The Travels of Prince Weary-heart

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLII, Issue 26, 30 June 1909, Page 45

The Travels of Prince Weary-heart

A MODERN VERSION

By

O'Neill Latham.

Illustrated by the Author.

©NCE upon ‘ a time, a charming Prince (and the Muse of Fairy Tales forfend that one should write of any. other sort, while these are to be had for a dip in the ink), While riding from the jousts where he had, incognito, punished forty-two objectionable knights in single combat and strewn the lists with helmet plumes (and let us have ’em valiant or not have ’em at all! ), was strangely sunk in ennui and disaffection. The gentle squire that, alone, attended him, with scrupulous deference maintained a nice distance between his humble bit of horseflesh and his liege’s noble animal, from whose haughty flanks depended housings of velvet and cloth-of-gold which swept the wayside flowers. He was not unaware of the force and precision sometimes suddenly discovered in an ennui, mailed and royal toe.

On they sped through green glades and forgotten by-paths until they had left the noise and triumph of the tourney far behind; for hours they had seen no one more important than a jack-rabbit who blinked, embarrassed by the princely bravery; and the lowly spirit of the squire, observing the fall of even, began lingeringly to dwell upon the mental image of a haunch of venison and a pot of ale. His reverie, however, was broken in upon by his princely master’s abruptly flinging at his head his crested casque and shaking out his crushed and shining ringlets to the wind. The buckler and lance followed, and as the astonished varlet picked them from the ground, a full purse fell beside him and he heard himself dismissed from service by a rapidly disappearing royalty whose horse’s hoofs seemed scarcely to bend the daffodils o’er which they flew.

The mild squire rode gently back Ito the nearest town, and after having Bpent all that the purse contained, pawned the buckler and helmet, which jvere beautifully embossed' and inlaid with the precious metals, and had what he called “a perfect time.” The Prince had ridden long and it was quite dusk when he came upon a fairy urchin sitting on a stone, who in a sociable way asked him where he was going. “To Oblivion,” replied the Prince. ’“Well, well, how painful; my goodness me!” said the sprite, “you quite Jbring the tears; and you so good-look-ing. too, in your way—though I prefer blonde princes, myself, they’re no end jollier as a rule!”

sternly demanded his Highness, shaking his ebon locks in the face of criticism. “Why,. of course 1 can, but I warn you it’s, an extremely long trip back. What on earth are you so set upon it for?” - The other leaned upon his horse, gloomily replying: “I’m weary of the wars (quoth he) the joust is deuced slow. I’m weary of the sweetest dame that makes the bravest show; The fairest damsels bore me so, though fair as damsels go. “Erstwhile, I fought for this and that, as valiant as my sires; Erstwhile, I sought the Holy Grail and woke the minstrels’ lyres— But now quite out are all my fires aud stilled are my desires. “The splendour of those old desires, I must confess. I rue: It irks me that my snowy fame admits—a shade or two. In fact, good sir. I’m blue as blue—but what is that to you?’’

As he finished, the sprite, yawning behind a leaf, with all his heart pointed down a shadowy path to the west.

“That’* the way till you come to the Field of Red Flowers,” he said, “and perhaps you would better hurry along”; then in a lower voice, emphatically added, “Blonde princes for ine any day?” And the Prince, without, further delay, although lie really had three more stanzas up his sleeve, put spurs to his horse and rode away, straight into Fairyland.

The moon was high when he arrived, and straightly shone upon the Flowers of Oblivion, which hung heavy with their dewfl, and when he stooped, in tpite of that pallid light, he saw they were glowing red—great reaches of them that seemed to bleed—and calling, calling him to sleep.

He stood musing a moment, then loosed his horse with a cares*; it paused with wistful looks, but at the command moved slowly off, and he listened to the retreating hoof-beats till they were too remote, then wrapping his mantle about him, above his •diver hauberk, he Hung himself down among the tangled poppies. Now, what the Prince failed’ to observe about the Field of Red Flowers v.as that it waft nothing more nor less than an enchanted fairy cemetery, and, in point of fact, he was sleeping among the graves of imminent danger of being discovered by the business-like little Fairy Sextons and made to get up and buy a grave for himself like a respectable Prince instead of dying just, anywhere, in that haphazard fashion, like a June-bug. Fortunately, however, he was not discovered, although they were bustling about all night, attending. to new-com-er*. It was towards morning, and the moonlight had grown .oblique .upon the poppies, when ,one of these,, a mournful lady, and her train of maidens, accosted one of the little Sextons.

*‘Oh, -ye*, you are looking for a nice grave, madam,” »he blandly said. “I am sure we can suit you we have a great variety—all excellent —attractive 1 upland graves where the wind stirs - the flowers constantly, or, as some prefer, we have those still, low, valley graves, very prettily situated, with a rivulet, ct cetera. Your name, please?” “It is her Majesty Guinevere,” whispered one of her attendants. “Well, upon my word!” exclaimed the fairy. “I am looking for his grave,” said the poor Queen, in a voice so low a« scarcely' to be heard above the faint nightv. ind that stirred the robe about her lovely feet. “Sir Lancelot? Why, of course. Just step this way, please,” and the jaunty little Sexton started briskly down a certain path. Tt was a moment before

hr observed that *he bad not Dialed te follow him, when he came trotting kick, muttering something rather forcible about queens and women in the fairy language. “It is not LauncelodX but the King’s ebe aeeka” whimpered one of her women. “ What * Well, the inconsistency ot women !” he cried, but in an instant resumed his professional air. “ Step this way—step this way. You will observe in passing, ladies, the perfect order an 1 precision of our arrangements here.” He waved his little lantern here and there down several paths and sections of the grounds, adding: “ You sop all iieat’y classified. With how and why and where they died — A’l quite exact, you see. Here lies some dead of love despised. Of joy too deeply realised, And some of calumny Ami here poor lovers wearied sore. Who sued in vain, now sue no more: Well loved in dreams they be--’’ “ How very nice,” exclaimed one of Guinevere’s attendants, feeling some p >- lite comment rather called for, an I their guide looking very haughty in a fairy way at the interruption, now pi used perilously near to the spot where our ch D ining Prince lay sleeping with d< w up in his face. “Here ks Arthur’s place, madam,” the Sexton said. “ Sep, among th: 1 • Love Despised.’ But I am very much afraid you will not be permitted to have your grave here. We are Very particular ab nit their not being disturbed. They need th ir re*t so, poor souls! However, I shall inquire.” He made a. call like that of a night bird, ami there came, trooping with noiseless feet, all the cemetery fairies, fair as flowers, and swinging their little lanterns among the tall and clustering poppies. They were verj r gentle and tender, sprites, hut it seemed as if nothing would move them to give her plafie beside the sleeping King. Their voices were as low ami plain tive as her own, so that their discourse lulled the weary sleepers underground, like a cradle song» ■ With a long sigh, she began: “‘Lay. oh. lay me softly by his side. For I ' vn » his bride/ “ ‘ Nay, oh', nay, too sweet, too sweet a bed/ • Then I'll lie crosswise just above his head. Spirits lay me there and have a rest— Once I was his friend.’ “‘No, ah no. for thou wonldst vox his sleep— There young flower-roots cioep.’ “ Low, ah, low. I’ll rest me by his face. Sweet, so sweet, where isilteth God’s fair grace.” ‘That cannot be a bed for thee— It is a holy place.’ “ ‘ Doom, ah doom, then put me at his feet; Yea, that would be meet. Ah, tomb, ah tomb, entomb me where they Tale, pale and cold ah, lay them in my “‘Nay, not there; ’(would bieak his pear* for sure Il is feet wore pure.’

•• a Woo, ah woe, fays, let me depart. Lay me on his heart. Slow, ah, slow, lower, and let me be, For his great heart hath forgiven me.’ •• * ’Twould throb from its sleep to ban thee away. Nay, oU nay, nay, nay !’ * * Grieve, soul, grieve! Under the highroad Where the horsemen ride, Leave, oh, leave me, then, ’neath the passing feet, Where my breast shall feel the iron hoofs boa t, For I'm feared to lie alone in my bed When I'm dead !’ ” By this time, almost all the Sextons were weeping into their lanterns, and as they pityingly conducted the distressed lady to the cemetery gates, they told her to come again on the morrow, and “ they’d see what they could do about it.” As she went away, looking really •quite cheerful again (I can’t permit this tale to grow too dismal! Dear me!), it was unobserved that one damsel was missing from her train, joyful creature, scarcely more than a child, who had spied the Prince among the flowers, and stolen near to look with lovely eyes and mischievous. ’ Until the moon went down and the dawn began to whisper in the east, she patiently sat beside him, now drawing his cloak more closely about him with the tips of bashful fingers, now “ ducking ” her lovely head, as some careful •Fairy Sexton flitted by, and now bending low, very low, to scrutinise those heavy eyelids and the sadly folded lips, so weary and so beautiful. Very low, she bent, but we are pleased to chronicle in the face of whatever other historians may say of it, that she did not—she positively did not. Had it been otherwise we should have been compelled to lay down a decorous pen. When the morning had come, however, and the birds had begun splendidly to shout above the enchanted graveyard, she permitted herself sundry little drawings of his cloak and callings to awake, which, nevertheless, though repeated several times, had no effect upon those entranced slumbers, in character so near, so very near to death, and she grew almost faint with waiting and half inclined to lay her head on that inhospitable breast and sleep, too. She began a little song, which ran something like this:

•‘Where young Weary-Heart low Heth, Where the long grass, moving, sigheth, There red flowers make death fair-seem-ing. There dim dreams are his in dreaming — Where the mateless love-bird crietb, And some butterfly slow flieth, Short-lived, lovely, golden-gleaming, On ids bosom, fainting, dieth— Where young Weary-Heart low lieth.”

A-s she finished, the Prince awoke and •ddressed his drowsy eyes to her. “You have an extremely penetrating Jroice, iny dear young lady.” “It has been often complimented,” the modestly replied, at the same time discreetly concealing her delight at his ©wakening. “Nevertheless, I should advise you to abstain from using it in these early morning hours. It’s really bad for it -—bad, very bad,’’ and with great sangfroid he turned upon the other side, composing himself for further slumber, but again she timidly plucked him by the cloak.

“I’ve waited for you so long,” she •aid, “and brushed the dew away, and

sat by you through the chilly night and I might have caught a dreadful cold—and all to he your playmate!” “If you had known, you couldn’t have had the heart to wake me,” he desperately cried. “By the Rood, girl; you don’t know what I was forgetting.” “Some people do wake up so ill-nat-ured!” she complained, then added:, “Ah, come on and play. See, what a lovely place for tag and leap-frog,” and with a charming spring, she began innocently dancing upon the graves, at which the hearts of the sleupens below beat for a moment with a certain dint pleasure. The Prince, with a scarcely perceptible gleam of interest, raised himself upon his elbow and shook the night-damp from, his lock-. “That is all very nice, my dear young creature,” he said at length, with great reserve, “and at another time I do not deny that I might have found it entertaining, but permit me to say that as yet your mind has not apparently grasped the fact that this place was designed for but one purpose—repose, and with your permission, I shall now resume my slumbers.” “In sleep there are dreams. I will be your dream,” she suggested with fine amiability.

“Dreams are my abomination!” he muttered, momentarily forgetting his court manners (ordinarily exquisite, I assure you), and with a marked abruptness flinging himself upon the ground.

“Dear me, how very embarrassing!” she murmured; then very hesitatingly adding, “Good-morning,” began to tiptoe softly away—but chancing to glance over her Shoulder, which, it may be mentioned, was a very pretty thing in the way of a shoulder, she became aware that the Prince’s eyce were resting upon her with somewhat less of austerity than before, which development confused her purposes and rendered her departure a little more difficult. She paused, considered, then tripped innocently back for a kerchief, the loss of which she suddenly became aware of, and before going once more, it seemed no more than decent to venture some little apology. “Dear Prince,” she began, “I trust you will not feel my waking you quite inexcusable. It is true, I should have known better, for my dear papa at home, when disturbed invariably threw things. But” —here she paused and exquisitely blushed —“but, you were so beautiful!” “Was I, really?” said the Prince with delicate irony, but at the same time smoothing his heavy curie and assuming a somewhat more social expression. "Ah, you were beautiful,” she pursued, “and you really looked like such a pleasant Prince, though so tired and so sad. Young Weary-Heart was what I called you, and I pitied you, and sang ” “Um —yes. Well, I should think so,“ her companion interjected. “I really intended it to be very low and soft,” she pleaded, “and afterward, 1 danced to make you smile.’*'

“That is quite impossible, my dear,” he said', with great decision, as if to imply “hardly that far, I hope!” “1 think you would be very handsome when you smile,” she thoughtfully replied, and studied his mouth as if considering it as a quite dispassionate person of an inquiring mind.

“Go away, child, go away,” said he, looking in the other direction, “unless, indeed,” he added, “you would prefer to sit down and sing me another little song. As I am quite awake now, I think I shouldn't mind it.”

She meekly obeyed, and like a wretl, began immediately to pipe:

“Blossomed boughs are white above. Love me. It is spring and you must love. Love me. Boughs are white against the bluet. White my cheek for love of you. Why not love me? , “If you weary of the skies, Love me. Seek the heavens of my eyes. Love me. Who loves to-morrow, no man knows; Love to-day, as loves the rose. Why not love me?” “My poor child, those sound very much: like the stanzas we used to write in our! Friendship Albums in early youth,” said her listener, very paternally. “But why not?” she asked. “Why not what?” “Love me?” she finished, and engaged his look with bashful eye. He peevishly plucked a poppy to pieces aware that this must be done somewhere in the story. “Why?” she persisted. “I suppose you would not care to be the occasion of my death,” he said, looking at the broken flower in his hand, and unprepared for the cry of pain with which she received his words. He took her tender hand to reassure her. “You are a very niee, kind little girl,” he said, “but I eannot conveniently love you, for the reason that I have loved too much already. So much have I loved that, in fact, to be frank, I fear another ■essay would be perilous—fatal. Eve® the most vigorous hearts can’t love on

indefinitely, you know ” lie wa» in.’ terrupted by the anguish in her innocenCl countenance, full of solicitude and woader, and as he paused, she rose and., b* gan to steal away. “Oh, are you going?” he cried. £

r "Yes, yea,” she whispered, “I must go u save you. Why, you almost loved met” *‘osl, no,” he very nonchalantly rejoined, forgetting his habitual gallantry in his eagerness to stay her. “Oh, no, Indeed; no danger, at all, my dear. Come *nd sing me some more Autograph Album stanzas.” Before he was aware of it, he had Smiled; and half convinced, she flitted back; but in his pleasure at her return, be advertently encircled her in his arms and committed the fatal error of pressing her childlike bosom to his heart. Instantly realizing the peril, she (sprang away with a piteous cry “Now, I have done for you!” “Not at all, not at all. I do not love you, sweet!” he thundered, but she looked at his eyes, from which the sadness and fatigue had strangely vanished, End at his beautiful face, which shone vivid and joyous beneath his clustering hair. Her conscience smote her, and she retreated before him with trembling limbs.

As ehe did so, he blindly followed, (Suddenly pressing both hands to his bosom in which the heart was broken, and fell at her feet, among the waving poppies.