Part 2

On a green island in the Pacific Ocean, that has never been put down on any map, lived a king called Obezon, who married a very beautiful woman, the queen of a country lying away to the northward. She was attended when she came from her home by a nurse, who was a fairy. The warm climate did not agree with her, and she died shortly after, leaving a daughter in the care of the fairy, of whom, at her birth, it was foretold that she should live only till she was separated from her first love. She was very fair, with golden curls, eyes of azure, and delicate rose-tinted cheeks. The fairy nursed her faithfully, and never trusted her out of her sight, for she, as well as Obezon, was ambitious that Gulna should make a splendid match; and remembering the prophecy that she would die if separated from her first love, they kept her very strictly out of the way of all the youth, the sons of the petty princes near them, to whom a young maiden would be likely to give her heart. But the fame of her beauty had so gone abroad, many of them sought the island in disguise, on purpose to see her and win her love; but none of them were able to escape the vigilance of Obezon and the fairy. So Gulna had reached her seventeenth year with her heart untouched, and spent her hours in roaming with the fairy about the island.

Now there was in the employ of Obezon a poor boy, who tended the sheep. He wandered every day with his flock over the meadows, and played sweet little tunes upon pipes made of the hollow reeds. He was so modest, he hardly ever raised his head, and had never seen the beautiful countenance of the Princess, although they encountered each other daily; nor had she noticed the young lad, who, too humble to cause the fairy any misgivings, was permitted to come before her. One day a favorite lamb had broken its leg, and the fairy, who was setting it, summoned the boy to her assistance, while Gulna held it in her arms, and, bending together over the little moaning thing, their eyes met, and he never after forgot the sweet glance of the Princess, nor she the dark, flashing orbs of the shepherd-boy. Day after day they met each other, and though no word had been spoken, they contrived by looks and glances to become better acquainted, till they at last interchanged a few words, and planned a stolen interview at night, when all the household was at rest, in a little grove not far away. They succeeded in deceiving the fairy while she was sleeping soundly, and thought that the Princess was likewise revelling in golden dreams beside her. This continued for a long while without discovery, and Gulna and Azor grew more and more attached to each other, and swore eternal fidelity. One night the fairy awoke, and feeling the cool breeze blow upon her (for Gulna had forgotten to close the window through which she had stolen out, as she had always done before), she started up in affright. The moon was shining through the open shutters, and showed the bed of the Princess without an occupant. “Surely the Princess had been stolen away.” She dared not alarm Obezon. She flung herself from the window, in hopes of finding some traces to aid her in her search, but could find not even a footstep. On passing the little grove at the foot of the garden, with the fountain beside it, she heard a sound of voices mingling with the falling waters, and, stealing up softly, what was her dismay at there beholding Gulna and Azor together, she seated on a mound of turf, and he kneeling at her side, placing a white rose in her belt; and oh! horrors! Gulna threw her white arms round his neck, and said, “You are, indeed, my first love, from whom I cannot be separated till death.” But they were startled from this loving embrace by the fairy, who in a fury stood before them. “Foolish maiden,” cried she, fiercely, “thus to fling from you rank, honor, wealth, and all for a miserable little wretch like this;” “and you,” said she, turning white in her anger, as she looked at Azor, “who have had the presumption to raise your eyes upon the most beautiful Princess in the world, knowing that she cannot be severed from him whom she has first loved, and live, I can by my power at once punish you for your audacity, and save the Princess from the consequences of her indiscretion. Henceforth be invisible, and take for your dwelling-place this rose, which shall ever cling to the heart of the Princess, by which your hand has placed it.” And touching him with her wand, he dissolved, as it were, into air; but the rose at Gulna’s side, which had been pure white, grew red, as if dyed by human blood. Gulna’s grief, when she saw her lover thus inthralled, was boundless. Her tears and entreaties made no impression on the fairy, or Obezon, when he had learned the truth. Great indeed was his rage when he found what had taken place; and Gulna could only tremble, and be silent. He heartily approved of the summary manner in which the fairy had disposed of poor Azor, and had got him out of the way of the Princess, leaving her still free to marry whom they should choose for her.

She was now allowed to go at large, and the King made it known that he was in readiness, when a proper offer was made, to betroth her. Suitors came from all quarters, but were, one after another, rejected by Obezon, as not being worthy of her, Gulna all the while remaining quite insensible to all that was taking place around her, rarely raising her eyelids; her eyes were ever fixed upon a deep red rose at her side, which never withered, but grew brighter in its hue from day to day. This singular flower was noticed by all who came to visit the island, and the “blood-red rose” became as celebrated as the beautiful Princess herself. Her lovers rallied her on her attachment to it, but no one was ever allowed to take it from her for a moment, or even to touch it. The King and the fairy, who were the only ones who knew about it, were wise enough to keep their own counsel, so it remained still a mystery that none could solve. After very many suitors had been rejected, one came at last, richer than all the rest. He brought the most costly gifts, and his long train of attendants, their waving plumes, the glittering chariots and prancing horses, and the reports that came before him of his wealth, so prejudiced Obezon in his favor, he determined that he would bestow the hand of the Princess upon this great Prince, if she should please him; so he caused Gulna to be dressed in her robes of silver and blue, and to be brought before him. The Prince had never before seen one that would in any wise compare with her in beauty, so he declared himself at once her suitor, and spread before her the most costly jewels, and magnificent gifts; but these, and the noble form and countenance of the Prince, made no impression upon the heart of Gulna, for that was already given to Azor. But her father commanded her to get herself in readiness to depart with the Prince, and she dared not disobey. The marriage was accordingly celebrated with great pomp and ceremony; the King bestowing upon her a splendid dower; but before this he had taken the Prince aside, and secured a promise from him that he would never deprive the Princess of her rose, on account of her great attachment to it; and “so much,” said he, “was her heart upon it, if he should insist upon her giving it up, a terrible calamity would happen to her.” The Prince thought it a slight thing that a young maiden be indulged in a foolish whim, and readily promised that she should not be crossed in her fancy; and, all things being now in readiness, the Prince departed, with his newly-wedded Princess, and her fairy nurse, to his own dominions.

When he reached his kingdom with his bride, great crowds came out to see her, and all praised her exceeding fairness; and the Princess Gulna’s beauty became so famous that many Princes from neighbouring States came to convince themselves of the truth of what was told, and the poets and minstrels made songs about her, and the Prince thought himself at first the happiest husband in the world.

After all this novelty was over, the Princes had returned to their own homes, and Gulna and himself were left alone together, he began to see that her eyes, instead of looking into his with loving glances, were ever cast down upon the rose at her side--that her hand, instead of clasping his own, was lightly shielding it from harm, and contact with the rough air, or from a rude touch that might ruffle its leaves. He grew more unquiet, and his thoughts were seldom turned from the rose and the Princess, who seemed more and more to cherish it, till at last, mad with jealousy, he demanded of her that she keep it for ever from his sight, and would have torn it from her, had not the fairy interposed, and warned him of what the King had told him, that a terrible calamity would befall him if he persisted in depriving her of it; and also that his promise to the King was binding. This quieted him at first; but the thorn still rankled in his breast. The fairy now wove for the Princess a scarf of silver, which, hanging from her left shoulder, entirely concealed the rose, and, being out of his sight, the Prince for awhile forgot his cause of jealousy. One day, going into the apartments of the Princess unannounced, he found her asleep upon a couch; the zephyr stole in through the lattice, and gently stirred the silken hair that fell around; her long lashes lay quiet upon her transparent cheek. He paused awhile in admiration, when a stronger breath of the zephyr blew aside the scarf, and showed the rose, pressed beneath her snowy hand. Like a spark from the lightning, the fire of jealousy entered his soul. In madness he tore the rose from her side; a red stream followed the disembedded stalk in a swift, rushing tide; it had rooted in her heart, and the distracted Prince saw the pride of his being, the priceless Gulna, sink lifeless as the fairy entered, who shrieked forth, “Rash Prince! behold your work! had you heeded my warning, your Princess would still have been yours; but here” (and touching the rose with her wand, Azor stood before them), “is the secret of the rose: this youth, and not thyself, was the first love of the Princess, from whom, it was long since foretold, she could not be severed, unless by _her_ death. ‘Go,’ said she to Azor, ‘and be free again.’” But when the youth saw Gulna lying in her blood at his feet, his own heart burst, and, as he fell beside her, he said with his dying lips, “Even death shall not separate us.” The generous Prince wept over the unfortunate lovers; he caused them to be buried together, and erected a magnificent monument over them, on which was inscribed, in letters of gold, “Let all true lovers drop a tear upon the grave of Gulna and Azor.”

IV.

THE BEAUTY IN THE MIST.

There lived far away to the westward a king and queen, who had seven daughters. Six of them were the most charming princesses in the world, but the seventh and youngest was so very plain, that her friends were ashamed of her, and kept her always out of sight. The poor thing, in comparison with her beautiful sisters, seemed almost hideous, which she really was not. However, her skin was red and very coarse, her large gray eyes were lustreless and dull, and there was no such thing as training her harsh black hair in curls, or parting it smoothly on her forehead. Kluma, for that was her name, would not have cared so much for her lack of beauty, if it had not been the cause of her sister’s treating her very ill; and it really was hard that they would not even allow her to play with them, when by themselves, or to remain in their company, because she did not look as well as they--a misfortune that was none of her fault, and which she would have been far more rejoiced than they to have remedied, if she could have done so. Her father and mother, too, were so affected by her want of beauty, in their feelings and conduct toward her, as to be cold and neglectful of _her_ who never disobeyed their commands, and who was ever ready to do a kindness to them, or to the sisters, who so heartily despised her; but the king and queen were weak and silly people, who thought of little else than making a show in the world, and above all things they desired that their daughters might make splendid matches, and gain by their good looks, husbands among the wealthy princes of the neighboring states, and thus increase their own power and importance, as well as establish their children according to their liking. As Kluma grew older, she made herself friends of the inferiors in her father’s palace, by being generous and forbearing toward them. The very animals loved her, and she spent her life happily enough, when she was not in the way of her parents and sisters, who never thought of her, except as of a vexation that they could not well rid themselves of, so would try to keep her out of their minds as much as possible.

Once, as the older sisters were all at play in the park, and Kluma was hidden among the bushes, as usual, looking at them, a little old lady, very meanly dressed, came by that way. She was ill-formed, and so lame, she was forced to go upon crutches. She came hobbling along up the path, and stumbling, dropped first one crutch, then the other. One of the princesses darted forward, and caught up the crutches, which the poor old thing supposed she was going to present to her; but instead, the ill-mannered child ran off with them, and began mimicking the old lady, by limping and hobbling around, to the great amusement of the other sisters, who followed her, shrieking with laughter, over a hill, out of sight. The old woman called after them in piteous tones, but they heeded her not in the least, only mocking her cry; when Kluma, stealing forth from her hiding-place, and coming to her, said, “Do not cry; I will find your crutches for you;” and before the old woman could speak, darted off, soon returning with the crutches in her hand, having found them just beyond the hill, where her unfeeling sister had tossed them. Kluma then assisted the old woman to rise and walk; the poor creature all the while thanking her; and when they reached the road together, and Kluma was going back, she turned and said, “Little lady, although you are not handsome, you are very good; I shall never forget your kindness to me this day, and though I now look so poor, I may yet be able to do you a great service, in return for the good you have done me. Remember.”

She then went on, leaving poor Kluma half laughing at the thought of such a miserable old woman as that ever having it in her power to benefit a king’s daughter. As Kluma grew older, her sisters’ ill-treatment of her became more marked; they made her perform the most menial offices for them, and then ridiculed her awkwardness and her blunders, not heeding the pains that she took to please them. One after another they were sought in marriage by grand princes, and left their father’s kingdom for that of their husbands, till at last five of them had gone, and only one, the next older than Kluma, named Cerulia, the most beautiful of all, was left at home. This did not render Kluma’s position any the less trying. Cerulia was the most lovely, it is true, but also the most ill-natured and exacting of the sisters, and being so much by herself, she had no other means of passing away her leisure than by plaguing and tormenting poor Kluma almost out of her life; so that, at the last (and no wonder,) Kluma’s patience was so severely tried, that she sometimes retorted in anger, and became in danger of adding a disagreeable temper to a forbidding countenance.

As the parents of Kluma had married their five eldest daughters so much to their satisfaction, and had no hope of being able to dispose of Kluma at all, they determined that their sixth and last marriageable daughter, the Princess Cerulia, as she surpassed the rest in the elegance of her person, should as far outshine them in the magnificence of her settlement. Therefore, they refused the offers made by persons of wealth and high station near home, and the father himself commissioned one of his ministers to go to a country far to the east, where dwelt an opulent king called Hayda, who had an only son, Prince Talyon, who was heir to the finest kingdom in the world, and to make proposals to the king, to the effect that his son, Prince Talyon, should wed the Princess Cerulia. He went, and returned in due time, bringing the consent of King Hayda, and wonderful accounts of his riches, and of the generosity of the young Prince.

One night, shortly after this, a fearful storm arose. The castle stood on an eminence, commanding a view of the sea, and amid the lightnings and tempest, a ship was seen tossing to and fro, till at last it was dashed in pieces on the rocks. Then the shrieks and cries of the victims were most terrible. Kluma could not endure the sight, but ran with a crowd of domestics to the strand, where the dead bodies were constantly being washed on shore. Among the rest was a youth meanly clad, but of a noble form and countenance, who seemed to Kluma to show still some signs of life. She caused the men, therefore, to bear him to the castle, where they tried to restore him to consciousness. The domestics took off his wet garments, and wrapped him in warm dry flannels, and after a long time he breathed once more, and was able presently to take food, and even to walk about; but he could see nothing, a blindness having fallen upon him. The whole charge of nursing him devolved upon Kluma and her servants, for, as he was found in such mean attire, her parents thought him a person of low degree, and therefore cared little what became of him; and as they cared as little for Kluma and her occupation, she was left to spend her time with the stranger, to whom she became much attached; and as he could not see, she used to lead him about the parks and grounds for air. He seemed to be very much pleased with her, and never liked her to be away from him.

One day, while walking about, she encountered the minister who had been sent with the commission to the kingdom of Hayda. How great was his astonishment at recognizing in the poor blind youth that Kluma was leading about, the rich Prince Talyon! He went directly and reported his discovery to the King and Queen, who were taken by surprise, and were perfectly shocked to think that he had been so neglected by all but Kluma. But they determined now to make amends. Immediately a magnificent palace was prepared for him, costly robes put upon him, and servants kept constantly in waiting. As for Kluma, she was sent out of the way, although he was ever asking for her, and supposed that she was the Princess to whom he was betrothed, not knowing that the King had another daughter. He presently confessed his rank, and that he came in disguise to see for himself his future bride. Being in the hands of a skillful physician, his sight was soon restored, and when he asked to see her who had saved his life, and who had nursed him so long and faithfully, they brought before him the Princess Cerulia. He was charmed when he first cast his eyes upon her beauty, but when she spoke to him, the smile of joy left his lips, and he prayed of them not to deceive him; and when they still strove to convince him that it was she, he cried, “Would that I might be again blind, if her voice would have the music that it had in my past hours of darkness!”

Poor Kluma was very much grieved when she learned who the youth really was, that she had been the means of restoring to life, and though she knew of his asking for her, she never once thought of presenting herself to him, for she was sure he only needed to see her coarse features, to despise and hate her. Nevertheless she could not keep herself from thinking of him, and every day saw her sadder, and more troubled, till at last, more miserable than ever, she wandered far away from home, and sat herself down to bewail her sad lot. While she was weeping, she heard a step beside her, and a rustling, and on looking up, saw a little lady, dressed in a robe of spangled silk, all glittering with diamonds. Kluma could not at first remember, that she had seen her before, but she spoke and said, “Young Princess, why do you weep; have you forgotten the poor old lady to whom, years ago, you restored the crutches, that your naughty sisters willfully threw away from her? She then told you that perhaps one day it would be in her power to requite you; she has remembered it if you have not; and now tell me, for I am the same person, what you need, and why you weep so bitterly? and I, who am an enchantress of great power, can perhaps fulfill your wishes.”

“Oh!” said Kluma eagerly, “can you take away this red skin, these colorless eyes, this coarse black hair, and give me instead fairness, like my sisters?”

“I fear not,” said the Enchantress.

“Then,” said Kluma, “all that you can do for me will be in vain; I shall yet be hated for my ugliness,” and wept more bitterly than ever.

But the Enchantress was so anxious to console poor Kluma, that she kept on urging her, till Kluma finally told her everything about her sisters’ ill-treatment, of the young prince that she had saved, and of her great attachment to him, and of her grief on learning who he was; also, that she had been forbidden to see him, or to speak to him, and that if permitted, she never should dare to do so, for fear that he would scorn her.

The Enchantress mused for a while, then suddenly recollecting herself, drew from her bosom a small box, formed of diamonds, which she held up before Kluma, while she said, “I think I can dispel your grief, though I cannot change your countenance. In this box there is a mist, formed of the purest dew by morning’s earliest beam; it is so light and transparent that it can scarce be seen, and yet it forms a medium of such intensity and power, the very ugliest features seen through it become softened and harmonized. But listen! only around the face and form of the most patient and amiable, can it be held; the very slightest breath of anger, or malicious passion, will blow it away, never more to return.” So saying, she opened the box, and out flew a light cloud, that floated over the countenance and form of Kluma, and the Enchantress holding up a mirror before her, revealed to her her face, shining resplendent through the diamond fleece. She saw the mild light beaming from her eyes, the lips around which played a heavenly smile, and the hair, meekly parted from the brow, “pure as an angel’s.” Kluma was almost transported, and turned to thank the Enchantress, for so long remembering, and so generously rewarding, a simple act of kindness. The little lady smiled on her, and said, “Go back to your home, but do not forget the conditions on which you keep your charms. Be patient and obedient, and all will yet prosper with you.” And before Kluma could thank her again, she vanished.