THE PRINCE AND THE RED DAFFODILS

The Prince and the Red Daffodils by Foutoux
All Rights Reserved Copyright L.Ivison 2013

Prince Volovki walked through the meadow behind his rose garden.  It was March and still freezing but this hadn't stopped the daffodils from blooming.  He stopped, caught his breath and looked at the thousands of yellow heads blasted by a Siberian wind.  Yellow, all yellow - some had large trumpets, some small, some were light yellow almost orange.  The willow tree poised between brown and green hesitated to poke its leave out and contented itself to sway.  A single woodpigeon sat on the top of its branches and to the Prince's eyes there lacked a "quelquechose".  He wasn't sure what.  Perhaps it was that he had just come from the rose garden where he was happy to find his Crimson Neige tumbling with new blossom.  The idea hit him all at once "Why not red daffodils" and rubbing his hands he rushed back to his laboratory which was hidden in an ancient glasshouse in the grounds.

The following March, it was even colder and, with his grandson the Honorable Sebastian he set off for the meadow.  Sebastian was five years old had gold curly hair, two dimples and a pronounced lisp.  As they reached the daffodils the sun came out although the sky was icy blue and the clouds shifted across the sky as if eager to get away.  There before the Grandfather the erect aristocratic Prince and his cherubic grandson lay a field of red daffodils - some crimson, others almost orange but all of them undoubtedly red.  The Prince's chest puffed out with pride and he looked down at the 5 year old who was sucking a lolly:

"What do you think Sebbi" asked the Prince who always talked to children as if they were adults.

The child with wise eyes grown large at the sight of the red and green meadow took out his lollipop and said

"It'th dothn't go Grandpa"

The Prince was surprised.  What do you mean "It doesn't go?"

"It'th too red" and Sebastian put the lollypop back into his mouth and in his new Wellington Boots squelched over the mud and picked a handful.

Now the Prince had a certain respect for the opinion of children in general and in particular his Grandson but he was stung by the child's remarks:

"Just you wait and see" he said and the two, hand in hand went back to the chateau for lunch.

*********

It so happened that the Prince had been thinking for some months that he would like to ask the Countess R. to be his wife.  She was a widow who lived in a chateau a few miles from N. and tonight he had decided to propose.  The chateau's staff had put on a banquet with foie gras, and smoked salmon; the Dining Hall from which the Prince's ancestors looked down from stern pre-Revolutionary portraits, was lit by candleight which made the crystal glasses and chandaliers twinkle.

The Countess still plump and pretty in her 50's wore a discreet velvet dress which gave just a hint of a generous decolage and she had her hair piled high on her head with a pearl necklace around her long neck.
The converation was intimate and the Prince leaning over picked up the Countess's hand, kissed her fingertips and said

"I have a little surprise for you Cherie" and with this he brought out a bouquet of red daffodils wrapped in celophane with an orange bow.

The Countess, a woman reknowned for her refined taste in all things took one look at the bouquet and her warm smile froze.

"What's the matter, Cherie" said the Prince trying to nibble her fingers, but which she withdrew quickly.  With a tight, hurt hiss and trying not to cry she said  "I was expecting roses".

The evening was a disaster and young Sebastian  with his wise eyes stood clutchin his teddy bear on the marble stairwell and watched the Countess leave in tears.

And the Motto of the story is THERE IS NO PASSION WITHOUT THORNS

Copyright L. Ivison 2013