The Green Forest Fairy Book Part 9

"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 cras.h.i.+ng 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 mult.i.tude 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 n.o.ble because he had done n.o.ble service for the kingdom. His t.i.tle 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.

CHAPTER VI

THE BEGGAR PRINCESS

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 G.o.dfrey of the Westland Kingdom. They had often met in the forest, and there they had vowed their love to one another. Prince G.o.dfrey 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 G.o.dfrey, 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 G.o.dfrey, 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 G.o.dfrey.

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 pa.s.sed. 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 t.i.tle, 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 b.u.t.ter would not churn, she would sing instead of scolding as the other maids did, and presently the b.u.t.ter would come, and such b.u.t.ter 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 G.o.dfrey, 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 G.o.dfrey had seemed very near. Other times she would be frightened lest perhaps he might some day pa.s.s 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 s.p.a.ces 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 cras.h.i.+ng through the brush.

They followed her like pets. She resolved to call them once more and began to sing:

"Oh, tell me, shepherds, have you ever heard, A wee white lamb that cries at eve--"

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 gla.s.s.

"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 G.o.dfrey, her beloved!

"Yvonne, Yvonne, my heart has ached with longing Since I bade you farewell in the forest.

Each night my spirit has stolen forth To kiss you in your dreams Lest you forget me, because I came not.

A cruel king has stolen my throne and enslaved my land, And until he is driven from it, I must remain in this dungeon, bound by his evil spell.

Oh, Yvonne, fly to your father, Beg him send an army to help my people, For they suffer greatly and I am powerless.

But before all, Yvonne, unbind your golden hair That its brightness may s.h.i.+ne within these prison walls, And sing to me that your heart is still mine."

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 G.o.dfrey in such a plight.

"To think that I who love you should be the cause of all your woes!"

cried G.o.dfrey, 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."