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diff --git a/75624-0.txt b/75624-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3d479fd --- /dev/null +++ b/75624-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3446 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75624 *** + + + + + +THE HOUSE OF JOY + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration: + + THE HOUSE + OF JOY + + BY LAURENCE + HOUSMAN + + 1895 + + LONDON: KEGAN PAUL + TRENCH TRÜBNER & CO.] + + + + +CONTENTS + + + THE PRINCE WITH THE NINE SORROWS _Page_ 1 + + THE LUCK OF THE ROSES 23 + + THE WHITE KING 35 + + THE STORY OF THE HERONS 51 + + SYRINGA 85 + + THE TRAVELLER’S SHOES 101 + + THE MOON-FLOWER 135 + + HAPPY RETURNS 169 + + + + +THE PRINCE WITH THE NINE SORROWS + + _TO_ + CLARE AND IDA + +[Illustration] + + +THE PRINCE WITH THE NINE SORROWS + + _Eight-white peahens went down to the gate:_ + _“Wait!” they said, “little sister, wait!”_ + _They covered her up with feathers so fine;_ + _And none went out, when there went back nine._ + +A long time ago there lived a King and a Queen, who had an only son. As +soon as he was born his mother gave him to the forester’s wife to be +nursed; for she herself had to wear her crown all day and had no time for +nursing. The forester’s wife had just given birth to a little daughter +of her own; but she loved both children equally and nursed them together +like twins. + +One night the Queen had a dream that made the half of her hair turn +grey. She dreamed that she saw the Prince her son at the age of twenty +lying dead with a wound over the place of his heart; and near him his +foster-sister was standing, with a royal crown on her head, and his heart +bleeding between her hands. + +The next morning the Queen sent in great haste for the family Fairy, and +told her of the dream. The Fairy said, “This can have but one meaning, +and it is an evil one. There is some danger that threatens your son’s +life in his twentieth year, and his foster-sister is to be the cause of +it; also, it seems she is to make herself Queen. But leave her to me, and +I will avert the evil chance; for the dream coming beforehand shows that +the Fates mean that he should be saved.” + +The Queen said, “Do anything; only do not destroy the forester’s wife’s +child, for as yet at least, she has done no wrong. Let her only be +carried away to a safe place and made secure and treated well. I will not +have my son’s happiness grow out of another one’s grave.” + +The Fairy said, “Nothing is so safe as a grave when the Fates are awake. +Still, I think I can make everything quite safe within reason, and leave +you a clean as well as a quiet conscience.” + +The little Prince and the forester’s daughter grew up together till they +were a year old; then, one day, when their nurse came to look for them, +the Prince was found, but his foster-sister was lost; and though the +search for her was long, she was never seen again, nor could any trace of +her be found. + +The baby Prince pined and pined, and was so sorrowful over her loss that +they feared for a time that he was going to die. But his foster-mother, +in spite of her grief over her own child’s disappearance, nursed him so +well and loved him so much that after a while he recovered his strength. + +Then the forester’s wife gave birth to another daughter, as if to console +herself for the loss of the first. But the same night that the child was +born the Queen had just the same dream over again. She dreamed that she +saw her son lying dead at the age of twenty; and there was the wound in +his breast, and the forester’s daughter was standing by with his heart in +her hand and a royal crown upon her head. + +The poor Queen’s hair had gone quite white when she sent again for the +family Fairy, and told her how the dream had repeated itself. The Fairy +gave her the same advice as before, quieting her fears, and assuring her +that however persistent the Fates might be in threatening the Prince’s +life, all in the end should be well. + +Before another year was passed the second of the forester’s daughters had +disappeared; and the Prince and his foster-mother cried themselves ill +over a loss that had been so cruelly renewed. The Queen, seeing how great +were the sorrow and the love that the Prince bore for his foster-sisters, +began to doubt in her heart and say, “What have I done? Have I saved my +son’s life by taking away his heart?” + +Now every year the same thing took place, the forester’s wife giving +birth to a daughter, and the Queen on the same night having the same +fearful dream of the fate that threatened her son in his twentieth +year; and afterwards the family Fairy would come, and then one day the +forester’s wife’s child would disappear, and be heard of no more. + +At last when nine daughters in all had been born to the forester’s wife +and lost to her when they were but a year old, the Queen fell very ill. +Every day she grew weaker and weaker, and the little Prince came and +sat by her, holding her hand and looking at her with a sorrowful face. +At last one night (it was just a year after the last of the forester’s +children had disappeared) she woke suddenly, stretching out her arms and +crying. “Oh, Fairy,” she cried, “the dream, the dream!” And covering her +face with her hands, she died. + +The little Prince was now more than ten years old, and the very saddest +of mortals. He said that there were nine sorrows hidden in his heart, of +which it could not get rid; and that at night, when all the birds went +home to roost, he heard cries of lamentation and pain; but whether these +came from very far away, or out of his own heart he could not tell. + +Yet he grew slenderly and well, and had such grace and tenderness in his +nature that all who saw him loved him. His foster-mother, when he spoke +to her of his nine sorrows, tried to comfort him, calling him her own +nine joys; and, indeed, he was all the joy left in life for her. + +When the Prince neared his twentieth year, the King his father felt that +he himself was becoming old and weary of life. “I shall not live much +longer,” he thought: “very soon my son will be left alone in the world. +It is right, therefore, now that he should know what is the danger that +threatens his life.” For till then the Prince had not known anything; +all had been kept a secret between the Queen and the King and the family +Fairy. + +The old King knew of the Prince’s nine sorrows, and often he tried to +believe that they came by chance, and had nothing to do with the secret +that sat at the root of his son’s life. But now he feared more and more +to tell the Prince the story of those nine dreams, lest the knowledge +should indeed serve but as the crowning point of his sorrows, and +altogether break his heart for him. + +Yet there was so much danger in leaving the thing untold that at last he +summoned the Prince to his bedside, meaning to tell him all. The King had +worn himself so ill with anxiety and grief in thinking over the matter, +that now to tell all was the only means of saving his life. + +The Prince came and knelt down, and leaned his head on his father’s +pillow; and the King whispered into his ear the story of the dreams, and +of how for his sake all the Prince’s foster-sisters had been spirited +away. + +Before his tale was done he could no longer bear to look into his son’s +face, but closed his eyes, and, with long silences between, spoke as one +who prayed. + +When he had ended he lay quite still, and the Prince kissed his closed +eyelids and went softly out of the room. + +“Now I know,” he said to himself; “now at last!” And he came through the +wood and knocked at his foster-mother’s door. “Other mother,” he said to +her, “give me a kiss for each of my sisters, for now I am going out into +the world to find them, to be rid of the sorrows in my heart.” + +“They can never be found!” she cried, but she kissed him nine times. +“And this,” she said, “was Monica, and this was Ponica, and this was +Veronica,” and so she went over every name. “But now they are only +names!” she wept, as she let him go. + +He went along, and he went along, and he went along. “Where may you be +going to, fair sir?” asked an old peasant at whose cabin the Prince +sought shelter when night came to the first day of his wanderings. +“Truly,” answered the Prince, “I do not know how far or whither I need to +go; but I have a finger-post in my heart that keeps pointing me.” + +So that night he stayed there, and the next day he went on. + +“Where to so fast?” asked a wood-cutter when the second night found him +in the thickest and loneliest parts of the forest. “Here the night is so +dark and the way so dangerous, one like you should not go alone.” + +“Nay, I know nothing,” said the Prince, “only I feel like a weather-cock +in a wind that keeps turning me to its will!” + +After many days he came to a small long valley rich in woods and +water-courses, but no road ran through it. More and more it seemed like +the world’s end, a place unknown, or forgotten of its old inhabitants. +Just at the end of the valley, where the woods opened into clear slopes +and hollows toward the west, he saw before him, low and overgrown, the +walls of a little tumble-down grange. “There,” he said to himself when +he saw it, “I can find shelter for to-night. Never have I felt so tired +before, or such a pain at my heart!” + +Before long he came to a little gate and a winding path that led in +among lawns and trees to the door of an old house. The house seemed as +if it had been once lived in, but there was no sign of any life about it +now. He pushed open the door, and suddenly there was a sharp rustling of +feathers, and nine white peahens rose up from the ground and flew out of +the window into the garden. + +The Prince searched the whole house over, and found it a mere ruin; the +only signs of life to be seen were the white feathers that lifted and +blew about over the floors. + +Outside, the garden was gathering itself together in the dusk, and the +peahens were stepping daintily about the lawns, picking here and there +between the blades of grass. They seemed to suit the gentle sadness of +the place, which had an air of grief that has grown at ease with itself. + +The Prince went out into the garden, and walked about among the quietly +stepping birds; but they took no heed of him. They came picking up their +food between his very feet, as though he were not there. Silence held all +the air, and in the cleft of the valley the day drooped to its end. + +Just before it grew dark, the nine white peahens gathered together at the +foot of a great elm, and lifting up their throats they wailed in chorus. +Their lamentable cry touched the Prince’s heart; “where,” he asked +himself, “have I heard such sorrow before?” Then all with one accord the +birds sprang rustling up to the lowest boughs of the elm, and settled +themselves to roost. + +The Prince went back to the house, to find some corner amid its +half-ruined rooms to sleep in. But there the air was close, and an +unpleasant smell of moisture came from the floor and walls: so, the night +being warm, he returned to the garden, and folding himself in his cloak +lay down under the tree where the nine peahens were at roost. + +For a long time he tried to sleep, but could not, there was so much pain +and sorrow in his heart. + +Presently when it was close upon midnight, over his head one of the +birds stirred and ruffled through all its feathers; and he heard a soft +voice say: + +“Sisters, are you awake?” + +All the other peahens lifted their heads, and turned toward the one that +spoke, saying, “Yes, sister, we are awake.” + +Then the first one said again, “Our brother is here.” + +They all said, “He is our enemy; it is for him that we endure this +sorrow.” + +“To-night,” said the first, “we may all be free.” + +They answered, “Yes, we may all be free! Who will go down and peck out +his heart? Then we shall be free.” + +And the first who had spoken said, “I will go down!” + +“Do not fail, sister!” said all the others. “For if you fail you can +speak to us no more.” + +The first peahen answered, “Do not fear that I shall fail!” And she began +stepping down the long boughs of the elm. + +The Prince lying below heard all that was said. “Ah! poor sisters,” he +thought, “have I found you at last; and are all these sorrows brought +upon you for me?” And he unloosed his doublet, and opened his vest, +making his breast bare for the peahen to come and peck out his heart. + +He lay quite still with his eyes shut, and when she reached the ground +the peahen found him lying there, as it seemed to her fast asleep, with +his white breast bare for the stroke of her beak. + +Then so fair he looked to her, and so gentle in his youth, that she had +pity on him, and stood weeping by his side, and laying her head against +his, whispered, “O, brother, once we lay as babes together and were +nursed at the same breast! How can I peck out your heart?” + +Then she stole softly back into the tree, and crouched down again by her +companions. They said to her, “Our minute of midnight is nearly gone. Is +there blood on your beak! Have you our brother’s heart for us?” But the +other answered never a word. + +In the morning the peahens came rustling down out of the elm, and went +searching for fat carnation buds and anemone seeds among the flower-beds +in the garden. To the Prince they showed no sign either of hatred or +fear, but went to and fro carelessly, pecking at the ground about his +feet. Only one came with drooping head and wings, and sleeked itself to +his caress, and the Prince, stooping down, whispered in her ear, “O, +sister, why did you not peck out my heart.” + +At night, as before, the peahens all cried in chorus as they went up into +the elm; and the Prince came and wrapped himself in his cloak, and lay +down at the foot of it to watch. + +At midnight the eight peahens lifted their heads, and said, “Sister, why +did you fail last night?” But their sister gave them not a word. + +“Alas!” they said, “now she has failed, unless one of us succeed we shall +never hear her speak with her human voice again. Why is it that you weep +so,” they said again, “now when deliverance is so near?” For the poor +peahen was shaken with weeping, and her tears fell down in loud drops +upon the ground. + +Then the next sister said, “I will go down! He is asleep. Be certain, +I will not fail!” So she climbed softly down the tree, and the Prince +opened his shirt and laid his breast bare for her to come and take out +his heart. + +Presently she stood by his side, and when she saw him, she too had pity +on him for the youth and kindness of his face. And once she shut her +eyes, and lifted her head for the stroke; but then weakness seized her, +and she laid her head softly upon his heart and said, “Once the breast +that gave me milk gave milk also to you. You were my sister’s brother, +and she spared you: so how can I peck out your heart?” And having said +this she went softly back into the tree, and crouched down again among +her sisters. + +They said to her, “Have you blood upon your beak? Is his heart ours?” But +she answered them no word. + +The next day the two sisters, who because their hearts betrayed them had +become mute, followed the Prince wherever he went, and stretched up their +heads to his caress. But the others went and came indifferently, careless +except for food; for until midnight their human hearts were asleep; only +now the two sisters who had given their voices away had regained their +human hearts perpetually. + +That night the same thing happened as before. “Sisters,” said the +youngest, “to-night I will go down, since the two eldest of us have +failed. My wrong is fresher in my heart than theirs! Be sure I shall not +fail!” So the youngest peahen came down from the tree, and the Prince +laid his heart bare for her beak, but the bird could not find the will +to peck it out. And so it was the next night, and the next, until eight +nights were gone. + +So at last only one peahen was left. At midnight she raised her head, +saying, “Sisters, are you awake?” + +They all turned, and gazed at her weeping, but could say no word. + +Then she said, “You have all failed, having all tried but me. Now if I +fail we shall remain mute and captive for ever, more undone by the loss +of our last remaining gift of speech than we were at first. But I tell +you, dear sisters, I will not fail; for the happiness of you all lies +with me now!” + +Then she went softly down the tree; and one by one they all went +following her, and weeping, to see what the end would be. + +They stood some way apart, watching with upturned heads, and their poor +throats began catching back a wish to cry as the little peahen, the last +of the sisters, came and stood by the Prince. + +Then she, too, looked in his face, and saw the white breast made bare +for her beak; and the love of him went deep down into her heart. And she +tried and tried to shut her eyes and deal the stroke, but could not. + +She trembled and sighed, and turned to look at her sisters, where they +all stood weeping silently together. “They have spared him,” she said to +herself: “why should not I?” + +But the Prince, seeing that she, too, was about to fail like the rest of +them, turned and said, as if in his sleep, “Come, come, little peahen, +and peck out my heart!” + +At that she turned back again to him, and laid her head down upon his +heart and cried more sadly than them all. + +Then he said, “You have eight sisters, and a mother who cries for her +children to return!” Yet still she thought he was dreaming, and speaking +only in his sleep. The other peahens came no nearer, but stood weeping +silently. She looked from him to them. “O,” she cried, “I have a wicked +heart, to let one stand in the way of nine!” Then she threw up her neck +and cried lamentably with her peafowl’s voice, wishing that the Prince +would wake up and see her, and so escape. And at that all the other +peahens lifted up their heads and wailed with her: but the Prince never +turned, nor lifted a finger, nor uttered a sound. + +Then she drew in a deep breath, and closed her eyes fast. “Let my sisters +go, but let me be as I am!” she cried; and with that she stooped down, +and pecked out his heart. + +All her sisters shrieked as their human shapes returned to them. “O, +sister! O, wicked little sister!” they cried, “What have you done!” + +The little white peahen crouched close down to the side of the dead +Prince. “I loved him more than you all!” she tried to say: but she only +lifted her head, and wailed again and again the peafowl’s cry. + +The Prince’s heart lay beating at her feet, so glad to be rid of its nine +sorrows that mere joy made it live on, though all the rest of the body +lay cold. + +The peahen leaned down upon the Prince’s breast, and there wailed without +ceasing: till suddenly, piercing with her beak her own breast, she drew +out her own living heart and laid it in the place where his had been. + +And, as she did so, the wound where she had pierced him closed and became +healed; and her heart was, as it were, buried in the Prince’s breast. In +her death agony she could feel it there, her own heart leaping within his +breast for joy. + +The Prince, who had seemed to be dead, flushed from head to foot as the +warmth of life came back to him; with one deep breath he woke, and found +the little white peahen lying as if dead between his arms. + +Then he laughed softly and rose (his goodness making him wise), and +taking up his own still beating heart he laid it into the place of hers. +At the first beat of it within her breast, the peahen became transformed +as all her sisters had been, and her own maiden form came back to her. +And the pain and the wound in her breast grew healed together, so that +she stood up alive and well in the Prince’s arms. + +“Dear heart!” said he: and “Dear, dear heart!” said she; but whether +they were speaking of their own hearts or of each other’s, who can tell? +for which was which they themselves did not know. + +Then all round was so much embracing and happiness that it is out of +reach for tongue or pen to describe. For truly the Prince and his +foster-sisters loved each other dearly, and could put no bounds upon +their present contentment. As for the Prince and the one who had plucked +out his heart, of no two was the saying ever more truly told, that they +had lost their hearts to each other; nor was ever love in the world known +before that carried with it such harmony as theirs. + +And so it all came about according to the Queen’s dream that the +forester’s daughter wore the royal crown upon her head, and held the +Prince’s heart in her hand. + +Long before he died the old King was made happy because the dream +that he had feared so much had become true: and the forester’s wife +was happy before she died: and as for the Prince and his wife and his +foster-sisters, they were all rather happy: and none of them is dead +yet. + + + + +THE LUCK OF THE ROSES + + _TO_ + CLEMENCE + +[Illustration] + + +THE LUCK OF THE ROSES + +Not far from a great town, in the midst of a well-wooded valley, lived a +rose-gardener and his wife. All round the old home green sleepy hollows +lay girdled by silver streams, long grasses bent softly in the wind, and +the half fabulous murmur of woods filled the air. + +Up in their rose-garden, on the valley’s side facing the sun, the +gardener and his wife lived contentedly sharing toil and ease. They had +been young, they were not yet old; and though they had to be frugal they +did not call themselves poor. A strange fortune had belonged always to +the plot of ground over which they laboured; whether because the soil was +so rich, or the place so sheltered from cold, or the gardener so skilled +in the craft, which had come down in his family from father to son, +could not be known; but certainly it was true that his rose-trees gave +forth better bloom and bore earlier and later through the season than any +others that were to be found in those parts. + +The good couple accepted what came to them, simply and gladly, thanking +God. Perhaps it was from the kindness of fortune, or perhaps because the +sweet perfume of the roses had mixed itself in their blood, that her man +and his wife were so sweet-tempered and gentle in their ways. The colour +of the roses was in their faces, and the colour of the rose was in their +hearts; to her man she was the most beautiful and dearest of sweethearts, +to his wife he was the best and kindest of lovers. + +Every morning, before it was light, her man and his wife would go into +the garden and gather all the roses that were ripe for sale; then with +full baskets on their backs they would set out, and get to the market +just as the level sunbeams from the east were striking all the vanes and +spires of the city into gold. There they would dispose of their flowers +to the florists and salesmen of the town, and after that trudge home +again to hoe, and dig, and weed, and water, and prune, and plant for the +rest of the day. No man ever saw them the one without the other, and the +thought that such a thing might some day happen was the only fear and +sorrow of their lives. + +That they had no children of their own was scarcely a sorrow to them. “It +seems to me,” said her man after they had been married for some years, +“that God means that our roses are to be our children since He has made +us love them so much. They will last when we are grown grey, and will +support and comfort us in our old age.” + +All the roses they had were red, and varied little in kind, yet her man +and his wife had a name for each of them; to every tree they had given +a name, until it almost seemed that the trees knew, and tried to answer +when they heard the voices which spoke to them. + +“Jane Janet, and you ought to blossom more freely at your age!” his wife +might say to one some evening as she went round and watered the flowers; +and the next day, when the two came to their dark morning’s gathering, +Jane Janet would show ten or twelve great blooms under the light of the +lantern, every one of them the birth of a single night. + +“Mary Maudlin,” the gardener would say, as he washed the blight off a +favourite rose, “to be sure, you are very beautiful, but did I not love +you so, you were more trouble than all your sisters put together.” And +then all at once great dew-drops would come tumbling down out of Mary +Maudlin’s eyes at the tender words of his reproach. So day by day the +companionable feet of the happy couple moved to and fro, always intent on +the tender nurturing of their children. + +In their garden they had bees too, who drew all their honey from the +roses, and lived in a cone-thatched hive close under the porch; and that +honey was famous through all the country-side, for its flavour was like +no other honey made in the world. + +Sometimes his wife said to her man, “I think our garden is looked after +for us by some good Spirit; perhaps it is the Saints after whom we have +named our rose-children.” + +Her man made answer, “It is rich in years, which, like an old wine, have +made it gain in flavour; it has been with us from father to son for +three hundred years, and that is a great while.” + +“A full fairy’s lifetime!” said his wife. “’Tis a pity we shall not hand +it on, being childless.” + +“When we two die,” said her man, “the roses will make us a grave and +watch over us.” As he spoke a whole shower of petals fell from the trees. + +“Did no one pass, just then?” said his wife. + +Now one morning, soon after this, in the late season of roses, her man +had gone before his wife into the garden, gathering for the market in +the grey dusk before dawn; and wherever he went moths and beetles came +flocking to the light of his lantern, beating against its horn shutters +and crying to get in. Out of each rose, as the light fell on it, winged +things sprang up into the darkness; but all the roses were bowed and +heavy as if with grief. As he picked them from the stem great showers of +dew fell out of them, making pools in the hollow of his palm. + +There was such a sound of tears that he stopped to listen, and, surely, +from all round the garden came the “drip, drip” of falling dew. Yet +the pathways under foot were all dry: there had been no rain and but +little dew. Whence was it, then, that the roses so shook and sobbed? For +under the stems, surely, there was something that sobbed; and suddenly +the light of the lantern took hold of a beautiful small figure, about +three feet high, dressed in old rose and green, that went languidly from +flower to flower. She lifted up such tired hands to draw their heads +down to hers; and to each one she kissed she made a weary little sound +of farewell, her beautiful face broken up with grief; and now and then +out of her lips ran soft chuckling laughter, as if she still meant to be +glad, but could not. + +The gardener broke into tears to behold a sight so pitiful; and his wife +had stolen out silently to his side, and was weeping too. + +“Drip, drip” went the roses: wherever she came and kissed, they all began +weeping. The gardener and his wife knelt down and watched her; in and +out, in and out, not a rose-blossom did she miss. She came nearer and +nearer, and at last was standing before them. She seemed hardly able to +draw limb after limb, so weak was she; and her filmy garments hung heavy +as chains. + +A little voice said in their ears, “Kiss me, I am dying!” + +They tasted her breath of rose. + +“Do not die!” they said simply. + +“I have lived three hundred years,” she answered. “Now I must die. I am +the Luck of the Roses, but I must leave them and die.” + +“When must you die?” said her man and his wife. + +The little lady said: “Before the last roses are over; the chills of +night take me, the first frost will kill me. Soon I must die. Now I must +dwindle and dwindle, for little life is left to me, and only so can I +keep warm. As life and heat grow less, so must I, till presently I am no +more.” + +She was a little thing already—not old, she did not seem old, but +delicate as a snowflake, and so weary. She laid her head in the hand of +the gardener’s wife and sobbed hard. + +“You dear people, who belong so much to me too, I have watched over you.” + +“Let us watch over you!” said they. They lifted her like a +feather-weight, and carried her into the house. There, in the +ingle-nook, she sat and shivered, while they brought rose-leaves and +piled round her; but every hour she grew less and less. + +Presently the sun shone full upon her from the doorway: its light went +through her as through coloured glass; and her man and his wife saw, over +the ingle behind her, shadows fluttering as of falling rose-petals: it +was the dying rose of her life, falling without end. + +All day long she dwindled and grew more weak and frail. Before sunset she +was smaller than a small child when it first comes into the world. They +set honey before her to taste, but she was too weary to uncurl her tiny +hands: they lay like two white petals in the green lap of her dress. The +half-filled panniers of roses stood where they had been set down in the +porch: the good couple had taken nothing to the market that day. The luck +of the house lay dying, for all their care; they could but sit and watch. + +When the sun had set, she faded away fast: now she was as small as a +young wren. The gardener’s wife took her and held her for warmth in the +hollow of her hand. Presently she seemed no more than a grasshopper: +the tiny chirrup of her voice was heard, about the middle of the night, +asking them to take her and lay her among the roses, in the heart of one +of the red roses, that there at last she might die and pass into nothing. + +They went together into the dark night, and felt their way among the +roses; presently they quite lost her tiny form: she had slipped away into +the heart of a Jane Janet rose. + +The gardener and his wife went back into the house and sat waiting; they +did not know for what, but they were too sad at heart to think just then +of sleep. + +Soon the first greys of morning began to steal over the world; pale +shivers ran across the sky, and one bird chirped in its sleep among the +trees. + +All at once there rang a soft sound of lamentation among the roses in the +rose-garden; again and again, like the cry of many gentle wounded things +in pain. The gardener and his wife went and opened the door: they had to +tell the bees of the fairy’s death. They looked out under the twilight, +into the garden they loved. “Drip,” “drip,” “drip” came the sound of +steady weeping under the leaves. Peering out through the shadows they saw +all the rose-trees rocking themselves softly for grief. + +“Snow?” said his wife to her man. + +But it was not snow. + +Under the dawn all the roses in the garden had turned white; for they +knew that the fairy was dead. + +The gardener and his wife woke the bees, and told them of the fairy’s +death; then they looked in each other’s faces, and saw that they, too, +had become white and grey. + +With gentle eyes the old couple took hands, and went down into the garden +to gather white roses for the market. + + + + +THE WHITE KING + + _TO_ + KATE + +[Illustration] + + +THE WHITE KING + +Long years ago there was living a Queen who could not keep count of the +countries over which she ruled. Her wealth and her wonderful beauty +made her an apple of discord to all the kings who lived round about her +borders. For love of her they waged perpetual war upon one another, and +every king who proved victorious made a gift to the Queen of the country +of the one whom he had conquered, in the hopes of thereby strengthening +his claim to her favour. Thus it came about that she could no longer keep +count of the lands which had fallen under her rule; yet still of all her +suitors she chose none. + +Now at this time there was one King, and only one, who had not succeeded +in losing his heart to the Queen’s majesty, in spite of her wealth and +power, and all her wonderful beauty. And so, during a long time, since +his fancy was thus free, he was left in undisturbed peace and prosperity, +while other kings fought out their jealous battles, and stole away each +other’s lands. And because his reign was so quiet and his country in such +rest, his people, for a pet-name and for their pride in him, named him +“the White King.” + +Now after a time the Queen took it as an insult that any one should be +so indifferent to the power of her charms, and she began to threaten him +with war for this reason and for that, wishing thereby to cajole him into +becoming her suitor. But the White King saw through all the disguises +with which she covered her meaning, and understood the arrogance of her +claim; so one day he sent to her as a gift a statue of himself with his +sword sheathed, and all his armour covered over with the cloak of peace. +Round the base of it was written + + “When a heart in stone doth move, + Then your lover I may prove; + But until the marvel’s done, + Fruitlessly your wars are won.” + +The Queen looked once at the statue, and for a long time after never +looked away; and when at last she did her heart had been taken captive. +Then she looked at the words beneath, and the red flush that rose to her +face was not gone when the last of her army passed out of the city gates +to carry war into the country of the man who had dared thus to speak +scorn of her. + +For a whole year the White King fought with the forces she sent against +him; but when all the other kings came to her aid, then, stronghold by +stronghold, all his cities were taken, and his lands were laid waste and +their villages burnt, and nothing but defeat and ruin remained. + +Yet in the last battle, when his enemies thought to have him a safe +prisoner, all of a sudden they found that the White King had disappeared. + +Back came the Queen’s armies in triumph with their allies, and the +conquered territory was added as one more to the many that formed her +realm. But the Queen sighed as she looked at the White King’s statue, and +her triumph grew bitter to her. Day by day, as she looked at the calm +marble face, her love for it increased, and she owned sadly to herself, +“He whom I have conquered has conquered me!” + +Of the lost King himself no tidings could be learned, though search was +made far and wide. Minstrels came to the court, and sang of his great +deeds in fighting against odds, but of his end they sang variously. Some +sang that he lay buried beneath the thickest of the slain; others that +from his last battle he had been carried by good fairies, and that after +he had been healed of his wounds, he would return in a hundred years and +recover his kingdom. + +One minstrel came to stay at the court, who sang of ruined homes and +wasted fields, and a happy land laid desolate, and how its King wandered +friendless and unknown through the world, hiding himself in disguise, +sometimes in the cottages of the poor, and sometimes in the dwellings of +the rich. But from no one could the Queen learn any news that satisfied +her, or gave hope that he would at last bend down his pride, and come and +sue to her for forgiveness. + +Wishing to have a hiding place for her grief, she caused the statue to +be set up in a green glade in the most lonely part of the gardens; and +there often she would go and gaze on the calm noble face (whose closed +eyes seemed even now to disdain her love), and would wonder how long a +queen’s heart took to break. + +But after a time she thought, “Though I may never win the love of the +White King for my own, is there no way by which my passion can assuage +itself, when by lifting my finger I can summon half fairyland to my aid?” + +So she called to her the most powerful Fairy she knew, and taking her +into the green glade, began sighing and weeping in front of the White +King’s statue. “This,” she said, “is the image of the only man on earth +I can love! But the man himself is lost, gone I know not where; and my +heart is breaking for grief! Give this statue a life and a heart, and +teach it to love me, else soon I shall surely be dead!” + +The Fairy said to her, “All the might of fairyland could not do so much; +but a little of it I can do; and if Fate is kind to you, Fate may bring +the rest of it to pass.” + +“How much can you do?” asked the Queen. + +“This only,” said the Fairy, “but even that you must do for yourself: I +can but show you the way. Stone is stone, and out of stone I cannot make +a heart; but a heart may grow into it, and this is the way to compass it. + +“You must find first a man who is loved, but does not love (for if he +loves, the statue’s heart when it wakes will turn from you); and him you +must kill with your own hand, and take out his heart and bury it beneath +the feet of the statue. Then I will work my charms, and gradually, as a +flower draws its life out of the ground, so the statue will draw life out +of the human heart buried below. And after a little time you will see it +move, and in a little time more its senses will come, and it will be able +to hear, and see, and speak. But full life will not come to it until it +has learned to love. Then, so soon as it learns to love, it will become +no longer stone, but a human being.” + +But the Queen said, “Supposing its love were to turn from me to another, +where should I be then?” + +“Surely,” said the Fairy, “the secret will be your own, and the watching +of its life as it grows will be yours. Your voice it will hear, your +face it will see; whom, then, will it learn to love more than you?” + +“Wait, then, till I have found the man,” said the Queen, “and we will do +this thing between us!” + +She searched long among her court for some man whose heart was whole, but +who was himself loved. Generally, however, she found it was all the other +way. There was not a man at the court who was not in love, or did not +think himself so; and if there were one who had no thought of love, he +was too poor and mean for the love of any woman to be his. + +But one day the Queen heard a minstrel in the palace court-yard singing +and making merry against love. It was that same minstrel who sang only +sad songs of the White King’s lands laid waste and himself a wanderer: +a fellow with a dark sunburnt face, and thick hair hanging over his +eyes. And as he sang and rattled his jests at the courtiers who stood by +to listen, the Queen noticed one of her waiting-women looking out of a +small lattice, who, as she watched the singer’s face, and listened to his +words, had tears running fast down out of her eyes. + +“Is this a case,” thought the Queen, “of a man who is loved but who does +not love?” + +She sent for the minstrel, and said to him, when he stood bending his +head before her, “Is this pretty scorn that you cast on love earnest or +jest?” + +“Nay,” he answered, “I jest in good earnest; for to speak of love in +earnest is to jest about it.” + +“So,” said the Queen, “you are heart-whole?” + +“Why,” said the minstrel, “I doubt if a mouse could find its way in; and +if I am heart-whole in your presence, I ought to be safe from all the +world!” + +“Now,” thought the Queen, “if only my waiting-woman answers the test, +here is the heart I will have out!” + +Then she bade the minstrel follow her to where stood the White King’s +statue, bidding him sit down under it and sing her more of his rhymes +about love. + +So the minstrel crossed his legs in the long grass and sang. His song +became bitter to the Queen’s ears, for he took the words that were round +the statue, and rhymed them and chimed them, and threw them laughing in +the Queen’s face. She hated him so that she could have poisoned him; but +she remembered that his life was necessary for her experiment to reach +its end. So she sent instead for a sleepy wine, which she gave him to +drink, and presently his voice grew thick and his head dropped down upon +his breast, and his legs slid out and brought him down level with the +grass. When night came on she left him soundly sleeping with his head +between the feet of the White King’s statue. + +Then she sent for the waiting-woman and said, “Go down to the White +King’s statue, and find for me my handkerchief which I have dropped +there.” But as the girl went, the Queen stole secretly after her, and +watched her come to where the minstrel lay asleep. + +And when the waiting-maid saw him lying so, with his face thrown back, +she knelt down in the grass by his side, and putting her arms softly +about him, kissed him upon the lips over and over again as though she +could never come to an end, and her tears dropped down on to his face, +and, as if her mind were gone mad for love of him, the Queen heard her +sighing, “Oh, White King, my White King, my Beloved, whom I love, but +who loves me not!” + +As soon as the waiting-maid was gone, the Queen came softly to the place, +and with a sharp knife she cut out the minstrel’s heart and buried it at +the base of the statue. + +In the morning the minstrel was found lying dead, with his heart gone; +and when they washed the dead face and put back the hair that covered the +eyes, they found that it was the White King himself. + +That day, and for many days after, there were two women weeping in the +palace: one was the Queen and the other was the waiting-woman. But the +body of the White King they buried close by the statue in the green glade. + +Now presently, when the first violence of her grief was over, the Queen +came to look at the place; and, sure enough, the Fairy had been there +with her spells. When the wind blew the statue swayed gently like a tree +in the wind. + +The Queen caused gates and barriers to be put up so that no one should +enter the glade but herself; only Love found a way, and at night, when +all the world was asleep, the waiting-woman crept through a loose pale +in the barriers, and came to moan over the place where her lover had been +slain. + +All night she would lie with her arms round the feet of the White King’s +statue, and dream of the dead minstrel whom she had loved and known +through all his disguise. And all night long her lips would murmur his +name, and whisper over and over again the sad story of her love. + +And presently, as the statue drew life from the heart buried beneath its +feet, its ears were opened and it heard. + +In the daytime the Queen would come and sit before it and whisper to it +of love, offering it all the gifts of riches and power that are in the +hands of kings to give; but at night came the waiting-woman and offered +it only love. + +Out of the ground the Queen saw grow a small plant, that began to creep +upwards and to wind itself round the base of the statue; and when she saw +that its flower was the deadly nightshade, her heart trembled and her +conscience made her afraid. + +But the waiting-maid, when she saw it, picked the sad blossoms and made a +crown for the statue’s head as of pale amethyst and gold: for she said to +herself, “Down below my dear lies dead, and the roots of this flower are +in his hair.” + +One day as the Queen came into the glade, she heard the dead minstrel’s +voice, and her heart shook with terror as she saw the statue open its +white lips and sing, and recognised the tune and the words as those which +had made her heart feel so bitter against him; for she thought, “What if +he knows that it is I who have slain him?” + +Now that she saw that the stone had its five senses, and could see and +speak and hear, she pleaded to it all day out of the greatness of her +grief and her love. But the statue never returned her word. + +At night, lying with her face bowed between the White King’s statue’s +feet, the waiting-woman knew nothing of all this change; only the statue +heard and saw and knew. And at last one day as her tears dropped on them, +she felt the feet grow warm between her hands; and a voice over her head +that she remembered and loved, said, “Little heart, why are you weeping +so?” + +In the morning the Queen came and found the statue gone. There on the +pedestal was only the print of his feet, half covered by the deadly +nightshade which had climbed up to his knees and fallen. There it lay +heavy and half-withered, clasping the hollows where his feet had been. + +The Queen knelt down and caught the bare stone pedestal in her arms. “Oh, +Love,” she cried, “have you left me? Oh, White King, my White King, have +you betrayed me?” And as she clung there weeping, her lips touched the +deadly nightshade; and the nightshade thrilled, and felt joy give new +life down into its roots. + +It reached up and laid its arms about the Queen, about her throat, and +about her feet and about her waist. “Dearly, dearly we love each other,” +said the nightshade, “do we not?” + +At night the courtiers came, and found only a dead Queen lying, and the +statue gone. + +But the White King had gone home to his own land to marry the +waiting-woman. + + + + +THE STORY OF THE HERONS + + _TO_ + AUDREY AND VERONICA + +[Illustration] + + +THE STORY OF THE HERONS + +A long time ago there lived a King and a Queen who loved each other +dearly. They had both fallen in love at first sight; and as their love +began so it went on through all their life. Yet this, which was the cause +of all their happiness, was the cause also of all their misfortunes. + +In his youth, when he was a beautiful young bachelor, the King had had +the ill-luck to attract the heart of a jealous and powerful Fairy; and +though he never gave her the least hope or encouragement, when she heard +that his love had been won at first sight by a mere mortal, her rage and +resentment knew no bounds. She said nothing, however, but bided her time. + +After they had been married a year the Queen presented her husband with a +little daughter; before she was yet a day old she was the most beautiful +object in the world, and life seemed to promise her nothing but fortune +and happiness. + +The family Fairy came to the blessing of the new-born; and she, looking +at it as it lay beautifully asleep in its cradle, and seeing that it had +already as much beauty and health as the heart could desire, promised it +love as the next best gift it was within her power to offer. The Queen, +who knew how much happiness her own love had brought her, was kissing the +good Fairy with all the warmth of gratitude, when a black kite came and +perched upon the window-sill crying: “And I will give her love at first +sight! The first living thing that she sets eyes on she shall love to +distraction, whether it be man or monster, prince or pauper, bird, beast +or reptile.” And as the wicked Fairy spoke she clapped her wings, and +up through the boards of the floor, and out from under the bed, and in +through the window, came a crowd of all the ugliest shapes in the world. +Thick and fast they came, gathering about the cradle and lifting their +heads over the edge of it, waiting for the poor little Princess to wake +up and fall in love at first sight with one of them. + +Luckily the child was asleep; and the good Fairy, after driving away the +black kite and the crowd of beasts it had called to its aid, wrapped +the Princess up in a shawl and carried her away to a dark room where no +glimmer of light could get in. + +She said to the Queen: “Till I can devise a better way, you must keep her +in the dark; and when you take her into the open air you must blindfold +her eyes. Some day, when she is of a fit age, I will bring a handsome +Prince for her; and only to him shall you unblindfold her at last, and +make love safe for her.” + +She went, leaving the King and Queen deeply stricken with grief over the +harm which had befallen their daughter. They did not dare to present +even themselves before her eyes lest love for them, fatal and consuming, +should drive her to distraction. In utter darkness the Queen would sit +and cherish her daughter, clasping her to her breast, and calling her by +all sweet names; but the little face, except by stealth when it was sound +asleep, she never dared to see, nor did the baby-Princess know the face +of the mother who loved her. + +By and by, however, the family Fairy came again, saying: “Now, I have a +plan by which your child may enjoy the delights of seeing, and no ill +come of it.” And she caused to be made a large chamber, the whole of one +side of which was a mirror. High up in the opposite wall were windows so +screened that from below no one could look out of them, but across on +to the mirror came all the sweet sights of the world, glimpses of wood +and field, and the sun and the moon and the stars, and of every bird as +it flew by. So the little Princess was brought and set in a screened +place looking towards the mirror, and there her eyes learned gradually +all the beautiful things of the world. Over the screen, in the glass +before her, she learned to know her mother’s face, and to love it dearly +in a gentle child-like fashion; and when she could talk she became very +wise, understanding all that was told her about the danger of looking at +anything alive, except by its reflection in the glass. + +When she went out into the open air for her health, she always wore a +bandage over her eyes, lest she should look, and love something too +well: but in the chamber of the mirror her eyes were free to see whatever +they could. The good Fairy, making herself invisible, came and taught +her to read and make music, and draw; so that before she was fifteen she +was the most charming and accomplished, as well as the most beautiful +Princess of her day. + +At last the Fairy said that the time was come for her world of +reflections to be made real, and she went away to fetch the ideal Prince +that the Princess might at first sight fall in love with him. + +The very day after she was gone, as the morning was fine, the Princess +went out with one of her maids for a walk through the woods. Over her +patient eyes she wore a bandage of green silk, through which she felt the +sunlight fall pleasantly. + +Out of doors the Princess knew most things by their sounds. She passed +under rustling leaves, and along by the side of running water; and at +last she heard the silence of the water, and knew that she was standing +by the great fish-pond in the middle of the wood. Then she said to her +waiting-woman, “Is there not some great bird fishing out there, for I +hear the dipping of his bill, and the water falling off it as he draws +out the fish?” + +And just as she was saying that, the wicked Fairy, who had long bided her +time, coming softly up from behind, pushed the waiting-woman off the bank +into the deep water of the pond. Then she snatched away the silk bandage, +and before the Princess had time to think or close her eyes, she had lost +her heart to a great heron, that was standing half-way up to his feathers +fishing among the reeds. + +The Princess, with her eyes set free, laughed for joy at the sight of +him. She stretched out her arms from the bank and cried most musically +for the bird to come to her; and he came in grave stately fashion, with +trailing legs, and slow sobbing creak of his wings, and settled down on +the bank beside her. She drew his slender neck against her white throat, +and laughed and cried with her arms round him, loving him so that she +forgot all in the world beside. And the heron looked gravely at her with +kind eyes, and, bird-like, gave her all the love he could, but not more; +and so, presently, casting his grey wings abroad, lifted himself and +sailed slowly back to his fishing among the reeds. + +The waiting-woman had got herself out of the water, and stood wringing +her clothes and her hands beside the Princess. “O, sweet mistress,” she +cried, with lamentation, “now is all the evil come about which it was our +whole aim to avoid! And what, and what will the Queen your mother say?” + +But the Princess answered, smiling, “Foolish girl, I had no thought of +what happiness meant till now! See you where my love is gone? and did +you notice the bend of his neck, and the exceeding length of his legs, +and the stretch of his grey wings as he flew? This pond is his hall of +mirrors, wherein he sees the reflection of all his world. Surely I, from +my hall of mirrors, am the true mate for him!” + +Her maid, seeing how far the evil had gone, and that no worse could now +happen, ran back to the palace and curdled all the court’s blood with +her news. The King and the Queen and all their nobility rushed down, +and there they found the Princess with the heron once more in her arms, +kissing and fondling it with all the marks of a sweet and maidenly +passion. “Dear mother,” she said, as soon as she saw the Queen, “the +happiness, which you feared would be sorrow, has come; and it is such +happiness I have no name for it! And the evil that you so dreaded, see +how sweet it is! And how sweet it is to see all the world with my own +eyes and you also at last!” And for the first time in her life she kissed +her mother’s face in the full light of day. + +But her mother hung sobbing upon her neck, “O, my darling, my beautiful,” +she wept, “does your heart belong for ever to this grey bird?” + +Her daughter answered, “He is more than all the world to me! Is he not +goodly to look upon? Have you considered the bend of his neck, the length +of his legs, and the waving of his wings; his skill also when he fishes: +what imagination, what presence of mind!” + +“Alas, alas,” sorrowed the Queen, “dear daughter, is this all true to +you?” + +“Mother,” cried the Princess, clinging to her with entreaty, “is all the +world blind but me?” + +The heron had become quite fond of the Princess; wherever she went it +followed her, and, indeed, without it nowhere would she go. Whenever it +was near her, the Princess laughed and sang, and when it was out of her +sight she became sad as night. All the courtiers wept to see her in such +bondage. “Ah,” said she, “your eyes have been worn out with looking at +things so long; mine have been kept for me in a mirror.” + +When the good family Fairy came (for she was at once sent for by the +Queen, and told of all that had happened), she said, “Dear Madam, there +are but two things you can do: either you can wring the heron’s neck, and +leave the Princess to die of grief; or you can make the Princess happy in +her own way, by——” Her voice dropped, and she looked from the King to the +Queen before she went on. “At her birth I gave your daughter love for my +gift; now it is hers, will you let her keep it?” + +The King and the Queen looked softly at each other. “Do not take love +from her,” said they, “let her keep it!” + +“There is but one way,” answered the Fairy. + +“Do not tell me the way,” said the Queen weeping, “only let the way be!” + +So they went with the Fairy down to the great pond, and there sat the +Princess, with the grey heron against her heart. She smiled as she saw +them come. “I see good in your hearts toward me!” she cried. “Dear +godmother, give me the thing that I want, that my love may be happy!” + +Then the Fairy stroked her but once with her wand, and two grey herons +suddenly rose up from the bank, and sailed away to a hiding-place in the +reeds. + +The Fairy said to the Queen, “You have made your daughter happy; and +still she will have her voice and her human heart, and will remember you +with love and gratitude; but her greatest love will be to the grey heron, +and her home among the reeds.” + +So the changed life of the Princess began; every day her mother went down +to the pool and called, and the Princess came rising up out of the reeds, +and folded her grey wings over her mother’s heart. Every day her mother +said, “Daughter of mine, are you happy?” + +And the Princess answered her, “Yes, for I love and am loved.” + +Yet each time the mother heard more and more of a note of sadness come +into her daughter’s voice; and at last one day she said, “Answer me +truly, as the mother who brought you into the world, whether you be happy +in your heart of hearts or no?” + +Then the heron-Princess laid her head on the Queen’s heart, and said, +“Mother, my heart is breaking with love!” + +“For whom, then?” asked the Queen astonished. + +“For my grey heron, whom I love, and who loves me so much. And yet it is +love that divides us, for I am still troubled with a human heart, and +often it aches with sorrow because all the love in it can never be fully +understood or shared by my heron; and I have my human voice left, and +that gives me a hundred things to say all day, for which there is no word +in herons’ language, and so he cannot understand them. Therefore these +things only make a gulf between him and me. For all the other grey herons +in the pools there is happiness, but not for me who have too big a heart +between my wings.” + +Her mother said softly, “Wait, wait, little heron-daughter, and it shall +be well with you!” Then she went to the Fairy and said, “My daughter’s +heart is lonely among the reeds, for the grey heron’s love covers but +half of it. Give her some companions of her own kind that her hours may +become merry again!” + +So the Fairy took and turned five of the Princess’s lady’s-maids into +herons, and sent them down to the pool. + +The five herons stood each on one leg in the shallows of the pool, +and cried all day long; and their tears fell down into the water and +frightened away the fish that came their way. For they had human hearts +that cried out to be let go. “O, cruel, cruel,” they wept, whenever the +heron-Princess approached, “see what we suffer because of you, and what +they have made of us for your sake!” + +The Princess came to her mother and said, “Dear mother, take them away, +for their cry wearies me, and the pool is bitter with their tears! They +only awake the human part of my heart that wants to sleep; presently, may +be, if it is let alone, it will forget itself.” + +Her mother said, “It is my coming every day also that keeps it awake.” +The Princess answered, “This sorrow belongs to my birthright; you must +still come; but for the others, let the Fairy take them away.” + +So the Fairy came and released the five lady’s-maids whom she had changed +into herons. And they came up out of the water, stripping themselves of +their grey feather-skins and throwing them back into the pool. The Fairy +said, “You foolish maids, you have thrown away a gift that you should +have valued; these skins you could have kept and held as heirlooms in +your family.” + +The five maids answered, “We want to forget that there are such things as +herons in the world!” + +After much thought the Queen said to the Fairy, “You have changed a +Princess into a heron, and five maids into herons and back again; cannot +you change one heron into a Prince?” But the Fairy answered sadly, “Our +power has limits; we can bring down, but we cannot bring up, if there be +no heart to answer our call. The five maids only followed their hearts, +that were human, when I called them back; but a heron has only a heron’s +heart, and unless his heart become too great for a bird and he earn a +human one, I cannot change him to a higher form.” “How can he earn a +human one?” asked the Queen. “Only if he love the Princess so well that +his love for her becomes stronger than his life,” answered the Fairy. +“Then he will have earned a human body, and then I can give him the form +that his heart suits best. There may be a chance, if we wait for it and +are patient, for the Princess’s love is great and may work miracles.” + +A little while after this, the Queen watching, saw that the two herons +were making a nest among the reeds. “What have you there?” said +the mother to her daughter. “A little hollow place,” answered the +heron-Princess, “and in it the moon lies.” A little while after she said +again, “What have you there, now, little daughter?” And her daughter +answered, “Only a small hollow space; but in it two moons lie.” + +The Queen told the family Fairy how in a hollow of the reeds lay two +moons. “Now,” said the Fairy, “we will wait no longer. If your daughter’s +love has touched the heron’s heart and made it grow larger than a bird’s, +I can help them both to happiness; but if not, then birds they must +still remain.” + +Among the reeds the heron said in bird language to his wife, “Go and +stretch your wings for a little while over the water; it is weary work +to wait here so long in the reeds.” The heron-Princess looked at him +with her bird’s eyes, and all the human love in her heart strove, like a +fountain that could not get free, to make itself known through them; also +her tongue was full of the longing to utter sweet words, but she kept +them back, knowing they were beyond the heron’s power to understand. So +she answered merely in heron’s language, “Come with me, and I will come!” + +They rose, wing beating beside wing; and the reflection of their grey +breasts slid out under them over the mirror of the pool. + +Higher they went and higher, passing over the tree tops, and keeping time +together as they flew. All at once the wings of the grey heron flagged, +then took a deep beat; he cried to the heron-Princess, “Turn, and come +home, yonder there is danger flying to meet us!” Before them hung a +brown blot in the air, that winged and grew large. The two herons turned +and flew back. “Rise,” cried the grey heron, “we must rise!” and the +Princess knew what was behind, and struggled with the whole strength of +her wings for escape. + +The grey heron was bearing ahead on stronger wing. “With me, with me!” he +cried. “If it gets above us, one of us is dead!” But the falcon had fixed +his eye on the Princess for his quarry, and flew she fast, or flew she +slow, there was little chance for her now. Up and up she strained, but +still she was behind her mate, and still the falcon gained. + +The heron swung back to her side; she saw the anguish and fear of his +downward glance as his head ranged by hers. Past her the falcon went, +towering for the final swoop. + +The Princess cried in heron’s language, “Farewell, dear mate, and +farewell, two little moons among the reeds!” But the grey heron only kept +closer to her side. + +Overhead the falcon closed in its wings and fell like a dead weight out +of the clouds. “Drop!” cried the grey heron to his mate. + +At his word she dropped; but he stayed, stretching up his wings, and, +passing between the descending falcon and its prey, caught in his own +body the death-blow from its beak. Drops of his blood fell upon the +heron-Princess. + +He stricken in body, she in soul, together they fell down to the margin +of the pool. The falcon still clung fleshing its beak in the neck of its +prey. The heron-Princess threw back her head, and, darting furiously, +struck her own sharp bill deep into the falcon’s breast. The bird threw +out its wings with a hoarse cry and fell back dead, with a little tuft of +the grey heron’s feathers still upon its beak. + +The heron-Princess crouched down, and covered with her wings the dying +form of her mate; in her sorrow she spoke to him in her own tongue, +forgetting her bird’s language. The grey heron lifted his head, and, +gazing tenderly, answered her with a human voice: + +“Dear wife,” he said, “at last I have the happiness so long denied to +me of giving utterance in the speech that is your own to the love that +you have put into my heart. Often I have heard you speak and have not +understood; now something has touched my heart, and changed it, so that I +can both speak and understand.” + +“O, beloved!” She laid her head down by his. “The ends of the world +belong to us now. Lie down, and die gently by my side, and I will die +with you, breaking my heart with happiness.” + +“No,” said the grey heron, “do not die yet! Remember the two little moons +that lie in the hollow among the reeds.” Then he laid his head down by +hers, being too weak to say more. + +They folded their wings over each other, and closed their eyes; nor did +they know that the Fairy was standing by them, till she stroked them both +softly with her wand, saying to each of them the same words: + +“Human heart, and human form, come out of the grey heron!” + +And out of the grey heron-skins came two human forms; the one was the +Princess restored again to her own shape, but the other was a beautiful +youth, with a bird-like look about the eyes, and long slender limbs. The +Princess, as she gazed on him, found hardly any change, for love remained +the same, binding him close to her heart; and, grey heron or beautiful +youth, he was all one to her now. + +Then came the Queen, weeping for joy, and embracing them both, and after +them, the Fairy. “O, how good an ending,” she cried, “has come to that +terrible dream! Let it never be remembered or mentioned between us more!” +And she began to lead the way back to the palace. + +But the youth, to whom the Fairy gave the name of Prince Heron, turned +and took up the two heron-skins which he and his wife had let fall, and +followed, carrying them upon his arm. And as they came past the bed of +reeds, the Princess went aside, and, stooping down in a certain place +drew out from thence something which she came carrying, softly wrapped in +the folds of her gown. + +With what rejoicing the Princess and her husband were welcomed by the +King and all the Court needs not to be told. For a whole month the +festivities continued; and whenever she showed herself, there was the +Princess sitting with two eggs in her lap, and her hands over them to +keep them warm. The King was impatient. “Why cannot you send them down to +the poultry yard to be hatched?” he said. + +But the Princess replied smiling, “My moons are my own, and I will keep +them to myself.” + +“Do you hear?” she said one day, at last; and everybody who listened +could hear something going “tap, tap,” inside the shells. Presently the +eggs cracked, and out of each, at the same moment, came a little grey +heron. + +When she saw that they were herons, the Queen wrung her hands. “O, +Fairy,” she cried, “what a disappointment is this! I had hoped two +beautiful babies would have come out of those shells.” + +But the Fairy said, “It is no matter. Half of their hearts are human +already; birds’ hearts do not beat so. If you wish it, I can change +them.” So she stroked them softly with her wand, saying to each, “Human +heart, and human form, come out of the grey heron!” + +Yet she had to stroke them three times before they would turn; and she +said to the Princess, “My dear, you were too satisfied with your lot when +you laid these eggs. I doubt if more than a quarter of them is human.” + +“I was very satisfied,” said the Princess, and she laughed across to her +husband. + +At last, however, on the third stroke of the wand, the heron’s skins +dropped off, and they changed into a pair of very small babies, a boy +and a girl. But the difference between them and other children was, that +instead of hair, their heads were covered with a fluff of downy grey +feathers; also they had queer, round, bird-like eyes, and were able to +sleep standing. + +Now, after this the happiness of the Princess was great; but the Fairy +said to her, “Do not let your husband see the heron-skins again for some +while, lest with the memory a longing for his old life should return to +him and take him away from you. Only by exchange with another can he ever +get back his human form again, if he surrenders it of his own free will. +And who is there so poor that he would willingly give up his human form +to become a bird?” + +So the Princess took the four coats of feather—her own and her husband’s +and her two children’s—and hid them away in a closet of which she alone +kept the key. It was a little gold key, and to make it safe she hung it +about her neck, and wore it night and day. + +The Prince said to her, “What is that little key that you wear always +hung round your neck?” + +She answered him, “It is the key to your happiness and mine. Do not ask +more than that!” At that there was a look in his face that made her say, +“You _are_ happy, are you not?” + +He kissed her, saying, “Happy indeed! Have I not you to make me so?” Yet +though, indeed, he told no untruth, and was happy whenever she was with +him, there were times when a restlessness and a longing for wings took +hold of him; for, as yet, the life of a man was new and half strange to +him, and a taint of his old life still mixed itself with his blood. But +to her he was ashamed to say what might seem a complaint against his +great fortune; so when she said “happiness,” he thought, “Is it just the +turning of that key that I want before my happiness can be perfect?” + +Therefore, one night when the early season of spring made his longing +strong in him, he took the key from the Princess while she slept, and +opened the little closet in which hung the four feather coats. And when +he saw his own, all at once he remembered the great pools of water, +and how they lay in the shine and shadow of the moonlight, while the +fish rose in rings upon their surface. And at that so great a longing +came into him to revisit his old haunts that he reached out his hand and +took down the heron-skin from its nail and put it over himself; so that +immediately his old life took hold of him, and he flew out of the window +in the form of a grey heron. + +In the morning the Princess found the key gone from her neck, and her +husband’s place empty. She went in haste to the closet, and there stood +the door wide with the key in it, and only three heron-skins hanging +where four had used to be. + +Then she came crying to the family Fairy, “My husband has taken his +heron-skin and is gone! Tell me what I can do!” + +The Fairy pitied her with all her heart, but could do nothing. “Only by +exchange,” said she, “can he get back his human shape; and who is there +so poor that he would willingly lose his own form to become a bird? Only +your children, who are but half human, can put their heron-skins on and +off as they like and when they like.” + +In deep grief the Princess went to look for her husband down by the pools +in the wood. But now his shame and sorrow at having deceived her were so +great that as soon as he heard her voice he hid himself among the reeds, +for he knew now that, having put on his heron-skin again, he could not +take it off unless some one gave him a human form in exchange. + +At last, however, so pitiful was the cry of the Princess for him, that he +could bear to hear it no more; but rising up from the reeds came trailing +to her sadly over the water. “Ah, dear love!” she said when he was come +to her, “if I had not distrusted you, you would not have deceived me: +thus, for my fault we are punished.” So she sorrowed, and he answered her: + +“Nay, dear love, for if I had not deceived you, you would not have +distrusted me. I thought I was not happy, yet I feared to tell it you.” +Thus they sorrowed together, both laying on themselves the blame and the +burden. + +Then she said to him: “Be here for me to-night, for now I must go; but +then I shall return.” + +She went back to the palace, and told her mother of all that had +happened. “And now,” she said, “you who know where my happiness lies will +not forbid me from following it; for my heart is again with the grey +heron.” And the Queen wept, but would not say her no. + +So that night the Princess went and kissed her children as they slept +standing up in their beds, with their funny feather-pates to one side; +and then she took down her skin of feathers and put it on, and became +changed once more into a grey heron. And again she went up to the two in +their cots, and kissed their birdish heads saying: “They who can change +at will, being but half human, they will come and visit us in the great +pool by the wood, and bring back word of us here.” + +In the morning the Princess was gone, and the two children when they woke +looked at each other and said: “Did we dream last night?” + +They both answered each other “Yes, first we dreamed that our mother +came and kissed us; and we liked that. And then we dreamed that a grey +heron came and kissed us, and we liked that better still!” They waved +their arms up and down. “Why have we not wings?” they kept asking. All +day long they did this, playing that they were birds. If a window were +opened, it was with the greatest difficulty that they were kept from +trying to fly through. + +In the Court they were known as the “Feather-pates”; nothing could they +be taught at all. When they were rebuked they would stand on one leg and +sigh with their heads on one side; but no one ever saw tears come out of +their birdish eyes. + +Now at night they would dream that two grey herons came and stood by +their bedsides, kissing them; “And where in the world,” they said when +they woke, “_are_ our wings?” + +One day, wandering about in the palace, they came upon the closet in +which hung the two little feather coats. “O!!!” they cried, and opened +hard bright eyes at each other, nodding, for now they knew what they +would do. “If we told, they would be taken off us,” they said; and they +waited till it was night. Then they crept back and took the two little +coats from their pegs, and, putting them on, were turned into two young +herons. + +Through the window they flew, away down to the great fish-pond in the +wood. Their father and mother saw them coming, and clapped their wings +for joy. “See,” they said, “our children come to visit us, and our hearts +are left to us to love with. What further happiness can we want?” But +when they were not looking at each other they sighed. + +All night long the two young herons stayed with their parents; they +bathed, and fished, and flew, till they were weary. Then the Princess +showed them the nest among the reeds, and told them all the story of +their lives. + +“But it is much nicer to be herons than to be real people,” said the +young ones, sadly, and became very sorrowful when dawn drew on, and their +mother told them to go back to the palace and hang up the feather coats +again, and be as they had been the day before. + +Long, long the day now seemed to them; they hardly waited till it was +night before they took down their feather-skins, and, putting them on, +flew out and away to the fish-pond in the wood. + +So every night they went, when all in the palace were asleep; and in the +morning came back before anyone was astir, and were found by their nurses +lying demurely between the sheets, just as they had been left the night +before. + +One day the Queen when she went to see her daughter said to her, “My +child, your two children are growing less like human beings and more +like birds every day. Nothing will they learn or do, but stand all day +flapping their arms up and down, and saying, ‘Where are our wings, where +are our wings?’ The idea of one of them ever coming to the throne makes +your father’s hair stand on end under his crown.” + +“Oh, mother,” said the heron-Princess, “I have made a sad bed for you and +my father to lie on!” + +One day the two children said to each other, “Our father and mother +are sad, because they want to be real persons again, instead of having +wings and catching fish the way we like to do. Let us give up being real +persons, which is all so much trouble, and such a want of exercise, and +make them exchange with us!” But when the two young herons went down to +the pond and proposed it to them, their parents said, “You are young; +you do not know what you would be giving up.” Nor would they consent to +it at all. + +Now one morning it happened that the Feather-pates were so late in +returning to the palace that the Queen, coming into their chamber, +found the two beds empty; and just as she had turned away to search for +them elsewhere, she heard a noise of wings and saw the two young herons +come flying in through the window. Then she saw them take off their +feather-skins and hang them up in the closet, and after that go and lie +down in their beds so as to look as if they had been there all night. + +The Queen struck her hands together with horror at the sight, but she +crept away softly, so that they did not know they had been found out. +But as soon as they were out of their beds and at play in another part +of the palace, the Queen went to the closet, and setting fire to the two +heron-skins where they hung, burnt them till not a feather of them was +left, and only a heap of grey ashes remained to tell what had become of +them. + +At night, when the Feather-pates went to their cupboards and found their +skins gone, and saw what had become of them, their grief knew no bounds. +They trembled with fear and rage, and tears rained out of their eyes as +they beheld themselves deprived of their bird bodies and made into real +persons for good and all. + +“We won’t be real persons!” they cried. But for all their crying they +knew no way out of it. They made themselves quite ill with grief; and +that night, for the first time since they had found their way to the +closet, they stayed where their nurses had put them, and did not even +stand up in their beds to go to sleep. There they lay with gasping mouth, +and big bird-like eyes all languid with grief, and hollow grey cheeks. + +Presently their father and mother came seeking for them, wondering why +they had not come down to the fish-pond as they were wont. “Where are +you, my children?” cried the heron-Princess, putting her head in through +the window. + +“Here we are, both at death’s door!” they cried. “Come and see us die! +Our wicked granddam has burnt our feather-skins and made us into real +persons for ever and ever, Amen. But we will die rather!” + +The parent herons, when they heard that, flew in through the window and +bent down over the little ones’ beds. + +The two children reached up their arms. “Give us your feathers!” they +cried. “We shall die if you don’t! We _will_ die if you don’t! O, do!” +But still the parent birds hesitated, nor knew what to do. + +“Bend down, and let me whisper something!” said the boy to his father: +and “Bend down, and whisper!” cried the girl to her mother. And father +and mother bent down over the faces of their sick children. Then these, +both together, caught hold of them, and crying, “Human heart, and +human form, exchange with the grey heron!” pulled off their parents’ +feather-skins, and put them upon themselves. + +And there once more stood Prince Heron and the Princess in human shape, +while the two children had turned into herons in their place. + +The young herons laughed and shouted and clapped their wings for joy. +“Are you not happy now?” cried they. And when their parents saw the joy, +not only in their children’s eyes, but in each other’s, and felt their +hearts growing glad in the bodies they had regained, then they owned +that the Feather-pates had been wise in their generation, and done well +according to their lights. + +So it came about that the Prince and the Princess lived happily ever +after, and the two young herons lived happily also, and were the +best-hearted birds the world ever saw. + +In course of time the Prince and Princess had other children, who pleased +the old King better than the first had done. But the parents loved +none better than the two who lived as herons by the great fish-pond in +the wood; nor could there be greater love than was found between these +and their younger brothers and sisters, whose nature it was to be real +persons. + + + + +SYRINGA + + _TO_ + DORA + +[Illustration] + + +SYRINGA + +A great many years ago there lived a King who spent his days in +travelling about to find the woman he could love and take to be his wife. +Though the richest and most beautiful princesses offered him their hands +in marriage, for none of them could he entertain the smallest affection. +“It seems that I have had a dream,” he said. “Somewhere my Love is, but I +have not found her yet!” + +In those days the country over which he was lord had two Kings, one +reigned and the other ruled; and as long as this was so, since his +brother-King who ruled was married, his councillors allowed him who +merely reigned to wander about at will in pursuit of his strange fancy. + +When, however, the King who ruled died without leaving an heir, then +those same councillors said, “This will not do; the State can wait no +longer. Princes are born, and Kings die; love or no love, for your +people’s sake you must marry!” + +“Then why does he not marry me?” said the Queen-widow of the King that +ruled. + +The King that reigned said, “Rather than marry her I would marry my +scullery-maid!” He became so terrified at the thought of her proposal +that he took horse secretly by night, and rode away into the most +secluded and uninhabited parts of his dominion. + +Now here, as he rode along over many miles of barren moor and hill, one +day, crossing a high ridge, he met the wind coming softly up out of the +valley below him, and its breath upon his face was full of the perfume of +some sweet flower. At that his heart, which had been so long listless and +sad, seemed to awake within him. “Flower of my dream!” he cried; and soon +saw below him, nestling in a corner of the valley, a small garden half +hidden in the embrace of tall girdling trees. + +Down he went joyfully, following the fragrant call till he came to the +entrance of the place; and there, dismounting from his horse, he entered +its green ways. A natural lawn mounted and hollowed before him in glossy +sweeps, flowering shrubs dotted its heights, for the summer of the year +was begun; but the scent which had taken hold of his heart came from a +great bush of white bloom in the centre of all. + +Under the bush lay a young and beautiful girl, and the blossoms were +sprinkling down, one by one, like dropped kisses upon her dear face. So +soon as the King saw her he knew that his search was at an end, and that +his dream of years had come true. + +Their glad eyes met softly through the flowers; and he said, “You had but +to breathe for me, and I came!” For all her face and breath smelt to him +of the blossoms she lay under. + +She answered, “Three years I have lain with my ear upon the ground, and +heard you going and coming, searching the world through; and now at last +you are come!” She rose up to the King’s embrace, and they were to each +other like old lovers long parted and at last met, so long had they +known of love in their dreams. + +Twilight was beginning as they turned and went out of the garden. The +King said, “What is your name all these years?” + +And she answered him with a voice like a bird singing, “Syringa my name +was, Syringa my name is, and will be while life lasts.” + +When they left the valley and went mounting the side of the hill, a sweet +wind rose and rose, and came following them. All the way, as they rode, +white blossoms came showering behind them, falling upon their faces and +their hair, and whitening the track at their feet. Up to the city gates, +where all the King’s court and his councillors stood watching and waiting +for his return, the blossoms kept following them, like little scented +moths fluttering round them in the darkness. + +When the gates were opened, the whole city became full of the scent of +the bride’s name. + +So the marriage of the King who reigned was celebrated with all the joy +and noise imaginable; for all the people laughed and shouted and clapped +their hands when their eyes saw the beauty of the new Queen. But the +dowager Queen, the widow of the King who ruled, put on yellow weeds, and +shut herself up in a corner of the palace, eating unleavened bread and +bitter herb sandwiches till all the rejoicings were over. + +In a little while, however, she appeared to forget her grief, and, +concealing her jealousy, made friends with the King who reigned, and with +his Queen; and the King was glad in his great happiness to think that no +heart in all the kingdom remained under a cloud. + +For nearly a year the happiness of the King and Queen lasted and grew +perfect. Every day that they lived together they loved each other more +and more. But the Queen-widow waited and watched till an opportunity for +her evil working should come in. + +Presently people who looked at Syringa’s beauty began to say, “Is not +such beauty more than human? Where does it come from, and what keeps it +alive?” And though many in course of time learned to talk like this, +no one ever seemed to know from whom such talk first came. Later, folk +began to whisper instead of to talk. “We have heard,” they said, “one +way by which such beauty can be kept alive, yet only one.” Then others +were heard saying, “Have you heard that this man’s wife lost her child +before it was a week old, and knows not where it can be gone; and that +that man’s wife lost hers in the same way a week before? And who will +lose hers this week that’s coming, if we don’t know yet, we soon shall +know!” And shortly, sure enough, all through the city there were mothers +mourning for the loss of their children, who had gone, none knew where, +before they were even a week old; and more and more the crowd was taught +to say, “Look how beautiful the Queen grows!” whenever she walked or rode. + +The Queen-widow listened to all this, and laughed. In her own chamber she +had a cage filled with little blue birds, who cried lamentably all day +long. + +Now, just when all the city-talk and the dark looks of the people had +grown to a head, Queen Syringa gave birth to a little son; and the King’s +joy was beyond all bounds. “Now,” thought the Queen-widow, “now or never! +Now I will ruin her or die!” + +She watched her opportunity, till one day she found Syringa lying alone +upon her couch with the child asleep between her arms. + +The wicked Queen saw that Syringa also was asleep. She stooped down over +the child, whispering a spell, and as she clapped her hands it started +from between its mother’s arms and flew away in the form of a little blue +bird. + +The Queen-widow did her best to catch the bird, but could not; then she +took blood, and, smearing the Queen’s hands and face with it, left her +lying there asleep. + +So Syringa was found; and the noise of it went through the city how she +had killed her own child in order to keep alive her wondrous beauty. The +King tried with heart and soul not to believe so wicked a story against +the wife he loved, but the evidence was too strong. When asked, the Queen +could explain nothing. “When I went to sleep,” she said, “my child was in +my arms, and when I awoke it was gone!” + +Outside the palace all the people were crying for her to be put to death. +“Give back to their mothers the babies that you have eaten!” they cried. + +The King sent for his foster-brother, and told him to take the Queen away +to some lonely and desolate place, and there to make an end of her. “She +is too beautiful,” he said, “and I loved her too much. Let her be very +far away from me when she dies!” + +So that night the King’s foster-brother took the Queen, and set out in +the direction of the waste places and the hills. All the day following +they journeyed, till toward evening they came to the head of a valley, +where a wind came to them carrying the rich scent of flowers. The Queen +lifted her head and took in a deep breath; then she said, “If I have to +die, let me die under the scent of those flowers!” + +They went on till they came to a little garden lying in a curl of the +valley. There in the centre of a lawn stood the great bush white with +bloom, and a sweet fragrance blew out of it, filling all that space. + +“If I must die,” said the Queen again, “let me lie down and drink in the +scent of those flowers; afterwards I shall not complain.” So the King’s +foster-brother gave her leave to go and lie down under the tree, and sat +down close at hand to keep watch, so that she should not escape. + +A small blue bird came and perched upon the bush over her head. + +“Syringa, Syringa!” cried the bird, and two white blossoms fell off like +kisses upon the Queen’s face. She lifted her hands and threw kisses up to +the flowers, and more and more they came down and settled upon her face. + +“Syringa, Syringa!” sang the bird; and, hearing it, the King’s +foster-brother’s heart became ready to break for grief. + +The twilight deepened in the air around. All through the hours the bird +sang on, and the flowers dropped down like pale tired moths in the dusk +of the summer’s night, till where the Queen lay became white with a mass +of blossoms that never stirred. + +The heart of the King’s foster-brother grew heavier; “What if, after all, +she be not wicked but good! To-morrow at sunrise I must kill her.” + +“Syringa, Syringa!” cried the bird. + +Towards dawn he saw the tree all blossomless, only a great heap of +petals, like a snow-covered grave, showed where the Queen lay; and the +song of the bird had stopped. + +“If she sleeps now,” thought the King’s foster-brother, “it will be +merciful.” He drew out his sharp hunting-knife, and went softly up to the +spot to carry out the King’s command. + +So covered was she with blossoms, he could not tell which way lay her +head; the heaviness of their dying scent almost made him swoon. Softly +with his hand he brushed the petals apart to find a place where he might +strike. + +How deeply they lay! They seemed to be without end here in the centre of +all. Presently his hand came upon green grass bent with the weight of +blossoms, and dank with dew. He shut his eyes and started away, for the +colour and the touch made a strange sorrow in his heart, and he knew that +the Queen was not there. + +He went away to the furthest part of the garden, and returned, and again +searched, and still she was not there; only blossoms in a pile, and under +them green grass. + +“Syringa, Syringa!” sang the bird; and now there was a sort of triumph in +its note. + +The King’s foster-brother turned and went back to the city. All the way +the blossoms drifted and blew after him along the track; till at evening +he stood at the palace door in a wind of syringa scent, and dead flowers +blew over his feet as he crossed the threshold. + +Then he told the King all that he had seen and heard, and the King knew +surely that his Queen, who had died so gentle and beloved a death, had +been innocent of the crime laid to her charge. So great was his grief he +could not rest; that very night he rose and journeyed till he came by day +to the little garden; there he found the tree blossomless, and in the +top of it he heard the blue bird crying, “Syringa, Syringa,” sadly and +without ceasing. + +But to the King there came no sign or sound of his love. He laid his head +upon the ground at the foot of the tree, sighing, “My love, you lay three +years with your ear to the ground listening for my feet; now I will lie +and listen for yours!” + +All the grass became wet with the tears of sorrow that the King shed; +the tree waved and grew more green. In three days new blossoms looked +out among the leaves; at night they fell upon his face, and he dreamed +that Syringa’s lips were laid to his ear, and the tale of her betrayal +whispered to him. + +Then, knowing all, but determined for a time to let the truth lie buried +in his heart, he caused the tree to be lifted from the ground and carried +back and set secretly in the palace garden. And of all this, and of what +he knew, he said nothing to the Queen-widow. + +To the little blue bird that had followed the tree, and perched in its +boughs, he said, “Be silent, little blue bird, and do not sing that name +here.” At his word the little blue bird became silent as death, and sat +motionless in the heart of the tree, never once breathing Syringa’s name. + +At night the Prince would come and press his lips to the leaves of the +tree and whisper, “Ah, love, how long is my heart to stay broken? And +when will forgiveness blossom?” + +But to the Queen-widow it appeared that the Prince was recovering from +his grief; and when a year had gone round she began wooing him by +stealth, seeming to pity him for the sorrow that the wickedness of his +dead Queen had caused him. + +Little by little he seemed to listen and open his heart to her; once he +said, “All my grief would go if one whom I love could know that my heart, +which once turned from her, has become wholly hers again.” + +When the Queen-widow heard that said, she thought, “Surely now, in a +short time, all my schemes are to be brought to a good end.” + +One day as they walked and talked together in the gardens of the palace, +they came upon a tree white and covered with blossom. “How I love that +flower!” said the King; but the Queen-widow as soon as she smelt the +scent of it turned pale and trembled. Up among the branches sat a little +blue bird silently. + +“Come here, and sit under this tree,” said the King, “and let me speak +freely, for I am in sore want of a wife!” He drew her close under the +leaves of the tree. “Here,” he thought, “I will make her speak; she shall +confess all!” Over them a bough leaned down. + +One of its blossoms touched the Queen-widow on the throat. “It has bitten +me!” she shrieked. The branch sprang away, the whole tree opened and +waved. Out of it the blossoms flew like a white swarm of angry bees. + +“Syringa, Syringa!” cried the bird. + +The Queen-widow caught herself by the throat and moaned, and lay down +upon the grass to die. + +As soon as her breath was gone, all the blossoms rose up again like a +white column of cloud; down into their midst flew the blue bird. + +Then, this way and that, the blossoms cast themselves loose into the +wind, and out of their midst came Syringa herself, carrying her child in +her arms. At her feet the Queen-widow lay quite dead, with her hand upon +her throat. The little blue birds in the palace had broken out of their +cage and were calling for their mothers with childish voices and laughter. + +But the King knelt down before Syringa’s feet, pale and trembling, +seeking pardon for having ever believed in her guilt. Swiftly Queen +Syringa bent down, and in token of forgiveness held her child’s lips to +his. Over them both her face and breath were fragrant as a garden full of +sunshine. + +When the King had kissed the child’s lips, she gave him her own. + + + + +THE TRAVELLER’S SHOES + + _TO_ + MARY AND EMILY + +[Illustration] + + +THE TRAVELLER’S SHOES + +A long while ago there lived a young cobbler named Lubin, who, when his +father died, was left with only the shop and the shoe-leather out of +which to make his fortune. From morning to night he toiled, making and +mending the shoes of the poor village folk; but his earnings were small, +and he seemed never able to get more than three days ahead of poverty. + +One day, as he sat working at his window-bench, the door opened, and in +came a traveller. He had on a pair of long red shoes with pointed ends; +but of one the seams had split, so that all his toes were coming out of +it. + +The stranger, putting up one foot after the other, took off both shoes, +and giving that one which wanted cobbling to Lubin, he said: “To-night +I shall be sleeping here at the inn; have this ready in good time +to-morrow, for I am in haste to go on!” And having said this he put the +other shoe into his pocket, and went out of the door barefoot. + +“What a funny fellow,” thought Lubin, “not to make the most of one shoe +when he has it!” But without stopping to puzzle himself he took up the +to-be-mended shoe and set to work. When it was finished he threw it down +on the floor behind him, and went on working at his other jobs. He meant +to work late, for he had not enough money yet to get himself his Sunday’s +dinner; so when darkness shut in he lighted a rushlight and cobbled away, +thinking to himself all the while of the roast meat that was to be his +reward. + +It came close on midnight, and he was just putting on the last heel of +the last pair of shoes when he was aware of a noise on the floor behind +him. He looked round, and there was the red shoe with the pointed toe, +cutting capers and prancing about by itself in the middle of the room. + +“Peace on earth!” exclaimed Lubin. “I never saw a shoe do a thing so +tipsy before!” He went up and passed his hand over it and under it, but +there was nothing to account for its caperings; on it went, up and down, +toeing and heeling, skipping and sliding, as if for a very wager. Lubin +could even tell himself the name of the reel and the tune that it was +dancing to, for all that the other foot was missing. Presently the shoe +tripped and toppled, falling heel up upon the floor; nor, although Lubin +watched it for a full hour, did it ever start upon a fresh jig. + +Soon after daybreak, when Lubin had but just opened his shutters and sat +himself down to work, in came the traveller, limping upon bare feet, with +the shoe’s fellow pointing its red toe out of his pocket. “Oh, so,” he +said, seeing the other shoe ready mended and waiting for him, “how much +am I owing you for the job?” + +“Just a gold piece,” said Lubin, carelessly, carrying on at his work. + +“A gold piece for the mere mending of a shoe!” cried the stranger. “You +must be either a rogue or a funny fellow.” + +“Neither!” said Lubin, “and for mending a shoe my charge is only a penny; +but for mending _that_ shoe, and for all the worry and temptation to +make it my own and run off with it—a gold piece!” + +“To be sure, you are an honest fellow,” said the traveller, “and honesty +is a rare gift; though, had you made off with it, I should have soon +caught you. Still, you were not so wise as to know that, so here’s your +gold piece for you.” He pulled out a big bag of gold as he spoke, pouring +its contents out on to the window bench. + +“That is a lot of money for a lonely man to carry about,” said Lubin. +“Are you not afraid?” + +“Why, no,” answered the man. “I have a way, so that I can always follow +it up even if I lose it.” He took two of the gold pieces, and dropped one +into the sole of each shoe as he was putting them on. “There!” said he, +“now, if any man steal my money, I need only wait till it is midnight; +and then I have but to say to my shoes ‘Seek!’ and up they jump, with +me in them, and carry me to where my stolen property is, were it to the +world’s end. It is as if they had the nose and sagacity of a pair of +bloodhounds. Ah, son of a cobbler, had you run off with the one I should +have very soon caught you with the other; for if one walks the other is +bound to follow. But, as you were honest, we part friends; and I trust +God may bring you to fortune.” Then the traveller did up his bag of gold, +nodded to the cobbler from the doorway, and was gone. + +Lubin laid down his work, and went off to the inn. “Did anything happen +here last night?” he asked. + +“Nothing of much note,” answered the innkeeper. “Three travelling +fiddlers were here, and afterwards a man came in barefoot, but with a red +shoe sticking out of his pocket. I thought of turning the fellow away, +till he let me see the colour of his gold. Presently the fiddlers started +to play and the other man to drink. At first when they called on him to +dance he excused himself for his feet’s sake; but presently, what with +the music and the liquor, he got so lively in his head that he pulled on +his one shoe and danced like three ordinary men put together.” + +“What time was that?” asked Lubin. + +“Getting on for midnight,” answered the innkeeper. + +“Ah!” said Lubin, and went home thinking much on the way. + +Towards evening he found that he had run out of leather, and must go into +the town, ten miles off, to buy more. “Now my gold piece comes in handy,” +thought he; so he locked up the house, put the key in his pocket, and set +out. + +Though it was the season of long days it was growing dark when he came to +a part of the road that led through the wood; but being so poor a man he +had no fear, nor thought at all about the robbers who were said to be in +those parts. But as he went, he saw all at once by the side of the road +two red spikes sticking up out of a ditch, their bright colour making +them plain to the eye. He came quite near and saw that they were two red +shoes with pointed toes; and then he saw more clearly that along with +them lay the traveller, his wallet empty and with a dagger stuck through +his heart. + +The cobbler’s son was as sorry as he could be. “Alas, poor soul,” thought +he, “what good are the shoes to you now? Now that thieves have killed you +and taken away your gold, surely I do no harm if I give an honest man +your shoes!” He stooped down, and was about taking them off when he saw +the eyes of the dead man open. The eyes looked at him as if they would +remind him of something; and at once, when he loosed hold of the shoes, +they seemed satisfied. Then he remembered, and thought to himself, “The +world has many marvels in it; I will wait till midnight and see.” + +For over three hours he kept watch by the dead man’s side. “Only last +night,” he said to himself, “this poor fellow was dancing as merry a +measure as ever I saw, for the half of it surely I saw; and now!” Then +he judged that midnight must be come, so he bent over the shoes and +whispered to them but one word. + +The dead man stood up in his shoes and began running. Lubin followed +close, keeping an eye on him, for the shoes made no sound on the earth. +They ran on for two hours, till they had come to the thickest part of the +forest; then some way before them Lubin began to see a light shining. It +came from a small square house in a court-yard, and round the court-yard +lay a deep moat; only one narrow plank led over and up to the entrance. + +The red shoes, carrying the dead man, walked over, and Lubin followed +them. When they were at the other side they turned, facing toward the +plank that they had crossed, and Lubin seemed to read in the dead man’s +eye what he was to do. + +Then he turned and lifted the plank away from over the moat, so that +there was no longer any entrance or exit to the place. Through the window +of the house he could see the three fiddlers quarrelling over the dead +man’s gold. + +The red shoes went on, carrying their dead owner, till they got to the +threshold, and there stopped. Then Lubin came and clicked up the latch, +and pushed open the door, and in walked the dead man with the dagger +sticking out of his heart. + +The three fiddlers, when they saw that sight, dropped their gold and +leapt out of the window; and as they fled, shrieking, thinking to cross +the moat by the plank-bridge that was no longer there, one after the +other they fell into the water, and, clutching each other by the throat, +were drowned. + +But the red shoes stayed where they were, and, tilting up his feet, let +the traveller go gently upon the ground; and when Lubin held down the +lantern to his face, on it lay a good smile, to tell him that the dead +man thanked him for all he had done. + +So in the morning Lubin went and fetched a priest to pray for the repose +of the traveller’s soul, and to give him good burial; and to him he gave +all the dead man’s money, but for himself he took the red shoes with the +pointed toes, and set out to make his fortune in the world. + +Walking along he found that however far he went he never grew tired. When +he had gone on for more than a hundred miles, he came to the capital +where the King lived with his Court. + +All the flags of the city were at half-mast, and all the people were in +half mourning. Lubin asked at the first inn where he stopped what it all +meant. + +“You must indeed be a stranger,” said his host, “not to know, for ’tis +now nearly a year since this trouble began; and this very night more +cause for mourning becomes due.” + +“Tell me of it, then,” said Lubin, “for I know nothing at all.” + +“At least,” returned the innkeeper, “you will know how, a little more +than a year ago, the Queen, who was the most beautiful woman in the +world, died, leaving the King with twelve daughters, who, after her, +were reckoned the fairest women on earth, though the King says that all +their beauty rolled into one would not equal that of his dead wife; and, +indeed, poor man, there is no doubt that he loved her devotedly during +her life, and mourns for her continually now she is dead.” + +“Only a small part of all this have I known,” said Lubin. + +“Well, but at least,” said the innkeeper, “you will have heard how the +Princesses were famed for their hair; so beautiful it was, so golden, and +so long! And now, at every full moon, one of them goes bald in a night; +and bald her head stays as a stone, for never an inch of hair grows on +it again; and with her hair all her beauty goes pale, so that she is but +the shadow of her former self—a thin-blooded thing, as if a vampire had +come and sucked out half her life. Yes; ten months this has happened, and +ten of the Princesses have lost their looks and their hair as well; and +now only the Princess Royal and the youngest of all remain untouched; and +doubtless one of them is to lose her crop to-night.” + +“But how does it happen?” cried Lubin, “Is no one put to keep watch, to +guard them from the thing being done?” + +“Ah! you talk, you talk!” said the innkeeper. “How? The King has offered +half his kingdom to anyone who can tell him how the mischief is done; and +the other half to the man who will put an end to it. To put it shortly, +if you believe yourself a clever enough man, you may have the King for +your father-in-law, with the pick of his daughters for your bride, and be +his heir and lord of all when he dies!” + +“For such a reward,” said Lubin, “has no man made the attempt?” + +“Aye, one a month; every time there has been some man fool enough to +think himself so clever; and he has been turned out of the palace next +day with his ears cropped.” + +“I will risk having my ears cropped,” said Lubin; for his heart was sorry +for the young Princesses, and the vanishing of their beauty. So he went +up and knocked at the gates of the palace. + +They went and told the King that a new man had come willing and wanting +to have his ears cropped on the morrow. “Well, well,” said the King, +“let the poor fool in!” for indeed he had given up all hope. From the +King Lubin heard the whole story over again. The old man sighed so, it +took him whole hours to tell it. + +“I would be glad to be your son,” said Lubin, when the King had ended; +“but I would like better to make you rid of your sorrow.” + +“That is kind of you,” said the King. “Perhaps I will only crop one of +your ears to-morrow.” + +“When may one see the Princesses?” asked Lubin. + +“They will be down to supper, presently,” answered the King; “then you +shall see them, what there is left of them.” + +Though it was reckoned that the next day Lubin would have to be drummed +out of the palace with his ears cropped short, on this day he was to be +treated like an honoured guest. When they went in to supper the King made +him sit upon his right hand. + +The twelve Princesses came in, their heads bowed down with weeping; all +were fair, but ten of them were thin and pale, and wore white wimples +over their heads like nuns; only the Princess Royal, who was the eldest, +and Princess Lyneth, who was the youngest, had gold hair down to their +feet, and were both so shiningly beautiful that the poor cobbler was +altogether dazzled by the sight of them. + +The King looked out of the window and said: “Heigho! There is the full +moon beginning to rise.” Then they all said grace, and sat down. + +But when the viands were handed round, all the Princesses sat weeping +into their plates, and seemed unable to eat anything. For the pale and +thin ones said: “To-night another of our sisters will lose her golden +hair and her good looks, and be like us!” Therefore they wept. + +And Lyneth said: “To-night, either my dear sister or myself will fall +under the spell!” Therefore she wept more than the other ten. But the +Princess Royal sat trembling, and crying: + +“To-night I know that the curse is to fall upon me, and me only!” +Therefore she wept more than all. + +Lubin sat, and watched, and listened, with his head bent down over his +golden plate. “Which of these two shall I try most to save?” he thought. +“How shall I test them, so as to know? If I could only tell which of them +was to lose her hair to-night, then I might do something.” + +He saw that the youngest sister cried so much that she could eat nothing; +but the Princess Royal, between her bursts of grief, picked up a morsel +now and again from her plate, and ate it as though courage or despair +reminded her that she must yet strive to live. + +When the meat-courses were over, the King said to the Princesses: “I wish +you would try to eat a little pudding! Here is a very promising youth, +who is determined by all that is in him that harm shall happen to none of +you to-night.” + +“To-morrow he will be sent away with his ears cut short!” said Princess +Lyneth; and her tears, as she spoke, ran down over the edge of her plate +on to the cloth. + +When supper was over the Princess Royal came up to Lubin, and said: “Do +not be angry with my sister for what she said! It has only been too true +of many who came before; to-night, unless you do better than them all, I +shall lose my hair. It has been a wonder to me how I have been spared +so long, seeing that I am the eldest, and, as some will have it, the +fairest. Will you keep a good guard over me to-night, as though you knew +for certain that I am to be the one this time to suffer?” + +“I will guard you as my own life,” said Lubin, “if you will but do as I +ask you.” + +“Pledge yourself to me, then, in this cup!” said she, and lifted to his +lips a bowl of red wine. Over the edge of it her eyes shone beautifully; +he drank, gazing into their clear depth. + +“Where am I to be for the night,” he asked of the King, “so that I may +watch over the two Princesses?” + +The King took him to a chamber with two further doors that opened out +of it. “Here,” said the King, “you are to sleep, and in the inner rooms +sleep the Princess Royal and the Princess Lyneth. There is no entrance +or exit to them but through this; therefore, when you are here with your +door bolted, one would suppose that you had them safe. Alas! ten other +men have tried like you to ward off the harm, and have failed; and so +to-day I have ten daughters with no looks left to them, and no hair upon +their heads.” + +As they were speaking, the two Princesses, with their sisters, came up +to bed. And the pale ones, wearing their white wimples, came and kissed +the golden hair of the other two, crying over it, and saying, “To one of +you we are saying good-bye; to-morrow one of you will be like us!” Then +they went away to their sleeping-place, and the Princess Royal and Lyneth +kissed each other, and parted weeping, each into her own chamber. + +“Watch well over us!” said Lyneth to Lubin, as she passed through. “Watch +over me!” said the Princess Royal. And then the two doors were closed. + +Lubin said to the King, “Could I now see the two Princesses, without +being seen by them, it would help me to know what to do.” + +“Come down to my cabinet,” said the King. “I have an invisible cap there, +that I can lend you if you think you can do any good with it.” So they +went; and the King reached down the cap from the wall and gave it to +Lubin. + +“Now, good-night, your Majesty,” said Lubin; “I will do for you all I +can.” + +The King answered, “Either you shall be my son-in-law to-morrow, or you +shall have no ears. My wishes are with you that the former state may be +yours.” + +Lubin went into his chamber and closed and bolted the door; then he put +the bed up against it. “Now, at least,” he thought, “there are three of +us, and no more!” He put on his invisible cap, and going softly to the +Princess Royal’s door, opened it and peeped in. + +She stood up before her glass, combing out her long gold hair, and +smiling proudly because of its beauty. She gathered it up by all its ends +and kissed it; then, letting it fall, she went on combing as before. + +Lubin went out, closing the door again; then he took off his cap and +knocked, and presently he heard the Princess Royal saying, “Come in!” She +was lying down upon the bed, squeezing her eyes with her hands. + +“Princess,” he said, “I will watch over you like my own life, if you will +do what I bid you. I am but a poor man, and the best that I can do is but +poor; but I think, if you will, I can save your head from becoming as +bare as a billiard ball.” + +The Princess asked him how. + +“You know,” said he, “that to-night something is to happen to one of you” +(“To me?” said the Princess), “and all your hair will be stolen in such a +way that nothing will ever make it grow again. See, here I have a pair of +common scissors; let me but cut your hair close off all over your head, +and then who can steal it? For a few months you will be a fright, but it +can grow again.” + +“I think you are a silly fellow!” said the Princess. “Better for you to +get to bed, and have your ears cropped quietly in the morning! After all, +it may be my sister’s turn to lose her hair, not mine. I shall not make +myself a fright for a year of my life in order to save you.” + +“If you think so poorly of my offer,” said Lubin, “I had better go to bed +and sleep, and not trouble the Princess Lyneth at all with it.” + +“No, indeed!” said the Princess Royal. “Go to bed and sleep, poor fool!” +And, in truth, Lubin was feeling so sleepy that he could hardly keep open +his eyes. + +Then he left her, and, pulling the invisible cap once more over his head, +crept softly into Princess Lyneth’s chamber. + +She was standing before her glass with all her beautiful hair flowing +down from shoulders to feet; and tears were falling fast out of her eyes +as she kept drawing her hair together in her hands, kissing and moaning +over it. + +Then Lubin went out again, and, taking off his cap, knocked softly at the +door. + +“Come in!” said the Princess; and when he went in she was still standing +before the glass weeping and moaning for her beautiful hair, that might +never see another day. On the bed was lying a white wimple, ready for her +to put on when her head was become bald. + +“Princess,” said Lubin, very humbly, “will you help me to save your +beautiful hair, by doing what I ask?” + +“What is it that you ask?” said she. + +“Only this,” he answered; “I am a poor man, and cannot do much for you, +but only my best. To-night you or your sister must lose your hair; and we +know that afterwards, if that happen, it can never grow again. Now, come, +here I have a common pair of scissors; if I could cut your hair quite +short, in a few months it will grow again, and there will be nothing +to-night that the Fates can steal. Will you let me do this for you in +true service?” + +The Princess looked at him, and looked at her glass. “Oh, my hair, my +hair!” she moaned. Then she said, “What matters it? You mean to be good +to me, and a month is the most that my fortune can last. If I do not lose +it to-night, I lose it at the next full moon!” Then she shut her eyes and +bade him take off all he wished. When he had finished, she picked up the +wimple and covered her head with it; but Lubin took up the long coil of +gold hair and wound it round his heart. + +He knelt down at her feet. “Princess,” he said, “be sure now that I can +save you! Only I have one other request to make.” + +“What is that?” asked the Princess. + +He took off one of his red shoes with the pointed toes. “Will you, for a +strange thing, put on this shoe and wear it all to-night in your sleep? +And in the morning I will ask you for it again.” + +The Princess promised faithfully that she would do so. Even before he had +left the room she had put foot in it, promising that only he should take +it off again. + +Lubin’s eyes were shut down with sleep as he groped his way to bed; he +lay down with the other red shoe upon his foot. “Watch for your fellow!” +he said to it; and then his senses left him and he was fast asleep. + +In the middle of the night, while he was deep in slumber, the red shoe +caught him by the foot and yanked him out of bed; he woke up to find +himself standing in the middle of the room, and there before him stood +the two doors of the inner chambers open; through that of the Princess +Royal came a light. He heard the Princess Lyneth getting very softly out +of her bed, and presently she stood in the doorway, with her hands out +and her eyes fast shut; and the red shoe was on one foot, and the white +wimple on her head. Little tears were running down from under her closed +lids; and she sighed continually in her sleep. “Have pity on me!” she +said. + +She crossed slowly from one door to the other; and Lubin, putting on +his invisible cap, crept softly after her. The Princess Royal’s chamber +was empty, but her glass was opened away from the wall like a door, and +beyond lay a passage and steps. At the top of the steps was another door, +and through it light came, and the sound of a soft voice singing. + +Princess Lyneth, knowing nothing in her sleep, passed along the passage +and up the steps till she came to the further doorway. Looking over her +shoulder Lubin saw the Princess Royal sitting before a loom. In it lay a +great cloth of gold, like a bride’s mantle, into which she was weaving +the last threads of her skein. Close to her side lay a pair of great +shears that shone like blue fire; and while she sang they opened and +snapped, keeping time to the music she made. + +Without ever turning her head the Princess Royal sat passing her fingers +along the woof and crying: + + “Sister, sister, bring me your hair, + Of our Mother’s beauty give me your share. + You must grow pale, while I must grow fair!” + +And while she was so singing, Lyneth drew nearer and nearer, with her +eyes fast shut, and the white wimple over her head. “Have pity on me!” +she said, speaking in her sleep. + +As soon as the Princess Royal heard that she laughed for joy, and +catching up the great flaming shears, turned herself round to where +Lyneth was standing. Then she opened the shears, and took hold of the +wimple, and pulled it down. + +All in a moment she was choking with rage, for horrible was the sight +that met her eye. “Ah! cobbler’s son,” cried she, “you shall die for +this! To-morrow not only shall you have your two ears cropped, but you +shall die: do not be afraid!” + +Lubin looked at her and smiled, knowing how little she thought that he +heard her words. “Ah! Princess Royal,” he said to himself, “there is +another who should now be afraid, but is not.” + +Then for very spite the Princess began slapping her sister’s face. “Ah! +wicked little sister,” she cried, “you have cheated me this time! But go +back and wait till your hair has grown, and then my gown of gold shall be +finished, although this once you have been too sly!” She threw down the +shears, and drove her sister back by stair and passage, and through the +looking-glass door at the other end. + +Lubin following, stayed first to watch how by a secret spring the +Princess Royal closed the mirror back into the wall; then he slipped on +before, and taking off his cap, lay down on his bed pretending to be fast +asleep. He heard Princess Lyneth return to her couch, and then came the +Princess Royal and ground her teeth at him in the darkness. + +Presently she, too, returned to her bed and lay down; and an hour after +Lubin got up very softly and went into her chamber. There she lay asleep, +with her beautiful hair all spread out upon the pillow; but Lubin had +Princess Lyneth’s hair wound round his heart. He touched the secret +spring, so that the mirror opened to him, and he passed through toward +the little chamber where stood the loom. + +There hung the cloth of gold, all but finished; beside it the shears +opened and snapped, giving out a blue light. He took up the shears in +his hand, and pulled down the gold web from the loom, and back he went, +closing the mirror behind him. + +Then he came to the Princess Royal as she lay asleep; and first he laid +the cloth of gold over her, and saw how at once she became ten times more +fair than she was by rights, as fair almost as her dead mother, lacking +one part only. But her beauty did not win him to have pity on her. + +“There can be thieves, it seems, in high places!” he said; and with that +he opened the shears over her head and let them snap: then all her long +hair came out by the roots, and she lay white and withered before his +eyes, and as bald as a stone. + +He gathered up all her hair with one hand, and the cloth of gold with the +other, and went quietly away. Then, hiding the shears in a safe place, +first he burnt the Princess Royal’s hair, till it became only a little +heap of frizzled cinders; and after that he went to the chamber of the +ten Princesses, whose hair and whose sweet youth had been stolen from +them. There they lay all in a row in ten beds, with pale, gentle faces, +asleep under their white wimples. + +He went to the first, and, laying the cloth of hair over her, cried: + + “Sister, sister, I bring you your hair, + Of your Mother’s beauty I give you your share. + One must grow pale, but you must grow fair!” + +And as he said the words one part of the cloth unwove itself from the +rest, and ran in ripples up the coverlet, and on to the pillow where the +Princess’s head lay. There it coiled itself under the wimple, a great +mass of shining gold, and the face of the Princess flushed warm and +lovely in her sleep. + +Lubin passed on to the next bed, and there uttered the same words; +and again one part of the web came loose, and wound itself about the +sleeper’s face, that grew warm and lovely at its touch. So he went from +bed to bed, and when he came to the end there was no more of the web left. + +He went back into his own chamber, laughing in his heart for joy, and +there he dropped himself between the sheets and fell into a sound slumber. + +He was wakened in the morning by the King knocking and trying to get into +the room. Lubin pulled back the bed, and in came the King with a mournful +countenance. + +“Which of them is it?” said he. + +“Go and ask them!” said Lubin. + +The King went over and knocked at the Princess Royal’s door; the knocking +opened her eyes. Lubin heard her suddenly utter a yell. “Ah! now she has +looked at herself in the glass,” thought he. + +“What is the matter?” called the King. “Come out and let me look at you!” +But the Princess Royal would not come out. She ran quick to her mirror, +and touched the secret spring. “At least,” she thought, “though fiends +have robbed me of all my beauty, I can get it back by wearing the cloth +woven from my sisters’ hair!” She skipped along the passage and up the +steps to the little chamber where the loom was. + +The King, getting no answer, went across and knocked at Lyneth’s door; +she came out, all fresh in her beauty, but wearing upon her head the +wimple. “Ah!” said the King dolorously; and he snipped his fingers at +Lubin. + +Lubin laughed out. “But look at her face!” he said. “Surely she is +beautiful enough?” + +The Princess lifted up her wimple, and showed the King her hair all short +beneath. “That was my doing,” said Lubin; “’twas the way of saving it.” + +“What a Dutchman’s remedy!” cried the King; and just then the Princess +Royal’s door flew open. + +She came out tearing herself to pieces with rage; her face was pale and +thin, and her head was as bare as a billiard ball. “Have that clown of +a cobbler killed!” she cried in a passion. “That fool, that numbskull, +that cheat! Have him beheaded, I say!” + +“No, no, I am only to have one of my ears cropped off!” said Lubin, +looking hard at her all the time. + +“I am not at all sure,” said the King. “You have done foolishly and +badly, for not only have you let the disease go on, but your very remedy +is as bad. Two heads of hair gone in one night! You had better have kept +away. If the Princesses wish it, certainly I will have you put to death.” + +“Will you not see the other Princesses too?” asked Lubin. “Let them +decide between them whether I am to live or die!” + +The King was just going to call for them, when suddenly the ten +Princesses opened the door of their chamber, and stood before him shining +like stars, with all their golden hair running down to their feet. + +“Now put me to death!” said Lubin; and all the time he kept his eye upon +the Princess Royal, who turned flame-coloured with rage. + +“No, indeed!” cried the King. “Now you must be more than pardoned! You +see, my dears,” he said to Lyneth and the Princess Royal, “though you +have suffered, your sisters have recovered all that they lost. They are +ten to two; and I can’t go back on arithmetic; I am bound to do even more +than pardon him for this.” + +“Indeed and indeed yes!” replied the Princess Lyneth. “He has done ten +times more than we thought of asking him!” And she went from one to +another of her recovered sisters, kissing their beautiful long hair for +pure gladness of heart. But when she came to the Princess Royal, she +kissed her many times, and stooped down her face upon her shoulder, and +cried over her. + +“Tell me now,” said the King to Lubin, “for you are a very wonderful +fellow, how did it all happen?” + +Lubin looked at the Princess Royal; after all he could not betray a +lady’s secret. “I cannot tell you,” he said; “if I did, there would be a +death in the family.” + +“Well,” said the King, “however you may have done it, I own that you +have earned your reward. You have only to choose now with which of my +daughters you will become my son-in-law. From this day you shall be known +as my heir.” He ranged all the Princesses in line, according to their +ages. “Now choose,” said the King, “and choose well!” + +Lubin went up to the Princess Royal. “I won’t have you!” he said, looking +very hard at her; and the Princess Royal dropped her eyes. Then he went +on to the next. “Sweet lady,” he said, “I dare not ask one with such +beautiful hair as yours to marry me, who am a poor cobbler’s son.” But +all the while he had the Princess Lyneth’s hair bound round his heart. + +He went on from one to another, and of each he kissed the hand, saying +that she was too fair to marry him. + +He came to Lyneth, and knelt down at her feet. “Lyneth,” he said, “will +you give the poor cobbler back his shoe?” + +Lyneth, looking in his eyes, saw all that he meant. “And myself in it,” +she said, “for you love me dearly!” She put her arms round his neck, and +whispered, “You marry me because I am a fright, and have no hair!” + +But Lubin said, “I have your hair all wound round my heart, making it +warm!” + +So they were married, and lived together more happily than cobbler and +princess ever lived in the world before. And the cobbler dropped mending +shoes: only his wife’s shoes he always mended. Very soon Lyneth’s hair +grew again, more shining and beautiful than before; but the Princess +Royal remained pale, and thin, and was bald to the day of her death. + + + + +THE MOON FLOWER + + _TO_ + EVA AND KATIE + +[Illustration] + + +THE MOON-FLOWER + +Princess Berenice sat by a window of her father’s palace, looking out of +the Moon. In her hand she held a great white pearl, and smiled, for it +was her mother’s birthday gift. The chamber in which she sat was of pure +silver, and in the floor was a small window by which she could see out of +the Moon and right down on to the Earth, where the moonbeams were going. +There it lay like a great green emerald; and wherever the clouds parted +to let the moonbeams go through, she could see the tops of the trees, and +broad fields with streams running by. + +“Yonder is the land of the coloured stones,” she said to herself, “that +the merchants go down the moonbeams and bring home and sell.” And as she +bent lower and lower and gazed with curious eyes, the great pearl rolled +from her hand and fell out of the Moon, and went slipping and sliding +down a moonbeam, never stopping till it got to the Earth. + +“My mother’s pearl!” cried the Princess, “the most beautiful of all her +pearls that she gave me. I must run down and bring it back; for if I wait +it will be lost. And as to-night is the full-moon down there upon Earth, +I can return before anyone finds out that I am gone.” + +The Earth was sparkling a brighter green under the approach of night. +“Oh, land of the coloured stones!” cried the Princess; and, slipping +through the window, she stepped out of the Moon, and went running down +the same moonbeam by which the pearl had fallen. + +Night came; and the Earth and the Moon lay looking at each other in the +midst of heaven, like an emerald and a pearl; but through the palace, +and within, over all its gardens and terraces there began to be callings +on the Princess Berenice; and presently there were heart-searchings +and fear, for they found the empty room with its open window: and the +Princess Berenice was not there. + +Now, not long before this, upon our own Earth there had lived and died +a King who had four sons, but only three kingdoms. So when he came to +die he gave to each of his three eldest sons a kingdom apiece; but to +the youngest, having nothing else left to give, he gave only a pair of +travelling shoes, and said: “Wear these, and some day they will take you +to fortune!” + +So, when the King was dead, the young Prince wore the shoes night and +day, hoping that some time or another they would take him to fortune. His +brothers laughed at him, and said: “Our father was wise to play those old +shoes off upon you! If it had been either of us we would have gone and +bought ourselves an army and fought for a just share in the inheritance. +But you seem pleased, so we ought to be.” + +Now one day the Prince went out hunting in the forest, and there, having +become separated from all his friends, he thoroughly lost his way. +Wherever he turned the wood seemed to grow denser, the thickets higher, +and the solitude more than he ever remembered before. Night came on, +and, there being nothing else that he could do, he lay down and wrapped +himself in his cloak and slept. + +When he awoke it was day, but the woods were as still as death; no bird +sang, and not a cricket chirped among the grass. As he sat up he noticed +that the shoe was gone from his left foot, nor could he see it anywhere +near. “Tis the half of my inheritance gone!” he said to himself, and got +up to search about him. But still no shoe could he find. At last he gave +up the search as useless, and set off walking without it. Then as it +seemed to him so ridiculous to go limping along with only one shoe on, he +took off the remaining one, and threw it away, saying: “Go, stupid, and +find your fellow!” + +To the Prince’s great astonishment, it set off at a rapid pace through +the wood, all of its own accord. The Prince, barefoot except for his +stockings, began to run after it. + +Presently he found that he was losing his breath. “Hie, hie!” he called +out, “not quite so fast, little leather-skins!” But the shoe paid him no +heed and went on as before. It skipped through the grass and brushwood, +as if a young girl’s foot were dancing inside it; and whenever it came to +a fallen tree, or a boulder of rock, it was up and over with a jump like +a grasshopper. + +Before long the Prince’s stockings were in nothing but holes and tatters; +as he ran they fluttered from his legs like ribbons. He had lost his hat, +and his cloak was torn into patterns, and he felt from head to foot like +a house all doors and windows. He was almost on his last gasp when he saw +that the shoe was making straight for a strange little house of green +bronze, shut in by a high wall, and showing no windows; and in the middle +of the wall was a bronze door shut fast. As he came near he found that +outside, on the doorstep, stood his other shoe as if waiting to be let +in. “So it was worth running for!” thought he; and then, putting on both +shoes again, he began knocking at the door. + +As he knocked the door opened. It opened in such a curious way, flat down +like a swing-bridge or like the lid of a box. For some time he was half +afraid to walk in on the top of it. Presently, however, he summoned up +his courage and stepped across it. + +The door closed behind him like a trap, and he found himself in a +beautiful house; all its walls were hung with gold and precious stones, +but everywhere was the emptiness and the silence of death. + +He went from room to room seeking for any that lived there, but could see +no one. In one place he found thrown down a fan of white feathers and +pearl; and in another flowers, fresh plucked, lying close by a cushion +dinted and hollowed, as though the weight of a head or arm had rested +there. But beyond these there was no sign of a living thing to be found. + +Through the windows he saw deep bowery gardens hemmed in by high walls, +within which grew flowers of the loveliest kinds. All the paths were of +smooth grass, and everywhere were the traces of gentle handiwork; but +still not a soul was to be seen. + +It seemed to the Prince now and then that there was something in the +garden which moved, distinct from the flowers, and shifting with a will +of its own. Though the sun shone full down, casting clear shadows across +the lawns, this that he saw was altogether misty and faint. Now it +seemed like a feather blown to and fro in the wind, and now like broken +gossamer threads, or like filmy edges of clouds melting away in the heat. +Where it went the flowers moved as though to make way for it, swaying +apart and falling together again as it passed. + +The Prince watched and watched. He tired his eyes with watching, yet he +could see no more; and no way could he find to the garden, for all the +doors leading to it were locked fast and barred. + +There was another strange thing he noticed which seemed to him to have +no meaning. All over the garden, between the trees and the sky, was +stretched a silver net, so fine that it showed only as a faint film +against the blue; but a net for all that. Here and there, the light of +the sun catching it, hung sparkling in its silver meshes. It was like the +net that a gardener throws over strawberry beds or currant bushes to keep +off the birds from the fruit. So was it with this net; through it no bird +could enter the garden, and no bird that was in the garden could leave it. + +All day the Prince had these two things before his eyes to wonder about, +till the sun went down and it began to get dusk. + +At the moment when the sun sank below the earth there was a sound of +opening doors all over the house. The Prince ran and found one of the +doors leading into the garden wide open, and through it he could see the +stir of leaves, and the deep colours of the flowers growing deeper in the +dusk; only the evening primroses were lighting their soft lamps. + +From a distant part of the garden came the sound of falling water, and a +voice singing. As he approached he saw something shining against the dark +leaves higher than the heads of the flowers; and before he well knew what +he saw, he found before his eyes the most lovely woman that the mind of +man could believe in. + +In her hand hung a watering-can, with the water falling from it in sprays +on to the flower beds beneath. Her head was bent far down, yet how she +looked slender and tall! She was very pale, yet a soft light seemed to +grow from her, the light of a new moon upon a twilight sky. And now the +Prince heard clearly the sweet voice, and the words that she was singing: + + “Listen, listen, listen, + O heart of the sea! + I am the Pearl of pearls, + I am the Mother of pearls, + And the Mother of thee. + Glisten, glisten, glisten, + O bed of the sea! + Lost is the Pearl of pearls, + And all the divers for pearls + Are drowning for me.” + +He stood enchanted to hear her; but the words of the song ended suddenly +in a deep sigh. The singer lifted her head; her eyes moved like grey +moths in the dusk, amid the whiteness of her face. At sight of him they +grew still and large, widening with a quiet wonder. Then the beautiful +face broke into smiles, and the Princess stretched out her hands to him +and laughed. + +“Have you come,” she said, “to set me free?” + +“To set you free?” asked the Prince. + +“I am a prisoner,” she told him. + +“Alas, then!” answered the Prince, “I am a prisoner also, and can free no +one; but were I now free to go wherever I would, I should be a prisoner +still, for I have seen the face of the loveliest heart on earth!” + +“O,” she sighed, “and can you not set me free?” + +“Tell me,” he said, “what makes you a prisoner here?” + +She pointed to the net over their heads, to the walls that stood on all +sides of them, and to the ground beneath their feet. “That,” she said, +“and that, and this.” + +“Who are you?” he asked, “and where do you come from? and whose power is +it that now holds you captive?” + +She led him on to a terrace, from which they could see out towards the +west; and there lay the new Moon, low down in the sky. “Yonder,” she +said, pointing to it, “is my home!” She wept. “Shall I ever return to it?” + +The Prince, gazing at her in wonder, cried, “Are you one of a Fairy race?” + +“No, oh, no!” she sighed, “I am but mortal like yourself; only my home +is there, while yours is here. We, who dwell in the Moon, are as you +are, but the sun has greater power over us; the light of it falling on +us makes us pale and unsubstantial, so that we weigh not so much as a +gossamer and become transparent as thin fleeces of cloud. Then we can go +where you cannot go, treading the light as it flies; but at sunset we +regain our strength, and our bodies come to us again; and we are as you +see me now—no different from yourselves, the inhabitants of the Earth.” + +“Tell me,” said the Prince, “of yourself, and the dwellers in the Moon! +Is it not cold there, and barren?” + +She answered smiling, for the memory of her home was sweet to her, +“Outside, the Moon is cold and barren; but within it is very warm and +rich and fertile; more beautiful than any place I have seen on Earth. It +is there we live; and we have flocks, and herds, and woods, and rivers, +and harbours, and seas. Also we have great cities built inside the Moon’s +crust, for the Moon is a great hollow shell, and we walk upon its inner +surface and are warm. The sunlight comes to us through craters and clefts +in the ground; and the beams of it are like solid pillars of gold that +quiver and sway as they shoot upwards into the opal twilight of our +world; and the shine and the warmth of it come to us, and colour the air +above our heads; but we are safe from its full light falling on us, for +the ground is between us and it. Only when we pass through to the outer +side do we become pale and faint, a mere whisper of our former selves. +And then we are so light that if we step upon a moonbeam it will bear our +weight; and the moonbeam carries us swiftly as its own light travels, +till it reaches the Earth: so we come. But to return there is another +way.” + +And when the Prince asked her, she told him of the other way back into +the Moon. + +“When we wish to return,” she went on “(for the falling light of a +moonbeam cannot carry us back), we must go where there is a pool of still +water, and wait for the reflection of the Moon to fall on it; and when +the Moon is full, and throws its image into the water, then we dive down, +and with our lips touch the reflection of its face, crying, ‘Open, open +to me, for I am a Moon-child!’ And the Moon will open her face like a +door of pearl, and let us pass in; and when she draws her reflection out +of the pool, we find ourselves once again among our own people and in our +own land. Many of us have so come and so returned,” she sighed deeply, +“but I fear that I shall never again return.” + +Then the Prince asked her further whose power it was that held her +captive; and she told him how she had dropped the pearl that her mother +had given her, and had come down seeking it. Then she said, “In the +Moon we have many jewels, for we have opals and onyxes, and pearls and +moonstones, but we have no rubies, or emeralds, or sapphires, or stones +of a single colour, such as you have. Therefore, we have a passion for +these things, and our merchants come down and bring them back to us at a +great price. + +“Now it chanced that in my search I came upon a gnome who had dealings +with our merchants and had many jewels to sell, and he, seeming to be +kind, helped me until my pearl was found. Then he took me to see his +own treasures, and, alas, while my eyes were feasting on the colours of +the stones he showed to me, my poor beauty inflamed the avarice of his +evil heart, and the desire to have me for his wife became great. So when +I asked him the price of his jewels, he vowed that the only price at +which he would let them go was that of my own hand in marriage. Alas, I +am young and innocent, and without subtlety, nor did I know how great +was his power and wickedness. As I laughed at his request his face +grew dark with rage, and I saw that I had incurred the undying enmity +of his cruel heart. And now for a whole year he has held me in his +enchantment, striving to break me to his will by the length and weariness +of my captivity; and lest search or any help should come for me from my +father’s people, he has covered me in with a net, and surrounded me with +walls; and here there is no pool into which the full Moon may fall, and +at the mere touch of my lips upon its face, open and draw me free from +my enchantment, and back into the heart of my own land. Only yonder, in +the corner of the garden is a deep well, where the Moon never shines; so +there is no way here left for me by which I may get free.” + +“Does not the gnome ever come to see you in your captivity?” asked the +Prince. “If so, I may by some means be able to entrap him, and force him +to let you go.” + +“Twice in the year he has visited me,” answered the Princess. “He comes +up out of the ground in the form of a Red Mole; but he looks at me +wickedly and cunningly with the eyes of a man, seeming to say, ‘Will you +have me yet?’ And when I shake my head he burrows under again, and is +gone till another six months shall be past.” + +The Prince thought for a while and said, “I do not know whether I have +the power or the wit to make you free; if love only were needed for the +work, to-morrow would see you as free as a bird.” + +The Princess, between smiles and sighs, said, “I have been most lonely +here; already you make my imprisonment seem less.” Then she led him +within doors, from room to room, showing him the splendours of her +prison. Wherever they went, out of the floor before them rose burning +jewels that hung hovering over their heads to light them as they passed; +and when she struck her hands together, up from the ground rose a table +covered with fruit and dainties of all sorts; and when she and the Prince +had eaten, she clapped her hands again, and they disappeared by the same +way that they had come. + +The Prince was struck with admiration at the delicacy of these marvels. +“When I think of the Red Mole, they sicken me!” said the Moon-Princess. +The good youth used all his arts to cheer her, promising to devote +himself, and if need be his life, to the task of setting her free. And +now and then she laughed and was almost merry again, forgetting the walls +that still held her spell-bound from her own people and her own land. + +She showed the Prince a chamber where he might sleep; and so soft and +warm was the couch after his last hard night on the ground, that it was +full day before he awoke. The Princess Berenice appeared before him misty +and faint, for the sunlight threw a veil upon her beauty; but still as he +looked at her he did not love her less, and it still seemed to him that +hers was the face of the loveliest heart on earth. + +All day he watched her drifting about the garden, seeming to feed herself +on the scent of the flowers. In the evening, when the sun set, her body +grew strong and her face shone out to him like the new Moon upon a +twilight sky. + +Then he drew water for her from the well, and watched her as she watered +the flowers which were her only delight. Presently he said, “There is +much water in the well, for the rope goes down into it many fathoms; and +yet I find no bottom.” + +“Yes,” answered the Princess, “I doubt not that the well is deep.” + +“Before many days are over,” said the Prince, “the well shall become a +pool.” + +The Princess wondered to hear him. “Is there,” he went on, “no such thing +as a spade for me to dig with?” Then she led him to a shed, where lay all +the needed implements for gardening. So his eyes brightened, while he +cried, “O, beautiful Princess Berenice, as I love you, before many weeks +are over you shall be free!” + +The next morning he arose very early, and in the centre of the garden, +where the ground hollowed somewhat, he marked out a space and set to work +to dig. + +All day the Princess went to and fro, faint and pale as a mist, watching +him at his work. At dusk her beauty shone full upon him, and she said, +“What is this that you are doing?” He answered, “What I am making shall +presently become a pool; then when the pool is full, and the full Moon +comes and shines on it, you shall go down into the water, and shall +kiss the face of its reflection with your lips, and be free from your +enchantment.” + +Princess Berenice looked long at him, and her eyes clung to his like +soft moths in the gloom. “But you?” she said, “You are no Moon-child, and +this will never set you free.” + +“Ever since I saw you,” said the Prince, “I have not thought of freedom; +my dearest wish is but to set you free.” + +The Princess gave him her hand. “And mine,” she said, “my dearest wish +henceforth is to set you free also. Yet I know but one way, and I cannot +name it.” She smiled tenderly on him, and bowed her face into the shadow +of her hair. + +The Prince caught her in his arms, “One way is my way!” he cried. “Your +way,” she said, “is my way.” Then, when he had finished kissing her, she +said, “Look, on my finger is a ring; this ring is for him to whom I give +myself in marriage. Surely, it opens to him the heart of my own people, +and he becomes one of us, a child of the Moon.” She showed him an opal +ring, full of fires. “If your way is my way,” she said, “draw this off my +finger, and put it upon your own, and take me to be your wife!” + +So the Prince drew off the ring from her finger, and set it upon his own; +and as he did so he felt indeed the heart of the Moon-people become his +own, and the love of the Moon strike root in him. Yet did the love of the +Earth remain his as well, making it seem as if all the love in his heart +had but doubled itself. + +So he and the most beautiful Berenice were married there by the light of +the new Moon, and all thought of sorrow or danger from the encirclement +that bound them was lost in their great joy. + +During the whole of the next day the Prince went on with his digging, +making a broad shallow in the ground. “Before the full Moon comes,” he +said, “I will make it deep.” And he worked on, refusing to take any rest. + +The Princess loved him more and more as she watched him; and his love for +her daily increased, for every day, while the Moon grew full, her beauty +shone in greater perfection and splendour. “Here,” she said to him, “the +coming of the full Moon is like the coming of Spring to me: I feel it in +my blood. After the full Moon my beauty will wane and grow paler. But +in my own land I do not feel these changes, for there it is always the +full Moon.” The Prince answered her, “To me your beauty, though it grows +more, will not ever grow less.” + +At last, on the day before that of the full Moon, the pit which he had +dug was broad and deep; then he began to fill it with water from the +well. “To-morrow,” he said to his wife, when the pool was nearly full, as +she came and stood by his side at sunset in the full blaze of her beauty, +“to-morrow we shall be free; and you will carry me away with you into +your own land.” + +“I do not know,” said the Princess, “I begin to be afraid!” and she +sighed heavily. “Any day the Red Mole may come: one day is not too soon +for him to be here.” + +“But why need you fear him now?” asked the Prince. “Since you are married +to me, you cannot be married to him.” + +“As to that,” said she, “I fear that to have outwitted him will but make +his malice all the greater against us!” Then she walked softly among the +moonbeams, bathing her hands in them, and letting them fall upon the +loveliness of her face; and as she stood in their light, tears rained +down out of her eyes. + +In the morning it seemed as if her happiness had returned. The Prince, +as he toiled under the blazing sun, carrying water from the well to the +pool, felt her moving by his side, and heard her light shadowy laughter +when, just before sunset, the water flowed level to the pool’s brink. +And when dusk rose out of the grass, there she stood glowing with the +full Moon of her beauty, and leaning in all the light of her loveliness +towards him. + +The happy night drew round them; out of the East came the glow of the +full Moon as it rose; soon, soon it would cross the tops of the trees +and rest its face upon the quiet waters of the pool. They clung in each +other’s arms, entranced. “My beautiful,” said the Prince, “shall we not +take to your mother some of those jewels she loves—the green, and the +red, and the blue, and the pearl which was hers, the quest of which has +cost you so much?” He ran into one of the jewelled chambers where lay +the pearl, and caught from the walls the largest stones he could find. +Quickly he went and returned, for the Moon was now fast cresting the +avenues of the garden. He came bearing the jewels in his hands. + +Princess Berenice stood no longer by the brink of the pool, though +therein lay the image of the Moon’s face, a circle of pale gold upon +the water. “Berenice,” called the Prince, and ran through the garden, +searching for her. “Berenice!” he cried by the well; but she was not +there. “Berenice!” His voice grew trembling and weak, and quick fear took +hold of him. “O, my beautiful, my beloved, where are you?” + +Only the silence stood up to answer him. Under his feet ran a Red Mole. + +It scampered across the grass, and disappeared through a burrow in the +ground. Then the Prince knew that the worst had surely come, and that his +Princess had been taken away from him. Where she was he could not know; +within her former prison she was nowhere to be seen. + +All night the Prince lay weeping by the brink of the pool, where she had +last stood before his sight; the print of her dear feet still lay on the +lawn where she had stayed waiting with him so long. “O, miserable wretch +that I am!” he cried, kissing the trodden grass. “Now never again may I +hope to behold you, or hear your dear voice!” + +All the day following he wandered like a ghost from place to place, +filling the empty garden with memories of her presence, and sighing over +and over again the music of her name. All the flowers glowed round him in +their accustomed beauty; new buds came into life, and full blooms broke +and fell; not a thing seemed to sorrow for her loss except himself. As +for the flowers, he paid them little heed. + +In his sleep that night a dream came to him, a dream as of something +that whispered and laughed in his ear. Over and over again it seemed to +be saying, “The Red Mole came, and the full Moon came, and the Princess +jumped down into the water!” Then his heart knocked so loud for joy that +he started awake, and saw the Red Mole scuffling away to its burrow in +the ground. + +Then he feared that the dream was but a thing devised to cheat his fancy, +and get rid of him by making him go away and search for his Princess in +the land of the Moon, by the way that she had told him. But he thought +to himself, “If the Red Mole wants so much to get me away, it means that +my beloved is somewhere near at hand. Is she in the well?” he began +wondering; and as soon as it was light he went to where lay the well in +its corner under the shadow of the wall. But though he searched long and +diligently, there was no trace of her that he could find. + +Yet every time he came near to the well sorrow seemed to take hold of +him, and, mixed with it, a kind of joy, as though indeed the heart of his +beloved beat in this place. Near to the well stood a tall flower with +bowed head. It seemed to him the only one in the whole garden that had +any share in his sorrow: he wondered if the flower had grown up to mark +the sad place of her burial. + +“O, my beloved Berenice, art thou near me now?” he murmured, +heart-broken, one day as he passed by: then it seemed to him that all +at once the flower stirred. He turned to look at it; it was like a +sunflower, but white even to its centre, and its head kept drooping as if +for pure grief. “Berenice, Berenice!” he wept, passing it. + +At dusk he returned again; and now the flower’s head was lifted up, and +shone with a strange lustre. The Prince, as he went by on his way to the +well, saw the flower turn its head, bending its face ever towards where +he was. Then grief and joy stirred in his heart. “The flower knows where +she is!” he said. + +So he bent, whispering, “Where, then, is Berenice?” and the flower lifted +its head, and hung quite still, looking at him. + +Then the Prince whispered again, “The Red Mole came, and the full Moon +came, and the Princess jumped down into the water?” + +But the flower swayed its head from side to side, and the Prince found +that it had answered “No.” + +Then he had it in his mind to ask of it further things; but, as he was +about to speak, he beheld its face all brimming over with tears, that +suddenly broke and fell down in a shower over its leaves. + +At that his heart leaped, and his voice choked as he cried, “Art _thou_ +my beloved, my Berenice?” And all at once the flower swayed down, and +leaned, and fell weeping against his breast. + +So at last he knew! And joy and grief struggled together in him for +mastery. + +All that night he knelt with the flower’s head upon his heart, stroking +its soft leaves, and letting it rest between his hands; till, towards +dawn, it seemed to him that peace was upon it and sleep. + +All through the day it hung faint upon its stem; but when evening came it +lifted its head and shone in moon-like beauty; and so deep for it was the +Prince’s love and compassion that he could hardly bear to be absent from +its side one moment of the day or night. + +And, when he was very weary, he lay down under its shadow to sleep; and +the Moon-flower bent down and rested its head upon his face. + +All night long in dreams Berenice came back to him. He seemed to hear how +the Red Mole had come, and changed her to a rooted shape, lest the full +Moon in the water should carry her away from him back into her own land. +Yet it was only a dream, and the Prince could learn nothing there of the +way by which he might set her free. + +A month went by, and he said to his Flower, “To-night is the night of +the full Moon: now, if I drew you from the ground, and carried you down, +and called for the Moon’s face to open to us, would you not be free from +the enchantment, when you were come again to your own people?” But +the Moon-flower shook its head, as if to bid him still wait and watch +patiently. + +Now, as the Prince came and went day by day, he began to notice that +the Moon-flower had its roots in a small green mound, no bigger than a +mole-hill; and he thought to himself, “surely that mound was not there at +first: the Red Mole must be down below at work!” So he watched it from +day to day; and at last he knew for certain that, as time went on, the +mound grew larger. + +Month by month the mound upon which the Moon-flower had root increased in +size; yet the Flower thrived, and its beauty shone brighter as each full +Moon approached, so that at last the Prince’s fear lest the Red Mole were +working mischief against its life, passed away. + +Once, on the night of a full Moon, as the Prince lay with his head upon +Earth, and the Moon-flower bowed over his face, he heard under the mound +a peal of silvery laughter; and at the sound of it the Moon-flower +started, and stood erect, and a stir of delight seemed to take hold of +its leaves. Again the laughter came, and the soft earth moved at the +sound of it. + +The Prince started up, and ran and fetched a spade, and struck it down +under the loose soil of the mound. When he lifted up the earth, out +sprang a tiny child like a lobe of quicksilver, laughing merrily with +its first leap into the light. But even then its laughter changed into a +cry; for out after it darted the Red Mole, with fury in its whiskers, and +wrath flashing out of its eyes. + +The quicksilver child sprang away, and went shrilling over the grass +toward the margin of the pool. There lay the full Moon’s image upon the +clear stillness of the water; and the child leapt down the bank, and +laughed as it sprang safely away. Then there followed a tiny splash; and +the Prince, amid the rings upon the water’s surface, saw, like a door of +pearl, the Moon’s face open and close again. And the Red Mole went down +into the earth gnashing its teeth for rage. + +The Prince ran back to the Moon-flower, and found it bent forwards +and trembling with fear. Then he drew its head towards his heart, and +whispered “The Red Mole came, and the full Moon came, and the silver +child jumped down into the water!” And at that the Flower lifted its +head and began clapping its leaves for joy. + +A month went by, and the green mound had disappeared from beneath the +Moon-flower’s roots; and still every night the Prince lay down under the +shadow of its leaves; and the Flower bent over him, and laid its head +against his face. + +As he lay so, one night, and watched the full Moon travelling high +overhead, he saw a shadow begin to cross over it; and he knew that it was +the eclipse, which is the shadow of the Earth passing over the face of +the Moon; then he rose softly, leaving the Moon-flower asleep, and went +and stood by the brink of the pool. + +Up in the Moon the silver child felt the shadow of the Earth fall upon +the face of the Moon; and he came and touched the Earth’s shadow with +his lips, crying, “Open, open to me, for I am an Earth-child!” Then the +Earth’s shadow that was upon the Moon opened, and the silver child sprang +through. + +The Prince, watching the veiled image of the Moon’s face in the water, +saw the Earth’s shadow open like a door, so that for an instant the +brightness of the Moon shone through, and out sprang the quicksilver +child, up to the surface of the pool. + +He leapt laughing up the bank, and went running over the grass to where +the Moon-flower was standing. He reached up his arms, and caught the +Flower by the head: + +“O mother, mother, mother!” he cried as he kissed it. + +And at the touch of his lips the Moon-flower opened and changed, growing +wondrously tall and fair; and the flower turned into a face, and the +leaves disappeared, till it was the beautiful Princess Berenice herself, +who stooped down and took the quicksilver child up into her arms. + +She cried, fondling him, “Did they give you your name?” + +And the child laughed. “They call me Gammelyn,” he said. + +The Prince caught them both together in his arms. “Come, come!” he +shouted and laughed, “for yonder is the full Moon waiting for us!” And, +lifting them up, he ran with them to the borders of the pool. + +And the Red Mole came, and the full Moon came; and the Prince, and the +Princess, and the silver child jumped down into the water. + +Then the Prince laid his lips against the reflection of the Earth’s +shadow, crying, “Open, open to me, for I am a child of the Earth!” And +the shadow opened like a door to let them pass through. Then they pressed +their lips against the reflection of the Moon’s face crying, “Open, open +to us, for we are Moon-children!” And the Moon opened her face like a +door of pearl, so that they sprang through together, and were safe. + +And when the Moon drew its reflection out of the pool, they found +themselves in the land of the Moon, in the silver chamber with the round +window, in the palace of Princess Berenice’s father. + +Looking out through the window, down at the end of a long moonbeam they +saw the Red Mole gnashing his whiskers for rage. Then the Prince took off +his shoes, and threw them with all his might down the moonbeam at the +Mole. + +As the shoes fell, they went faster, and faster, and faster, till they +came to earth; and they struck the Mole so hard upon the head that he +died. + +Now as for Gammelyn and the shoes we may hear of them again elsewhere; +but as for the Prince and his beautiful Princess Berenice, the happiness +in which they lived for the rest of their days is too great even to be +told of. + + + + +HAPPY RETURNS + + _TO_ + JEANNIE + +[Illustration] + + +HAPPY RETURNS + +By the side of a great river, whose stream formed the boundary to two +countries, lived an old ferryman and his wife. All the day, while she +minded the house, he sat in his boat by the ferry, waiting to carry +travellers across; or, when no travellers came, and he had his boat free, +he would cast drag-nets along the bed of the river for fish. But for the +food which he was able thus to procure at times, he and his wife might +well have starved, for travellers were often few and far between, and +often they grudged him the few pence he asked for ferrying them; and now +he had grown so old and feeble that when the river was in flood he could +scarcely ferry the boat across; and continually he feared lest a younger +and stronger man should come and take his place, and the bread from his +mouth. + +But he had trust in Providence. “Will not God,” he said, “who has +given us no happiness in this life, save in each other’s help and +companionship, allow us to end our days in peace?” + +And his wife answered, “Yes, surely, if we trust Him enough He will.” + +One morning, it being the first day of the year, the ferryman going down +to his boat, found that during the night it had been loosed from its +moorings and taken across the river, where it now lay fastened to the +further bank. + +“Wife,” said he, “I can remember this same thing happening a year ago, +and the year before also. Who is this traveller who comes once a year, +like a thief in the night, and crosses without asking me to ferry him +over?” + +“Perhaps it is the good folk,” said his wife. “Go over and see if they +have left no coin behind them in the boat.” + +The old man got on to a log and poled himself across, and found, down in +the keel of the boat, the mark of a man’s bare foot driven deep into the +wood; but there was no coin or other trace to show who it might be. + +Time went on; the old ferryman was all bowed down with age, and his body +was racked with pains. So slow was he now in making the passage of the +stream, that all travellers who knew those parts took a road higher up +the bank, where a stronger ferryman plied. + +Winter came; and hunger and want pressed hard at the old man’s door. One +day while he drew his net along the stream, he felt the shock of a great +fish striking against the meshes down below, and presently, as the net +came in, he saw a shape like living silver, leaping and darting to and +fro to find some way of escape. Up to the bank he landed it, a great +gasping fish. + +When he was about to kill it, he saw, to his astonishment, tears running +out of its eyes, that gazed at him and seemed to reproach him for his +cruelty. As he drew back, the Fish said: “Why should you kill me, who +wish to live?” + +The old man, altogether bewildered at hearing himself thus addressed, +answered: “Since I and my wife are hungry, and God gave you to be eaten, +I have good reason for killing you.” + +“I could give you something worth far more than a meal,” said the Fish, +“if you would spare my life.” + +“We are old,” said the ferryman, “and want only to end our days in peace. +To-day we are hungry; what can be more good for us than a meal which will +give us strength for the morrow, which is the new year?” + +The Fish said: “To-night some one will come and unfasten your boat, and +ferry himself over, and you know nothing of it till the morning, when you +see the craft moored out yonder by the further bank.” + +The old man remembered how the thing had happened in previous years, +directly the Fish spoke. “Ah, you know that then! How is it?” he asked. + +“When you go back to your hut at night to sleep, I am here in the water,” +said the Fish. “I see what goes on.” + +“What goes on, then?” asked the old man, very curious to know who the +strange traveller might be. + +“Ah,” said the Fish, “if you could only catch him in your boat, he could +give you something you might wish for! I tell you this: do you and your +wife keep watch in the boat all night, and when he comes, and you have +ferried him into mid-stream, where he cannot escape, then throw your net +over him and hold him till he pays you for all your ferryings.” + +“How shall he pay me? All my ferryings of a lifetime!” + +“Make him take you to the land of Returning Time. There, at least, you +can end your days in peace.” + +The old man said: “You have told me a strange thing; and since I mean to +act on it, I suppose I must let you go. If you have deceived me, I trust +you may yet die a cruel death.” + +The Fish answered: “Do as I tell you, and you shall die a happy one.” +And, saying this, he slipped down into the water and disappeared. + +The ferryman went back to his wife supperless, and said to her: “Wife, +bring a net, and come down into the boat!” And he told her the story of +the Fish and of the yearly traveller. + +They sat long together under the dark bank, looking out over the quiet +and cold moonlit waters, till the midnight hour. The air was chill, and +to keep themselves warm they covered themselves over with the net and lay +down in the bottom of the boat. It was the very hour when the old year +dies and the new year is born. + +Before they well knew that they had been asleep, they started to feel the +rocking of the boat, and found themselves out upon the broad waters of +the river. And there in the fore-part of the boat, clear and sparkling in +the moonlight, stood a naked man of shining silver. He was bending upon +the pole of the boat, and his long hair fell over it right down into the +water. + +The old couple rose up quietly, and unwinding themselves from the net, +threw it over the Silver Man, over his head and hands and feet, and +dragged him down into the bottom of the boat. + +The old man caught the ferry pole, and heaved the boat still into the +middle of the stream. As he did so a gentle shock came to the heart of +each; feebly it fluttered and sank low. “Oh, wife!” sighed the old man, +and reached out his hand for hers. + +The Silver Man lay still in the folds of the net, and looked at them with +a wise and quiet gaze. “What would you have of me?” he said, and his +voice was far off and low. + +They said, “Bring us into the land of Returning Time.” + +The Silver Man said: “Only once can you go there, and once return.” + +They both answered “We wish once to go there, and once return.” + +So he promised them that they should have the whole of their request; and +they unloosed him from the net, and landed all together on the further +bank. + +Up the hill they went, following the track of the Silver Man. Presently +they reached its crest; and there before them lay all the howling winter +of the world. + +The Silver Man turned his face and looked back; and looking back it +became all young, and ruddy, and bright. The ferryman and his wife gazed +at him, both speechless at the wonderful change. He took their hands, +making them turn the way by which they had come; below their feet was +a deep black gulf, and beyond and away lay nothing but a dark starless +hollow of air. + +“Now,” said their guide, “you have but to step forward one step, and you +shall be in the land of Returning Time.” + +They loosed hold of his hands, joined clasp, husband with wife, and at +one step upon what seemed gulf beneath their feet, found themselves in +a green and flowery land. There were perfumed valleys and grassy hills, +whose crops stretched down before the breeze; thick fleecy clouds crossed +their tops, and overhead, amid a blue air rang the shrill trilling +of birds. Behind lay, fading mistily as a dream, the bare world they +had left; and fast on his forward road, growing small to them from a +distance, went the Silver Man, a shining point on the horizon. + +The ferryman and his wife looked, and saw youth in each other’s faces +beginning to peep out through the furrows of age; each step they took +made them grow younger and stronger; years fell from them like worn-out +rags as they went down into the valleys of the land of Returning Time. + +How fast Time returned! Each step made the change of a day, and every +mile brought them five years back toward youth. When they came down to +the streams that ran in the bed of each valley, the ferryman and his +wife felt their prime return to them. He saw the gold come back into her +locks, and she the brown into his. Their lips became open to laughter and +song. “Oh, how good,” they cried, “to have lived all our lives poor, to +come at last to this!” + +They drank water out of the streams, and tasted the fruit from the trees +that grew over them; till presently, being tired for mere joy, they lay +down in the grass to rest. They slept hand within hand and cheek against +cheek, and, when they woke, found themselves quite young again, just at +the age when they were first married in the years gone by. + +The ferryman started up and felt the desire of life strong in his blood. +“Come!” he said to his wife, “or we shall become too young with lingering +here. Now we have regained our youth, let us go back into the world once +more!” + +His wife hung upon his hand, “Are we not happy enough,” she asked, “as it +is? Why should we return?” + +“But,” he cried, “we shall grow too young; now we have youth and life at +its best let us return! Time goes too fast with us; we are in danger of +it carrying us away.” + +She said no further word, but followed up toward the way by which they +had entered. And yet, in spite of her wish to remain, as she went her +young blood frisked. Presently coming to the top of a hill, they set off +running and racing; at the bottom they looked at each other, and saw +themselves boy and girl once more. + +“We have stayed here too long!” said the ferryman, and pressed on. + +“Oh, the birds,” sighed she, “and the flowers, and the grassy hills to +run on, we are leaving behind!” But still the boy had the wish for a +man’s life again, and urged her on; and still with every step they grew +younger and younger. At length, two small children, they came to the +border of that enchanted land, and saw beyond the world bleak and wintry +and without leaf. Only a further step was wanted to bring them face to +face once more with the hard battle of life. + +Tears rose in the child-wife’s eyes: “If we go,” she said, “we can never +return!” Her husband looked long at her wistful face; he, too, was more +of a child now, and was forgetting his wish to be a man again. + +He took hold of her hand and turned round with her, and together they +faced once more the flowery orchards, and the happy watered valleys. + +Away down there light streams tinkled, and birds called. Downwards they +went, slowly at first, then with dancing feet, as with shoutings and +laughter they ran. + +Down into the level fields they ran; their running was turned to a +toddling; their toddling to a tumbling; their tumbling to a slow crawl +upon hands and feet among the high grass and flowers; till at last they +were lying side by side, curled up into a cuddly ball, chuckling and +dimpling and crowing to the insects and birds that passed over them. + +Then they heard the sweet laughter of Father Time; and over the hill he +came, young, ruddy, and shining, and gathered them up sound asleep on the +old boat by the ferry. + + Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. + London & Edinburgh + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75624 *** |