Part 7

And as he said the words one part of the cloth unwove itself from the rest, and ran in ripples up the coverlet, and on to the pillow where the Princess’s head lay. There it coiled itself under the wimple, a great mass of shining gold, and the face of the Princess flushed warm and lovely in her sleep.

Lubin passed on to the next bed, and there uttered the same words; and again one part of the web came loose, and wound itself about the sleeper’s face, that grew warm and lovely at its touch. So he went from bed to bed, and when he came to the end there was no more of the web left.

He went back into his own chamber, laughing in his heart for joy, and there he dropped himself between the sheets and fell into a sound slumber.

He was awakened in the morning by the King knocking and trying to get into the room. Lubin pulled back the bed, and in came the King with a mournful countenance.

“Which of them is it?” said he.

“Go and ask them!” said Lubin.

The King went over and knocked at the Princess Royal’s door: the knocking opened her eyes. Lubin heard her suddenly utter a yell. “Ah! now she has looked at herself in the glass,” thought he.

“What is the matter?” called the King. “Come out and let me look at you!” But the Princess Royal would not come out. She ran quick to her mirror, and touched the secret spring. “At least,” she thought, “though fiends have robbed me of all my beauty, I can get it back by wearing the cloth woven from my sisters’ hair!” She skipped along the passage and up the steps to the little chamber where the loom was.

The King, getting no answer, went across and knocked at Lyneth’s door; she came out, all fresh in her beauty, but wearing upon her head the wimple. “Ah!” said the King dolorously; and he snipped his fingers at Lubin.

Lubin laughed out. “But look at her face!” he said. “Surely she is beautiful enough?”

The Princess lifted up her wimple, and showed the King her hair all shorn beneath. “That was my doing,” said Lubin; “’twas the way of saving it.”

“What a Dutchman’s remedy!” cried the King; and just then the Princess Royal’s door flew open.

She came out tearing herself to pieces with rage; her face was pale and thin, and her head was as bare as a billiard ball. “Have that clown of a cobbler killed!” she cried in a passion. “That fool, that numbskull, that cheat! Have him beheaded, I say!”

“No, no, I am only to have one of my ears cropped off!” said Lubin, looking hard at her all the time.

“I am not at all sure,” said the King. “You have done foolishly and badly, for not only have you let the disease go on, but your very remedy is as bad. Two heads of hair gone in one night! You had better have kept away. If the Princesses wish it, certainly I will have you put to death.”

“Will you not see the other Princesses too?” asked Lubin. “Let them decide between them whether I am to live or die!”

The King was just going to call for them, when suddenly the ten Princesses opened the door of their chamber, and stood before him shining like stars, with all their golden hair running down to their feet.

“Now put me to death!” said Lubin; and all the time he kept his eye upon the Princess Royal, who turned flame-coloured with rage.

“No, indeed!” cried the King. “Now you must be more than pardoned! You see, my dears,” he said to Lyneth and the Princess Royal, “though you have suffered, your sisters have recovered all that they lost. They are ten to two; and I can’t go back on arithmetic; I am bound to do even more than pardon him for this.”

“Indeed and indeed yes!” replied the Princess Lyneth. “He has done ten times more than we thought of asking him!” And she went from one to another of her recovered sisters, kissing their beautiful long hair for pure gladness of heart. But when she came to the Princess Royal, she kissed her many times, and stooped down her face upon her shoulder, and cried over her.

“Tell me now,” said the King to Lubin, “for you are a very wonderful fellow, how did it all happen?”

Lubin looked at the Princess Royal; after all he could not betray a lady’s secret. “I cannot tell you,” he said; “if I did, there would be a death in the family.”

“Well,” said the King, “however you may have done it, I own that you have earned your reward. You have only to choose now which of my daughters is to make you my son-in-law. From this day you shall be known as my heir.” He ranged all the Princesses in line, according to their ages. “Now choose,” said the King, “and choose well!”

Lubin went up to the Princess Royal. “I won’t have you!” he said, looking very hard at her; and the Princess Royal dropped her eyes. Then he went on to the next. “Sweet lady,” he said, “I dare not ask one with such beautiful hair as yours to marry me, who am a poor cobbler’s son.” But all the while he had the Princess Lyneth’s hair bound round his heart.

He went on from one to another, and of each he kissed the hand, saying that she was too fair to marry him.

He came to Lyneth and knelt down at her feet. “Lyneth,” he said, “will you give the poor cobbler back his shoe?”

Lyneth, looking in his eyes, saw all that he meant. “And myself in it,” she said, “for you love me dearly!” She put her arms round his neck, and whispered, “You marry me because I am a fright, and have no hair!”

But Lubin said, “I have your hair all wound round my heart, making it warm!”

So they were married, and lived together more happily than cobbler and princess ever lived in the world before. And the cobbler dropped mending shoes: only his wife’s shoes he always mended. Very soon Lyneth’s hair grew again, more shining and beautiful than before; but the Princess Royal remained pale, and thin, and was bald to the day of her death.

THE ROOTED LOVER

Morning and evening a ploughboy went driving his team through a lane at the back of the palace garden. Over the hedge the wind came sweet with the scents of a thousand flowers, and through the hedge shot glimpses of all the colours of the rainbow, while now and then went the sheen of silver and gold tissue when the Princess herself paced by with her maidens. Also above all the crying and calling of the blackbirds and thrushes that filled the gardens with song, came now and then an airy exquisite voice flooding from bower to field; and that was the voice of the Princess Fleur-de-lis herself singing.

When she sang all the birds grew silent; new flowers came into bud to hear her and into blossom to look at her; apples and pears ripened and dropped down at her feet; her voice sang the bees home as if it were evening: and the ploughboy as he passed stuck his face into the thorny hedge, and feasted his eyes and ears with the sight and sound of her beauty.

He was a red-faced boy, red with the wind and the sun: over his face his hair rose like a fair flame, but his eyes were black and bold, and for love he had the heart of a true gentleman.

Yet he was but a ploughboy, rough-shod and poorly clad in a coat of frieze, and great horses went at a word from him. But no word from him might move the heart of that great Princess; she never noticed the sound of his team as it jingled by, nor saw the dark eyes and the bronzed red face wedged into the thorn hedge for love of her.

“Ah! Princess,” sighed the ploughboy to himself, as the thorns pricked into his flesh, “were it but a thorn-hedge which had to be trampled down, you should be my bride to-morrow!” But shut off by the thorns, he was not a whit further from winning her than if he had been kneeling at her feet.

He had no wealth in all the world, only a poor hut with poppies growing at the door; no mother or father, and his own living to get. To think at all of the Princess was the sign either of a knave or a fool.

No knave, but perhaps a fool, he thought himself to be. “I will go,” he said at last, “to the wise woman who tells fortunes and works strange cures, and ask her to help me.”

So he took all the money he had in the world and went to the wise woman in her house by the dark pool, and said, “Show me how I may win Princess Fleur-de-lis to be my wife, and I will give you everything I possess.”

“That is a hard thing you ask,” said the wise woman; “how much dare you risk for it?”

“Anything you can name,” said he.

“Your life?” said she.

“With all my heart,” he replied; “for without her I shall but end by dying.”

“Then,” said the wise woman, “give me your money, and you shall take your own risk.”

Then he gave her all.

“Now,” said she, “you have but to choose any flower you like, and I will turn you into it; then, in the night I will take you and plant you in the palace garden; and if before you die the Princess touches you with her lips and lays you as a flower in her bosom, you shall become a man again and win her love; but if not, when the flower dies you will die too and be no more. So if that seem to you a good bargain, you have but to name your flower, and the thing is done.”

“Agreed, with all my heart!” cried the ploughboy. “Only make me into some flower that is like me, for I would have the Princess to know what sort of a man I am, so that she shall not be deceived when she takes me to her bosom.”

He looked himself up and he looked himself down in the pool which was before the wise woman’s home; at his rough frieze coat with its frayed edges, his long supple limbs, and his red face with its black eyes, and hair gleaming at the top.

“I am altogether like a poppy,” he said, “what with my red head, and my rough coat, and my life among fields which the plough turns to furrow. Make a poppy of me, and put me in the palace garden and I will be content.”

Then she stroked him down with her wand full couthly, and muttered her wise saws over him, for she was a wonderful witch-woman; and he turned before her very eyes into a great red poppy, and his coat of frieze became green and hairy all over him, and his feet ran down into the ground like roots.

The wise woman got a big flower-pot and a spade; and she dug him up out of the ground and planted him in the pot, and having watered him well, waited till it was quite dark.

As soon as the pole-star had hung out its light she got across her besom, tucked the flower-pot under her arm, and sailed away over hedge and ditch till she came to the palace garden.

There she dug a hole in a border by one of the walks, shook the ploughboy out of his flower-pot, and planted him with his feet deep down in the soil. Then giving a wink all round, and a wink up to the stars, she set her cap to the east, mounted her besom, and rode away into thin space.

But the poppy stood up where she had left him taking care of his petals, so as to be ready to show them off to the Princess the next morning. He did not go fast asleep, but just dozed the time away, and found it quite pleasant to be a flower, the night being warm. Now and then small insects ran up his stalks, or a mole passed under his roots, reminding him of the mice at home. But the poppy’s chief thought was for the morning to return; for then would come the Princess walking straight to where he stood, and would reach out a hand and gather him, and lay her lips to his and his head upon her bosom, so that in the shaking of a breath he could turn again to his right shape, and her love would be won for ever.

Morning came, and gardeners with their brooms and barrows went all about, sweeping up the leaves, and polishing off the slugs from the gravel-paths. The head gardener came and looked at the poppy. “Who has been putting this weed here?” he cried. And at that the poppy felt a shiver of red ruin go through him; for what if the gardener were to weed him up so that he could never see the Princess again?

All the other gardeners came and considered him, twisting wry faces at him. But they said, “Perhaps it is a whim of the Princess’s. It’s none of our planting.” So after all they let him be.

The sun rose higher and higher, and the gardeners went carrying away their barrows and brooms; but the poppy stood waiting with his black eye turned to the way by which the Princess should come.

It was a long waiting, for princesses do not rise with the lark, and the poppy began to think his petals would be all shrivelled and old before she came. But at last he saw slim white feet under the green boughs and heard voices and shawm-like laughter and knew that it was the Princess coming to him.

Down the long walks he watched her go, pausing here and there to taste a fruit that fell or to look at a flower that opened. To him she would come shortly, and so bravely would he woo her with his red face, that she would at once bend down and press her lips to his, and lift him softly to her bosom. Yes, surely she would do this.

She came; she stopped full and began looking at him: he burned under her gaze. “That is very beautiful!” she said at last. “Why have I not seen that flower before? Is it so rare, then, that there is no other?” But, “Oh, it is too common!” cried all her maids in a chorus; “it is only a common poppy such as grows wild in the fields.”

“Yet it is very beautiful,” said the Princess; and she looked at it long before she passed on. She half bent to it. “Surely now,” said the poppy, “her lips to mine!”

“Has it a sweet smell?” she asked. But one of her maids said, “No, only a poor little stuffy smell, not nice at all!” and the Princess drew back.

“Alas, alas,” murmured the poor poppy in his heart, as he watched her departing, “why did I forget to choose a flower with a sweet smell? then surely at this moment she would have been mine.” He felt as if his one chance were gone, and death already overtaking him. But he remained brave; “At least,” he said, “I will die looking at her; I will not faint or wither, till I have no life left in me. And after all there is to-morrow.” So he went to sleep hoping much, and slept late into the morning of the next day.

Opening his eyes he was aware of a great blaze of red in a border to his right. Ears had been attentive to the words of Princess Fleur-de-lis, and a whole bed of poppies had been planted to gratify her latest fancy. There they were, in a thick mass burning the air around them with their beauty. Alas! against their hundreds what chance had he?

And the Princess came and stood by them, lost in admiration, while the poppy turned to her his love-sick eye, trying to look braver than them all. And she being gracious, and not forgetful of what first had given her pleasure, came and looked at him also, but not very long; and as for her lips, there was no chance for him there now. Yet for the delight of those few moments he was almost contented with the fate he had chosen--to be a flower, and to die as a flower so soon as his petals fell.

Days came and went; they were all alike now, save that the Princess stayed less often to look at him or the other poppies which had stolen his last chance from him. He saw autumn changes coming over the garden; flowers sickened and fell, and were removed, and the nights began to get cold.

Beside him the other poppies were losing their leaves, and their flaming tops had grown scantier; but for a little while he would hold out still; so long as he had life his eye should stay open to look at the Princess as she passed by.

The sweet-smelling flowers were gone, but the loss of their fragrant rivalry gave him no greater hopes: one by one every gorgeous colour dropped away; only when a late evening primrose hung her lamp beside him in the dusk did he feel that there was anything left as bright as himself to the eye. And now death was taking hold of him, each night twisting and shrivelling his leaves; but still he held up his head, determined that, though but for one more day, his eye should be blessed by a sight of his Princess. If he could keep looking at her he believed he should dream of her when dead.

At length he could see that he was the very last of all the poppies, the only spot of flame in a garden that had gone grey. In the cold dewy mornings cobwebs hung their silvery hammocks about the leaves, and the sun came through mist, making them sparkle. And beautiful they were, but to him they looked like the winding-sheet of his dead hopes.

Now it happened just about this time that the Prince of a neighbouring country was coming to the Court to ask Princess Fleur-de-lis’ hand in marriage. The fame of his manners and his good looks had gone before him, and the Princess being bred to the understanding that princesses must marry for the good of nations according to the bidding of their parents, was willing, since the King her father wished it, to look upon his suit with favour. All that she looked for was to be wooed with sufficient ardour, and to be allowed time for a becoming hesitancy before yielding.

A great ball was prepared to welcome the Prince on his arrival; and when the day came, Princess Fleur-de-lis went into the garden to find some flower that she might wear as an adornment of her loveliness. But almost everything had died of frost, and the only flower that retained its full beauty was the poor bewitched poppy, kept alive for love of her.

“How wonderfully that red flower has lasted!” she said to one of her maidens. “Gather it for me, and I will wear it with my dress to-night.”

The poppy, not knowing that he was about to meet a much more dangerous rival than any flower, thrilled and almost fainted for bliss as the maid picked him from the stalk and carried him in.

He lay upon Princess Fleur-de-lis’ toilet-table and watched the putting on of her ballroom array. “If she puts me in her breast,” he thought, “she must some time touch me with her lips; and then!”

And then, when the maid was giving soft finishing touches to the Princess’s hair, the beloved one herself took up the poppy and arranged it in the meshes of gold. “Alas!” thought the poppy, even while he nestled blissfully in its warm depths, “I shall never reach her lips from here; but I shall dream of her when dead; and for a ploughboy, that surely is enough of happiness.”

So he went down with her to the ball, and could feel the soft throbbing of her temples, for she had not yet seen this Prince who was to be her lover, and her head was full of gentle agitation and excitement to know what he would be like. Very soon he was presented to her in state. Certainly he was extremely passable: he was tall and fine and had a pair of splendid mustachios that stuck out under his nostrils like walrus-tusks, and curled themselves like ram’s horns. Beyond a slight fear that these might sweep her away when he tried to kiss her, she favoured his looks sufficiently to be prepared to accept his hand when he offered it.

Then music called to them invitingly, and she was led away to the dance.

As they danced the Prince said: “I cannot tell how it is, I feel as if someone were looking at me.”

“Half the world is looking at you,” said the Princess in slight mockery. “Do you not know you are dancing with Princess Fleur-de-lis?”

“Beautiful Princess,” said the Prince, “can I ever forget it? But it is not in that way I feel myself looked at. I could swear I have seen somewhere a man with a sunburnt face and a bold black eye looking at me.”

“There is no such here,” said the Princess; and they danced on.

When the dance was over the Prince led her to a seat screened from view by rich hangings of silken tapestry; and Princess Fleur-de-lis knew that the time for the wooing was come.

She looked at him; quite clearly she meant to say “Yes.” Without being glad, she was not sorry. If he wooed well she would have him.

“It is strange,” said the Prince, “I certainly feel that I am being looked at.”

The Princess was offended. “I am not looking at you in the least,” she said slightingly.

“Ah!” replied the other, “if you did, I should lose at once any less pleasant sensation; for when your eyes are upon me I know only that I love you--you, Princess, who are the most beautiful, the most radiant, the most accomplished, the most charming of your sex! Why should I waste time in laying my heart bare before you? It is here; it is yours. Take it!”

“Truly,” thought the Princess, “this is very pretty wooing, and by no means ill done.” She bent down her head, and she toyed and she coyed, but she would not say “Yes” yet.

But the poppy, when he heard the Prince’s words, first went all of a tremble, and then giving a great jump fell down at the Princess’s feet. And she, toying and coying, and not wishing to say “Yes” yet, bent down and taking up the poppy from where it had fallen, brushed it gently to and fro over her lips to conceal her smiles, and then tucking her chin down into the dimples of her neck began to arrange the flower in the bosom of her gown.

As she did so, all of a sudden a startled look came over her face. “Oh! I am afraid!” she cried. “The man, the man with the red face, and the strong black eyes!”

“What is the matter?” demanded the Prince, bending over her in the greatest concern.

“No, no!” she cried, “go away! Don’t touch me! I can’t and I won’t marry you! Oh, dear! oh, dear! what is going to become of me?” And she jumped up and ran right away out of the ballroom, and up the great staircase, where she let the poppy fall, and right into her own room, where she barred and bolted herself in.

In the palace there was the greatest confusion: everybody was running about and shaking heads at everybody else. “Heads and tails! has it come to this?” cried the King, as he saw a party of serving-men turning out a ploughboy who by some unheard of means had found his way into the palace. Then he went up to interview his daughter as to her strange and sudden refusal of the Prince.

The Princess wrung her hands and cried: she didn’t know why, but she couldn’t help herself: nothing on earth should induce her to marry him.

Then the King was full of wrath, and declared that if she were not ready to obey him in three days’ time, she should be turned out into the world like a beggar to find a living for herself.

So for three days the Princess was locked up and kept on nothing but bread and water; and every day she cried less, and was more determined than ever not to marry the Prince.

“Whom do you suppose you are going to marry then?” demanded the King in a fury.

“I don’t know,” said the Princess, “I only know he is a dear; and has got a beautiful tanned face and bold black eyes.”

The King felt inclined to have all the tanned faces and bold black eyes in his kingdom put to death: but as the Princess’s obstinacy showed no signs of abating, he ended by venting all his anger upon her. So on the third day she was clothed in rags, and had all her jewellery taken off her, and was turned out of the palace to find her way through the world alone.

And as she went on and on, crying and wondering what would become of her, she suddenly saw by the side of the road a charming cottage with winter poppies growing at the door. And in the doorway stood a beautiful man, with a tanned face and bold black eyes, looking as like a poppy as it was possible for a man to look.

Then he opened his arms: and the Princess opened her arms: and he ran, and she ran. And they ran and they ran and they ran, till they were locked in each other’s arms, and lived happily ever after.

THE WOOING OF THE MAZE

Once upon a time there lived a beautiful Princess named Rosemary who had all she wanted in the world but freedom. She had riches, and power, and glory without end; but above and beyond all these things, her beauty was like the sound of a trumpet.

If she lifted the veil from her face, or looked out from her window at morning as she combed her bright hair, the whole plain at her feet became like an army of banners, and the hillsides dark with the galloping of her suitors.

Rejected potentates went clamouring to the four winds of heaven, of her charm and of her cruelty; and the saying went that she had paved the floor of her palace with the hearts which she had broken.