THE
YULE LOG.
A SERIES OF STORIES
FOR THE YOUNG.
NEW YORK:
STANFORD & DELISSER, 508 BROADWAY.
1859.
ENTERED according to Act of Congress, in the Year 1858, by
STANFORD AND DELISSER,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United
States for the Southern District of New York.
INTRODUCTION.
It was an old custom, and one that still holds in many parts of England,
to cut and dry, in order for burning, an enormous log, or “clog,” as it
was anciently called; the trunk or root of a very large tree was
generally used, which on “Merrie” Christmas Eve was paraded into the
house, the father bearing it in his arms, and his family marching after
to the sound of music. It was then introduced into the great kitchen
fire-place, and having lighted it with a brand which had been carefully
preserved from the last year’s clog, the household drew about the
cheerful fire, and inspired by its warmth, and deep draughts of
nut-brown ale, “the song and tale went round.” Many such a Christmas
Eve have I sat and listened to the tales so marvelous and strange; and
now, far away from those bygone scenes, I have striven to snatch from
the decaying embers of memory, a little brand to light for my youthful
readers a new “Yule Clog” for the coming Christmas season.
G. M. B.
GOLDEN HILL, }
_November, 1858_.}
CONTENTS.
THE BOY AND HIS SILVER WINGS 7
THE SPARROW AND THE FAIRY 17
THE PRINCESS AND THE ROSE 28
THE BEAUTY IN THE MIST 39
THE RICH PERSIAN AND THE STATUE 55
THE ROSE AND THE LILY 76
THE GOLDEN CLOAK 86
THE WONDERFUL BIRD 111
THE MERMAID AND HER CHILD 133
THE YULE LOG.
I.
THE BOY AND HIS SILVER WINGS.
A little boy used to sit and gaze at the stars, and wonder and wonder.
One in particular caught his attention; it was full and round, and shone
with a clear, steady light. One summer evening as he sat in the balcony,
he saw it rise above the horizon, and then gradually go up higher and
higher. He was so full of thought, and so intent watching it, that he
forgot everything about him, till his mother came to him, put her hand
on his shoulder, and told him it was bed-time.
After he had gone to bed, he dreamed of his star, and presently
awakening, his mind was so full of it, that he would steal out softly,
while all in the house were asleep, and see what had become of it. When
he reached the balcony he could not at first find it, as it had changed
its place while he had been slumbering, but on looking directly
overhead, there it was shining down upon him, and as he looked steadily
at it, he thought that it seemed almost to smile at him, and twinkle
more and more. By and by he remembered he had heard that the stars were
worlds like our own, and that there were, most likely, inhabitants in
them. He then wondered if the people were like his father and mother and
himself; and a longing came into his heart to go to the star and learn
all about it, and he stretched out his arms to it and cried aloud, “My
own beautiful star, shall I ever be ready to read you and to know all
your glories?”
While he was still yearning and crying, a bright angel stood before him
and cried, “Poor boy, why do you weep?” The boy answered, “Because I am
bound down to the earth, and can never go to yonder shining star that
seems to be calling me.”
The angel said, “Do you really then so desire to see it?” and the boy
told her how he had been wishing and wishing for it. “Then,” said the
angel, “I will give you this pair of wings, by which you may fly upward
to the star;” and as she spoke she fastened a pair of silver wings upon
his shoulders, and having instructed him how to use them, added, “As
long as these are kept brightly polished, they will bear you upward
whenever you may desire it, but if suffered to grow dull and to get
tarnished, they will no longer avail you.”
The boy thanked her, and felt sure that he never should neglect to keep
the angel’s gift, which was to be the source of so much happiness to
him, bright and shining as now. She then left him. Again looking at the
star, and spreading forth his wings, as directed, he began gently to
arise, fluttering and tumbling like a young bird taking its first
flight; but gaining boldness as he ascended, he breathed freer, till at
last he soared far, far on high, to the star, the beacon towards which
he was directing his course; his bosom swelled triumphantly, and looking
back, he saw the earth receding like a dull spark beneath him. O, how
unlike the glorious light before him! When at last he reached the
golden gates, where stood the angel waiting to receive him, his eyes
were so dazzled with the brightness that burst upon him, when first he
entered, he could no longer perceive anything around him, but was, for a
time, as one blind. Soon, however, regaining his vision, he began to
descry beings unlike those that he had ever seen before, almost
transparent, with wings of golden gauze, sweeping hither and thither;
forward bending their pinions, they skimmed along like beams of
light--myriads upon myriads passing to and fro, some bearing harps, from
whose strings such notes arose as mortal ne’er has heard. Unlike the
toiling inhabitants of earth, these beings knew no labor, no hunger, no
thirst--all was life, freedom, and enjoyment. The boy’s soul was stirred
within him; he could have shouted aloud for joy and gladness.
But now the angel told him that he must return to earth. At this
intelligence the boy’s heart grew sad, and he exclaimed, “Bright angel,
let me ever remain here--let this be forever more my home!” To this the
angel replied, “Your time on earth is appointed--you must fulfill your
days,--but while you still keep these wings bright, you can be permitted
such glimpses of this world above you as may refresh your weary heart,
and when the time for your sojourn beneath is ended, this higher sphere
may be your eternal home.”
The angel attended him through the golden portals,--descended with him
to the earth again, and alighted upon the same spot from whence he had
arisen.
The boy sat himself to work after the angel had left him, to erase from
his wings every dull speck that the dampness of the night had left upon
them; and presently, when polished as a mirror, and he had laid them
carefully away, he retired to rest again and slept till the morning
dawned. When he had arisen and looked forth, the scene which used to be
so dazzling, now looked dull and blank to him, in comparison with the
light of his beloved star. All day long his thoughts were there, and
when night came again, he was once more trying his new-found wings
toward the heavens. Every successive flight became easier and more
delightful to him, and the fleet moments spent among those superior
beings became of far more consequence than whole days with his earthly
friends. Though short his visits there, he became, as it were, like
those glorious beings--and it was remarked by all, that the child’s face
shone with an unearthly light, though none knew of his flights to the
star above, or the secret of his silver wings.
O! had this childlike obedience to the injunction of the angel
continued, what happiness might the boy have always enjoyed! how would
these nightly visits to the star have solaced him during the weary hours
of his pilgrimage below! But the demon of idleness came at length,
stealing in. With diligence _at first_, he polished, nightly, the silver
wings; but soon the task became irksome, and was performed less
thoroughly--at times omitting it altogether, till they became each day
more difficult to use. He deferred his visits, and made them less
frequent, till one night, after having neglected his opportunities for
a longer period than ever, in attempting to rise with them, he found
that they had entirely lost their power. On taking them off to see the
cause of his failure, he beheld the once shining wings of silver so
tarnished, that not one bright spot in them was visible. A burst of
grief followed this discovery, and he cried again to the angel to come
to him in his distress; but finding no answer to his petition he laid
them aside and endeavored to forget all about them.
The boy became a man. In the lonely night, sometimes, the visions of his
boyhood, and his visits to the star, would present themselves to his
memory, and he would have a momentary longing for the brightness of
those days, but as soon would he dismiss them, and even doubt that he
had ever known such hours of bliss. He would say, “The silver wings were
never mine--it was a fantasy of a diseased fancy, born of ignorance and
superstition, which the light of the sun of manhood has dissipated;” and
then he would weave in his fertile brain plans for an earthly future,
more suiting the changed state of his soul than the revelations of his
youth.
He passed the summer of his manhood, and in the autumn, crowned with
success, he looked for the peace that never came. He found that in every
rose of earth is hid a thorn, and when the winter of age advanced toward
him, it found him a poor old man, seeking again the home of his boyhood;
and there, with his grandchildren about him, looking forward to a
termination and a transit from the present scene. And now, as the second
childhood came upon him, his old habits grew; and one of them, gazing
and longing for that one bright star, resumed its old force, so that
night after night he would be found with his eyes upturned; but the
tears would dim them, when he thought of the days, when, at his
pleasure, he could have reached its golden gates; but now he was shut
out, and each day he grew sadder and sadder as he contemplated its
undimmed splendor.
One day his grandchild ran to him and cried, “O! grandpa, see what I
have found, while searching among the lumber in the attic!” The old man
took from the hands of the wondering boy, a little pair of black and
tarnished wings; he knew at once the angel’s gift to his boyhood, and
the tears flowed down his furrowed cheeks. He took the child on his
knee, and told him all about the bright star, the angel, and the silver
wings, which his careless idleness had suffered to grow dim till they
lost forever their power. The child heard and believed--wept, as his
grandsire wept--and after the tale had ceased, he paused awhile--yet
presently exclaimed, “But can these wings never again be made as bright!
O let us try together, and see if they may not shine as before!”
A bright change came upon the face of the old man, and with his
trembling hands, assisted by those of the child, (both feeble, yet both
untiring,) commenced the work. Very slow, indeed was the progress they
made in removing the rust that years had accumulated; but at length, by
little and little, the pale silver shone amid the blackness, till one
night, after long and patient labor, the child, with joyous shouts and
gladness, and the old man with a calm, placid smile amid his tears,
announced that “the work was completed.” Calmly he folded and laid away
the polished wings, but at midnight, when the child and all the
household were hushed and silent, the tottering old man stood in the
place, (with his silver wings,) where years before he had stood, with
his eyes now, as then, raised to the star; he stretched his arms toward
it and mounted up, till on entering the golden gates, they closed behind
him. The star was his resting-place forever.
II.
THE SPARROW AND THE FAIRY.
A fairy once stood by the sea-shore, watching the foam, as it dashed
upon the beach, when an ocean bird caught her up in its beak, and flew
with her far away over the waters. They came, at last, directly above
the deck of a vessel, and one of the mariners, seeing a black speck in
the sky, discharged a musket, which so frightened the bird, it let the
fairy drop down on the ship, but while she was falling, she had the
precaution to take the form of a sparrow to conceal herself. The sailors
gathered round, and wondered to see a sparrow, so far away from the
land, and one of them was going to fling it overboard, when a little
cabin-boy ran forward, and begged that it might be given to him, which
was done, and he ran with the panting trembling thing into the
store-room, where, amid the boxes and hampers of provisions, he made his
poor bed, of straw and a blanket. He found an empty orange-box, placed a
little nest of wool in the corner, in which he put the sparrow, and then
went out again to his work; but came in often during the day, to see how
it was getting along. At night he drew it up to his own bed, and was
just going to sleep, when out of the box sprang the prettiest lady in
green, about six inches high, that you ever saw in your life. The boy
got up, and opened his eyes in wonder, and she came and sat down on his
bed by him. He then looked into his box, and missing his sparrow, burst
into tears. When she asked him what was the matter; he told her that he
cried because his sparrow was gone, and in a twinkling, the little lady
had vanished, and the sparrow was in its nest, as snug and warm as
before. The next day, every chance he could get, he would be running in
to look at his sparrow, and when night came again, and the door was
fastened, out jumped the little lady in green, who came and played nice
little games with him, and told him wonderful stories, and so fond did
he grow of her, he did not mind that the sparrow disappeared, as soon as
the little green lady came.
He used so often to run into his room, to talk with her, that it began
to be remarked by the sailors; that the boy who was always before on
deck, was now moping down in the cabin, by himself, and they resolved to
watch him, and see what he did there. So one of them stood by the door,
when he entered, and when it was shut, he thought he heard voices
talking, and, peeping through the keyhole, saw a little green lady,
dancing over the boxes as light as a feather. He told this to the
others, and they determined to find out the truth, so they burst open
the door suddenly, and went in; but nothing was to be seen of the lady
in green, or anything else, but the boxes, the little boy, and the
sparrow in his warm nest; so after speaking roughly to the little
fellow, all the sailors went out, no wiser than they came in. But from
this time, his mates began to look upon him with distrust and suspicion:
though before a favorite, he came to be much disliked by them, and they
were very unkind to him; but the boy did not mind it, so long as he had
such a good friend as the fairy.
But one night as a dreadful storm arose, so that they could no longer
guide the vessel, they all declared the boy was the cause of their
trouble--that he dealt in witchcraft, and must be thrown overboard, or
the ship and all in it would sink. Notwithstanding that he begged them,
with the tears pouring down his cheeks, to spare him, they were so
hard-hearted as to pay no attention to his beseeching tones, and when he
found that they were in earnest, he only asked them to let him go into
his berth, for a few minutes, to say his prayers; to which they
consented. He then took his sparrow, and put it in his bosom, that it
might not be ill-treated after he had gone, and went out to them. A
great rough sailor instantly seized him, and flung him with a whirl,
over the side of the vessel. For a moment he hung above the glittering
waves, that dashed, and foamed, and yawned, as if to swallow him alive,
then he shut his eyes, and felt the cold waters rush and close over his
head, and down, down, into the darkness, he kept sinking, sinking, till
he heard the sea-monsters dash past him, and expected every moment to be
devoured by them; but no, he escaped them all, and kept on falling,
down, down. At last, he seemed to slip out of the waters, as it were,
into clouds, and then into clear air, and hung a moment suspended in the
sky, till he came plump on to the very softest and greenest turf, which
yielded beneath him like a bed. He was not at all hurt, and getting up
looked around bewildered, till feeling something stir in his bosom, he
opened his vest, and out hopped the little green lady, and stood before
him.
“Now,” said she, “I can repay you for all your care of me. I am a fairy,
and this is one of my homes, and I can show you in a moment many of my
kindred.” So saying, she blew a little bugle at her side, and many like
herself began to flock about, and welcome her to her home. She gave
command to them to bring some food, and directly these busy little
people went to work, and spread on a little rocky table, the snowiest
of cloths and the most delicious repast. After his hunger had been
satisfied, the fairy pointed to the sky, and said: “Above those clouds,
lies the sea, through which you have just now passed; this is what you
call the bottom of the ocean, where dwell mermaids, sea-nymphs, and
fairies.” The boy looked up, and wondered what prevented the ocean from
coming down upon his head, and then reasoned to himself if that was not
also a great sea, which he had called the sky over his mother’s cottage,
and if that was not where all the rain came from? But he did not think
long about this, for the fairy had such sights to show him, as he had
never even dreamed of before, the houses were formed of coral, and
pearls, and instead of glass, the windows had large slabs of pure
diamond, to admit the light; the very pebbles under his feet were the
most costly jewels, and the sun shining on them, dazzled his eyes, so
that he could scarcely see. The fairy had a splendid mansion constructed
for the boy, and a chariot, made of shells, and little fairy horses, so
small that it took six of them to draw him. He had servants to wait on
him, his table was supplied every day, with the most luscious fruits; he
heard the sweetest music, and the fairy herself used to spend the most
of her time with him, yet she noticed that he was often silent and sad.
One day she found him weeping, and begged him to tell her the cause of
his grief,--if there was anything yet wanting to complete his happiness?
The boy dried his tears, and answered her. “Dear little lady, I have
everything that heart can desire; fairies to wait on me, and anticipate
my wishes; nothing to do but to amuse myself from morn till eve; but
when I am enjoying all these things, my heart goes back to my poor
widowed mother, who used to be always toiling for me, and I think that
perhaps she is even now sick, or starving, for want of proper food;
while I am idling here, she may be wearing herself out, in laboring for
the support of my dear little brother, whom I long to see again; and
even if she has been provided with the necessaries of life, I am sure
that her heart is sad, for she most likely thinks that I am drowned in
the ocean, and that I shall never again return to her. Do not then be
astonished, if in the midst of all this beauty, and my good fortune, I
am sad and weep.”
The fairy answered him: “You are a good child, not to forget your poor
mother, and though I should be glad to have you remain with me forever,
yet I can well see, that you would be happier to be with her and your
little brother. Stay here at least a year, and then I will find means to
send you to her.”
“Oh! thank you,” cried the boy; “but my dear little lady, if you can
send me home a year hence, you must be able to send me now; who knows
but my mother may die of grief or of starvation long before that. Oh! if
it is not asking too much, let me go at once.”
The fairy then looked very sad, and told the boy that after his return
to earth and his mother she would never again be able to reveal herself
to him in her own proper shape, or make herself known to him. The boy
was sad to learn this, yet still he begged to go to his dear mother.
Then the fairy, though so sorry to part with him, told him that he
should see his home that very night; and accordingly, when evening came,
the fairy and himself were taken in the arms of a mermaid, and carried
up through the sea, till they rose upon the surface, and he saw the
stars and the blue sky above, and knew that they were the same stars and
sky that shone over his mother’s cottage. Soon they reached the land,
and the mermaid left them upon the shore; and the fairy, beckoning to a
swan that was in sight, mounted with the boy on its back, as it stood by
her side. She and the little boy rose high up in the air, and were borne
swiftly over towns, cities, mountains, rivers and vallies. At last, as
the shades of night were passing away, and morn began to break, the
scenes became more familiar to him, till the fairy, pointing beneath
them, showed him the woods, and the hills, amid which he knew was his
own little home. At her signal, the swan gently descended, and the boy’s
heart bounded lightly, as he felt his feet once more rest upon the firm
ground, and looked around on a scene so familiar and so dear; but his
gladness left him when the fairy said: “We must here part. Never again
shall I be permitted to reveal myself to you; but nightly, though unseen
by you, I shall visit this spot; when all goes well with you and your
mother, and everything prospers to your wishes, think that the fairy has
been here, and at work.”
Before the boy could speak to her, she gently kissed him, at bidding him
adieu, mounted again on the back of the swan, high in the air, and
waving farewell with her hand, as she was lost in the distant cloud, the
boy saw her no more.
He stood gazing forgetfully after she had disappeared, and then
remembering himself, hastened on to the cottage. The blue smoke was
struggling up the chimney, and he knew that the morning fire was
kindled. The old brindled cow stood before the door, and his mother,
with the milk-pail in her hand, and her little child toddling beside
her, came forth, without seeing him, and began to seat herself to milk;
the little boy, however, espied him, and cried out, “Oh, brother!
brother!” The mother started up, and seeing the well-known features of
her son, burst into tears, as she clasped him to her heart. He was as
one restored from the dead, for the wicked crew who had returned home
from the ship, reported that he had fallen overboard and was drowned;
but her joy was now full, when she found that he was never going to
leave her again.
During the winter nights as they sat by the fireside, he used to tell
her and his little brother all about the good fairy, and the wonders
that he had seen; and when the harvest came, and they gathered in a full
crop of corn and fruit, (their neighbors’ crops had all been blighted,)
he used to say to his mother, “The fairy has surely been here.” And as
everything worked to their advantage, and they were well provided for,
they never forgot her or her promise to him.
III.
THE PRINCESS AND THE ROSE.
On a green island in the Pacific Ocean, that has never been put down on
any map, lived a king called Obezon, who married a very beautiful woman,
the queen of a country lying away to the northward. She was attended
when she came from her home by a nurse, who was a fairy. The warm
climate did not agree with her, and she died shortly after, leaving a
daughter in the care of the fairy, of whom, at her birth, it was
foretold that she should live only till she was separated from her first
love. She was very fair, with golden curls, eyes of azure, and delicate
rose-tinted cheeks. The fairy nursed her faithfully, and never trusted
her out of her sight, for she, as well as Obezon, was ambitious that
Gulna should make a splendid match; and remembering the prophecy that
she would die if separated from her first love, they kept her very
strictly out of the way of all the youth, the sons of the petty princes
near them, to whom a young maiden would be likely to give her heart. But
the fame of her beauty had so gone abroad, many of them sought the
island in disguise, on purpose to see her and win her love; but none of
them were able to escape the vigilance of Obezon and the fairy. So Gulna
had reached her seventeenth year with her heart untouched, and spent her
hours in roaming with the fairy about the island.
Now there was in the employ of Obezon a poor boy, who tended the sheep.
He wandered every day with his flock over the meadows, and played sweet
little tunes upon pipes made of the hollow reeds. He was so modest, he
hardly ever raised his head, and had never seen the beautiful
countenance of the Princess, although they encountered each other daily;
nor had she noticed the young lad, who, too humble to cause the fairy
any misgivings, was permitted to come before her. One day a favorite
lamb had broken its leg, and the fairy, who was setting it, summoned
the boy to her assistance, while Gulna held it in her arms, and, bending
together over the little moaning thing, their eyes met, and he never
after forgot the sweet glance of the Princess, nor she the dark,
flashing orbs of the shepherd-boy. Day after day they met each other,
and though no word had been spoken, they contrived by looks and glances
to become better acquainted, till they at last interchanged a few words,
and planned a stolen interview at night, when all the household was at
rest, in a little grove not far away. They succeeded in deceiving the
fairy while she was sleeping soundly, and thought that the Princess was
likewise revelling in golden dreams beside her. This continued for a
long while without discovery, and Gulna and Azor grew more and more
attached to each other, and swore eternal fidelity. One night the fairy
awoke, and feeling the cool breeze blow upon her (for Gulna had
forgotten to close the window through which she had stolen out, as she
had always done before), she started up in affright. The moon was
shining through the open shutters, and showed the bed of the Princess
without an occupant. “Surely the Princess had been stolen away.” She
dared not alarm Obezon. She flung herself from the window, in hopes of
finding some traces to aid her in her search, but could find not even a
footstep. On passing the little grove at the foot of the garden, with
the fountain beside it, she heard a sound of voices mingling with the
falling waters, and, stealing up softly, what was her dismay at there
beholding Gulna and Azor together, she seated on a mound of turf, and he
kneeling at her side, placing a white rose in her belt; and oh! horrors!
Gulna threw her white arms round his neck, and said, “You are, indeed,
my first love, from whom I cannot be separated till death.” But they
were startled from this loving embrace by the fairy, who in a fury stood
before them. “Foolish maiden,” cried she, fiercely, “thus to fling from
you rank, honor, wealth, and all for a miserable little wretch like
this;” “and you,” said she, turning white in her anger, as she looked at
Azor, “who have had the presumption to raise your eyes upon the most
beautiful Princess in the world, knowing that she cannot be severed from
him whom she has first loved, and live, I can by my power at once punish
you for your audacity, and save the Princess from the consequences of
her indiscretion. Henceforth be invisible, and take for your
dwelling-place this rose, which shall ever cling to the heart of the
Princess, by which your hand has placed it.” And touching him with her
wand, he dissolved, as it were, into air; but the rose at Gulna’s side,
which had been pure white, grew red, as if dyed by human blood. Gulna’s
grief, when she saw her lover thus inthralled, was boundless. Her tears
and entreaties made no impression on the fairy, or Obezon, when he had
learned the truth. Great indeed was his rage when he found what had
taken place; and Gulna could only tremble, and be silent. He heartily
approved of the summary manner in which the fairy had disposed of poor
Azor, and had got him out of the way of the Princess, leaving her still
free to marry whom they should choose for her.
She was now allowed to go at large, and the King made it known that he
was in readiness, when a proper offer was made, to betroth her. Suitors
came from all quarters, but were, one after another, rejected by Obezon,
as not being worthy of her, Gulna all the while remaining quite
insensible to all that was taking place around her, rarely raising her
eyelids; her eyes were ever fixed upon a deep red rose at her side,
which never withered, but grew brighter in its hue from day to day. This
singular flower was noticed by all who came to visit the island, and the
“blood-red rose” became as celebrated as the beautiful Princess herself.
Her lovers rallied her on her attachment to it, but no one was ever
allowed to take it from her for a moment, or even to touch it. The King
and the fairy, who were the only ones who knew about it, were wise
enough to keep their own counsel, so it remained still a mystery that
none could solve. After very many suitors had been rejected, one came at
last, richer than all the rest. He brought the most costly gifts, and
his long train of attendants, their waving plumes, the glittering
chariots and prancing horses, and the reports that came before him of
his wealth, so prejudiced Obezon in his favor, he determined that he
would bestow the hand of the Princess upon this great Prince, if she
should please him; so he caused Gulna to be dressed in her robes of
silver and blue, and to be brought before him. The Prince had never
before seen one that would in any wise compare with her in beauty, so he
declared himself at once her suitor, and spread before her the most
costly jewels, and magnificent gifts; but these, and the noble form and
countenance of the Prince, made no impression upon the heart of Gulna,
for that was already given to Azor. But her father commanded her to get
herself in readiness to depart with the Prince, and she dared not
disobey. The marriage was accordingly celebrated with great pomp and
ceremony; the King bestowing upon her a splendid dower; but before this
he had taken the Prince aside, and secured a promise from him that he
would never deprive the Princess of her rose, on account of her great
attachment to it; and “so much,” said he, “was her heart upon it, if he
should insist upon her giving it up, a terrible calamity would happen to
her.” The Prince thought it a slight thing that a young maiden be
indulged in a foolish whim, and readily promised that she should not be
crossed in her fancy; and, all things being now in readiness, the Prince
departed, with his newly-wedded Princess, and her fairy nurse, to his
own dominions.
When he reached his kingdom with his bride, great crowds came out to see
her, and all praised her exceeding fairness; and the Princess Gulna’s
beauty became so famous that many Princes from neighbouring States came
to convince themselves of the truth of what was told, and the poets and
minstrels made songs about her, and the Prince thought himself at first
the happiest husband in the world.
After all this novelty was over, the Princes had returned to their own
homes, and Gulna and himself were left alone together, he began to see
that her eyes, instead of looking into his with loving glances, were
ever cast down upon the rose at her side--that her hand, instead of
clasping his own, was lightly shielding it from harm, and contact with
the rough air, or from a rude touch that might ruffle its leaves. He
grew more unquiet, and his thoughts were seldom turned from the rose and
the Princess, who seemed more and more to cherish it, till at last, mad
with jealousy, he demanded of her that she keep it for ever from his
sight, and would have torn it from her, had not the fairy interposed,
and warned him of what the King had told him, that a terrible calamity
would befall him if he persisted in depriving her of it; and also that
his promise to the King was binding. This quieted him at first; but the
thorn still rankled in his breast. The fairy now wove for the Princess a
scarf of silver, which, hanging from her left shoulder, entirely
concealed the rose, and, being out of his sight, the Prince for awhile
forgot his cause of jealousy. One day, going into the apartments of the
Princess unannounced, he found her asleep upon a couch; the zephyr stole
in through the lattice, and gently stirred the silken hair that fell
around; her long lashes lay quiet upon her transparent cheek. He paused
awhile in admiration, when a stronger breath of the zephyr blew aside
the scarf, and showed the rose, pressed beneath her snowy hand. Like a
spark from the lightning, the fire of jealousy entered his soul. In
madness he tore the rose from her side; a red stream followed the
disembedded stalk in a swift, rushing tide; it had rooted in her heart,
and the distracted Prince saw the pride of his being, the priceless
Gulna, sink lifeless as the fairy entered, who shrieked forth, “Rash
Prince! behold your work! had you heeded my warning, your Princess would
still have been yours; but here” (and touching the rose with her wand,
Azor stood before them), “is the secret of the rose: this youth, and not
thyself, was the first love of the Princess, from whom, it was long
since foretold, she could not be severed, unless by _her_ death. ‘Go,’
said she to Azor, ‘and be free again.’” But when the youth saw Gulna
lying in her blood at his feet, his own heart burst, and, as he fell
beside her, he said with his dying lips, “Even death shall not separate
us.” The generous Prince wept over the unfortunate lovers; he caused
them to be buried together, and erected a magnificent monument over
them, on which was inscribed, in letters of gold, “Let all true lovers
drop a tear upon the grave of Gulna and Azor.”
IV.
THE BEAUTY IN THE MIST.
There lived far away to the westward a king and queen, who had seven
daughters. Six of them were the most charming princesses in the world,
but the seventh and youngest was so very plain, that her friends were
ashamed of her, and kept her always out of sight. The poor thing, in
comparison with her beautiful sisters, seemed almost hideous, which she
really was not. However, her skin was red and very coarse, her large
gray eyes were lustreless and dull, and there was no such thing as
training her harsh black hair in curls, or parting it smoothly on her
forehead. Kluma, for that was her name, would not have cared so much for
her lack of beauty, if it had not been the cause of her sister’s
treating her very ill; and it really was hard that they would not even
allow her to play with them, when by themselves, or to remain in their
company, because she did not look as well as they--a misfortune that was
none of her fault, and which she would have been far more rejoiced than
they to have remedied, if she could have done so. Her father and mother,
too, were so affected by her want of beauty, in their feelings and
conduct toward her, as to be cold and neglectful of _her_ who never
disobeyed their commands, and who was ever ready to do a kindness to
them, or to the sisters, who so heartily despised her; but the king and
queen were weak and silly people, who thought of little else than making
a show in the world, and above all things they desired that their
daughters might make splendid matches, and gain by their good looks,
husbands among the wealthy princes of the neighboring states, and thus
increase their own power and importance, as well as establish their
children according to their liking. As Kluma grew older, she made
herself friends of the inferiors in her father’s palace, by being
generous and forbearing toward them. The very animals loved her, and
she spent her life happily enough, when she was not in the way of her
parents and sisters, who never thought of her, except as of a vexation
that they could not well rid themselves of, so would try to keep her out
of their minds as much as possible.
Once, as the older sisters were all at play in the park, and Kluma was
hidden among the bushes, as usual, looking at them, a little old lady,
very meanly dressed, came by that way. She was ill-formed, and so lame,
she was forced to go upon crutches. She came hobbling along up the path,
and stumbling, dropped first one crutch, then the other. One of the
princesses darted forward, and caught up the crutches, which the poor
old thing supposed she was going to present to her; but instead, the
ill-mannered child ran off with them, and began mimicking the old lady,
by limping and hobbling around, to the great amusement of the other
sisters, who followed her, shrieking with laughter, over a hill, out of
sight. The old woman called after them in piteous tones, but they heeded
her not in the least, only mocking her cry; when Kluma, stealing forth
from her hiding-place, and coming to her, said, “Do not cry; I will find
your crutches for you;” and before the old woman could speak, darted
off, soon returning with the crutches in her hand, having found them
just beyond the hill, where her unfeeling sister had tossed them. Kluma
then assisted the old woman to rise and walk; the poor creature all the
while thanking her; and when they reached the road together, and Kluma
was going back, she turned and said, “Little lady, although you are not
handsome, you are very good; I shall never forget your kindness to me
this day, and though I now look so poor, I may yet be able to do you a
great service, in return for the good you have done me. Remember.”
She then went on, leaving poor Kluma half laughing at the thought of
such a miserable old woman as that ever having it in her power to
benefit a king’s daughter. As Kluma grew older, her sisters’
ill-treatment of her became more marked; they made her perform the most
menial offices for them, and then ridiculed her awkwardness and her
blunders, not heeding the pains that she took to please them. One after
another they were sought in marriage by grand princes, and left their
father’s kingdom for that of their husbands, till at last five of them
had gone, and only one, the next older than Kluma, named Cerulia, the
most beautiful of all, was left at home. This did not render Kluma’s
position any the less trying. Cerulia was the most lovely, it is true,
but also the most ill-natured and exacting of the sisters, and being so
much by herself, she had no other means of passing away her leisure than
by plaguing and tormenting poor Kluma almost out of her life; so that,
at the last (and no wonder,) Kluma’s patience was so severely tried,
that she sometimes retorted in anger, and became in danger of adding a
disagreeable temper to a forbidding countenance.
As the parents of Kluma had married their five eldest daughters so much
to their satisfaction, and had no hope of being able to dispose of Kluma
at all, they determined that their sixth and last marriageable daughter,
the Princess Cerulia, as she surpassed the rest in the elegance of her
person, should as far outshine them in the magnificence of her
settlement. Therefore, they refused the offers made by persons of wealth
and high station near home, and the father himself commissioned one of
his ministers to go to a country far to the east, where dwelt an opulent
king called Hayda, who had an only son, Prince Talyon, who was heir to
the finest kingdom in the world, and to make proposals to the king, to
the effect that his son, Prince Talyon, should wed the Princess Cerulia.
He went, and returned in due time, bringing the consent of King Hayda,
and wonderful accounts of his riches, and of the generosity of the young
Prince.
One night, shortly after this, a fearful storm arose. The castle stood
on an eminence, commanding a view of the sea, and amid the lightnings
and tempest, a ship was seen tossing to and fro, till at last it was
dashed in pieces on the rocks. Then the shrieks and cries of the victims
were most terrible. Kluma could not endure the sight, but ran with a
crowd of domestics to the strand, where the dead bodies were constantly
being washed on shore. Among the rest was a youth meanly clad, but of a
noble form and countenance, who seemed to Kluma to show still some signs
of life. She caused the men, therefore, to bear him to the castle, where
they tried to restore him to consciousness. The domestics took off his
wet garments, and wrapped him in warm dry flannels, and after a long
time he breathed once more, and was able presently to take food, and
even to walk about; but he could see nothing, a blindness having fallen
upon him. The whole charge of nursing him devolved upon Kluma and her
servants, for, as he was found in such mean attire, her parents thought
him a person of low degree, and therefore cared little what became of
him; and as they cared as little for Kluma and her occupation, she was
left to spend her time with the stranger, to whom she became much
attached; and as he could not see, she used to lead him about the parks
and grounds for air. He seemed to be very much pleased with her, and
never liked her to be away from him.
One day, while walking about, she encountered the minister who had been
sent with the commission to the kingdom of Hayda. How great was his
astonishment at recognizing in the poor blind youth that Kluma was
leading about, the rich Prince Talyon! He went directly and reported his
discovery to the King and Queen, who were taken by surprise, and were
perfectly shocked to think that he had been so neglected by all but
Kluma. But they determined now to make amends. Immediately a magnificent
palace was prepared for him, costly robes put upon him, and servants
kept constantly in waiting. As for Kluma, she was sent out of the way,
although he was ever asking for her, and supposed that she was the
Princess to whom he was betrothed, not knowing that the King had another
daughter. He presently confessed his rank, and that he came in disguise
to see for himself his future bride. Being in the hands of a skillful
physician, his sight was soon restored, and when he asked to see her who
had saved his life, and who had nursed him so long and faithfully, they
brought before him the Princess Cerulia. He was charmed when he first
cast his eyes upon her beauty, but when she spoke to him, the smile of
joy left his lips, and he prayed of them not to deceive him; and when
they still strove to convince him that it was she, he cried, “Would that
I might be again blind, if her voice would have the music that it had in
my past hours of darkness!”
Poor Kluma was very much grieved when she learned who the youth really
was, that she had been the means of restoring to life, and though she
knew of his asking for her, she never once thought of presenting herself
to him, for she was sure he only needed to see her coarse features, to
despise and hate her. Nevertheless she could not keep herself from
thinking of him, and every day saw her sadder, and more troubled, till
at last, more miserable than ever, she wandered far away from home, and
sat herself down to bewail her sad lot. While she was weeping, she heard
a step beside her, and a rustling, and on looking up, saw a little lady,
dressed in a robe of spangled silk, all glittering with diamonds. Kluma
could not at first remember, that she had seen her before, but she
spoke and said, “Young Princess, why do you weep; have you forgotten the
poor old lady to whom, years ago, you restored the crutches, that your
naughty sisters willfully threw away from her? She then told you that
perhaps one day it would be in her power to requite you; she has
remembered it if you have not; and now tell me, for I am the same
person, what you need, and why you weep so bitterly? and I, who am an
enchantress of great power, can perhaps fulfill your wishes.”
“Oh!” said Kluma eagerly, “can you take away this red skin, these
colorless eyes, this coarse black hair, and give me instead fairness,
like my sisters?”
“I fear not,” said the Enchantress.
“Then,” said Kluma, “all that you can do for me will be in vain; I shall
yet be hated for my ugliness,” and wept more bitterly than ever.
But the Enchantress was so anxious to console poor Kluma, that she kept
on urging her, till Kluma finally told her everything about her sisters’
ill-treatment, of the young prince that she had saved, and of her great
attachment to him, and of her grief on learning who he was; also, that
she had been forbidden to see him, or to speak to him, and that if
permitted, she never should dare to do so, for fear that he would scorn
her.
The Enchantress mused for a while, then suddenly recollecting herself,
drew from her bosom a small box, formed of diamonds, which she held up
before Kluma, while she said, “I think I can dispel your grief, though I
cannot change your countenance. In this box there is a mist, formed of
the purest dew by morning’s earliest beam; it is so light and
transparent that it can scarce be seen, and yet it forms a medium of
such intensity and power, the very ugliest features seen through it
become softened and harmonized. But listen! only around the face and
form of the most patient and amiable, can it be held; the very slightest
breath of anger, or malicious passion, will blow it away, never more to
return.” So saying, she opened the box, and out flew a light cloud, that
floated over the countenance and form of Kluma, and the Enchantress
holding up a mirror before her, revealed to her her face, shining
resplendent through the diamond fleece. She saw the mild light beaming
from her eyes, the lips around which played a heavenly smile, and the
hair, meekly parted from the brow, “pure as an angel’s.” Kluma was
almost transported, and turned to thank the Enchantress, for so long
remembering, and so generously rewarding, a simple act of kindness. The
little lady smiled on her, and said, “Go back to your home, but do not
forget the conditions on which you keep your charms. Be patient and
obedient, and all will yet prosper with you.” And before Kluma could
thank her again, she vanished.
Kluma reached her home at night, where she was told that her parents had
given their commands that she should remain constantly in her room, and
never expose herself to the risk of being seen by the Prince, who was as
yet ignorant of her assistance. This was sad news to poor Kluma, and she
began to despair of ever seeing the Prince again, as now matters were in
progress for the marriage, which was soon to be celebrated between her
sister and the prince, and they would probably depart ere she would be
released. But she made no resistance, only followed the attendant who
was instructed to lead her to imprisonment. As she passed through the
hall, the servants were struck with wonder at the amazing change which
had taken place in Kluma, and that she had become the most beautiful of
the princesses. Day by day, as they attended her, they became accustomed
to the change, and spoke of her among themselves, as if she had always
been, as now, pre-eminent.