The Necklace of Princess Fiorimonde
Once there lived a King, whose wife was dead, but who had a most beautiful daughter—so beautiful that every one thought she must be good as well, instead of which the Princess was really very wicked, and practised witchcraft and black magic, which she had learned from an old witch who lived in a hut on the side of a lonely mountain. This old witch was wicked and hideous, and no one but the King’s daughter knew that she lived there; but at night, when every one else was asleep, the Princess, whose name was Fiorimonde, used to visit her by stealth to learn sorcery. It was only the witch’s arts which had made Fiorimonde so beautiful that there was no one like her in the world, and in return the Princess helped her with all her tricks, and never told any one she was there.
The time came when the King began to think he should like his daughter to marry, so he summoned his council and said, “We have no son to reign after our death, so we had best seek for a suitable prince to marry to our royal daughter, and then, when we are too old, he shall be king in our stead.” And all the council said he was very wise, and it would be well for the Princess to marry. So heralds were sent to all the neighbouring kings and princes to say that the King would choose a husband for the Princess, who should be king after him. But when Fiorimonde heard this she wept with rage, for she knew quite well that if she had a husband he would find out how she went to visit the old witch, and would stop her practising magic, and then she would lose her beauty.
When night came, and every one in the palace was fast asleep, the Princess went to her bedroom window and softly opened it. Then she took from her pocket a handful of peas and held them out of the window and chirruped low, and there flew down from the roof a small brown bird and sat upon her wrist and began to eat the peas. No sooner had it swallowed them than it began to grow and grow and grow till it was so big that the Princess could not hold it, but let it stand on the window-sill, and still it grew and grew and grew till it was as large as an ostrich. Then the Princess climbed out of the window and seated herself on the bird’s back, and at once it flew straight away over the tops of the trees till it came to the mountain where the old witch dwelt, and stopped in front of the door of her hut.
The Princess jumped off, and muttered some words through the keyhole, when a croaking voice from within called:
“Why do you come to-night? Have I not told you I wished to be left alone for thirteen nights; why do you disturb me?”
“But I beg of you to let me in,” said the Princess, “for I am in trouble and want your help.”
“Come in then,” said the voice; and the door flew open, and the Princess trod into the hut, in the middle of which, wrapped in a grey cloak which almost hid her, sat the witch. Princess Fiorimonde sat down near her, and told her, her story. How the King wished her to marry, and had sent word to the neighbouring princes, that they might make offers for her.
“This is truly bad hearing,” croaked the witch, “but we shall beat them yet; and you must deal with each Prince as he comes. Would you like them to become dogs, to come at your call, or birds, to fly in the air, and sing of your beauty, or will you make them all into beads, the beads of such a necklace as never woman wore before, so that they may rest upon your neck, and you may take them with you always.”
“The necklace! the necklace!” cried the Princess, clapping her hands with joy. “That will be best of all, to sling them upon a string and wear them round my throat. Little will the courtiers know whence come my new jewels.”
“But this is a dangerous play,” quoth the witch, “for, unless you are very careful, you yourself may become a bead and hang upon the string with the others, and there you will remain till some one cuts the string, and draws you off.”
“Nay, never fear,” said the Princess, “I will be careful, only tell me what to do, and I will have great princes and kings to adorn me, and all their greatness shall not help them.”
Then the witch dipped her hand into a black bag which stood on the ground beside her, and drew out a long gold thread.
The ends were joined together, but no one could see the joins, and however much you pulled, it would not break. It would easily go over Fiorimonde’s head, and the witch slipped it on her neck saying:
“Now mind, while this hangs here you are safe enough, but if once you join your fingers around the string you too will meet the fate of your lovers, and hang upon it yourself. As for the kings and princes who would marry you, all you have to do is to make them close their fingers around the chain, and at once they will be strung upon it as bright hard beads, and there they shall remain, till it is cut and they drop off.”
“This is really delightful,” cried the Princess; “and I am already quite impatient for the first to come that I may try.”
“And now,” said the witch, “since you are here, and there is yet time, we will have a dance, and I will summon the guests.” So saying, she took from a corner a drum and a pair of drum-sticks, and going to the door, began to beat upon it. It made a terrible rattling. In a moment came flying through the air all sorts of forms. There were little dark elves with long tails, and goblins who chattered and laughed, and other witches who rode on broom-sticks. There was one wicked fairy in the form of a large cat, with bright green eyes, and another came sliding in like a long shining viper.
Then, when all had arrived, the witch stopped drumming, and, going to the middle of the hut, stamped on the floor, and a trap-door opened in the ground. The old witch stepped through it, and led the way down a narrow dark passage, to a large underground chamber, and all her strange guests followed, and here they all danced and made merry in a terrible way, but at first sound of cock-crow all the guests disappeared with a whiff, and the Princess hastened up the dark passage again, and out of the hut to where her big bird still waited for her, and mounting its back she flew home in a trice. Then, when she had stepped in at her bedroom window, she poured into a cup from a small black bottle, a few drops of magic water, and gave it to the bird to drink, and as it sipped it grew smaller, and smaller, till at last it had quite regained its natural size, and hopped on to the roof as before, and the Princess shut her window, and got into bed, and fell asleep, and no one knew of her strange journey, or where she had been.
Next day Fiorimonde declared to her father the King, that she was quite willing to wed any prince he should fix upon as a husband for her, at which he was much pleased, and soon after informed her, that a young king was coming from over the sea to be her husband. He was king of a large rich country, and would take back his bride with him to his home. He was called King Pierrot. Great preparations were made for his arrival, and the Princess was decked in her finest array to greet him, and when he came all the courtiers said, “This is truly a proper husband for our beautiful Princess,” for he was strong and handsome, with black hair, and eyes like sloes. King Pierrot was delighted with Fiorimonde’s beauty, and was happy as the day is long; and all things went merrily till the evening before the marriage. A great feast was held, at which the Princess looked lovelier than ever dressed in a red gown, the colour of the inside of a rose, but she wore no jewels or ornaments of any kind, save one shining gold string round her milk-white throat.
When the feast was done, the Princess stepped from her golden chair at her father’s side, and walked softly into the garden, and stood under an elm-tree looking at the shining moon. In a few moments King Pierrot followed her, and stood beside her, looking at her and wondering at her beauty.
“To-morrow, then, my sweet Princess, you will be my Queen, and share all I possess. What gift would you wish me to give you on our wedding day?”
“I would have a necklace wrought of the finest gold and jewels to be found, and just the length of this gold cord which I wear around my throat,” answered Princess Fiorimonde.
“Why do you wear that cord?” asked King Pierrot; “it has no jewel nor ornament about it.”
“Nay, but there is no cord like mine in all the world,” cried Fiorimonde, and her eyes sparkled wickedly as she spoke; “it is as light as a feather, but stronger than an iron chain. Take it in both hands and try to break it, that you may see how strong it is”; and King Pierrot took the cord in both hands to pull it hard; but no sooner were his fingers closed around it than he vanished like a puff of smoke, and on the cord appeared a bright, beautiful bead—so bright and beautiful as was never bead before—clear as crystal, but shining with all colours—green, blue, and gold.
Princess Fiorimonde gazed down at it and laughed aloud.
“Aha, my proud lover! are you there?” she cried with glee; “my necklace bids fair to beat all others in the world,” and she caressed the bead with the tips of her soft, white fingers, but was careful that they did not close around the string. Then she returned into the banqueting-hall, and spoke to the King.
“Pray, sire,” said she, “send some one at once to find King Pierrot, for, as he was talking to me a minute ago, he suddenly left me, and I am afraid lest I may have given him offence, or perhaps he is ill.”
The King desired that the servants should seek for King Pierrot all over the grounds, and seek him they did, but nowhere was he to be found, and the old King looked offended.
“Doubtless he will be ready to-morrow in time for the wedding,” quoth he, “but we are not best pleased that he should treat us in this way.”
Princess Fiorimonde had a little maid called Yolande. She was a bright-faced girl with merry brown eyes, but she was not beautiful like Fiorimonde, and she did not love her mistress, for she was afraid of her, and suspected her of her wicked ways. When she undressed her that night she noticed the gold cord, and the one bright bead upon it, and as she combed the Princess’s hair she looked over her shoulder into the looking-glass, and saw how she laughed, and how fondly she looked at the cord, and caressed the bead again and again with her fingers.
“That is a wonderful bead on your Highness’s cord,” said Yolande, looking at its reflection in the mirror; “surely it must be a bridal gift from King Pierrot.”
“And so it is, little Yolande,” cried Fiorimonde, laughing merrily; “and the best gift he could give me. But I think one bead alone looks ugly and ungainly; soon I hope I shall have another, and another, and another, all as beautiful as the first.”
Then Yolande shook her head, and said to herself, “This bodes no good.”
Next morning all was prepared for the marriage, and the Princess was dressed in white satin and pearls with a long white lace veil over her, and a bridal wreath on her head, and she stood waiting among her grandly dressed ladies, who all said that such a beautiful bride had never been seen in the world before. But just as they were preparing to go down to the fine company in the hall, a messenger came in great haste summoning the Princess at once to her father the King, as he was much perplexed.
“My daughter,” cried he, as Fiorimonde in all her bridal array entered the room where he sat alone, “what can we do? King Pierrot is nowhere to be found; I fear lest he may have been seized by robbers and basely murdered for his rich clothes, or carried away to some mountain and left there to starve. My soldiers are gone far and wide to seek him—and we shall hear of him ere day is done—but where there is no bridegroom there can be no bridal.”
“Then let it be put off, my father,” cried the Princess, “and to-morrow we shall know if it is for a wedding, or a funeral, we must dress”; and she pretended to weep, but even then could hardly keep from laughing.
So the wedding guests went away, and the Princess laid aside her bridal dress, and all waited anxiously for news of King Pierrot; and no news came. So at last every one gave him up for dead, and mourned for him, and wondered how he had met his fate.
Princess Fiorimonde put on a black gown, and begged to be allowed to live in seclusion for one month in which to grieve for King Pierrot; but when she was again alone in her bedroom she sat before her looking-glass and laughed till tears ran down her cheeks; and Yolande watched her, and trembled, when she heard her laughter. She noticed, too, that beneath her black gown, the Princess still wore her gold cord, and did not move it night or day.
The month had barely passed away when the King came to his daughter, and announced that another suitor had presented himself, whom he should much like to be her husband. The Princess agreed quite obediently to all her father said; and it was arranged that the marriage should take place. This new prince was called Prince Hildebrandt. He came from a country far north, of which one day he would be king. He was tall, and fair, and strong, with flaxen hair and bright blue eyes. When Princess Fiorimonde saw his portrait she was much pleased, and said, “By all means let him come, and the sooner the better.” So she put off her black clothes, and again great preparations were made for a wedding; and King Pierrot was quite forgotten.
Prince Hildebrandt came, and with him many fine gentlemen, and they brought beautiful gifts for the bride. The evening of his arrival all went well, and again there was a grand feast, and Fiorimonde looked so beautiful that Prince Hildebrandt was delighted; and this time she did not leave her father’s side, but sat by him all the evening.
Early next morning at sunrise, when every one was still sleeping, the Princess rose, and dressed herself in a plain white gown, and brushed all her hair over her shoulders, and crept quietly down stairs into the palace gardens; then she walked on till she came beneath the window of Prince Hildebrandt’s room, and here she paused and began to sing a little song as sweet and joyous as a lark’s. When Prince Hildebrandt heard it he got up and went to the window and looked out to see who sang, and when he saw Fiorimonde standing in the red sunrise-light, which made her hair look gold, and her face rosy, he made haste to dress himself and go down to meet her.
“How, my Princess,” cried he, as he stepped into the garden beside her. “This is indeed great happiness to meet you here so early. Tell me, why do you come out at sunrise to sing by yourself?”
“I come that I may see the colours of the sky—red, blue, and gold,” answered the Princess. “Look, there are no such colours to be seen anywhere, unless, indeed, it be in this bead which I wear here on my golden cord.”
“What is that bead, and where did it come from?” asked Hildebrandt.
“It came from over the sea, where it shall never return again,” answered the Princess. And again her eyes began to sparkle with eagerness, and she could scarcely conceal her mirth. “Lift the cord off my neck and look at it near, and tell me if you ever saw one like it.”
Hildebrandt put out his hands and took hold of the cord, but no sooner were his fingers closed around it than he vanished, and a new bright bead was slung next to the first one on Fiorimonde’s chain, and this one was even more beautiful than the other.
The Princess gave a long low laugh, quite terrible to hear.
“Oh, my sweet necklace,” cried she, “how beautiful you are growing! I think I love you more than anything in the world besides.” Then she went softly back to bed, without any one hearing her, and fell sound asleep, and slept till Yolande came to tell her it was time for her to get up and dress for the wedding.
The Princess was dressed in gorgeous clothes, and only Yolande noticed that beneath her satin gown, she wore the golden cord, but now there were two beads upon it instead of one. Scarcely was she ready when the King burst into her room in a towering rage.
“My daughter,” cried he, “there is a plot against us. Lay aside your bridal attire and think no more of Prince Hildebrandt, for he too has disappeared, and is nowhere to be found.”
At this the Princess wept, and entreated that Hildebrandt should be sought for far and near, but she laughed to herself, and said, “Search where you will, yet you shall not find him”; and so again a great search was made, and when no trace of the Prince was found, all the palace was in an uproar.
The Princess again put off her bride’s dress and clad herself in black, and sat alone, and pretended to weep, but Yolande, who watched her, shook her head, and said, “More will come and go before the wicked Princess has done her worst.”
A month passed, in which Fiorimonde pretended to mourn for Hildebrandt, then she went to the King and said:
“Sire, I pray that you will not let people say that when any bridegroom comes to marry me, as soon as he has seen me he flies rather than be my husband. I beg that suitors may be summoned from far and near that I may not be left alone unwed.”
The King agreed, and envoys were sent all the world over to bid any who would come and be the husband of Princess Fiorimonde. And come they did, kings and princes from south and north, east, and west—King Adrian, Prince Sigbert, Prince Algar, and many more—but though all went well till the wedding morning, when it was time to go to church, no bridegroom was to be found. The old King was sadly frightened, and would fain have given up all hope of finding a husband for the Princess, but now she implored him, with tears in her eyes, not to let her be disgraced in this way. And so suitor after suitor continued to come, and now it was known, far and wide, that whoever came to ask for the hand of Princess Fiorimonde vanished, and was seen no more of men. The courtiers were afraid and whispered under their breath, “It is not all right, it cannot be”; but only Yolande noticed how the beads came upon the golden thread, till it was well-nigh covered, yet there always was room for one bead more.
So the years passed, and every year Princess Fiorimonde grew lovelier and lovelier, so that no one who saw her could guess how wicked she was.
In a far-off country lived a young prince whose name was Florestan. He had a dear friend named Gervaise, whom he loved better than any one in the world. Gervaise was tall, and broad, and stout of limb, and he loved Prince Florestan so well, that he would gladly have died to serve him.
It chanced that Prince Florestan saw a portrait of Princess Fiorimonde, and at once swore he would go to her father’s court, and beg that he might have her for his wife, and Gervaise in vain tried to dissuade him.
“There is an evil fate about the Princess Fiorimonde,” quoth he; “many have gone to marry her, but where are they now?”
“I don’t know or care,” answered Florestan, “but this is sure, that I will wed her and return here, and bring my bride with me.”
So he set out for Fiorimonde’s home, and Gervaise went with him with a heavy heart.
When they reached the court, the old King received them and welcomed them warmly, and he said to his courtiers, “Here is a fine young prince to whom we would gladly see our daughter wed. Let us hope that this time all will be well.” But now Fiorimonde had grown so bold, that she scarcely tried to conceal her mirth.
“I will gladly marry him to-morrow, if he comes to the church,” she said; “but if he is not there, what can I do,” and she laughed long and merrily, till those who heard her shuddered.
When the Princess’s ladies came to tell her that Prince Florestan was arrived, she was in the garden, lying on the marble edge of a fountain, feeding the gold-fish who swam in the water.
“Bid him come to me,” she said, “for I will not go any more in state to meet any suitors, neither will I put on grand attire for them. Let him come and find me as I am, since all find it so easy to come and go.” So her ladies told the prince that Fiorimonde waited for him near the fountain.
She did not rise when he came to where she lay, but his heart bounded with joy, for he had never in his life beheld such a beautiful woman.
She wore a thin soft white dress, which clung to her lithe figure. Her beautiful arms and hands were bare, and she dabbled with them in the water, and played with the fish. Her great blue eyes were sparkling with mirth, and were so beautiful, that no one noticed the wicked look hid in them; and on her neck lay the marvellous many-coloured necklace, which was itself a wonder to behold.
“You have my best greetings, Prince Florestan,” she said. “And you, too, would be my suitor. Have you thought well of what you would do, since so many princes who have seen me have fled for ever, rather than marry me?” and as she spoke, she raised her white hand from the water, and held it out to the Prince, who stooped and kissed it, and scarcely knew how to answer her for bewilderment at her great loveliness.
Gervaise followed his master at a short distance, but he was ill at ease, and trembled for fear of what should come.
“Come, bid your friend leave us,” said Fiorimonde, looking at Gervaise, “and sit beside me, and tell me of your home, and why you wish to marry me, and all pleasant things.”
Florestan begged that Gervaise would leave them for a little, and he walked slowly away, in a very mournful mood.
He went on down the walks, not heeding where he was going, till he met Yolande, who stood beneath a tree laden with rosy apples, picking the fruit, and throwing it into a basket at her feet. He would have passed her in silence, but she stopped him, and said:
“Have you come with the new Prince? Do you love your master?”
“Ay, better than any one else on the earth,” answered Gervaise. “Why do you ask?”
“And where is he now,” said Yolande, not heeding Gervaise’s question.
“He sits by the fountain with the beautiful Princess,” said Gervaise.
“Then, I hope you have said good-bye to him well, for be assured you shall never see him again,” said Yolande, nodding her head.
“Why not, and who are you to talk like this?” asked Gervaise.
“My name is Yolande,” answered she, “and I am Princess Fiorimonde’s maid. Do you not know that Prince Florestan is the eleventh lover who has come to marry her, and one by one they have disappeared, and only I know where they are gone.”
“And where are they gone?” cried Gervaise, “and why do you not tell the world, and prevent good men being lost like this?”
“Because I fear my mistress,” said Yolande, speaking low and drawing near to him; “she is a sorceress, and she wears the brave kings and princes who come to woo her, strung upon a cord round her neck. Each one forms the bead of a necklace which she wears, both day and night. I have watched that necklace growing; first it was only an empty gold thread; then came King Pierrot, and when he disappeared the first bead appeared upon it. Then came Hildebrandt, and two beads were on the string instead of one; then followed Adrian, Sigbert, and Algar, and Cenred, and Pharamond, and Baldwyn, and Leofric, and Raoul, and all are gone, and ten beads hang upon the string, and to-night there will be eleven, and the eleventh will be your Prince Florestan.”
“If this be so,” cried Gervaise, “I will never rest till I have plunged my sword into Fiorimonde’s heart”; but Yolande shook her head.
“She is a sorceress,” she said, “and it might be hard to kill her; besides, that might not break the spell, and bring back the princes to life. I wish I could show you the necklace, and you might count the beads, and see if I do not speak truth, but it is always about her neck, both night and day, so it is impossible.”
“Take me to her room to-night when she is asleep, and let me see it there,” said Gervaise.
“Very well, we will try,” said Yolande; “but you must be very still, and make no noise, for if she wakes, remember it will be worse for us both.”
When night came and all in the palace were fast asleep, Gervaise and Yolande met in the great hall, and Yolande told him that the Princess slumbered soundly.
“So now let us go,” said she, “and I will show you the necklace on which Fiorimonde wears her lovers strung like beads, though how she transforms them I know not.”
“Stay one instant, Yolande,” said Gervaise, holding her back, as she would have tripped up stairs. “Perhaps, try how I may, I shall be beaten, and either die or become a bead like those who have come before me. But if I succeed and rid the land of your wicked Princess, what will you promise me for a reward?”
“What would you have?” asked Yolande.
“I would have you say you will be my wife, and come back with me to my own land,” said Gervaise.
“That I will promise gladly,” said Yolande, kissing him, “but we must not speak or think of this till we have cut the cord from Fiorimonde’s neck, and all her lovers are set free.”
So they went softly up to the Princess’s room, Yolande holding a small lantern, which gave only a dim light. There, in her grand bed, lay Princess Fiorimonde. They could just see her by the lantern’s light, and she looked so beautiful that Gervaise began to think Yolande spoke falsely, when she said she was so wicked.
Her face was calm and sweet as a baby’s; her hair fell in ruddy waves on the pillow; her rosy lips smiled, and little dimples showed in her cheeks; her white soft hands were folded amidst the scented lace and linen of which the bed was made. Gervaise almost forgot to look at the glittering beads hung round her throat, in wondering at her loveliness, but Yolande pulled him by the arm.
“Do not look at her,” she whispered softly, “since her beauty has cost dear already; look rather at what remains of those who thought her as fair as you do now; see here,” and she pointed with her finger to each bead in turn.
“This was Pierrot, and this Hildebrandt, and these are Adrian, and Sigbert, and Algar, and Cenred, and that is Pharamond, and that Raoul, and last of all here is your own master Prince Florestan. Seek him now where you will and you will not find him, and you shall never see him again till the cord is cut and the charm broken.”
“Of what is the cord made?” whispered Gervaise.
“It is of the finest gold,” she answered. “Nay, do not you touch her lest she wake. I will show it to you.” And Yolande put down the lantern and softly put out her hands to slip the beads aside, but as she did so, her fingers closed around the golden string, and directly she was gone. Another bead was added to the necklace, and Gervaise was alone with the sleeping Princess. He gazed about him in sore amazement and fear. He dared not call lest Fiorimonde should wake.
“Yolande,” he whispered as loud as he dared, “Yolande, where are you?” but no Yolande answered.
Then he bent down over the Princess and gazed at the necklace. Another bead was strung upon it next to the one to which Yolande had pointed as Prince Florestan. Again he counted them. “Eleven before, now there are twelve. Oh hateful Princess! I know now where go the brave kings and princes who came to woo you, and where, too, is my Yolande,” and as he looked at the last bead, tears filled his eyes. It was brighter and clearer than the others, and of a warm red hue, like the red dress Yolande had worn. The Princess turned and laughed in her sleep, and at the sound of her laughter Gervaise was filled with horror and loathing. He crept shuddering from the room, and all night long sat up alone, plotting how he might defeat Fiorimonde, and set Florestan and Yolande free.
Next morning when Fiorimonde dressed she looked at her necklace and counted its beads, but she was much perplexed, for a new bead was added to the string.
“Who can have come and grasped my chain unknown to me?” she said to herself, and she sat and pondered for a long time. At last she broke into weird laughter.
“At any rate, whoever it was, is fitly punished,” quoth she. “My brave necklace, you can take care of yourself, and if any one tries to steal you, they will get their reward, and add to my glory. In truth I may sleep in peace, and fear nothing.”
The day passed away and no one missed Yolande. Towards sunset the rain began to pour in torrents, and there was such a terrible thunderstorm that every one was frightened. The thunder roared, the lightning gleamed flash after flash, every moment it grew fiercer and fiercer. The sky was so dark that, save for the lightning’s light, nothing could be seen, but Princess Fiorimonde loved the thunder and lightning.
She sat in a room high up in one of the towers, clad in a black velvet dress, and she watched the lightning from the window, and laughed at each peal of thunder. In the midst of the storm a stranger, wrapped in a cloak, rode to the palace door, and the ladies ran to tell the Princess that a new prince had come to be her suitor. “And he will not tell his name,” said they, “but says he hears that all are bidden to ask for the hand of Princess Fiorimonde, and he too would try his good fortune.”
“Let him come at once,” cried the Princess. “Be he prince or knave, what care I? If princes all fly from me it may be better to marry a peasant.”
So they led the new-comer up to the room where Fiorimonde sat. He was wrapped in a thick cloak, but he flung it aside as he came in, and showed how rich was his silken clothing underneath; and so well was he disguised, that Fiorimonde never saw that it was Gervaise, but looked at him, and thought she had never seen him before.
“You are most welcome, stranger prince, who has come through such lightning and thunder to find me,” said she. “Is it true, then, that you wish to be my suitor? What have you heard of me?”
“It is quite true, Princess,” said Gervaise. “And I have heard that you are the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“And is that true also?” asked the Princess. “Look at me now, and see.”
Gervaise looked at her and in his heart he said, “It is quite true, oh wicked Princess! There never was woman as beautiful as you, and never before did I hate a woman as I hate you now”; but aloud he said:
“No, Princess, that is not true; you are very beautiful, but I have seen a woman who is fairer than you for all that your skin looks ivory against your velvet dress, and your hair is like gold.”
“A woman who is fairer than I?” cried Fiorimonde, and her breast began to heave and her eyes to sparkle with rage, for never before had she heard such a thing said. “Who are you who dares come and tell me of women more beautiful than I am?”
“I am a suitor who asks to be your husband, Princess,” answered Gervaise, “but still I say I have seen a woman who was fairer than you.”
“Who is she—where is she?” cried Fiorimonde, who could scarcely contain her anger. “Bring her here at once that I may see if you speak the truth.”
“What will you give me to bring her to you?” said Gervaise. “Give me that necklace you wear on your neck, and then I will summon her in an instant”; but Fiorimonde shook her head.
“You have asked,” said she, “for the only thing from which I cannot part,” and then she bade her maids bring her her jewel-casket, and she drew out diamonds, and rubies, and pearls, and offered them, all or any, to Gervaise. The lightning shone on them and made them shine and flash, but he shook his head.
“No, none of these will do,” quoth he. “You can see her for the necklace, but for nothing else.”
“Take it off for yourself then,” cried Fiorimonde, who now was so angry that she only wished to be rid of Gervaise in any way.
“No, indeed,” said Gervaise, “I am no tire-woman, and should not know how to clasp and unclasp it”; and in spite of all Fiorimonde could say or do, he would not touch either her or the magic chain.
At night the storm grew even fiercer, but it did not trouble the Princess. She waited till all were asleep, and then she opened her bedroom window and chirruped softly to the little brown bird, who flew down from the roof at her call. Then she gave him a handful of seeds as before, and he grew and grew and grew till he was as large as an ostrich, and she sat upon his back and flew out through the air, laughing at the lightning and thunder which flashed and roared around her. Away they flew till they came to the old witch’s cave, and here they found the witch sitting at her open door catching the lightning to make charms with.
“Welcome, my dear,” croaked she, as Fiorimonde stepped from the bird; “here is a night we both love well. And how goes the necklace?—right merrily I see. Twelve beads already—but what is that twelfth?” and she looked at it closely.
“Nay, that is one thing I want you to tell me,” said Fiorimonde, drying the rain from her golden hair. “Last night when I slept there were eleven, and this morning there are twelve; and I know not from whence comes the twelfth.”
“It is no suitor,” said the witch, “but from some young maid, that that bead is made. But why should you mind? It looks well with the others.”
“Some young maid,” said the Princess. “Then it must be Cicely or Marybel, or Yolande, who would have robbed me of my necklace as I slept. But what care I? The silly wench is punished now, and so may all others be, who would do the same.”
“And when will you get the thirteenth bead, and where will he come from?” asked the witch.
“He waits at the palace now,” said Fiorimonde, chuckling. “And this is why I have to speak to you”; and then she told the witch of the stranger who had come in the storm, and of how he would not touch her necklace, nor take the cord in his hand, and how he said also that he knew a woman fairer than she.
“Beware, Princess, beware,” cried the witch in a warning voice, as she listened. “Why should you heed tales of other women fairer than you? Have I not made you the most beautiful woman in the world, and can any others do more than I? Give no ear to what this stranger says or you shall rue it.” But still the Princess murmured, and said she did not love to hear any one speak of others as beautiful as she.
“Be warned in time,” cried the witch, “or you will have cause to repeat it. Are you so silly or so vain as to be troubled because a prince says idly what you know is not true? I tell you do not listen to him, but let him be slung to your chain as soon as may be, and then he will speak no more.” And then they talked together of how Fiorimonde could make Gervaise grasp the fatal string.
Next morning when the sun rose, Gervaise started off into the woods, and there he plucked acorns and haws, and hips, and strung them on to a string to form a rude necklace. This he hid in his bosom then, and went back to the palace without telling any one.
When the Princess rose, she dressed herself as beautifully as she could, and braided her golden locks with great care, for this morning she meant her new suitor to meet his fate. After breakfast, she stepped into the garden, where the sun shone brightly, and all looked fresh after the storm. Here from the grass she picked up a golden ball, and began to play with it.
“Go to our new guest,” cried she to her ladies, “and ask him to come here and play at ball with me.” So they went, and soon they returned bringing Gervaise with them.
“Good morrow, Prince,” cried she. “Pray, come and try your skill at this game with me; and you,” she said to her ladies, “do not wait to watch our play, but each go your way, and do what pleases you best.” So they all went away, and left her alone with Gervaise.
“Well, Prince,” cried she as they began to play, “what do you think of me by morning light? Yesterday when you came it was so dark, with thunder and clouds, that you could scarcely see my face, but now that there is bright sunshine, pray look well at me, and see if you do not think me as beautiful as any woman on earth,” and she smiled at Gervaise, and looked so lovely as she spoke, that he scarce knew how to answer her; but he remembered Yolande, and said:
“Doubtless you are very beautiful; then why should you mind my telling you that I have seen a woman lovelier than you?”
At this the Princess again began to be angry, but she thought of the witch’s words and said:
“Then, if you think there is a woman fairer than I, look at my beads, and now, that you see their colours in the sun, say if you ever saw such jewels before.”
“It is true I have never seen beads like yours, but I have a necklace here, which pleases me better”; and from his pocket he drew the haws and acorns, which he had strung together.
“What is that necklace, and where did you get it? Show it to me!” cried Fiorimonde; but Gervaise held it out of her reach, and said:
“I like my necklace better than yours, Princess; and, believe me, there is no necklace like mine in all the world.”
“Why; is it a fairy necklace? What does it do? Pray give it to me!” cried Fiorimonde, trembling with anger and curiosity, for she thought, “Perhaps it has power to make the wearer beautiful; perhaps it was worn by the woman whom he thought more beautiful than I, and that is why she looked so fair.”
“Come, I will make a fair exchange,” said Gervaise. “Give me your necklace and you shall have mine, and when it is round your throat I will truthfully say that you are the fairest woman in the world; but first I must have your necklace.”
“Take it, then,” cried the Princess, who, in her rage and eagerness, forgot all else, and she seized the string of beads to lift it from her neck, but no sooner had she taken it in her hands than they fell with a rattle to the earth, and Fiorimonde herself was nowhere to be seen. Gervaise bent down over the necklace as it lay upon the grass, and, with a smile, counted thirteen beads; and he knew the thirteenth was the wicked Princess, who had herself met the evil fete she had prepared for so many others.
“Oh, clever Princess!” cried he, laughing aloud, “you are not so very clever, I think, to be so easily outwitted.” Then he picked up the necklace on the point of the sword and carried it, slung thereon, into the council-chamber, where sat the King surrounded by statesmen and courtiers busy with state affairs.
“Pray, King,” said Gervaise, “send some one to seek for Princess Fiorimonde. A moment ago she played with me at ball in the garden, and now she is nowhere to be seen.”
The King desired that servants should seek her Royal Highness; but they came back saying she was not to be found.
“Then let me see if I cannot bring her to you; but first let those who have been longer lost than she, come and tell their own tale.” And, so saying, Gervaise let the necklace slip from his sword on to the floor, and taking from his breast a sharp dagger, proceeded to cut the golden thread on which the beads were strung, and as he clave it in two there came a mighty noise like a clap of thunder.
“Now,” cried he, “look, and see King Pierrot who was lost,” and as he spoke he drew from the cord a bead, and King Pierrot, in his royal clothes, with his sword at his side, stood before them.
“Treachery!” he cried, but ere he could say more Gervaise had drawn off another bead, and King Hildebrandt appeared, and after him came Adrian, and Sigbert, and Algar, and Cenred, and Pharamond, and Raoul, and last of the princes, Gervaise’s own dear master Florestan, and they all denounced Princess Fiorimonde and her wickedness.
“And now,” cried Gervaise, “here is she who has helped to save you all,” and he drew off the twelfth bead, and there stood Yolande in her red dress; and when he saw her Gervaise flung away his dagger and took her in his arms, and they wept for joy.
The King and all the courtiers sat pale and trembling, unable to speak for fear and shame. At length the King said with a deep groan:
“We owe you deep amends, O noble kings and princes! What punishment do you wish to prepare for our most guilty daughter?” but here Gervaise stopped him, and said:
“Give her no other punishment than what she has chosen for herself. See, here she is, the thirteenth bead upon the string; let no one dare to draw it off, but let this string be hung up where all people can see it and see the one bead, and know the wicked Princess is punished for her sorcery, so it will be a warning to others who would do like her.”
So they lifted the golden thread with great care and hung it up outside the town hall, and there the one bead glittered and gleamed in the sunlight, and all who saw it knew that it was the wicked Princess Fiorimonde who had justly met her fate.
Then all the kings and princes thanked Gervaise and Yolande, and loaded them with presents, and each went to his own land.
And Gervaise married Yolande, and they went back with Prince Florestan to their home, and all lived happily to the end of their lives.
1880