Wonder Tales from Many Lands 14

Wonder Tales from Many Lands 14

“Little ball, I hold you close;

Little ball, I hold you tight;

By your magic power I pray

Grant my wish to me to-night,”

 

she whispered. And then, “I wish,” she said, “for a gown more beautiful

than any that ever was seen, and for ornaments to go with it—jewels for

my neck and jewels for my hair, and slippers, and a fan to wave in my

hand.”

 

At once, upon the bed, appeared a gown more beautiful than Matilda had

ever dreamed of. It was woven all of silver, and set with pearls, and

with it there were ornaments for her neck and hair and a fan of shining

plumes; and on the floor beside the bed stood a tiny pair of satin

slippers embroidered with pearls and threads of silver.

 

Trembling with haste, Matilda dressed, for already the night was late,

and when at last she stood clothed all in silvery white, the whole room

shone with the light of her beauty.

 

She stole down the stairs unnoticed, and it was not long before

she reached the old countess’s house where the ball was being held.

Many beautiful ladies were there, the loveliest in the land, but

when Matilda entered the ballroom, she outshone them all as the moon

outshines the stars at night.

 

From the moment he saw her Count Conrad had eyes for no one else, and

there was no one else with whom he would dance. Before the end of the

evening he drew her aside into another room.

 

“Listen,” said he. “Never before in all my life have I seen anyone as

beautiful as you, nor one whom I could love as already I love you. Tell

me, I pray, who you are. Only some great lady or princess could be as

beautiful as you.”

 

Matilda was filled with joy when the count said he loved her, but

immediately after she became sad, for she thought that if he learned

she was only a kitchen-maid in his castle, he would no longer care for

her.

 

“Look, I beg of you,” she said, “and see whether there is not some one

listening at the door.”

 

The count thought Matilda wished to tell him some secret, and he at

once went to the door to make sure that no one could overhear it.

 

Matilda drew the wooden ball from her pocket and whispered:

 

“Light to guide me,

Dark to hide me,

Let no harm nor ill betide me.”

 

At once she became invisible, and she slipped past the count and

hurried back to the castle.

 

When the count turned, he was very much surprised to find that his

beautiful partner had disappeared. He could not imagine what had become

of her. He hunted for her everywhere, and asked every one which way she

had gone, but no one had seen her.

 

He was very much disquieted at this. However, there was to be another

ball the next night, and Count Conrad felt sure Matilda would appear at

it also. This time he was determined she should not leave him until he

knew who she was and whence she came. To make sure of this, he decided

to set a guard about the house, with orders to follow any strange lady

who passed out alone, and watch where she went.

 

All the next day but little was to be heard anywhere but talk of

the wonderful stranger, of how beautiful she had been, and how

magnificently dressed, and of how much the count had admired her. Every

one wondered whether she would appear again at the second ball.

 

When evening came, Matilda made haste to finish her work, and then

stole away to her little garret room. Taking the ball in her hand, she

said:

 

“Little ball, now serve me right,

Grant the wish I wish to-night.

 

I wish I may have a gown even more beautiful than the one I wore last

night, and all ornaments that should go with it.”

 

At once the room was filled with light, and Matilda saw, lying upon

the bed, a gown made entirely of cloth of gold, and set with precious

stones. There were jewels for her neck and arms, and a pair of golden

slippers that shone like glass. Matilda dressed in haste, and throwing

a dark cloak over her, she stole away through the night to the ball.

 

Count Conrad had been watching for her. He would, indeed, look at no

one else, and as soon as she entered, he hastened to her side.

 

If she had been beautiful the night before, she was far more so now.

Then she had shone like the moon, but now she glittered like the sun,

so that it dazzled the eyes to look at her.

 

The count begged her to dance with him, and as soon as he could, he

drew her aside into another room. He then took from his hand a ring,

and placing it upon her finger, he said, “Now you are my own true love,

for you wear my ring upon your finger. But tell me, I pray of you, who

you are and whence you come, that I may ask your hand in marriage in a

proper manner.”

 

“Alas, my mother is dead,” answered Matilda, “and my father, I fear,

has also been put to death by cruel enemies.”

 

So saying she dropped her fan. The count at once stooped to pick it up.

Quick as thought, as he stooped, Matilda drew her ball from her pocket

and whispered the magic charm:

 

“Light to guide me,

Dark to hide me,

Let no harm nor ill betide me.”

 

At once she became invisible, and slipping from the room, she hastened

back to the castle.

 

When the count looked up and found that his beautiful partner had once

more disappeared, he was in despair. He searched through every room,

and then sent for his guards and questioned them closely. None of them

could tell him anything of the stranger, however. Not one had seen her

pass by. This was not strange, for Matilda had remained invisible until

she reached the castle. She was even then in her little attic room,

slipping off her beautiful clothes, and staining her face and hands

that she might again appear as the kitchen wench.

 

Again the count had lost her. But now he determined to give a ball

himself. He caused it to be made known that this ball was in honour of

the unknown beauty, and he had no doubt but that she would appear at it

as she had at the other two. This time he determined that not for one

instant would he lose sight of her.

 

The count’s ball was to be much more magnificent than those that the

old countess had given. All the servants in the castle were set to work

preparing for it, and Matilda was no less busy than the others. She had

not a moment to herself.

 

The night of the ball arrived, and there was still much to be done in

the kitchen. Matilda began to see that there would be no chance for her

to slip away from her work and appear at the ball.

 

She did indeed ask the housekeeper to allow her an hour that she

might go outside and peep in through a window at the dancers, but the

housekeeper refused her angrily.

 

“Look in through the windows!” she cried. “What are you thinking of?

You would frighten the ladies to death with your gipsy face and your

big eyes. No; do you stay here in the kitchen where you belong, and do

your work in a proper manner.”

 

Matilda would not disobey her, but as she scoured the pots and pans,

she could not prevent the tears from falling. She could think of

nothing but Count Conrad, of how handsome he was, and how kind and

gentle.

 

Meanwhile the count was standing close to the door of the ballroom,

waiting for the beautiful stranger to appear. Great coaches rolled up

to the entrance of the castle. Beautiful ladies in silks and satins and

jewels swept through the rooms. They waved their fans and smiled at

the count, but he had no eyes for any of them. His thoughts were all of

Matilda. Little he guessed that even then she was scouring kettles in

the kitchen below and weeping as she scoured.

 

As hour after hour passed and she did not appear, the count’s heart

grew heavy with grief. By the time the ball was over and his guests

were leaving, he was quite ill with disappointment. He could hardly

stand to bid them farewell. The beautiful stranger had not come, and

now he feared he would never see her again.

 

The next day word passed through the castle that the young count

was unable to leave his bed. He had fallen ill through grief and

disappointment. Doctors were sent for, but they could do nothing

for him. One thing could cure him and one alone, and that was some

knowledge of the beautiful stranger who had danced with him.

 

Matilda had managed to win the confidence of the old housekeeper, and

now she went to her and said, “I have heard how ill the count is and

how all the medicines the doctors have given him have failed to help

him. If you will but let me, I can make a broth of such wonderful

qualities that if the count will but taste of it he will be cured.”

 

At first the housekeeper refused, but Matilda still urged and

entreated, until at last the old woman grew tired of saying ‘no’ to

her.

 

“Very well, then,” she said. “It will do no harm for you to make a bowl

of broth, but as to its having the power to cure the count, that, of

course, I do not believe.”

 

Matilda at once set to work, and as she was very clever at cooking, she

made a broth so rich and delicious that it made the mouth water just to

smell of it. It was as clear as crystal, and of a rich amber colour.

When it was done, she put it in a silver bowl and covered it over with

a napkin, but before doing this she managed to drop into it the ring

that the count had given her.

 

The broth was so good that the housekeeper was delighted with it, and

she herself carried it up to her master’s room.

 

When she entered with it, the count turned away his head. “Why do you

come here?” he said. “Do not trouble me. I wish for nothing.”

 

But the housekeeper would not be sent away in this manner. “I have

brought you a bowl of broth,” she said, “and it is so delicious that if

you will but taste of it, I am sure you will be better.”

 

With these words she uncovered the bowl and placed it before the count,

and the broth was so clear that at once he saw the ring lying at the

bottom of it.

 

“What is this!” he cried. “Who has made this broth? Tell me

immediately.”

 

The housekeeper was frightened at his look and tone. “It is good

broth,” she cried; “the best of broth, I am sure, even though it was

made by our little kitchen-maid.”

 

“Whoever made it, send her to me at once,” demanded the count.

 

The housekeeper was very much concerned. She hurried away to the

kitchen.

 

“What is to be done now?” she said to Matilda. “The count demands to

see you, but the sight of your rags and dark face would surely throw

him into a fever. This is a pretty piece of work!”

 

“Do not be troubled,” said Matilda. “I will wash my face and hands,

and then do you lend me your cloak and your long veil. With them I can

cover myself so that he will not be able to see what I look like.”

 

To this the housekeeper agreed, as she could think of no better plan.

 

Matilda took the cloak and veil and hastened away with them to her own

room. There she combed her hair and washed off the stain, and then she

put on her golden dress and her jewels, which she had kept hidden away

since the night of the ball. When she was dressed, she covered herself

carefully with the cloak and veil, so that even the housekeeper’s

prying eyes could not catch a glint of the finery beneath. So

disguised, Matilda went up to Count Conrad’s room and stood modestly

just inside the doorway.

 

The count had been waiting for her impatiently, and as soon as she

entered, he said, “Was it you who made the broth the housekeeper

brought to me?”

 

“It was I,” answered Matilda.

 

“And who was it who put the ring in it?”

 

“It was I.”

 

“Then tell me,” cried the count, “who gave you the ring. How came you

by it?”

 

“It was you yourself who gave me the ring, and it was you who placed it

on my finger,” said Matilda.

 

With these words she put aside the veil and dropped the cloak from her

shoulders. There she stood before him, blushing, and filling all the

room with the light of her beauty.

 

The count was transported with joy. “You have come!” he cried, “and you

have come at the time when I most despaired of finding you. Now we will

be married, and never again shall you leave me.”

 

At these words Matilda grew very sad. “Alas, that may not be,” said

she. “Have you forgotten that I am only your kitchen-maid?”

 

But the count loved her too dearly to care for that. “You will be my

wife,” he said, “and then who will dare to remember what you were

before?”

 

“Yes, but there is another reason why we can never, never marry,”

sighed Matilda. “You will agree with me as to that when I tell you that

my father was your father’s bitterest enemy.”

 

“Who was your father?” asked the count, wondering.

 

Matilda then related to him her whole story, who her father was,

how her mother had died while she was still a child, and about her

stepmother and her nixie godmother. She also told him of how she had

chanced to come to his castle and take service there.

 

The count listened to all she had to say, and when she had come to an

end, he took her in his arms and embraced her tenderly.

 

“I care not who you are,” he said, “nor whence you come. I know only

that I love you, and that you and you alone shall be my bride.”

 

Matilda was very happy when she heard this. She already loved the count

dearly, and now she could no longer refuse him.

 

Almost at once preparations for the wedding were begun, and people from

far and near were invited to come to it.

 

The first to be asked was the count’s mother, a proud and covetous old

woman. She had been the one who was most eager for her son to marry,

but when she heard whom he had chosen for a bride, that it was the

daughter of an enemy, and, moreover, a girl both poor and homeless, she

was filled with rage.

 

At once she hastened to the castle, and urged and entreated the count

to give up Matilda, but he would not listen to her. He loved his bride

too tenderly for that.

 

When his mother found that all her efforts to separate them were in

vain, she left the castle in a fury, and drove away to her home. Never

again, she vowed, would she set foot in the castle as long as Matilda

was there, and the time would come when the young count would bitterly

regret his choice of a wife.

 

Count Conrad was grieved at his mother’s anger, but he was too happy

with Matilda to grieve long. He and she were soon married, and so sweet

and gentle was her character that every day the count loved her better

and was more contented with his choice.

 

When the count and Matilda had been married for a year, a child was

born to them, a little boy so handsome and big and strong that the

count was filled with joy and pride.

 

The nurse who had charge of the child was sent to the castle by the

old countess, and both the count and Matilda were delighted at what

they took to be a sign that his mother had forgiven them. This was not

the case however. The old countess still hated Matilda with a bitter

hatred, and had sent the nurse, hoping she might find some way to

injure her, and if possible to separate her from the count.

 

Matilda always slept with the baby’s cradle close to her own bed. One

night, when all the castle was wrapped in sleep, the old nurse slipped

into the room, and lifting the child carefully from the cradle, she

carried it away without waking anyone.

 

In the morning, as soon as Matilda awoke, her eyes as usual turned

first of all to the cradle. She was greatly surprised to see that it

was empty, and at once called the nurse and demanded what had become of

the child.

 

The nurse pretended to be equally surprised. “I do not know,” she

answered. “When I last saw him, he was asleep in the cradle beside your

ladyship.”

 

Matilda was very much alarmed. The count was called, the castle

searched thoroughly, and every one was questioned, but they could find

no trace of the baby.

 

“It must be some evil spirit or enchantress who has carried him away,”

said the nurse. “Last night I heard a beating of wings outside my

window, and a strange sound of sighing and moaning, but I thought it

was only some great bird that was lost in the night.”

 

This the nurse said not because she had really heard anything, but

because this was part of a plot that she and the old countess had

hatched between them.

 

Days passed, and still nothing was heard of the child. The count was in

despair. Even Matilda herself was scarcely more dear to him than his

infant son.

 

At the end of a year another child was born to Matilda, and this also

was a son, a child as strong and handsome as the first.

 

But again, when the infant was only a few weeks old, the nurse stole

it away secretly in the night, without being seen by anyone. In the

morning the cradle was empty, and no trace of the child could be found

anywhere.

 

The count was filled with grief and anguish. In his heart he secretly

blamed Matilda because she had not awakened when the child was carried

away. But he restrained himself from reproaching her. He could not help

treating her somewhat coldly, however, and Matilda was grieved to the

heart not only over the loss of the child, but because she feared her

husband no longer loved her.

 

At the end of the year, still a third child was born, and now, in order

to make sure that it should not be stolen, a watch was kept over the

infant—by day and night; and though he slept by Matilda’s side, there

was always some one else in the room with them.

 

But even this precaution could not keep the nurse from carrying out

her wicked plans. When the child was still only a few weeks old, she

managed one evening to put a sleeping potion in the repast that was

served to Matilda, and in that of the attendant as well.

 

Night came and the child was laid in the cradle close to Matilda’s

bed. The attendant took her place at the door. It was not long,

however, before Matilda and the attendant fell into a deep sleep. The

nurse then stole into the room, and lifting the child from the cradle,

she carried it away with her as she had the two others.

 

When morning came, and it was discovered that this child too had been

stolen, the count could restrain himself no longer. The woman who had

been in attendance was thrown into prison, and he heaped reproaches on

Matilda for having allowed this third child, the most beautiful of them

all, to be stolen from her side.

 

“You should not be surprised,” said the wicked nurse, “and the

attendant is not to blame. There is some enchantment in this, and if

you will come aside with me into a private room, I will tell you of

some things I have seen here in the castle in the last three years.”

 

The count was in a state to listen to anything, and he allowed the

nurse to speak to him in private, and to tell him the story that she

and the old countess had arranged between them.

 

She told him that though Matilda seemed so fair and gentle, she was in

reality a wicked enchantress. This his mother had known, and it was

for this reason she had been so unwilling that he should marry her,

and for no other cause. During the night when the child was stolen,

the nurse said, she had been awakened by a beating of wings, and had

stolen to the door and looked out. There she had seen Matilda talking

with a being that from its looks could be nothing but an evil spirit.

Presently (so the nurse said) Matilda had gone back into her chamber,

and when she returned she was carrying the child, and she had given it

into the hands of the strange being. “After that,” said the nurse, “I

saw no more, for I was afraid to look. But I make no doubt that that is

what has become of all the children, and that the young countess caused

the attendant to fall into an enchanted sleep so that she might have a chance to give the baby to the evil spirit.”