KING BRONDÉ.
Although I have told you something of his palace and of his daughters
and of his queen, I have as yet hardly spoken of the king himself.
King Brondé was once a poor little boy, and lived with his mother in a
brown hut or cottage, near the borders of a forest. One day, when he
was in the forest with some other children, chopping fagots for his
mother’s fire, a giant chanced to pass that way, and, by accident, his
foot became entangled in the branches of a thick thorn-tree, causing
him to roar out most lustily. The other children screamed, and ran
away. But Brondé climbed the tree, and, with his hatchet, hacked away
the branches.
“Thank you, my little man!” said the giant. “Come, live with me, and
I’ll teach you to grow. Would you like that?”
“With all my heart,” said the lad, “if mother will say yes.”
He then ran quickly home, and cried out,--
“Mother! mother! May I grow up a big man?”
“To be sure!” said his mother. “What’s to hinder?”
“Well,” said the lad, “I shall go now to live with the giant, and he
will teach me.”
Then his mother began to weep and to wail most bitterly, and to say, “O
no! O no!”
But when the little boy said he was not afraid, and told how stout he
would grow and how he would take care of her, and how proud she should
be of such a big son, she wiped her tears and gave him her consent. So
Brondé ran to the forest, and cried out, “Sir giant! sir giant! I am
ready.” And then the giant put him in his pocket, and walked away.
And Brondé lived a year in the cave; and the giant fed him with
something which caused him to grow very big and very tall and very
strong. This something was a mountain herb which giants fed upon, and
may, no doubt, be still found in that region, only that no one knows
the spot where it grows.
Brondé, as I said, grew very large and strong, and would, no doubt,
have some day become a giant himself, had his stout friend lived long
enough.
But the giant grew sick, and laid him down to die. Knowing that his end
was near, he called Brondé close to his mouth, and said to him:--
“I shall soon leave you now. Have I not been a friend to you? Have I
not fulfilled my promise?”
Then, as Brondé could not answer for crying, the giant went on:--
“There is but one man living as large and strong as yourself. He calls
himself Magnus, or ‘The Great.’ Years ago, I did for him what I have
done for you. But he grew wicked as fast as he grew strong, and I
drove him from me. You will readily know him; for he is exactly your
size. His hair, however, is not fair and curly like yours, but black
and coarse. I pray, however, that you may never meet, for he would
gladly kill you, that there may be no man living as large and as strong
himself.
“Death is near,” continued the giant, “and I am not sorry; for mine has
been but a lonely life. But before we part I would bestow upon you a
parting gift. It is one which this Magnus, of whom I have spoken, often
begged of me, but never obtained. You see this vial. A few drops of
its contents confer upon the person swallowing them immense strength.
As its effects pass off, he sinks into a stupor resembling death, from
which he awakes with only his usual powers. You are young, active,
and will seek adventure,--brave, and will fear no danger. You will
encounter perils; you will be reduced to extremities in which even your
uncommon strength shall not avail. Preserve, therefore, this little
vial with the utmost care, and never use it unless your very life
depends upon its aid.
[Illustration]
“This, then,” said the giant, as he hung the vial about the neck of
Brondé by a stout cord, “this is my dying gift; listen, now, to my
dying request.
“When I am dead, leave my body in this cave. Roll rocks about the mouth
of it, till no opening can be seen. Pull up oak-trees and plant them
around, that no one may ever discover the entrance to my tomb.”
So the giant died; and Brondé, with his immense strength, rolled rocks
and planted trees, until the cave was entirely concealed. And, to this
day, no traveller journeying that way ever knew he was passing the
tomb of a giant.
* * * * *
Now Brondé had lived in the cave just a year and a day. And the same
flowers were in bloom, the meadows were as green, the waters as blue,
the sky was as bright, the air as soft, and the birds were singing as
sweetly the very same tunes, as on the day when he kissed his mother
and ran to meet the giant in the forest.
And Brondé wondered, as he travelled homeward, whether he really were
Brondé, and really had a mother living in a brown cottage by the edge
of a forest. And the more he wondered, the faster he walked; until, at
length, he walked so fast that no horse could pass him by.
Now, when his mother, who was looking out from her little window at the
house-top, saw this big fellow coming at such a rate, she ran down to
fasten the door. She was too late, however, for he was already in the
room, and searching for something on the top shelf of the cupboard.
“Ah, here it is!” said he,--“the little blue honey-pot. Now it is
certain I am Brondé. For though there might be a brown cottage like
this, it would not have a cupboard like this, and a little blue
honey-pot on the top shelf.”
When the good dame reached the bottom of the stairs, she was terribly
frightened to see such a powerful man in possession of her room and her
honey-pot.
“Pardon me,” said he, “but I have travelled long, and am very hungry.”
The dame, seeing she could do no other, brought her oatmeal cakes and
all her pans of milk, and then, by way of passing the time, asked if
there were any news.
“O, great news!” said he; “the giant is dead.”
“Alas!” said the good woman, beginning to weep, “where, then, is my
little son?”
Then Brondé laughed, and cried out,--
“I am your little son!”
And he pulled from his pocket the whole suit of clothes which he had
worn away.
Then the dame knew it was her own son, and would have fainted away for
joy, had not Brondé caught her in his arms and kissed her and hugged
her as if she had only been a little child.
* * * * *
And Brondé lived many years with his mother, and was a good son to her
till she died.
He then went forth into the world to seek his fortune. And chancing to
stop in a great city, through which a legion of soldiers was passing,
he resolved to join the army, and fight for the king.
Now the king of the land soon heard of the marvellous deeds of his new
soldier, and straightway sent for him to come to the palace, that he
might behold with his own eyes this great wonder.
Brondé, therefore, visited the palace. And the king was so charmed with
his lofty stature, his noble air, and his fine appearance, that he must
needs have him among his own private guards, and very soon made him
captain over them all. And it was soon found that this great soldier
was as good as he was great, and as gentle as he was strong. For never
in his life had he used his strength to oppress the weak; but, on the
contrary, sought to help all who were in distress.
Now the king had an only child, a daughter as fair and sweet as a
lily. And the king never called her anything but his White Lily, or
his Precious Lily. This princess was the life and light of the court.
She was sweet-tempered and modest, yet merry and playful as a kitten,
dancing and singing from morning to night.
And one day, when the king was away, and the courtiers were feasting in
the grand banquet-hall, there ran in among them maidens weeping, and
crying out,--
“Save the princess! Oh! who will save the princess?”
And every one rushed from the palace to learn what had befallen the
king’s Lily.
The maidens ran swiftly towards the river, and then every one thought
she had been drowned. But no. On towards the mountains the maidens ran.
And, half-way up the mountain path, they pointed below to a crevice
between two huge rocks, and told how the princess, in her eagerness to
chase a gazelle, had slipped and fallen through. And hardly had they
finished speaking before the voice of the princess was heard, in tones
of distress, calling out for help.
All were now in dismay, crying out, “Alas! alas! the princess will die!”
But when Brondé arrived, and saw that trees were growing about the foot
of the outer rock, he quickly let himself down, and began pulling them
out by their roots. This so loosened the earth that, by means of his
great strength, he could easily start the rock from its nest. And this
he did, and sent it rolling, whirling, plunging, nobody looked to see
how far, for all were busy with the princess, who, though very little
hurt, was trembling with fright. And Brondé, seeing that she could
hardly stand, took her in his arms and bore her to the palace, the rest
following far behind.
If he had not taken her in his arms and borne her to the palace, it is
probable this story would never have been written, as will presently be
shown.
When the princess found herself unhurt, she began to laugh within
herself at this adventure, and at the odd way she was travelling home.
And as her head lay upon the shoulder--the big, broad shoulder--of
Brondé, his long, fair curls touched her cheek. So, being fond of
mischief, she slyly drew forth her scissors, cut off one curl, and kept
it hid in her hand. And Brondé did not know a word about it; though,
had he known, it would not have displeased him, since, had she wished,
he would gladly have given her every one of them; for he was quite fond
of the charming little princess.
[Illustration]
And he grew still more fond of her as years passed, and wondered
within himself whether such a big fellow as he could ever please such
a delicate little creature as the king’s Lily. And if that could
ever happen, why, what would the king say then? It was quite doubtful
whether he should be thought worthy to be the son-in-law of a king.
Whatever his thoughts were, therefore, none were the wiser for them, as
they remained hidden in his own breast.
Now the king’s Lily looked with admiration upon the brave,
noble-hearted Brondé.
“Ah!” said she to herself, “he is gentle and good, and can do no wrong;
he is strong and brave, and can fear no danger; and he is handsome
enough to gaze upon for a lifetime. And I think,--I think he likes very
well even a small, pale thing like me; yet he has never told me this.”
So she, too, kept her own counsel, and nobody was the wiser. But it is
curious to see how, sometimes, events are brought about.
The king said one day to his daughter: “Choose you now a husband, for
old age is coming upon me, and I would know, before I die, that my
child and my kingdom are well cared for.”
But the pretty White Lily grew bashful and said, “Let me not choose,
but rather be chosen.”
Then the king said: “Who would dare to choose my beautiful Lily, my
princess? But give yourself no uneasiness, since I myself can make the
choice.”
Then the princess was quite troubled, not knowing upon whom the
choice might fall. And she thought that by a cunning little trick
matters might be well arranged. So she said to her father, the king:
“My dearest father, in coming from the mountains one day, I discovered
a lock of hair, so beautiful that I have preserved it ever since.
Whoever, now, in all your court, can match this lock with one of his
own, he, and he only, shall be my choice.”
Now when this declaration of the princess was made known, it caused
great commotion among the young nobles of the court. All were examining
their locks, and longing to know the color of that which the king’s
Lily had discovered in coming from the mountain.
Brondé sent in one of his fair curls with the rest, and was, of course,
the lucky winner. For not one in the whole court had hair so soft and
of so beautiful a color as he.
And he soon found that the heart of the princess was quite large
enough to love even so big a fellow as himself. And the princess made
the discovery that the small, pale thing, as she had called herself,
was the very thing, in all the world, that Brondé most wished for.
The king, too, was well pleased to give to his daughter so kind
a protector, and to his kingdom so brave a defender. And thus it
happened, for once, that everybody was pleased. The lady with her
lover, the lover with his lady, the king with his son-in-law, and the
people with their king that was to be.
There was one person, however, who, far away, hearing of Brondé’s
good fortune, was not so well pleased. This person was a man of great
strength and size, who has already been spoken of. He called himself
Magnus, or “The Great.”
He, too, had once been among the king’s guards, and would have been
quite ready to take both daughter and kingdom. But by reason of his
cruelty and for his many bad acts, he was banished from the country.
After Brondé had been made a great captain in the army, Magnus went to
him secretly, by night, and said: “Come, now, we two are strong and can
accomplish whatsoever we will. Let us gather about us a troop of brave
men; let us entice the king’s soldiers; there are many who will gladly
fight under two such powerful leaders. We will attack the palace, throw
the king into prison, and become ourselves rulers of the land.”
But Brondé said, “I will not use my strength to do evil.” And Magnus,
for this, hated Brondé, and was, therefore, far from rejoicing at his
good fortune.
His envy and his displeasure, however, were alike unknown to Brondé
and the princess. They were married and lived happily. Their father,
the king, built for them two fine palaces, one within the city and
the other far away among the forests and mountains. It was this summer
palace, standing high, all glittering with silver and gold, which was
spoken of in the beginning. And it will now be understood that the
Pale Lady, sitting in the Crimson Chamber, was the good old king’s
Lily Princess whom Brondé saved on the mountain, whom he bore home in
his arms, and whom he afterwards married. The old king had now long
been dead, and King Brondé was enjoying a peaceful reign. Affairs went
smoothly on, his people loved him and he loved his people, and he still
spent the summers at the beautiful palace in Long Forest.
But peaceful days last not always, and troubles, dangers, and bitter
sorrows were in store for the good King Brondé and his Lily Queen.