Once upon a time there lived a King and Queen, who were the best
creatures in the world, and so kind-hearted that they could not bear
to see their subjects want for anything. The consequence was that
they gradually gave away all their treasures, till they positively
had nothing left to live upon; and this coming to the ears of their
neighbour, King Bruin, he promptly raised a large army and marched into
their country. The poor King, having no means of defending his kingdom,
was forced to disguise himself with a false beard, and carrying his only
son, the little Prince Featherhead, in his arms, and accompanied only by
the Queen, to make the best of his way into the wild country. They were
lucky enough to escape the soldiers of King Bruin, and at last, after
unheard-of fatigues and adventures, they found themselves in a charming
green valley, through which flowed a stream clear as crystal and
overshadowed by beautiful trees. As they looked round them with delight,
a voice said suddenly: ‘Fish, and see what you will catch.’ Now the King
had always loved fishing, and never went anywhere without a fish-hook
or two in his pocket, so he drew one out hastily, and the Queen lent him
her girdle to fasten it to, and it had hardly touched the water before
it caught a big fish, which made them an excellent meal--and not before
they needed it, for they had found nothing until then but a few wild
berries and roots.
They thought that for the present they could not do
better than stay in this delightful place, and the King set to work, and
soon built a bower of branches to shelter them; and when it was finished
the Queen was so charmed with it that she declared nothing was lacking
to complete her happiness but a flock of sheep, which she and the little
Prince might tend while the King fished. They soon found that the fish
were not only abundant and easily caught, but also very beautiful, with
glittering scales of every imaginable hue; and before long the King
discovered that he could teach them to talk and whistle better than any
parrot. Then he determined to carry some to the nearest town and try to
sell them; and as no one had ever before seen any like them the
people flocked about him eagerly and bought all he had caught, so that
presently not a house in the city was considered complete without a
crystal bowl full of fish, and the King’s customers were very particular
about having them to match the rest of the furniture, and gave him a
vast amount of trouble in choosing them. However, the money he obtained
in this way enabled him to buy the Queen her flock of sheep, as well as
many of the other things which go to make life pleasant, so that they
never once regretted their lost kingdom. Now it happened that the Fairy
of the Beech-Woods lived in the lovely valley to which chance had led
the poor fugitives, and it was she who had, in pity for their forlorn
condition, sent the King such good luck to his fishing, and generally
taken them under her protection.
This she was all the more inclined to
do as she loved children, and little Prince Featherhead, who never
cried and grew prettier day by day, quite won her heart. She made the
acquaintance of the King and the Queen without at first letting them
know that she was a fairy, and they soon took a great fancy to her, and
even trusted her with the precious Prince, whom she carried off to her
palace, where she regaled him with cakes and tarts and every other
good thing. This was the way she chose of making him fond of her; but
afterwards, as he grew older, she spared no pains in educating and
training him as a prince should be trained. But unfortunately, in spite
of all her care, he grew so vain and frivolous that he quitted his
peaceful country life in disgust, and rushed eagerly after all the
foolish gaieties of the neighbouring town, where his handsome face and
charming manners speedily made him popular. The King and Queen deeply
regretted this alteration in their son, but did not know how to mend
matters, since the good old Fairy had made him so self-willed.
Just at this time the Fairy of the Beech-Woods received a visit from
an old friend of hers called Saradine, who rushed into her house so
breathless with rage that she could hardly speak.
‘Dear, dear! what is the matter?’ said the Fairy of the Beech-Woods
soothingly.
‘The matter!’ cried Saradine. ‘You shall soon hear all about it. You
know that, not content with endowing Celandine, Princess of the Summer
Islands, with everything she could desire to make her charming, I
actually took the trouble to bring her up myself; and now what does she
do but come to me with more coaxings and caresses than usual to beg a
favour. And what do you suppose this favour turns out to be--when I have
been cajoled into promising to grant it? Nothing more nor less than
a request that I will take back all my gifts--“since,” says my young
madam, “if I have the good fortune to please you, how am I to know that
it is really I, myself? And that’s how it will be all my life long,
whenever I meet anybody. You see what a weariness my life will be to me
under these circumstances, and yet I assure you I am not ungrateful to
you for all your kindness!” I did all I could,’ continued Saradine, ‘to
make her think better of it, but in vain; so after going through the
usual ceremony for taking back my gifts, I’m come to you for a little
peace and quietness. But, after all, I have not taken anything of
consequence from this provoking Celandine. Nature had already made her
so pretty, and given her such a ready wit of her own, that she will
do perfectly well without me. However, I thought she deserved a little
lesson, so to begin with I have whisked her off into the desert, and
there left her!’
‘What! all alone, and without any means of existence?’ cried the
kind-hearted old Fairy. ‘You had better hand her over to me. I don’t
think so very badly of her after all. I’ll just cure her vanity by
making her love someone better than herself. Really, when I come to
consider of it, I declare the little minx has shown more spirit and
originality in the matter than one expects of a princess.’
Saradine willingly consented to this arrangement, and the old Fairy’s
first care was to smooth away all the difficulties which surrounded
the Princess, and lead her by the mossy path overhung with trees to the
bower of the King and Queen, who still pursued their peaceful life in
the valley.
They were immensely surprised at her appearance, but her charming face,
and the deplorably ragged condition to which the thorns and briers had
reduced her once elegant attire, speedily won their compassion; they
recognised her as a companion in misfortune, and the Queen welcomed
her heartily, and begged her to share their simple repast. Celandine
gracefully accepted their hospitality, and soon told them what had
happened to her. The King was charmed with her spirit, while the Queen
thought she had indeed been daring thus to go against the Fairy’s
wishes.
‘Since it has ended in my meeting you,’ said the Princess, ‘I cannot
regret the step I have taken, and if you will let me stay with you, I
shall be perfectly happy.’
The King and Queen were only too delighted to have this charming
Princess to supply the place of Prince Featherhead, whom they saw
but seldom, since the Fairy had provided him with a palace in the
neighbouring town, where he lived in the greatest luxury, and did
nothing but amuse himself from morning to night. So Celandine stayed,
and helped the Queen to keep house, and very soon they loved her dearly.
When the Fairy of the Beech-Woods came to them, they presented the
Princess to her, and told her story, little thinking that the Fairy knew
more about Celandine than they did. The old Fairy was equally delighted
with her, and often invited her to visit her Leafy Palace, which was
the most enchanting place that could be imagined, and full of treasures.
Often she would say to the Princess, when showing her some wonderful
thing:
‘This will do for a wedding gift some day.’ And Celandine could not help
thinking that it was to her that the Fairy meant to give the two blue
wax-torches which burned without ever getting smaller, or the diamond
from which more diamonds were continually growing, or the boat that
sailed under water, or whatever beautiful or wonderful thing they might
happen to be looking at. It is true that she never said so positively,
but she certainly allowed the Princess to believe it, because she
thought a little disappointment would be good for her. But the person
she really relied upon for curing Celandine of her vanity was Prince
Featherhead. The old Fairy was not at all pleased with the way he had
been going on for some time, but her heart was so soft towards him that
she was unwilling to take him away from the pleasures he loved, except
by offering him something better, which is not the most effectual mode
of correction, though it is without doubt the most agreeable.
However, she did not even hint to the Princess that Featherhead was
anything but absolutely perfect, and talked of him so much that when at
last she announced that he was coming to visit her, Celandine made up
her mind that this delightful Prince would be certain to fall in love
with her at once, and was quite pleased at the idea. The old Fairy
thought so too, but as this was not at all what she wished, she took
care to throw such an enchantment over the Princess that she appeared to
Featherhead quite ugly and awkward, though to every one else she looked
just as usual. So when he arrived at the Leafy Palace, more handsome and
fascinating even than ever she had been led to expect, he hardly so much
as glanced at the Princess, but bestowed all his attention upon the old
Fairy, to whom he seemed to have a hundred things to say. The Princess
was immensely astonished at his indifference, and put on a cold and
offended air, which, however, he did not seem to observe. Then as a last
resource she exerted all her wit and gaiety to amuse him, but with no
better success, for he was of an age to be more attracted by beauty
than by anything else, and though he responded politely enough, it
was evident that his thoughts were elsewhere. Celandine was deeply
mortified, since for her part the Prince pleased her very well, and
for the first time she bitterly regretted the fairy gifts she had been
anxious to get rid of. Prince Featherhead was almost equally puzzled,
for he had heard nothing from the King and Queen but the praises of this
charming Princess, and the fact that they had spoken of her as so very
beautiful only confirmed his opinion that people who live in the country
have no taste. He talked to them of his charming acquaintances in the
town, the beauties he had admired, did admire, or thought he was going
to admire, until Celandine, who heard it all, was ready to cry with
vexation. The Fairy too was quite shocked at his conceit, and hit upon
a plan for curing him of it. She sent to him by an unknown messenger a
portrait of Princess Celandine as she really was, with this inscription:
‘All this beauty and sweetness, with a loving heart and a great kingdom,
might have been yours but for your well-known fickleness.’
This message made a great impression upon the Prince, but not so much
as the portrait. He positively could not tear his eyes away from it, and
exclaimed aloud that never, never had he seen anything so lovely and
so graceful. Then he began to think that it was too absurd that he, the
fascinating Featherhead, should fall in love with a portrait; and, to
drive away the recollections of its haunting eyes, he rushed back to
the town; but somehow everything seemed changed. The beauties no longer
pleased him, their witty speeches had ceased to amuse; and indeed, for
their parts, they found the Prince far less amiable than of yore, and
were not sorry when he declared that, after all, a country life suited
him best, and went back to the Leafy Palace. Meanwhile, the Princess
Celandine had been finding the time pass but slowly with the King and
Queen, and was only too pleased when Featherhead reappeared. She at once
noticed the change in him, and was deeply curious to find the reason of
it. Far from avoiding her, he now sought her company and seemed to take
pleasure in talking to her, and yet the Princess did not for a moment
flatter herself with the idea that he was in love with her, though it
did not take her long to decide that he certainly loved someone. But one
day the Princess, wandering sadly by the river, spied Prince Featherhead
fast asleep in the shade of a tree, and stole nearer to enjoy the
delight of gazing at his dear face unobserved. Judge of her astonishment
when she saw that he was holding in his hand a portrait of herself!
In vain did she puzzle over the apparent contradictoriness of his
behaviour. Why did he cherish her portrait while he was so fatally
indifferent to herself? At last she found an opportunity of asking him
the name of the Princess whose picture he carried about with him always.
‘Alas! how can I tell you?’ replied he.
‘Why should you not?’ said the Princess timidly. ‘Surely there is
nothing to prevent you.’
‘Nothing to prevent me!’ repeated he, ‘when my utmost efforts have
failed to discover the lovely original. Should I be so sad if I could
but find her? But I do not even know her name.’
More surprised than ever, the Princess asked to be allowed to see
the portrait, and after examining it for a few minutes returned it,
remarking shyly that at least the original had every cause to be
satisfied with it.
‘That means that you consider it flattered,’ said the Prince severely.
‘Really, Celandine, I thought better of you, and should have expected
you to be above such contemptible jealousy. But all women are alike!’
‘Indeed, I meant only that it was a good likeness,’ said the Princess
meekly.
‘Then you know the original,’ cried the Prince, throwing himself on his
knees beside her. ‘Pray tell me at once who it is, and don’t keep me in
suspense!’
‘Oh! don’t you see that it is meant for me?’ cried Celandine.
The Prince sprang to his feet, hardly able to refrain from telling her
that she must be blinded by vanity to suppose she resembled the lovely
portrait even in the slightest degree; and after gazing at her for an
instant with icy surprise, turned and left her without another word, and
in a few hours quitted the Leafy Palace altogether.
Now the Princess was indeed unhappy, and could no longer bear to stay
in a place where she had been so cruelly disdained. So, without even
bidding farewell to the King and Queen, she left the valley behind her,
and wandered sadly away, not caring whither. After walking until she
was weary, she saw before her a tiny house, and turned her slow steps
towards it. The nearer she approached the more miserable it appeared,
and at length she saw a little old woman sitting upon the door-step, who
said grimly:
‘Here comes one of these fine beggars who are too idle to do anything
but run about the country!’
‘Alas! madam,’ said Celandine, with tears in her pretty eyes, ‘a sad
fate forces me to ask you for shelter.’
‘Didn’t I tell you what it would be?’ growled the old hag. ‘From shelter
we shall proceed to demand supper, and from supper money to take us on
our way. Upon my word, if I could be sure of finding some one every
day whose head was as soft as his heart, I wouldn’t wish for a more
agreeable life myself! But I have worked hard to build my house and
secure a morsel to eat, and I suppose you think that I am to give away
everything to the first passer-by who chooses to ask for it. Not at all!
I wager that a fine lady like you has more money than I have. I must
search her, and see if it is not so,’ she added, hobbling towards
Celandine with the aid of her stick.
‘Alas! madam,’ replied the Princess, ‘I only wish I had. I would give it
to you with all the pleasure in life.’
‘But you are very smartly dressed for the kind of life you lead,’
continued the old woman.
‘What!’ cried the Princess, ‘do you think I am come to beg of you?’
‘I don’t know about that,’ answered she; ‘but at any rate you don’t
seem to have come to bring me anything. But what is it that you do want?
Shelter? Well, that does not cost much; but after that comes supper, and
that I can’t hear of. Oh dear no! Why, at your age one is always ready
to eat; and now you have been walking, and I suppose you are ravenous?’
‘Indeed no, madam,’ answered the poor Princess, ‘I am too sad to be
hungry.’
‘Oh, well! if you will promise to go on being sad, you may stay for the
night,’ said the old woman mockingly.
Thereupon she made the Princess sit down beside her, and began fingering
her silken robe, while she muttered ‘Lace on top, lace underneath! This
must have cost you a pretty penny! It would have been better to save
enough to feed yourself, and not come begging to those who want all
they have for themselves. Pray, what may you have paid for these fine
clothes?’
‘Alas! madam,’ answered the Princess, ‘I did not buy them, and I know
nothing about money.’
‘What do you know, if I may ask?’ said the old dame.
‘Not much; but indeed I am very unhappy,’ cried Celandine, bursting into
tears, ‘and if my services are any good to you--’
‘Services!’ interrupted the hag crossly. ‘One has to pay for services,
and I am not above doing my own work.’
‘Madam, I will serve you for nothing,’ said the poor Princess, whose
spirits were sinking lower and lower. ‘I will do anything you please;
all I wish is to live quietly in this lonely spot.’
‘Oh! I know you are only trying to take me in,’ answered she; ‘and if
I do let you serve me, is it fitting that you should be so much better
dressed I am? If I keep you, will you give me your clothes and wear some
that I will provide you with? It is true that I am getting old and may
want someone to take care of me some day.’
‘Oh! for pity’s sake, do what you please with my clothes,’ cried poor
Celandine miserably.
And the old woman hobbled off with great alacrity, and fetched a little
bundle containing a wretched dress, such as the Princess had never even
seen before, and nimbly skipped round, helping her to put it on instead
of her own rich robe, with many exclamations of:
‘Saints!--what a magnificent lining! And the width of it! It will make
me four dresses at least. Why, child, I wonder you could walk under such
a weight, and certainly in my house you would not have had room to turn
round.’
So saying, she folded up the robe, and put it by with great care, while
she remarked to Celandine:
‘That dress of mine certainly suits you to a marvel; be sure you take
great care of it.’
When supper-time came she went into the house, declining all the
Princess’s offers of assistance, and shortly afterwards brought out a
very small dish, saying:
‘Now let us sup.’
Whereupon she handed Celandine a small piece of black bread and
uncovered the dish, which contained two dried plums.
‘We will have one between us,’ continued the old dame; ‘and as you are
the visitor, you shall have the half which contains the stone; but be
very careful that you don’t swallow it, for I keep them against the
winter, and you have no idea what a good fire they make. Now, you take
my advice--which won’t cost you anything--and remember that it is always
more economical to buy fruit with stones on this account.’
Celandine, absorbed in her own sad thoughts, did not even hear this
prudent counsel, and quite forgot to eat her share of the plum, which
delighted the old woman, who put it by carefully for her breakfast,
saying:
‘I am very much pleased with you, and if you go on as you have begun, we
shall do very well, and I can teach you many useful things which people
don’t generally know. For instance, look at my house! It is built
entirely of the seeds of all the pears I have eaten in my life. Now,
most people throw them away, and that only shows what a number of things
are wasted for want of a little patience and ingenuity.’
But Celandine did not find it possible to be interested in this and
similar pieces of advice. And the old woman soon sent her to bed, for
fear the night air might give her an appetite. She passed a sleepless
night; but in the morning the old dame remarked:
‘I heard how well you slept. After such a night you cannot want any
breakfast; so while I do my household tasks you had better stay in bed,
since the more one sleeps the less one need eat; and as it is market-day
I will go to town and buy a pennyworth of bread for the week’s eating.’
And so she chattered on, but poor Celandine did not hear or heed her;
she wandered out into the desolate country to think over her sad fate.
However, the good Fairy of the Beech-Woods did not want her to be
starved, so she sent her an unlooked for relief in the shape of a
beautiful white cow, which followed her back to the tiny house. When the
old woman saw it her joy knew no bounds.
‘Now we can have milk and cheese and butter!’ cried she. ‘Ah! how good
milk is! What a pity it is so ruinously expensive!’ So they made a
little shelter of branches for the beautiful creature which was quite
gentle, and followed Celandine about like a dog when she took it out
every day to graze. One morning as she sat by a little brook, thinking
sadly, she suddenly saw a young stranger approaching, and got up
quickly, intending to avoid him. But Prince Featherhead, for it was
he, perceiving her at the same moment, rushed towards her with every
demonstration of joy: for he had recognised her, not as the Celandine
whom he had slighted, but as the lovely Princess whom he had sought
vainly for so long. The fact was that the Fairy of the Beech-Woods,
thinking she had been punished enough, had withdrawn the enchantment
from her, and transferred it to Featherhead, thereby in an instant
depriving him of the good looks which had done so much towards making
him the fickle creature he was. Throwing himself down at the Princess’s
feet, he implored her to stay, and at least speak to him, and she at
last consented, but only because he seemed to wish it so very much.
After that he came every day in the hope of meeting her again, and often
expressed his delight at being with her. But one day, when he had been
begging Celandine to love him, she confided to him that it was quite
impossible, since her heart was already entirely occupied by another.
‘I have,’ said she, ‘the unhappiness of loving a Prince who is fickle,
frivolous, proud, incapable of caring for anyone but himself, who has
been spoilt by flattery, and, to crown all, who does not love me.’
‘But,’ cried Prince Featherhead, ‘surely you cannot care for so
contemptible and worthless a creature as that.’
‘Alas! but I do care,’ answered the Princess, weeping.
‘But where can his eyes be,’ said the Prince, ‘that your beauty makes no
impression upon him? As for me, since I have possessed your portrait I
have wandered over the whole world to find you, and, now we have met,
I see that you are ten times lovelier than I could have imagined, and I
would give all I own to win your love.’
‘My portrait?’ cried Celandine with sudden interest. ‘Is it possible
that Prince Featherhead can have parted with it?’
‘He would part with his life sooner, lovely Princess,’ answered he; ‘I
can assure you of that, for I am Prince Featherhead.’
At the same moment the Fairy of the Beech-Woods took away the
enchantment, and the happy Princess recognised her lover, now truly
hers, for the trials they had both undergone had so changed and improved
them that they were capable of a real love for each other. You may
imagine how perfectly happy they were, and how much they had to hear and
to tell. But at length it was time to go back to the little house, and
as they went along Celandine remembered for the first time what a ragged
old dress she was wearing, and what an odd appearance she must present.
But the Prince declared that it became her vastly, and that he thought
it most picturesque. When they reached the house the old woman received
them very crossly.
‘I declare,’ said she, ‘that it’s perfectly true: wherever there is a
girl you may be sure that a young man will appear before long! But don’t
imagine that I’m going to have you here--not a bit of it, be off with
you, my fine fellow!’
Prince Featherhead was inclined to be angry at this uncivil reception,
but he was really too happy to care much, so he only demanded, on
Celandine’s behalf, that the old dame should give her back her own
attire, that she might go away suitably dressed.
This request roused her to fury, since she had counted upon the
Princess’s fine robes to clothe her for the rest of her life, so that it
was some time before the Prince could make himself heard to explain that
he was willing to pay for them. The sight of a handful of gold pieces
somewhat mollified her, however, and after making them both promise
faithfully that on no consideration would they ask for the gold back
again, she took the Princess into the house and grudgingly doled out
to her just enough of her gay attire to make her presentable, while the
rest she pretended to have lost. After this they found that they were
very hungry, for one cannot live on love, any more than on air, and then
the old woman’s lamentations were louder than before. ‘What!’ she cried,
‘feed people who were as happy as all that! Why, it was simply ruinous!’
But as the Prince began to look angry, she, with many sighs and
mutterings, brought out a morsel of bread, a bowl of milk, and six
plums, with which the lovers were well content: for as long as they
could look at one another they really did not know what they
were eating. It seemed as if they would go on for ever with their
reminiscences, the Prince telling how he had wandered all over the world
from beauty to beauty, always to be disappointed when he found that no
one resembled the portrait; the Princess wondering how it was he could
have been so long with her and yet never have recognised her, and over
and over again pardoning him for his cold and haughty behaviour to her.
‘For,’ she said, ‘you see, Featherhead, I love you, and love makes
everything right! But we cannot stay here,’ she added; ‘what are we to
do?’
The Prince thought they had better find their way to the Fairy of the
Beech-Woods and put themselves once more under her protection, and they
had hardly agreed upon this course when two little chariots wreathed
with jasmine and honeysuckle suddenly appeared, and, stepping into them,
they were whirled away to the Leafy Palace. Just before they lost sight
of the little house they heard loud cries and lamentations from the
miserly old dame, and, looking round, perceived that the beautiful cow
was vanishing in spite of her frantic efforts to hold it fast. And they
afterwards heard that she spent the rest of her life in trying to put
the handful of gold the Prince had thrown to her into her money-bag. For
the Fairy, as a punishment for her avarice, caused it to slip out again
as fast as she dropped it in.
The Fairy of the Beech-Woods ran to welcome the Prince and Princess with
open arms, only too delighted to find them so much improved that she
could, with a clear conscience, begin to spoil them again. Very soon
the Fairy Saradine also arrived, bringing the King and Queen with her.
Princess Celandine implored her pardon, which she graciously gave;
indeed the Princess was so charming she could refuse her nothing. She
also restored to her the Summer Islands, and promised her protection
in all things. The Fairy of the Beech-Woods then informed the King and
Queen that their subjects had chased King Bruin from the throne, and
were waiting to welcome them back again; but they at once abdicated in
favour of Prince Featherhead, declaring that nothing could induce them
to forsake their peaceful life, and the Fairies undertook to see the
Prince and Princess established in their beautiful kingdoms. Their
marriage took place the next day, and they lived happily ever
afterwards, for Celandine was never vain and Featherhead was never
fickle any more.