On a Pincushion (3/4) (1/2)

The Seeds of Love

Many years ago, in a country far over the sea, was a little village standing by a great river; and over the river was a bridge, with gates which were opened and shut when carriages and horses went through. A little white cottage stood close beside the bridge, and in it lived an old woman and her two granddaughters, whose business it was to open and shut the heavy iron gates. The woman was very old, and her two granddaughters were the children of her two sons, who were both dead; so the young girls were cousins. They were just the same age, but not the least alike. They were named Zaire and Blanchelys. Blanchelys had gold-coloured hair, and eyes like blue cornflowers, and she laughed and sang from morning till night. Zaire’s hair was black as a raven’s wing, and her eyes were like large sloes. She was called the prettiest girl in all the village, but no one loved her as they did the blue-eyed Blanchelys.

The old grandmother did nothing but sit by the fire and knit; so one or other of the girls was always out attending to the gates and receiving the tolls of the passersby. Zaire grumbled at the work, but Blanchelys did it cheerfully, and always said a pleasant word to each of the villagers as they came over the bridge.

One winter the old grandmother was feebler than ever, and on Christmas Eve she called the two girls to her bedside and said⁠—

“My dear children, I feel that my end is now fast approaching, but before I die I have something to say to you both. I trust you will always be good girls, and then you are sure to be happy. I have little to leave you except my blessing, but there is something more I have for each of you. That is these two little candles; they are magic candles, and when you set them alight there will appear to you a fairy who will grant you the wish of your heart. If it is a good wish it will be a good fairy that appears, but if it is a wicked wish it will be a wicked fairy that comes; so I advise you to beware, for bad fairies help none. You must burn your candles alone on a night when there is neither moon nor star, and you can only have one wish, for when that is granted the candle will burn out; but if you will take my advice you will never light them at all. Many, many years ago they were brought over the sea, from a strange land where animals spoke and men and women flew, by a sailor who gave them to my grandmother, who gave them to my mother, who gave them to me. So I have had them all my life, but no one has ever used them, for we all thought that if people live honestly and do their duty, they are sure to be happy without the help of any fairy folk.”

So saying the good woman drew from under her pillow two tiny candles, and gave one to each of the two girls, who stood by her bedside. They took them in great surprise, and Blanchelys stooped down and kissed her, and as she did so the old woman died.

Blanchelys grieved and wept much, for she had loved her well, but Zaire was so busy thinking of her magic candle that she did not grieve for her grandmother’s death, but sat brooding over what great thing she should wish for when she lit it.

“I will keep it till I know of something I long for very much indeed,” she said to herself. So she put the candle safely away; and Blanchelys put hers away also, meaning to take her grandmother’s advice, and never to light it. So the two girls lived in the same little cottage, going out as before to open the gates for the passersby. On the other side of the river was a grand castle which belonged to the King. Long ago he used to stay there to hunt, but now he was grown too old, and the castle was never used. One day the girls heard that the King’s son was coming, and all the village was to be decorated in his honour. The first day he rode through it on his way to the hunt, Zaire and Blanchelys knew that he would cross the bridge; so they both dressed themselves in their very best to come out and open the gates; but Zaire said to Blanchelys, “You stand back, and let me go first, for, as people say I am the prettiest girl in the village, it is right I should be seen.” So Blanchelys stood behind and looked over her cousin’s shoulder.

She saw the party of riders coming across the bridge, and they were all splendidly dressed in coloured velvets and gold, and in the middle, riding on a snow-white horse, was the King’s son, clad in a suit of burnished gold, that sparkled and shone in the sunlight. His hair, which was darker and redder than his golden dress, hung over his shoulders and stood out around his head like fine wires. On his head was a velvet cap, from which hung a long white feather fastened down by a diamond clasp; and as he smiled and talked to those around him, Blanchelys thought she never had seen anyone so beautiful in her life. In front of the party rode trumpeters, blowing on their trumpets, to clear the way, and behind were servants and pages leading hounds and bearing hawks.

But none of the party noticed the two girls who stood at the cottage door, and the horses’ feet raised a cloud of dust, which flew into Zaire’s face, and she fell into a passion. “If that is all one gets, forsooth, for opening the gate for the King’s son,” she cried, “I will never do it again.” But Blanchelys stood at the door and watched the party of horsemen till they were quite out of sight, and then she sighed. “I would stand at the gate all day if he would only ride by once,” she said, and her cousin laughed at her scornfully. But when the royal party rode back, Blanchelys opened the gate, and stood and gazed at the King’s son as before, and when she returned into the cottage she wept silently, and when she slept at night she dreamed of the King’s son. Every day he came across the bridge on his snow-white horse as he rode to the hunt, and every day Blanchelys came out and opened the gates and gazed on his face; but he never noticed her, and she sighed as she turned again to the cottage. So the days passed, and Blanchelys grew thin and pale. Zaire laughed at her, and asked what ailed her. “If you lose all your good looks like that,” she said, “you will never get a husband.”

“I want no husband whom I shall ever wed,” said Blanchelys sadly; and at that Zaire laughed the more.

One night when Zaire was sleeping soundly Blanchelys, who had lain awake all night, rose out of her little bed, and stepping softly to the window, looked out at the night. There were neither moon nor stars, and the night was very dark.

“I must be quick,” said Blanchelys, “for soon the sun will rise.”

So she dressed herself quickly, but she left her hair hanging down her back, and trod noiselessly to the cupboard, and softly opened the door. She took out the candle, and hid it in her bosom. Then she crept from the room, down the passage, and into the little garden. In the middle of the garden stood a great yew-tree, whose branches almost touched the ground. It looked like a great black giant in the night, and Blanchelys trembled as she looked at it; but she summoned her courage, and going up to the tree crept under its branches, and knelt down, leaning against the trunk. It was black, black night, but not a breeze was blowing, and it was as hot as if the sun was shining. Blanchelys stuck her candle firmly in the ground, and then lit it. Directly it began to burn, there came a little rustling sound through the trees like the flapping of doves’ wings, and then in front of where Blanchelys knelt, in the light of the candle she saw a boy, who was not like anyone she had ever seen before, so beautiful was he. He had curly golden hair, which spread round his head like a halo, and he wore on his hair a wreath of pink roses, and he carried a branch of roses in his hand. His robe was white, but it did not hide his bare feet, on which were golden sandals; and a golden girdle was round his waist. From his shoulders grew soft pink wings, and his face was as beautiful as an angel’s.

“I am Love. What do you want with me?” said the boy; and at the sound of his voice all the wood-doves in the neighbouring trees awoke and began to coo. But Blanchelys trembled and looked at him in silence; and he spoke again⁠—

“Speak quickly⁠—tell me what is your heart’s wish, for soon your candle will have burnt out, and then I shall vanish.” Then Blanchelys summoned all her courage, and clasping her hands, said in a low, trembling voice⁠—

“Give me the love of the King’s son.”

Love looked at her for a moment, and he smiled and laughed low to himself; then he gently shook the branch of roses he carried, and into his hand from the heart of the roses fell some tiny seeds.

“Take them,” he said, holding them out to Blanchelys, “and plant them in the earth just as the sun is rising; but ere you cover them up breathe over them the name of him whose love you desire. From them will spring a rose-tree, and as it grows so his love for you will grow. While that tree lives he will love you more than all the world, but should it pine and die his love for you would wane and die also, and then only one thing in the world would make it live again. And beware of one thing, that is the prick of the thorns which grow upon the tree; for should one pierce your skin, and draw the blood, be it never so little, the wound will never heal, even if it do not kill you. Farewell, and see that you guard well your tree.”

“Stay for one moment,” entreated Blanchelys. “Tell me how and where I should seek you if I want to find you.”

“I am to be found in many places,” answered Love. “But I am often where you would never seek me, and seldom where you would look for me. Farewell!” And again there was a soft whirring of wings, and in a moment Love had disappeared, and the light from the candle died out, and Blanchelys was left alone under the tree in the dark night. The wood-doves stopped cooing, and all was still again. Then she rose from her knees, and turned into the house. She could not see the seeds in the darkness, but she grasped them firmly in one hand as she crept again into her little bed. Zaire moved in her sleep, but she did not wake.

As the first rays of the sun began to shine, Blanchelys arose again, and examined her seeds. They were more like jewels than seeds, for they were bright clear red, like rubies, and each one was in the form of a heart. Blanchelys kissed them, and then she sought about for a spot in which to sow them. At last she took a flowerpot and filled it with earth, and in it laid the seeds, and breathed over them the name of the King’s son, and covered them over with earth. Then she put the flowerpot in the window of her room. “Now I can watch it both night and day,” she said, “and see that no harm comes to it.”

That morning, when the King’s son rode past to the hunt, he stopped at the cottage door, and asked Blanchelys to give him a glass of water. It was the first time he had ever spoken to her, and her heart beat high with joy. At night, when she went to look at her flowerpot, she found that a tiny shoot was appearing above the earth in the pot.

Next day as the Prince rode past he stopped again at the cottage, and every day he stopped and spoke with Blanchelys, and every day stayed with her a longer time; and the plant in the pot grew larger and larger, till at last Blanchelys saw that it was a rose-tree, and that it was covered with tiny buds.

One evening, when the Prince came back from hunting, he came into the cottage with Blanchelys, and asked her if she would be his wife, and told her that when he was King she should be Queen.

Blanchelys wept for joy; and when she went to look at her flower she found that one of the buds had burst into a splendid white rose, which scented the whole room.

So Blanchelys married the King’s son, and there were great rejoicings at the wedding all over the country, and illuminations everywhere; and Blanchelys had fine ladies to wait on her, and beautiful jewels given to her, and fine dresses made for her; but what she valued more than all was her pot with the rose-tree in it, which grew more and more beautiful every day, for fresh roses bloomed.

But Zaire was bitterly jealous of Blanchelys, because she was going to be Queen, though Blanchelys was very kind to her and gave her beautiful things, and took her to live with her at the palace. Still Zaire hated her, and thought night and day of how she could do her any harm, and as she saw how happy Blanchelys was, and how much her husband loved her, she hated her all the more. So the time passed on. Blanchelys’ rose had grown into a big tree, and she had planted it in the palace garden, just beneath her bedroom window, so that it might be the first thing she saw when she woke in the morning. All her ladies knew that Princess Blanchelys’ favourite spot in the palace garden was close to the beautiful rose-tree, where she would sit for hours gazing up at its flowers and smelling them. She never allowed anyone to gather them, and she always watered it herself. Her first care in the morning was to examine her rose-tree, whilst she brushed from it all insects, and cut off the dead leaves. And sometimes, when no one was there to see, she would press her lips to the roses; but Zaire watched her secretly, and longed to know why Blanchelys loved the tree so much.

After a time, Blanchelys had a little son, who was heir to the crown, and she was even happier than before, and her husband loved her better. The bells were rung at the birth of the prince, and all the people rejoiced. And the rose-tree grew so fast, that when Blanchelys came out into the garden, with her baby in her arms, it was quite a big tree, and she was able to stand under the shade of its branches.

“You are a very happy woman, cousin Blanchelys,” said Zaire, coming up to her from behind, as she stood under the tree.

“Yes, indeed, I am happy,” said Blanchelys, looking at the baby in her arms. “And I hope, dear cousin Zaire, that you will be as happy as I am.”

“That is impossible,” said Zaire, “for one day you will be Queen, and I never shall.”

“I am not so happy because I am going to be Queen,” said Blanchelys, “but because I love my husband and baby so dearly.”

“And, next to them, what do you love best?” asked Zaire.

“Next to them, I love my rose-tree,” said Blanchelys; and she laughed, and wound her arms round the tree-trunk.

“Then if that tree were to die, would you be very unhappy, cousin Blanchelys?” asked Zaire, and her eyes glittered eagerly.

“Yes, if my tree were to die, I think it would break my heart,” said Blanchelys, and she turned quite pale at the thought.

But from that day Zaire thought of nothing but how she could kill the rose-tree that her cousin loved so much. First she pulled off its leaves, and cut its branches, but fresh leaves grew in the old ones’ places, and the maimed branches budded and sprouted anew. Then she took a sharp knife, and pierced it through the trunk, and peeled off the bark, so that it bled. But the gash soon healed up, and the bark grew again, so that the tree was finer than before. Zaire might do what she could, but the tree grew and grew, and she could not hurt it.

Soon after the baby prince was born the old King fell ill and died, so Blanchelys and her husband were to be crowned King and Queen. Again the country was illuminated for the coronation, and Blanchelys and her husband sat on two golden thrones while the crowns were placed on their heads, and the baby lay in a golden cradle at their feet.

Queen Blanchelys was dressed in white satin and gold, with some of her dear roses in her dress, and she smiled and wept for joy; and all the crowd cheered and shouted. But when Zaire saw Blanchelys seated on her golden throne, her hatred and envy knew no bounds, and she wept with rage; for she saw that Blanchelys was better and fairer than she, though she too wore a grand satin dress, and had jewels in her hair.