In the olden times

IN THE OLDEN TIMES

My friend, Jonathan Hepplewhite, has his feet firmly on the ground.
Mind you, he is not stodgy or lacking in imagination - far from it.
And, anyway, all this happened long ago, before the world turned almost
completely into a mechanical madhouse. He lectured on the Romantics,
and I often wondered if this might not have explained his attitude, but
he would himself deny it immediately.
He had been on holiday to Greece; all alone as a young bachelor, amidst
bustle and excitement, he boarded the night express at Marseilles for
Paris. Not liking crowds he was glad to have a sleeping compartment
shared by an old fellow who kept to himself.
Jonathan dined well and retired early in his new red pyjamas. It was at
times like this, he used to confide in me, that he wished he had the
loving companionship of a really nice wife, but she just hadn't come
along yet.
So far he had noted nothing strange, and he soon fell asleep, lulled by
the swaying motion of the train and the steady clicking and clacking of
the wheels as the mighty engine roared its way through the sleeping
night.
Then it happened. The train blew its whistle and came slowly to a halt.
The sleeping compartment became brightly lit, and while the old man
slept on, the carriage door suddenly opened. Jonathan swung out of bed.
Then, to his amazement a creature who looked like a powdered and
bewigged very resplendent footman opened the door from the outside of
the train.
"Monsieur Jonathan Hepplewhite?"
"Yes".
"You get out here, Monsieur".
"Oh, do I? Just a jiffy then".
And before he had time to think, Jonathan was standing on a station
platform with the door slammed closed behind him. He was still half
asleep.
"But, I say - look here! This isn't Paris. My luggage is on that train.
And all my clothes, money and passport".
"Do not worry, Monsieur. For us, relatively speaking of course, time is
of no consequence. Madame has chosen, and you must come. All will be
well if you make no mistake".
And to Jonathan's further astonishment, the splendid fellow vanished -
just vanished. He looked around him. Even in these circumstances, he
registered the beauty of the night - the full moon bathing in gold,
black and sombre green, the many stately trees that surrounded the
small station platform. He caught his breath - he hadn't seen such
beauty since he was a boy.
He decided to see if there was a station master and walked in his
pyjamas to the office by the exit. He knocked loudly and in anger on
the door. Then another figure came to him and said regally, "Sir, your
carriage awaits. Madame is expecting you".
By this time, Jonathan was ready to accept anything; he climbed into
the carriage and the horses were soon clip-clopping down the narrow
road through the trees. As Jonathan sat back he put his hand on a a
strange object. He picked it up to find that it was a finely wrought
sword in a gem-encrusted scabbard. He pulled the sword out and
inadvertently slit open his left pyjama trouser leg as he tested the
blade's sharpness.
He called up to the silent coachman.
"I say! What is this for?"
"Sire - it is a magic sword that will make you invincible?"
Will it, thought Jonathan, a little uneasily, wondering what would come
next. Meanwhile the horses and carriage rocked and sped through the
glorious moonlit south of France. Jonathan noted the silver glint of
water through the trees and concluded that the narrow road followed a
river. Then the road began to wind upwards. Just as he felt the journey
would never end he saw looming ahead a giant and forbidding castle on a
mound.
The carriage climbed until it was well above the surrounding
well-watered and fertile countryside.
The coachman turned and Jonathan thought he could detect a note of
sympathy (or was it mockery?) in his voice as he said, "Sire, we have
arrived. You had better take up your sword".
Jonathan grabbed his weapon and got out to look at a draw-bridge over a
moat. The way ahead seemed open until, as he walked in some trepidation
forward onto the bridge, he suddenly saw a pack of hungry-looking
hounds pacing backwards and forwards. He stopped and looked back. The
coachman, the horses ,and the carriage had gone. He drew out the sword
and advanced.
The hounds, seeing him, snarling and howling, attacked him at once. He
swung his sword wildly; to his consternation the sword severed several
heads which rolled off the drawbridge to splash into the moat. The
remaining hounds fled into the surrounding woods howling in fear.
So far, so good, thought Jonathan, rather proudly holding up his sword
appreciatively. He passed into the forecourt and towards the next
arched doorway as if under some strange moonlit compulsion.
Six times he was attacked from all sides by monsters that resembled
dragons to tigers and serpents, with several jackals and hyenas thrown
in for good measure, but always the sword was successful. At last,
inside the castle itself, he was greeted from the shadows by the figure
of a man dressed very richly in bottle green and silver. This man was
rather disturbing, he grey eyes resting on you a little too
pensively.
"Good for you, Monsieur Hepplewhite. That is all the fighting of that
kind that you will have to do tonight. The Queen awaits you. Follow
me".
White and shaken, Jonathan went forward in his torn pyjamas, and with
his sword loose in the scabbard. The shadowy figure opened great double
doors and said in a sombre voice to someone inside the room:
"Ma'am. Here is Jonathan Hepplewhite as you commanded".
Then he motioned to Jonathan to enter, and he closed the doors behind
him. Jonathan went forward, The room, as he could see even in the
candlelight, was a sumptuous bedroom. The large canopied bed was empty.
He paused by some open windows and gazed out on acres of trim lawns,
dark trees and sleeping flowers. A voice, as mellifluous as he had ever
heard, suddenly spoke.
"Good evening, Jonathan. My name is Helen. I'm glad you could make it.
Come and sit here by me".
He turned and saw a woman of about his own age who, for a moment, left
him speechless in her ineffable beauty. He gazed, dumb, on her features
from her cascading hair of auburn flames down the full length of her
perfect figure, scantily clad in the warm night.
He sat beside her, the sword aslant between them.
She indicated the sword. "You have made good use of this". She looked
at his torn pyjamas. 'I see your manliness which does you
credit".
"Why have you brought me here and why are you tormenting me like this
with your beauty that I have not seen since I dreamt of it as a
boy?"
"Your conduct has pleased me. Sometimes, when this happens, I spend
time with the chosen mortal just to prove how happy marriages can be?
Then, all being well?"
"What does this mean to me?"
"In a few months you will see. I have brought you to this high place
where you can look out over my kingdom to put you to your final test
before fully making up my mind. Meanwhile", and she looked again at his
torn pyjama leg, "I see your manhood is even more majestic than I
thought. Come?."
Jonathan picked up the sword and followed her, acquitting himself to
the best of his ability.
Then she vanished. He was alone again and he felt a deep yearning, or
longing for the shape and voice of the woman who called herself Helen.
Was he never to see her again? A few minutes later, the stranger in
bottle green and silver opened the great double doors and led him out
through the courtyard once more and bade him adieu, while he climbed
into the carriage which had once more appeared.
At first the rocking and rolling of the carriage made him sleep until
all became a jumble in his mind.
Then there was a loud knocking at the door and the attendant was
calling: "Paris, Messieurs. Paris in ten minutes!"
Jonathan woke up - to find himself in the bunk of the Paris express
again. The old man was saying: "Excuse me, Monsieur, but you do snore
somewhat, if I may say so - you kept me awake all night!"
Jonathan did not reply. He was looking at the torn leg of his pyjamas,
and he seemed to have gone to bed with his slippers on. He just didn't
know what to make of it all.
Several months later, when he told me all about it, he added that he
was engaged to a new member of the staff - she lectured in medieval
French literature, was called Helen, and seemed to him to be
divine?.
In my bachelor hood, I congratulated him and - well, hou never know - I
have made a promise to myself to make, in the not too distant future, a
journey on the night express from Marseilles to Paris.