So the wedding-day was fixed for the first Sunday in June.
But when the Prince arrived with all his glorious following of courtiers
and men-at-arms, with two pink peacocks and a crown-case full of
diamonds for his bride, he absolutely refused to be married on a Sunday.
Nor would he give any reason for his refusal. And then the King lost his
temper and broke off the match, and the Prince went away.
But he did not go very far. That night he bribed a page-boy to show him
which was the Princess's room, and he climbed up by the jasmine through
the dark rose-scented night, and tapped at the window.
'Who's dhere?' said the Princess inside in the dark.
'Me,' said the Prince in the dark outside.
'Thed id wasnd't true?' said the Princess. 'They toad be you'd ridded
away.'
'What a cold you've got, my Princess,' said the Prince hanging on by the
jasmine boughs.
'It's not a cold,' sniffed the Princess.
'Then ... oh you dear ... were you crying because you thought I'd gone?'
he said.
'I suppose so,' said she.
He said, 'You dear!' again, and kissed her hands.
'_Why_ wouldn't you be married on a Sunday?' she asked.
'It's the curse, dearest,' he explained, 'I couldn't tell any one but
you. The fact is Malevola wasn't asked to my christening so she doomed
me to be ... well, she said "moderately good-looking all the week, and
too ugly for words on Sundays." So you see! You _will_ be married on a
week-day, won't you?'
'But I can't,' said the Princess, 'because I've got a curse too--only
I'm ugly all the week and pretty on Sundays.'
'How extremely tiresome,' said the Prince, 'but can't you be cured?'
'Oh yes,' said the Princess, and told him how. 'And you,' she asked, 'is
yours quite incurable?'
'Not at all,' he answered, 'I've only got to stay under water for five
minutes and the spell will be broken. But you see, beloved, the
difficulty is that I can't do it. I've practised regularly, from a boy,
in the sea, and in the swimming bath, and even in my wash-hand
basin--hours at a time I've practised--but I never can keep under more
than two minutes.'
'Oh dear,' said the Princess, 'this is dreadful.'
'It is rather trying,' the Prince answered.
'You're sure you like me,' she asked suddenly, 'now you know that I'm
only pretty once a week?'
'I'd die for you,' said he.
'Then I'll tell you what. Send all your courtiers away, and take a
situation as under-gardener here--I know we want one. And then every
night I'll climb down the jasmine and we'll go out together and seek our
fortune. I'm sure we shall find it.'
And they did go out. The very next night, and the next, and the next,
and the next, and the next, and the next. And they did not find their
fortunes, but they got fonder and fonder of each other. They could not
see each other's faces, but they held hands as they went along through
the dark.
And on the seventh night, as they passed by a house that showed chinks
of light through its shutters, they heard a bell being rung outside for
supper, a bell with a very loud and beautiful voice. But instead of
saying--
'Supper's ready,' as any one would have expected, the bell was saying--
Ding dong dell!
_I_ could tell
Where you ought to go
To break the spell.
Then some one left off ringing the bell, so of course it couldn't say
any more. So the two went on. A little way down the road a cow-bell
tinkled behind the wet hedge of the lane. And it said--not, 'Here I am,
quite safe,' as a cow-bell should, but--
Ding dong dell
All will be well
If you...
Then the cow stopped walking and began to eat, so the bell couldn't say
any more. The Prince and Princess went on, and you will not be surprised
to hear that they heard the voices of five more bells that night. The
next was a school-bell. The schoolmaster's little boy thought it would
be fun to ring it very late at night--but his father came and caught him
before the bell could say any more than--
Ding a dong dell
You can break up the spell
By taking...
So that was no good.
Then there were the three bells that were the sign over the door of an
inn where people were happily dancing to a fiddle, because there was a
wedding. These bells said:
We are the
Merry three
Bells, bells, bells.
You are two
To undo
Spells, spells, spells...
Then the wind who was swinging the bells suddenly thought of an
appointment he had made with a pine forest, to get up an entertaining
imitation of sea-waves for the benefit of the forest nymphs who had
never been to the seaside, and he went off--so, of course, the bells
couldn't ring any more, and the Prince and Princess went on down the
dark road.
There was a cottage and the Princess pulled her veil closely over her
face, for yellow light streamed from its open door--and it was a
Wednesday.
Inside a little boy was sitting on the floor--quite a little boy--he
ought to have been in bed long before, and I don't know why he wasn't.
And he was ringing a little tinkling bell that had dropped off a sleigh.
And this little bell said:
Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, I'm a little sleigh-bell,
But I know what I know, and I'll tell, tell, tell.
Find the Enchanter of the Ringing Well,
He will show you how to break the spell, spell, spell.
Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, I'm a little sleigh-bell,
But I know what I know....
And so on, over and over, again and again, because the little boy was
quite contented to go on shaking his sleigh-bell for ever and ever.
'So now we know,' said the Prince, 'isn't that glorious?'
'Yes, very, but where's the Enchanter of the Ringing Well?' said the
Princess doubtfully.
'Oh, I've got _his_ address in my pocket-book,' said the Prince. 'He's
my god-father. He was one of the references I gave your father.'
So the next night the Prince brought a horse to the garden, and he and
the Princess mounted, and rode, and rode, and rode, and in the grey dawn
they came to Wonderwood, and in the very middle of that the Magician's
Palace stands.
The Princess did not like to call on a perfect stranger so very early in
the morning, so they decided to wait a little and look about them.
The castle was very beautiful, decorated with a conventional design of
bells and bell ropes, carved in white stone.
Luxuriant plants of American bell-vine covered the drawbridge and
portcullis. On a green lawn in front of the castle was a well, with a
curious bell-shaped covering suspended over it. The lovers leaned over
the mossy fern-grown wall of the well, and, looking down, they could see
that the narrowness of the well only lasted for a few feet, and below
that it spread into a cavern where water lay in a big pool.
'What cheer?' said a pleasant voice behind them. It was the Enchanter,
an early riser, like Darwin was, and all other great scientific men.
They told him what cheer.
'But,' Prince Bellamant ended, 'it's really no use. I can't keep under
water more than two minutes however much I try. And my precious
Belinda's not likely to find any silly old bell that doesn't ring, and
can't ring, and never will ring, and was never made to ring.'
'Ho, ho,' laughed the Enchanter with the soft full laughter of old age.
'You've come to the right shop. Who told you?'
'The bells,' said Belinda.
'Ah, yes.' The old man frowned kindly upon them. 'You must be very fond
of each other?'
'We are,' said the two together.
'Yes,' the Enchanter answered, 'because only true lovers can hear the
true speech of the bells, and then only when they're together. Well,
there's the bell!'
He pointed to the covering of the well, went forward, and touched some
lever or spring. The covering swung out from above the well, and hung
over the grass grey with the dew of dawn.
'_That?_' said Bellamant.
'That,' said his god-father. 'It doesn't ring, and it can't ring, and it
never will ring, and it was never made to ring. Get into it.'
'Eh?' said Bellamant forgetting his manners.
The old man took a hand of each and led them under the bell.
They looked up. It had windows of thick glass, and high seats about
four feet from its edge, running all round inside.
'Take your seats,' said the Enchanter.
Bellamant lifted his Princess to the bench and leaped up beside her.
'Now,' said the old man, 'sit still, hold each other's hands, and for
your lives don't move.'
He went away, and next moment they felt the bell swing in the air. It
swung round till once more it was over the well, and then it went down,
down, down.
'I'm not afraid, with you,' said Belinda, because she was, dreadfully.
Down went the bell. The glass windows leaped into light, looking through
them the two could see blurred glories of lamps in the side of the cave,
magic lamps, or perhaps merely electric, which, curiously enough have
ceased to seem magic to us nowadays. Then with a plop the lower edge of
the bell met the water, the water rose inside it, a little, then not any
more. And the bell went down, down, and above their heads the green
water lapped against the windows of the bell.
'You're under water--if we stay five minutes,' Belinda whispered.
'Yes, dear,' said Bellamant, and pulled out his ruby-studded
chronometer.
'It's five minutes for you, but oh!' cried Belinda, 'it's _now_ for me.
For I've found the bell that doesn't ring, and can't ring, and never
will ring, and wasn't made to ring. Oh Bellamant dearest, it's Thursday.
_Have_ I got my Sunday face?'
She tore away her veil, and his eyes, fixed upon her face, could not
leave it.
'Oh dream of all the world's delight,' he murmured, 'how beautiful you
are.'
Neither spoke again till a sudden little shock told them that the bell
was moving up again.
'Nonsense,' said Bellamant, 'it's not five minutes.'
But when they looked at the ruby-studded chronometer, it was nearly
three-quarters of an hour. But then, of course, the well was enchanted!
'Magic? Nonsense,' said the old man when they hung about him with thanks
and pretty words. 'It's only a diving-bell. My own invention.'
* * * * *
So they went home and were married, and the Princess did not wear a veil
at the wedding. She said she had had enough veils to last her time.
* * * * *
And a year and a day after that a little daughter was born to them.
'Now sweetheart,' said King Bellamant--he was king now because the old
king and queen had retired from the business, and were keeping pigs and
hens in the country as they had always planned to do--'dear sweetheart
and life's love, I am going to ring the bells with my own hands, to show
how glad I am for you, and for the child, and for our good life
together.'
So he went out. It was very dark, because the baby princess had chosen
to be born at midnight.
The King went out to the belfry, that stood in the great, bare, quiet,
moonlit square, and he opened the door. The furry-pussy bell-ropes, like
huge caterpillars, hung on the first loft. The King began to climb the
curly-wurly stone stair. And as he went up he heard a noise, the
strangest noises, stamping and rustling and deep breathings.
He stood still in the ringers' loft where the pussy-furry caterpillary
bell-robes hung, and from the belfry above he heard the noise of strong
fighting, and mixed with it the sound of voices angry and desperate, but
with a noble note that thrilled the soul of the hearer like the sound of
the trumpet in battle. And the voices cried:
Down, down--away, away,
When good has come ill may not stay,
Out, out, into the night,
The belfry bells are ours by right!
And the words broke and joined again, like water when it flows against
the piers of a bridge. 'Down, down----.' 'Ill may not stay----.' 'Good
has come----.' 'Away, away----.' And the joining came like the sound of
the river that flows free again.
Out, out, into the night,
The belfry bells are ours by right!
And then, as King Bellamant stood there, thrilled and yet, as it were,
turned to stone, by the magic of this conflict that raged above him,
there came a sweeping rush down the belfry ladder. The lantern he
carried showed him a rout of little, dark, evil people, clothed in dust
and cobwebs, that scurried down the wooden steps gnashing their teeth
and growling in the bitterness of a deserved defeat. They passed and
there was silence. Then the King flew from rope to rope pulling lustily,
and from above, the bells answered in their own clear beautiful
voices--because the good Bell-folk had driven out the usurpers and had
come to their own again.
Ring-a-ring-a-ring-a-ring-a-ring! Ring, bell!
A little baby comes on earth to dwell. Ring, bell!
Sound, bell! Sound! Swell!
Ring for joy and wish her well!
May her life tell
No tale of ill-spell!
Ring, bell! Joy, bell! Love, bell! Ring!
* * * * *
'But I don't see,' said King Bellamant, when he had told Queen Belinda
all about it, 'how it was that I came to hear them. The Enchanter of the
Ringing Well said that only lovers could hear what the bells had to say,
and then only when they were together.'
'You silly dear boy,' said Queen Belinda, cuddling the baby princess
close under her chin, 'we _are_ lovers, aren't we? And you don't suppose
I wasn't with you when you went to ring the bells for our baby--my heart
and soul anyway--all of me that matters!'
'Yes,' said the King, 'of course you were. That accounts!'