 Section 1 of The Shadows. Old Ralph Rinkleman made his living by comic sketches, and all but lost it again by tragic poems. So he was just the man to be chosen king of the fairies, for in fairyland the sovereignty is elective. It is no doubt very strange that fairies should desire to have a mortal king, but the fact is that with all their knowledge and power they cannot get rid of the feeling that some men are greater than they are, though they can neither fly nor play tricks. So at such times as there happens to be twice the usual number of sensible electors, such a man as Ralph Rinkleman gets to be chosen. They did not mean to insist on his residence, for they needed his presence only on special occasions. But they must get hold of him somehow, first of all, in order to make him king. Once he was crowned they could get him as often as they pleased, but before this ceremony there was a difficulty, for it is only between life and death that the fairies have power over grown-up mortals and can carry them off to their country, so they had to watch for an opportunity. Nor had they to wait long, for old Ralph was taken dreadfully ill, and while hovering between life and death they carried him off and crowned him king of Fairyland. But after he was crowned it was no wonder, considering the state of his health, that he should not be able to sit quite upright on the throne of Fairyland, or that in consequence all the gnomes and goblins and ugly cruel things that live in the holes and corners of the kingdom should take advantage of his condition, and run quite wild, playing him, king as he was, all sorts of tricks, crowding about his throne, climbing up the steps, and actually scrambling and quarreling like mice about his ears and eyes, so that he could see and think of nothing else. But I am not going to tell anything more about this part of his adventures just at present. By strong and sustained efforts he succeeded, after much trouble and suffering, in reducing his rebellious subjects to order. They all vanished to their respective holes and corners, and King Ralph, coming to himself, found himself in his bed half propped up with pillows. But the room was full of dark creatures, which gambled about in the firelight in such a strange, huge, though noiseless fashion, that he thought at first that some of his rebellious goblins had not been subdued with the rest, but had followed him beyond the bounds of Fairyland into his own private house in London. How else could these mad, grotesque, hippopotamus calves make their ugly appearance in Ralph Ringleman's bedroom? But he soon found out that although they were like the underground goblins, they were very different as well, and would require quite different treatment. He felt convinced that they were his subjects too, but that he must have overlooked them somehow at his late coronation, if indeed they had been present, for he could not recollect that he had seen anything just like them before. He resolved therefore to pay particular attention to their habits, ways, and characters, else he saw plainly that they would soon be too much for him, as indeed this intrusion into his chamber, where Mrs. Ringleman, who must be Queen if he was King, sat taking some tea by the fireside, evidently foreshadowed. But she, perceiving that he was looking about him with a more composed expression than his face had worn for many days, started up, and came quickly and quietly to his side, and her face was bright with gladness. Whereupon the fire burned up more cheerily, and the figures became more composed and respectful in their behaviour, retreating towards the wall like well-trained attendants. Then the King of Fairyland had some tea and dry toast, and, leaning back on his pillows, nearly fell asleep. But not quite, for he still watched the intruders. Presently the Queen left the room to give some of the young princes and princesses their tea, and the fire burned lower, and, behold, the figures grew as black and as mad in their gambles as ever. Their favourite games seemed to be hide-and-seek, touch-and-go, grin-and-vanish, and many other such, and all in the King's bed-chamber, too, so that it was quite alarming. It was almost as bad as if the house had been haunted by certain creatures which shall be nameless in a fairy-story, because with them Fairyland will not willingly have much to do. But it is a mercy that they have their slippers on, said the King to himself, for his head ached. As he lay back, with his eyes half shut and half open, too tired to pay longer attention to their games, but on the whole considerably more amused than offended with the liberties they took, for they seemed good-natured creatures, and more frolicsome than positively ill-mannered. He became suddenly aware that two of them had stepped forward from the walls, upon which, after the manner of great spiders, most of them preferred sprawling, and now stood in the middle of the floor, at the foot of his Majesty's bed, becking and bowing, and ducking in the most grotesquely obsequious manner. While every now and then they turned solemnly round upon one heel, evidently considering that motion the highest token of homage they could show. What do you want? said the King. That it may please your Majesty to be better acquainted with us, answered they. We are your Majesty's subjects. I know you are. I shall be most happy, answered the King. We are not what your Majesty takes us for, though. We are not so foolish as your Majesty thinks us. It is impossible to take you for anything that I know of. Rejoined the King, who wished to make them talk, and said whatever came uppermost, for soldiers, sailors, or anything, you will not stand still long enough. I suppose you really belong to the fire brigade, at least you keep putting its light out. Don't just please your Majesty. And as they said the words, for they both spoke at once throughout the interview, they performed a grave summer set towards the King. Not just, retorted he, and with you, why you do nothing but just, what are you? The shadows sire, and when we do just sire, we always jest in earnest. But perhaps your Majesty does not see us distinctly. I see you perfectly well, returned the King. Yet me, however, rejoined one of the shadows, and as he spoke he approached the King, and, lifting a dark forefinger, he drew it lightly but carefully across the ridge of his forehead, from temple to temple. The King felt the soft gliding touch go, like water, into every hollow and over the top of every height of that mountain chain of thought. He had involuntarily closed his eyes during the operation, and when he unclosed them again, as soon as the finger was withdrawn, he found that they were opened in more senses than one. The room appeared to have extended itself on all sides, till he could not exactly see where the walls were, and all about it stood the shadows motionless. They were tall and solemn, rather awful indeed in their appearance, not withstanding many remarkable traits of grotesqueness, for they looked just like the pictures of puritans drawn by cavaliers, with long arms and very long thin legs, from which hung large loose feet, while in their countenances length of chin and nose predominated. The solemnity of their mean, however, overcame all the oddity of their form, so that they were very eerie indeed to look at, dressed as they all were, in funeral black. But a single glance was all that the King was allowed to have, for the former operator waved his dusky palm across his vision, and once more the King saw only the fire-lighted walls and dark shapes flickering about upon them. The two who had spoken for the rest seemed likewise to have vanished, but at last the King discovered them, standing one on each side of the fireplace. They kept close to the chimney wall, and talked to each other across the length of the chimney-piece, thus avoiding the direct rays of the fire, which, though light is necessary to their appearing to human eyes, do not agree with them at all, much less give birth to them, as the King was soon to learn. After a few minutes they again approached the bed, and spoke thus, It is now getting dark, please, Your Majesty. We mean out of doors in the snow. Your Majesty may see from where he is lying the cold light of its great winding sheet a famous carpet for the shadows to dance upon Your Majesty. All our brothers and sisters will be at church now, before going to their night's work. Do they always go to church before they go to work? They always go to church first. Where is the church? In Iceland. Would Your Majesty like to see it? How can I go and see it, when, as you know very well, I am ill in bed? Besides, I should be sure to take cold in a frosty night like this, even if I put on the blankets and took the feather-bed for a muff. A sort of quivering passed over their faces, which seemed to be their mode of laughing. The whole shape of the face shook and fluctuated as if it had been some dark fluid, till by slow degrees of gathering calm it settled into its former rest. Then one of them drew aside the curtains of the bed, and the window-curtains not having yet been drawn. The king beheld the white, glimmering night outside, struggling with the heaps of darkness that tried to quench it, and the heavens full of stars flashing and sparkling like live jewels. The other shadow went towards the fire and vanished in it. Scores of shadows immediately began an insane dance all about the room, disappearing one after the other through the uncovered window, and gliding darkly away over the face of the white snow. For the window looked at once on a field of snow. In a few moments the room was quite cleared of them, but instead of being relieved by their absence the king felt immediately as if he were in a dead house and could hardly breathe for the sense of emptiness and desolation that fell upon him. But as he lay looking out on the snow, which stretched blank and wide before him, he spied in the distance a long dark line which drew nearer and nearer, and showed itself at last to be all the shadows walking in a double row and carrying in the midst of them something like a beer. They vanished under the window, but soon reappeared, having somehow climbed up the wall of the house, for they entered in perfect order by the window as if melting through the transparency of the glass. They still carried the beer or litter. It was covered with richest furs and skins of gorgeous wild beasts whose eyes were replaced by sapphires and emeralds that glittered and gleamed in the fire and snow-light. The outermost skins sparkled with frost, but the inside ones were soft and warm and dry as the down under a swan's wing. The shadows approached the bed and set the litter upon it. Then a number of them brought a huge fur robe, and, wrapping it round the king, laid him on the litter in the midst of the furs. Nothing could be more gentle and respectful than the way in which they moved him, and he never thought of refusing to go. Then they put something on his head, and, lifting the litter, carried him once round the room to fall into order. As he passed the mirror, he saw that he was covered with royal ermine, and that his head wore a wonderful crown of gold set with none but redstones, rubies and carbuncles and garnets, and others whose names he could not tell glowed gloriously around his head, like the salamandrin essence of all the Christmas fires over the world. A scepter lay beside him, a rod of ebony surmounted by a cone-shaped diamond, which, cut in a hundred facets, flashed all the hues of the rainbow and threw colored gleams on every side that looked like shadows, too, but more ethereal than those that bore him. Then the shadows rose gently to the window, passed through it, and, sinking slowly upon the field of outstretched snow, commenced an orderly gliding rather than march along the frozen surface. They took it by turns to bear the king as they sped with the swiftness of thought in a straight line towards the north. The pole-star rose above their heads with visible rapidity, for indeed they moved quite as fast as sad thoughts, though not with all the speed of happy desires. Skimmed and scotland slid past the litter of the king of the shadows. Over rivers and lakes they skimmed and glided. They climbed the high mountains and crossed the valleys with a fearless bound, till they came to John a Grotes house and the northern sea. The sea was not frozen, for all the stars shone as clear out of the deeps below as they shone out of the deeps above. And as the bearers slid along the blue-gray surface, with never a furrow in their track so pure was the water beneath, that the king saw neither surface, bottom, nor substance to it, and seemed to be gliding only through the blue sphere of heaven, with the stars above him and the stars below him, and between the stars and him nothing but an emptiness where, for the first time in his life, his soul felt that it had room enough. At length they reached the rocky shores of Iceland. There they landed, still pursuing their journey. All this time the king felt no cold, for the red stones in his crown kept him warm, and the emerald and sapphire eyes of the wild beasts kept the frosts from settling upon his litter. Oftentimes upon their way they had to pass through forests, caverns, and rock-shadowed paths where it was so dark that at first the king feared he should lose his shadows altogether. But as soon as they entered such places the diamond in his scepter began to shine and glow and flash, sending out streams of light of all the colors that the painter's soul could dream of. In which light the shadows grew livelier and stronger than ever, speeding through the dark ways with an all but blinding swiftness. In the light of the diamond, too, some of their forms became more simple and human, while others seemed only to break out into a yet more untameable absurdity. Once as they passed through a cave the king actually saw some of their eyes, strange shadow eyes. He had never seen any of their eyes before. But at the same moment when he saw their eyes he knew their faces, too, for they turned them full upon him for an instant, and the other shadows, catching sight of these, shrank and shivered and nearly vanished. Lovely faces they were, but the king was very thoughtful after he saw them, and continued rather troubled all the rest of the journey. She could not account for those faces being there, and the faces of shadows, too, with living eyes. But he soon found that amongst the shadows a man must learn never to be surprised at anything, for if he does not he will soon grow quite stupid in consequence of the endless recurrence of surprises. At last they climbed up the bed of a little stream, and then, passing through a narrow rocky defile, came out suddenly upon the side of a mountain overlooking a blue frozen lake in the very heart of mighty hills. Overhead the aurora borealis was shivering and flashing like a battle of ten thousand spears. Its beams passed faintly over the blue ice, and the sides of the snow-clad mountains, whose tops shot up like huge icicles all about, with here and there a star sparkling on the very tip of one. But as the northern lights in the sky above so wavered and quivered, and shot hither and thither, the shadows on the surface of the lake below, now gathering in groups, and now shivering asunder, now covering the whole surface of the lake and a non-condensed into one dark knot in the center. Every here and there on the white mountains might be seen two or three shooting away towards the tops to vanish beyond them, so that their number was gradually, though not visibly, diminishing. Please, your majesty, said the shadows, this is our church, the church of the shadows. And so saying, the king's bodyguard set down the litter upon a rock and plunged into the multitudes below. They soon returned, however, and bore the king down into the middle of the lake. All the shadows came crowding round him, respectfully but fearlessly, and sure never such a grotesque assembly revealed itself before to mortal eyes. The king had seen all kinds of gnomes, goblins, and cobalds at his coronation, but they were quite rectilinear figures compared with the insane lawlessness of form in which the shadows rejoiced, and the wildest gambles of the former were orderly dances of ceremony besides the apparently aimless and willful contortions of figure and metamorphoses of shape in which the latter indulged. They retained, however, all the time, to the surprise of the king, an identity each of his own type, inexplicably perceptible through every change. Indeed, this preservation of the primary idea of each form was more wonderful than the bewildering and ridiculous alterations to which the form itself was every moment subjected. "'What are you?' said the king, leaning on his elbow and looking around him. "'The shadows, Your Majesty,' answered several voices at once. "'What shadows?' "'The human shadows, the shadows of men and women and their children.' "'Are you not the shadows of chairs and tables and pokers and tongs just as well?' At this question a strange jarring commotion went through the assembly with a shock. Several of the figures shot up as high as the aurora, but instantly settled down again to human size, as if overmastering their feelings out of respect to him who had roused them. One who had bounded to the highest visible icy peak and, as suddenly returned, now elbowed his way through the rest and made himself spokesman for them during the remaining part of the dialogue. "'Excuse our agitation, Your Majesty,' said he. "'I see Your Majesty has not yet thought proper to make himself acquainted with our nature and habits.' "'I wish to do so now,' replied the king. "'We are the shadows,' repeated the shadow solemnly. "'Well?' said the king. "'We do not often appear to men.' "'Ha!' said the king. "'We do not belong to the sunshine at all. We go through it unseen, and only by a passing chill do men recognize an unknown presence,' said the king again. "'It is only in the twilight of the fire, or when one man or woman is alone with a single candle, or when any number of people are all feeling the same thing at once, making them one, that we show ourselves and the truth of things.' "'Can that be true that loves the night?' said the king. "'The darkness is the nurse of light,' answered the shadow. "'Can that be true which mocks it forms?' said the king. "'Truth rides abroad in shapeless storms,' answered the shadow. "'Ah!' thought Ralph Ringleman. "'It rhymes. The shadow caps my questions with his answers. Very strange.' And he grew thoughtful again. The shadow was the first to resume. "'Please, Your Majesty, may we present our petition?' "'By all means,' replied the king. "'I am not well enough to receive it in proper state.' "'Never mind, Your Majesty. We do not care for much ceremony, and indeed none of us are quite well at present. The subject of our petition weighs upon us.' "'Go on,' said the king. "'Sire,' began the shadow. "'Our very existence is in danger. The various sorts of artificial light, both in houses and in men, women and children, threaten to end our being. The use and disposition of gas lights especially high in the centres, blind the eyes by which alone we can be perceived. We are all but banished from towns. We are driven into villages and lonely houses, chiefly old farmhouses, out of which even our friends the fairies are fast disappearing. We therefore petition our king. By the power of his art to restore us to our rights in the house itself and in the hearts of its inhabitants. "'But,' said the king, you frighten the children. "'Very seldom, Your Majesty, and then only for their good. We seldom seek to frighten anybody. We mostly want to make people silent and thoughtful, to awe them a little, Your Majesty.' "'You are much more likely to make them laugh,' said the king. "'Are we?' said the shadow. And approaching the king one step, he stood quite still for a moment. The diamond of the king's scepter shot out a vivid flame of violet light, and the king stared at the shadow in silence, and his lip quivered. He never told what he saw then, but he would say, just fancy what it might be if some flitting thoughts were to persist in staying to be looked at. "'It is only,' resumed the shadow, when our thoughts are not fixed upon any particular object, that our bodies are subject to all the vagaries of elemental influences. Generally, amongst worldly men and frivolous women, we only attach ourselves to some article of furniture or of dress, and they never doubt that we are mere foolish and vague results of the dashing of the waves of the light against the solid forms of which their houses are full. We do not care to tell them the truth, for they would never see it. But let the worldly man, or the frivolous woman, and then.' At each of the pauses indicated the mass of shadows throbbed and heaved with emotion, but they soon settled again into comparative stillness. Once more the shadow addressed himself to speak, but suddenly they all looked up, and the king, following their gaze, saw that the aurora had begun to pale. "'The moon is rising,' said the shadow, as soon as she looks over the mountains into the valley. "'We must be gone, for we have plenty to do by the moon. We are powerful in her light. But if your majesty will come here to-morrow night, your majesty may learn a great deal more about us, and judge for himself whether it be fit to accord our petition. For then will be our grand annual assembly, in which we report to our chiefs the things we have attempted, and the good or bad success we have had. "'If you send for me,' returned the king, "'I will come.' Air the shadow could reply, the tip of the moon's crescent horn peeped up from behind an icy pinnacle, and one slender ray fell on the lake. It shone upon no shadows. Air the eye of the king could again seek the earth after beholding the first brightness of the moon's resurrection. They had vanished, and the surface of the lake glittered cold and blue in the pale moonlight. There the king lay, alone in the midst of the frozen lake, with the moon staring at him. But at length he heard from somewhere a voice that he knew. "'Will you take another cup of tea, dear?' said Mrs. Wrinkleman. And Ralph, coming slowly to himself, found that he was lying in his own bed. "'Yes, I will,' he answered, "'and rather a large piece of toast, if you please, for I have been a long journey since I saw you last.' "'He has not come to himself quite,' said Mrs. Wrinkleman, between her and herself. "'You would be rather surprised,' continued Ralph, "'if I told you where I had been.' "'I dare say I should,' responded his wife. "'Then I will tell you,' rejoined Ralph. But at that moment a great shadow bounced out of the fire with a single huge leap and covered the whole room. Then it settled in one corner, and Ralph saw it shaking its fist at him from the end of a preposterous arm. So he took the hint and held his piece. And it was as well for him. For I happened to know something about the shadows, too. And I know that if he had told his wife all about it just then, they would not have sent for him the following evening. But as the king, after finishing his tea and toast, lay and looked about him, the shadows dancing in his room seemed to him odder and more inexplicable than ever. The whole chamber was full of mystery. So it generally was, but now it was more mysterious than ever. After all that he had seen in the shadow-church, his own room and its shadows were yet more wonderful and unintelligible than those. This made it the more likely that he had seen a true vision, for instead of making common things look commonplace, as a false vision would have done, it had made common things disclose the wonderful that was in them. The same applies to all art as well, thought Ralph Ringelman. The next afternoon, as the twilight was growing dusky, the king lay, wondering whether or not the shadows would fetch him again. He wanted very much to go, for he had enjoyed the journey exceedingly, and he longed besides to hear some of the shadows tell their stories. But the darkness grew deeper and deeper, and the shadows did not come. The cause was that Mrs. Ringelman sat by the fire in the gloaming, and they could not carry off the king while she was there. Some of them tried to frighten her away by playing the oddest pranks on the walls, the floor, and ceiling. But all together without effect, the queen only smiled, for she had a good conscience. Suddenly however, a dreadful scream was heard from the nursery, and Mrs. Ringelman rushed upstairs to see what was the matter. No sooner had she gone than the two warders of the chimney-corners stepped out into the middle of the room, and said, in a low voice, �Is your majesty ready? �Have you no hearts,� said the king, �or are they as black as your faces? Did you not hear the child scream? I must know what is the matter with her before I go.� �Your majesty may keep his mind easy on that point,� replied the warders. We had tried everything we could think of to get rid of her majesty the queen, but without effect. So a young madcap shadow, half against the will of the older ones of us, slipped upstairs into the nursery, and has, no doubt, succeeded in appalling the baby, for he is very live and long-legged. Now your majesty. �I will have no such tricks played in my nursery,� said the king rather angrily, �You might put the child beside itself.� �Then there would be twins, your majesty, and we rather like twins.� �None of your miserable jesting, you might put the child out of her wits.� �Impossible, sire, for she has not got into them yet.� �Go away,� said the king, �forgive us your majesty, really, it will do the child good, for that shadow will all her life be to her a symbol of what is ugly and bad. When she feels in danger of hating or envying anyone, that shadow will come back to her mind and make her shudder. �You will,� said the king, �I like that, let us go.� The shadows went through the same ceremonies and preparations as before, during which the young shadow before mentioned contrived to make such grimaces as kept the baby in terror and the queen in the nursery, till all was ready. Then with a bound that doubled him up against the ceiling and a kick of his legs six feet out behind him, he vanished through the nursery door, and reached the king's bedchamber just in time to take his place with the last who were melting through the window in the rear of the litter and settling down upon the snow beneath. Today they went as before, a gliding blackness over the white carpet. And it was Christmas Eve. When they came in sight of the mountain lake, the king saw that it was crowded over its whole surface with a changeful intermingling of shadows. They were all talking and listening alternately, in pairs, treos, and groups of every size. Over and there large companies were absorbed in attention to one elevated above the rest, not in a pulpit or on a platform, but on the stilts of his own legs elongated for the nonce. The aurora right overhead lighted up the lake and the sides of the mountains by sending down from the zenith nearly to the surface of the lake great folded vapours, luminous with all the colours of a faint rainbow. Many however as the words were that passed on all sides, not a shadow of a sound reached the ears of the king, the shadow speech could not enter his corporeal organs. One of his guides, however, seeing that the king wanted to hear and could not, went through a strange manipulation of his head and ears, after which he could hear perfectly, though still only the voice to which for the time he directed his attention. This however was a great advantage and one which the king longed to carry back with him to the world of men. The king now discovered that this was not merely the church of the shadows, but their news exchanged at the same time, for as the shadows have no writing or printing, the only way in which they can make each other acquainted with their doings and thinkings is to meet and talk at this word-mart and parliament of shades. And as in the world people read their favourite authors and listen to their favourite speakers, so here the shadows seek their favourite shadows, listen to their adventures, and hear generally what they have to say. End of Section 1 of The Shadows by George MacDonald. Section 2 of The Shadows. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Read by Catherine Eastman. November, 2007. The Shadows by George MacDonald. Section 2. Feeling quite strong, the king rose and walked about amongst them, wrapped in his ermine robe, with his red crown on his head, and his diamond scepter in his hand. Every group of shadows to which he drew near ceased talking as soon as they saw him approach, but at a nod they went on again directly, conversing and relating and commenting, as if no one was there of other kind or of higher rank than themselves. So the king heard a good many stories. At some of them he laughed, and at some of them he cried. But if the stories that The Shadows told were printed, they would make a book that no publisher could produce fast enough to satisfy the buyers. I will record some of the things that the king heard, for he told them to me soon after. In fact, I was for some time his private secretary. I made him confess before a week was over, said a gloomy old shadow. But what was the good of that? rejoined a pert young one. That could not undo what was done. Yes, it could. What? Bring the dead back to life? No, but comfort the murderer. I could not bear to see the pitiable misery he was in. He was far happier with the rope around his neck than he was with the purse in his pocket. I saved him from killing himself, too. How did you make him confess? Only by wallowing on the wall a little. How could that make him tell? He knows. The shadow was silent, and the king turned to another who was preparing to speak. I made a fashionable mother repent. How? Broke from several voices in whose sound was mingled a touch of incredulity. Only by making a little coffin on the wall, was the reply. Did the fashionable mother confess, too? She had nothing more to confess than everybody knew. What did everybody know, then? That she might have been kissing a living child when she followed a dead one to the grave. The next will fare better. I put a stop to a wedding, said another. Horrid shade, remarked a poetic imp. How, said others, tell us how. Only by throwing a darkness as if from the branch of a sconce over the forehead of a fair girl. They are not married yet, and I do not think they will be. But I loved the youth who loved her. How he started, it was a revelation to him. But did it not deceive him? It the contrary. But it was only a shadow from the outside, not a shadow coming through from the soul of the girl. Yes, you may say so. But it was all that was wanted to make the meaning of her forehead manifest. Yes, of her whole face, which had, now and then, in the pauses of his passion perplexed the youth. All of it, curled nostrils, pouting lips, projecting chin, instantly fell into harmony with that darkness between her eyebrows. The youth understood it in a moment and went home miserable. And they're not married yet. I caught a toper alone over his magnum of port, said a very dark shadow, and didn't I give it him. I made delirium tremens first, and then I settled into a funeral, passing slowly along the length of the opposite wall. I gave him plenty of plumes and mourning coaches. And then I gave him a funeral service, but I could not manage to make the surplus white, which was all the better for such a sinner. The wretch stared till his face passed from purple to gray, and actually left his fifth glass only unfinished, and took refuge with his wife and children in the drawing-room, much to their surprise. I believe he actually drank a cup of tea, and although I have often looked in since, I have never caught him again, drinking alone at least. But does he drink less? Have you done him any good? I hope so, but I am sorry to say I can't feel sure about it. Humpf, humpf, humpf! grunted various shadow-throats. I had such fun once, cried another. I made such game of a young clergyman. You have no right to make game of anyone. Oh, yes I have, when it is for his good. He used to study his sermons. Where do you think? In his study, of course. Where else should it be? Yes and no. Guess again. Out among the faces in the streets? Guess again. In still green places in the country? Guess again. In old books? Guess again. No, no, tell us. In the looking-glass. He was fair game, fair shadow game. I thought so, and I made such fun of him one night on the wall. He had sense enough to see that it was himself and very like an ape. So he got ashamed, turned the mirror with its face to the wall, and thought a little more about his people, and a little less about himself. I was very glad, for please, Your Majesty. And here the speaker turned towards the king. We don't like the creatures that live in the mirrors. You call them ghosts, don't you? Before the king could reply, another had commenced. But the story about the clergyman had made the king wish to hear one of the shadow sermons. So he turned him towards a long shadow who was preaching to a very quiet and listening crowd. He was just concluding his sermon. Therefore, dear shadows, it is the more needful that we love one another as much as we can, because that is not much. We have no such excuse for not loving as mortals have, for we do not die like them. I suppose it is the thought of that death that makes them hate so much. Then again we go to sleep all day, most of us, and not in the night as men do. And you know that we forget everything that happened the night before. Therefore we ought to love well, for the love is short. Ah, dear shadow, whom I love now with all my shadowy soul, I shall not love thee tomorrow eve, I shall not know thee. I shall pass thee in the crowd, and never dream that the shadow whom I now love is near me then. Happy shades, for we only remember our tales until we have told them here, and then they vanish in the shadow churchyard, where we bury only our dead selves. Ah, brethren, who would be a man and remember? Who would be a man and weep? We ought indeed to love one another, for we alone inherit oblivion, we alone are renewed with eternal birth, we alone have no gathered weight of ears. I will tell you the awful fate of one shadow who rebelled against his nature, and sought to remember the past. He said, I will remember this eve. He fought with the genial influences of kindly sleep when the sun rose on the awful dead day of light, and although he could not keep quite awake, he dreamed of the foregone eve, and he never forgot his dream. Then he tried again the next night, and the next, and the next, and he tempted another shadow to try it with him. But at last their awful fate overtook them, for instead of continuing to be shadows, they began to cast shadows, as foolish men say, and so they thickened and thickened till they vanished out of our world. They are now condemned to walk the earth a man and a woman with death behind them, and memories within them. Ah, brother shades, let us love one another, for we shall soon forget. We are not men, but shadows. The king turned away, and pitied the poor shadows far more than they pitied men. Oh, how we played with a musician one night! exclaimed a shadow in another group, to which the king had first directed a passing thought, and then had stopped to listen. Up and down we went, like the hammers and dampers on his piano, but he took his revenge on us. For after he had watched us for half an hour in the twilight, he rose and went to his instrument and played a shadow dance that fixed us all in sound forever. Each could tell the very notes meant for him, and as long as he played we could not stop, but went on dancing and dancing after the music, just as the magician, I mean the musician, pleased. And he punished us well, for he nearly danced us all off our legs and out of shape into tired heaps of collapsed and palpitating darkness. We won't go near him for some time again, if we can only remember it. He had been very miserable all day, he was so poor, and we could not think of any way of comforting him, except making him laugh. We did not succeed with our wildest efforts, but it turned out better than we had expected, after all. For his shadow dance got him into notice, and he is quite popular now, making money fast. If he does not take care, we shall have other work to do with him by and by, poor fellow. I and some others did the same for a poor playwriter once. He had a Christmas piece to write, and not being an original genius, it was not so easy for him to find a subject, as it is for most of his class. I saw the trouble he was in, and collecting a few stray shadows, we acted, in dumb show, of course, the funniest bit of nonsense we could think of, and it was quite successful. The poor fellow watched every motion, roaring with laughter at us, and delight at the ideas we put into his head. He turned it all into words and scenes and actions, and the piece came off with a splendid success. But how long we have to look for a chance of doing anything worth doing? said a long, thin, especially legubrious shadow. I have only done one thing worth telling ever since we met last, but I am proud of that. What was it? What was it? rose from twenty voices. I crept into a dining room one twilight, soon after Christmas day. I had been drawn thither by the glow of a bright fire shining through red window curtains. At first I thought there was no one there, and was on the point of leaving the room, and going out again into the snowy street, when I suddenly caught the sparkle of eyes. I found that they belonged to a little boy, who lay very still on a sofa. I crept into a dark corner by the sideboard, and watched him. He seemed very sad, and did nothing but stare into the fire. At last he sighed out, I wish mama would come home. Poor boy, thought I, there is no help for that, but mama. Yet I would try to wile away the time for him. So, out of my corner I stretched a long shadow arm, reaching all across the ceiling, and pretended to make a grab at him. He was rather frightened at first, but he was a brave boy, and soon saw that it was all a joke. So when I did it again, he made a clutch at me, and then we had such fun. For though he often sighed, and wished mama would come home, he always began again with me, and on we went with the wildest game. At last his mother's knock came to the door, and starting up in delight, he rushed into the hall to meet her, and forgot all about poor black me. But I did not mind that in the least, for when I glided out after him into the hall, I was well repaid for my trouble by hearing his mother say to him, Why, Charlie, my dear, you look ever so much better since I left you. At that moment I slipped through the closing door, and as I ran across the snow, I heard the mother say, What shadow can that be passing so quickly? And Charlie answered with a merry laugh, Oh, mama, I suppose it must be the funny shadow that has been playing such games with me all the time you were out. As soon as the door was shut, I crept along the wall and looked in at the dining room window, and I heard his mama say as she led him into the room, What an imagination the boy has! Ha ha ha! Then she looked at him, and the tears came in her eyes, and she stooped down over him, and I heard the sounds of a mingling kiss, and sob, I always look for nurseries full of children, said another, and this winter I have been very fortunate. I am sure children belong especially to us. One evening, looking about in a great city, I saw through the window into a large nursery, where the odious gas had not yet been lighted. Round the fire sat a company of the most delightful children I had ever seen. They were waiting patiently for their tea. It was too good an opportunity to be lost. I hurried away, and gathering together twenty of the best shadows I could find, returned in a few moments, and entering the nursery, we danced on the walls one of our best dances. To be sure, it was mostly extemporized, but I managed to keep it in harmony by singing this song which I made as we went on. Of course the children could not hear it. They only saw the motions that answered to it, but with them they seemed to be very much delighted indeed, as I shall presently prove to you. This was the song. Swing, swang, swingle, swath, flicker, flacker, fling, fluff. Thus we go to and fro, here and there, everywhere, born and bred, never dead, only gone. Un, come on, looming, glooming, spreading, fuming, shattering, scattering, parting, darting, settling, starting. All our life is a strife, and a wearying for rest, on the darkness friendly breast. Joining, splitting, rising, sitting, laughing, shaking, sides all aching, grumbling, grim, and gruff, swingle, swangle, swath. Now a knot of darkness, now dissolved, gloom. Now a pall of blackness, hiding all the room, flicker, flacker, fluff, black, and black enough. Dancing now like demons, lying like the dead, gladly would we stop it and go down to bed, but our work we still must do, shadow men as well as you. Rooting, rising, shooting, heaving, sinking, creeping, hidden corners crooning, splitting, poking, leaping, gathering, towering, swooning, when we're lurking, yet we're working, for our labor we must do, shadow men as well as you. Flicker, flacker, flink, fluff, swing, swang, swingle, swath. How thick the shadows are, said one of the children, a thoughtful little girl. I wonder where they come from, said a dreamy little boy. I think they grow out of the wall, answered the little girl, for I have been watching them come, first one, and then another, and then a whole lot of them. I am sure they grow out of the walls. Perhaps they have papa's and mama's, said an older boy, with a smile. Yes, yes, and the doctor brings them in his pocket, said another, a consequential little maiden. No, I'll tell you, said the older boy, they're ghosts. But ghosts are white. Oh, but these have got black coming down the chimney. No, said a curious-looking, white-faced boy of fourteen, who had been reading by the firelight, and had stopped to hear the little one's talk. They're body ghosts, they're not soul ghosts. A silence followed, broken by the first, the dreamy-eyed boy who said, I hope they didn't make me, at which they all burst out laughing. Just then, the nurse brought in their tea, and when she proceeded to light the gas, we vanished. I stopped a murder, cried another. How, how, how, I will tell you, I had been lurking about a sick room for some time, where a miser lay, apparently dying. I did not like the place at all, but I felt as if I should be wanted there. There were plenty of lurking places about, for the room was full of all sorts of old furniture, especially cabinets, chests, and presses. I believe he had in that room every bit of the property he had spent a long life in gathering. I found that he had gold and gold in those places. For one night, when his nurse was away, he crept out of bed, mumbling and shaking, and managed to open one of the chests, though he nearly fell down with the effort. I was peeping over his shoulder, and such a gleam of gold fell upon me, that it nearly killed me. But hearing his nurse coming, he slammed the lid down, and I recovered. I tried very hard, but I could not do him any good. For although I made all sorts of shapes on the walls and ceilings, representing evil deeds that he had done, of which there were plenty to choose from, I could make no shapes on his brain or conscience. He had no eyes for anything but gold. And it so happened that his nurse had neither eyes nor heart for anything else, either. One day, as she was seated beside his bed, but where he could not see her, stirring some gruel in a basin to cool it for him, I saw her take a little file from her bosom, and I knew by the expression of her face both what it was and what she was going to do with it. Fortunately, the cork was a little hard to get out, and this gave me one moment to think. The room was so crowded with all sorts of things, that although there were no curtains on the forepost bed to hide from the miser the sight of his precious treasures, there was yet but one small part of the ceiling suitable for casting myself upon in the shape I wished to assume, and this spot was hard to reach. But having discovered that upon this very place lay a dull gleam of fire-light thrown from a strange old dusty mirror that stood away in some corner, I got in front of the fire, spied where the mirror was, threw myself upon it, and bounded from its face upon the oval pool of dim light on the ceiling, assuming as I passed the shape of an old stooping hag who poured something from a file into a basin, I made the handle of the spoon with my own nose, and the shadow hand caressed the shadow tip of the shadow nose before the shadow tongue resumed. The old miser saw me. He would not taste the gruel that night, although his nurse coaxed and scolded till they were both weary. She pretended to taste it herself and to think it very good, but at last retired into a corner, and after making as if she were eating it took good care to pour it all out into the ashes. But she must either succeed or starve him at last, interposed a shadow. I will tell you. And, interposed a third, he was not worth saving. He might repent, suggested a third, who was more benevolent. No chance of that, returned the former, miser's never do. The love of money has less in it to cure itself than any other wickedness into which wretched men can fall. What a mercy it is to be born a shadow. Wickedness does not stick to us. What do we care for gold, rubbish? Amen, amen, amen. Came from a hundred shadow voices. You should have let her murder him, and so you would have been quit of him. And besides, how was he to escape at last? He could never get rid of her, you know? I was going to tell you, resumed the narrator. Only you had so many shadow remarks to make that you would not let me. Go on, go on. There was a little grandchild who used to come and see him sometimes, the only creature the miser cared for. Her mother was his daughter, but the old man would never see her, because she had married against his will. Her husband was now dead, but he had not forgiven her yet. After the shadow he had seen, however, he said to himself, as he lay awake that night, I saw the words on his face. How shall I get rid of that old devil? If I don't eat, I shall die, and if I do eat, I shall be poisoned. I wish little Mary would come. Her mother would never have served me so. He lay awake, thinking such things over and over again all night long, and I stood watching him from a dark corner till the day spring came and shook me out. When I came back next night the room was tidy and clean. His own daughter, a sad-faced but beautiful woman, sat by his bedside, and little Mary was curled up on the floor by the fire, imitating us by making queer shadows on the ceiling with her twisted hands. But she could not think however they got there. And no wonder, for I helped her to some very unaccountable ones. I have a story about a granddaughter, too, said another the moment that speaker ceased. Tell it, tell it! Last Christmas day, he began, I and a troop of us set out in the twilight to find some house where we could all have something to do, for we had made up our minds to act together. We tried several, but found objections to them all. At last we aspired a large, lonely country house, and hastening to it, we found great preparations making for the Christmas dinner. We rushed into it, scampered all over it, and made up our minds in a moment that it would do. We amused ourselves in the nursery first, where there were several children being dressed for dinner. We generally do go to the nursery first, Your Majesty. This time we were especially charmed with a little girl about five years old who clapped her hands and danced about with delight at the antics we performed, and we said we would do something for her if we had a chance. The company began to arrive, and at every arrival we rushed to the hall and cut wonderful capers of welcome. Between times we scutted away to see how the dressing went on. One girl about eighteen was delightful. She dressed herself as if she did not care much about it, but could not help doing it prettily. When she took her last look at the phantom in the glass, she half smiled to it, but we do not like those creatures that come into the mirrors at all, Your Majesty. We don't understand them. They are dreadful to us. She looked rather sad and pale, but very sweet and hopeful. So we wanted to know all about her, and soon found out that she was a distant relation and a great favorite of the gentleman of the house, an old man, in whose face benevolence was mingled with obstinacy and a deep shade of the tyrannical. We could not admire him much, but we would not make up our minds all at once. Shadows never do. The dinner bell rang, and down we hurried. The children all looked happy, and we were merry. But there was one cross fellow among the servants, and didn't we plague him, and didn't we get fun out of him? When he was bringing up dishes, we lay and wait for him at every corner, and sprang upon him from the floor, and from over the banisters, and down from the cornices. He started and stumbled, and blundered so in consequence that his fellow servants thought he was tipsy. Once he dropped a plate, and had to pick up the pieces and hurry away with them, and didn't we pursue him as he went? It was lucky for him his master did not see how he went on, but we took care not to let him get into any real scrape, though he was quite dazed with the dodging of the unaccountable shadows. Sometimes he thought the walls were coming down upon him, sometimes that the floor was gaping to swallow him, sometimes that he would be knocked to pieces by the hurrying to and fro, or be smothered in the black crowd. When the blazing plum pudding was carried in, we made a perfect shadow carnival about it, dancing and mumming in the blue flames like mad demons, and how the children screamed with delight. The old gentleman who was very fond of children was laughing his heartiest laugh when a loud knock came to the hall door. The fair maiden started, turned paler, and then read as the Christmas fire. I saw it, and flung my hands across her face. She was very glad, and I know she said in her heart, you kind shadow, which paid me well. Then I followed the rest into the hall, and found there a jolly, handsome, brown-faced sailor, evidently a son of the house. The old man received him with tears in his eyes, and the children with shouts of joy. The maiden escaped in the confusion, just in time to save herself from fainting. We crowded about the lamp to hide her retreat, and nearly put it out, and the butler could not get it to burn up before she had glided into her place again, relieved to find the room so dark. The sailor only had seen her go, and now he sat down beside her, and without a word got hold of her hand in the gloom. When we all scattered to the walls and the corners, and the lamp blazed up again, he let her hand go. During the rest of the dinner the old man watched the two, and saw that there was something between them, and was very angry. For he was an important man in his own estimation, and they had never consulted him. The fact was, they had never known their own minds till the sailor had gone upon his last voyage, and had learned each other's only this moment. We found out all this by watching them, and then talking together about it afterwards. The old gentleman saw too that his favorite, who was under such obligation to him for loving her so much, loved his son better than him, and he grew by degrees so jealous that he overshadowed the whole table with his morose looks and short answers. That kind of shadowing is very different from ours, and the Christmas dessert grew so gloomy that we shadows could not bear it, and were delighted when the ladies rose to go to the drawing room. The gentleman would not stay behind the ladies, even for the sake of the well-known wine. So the moody host, notwithstanding his hospitality, was left alone at the table in the great silent room. We followed the company upstairs to the drawing room, and thence to the nursery for Snapdragon. But while they were busy with this most shadowy of games, nearly all the shadows crept downstairs again to the dining room, where the old man still sat, knowing the bone of his own selfishness. They crowded into the room, and by using every kind of expansion, blowing themselves out like soap bubbles, they succeeded in heaping up the whole room with shade upon shade. They clustered thickest about the fire and the lamp, till at last they almost drowned them in hills of darkness. Before they had accomplished so much, the children, tired with fun and frolic, had been put to bed. But the little girl of five years old, with whom we had been so pleased when first we arrived, could not go to sleep. She had a little room of her own, and I had watched her to bed, and now kept her awake by gambling in the rays of the nightlight. When her eyes were once fixed upon me, I took the shape of her grandfather, representing him on the wall as he sat in his chair, with his head bent down and his arms hanging listlessly by his sides. And the child remembered that that was just as she had seen him last, for she had happened to peep in at the dining room door after all the rest had gone upstairs. What if he should be sitting there still, thought she all alone in the dark. She scrambled out of bed and crept down. Meantime, the others had made the room below so dark that only the face and white hair of the old man could be dimly discerned in the shadowy crowd. For he had filled his own mind with shadows, which we shadows wanted to draw out of him. Those shadows are very different from us, Your Majesty knows. He was thinking of all the disappointments he had had in life, and of all the ingratitude he had met with. And he thought far more of the good he had done than the good others had got. After all I have done for them, said he with a sigh of bitterness, not one of them cares a straw for me. My own children will be glad when I am gone. At that instant he lifted up his eyes and saw standing close by the door a tiny figure in a long nightgown. The door behind her was shut. It was my little friend who had crept in noiselessly. A pang of icy fear shot to the old man's heart, but it melted away as fast, for we made a lane through us for a single ray from the fire to fall on the face of the little sprite. And he thought it was a child of his own that had died when just the age of her child niece, who now stood looking for her grandfather among the shadows. He thought she had come out of her grave in the cold darkness to ask why her father was sitting alone on Christmas Day. And he felt he had no answer to give his little ghost, but one he would be ashamed for her to hear. But his grandchild saw him now, and walked up to him with a childish statelyness, stumbling once or twice on what seemed her long shroud. Pushing up through the crowded shadows, she reached him, climbed upon his knee, laid her little long-haired head on his shoulders, and said, Ganpa, you goomy? Isn't it your kissy day to Ganpa? A new fount of love seemed to burst from the clay of the old man's heart. He clasped the child to his bosom and wept. Then without a word, he rose with her in his arms, carried her up to her room, and laying her down in her bed, covered her up, kissed her sweet little mouth unconscious of reproof, and then went to the drawing-room. As soon as he entered, he saw the culprits in a quiet corner alone. He went up to them, took a hand of each, and joining them in both his, said, God bless you. Then he turned to the rest of the company, and now, said he, let's have a Christmas Carol. And well, he might, for though I have paid many visits to the house, I have never seen him cross since, and I am sure that must cost him a good deal of trouble. We have just come from a great palace, said another, where we knew there were many children, and where we thought to hear glad voices, and see royally merry looks. But as soon as we entered, we became aware that one mighty shadow shrouded the whole, and that shadow deepened and deepened, till it gathered in darkness about the reposing form of a wise prince. When we saw him, we could move no more, but clung heavily to the walls, and by our stillness added to the sorrow of the hour. And when we saw the mother of her people weeping with bowed head, for the loss of him in whom she had trusted, we were seized with such a longing to be shadows no more, but winged angels, which are the white shadows cast in heaven from the light of light, so as to gather around her, and hover over her with comforting, that we vanished from the walls, and found ourselves floating high above the towers of the palace, where we met the angels on their way, and knew that our service was not needed. By this time there was a glimmer of approaching moonlight, and the king began to see several of those stranger shadows, with human faces and eyes moving about amongst the crowd. He knew at once that they did not belong to his dominion. They looked at him, and came near him, and passed slowly, but they never made any obeisance, or gave sign of homage. And what their eyes said to him the king only could tell, and he did not tell. What are those other shadows that move through the crowd? said he to one of his subjects near him. The shadow started, looked round, shivered slightly, and laid his finger on his lips, then leading the king a little aside, and looking carefully about him once more. I do not know, said he in a low tone. What they are. I have heard of them often, but only once did I ever see any of them before. That was when some of us one night paid a visit to a man who sat much alone, and was said to think a great deal. We saw two of those sitting in the room with him, and he was as pale as they were. We could not cross the threshold, but shivered and shook, and felt ready to melt away. Is not your majesty afraid of them too? But the king made no answer, and before he could speak again the moon had climbed above the mighty pillars of the church of the shadows, and looked in at the great window of the sky. The shapes had all vanished, and the king, again lifting up his eyes, saw but the walls of his own chamber, on which flickered the shadow of a little child. He looked down, and there, sitting on a stool by the fire, he saw one of his own little ones, waiting to say good night to his father, and go to bed early, that he might rise early too, and be very good and happy all Christmas day. And Ralph Ringelman rejoiced that he was a man, and not a shadow. But as the shadows vanished, they left the sense of song in the king's brain, and the words of their song must have been something like these. Shadows, shadows, shadows all, shadow, birth and funeral. Shadow moons gleam overhead, over shadow graves we tread. Shadow hope lives, grows and dies, shadow love from shadow eyes. Shadow word entices on to shadow words on shadow stone, closing up the shadow tale with a shadow, shadow will. Shadow man, thou art a gloom, cast upon a shadow tomb, through the endless shadow air, from the shadow sitting there. On a moveless shadow throne, gloom which is gone, north and south, in and out, east and west, and all about, flinging shadow. But Ralph Ringelman said to himself, They are but shadows that sing thus, for a shadow can see but shadows. A man sees a man, where a shadow sees only a shadow. And he was comforted in himself. End of The Shadows by George McDonald.