by John Crowley
I’ll tell you, sirs, the king I serve
Is very near where you are sitting;
The princess too, the one he’ll wed,
In ceremonies truly fitting.
They know you’re here, they’re glad to see
You have arrived from every county,
And wish that each of you may earn
Their most delightful bounty.
He’ll see to it that every one
Enjoys the feast tomorrow
And hopes your pleasure won’t be spoiled
By other people’s sorrow.
At this all the little tapers made a sad sort of nod of their flames, and the lady went on, somewhat more sternly now:
You all remember how you came –
You had no hesitation:
You are the blessed, and have the gifts –
So said your invitation!
But sirs, some others are here now –
Though you might not believe it –
Who were not called to come at all
And surely don’t deserve it.
Some who think they should be here
Are wrong about the matter,
And some who KNOW they shouldn’t be
Got in with tricks and chatter.
Tomorrow we’ll bring out the SCALES,
A piece of wondrous science,
And each of you will take the pan.
We insist on your compliance!
Perhaps you know your nasty faults
Perhaps you’ve just forgotten:
Be certain that those special scales
Will weigh you, ripe or rotten.
So if you came without a right
I’ll give you just this warning:
Don’t take our test, just sit and wait
And go away come morning.
The rest of you, if you are sure
You’re ready to be weighed up
Go with your page and take your rest –
In the morning you’ll be paid up!
“And I hope,” she said then to all of us, “that you make a good choice, because it will be very bad to get this wrong.”
Then she leapt neatly back up onto her throne, the trumpets began to sound again, which didn’t cheer some of us up at all, and the pages and invisible attendants bore her off. The little candles remained though, one for each of us, going with us as we milled around.
It’s indescribable how fussed and anxious we were. The majority decided to go for the scales, and if it didn’t work out just go away quietly (if they were allowed). But I’d already added up my virtues and was quite convinced of my ignorance and unworthiness, and I’d decided to stay with the remainder in the hall. Better to settle for a good meal and nothing more than to risk being tossed out on my ear. When the little candles had led out those who’d chosen to be weighed (each into his own little chamber, as I later learned), there were nine of us left at the tables. Our little lights didn’t desert us, but within an hour one of the two pages came in carrying a big bundle of ropes. Had we made up our minds to stay? he asked us. We said, sadly, that yes we had. So he took ropes and tied our hands and feet firmly to our chairs, and when that was done, he went off, taking our little tapers with him, which left us in the dark.
Some of us immediately saw how helpless we’d let ourselves be made, and the trouble we were in now, and I myself began to weep silently – for though we hadn’t been forbidden to speak, our grief and anguish kept us from uttering a word. The ropes themselves were made in such a way that they couldn’t be cut or wriggled out of, so there we were. I did get a little comfort from thinking that many of those who’d gone off to rest in comfort wouldn’t fare so well or be so pleased tomorrow – and maybe, by this trial we were undergoing, we few might make up for daring to come here in the first place. Anyway, thinking these not very happy thoughts I fell asleep and had a dream.
It wasn’t a dream that seemed full of importance or meaning, but I still think it’s worth recounting.
I found myself on a high mountain, overlooking a great valley in which a tremendous number of people were gathered. And somehow each of them was hanging from a rope attached to their heads. Some of them hung high up in the air and some of them not so high, some low, some just about standing on the ground. There was a little old man flying around among the ropes that held the people up, and he had a big pair of shears, and he’d now and then cut someone’s rope. If that person was hanging close to the earth, he’d have a soft landing; but if it was one hanging high up, he made the earth shake when he hit. The threads or ropes apparently grew longer as you hung by them, and if yours wasn’t cut, you’d eventually get closer to the ground. I enjoyed watching all this tumbling, and it felt good to see one who, apparently at his wedding, had got up so high that when the little flying man cut his rope he not only fell himself but carried down some of those around him. If your string had let you down close to the ground, though, when you fell you landed so gently that even those right next to you didn’t notice.
I was enjoying this funny dream very much when one of my fellow prisoners bumped me and woke me up, which was annoying; but I explained to my brother on the other side about my dream, and I don’t know, maybe he got some pleasure from it. Anyway we talked about it and other things through the night, longing for the day.
1 A marginal gloss here conflates these three cedars with the three temples mentioned in Christian’s invitation.
2 Such a choice of ways is common in folk-tales, and so is the fortuitous event that makes a choice for the hero – usually a compassionate act of his own. Andres Paniagua makes a case that the four ways represent the four elements: the craggy one is earth, the second is water (you need a compass lest you be lost at sea), the third is air, and the fourth is fire – it burns and is unsuitable for anyone but spirits. This accords with the scale of nobility of the elements from “lower” to “higher,” and with the fact that the impostors and quacks who come to the wedding have taken the first, or “low” road.
3 A marginal gloss here says that without thinking Christian took the second way. In a religious allegory – one of the ways of understanding the story – the compass would stand for Orthodoxy (or Prudence, or Faith).
4 Again in folkloric style, Christian has to pass various gates and give offerings, which he luckily has on him, in order to continue.
5 Glossed as “Sanctitate Constantia” (constant in holiness) or “Sponsus Charus” (beloved spouse) or “Spes, Charitas” (hope, love). Why the labeled objects are often given several possible meanings by the author, who ought to know which one is the right one, is unanswerable.
6 This first guardian is likely the one that in the end, Christian is told he must replace; the gatekeeper’s delight in seeing Christian suggests that he knows this, though there seems no way he could.
7 In her book The Rosicrucian Enlightenment, Frances Yates presents a highly circumstantial interpretation of CW not on theological or occult lines but as a political allegory: a celebration of the marriage of the German prince Frederick, the Elector Palatine, to Elizabeth, daughter of James I of England. The lion was the heraldic animal of both the Palatinate and Britain. Yates conflates the magic castle of CW with the Elector’s castle at Heidelberg, where all kinds of shows, automata, and pageantry were common.
8 These rather Kafkaesque poor people are never seen again: a truly dreamlike moment.
9 Christian is given a tonsure, the ancient monastic hairstyle, signifying that he is now a postulant in a religious order.
10 The reference is certainly to Luke 14, 8-11: “When thou art bidden of any man to a wedding, sit not down in the highest room…[G]o and sit down in the lowest room; that when he that bade thee cometh, he may say unto thee, Friend, go up higher … For whosoever exalteth himself shall be abased; and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted.” Christian, as in other places, follows the Gospel injunction while thinking it’s his own timidity or lack of gumption.
11 These hu
cksters and deceivers, among whom Andreae would probably count those who in his time called themselves Rosicrucians, and most alchemists as well, are set up as a contrast to the good real alchemy practiced by the young lady and the wise men of the castle.
THE THIRD DAY
As soon as the beautiful day broke, and the round red sun lifted himself above the hills and set out across the sky, my dinner companions got out of their doubtless quite comfortable beds ready for the test they’d chosen to take. They came out into the hall and greeted those of us who’d spent the night there, asking with a grin how we’d slept and so on, and some, seeing how we were tied up, lorded it over us for being cowards, not taking our chances as they were doing. But you could see that some of them were feeling they might have guessed wrong and weren’t talking so loudly.
We said we didn’t know anything and hoped we’d now be set free, having learned a good lesson by our disgrace, and who knows, maybe you fellows have worse than that coming very soon to you – but now everyone was assembled and the trumpets began to sound and the drums rolled as they had the night before. We thought that this was it, and the Bridegroom would at last show himself, but no, it wasn’t that, it was yesterday’s lady again on her move-by-itself throne, now all in red velvet belted with a white scarf. On her head she wore a wreath of green laurel, which looked wonderful on her. Coming in with her now were not little candles but rows of armed men, two hundred of them maybe, all dressed in red and white as she was.
When she dismounted from her throne, she came right over to us who remained and greeted us.
“You’ve been decently aware of your shortcomings,” she said, “and my lord is aware of that and very pleased by it, and has decided you ought to be given a hand up because of it.”
Just then she caught sight of me in my outfit, the white linen and red roses. “Well, well,” she said to me. “You of all people,1 deciding to accept the bondage! Why, I would have thought you would have tried for a better spot.” Which made my eyes tear up, I’m afraid.
She ordered us all to be unbound from where we sat and then roped together where we could see the scales and the weighing of the others, “because,” she said, “it just might go better for you unhappy ones than for some who for now are still free.”
Meantime a pair of huge scales, entirely gilded, was set up in the middle of the hall. On a little table covered with red velvet seven weights2 were placed: first a pretty large one, then four small ones, then two more very big ones. These weights were unbelievably heavy in proportion to their size. The armored men were divided into seven bands, one for each weight, and out of each band one of them was chosen to be in charge of that group’s weight. The lady leapt back onto her throne, and one of the pages commanded all those who wanted to be weighed to get in line in order by rank and step one by one into the pan.
First in the line was an emperor, and without hesitation he stepped up, acknowledged the lady, and in all his imperial regalia got into the pan. The captain of each weight band hefted his particular weight into the opposite pan, and we all were amazed to see that the emperor outweighed them all – all but the last. So he had to get out. He was so upset and cast down that the lady seemed to feel sorry for him, but he was bound with ropes and handed over to the sixth weight band.
After him came another emperor, who stepped haughtily into the pan. He’d hidden a thick book under his gown,3 and thought for sure he’d make it, but he couldn’t even get past the third weight before he was tossed up and pitched out so roughly that his book slipped out. All the soldiers laughed, and he was tied up and given to the third weight band.
It was the same with some other emperors, who were all made fun of and tied up. Then up steps a little short fellow with a curly brown beard, who was an emperor too, and after making his bow to the lady got into the scales and held out! I thought he probably could have beaten a few more weights. The lady arose and bowed to him, presented him with a red gown, and gave him a branch of laurel – she had a good pile of them by her throne – and then invited him to sit down on the steps there below her.
It would take too long to tell how all the other emperors, kings, and lords fared, but not very many held out, virtuous as some were in many ways. Every one of them who failed was laughed to shame by the weight bands. Then it was the turn of the other gentlemen, and perhaps one or two of these, no more, made it through, whether educated or not. After they were sorted, up came those rascal smoke-sellers and scribbling liars, who were pushed onto the scale with such contempt that, badly as I felt, I couldn’t help laughing, and neither could those already held prisoner. Those who failed the test were driven off the scale with whips, and so few of them passed that I’m almost embarrassed to tell you – but in fact there were a few good men discovered among them, who received the velvet robes and wreaths of laurel.
So the examination was done, and the only ones left were us poor coupled hounds standing to one side. One of the weight captains stepped forth.
“Gracious lady,” he said. “If it’s all right, let these poor fellows, who’ve already admitted their unworthiness, be put on the scale too. No penalties, just for the fun of it, to see what we might learn.”
Well, I felt just terrible at this suggestion, because my only comfort had been that at least I wasn’t going to have to undergo that shame and be whipped out of the pan. But our mistress consented, so there was no help for it; we were untied and one after the other set in the scale. Most didn’t succeed, but at least they weren’t laughed at or beaten and taken in custody, but just ordered over to one side. My companion of the night before held out bravely to the end, and everybody – but especially that captain who’d requested we be weighed – applauded, and the young mistress showed him the same respect she had the others.
Two more went up and went right out, and I was the eighth. As soon as I stepped up trembling, my good companion, now already sitting in his velvet robe, gave me a friendly look, and our mistress smiled a little herself. And I beat the weights! Not only that, the lady ordered the weight band to try to lift me by force, and three men hung on the beam of the scale, but couldn’t outweigh me.
“That’s him!” one of the little pages cried loudly, leaping to his feet.4
“Well then, set him free!” the other page said.
Our mistress gave the order and I was freed. After I came to her throne, she gave me the choice of releasing one of the captives of the weight bands. That was easy: I chose the first emperor, whom I’d pitied from the beginning. He was immediately set free and with all respect seated among us.
There was only one more of us to be examined, and he was quickly outweighed. Meanwhile the lady had noticed the roses I had put into my hatband, and she sent her page to ask me if she could have them, to which of course I said yes.
And with that, the first act ended, at about ten in the morning.
The trumpets sounded again, though we still couldn’t see them. The weight bands were to step away with their prisoners, who must await the verdict on them, while the weight captains and we survivors of the ordeal made up a council, with the young lady presiding.
“How,” she asked us, “should we deal with the ones who failed the test?”
The first suggestion was that they all be put to death, particularly those who’d forced their way in with no regard for the clearly stated conditions. Others suggested they all ought to be put in prison forever. I didn’t like either of those suggestions, and neither did our lady president. Finally, myself, the emperor I had freed, and my companion of last night suggested a plan: all the principal lords should be respectfully ushered out of the castle, and the other gentlemen should be stripped and run out naked, while the rest should be driven out with rods, whips, and dogs. The ones who the day before had foregone the examination would be allowed to depart without any blame. But those braggarts and thieving loudmouths who had behaved themselves so badly at dinner should be harshly punished and even pay with their lives, each according to his deeds.
The lady approved of that, and voted with us.
But now, apparently, everyone was to be given another dinner, so the announcement and execution of these judgments was put off till afternoon. Our little senate arose, and our young mistress departed in her usual way. They gave the highest table in the hall to us who’d borne the weights, and that was plenty for us until all this day’s business was done, after which we understood that we would be conducted to the royal Bridegroom and his Bride. The prisoners were brought into the hall too, and seated according to rank. We made it clear to them that they’d better behave themselves less badly than they had yesterday, but they didn’t seem to need the warning; they were already quite subdued.
And I have to say, not out of any impulse to flatter, that really the high-ranking people among the prisoners knew how to bear themselves in their misfortune.5 They weren’t served very well at this meal, though decently enough; they couldn’t see their attendants – but to us, suddenly, they were visible! This made me very happy. Fortune had lifted us up, but we weren’t giving ourselves a lot of credit, and we told those prisoners to be of good cheer, things might not work out too badly for them. Of course they wanted to hear more about that, but we were committed to keeping quiet about our decision, and none of us gave any hints.
We comforted them anyway as best we could, drinking with them to see if wine might make them a bit more cheerful. Our table was covered in red velvet and set with cups of silver and gold, which the others stared at in amazement and chagrin. Before we even sat down, the two pages came in and presented everyone at the high table with the Order of the Golden Fleece (with winged lion rampant)6 and asked us to wear our badges at table and ever after strive to preserve the honor and reputation of that ancient Order which his Majesty now bestowed upon us. We took these Orders humbly and promised to carry out whatever His Majesty required of us as best we could. The pages also brought a paper that showed what our order of precedence was, and I wouldn’t mind telling where I stood, except that it might be interpreted as pride: which is expressly against the fourth weight.
