The Victorian Fairy Tale Book (The Pantheon Fairy Tale and Folklore Library)

by Michael Patrick Hearn (Editor)

  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 w
as 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.