There once was a princess in a land far away.
Exactly why, we do not know, but this beautiful princess was a sad and lonely figure as she stood high on the tower overlooking the land.
Perhaps her sadness came from the loss of a loved one; perhaps her loneliness was that of one raised apart from the people. It may also be that her emotions reflected the landscape -- often harsh -- or the hard times: wars; droughts; or social upheaval. These things we do not know.
There is, however, a record of the visit of a wandering storyteller -- a bard. According to the record, the bard was commanded to give a performance for the princess and the court.
The bard refused -- insisting that the story he had to tell was only for the princess. This was agreed to, and the bard was brought to the top of the tower.
When they were alone, he insisted that the princess close her eyes. He described a puppet theater -- the blue velvet curtains, the sound they made as they were drawn back, the hush of the audience as a beautiful princess appeared on the stage.
Those near the stage could easily read the sadness in her eyes. Her long, blonde hair shone like a fairy tale, but she was dressed plainly -- her mood was not in tune with royal garb.
She stood high on the tower overlooking the surrounding farmlands. Somehow her gaze did not fall to the small village below, but followed the road westward. An overcast day, late in fall, the cold wind cut through her clothes, but she did not seem to notice.
No other humans around, she spoke to her dog as if to her most intimate friend.
She spoke at great length of her sorrows. Her mother lay ill, unable to care for herself. A friend had never returned from a trip and was presumed dead. The people in the land suffered from the harsh climate of recent years. Friendly and generous townspeople had become cold, even greedy.
These and other things weighed heavily on her so she felt sometimes as if her heart would be crushed by it all.
But even so, she spoke matter-of-factly -- simply describing what was true for her in the moment. She did not cry, nor did she need to fight back tears -- she merely described a situation. The dog watched and the cold wind carried the words away.
Then she described her most cherished dreams. The ones she kept entirely to herself so that even the bard did not reveal them. He did describe her smile and feelings of joy as she imagined her dreams coming true.
All this the princess had done night after night so that it had become a ritual. In fact, this was the fortieth time she gradually opened her eyes, praying for some sign that her dreams might come true.
And this night, as she opened her eyes, she saw that the cold wind slicing at her cheeks had blown the clouds out of part of the sky. At first she could see several stars. Then she watched while the whole sky lit up with stars, bright as candles, twinkling in the cold. On into the night she took comfort in the stars and ignored the wind.
The next morning, though, she herself was ill. The faint hope she cherished just before fully waking faded quickly when she realized her body's condition. In a castle, late in the fall, it is easy to become ill, and very much more difficult to become well.
She lay sick in bed for more than a week, forgetting her ritual. Even her fond dreams she rarely remembered. Fever gave her restless dreams -- half asleep, half awake.
Finally she was well enough to get out of bed, though not to go outside.
And so it happened that her father and the other people of high position were away from the castle, leaving her behind. On this particular day, a caravan came from the west. There were trades to be made and future deals to be arranged.
Also with the travelers was a man who claimed to be a healer. And indeed the princess felt better after drinking some of his tea, and even her mother seemed to have more color in her cheeks.
The princess arranged with the healer that he should stay on, and with him a slightly mysterious, younger man stayed as well. At first she thought the younger man to be the apprentice, but sometimes it seemed almost as if the healer was an advisor to the young man.
The young man had sad eyes, like the princess. When their eyes met, each felt as though they were looking in a mirror. They were very formal towards each other, befitting her station. Yet somehow they drew comfort from one another and each of their hearts grew warmer.
The princess's father noticed her spending time with the young man, and that displeased him. But her mother, whose health was improving, noticed the change in the princess's mood: a particular smile; the way she sometimes cocked her head; and that sometimes she was out of breath from running up the stairs. The healer agreed that the two should not be kept apart.
One evening -- suddenly very warm -- the young man and the princess were on top of the tower as the sun set and the stars began to come out.
The young man spoke of how he had left his home -- to his father's wrath -- because he was convinced he was missing something that he would never find there.
The princess revealed some of her cherished, secret dreams, and observed that her mother's healthful recovery now seemed assured.
The young man revealed some of his most cherished dreams as well. He said that in his travels he had discovered a sense of humility and gratitude.
Very shyly, realizing it for the first time himself, he told the princess that what he could not have found at home was a woman in whose eyes he could read the passions, desires, and sorrows of his own heart.
Her face turned very red, but she kept looking straight into his eyes as she told him that she too had dreamed of a man into whose eyes she could look when she needed to find herself.
Momentarily they kissed, tenderly. Then they embraced one another gently, her head on his shoulder, his face pressed against her silken hair, tears flowing gently down each of their faces.
As they held each other, the princess's father and the healer approached. Another caravan had come through the village, and a trader had revealed that young man and healer were actually a prince and his teacher from a land nearby.
So it happened that both older men were pleased with the gentle love they saw in the young people before them.
It came to pass that a wedding was arranged for the spring. The prince returned to his land for the winter, which was still difficult. Fortunately the weather was gentler than usual, and spring came early that year.
Because of new possibilities for cooperation, the peoples of both lands hoped for a better life. The love between the prince and princess was a rallying point for enthusiasm among the people. With spring came the wedding. Splendidly dressed though the couple was, onlookers near enough could see plainly that the splendor and joy flowed out from their hearts and the wedding garments were but pale reflections.
With a final kiss the curtains drew shut on the stage. The audience applauded with great laughter and renewed hope for themselves.
And so came the bard's tale to an end. There is no record of what other stories he told or where. Neither do we know anything more of the fate of the princess left alone on the tower at the bard's departure.
© 1995 by John Robert Boynton
Last update: October 22, 1995.