The Seven Fair Queens of Pirou.
"Once upon a time," said Mellisande, "there dwelt at the Castle of
Argouges a noble lord who was famous not only for his bravery, but for
the extreme beauty of his dark features and slender form. All women
loved him, but though he served them with chivalry, as became a knight,
he sought his pleasure in the woods and fields rather than in their
company. He knew what the brook was humming as it gurgled over the
stones, and the wind told him all its secrets as it rustled among the
pines. Sometimes he wrote these things on a sheet of paper and read them
to himself aloud as he lay on the green sward. The Fees in the forest
drew near to listen, for the voice of this lord of Argouges was sweet as
the lute of Orpheus, and their lovely Queen lost her heart to him. Day
after day she hovered by his side, sighing when he was sad, and
rejoicing when the words he sought came quickly to his pen.
Once when he looked up suddenly he saw her as in a vision. A silvery
veil of misty gauze half hid her exquisite form; and out of this her
face looked down upon him, pure as an angel's, but with the love of a
woman in her lustrous eyes. As he sprang to his feet, she melted away in
a white cloud, and close to his ear he heard a mournful sigh, as if her
spirit grieved to part from his. And he wrote no longer of flowing water
or whispering wind, but of the Lady of the Woods.
For many a day he saw her no more, for Henry I of England coveted
Normandy, the ancient patrimony of his house, and sent his armies to
take possession of it. When the city of Bayeux was besieged, the Lord of
Argouges was amongst its most gallant defenders, and his resource and
daring were the talk of all. None who crossed swords with him lived to
tell the tale, for his courage was equalled by his skill.
One morn a giant sprang from the enemy's ranks--a lusty German, well
over seven feet, with the limbs of a prize-fed ox.
'I dare you to fight me singly, Lord of Argouges!' he cried, for he
knew with whom he had to deal. The soldiers near stayed their hands to
watch; the hearts of the Normans almost stood still, but the English
exulted, for surely now would the Lord of Argouges bite the dust, and
his fiery sword no more work havoc in their ranks! Their dismay was
great when he proved himself victor, though they would not have
wondered had they had vision to see how ever beside him moved the
shadowy form of his Lady of the Woods, directing his arm that his aim
might be swift and sure, and oft-times interposing her tender body
between him and the German's thrusts. Later on, when the gallant
knight fainted from his wounds and was left for dead, she tended him
pitifully as he lay on the blood-stained earth, moistening his lips
with the dew of heaven, and whispering such sweet thoughts to him that
the weary hours were eased by blissful dreams. He was still alive when
morning dawned, and was found by his friends and carried into camp.
Though visible to him alone, the Lady of the Woods was there beside
his couch, and the terrible sights and sounds that accompanied the
merciful efforts of those who tended the wounded could not scare her
away from him. When his suffering was over, and he could raise himself
to eat and drink, she came to him no more, and as his strength slowly
returned he was consumed with a passionate desire to find her.
At length he was able to go home to his castle, and once more he roamed
the forest. The songs of the birds were hushed by now, and the trees
under which he used to rest were almost bare. It was autumn, for he had
been long absent, and even yet his step was slow and his proud head bent
with weakness. He was sick with longing for his gentle lady; 'If I do
not find her, I shall die!' he cried.
Presently he came to a glade where the naked boughs formed a splendid
arch above his head, and he saw a troop of horsewomen riding toward him
on snow-white steeds. In their midst was his Lady of the Woods, a bridal
veil on her star-crowned hair, and myrtle at her breast. He awaited her
approach in a trance of delight; nearer and nearer came the prancing
horses, their skins of satin glinting in the sun. The cavalcade reached
his side; the Queen of the Fees dismounted and stood beside him, while
the ground at her feet became a bed of lilies. The Lord of Argouges
threw himself on his knees amidst their fragrance, gazing up at her with
enraptured eyes, as softly and shyly she bent toward him.
'Once more I greet you, dear lord!' she said, and as she touched his
forehead with her lips, the birds still lingering in the forest burst
into joyful song. When the knight found words to tell her of his great
love, she plighted her troth to him, but only he heard her whispered
promise that she would be his wife.
Once more she mounted her snow-white steed; he seated himself behind
her, and thus they rode to the castle gates, accompanied by her maidens.
Here the Lord of Argouges sprang to the ground; light as a wisp of
thistledown, she floated into his arms, and to the amaze of the
household, who had watched the approach of the procession from the
castle windows, her horse, thrice neighing, changed into a bird, and
fluttered sorrowfully away.
[Illustration: "The Lord of Argouges threw himself on his knees"]
'Farewell, sweet Queen!' her maidens cried, and kissing their hands to
her, rode swiftly back to the depths of the forest.
Then the Lord of the Argouges drew the Lady of the Woods across the
threshold of the castle, and so queenly was her beauty and so gracious
her demeanour, that even his aged mother, jealous of the son for whom
she would have shed her life-blood, found no word to say against his
choice.
'My love for him is nought beside thine,' the Fee Queen pleaded very
sweetly, 'for thou didst bring him into the world, and hast anguished
for him as none else can. But I too have suffered on his behalf; I pray
thee, let me love him too!'
Then his mother looked long and deeply into the eyes of the woman who
had dethroned her from her dear son's heart, and what she saw there
filled her with peace. 'Be it as thou wilt,' she said, and that
self-same night the Lord of Argouges wedded his Lady of the Woods in
the castle chapel, which was decked with the fragrant lilies that sprang
wherever her feet had trod. The rejoicings lasted for seven days, and
the Lord of Argouges looked as one to whom the gates of Paradise had
opened.
The Queen of the Fees was now to all seeming a mortal woman, and so far
from regretting that she had laid aside her rank, each day found her
more content in her husband's love, and by every womanly art she knew
she sought to please him. One favour only she asked of him--that never
in her hearing would he mention the word 'Death.'
'If you do, you will lose me for ever,' she told him fearfully, and he
vowed by all that he held most sacred that this dread word should not
cross his lips.
The years went on. The lovely Lady of the Woods bore him fair daughters
and gallant sons, and all was well with the Lord of Argouges. But one
thing grieved him; since the Fees' sweet Queen had linked her lot with
his, she too was subject to the laws of Time, and her beauty waned with
increasing age. The gold of her hair was streaked with silver, and her
face lost some of its soft pink bloom. Her lord spake no word of what
was in his mind as he looked at her earnestly one bright spring morn,
but she divined his regretful thoughts, and full sorrowful were her own.
The Fees could not help her, since she had left her fairy kindred
to throw in her lot with mortal man, and so, with woman's wit, she
determined that at the forthcoming festival at the Court the splendour
of her attire should make her lord forget Time's changes. She therefore
summoned to the castle the most skilful workers in silks and broideries,
who toiled in her service day and night, that she might be richly
adorned at the Royal Tournament.
Her gown was of azure satin, encrusted with many gems, and her long
court train glittered and shone with gold and silver. Diamonds blazed at
her breast and neck, while a circlet of rubies glowed in her hair. But
their rich red lustre made her pale sweet face look paler than ever,
and she still gazed wistfully at her glass though the Lord of Argouges
waited below, wondering what delayed her. At length he sought her
himself, and in spite of his impatience, he could but admire her
resplendent attire.
'You have robbed the sky of his morning glories!' he told her gallantly.
Then, as she lingered still, his impatience returned: 'Fair spouse,' he
said, 'it were well if Death should send you as his messenger, for you
tarry long when you are bidden to haste!--Forgive me, Sweet! I should
not have said that word!'
His remorse came too late, for the ominous sound had scarcely crossed
his lips when with a cry of bitter anguish, his lady became once more a
Fee, and vanished from his sight. Long and vainly did he seek her, for
though her footmarks are still to be seen on the battlements of the
Castle, and night after night she wandered round it clad in a misty robe
of white, they two met on earth no more. She is pictured still in the
crest of the house of Argouges, over its motto, 'A la Fe!'"
I liked this story, but I wished that it had not ended quite so sadly.
When I said so to Mellisande she turned her face away from me, and I
think it was a tear drop that glittered on her hand.
"Then I will tell you neither of Pressina nor Melusina," she said, "for
both these Fees lived to rue the day when they put faith in the word of
man. It was different with the fair Norina. She demanded no pledge, for
doubt and distrust came not nigh her path, and her love brought her only
gladness."
The shadows lengthened; the wood dove flew off to rejoin her mate; and
Mellisande's lips began to smile as she thought of another story.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
The Seven Fair Queens of Pirou.
"Long, long ago," she went on presently, "when our beautiful Normandy
was known by another name, and formed part of the kingdom of Neustria,
which was given to the Duke of Paris by Charles the Bald, there lived a
wise and noble lord who was said to have magic powers. So gentle was he
that the very birds would perch on his shoulder and twitter their joys
to him, yet so brave and strong that the proudest knight cared not to
provoke his wrath. He was skilled in the lore of plants and herbs, and
by means of a slender hazel from the woods could tell where crystal
waters flowed deep in the bowels of the earth. Full many a maid would
have flown to him had he lifted his little finger, but though he was
often lonely as he wandered beneath the stars, his heart went out to
none, whether of high or low degree, and he preferred his own company to
that of a mate whom he could not love.
One Mayday he was up at dawn, searching the fields for a tiny plant
which had some special gift of healing. The grass was spangled with
myriad flowers, but he passed them all till he came to the one he
sought--a small pale blossom of faintest lilac, with perfume as sweet as
a rose's. While yet he held it in his hand he heard a cry; it was that
of some creature in pain, and forcing his way through a prickly hedge,
he found a pure white dove with a broken wing lying under a thornbush.
'Poor bird!' he exclaimed compassionately. 'Who has dared to injure so
fair a thing?' With tender hands he set the broken wing, binding it to
her side with three green leaves and some long-stemmed grass, and fed
her with juice from the lilac flower as he soothed her with gentle
words. When he had stilled her flutterings, he laid her on his breast,
that he might bear her home and tend her until she could fly once more
under the vault of heaven.
On he strode through the meadow, and high in the sky the larks trilled
their paeans of joy. Never to him had seemed the earth so fair, and the
morning sun tinged his cheek with gladness. Suddenly he felt the burden
on his breast grow heavy, and stayed his footsteps in surprise. No
longer did he hold a wounded dove against his bosom, but a beauteous
maiden in pure white garb, with three green leaves bound about her arm
with stems of grass.
He set her on her feet and stared at her in amaze; she met his
enraptured gaze with eyes that shone like twin blue stars. Then her
eyelids fell; she drooped beneath his glance as a fragile flower beneath
the sun's fierce wooing.
And as the wind sweeps over a field of corn when it is ripe for reaping,
love took possession of him. Fee or woman, he swore, this beauteous maid
should be his wife if she were willing, and he would guard her through
good and ill while life should last.
'Art thou mine?' he asked her presently, hoarse for very joy.
'I am thine!' she said, for she had loved him long, and had but taken
the form of a dove to try him. And taking her home to his castle, they
were wedded by the holy priest.
No longer now was he lonely, no longer did he wander solitary beneath
the stars, for the lovely Fee was as true and tender as mortal woman,
and made him a faithful wife. Sons were denied them, but seven fair
daughters came, and he called them after the seven gems that graced
their mother's diadem.
The maidens were of such supreme loveliness that as they grew up to
womanhood they were known as the Seven Fair Queens; each was without
rival in her own style of beauty. Pearl was fair as day, with a skin
like milk; Ruby's dark splendour was a gift from the Queen of Night,
and her red, red mouth the bud of a perfect flower. The glorious hair
of Amber fell round her shoulders in shimmering waves of light, and
sunbeams lost themselves in her lashes. Sweet Turquoise had her mother's
eyes of blue forget-me-not, while Sapphire's were of deeper hue, and
Amethyst's that of the violet. Chrysolite's were a misty green, like the
sky in the early morning, and no mermaid sang sweeter songs than she as
she sat on the rocks at low tide.
There came a time when the father of the Seven Fair Queens fell very
sick, and not all his potions could prolong his days. His call had come,
and so closely were he and Norina united, that one eve at sunset her
life went out with his. For awhile their orphaned daughters wept with
grief as they paced the gardens, or sat by the crackling fire in the
great hall. But youth cannot mourn for ever, and with a second spring,
glad hopes came back to them, and once more they rode in the chase.
Since they were rich as well as beautiful you may be sure they had many
wooers, but all preferred to reign alone.
'When we wed, it will be with Fees!' they said disdainfully. This
angered their lovers, and presently they were left in peace.
Full wisely did they use their parents' wealth, improving the land and
making sure provision for all dependant on their bounty. On the coast
of the Cotentin they built the Castle of Pirou, which gave work to the
poor for several succeeding years, and when it was finished they filled
it with gorgeous tapestries and all the treasures of art they could
collect. Here they lived in splendour, keeping open house; no passing
wayfarer, however humble, need miss a welcome if he cared to claim it.
They were still in the first full bloom of their beauty when their fame
reached the ears of one of the great sea pirates, the dreaded Vikings
who rode the waves like giant birds of prey. North, South, East and
West, from Norway and Sweden, and little Denmark, they sailed in search
of plunder, and such was their love of fighting that they would, if
need be, challenge each other rather than allow their swords to rust
with disuse. Although they robbed, they were brave men, and believed
themselves entitled to all they took. Their vessels were small, and
light of draught, so they could penetrate many rivers, but the great
chiefs chose the sea for their battle ground, and ravaged many a town
and village on the coast of France.
When the mighty Siegmund heard of the Seven Fair Queens of Pirou, he
resolved to storm their castle and take the loveliest for his bride.
With this intent he set sail for the coast of Cotentin with a gallant
fleet. The wind and the tide were with him; he reached it one soft
spring morning when the sea was a sheet of blue.
As the vessel which bore him neared the shore, the Viking espied a bevy
of maidens in a sheltered cove, where the sand lay in golden ripples.
Ruby and Pearl, and the gentle Turquoise sported in a sun-kissed pool;
while Sapphire and Amethyst wove wreaths of seaweed, and Amber was
smoothing her shining hair with a slender shell of mother-of-pearl
that the waves had thrown at her feet. Chrysolite sat on a dark rock,
singing, and her soft clear notes rang over the waters, enchanting
Siegmund with their music.
'By Thor and Odin,' he thundered, 'our journey was well planned. Haste
thee, my men, and get me to that rock! That maiden shall be my bride.'
The boat sped swiftly, with Siegmund sitting in the stern. His yellow
locks streamed over his stalwart shoulders, and his face was like that
of some eager god as he noted Chrysolite's beauty. The maiden saw his
approach; and now the glad notes of her exquisite song changed to a
mournful rhythm. She was chanting the words that her mother had
breathed to her seven daughters as she lay a'dying:
'Women ye, my daughters fair
(Cloudless spreads the sky);
But when menace fills the air,
Fees, as once was I.
Slender arm shall change that day
Into snow-white plume;
Winged as birds, haste swift away
From thy threatening doom!'
As the last words left her sorrowful lips, Chrysolite's sisters gathered
round her; the boat's keel grated on the sand, and Siegmund sprang
eagerly forward. At the same moment the Seven Fair Queens of Pirou
raised their arms, and instantly these changed, before his eyes, to
fluttering wings. High in the air mounted the maidens, and to the
bewildered gaze of Siegmund they were nought but a line of snow-white
birds flying westward in single file high up in the sky.
[Illustration: "They instantly changed into snow-white birds."]
[Illustration]
When Siegmund had somewhat recovered from his amazement, he and his
followers sacked the castle, and pillaged the surrounding country;
it did them but little good, for a storm blew up as they sailed back
northward, and the ships that carried the stolen treasure were wrecked
on the rocks. As for the Seven Fair Queens, they mated with Fees, and
were glad as the morning. Every year as spring comes round, they return
to Pirou with their numerous descendants, in the form of a flock of wild
geese, and take possession of the nests which they have hollowed out in
the crumbling walls. They also appear when a child is born to the house
of Pirou; if it be a daughter, and Fate has destined her for a nun,
one sits apart in a corner of the courtyard, and sighs as if in sore
distress. If a son is born, the male birds display their plumage, and
show by their mien that they rejoice."
* * * * *
Mellisande rose from her throne of ferns, "It will be twilight soon,"
she said, "and we must go. See! the mists are already rising in the
valley, and the night-birds awake and call. Farewell, dear Christmas
Child, farewell!"
And, stooping down, she kissed my forehead.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]