The Porcelain Princess
part six
“What do you sing of?”
She sat on the ground, leaning against a rough but sturdy table’s leg. He continued working. And when he spoke, it was in the lowest tone she'd heard from him.
“Time ago... I was running an errand for a merchant who had bought my pottery. I was to take it to the palace. Inside I was struck dumb by the splendour, the majesty. And yet the real treasure of the crown, it seemed, was not of metal. Nor silk. Nor a thing of great size, nor age.” The potter's hands moved of their own accord, his eyes elsewhere.
“I admit I strayed from where I had deposited the wares... so eager was I to admire the world I had stepped into. And as I wandered I saw two figures in a playful argument enter a room ahead of me. But a glimpse.” His lips were a firm line, giving away nothing. “But a glimpse. She laughed with merriment, and the light of the hallway fell upon her richer than her fine clothes, more fitting and more beautiful.” He retrieved from a bench drawer a pouch and slowly removed its contents.
Within his hand it caught a blend of light and shadow; yet the Princess recognised the precious shape she saw. A heart, fashioned of finest porcelain.
An expression of distant pain flickered across his face and the potter held the heart up to the light of the dying day – exposed so the young woman saw his lament. The heart had broken, perhaps shattered, and had been repaired. The lines criss-crossing over its surface were finer than those across her own face but the Princess knew the pain of even fine lines. The pain of something merely mended.
“The laughing maiden bathed in light, like something Heaven-sent, stole my heart. I went swiftly to my home with only thoughts of her – donned my best clothing – and, young fool, I returned to the palace to line amongst the other suitors.” Again he paused, and the Princess moved closer.
“They sneered, jeered, mocked. But I was determined to try, to at least gain an audience. I waited. The Princess – for so she was, of course – escorted a prince from the chambers. Her eyes, face, voice, were filled with disdain. She turned to face the room and I stood straight and honest, knowing she would pick me from the crowd. Knowing she would. But her eyes passed over me. And were that not enough, they seemed, in shock, to startle back. Her beautiful face, her perfect lips, contorted. And she laughed. And they laughed. And it was but a moment to them. A moment. But my heart shattered. And I fled.”
Beneath her cowl, the Princess felt a sweep of feeling; whether she blanched or flushed she could not tell. Only that the world spun around her and she placed a hand upon the back of his potter's chair to steady herself. The young man gazed at his porcelain heart.
“And for all my gifts with pottery I could do no better than this.”
Her heart wrenched. Her heart so long absent was like a flood; cascading, torrential, overwhelming. Her delicate fingers slid around his hand and he looked upwards into her face so close to his.
“I suppose this is yours then.” Pressing the heart into her hands, his tone of exhausted resignation broke all barriers she had maintained. A tear snaked down her cheeks, the first tear in her life shed for another and another's pain. Followed by more; tears born of her shame, regret, but most of all her helpless wish to undo the pain the potter held. So awful was the fraction which she shared. And as the tears dripped upon the heart she carried, the potter took a sharp intake of breath. The Princess wiped the surface of the heart and brought it to her face: where her tears had fallen, the lines that scarred its fine surface had vanished, leaving no trace of its breaking.
With a sound between a laugh and a cry the potter leapt to his feet and examined the heart. Lifting his head his eyes shone with jubilance and his lips trembled. Wordlessly he leant forward and pressed his lips to hers, in a gesture more of gratitude than passion. And where their tears mixed upon the Princess' face the tracery of which she'd so abhorred faded and vanished.
With full hearts they embraced, the sun sinking behind the hills.
Loving and loved.
And happily ever after did they live.
She sat on the ground, leaning against a rough but sturdy table’s leg. He continued working. And when he spoke, it was in the lowest tone she'd heard from him.
“Time ago... I was running an errand for a merchant who had bought my pottery. I was to take it to the palace. Inside I was struck dumb by the splendour, the majesty. And yet the real treasure of the crown, it seemed, was not of metal. Nor silk. Nor a thing of great size, nor age.” The potter's hands moved of their own accord, his eyes elsewhere.
“I admit I strayed from where I had deposited the wares... so eager was I to admire the world I had stepped into. And as I wandered I saw two figures in a playful argument enter a room ahead of me. But a glimpse.” His lips were a firm line, giving away nothing. “But a glimpse. She laughed with merriment, and the light of the hallway fell upon her richer than her fine clothes, more fitting and more beautiful.” He retrieved from a bench drawer a pouch and slowly removed its contents.
Within his hand it caught a blend of light and shadow; yet the Princess recognised the precious shape she saw. A heart, fashioned of finest porcelain.
An expression of distant pain flickered across his face and the potter held the heart up to the light of the dying day – exposed so the young woman saw his lament. The heart had broken, perhaps shattered, and had been repaired. The lines criss-crossing over its surface were finer than those across her own face but the Princess knew the pain of even fine lines. The pain of something merely mended.
“The laughing maiden bathed in light, like something Heaven-sent, stole my heart. I went swiftly to my home with only thoughts of her – donned my best clothing – and, young fool, I returned to the palace to line amongst the other suitors.” Again he paused, and the Princess moved closer.
“They sneered, jeered, mocked. But I was determined to try, to at least gain an audience. I waited. The Princess – for so she was, of course – escorted a prince from the chambers. Her eyes, face, voice, were filled with disdain. She turned to face the room and I stood straight and honest, knowing she would pick me from the crowd. Knowing she would. But her eyes passed over me. And were that not enough, they seemed, in shock, to startle back. Her beautiful face, her perfect lips, contorted. And she laughed. And they laughed. And it was but a moment to them. A moment. But my heart shattered. And I fled.”
Beneath her cowl, the Princess felt a sweep of feeling; whether she blanched or flushed she could not tell. Only that the world spun around her and she placed a hand upon the back of his potter's chair to steady herself. The young man gazed at his porcelain heart.
“And for all my gifts with pottery I could do no better than this.”
Her heart wrenched. Her heart so long absent was like a flood; cascading, torrential, overwhelming. Her delicate fingers slid around his hand and he looked upwards into her face so close to his.
“I suppose this is yours then.” Pressing the heart into her hands, his tone of exhausted resignation broke all barriers she had maintained. A tear snaked down her cheeks, the first tear in her life shed for another and another's pain. Followed by more; tears born of her shame, regret, but most of all her helpless wish to undo the pain the potter held. So awful was the fraction which she shared. And as the tears dripped upon the heart she carried, the potter took a sharp intake of breath. The Princess wiped the surface of the heart and brought it to her face: where her tears had fallen, the lines that scarred its fine surface had vanished, leaving no trace of its breaking.
With a sound between a laugh and a cry the potter leapt to his feet and examined the heart. Lifting his head his eyes shone with jubilance and his lips trembled. Wordlessly he leant forward and pressed his lips to hers, in a gesture more of gratitude than passion. And where their tears mixed upon the Princess' face the tracery of which she'd so abhorred faded and vanished.
With full hearts they embraced, the sun sinking behind the hills.
Loving and loved.
And happily ever after did they live.
♠ ♠ ♠
The End