Twilight Land (24 page)

Now there was a very, very rich man in that town, whose daughter lay sick to death; and when the news of this great doctor was brought to his ears, he was for having him try his hand at curing the girl.

“Very well,” said Simon Agricola, “I will do that, but you must pay me two thousand golden angels.”

“Two thousand golden angels!” said the rich man; “that is a great deal of money, but you shall have it if only you will cure my daughter.”

Simon Agricola drew a little vial from his bosom. From it he poured just six drops of yellow liquor upon the girl’s tongue. Then—lo and behold! Up she sat in bed as well and strong as ever, and asked for a boiled chicken and a dumpling, by way of something to eat.

“Bless you! Bless you!” said the rich man.

“Yes, yes; blessings are very good, but I would like to have my two thousand golden angels,” said Simon Agricola.

“Two thousand golden angels! I said nothing about two thousand golden angels,” said the rich man; “two thousand
fiddlesticks!” said he. “Pooh! Pooh! You must have been dreaming! See, here are two hundred silver pennies, and that is enough and more than enough for six drops of medicine.”

“I want my two thousand golden angels,” said Simon Agricola.

“You will get nothing but two hundred pennies,” said the rich man.

“I won’t touch one of them,” said Simon Agricola, and off he marched in a huff.

But Babo had kept his eyes open. Simon Agricola had laid down the vial upon the table, and while they were saying this and that back and forth, thinking of nothing else, Babo quietly slipped it into his own pocket, without any one but himself being the wiser.

Down the stairs stumped the doctor with Babo at his heels. There stood the cook waiting for them.

“Look,” said he, “my wife is sick in there; won’t you cure her, too?”

“Pooh!” said Simon Agricola; and out he went, banging the door behind him.

“Look, friend,” said Babo to the cook; “here I have some of the same medicine. Give me the two hundred pennies that the master would not take, and I’ll cure her for you as sound as a bottle.”

“Very well,” said the cook, and he counted out the two hundred pennies, and Babo slipped them into his pocket. He bade the woman open her mouth, and when she had done so he poured all the stuff down her throat at once.

“Ugh!” said she, and therewith rolled up her eyes, and lay as stiff and dumb as a herring in a box.

When the cook saw what Babo had done, he snatched up the rolling-pin and made at him to pound his head to a jelly. But Babo did not wait for his coming; he jumped out of the window, and away he scampered with the cook at his heels.

Well, the upshot of the business was that Simon Agricola had to go back and bring life to the woman again, or the cook would thump him and Babo both with the rolling-pin. And, what was more, Babo had to pay back the two hundred pennies that the cook had given him for curing his wife.

The wise man made a cross upon the woman’s forehead, and up she sat, as well—but no better—as before.

“And now be off,” said the cook, “or I will call the servants and give you both a drubbing for a pair of scamps.”

Simon Agricola said never a word until they had gotten out of the town. There his anger boiled over, like water into the fire. “Look,” said he to Babo: “‘Born a fool, live a fool, die a fool.’ I want no more of you. Here are two roads; you take one, and I will take the other.”

“What!” said Babo, “am I to travel the rest of the way alone? And then, besides, how about the fortune you promised me?”

“Never mind that,” said Simon Agricola; “I have not made my own fortune yet.”

“Well, at least pay me something for my wages,” said Babo.

“How shall I pay you?” said Simon Agricola. “I have not a single groat in the world.”

“What!” said Babo, “have you nothing to give me?”

“I can give you a piece of advice.”

“Well,” said Babo, “that is better than nothing, so let me have it.”

“Here it is,” said Simon Agricola: “‘Think well! Think well—before you do what you are about to do, think well!’”

“Thank you!” said Babo; and then the one went one way, and the other the other.

   
(You may go with the wise man if you choose, but I shall jog along with the simpleton.)

   After Babo had traveled for a while, he knew not whither, night caught him, and he lay down under a hedge to sleep. There he lay, and snored away like a saw-mill, for he was wearied with his long journeying.

Now it chanced that that same night two thieves had broken into a miser’s house, and had stolen an iron pot full of gold money. Day broke before they reached home, so down they sat to consider the matter; and the place where they seated themselves was on the other side of the hedge where Babo lay. The older thief was for carrying the money home under his coat; the younger was for burying it until night had come again. They squabbled and bickered and argued till the noise they made wakened Babo, and he sat up. The first thing he thought of was the advice that the doctor had given him the evening before.

“‘Think well!’” he bawled out; “‘Think well! Before you do what you are about to do, think well!’”

When the two thieves heard Babo’s piece of advice, they thought that the judge’s officers were after them for sure and certain. Down they dropped the pot of money, and away they scampered as fast as their legs could carry them.

Babo heard them running, and poked his head through the hedge, and there lay the pot of gold. “Look now,” said he: “this has come from the advice that was given me; no one ever gave me advice that was worth so much before.” So he picked up the pot of gold, and off he marched with it.

He had not gone far before he met two of the king’s officers, and you may guess how they opened their eyes when they
saw him traveling along the highway with a pot full of gold money.

“Where are you going with that money?” said they.

“I don’t know,” said Babo.

“How did you get it?” said they.

“I got it for a piece of advice,” said Babo.

For a piece of advice! No, no—the king’s officers knew butter from lard, and truth from t’other thing. It was just the same in that country as it is in our town—there was nothing in the world so cheap as advice. Whoever heard of anybody giving a pot of gold and silver money for it? Without another word they marched Babo and his pot of money off to the king.

“Come,” said the king, “tell me truly; where did you get the pot of money?”

Poor Babo began to whimper. “I got it for a piece of advice,” said he.

“Really and truly?” said the king.

“Yes,” said Babo; “really and truly.”

“Humph!” said the king. “I should like to have advice that is worth as much as that. Now, how much will you sell your advice to me for?”

“How much will you give?” said Babo.

“Well,” said the king, “let me have it for a day on trial, and at the end of that time I will pay you what it is worth.”

“Very well,” said Babo, “that is a bargain;” and so he lent the king his piece of advice for one day on trial.

Now the chief councilor and some others had laid a plot against the king’s life, and that morning it had been settled that when the barber shaved him he was to cut his throat with a razor. So after the barber had lathered his face he began to whet the razor, and to whet the razor.

Just at that moment the king remembered Babo’s piece of advice. “‘Think well!’” said he; “‘think well! Before you do what you are about to do, think well!’”

When the barber heard the words that the king said, he thought that all had been discovered. Down he fell upon his knees, and confessed everything.

That is how Babo’s advice saved the king’s life—you can guess whether the king thought it was worth much or little. When Babo came the next morning the king gave him ten chests full of money, and that made the simpleton richer than anybody in all that land.

He built himself a fine house, and by-and-by married the daughter of the new councilor that came after the other one’s head had been chopped off for conspiring against the king’s life. Besides that, he came and went about the king’s castle as he pleased, and the king made much of him. Everybody bowed
to him, and all were glad to stop and chat awhile with him when they met him in the street.

One morning Babo looked out of the window, and who should he see come traveling along the road but Simon Agricola himself, and he was just as poor and dusty and travel-stained as ever.

“Come in, come in!” said Babo; and you can guess how the wise man stared when he saw the simpleton living in such a fine way. But he opened his eyes wider than ever when he heard that all these good things came from the piece of advice he had given Babo that day they had parted at the cross roads.

“Aye, aye!” said he, “the luck is with you for sure and certain. But if you will pay me a thousand golden angels, I will give you something better than a piece of advice. I will teach you all the magic that is to be learned from the books.”

“No,” said Babo, “I am satisfied with the advice.”

“Very well,” said Simon Agricola, “‘Born a fool, live a fool, die a fool’;” and off he went in a huff.

   That is all of this tale except the tip end of it, and that I will give you now.

I have heard tell that one day the king dropped in the street the piece of advice that he had bought from Babo, and
that before he found it again it had been trampled into the mud and dirt. I cannot say for certain that this is the truth, but it must have been spoiled in some way or other, for I have never heard of anybody in these days who would give even so much as a bad penny for it; and yet it is worth just as much now as it was when Babo sold it to the king.

Once upon a long, long time ago, and in a country far, far away, there lived two men in the same town and both were named Selim; one was Selim the Baker and one was Selim the Fisherman.