CHAPTER I. THE THREE PRINCESSES.

IF anybody had happened to be walking along what was called the Robbers’ Road, in Long Forest, a part of the possessions of good King Brondé, who lived many, many hundred years ago, he would have perceived that the road was continually curving towards the right. He would also soon have grown weary, for this winding road led, by degrees, to the top of a mountain. But if he had kept on and on, and did not give up for weariness, he would at length have come to the palace of the very king himself. A magnificent palace it was, too, and a sight of it well worth the long journey.

If you could but have seen how the gilded roof shone in the sunlight! and the white marble statues in the gardens! and the fountains and the round ponds filled with gold and silver fishes! and the flocks of lambs with blue and pink ribbons around their necks! and the shepherdesses all[10] dressed in white, each with her crook and her wreath of flowers!—if you could but have seen all these beautiful things, then would the weary journey have been soon forgotten.

And could you have entered the palace itself, and have kept your eyes from being blinded by the bright colors, the sparkling ornaments, and all the splendor of this wonderful place, and have wandered on and on, through the spacious apartments, you would at last have come to an ivory door, over which was perched a red-and-green parrot. This parrot was fed upon flowers made from crystals of white sugar; and had you given him one of these he would have told you a riddle. But this, of course, you could not know. And indeed, when the door was once open, you would have forgotten parrots and everything else in gazing at the beautiful lady within,—the beautiful pale lady, King Brondé’s queen.

This is her private chamber. The windows are lofty, and more than half hidden by rich curtains of crimson. The walls are covered with cloth of crimson and gold. Vases of white lilies fill the air with their fragrance. How beautiful is the pale lady, reclining upon her dark cushions of velvet! Her robe is of blue silk, embroidered with silver. Her fair hair is adorned with a wreath of blue flowers. These flowers are made of precious[11] stones, and the leaves are of silver. Her eyes are blue, too, very blue,—bluer than her silk robe,—bluer than the flowers in her hair. And oh! if her cheeks had but looked rosy then, she would have been the most beautiful queen in the world. But her face was very, very pale; so that when she was not called the Queen, she was often called the Pale Lady, or the White Lady, and sometimes the Lily Queen.

But what are those blue eyes looking upon so earnestly, so tenderly, so sadly?

Ah! that I can soon tell you.

But first I must tell you that fastened to the ceiling was a golden eagle, holding in its claws a long silver cord. This cord sustained a sort of canopy, made of white velvet, and fringed with silver. From this canopy hung curtains of the most gauzy, delicate lace. These were now looped up with their jewelled bands, and it was something underneath upon which the blue eyes of the Pale Lady were fixed so earnestly.

Now this something underneath was something very charming indeed.

It was a babe which lay there, sleeping in its cradle.

This cradle was curiously wrought of sandalwood and rosewood and boxwood and ivory. It was lined with down, and its cushions were white[12] and soft as new-fallen snow. The quilt was embroidered with pearls. At each of its four corners, and bending over it, was the sculptured figure of a little smiling boy. Those at the foot seemed playing softly on musical instruments, as if soothing the child to slumber. The two at the head were represented as holding out poppies over the infant beneath.

But why should the mother look with sadness upon her babe? If any one could weep in such a beautiful place, we might fancy almost those were tears in her blue eyes.

The Pale Lady had, no doubt, cause for sorrow; for she sighed frequently, and bowed her head upon the velvet cushions, saying, “O my precious one! what shall I ask for thee?”

At length she took from her bosom a curiously shaped whistle, which, when she put it to her lips, gave forth the sweetest notes you ever heard.

Then the ivory door opened softly, and there came in a bright black-eyed little boy, in a red turban. The lady, without speaking, pointed to a casket at the opposite side of the room. This the little black-eyed, also without speaking, placed in her hands, and then, with the very lightest of footsteps and the very lowest of bows, he left the room.

The lady unlocked the casket, and, after opening[13] many little drawers, she at last took out a most fairy-like cup, made of alabaster, perfectly plain and white. Then, lifting the crimson and gold hangings from the wall near by, she pressed her finger upon what seemed to be a small picture fastened in the wood-work. A drawer flew out, from which the Pale Lady took three small green stones and a vial. Placing the stones in the cup, she poured over them a liquid from the vial, and very soon there began to arise a vapor, which spread through the apartment. And the Pale Lady, while the vapor was rising, sang, in low tones, these words:—

As the vapor melted away, there was seen, standing by the cradle, a beautiful white lamb; which, after walking three times around the room, became transformed into as pretty a green fairy as ever was seen. Now this is what the fairy said to the lady, and what the lady said to the fairy.

Fairy.—“Yes: three times I promised to come at thy bidding. This is the third. What now is the wish of the fair Lily Queen?”

Lady.—“Fairy, I pray thee bestow something good—something blessed—upon my youngest-born.”

[14]Fairy.—“Yes, lady. And what shall it be? It is thine to choose. How is it with the two princesses, her sisters? Did I not well by them?”

Lady.—“Fairy, what I asked thou gavest. For the eldest, I chose the gift of perfect beauty, for I said, ‘Every one loves the beautiful; she will draw all hearts to herself.’”

Fairy.—“And thus did it prove?”

Lady.—“Listen! I hear her step. Judge now for thyself.”

As the ivory door swung open, the beautiful princess entered. Perfect beauty had indeed been given her. There was in her countenance such a bloom, such a freshness, such a smile upon her lip, such a light in her eye, that, having once looked, one was hardly able to turn away. She wore no ornament, well knowing that gold could buy nothing so pretty, so bright, so radiant, as herself.

“And such beauty as this, or even greater, wouldst thou choose for thy youngest-born?” asked the fairy.

“O no, no, no!” said the lady, earnestly. “O fairy! yonder beauty has no heart, and none love her. She is not happy; she makes no one happy.”

“And did I not warn thee?” asked the fairy.

“Fairy, thou didst. The blame is mine,—mine only. I foolishly trusted that beauty alone would[15] draw loving hearts around her. Oh! she is vain; she is silly; she is proud. Examine the book she holds. Inside its covers are little mirrors, that she may continually enjoy the sight of her beauty. All the artists in the kingdom are busy painting likenesses of her face, her form, her hands. And you will perceive that the very figures upon her dress are only so many miniatures of herself.”

“And her sister, the second princess,” inquired the fairy, “upon whom, at your request, I conferred great wisdom,—you surely find comfort in her?”

“Alas!” replied the lady, “although she can converse in all languages, and not even the wisest philosopher can puzzle her with questions, yet she cannot make herself beloved, for she knows not the secret of making even the poorest child happy. Though despising beauty, yet she is envious of her sister; and their want of affection saddens my whole life. But you will see, now, this wise princess. That is her step approaching. It will be very fortunate if we understand her, for seldom does she converse in our own language.”

Again the ivory door opened, to admit the second princess, who instantly began talking.

“Alski, mofo, se lup tak sba tab enryo dyo!” she exclaimed.

Her dress was a brownish robe, reaching to the floor. It was covered with ink-spots. Her hair was[16] tumbled, and stuck full of pens. Her hands were filled with big charts and rolls of manuscripts.

“Potobi, ritu fo bam. Shik, sho, tabi,” said she, approaching her beautiful sister so awkwardly that she almost trod upon one of the pretty miniatures in her dress. The beauty sprang angrily up, and there would have been a great quarrel, had not the Green Fairy, with a motion of her wand, ordered them from the apartment.

Meanwhile, the pale Lily Queen, paler now than ever, sat sighing and weeping.

“Arouse yourself, dear lady,” said the fairy, “and choose quickly, for others may summon me, and I must soon be gone.”

“Good fairy,” said the lady, “bestow upon her, not happiness for herself, but the blessing of bringing happiness to others. I ask for her the gift of exceeding love. Kindle a love-flame in her heart which shall never grow dim.”

“Alas!” said the fairy, “what you ask is not mine to give. Far, far away, in a land which no mortal and no fairy ever saw, is an altar upon which the holy fire is constantly burning. Now, although no mortal and no fairy may enter there, yet there may, and there do, come messengers from thence, bearing sparks of this holy fire. Happy the heart which receives such messengers, for the love-flame, once kindled from the sacred fire, is never quenched.[17] And all who have love in their hearts possess the blessing you have chosen,—the power and the will to create happiness. Be silent, now, and let only beautiful and holy thoughts enter your mind.”

The fairy then described with her wand a circle upon the floor, in the centre of which she stood for some time, motionless. At last, in a low voice, she began chanting,—

[18]As she chanted, her voice grew fainter and fainter. Her form faded, becoming more and more shadow-like, until, at length, its last dim outline disappeared.

But while the Pale Lady was still gazing at the spot where the fairy had stood, she heard a voice faintly singing,—

The lady raised her eyes to the ceiling, and saw there what appeared to be a kind of white cloud. While gazing, full of wonder at this strange appearance, she perceived, flying from it, a small, white dove. Following its motions with her eye, she saw that it was flying in circles around the cradle. These circles grew smaller and smaller, and at length the beautiful little creature alighted upon the clasped hands of the child, and then creeping into its bosom, just where its little heart was beating, it lay there as quietly as if it had never in its life known any other nest.

The lady now perceived that the air was filled with the singing of birds, and, looking up, she saw that the white cloud had changed, and was now of the most brilliant colors; and that from the midst[19] of it were flying birds such as she had never before seen or heard,—birds of the most radiant plumage, purple and gold and scarlet, and whose warbling was inexpressibly melodious. The whole room was filled with their brightness and with their music. They seemed to be attendants of the white dove, for they hovered about the cradle, though not one alighted. Poised in the air, fluttering their bright wings, their singing was not like that of birds, but like some heavenly anthem, such as she had imagined might be sung by angels.

At first this music was overpowering, but grew softer by degrees, and so soothing that the lady soon lost all consciousness of what was about her. Her eyelids drooped, and she wondered how it was that the music sounded so far away.

When the power of opening her eyes was restored to her, she looked eagerly about, and then grew very sad, for there were no sweet sounds in the room,—no birds, no music.

Running to her child, she searched eagerly in its bosom. But no dove was there,—nothing but a warm, bright red spot, just over its little heart.

The babe opened its blue eyes, smiled, and put out its tiny hands to its mother; and the Pale Lady might have thought she had been dreaming, were it not for the bright red spot which, as I said before, was plainly to be seen just over the little quick-beating heart.

CHAPTER II. KING BRONDÉ.

ALTHOUGH I have told you something of his palace and of his daughters and of his queen, I have as yet hardly spoken of the king himself.

King Brondé was once a poor little boy, and lived with his mother in a brown hut or cottage, near the borders of a forest. One day, when he was in the forest with some other children, chopping fagots for his mother’s fire, a giant chanced to pass that way, and, by accident, his foot became entangled in the branches of a thick thorn-tree, causing him to roar out most lustily. The other children screamed, and ran away. But Brondé climbed the tree, and, with his hatchet, hacked away the branches.

“Thank you, my little man!” said the giant. “Come, live with me, and I’ll teach you to grow. Would you like that?”

“With all my heart,” said the lad, “if mother will say yes.”

He then ran quickly home, and cried out,—

“Mother! mother! May I grow up a big man?”

[21]“To be sure!” said his mother. “What’s to hinder?”

“Well,” said the lad, “I shall go now to live with the giant, and he will teach me.”

Then his mother began to weep and to wail most bitterly, and to say, “O no! O no!”

But when the little boy said he was not afraid, and told how stout he would grow and how he would take care of her, and how proud she should be of such a big son, she wiped her tears and gave him her consent. So Brondé ran to the forest, and cried out, “Sir giant! sir giant! I am ready.” And then the giant put him in his pocket, and walked away.

And Brondé lived a year in the cave; and the giant fed him with something which caused him to grow very big and very tall and very strong. This something was a mountain herb which giants fed upon, and may, no doubt, be still found in that region, only that no one knows the spot where it grows.

Brondé, as I said, grew very large and strong, and would, no doubt, have some day become a giant himself, had his stout friend lived long enough.

But the giant grew sick, and laid him down to die. Knowing that his end was near, he called Brondé close to his mouth, and said to him:—

[22]“I shall soon leave you now. Have I not been a friend to you? Have I not fulfilled my promise?”

Then, as Brondé could not answer for crying, the giant went on:—

“There is but one man living as large and strong as yourself. He calls himself Magnus, or ‘The Great.’ Years ago, I did for him what I have done for you. But he grew wicked as fast as he grew strong, and I drove him from me. You will readily know him; for he is exactly your size. His hair, however, is not fair and curly like yours, but black and coarse. I pray, however, that you may never meet, for he would gladly kill you, that there may be no man living as large and as strong himself.

“Death is near,” continued the giant, “and I am not sorry; for mine has been but a lonely life. But before we part I would bestow upon you a parting gift. It is one which this Magnus, of whom I have spoken, often begged of me, but never obtained. You see this vial. A few drops of its contents confer upon the person swallowing them immense strength. As its effects pass off, he sinks into a stupor resembling death, from which he awakes with only his usual powers. You are young, active, and will seek adventure,—brave, and will fear no danger. You will encounter perils; you will be reduced to extremities in which even your uncommon strength shall not avail. Preserve, therefore, this little vial[23] with the utmost care, and never use it unless your very life depends upon its aid.

“This, then,” said the giant, as he hung the vial about the neck of Brondé by a stout cord, “this is my dying gift; listen, now, to my dying request.

“When I am dead, leave my body in this cave. Roll rocks about the mouth of it, till no opening can be seen. Pull up oak-trees and plant them around, that no one may ever discover the entrance to my tomb.”

So the giant died; and Brondé, with his immense strength, rolled rocks and planted trees, until the cave was entirely concealed. And, to this day, no[24] traveller journeying that way ever knew he was passing the tomb of a giant.

Now Brondé had lived in the cave just a year and a day. And the same flowers were in bloom, the meadows were as green, the waters as blue, the sky was as bright, the air as soft, and the birds were singing as sweetly the very same tunes, as on the day when he kissed his mother and ran to meet the giant in the forest.

And Brondé wondered, as he travelled homeward, whether he really were Brondé, and really had a mother living in a brown cottage by the edge of a forest. And the more he wondered, the faster he walked; until, at length, he walked so fast that no horse could pass him by.

Now, when his mother, who was looking out from her little window at the house-top, saw this big fellow coming at such a rate, she ran down to fasten the door. She was too late, however, for he was already in the room, and searching for something on the top shelf of the cupboard.

“Ah, here it is!” said he,—“the little blue honey-pot. Now it is certain I am Brondé. For though there might be a brown cottage like this, it would not have a cupboard like this, and a little blue honey-pot on the top shelf.”

When the good dame reached the bottom of the[25] stairs, she was terribly frightened to see such a powerful man in possession of her room and her honey-pot.

“Pardon me,” said he, “but I have travelled long, and am very hungry.”

The dame, seeing she could do no other, brought her oatmeal cakes and all her pans of milk, and then, by way of passing the time, asked if there were any news.

“O, great news!” said he; “the giant is dead.”

“Alas!” said the good woman, beginning to weep, “where, then, is my little son?”

Then Brondé laughed, and cried out,—

“I am your little son!”

And he pulled from his pocket the whole suit of clothes which he had worn away.

Then the dame knew it was her own son, and would have fainted away for joy, had not Brondé caught her in his arms and kissed her and hugged her as if she had only been a little child.

And Brondé lived many years with his mother, and was a good son to her till she died.

He then went forth into the world to seek his fortune. And chancing to stop in a great city, through which a legion of soldiers was passing, he resolved to join the army, and fight for the king.

Now the king of the land soon heard of the marvellous[26] deeds of his new soldier, and straightway sent for him to come to the palace, that he might behold with his own eyes this great wonder.

Brondé, therefore, visited the palace. And the king was so charmed with his lofty stature, his noble air, and his fine appearance, that he must needs have him among his own private guards, and very soon made him captain over them all. And it was soon found that this great soldier was as good as he was great, and as gentle as he was strong. For never in his life had he used his strength to oppress the weak; but, on the contrary, sought to help all who were in distress.

Now the king had an only child, a daughter as fair and sweet as a lily. And the king never called her anything but his White Lily, or his Precious Lily. This princess was the life and light of the court. She was sweet-tempered and modest, yet merry and playful as a kitten, dancing and singing from morning to night.

And one day, when the king was away, and the courtiers were feasting in the grand banquet-hall, there ran in among them maidens weeping, and crying out,—