Part 5

The thought was an inspiration to him. Why should he not search for the deathless rose, disguised, that none might seek his friendship falsely? The idea haunted him. At length he discussed it with the King, who, seeing that the Prince was nearly desperate with grief, consented to his plan. Ulric dressed himself as a minstrel, and having received his father's blessing, left the palace and rode through the territory of the Rose Islands, opening his purse to the poor, and comforting the sorrowful with the strains of his lyre. As long as his supply of gold lasted he was well received; when it was gone his troubles commenced. He was hungry, and none would give him to eat or to drink. Moreover, he had crossed the sea, and had left the Islands of Summer behind him. The kingdom in which he was now travelling was a land of mist and storm. He rode bravely on, nevertheless. Often, when he asked for help at the cottagers' doors, they laughed at him, and the children beat him with sticks. Winter was severe in the land of mist and storm, and the Prince turned his horse's head southwards. After some days the character of the scenery changed. The climate became warm and sunny. One morning he led his steed through the mazes of a great forest. It was springtime; the birds were singing, the valleys were blue with wild hyacinths, and here and there Ulric came upon clusters of late primroses. Looking up, he could scarcely see the sky, so thick was the tracery of foliage between him and the heavens. They had no spring in the Rose Islands, no faint greens, no tender buds, but always the full glory of summer, with its vivid colouring and its drowsy breath. He was so enchanted with the beauty of this forest, the like of which he had never seen before, that for awhile he had actually forgotten his quest, when suddenly, right in front of him, he saw a beautiful youth. Small and delicately made, his dress was entirely fashioned of pink rose-leaves, and he had golden wings. The Prince stood amazed, the apparition was so sudden, there had not been a sound; he rubbed his eyes, but the stranger did not vanish, he was a reality.

"What dost thou here, son of a King?" asked the youth.

Ulric was still more surprised at being recognised under a disguise that had served him well so far; he could not speak for astonishment.

"Thou seekest the 'deathless rose of friendship,' is it not so?" asked the unknown.

"Ay, good sir. Perhaps thou canst aid me in my search?"

"Fair Prince, I can indeed advise thee how to proceed. First of all, hie thee out of this forest with all speed."

"Why, good sir, methinks it is a lovely place. The air is softer here than any I have known before, the birds sing sweeter songs, the flowers breathe a rarer perfume; for the first time in my life I feel happy; everything is fresh and young, and full of hope."

"Ay, royal minstrel, many love my land. Beware, nevertheless, of journeying through it. It is enchanted; and if thou wouldst indeed follow thy quest, hie thee from the shelter of its trees and from the scent of its flowers; but ere thou goest, I will tell thee what the word _friendship_ means. Friends should be as bells upon a hyacinth, fed with the same rain, nourished by the same dew, warmed by the same sun, rocked by the same wind; equal, placid, and calm in their lives; above all, they should possess the virtue of unselfishness. Self-interest is the death of friendship."

"Good sir, I have ever felt thus; and being of this mind, I threw off my habit of a Prince and started in search of the great gift; but I have ridden now for a whole year, and I find it not, neither have I met in all my travels any who possess this 'deathless rose.'"

"Thou wast but a youth when thou didst leave thy father's palace; now thou art a man, and the King mourns thee as dead."

When Ulric heard this he was greatly grieved, and at once resolved to return to the Rose Islands.

"Tell me, before we part, good my lord, hast any proof that this 'rose of friendship' exists?"

Then Ulric told him the story of Winfred and Christabel, and described the scene which he had witnessed in the forest. The youth broke into peals of laughter, and the hues of his flower-dress became so vivid that the Prince's eyes were dazzled. Presently the stranger, assuming a serious manner, said,--

"I will tell thee where the Fairy Friendship dwells. She is my twin sister. Thou shalt make one last attempt to find her. She holds her Court in the clouds of the setting sun. Ere nightfall, go to the seashore, stretch forth thy hands to the garments of departing day, and say, 'Good Fairy Friendship, bring me unto thy chambers of light. If thou canst say this with no thought of self, no longing for a friend because of the pleasure that friendship bestows, but with the same feeling that the hyacinth bells have for each other, then a ladder will be let down from the regions of the sunset, and Friendship will give thee her deathless rose, which is so rare, so scarce a blossom, so seldom possessed by man or woman, so precious beyond all things, that once attained, it will be the most priceless flower in thy kingly crown."

"I thank thee, from my heart," said Ulric.

"If thou wouldst succeed, leave this land of mine; it will not bring thee unto the courts of friendship. Give up thy quest, and I will show thee something that is far sweeter than friendship, and far easier to win."

"Nay, fair youth, I will endeavour once more to find what I have so long sought in vain; but, before I bid thy beautiful country farewell, wilt thou tell me why the roses upon thy dress so far surpass those that bloom in my father's kingdom?"

"Good Ulric, hast never heard of Love? Love, who comes to mortals without their knowledge, ay, without their asking; Love, whose voice is sweeter than the nightingale's; Love, who was born of God in the Garden of Eden, and was clothed with the deathless roses that bloomed there?"

He did not wait for Ulric's answer, but vanished; and his laughter echoed through the forest like a peal of silver bells.

III.

At sunset the Prince stood upon the shore and stretched forth his hands heavenwards, uttering the words specified by Love. He never knew whether his mind had not the selfless quality enjoined by the youth, or whether the roses of friendship were all withered and dead; but the sunset and its glory was suddenly hidden from his sight by a veil of mist. When the mist cleared it was night. Ulric lay down upon the sand and wept, for he knew that the gift for which he had sought so long was not for him.

Towards morning he retraced his steps, hoping to meet the youth and to tell him how completely he had again failed in his quest; but he could not find the way to the forest. About mid-day, however, he came upon a hedged-in garden surrounding a lonely villa. Through the maze of boughs and foliage the Prince could see a beautiful maiden. She was clad in white, and her only ornament was a white rose. Ulric had never beheld so pure nor so lovely a maid. Hardly knowing what he did, he dismounted and leaped the hedge. When he was inside the garden he noticed that the trees were white with bloom, and that the path glittered with the fallen blossoms. He saw, too, that no coloured flowers grew in the floral beds; they were all white. As he gazed around, a silvery mist arose, and he could see nothing excepting the maiden, until it seemed to him that the enclosure was filled with her image. Then the mist cleared; the spell was broken, and he was alone.

The Prince was deeply sorry at having lost sight of the beautiful girl; moreover, he hardly dared to seek her in the depths of the snowy garden. An atmosphere of peace, which he feared to disturb, seemed to brood over the place. Before leaving the maiden's home he plucked a rose, as a memento of the fair vision he had seen; but to his surprise it was entirely without perfume. As he examined it, wondering at the strange phenomenon, some one addressed him from outside the hedge. Looking up, he recognised the youth with whom he had conversed in the forest. Ulric hurried towards him, with a cry of joy.

"That scentless bloom is not the rose of friendship, fair Prince," said the youth, taking the flower from Ulric's hand.

"Thou sayest true; I have not yet found it. Nevertheless, methinks I am on the right path. Hope stirs in my heart and whispers 'Courage!' But now, I saw a maiden here, beautiful as an angel. If I only dare seek her yonder, my soul tells me that I may discover in her the deathless rose for which I long."

"Then go, thou King's son. Most like thou art right. Seek her."

"Wilt thou not go too, good youth? In all my travels I have never known fear until now; and yet here, in this land of white flowers and whiter mists, Hope's gentle spur notwithstanding, I am overawed, I dare not venture."

"Ah, my Prince! if thou wilt find what thou desirest thou must be brave, and advance with faith and courage. I cannot lead thee, neither can I follow thee; but yonder the edge of this garden joins my land, the forest where I met thee yesterday. If thou findest not the maiden, seek me there. Farewell. See," he added, "see how sudden red thy white rose hath blushed!"

And vanishing, he dropped Ulric's rose at the Prince's feet. It was of a brilliant red, and gave forth a strangely powerful perfume.

Notwithstanding the encouragement of his unknown preceptor, the Prince would never have ventured far along the glittering path. The Fates seemed to check his progress. If the maiden, whom his heart prompted him to seek, had not left her bower to meet him, his quest, even so near upon success, might yet have ended in disappointment. But with gracious step the maid approached, and, holding forth her hand quite simply, herself led him through the garden.

Ulric walked on, looking into her eyes. His heart beat, and the flower-strewn way seemed to melt from beneath his feet.

"Good minstrel, who art thou?" asked the maiden.

"I am thy devoted servant," murmured the Prince. "Prithee, tell me thy name, gracious lady?"

"I am called Innocent, and I am the Princess of the Garden of Innocence."

"Is this the Garden of Innocence?"

"Yes."

"Is that the reason why the flowers are all white and scentless here?"

"Are they ever different, fair sir?" she asked wonderingly.

"In my land, sweet maiden, they are red, pink, purple, gold, and of every colour. But now, I had one of your own white roses which had changed to red."

The Princess looked at Ulric in amazement as he searched for his rose. There it lay at his feet; but it had again become as white and as scentless as all the other flowers in the garden. The Prince was sorely puzzled. Had he only dreamed that the rose had changed to red in the youth's hands?

They walked on in silence for many a long hour, their eyes meeting in a sympathy too great for words.

"At last," thought the Prince, "I have found the 'white rose of friendship,' the leaves whereof are immortal. I shall never part from it; it will be with me all my life, great, sacrificing, eternal friendship, straight from God."

He told Innocent of his grief, and of the bitter troubles that he had encountered in his search.

"Poor minstrel!" she said softly. "Be happy now, for thy sorrow is ended. I feel this deathless friendship for thee."

"God be thanked, that my quest is crowned with success; but since thou art my true friend, since thou art noble enough to hold me dear, though in thy eyes I seem but a poor beggar, know that I am the Prince of the Rose Islands, which yield the many-coloured flowers I have told thee of."

"Good my lord, that does not make thee more precious to me. Wert thou poor and despised, hated of all the world, weary and sick unto death, I could but hold thee more dear. Didst thou ask me for my life, I could but lay it willingly at thy feet."

Tears stole down her cheeks, and she looked up at Ulric with eyes of doglike fidelity.

"Ah, this is friendship!" sighed the Prince; "this is what Christabel and Winfred discovered in the forest. Come, sweet Innocent, I will take thee to the King, my father, and show him the 'deathless rose.'"

As Ulric finished speaking, he folded her in his arms and kissed her. The air was suddenly filled with ringing peals of laughter, and on the path, close to them, stood the youth who had not dared to venture inside the garden but a few hours before. Why had he come into the depths of the white country now? He waved his arms, and all the flowers changed to a brilliant red. Innocent's white rose fell from her hair, and in its place lay a crimson bloom, the wondrous perfume of which ascended like incense heavenwards.

"Fair Prince, thy search is fruitless," chanted the youth, in low penetrating tones. "Thou hast indeed found a rose which is deathless; but it is the sweet red rose of Love."

A CHRISTMAS-ROSE

"Small service is true service while it lasts Of friends, however humble, scorn not one The daisy by the shadow that it casts Protects a lingering dew-drop from the sun." -WORDSWORTH-

I.

It was in a desolate London lodging-house that Marietta's courage gave way. In Italy she could live and be merry on the most frugal fare. A little polenta, a handful of grapes, and a piece of bread sufficed for a good meal. Not so in London; nor were there grapes or polenta even if she desired nothing else. The poor little heart needed nourishment against the gloom and harass of the great dull city. So she laid her head upon her brother's breast in a fit of despair and wept bitterly.

Marietta was seventeen. She had only arrived in England at the end of November. It was now nigh upon Christmas. Her brother Rica had lived in London over a year. He had been engaged by a great artist to sit to him as a model, and to no other.

Rica had saved every penny, being content with the bare necessities of life, so that Marietta might go and stay with him for a few months before she commenced her novitiate, prior to taking the veil at the convent where she had been educated. The nuns had adopted her when the children became orphans, and as time passed she had grown to long for the day which should make her one of the black-robed sisters of the Visitation. Unfortunately, a little time after Marietta's arrival in England, Rica's master had suddenly died, and the two children were left friendless and almost penniless in the great city.

It was Christmas Eve. The snow lay thick upon the ground. There was neither fire on the hearth nor bread in the cupboard, and the night was bitterly cold.

Rica smoothed away the dark hair from his sister's face and tried to comfort her. He could endure want and misery much better than she could. The beautiful face had become delicately _spirituelle_ through the rigour of privation.

"Dearest Marietta, I will go and beg some food for you; don't cry any more."

"Oh, I shall die in this gloomy place! Take me back to the kind sisters!" she moaned, giving way to hysterical sobs.

"Have patience, we shall return to Italy some day; but believe me, when once winter goes, England is not such a dreadful country. In summer it is beautiful, and the flowers compare well with those at home."

"Flowers! I don't believe there are any here, not at least in this cruel city, with its yellow fogs and its sunless abodes."

Rica sighed deeply as he kissed her, and turned to go out into the snowy night. It grieved him to see Marietta utterly broken down. She had failed in her first trial. But then, she was so beautiful, she ought to have been a princess instead of the daughter of a poor fisherman. It was all a mistake.

II.

In the garden of a house that was inscribed "To Let" there grew a sad and solitary Christmas Rose, that lifted up pathetic complaint to the leaden sky.

Night heard her, and went to comfort her. He was enchanted with her beauty, and she lifted her face to receive his soft caresses.

"Sweet flower," he murmured, "have you forgotten that it is still winter? Why do you bloom in this dreary garden while the snow yet covers the ground?"

"I am a Christmas Rose, and I blossom on the eve of Jesus' birthday. I was planted a year ago by the people who dwelt here; they left soon afterwards. No human eyes have ever gazed on my face, and yet my heart is full of love for them. A Christmas Rose, I long to help them, to give my life in their service, as did my Infant Master," she said, as a melted drop of snow ran down the white petals into her heart.

"Do not grieve," whispered Night, rocking her in his arms; "but learn to rest all through the winter and be a Summer Rose."

"Ah! my only charm is that I bloom when June's flowers are sleeping; besides, I should lose my birthright, my dedication to the Child Jesus, if I did as you advise."

"Remain then as you are, sweet one. It is midnight. I must proclaim the gracious news of the coming of Christ. When His birthday wanes I will visit you again."

He kissed her tenderly, and there was a lull in his song as he gathered his strength, spread his mighty wings, and took flight.

The flower was lonelier than before, now that her friend had departed. Daylight came. The bells rang out their old story of peace and gladness. Children passed, some with sprigs of holly in their coats.

There was a summons at the gate in the garden of the next house; a voice said, "A Merry Christmas," and another answered, "God bless you to-day and always!"

"Ah, if human lips would say that to me!" thought the flower. "If I could only bring a little joy into a human life!" Her heart ached, for she knew that she would die when the clocks tolled midnight, announcing that Christ's birthday had passed away.

What was that? Are stars visible in the daytime? A little brown face was pressed against the railings, and two brilliant eyes gazed at her. It was a boy dressed in ragged velveteen breeches, and thin discoloured shirt. Curls of black hair surrounded his face. He climbed over the railings, knelt down on the sodden grass, and gazed at the Christmas Rose.

"Ah!" thought Rica, "at last, here is something to remind Marietta of Italy, although this fair blossom breathing here in a London garden is far sweeter than Italy's flowers. It must be the Infant Jesus' rose which blooms on His birthday." His brown fingers closed round the stalk, and the flower felt a thrill of joy as he plucked her; but all the leaves bowed to the ground, and rent the air with sad moans.

Rica carried the Christmas Rose far away from her birthplace, past the Park, through the slushy streets, on--on--until the character of the houses changed. Everything grew gradually sordid. Drunken men reeled against each other, and ill-clad children played about at the mouths of foul alleys.

The Christmas Rose clung tighter to the little brown hand, and drew comfort from the tender grasp. As Rica turned the corner of the street which led to his wretched home he ran against an artist who was sketching some crazy old houses.

"Mind where you are going, my boy! Why! What a beautiful Christmas Rose! How much do you want for it?" he asked, looking at the flower, and not noticing Rica's handsome face.

"I cannot part with it, sir. It is for my sister. She only came from Italy in November, and she has been fretting so because we are in trouble. I think that this beautiful flower may comfort her."

Edward Thornhill was touched, and as he looked into the boy's face he was almost startled by its beauty. It belonged to the sunny skies of Italy, with its brilliant eyes, olive skin, luxuriant hair, and red lips. As he scanned the little Italian's countenance, he also remarked his poverty, and placing his hand on Rica's shoulder he asked,--

"Are you very poor, my child?"

"Oh, sir, we are starving! I don't care for myself, but for my sister. She is beautiful; and she can't stand misery. I am sure God did not mean her to suffer; it's all a mistake," cried the boy, breaking down under the kind glance and the sympathetic words.

"I seem to know your face," said the artist. "Why, of course I do; you were poor Godfrey's model?"

"Yes, sir, I had been in his studio a year when he died. I served him entirely, and now that he is gone I am quite friendless."

"Does your sister sit?"

"Not hitherto, sir. She has not thought of it. Nor have I told her how she might perhaps obtain employment, even easier than I, because I somehow felt that the nuns to whom she owes everything might not like it."

"Did they say they would object?"

"Not in words; but, you see, Marietta has promised to return in May. She came to London to say good-bye to me. I was able to send her money for her passage, being well provided by Mr. Godfrey. She is to take the veil soon after her return, and then, you know, I lose her altogether."

"You don't like that?"

"She will be taken care of," the boy replied, "and she desires to dedicate her life to God, so you see I must be content."

"Poor little chap! But I can help you in your present need. Let the Christmas Rose be a harbinger of joy to both of you. Give it to your sister, and bring her to this address within an hour. You shall have food and warmth, anyhow, and I will help you further."

Rica sped up the court to their miserable quarters. Marietta was watching anxiously for him at the window. He had been out all night, and she was almost in despair.

"Look, dearest, isn't it lovely?" he cried, as he rushed into the room and held up the Christmas Rose for her to see.

She took it in her thin fingers, and her eyes dwelt on its beauty until they filled with tears, which dropped on the rose's face and sank into her grateful heart.

"How exquisite, Rica! The Infant Jesus must have brought it from heaven."

Then her face gradually lost its transient glow, and in a fit of despair she threw the flower on the ground, and cried,--

"But it cannot help us; of what good is it? I thought you went out to beg bread."

"Ah, Marietta! don't scorn it; be grateful all your life that I found the Christmas Rose. It has saved us!"

On hearing her brother's story she was overjoyed. She picked up the trembling flower, and hastily covering her head with a shawl, prepared to accompany Rica.

On the presentation of Thornhill's card they were shown into his studio.

The Christmas Rose thought she was in Fairyland. The room was decorated with festoons of evergreens, wreaths of holly, and bunches of mistletoe. On the platform was a small Christmas tree hung with sweets, crackers, silver ornaments, and coloured beads, surmounted by a fairy doll dressed in white and studded with silver stars. Marietta stood gazing round the studio, holding the trembling Rose in her hand. But what was this? The Fairy Prince off the tree come to life? They had never seen anything so fair before. A boy had risen from a seat by the stove, where he had been amusing himself with a picture book. A slim little fellow, with dreamy, hazel eyes set in a pale spiritual face, and what wonderful hair. It was like golden sunbeams. Angel was the artist's son. His mother had died two years ago. He was just six years old, a sweet, delicate child. Often he was very lonely, for his father was frequently away, and he was not strong enough to go to school.

How much he missed his mother, and how the memory of her dwelt in his young soul, even his father scarcely guessed. At night he cried himself to sleep thinking of her, and wondering where she was. It had occurred to the child that she had not been very happy, and that his father did not love her as he did.

"I have been watching for you," said Angel, putting out his small hand. "Oh, what a pretty flower! I have never seen one like it before."

"It is a Christmas Rose, dear," said Thornhill, who had entered as the boy spoke.