XXXIII.
THE BEAUTIFUL SUIT.
There was once a little man whose mother made him a beautiful suit ofclothes. It was green and gold, and woven so that I cannot describe howdelicate and fine it was, and there was a tie of orange fluffiness thattied up under his chin. And the buttons in their newness shone like stars.He was proud and pleased by his suit beyond measure, and stood before thelong looking-glass when first he put it on, so astonished and delightedwith it that he could hardly turn himself away. He wanted to wear iteverywhere, and show it to all sorts of people. He thought over all theplaces he had ever visited, and all the scenes he had ever hearddescribed, and tried to imagine what the feel of it would be if he were togo now to those scenes and places wearing his shining suit, and he wantedto go out forthwith into the long grass and the hot sunshine of the meadowwearing it. Just to wear it! But his mother told him "No." She told him hemust take great care of his suit, for never would he have another nearlyso fine; he must save it and save it, and only wear it on rare and greatoccasions. It was his wedding-suit, she said. And she took the buttons andtwisted them up with tissue paper for fear their bright newness should betarnished, and she tacked little guards over the cuffs and elbows, andwherever the suit was most likely to come to harm. He hated and resistedthese things, but what could he do? And at last her warnings andpersuasions had effect, and he consented to take off his beautiful suitand fold it into its proper creases, and put it away. It was almost asthough he gave it up again. But he was always thinking of wearing it, andof the supreme occasions when some day it might be worn without theguards, without the tissue paper on the buttons, utterly and delightfully,never caring, beautiful beyond measure.
One night, when he was dreaming of it after his habit, he dreamt he tookthe tissue paper from one of the buttons, and found its brightness alittle faded, and that distressed him mightily in his dream. He polishedthe poor faded button and polished it, and, if anything, it grew duller.He woke up and lay awake, thinking of the brightness a little dulled, andwondering how he would feel if perhaps when the great occasion (whateverit might be) should arrive, one button should chance to be ever so littleshort of its first glittering freshness, and for days and days thatthought remained with him distressingly. And when next his mother let himwear his suit, he was tempted and nearly gave way to the temptation justto fumble off one little bit of tissue paper and see if indeed the buttonswere keeping as bright as ever.
He went trimly along on his way to church, full of this wild desire. Foryou must know his mother did, with repeated and careful warnings, let himwear his suit at times, on Sundays, for example, to and fro from church,when there was no threatening of rain, no dust blowing, nor anything toinjure it, with its buttons covered and its protections tacked upon it,and a sun-shade in his hand to shadow it if there seemed too strong asunlight for its colours. And always, after such occasions, he brushed itover and folded it exquisitely as she had taught him, and put it awayagain.
Now all these restrictions his mother set to the wearing of his suit heobeyed, always he obeyed them, until one strange night he woke up and sawthe moonlight shining outside his window. It seemed to him the moonlightwas not common moonlight, nor the night a common night, and for awhile helay quite drowsily, with this odd persuasion in his mind. Thought joinedon to thought like things that whisper warmly in the shadows. Then he satup in his little bed suddenly very alert, with his heart beating veryfast, and a quiver in his body from top to toe. He had made up his mind.He knew that now he was going to wear his suit as it should be worn. Hehad no doubt in the matter. He was afraid, terribly afraid, but glad,glad.
He got out of his bed and stood for a moment by the window looking at themoonshine-flooded garden, and trembling at the thing he meant to do. Theair was full of a minute clamour of crickets and murmurings, of theinfinitesimal shoutings of little living things. He went very gentlyacross the creaking boards, for fear that he might wake the sleepinghouse, to the big dark clothes-press wherein his beautiful suit layfolded, and he took it out garment by garment, and softly and very eagerlytore off its tissue-paper covering and its tacked protections until thereit was, perfect and delightful as he had seen it when first his mother hadgiven it to him--a long time it seemed ago. Not a button had tarnished,not a thread had faded on this dear suit of his; he was glad enough forweeping as in a noiseless hurry he put it on. And then back he went, softand quick, to the window that looked out upon the garden, and stood therefor a minute, shining in the moonlight, with his buttons twinkling likestars, before he got out on the sill, and, making as little of a rustlingas he could, clambered down to the garden path below. He stood before hismother's house, and it was white and nearly as plain as by day, with everywindow-blind but his own shut like an eye that sleeps. The trees caststill shadows like intricate black lace upon the wall.
The garden in the moonlight was very different from the garden by day;moonshine was tangled in the hedges and stretched in phantom cobwebs fromspray to spray. Every flower was gleaming white or crimson black, and theair was a-quiver with the thridding of small crickets and nightingalessinging unseen in the depths of the trees.
There was no darkness in the world, but only warm, mysterious shadows,and all the leaves and spikes were edged and lined with iridescent jewelsof dew. The night was warmer than any night had ever been, the heavensby some miracle at once vaster and nearer, and, spite of the greativory-tinted moon that ruled the world, the sky was full of stars.
The little man did not shout nor sing for all his infinite gladness. Hestood for a time like one awestricken, and then, with a queer small cryand holding out his arms, he ran out as if he would embrace at once thewhole round immensity of the world. He did not follow the neat set pathsthat cut the garden squarely, but thrust across the beds and through thewet, tall, scented herbs, through the night-stock and the nicotine and theclusters of phantom white mallow flowers and through the thickets ofsouthernwood and lavender, and knee-deep across a wide space ofmignonette. He came to the great hedge, and he thrust his way through it;and though the thorns of the brambles scored him deeply and tore threadsfrom his wonderful suit, and though burrs and goose-grass and haverscaught and clung to him, he did not care. He did not care, for he knew itwas all part of the wearing for which he had longed. "I am glad I put onmy suit," he said; "I am glad I wore my suit."
Beyond the hedge he came to the duck-pond, or at least to what was theduck-pond by day. But by night it was a great bowl of silver moonshine allnoisy with singing frogs, of wonderful silver moonshine twisted andclotted with strange patternings, and the little man ran down into itswaters between the thin black rushes, knee-deep and waist-deep and to hisshoulders, smiting the water to black and shining wavelets with eitherhand, swaying and shivering wavelets, amidst which the stars were nettedin the tangled reflections of the brooding trees upon the bank. He wadeduntil he swam, and so he crossed the pond and came out upon the otherside, trailing, as it seemed to him, not duckweed, but very silver inlong, clinging, dripping masses. And up he went through the transfiguredtangles of the willow-herb and the uncut seeding grasses of the fartherbank. He came glad and breathless into the high-road. "I am glad," hesaid, "beyond measure, that I had clothes that fitted this occasion."
The high-road ran straight as an arrow flies, straight into the deep-bluepit of sky beneath the moon, a white and shining road between the singingnightingales, and along it he went, running now and leaping, and nowwalking and rejoicing, in the clothes his mother had made for him withtireless, loving hands. The road was deep in dust, but that for him wasonly soft whiteness; and as he went a great dim moth came fluttering roundhis wet and shimmering and hastening figure. At first he did not heed themoth, and then he waved his hands at it, and made a sort of dance with itas it circled round his head. "Soft moth!" he cried, "dear moth! Andwonderful night, wonderful night of the world! Do you think my clothes arebeautiful, dear moth? As beautiful as your scales and all this silvervesture of the earth and sky?"
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p; And the moth circled closer and closer until at last its velvet wings justbrushed his lips...
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And next morning they found him dead, with his neck broken, in the bottomof the stone pit, with his beautiful clothes a little bloody, and foul andstained with the duckweed from the pond. But his face was a face of suchhappiness that, had you seen it, you would have understood indeed how thathe had died happy, never knowing that cool and streaming silver for theduckweed in the pond.
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