Chapter IV: Through Flood and Fire (14)

“I am sorry I cannot help you,” she said, when he had told her the object of his journey, “for I too am very busy. Hasten you to my sister Spring; she is the friend of lovers, and will surely aid you.”

So the Prince went on till he saw a little green house in a bower of lilac. Hyacinths and violets, jonquils, narcissi, and fragrant lilies-of-the-valley bloomed beneath the windows, and when he knocked at the door, a little lady with flaxen hair, and eyes of soft deep violet, appeared on the threshold.

“Won’t you take pity on me?” he asked her eagerly. “Your sisters sent me on to you. I seek a wife, who must be fair as the morning, white as the snow, and pure as an angel from Heaven.”

“You ask a great deal,” Spring told him, smilingly, “but I will do my best for you. Come in and rest—you must be tired and hungry.” And to his great delight she ushered him into a long, low room, filled with the scent of flowers.

When he had feasted on bread and honey, and quenched his thirst with sweet new milk, she brought him three fine lemons on a crystal tray. Beside them was a handsome silver knife, and a quaint gold cup of rare design.

“These are magic gifts,” she said, “so guard them carefully. Return at once to your own home, and make your way to the great fountains in the palace gardens. Having made quite sure that you are alone, take your silver knife and cut open the first lemon. As you do so, a lovely princess will instantly appear, and will ask you to give her water. If you at once offer her some in this golden cup, she will stay with you and be your wife, but should you hesitate, even for the space of a second, she will vanish into thin air, and you will never see her again.”

“I am not likely to be so foolish,” said the Prince, “but if I do, shall I have no wife at all?”

“You must then cut open the second lemon,” Spring answered gravely, “and exactly the same thing will occur. If you hesitate this time also, and she too disappears, you will have one more chance with the third lemon. Should your wits fail you a third time, you will die without a mate.”

The Prince would have thanked her for her kindness, but she waved him away with a smile and a sigh, telling him not to delay. Full of joyful anticipation, he rode once more through the kingdoms of Summer, Autumn, and Winter, and when he arrived at the coast found the same stately vessel awaiting his pleasure. The wind was favorable on his homeward voyage, and in a very short time he had once more gained the precincts of his father’s palace. Giving his horse into the care of a groom, he hurried into the great gardens, and when he had filled Spring’s gold cup with water from the splashing fountains, cut open the first lemon. He had no sooner done so than a most exquisite Princess appeared before him, and with a timid glance asked him to give her water.

“I am thirsty,” she murmured. “Will you not let me drink from your golden cup?”

The Prince was so lost in admiration that he could only gaze at her, and with a gesture of reproach the lovely maiden vanished. It was in vain that he lamented his stupidity. Do as he would, he could not call her back again, and with many regrets he cut the rind of the second lemon. Once more the gleaming spray of the dancing fountains took the form of a beautiful girl.

“Fair as the morning and white as snow!” cried the Prince in rapture, too delighted to heed her request for a cup of water. He did not regain his senses until she also had disappeared, when he again bewailed his neglect of Spring’s injunctions. With trembling fingers he inserted the silver knife into the third lemon, and as the pungent odor of the golden fruit escaped into the air another Princess appeared before him. Closing his eyes, lest they might be dazzled by her exceeding beauty, he immediately offered the golden cup. The maiden raised it to her lips with a bewitching smile, and drained it to its dregs. The Prince laughed aloud for joy; now at last he had found the bride he sought.

No summer morning was fairer than she, for the whiteness of snow gleamed on chin and brow, and her expression was pure and gentle as an angel’s. Drawing her down beside him on to a flowery bank, he held her hand and looked into her eyes.

“Will you be my wife?” he whispered, and to his delight she answered, “Yes.”

When his first raptures were over, he noticed, with some disappointment, the simplicity of his bride’s gown. It was of some simple stuff the color of running water, and hung in long flowing folds round her lissom form. No necklace broke the outline of her dainty throat, and she looked so different from the maidens of the court that the Prince, who, after all, was only a man, and not, perhaps, a very wise one, felt that something was lacking to complete her beauty.

“Your robe is not worthy of you, dear love,” he cried. “If you wait for me here, I will fetch you one of rich white satin from my father’s palace, and a rope of pearls to twine around your neck.”

But the Princess knew that she needed no ornaments to enhance her beauty, and she did not wish him to leave her. Her lover, however, was so insistent that she consented to stay by the fountains while he went home, and, more in love with her than ever, he hurried away.

Now the Princess was very timid, and as the Prince tarried long she grew frightened of being alone. So she stretched out her arms to a tree above her, and swung herself up that she might nestle amidst its branches. The foliage hid her slender limbs in their flowing draperies, but her exquisite face gleamed like a flower from a setting of glossy leaves, and was mirrored in the deep basin of the fountains. An ugly negress who came to fill her pitcher caught sight of its loveliness, and, since she had never gazed into a mirror believed it to be her own.

“Oh, how very handsome I am!” she murmured. “I am far too beautiful to do the bidding of any mistress. I will never draw water again.” And flinging the pitcher from her, she strutted home with the air of a peacock.

“Why have you come back empty-handed, Deborah?” inquired her mistress.

“I have seen my face in the fountain,” was the reply, “and I am much too lovely to fetch and carry like a poor slave.”

“Why, you are as ugly as sin!” her mistress retorted sharply. “Go back at once, and do as you are told.”

Deborah fetched another pitcher and went back to the fountains, grumbling the while. Again she caught sight of the Princess’s face reflected in the water, and again her swarthy features became distorted with pride.

“It is true!” she cried. “I am lovely as a dream. I will marry a prince, and live in a palace.” With this she threw down the second pitcher, and flounced into her mistress’s presence with such an assumption of dignity that that lady burst out laughing.

“If you only knew how ugly you are,” she cried, when she could speak, “you would never talk such ridiculous nonsense.” And daring her to return again without the water, she handed the mortified woman a third pitcher, and sent her back to the fountain.

The flower-like face of the fair Princess smiled back at the angry negress as she bent over the pool, and the poor creature grinned and ogled.

“But I am handsome,” she cried triumphantly. “As handsome as a queen.”

She spoke so loudly that the Princess heard her, and her laugh rang out like a peal of bells. Looking hastily up, the negress saw her in the branches, and disappointed vanity rendered her almost speechless.… Her mistress was right then, after all, and the lovely vision she had seen in the water was not the reflection of herself. As she stared upward with dilated eyes, there came to her thoughts of revenge.

“I will make her suffer for this,” she murmured, but wreathing her wide lips in a false smile, she bade the Princess “Good-morrow.”

“Why do you hide in a tree, lovely lady?” she asked her gently.

“I am waiting for my Prince, who has gone to fetch me a satin robe, and a rope of pearls to twine round my neck,” answered the Princess shyly.

“Your golden hair has been tossed by the wind,” remarked the negress. “Let me come up beside you, and I will make it smooth. It will not do to look untidy when your Prince arrives!”

“How kind you are!” said the Princess, and as she bent her silken head towards the negress, the treacherous woman stabbed it with a long sharp pin.

The Princess fell back, faint with pain, but before her body could touch the ground she turned into a snow-white pigeon, and flew off uttering plaintive cries.

The negress took her place in the tree, and when at last the Prince appeared, bearing a satin robe and a bridal veil, it was she whom he saw looking down on him.

“Where is my sweet Princess?” he asked. “She is fair as the morning, and white as snow. What have you done with her?”

“Alas! dear Prince,” answered the negress sadly, “while you were away an enchantress came and changed me into my present form. When you have proved your love by making me your wife, I shall, in three days’ time, once more become a fair and beautiful Princess; but if you desert me, I must remain forever hideous.”

Although the sight of her filled him with repulsion, the Prince was a man of honor, and would not break his word. Calling the ladies who were waiting in the carriage which he had brought to convey his bride to the palace, he bade them array her in the satin gown, and, pretending not to see their astonishment and disgust, drove back with her to his father, introducing her as his promised wife.

The Sultan was naturally horrified at her appearance, but when the Prince explained to him how matters stood, he agreed that he must marry her, and hope for the best.

While the father and son talked thus together, the negress wandered over the palace, giving unnecessary orders to the servants, and making herself hateful to all. She even ventured into the great kitchens, and commanded the chief cook to prepare rich viands for her wedding ceremonies. As she issued her orders in a loud, harsh voice, she passed by the window, and noticed a slim white pigeon sitting on the sill.

“Kill me that bird,” she cried, “and cook it for my supper.”

Not daring to disobey her, the chief cook killed it immediately, plunging a sharp knife into its snowy breast. Three drops of blood fell from the window-sill into the courtyard, and a tiny seedling sprang from each of these. As if a fairy had waved her wand, they grew into trees of fragrant blossom, and in less time than it takes to tell, the blossoms turned into golden lemons.

Meanwhile the Prince was seeking for his bride, for since he had set himself so distasteful a task, he wished to perform it well.

“She is in the kitchen, your Royal Highness,” he was informed by one of his shocked courtiers, and in going to meet her, the Prince passed under the lemon-trees. The sight of their fruit brought him a ray of hope, and gathering three of the finest that he could find, he hastened with them to his own room, where, having filled the golden cup with water, he plunged the blade of the silver knife into the rind of the first lemon.

As before, a beautiful girl appeared, and stretched out her fair hands for the golden cup.

“Ah, no!” he cried. “You are very charming, but you are not my Princess.”

He cut the rind of a second lemon, and as he did so the second Princess took form before him. He shook his head at her mute entreaty for a cup of water, and she too disappeared. Then he cut the rind of the third lemon, and lo, his own Princess was once more in his arms!

Great was the joy and relief of the old Sultan when he heard from the Prince that this beautiful girl was his real bride, but he listened with a frown of anger as she told them all that had happened when her lover left her by the fountain. He ordered the negress to be immediately brought before him, and, regarding her very sternly, asked her what she would think a fitting punishment for an affront offered to the future wife of his dear son.

“Nothing less than death,” declared the negress, “and death by burning. Let the offender be cast into your Majesty’s oven, and the great door shut.”

“Madam, you have passed sentence on yourself,” replied the Sultan dryly, and, shrieking with terror, the negress was led away.

But the sweet Princess would not let her suffer.

“She is but a poor ignorant woman,” she said, “and it must be sad to be so ugly. Set her free, I entreat you, and let her go. This is the boon I ask you for my wedding gift.”

The Sultan could not refuse his new daughter’s first request, and the Prince regarded her fondly.

“I saw you were fair as morning, and white as snow,” he murmured, “and now I know that you are sweet as an angel.”

And though the years to come brought him trouble and sorrow as well as joy, he was indeed blest. Beloved of all, his Princess wielded a gentle sway, and he never saw the fruit of a lemon without sending a grateful thought to Spring for the magic gifts by which he had fared so well.

THE WINTER-SPIRIT AND HIS VISITOR

By Cornelius Mathews

An old man was sitting alone in his lodge by the side of a frozen stream. It was the close of winter, and his fire was almost out. He appeared very old and very desolate. His locks were white with age, and he trembled in every joint. Day after day passed in solitude, and he heard nothing but the sounds of the tempest, sweeping before it the new-fallen snow.

One day as his fire was just dying, a handsome young man approached and entered his dwelling. His cheeks were red with the blood of youth; his eyes sparkled with life, and a smile played upon his lips. He walked with a light and quick step. His forehead was bound with a wreath of sweet grass, in place of the warrior’s frontlet, and he carried a bunch of flowers in his hand.

“Ah! my son,” said the old man, “I am happy to see you. Come in. Come, tell me of your adventures, and what strange lands you have been to see. Let us pass the night together. I will tell you of my prowess and exploits, and what I can perform. You shall do the same, and we will amuse ourselves.”

He then drew from his sack a curiously-wrought antique pipe, and having filled it with tobacco, rendered mild by an admixture of certain dried leaves, he handed it to his guest.

When this ceremony was attended to, they began to speak.

“I blow my breath,” said the old man, “and the streams stand still. The water becomes stiff and hard as clear stone.”

“I breathe,” said the young man, “and flowers spring up all over the plains.”

“I shake my locks,” retorted the old man, “and snow covers the land. The leaves fall from the trees at my command, and my breath blows them away. The birds rise from the water and fly to a distant land. The animals hide themselves from the glance of my eye, and the very ground where I walk becomes as hard as flint.”

“I shake my ringlets,” rejoined the young man, “and warm showers of soft rain fall upon the earth. The plants lift up their heads out of the ground like the eyes of children glistening with delight. My voice recalls the birds. The warmth of my breath unlocks the streams. Music fills the groves wherever I walk, and all nature welcomes my approach.”

At length the sun begun to rise. A gentle warmth came over the place. The tongue of the old man became silent. The robin and the bluebird began to sing on the top of the lodge. The stream began to murmur by the door, and the fragrance of growing herbs and flowers came softly on the vernal breeze.

Daylight fully revealed to the young man the character of his entertainer. When he looked upon him he had the visage of Peboan, the icy old Winter-Spirit. Streams began to flow from his eyes. As the sun increased he grew less and less in stature, and presently he had melted completely away. Nothing remained on the place of his lodge-fire but the miskodeed, a small white flower with a pink border, which the young visitor, Seegwun, the Spirit of Spring, placed in the wreath upon his brow, as his first trophy in the North.