The entertaining story of King Brondé, his Lily and his Rosebud

by Abby Morton Diaz

And every one rushed from the palace to learn what had befallen the king’s Lily.

The maidens ran swiftly towards the river, and then every one thought she had been drowned. But no. On towards the mountains the maidens ran. And, half-way up the mountain path, they pointed below to a crevice between two huge rocks, and told how the princess, in her eagerness to chase a gazelle, had slipped and fallen through. And hardly had they finished speaking before the voice of the princess was heard, in tones of distress, calling out for help.

All were now in dismay, crying out, “Alas! alas! the princess will die!”

But when Brondé arrived, and saw that trees were growing about the foot of the outer rock, he quickly let himself down, and began pulling them out by their roots. This so loosened the earth that, by means of his great strength, he could easily start the rock from its nest. And this he did, and sent it rolling, whirling, plunging, nobody looked to see how far, for all were busy with the princess, who, though very little hurt, was trembling with fright. And Brondé, seeing that she could hardly stand, took her in his arms and bore her to the palace, the rest following far behind.

If he had not taken her in his arms and borne her to the palace, it is probable this story would never have been written, as will presently be shown.

When the princess found herself unhurt, she began to laugh within herself at this adventure, and at the odd way she was travelling home. And as her head lay upon the shoulder—the big, broad shoulder—of Brondé, his long, fair curls touched her cheek. So, being fond of mischief, she slyly drew forth her scissors, cut off one curl, and kept it hid in her hand. And Brondé did not know a word about it; though, had he known, it would not have displeased him, since, had she wished, he would gladly have given her every one of them; for he was quite fond of the charming little princess.

And he grew still more fond of her as years passed, and wondered within himself whether such a big fellow as he could ever please such a delicate little creature as the king’s Lily. And if that could ever happen, why, what would the king say then? It was quite doubtful whether he should be thought worthy to be the son-in-law of a king. Whatever his thoughts were, therefore, none were the wiser for them, as they remained hidden in his own breast.

Now the king’s Lily looked with admiration upon the brave, noble-hearted Brondé.

“Ah!” said she to herself, “he is gentle and good, and can do no wrong; he is strong and brave, and can fear no danger; and he is handsome enough to gaze upon for a lifetime. And I think,—I think he likes very well even a small, pale thing like me; yet he has never told me this.”