Tales Before Tolkien (54 page)

In the next year came the tragedy. Ahmid certainly made love to her, and undoubtedly desired her. On the 7th of Octen the queen's cries brought her attendants to her bedchamber, and when they arrived they found Strale lying murdered on the floor, the queen severely wounded, and Ahmid with a bloody knife. His guilt was undoubted, and when he was told he must die he committed suicide, and his father Kilikash, declaring all his hopes were gone, swallowed poison.

Alwina's fortunes were at a low ebb. Tor had astutely built up strong support in the capital. Many believed that Alwina was becoming a piece with her grandfather, great grandfather, and notorious mother. Talk of compelling her to abdicate was general, and it must be admitted Tor did not oppose it, perhaps playing the game to crush her only so far as he could safely go without crushing himself.

The queen showed her old ability at this crisis. Returning to Islandia as soon as she had settled matters in Mobono, leaving her faithful friend Mora X and his eldest son in charge, she did not assume the guise of a penitent. Her appearance dispelled ugly rumors as to her condition—more beautiful than ever with the fire of power and long thoughts far ahead of her countrymen, she upbraided the council for its pusillanimity with regard to the war. She regained popular enthusiasm, and lastly she brought Tor to her begging for reconciliation. Alwina must have had an all but broken heart. She knew that her schemes must be put by; and she had no real love for Tor by this time, if ever.

   

The year was a quiet one. In Octen the queen bore a son and heir. Old breaches were closed. She had the consolation of seeing the last one of the tasks she had set herself on beginning her reign accomplished. Then abruptly all was changed, for due to the carelessness of an attendant the boy sickened and died. The blow was such that the queen never fully recovered. Her mourning and grief were so intense that even the dry official records of it burn. But though Alwina doubted her strength, she exposed herself to the risk of another child.

Her health was such that she left the city in Julian, and defying precedent almost religious, retired to a small chalet built for her in the sacred but dry, cool and healthy mountain air of the Frays; and here on Septen 22nd was born a son who was cared for by his mother alone and lived, although somewhat sickly, and ultimately proved that though his name was Tor his heart was his mother's.

Alwina's ill health continued, but a second son, who also survived, was born in Decen 1337. She now devoted herself to bringing up her children; her relations with her husband were friendly. That hard bargaining and astute Winderian was at last wholly given in to her spell, and Alwina, quite aware that she was not likely to live till her heir reached majority, spent much of her time in training Tor for the regency, and in preparing the way for his acceptance as such by the council.

She never left the Frays again. Her health rapidly declined. Her last year was spent in comparative peace, and in Decen she died in giving birth to a daughter, who subsequently married the grandson of Alwina's ancient foe Lord Dorn XI, the young prince's third cousin.

   

It may be wondered why so much time has been devoted to a single reign in so brief a narrative. It is partly because historic material is so abundant. Alwina's letters to Mora X are still preserved at Miltain in the possession of the descendant of their recipient, and among them are copies of many other papers of priceless value sent by her to him. The war poems of Deming and Dury are full of detail and fact. Snetting's account of Mora's voyage is not without much that bears on her whole reign. But most important of all, and far outmeasuring these, is the splendid history of her time by Bodwin the Younger. It is an account covering some two hundred pages mostly from firsthand observation, for Bodwin was a soldier. It is accurate and restrained; to the psychologist interested in the character of the queen it may have faults, for little is discussed except public events—its style has that perfection for which Bodwin is so famous, and it contains descriptions of persons and events of a marvellous brilliancy.

It is not wholly because the amplitude of material tempts the historian that I have gone into Alwina's reign so much at length, but because of its great romance and interest. A mere girl forces her way to a throne denied by tradition to a woman, frees her country from the oppressors, extends its flag to other lands for the first time in its history, unites with it permanently and successfully two recalcitrant allies, and by her inspiring beauty and gallant conduct and direct influence brings into being a golden age of letters. Certainly such a woman and queen deserves a large place in Islandian history.

—Jean Perrier
The City
Islandia 1909

A Christmas Play

by David Lindsay

David Lindsay is remembered today primarily for his first novel,
A Voyage to Arcturus,
published in 1920. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis read the book in the mid-1930s, and Tolkien remarked of it in a letter: “I read ‘Voyage to Arcturus' with avidity . . . No one could read it merely as a thriller and without interest in philosophy, religion and morals.” Lewis called it “that shattering, intolerable, and irresistible work” and took its central premise (that a voyage to another world could be essentially a spiritual experience) for his own novels
Out of the Silent Planet
and
Perelandra,
adding a Christian mythic outlook, whereas Lindsay's vision has no orthodoxy.

Lindsay wrote no short stories, but his Christmas play, probably written in the 1930s and never before published, concerns his usual theme of questioning the nature of reality and our perception of it. It is written in a more playful mode than is found in his novels. I am especially grateful to Lindsay's daughters, Mrs. Diana Moon and Mrs. Helen Baz, for allowing it to appear in print at last.

(Scene: Mother Nightshade's Grotto. Outside it is snow, and it is still snowing, Evening dusk. Christmas Eve. The fairy Emerald is moving hesitatingly about the cave, now glancing at its objects, now in puzzled thought, now looking towards the letter in her hand, without re-reading it.)

Emerald. A letter from the Fair Queen!—

I don't quite know what it can mean.

* * * * *

I wished to help three girls I know

Because my heart is good

And they deserve it—

The daughters of a wood-cutter

And so I thought it would be

Appropriate

And nice

To give each one a Prince to marry

In fact, it is always done

Besides pleasing them very much

And me, too.

But now Titania writes:

She cannot manage more than
two
princes

This Christmas—

Two only.

Nor owing to modern social evolution

And European revolution

And this and that—

All which quite bewilders me

Because my wits are foolish

Although my heart is wonderfully good—

But anyway, my plan is spoilt—

That I can understand

What I
don't
understand

Is why she sends me to this dreadful cave

All toads, mice, spiders and things!

And why must I meet old Mother Nightshade—

The wickedest of witches?

I'd rather not

Yet if I fly the spot and disobey

I know—I
know
I'll have to rue the day!

Whatever shall I do?

(Enter Mother Nightshade. She peers into the shadow of the grotto, makes out Emerald, utters a screeching laugh of surprise, and scuttles forward to offer to embrace her—but Emerald shrinks back, and they face each other.)

Nightshade. Hail, Emerald!

Emerald. Hail,
you!

Nightshade. I have a name.

Emerald. I know—a horrid name!

My mouth refuses it.

Nightshade. Night and shade are praised by all.

When doth set the stupid sun

And the glare of day is done

Shall not magic twilight fall?

Emerald. But not for wickedness.

You move by night to work men harm—

The sleep of living things you care not for

You'd see them dead.

Nightshade. When cuckoo calls on winter's morn

When April sees the golden corn

When maid disdains to go in silk

When toper's nose is white as milk

When owl sits by the kitchen fire

When dainty mistress seeks the mire

When foot is shapen to the shoe

When five is made of two and two

When pampered beauty has no moods

When unicorn gallops through the woods

When rich man sleeps on sanded floor

When never in all a house a door

When yellow sun moves from west to east

When water is wine and bread a feast

Then—not till then—

Then
will I love all living things.

Emerald. When old wife huddles by the fire

When Brindle crunches in the byre

When cook tries gravy from the ladle

When fat babe chuckles in the cradle

When ancient hobbles on his crutch

When rabbit's bright eyes peer from hutch

When boy throws stones in chestnut tree

When homeward sails the tired bee

When lark sings unseen in the air

When sewing-maid sews in the sunny chair

When frog hops leisurely to ditch

When cheese makes a banquet and penny makes rich

When yellow sun moves from east to west

When rest moves to work, and work to rest

Then—even then—

Then
do I love all living things.

Nightshade. What want you here?

Emerald. Nothing, be sure. Titania sent me.

Nightshade. For what?

Emerald. Here is her letter. I shan't show it to you, neither can you take anything

from a fairy. I detest you—I do not fear you.

I know three sisters

Fair as the dawn

And of an age to marry

Them I would wed to Princes

But times are changed

Titania offers me two only

I fear

One girl must wed a millionaire

Of whom there are more.

And so my Queen has sent me here

Perchance to use you in the business

Or else I cannot guess the reason why.

Nightshade.
(with a screeching laugh)
He! he!

Fairies can change things

They cannot make them

Witches can make them—

Fairies can season pies

They cannot bake them

Witches can bake them.

Emerald. Pies!

Nightshade. In honour of this holy time of year

Mince-pies are eaten.

Emerald. Spare me your scoffs and riddles!

Nightshade. Addle-pate!

Now mark you well my words

For maybe your simple Queen

Has told me of your business

Or maybe

I know it of myself.

Wise I am

Passing wise

Few things go not

Before my eyes

Well! here is the shop

Where that is sold

Which you can buy

With fairy gold.

Emerald. I have no gold.

Nightshade. Indeed you have!

Gold untold!

Gold in your heart

Gold in your eyes

Pay me well

I'll bake you the pies.

Emerald. But to what plan?

Nightshade. In this high season

Of neighbourly joy

'Tis merely fitting

We should enjoy

Ourselves and our friends

In one common action

Whose different ends

(Between you and me)

Will in equal degree

Give us all satisfaction.

I'll bake three pies

For your three maids

They'll eat them, never fear!

In two I'll put your Princes

By fairy spell

The third is mine

Then let them choose by wit

Or lot

Or how they like.

Emerald.
(doubtfully)
What will you do with yours?

Nightshade. That is my payment!

I can without your will do nothing

And so

There is your fairy gold

To pay me with.

Emerald. You'll do some ugly work, I know!—

If I refuse—?

Nightshade. I'll then not bake the pies—

Your double-prize

Of Princes

Shall go elsewhere.

You cannot do without my help

Titania knows it

She sent you here.

Emerald. It's true she sent me here—

You mean to give a husband to the third

Of these poor dears?

Nightshade. Why not?

Should she have none?

Emerald. Oh, no. But not from you.

Nightshade. A wretch or rogue

You think I'll give!

But what if he has brains—

Your princes none?

The world you know not, silly Emerald—

I do

To-day men rise from naught

To be Dictators.

Emerald. What's that?

Nightshade. Wizards, too

But unlike witches

Their spell moves millions.

Emerald. How odd! And I have never heard of them!

But are they good?

Nightshade. Nobody, nothing, is good for all

The road for one, for another's a wall

The slaying of one is another's food

Bad for you, for me is good

Dictators are good, if you think them good.

Emerald. Then is it to be a—a—one of
those

For my third girl?

Nightshade. I did not say so

And it is not so.

Emerald. Cease teasing me, unpleasant crone!

Who shall it be?

Nightshade.
(impressively)
A man . . .
without a friend!

Emerald.
(starting back)
What!

Nightshade. No more, no less.

Emerald.
(shuddering)
How
black
—how
wicked
of you!

No friend!

Nightshade. Desolation—

Consolation—

Between these two

Men stagger on through life.

So many friends have some

They lose
themselves

Others have none.

I
did not make the world

From this man
I
not took away

His friends.

Emerald. I will not suffer it!

I'll leave it all

And go away.

Nightshade. Fool! If you dare!

This is Titania's will.

Emerald. I'm sure she would not countenance

A thing so frightful.

Nightshade.
(searching in her skirt)
Here is her ring!

She gave it to me.

Emerald. I see it is her ring.

Nightshade. Who bears this ring

May give command

To all the fairies.

Emerald. Would I could contradict you

But it is even so.

Nightshade. So sensible at last!

Then do her bidding

And mine.

Emerald.
(sadly)
What do you want?

Nightshade. Beneath this mountain

Full many a pace

The cave winds on

To blacker space

There is my kitchen

My oven and pots

I'll make the pies

While the fire-stone hots.

Emerald. What will you make them of?

Something evil?

Nightshade. Common flour and common water

Common mincemeat shall come after

But then—he! he!—to flavour all—

One
tiny drop
of cordial

The witch's magic!

Then when those three weird mincemeat-pies

Shall ready be for your fairy cries

Of other magic—

I'll call you!

Emerald. You mean to leave me here alone

In this dark noisome hole of slime and stone?

Nightshade. I found you here alone.

Emerald. Only so lately

Another Emerald was with me—

My doing right.

But now I fear I'm doing wrong

Although commanded

And so I am indeed alone.

Nightshade. At fairy conscience I needs must grin

Nameless princes heart-ease win

Nameless
man
is a mortal sin!

Emerald. I cannot answer you, I'm too unhappy—

Shall you be long?

How shall I pass the time while you're away?

Nightshade. Sing if you will!

Dance if you will!

Toads won't bite you

Spiders won't kill.

I won't be long

I'll hear your song

It will make me smile

In the midst of my kneading

A fairy's song

Should show good breeding!

(Exit Mother Nightshade)

Emerald. I don't feel very much like singing

I feel like crying.

(She sings)

Who praise the fairies little know

How ill at ease they come and go

For nothing of the world they see

But bird, and beast, and flower, and tree.

The human heart they cannot read

What a man loves, or is, or does

And so too seldom they succeed

In helping him where'er he goes

Who praise the fairies little think

They'd give up sleep, and food, and drink

To know a man's heart and what he needs

In that strange human life he leads.

(While she sings, the three sisters enter the cave from behind her, wrapped in snowy cloaks. Rosa is 20, Violetta 18, and Lila 16. One by one, they absently let fall their cloaks, while staring at Emerald and edging round to see her face.)

Rosa. Who is it?

Lila. How beautiful!

Violetta. How strange!

Rosa, Lila. Is it a fairy?

Violetta. It is my dream.

(Emerald turns round to them.)

Lila. Are you a fairy?

Emerald.
(smiling)
Yes.

Lila. I never thought I should see one.

Rosa. Tell us, please, what you are doing here

And who you are

And where we are.

Answer
me,
please—

I am the eldest.

Emerald. I know you are

I know you all, and all about you.

You are in the witch's cave

But I am here to help you, if I can.

Lila. The witch's cave!

I don't like that a bit.

Rosa. Tell us your name.

Emerald. Emerald.

Lila. How pretty!

Violetta. What was that lovely music

That drew us here

To this sad eerie place?

Lila. Though we are miles from home

And have no right to be

On such an evening.

Rosa. I hope the Providence that brought us here