[Illustration: THE TRIUMPHAL PROCESSION.
[See page 131.]
THE
ENTERTAINING STORY
OF
KING BRONDÉ,
His Lily and his Rosebud.
BY ANNA M. DIAZ.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY W. L. SHEPPARD.
[Illustration]
BOSTON:
TICKNOR AND FIELDS.
1869.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by
TICKNOR AND FIELDS,
in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.
UNIVERSITY PRESS: WELCH, BIGELOW, & CO.,
CAMBRIDGE.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. PAGE
THE THREE PRINCESSES 9
CHAPTER II.
KING BRONDÉ 20
CHAPTER III.
THE WOOD-CUTTER’S CHILDREN 33
CHAPTER IV.
THE CAVE 40
CHAPTER V.
MEETING OF THE FAIRIES 44
CHAPTER VI.
GOING A HUNTING, AND WHAT CAME OF IT 48
CHAPTER VII.
ESCAPING FROM PERILS 61
CHAPTER VIII.
LIFE AT THE SEA-SHORE 70
CHAPTER IX.
THE FLOWER-GARDEN 79
CHAPTER X.
A NEW ACQUAINTANCE 87
CHAPTER XI.
MEETING AND PARTING 99
CHAPTER XII.
THE CHILDREN IN TROUBLE 107
CHAPTER XIII.
THE WHITE LAMB 114
CHAPTER XIV.
A LONG JOURNEY 118
CHAPTER XV.
TEARS AND SMILES 125
CHAPTER XVI.
A DISCOVERY 132
CHAPTER XVII.
KING MYRTLE AND QUEEN ROSEBUD 141
THE
ENTERTAINING STORY
OF
KING BRONDÉ,
His Lily and his Rosebud.
THE KING’S
LILY AND ROSEBUD.
CHAPTER I.
THE THREE PRINCESSES.
If anybody had happened to be walking along what was called the
Robbers’ Road, in Long Forest, a part of the possessions of good King
Brondé, who lived many, many hundred years ago, he would have perceived
that the road was continually curving towards the right. He would also
soon have grown weary, for this winding road led, by degrees, to the
top of a mountain. But if he had kept on and on, and did not give up
for weariness, he would at length have come to the palace of the very
king himself. A magnificent palace it was, too, and a sight of it well
worth the long journey.
If you could but have seen how the gilded roof shone in the sunlight!
and the white marble statues in the gardens! and the fountains and
the round ponds filled with gold and silver fishes! and the flocks
of lambs with blue and pink ribbons around their necks! and the
shepherdesses all dressed in white, each with her crook and her wreath
of flowers!--if you could but have seen all these beautiful things,
then would the weary journey have been soon forgotten.
And could you have entered the palace itself, and have kept your eyes
from being blinded by the bright colors, the sparkling ornaments, and
all the splendor of this wonderful place, and have wandered on and on,
through the spacious apartments, you would at last have come to an
ivory door, over which was perched a red-and-green parrot. This parrot
was fed upon flowers made from crystals of white sugar; and had you
given him one of these he would have told you a riddle. But this, of
course, you could not know. And indeed, when the door was once open,
you would have forgotten parrots and everything else in gazing at the
beautiful lady within,--the beautiful pale lady, King Brondé’s queen.
This is her private chamber. The windows are lofty, and more than half
hidden by rich curtains of crimson. The walls are covered with cloth
of crimson and gold. Vases of white lilies fill the air with their
fragrance. How beautiful is the pale lady, reclining upon her dark
cushions of velvet! Her robe is of blue silk, embroidered with silver.
Her fair hair is adorned with a wreath of blue flowers. These flowers
are made of precious stones, and the leaves are of silver. Her eyes
are blue, too, very blue,--bluer than her silk robe,--bluer than the
flowers in her hair. And oh! if her cheeks had but looked rosy then,
she would have been the most beautiful queen in the world. But her face
was very, very pale; so that when she was not called the Queen, she was
often called the Pale Lady, or the White Lady, and sometimes the Lily
Queen.
But what are those blue eyes looking upon so earnestly, so tenderly, so
sadly?
Ah! that I can soon tell you.
But first I must tell you that fastened to the ceiling was a golden
eagle, holding in its claws a long silver cord. This cord sustained a
sort of canopy, made of white velvet, and fringed with silver. From
this canopy hung curtains of the most gauzy, delicate lace. These
were now looped up with their jewelled bands, and it was something
underneath upon which the blue eyes of the Pale Lady were fixed so
earnestly.
Now this something underneath was something very charming indeed.
It was a babe which lay there, sleeping in its cradle.
This cradle was curiously wrought of sandalwood and rosewood and
boxwood and ivory. It was lined with down, and its cushions were white
and soft as new-fallen snow. The quilt was embroidered with pearls.
At each of its four corners, and bending over it, was the sculptured
figure of a little smiling boy. Those at the foot seemed playing softly
on musical instruments, as if soothing the child to slumber. The two
at the head were represented as holding out poppies over the infant
beneath.
But why should the mother look with sadness upon her babe? If any one
could weep in such a beautiful place, we might fancy almost those were
tears in her blue eyes.
The Pale Lady had, no doubt, cause for sorrow; for she sighed
frequently, and bowed her head upon the velvet cushions, saying, “O my
precious one! what shall I ask for thee?”
At length she took from her bosom a curiously shaped whistle, which,
when she put it to her lips, gave forth the sweetest notes you ever
heard.
Then the ivory door opened softly, and there came in a bright
black-eyed little boy, in a red turban. The lady, without speaking,
pointed to a casket at the opposite side of the room. This the little
black-eyed, also without speaking, placed in her hands, and then, with
the very lightest of footsteps and the very lowest of bows, he left the
room.
The lady unlocked the casket, and, after opening many little drawers,
she at last took out a most fairy-like cup, made of alabaster,
perfectly plain and white. Then, lifting the crimson and gold hangings
from the wall near by, she pressed her finger upon what seemed to be
a small picture fastened in the wood-work. A drawer flew out, from
which the Pale Lady took three small green stones and a vial. Placing
the stones in the cup, she poured over them a liquid from the vial,
and very soon there began to arise a vapor, which spread through the
apartment. And the Pale Lady, while the vapor was rising, sang, in low
tones, these words:--
“Wild Mountain Fairy, in robes of green,
List to the call of the Lily Queen.
O, speed thee! speed quickly o’er land and o’er sea,
For the child and its mother are waiting for thee.”
As the vapor melted away, there was seen, standing by the cradle, a
beautiful white lamb; which, after walking three times around the room,
became transformed into as pretty a green fairy as ever was seen. Now
this is what the fairy said to the lady, and what the lady said to the
fairy.
_Fairy._--“Yes: three times I promised to come at thy bidding. This is
the third. What now is the wish of the fair Lily Queen?”
_Lady._--“Fairy, I pray thee bestow something good--something
blessed--upon my youngest-born.”
_Fairy._--“Yes, lady. And what shall it be? It is thine to choose. How
is it with the two princesses, her sisters? Did I not well by them?”
_Lady._--“Fairy, what I asked thou gavest. For the eldest, I chose the
gift of perfect beauty, for I said, ‘Every one loves the beautiful; she
will draw all hearts to herself.’”
_Fairy._--“And thus did it prove?”
_Lady._--“Listen! I hear her step. Judge now for thyself.”
As the ivory door swung open, the beautiful princess entered. Perfect
beauty had indeed been given her. There was in her countenance such a
bloom, such a freshness, such a smile upon her lip, such a light in her
eye, that, having once looked, one was hardly able to turn away. She
wore no ornament, well knowing that gold could buy nothing so pretty,
so bright, so radiant, as herself.
“And such beauty as this, or even greater, wouldst thou choose for thy
youngest-born?” asked the fairy.
“O no, no, no!” said the lady, earnestly. “O fairy! yonder beauty has
no heart, and none love her. She is not happy; she makes no one happy.”
“And did I not warn thee?” asked the fairy.
“Fairy, thou didst. The blame is mine,--mine only. I foolishly trusted
that beauty alone would draw loving hearts around her. Oh! she is
vain; she is silly; she is proud. Examine the book she holds. Inside
its covers are little mirrors, that she may continually enjoy the
sight of her beauty. All the artists in the kingdom are busy painting
likenesses of her face, her form, her hands. And you will perceive that
the very figures upon her dress are only so many miniatures of herself.”
“And her sister, the second princess,” inquired the fairy, “upon whom,
at your request, I conferred great wisdom,--you surely find comfort in
her?”
“Alas!” replied the lady, “although she can converse in all languages,
and not even the wisest philosopher can puzzle her with questions,
yet she cannot make herself beloved, for she knows not the secret of
making even the poorest child happy. Though despising beauty, yet she
is envious of her sister; and their want of affection saddens my whole
life. But you will see, now, this wise princess. That is her step
approaching. It will be very fortunate if we understand her, for seldom
does she converse in our own language.”
Again the ivory door opened, to admit the second princess, who
instantly began talking.
“Alski, mofo, se lup tak sba tab enryo dyo!” she exclaimed.
Her dress was a brownish robe, reaching to the floor. It was covered
with ink-spots. Her hair was tumbled, and stuck full of pens. Her
hands were filled with big charts and rolls of manuscripts.
“Potobi, ritu fo bam. Shik, sho, tabi,” said she, approaching her
beautiful sister so awkwardly that she almost trod upon one of the
pretty miniatures in her dress. The beauty sprang angrily up, and there
would have been a great quarrel, had not the Green Fairy, with a motion
of her wand, ordered them from the apartment.
Meanwhile, the pale Lily Queen, paler now than ever, sat sighing and
weeping.
“Arouse yourself, dear lady,” said the fairy, “and choose quickly, for
others may summon me, and I must soon be gone.”
“Good fairy,” said the lady, “bestow upon her, not happiness for
herself, but the blessing of bringing happiness to others. I ask for
her the gift of exceeding love. Kindle a love-flame in her heart which
shall never grow dim.”
“Alas!” said the fairy, “what you ask is not mine to give. Far, far
away, in a land which no mortal and no fairy ever saw, is an altar upon
which the holy fire is constantly burning. Now, although no mortal and
no fairy may enter there, yet there may, and there do, come messengers
from thence, bearing sparks of this holy fire. Happy the heart which
receives such messengers, for the love-flame, once kindled from the
sacred fire, is never quenched. And all who have love in their hearts
possess the blessing you have chosen,--the power and the will to create
happiness. Be silent, now, and let only beautiful and holy thoughts
enter your mind.”
The fairy then described with her wand a circle upon the floor, in the
centre of which she stood for some time, motionless. At last, in a low
voice, she began chanting,--
“Beautiful Spirit! Spirit of Love,
Why dost thou tarry? O, where dost thou rove?
Linger not by the altar, sweet Spirit, for see!
The child of the Lily Queen waiteth for thee.”
[Illustration]
As she chanted, her voice grew fainter and fainter. Her form faded,
becoming more and more shadow-like, until, at length, its last dim
outline disappeared.
But while the Pale Lady was still gazing at the spot where the fairy
had stood, she heard a voice faintly singing,--
“The Fairy Green
No more is seen.
Look not for me,
Dear lady. But see!
Where cometh above
The Spirit of Love.”
The lady raised her eyes to the ceiling, and saw there what appeared
to be a kind of white cloud. While gazing, full of wonder at this
strange appearance, she perceived, flying from it, a small, white dove.
Following its motions with her eye, she saw that it was flying in
circles around the cradle. These circles grew smaller and smaller, and
at length the beautiful little creature alighted upon the clasped hands
of the child, and then creeping into its bosom, just where its little
heart was beating, it lay there as quietly as if it had never in its
life known any other nest.
The lady now perceived that the air was filled with the singing of
birds, and, looking up, she saw that the white cloud had changed, and
was now of the most brilliant colors; and that from the midst of it
were flying birds such as she had never before seen or heard,--birds
of the most radiant plumage, purple and gold and scarlet, and whose
warbling was inexpressibly melodious. The whole room was filled with
their brightness and with their music. They seemed to be attendants
of the white dove, for they hovered about the cradle, though not one
alighted. Poised in the air, fluttering their bright wings, their
singing was not like that of birds, but like some heavenly anthem, such
as she had imagined might be sung by angels.
At first this music was overpowering, but grew softer by degrees, and
so soothing that the lady soon lost all consciousness of what was about
her. Her eyelids drooped, and she wondered how it was that the music
sounded so far away.
When the power of opening her eyes was restored to her, she looked
eagerly about, and then grew very sad, for there were no sweet sounds
in the room,--no birds, no music.
Running to her child, she searched eagerly in its bosom. But no dove
was there,--nothing but a warm, bright red spot, just over its little
heart.
The babe opened its blue eyes, smiled, and put out its tiny hands to
its mother; and the Pale Lady might have thought she had been dreaming,
were it not for the bright red spot which, as I said before, was
plainly to be seen just over the little quick-beating heart.