Wherein begins the love of George of Blanchelande and Honey-
Bee of Claride
Contrary to the common destiny which is to have more goodness than
beauty, or more beauty than goodness, the Duchess of Clarides was as
good as she was beautiful, and she was so beautiful that many princes,
though they had only seen her portrait, demanded her hand in marriage.
But to all their pleading she replied:
“I shall have but one husband as I have but one soul.”
However, after five years of mourning she left off her long veil and her
black robes so as not to spoil the happiness of those about her, and
in order that all should smile and be free to enjoy themselves in her
presence. Her duchy comprised a great extent of country; moorlands,
overgrown by heather, covered the desolate expanse, lakes in which
fishermen sometimes caught magic fish, and mountains which rose in
fearful solitudes over subterraneous regions inhabited by dwarfs.
She governed Clarides with the help of an old monk who, having escaped
from Constantinople and seen much violence and treachery, had but little
faith in human goodness. He lived in a tower in the company of birds and
books, and from this place he filled his position as counsellor by the
aid of a number of little maxims. His rules were these: “Never revive
a law once fallen into disuse; always accede to the demands of a people
for fear of revolt, but accede as slowly as possible, because no sooner
is one reform granted than the public demands another, and you can be
turned out for acceding too quickly as well as for resisting too long.”
The Duchess let him have his own way, for she understood nothing about
politics. She was compassionate and, as she was unable to respect all
men, she pitied those who were unfortunate enough to be wicked. She
helped the suffering in every possible way, visited the sick, comforted
the widows, and took the poor orphans under her protection.
She educated her daughter Honey-Bee with a charming wisdom. Having
brought the child up only to do good, she never denied her any pleasure.
This good woman kept the promise she had made to the poor Countess
of Blanchelande. She was like a mother to George, and she made no
difference between him and Honey-Bee. They grew up together, and George
approved of Honey-Bee, though he thought her rather small. Once, when
they were very little, he went up to her and asked:
“Will you play with me?”
“I should like to,” said Honey-Bee.
“We will make mud pies,” said George, which they proceeded to do. But
as Honey-Bee made hers very badly, George struck her fingers with his
spade. Whereupon Honey-Bee set up a most awful roar and the squire,
Francoeur, who was strolling about in the garden, said to his young
master:
“It is not worthy of a Count of Blanchelande to strike young ladies,
your lordship.”
Whereupon George was seized with an ardent desire to hit Francoeur also
with his spade. But as this presented insurmountable difficulties, he
resigned himself to do what was easier, and that was to stand with his
nose against the trunk of a big tree and weep torrents.
In the meantime Honey-Bee took care to encourage her own tears by
digging her fists into her eyes; and in her despair she rubbed her nose
against the trunk of a neighbouring tree. When night came and softly
covered the earth, Honey-Bee and George were still weeping, each in
front of a tree. The Duchess of Clarides was obliged to come and take
her daughter by one hand and George by the other, and lead them back
to the castle. Their eyes were red and their noses were red and their
cheeks shone. They sighed and sobbed enough to break one’s heart. But
they ate a good supper, after which they were both put to bed. But as
soon as the candle was blown out they re-appeared like two little ghosts
in two little night-gowns, and they hugged each other and laughed at the
top of their voices.
And thus began the love of Honey-Bee of Clarides and George of
Blanchelande.