There was a young King who ought to have been the happiest monarch in
the world. He was blessed with everything a mortal could desire. His
palace might have been designed by the Divine architect Himself, so
perfect was it in all its parts; and it stood amidst gardens with its
dependent village at its gates, like a dream of feudal beauty in a story
of romance. Notwithstanding his good fortune, the King was oppressed
with what he conceived to be a great trouble. From the happy ruler of a
happy people he gradually became grave and anxious, as if an intense
fear had taken possession of his soul; and so it had. It was the fear
of Age. He could no longer bear to meet old people, and eventually grew
to hate the hoary heads and time-worn faces of his venerable subjects.
He therefore divided his kingdom into two parts. The elders lived in one
half of the realm, under the government of his mother, while he was King
of the young. Riding, hawking, or sailing along the grey river, he never
saw a wrinkled visage. Hence his kingdom was called the Village of Youth.
The King was betrothed to a fair Princess named Rowena. She loved her
future husband dearly, though his strange malady and the exodus of the
old people from his dominions had clouded her happiness, and made her
long for some way of alleviating his suffering.
When the lovers were together they held no gentle, tender discourse.
Uriel would only gaze at his betrothed with mournful eyes, and when she
besought him not to be sorrowful he would say, "Sweet lady, how can I be
other than I am? Each loving word that falls from thy lips, each sweet
smile that plays upon thy face, is as a dagger in my heart; for I
remember how soon the bloom of youth will pass from thy cheeks and the
softness from thy lips. Our village, too, will become the Village of
Eld, grim with unlovely age."
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Interviews of this kind saddened the Princess to such an extent, that
while she sat sewing among her women tears would often fall upon the
embroidery, and she would be obliged to leave her work.
Among the many fair maidens who attended upon Rowena, the fairest of
them all was the Lady Beryl. She grieved sincerely to see her mistress
so dejected, and taxed her brain night and day for some plan by which
she might save the Village of Youth. With this thought deep in her
heart, she rose early one morning and rode away to seek advice from the
people who lived in the Village of Eld. It was spring; the grass was
green, the sky was blue. The sunshine gleamed on the maiden's hair and
on her dove-coloured garments.
As she rode into the village the inhabitants gathered around her. She
found herself in the midst of a crowd of grey-headed men and women, many
of whom touched her dress and kissed her hand, while others knelt down
and almost worshipped her; she reminded them of their own early days, a
sweet personification of the young spring. Beryl lifted up her voice,
and said,--
"Dear reverend people, you all know of the sadness of our sovereign and
of its cause; and now our dear Princess shares his sorrow. We are
ignorant and inexperienced, neither have we any wise men or women to
counsel us; therefore I pray you tell me, is there any way to keep our
youths and maidens always young, that they may never know age?"