Part 4

‘Yet around which some curling petals close somewhat too tightly for his eager search,’ added Flaxius, almost with a smile. ‘Truly to thee who art born to be a prince among more than mortals, I will gladly lend what aid I can to clear away the tangling, hindering leaves.’

‘Learned master,’ replied the prince, ‘I would first deeply reflect on what I have heard, since I as yet toil slowly after you. And if it be your pleasure, I pray you seek me this evening in my library.’

‘I will be there,’ said Flaxius, ‘with joy.’

* * * * *

Flaxius the Immortal, and the prince who was unconsciously an aspirant for immortality, sat at a table under antique, grotesquely carved arches, before them a flask of Rhenish, and the works of Hesiod and Homer. In the face of the Master there was the calm dignity of centuries; in that of Hamlet the quiet of a summer sea, beneath which tides are working which may break bounds in time of storm. They had long held deep discourse, and during the time Flaxius had penetrated more deeply with every utterance into the soul of the young man. At last, after a pause, the Master said:

‘He who has risen so far as to find a reality in the tremendous action of the infinite in nature, and who has dwelt so long and earnestly on the change of dynasties of gods from Saturn to Jove, of old worlds into new, on man in his stormiest moods and the rabbit sporting in the thicket, birds and clouds and life still circling on, till all such thoughts are most habitual--has gone too far to retreat. He has advanced beyond his fellows. If he be weak and break down under the stupendous load he will go mad, and readily will men esteem him so, as they do all whom they cannot understand. If he succeed, they may deem him a poet or a god. But the imbroglio is sadly worse when the man is not a hermit, or one alone in life, who can battle freely with his destiny. If he be one who is enmeshed in some dire tragedy with others, which he, being human, must humanly endure and suffer, and yet is always having his wonted glimpses of the infinite, as prisoners catch glimpses of the sun, then he has before him such a battle and a strife as deserve to bend the decree of fate for very pity. Those who achieve victory over it all live for ever. Now know there are two lives beyond the grave: one the vital life which ever was, and can never pass away; the other the life of our great deeds, imperishable in the mind of man.’

‘Ay,’ replied the prince, ‘and I feel in my deepest soul, great master, not only that thou speakest truth, but thou ne’er wouldst tell me this, didst thou not divine by some mystic power, all unknown to me, that I am destined to such warring woe? Worst of all is it for me that I have added into all of this the _weakness_ which must be truly overcome, a wax in the bronze which must be melted out, a love of sleep and ease and pleasant dreams.’

‘Go on, thou hast more to say,’ replied Flaxius.

‘Well, this remains,’ rejoined the prince, after a long pause, a draught of wine, and casting his glance briefly at the scrolls before him.... ‘In all these lives of mortals in the past, who rose by power to immortality, I find some golden glimpse vouchsafed to them of the supernatural, some comforting assurance of beings now invisible to me, of gods, guardian angels--“followers,” as my northern ancestors called them, or the beautiful _Fylgia_ who flit over the ocean after the heroes whom they protect. Truly, if I could only so much as see and talk once with moonlight fairies and merry elves, or a sprightly goblin, I, being only human, should have some strengthening assurance that life is not all a struggle with mere mortals and matter. Even in so little as what I ask, I should realise that I shall live. Do I speak wisely?’

‘Yes,’ replied Flaxius, ‘there are men dying with hunger whom a crumb may save. This much may be granted to thee. ’Tis little enough. All over doth this outer life an inner life enfold, one of exquisite beauty and grace, as the rough seaweed and grim, ugly moss, and ragged madrepores, and hard crust envelop the exquisitely curved, snow-and-rose-bloom, blushing shell, the only thing on earth which is like in hues to a lovely maiden. Around and about us there circles ever in viewless beauty and undreamed perfume, moving to music all unheard by man, a thronging host of attendant beings; following sweet missions and holy biddings; talking in mystic tongues, of which echoes may be caught in the breeze, in the forest, and in tinkling springs or falling fountains. Truly, I forget myself when I abstract my mind an instant towards them from this our earthly sphere. Yes, ’tis but little for thee to ask, who hast before thee such a destiny, to live immortal in a poet’s verse! Yes, I will give it, and with all my heart, and thou shalt see the light invisible, and hear the music never meant for ears, to such degree as a beginner may. I see thee smile--well, be it when thou wilt; but, as thy wont is, thou requirest time to think on what I’ve said. Go, take an hour. There lies not far beyond the city gate, in a wild place among the lonely rocks, an old and crumbling castle, which all men shun as a haunted place; and in its hall fairies and goblins hold their revelry from midnight till the morning red is seen. Thither together we will wend our way.’

‘It might seem marvellous to me,’ said Flaxius, as he, with Hamlet, walked forth in the summer night under the stars, ‘that thou, O Prince, who livest in the contemplation of greater marvels, who seest the miracle of the growth of flowers and the wonders of the circling universe which amaze even the spirits of earth and air, shouldst crave a mere glimpse of that which is after all only something new and unaccustomed, did I not know how deeply the desire of what is new to him is implanted in man. Yes, it is so deep that he who masters the problem treads on the verge of the Infinite. I myself----’

But here he paused and said: ‘Yonder rises the tower, built, as tradition tells, by a sorcerer who, chanting a spell, with every word broke from the rock a stone, or conjured dust and air to solid blocks, and moved them into place. And ’tis no more than man himself will do in days to come; and none will deem the deed a miracle. Hence it is written in ancient chronicles, _in veterum libris observatum est hoc fieri_, that the building has ever been haunted, _nymphæis et fatis_, and by those strange spirits of the elements, whose homes being in the crimson gold of sun-dyed skies, or deep in earth, where marvellous gems and metals abound; or in forests; like the _Silvani_ and _Oreades_; or in streams like the _Naïades_, have by natural affinity a passionate love for poetry, and all that is rare and beautiful, wild or strange, be it in what form it may. For as nature is not only lovely and comely in her very self, becoming more so the deeper we penetrate her veriest being as _natura naturans_, so is she also in her freer actions often gaily contradictory, merrily and quaintly discordant; jingling bells to her sweetest music, and singing sweet _ritournelles_ of violets over grey and ancient graves. For every one of which freaks, be they as mad as they may, there is some echo of a goblin, Flibbertigibbet, fairy, implet, bogle, browny, pixie, urchin, Puck, Robin Goodfellow, ouphe or oaf, nixey or pixey, duergar or troll, sprite or pigwiggin, sylph or sea-girl, salamander or fire-maid, Heintzelmann or Waldmeister, Kobold or Bergmannlein as here called, siren, satyr, or faunus, lemur or lamia; yea, and thereunto as many more as this outer crust of creation hath manifestations, which in themselves are ideas and immortal types, with a life such as science hath not as yet apprehended, though it will also be clearly known in ages to come. For know, O Prince,’ continued Flaxius, with an air which had in it something of the poet and the god, ‘that in due time will dawn upon the world a science, of which some of the learned now have not the faintest scent or touch, which after denying and destroying the gods, goblins, and devils, _in toto corpore_, as now believed in, will end by showing them in matter and in truth, and that in a thousand times more marvellous form than any fairy-tale maker ever fashioned or felt. For little as he knows it, man, instead of leaving the marvellous behind him in remote ages, began, in truth, utterly without it, and is now advancing towards and into it, with giant footsteps. Ah, here we are at the gate of the elfin-castle,

“which men did raise In the ancient giant and goblin days When they sat with ghosts on the stormy shore, And spake in a tongue they speak no more!”

‘Now for a season be a child again.’

As they stood at the gate of the silent pile, they heard, far, far away over many a hill and dale, the crowing of a cock, and the faint chimes of midnight from the town, and then the cry of a sentinel owl from the green-tapestried elfin-tower. To which Flaxius briefly replied in a strange utterance of some fairy kind, when the gate opened, and they found themselves in a scene, which would not have appeared quite unfamiliar to any child who has beheld a gorgeous and exceptionally tasteful _féerique_ in Paris, or an unusually marvellous Christmas pantomime in London, combining all the splendours of Aladdin’s palace with all the goblinries of Mother Goose, save that _this_ was a thousand times more splendid, more varied, more grotesque, and more amazing. And having entered, Prince Hamlet stood by the door rapt in utter admiration at the marvellous art which in ever-changing, never-resting beauty and quaintness, was displayed before him.

‘The witches have their Sabbat in the Blocksberg,’ said Flaxius; ‘the fairies and all their kin hold their own grand merry-makings, but much oftener, being merrier folk, here and elsewhere. Witches and devils select scenery suited to their taste; fairies conjure up their bright magnificence and airy shows most gladly. In Germany they revel in ancient halls of castles such as this, in imitation of the mortals who preceded them, as is shown by the marvellous legend of the old Count von Hoya.’

‘And _that_?’ said Hamlet.

‘Was only this: that the fairies came to the old count and begged him to lend them his great hall for a ball for a single night, with the condition that he, the master, might be present, but that no other mortal eye should behold the revel. So at the midnight hour:

In they came tripping, Fairy-maids, elfin-men, Little and beautiful, Golden, gem-glittering, Two-fold or triple-fold, Ten-fold and twenty-fold, Till the great hall, Splendidly lighted, Looked like the crown, Thickly bejewelled, Of a great monarch.

So they danced, as you see. And the jolly old Graf danced with them.

Small was the lady Who was his partner; Three inches high. Often he lost her In the gay multitude, Seeking her, finding her; Often he picked her up Twixt thumb and finger, By her small wings, Even as children In summer catch butterflies.

When all at once there was a dead pause. The music ceased, the dancing stopped, while from above was heard an awful, scolding, human voice. It was that of the old Countess von Hoya, who having heard the music, she sleeping above, lifted a trap-door and looked down at the spectacle. Truly she was in a great rage to see such a festive scene to which she was not invited. It all died out like an extinguished taper. Tradition says that the queen of the fairies gave the count in reward for his kindness a miraculous sword, ring, and horn, which his family still preserve; but to punish the countess, laid a ban upon her descendants, that there should never be at one time more than one heir of the name, and it has ever been thus as predicted.’

‘So in this life even spirits mimic man. A man confirms all things unto himself,’ replied Hamlet. ‘This is a brilliant scene, surpassing dreams,’ he continued, as the elfin guests came pouring in, ‘but I note that they are not all butterfly-minikins.’

Which was quite true, for they were of all sizes, from that of smaller humanity or lesser youth, down to the tiniest sprites who hide in honeysuckles, and wear rose-leaves for cloaks. Among them all Hamlet and Flaxius towered like giants; nor did they seem out of place, since in the mien and eyes of both there was the expression of something not of earth or common life, which is never absent from such men, but which here, in the mysterious magic light which filled the hall, coming from no visible source, seemed to proclaim itself with tenfold power.

At the further end of the apartment was a throne of unknown splendour and material, in which were intertwined thousands of strange characters, red and black like ruby and sable onyx. It seemed as if it might be a fairy antique, ancient of the ages, and on it sat, under exquisite rainbow drapery, a female form, of such ineffable loveliness that Hamlet murmured to Flaxius that he had found in it a new ideal for beauty--it so surpassed, yet was so different from all he had ever dreamed of woman’s charms. Thereupon the queen, for such she was--who heard and perceived all things--looking at them, smiled, and beckoned an approach, when all the small folk parted right and left, leaving a lane by which they went their way unto the throne. And bowing low before her, Flaxius, holding Hamlet by the hand, said in tones of marvellous melody, learned of yore in the magic schools of Etruria:

‘To thee, All-Beautiful! Type of all Loveliness! Queen of the Elfin world! Life of all Fairy Land! I with all reverence Bring a young mortal, Hamlet of Danamark, One little witting What immortality He may inherit, Shouldst thou bestow on him Thy benediction!’

To this the Fairy Queen, gazing on Hamlet as with intense interest, in which sympathy and deep pity were most perceptible, replied in tones which might have checked the torrent in its course or called the eagle, wooing him to hear:

‘Well do I know thee, Hamlet of Danamark! Seldom was mortal, Born to such sorrows Never did mortal Grapple more bravely With a grim destiny Than thou art fated To find in the future.’

Hamlet, in the same staff-rhyme, but in Danish skald-tone, which was his humble best, replied:

‘As to the swimmer, A sea-wolf before him; As to the traveller, Grimmest bear meeting; Or as the wren, With the owl over her, Is the foreboding Of a great Norna Unto the fated. But when the Norna Is Queen of all Beauty, Mingling iron destiny With golden compassion, Giving the bitter In honey well-coated; Gently and tenderly; Little the fated one Recks what may happen. [Mishap and misfortune Are meted to many, Few among mortals Ever escape them.] If the All-Loveliest Gives him her pity He’s to be envied.’

Now as Flaxius was the politest man at heart on the face of the earth, while the Fairy Queen was incarnate politeness itself, this lyric, which had such a charming accompaniment of courtesy as went beyond music, made the most favourable impression. And the Sage having, as court etiquette then required, uttered his first words in metre, now expressed himself plainly in prose, saying:

‘Beautiful Spirit of the Strangely Beautiful, who alone givest to poetry the elfin-charm of _Romance_, well do I ween that this young Prince of Denmark is so entirely thy subject, and one so noble in truthfulness, and so true in his devotion to thy charm, that he has not uttered a word of flattery, in saying that the direst misfortune of life seems to him to be but a little thing, since he has gazed on thy face and felt thy sympathy. And truly, unto any on whom the Queen of Faerie and Romance has once really smiled, this world and all its woes need seem but a little thing, since it is perfect assurance of an immortal life beyond. But, I pray thee, make this clearer to him, that he may leave with a lighter heart and be the better able to endure his fate!’

The queen, as if deeply reflecting and as deeply moved, replied in gravely measured, softly modulated voice:

‘Nepenthe soothes the vulgar mind alone; to the higher soul unfading amaranth brings in time forgetfulness of pain endured, and bestows keenest enjoyment of the glory to come in the far future. Romance and poetry in purity and power can bend the decree of fate, and that boon I bestow on thee, Hamlet, Prince of Denmark! Listen, for I predict that thy life shall be a poem--and in days to come, long after thy earthly sufferings shall be to thee as naught, I will create my greatest work in the Greatest Poet of Romance whom the world will ever know. And he shall sing thy life in his greatest song, and wherever on earth true poetry is loved and known thou shalt be known and loved with it. This can be done and this I swear to do. Thine be the amaranth--I can no more. In proof whereof I place upon thy arm this golden ring of amaranthine form.’

And as she spoke, all seemed to fade before his sight. Only to the last he felt deeply gazing into his soul with infinite love and sympathy the violet eyes of the Queen of Fairy-land and of Romance.

When he awoke it was early morning. He lay on soft moss amid the crumbling ruins of the old castle--in sunlight, hearing bird-song all about him. By his side sat the Sage.

‘He would have thought it all a dream, Save that upon his arm Was bound the gift of the Fairy Queen: Titania’s wondrous charm.’

‘_Tempus est abeundi_,’ quoth Flaxius. ‘’Tis time for us to go! But, _litera scripta manet_, what is written by fate will come to pass, O Hamlet, my son, and dear and gracious Prince. Breakfast awaits us, and I must think over what I am to say in my lecture on the Emperor Titus.’

HOW FLAXIUS MADE THE FORTUNE OF EADWARD THE GRANDSON OF AEOLFRIC

‘It is wise for youth to bow to age’s wisdom.’--_Norse Proverb._

‘For truth is one and right is ever one.’--_Spenser’s Faerie Queene._

IT was in the very old time of merry England. In the days when there was so much merriment among those who were above the line of safety, and so much misery for those who were below it as would have appalled a modern sociologist. When a man who was out of prison, and not positively starving to death, contrived to be happy. When, according to the testimony of all writers from Caedmon down very nearly to Chaucer, there was such suffering from all kinds of oppression among the poor as to make the heart sick to think of it. Out of which very time there has come to us such gay and festive song and chording of harps, twanging of citterns, ringing of goblets, gay hurrahing, archery, dancing round maypoles and valentining as to make one thrill with joy to think of it. For the only rule of life then was:

‘Eat, drink, and be merry while ye can, For to-morrow we’ll perish, be sure, my man; Make the most of what fate will lend you, Then go wherever the priest may send you!’

And it was in the north, at a time when Anglo-Saxon and Danish-Icelandic were beginning to be English, and there was still much sound old heathenism in men’s hearts, and witches rode over the midnight sky, while fairies danced in moon-lit rings below--then it was, I say, that the immortal Flaxius paused one fair day on his pedestrian path in Northumberland.

‘A tall spreading forest there he found, With a woodman at work mid oak-trees near, The strokes of his axe broke the silence round, Till the traveller called aloud, “Come here!”’

And he that was called came, and Flaxius looked at him steadily ere he spoke, but with evident approbation and interest. He was a young and lithe but strong and vigorous man, handsome, almost to beauty, in face, with a straight nose and a keen, dark eye, in which there was indeed naught repulsive, but something strange, such as one sees in the glances of uncanny folk who know things of which they do not speak to their neighbours. His dress was but little superior to that of the ordinary peasant, but there was something in the manner in which it was worn, as well as in the bold mien, and almost graceful bearing of the youth, which indicated rank or ‘birth.’

‘God be with ye!’ said Flaxius to the woodman. ‘I would fain rest here a while and chop a few words with thee, so thou be not too busy with thy chopping of wood.’

‘Nay,’ replied the youth, with a quaint pursing of the mouth, ‘many strokes fell great oaks, and many words bring merry jokes; while as for the resting never yet saw I the time when I would not pause to listen to those who are wiser than I am:

“He who listeneth to eld, Himself shall be in honour held.”

As my grandfather was wont to teach me with many a brave tale to prove it.’

‘Thy grandfather,’ replied Flaxius, who had meanwhile studied his face more attentively, ‘was Aeolfric Adelwit, whom men called the learned and the traveller.’

‘By Freia!--I mean the Holy Virgin!’--exclaimed the youth astonished and delighted, ‘thou art either a wizard or one who knew him, and it may be,’ he added, lowering his voice and looking round suspiciously, ‘perhaps a bit of both, for my grandfather who is now, I trust, in Valhall among the heroes and sages--I mean in heaven among the saints--was called a sorcerer by the fools hereabouts.’

Flaxius smiled. Each looked at the other with one eye closed; the Sage shutting the right, and the youth the left, which is the sign by which the initiated of all grades recognise one another, and the one generally used by Mahatmas and others in the Karma business--as it was by the augurs of yore--when there were true believers present or under discussion.

‘I was even about to take my noon-day rest,’ said the woodman, ‘and if it please you to partake my poor meal--thin cider and bread and bacon--I would it were for your sake wine and a capon!’

‘Knowest thou, O Eadward, grandson of Aeolfric,’ said Flaxius solemnly, ‘that whoever made a wish in that moment past--at that special position of the planets--but unwittingly--obtained it. Behold!’

And saying this he opened the basket which the youth had taken from under a thicket, and opening it drew forth a large cold roasted capon, a manchet of bread, and a mighty flask, with fruit.

‘By the divine banquet of the boar _Sahrimnir_!--I mean the Holy Supper!’--cried the youth, ‘thou hast come in a lucky hour to get a snack, O blessed traveller!’