THE PRINCE’S PALACE

THE PRINCE’S PALACE

Where once the earth was brown and bare,

A Prince’s Palace, wondrous rare,

Now fronts the Fountain clear;

A monument to those whose skill,

Have made the bleak and barren hill

An Eden to appear!

And that fair Palace of the Prince,

The like of which, nor fore nor since

Has ever been achieved;

Was by such master craftsmen planned,

That nought, or in or out the land

Like it, has been conceived!

To it the rarest gifts were brought

From out the realms of purest thought;

And all the Beauty and the Art

That far too often stand apart—

Were into one great glory wrought

To grace the Fairy Isle!

Now the building of the Prince’s Palace was the greatest piece of work performed in Fairy Land.

As you know, very many wonderful things were done with regard to the making of the Lake and the construction of the Fairy City. But all these suffer by comparison with what was accomplished in connection with the Palace. It is built of the purest white Marble, Facing the Fountain, on part of the flat top of the Hill, it stands amidst the most spacious garden grounds, and can be seen from every part of the City. It contains exactly twenty-four rooms: one for every hour of the day. They are divided into three equal sets. In one of these sets the whole of the work of the Palace is carried out. Another set is devoted to pleasure and amusement; whilst above these are the rooms in which to rest or sleep.

From the white marble steps leading from the balconied verandah at the great front entrance to the Palace, a broad level pathway sweeps in a half circle out to the circular path which surrounds the Fountain gardens. Thus the Palace and the Fountain Gardens join each other. Like all the other paths, it is covered with golden coloured gravel; and, flanking it on either side, set in the loveliest of green grass lawns, there run two delightful flower-beds; forever filled with golden marigolds!

The high double doors which give entry to the Palace are made of oxidised, or slightly darkened silver, and stained glass. They are set in a splendid framework made of the same kind of silver; and this, and the lower panels of the doors, are inlaid with delicate designs in burnished gold. On the framework, the design takes the form of the trailing Sarsaparilla; whilst the panels are decorated with exquisitely executed bunches of flannel flowers surrounded with an oval border of Eucalyptus leaves. The glass in the upper halves of the doors, richer than any to be seen in old Cathedral windows, has had burned into it, in their own natural colours, Wattle blossoms and Waratah blooms. The Wattle blossoms occupy the centre panels, and the torch-like Waratahs are placed at either side.

Through the doors one passes into a wide Hall, out of which rises a branching stairway giving access to the rooms above. The Hall is paved with gorgeous tiles and lined with “fiddle-back” blackwood. The Hall seats are made of the same beautiful wood. On one side of the Hall, framed in silver, there is a picture of a hive of bees; and on the other side, also in a silver frame, there is a picture of an Ant-Hill; both indicative of work or industry.

But perhaps, before going further, you would like to know how the Fairies make the lovely tiles which pave the Hall. It is really rather interesting, and serves to show how very clever they are. Well! This is what they do!

A FLOWER FAIRY.

When the wind blows the petals from the flowers—as it does every day—the Fairies at night time go and collect them. They at once dip them into a mixture made of an extract of black ants’ milk, clear honey, and morning dew. How they make it has never been found out; but it has a truly surprising effect in preserving both the shape and colours of the petals. They then put them into moulds the size and shape of the tiles they propose to make; press them very tightly together; and lightly brushing the face of each tile so made with a little more of the mixture in order to cover it with a kind of glaze, set them up in the sunlight to dry. The drying finished, they put them through some kind of electrical treatment to make them hard, and they are then almost ready for use.

Before putting them in place however; by a secret process quite impossible to discover; they make the actual outline of the flower itself to appear through the glaze; and, more bewildering still, they cause the perfume of whatever flower petals have been used, to come back to them. They are thus enabled to faintly scent a room or hall with whatever pleasant odour they like to choose; the result of which is, that knowing the particular flower that one loves best, they can pay him or her a most delicate compliment, by simply introducing the perfumes of his or her favourite flower to the house or rooms he or she is to occupy.

As it happens, the flowers used in the making of the Hall floor tiles were wattle-blossoms. They were selected, partly because of the sunny effect to be obtained from their golden colour; and partly because Prince Waratah—who by this time had seen Princess Wattle Blossom and fallen in love with her—had made up his mind that some day she should be his wife. How he first came to visit the father of the lovely Princess, and the manner of his going, are now a matter of tradition; but at the time the journey took place it was looked upon as an almost miraculous performance.

As you will remember, when the Prince first found the Magic Well, he was on his way to visit the Wattle Fairies, who lived in that part of Australia now called Victoria. But in consequence of his important and probably far-reaching discovery, he gave up his search for a wife; returned to his father, King Eucalyptus, and sought and obtained permission to undertake the building of a new Fairy City round the Magic Well.

When the City was finished, and the Palace well on the way, he began to think that a Palace without a Princess would be a very poor thing indeed, and more or less useless. Quite naturally therefore, his thoughts reverted to the Wattle Fairies, of whom he had heard it said that they were the most beautiful in all the World. The more he turned the matter over in his mind, the more he desired to make the visit upon which he had started so long ago.

But there were difficulties in the way. To take an escort of sufficient strength to resist possible enemy attacks, meant delaying the erection of the Palace for quite a considerable length of time. In addition, his personal supervision would be lacking, and mistakes might occur.

Pondering over these and other matters, there one day flashed into his mind a rather quaint idea. Without any loss of time he sent for the Engineer Fairy; the one who had made the bamboo squares from which the water was sprayed when the Desert Fairies tried to fill the great Trench with sand. And this is what he said: “Hail! and greeting! O clever Engineer!” And the Engineer replied, “Hail! O Prince! Forever at your service!” “Engineer,” said the Prince, “I would that I could take a voyage through the air; and being seized with an idea, I have a mind to discuss it with thee. Listen then, O Engineer! and answer me in good time! As thou wert able to fill the hollow bamboo stalks with water—to the great undoing of our common enemy the Desert Fairies—canst thou not fill some others with air, and, having done so, construct me a carriage that might, like a bird, fly safely overhead?”

As you may well believe, so unexpected a question could not be given an instant answer. It is doubtful indeed if the Prince himself expected any other than he got. What the Engineer Fairy said in reply was: “Permit, O Prince, thy servant time to think, and he will answer thee anon!” “Granted, most worthy Engineer!” said the Prince; “not until thou thyself do broach this matter again shall it be named betwixt us twain.” And the Prince rose in sign of dismissal.

When the Engineer Fairy had time to think over the things the Prince had said to him he was greatly pleased at having been called “most worthy Engineer,” and he set about his novel task with the greatest good-will.

Taking the hint given him by Prince Waratah, he got together a goodly number of bamboo stalks, most of them no thicker than a lady’s little finger. Carefully removing the inside pith, he first inserted a bark cork into the open end, and then covered it with a seal. The seals he used were made of hard brown gum-nuts; and in order that the bamboo tubes should be perfectly air-tight, he dipped their ends into hot melted beeswax before screwing on the cap-nuts. The effect was just the same as when hot paraffin wax is poured on top of a jar of newly made jam—nothing could either get out or in. Having in this way effectually sealed one end, he then, by means of a little electrical bellows, proceeded to fill the tubes with air, so full that they were almost ready to burst. But before that could happen, he deftly slipped a bark cork into position, swiftly dipped the unsealed end into the hot melted beeswax, and without losing an instant of time, rapidly screwed on the cap-nut, thus sealing that end as closely as the other.

As soon as a sufficient number of various lengths and sizes had been filled with air, they were put together in the shape of a chair, with a box beneath the seat. The chair was then upholstered, or covered with finely woven rushes over a padding of moss; thus making it a very comfortable one in which to sit.

To make it easy to move, four little wheels were attached; and to protect the occupant from the rain or sun a hood could be raised or lowered by simply moving a lever at the left side. This hood, as well as a rug to cover the knees, was made of spider-webs as soft as a baby’s hair. The late Queen Victoria had presented to her by the Natives of India an exceedingly fine shawl made of the same kind of material.

But the most curious thing about the chair was its two wings, one at either side. They were as large as the wings of an eagle, and of the same shape, and they were entirely covered with the soft green feathers of rosella parrots. As was seen later on, they could be folded back against the chair, or set to any angle desired, according to the way in which their controlling mechanism was turned. To the front of the chair four rings were affixed, but for what purpose was not made clear until they were about to be used.

What was then disclosed was this: The chair was in reality a flying carriage; the box underneath being intended to hold whatever the driver might wish to take by way of food, clothes or other things. The four rings in the front were to be used as couplings to which to attach an astonishingly swift team of Blue Kingfishers, sixteen in number, who were to pull the carriage through the air. The Birds’ harness was made of light, but strong, honey coloured ropes, twisted out of strands of silk taken from the spiders who spin that kind of thread. The spiders originally came from Papua or New Guinea, and the threads they spin are coarser than those which the silk-worms produce; but none the less very useful for such a purpose as that to which they were being put.

Of course it took some time to learn all these details. As a matter of fact, it was not until the Engineer Fairy gave his first demonstration that they were all seen and understood.

What then took place needs but a few words to describe. The Prince, being present, and everything in readiness, the Engineer sat himself in the seat, lifted the silk reins, spoke to the team of Blue Kingfishers, and off they set at a smart run—the flying carriage running on its wheels behind them. Presently they all rose as one bird into the air, and at the self-same moment the carriage also rose, and, with wings outspread, flashed behind the flying Kingfishers as perfectly balanced and as steady as a modern aeroplane.

When in a little time the Engineer Fairy returned, he carefully explained to the Prince all that was required to be done, and very respectfully suggested that he should try his hand.

Nothing loath, apparently, Prince Waratah took the driver’s seat, and faithfully and implicitly obeying the instructions given him, managed to make a very skilful flight indeed, all things considered. Later, by much practice, he became so proficient that it was next to impossible for him to come to harm.

It was then that he set out, alone, to visit the Wattle Fairies, covering the distance in an extremely short space of time compared with what would have been necessary had he ridden on horseback or walked. Maybe you can imagine the consternation and excitement among them the first time they descried him coming through the air. When first sighted he was little more than a speck in the far distance; but all Fairies have very keen eyesight, and watching intently, it was not very long before they could discern the brilliant blue plumage of the Kingfishers, the flashing of their honey-coloured harness as the sunbeams touched it every now and then; and, above all, the Prince himself in the yellow flying carriage with the great green wings attached!

No wonder they felt alarmed. It was enough to strike terror into the heart of anyone who had never seen such a strange and unusual sight before; and had it not been for the wisdom and calmness of their King, it is almost certain they would have fled helter-skelter from the scene. But he, not knowing what else to think, boldly and confidently asserted that the stranger flying towards them must be a messenger from Heaven, and as Heaven was kind, there was really nothing to fear. “Of a truth,” said he, “it is more than possible that some great blessing is about to be bestowed upon us. Let us therefore await God’s messenger calmly and fearlessly; and in due time we shall learn whatever is His Will.”

It thus came about that, when the Prince made a landing, instead of finding those he came to see in a state of panic, they were all drawn up in perfect order, and nothing, save their eyes, gave the slightest sign that anything out of the way was taking place.

As soon as the Prince stepped out of the carriage, however, the King knew him; for the fame of his person and marvellous works had penetrated to the remotest parts of Australia, and he would have been recognised anywhere. Without the slightest hesitation, therefore, the King stepped forward, offered his hand to his distinguished visitor, and in the kindliest manner bade him welcome!

Now it so happens that there are a very great number and variety of Wattle Fairies, and they are to be found in practically all parts of Australia. But by general consent, King Acacia and his wife, Queen Cootamundra, are recognised as being at the head of all the tribes. They are an extraordinarily handsome couple; and all their children are very lovely indeed, especially their eldest daughter, Princess Wattle Blossom! As soon as Prince Waratah saw her he vowed to himself that never in all his life had he seen anyone so gloriously beautiful and charming; for the fact is, that not only is she delightfully sweet to gaze upon, but her manners are so perfect as to make her at once the most kindly and the most gracious Princess in the whole of Fairy Land. Her only fault, if such it can be called, is a tendency to droop her head a little; but this is wholly due to a certain natural shyness, and entirely disappears whenever she speaks or moves. It would have been strange indeed if the Prince had not instantly fallen in love with her—as he did—and had not resolved to some day make her his wedded wife. Nevertheless he paid her many, many visits before the courtship ended, and the marriage actually took place.

But to return to the Palace, about which you were being informed, when the Prince’s desire for a wife somehow came into the story.

Apart from the Entrance Hall, which has already been described, there are several rooms that call for more than passing mention. For instance, there is the Laughter Room! That may seem a strange name for a room, but the Prince has very decided opinions on certain matters, and one of his fixed ideas is that, next to Sunshine, Laughter is the finest thing in the World. He calls it “spiritual Sunshine,” because, he says, whenever folks laugh, worry and trouble disappear just as quickly as clouds before the sun itself. And so he urges that “everybody, every day, should take a little time for play, to laugh and drive dull care away!” He also says that everybody should have a laughter room in the house; by which he means, of course, that everyone should be careful not to so engage themselves with serious matters, that in their whole make-up there is no room for laughter. People like that, he thinks, do not enjoy life properly; and in order that he and those associated with him might laugh at times, he specially arranged for a Laughter Room.

“He vowed to himself that never in all his life had he seen anyone so gloriously beautiful and charming.”

Already, perhaps, you are wondering what sort of things that room contains? Well, not for long does it remain the same! Changes are constantly taking place, for one cannot continually laugh at the same old joke. But to give you an idea of the kind of thing the Prince thinks funny, here are several that have appeared in the room at one time or another.

Number One: A baby bear, up in a gum tree, has just started to nibble at a particularly tempting leaf when over the edge of it peeps a Daddy Long Legs Spider, who says, “Excuse me! But I know something that you don’t know!” “What’s that?” says the Bear, but without letting go. “Why!” replies Daddy Long Legs, “You’re biting my foot!” “Sorry!” says the Bear, letting go; “I hope I haven’t sprained your ankle,” and he laughs till the tears run down his face.

Number Two: A fat little Fairy boy, having fallen into the dust, picks himself up and stands crying great big teardrops, that, as they run down his chest, look like the snakes that children make with treacle on nice white slices of bread. Sitting on a fence, watching what is going on, are two Kookaburras, resting a little after having killed a big brown snake. When they see the funny little “Wrigglies,” running down the Fairy boy’s chest, they burst into such fits of laughter, that they each, so to speak, have to hold their sides, with the result that they both fall off the fence head over heels into the dusty road; and then the boy laughs till he has to sit down!

Number Three: Placed between the forked branches of a tree sits a bird’s nest. In it are three little bare-headed baby birds, eyeing in puzzled astonishment a big fat grub that has fallen on the edge of the nest from somewhere overhead, and is doubling away as fast as ever he can, saying as he goes: “Good-bye, Dearies! I’m so glad I saw you! But don’t wait for me for dinner! I’ve simply got to go home at once! And, by the way, don’t tell mother you saw me! It would make her feel sorry to think she missed me!”

Number Four: An old Mother Crow—all of whose children were as black as coal—was very jealous of the beauty of the Lyre Bird. Hearing one day that the Stork was bringing a nice new Baby to her hated rival, she placed around her neck a Lyre Bird’s tail that she had stolen years before, and watched and waited for the Stork to pass, hoping against hope that he would give her the baby Lyre-bird for herself. But when the Stork came along he saw through the poor make-believe, and though he felt a little sorry for the Crow, he instantly resolved to punish her for stealing the Lyre Bird’s tail, as well as for trying to deceive him! So instead of passing by, he stopped and said, “Hello, Crow! Where did you get the Feather Stole?” And the silly Crow excitedly answered, “Stole it! No, no! I don’t mean that! It’s not a stole at all; it’s a Ruff! But you shouldn’t call me a ‘Crow’! I’m a Lyre Bird, and I’m waiting for the nice new baby you’ve got in your basket.’ ” “… Oh! ho!” retorted the Stork, “you’re a Lyre Bird all right; but,” he added, “I can’t give you the Lyre Bird baby I’ve got in the basket, because it’s promised to somebody else. But,” said he, observing her disappointment, and with a humorous glint in his eye, “if you hatch out the egg I’ll give you, you may get a surprise!”

Naturally enough, the Old Mother Crow, finding herself unable to deceive the Stork, and fairly burning with curiosity to find out what the surprise might be, took the egg and faithfully promised to sit on it until it was hatched out. And she kept her word, too, sitting on it night and day, with the ruff round her neck in case she might get a young Lyre Bird.

After a number of days she suddenly felt something move, and jumping off her nest in a state of great excitement, looked to see what she had got. To her intense mortification and disgust, she saw nothing in the nest but an ugly young Iguana! She was so annoyed at the trick that had been played upon her, that the tears sprang to her eyes, and she was just about to give vent to her outraged feelings in an angry squawk, when a number of yellow crested Cockatoos, sitting on a tree not far from her nest, seeing what had happened, laughed so loudly and derisively, that the Crow flew from the spot and was never seen again!

The next of the Palace rooms to call for attention is known as the Music Room. In it can be seen every instrument of Fairy music that has ever been invented. And very odd some of them are, too; though they are all capable of giving forth the most tuneful sounds imaginable. Among the many instruments are some so perfectly made that they can imitate Canaries, Larks and Nightingales with an accuracy that is truly fine. By simply touching a tiny spring the mechanism is released, and instantly one may hear a flood of melody that would cause a Lark, for instance, to believe that one of his fellows was singing near! But the instrument which excites the greatest wonder of them all is called a Melodophone! It is the outcome of so much patience and skill that by a little adjustment it can be made to produce any kind of music—vocal or instrumental—from a single voice singing the simplest melody, up to the grandest orchestral masterpieces. It really is wonderful!

The Prince is very proud of his music room, and takes an immense delight in demonstrating what his collection of musical instruments can do. Further, he everywhere strongly maintains that music is one of the finest aids to happiness. Longfellow, the American poet, must have had much the same thought in his mind when he wrote that priceless little poem, entitled “The Singers,” for he makes “The Great Master” say of “The Singers”:—

“I gave a various gift to each,

To charm, to strengthen, and to teach,

These are the three great cords of might,

And he whose ear is tuned aright,

Will hear no discord in the three,

But the most perfect harmony!”

In like manner, you will remember how the Prince, in connection with the long, long march to the Magic Well, constantly encouraged his followers to sing the Marching Song he had written for them. And how it cheered and strengthened them. Even when they were almost ready to drop with fatigue, a little singing always seemed to take away the tired feeling and put them in good humour again.

Applying the same idea to matters of greater importance, he says that Music stirs folks to think fine thoughts, prevents them from thinking bad ones, and helps to make them happy. No happy person can possibly be wicked! It is the unhappy who say and do the vile things! Knowing this to be the case, he has very wisely ordered that at least two Bands shall play for his people every day—one in the Fountain Gardens and one on the Lake.

In addition, seeing that all Fairies are very fond of dancing, and that they always dance in circles, he has also provided for them a couple of Fairy Rings, where they may indulge in their favourite pastime as much and as often as they please.

Lastly, there are five story-tellers, who, although they once had very nice names—and you may be told them later on—were long, long ago called “Touch,” “Taste,” “Sight,” “Smell” and “Hearing,” and every day they have such interesting tales to tell that no one who cares to hearken need ever be dull or depressed. So now you know why it is that all the Prince’s people are so entirely happy and contented.

Of the other rooms of the Palace not yet mentioned there is only time to describe one more on this occasion. It is sometimes called “The Hall of the Captive Sunbeams”; but in reality, it is the Reception Room—that is to say, it is the Room where guests or visitors are received prior to being entertained at dinner, or at a musical evening, or at whatever other form of entertainment is to be given them. The reason for its being popularly named “The Hall of the Captive Sunbeams” is due to the fact that certain portions of the Walls appear to radiate sunlight. This peculiar and striking effect has been brought out by the use of tiles, set like pictures in frames of brightly burnished silver. In the tiles themselves captured sunbeams shimmer and dance perpetually.

How this was done is difficult to say; but the story goes that when making the tiles, the Fairies set them where the Sun’s rays gently touched them every day; and, just as the sun was declining, they each day swiftly brushed the fronts of the tiles with a kind of liquid glaze that kept the light beneath it. When, in this way, several thicknesses of light were captured, so to speak, the tiles were burned in specially prepared kilns, and to the very great joy of the Fairy Craftsmen it was found, when finished, that one sunbeam seemed to be for ever chasing another over and over the face of the tiles! There is but one other notable feature about the “Hall of the Captive Sunbeams”—it is that the more the place is filled with gaiety and laughter the more merrily do the sunbeams seem to pour forth a running, rippling tide of light, to enhance and stimulate the general jollity!

And now you have some faint conception of the beauty and the glory of the Prince’s Palace, some little idea of its furnishing for use and entertainment, and, above all, some grasp of the outstanding features which make it not only the most noticeable structure in the Fairy City, but of such unequalled originality and excellence as to be without a rival anywhere.

There it stands, a perfectly modelled two-storied white marble building surmounted by a roof of reddish sunset gold. On its front is the nobly pillared verandah and balcony; and setting it off, like a splendid frame to a valuable painting, are the widespread and delightful garden grounds which entirely surround it.

Seeing it thus, as you now see it in your mind’s eye, on the evening of a lovely Autumn day very shortly after it was finished, Prince Waratah declared it perfect, save and except in one particular: it lacked a worthy mistress. That, however, was an omission which could be remedied; and as he had already made up his mind who was to be asked to fill the position, he there and then began to consider the many things that must be done before the happy event. So commenced the long series of careful preparations which were to end in the most unique and entrancing experience of his life—his marriage to the Princess Wattle Blossom!

Of that marriage, and of all that took place in connection with it, you shall be fully informed when time and circumstances permit. Meanwhile, please remember, that in the Prince’s Palace of twenty-four rooms—one for each hour of the day—some are for work, some are for pleasure, and some are for sleep! With you it is just the same! There is a time for work, a time for pleasure, and a time for sleep—and it is sleep-time now! And so—good-night! Good-night!! Good-night!!!