The night lay clear upon the North Sea, but now and then a soft wind
came floating by; it whistled through the rigging of a fishing smack in
which a little boy lay under a tarpaulin, peeping over the side of the
boat down into the water below.
His father had told him to be still and to go to sleep, so he lay
looking up at the spangled sky above, and the masts rocking to and fro
against the stars as the boat swayed about. Sometimes he thought the
tall, dark forms looked like black arms trying to reach the bright lamps
and put them out. He did not feel sleepy as he lay by himself and he
began to wonder, as he gazed into the water, how deep it was down there,
and whether the little fishes among the shells and seaweeds were ever
told by their fish-fathers to go to sleep, and, if so, whether they
found it as hard to do as he did.
Presently he saw the eyes of a great shining fish staring up at him. It
opened its mouth as if it wished to be friendly, but hardly knew how to
begin, so the little boy plucked up courage, though he had never met a
fish before and was not quite sure how to address one.
“Is it very cold in the sea?” he inquired shyly.
“That depends on what you are accustomed to,” replied the fish. “For my
part, I should say it was a particularly warm night for the time of
year. What in the world do you find to do in that monstrous boat? Is
there anything worth eating up there?”
“It’s very dull,” said the little boy. “My father said I was to go to
sleep, but I can’t. I’m not sleepy.”
“Why don’t you come down here?” suggested the fish. “It stands to reason
that it must be much more amusing in the water.”
“I should be drowned; I can’t swim like you.”
“How dreadfully ignorant,” remarked the fish.
The little boy was rather hurt at this, and made no reply.
“Well,” continued the hoarse voice from below, “if you like to come with
me, I can show you some of the most wonderful things in the world; you
can hold by my tail and I’ll pull you along. You can’t drown so long as
you don’t let go.”
The little boy was much tempted.
“But are you sure you won’t leave me?” he asked anxiously.
“Goodness, no,” replied the fish, “I’ll see that no harm comes to you.
You are evidently a shockingly ignorant child, and it would be real
charity to show you something of the world. Come along and don’t be
silly.”
The little boy looked round to see that there was no one near, then he
slipped over the side and, in another minute, was in the sea and holding
firmly to the tail of his new acquaintance.
Away they shot through the clear water; it was not nearly so cold as it
had looked, and the rapid motion was very exciting.
On they flew, smoothly and easily; they passed tall ships and
curiously-shaped masses of rock sticking up out of the sea. Great
twisted pieces of sea-weed floated by them, and the flashing lights of
Orion’s Belt seemed suspended from the dark blue arch overhead, while,
up in the north, the Northern Lights shot their trembling streamers far
into the centre of the sky.
By the time day was dawning they had reached a tract of ocean where
there was neither sail nor coast, and where the rolling line of water
stretched for miles around.
“Now,” said the fish, “I will show you one of the strangest things in
the world. Can you see anything between us and the horizon?”
“I see a dark spot a long way off.”
The light was growing brighter every moment, and pale streaks in the sky
began to kindle the sea when the fish and his companion drew near the
object of which they had been speaking. In the midst of the heaving
water there rose a steep rock; on its grim sides grew neither sea-weed
nor anything to give sign of life. There was an oppressive silence
hanging over everything, and the water lay dark and still; no little
wave played against the relentless stone. On the top of this rock a
beautiful woman sat with her hands clasped together. She wore a black
robe against which her arms shone like ivory, and her hair flowed in a
shower over her shoulders. Now and then she raised her eyes and looked
out to sea; they wandered over the horizon and rested with a look of sad
expectation upon it, then she sighed and glanced down at something which
she held in her hand.
Beside her stood the only living creature excepting herself visible on
that desolate place—a gigantic grey cormorant of terrible aspect and
size. A gleam of light from the rising sun shot over the waters, and, as
it touched the woman’s hair with its first rays, the cormorant flew up
into the air. From some hidden place in the rock another bird appeared,
and, joining its mate, rose with him far above their bleak abode; then
the two sailed away and were soon lost in the distance.
“What does it all mean? Oh, do tell me!” begged the little boy.
“I thought I could show you something surprising,” chuckled the fish;
“this is the history of it. I am one of the _very few_ who know anything
about it. Inside that rock, in a cavern which is reached by a passage to
which no one knows the entrance, sits an old witch; she is very wicked,
and is sometimes able to cast dreadful spells upon her enemies. That
Princess who sits there is the daughter of a King, whose country is an
immense way off, and who once had the ill-luck to offend the old woman.
So, when the Princess was a child, she went to the King’s palace and
stole her away; here she has kept her sitting, year after year, upon
this lonely rock with no one to speak to but the old cormorant. Every
day he keeps guard in case someone should come to take her away, and
every morning he flies off to fish with his mate, who has a nest just
now and young ones in a cave of the rock. Once in two days the hag comes
out to bring the Princess food and to ask her whether she sees anyone
coming, and when she gets no reply, she laughs and leaves her again.”
“Will she ever get away?” asked the little boy.
“How can I tell?” said the fish. “She has sat there for so long that it
doesn’t seem like it. There is only one chance that I can see. She holds
in her hand a little heart made of gold; if she could only find someone
to whom she could give it, she might be saved. For, whoever possesses it
can ask any question, and the heart will answer and tell its owner how
to act under all difficulties. But he who takes it has to accept trouble
and pain with the gift.”
“But then, why doesn’t she ask it herself how to get away?”
“The heart is of no use to any one but a man,” said the fish.
“And I suppose no man has ever been here?”
“Two or three have come sailing by; one who came was anxious to help the
Princess, but, as she was about to throw him the Golden Heart, she told
him that if he took it he would have to face as much trouble as a man
could bear. So he would not have it and sailed away. But that was years
ago—and now, we really can’t stay here any longer, nor do any good if
we do—let us be off.”
And he swam away.
The little boy would have liked to stay and speak to the Princess and
his eyes were full of tears.
“What are you sniffling at behind there?” exclaimed the fish, who was
getting rather tired of his load.
“I am so sorry for her!” he sobbed.
“Dear! Dear! If you cry for all the troubles you see, you will have
enough to do; try to think of something else, and, for goodness’ sake,
strike out a little with your legs and help me along—I have to do all
the work.”
The little boy was so frightened when he heard this that he kicked out
with might and main for fear that his protector should shake him off.
When evening was coming on and when they had travelled some distance,
they saw a large ship; as she approached, the fish suggested that they
should swim alongside, and the little boy was charmed with the idea.
They saw that the sails were embroidered with gold and silver, and that,
on the prow, there was an immense carved crown glittering with precious
stones. Closer and closer she came till they were almost touching her. A
man was looking over the bulwark into the water; he was young and very
richly dressed, and a sword hung at his side. Over his face was a black
mask which hid it completely, leaving only the mouth visible.
“There!” remarked the fish, “look at that man. That is another wonderful
sight. He is young and rich and a king’s son, but he chooses to sail
about by himself. He is so ugly that he wears a mask day and night and
never takes it off, and he roams about on the high seas so that he need
see none but his own crew who love him so much that they would go with
him anywhere.”
“What a pity,” said the little boy, wondering. “He looks very nice
standing up there with those beautiful clothes on. And I can see his
mouth; it does not look so very ugly.”
“It’s simply enormous,” replied the fish.
“Oh, I don’t think so—really,” answered the little boy, “it isn’t any
bigger than yours, you know.”
“That’s neither here nor there,” said the fish; “and don’t pull my tail
so. You hold it so clumsily that I can hardly move.”
“I wish I could see him nearer,” continued the little boy, lost in
admiration of the figure above him, “I’ve never seen any one like him.”
“You haven’t seen much,” answered the fish, who had not been best
pleased by the allusion to his mouth, “now come along.”
“Oh, wait a minute, do, please! He’s looking at us.”
The Prince was gazing over the bulwark at them.
“Well!” exclaimed the fish, “if you’re so devoted to him you had better
stay with him altogether. I’m getting sick of dragging you along like
this.”
The poor little boy was horrified and looked imploringly up at the
Prince, who called one of his men to see the strange pair. “Lower a boat
and fetch me that child,” he said, “and the fish too, if you can.”
When the fish heard this, he began to flounder so violently that he
twitched his tail free and swam quickly off, leaving his friend gasping
in the waves. The Prince threw off his beautiful coat, plunged into the
sea and caught the struggling figure, holding it till the boat picked
them both up. Soon they stood safe on deck, dripping with salt water,
the little boy sobbing with terror and excitement. “Oh,” he cried,
“look! look! your lovely clothes are all spoilt.”
“Never mind, little man, never mind,” laughed the Ugly Prince, “and
don’t cry. You are quite safe with me and I have plenty of other clothes
in my cabin.”
Then he sent for a great tall sailor, who took the little boy below,
where he was undressed and dried, then rolled up in one of the Prince’s
cloaks and carried on deck. “Come here,” said the Prince, “and tell me
all about yourself.”
The child came up shyly and climbed upon his knee. “And how was it,”
continued he, “that you came to be swimming about with that great fish?
Little boys don’t travel in that sort of way as a rule.”
His voice was so soft and he stroked the child’s hair so kindly, that
the little fellow began to think he was a much nicer friend to have than
the fish, with all its knowledge; so he told him of everything that had
happened and especially of the marvellous sights he had seen since he
slipped over the side of his father’s smack a day ago. When he had
finished there was a long silence and he glanced up at the Prince, for
he felt, somehow, that he was looking grave. But the black mask hid
everything.
In a short time the Ugly Prince set him down and spoke a few words to
his helmsman. Then the ship turned slowly round and sailed off in the
direction from which the fish had come.
As night drew on they still kept steadily forward, and when the stars
had come out and the last light departed, the little boy was put to bed
in a beautiful cabin all painted sea-green, with a pale green curtain
hanging over the door on which was embroidered a silver crescent moon.
He was laid in a soft bed with a quilt of the same colour, and soon he
was far away in the land of dreams, dreaming that he was again in the
sea, sinking into a world of branching sea-weed and silver sand through
which swam the little fishes about which he had so often wondered.
When he opened his eyes next morning the light was peeping in through
the port-hole, and his clothes, which had been dried, were lying beside
a bath which was waiting for him. He washed and dressed and then went on
deck, where the Ugly Prince stood looking out over the ship’s bows. When
he saw the child he lifted him up in his arms.
[Illustration: OH CRIED THE LITTLE BOY I SEE A DARK THING FAR AWAY IN
FRONT]
“Oh!” cried the little boy. “I see a dark thing far away in front! Why,
it is the rock where the Princess is! Are we going there?”
The Prince did not answer.
As the sun rose out of the ocean a short time later, the vessel was
drawing very near to the rock which rose, like some dark monster, out of
the sea, and the Prince and the little boy were on deck, the latter
looking eagerly out for the captive Princess.
There she sat, just as she had sat the day before and all those weary
days in the years gone by with her hands clasped over her one hope, the
Golden Heart. Two dark spots could be seen in the distant sky growing
smaller and smaller; they were the two cormorants flying off for food.
As the Princess saw the ship the colour rushed back into her pale
cheeks; she fixed her eyes on the advancing sails, and at last
distinguished the tall form of the Ugly Prince standing out against the
sea and sky beyond. As the vessel came under the shadow of the rock he
looked up at the sweet face above him and told her to have courage, and
that he had come to take her from her long imprisonment, back to the
world she had left.
“Throw me,” he said, “the Golden Heart that you hold.”
The Princess stood up. “Thank Heaven that the cormorant is gone!” she
cried. “He stands there so that, if I throw it to anyone, he may catch
it in his beak and rob me of my last chance.”
“But throw it carefully,” begged the little boy, “or the Prince won’t
catch it.”
The Prince smiled. “Now,” he called.
“But, before I do so,” said the Princess, “I must tell you this; if you
take it, it will bring you pain and sorrow—perhaps more than you can
bear. Can you really accept it? Are you willing to take the trouble that
must come?”
The Ugly Prince simply held out his hands. “Throw,” he said.
The little boy thought he had never seen anybody look so noble as he
did, standing there with his outstretched hands and his masked face
turned up to the lovely, sad figure above him.
A flash pierced the air, and the Heart lay safe in the hands of the Ugly
Prince.
“And now,” he said as he held it, “remember that there is nothing I will
not do for your sake; whatever this thing tells me to do, that will I
do; wherever it tells me to go, there will I go; and, as long as there
is life in me, I will not rest until I have accomplished my end.”
The evil birds were now seen returning over the waters, and at the sight
of the ship lying anchored under the rock, they were dreadfully
disturbed, and made such a flapping of wings that the witch came up from
her lair to see what could be the matter. When she saw the vessel her
fury knew no bounds, and when she observed that the Golden Heart was
gone, she nearly wrung the old cormorant’s neck.
“The next time you go away,” she cried, “I will sit here and watch
myself! And, as for you,” she went on, turning to the Princess, “you
need never think you can escape, for you shall be guarded day and
night!”
But the Princess said nothing.
Meantime, the Ugly Prince was taking counsel of his treasure; he looked
long and curiously at it; then, as he felt a little tremor fluttering
between his palms, he inquired of it what he was to do to save the
Princess from her bondage. A radiance like a flame rose all round the
Heart, and a small, soft voice spoke. It was so low that he had to bend
down his head to catch the words. “To-night,” it said, “you must watch
on deck until morning, and when the two cormorants fly away at sunrise,
be careful to notice from which part of the rock the female bird comes;
then, when they have started on their flight, slip down into the water
and swim to the place. It is a large cave, black and gloomy, but,
nevertheless, swim in. The water is deep at the entrance, but when you
have gone forward a few strokes, you will find a great stone rising a
couple of feet above its level; let your eyes get accustomed to the
darkness and you will see upon the top of this stone the cormorant’s
nest. Climb to it very softly, for in it will be the three little
cormorants asleep. Be sure you do not wake them. Beside them you will
find three grey feathers which you must take; the first feather will
give you the power of becoming invisible when you please, the second
will enable you to see in the dark, and the third will enable you to
understand the language of birds. When you have secured them, make
yourself invisible and stay in the cavern until the mother-bird comes
home. Then, keep your ears open to hear all that passes.”
The voice ceased, and the Prince, knowing he would be told no more,
buttoned the Golden Heart into his doublet and prepared to wait
patiently till night should come and he could take up his post on deck
to watch for the coming sunrise.
The hours wore on and day slowly faded. When the dark set in he lay
down, with his eyes fixed on the heavens, hardly able to bear the time
which lay between him and the morning, and, when dawn came creeping on,
he distinguished the dim figure of the old cormorant at his post.
He stood as though carved out of the stone beneath him until the sun’s
disc appeared over the horizon-line, when, with a loud flapping, he rose
in the air. The Ugly Prince lay looking at the rock as though his life
depended upon it, and, from out of a deep shadow in the right side of
the huge mass, the mother-bird came flying to join her mate. He kept his
eyes on the spot till the last rush of wings had died upon the air, then
he looked up at the Princess and plunged into the sea.
The green water had a cold chill which struck him to the marrow, but he
swam steadily on, stroke after stroke, till he reached the mouth of a
rugged cavern where the rock towered above his head as though poised for
a moment ere it fell to crush him to atoms; and, through the darkness,
he saw the outline of the flat-topped stone described by the Golden
Heart.
With long strokes he swam to it, and, clinging to its jagged sides, drew
himself out of the water. To climb to the top was the work of a moment.
Once there, he stood staring through the gloom at the nest, which was
built, as he had been told, on the summit. There lay the three little
cormorants asleep, like three fluffy balls; he could just distinguish
their soft bodies and their breasts heaving up and down in the deep
breathing of their slumbers. Not a sound was to be heard but the lapping
of the water, stirred by his swimming as it rose and fell against the
stone’s foot. As his eyes became more accustomed to the darkness he saw,
beside the sleeping birds, the three feathers for which he was
searching. He put in his hand and took them, his heart beating high as
he felt all three in his grasp and knew that the first step of his
labours was accomplished. He slid down again into the salt water, having
placed his new treasures carefully in his pocket. Then he seated himself
in a little niche above water-mark to await the mother-bird, wishing
with all his might for the promised power of seeing in the dark.
Immediately every cranny in the cave became visible and he began to
wonder where the mysterious passage might be which led to the witch’s
dwelling.
In a short time the narrow slit of light was darkened by the form of the
cormorant-mother coming back to the nest; she flew in and alighted by
the side of her young ones. The Prince lost no time in wishing for the
power of understanding bird-language, and, as the little birds awoke, he
strained every nerve to catch any speech which might pass between the
four creatures.
“Lie still, you tiresome little things,” said the mother as they all
began chattering at once, “I have got some very good fish here; but _not
one_ of you shall taste a bit if you make such a noise.”
“What a long time you’ve been getting it,” squeaked one of the little
birds.
“That is not the way to speak,” observed the mother, “and you must learn
not to make remarks when you are not spoken to. If your father heard you
talking like that he would punish you severely. I am always very quick
about getting your food, and greediness is a very shocking
fault—remember that.”
“But I’m not greedy, I’m hungry.”
“Be silent, sir, at once!”
The three little birds were very much frightened at this and kept quiet
while the fish were being broken up and divided into four parts. When
this was done a great gobbling began, and no one spoke for some time.
“Now,” said the old bird, when every piece had disappeared. “I am going
to speak to you very seriously.”
At this there was a dead silence, for all the little birds felt that
their mother was in no humour to be trifled with this morning.
“Remember that I forbid you all distinctly to make any noise to-day or
to scream or chatter loudly. I have a very good reason for doing so, and
as I wish you to see for yourselves how very important it is, I will
tell you about it. Are you all listening?”
“Yes! Yes!” cried the little birds.
“Your father is in great trouble,” she began, “for a most disagreeable
thing has happened and our mistress is very angry. A ship is close by
and there is a strange man on board who wears a black mask. We are
afraid that he has come to take the Princess away. Yesterday, on our
return from fishing, we found the ship here, and, what was far worse,
discovered that the Heart which the Princess held in her hand had gone.
Your father thinks there is every reason to believe that the man with
the black mask has got it and he is much distressed, for our mistress
has used words to him which have hurt his feelings deeply. Now, if any
of you scream and make a noise, it may draw the attention of that wicked
man in the ship to this place and he may discover the way to our
mistress’s cave, which lies, as I suppose you all know, behind that
piece of rock shaped like a fish’s head sticking out in yonder corner.
If he got to her he might do her some mischief, or perhaps force her to
give him the Princess. Besides which, he would certainly wring all your
necks—and then, how would you like _that_?”
Here one of the little birds began to cry.
“How dare you make that noise!” said his mother, prodding him with her
beak. “Stop crying instantly, sir, or we may all be lost!”
The squeaking soon ceased and, quiet being restored, one of the little
birds, being of an argumentative turn of mind, began to ask questions.
“But if that dreadful man got to our mistress,” he inquired, “how could
he find his way to the Princess afterwards?”
“If he were in the cave he might see how our mistress goes to her; you
know, she takes off her left shoe and knocks at the wall with it. Then
she says:
“‘Left-foot shoe, left-foot shoe,
Open, rock, and I’ll pass through.’
And the rock opens in a straight passage and she goes up to the top of
it, right outside to where your father and the Princess sit. Now, I’ve
told you enough—be quiet.”
All this time the Ugly Prince was looking for the stone like a fish’s
head, and soon saw it sticking out in the remotest part of the cavern,
so he began climbing towards it. It was weary work, for the cold had
made his limbs stiff, and he feared to go quickly in case any sound
should attract the old bird’s attention. With much trouble he reached
the place, and, looking behind the fish’s head, saw an opening which
seemed much too small for a human being to enter. He determined,
however, to try what he could do and began to creep in, finding that he
could just push himself along, and although he could see no light at the
other end, he pressed forward. A horrible sickening sensation came over
him when he had gone some way, and he felt as though he should be
suffocated in this stifling place, from which none could deliver him,
and which his crew, if they began to search for him, could never find.
The air grew so close and the tunnel so narrow that he had almost given
up all hope of life when his head struck against the rock and he lay
half stunned. “Now,” he thought, “all is really lost, for I can get no
further, and must die in this loathsome place.”
As he lay in his cramped position he saw what seemed to be a white
pebble embedded in the rock somewhere on his left. He stretched out his
hand with great difficulty, and found that it came in contact with
nothing solid, though it hid the white spot from his view, and he
realised that the object was not a pebble at all, but a speck of light
in the far distance, and that he was groping with his arm down a narrow
passage, starting away at right angles from the place in which he was
imprisoned. A new hope sprang up in his heart, and he dragged himself
round the corner. The tunnel grew a little wider, and, with every few
inches that he moved forward, his courage rose, and the outer air grew
nearer. The stones tore his hands, and he was bruised in every limb as
he crept along, but he pressed on till the light became larger and
yellower and the air less oppressive, and, at last, after many
struggles, he stood upright outside the tunnel’s mouth.
An enormous hall met his eyes; bare rock formed its walls and ceiling
and the ground under his feet was covered with fine sand.
From the sides of this place hung twisted shapes. He could hardly see
what they were. First he thought that they must be great ropes of
sea-weed, then human forms; grinning faces seemed to start from them at
every side, and yet he could never really make out that they were the
forms of either men or beasts, for, as each thing appeared to take some
definite shape, it would speedily turn into something else, like the
wild and fleeting images in a dream.
As he stood, the noise of the sea roaring underground in remote hollows
of the rocks smote desolately on his ear, and, for a moment, the dreary
sound made his heart sink in his body. But he thought of the Princess,
and courage leaped up in his soul.
[Illustration: A THING WHICH LOOKED LIKE A HUMAN FIGURE WAS LYING BY A
FIRE]
A column of stone, reaching to the roof, stood in the middle of the
cave, and, at its foot, was a thing which looked like a human figure
lying by a fire. He approached, thanking Heaven for the power of
becoming invisible, and saw that he was in the presence of the witch. By
a happy chance she had overslept herself, and had not yet gone up to the
Princess.
As he looked there was a stir in her recumbent form. She rose, and,
drawing off her left shoe, approached the wall.
“Left-foot shoe, left-foot shoe,
Open, rock, and I’ll pass through,”
she muttered, striking it. Then the wall cracked open and she gathered
her skirt more closely round her and disappeared through the opening,
which closed behind her.
He paced up and down, straining his ears to catch any sound that might
steal through some chink in the rock, and give him an idea of what was
going on above. But no sound came.
At last the wall opened and his enemy appeared. An evil smile was on her
face, and he guessed that she had been taunting her victim. His blood
boiled. When the chasm closed, the hag, instead of replacing her shoe,
drew off its fellow and, putting them both in a corner, flung herself
down by the fire. The Prince had not expected such luck and he bounded
towards them. At this she looked up quickly; he had forgotten, in his
excitement, that, though invisible, his movements could be heard, and
for a minute he stood waiting to see if she would notice the footprints
he had made in the sand. But after sitting erect to listen, she seemed
re-assured and lay down, while he, pausing a little space ere he moved
again, heard her breathing grow heavier and saw that she was falling
asleep again over her fire. Then he picked up her left shoe.
He advanced to the wall and struck it, saying the words he had heard her
use.
It flew open before him and the fresh air rushed against his face. With
one backward glance at the sleeper he climbed the incline, and, in a
moment, had wished himself visible again and was standing on the rock by
the Princess.
Her eyes were fixed on his ship, but she turned on hearing a step. Her
face was almost fierce, for she expected nothing better than to meet the
witch. Then she saw the Ugly Prince and rose, with a cry, stretching out
her hand to him. Her great sorrow seemed to be looking out of her eyes,
and the beauty of her face was so far beyond anything he had imagined
that he stood before her dumbfounded, more like a culprit than the man
who had fought his way to her through peril and fatigue. He took her
hand and pressed his lips upon it. As he did so there was a rushing in
the air, and the old cormorant, who had just returned from his fishing,
began raining the blows of his heavy wings upon his shoulders. He fought
it off as well as he could with his left arm while he drew his sword,
and, as the savage bird swung back to make a fresh swoop, the steel
blade flashed and it fell dead on the rock at his feet.
The Princess covered her eyes; she almost sank upon the ground, but the
Ugly Prince caught her in his arms.
“How can we escape? How are we to reach the ship?” she cried.
He drew out the Golden Heart. The same tremor ran through it as it said:
“Cut off the cormorant’s wings and strike them with the witch’s shoe.
They will fasten themselves upon your shoulders and you will be able to
fly as well as the bird.”
The Prince obeyed, then he stood ready to leave for ever the scene of
his conflict. “Come,” he said to the Princess.
We must now return to the little boy, who had never left the deck all
the hours his friend had been away. As he saw him rise into the air with
his living burden he clasped his hands, standing breathless until the
cormorant’s wings had borne him over the strip of water. His joy knew no
bounds as he saw him land safely beside him, and he looked with
admiration and awe upon the lovely Princess who had suffered so much.
“Who is this?” she asked, pointing to the child.
“That is more than I can tell you,” said the Prince, smiling, “for I
picked him out of the water. But he is very dear to me all the same.”
“Shall I love you too?” she said, looking down at him with her sweet,
mysterious eyes. “I have had no one to love for so very long.”
The Golden Heart was their guide, for it knew everything—even the way
over the trackless seas—and soon the terrible rock was no more than a
fast disappearing speck, far astern.
After a happy voyage they reached the country where the Princess’s
father still reigned, an old man bowed down by grief.
When they got to the shore and the people saw that it was their own
Princess who had returned and heard the tale of her captivity and
rescue, their joy knew no bounds and they conducted the Ugly Prince and
his crew with great rejoicings to the royal palace, which lay at some
distance off. Messengers were sent forward to the poor old King, who, in
spite of age and infirmity, mounted his horse for the first time for
many years and came out to meet them.
He could hardly believe the news, and, when the meeting was over and he
had held his daughter in his arms and knew that it was no dream, but the
real, happy truth, he turned to the Prince. “I cannot speak to you now,”
he said, “but to-morrow you must tell me the story with your own lips,
and, were you to ask me for my kingdom, it should be yours.”
The next morning the Ugly Prince was summoned to the old man’s presence.
He told the story of the Princess’s rescue, making very light of his own
brave deeds, but the King was not easily deceived; and, as he sent also
for the little boy, he soon got at the whole truth.
“And now,” he said, at the end of the tale, “is there anything in the
wide world that I can do for you? My kingdom and all I have is yours if
you will only take it. Have you no wish—no matter what it may be—that
I can gratify?”
“I have loved your daughter since the first moment that I saw her,” said
the Ugly Prince.
* * * * *
One evening the Ugly Prince and the Princess were walking on the terrace
of the palace garden. The sunset glowed along the western sky, the birds
were twittering in the deepening silence, and the heavy scent of masses
of roses which climbed over balconies and pillars steeped the air. A
minstrel was singing softly inside one of the open windows, and his song
reached them as they stood looking out over the balustrade on to the
country lying spread before them.
“Do you remember,” said the Prince, “that, when you threw me the Golden
Heart, you told me I should have to suffer almost more trouble than I
could bear?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“Well,” continued he, “I nearly gave myself up for lost in the tunnel of
rock; but, after all, I came safely through it. And it was a small price
to pay for this,” he added, taking her hand.
“How brave you are!” said she.
He laughed. “But now,” he said, “I cannot imagine anything happier than
the present. I have no wish unfulfilled but one, and that is to make you
my wife, which I shall do in a few days.”
The Princess looked down. “I have one wish ungratified,” she replied.
“But you have only to say it,” exclaimed he; “surely you know I would do
anything for you—anything. I promise it.”
“I can hardly ask you. It would seem as though I did not trust you. It
troubles me very much,” she said, with tears in her eyes.
“Do not keep anything from me,” he implored. “I cannot be content now
until I know what it is. You shall not go from here until you tell me.”
“If you would, only once, before our wedding-day, let me see your face.”
The Prince groaned.
“But you promised,” urged the Princess.
For a moment he hesitated, then he turned away and took off the black
mask. When he faced her again a shriek rang over the garden and she fell
senseless.
He had just time to replace it before the King, alarmed by the sound,
came out followed by several servants. The Princess was carried into the
palace and laid upon a couch, and, when many restoratives had been
administered, she opened her eyes; but, on seeing her lover, an
expression of terror came into her face and she fainted again.
The Prince withdrew, asking the King to go with him. When the old man
heard what had happened, he wrung his hands and begged him to refrain
from seeing his daughter until the next morning; then he returned to her
bedside, saying that he would come back on the following day and give
him news of her.
The Ugly Prince spent most of the night in walking up and down his room;
the little boy, who had come to him as soon as he knew what had
happened, did all he could to comfort him, and, at last, the unhappy
lover fell into a heavy sleep with his hand clasped in that of the
child, who refused to leave him, and who sat watching with his friend
until he, too, became drowsy and lost consciousness.
It was almost noon when they were aroused by the sound of footsteps,
and, looking up, saw the King.
“My son,” he said to the Prince, “I have come with weary tidings; my
daughter has recovered; but early this morning she sent to me.”
He paused for a moment, and went on in a shaking voice.
“She implores you to release her from her promise to marry you. She will
give no reason for what she asks, and when I suggested that she should
speak to you herself, she grew so pale that I feared she would faint
again. I reasoned with her, I prayed her to consider her words again,
but all to no effect. I knew not how to act. She owes her very life to
you. I would compel her to fulfil her promise if I could force myself to
do so, but alas! alas! I cannot when I see her in such a state!”
The Prince was standing before the weeping old man. “And do you think I
would accept such a sacrifice?” he said, slowly.
The King made no reply, but covered his face. There was a long silence.
Then the Ugly Prince spoke, and his voice seemed to the little boy as
though it were miles away.
“Sire,” he said, “tell the Princess that my only wish is to serve her. I
release her from this moment.”
Then the King went slowly away, and, as the curtain fell behind him, the
Ugly Prince was left alone with the little boy.
He remembered what the Princess had told him when he took the Heart from
her, and he knew that the time had come.
* * * * *
When the King’s subjects heard that the marriage was not to be, they
were sorely troubled, and gloom fell over the Palace. The King refused
to be comforted, and, when the Prince announced his coming departure, he
begged for a last interview before he left.
“What you have told me about the Golden Heart is very wonderful,” he
said. “Could it be of no use now?”
“Nothing can be of any use,” sighed the Prince. “It cannot alter my
face.”
“But it seems to work miracles,” persisted the old man, “and one cannot
tell how far its powers may extend.”
So they consulted the Golden Heart.
“There is,” said the voice, “in a far country beyond a vast desert,
almost impossible to cross, a marsh traversed by a stream. On the
further bank of that stream, at a place where rises a tall crag like the
entrance to a tomb, there grows a plant bearing a cluster of pale red
berries. It only shows itself once in a thousand years, and on this day
three months the time for it to appear will be due. You must reach the
place on the evening before its appearance, and allow nothing to tempt
you from the spot, for it grows up in one night, and lasts but a few
hours. When it has grown as high as your knee, break off the spike of
berries, crush them in your hands, and anoint your face with the juice.
It has the power of restoring perfect beauty, as well as perfect health,
and it can only benefit one person in a thousand years. Hardly any one
in the world has heard of its existence. You must start at once, as the
way is long, and you must go by the Great Gates, which are at the other
side of the world, and which lead to the desert.”
That evening the Ugly Prince set out. He took with him the witch’s shoe,
and the old cormorant’s wings hung at his saddle; he also placed the
three feathers in his cap. Before he went he called the little boy.
“I am going on a long journey,” he said, “and it will be many months
before I can return; you must be very good until I come back. Stay here
with the Princess. If I never come back the King has promised that this
palace shall be your home. And now, my dear little child, my faithful
friend, good-bye, for I must go. Good-bye. You will not forget me?”
The little boy clung round his neck till the servants came to tell the
Prince that his horse was saddled; then he rushed up to the highest
tower of the Palace, and, leaning far out of the window, watched the
gallant figure riding away, as it seemed to him, into the sunset.
* * * * *
It was in the eleventh week after his departure that the Ugly Prince
drew near the Great Gates that lie at the other side of the world.
He had only one week left in which to cross the desert beyond them,
and he saw, on approaching, that they were locked; he had not counted
on such a possibility, and it was with a heavy heart that he marked
how strong they were, and how they towered in the air above him. As
he dismounted to lead his horse nearer—for the animal looked with
terrified eyes upon the huge bars through which the wind was humming
and vibrating—something fell from the saddle. It was the witch’s shoe.
He picked it up and ran to the Gates, striking the lock and saying:
“Left-foot shoe, left-foot shoe,
Open, Gates, and I’ll go through.”
They burst open, and he turned to re-mount his horse. But the creature
stood with planted fore-feet and quivering nostrils, and he saw that
there was no time in which to urge him forward, as the Gates were
closing again. He tore the cormorant’s wings from where they hung on the
saddle, together with his few provisions and a water-flask, and was just
in time to rush through them before they swung together with a crash
that rang through the air like thunder, and sent the frightened horse
tearing over the plain. Then he stood unhorsed and alone on the confines
of the desert.
His only chance now lay in making use of the cormorant’s wings, which he
had hitherto omitted to do, preferring to travel on horseback. But he
fastened them to his shoulders by the power of the magic shoe and toiled
on, directed by the Golden Heart, going straight forward until his
provisions were nearly done. One morning he reached a green oasis on
which rose a fountain, bubbling in a grove of feathery acacia trees,
and, as he lay resting in the shade, he saw two birds sitting among the
boughs and talking together. Remembering the feathers in his cap, he
wished to be invisible and to understand their language.
“Look at that cool water,” said one. “When we have arranged our wings
and tails a little after our flight, we will go down and drink. We shall
not get a chance again till we reach the stream flowing through the
marsh land for which we are bound.”
“Very well,” replied the other, “and, after that, we will start at once,
for I am anxious to get home. I have not seen my family for an age, and
I think it is really time I put in an appearance. We can be there by
nightfall.”
When the Prince heard this he resolved to follow them; and when the two
birds had satisfied their thirst and set off on their journey, he spread
his wings and sailed with rapid strokes after them.
“What an odd rushing there is in the air beside us,” observed one; “the
wind must be going to change.”
By the time it was dark they entered the marsh land and saw a glimmer of
the stream for which the Prince was looking. In due time they flew
across it, and he alighted on the further bank and dropped his wings
while he sat down to rest. His hopes were high as he thought of his lost
Princess—lost perhaps no longer—and he anticipated the moment of
finding the plant with joy almost amounting to dread. He rose to his
feet and wished for the power of seeing in the dark.
He saw that he stood in the midst of so wonderful a piece of scenery
that he could hardly believe himself awake. Just in front of him
appeared the rock which the Golden Heart had described as being like the
entrance to a tomb. It rose upwards out of a deep, dark pool, and a
great star which stood in silver radiance over the summit threw a long
steel-blue reflection trailing across the silent water. Down the face of
the rock, and all round on a tangle of low bushes which closed him in on
every side, hung thick wreaths of white convolvulus; strange lights
flashed in and out among the heavy foliage, and from the blossoms rolled
drops of scented dew like the tears of a weeping enchantress.
The air was faint with enchantment; the Ugly Prince felt a languor
creeping over his body. His senses seemed to be fading from him, and,
fearing that he might be overcome by the strange atmosphere of the
place, he dashed through the bushes towards an open space not far off.
There his eyes fell on a tall, solitary plant growing in the very centre
of the clearing, and perceiving it to be none other than the object of
his search, he threw himself upon the ground beside it, took the Golden
Heart from his bosom and pressed it to his lips, covering it with
passionate kisses.
His journey was done, his troubles ended; he had now only to wait till
the plant had grown as high as his knee to bathe his face in the juice
of the berries and all would be well. He would go back across the
desert, through the Great Gates and over the world to his Princess’s
kingdom, a changed man, with his happiness lying before him. He pictured
the joy of the King, the delight of the faithful little boy who awaited
him, and the clinging arms of his adored Princess, as he lay hour after
hour beside the green stem and watched it grow taller and saw the
berries begin to take shape and colour. At last, it had grown almost to
the height of his knee, and, as he sat waiting in the breaking daylight
for the moment when he should pluck his treasure, the Prince heard
footsteps behind him, and, springing to his feet, beheld a tattered
figure which started on seeing him, and then, with a long cry, fell
prostrate upon the earth.
In a moment he was beside it and raising in his arms a man still young,
but so bowed and emaciated by illness and trouble, that he seemed
scarcely able to stand.
“Leave me! leave me!” he cried, as the Ugly Prince held him in the grasp
of his strong arms. “What brings you here? Have you, too, come for the
plant—the magic plant?”
“I have,” said the Prince firmly.
The unhappy man dropped his hands. “Then I am too late,” he cried, “and
I must die—for what can I do against _you_?” And he glanced from his
own trembling form to the straight, strong limbs of the Ugly Prince.
And he bowed his head and wept till the Prince’s heart bled to hear him.
“I beseech you, stop your tears,” he said kindly, “and tell me what has
brought you here?”
As he spoke these words his breath almost stopped, for he foresaw,
dawning on the very horizon of his mind, the vague outlines of a
possible sacrifice, so great, so overwhelming, that he hardly dared to
put it into thoughts, and yet—it was there.
“I have come,” said the stranger, “from a long, long distance and
crossed the desert on foot. See my feet, how they are bruised. My
journey has taken two years (for I am a poor man and must travel as best
I may) and, at times, I have hardly hoped to live to the end; for I am
suffering from a slow, fatal disease. I have tried every cure in vain,
and have been told by a learned magician to seek out this plant as a
last hope of life. I have a wife whose whole heart is bound up in mine,
and little children. Their hopes have been centred in me through these
sad years since I left them to begin my journey. I shall never see them
again, and they will go on, day by day, hoping for my return. But that
will never be now. That is my history. And you, why are you here? What
is yours?”
For answer, the Prince drew off his mask. “That is mine,” he said.
His companion recoiled from him, shuddering.
The two men remained gazing dumbly upon each other; then the Ugly Prince
broke the silence.
“We are in the most horrible position,” he said, “that two miserable men
have ever been placed in. Look,” and he pointed to the now
fully-developed plant, “in a few minutes one of us will have his hopes
fulfilled, and one of us will be in despair. Let us suppose for a moment
that I am that unhappy man and that you, in your good fortune, will
grant me a favour. Let me have a little space in which to think it all
over. Give me your word to hold your hand from plucking the berries
while I try to face this trial and make up my mind to what is coming.
Should _I_ take the golden chance that lies here for one of us, a few
moments of respite will do you no injury; and, should _you_ profit by
it, your happiness will be none the less sweet for having granted the
prayer of a man into whose life no joy can ever shine again. Will you do
this?”
The man looked at him narrowly. “I am in your power,” he said, “for you
are the stronger.”
“Let that go for nothing,” answered the Prince, waving his hand
impatiently. “I shall leave you alone. I want your word that you will do
nothing till I come back.”
“I promise it,” replied the stranger.
And the Ugly Prince went, leaving the black mask lying at his feet.
He entered a grove of trees which stood near, and flung his arms round
the stem of a tall ash, pressing his unmasked face against the bark;
dreadful thoughts assailed him on every side. He had only to go back and
drive his sword into that powerless body and the happiness which had
seemed so real a short time ago would still be his. None could see the
deed or tell of it. His mind was as though filled with evil mists, and,
above them, rose the alluring form of his Princess, golden-haired,
white-armed, beckoning. But he thrust her from him. No, such a thing
could not be. Better to die a thousand times than to sink into such
dishonour as that.
And if he relinquished his chance? If he were to give up to that
suffering mortal the thing that he had striven and toiled for during the
two years through which he had dragged his poor aching limbs to this
spot, what then? Whose happiness would he destroy by so doing? Not the
Princess’s, certainly. She had given him up of her free will, had shrunk
from the sight of him and the thought of becoming his wife. The King,
her father, would sorrow indeed, but he would still have his daughter.
The little boy would welcome him back should he return as he had left
him. No, it would be his loss alone.
He thought of that evening in the Palace garden, his last evening of
happiness. He saw it all again, the golden sky, the roses, the
far-stretching landscape, and he felt again the soft hand of his love
clinging to his arm as they talked together. He groaned, and, as he
thought of these things, some words came back to his memory, words he
had remembered on that last happy evening, words which had once been
spoken by the Princess when she threw him the Golden Heart. “_If you
take it, it will bring you pain and sorrow, perhaps more than you can
bear. Can you really accept it? Are you willing to take the trouble that
must come?_” He had not realised them then. Once more they had returned
to his mind when she asked him to release her, and he had then imagined
that he understood them. He understood them now.
And his rival? Perhaps he adored that wife as he himself had adored, and
did adore, his lost love. And the wife, to whom his own success would
mean a life-long grief? He tried to put himself in the unhappy man’s
place. He tried to suppose that the Princess was waiting for him, that
she was sitting watching as this woman watched. What should he feel if
another and a stronger hand were to grasp the prize upon which all their
hopes of meeting depended? And the little children?
A great lump rose in his throat and a hand seemed to clutch at his
heartstrings; he looked up at the early mist rolling away from stream
and plain, and a load of black temptation lifted heavily from his
bursting heart. The stranger stood waiting a little way off; he
approached him and laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Go!” he said, pointing to the plant. “It is yours. Take it. I give up
my claim freely.”
A few minutes more and he was lying on the earth near the still pool he
had seen the night before, his cheek resting on the cool moss, trying to
realise and accept the loveless life which was all he had now left.
Every hope was gone and the future lay before him like the vast, sterile
desert he had lately crossed, bare and bleak. There was nothing to live
for now, nothing. The fact rushed over him in its full meaning, and for
the first time since his boyhood he burst into tears and sobbed like a
little child.
* * * * *
After a while he remembered the mask which lay on the grass where he had
left it. There was nothing for him to do but resume it and go back to
the world with his old trouble unchanged; but, before rising, he went to
bathe his heated eyes in the water and he leaned over the brink. Just as
he put in his hand he saw that another face was looking up at him It
startled him. Was it some poor, drowned man who lay staring up at the
sky? Impossible, surely. None knew of this place but himself and that
one stranger, and, moreover, there was no sign of death in those living
eyes that met his own so fearlessly. He plunged down his hand and it
only touched the bed of the pool; the water lay deep and still but for
the ripples which his action had stirred into widening rings. He was
simply bewildered. Still gazing downwards he drew his hand over his
eyes, thinking they must be bewitched, and, as he did so, a hand passed
over the face in the water. It could not be his own. He laughed bitterly
at the idea. It had no resemblance to himself, and was the face of a
handsome man, not a monster whose very look was unendurable. Thinking
that he must be going mad, he felt the Golden Heart beating and
fluttering against his breast. He wondered that he had forgotten it for
so long as he took it out.
“Am I crazed?” he asked excitedly. “What is this illusion?”
“It is no illusion,” replied the voice, “but the truth. That face
looking from the water is your own. Look once more, for the ripples have
ceased.”
The Prince obeyed.
He saw the most noble countenance that it had ever entered his mind to
imagine; no defect was there, no feature which was not perfection, and
over all was an expression of such sublime grandeur, strength, and
fortitude, that the Ugly Prince, ugly no longer, drew back, almost awed
by what he saw.
“It is only the reflection of your own great soul,” said the voice—and
it seemed to fill the air around him—“what you see is the beauty of
honour and truth, of courage and sacrifice, and there is nothing which
can be compared to it in the whole world. Now rise, for you must go from
here and begin your homeward journey. Go back to reap the reward which
is awaiting you, for there is no reward too great for such as you.”
* * * * *
So the Prince went. The cormorant’s wings bore him safely over the
desert, and the witch’s shoe opened for him the Great Gates. Once
through them, he procured himself a horse, and at last reached the
borders of the kingdom where his heart lay; here he proceeded more
slowly, only journeying by night, as he wished no one to see him who
might tell the Princess of his return.
One morning early the little boy rose and went, as he always did, to a
high turret in the palace to look down the road leading to the nearest
city, and to see whether his Prince was coming home.
As he sat with the morning breeze lifting his hair, straining his eyes
towards the white road which lay between the ripening corn-fields, he
saw a solitary horseman approaching, and, in great excitement, he
watched him as he advanced. When he was still some way off, the rider
put his horse to a gallop, waving his hand, and the child, doubting no
longer, rushed at the top of his speed down the turret stair, through
the courtyard gate, across the drawbridge, and down the road till he
reached the horse’s side and clung, transported with joy, to the
stirrup. The Prince stooped and lifted him into the saddle before him.
When the first rapture of greeting was over, the little boy raised his
head from his friend’s shoulder.
“Where is your mask?” he inquired.
“It is here, but I do not wear it any more. You see, I am not so ugly
now,” said the Prince, smiling.
The little boy hugged him again with delight. “I never saw your face
before,” he said, “but I don’t believe you were ever ugly. There is no
one in the world like you.”
Then the Prince asked him a thousand questions about the Princess.
“She is not very happy,” replied the child, shaking his head, “for,
after you left, she began to miss you and to cry because you had gone,
and she has watched for you so long, that she grows paler and sadder
every day.”
“Do you think she would love me if I came back with my mask on, as I
left her?” asked the Prince.
[Illustration: THEN SHE TURNED HALF STARTLED AND SAW THE PRINCE]
“Try,” said the little boy.
They rode together through the gate and crossed the courtyard hand in
hand, the Prince in his travel-worn clothes with the black mask on his
face. Through the wide hall they went, down the corridor, and out into
the Princess’s garden. She was standing in the morning sunlight feeding
her peacocks, the gorgeous birds crowding round her; the eyes in their
sweeping tails flashed blue and green, and their slim necks bent hither
and thither as they picked up the grain. They trod as softly as they
could, like two conspirators, so that she did not hear their footsteps
until they were close behind her. Then she turned, half-startled, and
saw the Prince.
For one moment she stood gazing at him with her hands clasped over her
heart; then, with a low cry of joy, she sprang forward like some
beautiful wild animal and threw herself into his arms.
* * * * *
“And can you really receive me back like this?” he asked a short time
later, “when you see that it is the same man who has returned
unaltered?”
“Ah, do not remind me of my folly,” she begged, “I can hardly believe
that you have come back to me at last; I fear to wake and find it is all
a dream.” And she rested her head against his shoulder with a sigh of
content.
“But,” persisted he, “could you bear to see me without my mask?”
“I can bear anything,” she replied, “but losing you again.”
Then he took off his mask and threw it on the ground. She glanced up at
him and stood transfixed, for never in her whole life had she seen any
one who looked as he looked.
She sank on her knees beside him, and covered her face with her hands.
“I am not worthy to be your wife,” she faltered, “let me go, for it
cannot be.”
But he did not listen to her.