beautiful partner had disappeared. He could not imagine what had become
of her. He hunted for her everywhere, and asked every one which way she
had gone, but no one had seen her.
He was very much disquieted at this. However, there was to be another
ball the next night, and Count Conrad felt sure Matilda would appear at
it also. This time he was determined she should not leave him until he
knew who she was and whence she came. To make sure of this, he decided
to set a guard about the house, with orders to follow any strange lady
who passed out alone, and watch where she went.
All the next day but little was to be heard anywhere but talk of
the wonderful stranger, of how beautiful she had been, and how
magnificently dressed, and of how much the count had admired her. Every
one wondered whether she would appear again at the second ball.
When evening came, Matilda made haste to finish her work, and then
stole away to her little garret room. Taking the ball in her hand, she
said:
“Little ball, now serve me right,
Grant the wish I wish to-night.
I wish I may have a gown even more beautiful than the one I wore last
night, and all ornaments that should go with it.”
At once the room was filled with light, and Matilda saw, lying upon
the bed, a gown made entirely of cloth of gold, and set with precious
stones. There were jewels for her neck and arms, and a pair of golden
slippers that shone like glass. Matilda dressed in haste, and throwing
a dark cloak over her, she stole away through the night to the ball.
Count Conrad had been watching for her. He would, indeed, look at no
one else, and as soon as she entered, he hastened to her side.
If she had been beautiful the night before, she was far more so now.
Then she had shone like the moon, but now she glittered like the sun,
so that it dazzled the eyes to look at her.
The count begged her to dance with him, and as soon as he could, he
drew her aside into another room. He then took from his hand a ring,
and placing it upon her finger, he said, “Now you are my own true love,
for you wear my ring upon your finger. But tell me, I pray of you, who
you are and whence you come, that I may ask your hand in marriage in a
proper manner.”
“Alas, my mother is dead,” answered Matilda, “and my father, I fear,
has also been put to death by cruel enemies.”
So saying she dropped her fan. The count at once stooped to pick it up.
Quick as thought, as he stooped, Matilda drew her ball from her pocket
and whispered the magic charm:
“Light to guide me,
Dark to hide me,
Let no harm nor ill betide me.”
At once she became invisible, and slipping from the room, she hastened
back to the castle.
When the count looked up and found that his beautiful partner had once
more disappeared, he was in despair. He searched through every room,
and then sent for his guards and questioned them closely. None of them
could tell him anything of the stranger, however. Not one had seen her
pass by. This was not strange, for Matilda had remained invisible until
she reached the castle. She was even then in her little attic room,
slipping off her beautiful clothes, and staining her face and hands
that she might again appear as the kitchen wench.
Again the count had lost her. But now he determined to give a ball
himself. He caused it to be made known that this ball was in honour of
the unknown beauty, and he had no doubt but that she would appear at it
as she had at the other two. This time he determined that not for one
instant would he lose sight of her.
The count’s ball was to be much more magnificent than those that the
old countess had given. All the servants in the castle were set to work
preparing for it, and Matilda was no less busy than the others. She had
not a moment to herself.
The night of the ball arrived, and there was still much to be done in
the kitchen. Matilda began to see that there would be no chance for her
to slip away from her work and appear at the ball.
She did indeed ask the housekeeper to allow her an hour that she
might go outside and peep in through a window at the dancers, but the
housekeeper refused her angrily.
“Look in through the windows!” she cried. “What are you thinking of?
You would frighten the ladies to death with your gipsy face and your
big eyes. No; do you stay here in the kitchen where you belong, and do
your work in a proper manner.”
Matilda would not disobey her, but as she scoured the pots and pans,
she could not prevent the tears from falling. She could think of
nothing but Count Conrad, of how handsome he was, and how kind and
gentle.
Meanwhile the count was standing close to the door of the ballroom,
waiting for the beautiful stranger to appear. Great coaches rolled up
to the entrance of the castle. Beautiful ladies in silks and satins and
jewels swept through the rooms. They waved their fans and smiled at
the count, but he had no eyes for any of them. His thoughts were all of
Matilda. Little he guessed that even then she was scouring kettles in
the kitchen below and weeping as she scoured.
As hour after hour passed and she did not appear, the count’s heart
grew heavy with grief. By the time the ball was over and his guests
were leaving, he was quite ill with disappointment. He could hardly
stand to bid them farewell. The beautiful stranger had not come, and
now he feared he would never see her again.
The next day word passed through the castle that the young count
was unable to leave his bed. He had fallen ill through grief and
disappointment. Doctors were sent for, but they could do nothing
for him. One thing could cure him and one alone, and that was some
knowledge of the beautiful stranger who had danced with him.
Matilda had managed to win the confidence of the old housekeeper, and
now she went to her and said, “I have heard how ill the count is and
how all the medicines the doctors have given him have failed to help
him. If you will but let me, I can make a broth of such wonderful
qualities that if the count will but taste of it he will be cured.”
At first the housekeeper refused, but Matilda still urged and
entreated, until at last the old woman grew tired of saying ‘no’ to
her.
“Very well, then,” she said. “It will do no harm for you to make a bowl
of broth, but as to its having the power to cure the count, that, of
course, I do not believe.”
Matilda at once set to work, and as she was very clever at cooking, she
made a broth so rich and delicious that it made the mouth water just to
smell of it. It was as clear as crystal, and of a rich amber colour.
When it was done, she put it in a silver bowl and covered it over with
a napkin, but before doing this she managed to drop into it the ring
that the count had given her.
The broth was so good that the housekeeper was delighted with it, and
she herself carried it up to her master’s room.
When she entered with it, the count turned away his head. “Why do you
come here?” he said. “Do not trouble me. I wish for nothing.”
But the housekeeper would not be sent away in this manner. “I have
brought you a bowl of broth,” she said, “and it is so delicious that if
you will but taste of it, I am sure you will be better.”
With these words she uncovered the bowl and placed it before the count,
and the broth was so clear that at once he saw the ring lying at the
bottom of it.
“What is this!” he cried. “Who has made this broth? Tell me
immediately.”
The housekeeper was frightened at his look and tone. “It is good
broth,” she cried; “the best of broth, I am sure, even though it was
made by our little kitchen-maid.”
“Whoever made it, send her to me at once,” demanded the count.
The housekeeper was very much concerned. She hurried away to the
kitchen.
“What is to be done now?” she said to Matilda. “The count demands to
see you, but the sight of your rags and dark face would surely throw
him into a fever. This is a pretty piece of work!”
“Do not be troubled,” said Matilda. “I will wash my face and hands,
and then do you lend me your cloak and your long veil. With them I can
cover myself so that he will not be able to see what I look like.”
To this the housekeeper agreed, as she could think of no better plan.
Matilda took the cloak and veil and hastened away with them to her own
room. There she combed her hair and washed off the stain, and then she
put on her golden dress and her jewels, which she had kept hidden away
since the night of the ball. When she was dressed, she covered herself
carefully with the cloak and veil, so that even the housekeeper’s
prying eyes could not catch a glint of the finery beneath. So
disguised, Matilda went up to Count Conrad’s room and stood modestly
just inside the doorway.
The count had been waiting for her impatiently, and as soon as she
entered, he said, “Was it you who made the broth the housekeeper
brought to me?”
“It was I,” answered Matilda.
“And who was it who put the ring in it?”
“It was I.”
“Then tell me,” cried the count, “who gave you the ring. How came you
by it?”
“It was you yourself who gave me the ring, and it was you who placed it
on my finger,” said Matilda.
With these words she put aside the veil and dropped the cloak from her
shoulders. There she stood before him, blushing, and filling all the
room with the light of her beauty.
The count was transported with joy. “You have come!” he cried, “and you
have come at the time when I most despaired of finding you. Now we will
be married, and never again shall you leave me.”
At these words Matilda grew very sad. “Alas, that may not be,” said
she. “Have you forgotten that I am only your kitchen-maid?”
But the count loved her too dearly to care for that. “You will be my
wife,” he said, “and then who will dare to remember what you were
before?”
“Yes, but there is another reason why we can never, never marry,”
sighed Matilda. “You will agree with me as to that when I tell you that
my father was your father’s bitterest enemy.”
“Who was your father?” asked the count, wondering.
Matilda then related to him her whole story, who her father was,
how her mother had died while she was still a child, and about her
stepmother and her nixie godmother. She also told him of how she had
chanced to come to his castle and take service there.
The count listened to all she had to say, and when she had come to an
end, he took her in his arms and embraced her tenderly.
“I care not who you are,” he said, “nor whence you come. I know only
that I love you, and that you and you alone shall be my bride.”
Matilda was very happy when she heard this. She already loved the count
dearly, and now she could no longer refuse him.
Almost at once preparations for the wedding were begun, and people from
far and near were invited to come to it.
The first to be asked was the count’s mother, a proud and covetous old
woman. She had been the one who was most eager for her son to marry,
but when she heard whom he had chosen for a bride, that it was the
daughter of an enemy, and, moreover, a girl both poor and homeless, she
was filled with rage.
At once she hastened to the castle, and urged and entreated the count
to give up Matilda, but he would not listen to her. He loved his bride
too tenderly for that.
When his mother found that all her efforts to separate them were in
vain, she left the castle in a fury, and drove away to her home. Never
again, she vowed, would she set foot in the castle as long as Matilda
was there, and the time would come when the young count would bitterly
regret his choice of a wife.
Count Conrad was grieved at his mother’s anger, but he was too happy
with Matilda to grieve long. He and she were soon married, and so sweet
and gentle was her character that every day the count loved her better
and was more contented with his choice.
When the count and Matilda had been married for a year, a child was
born to them, a little boy so handsome and big and strong that the
count was filled with joy and pride.
The nurse who had charge of the child was sent to the castle by the
old countess, and both the count and Matilda were delighted at what
they took to be a sign that his mother had forgiven them. This was not
the case however. The old countess still hated Matilda with a bitter
hatred, and had sent the nurse, hoping she might find some way to
injure her, and if possible to separate her from the count.
Matilda always slept with the baby’s cradle close to her own bed. One
night, when all the castle was wrapped in sleep, the old nurse slipped
into the room, and lifting the child carefully from the cradle, she
carried it away without waking anyone.
In the morning, as soon as Matilda awoke, her eyes as usual turned
first of all to the cradle. She was greatly surprised to see that it
was empty, and at once called the nurse and demanded what had become of
the child.
The nurse pretended to be equally surprised. “I do not know,” she
answered. “When I last saw him, he was asleep in the cradle beside your
ladyship.”
Matilda was very much alarmed. The count was called, the castle
searched thoroughly, and every one was questioned, but they could find
no trace of the baby.
“It must be some evil spirit or enchantress who has carried him away,”
said the nurse. “Last night I heard a beating of wings outside my
window, and a strange sound of sighing and moaning, but I thought it
was only some great bird that was lost in the night.”
This the nurse said not because she had really heard anything, but
because this was part of a plot that she and the old countess had
hatched between them.
Days passed, and still nothing was heard of the child. The count was in
despair. Even Matilda herself was scarcely more dear to him than his
infant son.
At the end of a year another child was born to Matilda, and this also
was a son, a child as strong and handsome as the first.
But again, when the infant was only a few weeks old, the nurse stole
it away secretly in the night, without being seen by anyone. In the
morning the cradle was empty, and no trace of the child could be found
anywhere.
The count was filled with grief and anguish. In his heart he secretly
blamed Matilda because she had not awakened when the child was carried
away. But he restrained himself from reproaching her. He could not help
treating her somewhat coldly, however, and Matilda was grieved to the
heart not only over the loss of the child, but because she feared her
husband no longer loved her.
At the end of the year, still a third child was born, and now, in order
to make sure that it should not be stolen, a watch was kept over the
infant—by day and night; and though he slept by Matilda’s side, there
was always some one else in the room with them.
But even this precaution could not keep the nurse from carrying out
her wicked plans. When the child was still only a few weeks old, she
managed one evening to put a sleeping potion in the repast that was
served to Matilda, and in that of the attendant as well.
Night came and the child was laid in the cradle close to Matilda’s
bed. The attendant took her place at the door. It was not long,
however, before Matilda and the attendant fell into a deep sleep. The
nurse then stole into the room, and lifting the child from the cradle,
she carried it away with her as she had the two others.
When morning came, and it was discovered that this child too had been
stolen, the count could restrain himself no longer. The woman who had
been in attendance was thrown into prison, and he heaped reproaches on
Matilda for having allowed this third child, the most beautiful of them
all, to be stolen from her side.
“You should not be surprised,” said the wicked nurse, “and the
attendant is not to blame. There is some enchantment in this, and if
you will come aside with me into a private room, I will tell you of
some things I have seen here in the castle in the last three years.”
The count was in a state to listen to anything, and he allowed the
nurse to speak to him in private, and to tell him the story that she
and the old countess had arranged between them.
She told him that though Matilda seemed so fair and gentle, she was in
reality a wicked enchantress. This his mother had known, and it was
for this reason she had been so unwilling that he should marry her,
and for no other cause. During the night when the child was stolen,
the nurse said, she had been awakened by a beating of wings, and had
stolen to the door and looked out. There she had seen Matilda talking
with a being that from its looks could be nothing but an evil spirit.
Presently (so the nurse said) Matilda had gone back into her chamber,
and when she returned she was carrying the child, and she had given it
into the hands of the strange being. “After that,” said the nurse, “I
saw no more, for I was afraid to look. But I make no doubt that that is
what has become of all the children, and that the young countess caused
the attendant to fall into an enchanted sleep so that she might have a
chance to give the baby to the evil spirit.”
The count was so distracted with grief that he was ready to believe
anything. He remembered what Matilda had told him of her godmother the
nixie, and it seemed to him possible that this water spirit had some
power over her that might cause her to sacrifice her children. In his
distraction he sent for his mother to question her as to what she knew.
The old countess had been waiting for this summons. She came to him at
once and in haste, and her heart was full of evil joy at the thought
that at last she was to have Matilda in her power.
When she appeared before her son, however, she dissembled her joy, and
pretended to be sad.
“Alas, my dear son,” said she, “what I feared has come to pass at
last. I would have warned you before that the bride you had chosen
was a wicked enchantress, but I knew you would not listen to me. Now,
however, she has shown herself in her own wicked character. She has
sacrificed her children to an evil spirit, and it is only right that
she should be punished for her wickedness.”
The count knew not what to answer to this. He still loved Matilda, but
if she had done such a wicked thing as to give her children to an evil
spirit, she must suffer for it.
“What you say may be true,” said he to his mother. “As for me, I am so
distracted that I no longer seem to understand anything. I will go away
on a long journey, and I will leave Matilda in your hands. Do as you
think best with her, only treat her as gently as you can.”
As soon as the count had said this he left his mother and went away,
and it was well for his mother that he did so. She was so overjoyed
at the way her plans had turned out that she could no longer hide her
satisfaction. The count left the castle without bidding farewell to
his wife. Matilda was cut to the heart when she found he had left her
without a word. She was also terrified at the thought that now the old
countess had her in her power.
Matilda had indeed good cause for fear. As soon as the count had gone,
his mother caused an iron room to be built. All about this room were
ovens arranged in such a way that the room could be made so hot that it
would be impossible for anyone to remain in it for long and live. After
it was finished, Matilda was induced to go into it, and as soon as she
was inside, the door was shut and locked.
The moment Matilda found that she had been locked in the room alone,
she suspected some evil. She looked about her for a way of escape, but
the walls were of iron, and the room had been built in such a way that
there were no windows.
“Alas,” said Matilda, “are my misfortunes never to end? Oh, my dear
husband, how had you the heart to leave me here alone and in the power
of that wicked woman?”
In her despair Matilda threw herself down upon the floor of the room.
As she did so, she felt something hard in the pocket of her dress. She
slipped her hand into it and drew out the wooden ball that she had so
long forgotten. One more wish was left to her. Now, if ever, was her
time of need. Holding it in her hand she whispered:
“Little ball, so great my need,
Only you can help indeed;
Save me now and set me free,
Give my children back to me.”
Without her willing it, the ball slipped from her fingers and fell
upon the floor, and was broken to pieces. From these fragments arose
a silvery mist that spread through the room and filled it with a
refreshing coolness. In the midst of the mist appeared the nixie, and
in her arms she carried three beautiful little boys. They were the
children who had been stolen from Matilda.
The nixie smiled upon her godchild and spoke in a voice like the
flowing of cool waters. “At last you have remembered me and my gift,”
she said. “Long have I been waiting for you to call upon me, my child.
Now I am here, and no harm can come to you. Look! Here are the three
children that the wicked old countess caused to be thrown into the
water, thinking to drown them. But I saved them. They have been safe in
my care until you should call upon me, and now I restore them to you.”
So saying, she placed the children in Matilda’s arms, and the mother
clasped them to her, weeping with joy.
Meanwhile the men who had been in charge of the ovens that were to
heat the room found that in spite of all they could do the walls of it
remained cool. They went to the old countess and told her this. “Our
fires are burning brightly,” they said, “and are so hot that we can
scarcely go near them, and yet the walls of the room are even cooler
than when we began.”
The countess could not understand how this could be. She was about to
go and probe the mystery when she heard a clatter of hoofs outside,
and a sound of loud voices. She looked from a window, and saw to her
surprise and alarm that it was her son returning to the castle.
The count, indeed, had been unable to bear the thought of having left
Matilda in his mother’s care. He feared some harm might come to her,
and the farther he went, the more anxious he had grown. At last he had
turned his horse and ridden back with all speed to tell Matilda that he
still loved her, and that whatever their sorrow was, they would bear it
together.
As soon as the old countess saw her son, she knew that her plots had
failed, and she feared his wrath when he should find his wife shut in
the iron room. She determined not to wait for that, and calling the
wicked nurse, they escaped together from the castle and fled away,
nobody knew whither.
As for the count, he hurried through the castle, searching everywhere
for Matilda, and at last he came to the iron room. When he found that
she was locked inside it, and saw the ovens all about it, he was like
one distracted.
He turned the key and threw open the door, but he scarce dared look
inside. He dreaded what he might see there.
When he did summon courage, however, what was his wonder to see not
only his wife, but there in her arms the three children they had lost.
He could hardly believe his eyes and was well-nigh crazy with joy.
Flinging himself on his knees before her, he begged her to forgive him
for having doubted her and for having left her as he had done.
Matilda, who was all mildness and sweetness, raised him from his knees
and placed the children in his arms.
“See,” said she, “you have no longer any reason to mistrust me. These
are our own dear children whom the nixie has returned to us.”
She then told the count the whole story, and when she came to an end
they kissed each other and the children, and from that time on they
lived in mutual love and happiness.
As for the wicked old countess, unless she died of spite, she may be
living and wandering over the world to this very day.
WHY THE ANIMALS NO LONGER FEAR THE SHEEP
A FRENCH CREOLE STORY
LONG, long ago, when the animals were not as wise as they are now, they
were all very much afraid of the sheep. Even the lion and tiger were
afraid of him. They had never seen him angry, but he had such a solemn
look, and his beard was so long, and his horns so strong and curly,
that they were sure he would be very dangerous indeed if he were once
roused.
One day old Papa Sheep invited Mr Tiger to come and spend the day with
him, and he also invited him to bring Little Tiger along to play with
Little Sheep, for Mr Tiger’s little boy was just the same age as Papa
Sheep’s little boy.
Mr Tiger was very pleased at this invitation. He was glad to come
himself, and he was glad to have Little Tiger become friendly with
Little Sheep, for after a while Little Sheep would probably grow up and
be just as big and strong and dangerous as his father was.
Mr Tiger and his little boy arrived quite early in the morning at the
sheep’s house, and they brought a present with them, so that Papa
Sheep would feel pleased with them. The present they brought was a
basket of nice fresh green things such as all sheep like.