Once again my story is of a widower father; this time, however, a
king, and having one only daughter, Maria, the apple of his eye and
the pride of his heart. The one concern of his life was to marry her
well and happily before he died.
The queen, whom he believed to be wise above mortal women, had left
him when she died a ring, with the advice to listen to the addresses
of no one on Maria's behalf but his whose finger a gold ring which
she gave him should fit, for that he whom it alone should fit would
be a noble and a worthy husband indeed.
Maria's teacher was very different from those we have had to do with
hitherto; she was a beneficent fairy, whose services her good and
clever mother had obtained for her under this disguise, and all her
lessons and actions were directed entirely for her benefit, and she
was able to advise and look out for her better than her father himself.
Time went by, and no one who came to court Maria had a finger which
the ring would fit. It was not that Maria was not quite young enough to
wait, but her father was growing old and feeble, and full of ailments,
and he hasted to see her settled in life before death called him away.
At last there came to sue for Maria's hand a most accomplished
cavalier, who declared himself to be a prince of a distant region,
and he certainly brought costly presents, and was attended by a
brilliant retinue well calculated to sustain the alleged character.
The father, who had had so much trouble about fitting the ring, was
much disposed not to attend any more to this circumstance when the
prince objected to be subjected to so trivial a trial. After some days,
however, as he hesitated finally to make up his mind to bestow her on
him without his having fulfilled this condition, he suddenly consented
to submit to it, when, lo and behold, the ring could not be found!
'If you have not got the ring,' said the prince, 'it really is not my
fault if it is not tried on. You see I am perfectly willing to accept
the test, but if you cannot apply it you must not visit it on me.'
'What you say is most reasonable,' said the father. 'But what can I
do? I promised her mother I would not let the girl marry anyone but
him the ring fitted.'
'Do you mean then that the girl is never to marry at all, since you
have lost the ring! That would be monstrous indeed. You may be sure,
however, in my case, the ring would have fitted if you had had it here,
because I am so exactly the kind of husband your wife promised the ring
should fit. So what more reasonable than to give her to me? However,
to meet your wishes and prejudices to the utmost, I am willing to
submit to any other test, however difficult, the young lady herself
likes to name. Nay, I will say--three tests. Will that satisfy you?'
All this was so perfectly reasonable that the father felt he could not
but agree to it, and Maria was told to be ready the next day to name
the first of the tests which she would substitute for that of the ring.
Though the prince was so handsome, so accomplished, so rich, and so
persevering with his suit, Maria felt an instinctive dislike to him,
which embarrassed her the more that she had no fault of any sort to
find with him which she could make patent to her father.
To the compassionate and appreciative bosom of her teacher she poured
out all her grief, and found there a ready response.
The teacher, who by her fairy powers knew what mortals could not
know, knew that the prince was no other than the devil, [72] and
that the marriage must be prevented at any price, but that it would
be vain for her to give this information to the father, as he would
have laughed in her face, and told her to go and rule copy-books and
knit stockings. She must, therefore, set to work in a different way
to protect her charge from the impending evil.
In the first instance, however, and without mentioning the alarming
disclosure of who her suitor really was, she merely bid Maria to be
of good courage and all would come right; and for the test she had
to propose, she bid her ask him to produce a dress woven of the stars
of heaven.
The next morning, accordingly, when the prince came to inquire what
her good pleasure was, she asked him to bring her a dress woven of
the stars of heaven.
The prince bit his lip, and a look of fierceness it had never worn
before stole over his face at hearing this request. And though he
instantly put on a smile, there was much suppressed anger perceptible
in the tone with which he answered,
'This is not your own idea. Some one who has no good will towards me
has told you this.'
'It was no part of the condition, I think, that I should act without
advice, and certainly no part of it that I should say whether I
took advice or not,' replied Maria discreetly; and then her desire
to break from the engagement making her bold, she added, 'But, you
know, if you do not like the test, or consider it in any way unfair,
I do not press you to accept it. You will meet with no reproach from
me if you renounce it.'
'Oh dear no! I have no such wish,' the prince hastened to reply. 'The
dress woven of the stars of heaven will be here by to-morrow morning,
and you have only to be ready by the same time to name what is the
second test you propose.'
Maria hastened back to her teacher to recount the story of the
morning's work; to tell of the moment of hope she had had that the
prince would renounce the attempt, and then his final acceptance of
the undertaking. 'Dear teacher mine! Cannot you think of something
else so very, very difficult I can give him to do to-morrow that he
may be obliged to refuse it?'
'To-morrow I would have you ask him for a dress woven of moonbeams,'
replied the teacher; 'which will be very difficult to supply; but I
fear he will yet find the means of accomplishing it.'
The next morning the dress woven of the stars of heaven was brought
in by six pages, and it was all they could do to carry it, for the
dazzling of the rays of the stars in their eyes. When the dress of
moonbeams was asked for, the prince showed little less impatience than
at the first request, but yet undertook to supply it, and reminded
Maria that the next day she must be ready with her third test.
Once more Maria had recourse to her sage teacher's counsels, and this
time was advised to ask for a dress woven of sunbeams.
The next day the dress woven of moonbeams was produced, but it required
twelve pages to bring it in, for it was so dazzling they could only
hold it for ten minutes at a stretch, and they had to carry it in
relays, six at a time. When Maria now asked for the dress woven of
sunbeams, the prince grew so angry that she was quite frightened, and
at the same time entertained for a moment a confident hope that now,
at last, he would own himself baffled. Nevertheless, at the end of a
few moments' hesitation, he pronounced his intention of complying, but
added in almost a threatening tone, 'And remember that when it comes
to-morrow morning you will not then have any more ridiculous tests
to prefer, but will belong to me for ever, and must be prepared to
go away with me in the carriage that will be at the door.' He turned
on his heel as he spoke and stalked away, without saying good-bye,
or so much as turning to look at her, or he would have seen she had
sunk down on the ground in an agony of despair.
Her father came in and found her thus, and asked her what could
possibly put her into such a state on the eve of such a brilliant
marriage. Maria threw herself in his arms and told him all her
distress, but when it was told it sounded childish and unreasonable.
'Can anything be more absurd?' replied the old man. 'To-morrow I may
be dead, and what will become of you? What can you desire more than
a husband suited to you in age and person, with every advantage the
world can offer? And you would throw all this away for the sake of
a foolish fancy you cannot even explain! Dry your tears and do not
listen to such fancies any more, and keep your pretty little face in
good order for looking as smiling and as pleasing as such a devoted
husband deserves you should look on your wedding morning. It is I
who have to lament; I who shall be left alone in my old age; but I
do not repine, I shall be quite happy for my few remaining days in
knowing that you have all the happiness life can afford you;' and as
he spoke he clasped her fondly in his arms.
Maria, reassured by his words, began to think he was in the right,
and she was thus as cheerful as he could wish that last night they
were to spend together.
But when night came and she found the teacher who understood her so
well, waiting to put her to bed for the last time, all her own true
feelings came back, and, bursting into tears, she entreated her to
find some way of delivering her.
'The time has come,' replied the teacher, 'that I should tell you
all. The innocence and truthfulness of your heart guided you right in
believing that the prince was no husband for you. You did not, and
could not, know who he was; but now I must tell you he is the devil
himself. Nay; do not shudder and tremble so; it remains entirely with
yourself to decide whether you shall be his or not; he can have no
sort of power over any against their will.'
'But, of course, I will have nothing to do with him,' replied the
child, simply. 'Why don't you tell papa, and make him send him away?'
'Because, for one thing, he would not believe me. As I have said,
the prince being what he is can have no power over you against your
own will. Your breaking from him must be your own act. Further,
you must understand the terms of the struggle. Power is given him
to deceive, and thus he has deceived your father. I have been set by
your mother to watch over you, and I can tell you what he is, but I
have no power to undeceive your father. If I were to attempt it it
would do no good, he would not believe me, and it would break his
heart to see you renounce so promising an union. On the other hand,
you must understand that when the devil wooes a maiden in this form
he does not suddenly after appear with horns and hoofs and carry her
off to brimstone and fire. For the term of your life he will behave
with average kindness and affection, and he will abundantly supply
you with the good things of this world. After that I need not say
what the effect of his power over you will be. On the other hand,
if you give him up you must be prepared to undergo many trials and
privations. It is not merely going on with your present life such as
it has been up till now. Those peaceful days are allowed for youthful
strength to mature, but now the time has come that you have to make
a life-choice. What do you say? Have you courage to renounce the
ease and enjoyment the prince has to offer you and face poverty,
with the want and the insults which come in its train?'
Poor little Maria looked very serious. She had never felt any great
attraction for the prince, it is true, but now the question was placed
upon a new issue. She had learnt enough about duty and sacrifice,
and she had always intended to do right at all costs, but now that
the day of trial had come it seemed so different from what she had
expected, she knew not what to say.
'You are tired to-night, my child; and it is late,' said the
teacher. 'We will say no more till the morning. I will wake you
betimes and you shall tell me your mind then.'
In the morning Maria's mind was made up. She had chosen the good part;
but how was she to be delivered from the prince?
'This is what you will have to do,' replied the teacher, after
commending her good resolution. 'I have had made ready for you a wooden
figure of an old woman, inside which I will stow away all that you
have valuable, for it may be of use some day, but especially I will
bestow there the dresses woven of the stars of heaven, of moonbeams,
and that of sunbeams, which, I doubt not, the prince will bring you,
according to promise, in the morning. When you have driven with him
in his carriage all day, towards evening you will find yourself in
a thick wood. Say to him you are tired with sitting in the carriage
all day, and ask to be allowed to walk a little way in the wood
before sundown. I, meantime, will place ready my wooden figure of
an old woman, which you will find there, and, watching for a moment
when he has his head turned, place yourself inside the figure and
walk away. There is another thing which you must do, which is very
important. When the ring was lost, you must know it was he who took it,
and, though he kept it studiously concealed all the while he was in
your father's palace, he will now carry it boldly slung on the feather
in his cap; this you must find means of possessing yourself of during
the journey, because it is essential to you that you should have it
in your own hands. And fear nothing either, in making your escape,
for the ring is your own property, which he has falsely taken; and,
in leaving him, remember he can have no power over you against your
will. I may not inform you what may befall you in your new character
as poor Maria Wood, but be good and courageous; always, as now,
choose the right bravely in all questions and doubts, and you shall
not go unrewarded.'
There was little time for leave-taking between the good teacher and
her affectionate pupil, for the prince almost immediately after came to
claim his bride, and all the neighbours and friends came, too, to the
festivities. The dress woven of sunbeams was brought by four-and-twenty
pages, for it was so dazzling they could not hold it for more than
five minutes at a time, and they had to carry it by relays.
At last leave-takings and festivities were over, and, amid the
good-wishes and blessings of all, Maria drove away in the prince's
carriage. On they drove all day, and towards the end of it, as it was
getting dark, Maria contrived to twitch the ring from the prince's
cap without his being aware of it; presently after she exclaimed,
'Oh dear! how cramped I feel from sitting all day in this carriage;
cannot I walk a little way in this wood before it gets dark?'
'Most certainly you can, if you wish,' replied the prince, who,
having everything his own way, was in a very accommodating humour.
When they had walked a little way down the forest-path, Maria espied
the wooden form she was to assume, placed ready under a tree.
'That old woman will have a longish way to go to get a night's shelter,
I fancy,' exclaimed the prince, with a laugh which made Maria shudder,
both from its heartlessness and also because it reminded her that she
would soon find herself alone, far from shelter, in that dark wood. But
was it not better to be alone in the dark than in such company as
that she was about to leave, she said to herself. Then she turned
once more to look at it. The figure looked so natural she could not
forbear saying mechanically, 'Poor old woman! give me a little coin
to bestow on her that she may wish us Godspeed on our night-journey.'
'Nonsense!' replied the prince. 'Never let me hear you talk such
idle stuff. And, come, it is time to go back into the carriage;
it is getting quite dark.'
'Oh! what a beautiful firefly!' exclaimed Maria, reminded by the
speech to hasten her separation from her uncongenial companion,
'Oh, do catch it for me!'
The prince lifted his cap, and ran a few steps after the insect. 'Oh,
I see another, and I shall catch it before you catch yours--you'll
see!' So saying, she darted towards the tree where the wooden figure
stood ready, and placing herself inside, walked slowly and freely
along, counterfeiting the gait of an aged and weary woman.
The prince had soon caught the firefly and was bringing it back in
triumph, when, to his dismay, Maria was nowhere to be seen. He ran
this way and that, called and shouted in vain. The servants with the
carriage were too far off to have seen anything; there was no witness
to appeal to but the old woman.
'Which way did the young lady run who was walking with me just now?' he
eagerly inquired.
'Down that path there to the right, as fast as the firefly itself could
fly, and if she comes back as quickly as she went she will be back
presently,' replied Maria Wood, feigning the voice of an old woman.
The prince ran in the direction indicated, and was soon himself lost
in the mazes of the forest, where he wandered hopelessly all night;
and only when the morning light came was he able to make his way back
to his carriage, and drive home ashamed and crestfallen, giving up his
conquest in despair, and vowing useless vengeance against the fairy
godmother, whose intervention he now recognised it was had baffled him.
Maria meantime walked steadily and fearlessly along, guided by
the stars which peeped here and there through the tall trees. Nor
was shelter so far off as the prince had said. Before very long a
party of charcoal-burners hailed her, and offered a share of such
poor hospitality as they could command. It was very different from
the comforts of her father's house; but Maria took it as the first
instalment of the hardships she had accepted.
Maria's wooden form was very skilfully made; the limbs had supple
joints, which could be moved by the person inside just like those
of a living being; and the clothes the teacher had provided being
just like those of the country people about, no one entertained the
least suspicion that Maria Wood, as she had now become, was anything
different from themselves.
The charcoal-burners were kind, simple people, and, finding Maria
willing to assist them in their labours to the extent of her powers,
proposed to her to stay and cast in her lot with them as long as the
season for their work lasted; and she did their hard work and shared
their poor fare with never a word of complaint.
At last, one day, when she was on I know not what errand, at some
distance from the encampment, the young king of the country, who had
lately been called to the throne, came through the forest hunting,
with a large retinue of followers. Crash, crash, like thunder, went
the brushwood as the wild boar trampled it down, and the eager dogs
bounded after him with lightning speed. They passed close to Maria,
who was as much alarmed as if she had really been the old woman she
seemed to be: but when she saw the riders bearing down upon her, their
horses' hoofs tearing up the soil, and the branches everywhere giving
way before their impetuosity, her heart failed her entirely, and she
swooned away upon the grass. The king, however, was the only one whose
course passed over the spot where she was, and he only perceived her
in time to rein up his mount just before it might have trampled on her.
'See here to this old body, whom we have nearly frightened to death,'
he cried; and the huntsmen came and lifted her up.
'Some of you carry her home to the palace, that she may be attended
to,' said the king further; and they carried her home to the palace,
and laid her on a bed, and restored her senses.
When the king came home from the hunt, he would go himself to see
how it had fared with her; and when he found her almost restored he
asked her whither she would wish to be sent.
'Little it matters to me where I go,' replied Maria Wood, in the
saddened voice of grief-stricken age; 'for home and kindred have I
none. Little it matters where I lay my weary bones to rest.'
When the king heard her speak thus he compassionated her, and inquired
if there was any service in the household that could be offered her.
'Please your Majesty, there is not much strength in her for work,'
replied the steward; 'but, if such is your royal will, she can be
set to help the scullions in the kitchen.'
'Will that suit you, old dame?' inquired the king. 'They shall not
ask too much of you, and a good table and warm shelter shall never
be wanting.'
'All thanks to your Majesty's bounty. My heart could desire nothing
more than to live thus under the shadow of your Majesty,' replied
Maria, making a humble obeisance.
And thus Maria, from a princess, became a servant of servants.
'What's the use of giving us such a cranky old piece as that for a
help?' said the scullion to the turnspit, as Maria was introduced to
her new quarters.
'Why, as to that, as she has taken the service she must do it, cranky
or not cranky,' answered the turnspit.
'Aye, I dare say we shall be able to get it out of her one way or
another,' replied the scullion.
And they did get it out of her; and Maria had more put upon her,
and less of kind words and scarcely better food than with the
charcoal-burners. But she took it all in silence and patience,
and no complaint passed her lips. She had no fixed duties, but one
called her here and another there; she was at everyone's bidding,
but she did her best to content them all.
Then came the Carneval; and on the last three days every servant
had license to don a domino and dance at the king's ball. What an
opportunity for Maria Wood! After serving in her unbecoming disguise
with so much endurance and perseverance for now a full year, here was
one day on which she might wear a becoming dress, and enjoy herself
according to the measure of her age and sex, and due position in
the world.
All the household, all royal as it was, was in a hubbub of
confusion. No one was at work--no one at his post; and there was no
one to notice that Maria Wood was absent, like the rest.
Locking herself into the loft which served her for a sleeping-place,
Maria not only came out of her wooden disguise, but took out of it
the garment woven of the stars of heaven--a most convenient dress for
the occasion. At a masqued ball no one can recognise anybody else,
except by a guess suggested by familiar characteristics which the
domino fails to disguise. But no one at the king's court was familiar
with the characteristics of Maria Wood; and wherever she passed the
whole company was in an excitement to know whose was the elegant figure
shrouded in such a marvellous costume. But there was so much majesty in
her air, that no one durst ask her to dance or so much as approach her.
Only the king himself felt conscious of the right to offer to lead
her to the dance; and she, who had not forgotten how handsome he was,
and how kind he had been on the night that his huntsmen had nearly
frightened her to death in the forest, right willingly accepted
the favour. But even he was so awed by her grace and dignity, that,
charmed as he was with her conversation, and burning to know her style
and title, he yet could not frame the question that would ascertain
whence she had come.
Very early in the evening, while the other masquers reckoned the
amusement was only beginning, Maria, with characteristic moderation,
chose an opportunity for withdrawing unperceived from the ballroom.
It will readily be imagined that the next night every one was full of
curiosity, and the king most of all, to know whether the lady in the
starry dress would appear again; and the more that, though everybody
had been talking of her to the exclusion of everyone else the whole
intervening day through, no one could offer a satisfactory conjecture
as to who she could possibly be.
While all eyes were full of expectation, accordingly, the second
evening, suddenly and unannounced there appeared in their midst a form,
graceful and mobile like hers they had so much admired, but draped in
a still more dazzling dress (for Maria this night wore her garment
woven of moonbeams); and it was only the king who had the certainty
that it was really the same person.
'Why did you take away all the light of our ball so early last
night?' inquired the king, as they were dancing together.
'I have to be up early, and so I must go to bed early,' replied Maria.
'And what can a sylph-like creature like you have to get up early
in the morning for? You are only fit to lie on a bed of roses, with
nightingales to sing to you,' pursued the king.
'My occupations are very different, I can assure your Majesty,'
said Maria, with a hearty laugh.
'What can those occupations possibly be?' inquired the king eagerly;
'I am dying to know.'
'Oh, fie! You must not ask a domino such a direct question as that;
it is as bad as asking her name, and that is against all rules. But
see, the dancers await your Majesty; we are putting them all out.'
Thus she put him off, and she fenced so well that he succeeded
no better in searching out the mystery in all his subsequent
attempts. Though he had determined, too, never to leave her side
all the evening, that he might certainly observe which way she went,
she was so alert that she defeated his plans. Kings have a certain
etiquette to observe, even at a Carneval ball; and while social
exigencies demanded that he should bestow a salute on one and another
of the distinguished personages present, Maria contrived to gather
her shining raiment round her so as to invert its dazzling folds,
and glide away unperceived.
The king was beside himself with vexation when he found she was gone;
nor could he sleep all the succeeding night, or rather those hours
which must be stolen out of the day to make a night of when the real
night has been spent in revels. One thought occupied him, which was
that the succeeding night was the last in which he could expect to
have the chance of obtaining an explanation from his fair partner
of the dance. The next day began the gloom of Lent, and she would
disappear from his sight forever. He arranged in his head a dozen
forms of conversation by which to entrap her into some admission by
which he could find out who she could possibly be; he determined to
be more vigilant than ever in observing her movements; and, to provide
against every possible chance of failure, he stationed guards at every
exit of the ballroom, with strict orders to follow her when she passed.
In the midst of the ball on the third night Maria entered more radiant
than ever, having on her dress woven of sunbeams. The masquers put
their hands up to shade their eyes as she passed, and the chandeliers
and torches were paled by its brilliance. The king was at her side
immediately, but though he put in requisition all the devices he had
prepared, Maria succeeded in evading them all, and the evening passed
away without his being a bit wiser about how to see more of her than
he had been at the beginning. The only thing that gave him a little
hope that she did not mean absolutely to abandon him, was that in the
course of the evening she took out a ring, which she told him had
never fitted anyone yet, and begged him, as a matter of curiosity,
to try it on his hand; and then when it strangely happened that it
fitted him perfectly, she could not altogether conceal the pleasure
it seemed to give her. Nevertheless, she put up the ring again, and
would give no further explanation about it any more than about herself.
By-and-by, choosing her moment as dexterously as before, she made her
escape without exciting the king's attention. The guards, however,
were all expectation, and notwithstanding that she had taken the
precaution of turning the sunbeams inwards, they recognised her, and
followed softly after her as they had been bidden. Maria, however,
did not fail to perceive they were following her, and, to divert
their attention, took off a string of precious pearls she wore round
her throat, and, unthreading them on the ground, escaped swiftly to
her loft while the guards were occupied in gathering up the treasure.
The king was disconsolate beyond measure when he found that all
his schemes were foiled, and that his radiant maiden had passed
away like the rays in which she was clothed, leaving only darkness
and weariness for him. So disconsolate he grew that nothing could
distract him. He would no more occupy himself with the affairs of
the state, still less with any minor occupations. He could not bear
the light of the sun because its beams reminded him of his loss,
and he dreaded similarly the sight of the moon or the stars, but,
shut up in a dark room almost hopeless, he wept the weary days away.
So remarkable a change in the habits of the young king became the
subject of general comment, and could not fail to reach the ears of
even so insignificant a menial as Maria. She, indeed, had every reason
to hear of it, for scarcely could the afflicted king be induced to take
the simplest food, and the attendants of the kitchen were reduced to
complete inactivity. Maria was no longer called hither and thither at
everyone's pleasure, and as long as this inactivity lasted she knew
the king was still of the same mind about herself. But at last the
talk of the kitchen took a more alarming character; it was reported
that physicians had been called in, and had pronounced that unless
means were found to distract him his state of despondency would prove
fatal, but that nothing which had been tried had the least effect in
rousing him from his melancholy.
Meantime Lent was passing away and Easter was close at hand. Maria
thought she might now be satisfied with his constancy, and determined
to take the step which she had good reason to believe would restore
all his vigour.
Accordingly, while the cooks and scullions were all dispersed about
one thing and another, she went into the kitchen and made a cake, into
which she put the ring, and took it up herself to the queen-mother. It
was not very easy for such a haggard old woman to obtain admission to
the private apartments, but when she declared she had come about a
remedy for the king, she was made welcome. Having thus obtained the
ear of the queen-mother, she assured her, with many protestations,
that if the king could he made to eat the whole of the cake, without
giving the least piece of it to anyone, he would be immediately
cured. But that if he gave away the least piece the virtue might be
lost. This was lest he should thus give away the ring to anyone. The
ladies waiting on the queen laughed at the old woman's pretensions,
and would have driven her away with contumely, but the queen said:
'Nay, who knows but there may be healing in it. Experience often
teaches the old remedies which science has failed to discover.'
Then she dismissed Maria with a present, and took the cake in to the
king, trying to amuse him with the old woman's story; but the king
refused to be amused, and let the cake be. Only as he took no notice
of what food he ate, and they gave him this cake for all his meals, he
took it as he would have taken anything else that had been set before
him. When he cut it, his knife struck against something hard, and when
he had pulled this out, he found it was the very ring his sylphlike
partner had given him the night she wore the dress woven of sunbeams.
At the sight he started like one waking from a trance.
'How came this ring here?' he exclaimed; and the queen-mother, who
had stood by to see the effect of the remedy, replied,
'A certain old woman, whom you befriended in the forest and told
the servants to shelter in the palace, brought me the cake, saying
it would prove a remedy for your melancholy, which she had prepared
out of gratitude.'
'Let her be called instantly hither,' then said the king; and they
went to fetch Maria Wood; but Maria could nowhere be found.
The king was at this announcement very nearly relapsing into his
former condition; but the idea came to his mind to find something
out by means of the ring itself. Therefore he summoned together all
the goldsmiths, and refiners, and alchemists of his kingdom, and bid
them tell him the history of the ring.
At the end of seven days' trial the oldest of the alchemists brought
it back to the king and said:
'We find, O King, that this ring is made of gold which comes from
afar. Moreover, that the workmanship is such as is only produced in
the kingdoms of the West, and the characters on it pronounce that its
owner is a princess of high degree, whose dominions exceed greatly
those of the King's Majesty in magnitude.'
The king now ordered a more urgent search to be made for Maria Wood,
as the only clue by which to reach the fair owner of the ring; and
Maria, having heard by report of the alchemists' announcement, thought
it was time to let herself be known. Habiting herself, therefore,
in becoming attire, with jewels befitting her rank, with all of which
the fairy had amply provided her, she entered for the last time her
wooden covering, and went up to the king in answer to his summons.
'Come hither, good woman,' said the king encouragingly; 'you have
indeed done me good service in sending me this ring, and have repaid
a hundredfold the little favour I bestowed on you in taking you into
the palace. If, now, you will further bring me hither her to whom this
ring belongs, or take me where I may find her, you shall not only
live in the palace, but shall live there in royal state and luxury,
and whatsoever more you may desire.'
At these words Maria stepped out of her wooden case, and stood before
the king in all her youthful beauty, telling him all her story.
The proofs that supported it were sufficient to silence every doubt;
and when the people were called together to celebrate her marriage
with the king, the whole nation hailed her accession as their queen
with the greatest delight.
Soon after, the royal pair went to visit Maria's father, who had the
joy of knowing that his child was really well established in life. They
stayed with him till he died; and then his dominions were added to
those of the king, Maria's husband. Maria did not forget to inquire
for her good mistress, but she had long ago gone back to Fairyland.