MARY, MARY, QUITE CONTRARY

"Such as the gardener is—so is the garden"

Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With cockle shells,
And silver bells,
And pretty maids all in a row.

There was once upon a time a King who ruled over a vast kingdom. In the kingdom were all sorts of houses, large and small, and the King himself lived in a huge palace the like of which had never been seen for grandeur. Yet, throughout the length and breadth of his kingdom there was not one single garden. Even the palace itself only possessed a back-yard.

This grieved the King very sorely. He sent proclamations over land and sky and sea to men from other countries to come and make him a garden. He offered vast rewards. But, though gardeners had come from far and near, though the King himself had watched them from the palace steps, and had, once even, cut the first sod with a silver spade … yet, it was all no use. The garden wouldn't be made and the flowers wouldn't grow. Every kind of patent soil, seeds, hose, watering-cans, weed-killers and mowing machines had been tried in vain. There were stacks of them lying in the palace yard, but never a single flower, never even the beginnings of a garden.

One day the King, quite weary of looking through catalogues and interviewing possible gardeners, had fallen asleep in the little shed in the back-yard which was known as "The Arbour." As he slept he had a dream.

He dreamt that a little wizened old man came to him and said, "Catalogues and gardeners will not help you. You will never have a garden until you get the Princess Mary Radiant to come and shine on your back-yard. Only two men in all your kingdom can help you—Sir Hunny Bee and Sir Richard Byrde—but even these will be no use without the smile of the Princess Mary Radiant, and for her you must search over earth and sky and sea."

The King awoke from his sleep with a start.

"What ho! without there!" he cried. "Fetch me the Princess Mary Radiant!"

The assembled courtiers shook their heads.

"We have never heard of a lady with that name," they said. "Your Majesty must have been dreaming."

"Dream or no dream," said the King testily, "some one must fetch me the Princess Mary Radiant, for if she once smiles on my back-yard it will be turned into a garden with real grass and real flowers—Canterbury bells and sunflowers—that's what I have set my heart on!"

The courtiers answered nothing and shook their heads once more.

"We don't know such a lady," they repeated.

"Fetch Sir Hunny Bee, perhaps he can find the Princess for us," ordered the King.

The courtiers all ran off to find Sir Hunny Bee. In a few minutes that gallant knight appeared, all dusty from the recent ride from his castle, and splendid in his knightly garb of black and orange.

"What is your will, your Majesty?" said he, bowing low before the King.

"Search over all lands and bring me hither the Princess Mary Radiant," said the King, "for if she should smile on my back-yard it will be turned into a garden."

Now no knight ever dreams of disobeying his Majesty's commands, however impossible they may sound, so Sir Hunny Bee merely bowed low before the King and said, "I go,"—and went.

"Real Canterbury bells and sunflowers," murmured the King, listening to the jingle of the silver bells on the knight's bridle as he rode away.

Sir Hunny Bee had not gone many leagues from the palace when he began to realise that he might ride and ride, and never find the Princess Mary Radiant.

"I wish I knew the way!" he cried.

As he said these words, a little wizened old man sprang out on the road in front of him, and so frightened his horse, that the silver bells jingled more than ever.

"Ride over hill and dale for seven times seven leagues," said the old man, "till you come to a gate-post on which is hung a sign-board. Follow the directions on the sign-board and all will be well."

Before the Knight could say "thank you," the little old man had disappeared.

So Sir Hunny Bee rode on over hill and dale for seven times seven leagues, and there, just as the old man had said, was a gate-post, and on the gate-post a sign-board.

Sir Hunny Bee dismounted from his horse and led it by the silver-belled bridle up to the gate-post, that he might read the directions that were written in red letters upon the sign-board.

"THE GARDEN OF THE PRINCESS MARY RADIANT"
No man shall be admitted here,
Till he a fine doth pay.
And he who will not pay the fine
From hence must ride away.
By him that rides here over land,
A silver bell is paid.
He that flies hither through the air,
Must bring a dark-faced maid.
While he that through the sea doth swim,
Must bring a cockle-shell with him.
By order, M. R.

"'By him that rides here over land,
A silver bell is paid,'"

repeated Sir Hunny Bee. "But the question is, to whom do I pay it?"

Once more, like a jack-in-the-box, the little wizened old man appeared in front of the Knight.

"To me," he said, "and I will take you in. But though you may see all over the garden, I doubt it you will be allowed to see the Princess. She has a very uncertain disposition, and sometimes will not appear for days together."

So Sir Hunny Bee cut off one of the silver bells from his bridle and gave it to the old man, who put it carefully in his hat, and then led the Knight and his horse into the garden.

What a garden it was!

Paths of grass, green as emeralds and sparkling with dew like diamonds, bordered on each side with shells that shone like mother-o'-pearl. Flowers, flowers everywhere, of every hue and shade. Canterbury bells and sunflowers indeed! What should you say to bells of real silver, glowing and shining? To fair maids blossoming and curtseying in the flower-beds, fair maids so beautiful that the Knight would fain have stopped with them all day? To roses flowering everywhere? To lillies trickling oozy scent into gold bowls laid ready to receive it? To whole bowers of honeysuckle, and whole beds of lavender? To hedges of every flowering shrub imaginable? To lofty trees whose leaves whispered soft invitations to the passers-by to come and sleep beneath their soothing shade? To fountains plashing and showing a thousand different colours? To fruit of gold and silver hanging from the branches of the fruit trees, and to birds of every plumage singing the sweetest songs imaginable?

Truly there never was such a garden!

"There must be a great many gardeners here!" gasped Sir Hunny Bee.

"Oh, no," answered the old man. "The Princess does it all herself, with the help of some Bees (cousins of yours by the way), a few of the Byrdes, and the nymphs Wynde and Worta. Everything looks so beautiful now, because the Princess is in the garden. If we wait in this arbour here, she will pass behind it on her way to the palace. But do not go out until she calls you. For no man is allowed to see her face until she gives him permission. When she speaks to you, tell her your business speedily."

They waited in the arbour; the little old man still held Sir Hunny Bee's silver bell in his hat. Presently soft footsteps were heard approaching, and a gentle voice said:

"Not to-day,"—and the footsteps passed on behind the arbour.

Then the colour faded from the grass and flowers and shells. The fountains ceased to play, and the birds to sing; and Sir Hunny Bee was almost ready to cry with vexation.

"She is gone," he said, "and I have come so far to seek her."

"You must wait till to-morrow now," said the old man.

So Sir Hunny Bee waited till to-morrow, and exactly the same thing happened. The grass shone, and the flowers glowed. The fair maids turned and curtseyed on their stems. The fountains splashed, and the birds sang. The Princess passed behind the arbour and once more said in her gentle voice, "Not to-day," and then all grew dull and dim and silent, and Sir Hunny Bee more impatient.

He remained there for seven days—and on the seventh, without waiting for the old man to give him leave, as the Princess approached he called out:

"Seven times seven leagues over hill and dale have I ridden, most gracious Princess—and I have waited here for you for seven days. Oh, grant me permission to tell you of my quest."

Then the gentle voice said:

"Have you paid your fine, oh, bold stranger?"

"Yes," said Sir Hunny Bee.

"Throw it from the arbour that I may see it," said the Princess.

So the old man took the silver bell from his hat and flung it out on to a flower-bed near.

Immediately it began to grow and blossom till it was many feet high.

"The Princess smiles on it," said the old man, "tell her your mission speedily."

"Gracious lady," said Sir Hunny Bee from within the arbour, "the King of a far kingdom has sent me to beg you to come back with me to his kingdom, and smile on his back-yard that it may become a garden,—even as when you smiled on my poor bell it grew and blossomed."

"Oh, stranger," answered the Princess, "go home and tell your master that through the air must he send yet another messenger to fetch me, ere I will come to him. Come forth now and pluck the flower that sprang from your bell, and take it to your master in token that I speak truth."

So Sir Hunny Bee came forth from the arbour to pluck the flower, and his eyes fell on the glory of the Princess Mary Radiant.

She was dressed all in gold, and her hair was gold, and her glowing smile was more beautiful than words can tell. Sir Hunny Bee was dazzled with the sight of her, and, kneeling, kissed her hand.

"Pluck your flower and go," she said, "and if your master will send yet another messenger, I will come."

So Sir Hunny Bee plucked the flower, and, mounting his horse, rode away the way he had come. But when he stopped to look at the flower he had plucked, he found it was only quite an ordinary Canterbury bell!

The King was waiting on the steps of the back-yard when Sir Hunny Bee approached. It looked drearier than ever. Half a dozen gardeners were watering a muddy-looking stone with patent water, while the King looked on. When he saw Sir Hunny Bee he said:

"Have you brought her?"

"No, your Majesty," said the Knight, "but she sent you this flower, in token that if you will send her another messenger through the air, she will come. Oh, your Majesty, she is more beautiful than day, and her garden is Paradise itself!"

"Don't waste time talking," said the King. "Send Sir Richard Byrde. He learnt to fly long ago. He can fetch her through the air. Have a garden I must and will. This Canterbury bell shall be planted immediately." So the half-dozen gardeners were straightway sent off to plant it.

Meanwhile Sir Richard Byrde had arrived at the palace, having been sent for by an express messenger. He looked splendid in a knightly garb of russet brown.

"What is your will, your Majesty?" said he, bowing low before the King.

"Fly through the air and fetch me the Princess Mary Radiant," said the King. "For if she will smile on my back-yard, it will be turned into a garden."

Sir Richard Byrde bowed low before the King.

"I go," he said … and went.

He had not flown many leagues from the palace when he began to realise that he might fly and fly, and never find the Princess Mary Radiant.

"I wish I knew the way," he cried.

Then to him as to Sir Hunny Bee appeared the little old man.

"Fly over cloud and through air for seven times seven leagues," said he, "till you come to a large gate-post on which is hung a sign-board. Follow the directions on the sign-board, and all will be well. By the way, you had better take this parcel with you, and open it when you reach the gate-post," and flinging a little parcel on the ground, the little old man disappeared. Sir Richard Byrde picked up the parcel, which was smaller than the smallest seed, and flew on over cloud and through air for seven times seven leagues. There, just as the old man had said, was the gate-post and the sign-board. He, too, read the directions:—

"'He that flies hither through the air,
Must bring a dark-faced maid,'

but I have not one!" he cried. Then he remembered the old man's parcel. He opened it and found inside a little egg-shaped doll with a brown face. He paid this dark-faced maid to the little old man, who had suddenly appeared from nowhere, and who, putting the maid into his hat, led the Knight into the garden.

As the garden had appeared to Sir Hunny Bee, so did it now appear to Sir Richard Byrde. The grass like emeralds, the pearl-lined paths, the flashing fountains, the gorgeous fruits, the curtseying maids, the singing birds, and the scented flowers.

As Sir Hunny Bee had been led to the arbour behind which the Princess was to pass, even so was he.

He, too, asked if there were not a great many gardeners, and was told that the Princess did it all herself with a few of the Bees, a few Byrdes (cousins of yours by the way), and the nymphs Wynde and Worta.

He, too, heard the soft footsteps approaching, and heard the gentle voice say, "Not to-day";—and then he, too, saw the colours fade and the fountains cease to play, and the birds to sing as the Princess passed on behind the arbour.

He, too, waited for seven days, and on the seventh, he, too, cried out:

"Most gracious Princess, for seven times seven leagues have I flown over clouds and through air to seek you; and I have waited here for you for seven days; oh, grant me permission to tell my quest," and the gentle voice said:

"Have you paid your fine, most bold stranger?"

"Yes," said Sir Richard Byrde.

"Throw it from the arbour that I may see it," said the Princess.

So the old man took the maid from out of his hat and threw it on to a bed near, and it grew and grew till it was a fair maid, fairer than all the others, and curtseying deeper than any of them.

"The Princess smiles on it," said the old man, "tell her your mission speedily."

"Gracious lady," said Sir Richard Byrde, "the King of a far kingdom has sent me to beg that you will come back with me and smile on his back-yard that it may become a garden—even as when you smiled on my poor maid it grew and blossomed."

"Oh, stranger," answered the Princess, "go home and tell your master that I will never come to him, unless he comes over the sea to fetch me himself. Come forth now and pluck the flower that sprang from your seed, and give it to your master in token that I speak truth."

So Sir Richard Byrde came forth from the arbour to pluck the flower, and he, too, was dazzled by the golden glory of the Princess.

Kneeling, he kissed her hand.

"Pluck your flower and go," she said, "and if your master will fetch me himself, I will come."

So Sir Richard Byrde plucked the flower and flew away the way he had come. But when he stopped to look at the flower he had plucked, he found it was only an ordinary sunflower.

The King was waiting on the steps of the back-yard, watching a dozen gardeners trying to rear the Canterbury bell with patent foods. When he saw Sir Richard Byrde approaching he called out:

"Have you brought her?"

"No, your Majesty," said the Knight, "but she sent you this flower in token that if you, yourself, will go across the sea to fetch her, she will come—and, oh, your Majesty, she is more beautiful than day, and her garden is Paradise itself!"

"Don't waste time talking," said the King. "You know quite well I have never fetched anything myself in my life. In fact, I have never done any thing myself. That is one of the privileges of being a King."

"Well, but your Majesty will never have a garden without her," murmured Sir Richard Byrde humbly, looking round the back-yard, and thinking of the Princess's lovely garden.

The back-yard certainly did look very dismal. A dozen more gardeners were already at work trying to plant the sunflower, but they had put it in upside down. Scraps of old iron, once patent rakes, hoes, or watering-cans, were scattered about. The smell of the patent soils and weed-killers was positively horrible. The Canterbury bell drooped helplessly in one corner.

The King sighed.

"Well, I must have a garden," he said. "So I will put an end to all this, and go and fetch the Princess myself. After all, I shall only have to bring her here—and then what a difference there will be!"

So without wasting another minute the King himself climbed the castle wall, and plunged headlong into the sea.

He had swum a dozen yards or so when it suddenly occurred to him that he might swim and swim, and never find the Princess Mary Radiant.

"I wish I knew the way," he cried, catching hold of a cockle-shell that was lying on one of the upstanding rocks.

Then to him, as to the two Knights, appeared the old man. "Swim over rocks and through water for seven times seven leagues," said he, "till you come to a large gate-post on which is hung a sign-board. Follow the directions on the sign-board and all will be well." Then the King swam on over rocks and through water, for seven times seven leagues; and there, just as the old man had said, was the sign-board. He, too, read the directions:—

"'He that through the sea doth swim,
Must bring a cockle-shell with him.'

Well, here it is," said the King. "So I will just walk in."

This time the old man did not appear, and the King walked straight into the garden, holding the shell in his hand.

"Ah-h-h, this is the garden I should like to have, perhaps the Princess could have it transplanted to my palace," said the King. "What a number of gardeners they must employ here!"

"No, only myself," said a soft voice behind him, "a few Bees, a few Byrdes and the nymphs Wynde and Worta."

The King turned, but could see no one, though he thought he caught a glimpse of a gold skirt among the bushes.

He threw down the shell by the path, and running forward, cried—"Oh Princess, come with me to my back-yard, and make it into a lovely garden such as this."

Then, for one moment through the arching branches of the trees, there appeared before him a maiden so beautiful that he was almost blinded with the sight of her. She was all gold and shining, like the pictures of Queen Elizabeth. She was smiling, too, but oh, so sadly!

"I will come," she said, "but you, yourself, must prepare the place for the garden. When it is ready I will smile on it and you. Till then, though I will come back with you and tell you what to do, you will never see my face."

As she spoke, a veil of mist shrouded her face and her shining golden dress. The flowers grew dim, the fruits ceased to shine, the fair maids to curtsey, the fountains to play, and the birds to sing. The King shivered. "I thought that when you came I would have my garden at once," he muttered.

"Come," said the Princess gently.

Together they swam back to the Palace. The King was angry and disappointed, but the beautiful picture of the golden Princess smiling at him through the trees was fixed for ever in his mind. He began to think that he would not mind doing a little digging, if only he might see her face again. The first thing to be done the next day was to dismiss all the gardeners; and of all the court only Sir Richard Byrde and Sir Hunny Bee were allowed to stay in the back-yard, where the King was going to work with his own hands.

Sometimes in the long days that followed, the Princess sent out her two nymphs, Wynde and Worta to help him—but all the really hard work he had to do quite alone. Long days they were, for first there was so much, much, digging to be done. All the patent soils had got mixed up, and twisted and turned the King's spade as he tried to dig. He was not accustomed to digging either, and disliked getting hot, and also getting blisters on his kingly hands—but as he toiled on he thought of the Princess and her lovely garden.

Day after day he worked and worked. He felt as if each little tiny task took him years and years; and then he had to wait what seemed to him an eternity before anything happened at all; and then another eternity before the Princess would come and smile upon his garden.

"Will it never be a garden?" he said at last. "Will you never come and smile on it, and shall I never see your face again."

"Not to-day," she said.

At last, one day, after a long time, when his back was bowed with digging and his hands horny with working, he suddenly stopped, for a strange light seemed to be shining from the Palace steps behind him.

"Do not look round yet," said the Princess' soft voice. "Look straight in front of you first."

He stood quite still, staring at what had been, until now, the backyard.

As he gazed there appeared before him paths of grass, green as emeralds and sparkling with dew, and bordered on each side with shells that glowed like mother-o'-pearl. Flowers, flowers everywhere, Canterbury bells, and sunflowers, roses, lilies and lavender. Fruit trees of gold and silver glittering in the sunshine, and behind, great dark leafy trees inviting to shade and coolth. Fountains splashing, and birds singing. He rubbed his eyes, thinking he must be dreaming.

Then he turned—and there, standing on the Palace steps, was the Princess. No veil covered her face now. There she stood in all her glorious golden beauty—smiling, radiant, as her name.

"You have your garden at last," she said.

Now this story might have been written about any garden, yours or mine. For the honey bee still helps to grow the Canterbury bells, and the birds still help to scatter seeds, and people still line their paths with cockle shells, and sunflowers are still called "fair maids" in the country. As for the Princess Mary Radiant—why, it's only in the sunshine that the bells look like silver, and the cockle-shells like mother-o'-pearl, and it's only to the sun that the sunflowers turn their heads every day … and we all know the sun can be "contrary" enough!