It was the night
before the day fixed for his coronation, and the young King was sitting alone
in his beautiful chamber. His courtiers had all taken their leave of him,
bowing their heads to the ground, according to the ceremonious usage of the
day, and had retired to the Great Hall of the Palace, to receive a few last
lessons from the Professor of Etiquette; there being some of them who had still
quite natural manners, which in a courtier is, I need hardly say, a very grave
offence.
The lad - for he
was only a lad, being but sixteen years of age - was not sorry at their
departure, and had flung himself back with a deep sigh of relief on the soft
cushions of his embroidered couch, lying there, wild-eyed and open-mouthed,
like a brown woodland Faun, or some young animal of the forest newly snared by
the hunters.
And, indeed, it
was the hunters who had found him, coming upon him almost by chance as,
bare-limbed and pipe in hand, he was following the flock of the poor goatherd
who had brought him up, and whose son he had always fancied himself to be. The
child of the old King's only daughter by a secret marriage with one much
beneath her in station - a stranger, some said, who, by the wonderful magic of
his lute-playing, had made the young Princess love him; while others spoke of
an artist from Rimini, to whom the Princess had shown much, perhaps too much
honour, and who had suddenly disappeared from the city, leaving his work in the
Cathedral unfinished - he had been, when but a week old, stolen away from his
mother's side, as she slept, and given into the charge of a common peasant and
his wife, who were without children of their own, and lived in a remote part of
the forest, more than a day's ride from the town. Grief, or the plague, as the
court physician stated, or, as some suggested, a swift Italian poison
administered in a cup of spiced wine, slew, within an hour of her wakening, the
white girl who had given him birth, and as the trusty messenger who bare the
child across his saddle-bow stooped from his weary horse and knocked at the
rude door of the goatherd's hut, the body of the Princess was being lowered
into an open grave that had been dug in a deserted churchyard, beyond the city
gates, a grave where it was said that another body was also lying, that of a
young man of marvellous and foreign beauty, whose hands were tied behind him
with a knotted cord, and whose breast was stabbed with many red wounds.
Such, at least,
was the story that men whispered to each other. Certain it was that the old
King, when on his deathbed, whether moved by remorse for his great sin, or
merely desiring that the kingdom should not pass away from his line, had had
the lad sent for, and, in the presence of the Council, had acknowledged him as
his heir.
And it seems that
from the very first moment of his recognition he had shown signs of that
strange passion for beauty that was destined to have so great an influence over
his life. Those who accompanied him to the suite of rooms set apart for his
service, often spoke of the cry of pleasure that broke from his lips when he
saw the delicate raiment and rich jewels that had been prepared for him, and of
the almost fierce joy with which he flung aside his rough leathern tunic and
coarse sheepskin cloak. He missed, indeed, at times the fine freedom of his
forest life, and was always apt to chafe at the tedious Court ceremonies that
occupied so much of each day, but the wonderful palace - Joyeuse, as they
called it - of which he now found himself lord, seemed to him to be a new world
fresh-fashioned for his delight; and as soon as he could escape from the
council-board or audience-chamber, he would run down the great staircase, with
its lions of gilt bronze and its steps of bright porphyry, and wander from room
to room, and from corridor to corridor, like one who was seeking to find in
beauty an anodyne from pain, a sort of restoration from sickness.
Upon these
journeys of discovery, as he would call them - and, indeed, they were to him
real voyages through a marvellous land, he would sometimes be accompanied by
the slim, fair-haired Court pages, with their floating mantles, and gay
fluttering ribands; but more often he would be alone, feeling through a certain
quick instinct, which was almost a divination, that the secrets of art are best
learned in secret, and that Beauty, like Wisdom, loves the lonely worshipper.
Many curious
stories were related about him at this period. It was said that a stout
Burgo-master, who had come to deliver a florid oratorical address on behalf of
the citizens of the town, had caught sight of him kneeling in real adoration
before a great picture that had just been brought from Venice, and that seemed
to herald the worship of some new gods. On another occasion he had been missed
for several hours, and after a lengthened search had been discovered in a
little chamber in one of the northern turrets of the palace gazing, as one in a
trance, at a Greek gem carved with the figure of Adonis. He had been seen, so
the tale ran, pressing his warm lips to the marble brow of an antique statue
that had been discovered in the bed of the river on the occasion of the
building of the stone bridge, and was inscribed with the name of the Bithynian
slave of Hadrian. He had passed a whole night in noting the effect of the
moonlight on a silver image of Endymion.
All rare and
costly materials had certainly a great fascination for him, and in his
eagerness to procure them he had sent away many merchants, some to traffic for
amber with the rough fisher-folk of the north seas, some to Egypt to look for
that curious green turquoise which is found only in the tombs of kings, and is
said to possess magical properties, some to Persia for silken carpets and
painted pottery, and others to India to buy gauze and stained ivory, moonstones
and bracelets of jade, sandal-wood and blue enamel and shawls of fine wool.
But what had
occupied him most was the robe he was to wear at his coronation, the robe of
tissued gold, and the ruby-studded crown, and the sceptre with its rows and
rings of pearls. Indeed, it was of this that he was thinking to-night, as he
lay back on his luxurious couch, watching the great pinewood log that was
burning itself out on the open hearth. The designs, which were from the hands
of the most famous artists of the time, had been submitted to him many months before,
and he had given orders that the artificers were to toil night and day to carry
them out, and that the whole world was to be searched for jewels that would be
worthy of their work. He saw himself in fancy standing at the high altar of the
cathedral in the fair raiment of a King, and a smile played and lingered about
his boyish lips, and lit up with a bright lustre his dark woodland eyes.
After some time
he rose from his seat, and leaning against the carved penthouse of the chimney,
looked round at the dimly-lit room. The walls were hung with rich tapestries
representing the Triumph of Beauty. A large press, inlaid with agate and lapis-
lazuli, filled one corner, and facing the window stood a curiously wrought
cabinet with lacquer panels of powdered and mosaiced gold, on which were placed
some delicate goblets of Venetian glass, and a cup of dark-veined onyx. Pale
poppies were broidered on the silk coverlet of the bed, as though they had
fallen from the tired hands of sleep, and tall reeds of fluted ivory bare up
the velvet canopy, from which great tufts of ostrich plumes sprang, like white
foam, to the pallid silver of the fretted ceiling. A laughing Narcissus in
green bronze held a polished mirror above its head. On the table stood a flat
bowl of amethyst.
Outside he could
see the huge dome of the cathedral, looming like a bubble over the shadowy
houses, and the weary sentinels pacing up and down on the misty terrace by the
river. Far away, in an orchard, a nightingale was singing. A faint perfume of
jasmine came through the open window. He brushed his brown curls back from his
forehead, and taking up a lute, let his fingers stray across the cords. His
heavy eyelids drooped, and a strange languor came over him. Never before had he
felt so keenly, or with such exquisite joy, the magic and the mystery of
beautiful things.
When midnight
sounded from the clock-tower he touched a bell, and his pages entered and
disrobed him with much ceremony, pouring rose-water over his hands, and
strewing flowers on his pillow. A few moments after that they had left the
room, he fell asleep.
And as he slept
he dreamed a dream, and this was his dream.
He thought that
he was standing in a long, low attic, amidst the whir and clatter of many
looms. The meagre daylight peered in through the grated windows, and showed him
the gaunt figures of the weavers bending over their cases. Pale, sickly-looking
children were crouched on the huge crossbeams. As the shuttles dashed through
the warp they lifted up the heavy battens, and when the shuttles stopped they
let the battens fall and pressed the threads together. Their faces were pinched
with famine, and their thin hands shook and trembled. Some haggard women were
seated at a table sewing. A horrible odour filled the place. The air was foul
and heavy, and the walls dripped and streamed with damp.
The young King
went over to one of the weavers, and stood by him and watched him.
And the weaver
looked at him angrily, and said, 'Why art thou watching me? Art thou a spy set
on us by our master?'
'Who is thy
master?' asked the young King.
'Our master!'
cried the weaver, bitterly. 'He is a man like myself. Indeed, there is but this
difference between us - that he wears fine clothes while I go in rags, and that
while I am weak from hunger he suffers not a little from overfeeding.'
'The land is
free,' said the young King, 'and thou art no man's slave.'
'In war,'
answered the weaver, 'the strong make slaves of the weak, and in peace the rich
make slaves of the poor. We must work to live, and they give us such mean wages
that we die. We toil for them all day long, and they heap up gold in their
coffers, and our children fade away before their time, and the faces of those
we love become hard and evil. We tread out the grapes, and another drinks the
wine. We sow the corn, and our own board is empty. We have chains, though no
eye beholds them; and are slaves, though men call us free.'
'Is it so with
all?' he asked,
'It is so with
all,' answered the weaver, 'with the young as well as with the old, with the
women as well as with the men, with the little children as well as with those
who are stricken in years. The merchants grind us down, and we must needs do
their bidding. The priest rides by and tells his beads, and no man has care of
us. Through our sunless lanes creeps Poverty with her hungry eyes, and Sin with
his sodden face follows close behind her. Misery wakes us in the morning, and
Shame sits with us at night. But what are these things to thee? Thou art not
one of us. Thy face is too happy.' And he turned away scowling, and threw the
shuttle across the loom, and the young King saw that it was threaded with a
thread of gold.
And a great
terror seized upon him, and he said to the weaver, 'What robe is this that thou
art weaving?'
'It is the robe
for the coronation of the young King,' he answered; 'what is that to thee?'
And the young King gave a loud cry and
woke, and lo! he was in his own chamber, and through the window he saw the
great honey-coloured moon hanging in the dusky air.
And he fell
asleep again and dreamed, and this was his dream.
He thought that
he was lying on the deck of a huge galley that was being rowed by a hundred
slaves. On a carpet by his side the master of the galley was seated. He was
black as ebony, and his turban was of crimson silk. Great earrings of silver
dragged down the thick lobes of his ears, and in his hands he had a pair of
ivory scales.
The slaves were
naked, but for a ragged loin-cloth, and each man was chained to his neighbour.
The hot sun beat brightly upon them, and the negroes ran up and down the
gangway and lashed them with whips of hide. They stretched out their lean arms
and pulled the heavy oars through the water. The salt spray flew from the
blades.
At last they
reached a little bay, and began to take soundings. A light wind blew from the
shore, and covered the deck and the great lateen sail with a fine red dust.
Three Arabs mounted on wild asses rode out and threw spears at them. The master
of the galley took a painted bow in his hand and shot one of them in the
throat. He fell heavily into the surf, and his companions galloped away. A
woman wrapped in a yellow veil followed slowly on a camel, looking back now and
then at the dead body.
As soon as they
had cast anchor and hauled down the sail, the negroes went into the hold and
brought up a long rope-ladder, heavily weighted with lead. The master of the
galley threw it over the side, making the ends fast to two iron stanchions.
Then the negroes seized the youngest of the slaves and knocked his gyves off,
and filled his nostrils and his ears with wax, and tied a big stone round his
waist. He crept wearily down the ladder, and disappeared into the sea. A few
bubbles rose where he sank. Some of the other slaves peered curiously over the side.
At the prow of the galley sat a shark-charmer, beating monotonously upon a
drum.
After some time
the diver rose up out of the water, and clung panting to the ladder with a
pearl in his right hand. The negroes seized it from him, and thrust him back. The
slaves fell asleep over their oars.
Again and again
he came up, and each time that he did so he brought with him a beautiful pearl.
The master of the galley weighed them, and put them into a little bag of green
leather.
The young King
tried to speak, but his tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of his mouth, and
his lips refused to move. The negroes chattered to each other, and began to
quarrel over a string of bright beads. Two cranes flew round and round the
vessel.
Then the diver
came up for the last time, and the pearl that he brought with him was fairer
than all the pearls of Ormuz, for it was shaped like the full moon, and whiter
than the morning star. But his face was strangely pale, and as he fell upon the
deck the blood gushed from his ears and nostrils. He quivered for a little, and
then he was still. The negroes shrugged their shoulders, and threw the body
overboard.
And the master of
the galley laughed, and, reaching out, he took the pearl, and when he saw it he
pressed it to his forehead and bowed. 'It shall be,' he said, 'for the sceptre
of the young King,' and he made a sign to the negroes to draw up the anchor.
And when the
young King heard this he gave a great cry, and woke, and through the window he
saw the long grey fingers of the dawn clutching at the fading stars.
And he fell
asleep again, and dreamed, and this was his dream.
He thought that
he was wandering through a dim wood, hung with strange fruits and with
beautiful poisonous flowers. The adders hissed at him as he went by, and the
bright parrots flew screaming from branch to branch. Huge tortoises lay asleep
upon the hot mud. The trees were full of apes and peacocks.
On and on he
went, till he reached the outskirts of the wood, and there he saw an immense
multitude of men toiling in the bed of a dried-up river. They swarmed up the
crag like ants. They dug deep pits in the ground and went down into them. Some
of them cleft the rocks with great axes; others grabbled in the sand.
They tore up the
cactus by its roots, and trampled on the scarlet blossoms. They hurried about,
calling to each other, and no man was idle.
From the darkness
of a cavern Death and Avarice watched them, and Death said, 'I am weary; give
me a third of them and let me go.' But Avarice shook her head. 'They are my
servants,' she answered.
And Death said to
her, 'What hast thou in thy hand?'
'I have three
grains of corn,' she answered; 'what is that to thee?'
'Give me one of
them,' cried Death, 'to plant in my garden; only one of them, and I will go
away.'
'I will not give
thee anything,' said Avarice, and she hid her hand in the fold of her raiment.
And Death
laughed, and took a cup, and dipped it into a pool of water, and out of the cup
rose Ague. She passed through the great multitude, and a third of them lay
dead. A cold mist followed her, and the water-snakes ran by her side.
And when Avarice
saw that a third of the multitude was dead she beat her breast and wept. She
beat her barren bosom, and cried aloud. 'Thou hast slain a third of my
servants,' she cried, 'get thee gone. There is war in the mountains of Tartary,
and the kings of each side are calling to thee. The Afghans have slain the
black ox, and are marching to battle. They have beaten upon their shields with
their spears, and have put on their helmets of iron. What is my valley to thee,
that thou shouldst tarry in it? Get thee gone, and come here no more.'
'Nay,' answered
Death, 'but till thou hast given me a grain of corn I will not go.'
But Avarice shut
her hand, and clenched her teeth. 'I will not give thee anything,' she
muttered.
And Death
laughed, and took up a black stone, and threw it into the forest, and out of a
thicket of wild hemlock came Fever in a robe of flame. She passed through the
multitude, and touched them, and each man that she touched died. The grass
withered beneath her feet as she walked.
And Avarice
shuddered, and put ashes on her head. 'Thou art cruel,' she cried; 'thou art
cruel. There is famine in the walled cities of India, and the cisterns of
Samarcand have run dry. There is famine in the walled cities of Egypt, and the
locusts have come up from the desert. The Nile has not overflowed its banks,
and the priests have cursed Isis and Osiris. Get thee gone to those who need
thee, and leave me my servants.'
'Nay,' answered
Death, 'but till thou hast given me a grain of corn I will not go.'
'I will not give
thee anything,' said Avarice.
And Death laughed
again, and he whistled through his fingers, and a woman came flying through the
air. Plague was written upon her forehead, and a crowd of lean vultures wheeled
round her. She covered the valley with her wings, and no man was left alive.
And Avarice fled
shrieking through the forest, and Death leaped upon his red horse and galloped
away, and his galloping was faster than the wind.
And out of the
slime at the bottom of the valley crept dragons and horrible things with
scales, and the jackals came trotting along the sand, sniffing up the air with
their nostrils.
And the young
King wept, and said: 'Who were these men, and for what were they seeking?'
'For rubies for a
king's crown,' answered one who stood behind him.
And the young
King started, and, turning round, he saw a man habited as a pilgrim and holding
in his hand a mirror of silver.
And he grew pale,
and said: 'For what king?'
And the pilgrim
answered: 'Look in this mirror, and thou shalt see him.'
And he looked in
the mirror, and, seeing his own face, he gave a great cry and woke, and the
bright sunlight was streaming into the room, and from the trees of the garden
and pleasaunce the birds were singing.
And the
Chamberlain and the high officers of State came in and made obeisance to him,
and the pages brought him the robe of tissued gold, and set the crown and the
sceptre before him.
And the young
King looked at them, and they were beautiful. More beautiful were they than
aught that he had ever seen. But he remembered his dreams, and he said to his
lords: 'Take these things away, for I will not wear them.'
And the courtiers
were amazed, and some of them laughed, for they thought that he was jesting.
But he spake
sternly to them again, and said: 'Take these things away, and hide them from
me. Though it be the day of my coronation, I will not wear them. For on the
loom of Sorrow, and by the white hands of Pain, has this my robe been woven.
There is Blood in the heart of the ruby, and Death in the heart of the pearl.'
And he told them his three dreams.
And when the
courtiers heard them they looked at each other and whispered, saying: 'Surely
he is mad; for what is a dream but a dream, and a vision but a vision? They are
not real things that one should heed them. And what have we to do with the
lives of those who toil for us? Shall a man not eat bread till he has seen the
sower, nor drink wine till he has talked with the vinedresser?'
And the
Chamberlain spake to the young King, and said, 'My lord, I pray thee set aside
these black thoughts of thine, and put on this fair robe, and set this crown
upon thy head. For how shall the people know that thou art a king, if thou hast
not a king's raiment?'
And the young
King looked at him. 'Is it so, indeed?' he questioned. 'Will they not know me
for a king if I have not a king's raiment?'
'They will not
know thee, my lord,' cried the Chamberlain.
'I had thought
that there had been men who were kinglike,' he answered, 'but it may be as thou
sayest. And yet I will not wear this robe, nor will I be crowned with this
crown, but even as I came to the palace so will I go forth from it.'
And he bade them
all leave him, save one page whom he kept as his companion, a lad a year
younger than himself. Him he kept for his service, and when he had bathed
himself in clear water, he opened a great painted chest, and from it he took
the leathern tunic and rough sheepskin cloak that he had worn when he had
watched on the hillside the shaggy goats of the goatherd. These he put on, and
in his hand he took his rude shepherd's staff.
And the little
page opened his big blue eyes in wonder, and said smiling to him, 'My lord, I
see thy robe and thy sceptre, but where is thy crown?'
And the young
King plucked a spray of wild briar that was climbing over the balcony, and bent
it, and made a circlet of it, and set it on his own head.
'This shall he my
crown,' he answered.
And thus attired
he passed out of his chamber into the Great Hall, where the nobles were waiting
for him.
And the nobles
made merry, and some of them cried out to him, 'My lord, the people wait for
their king, and thou showest them a beggar,' and others were wroth and said,
'He brings shame upon our state, and is unworthy to be our master.' But he
answered them not a word, but passed on, and went down the bright porphyry
staircase, and out through the gates of bronze, and mounted upon his horse, and
rode towards the cathedral, the little page running beside him.
And the people
laughed and said, 'It is the King's fool who is riding by,' and they mocked
him.
And he drew rein
and said, 'Nay, but I am the King.' And he told them his three dreams.
And a man came
out of the crowd and spake bitterly to him, and said, 'Sir, knowest thou not
that out of the luxury of the rich cometh the life of the poor? By your pomp we
are nurtured, and your vices give us bread. To toil for a hard master is
bitter, but to have no master to toil for is more bitter still. Thinkest thou
that the ravens will feed us? And what cure hast thou for these things? Wilt
thou say to the buyer, "Thou shalt buy for so much," and to the
seller, "Thou shalt sell at this price"? I trow not. Therefore go
back to thy Palace and put on thy purple and fine linen. What hast thou to do
with us, and what we suffer?'
'Are not the rich
and the poor brothers?' asked the young King.
'Ay,' answered
the man, 'and the name of the rich brother is Cain.'
And the young
King's eyes filled with tears, and he rode on through the murmurs of the
people, and the little page grew afraid and left him.
And when he
reached the great portal of the cathedral, the soldiers thrust their halberts
out and said, 'What dost thou seek here? None enters by this door but the
King.'
And his face
flushed with anger, and he said to them, 'I am the King,' and waved their
halberts aside and passed in.
And when the old
Bishop saw him coming in his goatherd's dress, he rose up in wonder from his
throne, and went to meet him, and said to him, 'My son, is this a king's
apparel? And with what crown shall I crown thee, and what sceptre shall I place
in thy hand? Surely this should be to thee a day of joy, and not a day of
abasement.'
'Shall Joy wear
what Grief has fashioned?' said the young King. And he told him his three
dreams.
And when the
Bishop had heard them he knit his brows, and said, 'My son, I am an old man,
and in the winter of my days, and I know that many evil things are done in the
wide world. The fierce robbers come down from the mountains, and carry off the
little children, and sell them to the Moors. The lions lie in wait for the
caravans, and leap upon the camels. The wild boar roots up the corn in the
valley, and the foxes gnaw the vines upon the hill. The pirates lay waste the
sea-coast and burn the ships of the fishermen, and take their nets from them.
In the salt-marshes live the lepers; they have houses of wattled reeds, and
none may come nigh them. The beggars wander through the cities, and eat their
food with the dogs. Canst thou make these things not to be? Wilt thou take the
leper for thy bedfellow, and set the beggar at thy board? Shall the lion do thy
bidding, and the wild boar obey thee? Is not He who made misery wiser than thou
art? Wherefore I praise thee not for this that thou hast done, but I bid thee
ride back to the Palace and make thy face glad, and put on the raiment that
beseemeth a king, and with the crown of gold I will crown thee, and the sceptre
of pearl will I place in thy hand. And as for thy dreams, think no more of
them. The burden of this world is too great for one man to bear, and the
world's sorrow too heavy for one heart to suffer.'
'Sayest thou that
in this house?' said the young King, and he strode past the Bishop, and climbed
up the steps of the altar, and stood before the image of Christ.
He stood before
the image of Christ, and on his right hand and on his left were the marvellous
vessels of gold, the chalice with the yellow wine, and the vial with the holy
oil. He knelt before the image of Christ, and the great candles burned brightly
by the jewelled shrine, and the smoke of the incense curled in thin blue
wreaths through the dome. He bowed his head in prayer, and the priests in their
stiff copes crept away from the altar.
And suddenly a
wild tumult came from the street outside, and in entered the nobles with drawn
swords and nodding plumes, and shields of polished steel. 'Where is this
dreamer of dreams?' they cried. 'Where is this King who is apparelled like a
beggar - this boy who brings shame upon our state? Surely we will slay him, for
he is unworthy to rule over us.'
And the young
King bowed his head again, and prayed, and when he had finished his prayer he
rose up, and turning round he looked at them sadly.
And lo! through
the painted windows came the sunlight streaming upon him, and the sun-beams
wove round him a tissued robe that was fairer than the robe that had been
fashioned for his pleasure. The dead staff blossomed, and bare lilies that were
whiter than pearls. The dry thorn blossomed, and bare roses that were redder
than rubies. Whiter than fine pearls were the lilies, and their stems were of
bright silver. Redder than male rubies were the roses, and their leaves were of
beaten gold.
He stood there in
the raiment of a king, and the gates of the jewelled shrine flew open, and from
the crystal of the many-rayed monstrance shone a marvellous and mystical light.
He stood there in a king's raiment, and the Glory of God filled the place, and
the saints in their carven niches seemed to move. In the fair raiment of a king
he stood before them, and the organ pealed out its music, and the trumpeters
blew upon their trumpets, and the singing boys sang.
And the people
fell upon their knees in awe, and the nobles sheathed their swords and did
homage, and the Bishop's face grew pale, and his hands trembled. 'A greater
than I hath crowned thee,' he cried, and he knelt before him.
And the young
King came down from the high altar, and passed home through the midst of the
people. But no man dared look upon his face, for it was like the face of an
angel.
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