Part 7

There was a breathless silence for a while. Then, when _Cinderella's_ step-sisters realised that she was the same beautiful unknown that they had seen at the ball, they prostrated themselves before her, begging her to forgive all. _Cinderella_ took them by the hand and raised them up and kissed them. And it melted their hard natures to hear her say that she would love them always.

When the fairy godmother had witnessed all this she said to herself, 'That's that!' and vanished. But she never lost sight of _Cinderella_. She guided and guarded her in all her ways, and, when the _Prince_ claimed his willing bride, their way of happiness was strewn with roses.

THE CHILLY LOVER

A SONG FROM THE FRENCH

BEHOLD me here, my dear to meet! Alas, I must have come too soon! The wind that blows beneath the moon In winter is not over-sweet. Ah! never think my love is backward turning, It still increases by a thousand-fold; O Ursula, for thee My heart is burning,-- But I'm so cold!

I would I had thy hand to kiss, That pledge of faith so white and small, Instead of these great flakes that fall And chill me to the bone like this! Upon my back they tumble helter-skelter, And yet, beyond whatever could be told, O Ursula, for thee I simply swelter,-- But I'm so cold!

While thus my deathless love I trill, My soft guitar for thee I play; Alas, the north wind fierce and grey Plays upon me a measure shrill! On me his miserable music making, Seizing each finger in his icy hold.-- O Ursula, for thee My heart is baking,-- But I'm so cold!

Within thy room with friendly glow I see the hearthfire shining clear; The crackling faggots I can hear,-- And I am numb from top to toe! Oh, must I freeze while thou art toasting? Shall not my suffering be consoled? Sweet Ursula, for thee I am just roasting,-- But I'm so cold!

[Illustration:

O URSULA, FOR THEE MY HEART IS BURNING,-- BUT I'M SO COLD!

p. 79]

THE STORY OF AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE

AN OLD WORLD IDYLL

COUNT GARIN DE BIAUCAIRE, being attacked and besieged by his mortal enemy, Count Bougars de Valence, was hard beset and in evil plight. He therefore besought his only son, _Aucassin_, a stalwart and handsome young man of excellent virtue, to take arms against the foe. _Aucassin_ refused to enter to battle unless he were given to wife his true love _Nicolette_; but his father answered that _Nicolette_ was a slave-girl and a stranger, bought long ago from the Saracens, and no fit mate for his son. _Aucassin_ declared that _Nicolette_ was fit to occupy any queen's throne, and he would not be dissuaded from his love. So the Count Garin de Biaucaire spoke privily with his vassal, the captain of the city, that he should send away _Nicolette_ forthwith, 'for, if I could do my will upon her,' said the Count, 'I would burn her in a fire.' The captain of the city, _Nicolette's_ foster-father, who had bought her, had her baptized, and brought her up, was distressed at this; but, having knowledge that _Aucassin_ was enamoured of the maiden, he shut her up in a richly painted chamber in his palace, which looked through one small window into the garden. There _Nicolette_ was kept in durance, with one old woman to attend her; and she saw the roses, and heard the birds in the garden, and resolved that she would escape to her own true love.

_Nicolette_ being thus shut away, it was rumoured through all the land how she was lost; and some said that Count Garin de Biaucaire had slain her. Thereupon _Aucassin_, in great sorrow and anger, went and demanded her of the captain. But he got no satisfaction from the captain, who advised him, even as his father had done, to take a maiden of high degree to wife, and think no more of _Nicolette_. So _Aucassin_ went home to his chamber and lamented for his love. And at this hour the castle was suddenly assaulted by the army of Count Bougars de Valence. Count Garin de Biaucaire, again seeking that _Aucassin_ should take arms to the defence of his heritage, came in and found him making moan for _Nicolette_. Hot words passed between them; but presently _Aucassin_ covenanted with his father that, if he overcame the foe, he should be allowed to see _Nicolette_, if only for a moment.

[Illustration: BUT NICOLETTE ONE NIGHT ESCAPED p. 82]

So he rode forth into the fray. But so full was his mind of his love, that he dreamed instead of doing, and was taken prisoner and about to be slain. Then he aroused himself and struck down all around, and rode back home with Count Bougars de Valence as his captive. And when he claimed his father's promise, the Count Garin de Biaucaire not only forbade him any sight of _Nicolette_, but flung him into a dungeon till he should forgo the love of her.

So _Aucassin_ lay bewailing in his dungeon; but _Nicolette_ one night escaped, letting herself down by the window, wrapped in a silken cloak, and crept along through the streets of Biaucaire until she came to the tower where her lover was. And they had speech of each other; and she cut off her golden curls and cast them to _Aucassin_ through a crevice. But when she told him that she must leave that land, he was greatly angered and forbade her. Then the sentinel on the tower, who was aware of _Nicolette_, took pity on her, warning her that the town-guard were even now seeking her with swords to slay her.

_Nicolette_ sank into the shadow till the guard passed by; then she made her farewell to _Aucassin_, and with hardship let herself down the castle wall into the fosse, being assured that she would be burned by Count Garin if she still abode in Biaucaire. And she hid herself in the outskirts of the forest until next day at noon. There came some shepherd lads then, and ate bread on the fringe of the forest. By these _Nicolette_ sent a secret message to _Aucassin_, which none but he might understand, and she built herself a little lodge of oak-leaf boughs and lily flowers--and hither, after much quest, came _Aucassin_, searching vainly for his love. Then the lovers had much joy of this meeting; and they rode away together on one horse until they reached the seashore and took ship. But a storm arose and drove their vessel upon the coast of the country of Torelore. In this land men did battle with eggs, baked apples, and fresh cheeses; and _Aucassin_ with his sword put the foes of the king to flight.

When _Aucassin_ and _Nicolette_ had dwelt here for three years in great delight, a company of Saracens stormed the castle of Torelore, and carried them off separately captive; and the ship which held _Aucassin_ was drifted by a tempest back home to Biaucaire, where his father and mother were dead. So now he was lord of that land; but he cared for nothing in the world but to regain his love _Nicolette_. As for her, she was also at home; for the ship which carried her pertained to the king of Carthage, her father, from whom she had been stolen as a little child. And when her father and brothers knew her, they made much of her, and would have wedded her to a Paynim king. But _Nicolette_ obtained a viol, and learned to play it; then she dyed herself all brown with a certain herb, and attired herself as a harper-boy. She persuaded a shipmaster to carry her to the land of Provence, and there she came to the castle of Biaucaire, and sang to her viol what had befallen _Nicolette_. _Aucassin_ was overjoyed to know that _Nicolette_ was living, and he bade the harper-boy to go fetch _Nicolette_ from Carthage that he might wed her. _Nicolette_ then went to her foster-mother, the captain's wife, and rested there eight days, till she was washed and anointed and richly clothed, and fairer than ever. And she sent that lady to bring _Aucassin_ her love, who was weeping in the palace for lack of her. So were these true lovers reunited and wedded, and for all their sorrows they had a double happiness, their whole lives long.

BLUE BEARD

AN OLD TALE FROM THE FRENCH

THINK of it! A man rich as a prince, of fine upstanding presence and commanding manner; a man of great moment in Baghdad!

Think of it again! A man cursed by nature with a beard that was quite blue, from the roots of the hairs to their very tips!

To be sure, he had three alternatives in the matter. First, he might shave it off, thus avoiding earthly ugliness while renouncing all hope of a place in Paradise; secondly, he might marry a scold, and so become prematurely grey; and last, he might keep his blue beard and remain the ugliest man in all the world. There was no other alternative, for the beard was so deadly blue that no dye could touch it.

He had staked his chances on the second point: he _had_ married, and more than once; but, although his wives had disappeared mysteriously, his blue beard still remained, as blue as ever. How it was that he had ever found any woman blind enough to marry him it is difficult to imagine, for he was so frightfully ugly that most women at sight of him ran away screaming, and hid in the cellar. But it is only fair to say that _Blue Beard_ had such a way with him that, given two hours' start, he could snap his fingers at any rival.

Now it so happened that in his neighbourhood there lived a lady of quality, who had two sons and two daughters; and, in his walks abroad, _Blue Beard_ often met the two girls, and soon fell into the lowest depths of love. Both were adorable, and he really could not decide which one he preferred. Always in exquisite doubt on the point, he finally approached the mother and asked her for the hand of one of her daughters, leaving the choice to her. And she, like a wise woman, said nothing, but simply introduced _Blue Beard_ to _Anne_ and _Fatima_, and left the rest to nature and their own fancies.

[Illustration: SEVEN AND ONE ARE _EIGHT_, MADAM! p. 94]

But neither _Anne_ nor _Fatima_ fell in love with their admirer at first sight. His beard was so blue that they could not endure it, and, between them, they led him a dance. Neither was inclined to marry a man with a beard like that, and, what made matters worse, they soon learned that he had already been married several times, and that his wives had disappeared mysteriously. This was rather disconcerting, and each was angling for a brother-in-law rather than a husband.

But, as already stated, _Blue Beard_ had a way with him. He did not expect to be accepted at first asking. Indeed, when he proposed, first to one and then to the other, they both said, 'Oh! you must see father about it.' Now _Blue Beard_ knew very well that their father, having led a very wicked life, was dead and gone; and, as he pondered over it, stroking his beard the while, he began to realise what they meant when they said, 'You must see father about it.'

But _Blue Beard_ did not despair, he merely altered his plan. He invited the whole family, with some of their chosen friends, to one of his country houses, where he gave them the time of their lives. Hunting, hawking, shooting with the bow, or fishing for goldfish in the ponds, they enjoyed themselves to the full, especially in the evenings, when they were rowed upon the lake to the sound of beautiful music, and made moonlight excursions to some of _Blue Beard's_ ruined castles, of which he possessed quite a number. Whatever the nature of the day's pleasure-party, the night hours were taken up with banqueting, dancing, or some other form of revelry, until such a late hour that _Blue Beard_ said to himself, 'Only wait till I marry one of them, then we shall see who is master.' For the present he was content to take their pranks in good part. When he found himself trying in vain to get into an apple-pie bed he merely laughed; when he found his pillow stuffed with prickly cactus, or the sleeves and legs of his garments stitched up so that he could not put them on, he swore merrily and fell more deeply in love than ever. One day they cut down the stem of an aloe that was about to flower--a thing which happened only once in every hundred years. The head gardener, who had been listening every day for the loud report with which the aloe blossoms burst their sheath, was heart-broken when he saw what had been done; but _Blue Beard_ consoled him by raising his wages, saying that in a hundred years' time, when every one was bald, the plant might blossom again,--what did it matter? In fact, things went so smoothly, and everything in the garden was so very lovely, that the younger daughter, _Fatima_, being the more poetical and impressionable of the two, began quietly to think what a splendid beard their host's would be if it were not so blue. From this--for you know that love is colour-blind--she began to see the beard in a different light. Like a dutiful and affectionate daughter she spoke to her mother upon the point.

'Mother,' she said, 'it may be only my fancy, but I really think his beard _has_ changed a little in colour during the last few days. Perhaps it's the country air, I don't know; but it doesn't seem to me _quite_ so blue, after all.'

'My darling child,' replied the mother, 'it is strange that you should have mentioned that. I had also noticed it, but, thinking my sight was failing me, I feared that old age was creeping on, and so held my tongue on the matter.'

'That settles it, dear mother. Sooner than believe that you are growing old and your sight is failing I prefer to believe that what we have both noticed is an actual fact. But mind you, though there is a slight change, it is still horribly blue, mother.'

'Yes, dear; but blue's a very nice colour. It's lucky to some people. The eyes of the Goddess of Love were blue; the sky above is blue; the bird of paradise is blue; the deep sea is blue. Press your thumbs on your eyes and what do you see? Blue--the deepest blue imaginable: it is the light of the mind and soul burning in your head, dear; and that is why poets and singers are so fond of blue.'

'Then you think----'

'Think? I _know_, child. Besides, a man with a blue beard is different from all other men; and besides, again, in the dark all beards are black.'

'But even in the light, dear mother, you think it is changing--just a little?'

'Yes, my darling, I do. And the reason I know full well. He has fallen in love, dear; and I think I know with whom. And love can work wonders. Just as grief can turn black hair grey, so can love turn a blue beard----'

'Not grey, mother. Say a greyish blue.'

'I was going to say a bluish grey. But there;--if this worthy gentleman suffers from an affliction,--which, mind you, I am far from allowing,--what could be sweeter in a woman than to pity him? And pity, my darling, sometimes leads to love.'

_Fatima_ then sought her sister _Anne_, and told her what was on her mind. 'Oh, well,' said _Anne_ when she had heard all about the wonderful change, 'your having discovered it now saves me the trouble of finding it out later on. Not only do I thank you, _Fatima_, I congratulate you.'

Greatly relieved by her mother's and her sister's attitude, _Fatima_ decked herself out in her best, and waited for _Blue Beard_ to come and find her, which she felt sure he would do. And she was right. That very evening _Blue Beard_ led her aside from the others into the garden, where the moon was shining and the nightingales singing. And there he spoke soft words to her, and wooed and won her for his wife. As soon as they returned to town the wedding was celebrated, and there were great rejoicings over the happy event.

Now, shortly after the honeymoon was over, _Blue Beard_ was called away into the country on matters of urgent importance, which would occupy his attention for at least six weeks. And when _Fatima_, on hearing this, pouted and began to cry, he sought to console her by suggesting that she should amuse herself among her friends during his absence.

'See now, my dear,' he said, 'these keys will unlock all the doors for you so that you shall want for nothing. These two are the keys of the store-chambers, and these others open the strong-rooms where the gold and silver plate is kept. These here are the keys to my money chests, and these smaller ones fit the locks of my jewel coffers. But this little one here'--he separated a curious little key from the others and showed it her--'is the key of the little room with the iron door at the end of the great corridor. Do what you will with all the rest, but, I warn you, open not that door. Now, I have trusted you with everything: if you disobey me in this one little matter you will incur my gravest displeasure.'

'That will I never do,' said _Fatima_ as she took the keys from his hand. And she meant it at the time. _Blue Beard_ kissed her, embracing her fondly. Then he entered his coach and was driven away.

_Fatima_, in her grand home, eagerly welcomed the chance of holding high revelry and playing hostess to her friends. They all came running at her invitation, and were immediately shown over the great house. Rooms, cupboards, wardrobes, closets, cabinets and presses were opened by the aid of keys on the bunch, and they went into ecstasies over the wonderful treasures the house contained. There were magnificent pictures, tapestries, costly silk hangings, gold and silver ornaments, the loveliest soft carpets, and, best of all, gold-framed looking-glasses reaching from floor to ceiling. These last, which cast one's reflection taller and fairer than the original inlooker, were the subject of long and careful admiration. All spoke with rapture of the splendid luxury of the place, and congratulated _Fatima_ on her great good fortune.

'For my part,' said one, 'if my husband could give me such a magnificent house as this, I would not trouble about the colour of his beard.'

'You're right,' said another. 'Why, for half this grandeur I would marry a man even if his beard were all the colours of the rainbow, especially if he went away and left me the keys of the whole house.'

'The _whole_ house,' thought _Fatima_; 'nay, this little key here he has forbidden me to use. I wonder why!'

But he had been so stern about it--and his beard got very blue when he was angry--that _Fatima_ put her curiosity away, and continued to entertain her guests. Still, the temptation to slip away and open that forbidden door returned again and again; but always she said to herself, 'Nay; I have the run of the whole house beside: is it a great matter that I am forbidden one pokey little room at the end of a dark corridor?' Then, having triumphed for the twentieth time, she fell at last the more easily;--at least she fell to this extent, that she slipped away from her guests and ran along the corridor, just to go and take a peep at the door.

There was nothing unusual about the door. It was of plain, solid iron, and the key-hole was very small. She wondered if the little key would fit it. She tried, and found that it went in quite easily; yet, remembering her promise, she would not turn it, but pulled it out again and tore herself away. But, after all, she could not see what possible harm there could be in opening a small room like that and just having one look inside. Besides, if her husband had been really serious he would have kept the key himself and not given it to her with the others. To be sure, he was a kind, indulgent husband, and would not be so very angry; and then, again, he need never know that she _had_ opened the door.

With thoughts like these passing quickly in her mind she hesitated, paused, and finally turned again to the door. Her disobedient hands trembled as she selected the key a second time, detached it from the bunch, and inserted it in the lock. In another moment she had turned it and pushed the heavy door open.

At first, as the shutters were closed, she could see nothing; but gradually her eyes became accustomed to the dim light and she saw that the floor was of porphyry,--at all events, it was red. Then, as she shaded her eyes from the light creeping through the chinks of the shutters, and peered more closely, she discovered to her horror that what she had taken for porphyry was nothing of the kind--_it was blood!_--Here it had clotted in dark crimson pools, and there it had run in little streams along the irregular stone floor. Quickly she traced those streams to their source by the opposite wall, where, as she raised her eyes, she discerned seven dark forms hanging feet downwards from seven spikes driven through their necks into the masonry.

Her first impulse was to flee from the spot;--then there came a dreadful thought, and she stayed. Whose bodies were those hanging in the forbidden cupboard? She took a step forward and inspected them more closely. Yes, they were women, and they had been young and beautiful. O horror of horrors! Could it be true? Were those the bodies of _Blue Beard's_ wives, who had disappeared, one after another, so mysteriously? There they hung, spiked through the neck, their feet dangling above pools of their life's blood,--mute evidence of foul murder.

As _Fatima_ stood gazing at the scene before her, her eyes dilated with fear, and, her breath coming in gasps, the little key fell from her fingers and clinked upon the floor. The sound recalled her to her senses, and she picked the key up hastily. Then she turned and rushed out; and, having locked the door,--no easy feat with such trembling hands,--she ran upstairs, her face as pale as death. She thought to escape and regain her composure in her own room, but, when she arrived there, she found it full of her guests, who were so busy admiring its luxurious appointments that her pallor went unnoticed. One by one, however, perceiving that she was tired, they melted away, promising to come again on the morrow,--unless her husband was expected to return. It was evident they feared him; so did she, now.