The Fruit of Happiness

Twilight Land

by Howard Pyle

Once upon a time there was a servant who served a wise man, and
cooked for him his cabbage and his onions and his pot-herbs and his
broth, day after day, time in and time out, for seven years.

In those years the servant was well enough contented, but no one
likes to abide in the same place forever, and so one day he took it
into his head that he would like to go out into the world to see what
kind of a fortune a man might make there for himself. "Very well,"
says the wise man, the servant's master; "you have served me
faithfully these seven years gone, and now that you ask leave to go
you shall go. But it is little or nothing in the way of money that I
can give you, and so you will have to be content with what I can
afford. See, here is a little pebble, and its like is not to be found
in the seven kingdoms, for whoever holds it in his mouth can hear
while he does so all that the birds and the beasts say to one
another. Take it--it is yours, and, if you use it wisely, it may
bring you a fortune.

The servant would rather have had the money in hand than the
magic pebble, but, as nothing better was to be had, he took the
little stone, and, bidding his master good-bye, trudged out into the
world, to seek his fortune. Well, he jogged on and on, paying his way
with the few pennies he had saved in his seven years of service, but
for all of his travelling nothing of good happened to him until, one
morning, he came to a lonely place where there stood a gallows, and
there he sat him down to rest, and it is just in such an unlikely
place as this that a man's best chance of fortune comes to him
sometimes.

As the servant sat there, there came two ravens flying, and lit
upon the cross-beam overhead. There they began talking to one
another, and the servant popped the pebble into his mouth to hear
what they might say.

"Yonder is a traveller in the world," said the first raven.

"Yes," said the second, "and if he only knew how to set about
it, his fortune is as good as made."

"How is that so?" said the first raven.

"Why, thus," said the second. "If he only knew enough to follow
yonder road over the hill, he would come by-and-by to a stone cross
where two roads meet, and there he would find a man sitting. If he
would ask it of him, that man would lead him to the garden where the
fruit of happiness grows."

"The fruit of happiness!" said the first raven, "and of what use
would the fruit of happiness be to him?"

"What use? I tell you, friend, there is no fruit in the world
like that, for one has only to hold it in one's hand and wish, and
whatever one asks for one shall have."

You may guess that when the servant understood the talk of the
ravens he was not slow in making use of what he heard. Up he
scrambled, and away he went as fast as his legs could carry him. On
and on he travelled, until he came to the cross-roads and the stone
cross of which the raven spoke, and there, sure enough, sat the
traveller. He was clad in a weather-stained coat, and he wore dusty
boots, and the servant bade him good-morning.

How should the servant know that it was an angel whom he beheld,
and not a common wayfarer?

"Whither away, comrade," asked the traveller.

"Out in the world," said the servant, "to seek my fortune. And
what I want to know is this--will you guide me to where I can find
the fruit of happiness?"

"You ask a great thing of me," said the other; "nevertheless,
since you do ask it, it is not for me to refuse, though I may tell
you that many a man has sought for that fruit, and few indeed have
found it. But if I guide you to the garden where the fruit grows,
there is one condition you must fulfil: many strange things will
happen upon our journey between here and there, but concerning all
you see you must ask not a question and say not a word. Do you agree
to that?"

"Yes," said the servant, "I do."

"Very well, said his new comrade; "then let us be jogging, for I
have business in the town to-night, and the time is none too long to
get there."

So all the rest of that day they journeyed onward together,
until, towards evening, they came to a town with high towers and
steep roofs and tall spires. The servant's companion entered the gate
as though he knew the place right well, and led the way up one street
and down another, until, by-and-by, they came to a noble house that
stood a little apart by itself, with gardens of flowers and
fruit-trees all around it. There the travelling companion stopped,
and, drawing out a little pipe from under his jacket, began playing
so sweetly upon it that he made one's heart stand still to listen to
the music.

Well, he played and played until, by-and-by, the door opened,
and out came a serving-man. "Ho, piper!" said he, "would you like to
earn good wages for your playing?"

"Yes," said the travelling companion, "I would, for that is why
I came hither."

"Then follow me," said the servant, and thereupon the travelling
companion tucked away his pipe and entered, with the other at his
heels.

The house-servant led the way from one room to another, each
grander than the one they left behind, until at last he came to a
great hall where dozens of servants were serving a fine feast. But
only one man sat at table--a young man with a face so sorrowful that
it made a body's heart ache to look upon him. "Can you play good
music, piper?" said he.

"Yes," said the piper, "that I can, for I know a tune that can
cure sorrow. But before I blow my pipe I and my friend here must have
something to eat and drink, for one cannot play well with an empty
stomach."

"So be it," said the young man; "sit down with me and eat and
drink."

So the two did without second bidding, and such food and drink
the serving-man had never tasted in his life before. And while they
were feasting together the young man told them his story, and why it
was he was so sad. A year before he had married a young lady, the
most beautiful in all that kingdom, and had friends and comrades and
all things that a man could desire in the world. But suddenly
everything went wrong; his wife and he fell out and quarrelled until
there was no living together, and she had to go back to her old home.
Then his companions deserted him, and now he lived all alone.

"Yours is a hard case," said the travelling companion, "but it
is not past curing." Thereupon he drew out his pipes and began to
play, and it was such a tune as no man ever listened to before. He
played and he played, and, after a while, one after another of those
who listened to him began to get drowsy. First they winked, then they
shut their eyes, and then they nodded until all were as dumb as logs,
and as sound asleep as though they would never waken again. Only the
servant and the piper stayed awake, for the music did not make them
drowsy as it did the rest. Then, when all but they two were tight and
fast asleep, the travelling companion arose, tucked away his pipe,
and, stepping up to the young man, took from off his finger a
splendid ruby ring, as red as blood and as bright as fire, and popped
the same into his pocket. And all the while the serving-man stood
gaping like a fish to see what his comrade was about. "Come," said
the travelling companion, "it is time we were going," and off they
went, shutting the door behind them.

As for the serving-man, though he remembered his promise and
said nothing concerning what he had beheld, his wits buzzed in his
head like a hive of bees, for he thought that of all the ugly tricks
he had seen, none was more ugly than this--to bewitch the poor
sorrowful young man into a sleep, and then to rob him of his ruby
ring after he had fed them so well and had treated them so kindly.

But the next day they jogged on together again until by-and-by
they came to a great forest. There they wandered up and down till
night came upon them and found them still stumbling onward through
the darkness, while the poor serving-man's flesh quaked to hear the
wild beasts and the wolves growling and howling around them.

But all the while the angel--his travelling companion--said
never a word; he seemed to doubt nothing nor fear nothing, but
trudged straight ahead until, by-and-by, they saw a light twinkling
far away, and, when they came to it, they found a gloomy stone house,
as ugly as eyes ever looked upon. Up stepped the servant's comrade
and knocked upon the door--rap! tap! tap! By-and-by it was opened a
crack, and there stood an ugly old woman, blear-eyed and crooked and
gnarled as a winter twig. But the heart within her was good for all
that. "Alas, poor folk!" she cried, "why do you come here?" This is a
den where lives a band of wicked thieves. Every day they go out to
rob and murder poor travellers like yourselves. By-and-by they will
come back, and when they find you here they will certainly kill
you."

"No matter for that," said the travelling companion; "we can go
no farther to-night, so you must let us in and hide us as best you
may."

And in he went, as he said, with the servant at his heels
trembling like a leaf at what he had heard. The old woman gave them
some bread and meat to eat, and then hid them away in the great empty
meal-chest in the corner, and there they lay as still as mice.

By-and-by in came the gang of thieves with a great noise and
uproar, and down they sat to their supper. The poor servant lay in
the chest listening to all they said of the dreadful things they had
done that day--how they had cruelly robbed and murdered poor people.
Every word that they said he heard, and he trembled until his teeth
chattered in his head. But all the same the robbers knew nothing of
the two being there, and there they lay until near the dawning of the
day. Then the travelling companion bade the servant be stirring, and
up they got, and out of the chest they came, and found all the
robbers sound asleep and snoring so that the dust flew.

"Stop a bit," said the angel--the travelling companion--"we must
pay them for our lodging."

As he spoke he drew from his pocket the ruby ring which he had
stolen from the sorrowful young man's finger, and dropped it into the
cup from which the robber captain drank. Then he led the way out of
the house, and, if the serving-man had wondered the day before at
that which the comrade did, he wondered ten times more to see him
give so beautiful a ring to such wicked and bloody thieves.

The third evening of their journey the two travellers came to a
little hut, neat enough, but as poor as poverty, and there the
comrade knocked upon the door and asked for lodging. In the house
lived a poor man and his wife; and, though the two were as honest as
the palm of your hand, and as good and kind as rain in spring-time,
they could hardly scrape enough of a living to keep body and soul
together. Nevertheless, they made the travellers welcome, and set
before them the very best that was to be had in the house; and, after
both had eaten and drunk, they showed them to bed in a corner as
clean as snow, and there they slept the night through.

But the next morning, before the dawning of the day, the
travelling companion was stirring again. "Come," said he; "rouse
yourself, for I have a bit of work to do before I leave this
place."

And strange work it was! When they had come outside of the
house, he gathered together a great heap of straw and sticks of wood,
and stuffed all under the corner of the house. Then he struck a light
and set fire to it, and, as the two walked away through the gray
dawn, all was a red blaze behind them.

Still, the servant remembered his promise to his travelling
comrade, and said never a word or asked never a question, though all
that day he walked on the other side of the road, and would have
nothing to say or to do with the other. But never a whit did his
comrade seem to think of or to care for that. On they jogged, and, by
the time evening was at hand, they had come to a neat cottage with
apple and pear trees around it, all as pleasant as the eye could
desire to see. In this cottage lived a widow and her only son, and
they also made the travellers welcome, and set before them a good
supper and showed them to a clean bed.

This time the travelling comrade did neither good nor ill to
those of the house, but in the morning he told the widow whither they
were going, and asked if she and her son knew the way to the garden
where grew the fruit of happiness.

"Yes," said she, "that we do, for the garden is not a day's
journey from here, and my son himself shall go with you to show you
the way."

"That is good," said the servant's comrade, "and if he will do
so I will pay him well for his trouble."

So the young man put on his hat, and took up his stick, and off
went the three, up hill and down dale, until by-and-by they came over
the top of the last hill, and there below them lay the garden.

And what a sight it was, the leaves shining and glistening like
so many jewels in the sunlight! I only wish that I could tell you how
beautiful that garden was. And in the middle of it grew a golden
tree, and on it golden fruit. The servant, who had travelled so long
and so far, could see it plainly from where he stood, and he did not
need to be told that it was the fruit of happiness. But, after all,
all he could do was to stand and look, for in front of them was a
great raging torrent, without a bridge for a body to cross over.

"Yonder is what you seek," said the young man, pointing with his
finger, "and there you can see for yourself the fruit of
happiness."

The travelling companion said never a word, good or bad, but,
suddenly catching the widow's son by the collar, he lifted him and
flung him into the black, rushing water. Splash! went the young man,
and then away he went whirling over rocks and water-falls. "There!"
cried the comrade, "that is your reward for your service!"

When the servant saw this cruel, wicked deed, he found his
tongue at last, and all that he had bottled up for the seven days
came frothing out of him like hot beer. Such abuse as he showered
upon his travelling companion no man ever listened to before. But to
all the servant said the other answered never a word until he had
stopped for sheer want of breath. Then--

"Poor fool," said the travelling companion, "if you had only
held your tongue a minute longer, you, too, would have had the fruit
of happiness in your hand. Now it will be many a day before you have
a sight of it again."

Thereupon, as he ended speaking, he struck his staff upon the
ground. Instantly the earth trembled, and the sky darkened overhead
until it grew as black as night. Then came a great flash of fire from
up in the sky, which wrapped the travelling companion about until he
was hidden from sight. Then the flaming fire flew away to heaven
again, carrying him along with it. After that the sky cleared once
more, and, lo and behold! The garden and the torrent and all were
gone, and nothing was left but a naked plain covered over with the
bones of those who had come that way before, seeking the fruit which
the travelling servant had sought.

It was a long time before the servant found his way back into
the world again, and the first house he came to, weak and hungry, was
the widow's.

But what a change he beheld! It was a poor cottage no longer,
but a splendid palace, fit for a queen to dwell in. The widow herself
met him at the door, and she was dressed in clothes fit for a queen
to wear, shining with gold and silver and precious stones.

The servant stood and stared like one bereft of wits. "How comes
all this change?" said he, "and how did you get all these grand
things?"

"My son," said the widow woman, "has just been to the garden,
and has brought home from there the fruit of happiness. Many a day
did we search, but never could we find how to enter into the garden,
until, the other day, an angel came and showed the way to my son, and
he was able not only to gather of the fruit for himself, but to bring
an apple for me also."

Then the poor travelling servant began to thump his head. He saw
well enough through the millstone now, and that he, too, might have
had one of the fruit if he had but held his tongue a little
longer.

Yes, he saw what a fool he had made of himself, when he learned
that it was an angel with whom he had been travelling the five days
gone.

But, then, we are all of us like the servant for the matter of
that; I, too, have travelled with an angel many a day, I dare say,
and never knew it.

That night the servant lodged with the widow and her son, and
the next day he started back home again upon the way he had travelled
before. By evening he had reached the place where the house of the
poor couple stood--the house that he had seen the angel set fire to.
There he beheld masons and carpenters hard at work hacking and
hewing, and building a fine new house. And there he saw the poor man
himself standing by giving them orders. "How is this," said the
travelling servant; "I thought that your house was burned down?"

"So it was, and that is how I came to be rich now," said the
one-time poor man. "I and my wife had lived in our old house for many
a long day, and never knew that a great treasure of silver and gold
was hidden beneath it, until a few days ago there came an angel and
burned it down over our heads, and in the morning we found the
treasure. So now we are rich for as long as we may live."

The next morning the poor servant jogged along on his homeward
way more sad and downcast than ever, and by evening he had come to
the robbers' den in the thick woods, and there the old woman came
running to the door to meet him. "Come in!" cried she; "come in and
welcome! The robbers are all dead and gone now, and I use the
treasure that they left behind to entertain poor travellers like
yourself. The other day there came an angel hither, and with him he
brought the ring of discord that breeds spite and rage and
quarrelling. He gave it to the captain of the band, and after he had
gone the robbers fought for it with one another until they were all
killed. So now the world is rid of them, and travellers can come and
go as they please."

Back jogged the travelling servant, and the next day came to the
town and to the house of the sorrowful young man. There, lo and
behold! Instead of being dark and silent, as it was before, all was
ablaze with light and noisy with the sound of rejoicing and
merriment. There happened to be one of the household standing at the
door, and he knew the servant as the companion of that one who had
stolen the ruby ring. Up he came and laid hold of the servant by the
collar, calling to his companions that he had caught one of the
thieves. Into the house they hauled the poor servant, and into the
same room where he had been before, and there sat the young man at a
grand feast, with his wife and all his friends around him. But when
the young man saw the poor serving-man he came to him and took him by
the hand, and set him beside himself at the table. "Nobody except
your comrade could be so welcome as you," said he, "and this is why.
An enemy of mine one time gave me a ruby ring, and though I knew
nothing of it, it was the ring of discord that bred strife wherever
it came. So, as soon as it was brought into the house, my wife and
all my friends fell out with me, and we quarrelled so that they all
left me. But, though I knew it not at that time, your comrade was an
angel, and took the ring away with him, and now I am as happy as I
was sorrowful before."

By the next night the servant had come back to his home again.
Rap! tap! tap! He knocked at the door, and the wise man who had been
his master opened to him. "What do you want?" said he.

"I want to take service with you again," said the travelling
servant.

"Very well," said the wise man; "come in and shut the door."

And for all I know the travelling servant is there to this day.
For he is not the only one in the world who has come in sight of the
fruit of happiness, and then jogged all the way back home again to
cook cabbage and onions and pot-herbs, and to make broth for wiser
men than himself to sup.

That is the end of this story.

"I like your story, holy sir," said the Blacksmith who made
Death sit in a pear-tree. "Ne'th'less, it hath indeed somewhat the
smack of a sermon, after all. Methinks I am like my friend yonder,"
and he pointed with his thumb towards Fortunatus; "I like to hear a
story about treasures of silver and gold, and about kings and
princes--a story that turneth out well in the end, with everybody
happy, and the man himself married in luck, rather than one that
turneth out awry, even if it hath an angel in it."

"Well, well," said St. George, testily, "one cannot please
everybody. But as for being a sermon, why, certes, my story was not
that--and even if it were, it would not have hurt thee, sirrah."

"No offence," said the Blacksmith; "I meant not to speak ill of
your story. Come, come, sir, will you not take a pot of ale with
me?"

"Why," said St. George, somewhat mollified, "for the matter of
that, I would as lief as not."

"I liked the story well enough," piped up the little Tailor who
had killed seven flies at a blow. " Twas a good enough story of its
sort, but why does nobody tell a tale of good big giants, and of wild
boars, and of unicorns, such as I killed in my adventures you wot
of?"

Old Ali Baba had been sitting with his hands folded and his eyes
closed. Now he opened them and looked at the Little Tailor. "I know a
story," said he, "about a Genie who was as big as a giant, and six
times as powerful. And besides that," he added, "the story is all
about treasures of gold, and palaces, and kings, and emperors, and
what not, and about a cave such as that in which I myself found the
treasure of the forty thieves."

The Blacksmith who made Death sit in the pear-tree clattered the
bottom of his canican against the table. "Aye, aye," said he, "that
is the sort of story for me. Come, friend, let us have it."

"Stop a bit," said Fortunatus; "what is this story mostly
about?"

"It is," said Ali Baba, "about two men betwixt whom there
was--