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

At night a great ball was given in the palace; but Zaire would not dance, and stood in a corner watching Blanchelys, her lips trembling with rage. At last she started up with a thought in her mind, and ran into the palace garden, in the dark night. In one hand she held tightly grasped the little wax candle her grandmother had given her long before. The night was dark and cold, there were neither moon nor stars, and a shrill wind whistled, and Zaire shivered and trembled in her yellow satin dress. The rain began to fall, but she lifted her skirts and picked her way among the puddles in her thin shining shoes till she came to where stood Blanchelys’ rose-tree.

Here she stopped, and taking the candle, planted it firmly in the ground and lit it. The wind blew and the rain fell, but the candle burnt on steadily. All at once there was the sound of a hiss like a serpent’s hiss, and in front of Zaire was the ugly figure of a grizzly hag clothed in black. Round her head she wore a crown of twisted living snakes, who moved their heads and spit venom on all sides. In her hand, which was more like a claw than a hand, she carried a staff, round which twined a snake who had seven heads, the first a serpent’s, the second a monkey’s, the third a toad’s, the fourth a vulture’s, the fifth a tiger’s, and the sixth and seventh a man’s and a woman’s; and all the heads hissed and chattered and spit and shrieked with anger. About her feet crawled frogs and toads and loathsome reptiles of all sorts, but most hideous of all was her face, for it was so seamed and wrinkled with rage and anger that it looked more like a fiend’s than a woman’s.

“What do you want with me?” she hissed in a voice that made Zaire tremble. “Speak⁠—what is your wish?”

Then Zaire pointed to the rose-tree, and said, “Tell me how to kill that tree.”

The hag chuckled, and drew from her bosom a small viper, which she held out to Zaire, who trembled still more, but took it in her hand and held it, though it was as cold as stone and very slimy.

“Take that,” croaked the witch, “and dig to the roots of the rose-tree. Lay it among them and it will twist around them, and as it tightens its hold so shall the tree die.”

“Who are you, and what is your name?” gasped Zaire.

“I am Envy,” answered the hag; and then again Zaire heard a long low hiss, and the old woman had disappeared and left her alone still holding the cold slimy viper. At once she returned to the palace, and took it to a light when no one was watching her. It was bright green, and glittered as it moved. Its eyes were flaming scarlet, and from its mouth came a long forked tongue, and it hissed spitefully, but it did not attempt to hurt Zaire, and she kissed and caressed it, then hiding it in her bosom went back to dance at the ball.

Next morning, as was her wont, Queen Blanchelys came down with the baby in her arms to her rose-tree, and Zaire stepped out from behind the tree and watched her as before.

“Ah, my sweet tree, each day you are more beautiful, and I am happier,” said Queen Blanchelys, and she put her white arms round the tree-trunk and laid her cheek against it and caressed it as before.

“Your pet seems well, cousin Blanchelys,” said Zaire, coming to where she stood.

“What! are you there, cousin Zaire?” said Blanchelys, drawing back from the tree.

“And see, I have also a new pet,” said Zaire; and she drew from her bosom the cold long snake, and let it twist about her arms and throat.

“What hideous creature have you there, cousin Zaire?” cried Blanchelys, trembling and hiding her eyes from the snake.

“You have a pet, why should I not have one also?” said Zaire, as she kissed the snake’s glittering green head.

“But you will surely not make a pet of that dreadful snake?” said Blanchelys. “Dear cousin Zaire, throw it away, and I will give you a beautiful pet⁠—a dove, or a gazelle, or a rose-tree like mine.”

“I would not change my snake for anything in all the wide world,” said Zaire; and her eyes glittered almost like the snake’s own, as she turned away still fondling it; but Queen Blanchelys shuddered, and felt very sad, though she knew not why.

Zaire waited till night, and then she took a spade and went into the garden to dig at the roots of the rose-tree. It was quite dark, and no one could see her. She dug and dug till she came to the long deep roots that went far into the earth, and then she stood on the ground beside the hole and took the snake from her bosom and kissed it.

“Pretty snake,” she said softly, “tighten about the roots of the tree, and kill it as quickly as you can, that it may die and cousin Blanchelys may mourn.”

Then she took the snake in her little white hand and placed it among the tree’s roots. For a moment it lay quite still, then it began to coil itself slowly about them, and to twist itself round and round them.

Zaire laughed as she watched it. “Goodbye, sweet snake,” she said; “do your work well.” Then she filled up the hole with earth and smoothed the top so that no one should see.

Next day when Queen Blanchelys came to look at her tree she found it drooping, so she called to the gardeners to give it water, but not all the water in the world could refresh it, and each day it drooped more and more, and the flowers began to die and fall away. Poor Queen Blanchelys watched it with tears in her eyes. She sent for gardeners from far and near, but they could do nothing for it, and the Queen was sick at heart, and grew pale and thin, for she knew that her husband was beginning to love her less and less, Every day he rode out hunting with Zaire, and at all the Court balls he danced with no one else. Queen Blanchelys mourned in silence till the last leaf fell from her tree.

“Now I will stay here no longer,” she said, “since my tree is dead and my husband no longer loves me. I will go and find Love, and ask him to help me.” So she rose in the night, and wrapped herself in a large cloak, and said goodbye to her baby, and started alone.

She wandered and wandered and wandered till she came to the village where she was born, and to the little house by the bridge where she had lived.

She went into the garden where the yew-tree stood, and where she had seen Love before, but no Love was there now, and when she asked the neighbours if he had passed that way they stared at her and thought her mad. So she went on and on, night and day, till her feet were sore and her face burnt with the sun. She was so weary that she could scarcely walk, but still she pressed on, looking everywhere for Love, but seeing him nowhere. At last she came to a church in which a grand wedding was taking place. “Here shall I surely find him,” she said, and she quickened her steps, and went into the church and sat down among the people. She waited till the wedding was over, and then watched the bridal procession coming out to see if Love was amongst them. The bride was grandly dressed, and there were many smart carriages and finely dressed people, but nowhere amongst them did she see the figure of Love, and she turned from the church with a heavy heart. As she went along the road, she came to a large tree under which sat a couple of lovers courting. “Ah, here will Love surely be,” she said, and she drew near the tree, and stood silently watching the young people as they whispered and laughed together; but Love was not there, and Queen Blanchelys sought him in vain. Then she went on again till she came to a green, on which were playing a number of children.

“Now among these little ones shall I find him,” she said, and she waited and looked on at their games, but still she saw no trace of Love. So she went on and on and on, till she was so weary that she could toil no farther, and stopped on a desolate barren plain on which stood a few miserable cottages, and near them an old church and churchyard. Close by, the sea roared loud, and wild seabirds flew all about. Queen Blanchelys dropped exhausted on a little mound in front of a cottage door, and overheard two women who were talking together as they sat spinning.

“He made her work for him day and night,” said one, “and never gave her a kind word.”

“He beat and kicked her,” said the other; “it’s very well for her that he is dead.”

“They are beginning to toll the bell for the funeral now,” said the first, “but there’ll be very few mourners there, I expect. He was the wickedest man for miles round.”

Then Queen Blanchelys looked across to the church, and heard the bell tolling, and saw a small dark procession winding towards the churchyard.

She raised herself from the ground and turned towards the churchyard.

“Poor woman! she is unhappy; so am I,” she said with tears in her eyes.

The priest was already reading the service beside the grave when she reached it. Only one woman stood beside it, but when she looked at her, Queen Blanchelys’ heart beat high, for close by her was Love dressed as a mourner. She waited till the service was over, and the woman and the priest had turned away, and then she sprang forward and caught Love by the cloak, and sank at his feet.

“Help me, sweet Love!” she cried, and then began to weep.

“Poor Queen Blanchelys!” said Love, “your rose-tree is dead, then.” His face looked sad, and his cheeks were pale and thin.

“My tree is dead,” sobbed Queen Blanchelys, “and the King loves me no more. Ah, tell me who has killed my tree?”

“Your cousin Zaire has killed it,” said Love. “She asked Envy to help her, and Envy has given her a viper, which she laid at the tree’s roots, and it has spat its deadly venom on to the red heart which is in the centre of the trunk and killed it.”

“Tell me, then, how to make it live again,” gasped the Queen.

“There is only one thing in the world that can do that!” said Love.

“And what is that?” asked the Queen.

“The blood from your own heart,” said Love. “You must pierce your heart with a thorn from the tree, and let it flow to the tree’s roots. Then, when it touches the snake it will shrivel and die, and the tree will bloom out afresh.”

When Queen Blanchelys heard this she turned very pale, but she rose and left the churchyard, and turned homeward. She walked for many days, for it was far to the palace, and as she drew near to it she saw that it was all decorated with flags as if for some great rejoicing. So she stopped and asked a countrywoman what it was for.

“You must indeed be a stranger, that you do not know that,” answered the good woman. “Tomorrow the King marries the Princess Zaire, the late Queen’s cousin. Queen Blanchelys has now been dead many years, so tomorrow the marriage will take place, and all the decorations are in honour of the wedding.”

Then Queen Blanchelys asked the woman if the late Queen had not left a little son, and where it now was.

“It is always with the King, and he is so fond of it, that people say Princess Zaire is jealous of it, and would send it away if she dared,” said the woman.

Queen Blanchelys thanked her and then sat down by the roadside, and waited till night came and everyone was asleep in bed. Then she rose and stole quietly into the palace, when no one heard her, and first she took a piece of paper, and on it she wrote how she had gone away because the King did not love her, and how Love had told her that Zaire had killed her rose-tree from jealousy, and had stolen the King’s love, and she prayed that the King would be good to her little son when she was dead, and that she might be buried under her rose-tree. Then she went upstairs, and first she went to the bedside of her cousin Zaire. “Ah, cruel cousin Zaire,” she said, “I have never hurt you. Why did you hate me so? But you shall never be Queen, in my place, though you are dreaming it now.”

Then she went to the bedside of her little son, and she kissed him and fondled him, but she did not wake him.

“Ah, little son,” she said, “if I had not come home tonight, tomorrow you would have had a cruel stepmother in my place, but now you will never have any stepmother, and your father will always love you well.”

Then last of all she went to the bedside of her husband the King, and laid her letter on the pillow, close by his head.

“Alas! dear husband,” she said, “tonight I am looking at you, and you do not see me, but tomorrow morning you will be looking at me, when I shall not see you.”

Then she kissed him softly thrice, and bid him adieu, and went out of the palace to her dear rose-tree in the garden. It was nothing now but a bare black stump. So Queen Blanchelys lay down on the ground, and put her arms round the trunk, and from the dead branch she tore a long smooth thorn, and pierced her heart with it, and the drops of blood trickled to the roots of the tree, and at once the serpent at the roots shrivelled and died, and the tree again began to bud and sprout.

When the King woke in the morning the first thing he saw was the Queen’s letter, and he took it and read it at once, and as he read his cheeks turned pale, and he sighed bitterly, and then he called his courtiers, and told them what had happened, and they all went out into the garden to the rose-tree, under which lay poor Queen Blanchelys dead. But the tree which before was only a piece of dead wood was covered with green leaves and rosebuds.

The King kissed the Queen’s pale face, and ordered that there should be a grand funeral, and that she should be buried under her rose-tree, and from that day forth the King thought of no one but Queen Blanchelys, and each day sat by her grave under her rose-tree; but Zaire was stripped of all her fine dresses and jewels, and had the clothes which she wore before she came to the palace, and was banished from the land, and had to beg her bread from door to door.

But when the rose-tree burst into bloom, the roses, which were white before, were as red as the blood which sprang from the Queen’s heart, and which had coloured them.

“Now I call that an uncomfortable story,” said the Brooch, in rather a husky voice. “For my part, I like stories that end up all right.”

The Pin did not speak, for it was crying quietly, and was dreadfully ashamed of its tears being seen. Even the Bracelets had stopped chattering, and come down to listen. The Shawl-pin smiled. He felt his story had been a success, so he did not mind what the Brooch said.

“Now it is your turn,” said the Brooch to the Pin, who, after thinking a little, said he would tell them a story once told him by an Opal Ring he knew, when he asked how it came by its wonderful colours.