Princess Hildegarde sat at an open window, looking out upon her garden
of flowers. She was very beautiful, with a face as fair and sweet as a
rose. Not far off sat, watching her, her young cousin Zora, with a
frown on her brow.
There was bitter hatred in Zora's heart because Hildegarde was rich
and she was poor; because Hildegarde would, in time, be a queen, and
she one of her subjects. Moreover, Hildegarde was so beautiful and
good that the fame of her loveliness had spread far and wide; and it
was for her beauty that Zora hated her more than for any thing else.
In childhood Zora had been very fair; and the courtiers had petted
her, and pronounced her even fairer than the princess; but her beauty
had never meant any thing but bright eyes and cherry cheeks: so it
could not last. If she had only cherished pure thoughts and kind
wishes, she might still have been as lovely as Hilda; but who does not
know that evil feelings write themselves on the face?
Jealousy had pulled her mouth down at the corners; deceit had given it
a foolish smirk; spite had plowed an ugly frown in her brow; while she
had tried so many arts to make her rich brown skin as delicately white
as Hilda's, that it was changed to the tint of chrome yellow.
It was said in those days, that Zora was in the power of wicked
fairies, who twisted her features into the shape that pleased them
best.
At any rate, how the amiable Princess Hilda was to blame for all
these deformities it would be hard to say; and she little dreamed of
the malice in her cousin's heart.
But, while Hilda was looking out of the window, a noble knight passed
that way; and so delighted was he with the rare sweetness of her face,
that he forgot himself, and paused a moment to gaze at her. The
princess blushed, and let fall the silken curtain; but Zora had seen
the knight, and knew he was the royal Prince Reginald. She ground her
teeth in rage; for she had determined that the prince should never see
her beautiful cousin.
"They shall not meet," said she to herself: "no, not if there are bad
fairies enough to prevent it."
But, when the princess looked up, Zora was smiling very sweetly. Who
could have dreamed that she was thinking of nothing but how to ruin
the peace of her gentle cousin?
Zora could hardly wait for nightfall, so eager was she to do her
wicked work. When it was dark, and all was quiet, she stole out of the
castle, wearing a black mantle which hid her face.
"Now," thought she, "no one can recognize me, and I will seek the
fairy Gerula."
You must know that Gerula was one of the most wicked and hideous
sprites that ever existed. She dwelt in a cave far from the abodes of
men. It was hidden by huge trees through which the wind never ceased
howling. At evening owls hooted overhead, and many creeping things
wound their length along the ground. The more toads and snakes she
could see about her, the better was she pleased; for fairies, as well
as mortals, are attracted by what is akin to themselves.
She was descended from a race called kobolds or goblins; and she loved
all the metals which lie under the earth as well as the living things
which crawl up out of its bosom.
So acute were her ears, that she heard Zora's steps from a great
distance. She brushed back her elf-locks, and gave a low grunt like
some wild beast. It pleased her that the Lady Zora should find need of
her counsel; but, when Zora had reached the cave, the cunning fairy
pretended to be sleeping, and started up in seeming surprise.
"What brings a body here at this time of night?" said she.
"I am Lady Zora. I have come, sweet fairy, to beg a favor. The
Princess Hilda is hateful to me: work one of your charms on her, and
let me see her face no more."
The old fairy pricked up her ears and said to herself, "Ha! ha! I
will have nice sport out o' this!" then said aloud, "Say, what harm
has the princess done to my rosebud, my lily, my pride?"
Zora's eyes flashed. "Prince Reginald has seen her; and to see her is
to love her. My heart is set on wedding Prince Reginald. Take her out
of his way!"
Just then a broad gleam of moonlight fell on the treacherous maiden.
It was strange how much she looked like the cruel fairy; and Gerula
gazed on her with delight.
"My beautiful viper!" said she, using the sweetest pet-name she could
think of, "I will do your bidding. But first say what you will give me
if I put Hildegarde out of your way."
Then she chuckled, and rubbed her hands in great glee. Zora started
back in alarm.
"I did not know you sold your charms for gold; but I would give you
half my fortune if need be, any thing, to be rid of Hilda."
The fairy chuckled again. "Just the damsel for me," thought she.
"I will give you a diamond necklace," said Zora: "it is worth a small
kingdom, and was given me by my cousin Hilda. You can surely ask no
more?"
"Diamonds!" said the goblin, snapping her fingers. "What think you I
care for them? Do I not tire of stooping to pick them up? for they are
given me by my cousins, the gnomes, any day. No diamonds for me! Keep
them and your gold. I ask but one thing, my dear."
Here she spoke in low hissing tones, more terrible than her loudest
croakings.
"Promise me, if you do not marry Prince Reginald, you will let me
change you into a charming green snake."
"Alas!" cried Zora, turning pale, "who ever heard of such a cruel
request?"
"Cruel, am I?" said the goblin in delight. "Oh, I must seem cruel to
one who is so gentle and lovely as Hilda!"
"Alas," cried Zora, "I may fail to win Prince Reginald."
"All the better," chuckled the fairy. "When you become a snake, you
and I shall enjoy each other's society, I assure you."
Zora shuddered.
"But it's all one to me," added the goblin, beginning to yawn. "On the
whole, I think you may as well go home."
Zora wrung her hands, and groaned.
"Yes," said the gnome: "go back to the castle. Ugh! I would sooner
trust one of my winking owls to do a daring deed than you! Fie upon
you! Creep back to your bed, and let Hilda marry the prince: a lovely
pair they will make. Off with you, for I have to make up my sleep I
have lost."
But Zora was thinking.
"I am silly indeed!" she said to herself. "Why do I fear that I shall
not win the love of Prince Reginald? Only Hilda stands in my way."
Then she said aloud,--
"Lovely being! sweetest of all the race! Great as is my horror, I will
consent to your will."
Just then was heard a crackling in the dry leaves.
"Only a snake," said the goblin. Zora trembled.
"Will you promise me that Hilda will never trouble me again?"
"I promise," said the goblin, with one of her merriest laughs, as
loud and hoarse as the song of a frog.
Just then a sigh was heard not far from the place where Zora stood.
"There is some one here: we are watched," she whispered. But Gerula
thought it the howling of the wind; for she was busily musing over the
charm she was about to obtain of her cousins, the gnomes, and her eyes
and ears were not as sharp as usual.
She took from the ground her crooked staff.
"Hush," said she; "if the sky were to fall on your head, you are not
to speak; for now begins the charm."
Then she drew a circle three times on the ground, with her staff, and
said in low tones,--
"Hither, ye cousins, that come at my call:
The princess is young and fair;
Mix me a charm that shall bring her to woe
Spin me your vilest snare."
A mist arose, in which Zora could see dim figures, one after another.
Zora held her breath. Gerula muttered again in low tones,--
"Hilda is gentle, and dreams of no guile;
The little gnomes sit and weep;
'Make her,--if _must_ be,--a snowy wee lamb,
In the fold with her father's sheep.'"
Zora clapped her hands in delight. But just then, a faint sound was
heard, as of some one talking between the teeth. Then Zora spoke, and
the charm was broken. She did not intend to speak; but asked, "What
noise was that?" before she thought.
"You have broken the charm," said the fairy. "The soft-hearted gnomes
are unwilling to punish Hilda; but I hoped, by my craft, I could force
them to keep her a lamb forever; or, at most, to let her grow to a
sheep, and die by the knife.
"I will now weave a new charm; but I fear me they will repent; and
Hilda will not be got out of the way, after all. Not a word more, I
warn you."
So saying, the goblin made another circle three times, on the ground,
and again muttered,--
"How long is fair Hilda a snowy wee lamb?
The little gnomes cry, 'We fear
Till comes a brave lion so tender and true,
She lives by his side a year.'"
Zora clapped her hands again. "That is well," said she, "for never was
a lion seen who could let a little helpless lamb pass his way without
tearing it in pieces."
"True," said the gnome, well pleased, "it has worked well. Hilda will
never trouble you again: so creep home softly, and go to your rest:
dream of bats and creeping snakes; and to-morrow, at sunrise, ask
your cousin to walk with you in the park. Now adieu!"
"Adieu, sweetest and best of fairies!" said Zora, drawing her silken
mantle closely about her face. As she left the hideous cave, snakes
hissed after her, and a bat flew in her face; but she had sold herself
to evil, and walked on without fear of the creatures she so strongly
resembled.
Next morning, at the first peep of the sun, she cried, "Awake, dearest
Hilda, joy of my life, and walk with me in the park. I have lost my
diamond necklace; and last night I dreamed it was lying in the grass."
So Princess Hildegarde opened her eyes, and hastened to follow her
cousin; for her heart was quickly moved to any act of kindness.
"What a fine flock of sheep!" cried Hilda, as they were walking in
the park. "Such innocent"----
She would have said more, but the words on her tongue were suddenly
changed to tender bleatings; and even as Zora stood looking at her,
she crouched down on all fours, dwindled in size, was enveloped in
white fleece, and became a dumb lamb.
Overwhelmed with horror and surprise, she raised her pleading, tearful
eyes to the face of her cousin. But Zora gave a mocking laugh, and
said, pointing her finger at her,--
"Who now is the heir of the throne? Will they set the royal crown on a
sheep's head, think you? Bravo, sweet creature! You may stand now
between me and Prince Reginald as much as you please. It's all my
work. I tell you once for all, I hate you, Hildegarde."
Was this Zora's return for her cousin's love? The princess would fain
have expressed her grief and amazement.
"Pray don't try to talk, my bonny wee thing! It is not one of your
gifts, at present. Your voice has ceased to be musical. I can sing now
as well as you. Go to nibbling grass, deary, and a long life to you!"
Then the treacherous Zora turned on her heel, and left her poor cousin
to her mute despair.
A search was made far and wide for the missing princess. Forests were
hunted, rivers were dragged; but without avail. Deep gloom fell on the
people, and the queen nearly died of sorrow. They all believed Hilda
dead, all but Zora, who knew too well her cruel fate.
Then Zora was treated like the king's daughter. Wherever she went,
there were servants to follow her; yet none loved her, and behind her
back they made wry faces, and said she looked like one who was
tormented by evil fairies.
But, alas for Zora, nothing more was seen of Prince Reginald. She
watched the windows day after day, hoping to see him ride by on his
coal-black steed; but he never came. Then she grew crosser than ever,
and the frown on her brow ploughed deeper still. She dreamed every
night of horrible goblins and slender green snakes.
All the while, poor Hildegarde roamed about the park. The other lambs
were content to nip the sweet grass, and frisk in the sun; but the
princess remembered something better, for her soul did not sleep.
The king himself, in his walks, was struck with the beauty of the
lamb; its fleece was far softer, finer, and whiter than was common.
He said to his chief shepherd, "Watch well yonder snow-white lamb, and
give it particular care."
For there was something in its soft dark eyes, as they were raised to
his face, which stirred the king's heart, though he knew not why.
One day the city was thrown into a great tumult. A lion had been seen
in the thicket which bordered the park. The huntsmen, hearing of it,
stole out privately to waylay him in a snare. He was caught alive by
the king's favorite huntsman. It was agreed that such a fine lion had
never been seen before; and the king ordered a strong iron cage for
the beast, and made his favorite huntsman his keeper.
Now the cage was in the midst of the park; and such was the terror of
the sheep and deer, that none of them went near it.
"I will go," thought poor Hildegarde; "let the lion tear me in
pieces. Sooner would I perish, than live on, a poor wee lamb all my
days."
So she went up to the cage, though with a faint heart; but the lion
put his paw out of the bars, and stroked her face, as if he would bid
her welcome. The keeper reported the fact with great surprise.
It may be that the beautiful brown eyes of the lamb tamed the fierce
spirit of the lion; for they were human eyes, full of Hildegarde's own
soul. Be that as it may, the lamb went every day to the cage, till the
lion learned to watch for her, and gave a low growl of joy when he saw
her coming. At last the keeper ventured to drop her carefully into the
cage. The lion was beside himself with joy; and, after that, the lamb
was placed in the cage every morning, and only taken out at night.
Then the king invited all the noblemen into his park, to see the
strange sight of a lion and a lamb living together in peace. And all
the while Hildegarde loved her shaggy companion, and asked herself
every day how it could be that a lion should have such speaking eyes
and such a tender heart. But she almost believed that he was a human
being, shut up, like herself, in a cruel disguise.
At last, when a whole year had gone by, the time came for Hilda to be
disenchanted; for the good little gnomes had declared that if she
could live for a twelvemonth in peace with a lion, the charm would
then be at an end.
Hilda did not know this; but awoke at sunrise, and, going to drink,
saw the image of her old self in the fountain; and faint voices
repeated in chorus these lines:--
"Thrice welcome, sweet Hilda! the little gnomes say
At sunrise their charms shall end;
So go to the lion, and open the cage;
The prince is your own true friend."
This was so sudden and unexpected that the happy Hilda could hardly
believe her senses. She gazed at her jewelled fingers; she touched her
velvet robe. "It is Hildegarde," said she dreamily; "where has she
stayed so long?"
She went to the cage; and, finding the key hanging on the outside,
would fain have freed the poor lion, but thought of the terror it
would cause the sheep and deer, and dared not do it.