A DISCOVERY.
Years passed by, and happy years they were. Rosebud, as she grew older,
was the same sweet-voiced, kindly maiden, winning love from all. People
gazing at her beaming face asked themselves often what it was that so
charmed them there. This which they could not name was the love-light,
which shone through her eyes and lighted up her countenance; for the
holy fire burned always in her heart, making her whole life pure and
bright. The idol of the court, praised, petted, flattered, still was
she not spoiled. Ah, Rosebud was far too modest, too humble for that.
Real love not only brightens, but purifies, keeping away all evil.
As King Brondé had no son, he adopted Myrtle for his own. He provided
for him the best instructors, and treated him in all things as if he
were really his child.
And the youth grew up, stately and handsome as a young prince. He
mingled freely with the young nobles of the court, and, by his gentle
bearing and his true manliness, became a favorite with every one.
Bess and Judy were established in a handsome house of their own, and
every day had cause to bless the good King Brondé and his Lily Queen.
Thus, as was before observed, the years flew happily on. But when years
fly on, though never so happily, they carry us along with them. And the
happy years that were flying on at the palace were taking King Brondé
and his queen towards old age, were taking Myrtle out of his childhood,
and changing our Rosebud to a full-blown rose.
And when Myrtle was no longer a child, he began to think. And when he
began to think, he thought how wonderful it was that he should have
thus been brought from a hut to a palace, changed from a fisher-boy to
the son of a king.
And he thought, also, that he should like to be still more a son to
him, and to marry Rosebud for his wife, if King Brondé were willing,
but was afraid to ask. For were there not plenty of young lords, and
also real princes, who came to visit the court? King Brondé might
prefer one of these. Rosebud herself might. He was not sure, after all,
that he would not rather they two were still living at the hut, for
when they were children of the shore she liked him better than any. But
these, he felt, were selfish thoughts, and must never come again.
Still, if selfish thoughts might be kept away, serious, anxious
thoughts could not; and these came often to cloud his face, and to
make Rosebud wonder why Myrtle appeared so thoughtful, so troubled.
Now it happened, one lovely afternoon, when the king and his court were
at the summer palace, near Long Forest, that Myrtle was walking in the
gardens with Rosebud. These same anxious thoughts were present in his
mind. They clouded his face, and gave to his voice a sorrowful tone.
“Where are your thoughts?” asked Rosebud, “and why are you so troubled?”
“I will tell you,” said Myrtle, after a few moments of silence,--“I
will tell you, first, where are my thoughts, and next, why I am so
troubled. My thoughts are far away at the sea-shore, by a little
spring, where a little girl once declared that the rose and the myrtle
went well together. I fear she may not think so always. That is why I
am so troubled.”
Rosebud looked down, and walked silently on by his side, until they
came to a rosebush, bearing a rose, not quite fully blown, which she
plucked. A little farther on they passed the queen’s fine myrtle-arbor.
From this she cut a sprig and intwined it with the rose. The two, thus
joined, she placed in his hand. He knew then that the little girl still
believed that the rose and the myrtle went well together.
At a little distance they saw, walking towards them, the king and his
queen. As they met, Myrtle held out to the king the pretty token he had
just received from Rosebud,--held it out doubtfully, as if fearing his
displeasure.
[Illustration]
But the king smiled, remembering, no doubt, the long ago when he
himself had loved a king’s daughter; and the queen smiled; and Rosebud
smiled. Why, then, should not Myrtle smile, too? And then the good King
Brondé opened wide his arms, clasped them both to his heart, gave them
his blessing, and wished they might live as happily together as had he
and his beloved Lily Queen.
* * * * *
Not long after this came the wedding. And such a wedding was surely
never known before.
The kings of all the countries round about came with their queens,
and their courts, and their mounted guards, and their bands of music,
and their waving banners. There were illuminations in the cities, and
fires blazed upon the mountain-tops. Prisoners were released, and gold
and silver thrown by handfuls to the poor. Tables were spread in the
streets, that everybody might feast.
Happy they who could obtain entrance into the palace. Happier still
they who were admitted into that grand apartment where the marriage
rites were performed. Happiest of all they who obtained a glimpse of
the charming bride.
She wore, at Myrtle’s request, a robe of the very palest green, which
was besprinkled with diamonds. Upon her fair curls rested a coronet of
rosebuds, every leaf of which was a separate jewel.
But nothing was so lovely, so charming to all, as her own sweet face,
expressing, as might plainly be seen, the most perfect love and the
most perfect happiness.
All her old friends were present. Bess and Judy were there, side by
side with her own sisters. The wood-cutter’s children were there, the
little boy and girl whom Rosebud saved from the boat. The wood-cutter
himself was there. For his services on the day and night of the lion
hunt, in Long Forest, he had been well rewarded, and he now lived on a
fine estate, with gold in plenty, and servants to command.
Even Rupert was present. For when released from prison, he sought the
old woman’s hut, and after learning from the fishermen all that had
happened, he went immediately to King Brondé’s dominions, and obtained
employment in the grounds of the palace, that he might be always near
Rosebud. At her request, he was made head-gardener of her flower-beds,
and brought her every morning a fresh nosegay; and was welcomed with
smiles, which, it may be remembered, was a part of the nice little plan
he had laid when acting as guide.
Bertha, too, was there, the dark-eyed, bright-faced Bertha; and
charming enough she looked too, in her bright colors, and her little
jewelled cap. And happy enough, too; for the lover came safely back
from the wars, and that same lover, now her husband, was by her side,
and as happy as herself.
The Green Fairy, too, was there, though no one knew it, in the form
of a fine-feathered bird, perched high on the top of a marble column.
Somebody else, too, was there, who will shortly speak for herself.
After the marriage ceremony had been performed, the whole company
repaired to the most spacious hall in the palace, where was served up a
sumptuous banquet. The tables were loaded with dishes of solid gold,
and with crystal ornaments. Sweetmeats, cordials, and spices of richest
fragrance were brought from the remotest corners of the earth. Players
of musical instruments, hidden from sight, sent forth their softest,
sweetest strains.
Roses were everywhere,--roses and myrtle; in rich vases upon the table,
among the decorations of the walls, in hanging-baskets, in the hands of
marble statues, festooned from the ceiling, wreathed about the white
columns. Roses and myrtle everywhere. The air was filled with their
fragrance. And everybody said, how beautiful were the myrtle and the
rose together.
At the close of the banquet, King Brondé observed that the great king
who sat at his left hand appeared sad and downcast; that, although
striving to be gay with the rest, yet he often turned aside to wipe
away a tear.
“What is your grief?” asked King Brondé; “what great sorrow dwells in
your heart, that will make itself felt, even at this bridal feast?”
“I can tell you that!” cried a strange voice at his side.
King Brondé turned and saw, standing quite near him, a little old
woman, holding a staff, and wearing a blue blanket pinned over her head.
“And who are you?” cried King Brondé. “By what means gained you
entrance here? And what should one like you know of the troubles of a
great king?”
“The great king has but one trouble,” she replied, “and that shall soon
be taken away. Listen, now, and you shall hear a true story.
“Many years ago I lived, with my grandchildren, in a cabin by a lonely
wood. One stormy night a woman, a coarse-featured woman, came to my
door, bringing a young child, which she had stolen for the sake of the
jewels he wore.
“This woman offered me one half, provided I would allow them to remain
hidden there, until her strength returned, when she would go on with
her journey.
“I accepted this offer, thinking she would soon be gone, and that the
jewels would make me rich.”
“You thief! wretch!” cried King Brondé.
“True, both true,” answered the old woman; “but permit me to go on with
the story; for not many days are left me, and I would do one good act
before I die.
“The woman never recovered her strength. She died there, in my cabin.
Before her death she confessed to me that this stolen child was the son
of the king. She had enticed him from his attendants, while they were
walking with him, in the grounds belonging to the palace.
“I dared not remain in the country with the child, for if he were
found in my hands it would be certain death to me. I therefore fled
with him and my two grandchildren into another kingdom, where I dwelt
in a little hut by the sea.
“The boy grew up, fair, and with a true princely look. I compelled him,
until all danger of pursuit was over, to go meanly clad and dirty, lest
his beauty should attract the notice of some passing traveller.
“And now, when all are making bridal presents, I come also with a gift
to the bridegroom. I present to him a father. Great king, you have no
longer a trouble: this is your lost boy.”
* * * * *
After the rejoicing, the happy weeping, the embracing, and all the deep
excitement caused by the old woman’s story, had somewhat abated, orders
were given to bring forth the jewels, which were brought from the hut,
that she might declare who were their rightful owners.
And among these was the king’s signet ring, which he had heedlessly
given his boy to play with on the morning of the day when he was
stolen. This signet ring the old woman had never dared offer for sale.