Jacksonville High School - Crimson J Yearbook (Jacksonville, IL)

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r bright song danced through the tapestrv-hung corridors. Her waiting maid, the petite Sacronessa, wept and plead for a smile, but her austere mistress remained stony. The stately father’s brow wrinkled and his gleaming eyes flashed. One day, a gloriously bright day, the little Sacronessa found the princess sitting idle before her great golden wheel. She was humming a mournful ballad, and the maid’s heart went out to her in her loneliness. “Gracious, lady,” she cried, unburden your heart to me. My tears flow at your grief. Let me comfort you. Your little Sacronessa is earnestly interested in your welfare. Tell me, noble princess!” “Sacronessa,” replied Clothilde with a sad smile, “my grief is too deep for your blithesome disposition. My hour of gloom seems to have come and found me weakening. The strength I once thought 1 possessed has vanished under this strain.” “Oh, princess,” the little waiting maid threw herself at the lady’s feet, “we have been as one. We have wept and laughed together. Will you not confide in me once more? Tell me your trouble, and perforce the two of us may he able to find access to some remedy which will once more gladden your sweet face.” “Sacronessa, it is happiness that I seek. My aims have been high, hut now 1 find them as the air around us. My soul has yearned for joy, and joy has taken its flight.” “Lady, could we not go on a quest for this lost happiness? Could we not mount our horses at the midnight hour and ride forth alone? Dearest lady, you have but to command, and my duty will be to respond to your every wish.” “Ah, Sacronessa, the Princess Clothilde could never mount her snow-white Grisil and ride away so lowly. No; we must take the way of princes and be accompanied by our retinue. You, faithful little follower, shall ride by my side, and we will venture into the gay, bright world for this lost peace of mind. 1 pray Heaven we may be rewarded in due time. Come, I shall make known our plans to the king, my father.” And now they were leaving. The jeweled horses pranced and tossed their glittering heads; the stately riders sat mute. Quention, the jester, ran up to the princess and begged leave to depart with her, but she drew aside with a cold smile to let him back through the swinging gate. The king took her icy hands in his and kissed them tenderly. “Farewell, my beloved daughter! If you quad one draught of this happiness which you seek, come back to your lonely father in his castle.” She smiled, kissed his forehead, and moved on, followed closely by the patient little Sacronessa. They went on and on through the dark forest and past lonely castles perched on frowning cliffs. They passed through quaint scattering villages and received homage from the toiling peasants. They threw bits of gold to grovelling beggars and went on and on. The night came and tents were set up. The royal ladies dismounted, and after eating a frugal repast, retired to couches of velvet and satin. But the princess and maid sat apart from the rest, staring at the blinking stars. One star fell, leaving a trail of sparks, and the lady Clothilde sighed. A pearly tear glistened on Sacronessa’s cheek, but they said never a w'ord. The night lengthened, the camp fire smouldered and 6

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back and forth in front of her. His ‘Knibbs, the Editor.' That surely applies to him. But, logical girl, you don't understand exactly. It was the awful, awful downfall that my pride received.” “You know the old adage,” laughed the girl. He stopped to smile ruefully and threw himself at her feet. Little girl, my pride HAS had a fall, but listen! I’ll send the manuscript back, and if he’ll take it for his Cozy Corner business, and hand over the five hundred dollars, we’ll visit the Little Church around the Corner, and say—but that five hundred will help out! What do you say, Rose o’ Mine?” “John!!” One week passed and found the two once more at their trvsting place. The sweet summer breeze blew the ringlets around the glowing little face. It disarranged the soft tendrils most bewitchingly. John was all adoration. What fun it was to dream and plan and steal away from such sordid tasks as dish washing and lawn mowing! You’re just as silly as you can be. John Dunaway, to talk to me this way. I can't help it, if I blush.” “That’s true, too. Rosie o’ Dunaway, some day you’ll be, and not Rosie o Grady. Eh? But say, I think it’s time his Knibbs was writing. What can mother want? The nerve of any one to interrupt at a time like this.” “Here’s a lettter, son, panted the fat old lady, throwing it to him and retreating. “Very official, I should say,” muttered John, tearing it open. Read it! Read it!” All right, dear:” Mr. John Dunaway, My Dear Sir and Eriend: Your manuscript received. Welcome back to our city, my boy. I have a confession to make to you. Probably it will surprise you to know that your little Rosie is my niece. We have been confederates and wished to test you along certain lines, such as Cozy Corner Chats or Ladies’ World, for instance. But you have come to the front bravely, and I admire you for sending the manuscript back. I have sent your story to the editor of the Blank Tribune, and it has been sent back to me O. K’d. Accept my heartiest congratulations and this check for $1,000. His Knibbs, the Editor. CLOTHILDE The golden gates of the castle swung open and the Princess Clothilde rode out on her gleaming white charger. The retinue that followed bowed their glittering heads, for the lady was going on a curious quest, the quest of happiness. The gaunt, grey castle had been silent; no sounds of merriment had rocked the grim walls for months. The gloom had settled, and it seemed permanent, for the lady Clothilde was changed. Her beautiful face grew whiter each day; t!vi dark, soulful eyes grew hollow, and no 5

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died, yet the princess and her companion kept their lonely vigil. Over the beetling mountains a pale moon peeped, lighting dimly the white faces of the watchers. Sac-ronessa sighed and murmured: “Never will I leave thy side, dear lady, but for your health’s sake, wilt thou not come to our tent? Day will soon dawn and find us here. Come and get your needful rest. But Clothilde smiled and shook her golden head. Day dawned and the pale sun cast its myriad lights on the dreamers. The camp was astir, but everything was quiet. Strict orders had been given, and the royal retinue moved mechanically. The procession moved on. That night the lady pretended to sleep, but her eyes were never closed. The darkly fringed lids still kept their vigil. Paris, the wonderful, was reached. The silent procession moved slowly onward, ever onward. The dazzling lights were lost upon Clothilde. The city, now in its richest attire, was no more than a puppet to her. Her demeanor grew scornful and she whispered to Sacronessa: “It is happiness that I seek, not glamour and tinsel. It is the real in life, the worthy.” A handsome prince came with them. He would not be rebuffed. He came clad in richest garments, and hovered at the side of the princess. Were she a candle flame, he was the moth. He followed her with his eyes, yet never sought to press his suit. Sacronessa said to herself: Can he be happiness? He is worthy of her noble love, but surely he is not the happiness she seeks.” Yet, still was the lady silent. She watched the prince with covert, yet disinterested glances, and when at last he vowed his adoration for her, received a cold dismissal. Now traveled they on without the merry prince. They had reached the Alps and stopped to view the glorious peaks stretching away, up, up, into the deep Heavenly blue. The eyes of the princess flashed, and her ringing laugh resounded once more. “Ah, she cried exultingly, “this is joy! this is happiness! I must reach those pure heights and view the sordid earth below. I shall stand upon their magnificent summits. Come, my faithful ones! Come, you who have gone with me on this quest! I shall attain my heart’s desire.” Stay, Princess!” cried the little Sacronessa. “Attempt not that which is too mighty for thy fragile body. Never can you stand the toil, the strain, which will accompany the ascent.” “1'his is the end,” called back the Lady Clothilde, spurring her horse up the steep cliff. “Follow or not, as you will!” On they went, on and ever upward. The lady’s face glowed pink amidst the snow and ice, and her hair streamed down about her shoulders in a shower of gold. Grisil, thou art too slow!” she cried, dismounting and dashing up and up. Her costly garments wrapped around her slender figure in the cutting wind. But her strength increased, grew feverish, and she slipped o’er and up the icy rocks, stretching out her arms to the peak so far above her. She was now almost lost to her followers, and at last became only a moving speck upon the ragged glacier. On they went, following a trail of tiny footprints in the snow. Sacronessa began to cry and shrieked aloud as she hastily dismounted to pick up a small dark object half imbedded in the ice. 7