighty, assuring him that he was only a prosperousand affected pseudo-magician, and that the harm done by the self-styledthaumaturgist was apt to be very great indeed. What sort of models,then, were these insane, mud-moulding solitary wasps for a tall lad tofollow after? And if Manuel acquired their arts (he asked inconclusion), would he acquire their traits?

  "The answer is perhaps no, and not impossibly yes," replied Freydis."For by the ancient Tuyla mystery they extract that which is best inthem to inform their images, and this is apt to leave them empty ofvirtue. But I would have you consider that their best endures, whereasthat which is best in other persons is obliterated on some battle-fieldor mattress or gallows That is why I have been thinking that thisafternoon--"

  "No, we will let that wait a bit, for I must turn this over in my mind,"said Manuel, "and my mature opinion about this matter must be expressedlater."

  But while his thoughts were on the affair his fingers made him drollsmall images of ten of the image-makers, which he set aside unquickened.Freydis smiled at these caricatures, and asked when Manuel would givethem life.

  "Oh, in due time," he said, "and then their antics may be diverting. ButI perceive that this old Tuyla magic is practised at great price anddanger, so that I am in no hurry to practise any more of it. I prefer toenjoy that which is dearer and better."

  "And what can be dearer and better?"

  "Youth," Manuel answered, "and you."

  Queen Freydis was now a human woman in all things, so this replydelighted her hearing if not her reason. "Do these two possessionscontent you, king of my heart?" she asked him very fondly.

  "No," Manuel said, gazing out across Morven at the cloud-dappled ridgesof the Taunenfels, "nor do I look ever to be contented in this world ofmen."

  "Indeed the run of men are poor thin-minded creatures, Manuel--"

  He answered, moodily:

  "But I cannot put aside the thought that these men ought to be myfellows and my intimates. Instead, I who am a famed champion go daily indistrust, almost in fear, of these incomprehensible and shatter-patedbeings. To every side there is a feeble madness over-busy aboutlong-faced nonsense from which I recoil, who must conceal this shrinkingalways. There is no hour in my life but I go armored in reserve and insmall lies, and in my armor I am lonely. Freydis, you protest deep lovefor this well-armored Manuel, but what wisdom will reveal to you, or tome either, just what is Manuel? Oh, but I am puzzled by the impermanenceand the loneliness and the impotence of this Manuel! Dear Freydis, donot love my body nor my manner of speaking, nor any of the ways that Ihave in the flesh, for all these transiencies are mortgaged to theworms. And that thought also is a grief--"

  "Let us not speak of these things! Let us not think of anything th
at ishorrid, but only of each other!"

  "But I cannot put aside the thought that I, who for the while exist inthis mortgaged body, cannot ever get out to you. Freydis, there is noway in which two persons may meet in this world of men: we can butexchange, from afar, despairing friendly signals, in the sure knowledgethey will be misinterpreted. So do we pass, each coming out of a strangewoman's womb, each parodied by the flesh of his parents, each passingfutilely, with incommunicative gestures, toward the womb of a strangegrave: and in this jostling we find no comradeship. No soul may travelupon a bridge of words. Indeed there is no word for my foiled hugedesire to love and to be loved, just as there is no word for the big,the not quite comprehended thought which is moving in me at this moment.But that thought also is a grief--"

  Manuel was still looking at the changing green and purple of themountains and at the tall clouds trailing northward. The things that heviewed yonder were all gigantic and lovely, and they seemed not to bevery greatly bothering about humankind.

  Then Freydis said: "Let us not think too much, dear, in our youth. It issuch a waste of the glad time, and of the youth that will not ever bereturning--"

  "But I cannot put aside the thought that it will never be the trueManuel whom you will love or even know of, nor can I dismiss theknowledge that these human senses, through which alone we may obtain anyknowledge of each other, are lying messengers. What can I ever be to youexcept flesh and a voice? Nor is this the root of my sorrowing, dearFreydis. For I know that my distrust of all living creatures--oh, evenof you, dear Freydis, when I draw you closest,--must always be as a wallbetween us, a low, lasting, firm-set wall which we can never pull down.And I know that I am not really a famed champion, but only a forlorn andlonely inmate of the doubtful castle of my body; and that I, who knownot truly what I am, must die in this same doubt and loneliness, behindthe strong defences of posturing and bluntness and jovial laughter whichI have raised for my protecting. And that thought also is a grief."

  Now Manuel was as Freydis had not ever seen him. She wondered at him,she was perturbed by this fine lad's incomprehensible dreariness, withsoft red willing lips so near: and her dark eyes were bent upon him witha beautiful and tender yearning which may not be told.

  "I do not understand you, my dearest," said she, who was no longer thehigh Queen of Audela, but a mortal woman. "It is true that all the worldabout us is a false seeming, but you and I are real and utterly united,for we have no concealments from each other. I am sure that no twopeople could be happier than we are, nor better suited. And certainlysuch morbid notions are not like you, who, as you said yourself, onlythe other day, are naturally so frank and downright."

  Now Manuel's thoughts came back from the clouds and the green and purpleof the mountains. He looked at her very gravely for an instant or two.He laughed morosely. He said, "There!"

  "But, dearest, you are strange and not yourself--

  "Yes, yes!" says Manuel, kissing her, "for the moment I had forgotten tobe frank and downright, and all else which you expect of me. Now I am myold candid, jovial, blunt self again, and I shall not worry you withsuch silly notions any more. No, I am Manuel: I follow after my ownthinking and my own desire; and if to do that begets loneliness I mustendure it"