Delphi Works of Ford Madox Ford (Illustrated) (37 page)

Once again the people cheered to see the Regent led off by the guards.

Then one of the nobles spoke. “Your Majesty,” he said, “it is for the good of the nation that you should marry. The late Regent was a tyrant, and, as such, unfitted for the inestimable honour; but I am the first noble in the realm. I am beloved by the people; therefore, your Majesty, adding to it the fact that I respectfully adore your Majesty, I beg your Majesty to let these things weigh down the balance of your mind, and marry me.”

But hardly were the words out of his mouth when a tumult arose, the like of which was never heard in any land, for every man of the nation was shouting, “Marry me! marry me!” till the whole building quivered.

The Queen held up her hand for silence. “Listen!” she said. “I shall marry no one of you; and I will not even remain your Queen. For I am quite unfitted for a ruler, and I don’t in the least want to be one. Therefore, choose a ruler for yourselves.”

But the people with one voice shouted, “Be you our ruler!”

The Queen, however, said, “No; I cannot and will not. It wouldn’t be any good at all; besides, all the men would love me a great deal too much, and all the women would hate me a great deal too much, because of their husbands and sweethearts and all. So you must choose a king for yourselves.”

But confusion became doubly confounded, for every man in that vast assembly voted for himself as king.

“Oh, this will never do,” the Queen said; “because, at this rate, you’ll all go on quarrelling for ever, and the kingdom had better have remained under the Regent. Shall I choose a king for you?”

And with one voice the people answered, “Yes.”

So the Queen said, “The King I choose is very fit in one way, for he is not likely to be partial, since he is in this vast assembly the only one that is not in love with me. He will be very economical, because he neither needs much food, nor cares for rich robes. Therefore, the taxes will not be heavy; and, even if he is a little weak-eyed, he will not be a bit more blind to your interests, perhaps, than you are yourselves.”

So saying, the Queen arose from the throne and, taking the bat from her shoulder, set him on the vacant seat, where he scuttled about and did not seem particularly comfortable.

“Now, you’re the King,” the Queen said to him.

“H’m!” he said. “Will they give me some raw meat?”

The Queen said, “Oh yes; and anything else you like to ask for.”

The bat said, “H’m! this seat isn’t very comfortable. What’s that thing up there?”

“That’s the crown,” the Queen said.

And the King remarked, “H’m!” and in a moment he was hanging upside down from the bottom of the crown.

And the people cheered their King.

But the Queen just said, “Good-bye, your Majesty.”

“Good-bye,” the Bat said. “I suppose you won’t marry
met.”

“Don’t be silly,” the late Queen said; and she slipped behind the curtain and ran through the deserted halls again, and once more out into the garden. And once again she watered her favourite plants, for the last time, and then flew right up into the air and away, away over the troubled seas, to the land that lay low in the horizon.

“How delightful it feels not to be a Queen any longer!” she said to herself. “I always used to feel afraid, when I sat under that great crown, that it might fall on my head and squash me altogether. But I wonder how the bat got on.”

That the Queen never knew; but this was what happened. The bat took to kingship quite as easily as a duck takes to water, and, for reasons that the Queen gave, made a most popular ruler — even though he
teas
strictly just True, there were only three people in the kingdom who understood him, and they were mousetrap makers who had learnt the bat language from mice. But, as the King always superintended the carrying out of his own edicts, they did not care to play tricks. And the Bat language was taught in all the schools, so that it became the state tongue. And all the ladies took to wearing brown sealskin cloaks with great puffed sleeves and capes, so as to look as much like bats as possible, and they all pretended to be very weak-sighted and turned night into day, in mutation of the King.

So that altogether the King was a great success from every point of view, as he was very longlived, the last news that has reached here from the Narrowlands, reported that his Majesty was still hanging head downwards from the great crown, and was still setting the fashion throughout the kingdom, though the news does not tell us that his people have yet resorted to hanging from the chandeliers by their toes.

But the Narrowlands is very far array from here, so that news does not often reach us from it; there is even no talk of opening the country up, which alone shows how difficult it must be to reach.

In the mean while the Queen had come to the other shore. She flew straight to the little cottage in the valley, and the cock who was standing on the doorsill greeted her with a lusty crow, being glad to see her again.

In the house there was no one to be found. “The little mother must have gone to her bleaching,” the Queen said to herself, “and he — oh, he told me he was going to work in the wood to-day, so now I’ll see about making the infusion. The kettle’s on the boil, and it won’t take long.

She took off the faded wind-flower crown, and looked at it for a moment.

“You poor thing!” she said, “it seems a shame, but still it can’t be helped,” and in a moment she had dropped it into the boiling water, which rapidly assumed the golden straw colour of a weak cup of tea. This she poured into a drinking- horn, and then set off with it into the wood at the back of the house. It was rather a ticklish task, walking through the low, dusky wood with the horn in her hand, for it was getting on in the day and the light was bad, and the small trees of which the wood was composed were difficult to walk among.

By her side the stream rushed and rustled over its rocky bottom, and her feet crackled too on the flooring of last year’s fallen leaves, but the sound that she paused every now and then to listen for she could not hear. There came no sharp ringing of the axe down the valley among the trees.

“
He must be binding the faggots together,” she said to herself, and went on until she came to the clearing where he should have been at work; but there he was not.

The light came down the valley duskily through the mist; it gleamed upon the stream and glimmered on the white ends of the newly chopped faggots that were neatly bound together with withies.

“He must have gone further on,” she said to herself, and ran quite swiftly up the steep path that climbed into the heart of the mountains. The falling of the night frightened her a little, and she was anxious to find him.

Up and up the rocky path went, whilst the stream foamed down beside it, and at last she saw him in a slant of light that came down a west- facing valley. He was crossing the stream just above where it thundered over a great boulder.

There was a bridge across the torrent, but it was only a tree-trunk, and he preferred, in his blindness, to cross on the stream bottom, over the boulders with the aid of a good staff. The water foamed up to his knees.

She came as close to the water’s edge as she could, and called —

“Why, where are you going to?”

In spite of the roaring of the waters he heard her and turned.

“Who are you?” he asked And she answered, “I am Eldrida.”

And in a moment, with a great splashing of the black water, he was at her side.

“I thought you had gone for good,” he said “And so I worked as long as I felt able to; but just now it was all so silent and so dreadfully lonely, that I could not stand it, and I was about to set out to search for you through the world.”

“What all alone, and blind?” she said And he answered, “Yes, since you were gone I was alone and blind; but if I had found you I should not have been alone, and hardly blind at all.” She put the horn into his hand, and said, “Drink this.”

“Why, what is it?” she asked “It is what I went to fetch,” she said; “drink it and see.”

The light was shining on his face as he raised it to his mouth and drank it off, and suddenly there came into his eyes a look of great joy.

“Why,” he said, “I can see” and in a moment he had thrown his arms round her and drew her tightly to him. “I love you more than all the world!” he said “Do you love me?”

She seemed to have forgotten all about the elixir, for instead of saying, “Don’t be ridiculous!” she just said, “Yes, I love you very much.”

And the stream roared on over the great boulder and whirled back over the rocky shallows, and the shadows in the valleys grew darker and darker; but they both had a great deal to say, though, as a matter of fact, it might most of it have been said with three words and a kiss.

But, you see, they preferred to do it in another way; at least, as far as the speaking went — in my experience, there is only one way of kissing.

“So you see, I shan’t be able to fly away any more,” she said, after she had related her story, “because the poor wind-flower crown is all boiled.”

“Oh, well,” he said, “I dare say you won’t want it again, unless you get very tired of me.”

And she said, “Don’t be ridiculous!” but even that had nothing to do with the elixir.

And so they went home down the dark valley to the cottage.

The little mother smiled to see Eldrida.

“I knew you would come back,” she said; “but my son was in a dreadful state — weren’t you, son, son?”

And he only answered, “Mother, mother, I was. And I am very hungry; and I can see again!”

So there was great rejoicing in the cottage that night, and the little old woman’s eyes grew bright with joy-tears.

But next day Eldrida and her love were married, and, from that time forth, they worked together, and went hand in hand up the tranquil valley or in among the storms on the hillcrests, and so lived happily ever after.

THE END

Praetorius School, Folkestone, where Ford was educated

Ford Madox Ford’s first novel was published in 1892 by T. Fisher Unwin, when the author was only nineteen years old.
 
The Shifting of the Fire
tells the story of wealthy-but-soon-to-be-ruined scientist Hollebone and his fiancée Edith, a sentimental and flighty violinist.
 
When Hollebone learns of his father’s company’s imminent bankruptcy, threatening his own private fortune, he feels forced to release Edith from their engagement.
 
Troubled by her materialistic parents, she takes a surprising step to solve her lover’s financial difficulties by marrying an octogenarian millionaire.

Considering Ford’s young age, it is an impressive work, featuring a range of characters, in particular the humorous Lord Tatton serving as a precursor to similar characters in Ford’s later works, as well as examples of beautiful descriptions and a satisfying resolution.
 
Although disjointed at times in terms of plot and characterisation, the satisfying resolution and concise style of writing are all hallmarks of the future great modernist writer.