Which tells of the extraordinary encounter of Jean the
master tailor, and of the blessed song the birds in the
grove sang to the duchess
When George again found himself on the earth on which he was born, the
very first person he met was Jean, the master tailor, with a red suit of
clothes on his arm for the steward of the castle. The good man shrieked
at sight of his young master.
“Holy St. James,” he cried, “if you are not his lordship George of
Blanchelande who was drowned in the lake seven years ago, you are either
his ghost or the devil in person.”
“I am neither ghost nor devil, good Jean, but I am truly that same
George of Blanchelande who used to creep to your shop and beg bits
of stuff out of which to make dresses for the dolls of my sister
Honey-Bee.”
“Then you were not drowned, your lordship,” the good man exclaimed. “I
am so glad! And how well you look. My little Peter who climbed into my
arms to see you pass on horseback by the side of the Duchess that Sunday
morning has become a good workman and a fine fellow. He is all of that,
God be praised, your lordship. He will be glad to hear that you are not
at the bottom of the sea, and that the fish have not eaten you as he
always declared. He was in the habit of saying many pleasant things
about it, your lordship, for he is very amusing. And it is a fact that
you are much mourned in Clarides. You were such a promising child. I
shall remember to my dying day how you once asked me for a needle to
sew with, and as I refused, for you were not of an age to use it without
danger, you replied you would go to the woods and pick beautiful green
pine needles. That is what you said, and it still makes me laugh.
Upon my soul you said that. Our little Peter, also, used to say clever
things. Now he is a cooper and at your service, your lordship.”
“I shall employ no one else. But give me news of Honey-Bee and the
Duchess, Master Jean.”
“Alack, where do you come from, your lordship, seeing that you do not
know that it is now seven years since the Princess Honey-Bee was stolen
by the dwarfs of the mountain? She disappeared the very day you were
drowned; and one can truly say that on that day Clarides lost its
sweetest flowers. The Duchess is in deep mourning. And it’s that which
makes me say that the great of the earth have their sorrows just as well
as the humblest artisans, if only to prove that we are all the sons of
Adam. And because of this a cat may well look at a king, as the saying
is. And by the same token the good Duchess has seen her hair grow white
and her gaiety vanish. And when in the springtime she walks in her black
robes along the hedgerow where the birds sing, the smallest of these is
more to be envied than the sovereign lady of Clarides. And yet her grief
is not quite without hope, your lordship; for though she had no tidings
of you, she at least knows by dreams that her daughter Honey-Bee is
alive.”
This and much else said good man Jean, but George listened no longer
after he heard that Honey-Bee was a captive among the dwarfs.
“The dwarfs hold Honey-Bee captive under the earth,” he pondered; “a
dwarf rescued me from my crystal dungeon; these little men have not all
the same customs; my deliverer cannot be of the same race as those who
stole my sister.”
He knew not what to think except that he must rescue Honey-Bee.
In the meantime they crossed the town, and on their way the gossips
standing on the thresholds of their houses asked each other who was
this young stranger, but they all agreed that he was very handsome.
The better informed amongst them, having recognised the young lord of
Blanchelande, decided that it must be his ghost, wherefore they fled,
making great signs of the cross.
“He must be sprinkled with holy water,” said one old crone, “and he will
vanish leaving a disgusting smell of sulphur. He will carry away Master
Jean, and he will of course plunge him alive into the fire of hell.”
“Softly! old woman,” a citizen replied, “his lordship is alive and much
more alive than you or I. He is as fresh as a rose, and he looks as if
he had come from some noble court rather than from the other world. One
does return from afar, good dame. As witness Francoeur the squire who
came back from Rome last midsummer day.”
And Margaret the helmet-maker, having greatly admired George, mounted
to her maiden chamber and kneeling before the image of the Holy Virgin
prayed, “Holy Virgin, grant me a husband who shall look precisely like
this young lord.”
So each in his way talked of George’s return until the news spread
from mouth to mouth and finally reached the ears of the Duchess who was
walking-in the orchard. Her heart beat violently and she heard all the
birds in the hedge-row sing:
“Cui, cui, cui,
Oui, oui, oui,
Georges de Blanchelande,
Cui, cui, cui.
Dont vous avez nourri l’enfance
Cui, cui, cui,
Est ici, est ici, est ici!
Oui, oui, oui.”
Francoeur approached her respectfully and said: “Your Grace, George de
Blanchelande whom you thought dead has returned. I shall make it into a
song.” In the meantime the birds sang:
“Cucui, cui, cui, cui, cui,
Oui, oui, oui, oui, oui, oui,
Il est ici, ici, ici, ici, ici, ici.”
And when she saw the child who had been to her as a son, she opened her
arms and fell senseless at his feet.