"Look, look, dear Punchinello!"
little Beppo cried. "I am no longer lame."—Page 116.
"Look, look, dear Punchinello!"
little Beppo cried. "I am no longer lame."—Page 116.
But Punchinello, whirling like a leaf, made no reply. He sang his gayest songs and leaped so lightly in the air, there seemed to be a thousand harlequins, and little Beppo followed lightly after. Suddenly the child stopped, for Punchinello was no longer dancing.
"Oh, my good Punchinello!" he exclaimed. "Why did you run away? I'll follow after you," and down the ladder he swiftly sped. He saw the white tents shining in the moonlight. "Indeed, I'll join the circus with my Punchinello," said he to himself, "and travel around the world with him."
But alas! Poor Punchinello had not stolen off, as little Beppo thought. For while in his wild dance that charmed the lame child's pain away, poor Punchinello felt himself grow ill. His head grew giddy, and at last he fell upon the floor, and there the nurses found him in the morning. They placed poor Punchinello on the bed where little Beppo had lain for so many years, and wondered whence the clown had come.
And so it was the king and queen who went next day to see the show were displeased because the famous Punchinello was not there to dance and jest for them. No other clowns or harlequins would please their royal majesties, and so they left in anger. They bade the circus owner strip his tents and in that very hour depart, and when another morning came, our little Beppo found himself in a strange city with the circus folk. At first these circus folk were puzzled what to do with him, but as the child could dance and cut droll capers, they made for him a spotted satin suit and gave him pom-pom slippers turned up at the toes. They would have called him Little Punchinello, but this the child would not allow.
"Good Punchinello was my friend," said little Beppo. "And 'twas from him I learned to dance before I ever walked. I will not take his name, but I will seek him everywhere until I find him."
Some circus folk thought Punchinello had run off to join a show of traveling jugglers, and others thought perhaps he had grown tired of dancing and grimacing. Then by and by they ceased to talk of him, and all forgot him, save little Beppo.
Meanwhile poor Punchinello lay in a raging fever. The nurses thought that he would die, for he was very ill. But after a long time the fever left him, and then they knew he would grow better. He asked one day for little Beppo, but they could tell him nothing of the child.
"We came to waken him one morning, but the child was gone and you were lying ill," said they. "We could not see how this could be, for little Beppo was too lame to walk; but though we searched the city, he could not be found."
Another day poor Punchinello asked about the circus, and again the nurses shook their heads.
"The circus folk have gone long since," said they. "The king was angry with them and bade them go in haste, 'tis said. We cannot say which way they went."
When Punchinello was all well at last; he rose and donned his many-colored robes that jingled when he walked. He had grown thin and pale, and they became him poorly, but he had not money to buy others. He wrapped his great cloak all about him and started out to earn his bread. Poor Punchinello was too weak to dance; he could not plow or dig; he had not been so trained. And so at last this famous Punchinello stood upon the highways and sang for pennies that good-natured people threw to him.
"I am the famous Punchinello," he would sometimes say. "Have you not heard of famous Punchinello of the circus?"
But those who heard him laughed in scorn. "If you be famous Punchinello of the circus," they would say, "why sing you then for coppers like a beggar, and where is the circus? You are not Punchinello, but a fraud."
Thus poor and friendless, Punchinello started out to seek the circus. His wanderings led him into many lands, and often he met folk who told him that the circus had passed there. But Punchinello, journeying afoot, could never travel fast enough to overtake the circus. His pom-pom slippers soon were torn by stones along the highway, and he went barefoot. His satin robe of many colors faded and grew worn. Punchinello patched here with yarn and there with bits of leather cloth or sacking, until the colors had all fled, and it was naught but rags sewn all together. Poor Punchinello danced no more, for ragged robes and dancing do not fit; but even so, his voice was sweet and clear as ever.
"So I am not yet poor, despite my rags," he would say bravely to himself. "For yesterday I caught a golden smile from one who flung a copper; and who knows? Perhaps to-day I may again be favored."
Then one day in his wanderings Punchinello awakened to the music of the fife and drum. He saw gay banners flying and hurried to the highway with the crowds. It was the circus he had sought so long, and as he saw his old friends marching by, poor Punchinello's eyes filled with tears of joy. The lion tamers with their roaring beasts strode by, the elephants in scarlet blankets decked, the jugglers next, and then a little dancing clown who stepped and pranced in drollest fashion.
"Oh, welcome, Beppo! Welcome!" cried the crowds, and Punchinello saw it was the lame child he had known.
He darted from the crowd and cried, "Oh, little Beppo, dost remember me? I am good Punchinello."
But here the circus folk protested. "Be off! Be off! You bunch of rags!" cried they. "Our Punchinello was no beggar, and you are not he."
"I swear I am!" cried Punchinello. "Do you not know me, little Beppo?"
"When I was ill and could not walk," the child replied, "a clown called Punchinello cured me of my lameness by his merry songs and ways; but his face I know not. He came always in the night. When he danced, he danced so swiftly that a million harlequins there seemed to be about me: and when he held me in his arms, I hid my head against his shoulder, because I loved him dearly."
"Do you remember this, then, little one?" asked poor Punchinello, and showed the bluebird locket, "the only treasure you did own, and which you gave to me?"
"I do, and you are my good Punchinello!" little Beppo cried, and flung his arms about him. He kissed the shabby creature and wrapped him in his own fine scarlet cloak to hide the rags. "How I have sought the world for you, dear Punchinello, to tell you of my gratitude; but I could never find you."
The circus folk went running and crowded round the pair. "Oh, welcome! Welcome, Punchinello!" they exclaimed and shook his hand. "A thousand welcomes. We have missed you sadly and now you will be our clown again."
"But little Beppo is your clown. What of him?" asked Punchinello.
"Oh, we shall both be clowns!" declared the child, "like father and like son. Together we shall dance those dances that you taught me and sing those songs with which you charmed the world."
And so this Punchinello found himself once more in satin robes of many colors, all jingling merrily with bells, and pom-pom slippers turned up at the toes. His face he whitened and then painted it in grotesque fashion, and with his little Beppo he danced that night and made his old-time capers and grimaces.
"Well done! Well done! Good Punchinello!" cried the people. "We have missed you sorely, but enjoy you all the more for missing you." They laughed and cheered him wildly until the show was done.
"And now," said Punchinello, as he laid him down to rest that night, "I am the richest man in all the world. A thousand golden smiles were mine to-night, and better still I have the love and gratitude of little Beppo whom I dearly love. What more than that could Punchinello ask? And so good night!"
Long, long ago, in the very far north, there lived a mammoth Brown Bear. Never in all the world was seen such a gigantic creature. Brown Bear was so tall his eyes looked over tops of trees, and his footprints were so deep that a grown man could stand full height in them. They were great pits.
Now Brown Bear owned a gold mine so rich that the king envied it. Also Brown Bear loved gold exceedingly, but as he had no hands he could not dig for it. Therefore he lay in wait for travelers journeying through the forest, and seizing them, he would carry them off to be his slaves and dig his gold. All folk suffered from this cruel custom,—the rich and poor, the high and low, the young and old. The king of that land offered rich rewards to the hunter who would slay this monster or to the trapper who would snare him. But no arrow was made strong enough to pierce the hide of Brown Bear and no trap could hold him. So he continued to carry off all captured folk to his gold mine underneath the mountain side. 'Twas said that Brown Bear had as many slaves as there were subjects left in the kingdom. 'Twas also said, the walls of Brown Bear's cave were lined so thick with gold that they outshone the sun.
It happened one evening that a poor peasant returning to his hut missed his little child. His wife had lately died, and there was no one at home to tend the little one. He asked the neighbors of the child and learned that it had last been seen running toward the forest. In deep anxiety, the peasant hurried to the forest, but though he searched all night and called, he could not find his little one. When morning came at last and it was light, he saw the child's bright scarlet cloak beneath a tree and not far off the mighty footprints of Brown Bear.
"Alas!" the peasant wept, "my little one is carried off by this great monster. I do not wish to live!" He seized the little scarlet cloak, and weeping and lamenting pressed it to his heart. Then when he could weep no more, he rose and began to follow in the path of Brown Bear's footprints.
"I'll seek this Brown Bear in his cave," thought he, "and if he make a slave of me, I shall at least be with my little one, and if he kill me, I care not."
For many hours then the peasant toiled through brush and bramble, and when night came, from weariness he stumbled and fell headlong into one of the mighty footprints of Brown Bear. He broke no bones, but for a long time he knew nothing. When he awoke at last, he found beside him a tiny baby bear that wept and shivered with the cold.
"You, little one, are not yet wicked," said the peasant; "and though your race has done me injury, still if I warm and comfort you, so may some good soul warm and comfort my own little one whom I have lost."
He wrapped the baby bear all in the scarlet cloak and fed it bread. Then when it slept he took it in his arms and climbed out of the pit and set upon his way once more. He had not gone far when he reached a cave all lined with gold, and this he knew to be the home of Brown Bear. Caring nothing for his life, the peasant boldly entered. When he was within, he saw the wife of Brown Bear weeping bitterly.
"Why come you here, O Peasant?" cried the wife of Brown Bear. "Do you not know that my husband makes slaves of all men? Hasten away before he returns lest he do you greater harm than even that."
"I care not if Brown Bear make a slave of me," the peasant answered. "Where is thy husband now, and why do you weep?"
"My husband, Brown Bear, is out seeking in the forest to find our little one, who wandered off and who, alas, I fear is dead. Therefore I do weep," she answered sobbingly, "and lest you know it not, O Peasant, let me tell you this; the loss of children is the greatest grief that ever parents suffer."
"Indeed! I know too well what grief is that!" the peasant cried, and bursting into tears, he told the tale of his own woes. Now as he told, the wife of Brown Bear fixed her great eyes on the bundle wrapped in scarlet that he carried.
"What have you there, O Peasant?" she asked eagerly.
"A tiny baby bear I found when I fell headlong into one of Brown Bear's footprints," he replied. "The little one did weep from cold and hunger, and so I fed and warmed him. And as I could not find it in my heart to let him die, I took him from the pit with me."
"It is my little one! It is my little one!" the wife of Brown Bear cried. She seized the baby bear and hugged and fondled it with joy. "But for your kind heart, Peasant, he must have died down in the pit; so wait you till my husband comes for your reward."
She raised her great voice in a mighty roar, and presently Brown Bear came crashing through the trees. He seized the baby bear and hugged it as his wife had done, and when he heard the story thanked the peasant warmly.
"Now for this service you have rendered me, I'll give you all my gold, O Peasant," cried Brown Bear. "For though I do love gold beyond compare, I love my little one far more."
"And just as dearly do I love my little one whom you did steal, O Brown Bear," the peasant cried. "And likewise do all parents love their little ones. Therefore if you will free all those you hold as slaves, ten thousand homes will be made happy as this home of yours to-night. I ask this boon, and you may keep your gold which you do love so dearly."
But Brown Bear would not have it so. "You shall have what you ask and all my gold beside," said he. "For while I mourned because my little one was lost, my gold brought me no gladness, but instead did mock me with its brightness." So saying, he flung open wide the door that led beneath the mountain side and bade his slaves go free. With shouts of joy these folk ran to their homes, and all the forest rang with their rejoicing. The peasant found his little one and held him to his heart.
"My little one! My little one!" he cried. "I wish no more reward than this, O Brown Bear."
"But you shall have more, even so," said Brown Bear, and gave to him the key of the gold mine. "Now you are richer than the king himself, and indeed, 'tis right that you should be. For what his thousand hunters with their poisoned barbs and cruel traps could never do, with your kind heart you have accomplished, Peasant. Go tell the king and all his subjects that they need fear me nevermore. Through mine own grief I know the sorrows I have caused, and from henceforth I'll live in peace with man."
The peasant thanked him and with his little one departed for his home, and there a multitude of grateful folk were gathered to greet him. And from that day the peasant was no longer poor. As owner of the rich gold mine, he now became a man of wealth. The king respected him and made him noble because he had done noble service for the kingdom. His title was Duke Kindlyheart.
In closing this strange tale, I too must say that Brown Bear kept his word and nevermore molested travelers journeying through the forest. Indeed, he grew so friendly with the king and court that he fought all their wars for them and brought them many victories. When Brown Bear died at last, as creatures all must do, the people wept for him, and all the kingdom put on mourning.
Once upon a time there lived a king who had great wealth and also many daughters, among whom he divided his kingdom before he died. That is, he gave lands and estates to all but his fourth daughter, the Princess Yvonne, who from her lack of fortune was forced to seek her living in the world. Having not a copper piece for her pocket and no gold save the gold of her hair, which, though it was very beautiful, nevertheless would not feed or clothe her, she was forced to beg her bread from door to door and became known as Yvonne, the Beggar Princess. And the reason of it all was this.
The king, being very wise, wished his daughters to wed none but princes from the most powerful thrones in the world. As soon as each daughter reached the age to marry, the king invited to his court the suitors for her hand. The first and second daughters married the princes of their father's choice and went off to their palaces rejoicing, and so likewise did the third daughter. Because of their obedience, the king was pleased and gave them land and great riches for their marriage portions. He then turned his attention to find a husband for his fourth daughter, the Princess Yvonne, the fairest and most charming of them all.
Now all unknown to her father, Yvonne, loved Prince Godfrey of the Westland Kingdom. They had often met in the forest, and there they had vowed their love to one another. Prince Godfrey had wished to ask for the hand of Yvonne, but she, knowing her father's iron will, begged him to delay.
"My father is a stern king and rules his daughters in all things," said the princess. "He would part us forever should it come to him that we had dared to do aught without his consent. Return, I pray you, to your kingdom and there await my father's summons, for I have heard him say that you would be bidden to his court as suitor for my hand."
Prince Godfrey, much against his will, consented to do as Yvonne asked. He kissed her farewell and departed that very evening for the Westland Kingdom. What befell him on the homeward journey, Princess Yvonne never knew, but she saw him no more. She carried his image in her heart and could love no other prince, though her father sent far and near for suitors to please her. Knowing nothing of her love for Prince Godfrey, at last the king placed her refusals to a stubborn spirit.
"My daughter, Yvonne," said he, after she had refused five princes in as many days, "how do you know whom you love or whom you love not? You, my fourth daughter, cannot pretend to know as much as I, your father. Where have you been to learn of this nonsense that you call love?"
To which the princess made reply: "That I cannot tell, my father, except that my heart bids me marry only the prince whom I shall love well, and of these princes you have brought hither I love none at all. I pray you now, turn your attention to the affairs of my younger sisters, who are anxious to wed, and leave me for a little longer in peace." She was so gentle in her speech and so winning in her manner that the king forgot his vexation and busied himself with seeking suitors for his younger daughters.
They married according to his wishes and pleased him exceedingly. With each marriage, the king gave portions of his kingdom, until at length there remained but two estates, and of his nine daughters there were but two unmarried. Again he sent for the Princess Yvonne, and this time he spoke sharply to her.
"Now, Yvonne, my fourth daughter, I have listened to your entreaties and given you your will in all things, and still you are not wed. I cannot compel you to marry if you do not wish to please me; but this I tell you. To-morrow there comes to this castle a prince who has both gold and lands, and who moreover is handsome and possessed of a sweet temper. If you wed not him, I will give the remainder of my kingdom to your youngest sister. Then you will be left portionless, and what disgrace that will be! A princess without a fortune is a sad creature, and I advise you to try my patience no longer."
Yvonne listened with tears in her eyes. She dearly loved her father and wished to please him, but her heart still treasured the image of the absent Godfrey.
The following day, at her father's commands, she dressed herself in her finest robes and bound her hair with the royal jewels. Thus attired, she went forth to the throne room to greet the suitor who awaited her. The king was well pleased with her appearance and smiled encouragement to her, but alas for his hopes! The Princess Yvonne burst into tears before the court, thereby offending the suitor and bringing down her father's wrath. He bade the weeping Yvonne withdraw and commanded his youngest daughter to appear in her place. So agreeable was this youngest daughter that the prince forgot his anger and fell in love with her before a single day had passed. They were married with great splendor and the king, as he had declared, gave them the remainder of his kingdom as a wedding gift.
Thus it was that the Princess Yvonne went forth from her father's castle without his blessing, without a fortune, without even a copper piece for her pocket, and without riches of any sort save the bright yellow gold of her hair. She had been raised in a castle and therefore knew not how to spin or to weave or even to embroider, which three occupations were considered suitable for young serving women in that day, so she was forced to beg her bread from door to door; hence her title, Yvonne, the Beggar Princess.
She left her father's kingdom and by and by found service at a farm. The people were very poor, and she did the work of three, but they treated her kindly, and Yvonne worked cheerfully. Early in the morning she drew water from the well, and many a ewer she had carried to the kitchen before the sun rose. She served the table for the plowmen and took her own meal in the pantry while she tidied up after they had gone to the fields. All day long she baked and brewed, or scoured pots and pans until they shone like silver. In spite of her changed fortunes, the princess remained as sweet-tempered as in the days when she lived in her father's castle and had naught to vex her from morning until night. If the butter would not churn, she would sing instead of scolding as the other maids did, and presently the butter would come, and such butter as it was too! When the loaves burned, she did not cry out against the Brownies, who were said to play tricks with the oven, but received the scolding from her mistress with humility. At night, no matter how weary she might be from her long day, the princess went willingly to fetch the cattle, for the walk through the fields and forest cheered her.
It was in the forest she had first met Godfrey, and it was in the forest he had vowed to love her always. So as she sang her shepherd's song and called softly to the straying herds, she was with her absent prince in memory.
"He will come for me by and by," she would whisper to herself sometimes, when she waked suddenly from a dream in which Godfrey had seemed very near. Other times she would be frightened lest perhaps he might some day pass her on the highway. "In my peasant's dress, there is but little to remind him of the princess whom he bade farewell in my father's hunting forest," she would say. She had no mirror and quite forgot her lovely face and her golden hair, which a queen might well have envied.
One evening in autumn, when the night falls early and the darkness creeps on swiftly, the princess wandered through the forest in search of the cattle. She was tired, but as she walked among the trees she grew rested, and presently she began to sing. In the open spaces she called softly, but no creatures came to follow her. The wind sighed through the pines, and once she started, thinking she heard some one call her name. She stood quite still and listened, but the wind died away and the forest was silent. She wandered farther, and the trees grew more dense. There was no moon to guide her, and after a time, the princess perceived she had lost her way.
"For myself, it does not matter," said she, "I can find shelter in the hollow of some tree and there be very comfortable until morning." Never before had the cattle strayed so far but that at the sound of her voice they would come slowly down the paths and crashing through the brush. They followed her like pets. She resolved to call them once more and began to sing:
but she broke off her song and caught her breath sharply. An old mill stood before her in the spot where a great oak had spread its branches when she began her song! The mill sails turned and creaked in the forest breeze, but there was not a sound of life about the place. There were no doors, and though the princess walked all around the walls, she found no opening save a sort of window heavily barred and crossbarred. On the top of the walls glistened jagged lumps of glass.
"It looks more like a prison than a mill," thought she, and then as she peered into the opening, a voice from the dungeon beneath began to sing. Yvonne's heart leaped for joy; it was the voice of Godfrey, her beloved!
The princess unbound her hair, and in the forest about the mill all became bright as day. Then through her tears she sang of her life, for she was deeply grieved to find Godfrey in such a plight.
"To think that I who love you should be the cause of all your woes!" cried Godfrey, when he had heard her story. "Return to your father, Yvonne. Tell him that you will wed whom he wishes and forget me, for I have brought you naught but tears and sorrows."
"Ah, my beloved," replied the princess, "though I cannot see you and you be but a voice, you are the voice of one who loves me, and that to me is dearer than all the world. I cannot return to my father, for now he is dead, and my sisters have cast me off because I was portionless; but I myself shall seek this cruel king and beg him to set you free."
"Seek this cruel King Ironheart!" exclaimed Godfrey in dismay. "Surely, Yvonne, you know not what you say, for never in all the world before was known such a tyrant! Men he casts into prison, nor does he ever release them, but condemns them to dig beneath the earth that he may fill his treasury with gold; women must toil all day in the fields and for a few coppers; while their children die of hunger, this King Ironheart has granaries filled full of good grains. King Ironheart has vast armies, each soldier of which is as cruel as his master, and were you to go to the Westland Kingdom, these same soldiers would seek you out and enslave you with the rest of my people. You must not go, Yvonne; as you love me, promise me that you will not."
"The more you tell me of the sorrows of the Westland Kingdom, the more I am resolved to seek this cruel Ironheart. If I fail, I fail, but what is my life to me unless you be set free, Godfrey?"
"But, Yvonne," pleaded Godfrey from his dungeon, "think of my suffering, should you do this for my sake. What powerful weapon have you to use against this wicked Ironheart?"
"None but courage and a good heart," replied the princess. "In the past they have worked miracles, and so may they work miracles now. Deny me no more, Godfrey, but tell me the way to your kingdom, that I may all the sooner return to free you, for I will not fail."
No words could move her, and at last Godfrey gave her her will.
"Dress your feet in the slippers of bark which you will find beneath a pine tree close to the mill. They will serve you for your travels until you return again to this forest," said he. "Then watch closely in the east, and when the sun rises, start at once to follow him as he journeys across the sky, neither stopping nor staying, and at sunset you will find yourself on the borders of the Westland Kingdom. Should you grow weary or should your courage fail you, Yvonne, sing, and my spirit will fly to cheer you."
So with the coming of the dawn, Yvonne bound her golden hair and dressed her feet in the slippers of bark. She looked toward the east for the first beam of the sun, and when she turned once more to the mill it had disappeared. In its place stood a great oak with green grass smooth as a carpet growing beneath it. But Yvonne had no time to marvel at this new wonder, for the sun rose from the clouds and straightway began its journey above the world. All day long Yvonne followed after, now wading shallow mountain brooks, now fording rivers wide as any sea. Now she walked through cool green forests and again over hot, sandy desert plains. She grew weary and longed to rest, but remembering Godfrey's words, she sang instead. And so it was at sunset she found herself upon the borders of the Westland Kingdom, and too weary for aught else, she begged shelter of a peasant woman and slept soundly until morning.
The Westland Kingdom, in the days of Prince Godfrey, had been the pleasantest place in all the world, but now there was not a sadder spot on earth. From his desert throne, King Ironheart had long coveted its great forests and fertile fields, its rich mines of silver and gold beneath the earth. He had not dared meet Prince Godfrey in open battle, for Godfrey was a fierce warrior and his nobles were brave soldiers. So it was secretly and in the dead of night, when Prince Godfrey was away from his land on a journey, that King Ironheart entered the Westland Kingdom and conquered it by force of arms. At the same time he caused Godfrey to be imprisoned in the mill which sank beneath the forest by day. Then having done thus much, he offered riches and high honors to all Westland subjects who would swear allegiance to him as their sovereign lord. The people with one accord refused to listen to his ministers and remained faithful to Godfrey.
King Ironheart was furious, but he gave them seven days in which to change their minds. At the end of the seventh day, he called a council of the Westland people and was gracious in his bearing toward them; but from the highest noble to the lowest peasant, there was not one in all the kingdom who would bow the knee to King Ironheart. From that day, the reign of cruelty began. King Ironheart bade his army drive the men to the mines beneath the earth, and when this was done, he rewarded his generals and soldiers with the palaces and houses of the Westland people. Driven thus from their homes, there was nothing left for the women and children but to seek shelter where they could find it. Some lived in wretched huts; others toiled at cutting logs to build rude cabins, and all were forced to work like slaves. King Ironheart meant to punish the Westland Kingdom and spared no one.
Though the castle of this cruel king lay but a short distance from the entrance of the Westland Kingdom, the road that stretched between was filled with such sadness and sorrow that it was many a day before the princess stood at its gates. Little children struggled with heavy burdens, and when she had helped these, other little children with heavy burdens passed sadly down the same road. Women toiled unceasingly in the forest or drove the plow from dawn until dark; King Ironheart's soldiers saw to it that none idled. Yvonne had no coins to buy bread, and again she was forced to beg from door to door, but so willingly did she help those who labored that the sad-faced women were glad to share with her their scant store. A Westland woman, noting the slippers of bark, asked her who she might be and from whence she came; to which the princess made the following reply:
"In my country I am called Yvonne, the Beggar Princess. My father cast me off portionless because I would not wed to please him; and I seek the tyrant Ironheart, to beg him quit the Westland Kingdom and to free from his dungeon Prince Godfrey, whom I love with all my heart."
When the Westland women heard her reply, they marveled at her courage, but shook their heads and advised her to give up her quest.
"You seek to move with pity one whose heart is cold as his name would say!" they cried. "King Ironheart laughs at mothers' tears and takes pleasure in the wails of hungry children; return to your home, Oh Yvonne, or this wicked king will enslave you with this sad land."
"That I will not do," replied the princess firmly. "With courage and a good heart, I have come hither to beg mercy of King Ironheart. If I fail, I fail, and here in bondage I shall remain with you who mourn Prince Godfrey, for he is lord of my heart."
The princess delayed her errand no longer, but rose with the dawn the following day and was waiting early at the castle gates. On being questioned by the soldiers, she said she had come to seek King Ironheart. They asked who she was, and she answered them truthfully that she was Yvonne, the Beggar Princess.
"A Beggar Princess!" exclaimed the soldiers in derision. "Who ever before heard of a princess without gold?"
"This gold I have about me," replied the princess, and she unbound her golden hair. In the morning sun it shone brilliantly and dazzled the eyes of King Ironheart, who leaned from his balcony to learn the cause of the sudden bright light. He saw the princess standing at the gate and commanded that she be brought before him.
As she entered the throne room, though she had not feared her father's wrath and was not afraid to walk alone at midnight in the forest, the princess was seized with a sudden fear that left her almost speechless. It was not that King Ironheart was hideous as monsters are often hideous, nor was he misshapen; but beneath his smile there lurked such cruelty and malice that she feared her cause was lost before she had begun to plead it. The thought of Godfrey lying in his dungeon stirred her, and she asked leave of his majesty to sing. King Ironheart was pleased with her request and graciously ordered his chief harpist to play the airs for Yvonne. At the end of the entertainment, the king's servants brought handsome robes and gifts of gold for the singer whom the king mistook for some peasant maiden.
The princess refused his gifts with dignity.
"My lord," said she, "I may not receive gifts from you, for my rank is equal to your own. I am Yvonne, the Beggar Princess."
"Then so much the better," replied the king in a hearty tone. "I have long wished for a princess whom my heart could love, and who would not fall a-trembling at the very sight of me. We shall be married at once, and I will make war on your sisters this very day, to recover the marriage portion which is yours by all rights." He sent then for the coronation robes and the crown of pearls, but again the princess waved away the bearer of his gifts. With her singing, courage had returned, and she now faced the tyrant king bravely.
"My lord," said she, "I have come hither not to wed you, but to beg you to leave the Westland Kingdom, for the people suffer greatly because of your harsh rule; and to implore you to free from his dungeon Prince Godfrey, whom I love with all my heart."
King Ironheart was amazed that she should dare to oppose his wishes, but secretly he admired her courage and fearless spirit and determined to win her for himself. He promised her great riches and vowed to make her the most powerful queen in all the world, but Yvonne was firm. When he saw it was useless to urge her, King Ironheart grew angry.
"And what powerful weapon or armed force do you bring against me that I should thus do your bidding, O Yvonne, Beggar Princess?" he asked at length in sneering tones.
"None but courage and a good heart, my lord, and those can work miracles," replied the princess.
"Then," said King Ironheart, "if by miracles you hope to accomplish your quest, perform to my liking the task I now set for you, and when it is finished I shall leave this kingdom and free Godfrey from his dungeon."
He called a servant and directed him to bring from the pantry a handful of corn, and when it was brought he gave it to the princess.
"When it is spring, plant these kernels, and in harvest time, if from your planting I do not gather corn to fill to the overflowing every granary in the Westland Kingdom, I will enslave you with the rest of this land, and Prince Godfrey shall remain in his dungeon until death come to free him. Now go," commanded King Ironheart, "and return no more until your task be done."
The women who awaited the princess in the market place sighed when they learned the task King Ironheart had set. From one scant handful of corn to fill every granary in the Westland Kingdom! It was impossible. Even Yvonne found it hard to keep a good heart with the thought of the task before her. If she failed, Prince Godfrey would remain forever in his dungeon, and yet from one handful of corn how should she reap a harvest for a nation?
She tied the corn in a kerchief and carried it next her heart lest some of the precious grains should slip away. Each night she counted them, and each night she rejoiced to find she had still one hundred, the exact number King Ironheart had given her. From her work at the farm, the princess knew well the labor of the fields and dairy, so she toiled the winter through with the other women. One evening, as she sat in the moonlight counting her precious grains, she heard voices near by, but a hedge hid the speakers.
"Ah," said the first voice sadly, "that one hundred provinces, the fairest this side of Paradise, should be so crushed beneath this cruel King Ironheart! I would that he were driven away, and that the good Prince Godfrey would return to his own once again."
"Have patience," answered a second voice which was exceedingly sweet and gentle. "Know that for the space of the winter months the Princess Yvonne hath carried next her heart one hundred grains of corn from which the cruel Ironheart hath commanded her to reap a harvest for the nation. Now such is the power of a good heart that when she hath planted these grains, there will spring from them such a harvest as never before was gathered in any country. Then, according to his promise, King Ironheart will free Prince Godfrey and quit the Westland Kingdom forever."
The voices ceased suddenly as they had begun, but on looking over the hedge, the princess could see no one. She treasured the words she had heard, and with a song in her heart, waited until the winter should be gone. When spring was come at last, she traveled with it through the Westland Kingdom and planted a single grain in the center of each province, until her kerchief was empty. It seemed that the land itself was weary of the cruel Ironheart and longed once more for peace and happiness, for such a supply of corn was never known in the Westland Kingdom. In autumn, when it was gathered into the granaries, there was more than they could hold, and the king's servants built storehouses to contain the surplus. Then the princess went to King Ironheart to tell him that her task was done. He had heard of the wonder from his ministers and had waiting for her another task. The first he now declared had been but child's play, and he vowed to free Prince Godfrey when she should accomplish the second.
"But, my lord, how can I believe you?" cried the princess in dismay. "Even should I accomplish the second task, when it is done will you not set for me another and another, and so on until the end of time?"
"Never fear, Yvonne, Beggar Princess," replied King Ironheart with his cruel smile. "This time I will keep my word right gladly. Though I set Godfrey free a thousand times, he will never marry you, for should you accomplish this second task, you will be the ugliest woman in all the world. Think twice before you set about it," he warned. "If you fail, you will be enslaved for the rest of your life; and if you succeed, you will be hideous.
"Now you had best marry me and give up this silly thing you call true love. It hath brought you naught but tears and sorrow in the past and will bring you no better in the future." He smiled and looked graciously at Yvonne, but she was unmoved.
"Because I loved Prince Godfrey, I defied my father and became the Beggar Princess, Yvonne," she answered scornfully, "and because I loved Prince Godfrey, I came to his land to beg his freedom of you who hold him in cruel captivity. How then should I wed you? Tell me what it is that you would have me do; I care not whether I return from my task the ugliest woman in all the world!"
"Then listen well to what I say," replied the king, "for I shall not tell you twice. My kingdom, which lies just beyond the borders of the Westland Kingdom, is naught but a great desert plain. There are on this plain neither rivers nor springs, but instead the wind blows the sand in clouds above it all day long, and nothing will grow in such a place.
"Seek this plain, and when you have found it, cause springs and rivers to water it, the better to nourish a forest which you must plant there to please me. In the heart of this forest build for me a splendid palace, the outer walls of whitest marble and the inner walls of purest gold. Thousands of red roses must climb to the towers of the palace. When you have done thus much, trouble not yourself to furnish it for me, but return to me, and I promise that I shall betake myself and my court to my own kingdom and quit this land forever and ever. I am weary of a people who smile never but weep from sun to sun for their absent lord."
"But Prince Godfrey; what of him?" asked the princess.
"Ah," laughed King Ironheart, "I shall tell you also the secret charm that will cause his chains to fall from him and his dungeon doors to open wide." He bade the princess farewell, and his smile was more cruel than she had yet seen it. Nevertheless she departed from his presence full of courage.
The women were again waiting her in the market place, and when they heard the second task, they despaired of seeing again their rightful lord and sadly resigned themselves to their fate. They followed the princess to the gates of the kingdom, and as she was about to depart, an old wise woman gave her a bag, saying:
"Within this bag are pine cones and acorns of marvelous power. When you have caused the first springs to water the desert plain, at nightfall dip these into the waters, plant them and by morning a forest of oak and pine will spring from them."
The princess took the bag and thanked the wise woman. Strange to say, she was hopeful about her task.
"Who can tell?" thought she. "One task that seemed at first impossible I have already finished." So she sang cheerfully as she went her way. In her mind she pictured the delight and joy of Prince Godfrey when she should go again to the mill in the forest to tell him that he was free. For three days and three nights she traveled, and on the morning of the fourth day she reached the great desert plain. It was even more desolate than King Ironheart had said. Great stretches of burning hot sands spread far and wide, and the sky, where it bent down at the horizon, seemed copper-colored. The blazing sun beat fiercely over all, and there was neither bush nor tree for shade. When the sun set, darkness came swiftly and without the gray softening shades of twilight.
The princess sat sadly and watched the stars come out. In the deep blue sky above the desert they shone like gold.
"Their happy gleaming seems to mock the heart of one as sad as I," sighed she. Now that she was upon the desert plain she wondered how or where she was to begin King Ironheart's task.
"The gleaming stars mock no one," said a voice close beside her, "but instead they shine brightly to cheer all those who sorrow."
The princess turned to see the speaker, but she was alone on the plain.
"I am the Spirit you heard by the hedge one moonlight night," spoke the voice again. "Do you remember?"
"I remember well," replied Yvonne, "and oh, Spirit, had the cruel Ironheart kept his promise, Godfrey would even now be free of his dungeon; but alas! The wicked king hath set me still another task."
"It is to help you with that task that I have come," said the Spirit. "Each night when the stars begin to shine in the heavens, expect me, until your task be done; and now to begin as the king commanded, I must have the blue from your eyes to make the rivers and lakes."
"The blue from my eyes!" cried the princess in dismay. "Truly the cruel Ironheart hath said it rightly. I shall be the ugliest woman alive! But it is to free my beloved Godfrey, so take it, Spirit!" She felt a movement of the air close beside her and an invisible hand was drawn across her eyelids. At the same moment she heard the singing of a brook near by and in the distance the roaring of a waterfall.
Remembering the wise woman's advice, Yvonne dipped the acorns and pine cones in the brook and planted them in the desert sand before she slept. In the morning she awoke in a wilderness of forest, and the plain, no longer barren and desolate, was alive with birds that sang, and wild deer that ran among the trees. The princess sought the heart of this forest, and there when night had come she awaited the Spirit. When the stars began to shine, it came as it had promised.
"The outer walls of the palace must be of whitest marble," said the Spirit, "and for that I must have the whiteness of your neck and throat." Though the princess shuddered, she consented, and the invisible hand was passed over her neck and throat. No sooner had it done so than in the open space among the trees she could see the outlines of a great building whose walls gleamed in the moonlight.
"And now," continued the Spirit, "if you have no wish to wander through this forest of oak and pine, but long instead to have done with your task, give me at once the gold of your hair and the red from your lips, that I may finish the inner walls of the palace and cause thousands of red roses to climb to the towers."
"The sooner I finish my task, the sooner will King Ironheart free Godfrey from his dungeon," replied the princess. "While he lies in chains, the red of my lips and the gold of my hair bring me no pleasure; so take them quickly, Spirit." The same hand was passed over her hair and her lips and the Spirit spoke again.
"Now look at the palace to see that it is all King Ironheart desired," it said. "Then when you are satisfied we shall start at once to tell him that your task is done. I shall remain with you to cheer you until you go again to the mill in the forest."
Yvonne did as the Spirit bid. She found the palace of great splendor, and myriads of red roses blossomed over its white marble walls. Within all was bright as day; the golden walls glittered like a thousand suns.
"Even the tyrant Ironheart could ask no more," said she. "Lead the way, Spirit, and I shall tell him that I have finished my task."
Traveling by a short road known only to the Spirit, the princess reached the Westland Kingdom the next day, and was on her way to the castle when the women went down to the fields to work. They regarded Yvonne as one they had never seen before, and she was puzzled for the reason.
"Alas!" cried the Spirit sadly. "You are fair of face no longer, Yvonne. They do not know that they have ever seen you before." Then straight past the guards and into the presence of King Ironheart the Spirit led her.
King Ironheart cried out in fury as the princess entered the throne room. "Old crone!" he exclaimed. "How dare you to come into my presence? Do you not know I cannot abide old age or ugliness? You shall be punished."
"Old age," echoed the princess. "I am not old. I am Yvonne, the Beggar Princess, whom you bid turn the desert plain into a wilderness of forest and build therein a splendid palace for you."
Then the cruel king laughed heartily. "Never," cried he, "have I been so diverted. Go at once to the mill in the forest where the sun rises, O Yvonne, Beggar Princess, and at the very sight of you the walls will fall. Tell Prince Godfrey that I have departed his land and have betaken myself and soldiers to the splendid palace which you so kindly built for me. However, let me first reward you with this gift." Before the princess was aware, he had flashed a mirror before her face.
Yvonne gazed spell-bound as she beheld her changed image.
"Oh!" cried she, "you are more cruel than I had even supposed. But for you I had never known how hideous I have become. Truly I am the ugliest woman in all the world!" She wept and covered her face that she might look no more in the mirror which King Ironheart continued to hold before her gaze. The Spirit, with pitying words, led her from the castle and tried to comfort her; but at the sight of her changed image, Yvonne's courage had fled. Even when the glad shouts of the Westland people told her that Ironheart was departing the kingdom, she did not smile. She wept all the way as she journeyed sadly to the forest where the sun rose. She now longed only to free Godfrey and then to die.
"For," thought she, "though he be gallant enough to wed me in pity for my hideous countenance, I love him too dearly, and I could not bear that all the world should look with loathing on his queen."
Late one night the princess entered the forest where she had gone so often to seek the herds, and at midnight she stood before the mill. It was dark and dreary looking as ever, and no sign nor sound of life could be seen about it. Standing close to the window-like opening she began to sing: