The Necklace of Princess Fiorimonde

Once there lived a King, whose wife was dead, but who had a most beautiful daughter⁠—so beautiful that everyone thought she must be good as well, instead of which the Princess was really very wicked, and practised witchcraft and black magic, which she had learned from an old witch who lived in a hut on the side of a lonely mountain. This old witch was wicked and hideous, and no one but the King’s daughter knew that she lived there; but at night, when everyone else was asleep, the Princess, whose name was Fiorimonde, used to visit her by stealth to learn sorcery. It was only the witch’s arts which had made Fiorimonde so beautiful that there was no one like her in the world, and in return the Princess helped her with all her tricks, and never told anyone she was there.

The time came when the King began to think he should like his daughter to marry, so he summoned his council and said, “We have no son to reign after our death, so we had best seek for a suitable prince to marry to our royal daughter, and then, when we are too old, he shall be king in our stead.” And all the council said he was very wise, and it would be well for the Princess to marry. So heralds were sent to all the neighbouring kings and princes to say that the King would choose a husband for the Princess, who should be king after him.

“Nay, but there is no cord like mine in all the world,” cried Fiorimonde, and her eyes sparkled wickedly as she spoke; “it is as light as a feather, but stronger than an iron chain. Take it in both hands and try to break it, that you may see how strong it is;” and King Pierrot took the cord in both hands to pull it hard; but no sooner were his fingers closed around it than he vanished like a puff of smoke, and on the cord appeared a bright, beautiful bead⁠—so bright and beautiful as was never bead before⁠—clear as crystal, but shining with all colours⁠—green, blue, and gold.

Princess Fiorimonde gazed down at it and laughed aloud.

“Aha, my proud lover! are you there?” she cried with glee; “my necklace bids fair to beat all others in the world,” and she caressed the bead with the tips of her soft, white fingers, but was careful that they did not close round the string. Then she returned into the banqueting hall, and spoke to the King.

“It is of the finest gold,” she answered. “Nay, do not you touch her lest she wake. I will show it to you.” And Yolande put down the lantern and softly put out her hands to slip the beads aside, but as she did so, her fingers closed around the golden string, and directly she was gone. Another bead was added to the necklace, and Gervaise was alone with the sleeping Princess. He gazed about him in sore amazement and fear. He dared not call lest Fiorimonde should wake.

“Yolande,” he whispered as loud as he dared, “Yolande where are you?” but no Yolande answered.

Then he bent down over the Princess and gazed at the necklace. Another bead was strung upon it next to the one to which Yolande had pointed as Prince Florestan. Again he counted them. “Eleven before, now there are twelve. Oh hateful Princess! I know now where go the brave kings and princes who came to woo you, and where, too, is my Yolande,” and as he looked at the last bead, tears filled his eyes. It was brighter and clearer than the others, and of a warm red hue, like the red dress Yolande had worn. The Princess turned and laughed in her sleep, and at the sound of her laughter Gervaise was filled with horror and loathing. He crept shuddering from the room, and all night long sat up alone, plotting how he might defeat Fiorimonde, and set Florestan and Yolande free.

Long ago there lived a wandering musician and his wife, whose names were Arasmon and Chrysea. Arasmon played upon a lute to which Chrysea sang, and their music was so beautiful that people followed them in crowds and gave them as much money as they wanted. When Arasmon played all who heard him were silent from wonder and admiration, but when Chrysea sang they could not refrain from weeping, for her voice was more beautiful than anything they had ever heard before.

Both were young and lovely, and were as happy as the day was long, for they loved each other dearly, and liked wandering about seeing new countries and people and making sweet music. They went to all sorts of places, sometimes to big cities, sometimes to little villages, sometimes to lonely cottages by the seashore, and sometimes they strolled along the green lanes and fields, singing and playing so exquisitely, that the very birds flew down from the trees to listen to them.

One day as the Queen sat by the cradle of the little Princess, watching it, she said, “My pretty babe, when you are grown to be a woman you will be rich and beautiful, and you shall marry some young Prince, who will love you dearly, and then in your turn be Queen, and have a fine palace, and jewels, and lands to your heart’s content.” Scarcely had she done speaking when she heard a little noise beside her, and, looking up, saw a woman dressed in yellow from head to foot standing on the other side of the cradle. She wore a yellow cap, which covered her head completely, so that no hair was seen, and her eyes, which looked cunning and fierce, were yellow as her dress.

“And how do you know, Queen, that your child will be so happy? Whose help will you seek to get her all these fine things?” said the strange woman.

“I will ask no one’s help,” said the Queen haughtily, “for I am Queen of the land, and can have what I please.”

The yellow woman laughed, and said, “Don’t be too sure, proud Queen; but the next night that the moon is bright, guard well the Princess when the clock strikes twelve, lest aught of hers be stolen from her.”

“No thief shall come near her,” cried the Queen; but ere she had done speaking the woman had vanished, and the Queen knew it was a fairy.