“But I beg of you to let me in,” said the Princess, “for I am in trouble and want your help.”
“Come in then,” said the voice; and the door flew open, and the Princess trod into the hut, in the middle of which, wrapped in a grey cloak which almost hid her, sat the witch. Princess Fiorimonde sat down near her, and told her, her story. How the King wished her to marry, and had sent word to the neighbouring princes, that they might make offers for her.
“This is truly bad hearing,” croaked the witch, “but we shall beat them yet; and you must deal with each Prince as he comes. Would you like them to become dogs, to come at your call, or birds, to fly in the air, and sing of your beauty, or will you make them all into beads, the beads of such a necklace as never woman wore before, so that they may rest upon your neck, and you may take them with you always.”
“The necklace! the necklace!” cried the Princess, clapping her hands with joy. “That will be best of all, to sling them upon a string and wear them round my throat. Little will the courtiers know whence come my new jewels.”
“But this is a dangerous play,” quoth the witch, “for, unless you are very careful, you yourself may become a bead and hang upon the string with the others, and there you will remain till some one cuts the string, and draws you off.”
“Nay, never fear,” said the Princess, “I will be careful, only tell me what to do, and I will have great princes and kings to adorn me, and all their greatness shall not help them.”
Then the witch dipped her hand into a black bag which stood on the ground beside her, and drew out a long gold thread.
The ends were joined together, but no one could see the joins, and however much you pulled, it would not break. It would easily go over Fiorimonde’s head, and the witch slipped it on her neck saying:
“Now mind, while this hangs here you are safe enough, but if once you join your fingers around the string you too will meet the fate of your lovers, and hang upon it yourself. As for the kings and princes who would marry you, all you have to do is to make them close their fingers around the chain, and at once they will be strung upon it as bright hard beads, and there they shall remain, till it is cut and they drop off.”
“This is really delightful,” cried the Princess; “and I am already quite impatient for the first to come that I may try.”
“And now,” said the witch, “since you are here, and there is yet time, we will have a dance, and I will summon the guests.” So saying, she took from a corner a drum and a pair of drum-sticks, and going to the door, began to beat upon it. It made a terrible rattling. In a moment came flying through the air all sorts of forms. There were little dark elves with long tails, and goblins who chattered and laughed, and other witches who rode on broom-sticks. There was one wicked fairy in the form of a large cat, with bright green eyes, and another came sliding in like a long shining viper.
Then, when all had arrived, the witch stopped drumming, and, going to the middle of the hut, stamped on the floor, and a trap-door opened in the ground. The old witch stepped through it, and led the way down a narrow dark passage, to a large underground chamber, and all her strange guests followed, and here they all danced and made merry in a terrible way, but at first sound of cock-crow all the guests disappeared with a whiff, and the Princess hastened up the dark passage again, and out of the hut to where her big bird still waited for her, and mounting its back she flew home in a trice. Then, when she had stepped in at her bedroom window, she poured into a cup from a small black bottle, a few drops of magic water, and gave it to the bird to drink, and as it sipped it grew smaller, and smaller, till at last it had quite regained its natural size, and hopped on to the roof as before, and the Princess shut her window, and got into bed, and fell asleep, and no one knew of her strange journey, or where she had been.
Next day Fiorimonde declared to her father the King, that she was quite willing to wed any prince he should fix upon as a husband for her, at which he was much pleased, and soon after informed her, that a young king was coming from over the sea to be her husband. He was king of a large rich country, and would take back his bride with him to his home. He was called King Pierrot. Great preparations were made for his arrival, and the Princess was decked in her finest array to greet him, and when he came all the courtiers said, “This is truly a proper husband for our beautiful Princess,” for he was strong and handsome, with black hair, and eyes like sloes. King Pierrot was delighted with Fiorimonde’s beauty, and was happy as the day is long; and all things went merrily till the evening before the marriage. A great feast was held, at which the Princess looked lovelier than ever dressed in a red gown, the colour of the inside of a rose, but she wore no jewels or ornaments of any kind, save one shining gold string round her milk-white throat.
When the feast was done, the Princess stepped from her golden chair at her father’s side, and walked softly into the garden, and stood under an elm-tree looking at the shining moon. In a few moments King Pierrot followed her, and stood beside her, looking at her and wondering at her beauty.
“To-morrow, then, my sweet Princess, you will be my Queen, and share all I possess. What gift would you wish me to give you on our wedding day?”
“I would have a necklace wrought of the finest gold and jewels to be found, and just the length of this gold cord which I wear around my throat,” answered Princess Fiorimonde.
“Why do you wear that cord?” asked King Pierrot; “it has no jewel nor ornament about it.”
“Nay, but there is no cord like mine in all the world,” cried Fiorimonde, and her eyes sparkled wickedly as she spoke; “it is as light as a feather, but stronger than an iron chain. Take it in both hands and try to break it, that you may see how strong it is”; and King Pierrot took the cord in both hands to pull it hard; but no sooner were his fingers closed around it than he vanished like a puff of smoke, and on the cord appeared a bright, beautiful bead—so bright and beautiful as was never bead before—clear as crystal, but shining with all colours—green, blue, and gold.
Princess Fiorimonde gazed down at it and laughed aloud.
“Aha, my proud lover! are you there?” she cried with glee; “my necklace bids fair to beat all others in the world,” and she caressed the bead with the tips of her soft, white fingers, but was careful that they did not close around the string. Then she returned into the banqueting-hall, and spoke to the King.
“Pray, sire,” said she, “send some one at once to find King Pierrot, for, as he was talking to me a minute ago, he suddenly left me, and I am afraid lest I may have given him offence, or perhaps he is ill.”
The King desired that the servants should seek for King Pierrot all over the grounds, and seek him they did, but nowhere was he to be found, and the old King looked offended.
“Doubtless he will be ready to-morrow in time for the wedding,” quoth he, “but we are not best pleased that he should treat us in this way.”
Princess Fiorimonde had a little maid called Yolande. She was a bright-faced girl with merry brown eyes, but she was not beautiful like Fiorimonde, and she did not love her mistress, for she was afraid of her, and suspected her of her wicked ways. When she undressed her that night she noticed the gold cord, and the one bright bead upon it, and as she combed the Princess’s hair she looked over her shoulder into the looking-glass, and saw how she laughed, and how fondly she looked at the cord, and caressed the bead again and again with her fingers.
“That is a wonderful bead on your Highness’s cord,” said Yolande, looking at its reflection in the mirror; “surely it must be a bridal gift from King Pierrot.”
“And so it is, little Yolande,” cried Fiorimonde, laughing merrily; “and the best gift he could give me. But I think one bead alone looks ugly and ungainly; soon I hope I shall have another, and another, and another, all as beautiful as the first.”
Then Yolande shook her head, and said to herself, “This bodes no good.”
Next morning all was prepared for the marriage, and the Princess was d
ressed in white satin and pearls with a long white lace veil over her, and a bridal wreath on her head, and she stood waiting among her grandly dressed ladies, who all said that such a beautiful bride had never been seen in the world before. But just as they were preparing to go down to the fine company in the hall, a messenger came in great haste summoning the Princess at once to her father the King, as he was much perplexed.
“My daughter,” cried he, as Fiorimonde in all her bridal array entered the room where he sat alone, “what can we do? King Pierrot is nowhere to be found; I fear lest he may have been seized by robbers and basely murdered for his rich clothes, or carried away to some mountain and left there to starve. My soldiers are gone far and wide to seek him—and we shall hear of him ere day is done—but where there is no bridegroom there can be no bridal.”
“Then let it be put off, my father,” cried the Princess, “and to-morrow we shall know if it is for a wedding, or a funeral, we must dress”; and she pretended to weep, but even then could hardly keep from laughing.
So the wedding guests went away, and the Princess laid aside her bridal dress, and all waited anxiously for news of King Pierrot; and no news came. So at last every one gave him up for dead, and mourned for him, and wondered how he had met his fate.
Princess Fiorimonde put on a black gown, and begged to be allowed to live in seclusion for one month in which to grieve for King Pierrot; but when she was again alone in her bedroom she sat before her looking-glass and laughed till tears ran down her cheeks; and Yolande watched her, and trembled, when she heard her laughter. She noticed, too, that beneath her black gown, the Princess still wore her gold cord, and did not move it night or day.
The month had barely passed away when the King came to his daughter, and announced that another suitor had presented himself, whom he should much like to be her husband. The Princess agreed quite obediently to all her father said; and it was arranged that the marriage should take place. This new prince was called Prince Hildebrandt. He came from a country far north, of which one day he would be king. He was tall, and fair, and strong, with flaxen hair and bright blue eyes. When Princess Fiorimonde saw his portrait she was much pleased, and said, “By all means let him come, and the sooner the better.” So she put off her black clothes, and again great preparations were made for a wedding; and King Pierrot was quite forgotten.
Prince Hildebrandt came, and with him many fine gentlemen, and they brought beautiful gifts for the bride. The evening of his arrival all went well, and again there was a grand feast, and Fiorimonde looked so beautiful that Prince Hildebrandt was delighted; and this time she did not leave her father’s side, but sat by him all the evening.
Early next morning at sunrise, when every one was still sleeping, the Princess rose, and dressed herself in a plain white gown, and brushed all her hair over her shoulders, and crept quietly down stairs into the palace gardens; then she walked on till she came beneath the window of Prince Hildebrandt’s room, and here she paused and began to sing a little song as sweet and joyous as a lark’s. When Prince Hildebrandt heard it he got up and went to the window and looked out to see who sang, and when he saw Fiorimonde standing in the red sunrise-light, which made her hair look gold, and her face rosy, he made haste to dress himself and go down to meet her.
“How, my Princess,” cried he, as he stepped into the garden beside her. “This is indeed great happiness to meet you here so early. Tell me, why do you come out at sunrise to sing by yourself?”
“I come that I may see the colours of the sky—red, blue, and gold,” answered the Princess. “Look, there are no such colours to be seen anywhere, unless, indeed, it be in this bead which I wear here on my golden cord.”
“What is that bead, and where did it come from?” asked Hildebrandt.
“It came from over the sea, where it shall never return again,” answered the Princess. And again her eyes began to sparkle with eagerness, and she could scarcely conceal her mirth. “Lift the cord off my neck and look at it near, and tell me if you ever saw one like it.”
Hildebrandt put out his hands and took hold of the cord, but no sooner were his fingers closed around it than he vanished, and a new bright bead was slung next to the first one on Fiorimonde’s chain, and this one was even more beautiful than the other.
The Princess gave a long low laugh, quite terrible to hear.
“Oh, my sweet necklace,” cried she, “how beautiful you are growing! I think I love you more than anything in the world besides.” Then she went softly back to bed, without any one hearing her, and fell sound asleep, and slept till Yolande came to tell her it was time for her to get up and dress for the wedding.
The Princess was dressed in gorgeous clothes, and only Yolande noticed that beneath her satin gown, she wore the golden cord, but now there were two beads upon it instead of one. Scarcely was she ready when the King burst into her room in a towering rage.
“My daughter,” cried he, “there is a plot against us. Lay aside your bridal attire and think no more of Prince Hildebrandt, for he too has disappeared, and is nowhere to be found.”
At this the Princess wept, and entreated that Hildebrandt should be sought for far and near, but she laughed to herself, and said, “Search where you will, yet you shall not find him”; and so again a great search was made, and when no trace of the Prince was found, all the palace was in an uproar.
The Princess again put off her bride’s dress and clad herself in black, and sat alone, and pretended to weep, but Yolande, who watched her, shook her head, and said, “More will come and go before the wicked Princess has done her worst.”
A month passed, in which Fiorimonde pretended to mourn for Hildebrandt, then she went to the King and said:
“Sire, I pray that you will not let people say that when any bridegroom comes to marry me, as soon as he has seen me he flies rather than be my husband. I beg that suitors may be summoned from far and near that I may not be left alone unwed.”
The King agreed, and envoys were sent all the world over to bid any who would come and be the husband of Princess Fiorimonde. And come they did, kings and princes from south and north, east, and west—King Adrian, Prince Sigbert, Prince Algar, and many more—but though all went well till the wedding morning, when it was time to go to church, no bridegroom was to be found. The old King was sadly frightened, and would fain have given up all hope of finding a husband for the Princess, but now she implored him, with tears in her eyes, not to let her be disgraced in this way. And so suitor after suitor continued to come, and now it was known, far and wide, that whoever came to ask for the hand of Princess Fiorimonde vanished, and was seen no more of men. The courtiers were afraid and whispered under their breath, “It is not all right, it cannot be”; but only Yolande noticed how the beads came upon the golden thread, till it was well-nigh covered, yet there always was room for one bead more.
So the years passed, and every year Princess Fiorimonde grew lovelier and lovelier, so that no one who saw her could guess how wicked she was.
In a far-off country lived a young prince whose name was Florestan. He had a dear friend named Gervaise, whom he loved better than any one in the world. Gervaise was tall, and broad, and stout of limb, and he loved Prince Florestan so well, that he would gladly have died to serve him.
It chanced that Prince Florestan saw a portrait of Princess Fiorimonde, and at once swore he would go to her father’s court, and beg that he might have her for his wife, and Gervaise in vain tried to dissuade him.
“There is an evil fate about the Princess Fiorimonde,” quoth he; “many have gone to marry her, but where are they now?”
“I don’t know or care,” answered Florestan, “but this is sure, that I will wed her and return here, and bring my bride with me.”
So he set out for Fiorimonde’s home, and Gervaise went with him with a heavy heart.
When they reached the court, the old King received them and welcomed them warmly, and he said to his courtiers, “Here is a fine young prince to wh
om we would gladly see our daughter wed. Let us hope that this time all will be well.” But now Fiorimonde had grown so bold, that she scarcely tried to conceal her mirth.
“I will gladly marry him to-morrow, if he comes to the church,” she said; “but if he is not there, what can I do,” and she laughed long and merrily, till those who heard her shuddered.
When the Princess’s ladies came to tell her that Prince Florestan was arrived, she was in the garden, lying on the marble edge of a fountain, feeding the gold-fish who swam in the water.
“Bid him come to me,” she said, “for I will not go any more in state to meet any suitors, neither will I put on grand attire for them. Let him come and find me as I am, since all find it so easy to come and go.” So her ladies told the prince that Fiorimonde waited for him near the fountain.
She did not rise when he came to where she lay, but his heart bounded with joy, for he had never in his life beheld such a beautiful woman.
She wore a thin soft white dress, which clung to her lithe figure. Her beautiful arms and hands were bare, and she dabbled with them in the water, and played with the fish. Her great blue eyes were sparkling with mirth, and were so beautiful, that no one noticed the wicked look hid in them; and on her neck lay the marvellous many-coloured necklace, which was itself a wonder to behold.
“You have my best greetings, Prince Florestan,” she said. “And you, too, would be my suitor. Have you thought well of what you would do, since so many princes who have seen me have fled for ever, rather than marry me?” and as she spoke, she raised her white hand from the water, and held it out to the Prince, who stooped and kissed it, and scarcely knew how to answer her for bewilderment at her great loveliness.
Gervaise followed his master at a short distance, but he was ill at ease, and trembled for fear of what should come.
“Come, bid your friend leave us,” said Fiorimonde, looking at Gervaise, “and sit beside me, and tell me of your home, and why you wish to marry me, and all pleasant things.”
The Victorian Fairy Tale Book (The Pantheon Fairy Tale and Folklore Library) Page 29
