The winter passed and the summer came again--the second summer of the
baby's life. She had grown like the flowers, and was as happy as the
butterflies. Never was a sweeter or a merrier child. The Queen
idolised her, and the King loved her quite as dearly, though in a wiser
way. And that summer passed very happily.
Unfortunately, however, the warm fine days came to an end unusually
early that year. Many of the birds took flight for the south sooner
than their wont, and the flowers drooped and withered as if afraid of
what was coming.
The Queen noticed these signs with a sinking heart. Standing one chilly
morning at the palace windows, she watched the grey autumn sky and
sighed deeply.
"Alas, alas!" she said. "All the beauty and brightness are going
again."
She did not know that the King had entered the room, and was standing
behind her.
"Nay," he said, cheerfully. "You have no reason to feel so sad. If you
have no other flower you have our little Rose, blooming as brightly in
the winter as in the warmth."
He meant it well, but it would have been wiser if he had said nothing.
The Queen turned towards him impatiently.
"It is not so," she said angrily.
"Rose is like me. She loves the summer and the sunshine! I do not
believe she would live through your wretched northern winters but for my
incessant care and constant watchfulness. And the anxiety is too much
for me; it will wear me to death before she is grown up. Indeed there
are times when I almost regret that she ever was born. The life in this
country is but half a life. Would that I had known it before I ever
came hither."
It was rarely, discontented and complaining though she was, that the
Queen had so yielded to her temper. The King was deeply hurt and
disappointed, and he left the room without speaking. He was generally
so kind and patient that this startled her, and brought her to her
senses.
"How wrong of me to grieve him so by my wild words," she thought,
penitently. "And--" A sudden horror came over her. What had she been
saying? What had she done? And the fairy's warning returned to her
memory: "If you forget your resolution, the slightest touch of snow will
put the baby into my stern brother's power, and you will find yourself
terribly punished."
The poor Queen shivered. Already to her excited fancy, as she glanced
at the sky, it seemed that the lurid grey which betokened snow was
coming over it.
"Oh, sweet Summer Spirit!" she cried; "forgive me and plead for me."
But a melancholy wail from the cold wind blowing through the trees in
the grounds of the palace was the only reply; the summer fairy was far
away.
The sky cleared again later that day, and for some short time the cold
did not increase. But it would be difficult to describe what the Queen
went through. It was useless to hope that the winter would pass without
snow; for, so far north, such a thing had never been known. Still, no
doubt, its coming appeared to be delayed, and the weather prophets felt
somewhat at fault. The Queen began to breathe rather more freely again,
in the hope that possibly her appeal to the Summer Spirit had, after
all, been heard. Every one had noticed her pale and anxious looks;
every one had noticed also how very gentle and uncomplaining she had
become. She was so eager to make all the amends she could, that one
day, when the King remarked that he thought it very wrong for the
Princess to be so guarded from the open air as she had been lately, the
Queen, though with fear and trembling, gave orders that the baby should
be taken out.
"I will accompany her myself," she said to the attendants; so the little
Princess was wrapped up in her costly furs and placed in her tiny
chariot drawn by goats, the Queen walking beside her.
The little girl laughed with delight, and chattered in her baby way
about everything she saw. She seemed like a little prisoner suddenly
set at liberty; for the last few weeks had been spent by the poor little
thing in rooms specially prepared, where no breath of the outer air
could find its way in.
"For who knows," thought the Queen, "how some tiny flake of snow might
be wafted down the chimney, or through the slightest chink of the
window."
To-day, in spite of her anxiety, the baby's happy face made her mother's
heart feel lighter.
"Surely," she said to herself, "it must be a sign that I am forgiven,
and that all will yet be well."
And to please her little daughter she took her farther than she had
intended, even entering a little way into a pine wood skirting the
palace grounds at one side, a favourite resort of hers in the summer.
The Princess's nurse picked up some fir-cones and gave them to the
little girl, who threw them about in glee and called out for more. They
were all so busy playing with her that they did not notice how, above
the heads of the tall fir-trees, the sky was growing dark and overcast,
till suddenly a strange, chill blast made the Queen gather her mantle
round her and gaze up in alarm.
"We must hasten home," she said; "it is growing so cold."
"Yes, indeed," said one of the ladies; "it almost looks like--" But the
Queen interrupted her; she could not bear even the mention of the fatal
word.
"Wrap up the Princess!" she exclaimed. "Cover her over, face and all!
Never mind if she cries! My darling, we shall be home directly. The
cold wind would hurt you," added she to the little girl.
Then they hurried back to the palace as quickly as the goats could be
persuaded to go, even the Queen herself running fast to keep up with the
little carriage.
They were within a short distance of the palace before any snow fell,
though it was clear to be seen that it was not far off; and the Queen
was beginning to breathe again more freely, when suddenly Princess Rose,
who had behaved beautifully till now, with a cry of baby mischief,
pushed away the shawl that was over her face, shouting with glee. At
that very moment the first fluttering snowflakes began to fall. The
little Princess opened wide her eyes as she caught sight of them, and
smiled as if in greeting; and alas! before the terrified Queen had time
to replace the covering the child had thrown off, one solitary flake
alighted on her cheek, melting there into a tiny drop which looked like
a tear, though still the little Princess smiled.
The Queen seized the child in her arms, and, though her heart had almost
ceased beating with terror, rushed up the long flights of steps, all
through the great halls and corridors like a mad creature, nor stopped
even to draw breath till she had reached the Princess's apartments, and
had her safe in the rooms specially prepared for her during the winter.
But was she safe? Was it not already too late? With trembling dread
the Queen drew away the furs and shawls wrapped round the baby, almost
expecting to find her changed in some strange way, perhaps even dead;
and it was with thankfulness that she saw that little Rose was still
herself--sweet and smiling in her sleep. For she was fast asleep.
"The darling, the precious angel," thought the poor mother as she laid
her in her little cot, just as the ladies, and nurses, and all the
attendants came trooping into the room. "She is only asleep," said the
Queen, in a whisper.
"Nothing has happened to her--she is sleeping sweetly."
The ladies stared--the Queen's behaviour had been so strange they could
not understand her.
"It is a pity to be so anxious about the child," they said to each
other. "It will bring no blessing," for they thought it all came from
the Queen's foolish terror lest the little Princess should catch cold,
and they shook their heads.
But the Queen seemed full of thankfulness, very gentle, and subdued.
Many times that afternoon she came back to see if little Rose was well--
the baby looked a picture of health, but--she was still sleeping.
"The fresh keen air has made her drowsy, I suppose," said the head
nurse, late in the evening when the Queen returned again.
"And she has had nothing to eat since the middle of the day," said the
mother, anxiously. "I almost think if she does not wake of herself in
an hour or so, you will have to rouse her."
To this the nurse agreed. But two hours later, on the Queen's next
visit to the nursery, there was a strange report to give her. The nurse
had tried to wake the baby, but it was all in vain. Little Rose just
smiled sweetly and rolled over on her other side, without attempting in
the least to open her eyes. It seemed cruel to disturb her. She was so
very sleepy.
"I think we must let the Princess have her sleep out--children are like
that sometimes," said the nurse.
And the Queen was forced to agree to it, though she had a strange
sinking at the heart, and even the King when he came to look at his
little daughter felt uneasy, though he tried to speak cheerfully.
"No doubt she will awake in the morning quite bright and merry," he
said,--"all the brighter and merrier for sleeping a good round and a
half of the clock."
The morning dawned--the slow-coming winter daylight of the north found
its way into the Princess's nursery through the one thickly glazed
window--a tiny gleam of ruddy sunshine even managed to creep in to kiss
her dimpled cheek, but still the baby slept--as soundly as if the night
was only beginning. And matters grew serious.
It was no use trying to wake her. They all did their best--King, Queen,
ladies, nurses; and after them the great court physicians and learned
men of every kind. All were summoned and all consulted, and as the days
went on, a hundred different things were tried. They held the strongest
smelling salts to her poor little nostrils; the baby only drew up her
small nose the least bit in the world and turned over again with a tiny
snore. They rang the bells, they had the loudest German bands to be
found far or near to play all at once in her room; they fetched all the
pet dogs in the neighbourhood and set them snarling and snapping at each
other close beside her; as a last resource they lifted her out of bed
and plunged her into a cold bath--she did not even shiver!
And with tears rolling down their faces, the Queen and the ladies and
the nurses wrapped her up again and put her back cosily to bed, where
she seemed as contented as ever, while they all sat down together to
have a good cry, which, sad to say, was of no use at all.
"She is bewitched," said the cleverest of all the doctors, and as time
went on, everybody began to agree with him. Even the King himself was
obliged to think something of the kind must be at the bottom of it, and
at last one day the Queen, unable to endure her remorse any longer, told
him the whole story, entreating him to forgive her for having by her
discontent and murmuring brought upon him so great a sorrow.
The King was very kind but very grave.
"I understand it now," he said. "The summer fairy told you true. Our
northern Winter Spirit is indeed stern and implacable; we must submit--
if we are patient and resigned it is possible that in the future even
his cold heart may be melted by the sight of our suffering."
"It is only I who deserve it," wept the poor Queen. "The worst part of
it all is to know that I have brought this sorrow upon you, my dear
husband."
And so repentant was she that she almost forgot to think of herself--
never had she been so sweet and loving a wife. She did everything she
possibly could to please and cheer the King, concealing from him the
many bitter tears she shed as she sat for hours together beside the
sleeping child.
The winter was terribly severe--never had the snow lain more thickly,
never had the wind-blasts raged and howled more furiously. Often did
the Queen think to herself that the storm spirits must be infuriated at
her very presence in their special domain.
"They might pity me now," she thought, "now that I am so punished;" but
she bore all the winter cold and terrors uncomplainingly, nay, even
cheerfully, nerving herself to go out alone in the bitterest weather
with a sort of hope of pleasing the winter fairy; possibly if she could
but see him, of making an appeal to him. But for many months he held
his icy sway--often indeed it seemed as if gentler times were never to
return.
Then suddenly one night the frost went; a mild soft breeze replaced the
fierce blast; spring had come. And wonderful to relate, the very next
morning the Queen was roused by loud knockings and voices at her door;
trembling, she knew not why, she opened it; and the head nurse fell at
her feet laughing and crying at once. The Princess had awakened!
Yes; there she was, chattering in her baby way, smiling and rosy, as if
nothing had been the matter. She held out her arms to her mother,
calling "Mamma," in the most delightful way; she knew her father again
quite well; she was very hungry for her breakfast. Oh! the joy of her
parents, and the jubilation all through the palace! I could not
describe it.
And all through the summer little Rose was wide awake, in the day-time
that is to say, just like other children. She was as well and strong
and happy as a baby could be. But--the summer will not last for ever;
again returned the autumn bringing with it the signs of the approaching
winter, and one morning when her nurse went to awaken the Princess, she
found it was no use--Rose was sleeping again, with a smile on her face,
calm and content, but alas! not to be awakened! And then it was
remembered that the first snow had fallen during the night.
More to satisfy the Queen than with the hope of its doing any good, all
the efforts of the year before were repeated, but with no success. And
gradually the child's distressed parents resigned themselves to the sad
truth: their daughter was to be theirs only for half her life; for full
six months out of every twelve, she was to be in a sense as far away
from them as if the winter monarch had carried her off to his palace of
ice altogether.
But no; it was not quite so bad as that would have been. And the Queen,
who was fast learning to count her blessings instead of her troubles,
smiled through her tears as she said to the King what a mercy it was
that they were still able to watch beside their precious child--to kiss
her soft warm cheek every morning and every night.
And so it went on. In the spring the Princess woke up again, bright and
well and lively, and in every way six months older than when she had
fallen asleep; so that, to see her in the summer time, no one could have
guessed the strange spell that was over her. She became the sweetest
and most charming girl in the world; only one thing ever saddened her,
and that was any mention of the winter, especially of snow.
"What does it mean?" she would ask sometimes. "What are they talking
of? Show me this wonderful thing! Where does it grow? I want to see
it."
But no one could make her understand; and at these times a very strange
look would come into her blue eyes.
"I must see it," she said. "Some day I shall go away and travel far,
far, till I find it."
These words used to distress her mother more, than she could say; and
she would shower presents and treasures on her daughter, of flowers and
singing-birds, and lovely embroidered dresses--all to make her think of
the sunshine and the summer. And for the time they would please the
girl, till again she shook her head and murmured--"I want the snow."
So the years followed each other, till Rose was sixteen. Every winter
the Queen had a faint hope, which, however, grew ever fainter and
fainter, that the spell was perhaps to be broken. But it was not so.
And strange stories got about concerning the Princess--some saying she
was a witch in disguise; others that she had no heart or understanding;
others that she turned into a bird or some animal during half her life--
so that the neighbouring Princes, in spite of her beauty and sweetness,
were afraid to ask her in marriage. And this brought new sorrow to her
parents. For she was their only child.
"What will become of her after we are dead and gone?" they said. "Who
will care for and protect our darling? Who will help her to rule over
our nation? No people will remain faithful to a sovereign who is only
awake half the year. There will be revolts and rebellion, and our angel
Rose may perhaps be put to death, or driven away."
And they fretted so over this, that the hair of both King and Queen grew
white long before its time. But Rose only loved them the more on this
account, for she had heard some one say that white hair was like snow;
though she kept the fancy to herself, for she knew it troubled the Queen
if ever she mentioned the strange, mysterious word.
She was so lovely that painters came from many countries just to see her
face, and, if possible, be allowed to make a picture of her. And one of
these portraits found its way to the court of a King who was a distant
cousin of her father, and who had heard the strange things said of the
Princess. He was very angry about it, for he had two sons, and he was
afraid of their falling in love with the beautiful face. So he ordered
the picture to be destroyed before the elder Prince, who was away on a
visit, came home.
But the servant who was to burn the picture thought it such a pity to do
so, that he only hid it away in a lumber-room; and thither, as fate
would have it, came the younger Prince one day in search of a pet kitten
of his sister's which had strayed away; for he was a Prince of a most
kind and amiable nature.
The moment he saw the picture he fell in love with it. He made inquiry,
and heard all there was to tell. Then he arrayed himself for a journey,
and came to bid his father farewell.
"I go," he said, "to woo the Princess Rose for my bride." And in spite
of all the king could say he kept firm.
"If she is a witch," he said, "I would rather perish by her hands than
live with any other."
And amidst tears and lamentations he set out.
He was received with great delight at the court of Princess Rose's
parents, though he came without any pomp or display; for he lost no time
in telling the King and Queen the reason of his visit. Knowing him to
be a Prince of most estimable character, they were overjoyed to hear of
his resolve.
"I only trust," said the Queen, "that all may go well. But, as you have
doubtless heard, our darling child, despite her beauty and goodness, is
under a strange spell."
She then proceeded to tell him the whole matter, of which he had already
heard garbled accounts.
He was relieved to find that the enchantment was of no worse a nature,
and declared that it made no difference in his intentions, but rather
increased his love for the Princess. And when he first set eyes on her
(more beautiful by far than even the beautiful portrait), he felt that
his whole life would not be too much to devote to her, even considering
her strange affliction.
"And who knows," he said to himself, "but that such love as mine may
find out a way to release her from the spell?"
The Princess quickly learned to like him. She had never before had a
companion so near her own age, and the last days of the summer passed
most happily, till the time came when the Prince thought he might
venture to ask her to be his wife.
They were walking on the terrace in front of the castle when he did so.
It had been a lovely day, but the afternoon had grown chilly; and as the
Princess listened to his words, a cold breath of wind passed near them.
The Princess started; and, aware of the Queen's anxiety about her, the
Prince hastily proposed that they should return to the house; but Rose
looked at him with a light in her eyes which he had never before seen,
and a strange smile broke over her face.
"It is new life to me," she said.
"Can you not understand, you who are yourself a child of the north?
Yes, Prince, I will marry you on one condition, that you will show me
the snow--but on no other."
Then she turned, and, without another word, walked slowly back to the
palace.
Prince Orso, for so he was called, felt terribly distressed.
"The spell is upon her," he thought to himself. "She asks me to do what
would probably kill her, or separate her for ever from all who love
her." And the King and Queen, when they heard his story, were nearly as
disappointed as he.
But that very night the Prince had a strange dream. He thought he was
walking in the wood near the castle, when again a chill blast, but still
more icy, swept past him, and he heard a voice speaking to him. It
sounded hoarse and stern.
"Orso," it said, "you're as foolish as the rest. Have you no trust?
See what came of rebellion against me, who, after all, love my many
children as dearly as does my sister of the summer. Leave the Princess
to the leadings of her own heart, and dare not to interfere."
Then with a crash as of thunder the spirit went on his way. And the
Prince awoke to find that the window of his room had been dashed in by
the force of a sudden gale which had arisen.
But the next morning all was again calm. It almost seemed as if the
milder weather was returning again; and the Queen looked brighter; but
it was not so with the Princess, who was silent and almost sad. And so
things continued for some days.
At last the Prince could bear it no longer. One afternoon when he found
himself alone with the Princess, he turned to her suddenly.
"Princess," he said, "can you not give me another answer? You must know
that I would fain promise anything you wish; but I dare not bind myself
to what might perhaps do you some injury."
Rose turned towards him impatiently.
"That is just it," she said. "I am always met by excuses when I ask for
the one thing I really desire. What is there about me different from
others? Why should I so often hear of what others seem to understand,
and not have it explained to me? I am no longer a child; in my dreams I
see things I cannot put in words; and beautiful as the world is, I feel
that I only half know it. I long for what they call the winter, and
what they call the snow, and they never come. Only the cold wind, which
I have felt once or twice, brings new life to me, and fills me with
strange joy."
The Prince hesitated. He understood her perfectly, for he was himself
of the same brave and hardy race. Yet the Queen's forebodings made him
tremble. The Princess's words reminded him of his own dream; and again
he felt as if he heard the voice of the stern Winter Spirit. And as if
in answer to his uncertainty, at that moment the howl of the cold blast
sounded near them among the trees, and lurid clouds began to gather
overhead.
The Princess's face lighted up.
"Ah," she exclaimed, "it is coming again!"
"I fear so indeed," said Orso; and in his terror for her he caught her
hand and would have hurried her back to the palace.
But at that moment a shrill little cry was heard overhead not far from
where they stood, and glancing up they saw a bird of prey clutching a
smaller one in his claws. With a terrible effort the captive managed to
free himself, but he was sadly wounded; and as Rose gazed upwards in
great concern, she saw him fall fluttering feebly to the ground. All
else was forgotten in the sight.
"Poor bird," she cried. "Let me go, Prince; I must find him where he
has fallen, or a cruel death of slow suffering will be his."
The Prince loosed her hand; he dared not hold her back, though he could
have done so.
"Leave her to the guidings of her own heart," resounded in his ears.
Almost at once she was lost to his sight among the trees which grew very
closely; almost at the same moment, to his horror, something cold and
soft touched his face, and lifting his eyes, he saw that the snowflakes
were falling thickly. If harm was to betide, it was too late to save
her; but he pressed forward in unspeakable anxiety.
It was some little time before he found her; and no reply came to his
calls; but at last he caught sight of something blue on the ground. It
was the Princess's robe; and there, indeed, she lay motionless--her eyes
closed, a sweet smile on her face, the little wounded bird tenderly
clasped in her hands.
And now I may tell you that this wounded bird was the friend from whom I
had the story; for, as you will hear, he had plenty of opportunity of
learning it all.
Orso threw himself on the ground beside the Princess.
"Ah," he exclaimed, "my carelessness has killed her. How can I ever
dare to face the King and Queen? Oh! Winter Spirit, you have indeed
deceived me."
But as he said the words the Princess opened her eyes.
"No, Prince," she said. "I am not dead. I am not even asleep. It was
the strange gladness that seemed to take away my breath for a moment,
and I must have sunk down without knowing. But now I feel stronger and
happier than ever in my life before, now that I have seen and felt the
beautiful snow of my own country, now that I have breathed the winter
air I have been longing for always," and she sprang to her feet, her
blue eyes sparkling with delight, looking lovelier than he had ever seen
her.
"Orso," she went on, half shyly, "you have done what I asked you;
through you I have seen the snow," and she held out her hand, which,
white though it was, looked pink in comparison with the little flakes
which were fluttering down on it.
The Prince was overjoyed, but he hesitated.
"I fear," he said, "that in reality you should rather thank the poor
little bird, or most of all your own kind heart."
"Poor little bird," she replied, looking at it as it lay in her other
hand. "It is not dead. I will do all I can for it! Let us hasten
home, Prince, so that I may bind up its poor wing. My father and mother
too will be anxious about me."
And together they returned to the palace. One glance at the Princess as
she came in sprinkled over with snow showed the Queen that the spell was
at last broken. And her joy was past all words.
My friend recovered slowly. He spent all the winter in the palace,
tenderly cared for by the Princess Rose, only flying away when the warm
sunny days returned. He pays them a visit still every summer to show
his gratitude, and tells me that in all his travels he seldom sees a
happier family than his friends in the old palace away up in the far,
far northern land.
"Thank you," said the children, "Thank you, oh so much!" But whether
the bird heard them or not they could not tell--he had already flown
away.