The Village Of Youth

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Title:     The Village Of Youth
Author: Bessie Hatton [More Titles by Hatton]

"Yet Ah! that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
That Youth's sweet-scented manuscript should close!"

I.

There was a young King who ought to have been the happiest monarch in the world. He was blessed with everything a mortal could desire. His palace might have been designed by the Divine architect Himself, so perfect was it in all its parts; and it stood amidst gardens with its dependent village at its gates, like a dream of feudal beauty in a story of romance. Notwithstanding his good fortune, the King was oppressed with what he conceived to be a great trouble. From the happy ruler of a happy people he gradually became grave and anxious, as if an intense fear had taken possession of his soul; and so it had. It was the fear of Age. He could no longer bear to meet old people, and eventually grew to hate the hoary heads and time-worn faces of his venerable subjects. He therefore divided his kingdom into two parts. The elders lived in one half of the realm, under the government of his mother, while he was King of the young. Riding, hawking, or sailing along the grey river, he never saw a wrinkled visage. Hence his kingdom was called the Village of Youth.

The King was betrothed to a fair Princess named Rowena. She loved her future husband dearly, though his strange malady and the exodus of the old people from his dominions had clouded her happiness, and made her long for some way of alleviating his suffering.

When the lovers were together they held no gentle, tender discourse. Uriel would only gaze at his betrothed with mournful eyes, and when she besought him not to be sorrowful he would say, "Sweet lady, how can I be other than I am? Each loving word that falls from thy lips, each sweet smile that plays upon thy face, is as a dagger in my heart; for I remember how soon the bloom of youth will pass from thy cheeks and the softness from thy lips. Our village, too, will become the Village of Eld, grim with unlovely age."

Interviews of this kind saddened the Princess to such an extent, that while she sat sewing among her women tears would often fall upon the embroidery, and she would be obliged to leave her work.

Among the many fair maidens who attended upon Rowena, the fairest of them all was the Lady Beryl. She grieved sincerely to see her mistress so dejected, and taxed her brain night and day for some plan by which she might save the Village of Youth. With this thought deep in her heart, she rose early one morning and rode away to seek advice from the people who lived in the Village of Eld. It was spring; the grass was green, the sky was blue. The sunshine gleamed on the maiden's hair and on her dove-coloured garments.

As she rode into the village the inhabitants gathered around her. She found herself in the midst of a crowd of grey-headed men and women, many of whom touched her dress and kissed her hand, while others knelt down and almost worshipped her; she reminded them of their own early days, a sweet personification of the young spring. Beryl lifted up her voice, and said,--

"Dear reverend people, you all know of the sadness of our sovereign and of its cause; and now our dear Princess shares his sorrow. We are ignorant and inexperienced, neither have we any wise men or women to counsel us; therefore I pray you tell me, is there any way to keep our youths and maidens always young, that they may never know age?"

A long wailing cry was heard from the people of the village,--

"There is no way--no way!" One old man, who was bent and tottering, raised his wrinkled face to the maiden's, and said,--

"Spring gives place to summer, and summer to autumn, and autumn to winter. What would you? Age is beautiful; it is a time of peace, of meditation. Youth knows not rest; it is ever striving, fighting, suffering. When age comes upon us we cease to enjoy as keenly as the young, but we cease to suffer as bitterly as they who are in the spring of life. If the scent of the air is less fresh and the voice of the brook is less sweet, why, the thunder clouds are less dark and the storm is robbed of its fury."

Beryl bowed her head and rode away. As she passed through the gate an old woman followed her, and whispered these words,--

"An hour before sunset, on the longest day of summer, Time, in his chariot, rides through the Village of Youth. If each year thou canst prevent his doing so, the world will still grow old, but the Village of Youth will remain young for ever."

"Alas, good dame, how can I hope to succeed in this endeavour?"

"Sweet maiden, thou art beautiful, thou art in the April of life. Time is gentle and pitiful; throw thyself before his chariot. Thou wilt stay his flying feet, and thy sovereign will bless thee."

Beryl returned, pondering over the woman's words. She entered that portion of the palace occupied by the Princess and her suite, and proceeded to her own chamber.

The hangings were of white silk, and the floor was of ivory. Silver vases, filled with purple lilacs, perfumed the air. Presently three maidens entered, to attire their mistress for the evening banquet. One bathed her face and hands with spring-water, another combed her hair with a silver comb, and the third robed her in a gown of soft silk, edged with pearls.

Beryl's cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkled with excitement, as she hastened along the corridor to the apartments of the Princess. Her royal mistress was seated in the portico which looked on to the palace gardens. Never had Beryl seen the future Queen so sad. Forgetting her news in her anxiety, she threw herself at Rowena's feet, and besought her to say what ailed her.

"It is the old trouble that afflicts me, dear child. The King grows worse, and I fear that if he cannot conquer his melancholy he will go mad."

Then Beryl, in hurried words, told Rowena of her visit to the Village of Eld, and of the woman's message.

The Princess became deeply interested in the recital, and as her handmaiden unfolded her plan of waiting for Time on the longest day of summer, she gradually caught her excitement.

"Young for ever," she murmured, with a sigh, "young for ever in a summer world! It is too good to be true, Beryl; besides, if it were not, how could I let thee depart upon such a quest? Better far that I should go myself."

"Nay, sweet lady; thou art espoused to our lord, the King, but I have no lover who would grieve for me. Besides, I can but fail; and so thou wilt pity my unsuccess, I shall be content."

The air was filled with the scent of spring flowers, and of the many roses which had clambered over the portico. Beryl sat at the Princess' feet, and lifted up a pair of beseeching eyes to her face. At that moment the young King entered. He was made acquainted with the question in dispute. On hearing of Beryl's plan a joyful expression lighted up his sad features, and at his earnest entreaty Rowena gave her consent to the undertaking.

II.

Summer had laid her hands upon the land, broadening with vigorous strokes the delicate colours of the faded spring. Fields of corn and barley were ripening, and far away on the uplands crimson poppies lay sleeping in the sunlight.

Beryl waited outside the village on the longest day of the year. In white robes and silken cap she watched for the passing of Time. Before the day began to wane a chariot, drawn by the Winds, dashed along the road which led to the Village of Youth. The maiden, though half dead with terror, flung herself down before the gates with a loud cry. She felt herself raised from the ground, and on opening her eyes found that she was in the arms of a ragged youth. His face was beautiful beyond all description, though its expression was full of sorrow; his garments were smirched with mud and hung in tatters, but they were jewelled from shoulder to hem with diamonds, whiter and more brilliant than any she had ever seen. Awed and wondering, Beryl laid her finger softly upon one of the gems. But it dissolved and vanished at her touch; and she realised that Time's garments were jewelled with the world's tears.

Presently the youth addressed her, and his voice was the saddest of all the music that she had ever heard,--

"Maiden, what wouldst thou with me?"

"Good sir, I pray thee to spare the Village of Youth. Let its young days last for ever."

"For ever!" he sighed. "What spell is there in this 'for ever' that mortals must always crave after it? I am the spirit of Time, the king of change. The Winds are my servants. My palace is built on the shores of Eternity; and yet, for one hour passed in the Village of Youth, or for knowledge of the peace which reigns in the Village of Eld, I would lay down my immortality without a pang. In my flight through the world I see little joy. I ring the bells of birth, of marriage, and of death. Upon my garments the tears of humanity gather fast. Still, my task is not all unhappy, in that a day comes when I have healed their wounds with my touch, though scars remain, which even I, an Immortal, cannot efface. Alas, sweet maiden! I dare not leave the Village of Youth unvisited, even at the prayer of the fairest of its daughters."

Nevertheless, after many a sigh and many a tear, Beryl touched the changeful heart of Time; and because she was so beautiful the youth loved her, and he bore her away in his chariot, leaving the Village of Youth unvisited.

Desolate, and misty, and grey, was the country of Time, and rugged the castle built on the shores of Eternity. Strange, colourless flowers bloomed in the garden, and the paths were heavy and wet. In the great hall of the palace there were tables laden with fruit and wine, and after Beryl had eaten she felt refreshed. The place was lonely. There was not a sigh nor a token of any living creature within its walls.

Some of the sorrow seemed to pass out of the youth's face as he watched the maiden. And when she looked up at him and smiled all the tears on his dress melted away.

"Sweet lady," he presently said, "I did unwisely to bring thee here, for when thou art gone I shall feel more lonely than ever before. Until I met thee, I had never exchanged words with an earthly maid. Thy presence gives me much comfort; I am so weary of travel, so tired of this grim country. I must, nevertheless, leave thee at sunrise. Remain here until I return, and I will not pass through the Village of Youth."

Beryl's heart leapt with gratitude. Her mission was accomplished. Then a sudden fear smote her. Must she remain alone in this weird place, and walk continually in this garden of colourless flowers?

"Good my lord, how long wilt thou be gone?" she tremblingly inquired.

"A year, though it will seem but as a day to thee, for here time counts not; this is his resting-place. In his palace there is no change; it is built on the everlasting shore."

As the youth finished speaking Beryl observed that the hall was full of weird shades, in jewelled cloaks of tears; but amongst them there was one whose garments were of shining white, gemmed with violets.

"These," said Time, "are the hours of to-day."

The shades flitted past, bending before their King. Beryl noticed that the sadness in their faces was akin to that of Time, with one exception. He of the white garments wore an expression that was smiling and happy, and the violets on his dress filled the hall with perfume.

"Good my lord, why doth this last shadow look so different from all the rest?" asked Beryl.

At a sign from Time the shadow spoke,--

"I am the death-hour of a great poet. He died happily, having enriched the world with his song. The moon kissed his lips as he breathed his last in my arms."

"Whither are they going?" asked Beryl, as the hours floated through the hall.

"I will show thee," said the youth, leading her into the open.

The air was keen. In the distance, Beryl could hear the sound of the sea. Heavy clouds of mist hung around the castle. The maiden stooped to pluck one of the colourless flowers that bloomed in the garden. To her surprise, she could not break its stalk. She hurried after the youth, who was standing on a jutting piece of rock, some paces away.

"Look," he said, "yonder, to westward."

The maiden saw the winged hours floating over the sea. Far away she beheld a dim coast-line of a distant country. The sky on that far shore was a mass of rosy clouds, rosier still to Beryl's eyes, accustomed as she had become to the greyness and mist of the country of Time.

"The sea which lies beneath us is the sea of Eternity, and yonder land is the Garden of the Past. The sun always shines there; the past forges its own halo."

Beryl watched in silence the flying shadows floating over the Eternal Sea. The hours of her earliest days were there, in that Garden of the Past. If she went thither, should she find them, and with them the playmates and the innocence of childhood?

Time noticed the sorrowful expression of her face, and pitied her.

"Maiden," he said, "thou must not look backwards. Let the aged dream of the days that are gone; thy future is before thee. It waits for thee, yonder behind the sun that is rising on the world. Wilt thou go with me and give up thy wish, content to let the Village of Youth grow old, as is the fate of all things mortal? Thou wilt be happier in thine own country. Far away, in its valleys, the flowers and the summer call for thee. Come."

He stepped into his chariot, and held out his arms towards her.

"Nay, good my lord; I will await thee here, and try to forget the flowers and the summer, remembering only thee and thy promise."

The youth waved his hand in token of adieu, and vanished from her sight.

After her companion's departure she roamed about the garden. That portion of it which surrounded the palace was bare and treeless, but in the distance she could see forests of white poplars. She found some grey poppies in the garden not unlike those that bloomed in the Village of Youth, excepting that these of the country of Time had thick pulpy stems, resembling the water-lily. A straggling plant attracted her notice; it looked like hemlock, only that the flower was of a deep purple. Lifting her face from the gloom of the floral beds, her eyes rested on the Garden of the Past. The wish to explore it, and to find in its green mazes her early days once more, was irresistible.

Trembling with excitement, she sought for a path that should lead her to the seashore. With much difficulty, she succeeded in clambering down the steep descent. Upon the strand she found a tiny boat, with quaint paddles, in which she made for the shining coast. The skiff progressed rapidly. As it neared the land, Beryl noticed a great change in the atmosphere. The cold and mist of the country of Time were left behind her. Resting upon her oars, she cooled her hands in the sea. To her astonishment, she discovered that the water was not salt; it tasted as fresh and as pure as the crystal stream that flowed through the Village of Youth. Great as was her desire to enter the wonderful garden that lay stretched before her, she almost regretted this last adventure. The heat became intense. There was no longer a ripple on the sea. Everything lay dead still. When close in shore, all suddenly she could make no further progress; the more she plied her paddles, the further she drifted backwards. At length exhausted, she lost consciousness.

On recovering Beryl was surprised to find herself in the misty garden again, Time bending over her with a pitying expression on his face.

"Thou shouldst not have gone to seek the Garden of the Past; even I cannot gain access to its groves," he said, when she had revived.

"I am grieved, and wish I had not ventured thither."

Touched by her sorrowful contrition, the youth held up a bunch of faded red poppies and said soothingly,--

"I thought of thee as I passed by the Village of Youth."

"Tell me, my dear lord, why is it that the sea washing the shores of the Garden of the Past is not salt, but fresh as a mountain spring?" said Beryl, taking the dead flowers and holding them tenderly in her hand.

"All bitterness is purged from the Past, my child; therefore the waters that wash its shores are sweet."

III.

So years and years fled by, but there was no change in the Village of Youth. It was always summer and always daylight. In the success of Beryl's scheme the King found the dearest wish of his heart gratified. His face regained its former beauty, and his manner its old charm. But at length, although he would not breathe the fact aloud, the unending season began to pall upon him.

Always summer and always daylight! His wedding-day would never come, for the present time would never pass. At length the sun grew hateful to him. He longed for night, and he gazed with agony upon the face of his ever-youthful love. When he walked through the gardens he prayed that the flowers might wither. He was weary of seeing them always the same, shedding the same scent on the air, never less, never more. The lark soaring upwards sang the same song of liberty and hope all through the unending day. No change in the Village of Youth, young for ever.

The Princess, however, felt differently. A maiden wants so little to make her happy. The eternal day was not long to her; her King was with her through its everlasting hours, and summer would never leave them and their love would never die. Had she only known whether Beryl was safe, her mind would have been quite at rest.

Meeting her Lord one day in the palace gardens, she read the agony in his face; and after listening to his plaints, she gently, though fearlessly, reprimanded him.

"Methinks, dear love, that we shall all be punished yet for thy discontent. Thou art placed upon the throne of a great kingdom as its sovereign. Thy subjects are true and loyal. Thy betrothed, as is well known, is neither clever enough nor good enough to fill the high post for which thou hast selected her; but she loves thee, and would lay down her life for thee without regret. She sends her favourite maiden on a quest which is fraught with much danger; on the accomplishment of that mission thy happiness depends. It succeeds; but the royal attendant does not return. Time visits the Village of Youth no more; and yet thou dwellest in its vernal freshness, ill-content."

"Thou hast good cause to reproach me, dear one, erring only when thou dost affirm that she whom I love is not worthy to be my Queen. Were I but fit to tie her sandal or kiss the hem of her robe, I were glad indeed."

He took her in his arms and pressed her to his heart, while the hot sun beat down upon the weary village.

It was thus that Beryl returned to her sovereign's kingdom, on the same day and at the same hour she had left it, though the world was older by forty years. She walked through the streets, a bent, grey-haired woman. Everywhere smiling youth met her gaze. Little children had remained little. They gathered round her, pulling at her dress, and gazing wonderingly into her lined and worn face.

"Where art thou going, good dame?" a girl inquired.

"To the palace. I wish to see the King."

"In good sooth, they will never admit thee into the palace; and did his majesty know that thou wert in the village he would have thee conducted thence."

"Ah, maiden! I know of his folly, which will be punished yet, rest assured. I was once a girl like thee, had hair like thine, and smooth white skin."

"That must have been a long time ago."

"It seems but as yesterday," said Beryl.

She dragged her tired limbs to the palace gates, and stood there, bent and tottering. The guard who kept the door refused her admittance, saying that his master would not allow the aged within the precincts of the village; but the King happened to overhear the argument, and at once gave orders to have the woman brought before him. Although she appeared quite unknown to him, he fell upon her neck and embraced her, so wearied was he of the perpetual youth around him. But when she told them who she was, and her story, they greatly marvelled.

"Why didst thou leave the Palace of Time, dear Beryl?" asked Rowena.

"Sweet Princess, I learned to love the Spirit, forgetting how great, how godlike he was. And little understanding the difference between us, I grew unhappy because he never embraced me. What would you? I was but a woman, still chained to earth, though the companion of an Immortal in the courts of Eternity. I grew to believe that he did not love me; and he, seeing sorrow in my face, thought that I longed to go back to the world. I gave him my love, which was all I had of spiritual to give, and he was happy; but I lived within his home ill-content. One night, when he returned from his yearly circle, I threw my arms around him and kissed him. All the palace shook, and he looked at me with strange, wistful eyes. I felt tired and weak; and I remember nothing more until I awoke, as from a long dream, and found that I was lying on the banks of the stream yonder. I arose and washed in the river, and realised that I was bent, and grey. Then I knew that the fault had been mine; his unwilling lips had given me age, and taken my youth for ever."

They led her within the palace, and she was clothed and fed. Rowena looked at her, and marvelled. In the worn, faded face she tried to trace some of the beauty that had been Beryl's; but all in vain. Once they were of the same years, but now Beryl was old and the Princess was in the springtime of life.

During the watches of the night the aged woman heard the wings of Time sweeping through the silent village. Hurrying from the palace, she stretched out her arms to him in mute entreaty.

There was a tone of sorrow in his voice as he cried, "Too late--too late; only Youth with its beacon-light of Hope can stay the flying feet of Time!"

Morning came in the full glory of the risen sun, but the Village of Youth was no more. It was as a dream that had passed. Again old age gossiped in the streets and sat serene at its board of council. The King bowed his head, and accepted his punishment with a dignified humility. In the autumn of his life he found joy his youth had never known. He became wise in judgment, patient in sorrow, and was beloved by all his subjects. In latter years his kingdom grew large and prosperous, and it was no longer known as the Village of Youth, but was called the City of Content.

[The end]
Bessie Hatton's short story: Village Of Youth

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