CHAPTER II.
PRINCESS GOLDEN HAIR.
The metropolis of Dreamland presented a most glorious spectacle of magnificence and beauty to the wondering eyes of Roland Trent, as the fairy boat glided into the lake near the city. Beneath a fine marble colonnade, supported by pillars of jasper, he beheld a crowd of people, composed chiefly of Ministers of State and the nobles of the King, standing ready to give him welcome, while beyond these dignitaries a great square was filled with his Majesty’s Guards, armed cap-à-pié in silver armour, and surrounded by lithe, gay figures, who flitted to and fro like gorgeous butterflies in the sunlight.
The Australian youth was amazed at the dazzling beauty of the ladies, who gathered round him as he landed, with loud cries. Some of them even went so far out of the rule of good breeding and etiquette in their reception as to embrace and almost smother him with kisses. But there are no Mrs. Grundys in Elfland, and so the dames enjoyed themselves with the freedom and the innocence of children. With waving banners and bands of music, which sounded to his ears like so many tinkling musical boxes, our hero was escorted by a troop of silver-clad Guards to the palace of Bo-Peep. Grander than anything that ever entered the mind of that famous architect, Sir Christopher Wren, rose the glittering domes and lofty peaks of the fairy King’s palace. Through a labyrinth of budding roses perfuming the air around; by gold and silver fountains in full play, and whose soft cadence fell upon the ear like angels’ whispers; beneath a natural arch of mighty trees, every one of which held a thronged choir of winged choristers warbling forth a jubilee; and onward, amid glories and beauties unknown to the hosts of the waking world, into the presence of Bo-Peep. No comparison in this sea-bordered city would help to convey the faintest conception of the pomp and splendour of the King’s reception-hall. Nature and Art had here combined, and the blended effect was sublime. Not the array of nobles nor the throng of superbly dressed ladies, through whom he passed, nay, not even the throne itself, ablaze with jewels and precious stones, which circled in the elfin monarch as the ring of a magic lantern, had any attraction for the young stranger. His eyes had fallen upon a young creature of enchanting loveliness at the King’s side, and he had become spellbound thereby.
Poet or painter never dreamed of such a vision of beauty. Not the sunset glow had a richer tint than the long glossy hair of Bo-Peep’s only daughter. She was named “Princess Golden Hair”; and well did she merit the name, for it was the most glorious golden hair that mortal eye had ever seen. So Roland Trent thought as he was led forward and seated by her side.
Here where the laws of Nature (as we recognise them) are altered and suspended, the Princess and the mortal wanderer became enamoured of each other instantly.
Oh! the power, the irresistible charm of love! How it glowed in the eyes of Princess Golden Hair, and made the bewitching face yet more charming! Like the clear notes of a flute, only infinitely softer and more thrilling, her voice came upon his ears: “Welcome, oh, my Prince—lord of my being!—welcome to Dreamland!”
What mattered the cheers of the people and the great speech from the fairy King, and the grand banquet that followed—what mattered the thousand surprises and the wonderful things that encountered him at every turn? There was no fascination like the lovely Princess.
Glorious light and sunshine reigned here eternally. Roland watched in vain for the approach of eve and darkness; but gloom came not. It was one never-ceasing day.
By order of Bo-Peep, our hero was attired in rich robes softer than silken velvet, which emitted a rose-coloured glow, mingled with a delicious perfume, that by some mysterious power gave him a keener zest for pleasure and enjoyment. Go where he would, the King’s daughter was ever at his side.
“SEATED BENEATH A CANOPY OF ROSES.”
What bliss to be with her on the bright lake, seated beneath a canopy of roses in the royal barge; what sensations he felt with his head pillowed on her lap, and her snow-white fingers toying with his curls!
“The sun never fades in this enchanting valley?” he asked.
“No,” she replied softly. “The great light is our life. Dulness is destruction in Dreamland. We are only creatures of an hour, that is all.”
Oh, what witchery in the low, thrilling voice! Creatures of an hour, forsooth. Take care, Princess Golden hair! Take care.
“Your people are very beautiful, my Princess; but thou art fairer than a summer dream,” he responded gaily.
“Flatterer, I and my people are but as dreams,” she answered, smiling. “All thou see’st here of brightness and splendour are merely passing visions, nothing more.”
“Thou art more real and enchanting, dear Rosebud, than any dream that has haunted me.”
“Nay, adored stranger, mock me not,” said Golden Hair. “I am as the wind, which fills our sail—here, there, then gone for ever. Life with me is but a breath. But thou—thou wilt live when the wind and the vast sun, which giveth our race life and motion, are fled for ever.”
“Dear Princess,” and he caught her hand within his own, looking into her eyes the while, “Love is not a breath, a sunbeam. It is mightier than the wind, and more powerful than the combined forces of sea and air. Didst thou ever love, sweet maiden?”
What soft diffused light, glinting from the rich window of some ancient cathedral, ever shed such a rosy glow as was seen for one brief instant upon her face?
“Oh, Love has come with thee from beyond the Western Mountain,” she answered quietly.
“And thou hast felt its presence?”
“Ay, in thee. Yet thou hast brought a demon with thee also,” she replied.
“The sprite Whiskerkiss; of course, I remember.”
“Nay, not Whiskerkiss; but a gnome a thousand times more terrible than the monster of the Barrier.”
“And what is that, Princess?”
“Pain,” replied Golden Hair.
“What! has Pain never entered into this realm?” he inquired with amazement.
“Never.”
“Wonderful!” he ejaculated. “Had my charming Princess ever the toothache?”
The ringing laugh which burst from her lips was like the carol of a canary on a June morning.
“Nor the whooping-cough or—or the measles?” he added, smiling at her excessive merriment.
“Stop, stop!” she cried, looking at him with a wilful light in her large eyes, that held him as a spell. “The words thou hast uttered are unknown to me, even as Pain was unknown to me ere I saw thee.”
A cloud fell over his handsome face at her words, which did not escape Golden Hair, for she added quickly, “Lord of my life, Love and Pain are twinborn, and go hand-in-hand, but the one is so beautiful that it destroys even while it creates the other. Thou seemest to me all love. Tell me, are all thy race like thee?”
“Fair Princess,” he replied gravely, “beyond the Mountain Barrier from whence I came the people are as varied as the hues on yonder peak. Some there are who feel not love. Many suffer pain willingly in the service of a powerful world-god called Money. Amid the many fetishes who are honoured and exalted, none are more esteemed than this. At his word mighty empires rise in the wilderness, oceans are bridged, space changed into a willing slave.”
“Money is a mighty demon,” answered Princess Golden Hair.
“Yes, lady,” continued Roland. “Money is mighty, but ere now he has lent his power to an evil spirit called Hate, who going broadcast among the races of men has incited them to gather together and destroy each other without cause.”
“Hate is a monster, uglier than Pain,” replied the fairy.
“Ay, and he is invariably assisted by three other wicked powers known as Murder, Slander, and Malice.”
“Poor lost people!” cried the gentle Princess. “Is there no good genii to do battle with these wicked ones?”
“Oh yes; the renowned champion Sympathy has unfurled his banner to meet the hosts of evil in the world; and by-and-by the people who have groaned groans from their birth shall live as serene and peaceful as the shadows on this lake. And now, sweet love, I would fain close my eyes in repose, under the melody of thy lute.”
Sweetly fell the cadence over the still waters. Goldenly shone the domes and peaks of the marble palaces, as Roland Trent dreamed.
Shall we wake him out of his glorious vision? Nay; let him slumber on. He will open his eyes soon enough upon the realities of this sober empire at the Antipodes.