SORROW-SINGING

ONE BRIGHT SUMMER’S NIGHT A NUMBER OF FAERIES FLEW INTO THE ROOM

THERE was once a poor woman who lived in a little village many, many years ago, when the world was much younger than it is now, and when the destinies of mortals were often controlled by the faeries. This woman, whose name was Eldina, had lost her husband, who had fallen in a great battle while fighting the enemies of his king, and a month after she heard of his death, Eldina became the mother of a beautiful little son, which event was a great comfort to her.

The truth was that, seeing she was so miserable and lonely since the death of her husband, the kind faeries had given her this little baby to cheer her heart, and when it was born they took it under their own special protection. It was necessary to inform Eldina of this, so one bright summer’s night a number of faeries flew into the room where the child was lying and stood in a circle round the cradle.

Eldina was engaged in some household work, but having faery blood in her veins, she had a very delicate sense of hearing, and immediately knew by the rustle of the faeries’ wings that they had arrived. She made herself neat and clean to do honour to her illustrious visitors, and went into the room to hear what they had to say about the child.

The cradle was quite covered with the most lovely flowers, which the enchantments of the faeries had caused to bloom on the brick floor of the cottage, and in the centre of the exquisite blossoms slept the smiling baby, on whose face shone a bright moonbeam.

“Eldina,” said the Faery Titania, who is Queen of the Faeries, “we have come to bestow our gifts upon your child, whom we have taken under our special protection—is there any gift you would like him to possess?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” cried Eldina eagerly; “the gift of happiness.”

All the faeries looked grave at this request, and a sigh sounded through the room, while Titania gazed sadly on the child.

“We cannot give happiness,” she said sorrowfully. “Every mortal can only find happiness in his own actions, but we will do the best we can—I will give the child the gift of song, which is the greatest of all gifts.”

So saying, she touched the child’s lips with her wand, and retired, while the Faery Laurina stepped forward with a wreath of laurel leaves.

“I give this child the gift of fame,” she said, placing the laurel wreath on the baby’s head; “his songs will make him famous throughout the world.”

“From me he receives the gift of beauty,” cried another faery, whose name was Venusina.

“From me the gift of wisdom,” said the Faery Minervetta.

“From me the gift of a kind heart,” observed a smiling fay, who had kind blue eyes.

Then all the other faeries bestowed their gifts in turn—wealth, honour, grandeur, cleverness, strength. Everything that human beings most desire was given to this lucky baby, on whom the name of Lanis was now bestowed by the universal voice of all the faeries present.

“All these are beautiful gifts,” said Eldina, weeping, although she half smiled through her tears, “but they do not bring happiness.”

“They bring happiness if wisely used,” cried Titania.

“Then give him the power to use them wisely,” pleaded the poor mother.

“We cannot—we cannot,” sighed the faeries; “the power rests with himself.”

“Will he never find happiness?” cried Eldina in despair.

“Yes, when he arrives at the Kingdom of Shadows, and enters it through the golden gate.”

“But how will he find the golden gate?”

“By being a good man. If he misuses his gifts and becomes wicked, he will go through the iron gate into the Kingdom of Fire.”

Then the beams of the moon grew brighter, until the whole chamber glowed with silver light, and the faeries commenced to dance gracefully round the cradle, singing this song, while the baby Lanis slept peacefully, with the crown of green laurel leaves on his head:

“Great blessings on thy head will fall,

In this thy natal hour;

But ah! the greatest gift of all,

We have not in our power.

We give thee wealth, we give thee fame,

We give thee hate of wrong,

The splendour of an honoured name,

The mighty power of song.

These gifts are idle as the wind,

Tho’ by them thou art blest,

Unless thro’ seeking thou canst find

The gift we deem the best.”

Then all the faeries melted away in the thin moonshine, the blooming flowers vanished through the floor, the laurel wreath disappeared from the baby’s head, and Eldina almost thought that she had been dreaming.

She had not been dreaming, however, as she soon found out, for, as the years rolled by, and Lanis grew up into a tall, handsome boy, he became the wonder of the countryside, owing to his beautiful voice and his marvellous songs. Eldina had found a golden lyre left by the faeries when Lanis grew old enough to play it, and with this in his hand he was accustomed to wander about the country singing his lovely melodies. All the country folk used to make Lanis sing to them at their merrymakings, but when he lifted up his voice, the dancers would cease to dance, the talkers to chatter, and they would sit with awestruck faces listening to the wonderful stories he told them.

It was a curious thing that, in spite of what the faeries had said about not giving him the gift of happiness, the lad’s songs were of the most joyous description, and made the hearts of all rejoice. Eldina was delighted at this, as she thought Lanis would now be happy, in spite of the prophecy of the faeries, when at one merrymaking she heard an old man say,—

“Ah, he sings fine, no doubt; but he’ll sing better when his heart is broken.”

“What do you mean?” she asked in great dread.

“Joy-singing is beautiful,” replied the old man, “but sorrow-singing is better; your lad knows nothing of the bitterness of life, and sings like a delighted child. Wait till he breaks his heart, and he will be a famous singer indeed.”

“But will he be happy?” she asked quickly, as the old man turned to go.

“No: genius is the gift of heaven, but it always brings sorrow to its possessor; the laurel wreath is a sign of honour, but the leaves are bitter.”

Eldina looked steadily into the eyes of the old man, and saw that he was a faery who had come to warn her of approaching sorrow. She strove to detain him and learn more, but the faery had vanished, and her hands only grasped the rags of a scarecrow which stood in the fields.

That night she died, and Lanis, who was deeply attached to her, wept bitterly as they buried her under the cool green turf. Before she died, Eldina called him to her bedside, and told him all about the faeries, bidding him wander through the world and seek the one gift which they could not bestow. Lanis wept, and although he could not understand what she meant, still a vague idea of her real meaning came to him as he sat by her grave under the silent stars and sang a farewell. There was a note in his voice which had not been there before, and the simple people in the village awoke at midnight to hear his sad voice float through the still air of the summer’s night.

“It is sorrow-singing,” they said to one another. “Lanis will never be happy again.”

And they were right, for Lanis now started to wander through the world and find out how cruel and hard it can be to those who have sensitive souls and childlike faith. He was full of belief in human goodness and kindness of heart, for he had received nothing else but kindness in his country home; but now his mother was dead, the spell was broken, and he set forth to find the gift of happiness.

Many months he wandered, singing his songs, sometimes sad, sometimes joyful, but in all there sounded the weary note of longing for what he was seeking.

“Where can I find happiness?” he asked an old beggar who lay by the wayside.

“In the Kingdom of Shadows,” replied the old man, without raising his eyes.

So Lanis pursued his weary way over mountains, plains, and seas, always asking his one question, and always receiving the same answer.

Once he came to a great city, and sang in the streets so beautifully of the green country and silver moonlight, that all the tired citizens crowded around to hear. A man who was among the crowd came up to him as he ceased his song and touched him on the sleeve.

“Come with me,” he said eagerly, “and I will make you rich.”

“I don’t want to be rich,” replied Lanis.

“That is a foolish thing to say,” said the man, who had a crafty face; “gold is the finest thing in the world.”

So oily was his speech that he persuaded Lanis to come with him, and took him to a great hall to sing, where he stood at the door himself, making the people pay broad gold pieces to hear this wonderful poet who sang about such noble things. Lanis felt a longing for wealth in his heart, and sang about the power of gold to make or mar life, of the good it could do, of the evil that arose through its misuse; and all the people in the hall, mostly fat, wealthy merchants, chuckled with delight.

“Ah! this is a sensible fellow,” they said to each other; “he sings about sensible things.”

“I think his song about the beautiful green woods was finer,” sighed a poor boy who listened outside, but then no one took any notice of such a silly observation.

When Lanis had done singing, he came out of the hall, and found the man who had tempted him with wealth sitting before a table heaped high with gold.

“Is all that mine?” asked Lanis in a breathless tone.

“All that yours!” echoed the man in an indignant voice; “no, indeed—it’s my money—here is your share,” and he pushed two pieces of gold towards Lanis out of the great heap.

“But I earned it,” said Lanis indignantly; “I earned it with my voice.”

“And did I do nothing?” cried the man angrily. “Do you think I can give my time and services to you for nothing? I should think not. If I hadn’t put you into this hall to sing, and charged for people to hear you, why, you would have been singing for nothing in the streets, instead of getting two gold pieces.”

“But you have a hundred gold pieces.”

“Of course—that’s my share.”

“I did half the work, and I ought to have half the money.”

“Not at all,” replied the man, putting the gold in his pocket; “if you wanted half you should have said so before you sang.”

“But I trusted you,” cried Lanis.

“More fool you,” retorted the man carelessly; “but I saw you were a fool when you sang.”

“You are doing a wicked thing.”

“It’s only business,” shrieked the man; “you ought to be pleased at my giving a beggarly poet like you anything, instead of trying to steal the money I’ve worked for so hard.”

Then the man ran about the city telling all the people that he had done a great kindness to Lanis, and been shamefully treated for doing so. All the citizens, who quite agreed with the man’s way of doing business, fell upon Lanis, and, driving him out of the city, shut their gates against him.

In this way, therefore, did Lanis gain his first experience of the world’s unkindness when there is any question between right and might. Picking up his lyre, he walked on, leaving the city wherein he had been so cruelly deceived far behind him, and as he went he sang sadly:

“In the school of life

Is the lesson taught,

That with harshest strife

Is our knowledge bought.

We are bought and sold

In our joy and grief;

I have lost my gold,

I have lost belief.

Ah, by cruel Fate

We are onward led;

I have learned to hate,

And my faith is dead.”

Lanis certainly should not have sung so bitterly when such a beautiful world bloomed around him; after all, being deceived by one man does not mean that every one else is as cruel; but then Lanis was very sensitive, and the unjust way in which he had been treated made him very sad, so that all his songs now spoke but of the sorrows of life and the sadness of despair.

As he wandered on for many months in this dismal mood, he met with many adventures, but, alas! nothing which could give him back his former childlike belief in human kindness, and he was very anxious to get to the Kingdom of Shadows and find once more his lost happiness.

Once he came to a great city which was the capital of a very rich kingdom, and here found the citizens in a state of great dismay, for their King, whom every one loved, had gone out of his mind. No one could cure him of his madness, so it had been proclaimed that whomsoever should do so would become the husband of the lovely Princess Iris, who was the King’s daughter. Lanis saw the Princess, and she was so beautiful that he at once fell deeply in love with her, and, forgetting all his former experience of ingratitude, he thought that if he cured her father, she would grow to love him, and he would thus discover his happiness without looking any more for the Kingdom of Shadows.

With this idea he went to the royal palace of the King, and there told the Lord High Chamberlain that he would cure the mad monarch by the power of song. The Lord High Chamberlain did not believe much in what Lanis said, still he was anxious that every means should be tried to cure the King, so let Lanis go into the dark room where he was sitting.

The King was a noble-looking old man, who looked very sad and sorrowful, but Lanis saw at once that he was not really mad, but sad and despondent, owing to the treachery and unkindness he had found upon every hand. His dearest friends had betrayed him, his subjects were rebellious, and the poor King so despaired of ever making his people wise and noble that he had thus fallen into this deeply sorrowful state which the Lord High Chamberlain mistook for madness.

Lanis ordered the curtains of the great window to be drawn aside, and, when the bright sunlight streamed in through the painted glass, he sat down in the centre of all the gorgeous colours, and, taking his lyre, began to sing of noble deeds in order to rouse the despairing King from his lethargy:

“The world is fair

With beauty rare,

Then why despair,

Oh monarch great?

He is not wise

Who never tries

Sublime to rise

O’er adverse Fate.

The summer flowers

Re-bloom in bowers,

Tho’ winter’s hours

May kill with frost.

Beneath the sun

As quick years run;

All thou hast done

Is never lost.”

The King lifted up his head as he heard these comforting words, and looked at the noble face of the minstrel, for the silvery song bade him not despair, although no good appeared to come of all his work; and Lanis, seeing a ray of hope beam in the King’s eyes, went on singing joyfully:

“Put on thy crown,

And boldly frown

Thy sadness down,

Tho’ keen the smart.

Thy burden take

Of office great,

And rule the State

With dauntless heart.

A coward he

Who thus would flee

Despairingly,

In time of need.

Tho’ evils lurk

In darkness murk,

Resume thy work—

Thou wilt succeed.”

Then the King, whose face now was shining with hope and strong resolve, put on his royal crown, took his golden sceptre in his hand, and went forth to take his seat upon the throne to do justice to his subjects.

“Thou art a wise youth,” said he to Lanis, “and thy words are noble. It is foolish to desert one’s post when there is work to be done, and I will not forget thy rebuke. Now, thou wilt stay with me and marry my daughter.”

Lanis was only too glad to do so, for he now loved the Princess with all his might, but, seeing her leave the great feast which the King had given in honour of his recovery, he followed her secretly, and found her weeping.

“Why do you weep, beautiful Princess?” he asked.

“Because I have to marry you,” said Iris sadly, “and I love another.”

Lanis felt a pang at his heart as she said this, and on turning round saw a handsome young man holding the beautiful Princess in his arms.

“Do you love one another?” asked Lanis, with tears in his eyes.

“Yes; it would be death for us to part,” they both replied.

Then Lanis saw that once more he had failed to find happiness, but still it was in his power to bestow it upon others, so he took the Princess and her lover to the old King, and obtained his consent to their marriage. The lovers thanked him heartily, and after Lanis saw them married, he once more started away to wander through the world. The King offered him gold and jewels to stay, but Lanis refused.

“Gold and jewels are good things,” he said sadly; “but happiness is better, therefore I go to find it.”

“And where will you find it?” asked the King.

“In the Kingdom of Shadows,” answered Lanis, and he departed, singing his sorrow-song:

“Ah me, what treasure

To taste the pleasure

Of love’s caress.

Oh, idle lover,

Wilt thou discover

Heart’s happiness.

Nay! folly this is;

I gain no kisses

From sweet Princess.

Of him she’s fonder,

So forth I wander

In sad distress.”

It would take a long time to tell how many adventures Lanis met with in his wanderings through the world. The years rolled by, and he travelled onward, never pausing, always hoping to find happiness, but, alas! no one could tell him where to look for the Kingdom of Shadows, and he seemed farther off his object than when he set forth. He freed many princesses from the durance of cruel magicians, but though they all thanked him for his kindness, they loved some one else, and he found no one in the world who cared at all about him. He was honoured far and wide for his gift of song, and did much good in all lands, but no one loved him for himself, and although he was the cause of happiness to others, he never felt happiness in his own heart.

At last, after many years of weary travel, when he had grown a white-haired old man, with bent form and sad heart, he found himself on the shore of a great sea, beyond which he knew lay the most wonderful countries. A boat was rocking on the waves near the shore, so Lanis determined to sail over this mysterious ocean, and thought that perhaps far away in the darkness he might find the Kingdom of Shadows, for which he had sought so long and ardently. He knew that if he once sailed over this ocean, he would never be able to return to earth again, so he sang a last farewell to the beautiful world wherein he had done so much good, and then stepped into the boat.

It was a fairy boat, and moved rapidly onward over the waves without sails or oars. The mists gathered thickly round him and hid the green shore from his view, so sitting in the boat he saw nothing but the grey sky above, the grey mists around, and beneath him the cruel black waters. He was not afraid, however, for he knew he had done no harm, and, seizing his harp, sang his last sorrow-song:

“Grey mist around me,

Grey sky above me;

Sorrow hath crowned me—

No one will love me.

Brave spirit, quail not;

All will be bright yet.

At thy fate rail not;

God will make right yet.

Still do thy duty,

Tho’ all deceive thee,

Splendour and beauty

Now will receive thee.”

As he sang the last words, the strings of his lyre snapped with a loud crash, and, leaping out of his nerveless hands, it fell into the grey waves of the sea. Lanis did not grieve, for he now knew he was done with his sorrow-singing for evermore, and as the boat sailed onward he saw a red glow to the left.

“That is the gate of iron,” he whispered to himself, “it leads to the Kingdom of Fire. Ah! I would never find any happiness there.”

The waves were foaming angrily round the little boat, and the red glare from the open portals of the iron gate looked like an angry sunset, but still Lanis felt no fear. After a time the red glare died away, and now on every side of him was a soft golden light, while the waves beneath the boat were of a delicate blue, and the sky above of the same soft tint. Lanis looked around, and saw a soft green shore, to which his boat drifted gently, and he sprang out on to the yellow sand of the beach. As he did so, his travel-worn clothes fell off him, and he found himself arrayed in a long white robe.

A tall man, also in a white robe, approached, and, smiling gently on Lanis, gave him a golden harp.

“Is this my old harp?” asked Lanis, taking it.

“No; it is better than the old harp.”

“Is it for sorrow-singing?”

“Nay; it is for songs of joy.”

“And is this Faeryland?”

“Nay; it is a nobler place than Faeryland.”

“Is it The Kingdom of Shadows?”

“So we called it on earth, but now we know it as the Kingdom of Eternal Light.”

Lanis looked at the tall man as he said this, and saw it was the old king he had helped—now no longer old and frail, but in the prime of life.

“You are the King!” he cried gladly.

“Yes, I was the King. You pointed out my duty to me, and I did it; otherwise I never would have reached here.”

“And the Princess?”

“Is quite happy,” replied the King. “She rules my realm with her husband, and both are wise.”

“Have you found happiness?” asked Lanis.

“Yes!—and so will you, when you strike your harp,” answered the King.

Lanis struck the golden strings of his harp, and immediately all his weariness and sorrow passed away, and he felt glad and joyful. At the sound of the music, he changed from an old man into a noble-looking youth—the same Lanis who had sung to the King.

“Ah, I have indeed found happiness,” he cried; “but still, I feel I want something more.”

“I know what you want,” said the King. “Look!”

And Lanis, looking up, saw his mother, with a calm expression of joy upon her face, coming towards him, with outstretched arms. All the white-robed spirits around struck their golden harps and sang the most beautiful songs that were ever heard, while mother and son embraced, and far off the palace of the great King shone like a bright star.

Lanis also struck his harp, and, with the earthly monarch and his mother, went singing onward through the lovely fields, to kneel before the King, who had thus drawn him onward, through sorrow and sadness, to find his happiness at length in the land which we mortals call the Kingdom of Shadows but which wise men know as the Kingdom of Eternal Light.