Once upon a time there was an Emperor of the Isles, who had but one
son, the Prince Porphyrio. On the day which beheld the Prince’s coming
of age, the Emperor summoned the youth to his council chamber, and said
to him:--
“Dear son, when you were a little child, I pledged to you the hand of
the Lady Liria, daughter of my friend and ally, the Emperor of the
Plain. You are now of age, and I would fain send you forth to find the
Princess and win her for your own.”
Then replied the tall, golden-haired Prince, “Dear father, give me but
a brave ship and a gallant crew, and I will this very eve set sail for
the Emperor’s city and greet the Lady Liria.”
Pleased with this speech, the Emperor gave orders that a fine ship be
swiftly prepared for the voyage. And this was done.
And now it was night, and the vessel lay waiting, her sails gleaming
green-white in the moonlight, her ladder shrouds gently swaying against
the pale and starry sky. When came the ebb of the midnight tide, the
anchors were weighed, the great sails trimmed to the breeze, and the
vessel piloted forth to the measureless plain of the sea.
Now it came to pass, as the great ship sped upon her furrowed way, that
Porphyrio took it into his head to visit the Fair of the Golden Bear,
and fled before the wind to the festival city. Little by little--for
the air was but light--the ship left behind her the blue of the deeps,
and entered the green waters of the shallows. Suddenly there was a
cry of “Land Ho!” and from afar, over the landward hastening waves,
Porphyrio beheld the great tower of the Fair. A giant golden image of
a bear, standing erect, crowned the high tower-top, and shone dully
bright above the haze.
At sundown the Prince, accompanied by his mariners, found himself in
the midst of the great Fair, in the very heart of the din, the medley
of outlandish costumes, the babel of strange tongues, and the shrill
cries of the shopmen and the merchants. Surely there was never such a
market place as the Fair of the Golden Bear!
Everything in the world was there to be bought and sold. At one booth
a venerable man in a scholar’s gown and velvet cap sold words--rare
words, rich words, strange words, beautiful words, and drove a brisk
trade with a crowd of poets and lovers; at another an old woman in
green sold rosy glasses to those who were at outs with the world; and
at still another a joyous fellow in blue offered sunbeams, which he had
caught in a mirror and imprisoned in bits of magic glass.
Porphyrio was quite delighted with the sunbeams, which shone night
and day, like diamonds aflame with golden fires. “The Lady Liria will
surely be pleased with one of these,” thought he, and purchased the
finest of all.
Now it came to pass that, as he walked about the Fair with his retinue
of sailor-men, Porphyrio caught sight of a rustic fellow in brown
corduroys who was carrying a sea bird in a wicker cage. And because he
loved the wild folk of the sea, the Prince said to the countryman:--
“Good friend, whither go you with your bird?”
“To the animal merchants, sir,” replied the fellow. “’Tis a wild bird
which I found in my field on a morning after a storm. Only look, sir;
it wears a circle of feathers on its head, for all the world like a
crown.”
“Why, so it does!” said the young Prince. “Come, will you sell him to
me?”
“Oh yes, indeed, sir,” replied the countryman. “’Tis yours for a florin
of gold and a penny of silver.” And he held out his hand for the sum.
“Good!” said Porphyrio, and he paid the money. Then, to the
countryman’s amazement, he threw open the door of the cage, and
allowed the sea bird to escape. With a glad cry, and a mighty beating
of its gray wings, the creature climbed into a splendor of the sunset,
dwindled to a black speck, and vanished from their eyes.
Once more the Prince set sail. For a few days the weather remained
tranquil and fair. Then came a night of cloud, and a rushing wind,
which increased during the day to a hurricane. Now arose a great din,
the howling of the wind through the shrouds, the cracking and straining
of the timbers of the ship, the cries of the sailors, and the roaring
and foaming of the deep. All night long, through the wild ocean dark,
the Prince’s ship drifted nearer and nearer the unknown waters of the
Southern Sea. Suddenly, just before the dawn, a tremendous noise was
heard; the vessel trembled throughout her length, and crashing down
once more on a hidden reef, broke apart. A huge wave swept Porphyrio
from the deck, some wreckage hurled itself upon him, and he knew no
more.
When he woke again, close upon noon, he found that the waves had
carried him to the stony beach of a dark and unknown isle. A stately
wall of cliffs of the strangest dark-blue stone girdled it about; to
the left, to the right, the rampart swept, solemn, unscalable, and
huge. One broken mast of the Prince’s ship still rose forlorn above the
tumbling waters on the reefs; but of the gallant crew there was never a
sign. With a heavy heart Porphyrio trudged off to look for shelter and
for aid. Long hours followed he the curving shore, even till the sun,
which had been shining in his face, little by little crept to the side
and shone behind, yet never a way to the headland’s height stood forth
in the sheer and sombre wall.
And now, of a sudden, and by great good fortune,--for the tide was
rising,--Porphyrio, turning the base of an advancing crag, found
himself close by a noble promontory that sloped from the cliff-top to
foundations in the sea. Half climbing, half dragging himself along the
stones and terraces of this ridge, the Prince attained at last the
height of the blue wall.
A great dark isle lay open before him--a solitary isle of shadowy
lands, gloomy woods, and rocks and hillocks of the same dark stone he
had marked before. Save for the faint murmur of the encircling sea
below and the sighing of the wind, the isle was as silent as a land
beneath the deep: indeed, so still and dark it was, that it seemed as
if the night reigned there, forever untroubled by the day. In the very
heart of the gloom, its mighty walls and blue battlements lifted high
against cloud mountains gathered in the west, a stately palace rose.
After a long, winding journey through a wood dark as a leafy cave,
Porphyrio arrived at the portals of the dwelling.
The palace was as silent as a stone. Of silver were its massy doors,
and they were sealed and barred, and from turret to foundation stone
its windows were with silver shutters closed against the day. Not a
sign or a memory of living things was there to be seen.
Wondering in his heart at the mystery, Porphyrio presently made his way
into a noble garden, wherein were pools and basins of blue water rimmed
about with silver, and tall, dark trees stately as night. Again to his
wonderment, the Prince beheld that the flowers in the garden were such
as opened only in the night--the pale, fragrant jasmine hid there, the
moonflower dreamed, and the shy star-daisy gathered her petals before
her face.
Suddenly the Prince heard steps behind him, and turning swiftly, beheld
a fair Princess gazing at him with eyes in which wonder, alarm, and
hope might all be seen.
“Speak! Who are you? What do you here?” said the Princess quickly.
To this Porphyrio replied that he was a prince who had been shipwrecked
on a voyage. And he told the Princess of his adventures.
“Alas,” replied the lady, “You have come to the dark land! Know you
not into whose power you have fallen? This dark isle is the dwelling
of the Magician of the Night, who rules the fairy world from sunset to
the morn. When comes the dawn, his mighty power wanes, and he and his
people of the night hasten to this locked and shuttered palace, here to
lie hidden from the sunlight which is their enemy and deadly fear. I
alone go forth, for I, alas, am a mortal. But hearken to my story.
“I am the Princess Liria (Porphyrio started). My father is the Emperor
of the Plain. On midsummer eve, as I was walking with my handmaidens
in the garden, a messenger from my father arrived bidding me come at
once to the great hall of state. I obeyed the message, and going to the
hall, found there the Magician of the Night, who had just presented
a haughty petition for my hand. Because of his fear of the Magician,
my father was very ill at ease. All looked to me for an answer. I
replied courteously that, though I felt highly honored at the demand,
I nevertheless felt bound to refuse, for I had been affianced since
childhood to another. For you must know, good Prince, that my father
was long the true friend and ally of the Emperor of the Isles, and had
pledged my hand to his only son, the Prince Porphyrio.
“Would that this were all I had to tell! But--woe to me!--scarce had
the Magician, with a mocking smile, bowed low and disappeared into
the night, when a terrible storm of his contriving descended upon our
unfortunate city, overturning our tallest towers and strewing ruin far
and wide. Our torches quenched by the rain and wind, my maidens and I
took refuge in a great chamber of the north turret. At the height of
the storm the wind suddenly burst open the double portals, there came
a great flash of lightning and a roar of thunder, and I beheld the
Magician standing tall and motionless between the doors, surrounded by
a dozen of his creatures of the night. I cried out, but his servants
seized me and led me forth; great wings bore me upward through the very
torment of the heavens, a darkness fell on me, and I knew no more.
When I awoke, I found myself here in the Palace of the Night.
“Farewell, dear land of the Golden Plain, whose harvests I shall never
more see! Farewell, dear Prince Porphyrio of the Isles!”
“But I am Porphyrio!” cried the Prince, “and I was on my way to find
you, noble Liria, when the storm swept me to this isle.”
You may be sure the heart of the Princess leaped when she heard these
tidings!
Forgetting that he was himself but a shipwrecked wanderer much in need
of aid, the Prince, like the brave fellow that he was, could think of
nothing but of rescuing his lady from the dark magician; as for the
Princess, she could think of naught but the plight of Porphyrio, tossed
friendless and forlorn upon the isle. But at length she shook her head
and smiled.
“To-day,” said she, “is mine, and to-morrow also; but the Magician
has bidden me be prepared for the wedding feast by sundown on the
following day. But, look, the shield of the sun breaks the storm clouds
close above the waters; twilight approaches; the hour of the magician
is at hand; you must go. Hide yourself well to-night, and come to the
garden to-morrow when the chimes ring thrice. On yon dark wall you will
find some strangely shaped fruits growing; fear not to eat of them when
you hunger. Liria the Unhappy bids you farewell, Prince Porphyrio.”
“Farewell, Princess,” replied Porphyrio. “Do not despair. We shall yet
outwit the dark Magician!”
* * * * *
And now the Prince lay hid in the heart of a great tree, watching
the doors and windows of the palace slowly opening in the twilight.
Suddenly huge bells swung forth in waves of heavy sound, strange
music played, and the thousand windows filled with the magic glow of
moon-fire. All night long the people of the night held festival; but
at the break of dawn the silver windows closed slowly on their hinges,
the music grew faint, and the murmur died away.
On the second afternoon the Prince, in his impatience, came early
to the shadowy garden. The Princess Liria was not to be found, so
Porphyrio wandered away into the dark alleys by the pools. Suddenly
he found himself looking at his own reflection in a huge round mirror
which two marble statues supported between them, one at each side.
Happening to move a little, the Prince discovered that his reflection
did not move! He lifted an arm, the image remained motionless; he shook
his head, the mirror gave no sign. Puzzled, Porphyrio left the spot,
and saw his reflection remaining behind the glass.
Presently he heard the welcome footsteps of Liria. And as the lovers
walked and talked and discussed plans of escape, the Prince chanced
to tell of the mirror he had found. Uttering a little gasp of alarm,
the Princess cried: “Now we are lost indeed! Yon mirror is a mirror of
memory, and reveals to the Magician the faces of those who walk these
paths. As soon as he sees your reflection therein,--and he gazes into
the glass every eve,--his demons will be sent in search of you. There
is one hope and one only.
“Go you once more to the sea; follow the cliff for a league to the
west of the promontory, and you will find at its base the opening of
an ocean cave. When you arrive there the tide will be at half-flood,
and the entrance will still be visible above the waves. Fight your way
within and climb to the cavern’s height. Little by little the rising
tide will seal the portal and hide you from the search. Make haste,
dear Porphyrio, for there is not an instant to lose! Oh, that I had
warned you!”
[Illustration: _The image in the mirror stood still_]
Ragingly angry with himself for being a meddlesome fool, Porphyrio
hurried down to the sea and sought out the cave. Twilight was at hand;
the tide was rising fast, already the entrance was almost closed by
the sea. Buffeted by the breakers and tossed against the cliff as he
strode, the Prince at length made his way into the cave and climbed to
a shelf of rock above the height of the tide. A few minutes later, the
water closed the entrance completely, thus imprisoning Porphyrio in a
hollow darkness through which the ebb and flow of the outer sea swept
with chuckles and whispering laughter. All night long waited Porphyrio
in the cold, watery dark.
Toward the end of the Prince’s vigil, the earth suddenly shook, the
waters hushed, and through the silence and the dark Porphyrio heard the
long thunder of a mighty overthrow.
“What can that be?” thought he.
When the first red rays of the sun streamed along the rocky floor of
the cave, Porphyrio descended from his refuge, and walked out of the
cave-mouth to the sea.
Now, as Porphyrio walked along the shore, it came to pass that he
discerned, deeply embedded in the bluish sands and lashed about with
ropes of matted weed, the splendid painted chest which had lain in his
cabin on the ship. Its brazen lock, though tarnished by the waters, was
still highly clasped; but sea and stone had broken the wood loose from
the hasps, and the Prince had little difficulty in raising the lid.
With a rueful smile he gazed down into his robes and fine array lying
musty and sand-strewn within. There lay his prince’s circlet of gold,
here his jeweled sword of state, here the rich gifts he had meant for
the Princess Liria. And among these, tucked away in the very corner of
the chest, Porphyrio found the sunbeam he had purchased at the Fair of
the Golden Bear.
“Were Liria armed with this,” cried he, “the Magician of the Night
could not prevail against her!” At the thought, a new strength
leaped in his weary heart, and he hurried along the cliff toward the
promontory. The storm had now cleared away, the ocean thundered and
broke into silvery white foam at the foot of the blue ramparts, and the
Isle of the Night raised itself defiantly against a bright and royal
sun.
The Magician, however, had not been idle. The mirror had told its
story; a search had been made; a legion of creatures had sought
Porphyrio in every corner of the isle. Compelled by the approach of
dawn to abandon this pursuit, the Magician resolved to render the
island unapproachable from the sea. With a spell of tremendous power
he caused the promontory to break from the other cliff and fall in
scattered and monstrous ruin to the beach below. It was the thunder of
this overthrow which had shaken the earth and sounded through the cave.
As a last precaution, the Magician forbade Liria to leave the Palace of
the Night, and locked and sealed the doors and windows, every one.
Presently the Prince, hastening along the beach, came in sight of the
ruined headland, and a great fear laid its icy hand on his heart as
he beheld the triumph of his enemy. How was he to reach the headland
height? The cliff-wall now circled the entire island without a break.
League after league he trudged, along the shore, through the tide,
searching, searching for some way to scale the overhanging walls.
Higher and higher climbed the sun. The shadows fell to the east, the
afternoon waned, and still Porphyrio had found no path to the top.
Desperate at last, he attempted to scale the steep face of the blue
precipice. From ledge to ledge, climbing with torn fingers and aching
arms, struggled the Prince, and presently, his further advance barred,
fell backward, faint and overcome, on a shelf of rock high above the
sea.
When his strength returned, he found himself close by an eyrie of sea
birds brooding on their nests in shelves and rifts of the rock. With
a great clamor of piping and crying the creatures rose startled from
their nests, so filling the air with wings that Porphyrio closed
his eyes. Suddenly the master of the eyrie, uttering a joyous call,
swept down close to the Prince, and with an upward surge of his heart
Porphyrio recognized the winged king whose freedom he had purchased at
the Fair of the Golden Bear! And now the sea birds gathered about the
Prince, some gathering folds of his garments into their talons, others
lifting him on broad wings, till presently he was borne from the narrow
ledge and the sound of the sea into the splendor and silence of the sky.
The end of day was at hand. Unveiled of any wisp of cloud, the fiery
sun lay just above the western waters, its lower rim almost resting on
the waves. Once again approached the hour of the Magician of the Night.
The cloud of sea birds flew inland over the blue isle, and settled to
earth at the very doors of the Palace of the Night. And opening his
arms to them, Porphyrio cried aloud his thanks as they wheeled and
fled.
The Prince walked boldly to the great door, and blew a loud blast on
the warder’s horn. There came no answer to his call. The Palace of the
Night remained silent and dark. The sun’s rim dipped; a little breeze
made its way from the sea through the mysterious gardens; the flowers
of the night stirred like sleepers in a dream.
“O jewel of the sun,” cried Porphyrio, “Give me now your aid!” And with
these words he touched the sunbeam to the lock. A crack resounded, then
a shattering crash, and the doors swung open wide. Hastening on twixt
other and other doors and through heavy tapestries, Porphyrio at length
found himself at the thresh-hold of the great hall of the Palace of the
Night. Rich hangings of dark blue velvet, strewn with stars of silver
and gold, hung from the giant walls; a thousand lamps of pale moon-fire
swayed on silver chains from the unseen height o’erhead; there were
huge columns, and dark aisles. To one side of the hall, by a silver
throne raised upon a dais, stood the Magician of the Night, his arms
folded on his breast. Proud and pale by his side, near a second throne,
stood the Princess Liria. About them were gathered the people of the
Night.
As the doors parted, all turned to gaze at Porphyrio.
Fixing his dark eyes upon the Prince, the Magician spake a terrible
incantation; but his words shattered themselves against the sunbeam as
a threatening wave breaks to drift and foam against a crag.
“Seize him!” commanded the Magician.
At these words a host of dark beings surged about Porphyrio, encircling
him, yet afraid to attack. Porphyrio took Liria by the hand, and led
her toward the door. But even as he did so, the Magician caused awesome
silvery fires to bar the outward way.
At the horizon’s edge, the waters were leaping up about the sun.
Baffled by the flame, Porphyrio, still guarding Liria, fought his way
toward a great stair at the very end of the hall. In the wall there,
barred with silver and shuttered with stone, a giant circular window
faced the west. And now there rose a tumult through the hall, and
sounds of magic and thunder. Nothing daunted, Porphyrio touched the
sunbeam to the window-bar, and threw the double shutters open wide. The
sun was yet above the wave, sky and water were aflame, and the great
tide of sunlight swept into the Palace of the Night like the music of
many trumpets.
From all within the Palace a great wailing cry arose that presently
died away. When Porphyrio and Liria turned to gaze, the Magician and
his people had vanished, conquered and forever powerless. And the
velvet hangings were but cobwebs clinging to the walls, and the lamps
of moon-fire but empty shells.
Then Porphyrio and Liria walked hand in hand to the darkening sea, and
beheld there a brave merchant-ship which the sea bird was guiding to
the isle. You may be sure it did not take the jolly mariners long to
rescue the lovers from the headland! And thus the Prince and Princess
fared to Liria’s realm, where there their marriage was celebrated with
the greatest ceremony.
In time Porphyrio became a king and Liria a queen, and thus they lived
happily ever after.