by Howard Pyle
Wisdom’s Wages and Folly’s Pay.
Once upon a time there was a wise man of wise men, and a greatmagician to boot, and his name was Doctor Simon Agricola.
Once upon a time there was a simpleton of simpletons, and a greatbooby to boot, and his name was Babo.
Simon Agricola had read all the books written by man, and could domore magic than any conjurer that ever lived. But, nevertheless, hewas none too well off in the world; his clothes were patched, andhis shoes gaped, and that is the way with many another wise man ofwhom I have heard tell.
Babo gathered rushes for a chair-maker, and he also had too few ofthe good things to make life easy. But it is nothing out of the wayfor a simpleton to be in that case.
The two of them lived neighbor to neighbor, the one in the nexthouse to the other, and so far as the world could see there was nota pin to choose between them--only that one was called a wise manand the other a simpleton.
One day the weather was cold, and when Babo came home fromgathering rushes he found no fire in the house. So off he went tohis neighbor the wise man. “Will you give me a live coal to startmy fire?” said he.
“Yes, I will do that,” said Simon Agricola; “but how will you carrythe coal home?”
“Oh!” said Babo, “I will just take it in my hand.”
“In your hand?”
“In my hand.”
“Can you carry a live coal in your hand?”
“Oh yes!” said Babo; “I can do that easily enough.”
“Well, I should like to see you do it,” said Simon Agricola.
“Then I will show you,” said Babo. He spread a bed of cold, deadashes upon his palm. “Now,” said he, “I will take the ember uponthat.”
Agricola rolled up his eyes like a duck in a thunder-storm. “Well,”said he, “I have lived more than seventy years, and have read allthe books in the world; I have practised magic and necromancy, andknow all about algebra and geometry, and yet, wise as I am, I neverthought of this little thing.”
That is the way with your wise man.
“Pooh!” said Babo; “that is nothing. I know how to do many moretricks than that.”
“Do you?” said Simon Agricola; “then listen: to-morrow I am goingout into the world to make my fortune, for little or nothing is tobe had in this town. If you will go along with me I will make yourfortune also.”
“Very well,” said Babo, and the bargain was struck. So the nextmorning bright and early off they started upon their journey, cheekby jowl, the wise man and the simpleton, to make their fortunes inthe wide world, and the two of them made a pair. On they jogged andon they jogged, and the way was none too smooth. By-and-by theycame to a great field covered all over with round stones.
“Let us each take one of these,” said Simon Agricola; “they will beof use by-and-by;” and, as he spoke, he picked up a great stone asbig as his two fists, and dropped it into the pouch that dangled athis side.
“Not I,” said Babo; “I will carry no stone with me. It is as muchas my two legs can do to carry my body, let alone lugging a greatstone into the bargain.”
“Very well,” said Agricola; “’born a fool, live a fool, die afool.’” And on he tramped, with Babo at his heels.
At last they came to a great wide plain, where, far or near,nothing was to be seen but bare sand, without so much as a pebbleor a single blade of grass, and there night caught up with them.
“Dear, dear, but I am hungry!” said Babo.
“So am I,” said Simon Agricola. “Let’s sit down here and eat.”
So down they sat, and Simon Agricola opened his pouch and drewforth the stone.
The stone? It was a stone no longer, but a fine loaf of white breadas big as your two fists. You should have seen Babo goggle andstare! “Give me a piece of your bread, master,” said he.
“Not I,” said Agricola. “You might have had a dozen of the samekind, had you chosen to do as I bade you and to fetch them alongwith you. ‘Born a fool, live a fool, die a fool,’” said he; andthat was all that Babo got for his supper. As for the wise man,he finished his loaf of bread to the last crumb, and then went tosleep with a full stomach and a contented mind.
The next morning off they started again bright and early, andbefore long they came to just such another field of stones as theyleft behind them the day before.
“Come, master,” said Babo, “let us each take a stone with us. Wemay need something more to eat before the day is over.”
“No,” said Simon Agricola; “we will need no stones to-day.”
But Babo had no notion to go hungry the second time, so he huntedaround till he found a stone as big as his head. All day he carriedit, first under one arm and then under the other. The wise manstepped along briskly enough, but the sweat ran down Babo’s facelike drops on the window in an April shower. At last they came to agreat wide plain, where neither stock nor stone was to be seen, butonly a gallows-tree, upon which one poor wight hung dancing uponnothing at all, and there night caught them again.
“Aha!” said Babo to himself. “This time I shall have bread and mymaster none.”
But listen to what happened. Up stepped the wise man to thegallows, and gave it a sharp rap with his staff. Then, lo andbehold! the gallows was gone, and in its place stood a fine inn,with lights in the windows, and a landlord bowing and smiling inthe doorway, and a fire roaring in the kitchen, and the smell ofthe good things cooking filling the air all around, so that only tosniff did one’s heart good.
Poor Babo let fall the stone he had carried all day. A stone itwas, and a stone he let it fall.
“‘Born a fool, live a fool, die a fool,’” said Agricola. “But comein, Babo, come in; here is room enough for two.” So that night Babohad a good supper and a sound sleep, and that is a cure for most ofa body’s troubles in this world.
The third day of their travelling they came to farms and villages,and there Simon Agricola began to think of showing some of thosetricks of magic that were to make his fortune and Babo’s into thebargain.
At last they came to a blacksmith’s shop, and there was the smithhard at work, dinging and donging, and making sweet music withhammer and anvil. In walked Simon Agricola and gave him good-day.He put his fingers into his purse, and brought out all the moneyhe had in the world; it was one golden angel. “Look, friend,” saidhe to the blacksmith; “if you will let me have your forge for onehour, I will give you this money for the use of it.”
The blacksmith liked the tune of that song very well. “You may haveit,” said he; and he took off his leathern apron without anotherword, and Simon Agricola put it on in his stead.
Presently, who should come riding up to the blacksmith’s shop but arich old nobleman and three servants. The servants were hale, stoutfellows, but the nobleman was as withered as a winter leaf. “Canyou shoe my horse?” said he to Simon Agricola, for he took him tobe the smith because of his leathern apron.
“No,” says Simon Agricola; “that is not my trade: I only know howto make old people young.”
“Old people young!” said the old nobleman; “can you make me youngagain?”
“Yes,” said Simon Agricola, “I can, but I must have a thousandgolden angels for doing it.”
“Very well,” said the old nobleman; “make me young, and you shallhave them and welcome.”
So Simon Agricola gave the word, and Babo blew the bellows untilthe fire blazed and roared. Then the doctor caught the oldnobleman, and laid him upon the forge. He heaped the coals overhim, and turned him this way and that, until he grew red-hot, likea piece of iron. Then he drew him forth from the fire and dippedhim in the water-tank. Phizz! the water hissed, and the steam roseup in a cloud; and when Simon Agricola took the old nobleman out,lo and behold! he was as fresh and blooming and lusty as a lad oftwenty.
But you should have seen how all the people stared andgoggled!--Babo and the blacksmith and the nobleman’s servants. Thenobleman strutted up and down for a while, admiring himself, andthen he got u
pon his horse again. “But wait,” said Simon Agricola;“you forgot to pay me my thousand golden angels.”
“Pooh!” said the nobleman, and off he clattered, with his servantsat his heels; and that was all the good that Simon Agricola had ofthis trick. But ill-luck was not done with him yet, for when thesmith saw how matters had turned out, he laid hold of the doctorand would not let him go until he had paid him the golden angel hehad promised for the use of the forge. The doctor pulled a sourface, but all the same he had to pay the angel. Then the smith lethim go, and off he marched in a huff.
Outside of the forge was the smith’s mother--a poor old creature,withered and twisted and bent as a winter twig. Babo had kept hiseyes open, and had not travelled with Simon Agricola for nothing.He plucked the smith by the sleeve: “Look’ee, friend,” said he,“how would you like me to make your mother, over yonder, youngagain?”
“I should like nothing better,” said the smith.
“Very well,” said Babo; “give me the golden angel that the mastergave you, and I’ll do the job for you.”
Well, the smith paid the money, and Babo bade him blow the bellows.When the fire roared up good and hot, he caught up the old mother,and, in spite of her scratching and squalling, he laid her upon theembers. By-and-by, when he thought the right time had come, he tookher out and dipped her in the tank of water; but instead of turningyoung, there she lay, as dumb as a fish and as black as coal.
When the blacksmith saw what Babo had done to his mother, he caughthim by the collar, and fell to giving him such a dressing down asnever man had before.
“Help!” bawled Babo. “Help! Murder!”
Such a hubbub had not been heard in that town for many a day. Backcame Simon Agricola running, and there he saw, and took it all inin one look.
“Stop, friend,” said he to the smith, “let the simpleton go; thisis not past mending yet.”
“Very well,” said the smith; “but he must give me back my goldenangel, and you must cure my mother, or else I’ll have you both upbefore the judge.”
“It shall be done,” said Simon Agricola; so Babo paid back themoney, and the doctor dipped the woman in the water. When hebrought her out she was as well and strong as ever--but just as oldas she had been before.
“Now be off for a pair of scamps, both of you,” said theblacksmith; “and if you ever come this way again, I’ll set all thedogs in the town upon you.”
Simon Agricola said nothing until they had come out upon thehighway again, and left the town well behind them; then--“‘Born afool, live a fool, die a fool!’” says he.
Babo said nothing, but he rubbed the places where the smith haddusted his coat.
The fourth day of their journey they came to a town, and hereSimon Agricola was for trying his tricks of magic again. He andBabo took up their stand in the corner of the market-place, andbegan bawling, “Doctor Knowall! Doctor Knowall! who has come fromthe other end of Nowhere! He can cure any sickness or pain! He canbring you back from the gates of death! Here is Doctor Knowall!Here is Doctor Knowall!”
Now there was a very, very rich man in that town, whose daughterlay sick to death; and when the news of this great doctor wasbrought to his ears, he was for having him try his hand at curingthe girl.
“Very well,” said Simon Agricola, “I will do that, but you must payme two thousand golden angels.”
“Two thousand golden angels!” said the rich man; “that is a greatdeal of money, but you shall have it if only you will cure mydaughter.”
Simon Agricola drew a little vial from his bosom. From it he pouredjust six drops of yellow liquor upon the girl’s tongue. Then--loand behold!--up she sat in bed as well and strong as ever, andasked for a boiled chicken and a dumpling, by way of something toeat.
“Bless you! Bless you!” said the rich man.
“Yes, yes; blessings are very good, but I would like to have my twothousand golden angels,” said Simon Agricola.
“Two thousand golden angels! I said nothing about two thousandgolden angels,” said the rich man; “two thousand fiddlesticks!”said he. “Pooh! pooh! you must have been dreaming! See, here aretwo hundred silver pennies, and that is enough and more than enoughfor 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 hemarched in a huff.
But Babo had kept his eyes open. Simon Agricola had laid down thevial upon the table, and while they were saying this and that backand forth, thinking of nothing else, Babo quietly slipped it intohis own pocket, without any one but himself being the wiser.
Down the stairs stumped the doctor with Babo at his heels. Therestood 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 doorbehind him.
“Look, friend,” said Babo to the cook; “here I have some of thesame medicine. Give me the two hundred pennies that the masterwould 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 hundredpennies, and Babo slipped them into his pocket. He bade the womanopen her mouth, and when she had done so he poured all the stuffdown her throat at once.
“Ugh!” said she, and therewith rolled up her eyes, and lay as stiffand dumb as a herring in a box.
When the cook saw what Babo had done, he snatched up therolling-pin and made at him to pound his head to a jelly. But Babodid not wait for his coming; he jumped out of the window, and awayhe scampered with the cook at his heels.
Well, the upshot of the business was that Simon Agricola had to goback and bring life to the woman again, or the cook would thump himand Babo both with the rolling-pin. And, what was more, Babo had topay back the two hundred pennies that the cook had given him forcuring his wife.
The wise man made a cross upon the woman’s forehead, and up shesat, as well--but no better--as before.
“And now be off,” said the cook, “or I will call the servants andgive you both a drubbing for a pair of scamps.”
Simon Agricola said never a word until they had gotten out ofthe 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.’ Iwant no more of you. Here are two roads; you take one, and I willtake the other.”
“What!” said Babo, “am I to travel the rest of the way alone? Andthen, besides, how about the fortune you promised me?”
“Never mind that,” said Simon Agricola; “I have not made my ownfortune yet.”
“Well, at least pay me something for my wages,” said Babo.
“How shall I pay you?” said Simon Agricola. “I have not a singlegroat 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! thinkwell!--before you do what you are about to do, think well!’”
“Thank you!” said Babo; and then the one went one way, and theother the other.
(_You may go with the wise man if you choose, but I shall jog alongwith the simpleton._)
After Babo had travelled for a while, he knew not whither, nightcaught 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 longjourneying.
Now it chanced that that same night two thieves had broken into amiser’s house, and had stolen an iron pot full of gold money. Daybroke before they reached home, so down they sat to consider thematter; and the place where they seated themselves was on the otherside of the hedge where Babo lay. The older thief was for carryingthe money home under his coat; the younger was for burying it untilnight had come ag
ain. They squabbled and bickered and argued tillthe noise they made wakened Babo, and he sat up. The first thing hethought of was the advice that the doctor had given him the eveningbefore.
“‘Think well!’” he bawled out; “‘think well! before you do whatyou are about to do, think well!’”
When the two thieves heard Babo’s piece of advice, they thoughtthat the judge’s officers were after them for sure and certain.Down they dropped the pot of money, and away they scampered as fastas their legs could carry them.
Babo heard them running, and poked his head through the hedge, andthere lay the pot of gold. “Look now,” said he: “this has come fromthe advice that was given me; no one ever gave me advice that wasworth so much before.” So he picked up the pot of gold, and off hemarched 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 himtravelling 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 fromlard, and truth from t’other thing. It was just the same in thatcountry as it is in our town--there was nothing in the world socheap as advice. Whoever heard of anybody giving a pot of gold andsilver money for it? Without another word they marched Babo and hispot of money off to the king.
“Come,” said the king, “tell me truly; where did you get the pot ofmoney?”
Poor Babo began to whimper. “I got it for a piece of advice,” saidhe.
“Really and truly?” said the king.
“Yes,” said Babo; “really and truly.”
“Humph!” said the king. “I should like to have advice that is worthas 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 atthe end of that time I will pay you what it is worth.”
“Very well,” said Babo, “that is a bargain;” and so he lent theking his piece of advice for one day on trial.
Now the chief councillor and some others had laid a plot againstthe king’s life, and that morning it had been settled that when thebarber shaved him he was to cut his throat with a razor. So afterthe barber had lathered his face he began to whet the razor, and towhet 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 areabout to do, think well!’”
When the barber heard the words that the king said, he thought thatall had been discovered. Down he fell upon his knees, and confessedeverything.
That is how Babo’s advice saved the king’s life--you can guesswhether the king thought it was worth much or little. When Babocame 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 daughterof the new councillor that came after the other one’s head had beenchopped off for conspiring against the king’s life. Besides that,he came and went about the king’s castle as he pleased, and theking made much of him. Everybody bowed to him, and all were glad tostop and chat awhile with him when they met him in the street.
One morning Babo looked out of the window, and who should he seecome travelling along the road but Simon Agricola himself, and hewas just as poor and dusty and travel-stained as ever.
“Come in, come in!” said Babo; and you can guess how the wise manstared when he saw the simpleton living in such a fine way. But heopened his eyes wider than ever when he heard that all these goodthings came from the piece of advice he had given Babo that daythey 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 yousomething better than a piece of advice. I will teach you all themagic 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 afool’”; and off he went in a huff.
* * * * *
That is all of this tale except the tip end of it, and that I willgive you now.
I have heard tell that one day the king dropped in the street thepiece of advice that he had bought from Babo, and that before hefound it again it had been trampled into the mud and dirt. I cannotsay for certain that this is the truth, but it must have beenspoiled in some way or other, for I have never heard of anybody inthese days who would give even so much as a bad penny for it; andyet it is worth just as much now as it was when Babo sold it to theking.
* * * * *
_I had sat listening to these jolly folk for all this time, and Ihad not heard old Sindbad say a word, and yet I knew very well hewas full of a story, for every now and then I could see his lipsmove, and he would smile, and anon he would stroke his long whitebeard and smile again._
_Everybody clapped their hands and rattled their canicans after theBlacksmith had ended his story, and methought they liked it betterthan almost anything that had been told. Then there was a pause,and everybody was still, and as nobody else spoke I myself venturedto break the silence. “I would like,” said I (and my voice soundedthin in my own ears, as one’s voice always does sound in TwilightLand), “I would like to hear our friend Sindbad the Sailor tell astory. Methinks one is fermenting in his mind.”_
_Old Sindbad smiled until his cheeks crinkled into wrinkles._
_“Aye,” said every one, “will you not tell a story?”_
_“To be sure I will,” said Sindbad. “I will tell you a good story,”said he, “and it is about--”_
