The Faery Tales Of Weir Part 11

Then rose Prince Lorenzo and bowed low before the Princess. "Even to win you," he said, "I would not have you shed tears, for you have been made to shed too many in your short life."

He had scarcely uttered these words when the Princess's lip quivered like that of a little child and sudden tears welled up in her eyes. As they fell Lorenzo went quickly to her, and gazing upon her face, gave a cry of joy. "O my Love!" he exclaimed. "I see thee all in a white veil and I am by thy side!"

Then smiling through her tears, she arose and held out her hand to him, and the court knew that he was the chosen one. He knelt before her and kissed her hand, while the heralds proclaimed him the victor.

So they were married and lived happily ever afterwards, for she was a true Princess and he was a true Prince.

THE GOLDEN ARCHER

In the midst of a plain stood a great church built of white stones, with a ma.s.sive tower. On this tower was a weather vane in the shape of a golden man who rode a golden horse, and made ready to shoot a golden arrow. Only the arrow never left the bow, but pointed always to the direction from which the wind blew--north from the mountains; east from the sea; west from the plain; south from the waving forests.

Now the Archer looked very small from the court in front of the cathedral because he was up so high in the air; so high, indeed, that often the lightning pa.s.sed through his body. In reality he was not small, but life-size, and he had once been a man, but now he was a weather vane because he had made a vow to dwell forever on the tower and show the people from which direction came the life-bringing winds.

For the reason that he had a man's heart in his golden body, life was not always easy for him up there in the high place, and his eyes would sweep the far horizons in search of someone to companion him, but no living thing pa.s.sed by him but the beautiful sea-birds who had learned that his golden arrow would never pierce their b.r.e.a.s.t.s--and so they loved him, and perched upon his arm that drew the bow.

Even the winds were kind to him because he moved so easily at their behest, but all winds were not alike to him who had the heart of a man.

When spring came and the breezes blew from the south, heavy with the scent of magnolia, of lilacs, and blue violets, the heart of the Golden Archer ached with a strange hurt out of vanished years that he couldn't quite remember. When summer brought to him the delicious odor of grapes and berries and strong bright flowers, he longed to go down from the tower and wander after the fireflies' lanterns among the loaded vines, or pillow his head on sweet hay and let the winds put him to sleep forever.

When autumn came, and the flying leaves, as golden as his own steed, looked like yellow b.u.t.terflies too tired to move their wings, the Archer would think of fires on hearths only half remembered, and he wished he could stable his golden horse while he joined some group about the dancing flames.

Winter was hardest of all to him, for all the world went in-doors and left him lonely. The frost-fairies, that glided down the blue rays of the winter-moon with their little lanterns that gave much color but no heat, these little creatures could not comfort him, because though he rode so high and was so straight, still he had the heart of a man. Sometimes the wild snows came and blinded his steady, sorrowful eyes; and in blackest midnight, when the sleet rattled against the golden sides of his horse, then, indeed, he felt alone and forgotten.

For the people on the plain, though they looked to his guiding arrow did not love him because they thought him only a weather vane.

So the years drove on and the Golden Archer grew lonelier and lonelier.

Came at last a spring when the scent of peach-blossom was like the hurt of too great joy, and far-away the peach-orchards splashed the land with pink. High up in the air the Archer looked wistfully southward and pointed his bow towards clouds of sweetness and rose-color. How he longed to leave the great white stones of the tower and go wandering through those creamy orchards and down the green aisles of the forests by bright refres.h.i.+ng streams.

As he was gazing one day over the fertile plain he saw moving upon it what looked to him from that height like a very little girl. But he knew that she must be really a tall, slender maiden. That she had golden hair he also knew because it gleamed in the sun.

Then his lonely heart desired her company and he sent out thoughts to her, for being an Archer he could do this. Thoughts were his real arrows.

So this thought he sent towards her: "I do not know who you are, but I am a lonely Archer on the great cathedral where I have made a vow to tell forever the wandering of the wind. I cannot come to thee, but climb the winding stairs to this high place that I may gaze upon thee.

I am lonely."

Now the young girl was walking at sunset in the orchards with her betrothed when through the air this message came to her, and, lifting up her eyes, she said: "See where the last light lies on the Golden Archer.

How graceful he is, like a bit of flame above the old white church."

"They say the view is fine from there," answered her sweetheart.

"Let us climb up to-morrow," proposed the maid, whose name was Felice.

So next day at sunset she and her betrothed climbed the winding stair of the cathedral, and emerged on the roof near the Golden Archer, who, when he saw the maiden, felt an old rapture sweep over him. For a moment he so forgot his vow that he stood quite still, though the wind was veering.

How beautiful she was with all the beauty of the sweet earth from which he had been so long removed. Her hair was like harvest-corn, and her eyes were like dim places where violets hide. The soft voice of her was as music in the Archer's ears, who had heard too long the jangling of iron bells in the towers beneath him.

And now she was looking at him. Old memories stirred in him beneath the armor that hid his manhood. He wanted to get down from his golden horse and lay aside his bow and arrow, and take her in his arms.

"What a beautiful Archer," she was saying, "how crisp his hair, how clear and firm his lips, how pure his profile."

Now her betrothed could be jealous even of a weather vane, so he said: "Anyone can be beautiful who is made of metal."

"It is an imperishable beauty," she replied. "Flesh and blood decay."

The Golden Archer was so agitated that he turned his eyes upon her, and all at once she knew that he was alive and her heart was aflame with love for him.

Next day she came alone to the tower. She found him pointing north and looking away from her, for the vow had gripped him again like the frosts of winter. But she spoke softly and said, "Beloved, the spring is here."

Then the south wind came, and against his will he veered and looked at her. She came close to his golden horse and touched the arm that held the bow. "You drew me to you, and now you do not look at me," she said.

"I am afraid to look at you," he replied and dropped his golden eyelids.

"Yet you are not afraid to gaze into the sky," she ventured.

"Out of the sky will come nothing to harm me," he answered.

"Could I harm you, soul of my soul?" she cried.

"You could make me love you," was his answer.

So they were quiet for a while. She watched the sea-birds circle about his s.h.i.+ning horse which seemed ever ready to plunge from the cathedral tower into the s.p.a.ces of the air, yet remained always the toy of the winds. She listened to the hoa.r.s.e voices of the huge bells that swung beneath her.

At last she rose and unbound her hair so that it floated like a golden banner in the wind. "Come," she whispered.

Then the Golden Archer felt all the pain of those who must turn away from the voice of love. His eyes looked towards the sunset, but his heart seemed drowning in a strange, sweet, throbbing darkness. "Come nearer,"

he whispered.

So she went so near that her golden hair floated all about him and he saw the landscape through a yellow cloud. "Kiss me," she said.

But he set his lips steadfastly, and tried to turn to the north, which he could not do, for the wind was steadily from the south.

"I am cold," she whispered. "Let us go down to the warm orchards."

"Go!" he answered, "for your words pierce my heart, and I have made a vow to tell the people about the coming and going of the great winds."

"My love is a great wind," she said.

Then sadly she left him. He was alone on his tower and night was coming.

He tried to think of his vow, but her eyes called him, her lips brushed his like the light wing of a nesting bird. Hour after hour he endured the pain--and at last tears rolled from his eyes and melted his armor. The Golden Archer felt his old humanity return like a flood and set him free; and in the silence that comes before the dawn, he got down from his horse. The limbs of the golden animal were moving also; and stealthily, with the cramped action of those too long in one position, horse and man went down the stairs of the church, through the stone vestibule and out into the sweet, warm plain.

The Golden Archer knelt beneath the stars and wept himself back to his old beautiful manhood, then, mounting his horse, he galloped to the edge of the forest where in a cottage smothered beneath roses and honeysuckle Felice lived; once at her window he whispered: "The Golden Archer has come for thee, dearest."

Then she came out trembling, and in the gray light he took her in his arms and comforted her. "We will ride away and be married," he said. Then he lifted her on his horse, and they rode away through the forest, she lying quite still against his heart, and gazing with wide-open eyes into the green dimness. So they came to a church and were married.

That night they went to an inn on the borders of the forest, an old house with nine gables, deep moss on the roof, and a creaking signboard with a crowing bird painted on it; and the inn was called "The Crowing c.o.c.k."