Part 7

“‘Turning northward, for days and days we seemed to do nothing but drift and drift, the weather all the time becoming warmer and warmer. Then, just as if an intervening screen had been pulled suddenly and swiftly away, there below us lay the great Desert of Sahara. Far, far down, a thin stream of camels, heavily laden, were wending their way in the peculiar, tortuous, twisting fashion which is common to them. Upon the camels’ backs were gaily-coloured coverings fringed and tasseled with red and gold. On certain of the camels, in a kind of tent, rode a number of dark-eyed ladies, dressed in the most gorgeous silks and satins, their faces partly veiled, their little feet encased in dainty slippers, but always their flashing teeth and shining eyes to show that they were happy.

“‘All at once the scene is changed. A broad line of swiftly-moving horses comes, as it were, from nowhere—grey horses, whose arching necks, slim legs, and small round feet, show them to be Arab thoroughbreds. Astride these horses there are dark-browed men in cloak-like white burnooses, racing forward in such a way that it is plainly their intention to surround, and, maybe, murder, those connected with the camels.

“‘But not without a struggle will they be permitted to do as they please, for as soon as they are seen, the camels are drawn into a circle, and the dark-eyed ladies set within its very centre. Inside the ring, behind their animals, who have been told to lie down, are crouched the grim, alert, and silent merchants. In their hands are their rifles, ready loaded. Everything is death-like in its stillness. Even the thudding of the horses’ hoofs, at all times faint upon the sand, is, by the gentle breeze blown in the opposite direction.

“‘Suddenly there comes a yell from the charging horsemen, and, at the very same instant, a flash of guns from the merchants. But, alas! in less time than it takes to describe it, the horsemen are victorious, the merchants are dead or captive, the dark-eyed ladies tied with silken cords, and the whole train—camels, horses and human beings—set in motion towards the desert City, wherein those of the merchants who are still alive will be turned into slaves, their goods and camels sold to the highest bidders, and their ladies taken into the harems of the Arabs rich enough to buy them.

“‘Northward still we go, until Mount Vesuvius is reached. Oh, what a smoke and heat! I nearly dropped with suffocation! Indeed, I should have fallen straight into the great red yawning crater, with its awful fires, had it not been for the soft but strong hold by which the cloud upheld me. Never again do I want to see that burning place. The very memory of it, even now, causes me to tremble....

“‘Then, not far from Mount Vesuvius it seemed, we barely succeeded in passing over such gigantic mountains that their tops are forever covered in snow—white, cold and unutterably still. Yet, even as we gazed, dumb-struck with the wonder of it all, there came the sun’s great rays, and, magically, gloriously, turned the snow to gold—to gleaming gold, mountains of gold!

“‘Southward and Eastward then we went! Over the burning plains of India, past the Taj Mahal, that mighty monument to woman’s love and virtue, and to the memory of a great Prince; southward to Ceylon, set within the circling seas, and then, rapidly over the ocean back to Australia, where, glad to see and smell the Eucalypts again, down I fell to do them service!

“‘As to why I fall, it is because that is the only way in which I can do my share of the things that must be done. My chief duty is to nurture and refresh everything that grows; and as that can best be accomplished by falling on or about them, therefore that is the thing I do.’”

When this story was completed, there suddenly broke out such a hum of conversation that it was quite a little time before the Prince was able to announce that, by special request, the Official Recorder had consented to give a contribution towards the evening’s entertainment.

And this is what he said:—

THE DOOR MAT’S STORY

“Once upon a time, a long while ago, I met a wandering Scribe who told me how he had once heard a Door Mat and a Bass Broom talking to each other. Strange as it may seem, they appear to have made many shrewd observations, and, put into rhyme, this is the gist of what the Scribe said:—

This is the tale of the front Door Mat, And this is the pith of his learning: He who aspires as a brave man should; She who desires what a sweet maid would; Must, ere they rise in the World’s affairs, Learn that the prizes they seek are theirs, If they, in the struggle with carks and cares, Keep Sweet! Clean their feet! And leave behind them the grit of the street!

This is the story he told his friend, His friend, the Broom— The Big, Bass Broom, Who never was known to enter a Room, But swept and scrubbed Until he was dubbed The terror of Drains and Greasy Stains, The Garden Paths and the Clothes Yard! This is his narrative, word for word, Just as he rendered it; overheard

Up near the door, where the Fairy Scribe Wrote it all down for his own wee tribe; And, so he said, to the Town next day Took it to print; but I grieve to say That not ’till now has it seen the light! But, as you know, in the Town’s poor plight, Things are o’erlooked both by night and day, And thus, I learn, went the ‘proofs’ astray! So, not till now has the tale been told: Just as I give it you, true as gold! Keep sweet! Mind your feet! And bring not in the grime of the street!

Said the Mat: ‘At the big front door I’ve stood for years, And I’ve heard folks laugh, and seen folks’ tears; I have seen them gay, and seen them sad, I have known some good, and met some bad; But from each and all I learned a truth, And of this I speak in love and ruth; For the thing they taught (which all may learn), Is to purchase not before you earn; For the man who buys ere his wage be paid, Though he live in splendour will live afraid. Keep sweet! Brush your feet! And forget, if you can, the mire of the street!

‘I have seen some come with goods to sell, And I’ve known the truth they would not tell! For if lies are used when wares are bought, Then by lies be sure will sale be sought. But of all such buying, sale and gain, In the Book of Fate the sum’s writ plain; For the one who robs by word or deed, Of his soul sells out in stupid greed; And for such an one, when life is passed, There is nought but grief for wealth amassed. Keep sweet! Watch your feet! And step not into the filth of the street!

‘There were those who came with sorrow’s tale, Of a wife long sick, and children pale; Of a daughter weak or son just dead, Of a mother starved for lack of bread! But in these, I knew, Love’s fires were cold, That their aim and hope was Pity’s gold! Yet, for such the gold will turn to dross, And the profits all shall come to loss; For the Law is this while justice lives: To the man be gain who value gives! Keep sweet! Dust your feet And stand not out in the Stour of the Street!

‘But I’ve also seen throughout the years,— As the worn and weary told their fears; How the smile of hope effaces pain, And the listless stir to life again At the kind word said or good deed done As they passed along; and everyone, With a new-born joy and ardour filled, Has again felt moved, if God so willed, To withstand the Earth’s consuming fire, And the nobler realms of Love aspire! Keep sweet! Stamp your feet! And shake off the dust of the windy street!

‘And I’ve seen a child for flowers come in, With a winning smile and dimpled chin; And the gift evoked within each breast, An elation sweet, as of the blest! For that blossom bright was sure to bloom In the dullest days of doubt and gloom; While the fragrance hid within its heart; Of the child was soon to grow a part! And the same note rings o’er all earth’s cries, For a kindly action never dies! Keep sweet! Guard your feet! And you need not touch the mud of the street!’

Said the Broom to the Mat: ‘In the yard I’ve lived most all my life, And with dust and dirt I’m aye at strife; So I know ’tis true the tale you tell, For have I not also learned it well? And to those who happen to cross my way, From the facts I’ve gained, I often say: If you want to win in life’s great game, It is well to stop when burns the flame! For the one who dares with fire to play, Will in burnt-out ash be swept away! For the Law is this: ’Tis clearly writ— And the fate of fools all witness it: Sweep hard! Dirt discard! Or you’ll slip on the slime of your own back yard!’”

So these are the words of the Mat and the Broom; And this is the sum of their learning: “Attempt not to better the style of your room, Except by your own honest earning! For the Liars, and Misers, and Swindlers, and Fools, Are the handles and hafts of the Arch-Devil’s tools! And this truth, it were well, should be taught in the schools: Sweep hard! Dirt discard! And never neglect your own back yard!”

When the “Official Recorder” had finished, the Prince stood up and said that he had great pleasure in asking the fourth of the “Five Story Tellers” to tell a tale.

And this is the story told by “Smell”:—

CLOVER PERFUME’S STORY

“Once upon a time, a long while ago, I was looking for a lost baby Fairy in a field of well-grown, rich red clover.

“The day was warm, and the drowsy hum of countless bees suggested to my mind that, perhaps the object of my search had fallen down, and was somewhere lying asleep beneath the spreading clover. Very carefully, therefore, I pulled aside many and many a bunch of sweet smelling blossoms, hoping to discover him.

“Just as I found him I accidentally plucked a somewhat larger blossom than the rest from off its long, green stem, and, not exactly thinking of what I was doing, I parted the petals; and there, in the very heart of the flower, I saw the sweetest little fellow in creation.

“In spite of the fact that he had been disturbed in a nap—for he woke up the very moment I espied him—his face instantly wreathed itself in smiles, and he waved his tiny hand at me in the friendliest greeting imaginable. Of a truth his whole attitude and bearing were so pleasant and affable that I was greatly taken with him, and felt an immediate desire to have him tell me something of his history, and his work. Indeed, so strongly was my curiosity aroused, that, almost before I was aware of it, I said: ‘Who are you, and what is your story?’

“And this is what he said in answer to my question:—

“‘My name is Clover Perfume, and I am one of a very numerous family. To tell you the truth, I have brothers and sisters and all manner of other relatives all over the world. Everybody knows me,’ he continued, ‘except those who cannot smell, and they would nearly give their noses to make my acquaintance!’

“Here he laughed so merrily that for the life of me I couldn’t help laughing too, though what it was all about I really couldn’t say.

“‘But,’ said he, ‘although I am so widely known and, I think, very well liked, I have never before been asked to tell my story. I have just been accepted as a matter of course, and nobody has been the least little bit interested to know anything about my origin or history.’

“Here he heaved a very great sigh, and the breath that he expelled from his lungs was so divinely sweet that it filled my senses with delight.

“Instantly recovering himself, however, he brightly added: ‘Still, I am very, very glad that you have asked me to tell you my story, and if you will listen, it will be a pleasure to let you hear it from beginning to end.’

“‘Go on!’ said I, encouragingly; ‘you will find in me a very patient listener.’

“‘Well,’ he commenced, ‘as you are probably very well aware, when God first made man he was nothing more than a lifeless image; he could neither move nor speak! But having fashioned him so much like Himself, and being pleased with His work, God breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and man became a living soul! This was the greatest of all gifts. On no other created Thing was anything like so remarkable and wonderful a gift bestowed.

“‘But, what you do not know is that, whilst the making of man was in progress, the trees and flowers were looking on—silent, still, and breathless with amazement and surprise. Indeed, so astonished were they, so overpowered at the miracle they were privileged to see, that they temporarily ceased to grow, and might easily have died.

“‘But this was not to be; for, seeing what had happened, God caused them to revive, and knowing that He had already fixed for them their stations and their modes of life, out of His great compassion, and because of the awe and reverence with which they had looked upon His work, said to them: “Behold I give unto you a further gift. Beauty and symmetry thou hast! In addition, take from Me all those who will, the gift of sweetness, that ye may forever bear witness to the airs of Heaven and the glory of your Creator!”

“‘So saying, into the soft and balmy air He breathed one glorious breath, which, spreading and falling, was, in the process, disintegrated or broken up into a myriad marvellous atoms. These ineffably sweet and fertilising atoms the trees and flowers immediately and eagerly in-breathed—some more, some less, each according to its mode and manner, but all with rapturous delight.

“‘And one tiniest atom there was that, falling lower than the rest, fell upon a pale white clover blossom, who, when she drew in the impregnating life-giving breath of the Almighty, blushed to rosy redness, and in perpetual remembrance of that great occasion, has ever since retained her beauteous colouring....

“‘Later on I was born, and, even as I lay in the soft and delicate arms of my roseate mother, she began to whisper to me little portions of this wondrous story.

“‘As I grew in strength, and my mind acquired a better grasp of things, I finally got to understand the meaning of it all, and to appreciate to the full how remarkably lucky I was to have been blessed with so fortunate a mother.

“‘When, at last, she saw that I was fully awake to all these things, she began to confide in me the set ambition of her life, the dearest wishes of her heart. And those wishes I am proud and happy to execute, for they not only serve to indicate the loving and the gracious nature of my mother, but they are in themselves so pleasing that I have no other aim in life except to carry them out.

“‘As to what they are, you, perhaps, may guess.

“‘In a few words, my mother desired above all other things in the world, that some portion of the boon which had been so marvellously bestowed upon her, might in turn be given to all her kith and kin; and as I had been endowed from birth with the peculiar faculty of being able to transfer to others some small part of the gift of sweetness she had been enabled to transmit to me, she naturally and properly taught me how to exercise and use my talent to the utmost of my capacity.

“‘So it is then that, like a bee, I am engaged in flitting from flower to flower in order to place in the heart of each a tiniest drop of that miraculous God-given essence which, as you have learned, was intended to be an eternal reminder of the fact, that, like the sweet odours of Heaven, the perfume of the flowers and trees is of Divine origin.’”

As soon as the story was over it immediately became apparent that something was about to take place which was unknown to Prince Waratah, and quite outside the plan that he had in mind when the evening’s amusement was begun; for, just as he was rising to intimate what the next item was to be, King Acacia whispered something in his ear, and he sat down again.

What had been said to the Prince nobody knew; but as afterwards appeared, it must have been a request to be permitted to communicate to the guests a most important piece of information. That this was the case found instant confirmation in the fact that with a nod to King Eucalyptus, they both rose in their places, and King Acacia, addressing the assembled company, said:—

“We have almost come to the end of the evening’s fixture. Before the last item is called, however, there is a ceremony to be performed which King Eucalyptus and I have agreed should now take place. We therefore ask the Official Recorder, who has already been secretly informed of what is to take place, whether he is ready to proceed?”

And the Official Recorder answered: “Ready, Your Majesties—and at your service!”

“Then,” said King Acacia, “we have to announce that, in recognition of the almost miraculous service performed by Prince Waratah in the building of the Fairy City, and the erection of the glorious Palace in which we are all met, as well as to fittingly mark this great occasion, it has been decreed and determined that from this day forth Prince Waratah shall be King Waratah, and Princess Wattle Blossom shall be Queen Wattle Blossom!”

This altogether unexpected announcement naturally came as a surprise to everybody, the Prince included, but when the nature of it was fully grasped, it was followed by cheer after cheer until the room rang with their reverberations.

Proceeding again, when silence was restored, King Acacia turned to the Official Recorder and said:

“Take notice, that we, King Acacia and King Eucalyptus, in pursuance of the powers conferred upon us all by the Kings of Fairyland, do require you to set down in golden letters, in the ‘Official Archives,’ the fact that we, this day, in the presence of his people name the Prince Waratah, King! And in token of his Kingship we here and now invest him with the symbols of his authority!”

He then lightly touched King Waratah upon the shoulder to indicate that he was to stand up, and, as he did so, King Eucalyptus placed about his shoulders a magnificent carmine coloured robe embroidered with gold, whilst King Acacia placed upon his head a splendid crown, so fashioned that it was easy to distinguish the design of Eucalyptus leaves which adorned the band about his brow, and the several sets of blood-red rubies set in the shape and form of Waratah blooms, which rose therefrom.

Without an instant’s pause, however, King Eucalyptus then spoke to the Official Recorder as follows:—

“Take notice that we, King Eucalyptus and King Acacia, in pursuance of the powers conferred upon us by all the Kings of Fairyland, do require you to set down in letters of gold, in the ‘Official Archives,’ the fact that we this day, in the presence of her Lord and of his people, name the Princess Wattle Blossom, Queen! And in token of her queenly rights, subject to her husband, King Waratah, we invest her with the symbols of her authority!”

He then lightly touched the Queen upon the shoulder to indicate that she was to stand up; and, as she did so, King Acacia placed about her shoulders a violet coloured robe embroidered with silver, whilst King Eucalyptus placed upon her head a lovely crown, so fashioned that it was easy to distinguish the design of wattle leaves which adorned the band about her brow, and the several sets of yellow topazes, set in the shape and form of sprays of wattle blossom, which rose therefrom.

Thus were both proclaimed and crowned, and the Official Recorder, in accordance with his duty, closed the ceremony by saying:

“Take notice, that I have this day officially recorded in letters of gold, in the Official Archives, the proclaiming and the crowning of King Waratah and Queen Wattle Blossom! So be it! Praise be to God!”

Led by the Band, the whole company then joined in singing—

THE FAIRIES’ NATIONAL ANTHEM.

Praise to God, the King of Kings, Lord of all created things! Prince of Love, and Master Mind, Still direct us, lest we find That for lack of Thine assistance Evil meet with scant resistance. That in service we, to Thee, May Thy gracious kindness bring Back in splendid blossoming! Shelter, Lord, our noble King, Safely underneath Thy wing. Grant him health, and strength, and skill, Aye to do Thy Sovereign Will!

When the last notes of the anthem had died away, at a sign from King Waratah everybody except himself sat down.

Raising his right hand straight above his head, forefinger pointing to the Heavens, he took the Fairy oath of allegiance as follows: “I, King Waratah, in the presence of the Official Recorder, and of you all, do solemnly and sincerely undertake that, to the best of my ability and strength, I will justly and truly administer the affairs of my Kingdom. So help me God!” To which everybody added: “So be it!” as the King resumed his seat.

A moment later he smilingly said: “To bring this glorious evening’s pleasures to a close, I will now call upon the fifth of ‘The Five Story Tellers’ to tell us a tale.”

In response “Hearing” immediately stood forth, and this is what he said:—

MUSIC’S STORY

“Once upon a time, a long while ago, I was standing on the rounded shore of the world, gazing into space. As I stood there, lost in thought, my attention was eventually called to a long, slow succession of sounds like sighs, infinitely sad, but inexpressibly sweet.

“Whilst I was wondering what these sounds might mean, and from whence they came, at my feet I suddenly perceived a very extraordinary-looking little person, who appeared to be all head and no body. He was looking up at me with such a wistful expression on his face that I felt impelled to ask him, ‘Who are you, and what is your Story?’ And by way of answer, in a very slow and somewhat hesitating way, this is what he said:—

“‘My name is Music, though my parents call me Breve. For untold ages I have lived upon the outer edge of the earth with my father, Harmony, and my mother, Concord. Both my parents have quite an exalted opinion of me; but so far I have not come up to their expectations. I am very sorry that this should be the case, for nothing would please me better than to justify their hopes.

“‘The truth is, however, that they are so wrapped up in each other and their mutual affairs, that they will not listen to what I have to say, and so I make no progress. I am but a single sound sighing in a wilderness! If by chance I could persuade them, or, for that matter, anyone else, to do what I know in my mind is the right thing to be done, I am certain I should be a success. I know, though they do not, that my head is as full of dainty melodies as a pomegranate is full of pretty seeds, and that if only my poor tongue-tied condition were remedied, so that I might use that organ as it should be used, I could release an Octave, eight little fellows who beneath my tongue are now held captive; but who, if they were only free, are possessed of such astounding and never-ending ability, as to be able to produce a succession of the most musical notes, the like of which have never before been heard.’

“Here he sighed most mightily, and then it was that I saw he rested in the opening of a shell that is called a ‘conch.’

“‘But,’ said I, ‘how am I to loose your tongue? I am no surgeon, neither have I a knife or other cutting instrument wherewith to perform the operation. Besides, would you not die if such an unpractised hand as mine attempted so delicate a task?’