The Happy Heir

by fitzybeag

A spin on the classic tale by Oscar Wilde. William is a soldier on his way to France, when a beautiful statue starts to make strange requests.

High above the village of Downton, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy Heir – Patrick Gordon. He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold, for eyes he had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on his sword-hilt.

He was very much admired indeed. 'He is as beautiful as a weathercock,' remarked Dr Clarkson, the town practitioner, who wished to gain a reputation for having artistic tastes; 'only not quite so useful,' he added, fearing lest people should think him unpractical, which he really was not.

'Why can't you be like the Happy Heir?' asked Ethel, a young mother, of her little boy who was crying for the moon. 'The Happy Heir never dreams of crying for anything.'

'I am glad there is some one in the world who is quite happy,' muttered Thomas spitefully as he gazed at the wonderful statue.

'He looks just like an angel,' said Daisy as she ran errands around the town.

'How do you know?' said Mrs Patmore, her employer, 'you have never seen one.'

'But I have, in my dreams,' answered the girl; and Mrs Patmore frowned and looked very severe, for she did not approve of Daisy's dreaming.

One night there traveled through the village a young soldier, William. All his friends had gone away to the French trenches months before, but he had stayed behind, for he was so very loved by his protective father. However, the time had come and he was called up by king and by country to serve in the war. Despite his father's grief, William was excited at the prospect.

All day long he walked from his farm, and at night-time he arrived at the village, where he discovered the next train left at morning. 'Where shall I put up?' he said; 'I hope the town has made preparations.'

Then he saw the statue on the tall column. 'I will put up there,' he cried; 'it is a fine position with plenty of fresh air.' So he hunkered down just between the feet of the Happy Heir.

'I have a golden bedroom,' he said softly to himself as he looked round, and he prepared to go to sleep; but just as he was leaning his head back against the column, a large drop of water fell on him. 'What a curious thing!' he cried, 'there is not a single cloud in the sky, the stars are quite clear and bright, and yet it is raining. The climate in the north of England is really dreadful.'

Then another drop fell.

'What is the use of a statue if it cannot keep the rain off?' he said; 'I must look for a cheap hostel,' and he determined to walk away.

But before he had made it to his feet, a third drop fell, and he looked up, and saw - Ah! what did he see?

The eyes of the Happy Heir were filled with tears, and tears were running down his golden cheeks. His face was so beautiful in the moonlight that the young soldier was filled with pity.

'Who are you?' he said.

'I am the Happy Heir.'

'Why are you weeping then?' asked William; 'you have quite drenched me.'

'When I was alive and had a human heart,' answered the statue, 'I did not know what tears were, for I lived in Downton Abbey, where I never experienced sorrow. In the daytime I played with my cousins in the garden, and in the evening I was head of the table in the Great Dining Room. Round the garden ran a very lofty wall, but I never cared to ask what lay beyond it, everything about me was so beautiful. My friends called me the Happy Heir, and happy indeed I was, if pleasure be happiness. So I lived, and so I died. And now that I am dead they have set me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness and all the misery of my village, and though my heart is made of lead yet I cannot choose but weep.'

'What, is he not solid gold?' said William to himself. He was too polite to make any personal remarks out loud.

'Far away,' continued the statue in a low musical voice, 'far away in a little street there is a poor kitchen. One of the windows is open, and through it I can see a woman, Mrs Patmore, seated at a table. Her face is thin and worn, and she has coarse, red hands, all burnt by the stove, for she is a cook at Downton. She is trying to plan a lavish feast for the Crawley's Yuletide Ball.

In a bed in the corner of the room her little kitchen maid, Daisy, is lying ill. She has a fever, and is asking for oranges. Mrs Patmore has nothing to give her but river water, so she is crying.

Soldier, young soldier, will you not bring her the ruby out of my sword-hilt? My feet are fastened to this pedestal and I cannot move.'

'I am waited for in France,' said William. 'My friends are occupying the Western Front, and I am already late as it is. The War will be won before I can be a part of it!'

'Soldier, young soldier,' said the Heir, 'will you not stay with me for one night, and be my messenger? The girl is so thirsty, and the cook so sad.'

'I don't think I like children,' answered William.

But the Happy Heir looked so sad that the little Swallow was sorry. 'It is very cold here,' he said; 'but I will stay with you for one night, and be your messenger.'

'Thank you, little soldier,' said the Heir.

So William picked out the great ruby from the Heir's sword, and ran away with it in his fist through the narrow alleyways of the town.

He passed by the cathedral, where the white marble angels were sculptured. He passed by Downton Abbey and heard the sound of feasting and laughter. A beautiful woman, Lady Grantham, came out on the balcony with her lover. 'How wonderful the stars are,' Lord Grantham said to her, and how wonderful is the power of love!'

'I hope the feast will be ready in time for the Yuletide ball,' she answered; 'I have ordered food from the most exotic regions; but the cook is so lazy.'

At last he came to the poor kitchen and looked in. Daisy was tossing feverishly on her bed, and Mrs Patmore had fallen asleep, she was so tired. In he hopped, and laid the great ruby on the table beside the sleeping woman's recipe. Then he tiptoed gently round the bed, putting a damp cloth to the girl's forehead. 'How cool I feel,' said the girl, 'I must be getting better;' and she sank into a delicious slumber.

Then William made his way back to the Happy Heir, and told him what he had done. 'It is curious,' he remarked, 'but I feel quite warm now, although it is so cold.'

'That is because you have done a good action,' said the Heir. And the William began to think, and then he fell asleep. Thinking always made him sleepy.

When day broke the next day, he sat up on the pedestal between the Happy Heir's feet. 'Have you any commissions for France?' he cried; 'I am just starting.'

'Soldier, young soldier,' said the Heir, 'will you not stay with me one night longer?'

'I am waited for in France,' answered William. 'To-morrow my friends march the Somme. Soon they will be preparing their rifles, and fastening their bayonets. It should be a historic victory for Britain!'

'Soldier, young soldier,' said the Heir, 'across the village I see a woman, Sarah O'Brien. She is leaning over a desk covered with materials and thread, for she is a lady's maid, and in a tumbler by her side there is a bunch of withered violets. She is embroidering passion-flowers on a satin gown for the loveliest of Lord Grantham's daughters to wear at the ball, but she is too cold to sow any more. There is no fire in the grate, and hunger has made her faint.'

'I will wait with you one night longer,' said William, who really had a good heart. 'Shall I take her another ruby?'

'Alas! I have no ruby now,' said the Heir; 'my eyes are all that I have left. They are made of rare sapphires, which were brought out of India a thousand years ago. Pluck out one of them and take it to her. She will sell it to the jeweller, and buy food and firewood, and finish the dress.'

'Dear Heir,' said William, 'I cannot do that;' and he began to weep.

'Soldier, young soldier,' said the Heir, 'do as I command you.'

So William plucked out the Heir's eye, and found his way to O'Brien's room. The dark-haired lady's maid had her head buried in her hands, so she did not hear the soft plodding of the young man's footsteps, and when she looked up she found the beautiful sapphire lying on the withered violets.

'I am beginning to be appreciated,' she cried; 'this is from some great admirer. Now I can finish my dress,' and she looked quite happy.

The next day the William strolled down to the train station. He sat leaned against a pillar on the platform and watched the soldiers setting off, kissing loved ones goodbye. 'I am going to Egypt!' cried William, mainly to himself, and when the moon rose he marched back to the Happy Heir.

'I am come to bid you good-bye,' he cried.

'Soldier, young soldier,' said the Heir, 'will you not stay with me one night longer?'

'It is winter,' answered William, 'and the chill snow will soon be here. In France the sun is warm on the green grass. My companions are digging more trenches across Flanders. Dear Heir, I must leave you, but I will never forget you, and next spring I will bring you back two beautiful jewels in place of those you have given away. The ruby shall be redder than a red rose, and the sapphire shall be as blue as the great sea.'

'In the square below,' said the Happy Heir, 'there stands a young man, Tom Branson. He is in love with Lady Sybil, Lord Grantham's youngest child, and has dropped all of his savings for an engagement ring down the gutter. His shoes are worn and his suit is shabby, but his biggest complaint is a broken heart. Pluck out my other eye, and give it to him, and he may marry his love.'

'I will stay with you one night longer,' said William, 'but I cannot pluck out your eye. You would be quite blind then.'

'Soldier, young soldier,' said the Heir, 'do as I command you.'

So he plucked out the Heir's other eye, and made off with it. He hurried past the young man, and slipped the jewel into the palm of his hand. 'What a lovely bit of glass,' cried Branson; and he ran home, laughing.

Then William came back to the Heir. 'You are blind now,' he said, 'so I will stay with you always.'

'No, young soldier,' said the poor Heir, 'you must go away to France.'

'I will stay with you always,' said William, and he slept at the Heir's feet.

All the next day he sat by the Heir, and told him stories of his family farm and his old job at Downton.

'Dear young soldier,' said the Heir, 'you tell me of marvellous things, but more marvellous than anything is the suffering of men and of women. There is no Mystery so great as Misery. Take a trip through my village, young soldier, and tell me what you see there.'

So William trekked through the great town, and saw the rich making merry in their beautiful houses, while the beggars were sitting at the gates. He flew into dark lanes, and saw the white faces of starving children looking out listlessly at the black streets. Then he returned and told the Heir what he had seen.

'I am covered with fine gold,' said the Heir, 'you must take it off, leaf by leaf, and give it to my poor; the living always think that gold can make them happy.'

Leaf after leaf of the fine gold William picked off, till the Happy Heir looked quite dull and grey. Leaf after leaf of the fine gold he brought to the poor, and the children's faces grew rosier, and they laughed and played games in the street. 'We have bread now!' they cried.

Then the snow came, and after the snow came the frost. The streets looked as if they were made of silver, they were so bright and glistening; long icicles like crystal daggers hung down from the eaves of the houses, everybody went about in furs, and the little boys wore scarlet caps and skated on the ice.

Poor William grew colder and colder out on the street, but he would not leave the Prince, he loved him too well. He picked up crumbs outside the baker's door where the baker was not looking, and tried to keep himself warm.

But at last he knew that he was going to die. He had just strength to climb up to the Heir's shoulder once more. 'Good-bye, dear Heir!' he murmured, 'will you let me kiss your hand?'

'I am glad that you are going to France at last, young soldier,' said the Heir, 'you have stayed too long here; but you must kiss me on the lips, for I love you.'

'It is not to France that I am going,' said William. 'I am going to the House of Death. Death is the brother of Sleep, is he not?'

And he kissed the Happy Heir on the lips, and fell down dead at his feet.

At that moment a curious crack sounded inside the statue, as if something had broken. The fact is that the leaden heart had snapped right in two. It certainly was a dreadfully hard frost. Early the next morning the Dowager Countess was walking in the square below in company with the Town Councillors. As they passed the column she looked up at the statue: 'Dear me! how shabby the Happy Heir looks!' she said.

'How shabby indeed!' cried the Town Councillors, who always agreed with the Dowager Countess, and they went up to look at it.

'The ruby has fallen out of his sword, his eyes are gone, and he is golden no longer,' said Countess; 'in fact, he is little better than a beggar!'

'Little better than a beggar' said the Town councillors.

'And here is actually a dead beggar at his feet!' continued the Countess. 'We must really issue a proclamation that the homeless are not to be allowed to die here.' And the Town Clerk made a note of the suggestion.

So they pulled down the statue of the Happy Heir. 'As he is no longer beautiful he is no longer useful.'

Then they melted the statue in a furnace, and the Crawleys held a meeting to decide what was to be done with the metal. 'We must have another statue, of course,' he said, 'and it shall be a statue of myself.'

'What a strange thing!' said the overseer of the workmen at the foundry. 'This broken lead heart will not melt in the furnace. We must throw it away.' So they threw it on a dust-heap where the dead young soldier was also lying.

Little knew it, but on this dust-heap lay the two most beautiful things in the entire village.