Helen and Arthur; or, Miss Thusa's Spinning Wheel

by Caroline Lee Hentz

“I remember a tale,” she resumed, “which I heard or read, long, long ago—which perhaps I’ve never told. It is about a young Prince, who was heir to a great kingdom, somewhere near the place where the garden of Eden once was. When the King, his father, was on his death bed, he called his son to him, and told him that he was going to die.

“‘And now, my son,’ he said, ‘remember my parting words. I leave you all alone, without father or mother, brother or sister—without any one to love or love you. Last night I had a dream, and you know God’s will was made known in dreams, to holy men of old. There came, in my dream, an aged man, with a beard as white as ermine, that hung down like a mantle over his breast, with a wand in his right hand, and stood beside my bed.

“‘Hear my words,’ he exclaimed, in a solemn voice, ‘and tell them to your son. When you are dead and gone, let him gird himself for a long pilgrimage. If he stay here, he will be turned into a marble statue. To avert this doom, he must travel through the world till he finds a young maiden’s warm, living heart—and the maiden must be fair and good, and be willing to let the knife enter her bosom, and her heart be taken bleeding thence. And then he must travel farther still, till a white dove shall come from the East, and fold its wings on his breast. If you would save your kingdom and your son, command him to do this. It is the will of the Most High.’

“The old man departed, but his words echoed like thunder in my ears. Obey him, my son, the vision came from above.

“The young Prince saw his father laid in the tomb, then prepared himself for his pilgrimage. He did not like the idea of being turned into marble, neither did he like the thought of taking the heart of a young and innocent maiden, if he should find one willing to make the offering—which he did not believe. The Prince had a bright eye and a light step, and he was dressed in brave attire. The maidens looked out of the windows as he passed along, and the young men sighed with envy. He came to a great palace, and being a King’s son, he thought he had a right to enter it; and there he saw a young and beautiful lady, all shining with diamonds and pearls. There was a great feast waiting in the hall, and she asked him to stay, and pressed him to eat and drink, and gave him many glasses of wine, as red as rubies. After the feast was over, and he felt most awfully as he did it, he begged for her heart, the tears glittering in his eyes for sorrow. She smiled, and told him it was already his—but—when with a shaking hand he took a knife, and aimed it at her breast, she screamed and rushed out of the hall, as if the evil one was behind her—Don’t interrupt me, child—don’t—I shall forget it all if you do. Well, the Prince went on his way, thinking the old man had sent him on a fool’s errand—but he dared not disobey his dead father, seeing he was a King. It would take me from sun to sun to tell of all the places where he stopped, and of all the screaming and threatening that followed him wherever he went. It is a wonder he did not turn deaf as an adder. At last he got very tired and sorrowful, and sat down by the wayside and wept, thinking he would rather turn to marble at once, than live by such a horrible remedy. He saw a little cabin close by, but he had hardly strength to reach it, and he thought he would stay there and die.

“‘What makes you weep?’ said a voice so sweet he thought it was music itself, and looking up, he saw a young maiden, who had come up a path behind him, with a pitcher of water on her head. She was beautiful and fair to look upon, though her dress was as plain as could be. She offered him water to drink, and told him if he would go with her to the little cabin, her mother would give him something to eat, and a bed to lie upon, for the night dew was beginning to fall. He had not on his fine dress at this time, having changed it for that of a young peasant, thinking perhaps he would succeed better in disguise. So he followed her steps, and they gave him milk, and bread, and honey, and a nice bed to sleep upon, though it was somewhat hard and coarse. And there he fell sick, and they nursed him day after day, and brought him back to health. The young maiden grew more lovely in his eye, and her voice sounded more and more sweet in his ear. Sometimes he thought of the sacrifice he was to ask, but he could not do it. No, he would die first. One night, the old man with the long, white beard, came in his dream, to his bedside. He looked dark and frowning.

“‘This is the maiden,’ he cried, ‘your pilgrimage is ended here. Do as thou art bidden, and then depart.’

“When the morning came, he was pale and sad, and the young girl was pale and sad from sympathy. Then the Prince knelt down at her feet, and told her the history of his father’s dream and his own, and of his exceeding great and bitter sorrow. He wept, but the maiden smiled, and she looked like an angel with that sweet smile on her face.

“‘My heart is yours,’ she said, ‘I give it willingly and cheerfully. Drain from it every drop of blood, if you will—I care not, so it save you from perishing.’

“Then the eyes of the young Prince shone out like the sun after a storm, and drawing his dagger from his bosom, he—”