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 PASSIONATE PUPPETS
When the long days of summer began, Killian, the cow-herd, was able
to lead his drove up into the hills, giving them the high pastures to
range. Then from sunrise to sunset he was alone, except when, early
each morning, Grendel and the other girls came up to carry down the
milk to the villages.
All day long the cow-bells sounded in his ears, but still the time of
his wedding was a long way off; it would be five years before he and
Grendel could afford to set up a house and farm, with cows of their own.
The great stretch of world that lay out under him, like a broad map
coloured blue and green, made him full of a restless longing to try
his fortune. Yonder he could pick out the towns with their spires and
glittering roofs, and the overhead mists, that gave token of crowded
life below. It was there that wealth could be got; and with wealth men
married soon, and were at ease. Somewhere, he had heard, lived kings
and queens, wearing rich robes and gold crowns on the top of their
heart’s desire. For kings and queens, he supposed, loved as did he and
Grendel, regarding nothing else as much in the world besides.
So Killian, putting heart into his deft hands, set to work.
One evening Grendel came up from the valley, after her day’s work, to
have a look at her lover; she had brought him some brown cakes and a
bottle of wine. But Killian, who had caught sight of her eyes over the
green rise at his feet, was hiding something behind his back.
“Whatever have you there?” she asked, as she saw chips, and tools, and
bits of bright foil, lying scattered about the ground. Yet for three
days he would show her nothing, only he said, “What I do is because we
love each other so.”
At the end of that time, he showed her what he had done. There she saw
a little king and queen, about six inches high; he was in blue, and
she in white; and they were both as dear as they were small. The king
was partly like a cow-herd, having a crown over his broad-brimmed hat,
with thick wooden shoes, and leather-bound legs; and the queen was
like Grendel, with great long plaits past her waist, and a gold-worked
bodice, such as Grendel had for Sunday wear. “Aye, aye,” cried Grendel,
“why, it is you and me!”
Then Killian showed her how the joints of the little puppets moved on
delicate wires, and how four strings ran up, one from each limb, to be
fastened to the player’s fingers, so that he might make them act as
though life were in them.
“I shall take these down with me to the valley,” said Killian. “First I
shall go about among the villages; then, when I can do better, I shall
go to the towns. After that no doubt the kings and queens will hear of
me, and will send for me to play before them, and I shall become rich.
Then I shall come home and marry you.”
Grendel thought her lover the most wonderful man in the world, and it
is the truth he was very clever; she kissed him a hundred times, and
the little marionettes also. “Ah,” she said, “now we shall not have to
wait five years! in five months you will come back rich and famous, and
we shall marry, and live happily.”
How Killian had loved her while making his puppets, only she knew as
well as he. Truly, he had put his heart into them, so that they were
like living beings,--and so small that their very smallness made them
a marvel. Being a lover, he had put inside each breast a little heart,
and, for the luck of the thing, had christened them with a drop of his
own blood, and a drop of Grendel’s; so each heart had in it one little
drop of blood. Now he was to go out, and try his fortune.
He found a lad to come and take his place and see after the cows; then
he said good-bye to Grendel, and set off on a round of all the villages
of the plain.
At every inn where he put up, he called the country folk together to
the sound of his shepherd’s bag-pipes, and showed them his play. It was
only himself and Grendel, no story at all, merely lovers parting and
meeting again, each believing the other dead, and in the end living
happily to the sound of cow-bells, that showed how rich they were in
herds.
And the villagers laughed and cried, and gave him pence, and a night’s
lodging, and food; so that presently he was able to make himself a
little travelling-stage, and hire a piper to play dance-music for him.
But it was always the one story of himself and Grendel, and no other,
though the two puppets wore crowns upon their heads.
* * * * *
The little marionettes had hearts. That was the beginning of things:
they remembered nothing else. When their eyes had grown open to the
fact, then for them life had begun. After that they lived like bee and
blossom, only that the bee never flew away, and the honey remained in
the blossom.
How this came to pass was a question they never asked; why they loved
each other they did not know. If they had had to think of it they would
have said, “It is because we cannot help it.” And every day one same
thing happened to them that they could not help, the most beautiful
thing in life. It came to them by instinct, taking hold of them from
head to feet and saying, “Love, love, love,” in all sorts of wonderful
ways.
Whenever this thing happened they began to move about softly, going
to and fro, and round and round, dancing, and holding each other by
the hand, putting their cheeks so close together that their eyelids
brushed, and sometimes their little hearts that heaved. And all the
while music from somewhere was giving a meaning to these things; and
over and over again, “Love, love, love” was what it kept saying to them.
Their happiness was so great, that they would begin playing with it,
pretending that it was all turned into grief. First he would kiss her
from forehead to chin, and into the hollow of her little throat; and
then all down each dear arm, even to the finger-tips; and last of all
her feet; and again last of all her lips, and again last of all her
breast. And then he would go away, walking backwards most of the time,
or if not, still turning round and round to take another look at her.
Then when he was altogether out of sight, she would sit down and cry,
though all the while he would be peeping at her from his hiding-place,
to let her know that he was not really gone. Then she would lie down,
and cry more, and at last leave off crying and stay almost still on a
little bed, that seemed to come to her from nowhere, just when she was
ready to fall on it. Then, at last, she would shut her eyes, and cover
her face up very slowly with a sheet, and lie so still that he would
grow quite frightened, and come running from his hiding-place, and lift
the sheet, and look at her; then he would fall down as if his legs had
been cut from under him; then he would get up and throw flowers over
her, and at last catch her up and begin to carry her; and at that she
would wake up all at once and kiss him, to a sound of bells.
They did not know why they did this; it was so beautiful they could not
have thought of it for themselves, and yet it said everything of life
that they wanted to say. For love was the beginning and the end of it;
and always, as they came to the sad part, they had tender tremblings
for fear the other should think the sorrow was real: he, lest she
should think he had really gone away and left her, never to return; and
she, lest he should believe that she always meant to lie so cruelly
still, with a sheet over her eyes. Yet the kissings that came after
made the fearfulness almost the sweetest thing in their prayer-sayings
to each other.
For to them this was a daily prayer, the most solemn thing in their
lives; heart praying to heart, and hand reaching to hand; and from
somewhere overhead gentle monitions as to what they must do next coming
to them, so that they knew how to pray best, now by lifting a hand, or
now by turning the head, or now by running fast with both feet. And
all this beautiful worship of love their bodies learned to do more
perfectly day by day; yet the little quaking of fear was still in the
centre of it all.
* * * * *
Killian’s fingers grew nimble; and yet he often wondered to see how
true to life his puppets were, how they sighed, how they embraced and
clung, as if their hearts were coming in two when the parting drew
near. How lingeringly the little queen drew up the sheet over her
face, when her lover did not return, and let it fall to cover her with
a quiet sigh. Often he cried when she did that part, so like Grendel
was it,--the tender waiting, and the last giving in! And then, how the
little king shuddered as he drew the cloth from her face; and how he
threw the flowers, as if there were not enough in the world to express
his grief! And yet it was only a play, made by the twitching of the
strings tied to his fingers, with love as the beginning and end of it.
Killian was getting quite rich in copper coin, so he sent some of it
home to Grendel, that she might buy stock for the home that was so soon
to be theirs. And presently he made bold to go into the towns, where,
instead of copper, he might gain silver. He built a bigger stage,
and had more music to go to the dance; but still it was the story of
himself and Grendel, with crowns upon their heads, and nothing more.
And now, indeed, people began to cry, “Here is a wonderful new actor!
He has it all at the ends of his fingers! What a pity he has no better
play in which to show himself off!” But Killian said, “It is the only
play I know how to do.”
Presently there came a sharp fellow to him, who said: “If you will go
shares with me I will make your fortune. We have only to put our heads
together, and the thing is done. I will write the plays for you, and
you shall play them on the strings. What is wanted is a little more
real life.”
Killian was a simple fellow, who believed all the world to be wiser
than himself. He was glad enough to meet with a clever fellow who could
write plays for him. His partner wanted him to make new dresses for
the marionettes, to suit their new parts; but to that Killian would
not agree. So whatever they were they still wore their broad hats and
crowns, and their wooden shoes, that still he might watch in his own
mind himself and Grendel making their way to fortune and happiness.
The marionettes grew bewildered with their new taking; they did not
understand the meaning of all the coarse things they had to do. So
in the middle of a play, the little queen would fail now and then in
her part, and move awkwardly, wondering what her lover meant when he
sprawled to and fro, and seemed trying to find in the air more feet
than he had upon the ground.
Yet the crowd found her bashful fear so irresistibly funny, that it
roared again. Also, when the little cow-herd with the crown on his
head, lifted his hand or foot towards his partner, and then shrank
trembling away, it roared yet more at the poltroon manner of the thing.
Killian’s partner said, “You alter all my plays, but the way you do
them is something to marvel at. Only, why do you always bring them
round again to that silly lovers’ ending?”
“I cannot help it,” said Killian; “often now, with these new plays, I
can’t get the strings to work properly. I think the poor puppets are
getting worn out.”
His partner began examining the puppets, and watching how Killian
played them, with more attention; and presently he knew that there was
more in it than met the eye. “It is the puppets who are the marvel, not
the man,” he said to himself. “I could work them better myself, if I
had practice.”
Soon after this he proposed that they should set off for another town;
it was the chief town of all, where they hoped at last to be allowed
to show their plays to the queen herself. “It must be a real play this
time,” said the partner, “a tragedy; but it wants a third person. You
must make another puppet, while I write the play!”
So Killian set to work. But he had no love for the third puppet, which
was neither himself nor Grendel, and he put no heart inside it, and no
little drop of blood. So the new marionette was but limbs, and a head
drawn on wires.
“Soon,” thought Killian, “I shall be rich enough to go home and marry
Grendel. Then I will throw this stupid third one away; but the other
two we will always keep close to the niche with the statue of Our Lady,
to help to make us thankful for the good things God gives us in this
world.”
It was beautiful late spring weather when he and his companion set out
for the capital. On the way Killian’s partner told him the play that
would have to be played before the queen, and said, “In case three
should be too much for you to manage, you had better teach me also to
handle the strings.” So Killian began to teach him, with the two little
marionettes alone, the first play which he had brought down with him
from the mountains,--that being the easiest of all to learn, and the
one he loved best to teach.
The partner was surprised to find how wonderfully the puppets followed
the leading-strings; in spite of his clumsiness the story acted itself
to perfection.
Simple-hearted Killian was charmed. “Ah! you clever townsman,” said
he, “see how at first trial you equal poor me, who have been at it for
months! It had better be you, after all, to do the play when it is
called for at the court.” And this Killian proposed truly out of pure
modesty, but also because he did not like the play his partner had made
for him. “It is too cruel a one!” he said. “After they have played it
together so long, I feel as if my two puppets can do nothing else so
well as love each other, and live happily.”
“Ah, but,” said his partner, “the queen would find that very dull!”
Killian could not see why; but he believed that the townsman was wiser
than himself, and gave in. All he wanted now was to get money enough to
run back home with, and throw himself into his dear Grendel’s arms for
life.
So they journeyed on, and at last, one day, they came in sight of the
capital. But it had been such a long way to come that when they reached
the gates they found them shut.
The night was warm, and a high moon was overhead. “Come,” said Killian,
“and let us lie down in one of these orchards that are outside the
walls!” So they left the high road, and went and lay down.
First they ate some food that they carried with them. Then Killian
opened the case in which lay the two marionettes, and looked them over
to see that they were in working order. His partner took up the odd
number, and began practising it; but Killian’s attention all went to
the little king-cowherd and his queen.
He fondled them gently with his hands, and as he looked at them his
heart went up into the mountains to pray for his dear Grendel.
Presently he began dreaming to himself like Jacob, only his dream was
just of the simple things of earth. Down the great green uplands came
troops of white cattle; but to him they seemed to be bridesmaids coming
to Grendel’s wedding day, and the ringing of the cow-bells was as
sweet to him as the songs of angels. Before he was fast asleep the two
marionettes had slipped off his knee and lay in the deep grass looking
up at the sky.
* * * * *
They had never seen so beautiful a sight before, for never had they
spent a night in the sweet open air till now. Over their heads swung
dusky clusters of blossom, that would look white by day; and over them
the moon went kissing its way from star to star.
Now and then single blossoms dropped as if they had something to say to
the little cow-herd and his queen, lying there in the cool grass.
But the marionettes said nothing; their hearts were very full; now, at
last, they found their old happiness return to them. Their prayers,
that they used to say to each other so tenderly, had been going wrong
for quite a long time; sudden starts and tremblings of fear had taken
hold of their light-hearted deceptions of each other; and every day
things had been going worse. But now they felt like entering upon a
long rest.
As they lay, their hands met together. The little cow-herd could count
her fingers across the palm of his hand, and never once did she pretend
to be drawing them away. How good it all seemed!
Close by them the odd man was strutting in stiff, ungainly attitudes,
cricking his neck and elbows, and tossing up his toes. How foolish he
seemed to them in their innocent wisdom! They knew he was nothing to
them, for he had no heart; he was nothing but a trick on springs. Yet
they wished he would go away, and give them room to be alone, while the
moon was making a white dream over their lives.
* * * * *
The partner grumbled to himself at the awkward ways of the new
puppet. Instead of obeying, it kicked at the leading strings, and did
everything like a stick, all angles and corners. Presently he put
it back into its box; and then he saw the little king and queen lying
together on the damp grass. He picked them up, growling at Killian as
a simpleton, for leaving them there to get rusty with the dew. Then he
put them also away, and curled himself up to dream about the success of
his play on the morrow.
[Illustration]
Quite early in the morning he and Killian went into the city, and set
up their stage in a corner of the market-place. The wonderful acting
of the little king and queen, compared with the ungainly hobblings
and jerkings of the odd man, threw the townspeople into ecstasies of
laughter. They declared they had never seen so funny a sight in their
lives as the beautiful nervous acting of the pair, side by side with
the stiff-jointed awkwardness of the other.
Presently, sure enough, the queen heard tell of this new form of
entertainment, and sent word for the mummers to appear at the palace.
Killian said to his partner: “There is something the matter with the
puppets to-day; they want careful handling. I am glad we settled that
you are to do the new play; for, before the queen and her great ladies,
I am likely to lose my head.”
All the court was gathered together to watch the puppet-play, while
behind the scenes the partner took all the leading strings into his own
hands.
* * * * *
The two marionettes opened their eyes, and saw daylight; they began
moving to and fro softly; every now and then they put their faces
together and kissed. The stupid odd man seemed to have gone; they were
so glad to be left alone.
Soon the little king lay down, pretending to be tired, but it was only
that he might put his head in the queen’s lap. She bent over him, and
laid her fingers on his eyes, seeming to say, “Go to sleep, then! I
will shut your eyes for you.” How pretty it was of her!
Then she covered his face over with her handkerchief; and all at once
in came the odd man, walking on the points of his toes. The little
king, now that the handkerchief was over his face, opened his eyes, and
looked through it, to see what his dear queen would be doing now. The
odd man had his arms round her neck, and was kissing her, and the queen
looked as if she were going to kiss him back; but all at once she had
pushed away the odd man so hard that he fell down with his heels in the
air; and then she snatched the handkerchief from the king’s face, and
began trembling, and kissing him.
The whole of the court shouted, first with laughter at the odd man’s
fall, and then with admiration at the wonderful acting of the little
queen.
Behind the scenes the partner began grumbling to Killian: “They are
going all wrong! It’s all your doing, leaving them to lie in the damp
grass last night!”
But still the whole court shouted and applauded. So the play went on;
and now, more and more, the showman had cause to grumble. Whenever he
came to a part where the play required that the queen should turn from
her own cow-herd to the ugly odd man, everything went wrong. “Very
well,” thought he at last, “she may be as innocent as Desdemona but it
will all come to the same at the last!”
And so, still more, as the play went on, the little marionettes
trembled and shook with fear. They wished the silly odd man would go
away, and not come interrupting their prayers; and all the while they
loved each other so! No idea of jealousy ever entered the little king’s
head; and as for the queen, if the odd man came and put his arms round
her neck and kissed her, could she help it? All she could do was to run
and put her arms round her own lover when he reappeared; and how the
court shouted and applauded, when she went so quick from one to the
other.
At last the final act was begun; the king came running in with a sword
in his hand, why, he did not know, until he saw his poor little queen
struggling in the arms of the odd man. “Ah,” thought he, “it is to
drive him away! Then we shall be by ourselves again, and happy.”
No one ever fought so wonderfully on a stage before as the little
cow-herd. All the court started to their feet, shouting; and still,
while they shouted, they laughed to see the impossible odd man scooping
about with his sword, and jerking head over heels, and high up into the
air, to get away from the little king’s sword-play. The partner had to
keep snatching him up out of harm’s way, for fear of a wrong ending.
Then, suddenly he let him come down with a jump on the little king’s
head. And at that the king fell back upon the ground, and felt a sharp
pain go through his heart.
The odd man drew out his sword and laughed; on the end of it was a tiny
drop of blood. The poor little queen ran up, and bent down to look in
her lover’s face, to know if he were really hurt. And then a terrible
thing happened.
Three times the little king raised his sword and pointed it at her
heart, and dropped it again. And all the time the partner was tugging
at the strings, and swearing by all the worst things he knew.
The little king felt himself growing weak; he was very frightened. He
felt as if he were going away altogether, and leaving her to think he
did not love her any more. And still his arm went up and down, pointing
the sword at her heart.
The showman tugged angrily; then there was the sound of a wire that
snapped--the king had thrown away his sword.
He reached up his two arms, and laid them fast round the queen’s neck.
“Now at last she knows that I have not left off loving her.” He felt
her drawing herself away, he held her more and more tightly to his
breast; and now her little face lay close against his. Nothing can take
her away from him now!
The showman pulled violently with all his might, to get her away; there
was a snapping of strings, and then--the queen reached out two weak
little hands, and laid them under her lover’s head.
They lay quite still, quite still for a long time, and never moved.
“The play is over!” said the showman, disgusted and angry at the wreck
of his plot.
Suddenly the whole stage became showered with gold; the great queen and
all her court threw out showers of it like rain. It fell all over the
two marionettes, covering them where they lay, just as the babes in the
wood when they died were covered over with leaves.
Killian dropped his head on to the boards of the little stage, and
sobbed. The partner let down the curtain, and began gathering up the
gold.
And still, from without, the queen and her court clapped, and cried
their applause; and still within lay Killian with his head upon the
stage, sobbing for the two little marionettes, lying still with all the
springs and strings of their bodies quite broken. Inside, though he
could not see them, their hearts were broken also. “Now,” he thought,
“I must go back to Grendel, or I too shall die!”